I can still remember the feeling. The anticipation...the excitement bubbling up from within. It was Christmas Eve day. It was by far the most exciting day at the Taylor house growing up.
It was the anticipation of something known and yet unpredictable...unknown, endless possibilities but all positive outcomes.
In those first 7 years I knew how this day would play out. We would decorate for Christmas...a live tree (each of those early years...and later they would be planted in our yard). My older brother would be called on to help my Dad put up lights along the top of the house. My Mom would have us sewing strings of red and green glitter colored popcorn. Sometimes it would be me making a chain of interlocking paper loop chains out of green construction paper to hang in the room near the tree or in my bedroom. There was cookie baking going on with Russian Tea Cakes, Toll house Chocolate Chips, Chocolate Walnut Cookies and many more...
My Dad would be off from work or coming home early this day. We would be going to my Grandmom & Grandpop's home in Philadelphia. I listened to the radio with my cousins--as the announcer tracked Santa around the globe...live access to tell us his current position. There were lots of gifts big and small and it was the suspense of what might be coming for each of us. The wonderful butterflies inside waiting and taking it all in from the windows of the eyes.
Christmas morning there was a stocking jingling with wrapped treats on my bed...and a tree with gifts under it---something to ooh and ahhh over.
Mom would section a half orange for each of us--fancy...and cook bacon and pancakes or waffles. We ate together those early Christmas mornings.
Soon there were too many children in our family and we began to have an open house on Christmas Eve at our own house. We would all go to church together and come back and feed everyone with all kinds of great food, meatballs or roast beef sandwiches, baked goods, assorted cookies...and a happy birthday Jesus bakery cake.
As I grew I lost the wonder of Christmas. I still remember when the neighborhood kids told me my parents were Santa. My older brother Carl was very helpful putting the gifts together with and for my Dad during these years. I remember getting that yellow Hugger Big Wheels type vehicle made out of metal...simply the greatest gift I had ever received...even greater that I hadn't asked for it. My brother Mark and I rode those everywhere for hour after hour across yards, down stairs--we beat those things--and it was great!
Fast forward a few years and my Mom wasn't getting out of bed...she was sick. My brother Carl was married and I was the oldest at home. I went with my Dad to visit Bethana children's home. My Dad made a donation, in fact I came to realize he had faithfully given to this mission every year on Christmas Eve. My Dad was so faithful in that example of giving despite the fact that we were never rich, and usually lower middle class from what I could tell. He was happy giving too.
We started using an artificial tree that year as my older sister Linda came home and helped me decorate that tree and we ordered pizza and picked it up and had a quiet Christmas Eve. No longer as magical to me in nature but I wanted it to still be magical to my younger siblings.
Mark and I would watch the North-South game on TV as my parents would go back to bed. Christmas day itself was not the main focus. There was nothing magical in those days--the wonder had left.
When I got married to Michelle, holidays were so important to her--in fact any opportunity to celebrate was always at the forefront of her mind. Family and holidays were always where she would focus her time and energy. At first I found this to be a very annoying trait...but I have come to love this about her...she has taught me how to celebrate others-- demonstrated giving as a central theme, and laid the groundwork for future lessons on Christmas. Tradition was important again...
When my children Grant, Haileigh and Kelly Hope came along we had so many Christmas's in Churchville, Newtown and Dublin...cutting down our tree and a wagon ride back, decorating together, making cookies...and of course--the debate each year for colored or white lights on the tree. The look of wonder on the kids faces was something I could live vicariously and appreciate...
Back four years ago I discovered something wonderful in the midst of the most difficult year of my life.
I believed that Christmas was not coming that year to our home...in fact I wasn't sure we would have a home by Christmas day. A funny thing happened on the way to Christmas Day...I began a job at Costco in November and wonderful people stepped forward and became the hands and feet of Jesus in our lives in tangible ways.
On December 23rd I received a turkey from another worker...let's face it...if you don't have food in the cupboards...not much else matters...it was a gift from the heart.
A neighbor put our name in for a Christmas pantry food basket and so we were given food that went straight into our pantry and suddenly everyone was a little brighter--even me...eyes of wonder had returned...wonder at people's giving and grace, stepping up and giving to provide for us.
Some of my son Grant's friends--parents purchased some gas cards and grocery cards for us...wow I thought--God really cares about us and is using all kinds of actions and different people to give his message. I could feel my heart in my chest growing in size and appreciation as I needed others...I could no longer pick and choose if I needed others--I just did. Brokenness will get your heart in the right place every time faster than any sermon.
I was so grateful in my heart for these gifts...as I struggled back out the door for my work shift on Christmas Eve day--my PB & J sandwich tasted like steak to me. I had food, my family had food and we would be ok. I no longer felt like the grinch had stolen our Christmas...when we woke up Christmas morning, the tall and the small might even join hands and sing, or in the very least be merry in our hearts for the warmth and caring shown to us.
About 2PM Michelle called me--she was loud and talking fast... "a gift card tree came for us...a neighbor brought it over", but I've always suspected that one of my Costco coworkers was the inspiration and catalyst who orchestrated this tremendous gift that provided the greatest Taylor Christmas ever. I was stopped in my tracks that Christmas Eve, and I cried the largest tears I had cried in many years...those were tears of wonder and excitement...tears of joy.
That is the day the wonder of Christmas returned to me...It is a gift I'll never give up.
It was a hopeful night that evening as Michelle and I prayed out loud and gave thanks at the wonder of everything that had happened in the span of 48 hours. Not a Christmas can pass since without giving thanks and recalling the events of that year. It is always out of the burden of brokenness that we receive gifts of gold in our lives.
Our Christmas's since are much smaller than they once were..but our time together is what holds more meaning..it is far more intentional.
When I think about God's plan to save the world...sending his one and only Son to us as a baby..."God with us"--simply amazing...He is always with us--through those lonely dark valleys of despair...I realized that the wonder of Christmas was all about the giving spirit of Hope. The baby coming to earth two thousand years ago was our only Hope just as the gifts we were given in 2010 that sustained us and blessed us were our only Hope. We did nothing to deserve either gift--but without them where would I be today?
Thank you one and all...thank you Jesus.
The Wonder of it all. The Wonder of Christmas....
Sunday, December 21, 2014
Friday, October 10, 2014
all tangled up....
I can't believe we own a cat...we went to the shelter and I was talked into bringing that critter home. I'm a dog guy...I don't like cats at all. I'm allergic to cats. Oh and did I mention I don't really like them?
So the cat comes home and he lives outside and spends nights in our garage. His time actually in our home is limited to meal times and little else.
The cat has begun to grow on me I must admit. We've had issues with chipmunks digging under our home and crawl space area and tearing up our air ducts to make their home. This cat has caught three chipmunks that we know of. Chalk that up in the plus column for the critter.
The cat comes in during watching football on Saturday or Sunday evenings and jumps up in my lap purring. Now he could choose anyone but he seems to want to choose me for some unknown reason.
So--here is this independent cat with a mind of his own, that I don't really care for--but he's in our lives and I never would think the cat would teach me an important lesson.
Last Saturday I had to mow the lawn, nothing new there. I had cleaned out some of the garage and placed a department store shopping bag and filled it with some smaller boxes and placed it near the trash can on the side of the house. As I was mowing I noticed small boxes strewn about the yard on the opposite side of the house. I thought-that is strange--now who was into those boxes and started throwing them around? I went inside after cleaning them up again and asked my wife and both of my daughters...but no--they had no idea what I was talking about. So I chalked it up to the neighbor kids exploring and playing around and finished the lawn.
That night the cat did not return home for dinner...or to hang out. I went on a walk...continued our normal evening...and then started shutting the lights out for the night and locking up...only 1 thing left to do, put the cat into the garage for the evening.
I put my sneakers back on and started searching and calling. He wasn't perched on top of my car...wasn't laying in the flower beds....wasn't up in the trees...all his usual spots. I went back inside and found a flashlight to help me in the search.
As I surveyed the culdesac and the light pierced into the darkness I stumbled around searching and flashing the light. I called out searching and searching...just about ready to give up I resigned myself he was out of luck for the night. The temperatures were dropping and it was in the high 30's....cold for Tennessee for an early fall evening--and I was concerned for that critter.
I slowly turned back towards the home and silently turned the light off and proceeded into the darkness when I heard a tiny meowish call...faint and in the distance. I quickly turned the light back on--where are you Tommy? I quieted myself and listened for that tiny voice...so faint. Where is he? It was almost like he was behind me back toward the house. I wheeled and took a short step and then another...another faint call but sounding ever closer.
I stopped and suddenly I realized...the cat was down in the sewer calling up faintly. How did he get there? How will I get him out? I flashed the light down and couldn't see him, there was debris and leaves all over him. It was just a pile of trash with a voice calling out.
I ran back through the back yard to the end of the drain tunnel and surveyed my options. I called up the tunnel to him but he wasn't moving and I couldn't fit to climb in and go 100 ft to reach him.
I went back and in desperation tugged at the two grates covering the sewer drain. Amazing that one side was not welded closed so I pulled and managed to get some separation and eventually got my fingers under it enough to pull it up.
Now what? He still wasn't jumping out...so I jumped down into the slop and mess and reached carefully under the other side and pulled out a pile of trash, leaves, boxes and a torn shopping bag.
I suddenly realized what had happened...the cat was exploring on the side of the house, had somehow put his head through the handle of the shopping bag and when realized he was stuck and trapped started darting about flinging boxes and running in circles before running up the one way drain pipe and hitting a dead end in the sewer in a pile of debris and leaves and muck. Finally realizing he could no longer get himself out-but that he needed intervention he was powerless to do anything for himself.
I learned a powerful reminder of a lesson that night. I have searched around and found trouble in my own life---then thrashing about looking for a way out but only getting wrapped up more in a mess. Finally in desperation hitting the end of that tunnel and finding myself in a pile of muck, debris and feeling helpless---needing divine intervention and something more than I could do for myself.
I find that most of us want to believe we can handle anything and everything in our lives---and in fact our American culture celebrates those of us who can suck it up, strap it up a notch tighter and pull ourselves up from the bootstraps and make things happen--as a loner.
Sometimes the most beautiful thing is when we get to the end of ourselves, our own determination and power..we find a big God who reaches down and improbably removes the immovable object, jumps into the gutter and pulls us out of the debris and garbage and sets our feet back back on the solid ground. At that moment the guilt and the shame and our own foolishness can melt away--because we were not pulled out to lie around or jump back into the garbage.
We were saved for a purpose--and each of our lives tell a story. Try as we might to invent a message that our lives tell--they naturally tell a story all on their own. I was given a story--not all tangled up--but a story of HOPE. No matter what I do now that theme shines through. As you think about your own life in the quiet at the beginning or end of your day--think consciously about the theme your own story is telling.
As Don Miller said
“And once you live a good story, you get a taste for a kind of meaning in life, and you can't go back to being normal; you can't go back to meaningless scenes stitched together by the forgettable thread of wasted time.”
― Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life
If you don't like the story your life is telling...make a change while there is time. The ending has yet to be written---what an awesome thought!
So the cat comes home and he lives outside and spends nights in our garage. His time actually in our home is limited to meal times and little else.
The cat has begun to grow on me I must admit. We've had issues with chipmunks digging under our home and crawl space area and tearing up our air ducts to make their home. This cat has caught three chipmunks that we know of. Chalk that up in the plus column for the critter.
The cat comes in during watching football on Saturday or Sunday evenings and jumps up in my lap purring. Now he could choose anyone but he seems to want to choose me for some unknown reason.
So--here is this independent cat with a mind of his own, that I don't really care for--but he's in our lives and I never would think the cat would teach me an important lesson.
Last Saturday I had to mow the lawn, nothing new there. I had cleaned out some of the garage and placed a department store shopping bag and filled it with some smaller boxes and placed it near the trash can on the side of the house. As I was mowing I noticed small boxes strewn about the yard on the opposite side of the house. I thought-that is strange--now who was into those boxes and started throwing them around? I went inside after cleaning them up again and asked my wife and both of my daughters...but no--they had no idea what I was talking about. So I chalked it up to the neighbor kids exploring and playing around and finished the lawn.
That night the cat did not return home for dinner...or to hang out. I went on a walk...continued our normal evening...and then started shutting the lights out for the night and locking up...only 1 thing left to do, put the cat into the garage for the evening.
I put my sneakers back on and started searching and calling. He wasn't perched on top of my car...wasn't laying in the flower beds....wasn't up in the trees...all his usual spots. I went back inside and found a flashlight to help me in the search.
As I surveyed the culdesac and the light pierced into the darkness I stumbled around searching and flashing the light. I called out searching and searching...just about ready to give up I resigned myself he was out of luck for the night. The temperatures were dropping and it was in the high 30's....cold for Tennessee for an early fall evening--and I was concerned for that critter.
I slowly turned back towards the home and silently turned the light off and proceeded into the darkness when I heard a tiny meowish call...faint and in the distance. I quickly turned the light back on--where are you Tommy? I quieted myself and listened for that tiny voice...so faint. Where is he? It was almost like he was behind me back toward the house. I wheeled and took a short step and then another...another faint call but sounding ever closer.
I stopped and suddenly I realized...the cat was down in the sewer calling up faintly. How did he get there? How will I get him out? I flashed the light down and couldn't see him, there was debris and leaves all over him. It was just a pile of trash with a voice calling out.
I ran back through the back yard to the end of the drain tunnel and surveyed my options. I called up the tunnel to him but he wasn't moving and I couldn't fit to climb in and go 100 ft to reach him.
I went back and in desperation tugged at the two grates covering the sewer drain. Amazing that one side was not welded closed so I pulled and managed to get some separation and eventually got my fingers under it enough to pull it up.
Now what? He still wasn't jumping out...so I jumped down into the slop and mess and reached carefully under the other side and pulled out a pile of trash, leaves, boxes and a torn shopping bag.
I suddenly realized what had happened...the cat was exploring on the side of the house, had somehow put his head through the handle of the shopping bag and when realized he was stuck and trapped started darting about flinging boxes and running in circles before running up the one way drain pipe and hitting a dead end in the sewer in a pile of debris and leaves and muck. Finally realizing he could no longer get himself out-but that he needed intervention he was powerless to do anything for himself.
I learned a powerful reminder of a lesson that night. I have searched around and found trouble in my own life---then thrashing about looking for a way out but only getting wrapped up more in a mess. Finally in desperation hitting the end of that tunnel and finding myself in a pile of muck, debris and feeling helpless---needing divine intervention and something more than I could do for myself.
I find that most of us want to believe we can handle anything and everything in our lives---and in fact our American culture celebrates those of us who can suck it up, strap it up a notch tighter and pull ourselves up from the bootstraps and make things happen--as a loner.
Sometimes the most beautiful thing is when we get to the end of ourselves, our own determination and power..we find a big God who reaches down and improbably removes the immovable object, jumps into the gutter and pulls us out of the debris and garbage and sets our feet back back on the solid ground. At that moment the guilt and the shame and our own foolishness can melt away--because we were not pulled out to lie around or jump back into the garbage.
We were saved for a purpose--and each of our lives tell a story. Try as we might to invent a message that our lives tell--they naturally tell a story all on their own. I was given a story--not all tangled up--but a story of HOPE. No matter what I do now that theme shines through. As you think about your own life in the quiet at the beginning or end of your day--think consciously about the theme your own story is telling.
As Don Miller said
“And once you live a good story, you get a taste for a kind of meaning in life, and you can't go back to being normal; you can't go back to meaningless scenes stitched together by the forgettable thread of wasted time.”
― Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life
If you don't like the story your life is telling...make a change while there is time. The ending has yet to be written---what an awesome thought!
Sunday, August 31, 2014
fighting with and fighting for friends
From the time I was very young I had learned hard lessons regarding friends...they leave, they betray, they bring pain.
When I was in second grade my best friend--Scott St. John...we played little league-learned baseball together, hung out at his house after school (for a few years), watched TV, ate snacks...I thought we were best friends. We had a disagreement and he chose to be someone else's best friend. It hurt, but I moved on.
I began hanging out with Norman Hughes. Norman was an odd kind of kid...in the cool circle yet didn't really care about that status. We used to hang out fishing in the creek near his house. It was a new development so it wasn't very built up. We would catch fish and crayfish and put them in this gigantic tank under the back of his house near the basement. The tank was the length of the basement...or so I remember it. He never had a mother around, just him and his older sister. Funny--I never thought that to be odd...after all, my own mother would disappear in depression a few days at a time...so it wasn't strange at all. He was soft spoken about things...had black eyes or bloody or bruised face many times. I thought it was because he was a fighter...he was as it turned out, but only because his dad was beating him up. We had talked about running away, living in the woods and being free from the fear of beatings, living free---it sounded so good.
I went on vacation mid July camping with my family that summer between third and fourth grade. When we finally returned I rode my bike to see him and hang out. No one answered the door. The house had a sold sign on it and they were gone. I never saw or heard from my friend again. I remember the awful sick feeling deep in my gut and the utter loneliness and deserted feeling I felt.
I had another friend named Scott Burton. We hung out all through 4th grade through 8th grade...I mean every day. I escaped the craziness of my own home by hanging at his place. We camped out, built forts in his attic, built things in his basement, fished together and spent a lot of time hanging out. One night on the way to rollerskating he and the other kids in the car were talking about their Catholic faith and I mentioned something about "why do we need a priest when I can pray right to God directly?" It was an honest question from not understanding his whole faith. I found out how serious this was of a question as he lunged onto me and was choking me right there in the car. Many things flashed through my mind--mostly how could we spend years as friends and then it was gone in a moment? He never spoke to me again.
In High School I didn't have any friends to start with so I began hanging with this kid that wanted to be my friend Jim Williams. The problem was he was always looking to cut class and stay at home watching the new ESPN channel, and drink from his parent's licquor cabinet. I was about as far from all of these things as I could be--although I did like cutting class now and then.
I allowed Jim to be a friend in my life although he used things against me. One morning I was at the airport waiting for the plane to take our band to a competition in Disney World Florida. My girlfriend broke up with me--she told me she was with Jim now. Wow--super kick right to the gut on that one. Friendship is not worth this I thought--never again will I allow this to happen. It stole some of my kindness and any innocence I had left in my heart.
Fast forward a few years and again I had a really good friend Ken Gray. We were going to community college together and working multiple jobs to pay our way. Ken was a hard working guy and understood a good work ethic. He had been hanging more with some guys that weren't serious about their education. I knew I had to be serious...it was my only way out in life. He started hanging with that forementioned Jim.
We stopped hanging out...
Later at the end of spring semester I saw him. I was on my way to burger king to work on my motorcycle (honda 250 custom) and he was headed on a date. He told me he was back on track with school and a little conversation convinced me he was serious. He asked if I wanted to meet him the next morning to register for our second year classes. I said sure--sounds like a plan. We agreed to talk the next morning.
On my way home from work late that night around 2:30 AM there was an accident on the road I was headed down. There were many police cars, sirens and equipment, ambulances working at the accident scene. It turns out my friend Ken was fighting for his life trapped in the wreckage of that car.
The next morning someone called me and told me he was gone. My best friend was gone. I have had dreams and nightmares since that time, but always have felt a loss of his presence in my life.
...my son's middle name is named after Ken. He was so happy go lucky in a serious world and full of life. He was a one of a kind...like my son Grant.
Fast forward many more years...I finally had allowed myself to trust and begin a friendship. I think many times men hang with other guys...or do activities. I'm not convinced that this means they are friends--friends in a kind of way that if your life was turned upside down you could call them in the middle of the night.
I had a friend John that has walked by my side the past few years. There were times I didn't know if I could make it one more step or 5 more minutes in life. He spoke truth to me, sometimes it hurt...sometimes he wasn't always right, but he did know me very well...the scary kind of being known...knew my flaws. I say scary because in my history those flaws were pulled out at inopportune times that were used then as weapons against me. They were hits that found their way below my defensive armor and wounded me in the heart. It also taught me never to trust--men could not be trusted. I set up a very defensive persona that worked for the first 45 years of my life.
John was a true brother...through my job working in Memphis, working in the inner city...he often slowed down my thinking and convinced me to "take the next step" whatever that was at the time. Some of the best advice I ever received.
There is something about a man that has traveled some of the same shared road together. There is something credible if someone shares my story with me, and also has been beaten or had to deal with the fear that brings. I like to think we know from the look what we have in common.
Anyone that thinks that means I was at peace then...sorry-no fairy tales...working through the past is just that--work. It is the bridge to stepping back into the present in a new way. A refocussing on the future. Now I had a glimpse of the future.
Last July I was on vacation--something rare to be off from my multiple jobs and I was in North Carolina with my wife's family. The caller was John. He was telling me he was moving to Atlanta. I knew this sick feeling in my gut well. It was like I was kicked there and could feel all of the old bruises from the past as well. This one wasn't betrayal...it wasn't death...but it hurt all the same.
I know it's frowned upon to admit friends and brothers in life mean that much. We are supposed to be strong as men and never be emotional with these type of situations.
Cell phones...test messaging...and email keep us up to date. There have been many late night calls both ways when we deal with life emergency situations with our children, our jobs and anything else that is a crucial part of life. Neither of us is perfect...dropping the ball at crucial times. I still know enough now to say difficult things--that is what a true friend does.
In my life I have tried to shy away from actually having a close friend and have tried to be self sufficient in all things. I thought I was doing good as a loner. I have learned that even through the pain of failures and betrayals...that friendship is something core to us.
Now truth that may make you roll your eyes--but think about this...The trinity is a threesome--as close as it gets. They are the ultimate model of brotherhood--each unique--and yet submitted and committed to one another as brothers for all time. I believe it is modeled for us because they all know something about us they are sharing...we are relational to our core.
Anything that is worth anything in this life--will have to be fought for. Friendship is one of those things.
Friendship is a gift...one to be valued and never taken lightly.
It is a piece of light from above...
When I was in second grade my best friend--Scott St. John...we played little league-learned baseball together, hung out at his house after school (for a few years), watched TV, ate snacks...I thought we were best friends. We had a disagreement and he chose to be someone else's best friend. It hurt, but I moved on.
I began hanging out with Norman Hughes. Norman was an odd kind of kid...in the cool circle yet didn't really care about that status. We used to hang out fishing in the creek near his house. It was a new development so it wasn't very built up. We would catch fish and crayfish and put them in this gigantic tank under the back of his house near the basement. The tank was the length of the basement...or so I remember it. He never had a mother around, just him and his older sister. Funny--I never thought that to be odd...after all, my own mother would disappear in depression a few days at a time...so it wasn't strange at all. He was soft spoken about things...had black eyes or bloody or bruised face many times. I thought it was because he was a fighter...he was as it turned out, but only because his dad was beating him up. We had talked about running away, living in the woods and being free from the fear of beatings, living free---it sounded so good.
I went on vacation mid July camping with my family that summer between third and fourth grade. When we finally returned I rode my bike to see him and hang out. No one answered the door. The house had a sold sign on it and they were gone. I never saw or heard from my friend again. I remember the awful sick feeling deep in my gut and the utter loneliness and deserted feeling I felt.
I had another friend named Scott Burton. We hung out all through 4th grade through 8th grade...I mean every day. I escaped the craziness of my own home by hanging at his place. We camped out, built forts in his attic, built things in his basement, fished together and spent a lot of time hanging out. One night on the way to rollerskating he and the other kids in the car were talking about their Catholic faith and I mentioned something about "why do we need a priest when I can pray right to God directly?" It was an honest question from not understanding his whole faith. I found out how serious this was of a question as he lunged onto me and was choking me right there in the car. Many things flashed through my mind--mostly how could we spend years as friends and then it was gone in a moment? He never spoke to me again.
In High School I didn't have any friends to start with so I began hanging with this kid that wanted to be my friend Jim Williams. The problem was he was always looking to cut class and stay at home watching the new ESPN channel, and drink from his parent's licquor cabinet. I was about as far from all of these things as I could be--although I did like cutting class now and then.
I allowed Jim to be a friend in my life although he used things against me. One morning I was at the airport waiting for the plane to take our band to a competition in Disney World Florida. My girlfriend broke up with me--she told me she was with Jim now. Wow--super kick right to the gut on that one. Friendship is not worth this I thought--never again will I allow this to happen. It stole some of my kindness and any innocence I had left in my heart.
Fast forward a few years and again I had a really good friend Ken Gray. We were going to community college together and working multiple jobs to pay our way. Ken was a hard working guy and understood a good work ethic. He had been hanging more with some guys that weren't serious about their education. I knew I had to be serious...it was my only way out in life. He started hanging with that forementioned Jim.
We stopped hanging out...
Later at the end of spring semester I saw him. I was on my way to burger king to work on my motorcycle (honda 250 custom) and he was headed on a date. He told me he was back on track with school and a little conversation convinced me he was serious. He asked if I wanted to meet him the next morning to register for our second year classes. I said sure--sounds like a plan. We agreed to talk the next morning.
On my way home from work late that night around 2:30 AM there was an accident on the road I was headed down. There were many police cars, sirens and equipment, ambulances working at the accident scene. It turns out my friend Ken was fighting for his life trapped in the wreckage of that car.
The next morning someone called me and told me he was gone. My best friend was gone. I have had dreams and nightmares since that time, but always have felt a loss of his presence in my life.
...my son's middle name is named after Ken. He was so happy go lucky in a serious world and full of life. He was a one of a kind...like my son Grant.
Fast forward many more years...I finally had allowed myself to trust and begin a friendship. I think many times men hang with other guys...or do activities. I'm not convinced that this means they are friends--friends in a kind of way that if your life was turned upside down you could call them in the middle of the night.
I had a friend John that has walked by my side the past few years. There were times I didn't know if I could make it one more step or 5 more minutes in life. He spoke truth to me, sometimes it hurt...sometimes he wasn't always right, but he did know me very well...the scary kind of being known...knew my flaws. I say scary because in my history those flaws were pulled out at inopportune times that were used then as weapons against me. They were hits that found their way below my defensive armor and wounded me in the heart. It also taught me never to trust--men could not be trusted. I set up a very defensive persona that worked for the first 45 years of my life.
John was a true brother...through my job working in Memphis, working in the inner city...he often slowed down my thinking and convinced me to "take the next step" whatever that was at the time. Some of the best advice I ever received.
There is something about a man that has traveled some of the same shared road together. There is something credible if someone shares my story with me, and also has been beaten or had to deal with the fear that brings. I like to think we know from the look what we have in common.
Anyone that thinks that means I was at peace then...sorry-no fairy tales...working through the past is just that--work. It is the bridge to stepping back into the present in a new way. A refocussing on the future. Now I had a glimpse of the future.
Last July I was on vacation--something rare to be off from my multiple jobs and I was in North Carolina with my wife's family. The caller was John. He was telling me he was moving to Atlanta. I knew this sick feeling in my gut well. It was like I was kicked there and could feel all of the old bruises from the past as well. This one wasn't betrayal...it wasn't death...but it hurt all the same.
I know it's frowned upon to admit friends and brothers in life mean that much. We are supposed to be strong as men and never be emotional with these type of situations.
Cell phones...test messaging...and email keep us up to date. There have been many late night calls both ways when we deal with life emergency situations with our children, our jobs and anything else that is a crucial part of life. Neither of us is perfect...dropping the ball at crucial times. I still know enough now to say difficult things--that is what a true friend does.
In my life I have tried to shy away from actually having a close friend and have tried to be self sufficient in all things. I thought I was doing good as a loner. I have learned that even through the pain of failures and betrayals...that friendship is something core to us.
Now truth that may make you roll your eyes--but think about this...The trinity is a threesome--as close as it gets. They are the ultimate model of brotherhood--each unique--and yet submitted and committed to one another as brothers for all time. I believe it is modeled for us because they all know something about us they are sharing...we are relational to our core.
Anything that is worth anything in this life--will have to be fought for. Friendship is one of those things.
Friendship is a gift...one to be valued and never taken lightly.
It is a piece of light from above...
Sunday, July 27, 2014
the Mask
Now then what is this about--a mask? masquerade?--in a way yes.... and yes...
All men come up against the world...come into the fight all too soon against our enemy. Our enemy is shrewd...a studied tactician of war. He knows far better than us who we have been destined to become and he fears it. His objective is to always wound us in some great way that alters our course---changes who we become. He wants us to be diminished and disqualified from using our voice and becoming who we were always intended to be.
In springing an attack before we even realize there is a war at hand....he gets the upper hand and gets us to make an agreement. These agreements can be very subtle at first, but they continue to grow and wear a path deep into our persons. It becomes a mask as I call it, an identity that works for us--at least for a season...and we continue to do what works for us. It's very subtle at first when we decide this mask has helped us get through that situation or crisis, but it becomes a path we count on repeatedly more and more often. For example--a man is left alone and makes an agreement he has been forgotten. He takes on the mask persona of strength albeit a defensive profile...but he succeeds in pushing others back from attacking him or bothering him. He also pushes others back from knowing him and perhaps his truest intended strength was to use his ability to speak to others and speak to them deeply while building a bond with empathy and compassion. What better way to take this man out of the equation than to take away his voice, his relational side with others and have him desire to be left alone?
The sad part about what is attacked is that it's usually very close to a unique feature or strength that was God given and intended to be given out to others from our truest self. By taking that out of the picture we flounder with substitutes or masks that provide us a level of identity but make no mistake---it is not our true self or who God intended us to be.
The great part of the mask is that sooner or later in a man's life, that very mask that provided identity and a type of internal compass will fail him...it will actually work against him. While this will provide a crisis in that man's life, it is also the only way for God to get our attention as men and lead us to a place of looking deep into the story in a different way. God wants to father us and share and show us a picture of what he always intended for us to be. If we allow him he will take us back to the pain of the place where we made our first commitment...a place I call the fracture.
The fracture was where we took that first fatal hit---and veered off course to survive--but not thriving in the glory of that truest self God desires and created us for.
The good thing is that if we ever get a change in perspective and softening in our heart...then God will take us back to that point--show us truth in that---and reset the fracture. He cloaks us with a gift of transparency. If we decide to wear transparency instead of the mask...we have chosen to live from God's strength instead of from our masked identity and self strength. If we do this--others see the transparency and it points back to God, it is different--we are different. It will also reveal over time what it is that God uniquely gifted us with and what he intended for us as our true identity.
What true male brotherhood and companionship provide are brothers sharing what they see and a vision for who we are becoming...this is true brotherhood.
When a fracture heals there might be extra calcium around it, a little more pronounced...but it is stronger than ever in that area. The place of wounding therefore becomes a place of great strength. Out of our scars God brings gold--a place of discovering a new strength. It is the great healer meeting our hurt head on--nothing short of amazing. The hero of the story arrives and sets things right. This is not a different mask though--because of our willingness to be transparent in our lives--it shows us as our truest selves--the one God had in mind when he uniquely created us.
If we do not step into that--then the world will miss out on us--because there is no one else exactly like us designed specifically for that purpose. What is that purpose? Shed the mask, step into transparency and allow God to father you towards that realization.
There are very few men I have spoken to in life that truly live from this transparency...but those that do and it is obvious when you meet them...for they speak with a bold authority--they realize who they are and they are confident of that identity with Christ. They speak as kings of a kingdom.
All men come up against the world...come into the fight all too soon against our enemy. Our enemy is shrewd...a studied tactician of war. He knows far better than us who we have been destined to become and he fears it. His objective is to always wound us in some great way that alters our course---changes who we become. He wants us to be diminished and disqualified from using our voice and becoming who we were always intended to be.
In springing an attack before we even realize there is a war at hand....he gets the upper hand and gets us to make an agreement. These agreements can be very subtle at first, but they continue to grow and wear a path deep into our persons. It becomes a mask as I call it, an identity that works for us--at least for a season...and we continue to do what works for us. It's very subtle at first when we decide this mask has helped us get through that situation or crisis, but it becomes a path we count on repeatedly more and more often. For example--a man is left alone and makes an agreement he has been forgotten. He takes on the mask persona of strength albeit a defensive profile...but he succeeds in pushing others back from attacking him or bothering him. He also pushes others back from knowing him and perhaps his truest intended strength was to use his ability to speak to others and speak to them deeply while building a bond with empathy and compassion. What better way to take this man out of the equation than to take away his voice, his relational side with others and have him desire to be left alone?
The sad part about what is attacked is that it's usually very close to a unique feature or strength that was God given and intended to be given out to others from our truest self. By taking that out of the picture we flounder with substitutes or masks that provide us a level of identity but make no mistake---it is not our true self or who God intended us to be.
The great part of the mask is that sooner or later in a man's life, that very mask that provided identity and a type of internal compass will fail him...it will actually work against him. While this will provide a crisis in that man's life, it is also the only way for God to get our attention as men and lead us to a place of looking deep into the story in a different way. God wants to father us and share and show us a picture of what he always intended for us to be. If we allow him he will take us back to the pain of the place where we made our first commitment...a place I call the fracture.
The fracture was where we took that first fatal hit---and veered off course to survive--but not thriving in the glory of that truest self God desires and created us for.
The good thing is that if we ever get a change in perspective and softening in our heart...then God will take us back to that point--show us truth in that---and reset the fracture. He cloaks us with a gift of transparency. If we decide to wear transparency instead of the mask...we have chosen to live from God's strength instead of from our masked identity and self strength. If we do this--others see the transparency and it points back to God, it is different--we are different. It will also reveal over time what it is that God uniquely gifted us with and what he intended for us as our true identity.
What true male brotherhood and companionship provide are brothers sharing what they see and a vision for who we are becoming...this is true brotherhood.
When a fracture heals there might be extra calcium around it, a little more pronounced...but it is stronger than ever in that area. The place of wounding therefore becomes a place of great strength. Out of our scars God brings gold--a place of discovering a new strength. It is the great healer meeting our hurt head on--nothing short of amazing. The hero of the story arrives and sets things right. This is not a different mask though--because of our willingness to be transparent in our lives--it shows us as our truest selves--the one God had in mind when he uniquely created us.
If we do not step into that--then the world will miss out on us--because there is no one else exactly like us designed specifically for that purpose. What is that purpose? Shed the mask, step into transparency and allow God to father you towards that realization.
There are very few men I have spoken to in life that truly live from this transparency...but those that do and it is obvious when you meet them...for they speak with a bold authority--they realize who they are and they are confident of that identity with Christ. They speak as kings of a kingdom.
Saturday, July 5, 2014
The Hope--a modern day psalm
HOPE (a modern day Psalm)
Oh God my God…you are the rescuer of the weary,
The savior of the broken
The lifter of the fallen
Though I have fallen into the pit – yet you shine your light on my face—even in the deepest depths
Though my body is weary, yet you give me the strength I don’t deserve,
Though my mind is dull and weary and unfocussed, yet you raise my senses when needed to complete my work and engage my life’s details
You have rescued my spirit from the crushing weight of hopelessness
Though the climb out of the pit is long and arduous, yet you give me signs along the way of your thoughtfulness of my life—the very realization of your care for me draws a smile from a worn and emotionless face
When did I leave the pit and begin this mountain’s ascent? I almost believe I can see the outline of the peak in the distance—is it hope or is it really there?
You give my soul the fuel to reach the impossible—my life will take flight on the wings of hope…
In my foolishness I attacked each day from my own strength—in folly I wasted time counting on myself…
Yet when I came to the end of me and I cried out to you in despair under tears of relentless pressure…
You answered my calls in tangible ways—you pointed me back to the path-and gave my footing a sure and firm route, your voice whispers to my heart of the impending rescue…you are the hero who fights for me
You have given my soul the compass of community and armed me with sentry’s to guard my weak spots
You have given me a story of grace and hope to share with brothers—and strangers who have fallen alike--a story of standing firm in the face of the avalanche of my own creation…how could I ever want anything more in this story than what the author has given me?
Your strength is incredible and unmeasurable
Oh God—how GREAT you are!!!!
Though you may not choose this path yet to rescue me and redeem my story…I praise you and I TRUST that you are there, your very heart breaks for me and in your plans for me—your heart bursts with excitement in surprises yet in store—oh what wonderful secrets await
Though I can’t possibly imagine your plans and the continuing saga of this story…I will trust--for you truly know me—and your plans stretch me—yet they do not break me….you have safely brought me to this day—and future days
You have given me more days to share my story—to redeem me fully—to heal my heart
I will soar to great heights on the golden wings of the glory of your hope
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Living in the now
Living in the now...living in the present is very difficult for many people including me. So many of us are looking in the rearview mirror, wondering about what could have been. When we live with regret in the past we relinquish the opportunities in the here and now. How many things can you actually change by spending your time on the past? The answer is not much, it is a poor use of time and little return on that investment.
The other end of the spectrum is living with worry about the future. The future can be planned for but if we live too much for the future again we let slip away all of the time in the present.
Many people have told me I have the character trait of perseverance and it's true...I do. That gifting can be focussed so much that the whole journey through the present to get through circumstances is entirely missed. The struggle today hurts and many times I'd rather put my focus further ahead to a better day.
There is a reason it's called the present...it's a gift. Embrace that gift.
Take the next step and stay present and conscious in the here and now.
The other end of the spectrum is living with worry about the future. The future can be planned for but if we live too much for the future again we let slip away all of the time in the present.
Many people have told me I have the character trait of perseverance and it's true...I do. That gifting can be focussed so much that the whole journey through the present to get through circumstances is entirely missed. The struggle today hurts and many times I'd rather put my focus further ahead to a better day.
There is a reason it's called the present...it's a gift. Embrace that gift.
Take the next step and stay present and conscious in the here and now.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
the Funeral that changed my life
A few years back on a Monday evening in early Fall...a stagnant night without breeze...I was headed to a funeral. I'm not sure I would call him a friend, but certainly someone I had known well for some time.
There were many other men I knew and recognized. They had come to pay their respects as well.
As I stood over the covered body I thought about all of the many things this man had meant to me and my life over time....the time he stepped in when as an eight year old I could not yet stand up for myself...beaten badly and not knowing where to turn.
The times I was alone and feeling forgotten...this man was the only person who believed in me and stood courageously between myself and the world. The times I was repeatedly sent to my room without dinner--he fed me with thoughts I took as courage...
Oh there were so many times and situations where he showed up and put forth a brave face--a face of no emotion, set like a flint in a direction--strong and unyielding. Always looking at the end goal and making sure I stayed on task..not letting any others--or distractions in to help or hurt--and definitely not to feel.
The problem with this man was eventually never learning to forgive and let things go, without learning true forgiveness and the power it gave me by releasing someone else--letting things go....it began to create a log jam in my life. Eventually that man loomed larger and larger in the scope of my life and everything else began to be smaller and distant memories. All of the hurt, the pain and the desire for what I saw as righteous justice became my life's false compass--and true North was facing someplace completely in the wrong direction.
As the evening progressed I found myself in front of the body of that man...it was time for me to say some words about him. "He was a protector, someone who never backed down from a challenge...a man who stepped in the gap--even the gaps in my life. I hold no anger towards this man--for although he became so looming and large where he was not asked to take a lead.....there was a time when he protected and helped when nothing else worked or made sense. His time had passed."
"There are many faces to a man, and few men that I have met who are true to who they really are...that they know how they are designed by their creator and use those gifts and identity without wearing a mask. We all wear many masks--created by agreements made in the battles of our lives--battles for our hearts--battles against an enemy desiring to wipe us out BEFORE we become who we were meant to be. These masks work for a time--yes-if they didn't work, we wouldn't continue to use them. Most men act oblivious to the masks they wear as a false identity. They continue to use each mask because life works for them when they have used it. I knew I was certainly not who I was meant to be."
"This man was needed at one time to protect the young boy who couldn't speak for himself and protect himself in a dangerous world. In the absence of a family to protect and nurture he invited in the persona of protection and thus an agreement--that carried on and on."
"There was a time when he was so needed but now we are here tonight to say goodbye to him. Without his moving on and stepping aside, the boy would never grow up and become who he was intended to be. We find him admirable for his strengths and mourn his weaknesses that kept him stuck with his limited vision in who he was. All told, he was who he stated to be--nothing more, nothing less...but it is time to move on."
A funny thing about death---we almost certainly need some things to pass away in order to bring a birth of newness or new life, even new direction.
Sometimes I stop to remember him every now and then, mostly as a reminder of where I was and where I am headed. That funeral released me to move on...I stopped when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror later that night...surprised to see a face that showed emotion, but no worry lines, no stone face...just a man who was free.
There were many other men I knew and recognized. They had come to pay their respects as well.
As I stood over the covered body I thought about all of the many things this man had meant to me and my life over time....the time he stepped in when as an eight year old I could not yet stand up for myself...beaten badly and not knowing where to turn.
The times I was alone and feeling forgotten...this man was the only person who believed in me and stood courageously between myself and the world. The times I was repeatedly sent to my room without dinner--he fed me with thoughts I took as courage...
Oh there were so many times and situations where he showed up and put forth a brave face--a face of no emotion, set like a flint in a direction--strong and unyielding. Always looking at the end goal and making sure I stayed on task..not letting any others--or distractions in to help or hurt--and definitely not to feel.
The problem with this man was eventually never learning to forgive and let things go, without learning true forgiveness and the power it gave me by releasing someone else--letting things go....it began to create a log jam in my life. Eventually that man loomed larger and larger in the scope of my life and everything else began to be smaller and distant memories. All of the hurt, the pain and the desire for what I saw as righteous justice became my life's false compass--and true North was facing someplace completely in the wrong direction.
As the evening progressed I found myself in front of the body of that man...it was time for me to say some words about him. "He was a protector, someone who never backed down from a challenge...a man who stepped in the gap--even the gaps in my life. I hold no anger towards this man--for although he became so looming and large where he was not asked to take a lead.....there was a time when he protected and helped when nothing else worked or made sense. His time had passed."
"There are many faces to a man, and few men that I have met who are true to who they really are...that they know how they are designed by their creator and use those gifts and identity without wearing a mask. We all wear many masks--created by agreements made in the battles of our lives--battles for our hearts--battles against an enemy desiring to wipe us out BEFORE we become who we were meant to be. These masks work for a time--yes-if they didn't work, we wouldn't continue to use them. Most men act oblivious to the masks they wear as a false identity. They continue to use each mask because life works for them when they have used it. I knew I was certainly not who I was meant to be."
"This man was needed at one time to protect the young boy who couldn't speak for himself and protect himself in a dangerous world. In the absence of a family to protect and nurture he invited in the persona of protection and thus an agreement--that carried on and on."
"There was a time when he was so needed but now we are here tonight to say goodbye to him. Without his moving on and stepping aside, the boy would never grow up and become who he was intended to be. We find him admirable for his strengths and mourn his weaknesses that kept him stuck with his limited vision in who he was. All told, he was who he stated to be--nothing more, nothing less...but it is time to move on."
A funny thing about death---we almost certainly need some things to pass away in order to bring a birth of newness or new life, even new direction.
Sometimes I stop to remember him every now and then, mostly as a reminder of where I was and where I am headed. That funeral released me to move on...I stopped when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror later that night...surprised to see a face that showed emotion, but no worry lines, no stone face...just a man who was free.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
FEARLESS
The Fear
I feel the tingling down in my feet
A sick feeling deep in my gut that shakes me to my core
My head tells me I’ve been here before and will be again…and again
My head tells me I have to figure it all out…and that I am alone
My head droops…I walk without purpose…shuffling along without direction, wanting to hide
I hear myself saying I am alone…
The small voice tells me he was always with me—I was never alone
I want to get sick and throw out the poison from somewhere deep
In my chest my heart beats loudly and I am suddenly aware of it
I breathe deeply and look at the parts which add up to something bad
And though the parts don’t add up—I will not fear
Though everything swirls around me like a tornado whipping about—I will not fear
Catastrophe surrounds me at every angle—I cannot fear—it is not courage I am drawing up but something different ---it is different
The sickening poison of fear must come out from my gut…from deep in my soul—from the dreaded past
The sum whole should not equal peace and yet somehow the promise is for peace
Even retelling my very story should raise the fear and invite it all back into that space shaped just for it
Yet retelling my story points to unexplainable joys and treasures in the middle of the pain, snapshot gifts of life
And as I quiet my soul again I think I hear the small voice speak a word—or a name I need to hear….FEARLESS
How I question what I think I've heard
I refute and reject it entirely and try to move on…
Scenes flash before my eyes…scenes from the past but this time viewed through a different paradigm
With the new perspective what I saw were not cowardly scenes but knowing the internal fears those actions looked brave---is that how you see me?
Standing strong in the face of many fears, crippling fear…
My old mate—not a friend but an occupant of my soul that knows me too well---the enemy that drains my heart
You know me all too well and yet you demand everything, all of my space, all of my energy…it is never enough for you…you want everything
I go back to the Well to draw more strength…when I bring up the bucket there is only that word again…FEARLESS.
Really Father? Is that what you think?
Again he shows me evidence of men who are afraid who become bold, men who lie who become a rock of virtue, men who steal from others who become the biggest generous givers…The economy of what is seen does not equal what they became…a new name was given and a trajectory of an incredible destiny
What I was told all of my life…all of the stories—they push back---they try to ground me...but they will not overcome this new foothold of hope
The wave of dread will not envelope me into darkness this time…it roars at me with all of its might—anger and roaring…but deep inside in my soul is an untouchable foothold that feels some type of unexplainable peace
Although outwardly I shake I continue to press forward…one step, then another….My father sends a message through brothers—"take the next step"—and by only focusing on the next step—and that step only---I have less space for the fear to try to rush back in
My name is Light
I was created to reflect a glory of purely connecting with others, helping them while living completely transparent—without fear—and that is who my Father sees when he looks at me and that is who he says that I am….
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