Tag / Observations

by Greg

I Can Do No Wrong Seeing the world through our own rose-colored (mirrored) glasses.

Recently my wife said to me that when I relay a story in which I play a part, I always paint myself in the best light.

That comment surprised me. It was not the whole of her response to me—nor was it said in a time of conflict—but it revealed a way that I am perceived, at least by her.

Since then, I have noticed that such a perspective seems to be nearly universal. As I have listened more closely, it seems we all apparently paint ourselves in the best light, we imagine ourselves as the heroes of our story, who, at the very least, always has the best of intentions.

But Romans suggests otherwise:

for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God—Romans 3:23, NIV

And from the Old Testament:

“The human heart is the most deceitful of all things, and desperately wicked.—Jeremiah 17:9a, NLT

And one more from John’s first letter:

If we claim we have no sin, we are only fooling ourselves and not living in the truth.—1 John 1:9, NLT

Or, from The Message, verses 8-10:

If we claim that we’re free of sin, we’re only fooling ourselves. A claim like that is errant nonsense. On the other hand, if we admit our sins—simply come clean about them—he won’t let us down; he’ll be true to himself. He’ll forgive our sins and purge us of all wrongdoing. If we claim that we’ve never sinned, we out-and-out contradict God—make a liar out of him. A claim like that only shows off our ignorance of God.

Even knowing this, I do believe that Jen is correct: I do always “paint myself in the best light”, and I do so because this is how I think of myself. But presuming the truth of Scripture, this can not be correct.

There are many ways that knowing this can improve our interactions with each other. First, to know this about myself, I can humbly recall that my rosy image of myself may very possibly be either slightly or completely wrong. That gives me reason to step back and consider that I may be the one in the wrong.

Secondly, this can affect the way I hear others, and allow me to respond more gently. If I am presuming my own perfection (or near-perfection, or at least best intentions) then it is likely that the one with whom I am interacting is doing the same, despite evidence that I perceive to the contrary.

I have hesitated to publish this post because I am not sure what any of us can do about it. It may be true, yes, but… so what?

I think the reason to consider this is that we all need a reminder to be humble. Despite what it seems, we are probably not as blameless as we feel ourselves to be. If there is a conflict, or a sleight, or worse… even if we know we are not guilty, deference may be the best option.

If we place ourselves on a pedestal of total absolution, is that not a form of idolatry? Having recently read through the entire old testament, I was reminded again of what a grievous offense that is, both to God and to us.

Jesus said the best way is that we love God with everything we are—I trust him with me—and then love the people around us, as much or more than we love ourselves.1 He said that he came to serve, not to be served.2

So, next time I am in a conflict, and I know that I am right (or at least, not wrong), I hope to remember this, and to respond differently, with grace, deference, and the heart and actions of a servant.

I may need to learn to paint my self-portrait with different lighting.

My guess is that this will breathe life into the world around me. And even if it doesn’t in the moment, it can only be good to trust more in my Father than in myself.

He is after all, the light of the world.3

  1. Matthew 22:37, Luke 10:27 ↩
  2. Matthew 20:28 ↩
  3. Read John chapter 1 ↩
by Greg

Fragile How would it be if we were gentle with one another?

If you think about it, we’re all quite fragile.

Some of us mask the fragility with bravado. We even put on a brave face for ourselves, attempting to convince not only the world but our own hearts that we are strong, capable, able, and unafraid.

But the truth is that pseudo-confidence could be shattered by minimal adversity.

Men we’d call “good husbands” are routinely disparaged or outright rejected by women we’d call “faithful wives”. And while those labels are not misplaced, they are only a mask, a cover. The same women feel unloved and unlovable by the way the same men are toward them, whether in action or inaction.

And that is when we are trying.

Coming from a place of such fragility, it’s no wonder the way we treat one another. We fight and defend, or we hide. To the point where it seems that almost every interaction is laced with this fragile timidity, not vibrant life-giving love.

“Look at my Servant, whom I have chosen.
    He is my Beloved, who pleases me.
I will put my Spirit upon him,
    and he will proclaim justice to the nations.
He will not fight or shout
    or raise his voice in public.
He will not crush the weakest reed
    or put out a flickering candle.
    Finally he will cause justice to be victorious.
And his name will be the hope
    of all the world.”1

Jesus dealt differently with the world. He sought out those of us who were most unloved, outcast, unwanted. His chosen companions were people that no one else wanted to be seen near, lest they be thought of in the same way—crushing their fragile esteem.

Jesus invites us to more, by trying less. Surrender. Let go. Stop fighting to be something, and accept that you are more loved and more “something” than you could ever be while wearing a self-made mask to look like something to everyone else.

You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.2

In what we call “The Beatitudes”, Jesus revealed that the key is to surrender, rather than to fight. Look at the position of those whom he calls “blessed”: poor in spirit, meek, mourn (a sadness from some circumstance over which one has no power), hunger, pure in heart, merciful, peacemaker, persecuted… all positions of apparent weakness, not strength.

Jesus says we are blessed when we are fragile.

What if we approached one another in this way? As fragile. Special. Handle with care, because the one you’re handling is precious, priceless. Wouldn’t it be different? Wouldn’t our responses be different?

What if when we do approach gently, but we receive a defensive or otherwise offensive response, we see and respond to the fragile person across from us, rather than respond to the mask of aggression and strength we perceive?

Jesus treated gently. As Isaiah foresaw and the Gospels confirmed, he knew we were weakened reeds and flickering candles, easily crushed or snuffed out.

I am reminded that gentleness is a fruit of the spirit. From Galatians chapter five, where Paul contrasts the flesh with the spirit, and he lists for us ways of being that are signs (fruit) that the Holy Spirit is living in us and our lives are bearing his fruit. Included in that list is gentleness.

Perhaps we are not able, in our own strength, to be gentle with others. Partly because we are indeed so fragile ourselves, and partly because it is not a product of flesh and effort but a fruit of his Spirit. A position of surrender rather than strength.

In his letter to the Galatians, Paul admonishes those believers to stop fighting one another, that to live by the Spirit is to live a life of servant love. To defer, to surrender, to serve, to love. This only happens when we are able to recognize that we are weak—fragile—and so are our brothers and sisters in Jesus, and everyone whom God has made.

Since we are living by the Spirit, let us follow the Spirit’s leading in every part of our lives. Let us not become conceited, or provoke one another, or be jealous of one another. 3

If and when we are able to live in Father’s gentle care, to follow Holy Spirit’s lead in every part of our lives, we may see others the way he sees us, and follow the warnings on our packaging: Handle with Care.

  1. Matthew 12:19-21, NLT, emphasis added. ↩
  2. Matthew 5:3, MSG ↩
  3. 1 Corinthians 5:25-26, NLT ↩
by Greg

No Offense How we so easily offend and are offended

I need to start by saying I am sorry.

I am sorry that I have hurt you. I am sorry for careless words or actions which left you feeling hurt, overlooked, demeaned, ridiculed, devalued, disregarded, or even just misunderstood.

Yes, you.

I’ve noticed in a few recent interactions—first and third person—how easily we offend and are offended.

That includes me, and you.

So I really am sorry.

A friend recently told me that one way he hopes to spend his initial time in heaven is to have long, meaningful conversations with anyone and everyone whom he has hurt in any way, and to work through that hurt together. He added that he hopes this can happen even here and now, although in that future place there is greater hope that our insecurities and wounds will be filled and healed by Jesus himself as we no longer see through the fog of this current world.

Today I somehow offended an acquaintance completely inadvertently, actually from agreeing with her own words. (How about that?)

Even when we aren’t intentionally being hurtful, we can injure another.

I can think of many whom I have called friends that I’ve lost touch with, and while I can’t think of any hurt I’ve incurred from them (that I’ve not forgiven) there seems to be unspoken and unresolved hurts that I have inflicted upon them. That grieves me.

Even more are the hurts that I know I have inflicted upon good friends, some of whom are still good friends, but there are wounds that can not be “fixed” or completely forgotten. (And perhaps that is a lesson I still must learn in offering forgiveness to myself, though that is not what I am reflecting upon today. Another day perhaps.)

Whether intentional or not, or whether it’s even realized or known, it seems that we are so prone to offense.

Within my own home, I am often the cause of injury. I would say almost every single occurrence is unintentional. You might think I intend to only paint myself in the best light here, but from my perspective, this is true. It is extremely rare that I say or do something to intentionally injure my wife or children. I actually can’t even think of a time where I did so intentionally. Now, that does not include times when I was careless with my words or actions, and that carelessness was what caused the offense, the wound. That, I seem to do with some regularity. And, when I do, I only want to address and reverse whatever offense I have perpetrated.

But sometimes we just can’t. We can’t take it back.

So why are we so prone to offend, and to be offended?

The first part seems obvious. We see everything from a very limited and self-centered vantage point. Not to mention we are living under the curse of sin:

14 So the trouble is not with the law, for it is spiritual and good. The trouble is with me, for I am all too human, a slave to sin. 15 I don’t really understand myself, for I want to do what is right, but I don’t do it. Instead, I do what I hate. 16 But if I know that what I am doing is wrong, this shows that I agree that the law is good. 17 So I am not the one doing wrong; it is sin living in me that does it.

18 And I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. I want to do what is right, but I can’t. 19 I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway. 20 But if I do what I don’t want to do, I am not really the one doing wrong; it is sin living in me that does it.

21 I have discovered this principle of life—that when I want to do what is right, I inevitably do what is wrong. 22 I love God’s law with all my heart. 23 But there is another power within me that is at war with my mind. This power makes me a slave to the sin that is still within me. 24 Oh, what a miserable person I am! Who will free me from this life that is dominated by sin and death? 25 Thank God! The answer is in Jesus Christ our Lord. So you see how it is: In my mind I really want to obey God’s law, but because of my sinful nature I am a slave to sin.1

That does not excuse intentionally hurting someone else by word or action, but as Paul explains, many times it’s not even what we are intending that is what is happening. There’s a war inside of me, and I am the enemy.

But what about the second part? Why are we so prone to being offended by what someone says or does to us, or even the reverse of that, what someone doesn’t do or say?

24 Then Jesus said to his disciples, “If any of you wants to be my follower, you must give up your own way, take up your cross, and follow me. 25 If you try to hang on to your life, you will lose it. But if you give up your life for my sake, you will save it. 26 And what do you benefit if you gain the whole world but lose your own soul?[l] Is anything worth more than your soul?2

To the degree that we are able to release our hold on our own life—our reputation, our performance, our strengths or abilities—we will be less and less able to feel offense. This is because the nature of an offense is to diminish, and if we are already diminished (He must become greater and greater, and I must become less and less.3) then there is a diminished target for any offense.

It’s not common, maybe not possible, that we achieve full diminishment in this life. (The war, remember?) But as much as I am able to trust Jesus instead of me, I have a better chance of avoiding offense. At least, receiving offense.

The first side greatly depends upon his Spirit producing fruit in me.

But the Holy Spirit produces this kind of fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, 23 gentleness, and self-control.4

As long as we are trying to protect our kingdom, we will offend and be offended. There’s just no way around that.

The more we can live in the kingdom Jesus points us to, the better our chances of avoiding offense. Both ways.

Until then, I am sorry. Please forgive me my offenses. Let’s work through them together, and I’ll continue to look first to his kingdom and his righteousness (rather than my own) and you and I will be rewarded with the fruits he produces.

Only in Jesus.

5

  1. Romans 7:14-25, NLT, emphasis added ↩
  2. Matthew 16:24-26, NLT ↩
  3. John 3:30, see also More of You and of Me Less ↩
  4. Galatians 5:22-23 ↩
  5. One last footnote here. I decided against addressing the bevy of examples of what I would deem “fake” offense produced by social media and other media where we are not even allowed to have divergent thought these days. That is a whole thing unto itself, likely related to what I’ve laid out here—even on the internet, we can’t be offended if our life is in Jesus rather than in ourselves—but the insanity that is the current climate of forced uniformity of thought via those media is alarming to say the least. ↩
by Greg

Indentifying With Mary Rather than Martha, whom we all know got it wrong.

I identify with Martha.

That might seem odd, in that I am a man, but I think I do.

I’m not talking about any sort of gender identity crisis, mind you. Rather, as I was taking care of many details around my home today (which I find myself doing quite often) I was reminded of the story of Martha (and Mary). You know it already, but it’s short. Let’s read it together:

As Jesus and the disciples continued on their way to Jerusalem, they came to a certain village where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. Her sister, Mary, sat at the Lord’s feet, listening to what he taught. But Martha was distracted by the big dinner she was preparing. She came to Jesus and said, “Lord, doesn’t it seem unfair to you that my sister just sits here while I do all the work? Tell her to come and help me.”

But the Lord said to her, “My dear Martha, you are worried and upset over all these details! There is only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it, and it will not be taken away from her.” – Luke 10:38-42 NLT

So, you feel like complaining that your sister isn’t doing enough of the work? No. She does plenty of work.

You’re tired out from having so much to do? Yes… but, no.

I think sometimes it seems like that’s the point of this story: relaxing with Jesus > house work. Don’t worry about serving, cleaning, feeding, or any of the other ways one might be hospitable. The most important thing is to just sit down and listen to Jesus.

While it may not be the main point, that is at its core true.

And I’m just not sure that Martha’s stinky attitude was the point of that story, either.

So today, while sweeping the floor, after starting a second load of dishes and cleaning up the lunch I had prepared for my son and his friends, as well as my father- and mother-in-law, I thought of a different way that I am like Martha.

It is not atypical for me to be serving others. It’s almost entirely what I do. Nearly every minute of my life is spent doing something that is essentially or entirely for someone else. That is honestly how I prefer it, and perhaps (I believe) how I am made to be. I don’t want attention on me, I love to do work that makes others feel loved. I would guess that is a gift of hospitality, but I’m definitely the kitchen staff, not the wait staff. Behind the scenes is where I thrive.

You probably think that is odd if you know me from any public forum. I am certainly able to be on the stage, or bare my heart and mind through words published or sung. But that, too, is never for me. (At times, this blog is “for me” in that I do process thoughts as I write. But I still prefer to deflect any attention directed toward me.)

But Jesus said, “There is only one thing to be concerned about.” Again, does he mean don’t worry about the dishes, or the dog hair all over the floor? Or the trash can overflowing with smelly food trash? Leave that moldy cheese right where it is, because that is not the one thing to be concerned about!

I don’t think so.

How I identify with Martha is that I forget to enjoy life. Not on purpose. I’m not avoiding joy, nor life. Again, not purposefully. However, Mary welcomed Jesus by giving herself to him. Listening to him. Enjoying him. Martha only wanted to serve him, make him feel welcome, give of herself to him, too, I’m sure. But she, like me, often defaults to spending herself for others rather then bringing herself to them.

I am definitely guilty of that.

As I ponder this thought, considering what could change so that I might find the one important thing, like Mary did, there are many options. A more concerted effort to be together with other believers? More time with my kids while they are young, and my wife, whom I love? What about spending time writing, which I have entirely abandoned. (Mostly because, as Martha knew, there is so much to do!)1

So, I will read. I will be quiet. I will talk with Jesus. I will listen for him. I will look for ways I can give myself (not what I do) to him—and to you.

That is what matters. And I think, what Jesus said in that moment, is true for us, too: it will not be taken away.

I may identify with Martha, but my identity is in Jesus.

Now, pardon me, as I sit down for a while and spend some time with him. (You can help yourself to whatever you’d like from the fridge.)

  1. Footnote: I am not certain whether I will pick up my pen regularly again. My life is no less full this week than it has been for many months, and even years now. But as I thought to write down the thoughts running through my head today, I did consider that could be a way for me to sit at Jesus’ feet. Then again, it could just be another Martha thought (something I can do for him, and you). No promises, for sure. ↩
by Greg

Volatile, Historic Times and the Spider Who Doesn’t Care

Righteous indignation on each side; blustery public diatribes backed by legal or biblical authority; verbal wars among foes and friends and family which take no idealogical prisoners—this seems to be the state of current events.

But this tiny spider doesn’t seem to know, or care. She’s not angry, or justified, or changing the color of her web to the rainbow.1 She doesn’t notice at all. The sun came up, she made her web, she’ll eat if bugs show up, and the sun will go down again when the day is through.

spider

Yet we struggle, we fight, we vehemently beat back opposing views.

Views. That’s what we’re fighting. Views. Opinions. Beliefs.

I am a person. I have my own views. I do not think it’s wise to equate the marriage between a man and woman with one between two people of the same gender. I do not think it needs to be illegal, but to me—my belief, my opinion, how I would choose—it would be wiser to proceed as God designed us to be.

(Please note: in this post, I’m not going to address any “how we are made” thoughts other than the obvious reproductive gender differences which I am referencing above. Of course there are so many other mental/emotional/chemical/physical factors.)

Since God has said that it is unnatural for a man to have sex with a man, or a woman to have sex with a woman;2 well, I believe him. He also said he hates divorce; so I plan to never choose that, no matter how much “sense” it might seem to make at some future time, or how much I might want it (to be clear, I do not want it now). He also said adultery is wrong, no matter how much it might seem like a good idea, or we might want it. Sex is for marriage, between one woman and one man—that is God’s best design. (And nothing else.)

It is not our place to condemn sin. (As Romans 2 says, then you’re just condemning yourself, too.) Sin is anything which takes the place of our reliance upon our Father. It’s often a counterfeit of the good he wants to give us. Sex is great, of course, in the context above. But every other form will harm us, or somehow harm our relationship with God, who is our Life.

It is not just homosexual sex, nor any other “great sin” our friends on the conservative right rail against which is sin. Nor is it neglect of the poor, or greed, or religious bigotry against which our more liberal friends crusade. There is so much sin. None of us is free from it, or immune from it. None of us has never sinned.

(Sidebar: if you have never read John 8, please take a moment to read it now. So enlightening.)

Now that I’ve shared my opinion on the matter, do you think I hate anyone wanting to marry someone of their own gender? Do you hate me for thinking that is not what God intended for them?

Of course I do not.

I do not hate anyone. Really. I don’t. I think I might be labeled as hating, though, because I believe some things (behaviors) are harmful, and wrong. (I think drinking pop is harmful and wrong… so maybe I’m not a good test case?)3

Difference of beliefs is not hate. It’s really, really not.

But let’s wrap this up with a return to my new friend, the spider.

As I ate my lunch, thoughts of all the discord and self-righteous banter, Facebook photos and links swirled through my mind. In that mental maelstrom, I felt noticeable peace. (Despite the noise of the traffic which passes our house most hours of the days.) I saw that very tiny spider, quiet and still on her web, swaying with the gentle breeze. I could imagine her saying, had she the voice, “What’s all the fuss about?”

I’m not saying these things aren’t important, but they are not worth a war of words. Certainly they do not justify hate in return for perceived hate. If someone thinks differently than you (so long as they are not actually harming another) then just let them. Just let them.

The world will go on. Until Jesus returns, there will be harm and good, pain and joy. Both coexist together.

I think the spider would say that we should, too.

  1. It is ironic, though, is it not, that there are rainbow-colored pinwheels in the background. 🙂 ↩
  2. Read Romans 1-2, especially Romans 2 if you are a Christian reading this. ↩
  3. One more sidebar: I am currently reading a very interesting history of the Confederacy. The Story of the Confederacy was written in 1931 by Robert Selph Henry. Should I burn this literary work? It is not condemning the Confederate flag, nor its people. Rather, the author is hoping to present both sides of the story in our country’s history. It’s important. Does my interest in this mean I hate black people? ↩
by Greg

Underneath The inside is what matters

Beyond our bodies, we’re all the same.

Lately I have had an interesting experience when seeing photos of people, current or historical. Somehow in my mind, I am seeing (thinking of?) the person beneath the exterior. Wondering at what unknown depths there are to that particular individual; wondering how we might be similar.

Not that we are not unique—we are marvelously unique. God’s immense creativity (beyond our imagination) is evidenced just in how different each of us is from another. Incredible diversity!

And yet, we are also the same.

On the outside we are different. One has dark skin, another’s epidermis could not be more light. One has long, curly hair, another has none at all. One is woman, with soft curves; the other is man, flexing firm muscles. Big and tall, short and small; seasoned with age, or fresh and youthful; healthy and vibrant, or broken down and hurting.

faces

All this is what we see first. Our impressions begin with what matters less. Because, when we allow ourselves to see (and also, when we allow ourselves to be seen), we are all so much the same.

We hurt, we laugh, we despair, we love, we fail, and we thrive.

None of those things are exclusive to one type of person; that’s because we’re all the same. We are spiritual beings, made in the image of our Creator, Father. In Christ, says Paul, there is no male or female, Jew nor gentile, slave nor free1. We are all one. Brother, sister, family. Wealth, position, race… none of these truly matter to who we are.

James reminded Christians to not show favoritism to the wealthier people among them. It’s so easy to do. On the outside, such a one seems to be more important. But when we can see past the outside, looking into another’s eyes, hearing their story, their hearts, their thoughts—this is where we are reminded that we are so much more alike than we are different.

Battles rage these days about these things. A young man in South Carolina, killed nine people, simply because of their skin color. Also, earlier this year, riots in Baltimore were caused by conflicts (real or perceived) due to our different bodies.

Concurrently, the story of Bruce Jenner demonstrates, in a way, how our bodies do not make us who we are. I do not fully understand his story, nor necessarily agree with the measures he has taken, but on one level, it illustrates that we are certainly more than just what we see on our outsides.

This is not easy. We trust our eyes first, and most. That’s why we need the reminder to “walk by faith, not by sight“—it’s in our nature.

But the Lord said to Samuel, “Don’t judge by his appearance or height, for I have rejected him. The Lord doesn’t see things the way you see them. People judge by outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”

And, also, from Psalm 139:

O Lord, you have examined my heart
and know everything about me.

I think we know that we are more than our skin, or our gender, or our social, economic, and political standings would seem to present. I think we know it. But so much conflict comes from our perceived differences. (Which differences are certainly present, but would be better to celebrate than used to separate.)

If only we could see others as we are seen; with God’s eyes to see that which does not age, that which he has made, his masterpiece. The part of us that can spend eternity with him, no matter what happens to us in this life, in this world.

In that we are the same. (John 3:16)

As one individual, I know I can’t really do anything to stop racism, or any other ism. But we can each try to remember to look deeper, see deeper, and focus on our great many similarities, rather than our apparent differences.

After all, those differences are only skin deep.

  1. In context, Paul is specifically speaking to Christians, who, when identified with Christ in his death and resurrection, living as “Christ in me”, with the old now gone, we no longer think of the differences on the outside. Galatians 3:26-28 ↩
by Greg

New Beginnings

sunrise

Do you notice that sometimes there are themes around you? I do. Every once in a while, many things around me (or even in me) will work in apparent concert toward some consistent message, idea, or theme.

Lately, I am being pretty often reminded that life is full of new beginnings.

And also that it is not.

For example, each day is a new start, each year—happy new year to you, reader!—and many other instances on the calendar or the clock provide us with a fresh beginning.

Today I marveled at sleep. Each night (for most) we shut down to regenerate. Our energy (and even our heart and mind) is replenished by an end of one day, and a preparation for the beginning of the next. Even within sleep there are cycles that our bodies go through, giving us the most effective, helpful rest to replenish us. Incredible.

A new home, a new business, even paying off debt and gaining new financial freedom—even in our own creations we find the recurring theme of a fresh start.

Some new beginnings are thrust upon us, contrary to anything we may have chosen, by accident, illness, or the will of others. Life can change in a moment—and never go back to how it was.

There are so many new beginnings, it seems to me that it is an essential part of God’s design.

Certainly not the suffering, or any evil, or the pain and brokenness of a fallen world, of the fallen us. But with so many examples around us of cycles of fresh starts and new beginnings, it must be a truth our Designer wants us to see.

Recently I have been noticing that I am no longer young. I don’t feel old, and I realize that compared to many, I do not qualify as aged. (I just spent time with my nearly-nonagenarian grandparents. They probably think I’m silly to talk about “not being young”.)

One recurring scene that reminds me that time has passed is young families. At the store, in photos of friends on social networking sites, at the public library—everywhere I see what I once was. I was them. My young wife and I, along with our younger (and fewer) children. We were those confident-yet-bewildered brand-new adults, feeling our way into what would become our life.

Sometimes—more often than you might think—I wish we could go back. I don’t want to really go back; who would? But I do wonder what it would be like to enjoy that newness again while keeping all the wisdom life has taught me through the experiences we’ve had since.

That is not the way of things.

Life always moves forward. We can’t—and shouldn’t—go back. And so God gives us new beginnings. Each day, each month, each year. And sometimes the new beginning happens at a moment of our choosing. When we choose to accept his new mercy this morning.

Those may sound like “just words” to you. When life thrusts a new beginning upon us, unwelcome, and unchangeable… we don’t want words. We want what we’ve lost. We want to undo the change.

I think God has reminders placed all around us—really, everywhere—that we would know that life moves forward, and he moves with us.

Maybe each time we remember that (and believe it), that is another new beginning. Which means we are perfectly, exactly where we’re meant to be.

22 The faithful love of the Lord never ends![a]
His mercies never cease.
23 Great is his faithfulness;
his mercies begin afresh each morning.
Lamentations 3:22-23

by Greg

Untended Strawberries

strawberry-plants

It turns out, nearly every year we plan, work, plant, tend, and harvest a garden of edible treasures, there is inevitably some deeper truth mined from the soil and its produce.

We’ve just begun this summer’s work, and already our strawberries have reminded me of a truth I often forget.

strawberries-1

See, we didn’t actually do anything for these strawberries this year. Last year, because we all love eating strawberries, we decided to buy several plants (maybe twelve) to “try it out” in our garden. The plants seemed to thrive, producing many of the small, white flowers. Anticipation grew as we expected the sweet, juicy strawberries to begin appearing in the dozens!

But they didn’t. They really didn’t. By the end of the summer, the flowers that did appear and disappear only managed to produce less than half of a dozen berries. And really, we didn’t get to eat any of them, because the bugs got to them before we did.

Disheartened by the obvious failure—but only slightly so—we thought we’d give it one more try next year, and so, we left the strawberry plants in the ground, over winter. (Though I can not recall exactly why we did this, since we removed all the other used-up plants.)

After the long, hard, very cold winter, spring once again sprung. As everything came to life again, the strawberry plants followed the same pattern of rejuvenation. The leaves broadened, the plants stood taller on their thin stems, and after a very short time, the white flowers appeared again!

This time, there were more. Many more. And we saw bees buzzing, doing their handiwork.

And then we saw berries. LOTS of berries! Some of them already much larger than anything we saw last year.

What has occurred to me several times as we watch this bountiful future harvest take shape before our eyes is this: We did not do this.

Last year we bought the plants and brought them home. We carefully planted, tended, weeded, watered, and watched. And we reaped next to nothing. (You could accurately just call it “nothing”.)

But this season, we didn’t do any of that. We did weed out a bit of the unwanted extra plants around the strawberries, but we also left quite a few in amongst them. We did not till the soil. We didn’t really take any care whatsoever of these plants in this process.

And yet they bloom, and bring forth fruit. In abundance!

Perhaps things go better when we leave them alone?

I have clearly applied this thought to parenting our children. As our oldest quickly approaches adulthood, I am constantly finding myself questioning how much (if any) I should involve myself in his decision-making. I’ve tended toward less or no involvement (though my own self struggles against that, too) and I think he is and will be the better for that.

It’s hard to not do anything.

But the strawberries from our untended plants will exceed last year’s tended produce times relative infinity.

It’s hard to not interfere. But it would appear that some things in life are better when we just let them happen.

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by Greg

[RePost] D-Day: When Things Mattered

Today is the 70th anniversary of D-Day. June 6th, 1944. The Allied invasion at Normandy, France, was a key point in World War II, and certainly worth commemorating.

Below is an article I wrote a couple years ago, following our family’s own commemorating of the events of that day. It seemed a good way to honor the day this year, too.

Even if you read it when it originally posted, I do think it’s worth re-reading, and re-considering.

D-Day: When Things Mattered

June 7th, 2012

Last night we honored D-Day (June 6th) by watching an episode of Ken Burns’: The War (on Netflix). It follows the lives of four guys who lived through WWII, and specifically that day in Normandy.

It invoked so many thoughts and emotions… I certainly can not describe and share them all here.

The one prevailing thought I had, however, was that there is right and wrong.

These guys—just kids—were willing to give up their lives (literally!) in order to go over and make right what someone (or a large group of someones) made wrong… for somebody else!

That can not be emphasized enough.

The aggressors (Nazi Germany) were bent on eradicating the Jews (and just non-Aryans, right?) and were expanding their territory across sovereign nation after sovereign nation until the brave, heroic, persons of principle among the nations stood up and said, “You shall not pass!”

And they truly were brave. Heroes. Righteous. Courageous.

Not that they were flawless human beings. All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. Some of them were maybe even “bad” guys… but they stood up for what was right. That made them heroes.

They literally gave up their lives (I contend even the guys who didn’t die on D-Day were never the same again)… and it was for other people. Not the US. Not Americans (directly). It was not to expand our territory or influence or whatever… it was just taking a stand against evil.

Some today think that war is always wrong. They think that generations are not different. In a way that is correct: people are people. But there was something in my grandparents’ generation that was different. I’m not sure if it was a product of the circumstances of their day, or if it was that they had not yet removed God and respect and decency and morality from the general fabric of society. Maybe it was both. But whatever it was, we still owe to them (the world, not just America) an incomprehensible, inestimable debt of gratitude.

We mostly argue about ridiculous things today, things that really don’t matter. (We are free to do so in part because of the courageous choices and actions of these men.) Sometimes I think we argue for the sake of arguing. Political gaming. Blagh.

Things matter. People matter. Someday I think we (our nation, and as individuals) will be faced with a similar crisis. At that point, I wonder what that generation will do? Will their descendants someday label them the “greatest generation”? Or will that moniker forever be inexorably bound to the generation whose men bravely stormed the beaches at Normandy… until they had either given up their life, or succeeded in preserving freedom for the world?

I think we will someday find out, one way or another. Somehow we always get to decide if we’re going to stand, or stand by.

On D-Day… (and in many other battles) they chose to stand.

by Greg

Special

A Crowd of Someones

This morning, as I passed a line of cars heading the other direction, waiting for their light to turn green, I began to notice the faces of their drivers. Most were nearly expressionless. Some seemed to have more than driving on their minds, faces betraying the distraction. Other faces were relaxed, even smiling.

As the faces I passed numbered into the dozens, I began to think about how each of the people I saw were special. No, not the platitudinal “God Loves You” kind of special. (Though that doesn’t need to be completely discounted, it’s not what struck me.)

They are special to someone, or someones else.

Each of those people are a daughter or a son; maybe a husband or a wife; related by blood or shared life-times to people who value them, perhaps even more than they value themselves?

Their faces may or may not reveal the hurt they felt when they pushed themselves out of bed this morning; the happy tiredness of a sleepless night with the new baby; the joy of the new job, or relationship, or realization of some wonder of God’s creation redeemed.

Everyone is special to someone. You are. You know people who are special to you. And every person—even the ones who are “just faces” to us—is beyond-words special to someone. Usually several someones.

I’ve had this experience (and chronicled it) before. Perhaps that means it’s really true.

You are valued.

I hope you know it. I hope you hear it. Often.

It is true.

What you can do, is make sure that you remind the people that are Special to you, that you esteem them, you love them. That’s important. And easy, all at the same time.

Recently a podcast I regularly enjoy reminded me that the Special is all that matters. “The trajectory of the world is changed one life at a time. It’s you loving the people God’s put around you today.”

The world is changed by how we love even just one person.

The people you see every day around you… the “extras”… are actually someone incredibly Special.

And so are you.