33

I just opened my blog this morning and learned that I have made 32 other posts to my page. That would make this 33. I'm amazed that I've had 32 other things worth saying. maybe they weren't really worth saying for that matter. At least I'm surprised that I thought 32 other things were worth saying. I'm not sure that I have another. I have looked back over them and found more randomness than cohesion throughout the things that I write. I'd probably have a hard time writing a book. I can't stay on one string long enough. This morning I'm thinking about 33. Jesus died when he was 33. I was 33 in 1996. I just found a CD the other day called WOW 1996. See what I mean? My thoughts travel in probably 33 different directions. Write now as I write here for the 33rd time I'm noticing that the blog site has changed. The resolution on the whole site has changed. Everything is larger, almost magnified. What does that have to do with anything? I'm not sure, may be something to do with 33. I do know, and this just reassures me, that I can often times struggle with focus. I look at this list of stuff written. This is 33. Jesus died when he was 33. I wonder how long has it taken me to speak to him 33 times. And I wonder if much of it was really nonsense. Did I waste his time? Did I accomplish anything? Did I spend as much time conversing with him about myself as I do writing about myself. I could be less self centered. Maybe there are more people out there that need my time and my prayers. Maybe I should spend the time I write here talking to him about them. Maybe I could serve more. Everyday I encounter people that need to know less of me and more of him. Too many each day to count, but if I had to guess I'd say about 33.

plans

I'm a very scheduled person. Even my writing is becoming more and more scheduled. In fact I'm only writing this at the moment because, when I checked the date of my last post, I realized that "it was really time for another". One a week? I call that scheduled. I'm interested to see how this turns out at the end. Writing, like anything else creative, should never, in my opinion, be scheduled. It ought to be inspired. That's why I don't pursue my artistic tendencies. I was a photographer once, but lighting and backgrounds and such don't lend themselves all that well to schedule. I was a painter once. Same thing, schedule and inspiration don't mix. Neither do inspiration and a self critical spirit, but that's for another counseling session. So I have many "works" tucked away where only I can still see. Bringing them out in public only encourages people to try to get me back into inspirational mode, which again conflicts with my scheduled nature, which then drives them back underground. It's a viscious circle. Alright, it's not really viscious, but it's a circle that I don't care to continually repeat. I have found something interesting about my schedules though. I can alter them at a whim and I'm just fine with it. As long as no one else is altering it. When my schedule get's altered by others, my heart races, my palms sweat, my thinking becomes unclear and I can get, well...., agitated. My family says irrational, but I think that is an overstatement. Anyway, the point is I am driven by schedule, and I find myself increasingly more in conflict with my attempt at living by faith. God never works on a schedule. Unless you consider that "to Him a day is like a thousand years" statement in the Bible. That's not very encouraging to me. In fact I know many people who live by that schedule. It drives me crazy. My problem is that I want to be led, I want to rely, I want to have faith in His direction for my life, but I keep crashing into time. Time is precious to me. Why is it that I always get in the slowest express lane? Why is it that my kid always needs to go to the emergency room in the middle of the night? Why is it that I always miss the traffic bulletin that warns me of the major backup? Ok, it's not always, it just seems like that to someone who is driven by time. Anyway, I want to live a life in someone else's hands but not their schedule. It's because I have a plan. I have a plan and I've figured out it's time element to succeed and I can't let it go. God has a plan for me. "For I know the plans I have for you" He tells me in Psalms. I know all that. I'm sure that His plan is infinitely better than my plan. I'd like to say that this knowledge gives me comfort. That's the PC preacher thing for me to say. It doesn't. I still struggle. I want my inspiration. I want my schedule. I want my plan back.....sometimes.

Fair

I went to "The Fair" yesterday. It's one of the great American insitutions that that I really love. I mention that because there are many that I don't for a million different, mostly selfish, reasons. I love the fair though. I have an even greater appreciation now that I'm a city dweller. In my last phase of life it wasn't as big a draw because I lived the fair nearly every day. Everywhere I looked there were cows, goats, ducks, sheep, straw hats, tractors and PU trucks. That's P.U. trucks. You can figure it out. Anyway, the fair is about everything that makes America great. Everywhere you look you can find innocent children, women in long skirts with sneakers, flannel, plaid, braids, bare navels, nearly bare butts, shady salesmen hawking the answer to every problem that you never knew you had. There's PU trucks, cows, sheep, goats, pigs, country music, old heavy metal, old carnies and elephant ears. There's an abundance of culinary creations that promise much and deliver more (fat and calories that is). I see the memories of my children as we walked through the midway. I donated more of my hard earned cash on the same games that I gave freely to in my childhood. I thought back to days when I used to take a bus with my Junior high and High school buddies for an unchaperoned day of exploration and mischief at the annual State Fair where I grew up. Now I wrestle with how long I'll allow my Senior class daughter to spend with her friends at a significantly smaller venue than I used to prowl. It's a different world now. I'm not too afraid though because as the world has changed much, the fair has changed little. It's still relatively safe. It's a world of their own, and everyone becomes integrated into that world, if only for a time. It's Saturday now and because of the nature of my profession, I'm looking towards entering into another world tomorrow. It too can be like the fair. Many of the people haven't changed over the years. In some churches I've been in I can honestly say thay neither have many of the styles. Many of the things that happen in the world outside aren't visible on the inside. It's not because they don't exist. They are just merely forgotten for a bit. This can be good be a good thing, but not always. It's a safe place. This can be a good thing, but not always. It's a good thing to have a safe place as long as we remember to communicate that faith is really a dangerous thing. Jesus brought a dangerous message. It's dangerous partly because it transcends all of the culture that I see at the fair. It's dangerous because it demands that I interact with all of the culture represented at the fair. The niceness and safety of the fair is that we can just watch if we want, kind of a people zoo. For the more adventerous (foolish?) there are plenty of opportunities to push the limits of sanity, gravity, and downright common sense. For others, a safe place to sample a scone, wash it down with an elephant ear and exert ourselves climbing onto the people mover. As I get older, I find myself more and more on the safe side of the fair. I'm thankful for those who aren't. They keep it fun. They're encouraging, sometimes inspiring to watch. The church has those people as well. The older I get, the more I fight the urge to watch. Those who keep me going are encouraging, sometimes inspiring to watch. Others remind me that there's also safety here. There's room for all of us at "The Fair".

Falling Rocks

Growing up around the Adirondack mountains in the east and now living in the shadow of the Cascades in the west, I'm very accustomed to seeing the "Falling Rock" sign. Passing them as a child frequently caused me to glance up expectantly in the chance that I might see the tell tale signs of an actual falling rock. I think that the closest that I ever came was a brief slide of pebbles down the dusty embankment of an interstate that we had travelled often. Now as I have grown older, I never look up. I never expect that which is on the sign to truly happen. I've come to believe that, in fact, thses signs may only be put up through a long forgotten tradition. We've always done it that way. A few days ago, three women were tragically killed east of here by, of all things, a rock slide. I wonder if they saw the signs. I doubt that, as they left an energizing evening of music and laughter to head back home, it even crossed their minds that they wouldn't make it to their destination. Why didn't they think of it? The signs were there. I've seen them. Though I admit even as I'm reading them I don't internalize them. They aren't for me. I have plans at the end of the road. I have family at the end of the road. I have another day at the end of the road. I have relationships to form, cultivate, mend, and maybe even dissolve at the end of the road. the signs aren't for me. I never even look up anymore. What other signs have I been ignoring? What other dangers lie ahead? Where else am I wasting time heading somewhere that isn't anywhere, really? The rocks do indeed fall, whether we read the signs or not. They fall on the road. They fall on our lives. I live much more aware now that the creator of rocks and the giver of life has in fact posted signs all throughout my existence. Maybe I'd do better looking up more frequently.

age

So I'm 42 tomorrow. What is it about birthdays that cause you to be all reflective of the life you've lived and the life you want to live? My first "adult" birthday that I was excited about was my 40th. I know that it's usually one of the dreaded occasions for most people, but I actually looked forward to it. I was convinced that it was a new beginning for me. My 40's were going to be so much better than my 30's and light years ahead of my 20's. But one fifth of the way into them, I now pause and wonder if I'm headed where I imagined just two years ago. I wonder if instead I've wasted the opportunity for a strong start. Do I now need to rely on a strong finish to make up for it? I'm not sure. I am sure that many people in my life would be complimentary. They'd say I'm doing well. That's easy when they don't hold my measuring stick. How does one get so far from the goal set before us? I'll tell you what I've discovered on the eve of my 42nd year.... It's by measuring yourself only on this one stupid day of the year. Where was my conscience yesterday? How about on July 2nd or April 1st or May 29th? The goal hasn't changed. The desire hasn't changed. No matter how slightly you vary from the path, the longer you wander, the further you get away. Maybe I ought not wait until I've aged another year to evaluate how I'm doing with the life God gave me. Maybe I ought to think about the day He's set before me...the choice to do good or evil...the chance to go forward or backward. You can age gracefully or full of grace. I choose to live in the latter. Happy Birthday!

relief

Watching this past week, as many of us are, the events surrounding the devestation of the Gulf coast has come with many mixed emotions. I'll admit to some of them here, some I will probably never publicly admit to. I've been frustrated by the obvious human arrogance that contributed to this disaster. This has been a disaster a long time in the making. I've been sickened by the political labeling of our national shortcomings for relief. Again I'll repeat this has been a disaster a long time in the making. I've been horrified by the near cannibalism exhibited by a number of the citizens and dismayed by the media focus on the ugliness. I've been encouraged by the attitudes of a number of survivors. I'll admit to a bit of ambivalence toward those who chose to stay behind (not those who had no choice) and then demand an immediate rescue and providing for their "needs" as if they were taken completely by surprise. The slowness of the government (Republican AND Democrat, Federal AND State) to mobilize effort.
I am encouraged by the ability of the local church though to respond to the need. No blame, no territory, no questions, just compassion and relentless service. It reminds me that in times like these we see the church, with all of its faults, at its best. It's functioning in many cases as it was designed. With people who have a servants heart and a willingness to serve others in distress no matter what their own circumstances are. It causes me to wonder... why would anyone not want to be a part of that? Why is there so much resistance to the organized body called "the Church"? Maybe it's because our design is not evident all that often. We're too aften distracted from our real purpose. Now those churches have no choice, it's all about life saving which is our primary responsibility. Sometimes it's physical, but always it's spiritual. We have too many people as spectators, but in the South, the benches have been cleared and everyone is in the game. An organization is only as effective as the commitment of its members. The church shines in times like this because, for those effected, commitment is not an option it's survival. I wonder how bright we'd shine if commitment came easier before it became a matter of life or death?