In Chips I Trust

I have been pretty busy lately... about a month until I'll be homeless, and I have a lot to do to try to make the transition a smooth one. It's amazing how much energy it takes just to get out of Switzerland.

But that's not what I want to write about today; my hard drive crashed. My external one, that had my iTunes files on it (thankfully, so did my iPod), and a whole bunch of my pictures.

Before you say anything, yes, I learned my lesson, and I now have an online backup/archive plan, and more or less the entire contents of my computer is being uploaded as we speak. Or, I guess, as I write and you read, unless you read this in March 2009 or something.

Anyways, I'm hoping that it can be recovered, that it's just the power for the disk, and that perhaps if I buy another one the same and swap out the disks, I'll get my data back. The problem is, when it comes to technology, I am a complete and hopeless optimist. This shouldn't be a huge surprise - that's more or less what I'm like about other things (like people), too. And I love being an optimist, being trusting. The problem is, it doesn't always pan out.

I bought this external drive from a friend, and when it went down, I asked him where he got it, so I could see if they could help me with it. He was pretty concerned... "did I give you the receipt?". I wasn't sure, but I had a pretty good hunch (knowing him) that he did and that I (knowing me) threw it away.

Why would I throw it away? Because I somehow believe that nothing will ever go wrong with any piece of electronic equipment I buy.

Of course, I say this as I type on a PC that's been through more than one hard drive, took about 3 weeks to accept a firewire card, writing on a monitor that often shows little streaks beside text as though it had been smeared across the screen. Never with pictures - only with text. Beside me sits a mixer which used to have 2 firewire ports (hence the need for the card) but now only has one that works. Behind it is a keyboard which is currently willing to produce about 15 of it's purported 800 or so sounds. And the iPod that saved all my music is one that had died twice within 9 months of buying it - and the last time, they couldn't even fix it.

Yet I throw out every receipt for everything electronic that I ever buy. Strange, eh?

I'm not sure why it works that way. Part of it, now, may be to keep me from ever having to deal with aggressive, suddenly-no-one-in-the-store-speaks-English "customer service" people, a real treat in Geneva. Part of it may be some misguided idea that the object of my trust can be made reliable simply by me placing enough trust in it. THAT's a tough one to learn, I'll tell you.

But I think that mostly, it's just this: I'm surrounded by the stuff. I make my living with it, pursue most of my recreational activities with it, and even use it to keep the little chick acquainted with her grandparents. If it doesn't work, where does that leave me?

Frankly, I'd rather think about the move...

IHEARTU

I didn't really steal it.

I just borrowed it and haven't given it back yet. I guess that's a bit too common for me - I have been known to borrow books or CDs or DVDs or whatever for, well, years. I know it's not good, and trust me... it's not really what I'm aiming for. I guess the bright side is that it's not that different when I lend things - I forget pretty quickly who has them, and I'm very free to give out what I have. This has been a blessing and a curse at times - on one hand, the source of more emails than I would like to a whole bunch of friends asking if anyone had seen the book I felt like reading. On the other hand, though, getting a CD back from a friend after a couple of years of thinking it was lost is, in a somewhat perverse way, a pretty nice experience.

Anyways, an anonymous reader of TYC lent me a DVD while visiting Geneva a while ago. I was (am) supposed to send it on to another friend, but hadn't quite gotten there yet when we had a bit of a quick change-up at YAGS (a group from my church that meets weekly, and that I help to lead): I was supposed to lead a discussion on kind of short notice.

And something kind of strange happened: I found myself without anything to talk about.

If you know me, you'll know that this is kind of out of the ordinary, and it threw me for a bit of a loop. Usually, when someone asks "Hey, can you teach?" I respond with a rather prompt "How much time can I have?". But this last week, I didn't have many ideas, but I remembered this video, and thought maybe ît would be a good one for us to watch and discuss together.

Turns out it was.

It is about the life and writings of Henri Nouwen. I didn't know tons about the guy before - a friend had given me one of his books (Return of the Prodigal Son) that was good... good in the general sense of being insightful and well-written, but also good for me. I knew he had written a bunch of others, but wasn't that familiar with them. He had quite a life, and wrote from a place of pain and longing much of the time. The video (called Journey to the Heart) was good, well worth a watch, if you can get a hold of it (and aren't waiting in line after me for anonymous' copy). I'm going to read more of his books now.

But I tell you all that to tell you this: there was one idea in there that just reached out and grabbed me by the heart. It's this: God loves us - he has loved us since before we loved him, before we were born, before the world was created, before time began. And he has given us just a little bit of time on this planet - 20 years, 40 years, 70 years - to be able to say, "I love you, too".

Well, I think that the reason for creation is a little more complex than that. And I guess Henri probably did, too. But that doesn't take anything away from the truth of how beautiful it is to hear a real "I love you".

The little chick has been able to understand some of what love is, and to choose to demonstrate it for a while now (she is, as she will tell you, a big girl now, at three). But there is still something mind-blowing about those little arms being thrown around my legs, that little head burried in, and a muffled "I love you, Daddy" escaping in the midst of it. As she learns more, it becomes more and more meaningful: she wants to share with me. She wants to include me in what she's doing. She wants to know how I feel, and wants to see that she makes me happy in her love for me.


So I wonder: how much of my so-far-at-least-35 years on this planet am I spending telling (or showing) God that I love him?

I have also known "I love you's" that aren't quite like those I get from the little chick. When no expression of love is forthcoming it can be painful, but there is far more damage when an "I love you" offered is not truly heartfelt - or, worse, when it's a lie - than when it's just absent. Those are words that should never be spoken out of duty or obligation - where there is that kind of obligation, there is no real love.

And so I wonder about something else: how many times have I said or sung those words to him without really meaning them?


Three little words, but a lot to think about.

The Holy Season

It's interesting - as we enter the Christmas season I'm always faced with the same realization: it just doesn't feel like a spiritual time to me.

I'm not sure what it is... maybe the fact that it seems to be a pagan festival co-opted by the church. Maybe it's because we have no idea of the actual day of Jesus' birth, so celebrating on that particular one seems a bit odd. But I think that most of it is that I can't help but to compare it to Easter.

At Easter, Christ chose to give up his life. And, more significantly than that, he chose to become sin for us. I don't think most of us can begin to comprehend giving up our life for someone else, but we do know that it's something that some people choose to do. They do it because they love their children, or love their country, or just believe that if they see someone in need and can meet it, they must, regardless of how it may put their own lives at risk.

But I believe that the horror and utter, unimaginable gulf between a perfect God and the sin that he was faced with was like nothing that we can begin to understand. We don't have an equivalent; we can't comprehend what Christ became willing to take on. We can't even come close.

I guess it's in those terms that I think of Christmas. The thought of God becoming man is amazing, and beautiful, and worthy of celebration. But the idea of him dying for man is much more. So if we're sitting together at a Christmas service, singing about joy, and I look somewhat less than joyful, it's not just the carols: I've skipped ahead to where the story gets serious. It's good and it's beautiful and perfect. But it's heavy.

I Am A Political Activist

Okay, I'm not really. But I did have my first picture published, in an AIDS-awareness advent calendar put out by the Ecumenical Advocacy Alliance.

You can see it here.

So, I wasn't completely aware that it was an AIDS-related calendar when I agreed to let them use the picture. Actually, I was just kind of stoked that someone had noticed and liked it enough to want to publish it. I guess, though, that it's good that it's being used to draw attention to something important.

I use the word "publish" loosely, in the sense that someone is putting my picture on paper and making it available... the monetary aspects that one may associate with publication don't really come into play, but I do know that the creative designer makes a killer raspberry trifle, and I'm hoping that will become part of the equation at some point.

Anyways, I'm pretty excited about December, now: especially the 4th. Hooray!

Our Father

I've been thinking lately about God as our Father. I'm teaching at one of our church groups next week, and this has been on my mind, so that's what I'll talk about.

But you get a sneak preview while I find my way through.

The first thing I think of is that it's such a deep, rich analogy.

The second is, what if it's not an analogy?

Something C.S. Lewis talks about a lot (and Aristotle before him, but with different conclusions) is the way that the temporal often reflects the eternal... not because what we can't see right now is a shadow of what we can, but because what we have now is a shadow of what is to be.

I guess a good example of this is our desire to belong - to be part of an ethnic group, a nationality, a political party, a club, a church, or even a family. We want to be known, to be loved, to belong, and those are all good and natural longings. But we don't find their fulfillment in the here and now - to be deeply entrenched in the republican/demorcatic/green/whatever-Nader-is party will never begin to approach the kind of complete acceptance and "home" of being known and loved by our Creator. The means we have at our disposal now are temporary and inadequate, but the desire itself is much deeper, more permenant, and truer.

So here's the thing: becoming a father has changed me. What I know of love, of faith, of patience and care and hope are all worlds apart from what I knew before. And my understanding of how God relates to me and I to him has changed in very deep and dramatic ways, too.

But what if what I'm experiencing is not the final reality of what fatherhood is. What if this is the shadow - the analogy - and what my Father is to me is the reality.

What if?

What A Great Weekend

The little chick and I went to a retreat with about 130 other people from our church this weekend, and it was fantastic. Amazing weather... eating comfortably in a short-sleeved shirt on a terrace in the mountains is pretty good for Switzerland in October. I got some good pictures, I think, but they are of the amazing fall colors, and so I'm pretty sure that none of them are going to really approach what it was that was forcing me to pull into every single lay-by to pull out my camera. Still, I'll get them up soon and you can take them for what they are.

Mostly, though, it was amazing just to know, once again, what a wonderful "family" I have here - so many people with nothing but love for me. It's amazing, and I hope I never forget.

My Broken Heart

I went to a concert last night... it was Darlene Zschech, a Christian singer from Australia. It was interesting on a number of fronts:

1. As a time of reflection, inspiration, and worship, it was fantastic.
2. As a concert, it was pretty crappy... other than a spot on her, the lights almost seemed random, the sound was not the worst I've heard, but it was a long ways from good, and she played some real dogs - especially the last three tunes.
3. The opening band was a children's choir from Nyon, just up the road. The came onstage on scooters. I've seen a lot of shows, and some that you would expect to be a little strange... KISS, Ozzy, Alice Cooper... and I think this was the strangest thing I've ever seen on stage. Okay, maybe second to Ted Nugent shooting a flaming arrow into a stuffed buffalo, but it was still pretty strange.
   

I am especially intrigued by how numbers 1 and 2 go together... how it could be rather less than stunning musically but so compelling spiritually. But then, I guess that's part of the mystery of what makes faith and the spirit so much more than what we can see and touch, and even know. If I had known what the music would be like (and it wasn't bad, it just wasn't U2), I wouldn't have expected to have been moved.

But I was moved.

And here's the other thing about it: it was sponsored by Compassion International. They're an organization who manage sponsorship of children at risk throughout the world. I know that's a good thing... that there are children who need food and don't have it, who are facing bad, bad odds. But I don't think about it much.

Then they showed me this:

• Approximately 143 million children in the developing world (one in 13) are orphans.
• More than 10 million children under age 5 die each year. Two-thirds of these deaths (more than 6 million deaths every year) are preventable.
• Each day, 1,500 children worldwide become infected with HIV, the vast majority of them newborns.
• Every 14 seconds a child is orphaned by AIDS.
• An estimated 300 million children worldwide are subjected to violence, exploitation and abuse including the worst forms of child labor in communities, schools and institutions.
• An estimated 1.2 million children are trafficked worldwide every year.
  

And then consider this:
1 John 3:17-18 - If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him? Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth.

So I decided I needed to do something. I'm perhaps not going to change the world, but I found a little girl in Indonesia who needs help... she's just a little older than the little chick, and so we're going to help her. It costs $32 a month.

I was devastated as these statistics came up... I've never been able to just sit and hear about children being damaged, but since becoming a father... well, let's just say my tolerance level is almost non-existent. These children need someone to love them... they need to have their basic needs taken care of, and they need to know that they are important, that there is someone who cares about them and who doesn't want to hurt them or use them, someone who just wants what's best for them. Every child should have that, and while I can be that someone for my little girl, these children are in a position that it wrong. It's evil, and it's horrible, and it should never happen. I can't be a father to all of the children who need one, and that breaks my heart.

But here's what I think: even though some of it may be out of our hands, there is some that we can change.

So let's change it.

Jesus Camp

I watched a bit of this show last night, and it was interesting. I think I want to get all the way through before commenting in detail, but I did find it fascinating. As more or less an insider to the sub-culture they're showing, it was really intriguing for me to see what bits they kept and what they left out, what people said that, I know, means one thing when, in the context it's shown sounds, very much like it means something else. And it's remarkable how things that would seem innocuous at worst become so much more ominous when there's a soundtrack of brooding, eerie, minor music flowing underneath it.

Anyone else seen it? What were your impressions?

Creativity, ENFJ, And Living In The Moment

I've been thinking lately about creativity. I guess if you know me, or have been reading here for a while, that's not going to be much of a shock to you.

It's been simmering for ages, but there are a couple things that have triggered me to consider it more closely in the last little while. First, I had a friend send me some pictures, one of which I did a quick edit on and sent back. She hadn't asked me to, but had said, "I wish I could just airbrush this guy out" (and no, it wasn't me; thanks for asking), and I thought, well, I can do that. So I did, and tweaked the contrast, saturation, and some of the colors at the same time.

It didn't take too long, but she was surprised to get it, I think, and seemed happy with the result. It made me wonder why. Not why she was happy; it did look better after being edited than it did before... of course, all of my pictures look better after being edited than they did before, too. Unless you really mess up in photoshop (which is always a possibility), any picture should look at least a little better after you've worked on it.

What it made me wonder was why, after opening it, it was so instinctive for me to edit it, rather than just to enjoy it for what it was. Back to that in a minute.

The second thing is when I was driving home from the museum in Lausanne on Saturday afternoon. I was thinking about shooting some pictures with friends that evening, and how the light was going to be. "It's going to be a beautiful evening," I said.

And then it hit me. "Going to be"? It already was a beautiful afternoon. Why was I already in the evening?

Well, the truth was that I wasn't really already in the evening... but I did give it just a short visit. My capacity to live in the moment is miles - lifetimes - beyond what it used to be. But still, I notice that I feel a strong pull not only towards what is in the future, but what is, in general, potential or possibility, over what is now. It's a hallmark of people with my kind of temperament. I know that it needs to be balanced, and that I need to find beauty and peace and meaning in what is. That said, I like this about myself, and I'm not really in any hurry to "fix" it.

One of the ways that it works itself out is in how I approach the pictures I take or the music I play. I love to open myself up to the possibilities... to seek a deeper and deeper beauty, to pull meaning and nuance out of things that are, at first sight, nothing more than a whisper of potential. What would it sound like with a French horn? What if I could make her eyes so intense they felt like they're coming off the page? What if...? It happens when I see things on the street around me, when I see a picture from a friend, when I hear a simple melody on the piano.

I know that I can never enjoy that simple melody the way some other people can. They can hear it and just rest in it... there is no lack, nothing missing, nothing more to do. I wish, sometimes, that I had that, but I don't. I hear what's not there. Sometimes, it's frustrating beyond description. But it also means that, sometimes, I can create what is beyond what's already there. I can take the picture. I can build the beat. I can add the vocal. I lose, sometimes, on what I could enjoy; but I wouldn't give up what I gain for anything.

But I also wonder: how does it impact my relationships with people around me? Where is the balance between enjoying and appreciating someone for who they are now and encouraging them and looking forward to who they could be? I guess that one obvious problem is when the person in question has no interest in either discovering or becoming that "could be"... well, that's not going to help either of us. But I don't usually keep many people like that close to me, now. At times, it seems somehow false to love what isn't yet there; at the same time, it seems almost criminal to just accept what is when the what could be is so much more. Where do hope and faith fit in with human relationships? When is it wrong to believe in someone for what they could become? When is it wrong not to?

The challenge, I guess, is to live in the moment enough to really live, and to really love. But, at the same time, to yearn and long for and seek out what could be enough to be able to bring it into the world of what really is. That's where (and what) I want to be.

What A Great Day

Okay, I have a lot to say, but I'm tired, so most of it is going to have to wait. I will say this, though:

I think I had the best sushi of my life at lunch today.

I got the absolute best hair-in-the-wind pictures this afternoon, and the clouds over Stockholm were UNBELIEVABLE. It seems a little bit cruel to say this without being able to post the pictures yet, but wait till you see them - you're going to love them.

Also, I was thinking about the principle of compounding. It's one of the financial principles that was actually simple enough for me to catch on to in my finance classes, but that's not exactly how I was thinking about it today.

Imagine yourself enjoying any of these things:

1. Listening to a wonderful song
2. Being in a beautiful city
3. Sitting in the sunshine
4. Being surrounded by stunning women (or men, if that's your preference... go ahead, imagine)
5. Creating something wonderful
6. Seeing nature showing off

Any one of them is good. Two are great. But when you start to combine them, it's not like 1 + 1 = 2. It's 1 + 1 = 3. Add in just having had amazing sushi and a really, really good cigar, and this was the one of the best afternoons I've had for a long, long time.

I've thought about it a lot, and I don't know if I'm more sensitive to beauty or if I just tend to talk about it more than most people (having never been anyone else, I'm not really well equipped to make that judgment), but it really compels me. I feel driven to seek it out and celebrate it, which is the main reason that I love photography. And it makes me so thankful that I can know the creator who designed things to be like this... that what I see just keeps leading me back to who it was who made it and gave me eyes to recognize it.

And on that note, I'm going to bed. Until next time...

Come Here Often?

I was going through security at the airport this morning, and a woman in line in front of me got up to the checkpoint and seemed a little unsure about what she needed to do. She had her liquids in a plastic bag, but didn't take them out of her carry-on until the security guard asked her to. She kept her jacket on until the guard told her that she needed to take it off to send it through the scanner. She seemed a bit confused and, by the end, more than a little flustered.

Half-joking, and half-serious, I silently wondered, "is this the first time she's done this?". Her general appearance and the way she had packed indicated that she wouldn't be a stranger to the whole process, yet she was clearly having some trouble.

It did slow down the line a little, but I had time. It was busier than usual, but that meant that today there were 5 people in front of me at security when I got there, so it really wasn't a big deal.

It made me think again, though, about how air travel is such a normal part of my life. I usually take a couple of flights a week. I know the airport pretty well. I know the guy at the coffee place here, and the passport guys in Lugano know me by sight. I'm ready for passport control before I get in the line. I'm ready for the security check by the time I get to the conveyer. I have the things I'll have with me in my seat separated out before I get on the plane so I don't hold up the people behind me putting my luggage into the bin. This is just part of my life.

I guess I'm just used to it.

And it made me think about what else I've gotten used to, at one time or another.

I've gotten used to praying without really expecting an answer. I've gotten used to having a few sins that I indulge in, which have become rather constant companions. I've gotten used to feeling like there's not much point in challenging the people around me to live any differently than they're living. I've gotten used to hearing lies about myself and accepting them as truth.

Our bodies have a way of protecting themselves. If you walk into a room with a bad smell and stay, after a while your brain just stops acknowledging it. The thing that's causing the smell is still there - it's no better - and those little particles are still traveling into your nose and doing their thing, but your brain just won't continue to respond to that same stimulus. And spiritually, we seem to have a similar way of working... once we get used to things we shouldn't be comfortable with, we go numb, unable to recognize what may be a very real and present danger. We may even be suspicious of people who try to point it out.

"Of course the room doesn't stink," we say. "I can't smell anything."

And that, of course, is the problem: I really can't smell anything. If I don't find a reason to get myself out of the room to clear my senses or trust someone who can still smell, it will never get better, and what I'm immersed in but no longer able to recognize may hurt me or even kill me. And I guess that's why we need to live in community. I guess that's why I need people in my life who are willing to tell me that something stinks, whether I can smell it or not. And I guess that's part of why I want to be that kind of person: one who is not so immersed in the smell that it becomes a normal part of life, but one who is not afraid to head into the stink when I need to.

A Good Book With A Terrible Name

I borrowed (or, rather, was lent) a book on personality types (the study of which, I've learned, is called "personology"). It's by David Keirsey, who is known for his temperament sorter, which is both a simplification of the Myers-Briggs type index and an extension of it. You can see his website here. Unfortunately, while he is a good writer and a brilliant personologist (hard to say that without giggling), he appears to have acquired his aesthetic taste for web design from myspace, thankfully without the background that doesn't move as you scroll the page, which is, while we're on the topic, officially the worst legal and quasi-ethical use of the internet since Al Gore invented it. Oh well.

The book is called "Please Understand Me II". Without bothering to look it up, I can surmise from the title that the original (it's not clear if it was just "Please Understand Me" or if, intended to be part of a series of revisions from day one, it was presciently labeled "Please Understand Me I") that it was probably published in the 70's or maybe the 80's. It may be the worst title of any book I've ever opened.

But it's fascinating inside. Here's the thing that has grabbed me the most so far: my motives are relatively altruistic. I want to do what's right, and I want what's best for the people around me. I miss the mark sometimes, but that's the mark I'm aiming for.

I had figured that everyone more or less operated on those same principles, but sometimes people became confused or had odd ideas about what was actually good. But I always believed that if you gave someone enough chances, gave them the benefit of the doubt, and encouraged them to do and be their best, they would get there eventually.

Well, it turns out that not everyone works that way.

I guess I should have known that by now. But it leaves me in a difficult position: how do you believe the best about people knowing that their best, as they understand it and pursue it, may not turn out to be something worth believing in? Or how do you live without believing in the potential of the people around you?

I'm not sure I like either option much.

And then the question of faith comes into it: I don't know if I'm drawn to Christianity in part because it fits the moral ideals that are part of my natural character, or if my character (or personality) has been formed by the ideals of my faith. In fact, I am not sure about the reality or the impact of the former; I am certain of the truth and significance of the latter. I have no doubt that I have been changed and shaped by my faith and by a God who intends me to be more and more like him, as well as more fully who he created me to be as an individual.

For those following along, I am what Dr. Keirsey would call an Idealist. But the present focus for the Guardian type tends to be a stoical, often pessimistic resolution. For Rationals, it is pragmatic and generally self-satisfying by whatever means are most efficient. For Artisans, it is primarily hedonistic and very short-term. These would not seem to be quite as comfortable a fit with the basic tenets of Christianity: to love and obey God first, to love and care for others second, and to put your own needs and desires in a trailing position.

So what happens when someone whose primary focus is on fulfilling immediate, hedonistic desires comes in contact with a God who demands that others must come first, and that the absolutes of conduct and character cannot be subverted to achieve an end? Does their character change? Does an "SJ" become an "NT" in time? How is God's plan worked out in the variety of creation of humanity, and how close (or far) from his design is what we see today?

It's a lot to think about. And an interesting book.

Creativity

I got this quote from a friend, and I like it a lot, so I thought I'd put it here:

“Somehow,” notes Os Guinness, “we human beings are never happier than when we are expressing the deepest gifts that are truly us.” Now, some children are gifted toward science, and others are born athletes. But whatever their specialty, all children are inherently creative. Give them a barrel of Legos and a free afternoon and my boys will produce an endless variety of spaceships and fortresses and who knows what. It comes naturally to children; it’s in their nature, their design as little image bearers. A pack of boys let loose in a wood soon becomes a major Civil War reenactment. A chorus of girls, upon discovering a trunk of skirts and dresses, will burst into the Nutcracker Suite. The right opportunity reveals the creative nature.

This is precisely what happens when God shares with mankind his own artistic capacity and then sets us down in a paradise of unlimited potential. It is an act of creative invitation, like providing Monet with a studio for the summer, stocked full of brushes and oils and empty canvases. Or like setting Martha Stewart loose in a gourmet kitchen on a snowy winter weekend, just before the holidays. You needn’t provide instructions or motivation; all you have to do is release them to be who
they are, and remarkable things will result. As the poet Hopkins wrote, “What I do is me: for that I came.”

Oh, how we long for this—for a great endeavor that draws upon our every faculty, a great “life’s work” that we could throw ourselves into. “God has created us and our gifts for a place of his choosing,” says Guinness, “and we will only be ourselves when we are finally there.” Our creative nature is essential to who we are as human beings—as image bearers—and it brings us great joy to live it out with freedom and skill. Even if it’s a simple act like working on your photo albums or puttering in the garden—these, too, are how we have a taste of what was meant to rule over
a small part of God’s great kingdom.

(John Eldredge, The Journey of Desire , 152–54)

I read this and realized how much I have to be thankful for. God knows I'm not perfect: I could come up with a list of proposed changes pretty quickly. But I think of times when the greatest dilemma in my life seems to be that I want to write, to create music, and to make beautiful pictures, and I just can't decide which one to throw myself into at that moment. For a time I do one, then the other, then switch back before hungering again for the third. What a problem to have... too many outlets ready to accept whatever creative energy I have.

It makes me look back to a time in my life when there was very little of that... I was listless, aimless, and living in black and white. What a difference! How alive I feel, now... I can get out and walk for 8 hours seeing the amazing variety and beauty and also the dark side of nature, of people, and of what we have created without even thinking about the time. I can sit at my mixing desk until 3 AM aching just to record one more part, to see a song moving from a whisper to a roar. I can close my eyes and sing my heart out and reach for that high note without holding back. And I see that my creative life and my spiritual life go hand in hand... the more I exercise my creativity, the more I am reminded of how and why I am the way I am. And the more I draw close to God, the more value and beauty and purpose I find in the things my hands naturally seek out.

So my prayer for tonight is not just, "thank you, God, for music", but "thank you, God, for the music in me". For not just one but many great endeavors at my feet. I'm blessed.

Prayer, Part II... and a half

We continued our study on prayer last night at YAGS, talking about how to get ready to pray. Should be simple, right? Well, it hasn't been for me.

I have spent years trying to figure this out... mostly the stupid way - trying unsuccessfully and getting frustrated, but not enough to actually seek out help. When I came to the point of needing to pray in the same way that I need air or food, I started to learn a bit more, and, far more importantly, to be changed by it. As I've studied it, I've learned more still.

I think there are two things that have really helped me.

First, as I've understood more and more of what prayer is supposed to be, I've been able both to pray in a way that is oriented to that and to recognize when it is what it should be. Before, it was like the first time someone gave me a kite as a little kid. I tried to play with it, but it was too big to really handle easily, like my other toys. I tried to throw it in the air like a paper airplane, but it just crashed down again. "This is the stupidest toy, ever" I thought. But when I saw it fly for the first time, I understood... I hadn't known how to interact with it, and certainly had no idea that THAT was what it was for. Learning what it really was and how it worked made all the difference.

Second, and much more personally, I've seen that God wants me without reservation. He wants me to seek him with all I am and have. He wants me to submit without holding anything back. And when I do, he moves me. He works in me and around me. He comforts me, and he answers my prayers. And when I don't, it's a lot like sitting in my room talking to my ceiling.

I wish it wasn't like this. I wish I could do what I want and have God cater to me. But that's not the way it works. And that's what makes this whole thing something that is impossible to do - or even really consider - intellectually.

I saw someone on the train recently reading a book about how to ride a horse. He was on the "Galloping" chapter. I've seen it in other places, too... reading about mixing music, about seeing the world in a creative way as a photographer. I've felt it pretty acutely when trying to learn to golf or ski. There are some things you can learn by reading about them, and there are some that you can't. You can read all you want, but until you've been on the back of a horse that has its head and wants to go, you don't know what galloping is. And until you decide, for the moment you are in, to live in complete and total submission, you will never know what prayer really is, either.

The notes for the second part are here. (The ones from the first part are here in case you missed them). You can find the other related posts by following the link on the "prayer" topic. So let me know what you think. And I'll see you in a couple of weeks at Sam and Michelle's.

The Day After Easter

I have, for a long time, felt better keeping my distance from religious holidays. Christmas often seems more like a farce than a legitimate celebration of Christ's incarnation. Easter is better, but still - how much of the darkness and pain and confusion of "good Friday" do we really feel as we're making colored eggs and thawing the ham on Saturday?

I think part of it may also stem from a slight over-saturation of church services as a child. I don't suppose that it affects everyone in the same way, and it's clearly not the desired effect, but there were times when conferences were on and it seemed like entire weekends were just swallowed up in an endless stream of dry, drawn-out messages. Unfortunately, it seems to have had a bit of an immunizing effect.

But that doesn't change the fact that yesterday was Easter, and today is Monday. I don't work on Mondays - I spend them with my little chick - so this Monday is, in that sense, no different than any other for me. And it makes me wonder - how different should it be?

I want be heated to a bright white glow, all day, every day. I want my passion about who my Father is to be a defining characteristic of who I am. I want to to be a spiritual Olympian: faster, higher, stronger. I want it to be meaningless to take a day out of the calendar year to focus on what it meant for God to die because he loved me, because it's a focus of every day of my life.

But I'm not sure that I can do it. Even when I try, my mind wanders, my attention shifts, and my focus softens a little. I may slow down. I may get lost. I may stop entirely.

So maybe I need to accept that the fact that not every day can be Easter for me. Maybe I need the ebb and flow, the reminder to come not because I should never waver, but because that's just how I am made. - I need to be brought back, regularly, from the everyday to the eternal. And so as I look at a day after Easter, or two days, or a week, I will look for those reminders that can be little Easters in my life - a word from a friend, a song, a story that I tell my daughter - to bring me back to where I want to be. I may not be able to maintain that white-hot glow, but I can be sure that I never get too far from the fire.

Prayer, Part II

Well, contrary to (or maybe in part due to) my concern, the discussion on prayer that we had on Tuesday night went well.

I have come to really deeply appreciate the fact that I have a community, a group of friends who are ready and willing to look at difficult and important issues together, who are able to grapple with uncertainty, to be open to new ideas and to care for each other even though our views sometimes differ. I think that sometimes I take it for granted, but it was a really beautiful experience for me to realize that as I sat there with you and talked about something that is very important to me, I did it in the light of your acceptance and love and desire to explore it with me. I love that, and the freedom that comes with it is amazing.

For those who weren't there (maybe not even on the same continent - no hard feelings), you can download the notes here. In addition, I have a simple excel sheet that you can use to track things that you want to pray for regularly (daily or weekly) as well as specific items that you want to pray for until they are resolved. You can get that here.

There is more to come - I promised to provide some more details on the premise that God has chosen to limit his work on earth to what can be done through active or passive human complicity. I haven't had the time to put it all together yet, and though we may disagree about the wording, if we can agree simply that God's usual way of working is in cooperation with mankind it is enough to move forward.

In the meantime, whether you were part of the original discussion or not, I want to encourage you to leave your thoughts and comments. Let's explore this together.

Prayer, Part I

I have always wondered about prayer - to me, it is one of the greatest mysteries of a life of faith. It seems to have the potential for such greatness (and, for some, reaches that level) but, for most of us, remains difficult, disappointing, and rather confusing. I have learned a lot about this over the last year, both in my experience and in study, and decided to lead some discussions on the topic for a group at my church over the next couple of months.

So tonight, as I work on the final preparations for the first talk tomorrow, here's what I find going through my mind:

• Why did I ever think this was a good idea?
• More to the point, why did I think I should be the one doing it?
• How in the world am I supposed to fit everything that should be said into four 1-hour sessions?!?
• How am I supposed to figure out everything that should be said in the first place?
  

It seems so... big. And difficult. And, honestly, a long ways beyond me. Most of the time, I tend to talk about things that have been a puzzle for me, topics that have been troubling me and that I have wanted to dive in and gain some certainty (or at least a better perspective) on, and then I am able to share both the process and the discoveries I have made with the people around me. But this seems different.

Even after a lot of study, I still feel like I have more questions than answers. And if I don't know the truth, it will be hard for me to present much of value. What I know I don't want is to be the blind man pretending that he is capable of actually being a guide... and ending up dragging someone into a hole with me as I fall. So, somewhat ironically, I will be praying that I am able to talk about prayer in a way that honors God and is in keeping with the truth.

I'll report back on Wednesday...

Pride (In The Name Of Love?)

I saw a homeless guy on the walk home from - of all places - church today. Maybe you know the one... fairly young guy, carries his stuff in a golf cart (not the one like a go-kart, the kind you pull along behind you).

I had some fruit in my bag for the little chick, and I thought maybe I should offer it to him. But I didn't.

I've tried offering food to people on the street a few times... in Geneva, in Calgary, and in Toronto, and it's been refused every time. Sometimes it's been unsealed - a sandwich from my lunch - but sometimes it's been food still packaged as I walk home from the grocery store. I'm not sure exactly why everyone I've offered it to has turned me down... I never asked, and they never volunteered. But it bothers me that I've let it stand in the way of doing something that I think I should probably do, from showing a little bit of love to someone who, whether or not he's in the mood for a banana, could probably use some love.

Am I that fragile, that I can't take being told "no" when I offer something to a stranger? Is it that these are people who, I figure, should be happy to get what I'm giving them, and so I reduce them to a caricature, without the dignity of real choice? I'm not sure where it comes from, but it saddens me. I wish I would have just offered him the fruit. It's a little late now.

One Of Those Days

I'm having one of those days when my mind (and maybe more) is not working like I want it to... I feel like something inside has shut down, given up, taken the ball and gone home. And the rest of me wouldn't mind following.

I had a lot of years of living that way - living more internally than externally - and it would be easy to slide back into it. It's easy, it's safe, and it's predictable. But it's a funny thing... since getting a good taste of what truth is like, the comfort that can come from living in even a well-meant fantasy has lost its sheen. I remember how good it felt when I was lost in the middle of it, but I can see now that it's like the numbness that sets in on a cold, cold day... it's not a sign that I'm getting warmer and better. It's a sign that I just don't feel the cold anymore, and if I stay there for too long it will kill me.

It's a funny thing about hypothermia - eventually, you just don't care. You let it kill you because you don't have the strength or will left to do otherwise. I've heard stories of people taking off their clothes and walking naked into a blizzard to their death. By the end, the lie has such a hold on them that they don't even know what the truth is.

But I know better, now.

So I'm choosing to face the cold head-on. To feel it and let it buffet me and mark me, to chill me to the bone but not to numb me. The storms that I've lived through have not made me weak or sad or frightened to carry on; they've given me muscle where I had fat, sight where I had nothing but confusion, and faith and hope where I could not see any reason for hope. And this one won't be any different. So bring on the wind, the cold, the pain and the confusion. I'm ready.

Words To Enter The Weekend By

I've been posting a lot of pictures. And I love pictures. But I also love words, and music, and I've discovered that I am much happier if I have all three in my life. So while I was coming home from the airport today, here's what I was listening to - words and music by Starfield. If you don't know the tune, you can't hear it from there, but this section starts off quietly and then builds into an absolutely pounding crescendo a là Beautiful Day.

If You should speak
Or should remain in silence
Should give me light, or lead me through the dark

Whatever cost
Whatever joy or sorrow
I'll worship still
Because of who You are

When death becomes
The end of all my labors
And Christ alone my rest and reward

May all I've done
Be one enduring echo
Resounding on to shout
Great is the Lord