Recently Donald Miller (who I like to reference in my blog more than anyone else) got engaged. Earlier this week, he wrote a blog post about how his new fiance, Paige, found a journal entry in which she listed out the qualities she wanted in her future spouse. Miller includes this list in his blog post, and it includes a lot of good things, like how she wanted a guy who wants to talk to her every day, who is consistent in his actions and behavior, who reassures her, and who puts her first in his life after God. Miller also writes that making a list like this "gives a single person a filter through which to weed out candidates that don't fit," and he encourages his single readers to make a list of qualities that they themselves would like to see in a future significant other.
That seemed like a good idea, and so, for your enjoyment, I present my own list. So, without further ado:
I want someone who...
- Is unable to beat me in arm wrestling. (This really narrows down the field.)
- Can tolerate being in a room with me for at least 10 minutes at a time. (Again, this narrows things down quite a bit.)
- Will watch ball games with me without expecting me to watch HGTV or Lifetime with her.
- Works at a BBQ restaurant so that she can hook me up with free food. Or even better, lives in a BBQ restaurant, so that I can eat some whenever I go see her.
- Reads a lot (especially Donald Miller, C.S. Lewis, and A Chicken in a Cage With a Ferret).
- Doesn't have any Ke$ha or Justin Bieber songs on her iPod.
- Would rather be treated to a nice dinner at Chick-fil-A than at fancy French restaurant.
- Can understand mumbling. It gets to be too much effort for me to speak up.
- Won't criticize me in public for my jean shorts.
- Can come up with good blog post ideas when I can't think of anything.
- Wears glasses. Yup.
- Doesn't make fun of my voice when I sing during the songs at church. Or when I just talk, actually.
- Thinks that a guy who is good at bowling is way more attractive than a football player.
- Doesn't chew her ice.
- Looks good in Cincinnati Reds apparel. (Of course, who doesn't?)
- Would be down for semiannual Planet of the Apes marathons.
Well, I guess that's about it. Granted, I would waive any of these criteria for my old bank teller, Katie. But I don't know where she is now, and all last semester I had Kyle Tapper as my bank teller instead. He's nice and all, but it was just such a downgrade.
What's on your list?
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Ministry to the Family
I'll begin this post by warning you right off the bat: This post is intended mainly for those who are in Christian leadership of some sort. I preface everything by telling you this so that, when you get to the end, you don't write me hateful emails saying that I'm neglecting a segment of my already-dwindling fan base. You've been forewarned. However, I hope that even if you're not a minister or anything like that, I hope that this post is still helpful to you.
For the past week, I've been reading the book of 1 Timothy. This letter was written by Paul to his friend Timothy, and it gives a lot of instruction for Timothy, who was serving as a young leader in the church at Ephesus. I figured it would be a good book to study as I begin my summer internship at my home church, and I have enjoyed it a great deal. The other day, I was struck with something Paul writes in 1 Timothy 5:1-2--"Do not rebuke an older man harshly, but exhort him as if he were your father. Treat younger men as brothers, older women as mothers, and younger women as sisters, with absolute purity."
Reading these verses caused me to stop for a moment and ask myself, "How do I think of the church in which I serve?" This passage in 1 Timothy suggests that we think of our churches as families. The metaphor of the church as a family is a common one in the New Testament, but I had never before considered what this metaphor means specifically for a church leader. Timothy, serving in Ephesus, is told to think of the people of that church as his fathers, brothers, mothers, and sisters.
Christian leaders often think of the church in other terms (and these are typically good ways to think of the church). Perhaps the most common is for a minister to talk about his "flock." This metaphor is scriptural even, as Paul tells the Ephesian elders to keep watch over the flock because they are "shepherds of the church of God" (Acts. 20:28). Understanding the church as a flock helps the minister remember his responsibility to care for the church, just as a shepherd's responsibility is to watch over the sheep.
In the same way, it is necessary for leaders to also think of the church as a family. I think this can radically alter the passion with which a leader approaches his ministry. To be honest, there are some days when I wake up, and I'm not excited about going to work at a church. There are days when it would be nicer to stay in bed. And, I imagine, there are days when a shepherd may not be jazzed about going out to the field and watching sheep all day. However, when I think of the church as my family, my task gains new significance. Going to the church is almost like a family reunion. It means I get to spend time with my brothers and sisters in Christ. And, spending time with family is (or at least should be) a positive experience. It becomes much harder for me to get down about my busyness or duties when I remember that they are for the good of my family in Christ.
The way in which we conceive of the church has a big impact on how we relate to it. The Bible gives us a multi-faceted, diverse picture of the church, and we would do well to keep in mind all of the ways in which the church is described. We would also do well not to make fun of the dork who has white hands but sunburned arms because he was outside wearing work gloves all day. And we would also do well to buy him lunch for good measure. And I would do well to wish my dad a Happy Father's Day tomorrow, and you would do well to do the same for yours. And finally, I would do well to stop using the phrase "would do well." It's pretty obnoxious, really.
For the past week, I've been reading the book of 1 Timothy. This letter was written by Paul to his friend Timothy, and it gives a lot of instruction for Timothy, who was serving as a young leader in the church at Ephesus. I figured it would be a good book to study as I begin my summer internship at my home church, and I have enjoyed it a great deal. The other day, I was struck with something Paul writes in 1 Timothy 5:1-2--"Do not rebuke an older man harshly, but exhort him as if he were your father. Treat younger men as brothers, older women as mothers, and younger women as sisters, with absolute purity."
Reading these verses caused me to stop for a moment and ask myself, "How do I think of the church in which I serve?" This passage in 1 Timothy suggests that we think of our churches as families. The metaphor of the church as a family is a common one in the New Testament, but I had never before considered what this metaphor means specifically for a church leader. Timothy, serving in Ephesus, is told to think of the people of that church as his fathers, brothers, mothers, and sisters.
Christian leaders often think of the church in other terms (and these are typically good ways to think of the church). Perhaps the most common is for a minister to talk about his "flock." This metaphor is scriptural even, as Paul tells the Ephesian elders to keep watch over the flock because they are "shepherds of the church of God" (Acts. 20:28). Understanding the church as a flock helps the minister remember his responsibility to care for the church, just as a shepherd's responsibility is to watch over the sheep.
In the same way, it is necessary for leaders to also think of the church as a family. I think this can radically alter the passion with which a leader approaches his ministry. To be honest, there are some days when I wake up, and I'm not excited about going to work at a church. There are days when it would be nicer to stay in bed. And, I imagine, there are days when a shepherd may not be jazzed about going out to the field and watching sheep all day. However, when I think of the church as my family, my task gains new significance. Going to the church is almost like a family reunion. It means I get to spend time with my brothers and sisters in Christ. And, spending time with family is (or at least should be) a positive experience. It becomes much harder for me to get down about my busyness or duties when I remember that they are for the good of my family in Christ.
The way in which we conceive of the church has a big impact on how we relate to it. The Bible gives us a multi-faceted, diverse picture of the church, and we would do well to keep in mind all of the ways in which the church is described. We would also do well not to make fun of the dork who has white hands but sunburned arms because he was outside wearing work gloves all day. And we would also do well to buy him lunch for good measure. And I would do well to wish my dad a Happy Father's Day tomorrow, and you would do well to do the same for yours. And finally, I would do well to stop using the phrase "would do well." It's pretty obnoxious, really.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Obligations or Opportunities
I've been called a pessimist once or twice in my lifetime. I've been called a Debbie Downer. I've been called a killjoy. I've been called a terrible dancer. Unfortunately, these labels are true much of the time. It's an aspect of my character that I'm not very fond of. (Of course, that statement itself is a little bit of a downer. Sorry.)
Part of the problem, I have realized, is the way in which is perceive the various activities that I do throughout the day. It's a sad truth that, much of the time, I don't really like what I'm doing. It's almost like I wake up every day and immediately think, "Bleh, I have to do this and this and this, and I really don't want to." That's not a very positive way to live. It becomes difficult to get much enjoyment out of just about any activity.
My mistake in this attitude is that I tend to view the things I do as obligations. This automatically makes them less enjoyable for me, because I perceive them as something I have to do. I'll think, "I have to go work at the church all day, and then I have to take care of this chore, and then I have to do that." At times, even though I probably wouldn't say it out loud, I thinkm "Now I have to spend some time in the Bible and prayer." Even if it's something that I generally enjoy doing in itself, it becomes a burden when I think of it as an obligation.
A helpful shift in thinking is to begin seeing happenings in my life as opportunities instead of obligations. It's to look at a situation and focus on the good that can come out of it instead of my duty to get it done. Nearly every situation has a positive potential, with the exception of going to the dentist, unless I think about the opportunity I'll have to say curse words in my head.
Here's an example: For the most part, I'm not very eager to be someplace where I don't really know many people. I'm just not all that outgoing, and I always feel awkward and in the way. (Granted, the fact that I think of myself this way usually causes me to actually be that way. It's the whole self-fulfilling prophecy thing.) Because of my aversion to being on socially unfamiliar grounds, I normally dislike those situations and certainly don't look forward to them. However, if I simply change my perception from seeing such a situation as an obligation to seeing it as an opportunity, it becomes much more enjoyable. I can think of it as an opportunity to meet new people and make friends, and that's a good thing. After all, if you never make new friends, you'll end up all alone when your current friends die. And I certainly plan on outliving all my friends.
Such thinking even helps the most mundane tasks more enjoyable. This morning I got up and decided to mow our front lawn. Now, I'm not crazy about mowing. There are plenty of things most of us would rather do. It can be an obligatory chore that we always try to avoid. But, as I thought about it, I realized that mowing the grass gives me several opportunities. It's an opportunity to get some exercise. It's an opportunity to do something nice for my family. It's an opportunity to have some time to myself to think and reflect on some issues. It's an opportunity to figure out what I wanted to write in this post. Thus, all of a sudden, a burdensome chore like mowing the grass can become something to actually be excited about doing.
Go ahead and try it out. Start seeing everything you do as an opportunity for something good to happen. I think that every day is full of possibilities for something positive, but we often miss those possibilities because we're so focused on how we don't like what we're doing. When we do this, I think we can wake up each morning excited about what that day might hold instead of just looking forward to going back to bed that night.
Part of the problem, I have realized, is the way in which is perceive the various activities that I do throughout the day. It's a sad truth that, much of the time, I don't really like what I'm doing. It's almost like I wake up every day and immediately think, "Bleh, I have to do this and this and this, and I really don't want to." That's not a very positive way to live. It becomes difficult to get much enjoyment out of just about any activity.
My mistake in this attitude is that I tend to view the things I do as obligations. This automatically makes them less enjoyable for me, because I perceive them as something I have to do. I'll think, "I have to go work at the church all day, and then I have to take care of this chore, and then I have to do that." At times, even though I probably wouldn't say it out loud, I thinkm "Now I have to spend some time in the Bible and prayer." Even if it's something that I generally enjoy doing in itself, it becomes a burden when I think of it as an obligation.
A helpful shift in thinking is to begin seeing happenings in my life as opportunities instead of obligations. It's to look at a situation and focus on the good that can come out of it instead of my duty to get it done. Nearly every situation has a positive potential, with the exception of going to the dentist, unless I think about the opportunity I'll have to say curse words in my head.
Here's an example: For the most part, I'm not very eager to be someplace where I don't really know many people. I'm just not all that outgoing, and I always feel awkward and in the way. (Granted, the fact that I think of myself this way usually causes me to actually be that way. It's the whole self-fulfilling prophecy thing.) Because of my aversion to being on socially unfamiliar grounds, I normally dislike those situations and certainly don't look forward to them. However, if I simply change my perception from seeing such a situation as an obligation to seeing it as an opportunity, it becomes much more enjoyable. I can think of it as an opportunity to meet new people and make friends, and that's a good thing. After all, if you never make new friends, you'll end up all alone when your current friends die. And I certainly plan on outliving all my friends.
Such thinking even helps the most mundane tasks more enjoyable. This morning I got up and decided to mow our front lawn. Now, I'm not crazy about mowing. There are plenty of things most of us would rather do. It can be an obligatory chore that we always try to avoid. But, as I thought about it, I realized that mowing the grass gives me several opportunities. It's an opportunity to get some exercise. It's an opportunity to do something nice for my family. It's an opportunity to have some time to myself to think and reflect on some issues. It's an opportunity to figure out what I wanted to write in this post. Thus, all of a sudden, a burdensome chore like mowing the grass can become something to actually be excited about doing.
Go ahead and try it out. Start seeing everything you do as an opportunity for something good to happen. I think that every day is full of possibilities for something positive, but we often miss those possibilities because we're so focused on how we don't like what we're doing. When we do this, I think we can wake up each morning excited about what that day might hold instead of just looking forward to going back to bed that night.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Why We Should Look a Little Lazier
It seems that when you want time to slow down the most, that's when it really feels like it speeds by. It's been two weeks since I graduated from Ozark, and I have used those two weeks to rest and relax with few responsibilities or obligations, and it has been great. This last week, I went to Indiana to spend some time with my best friend, and it was honestly the best week I have had in a long, long time. Now I'm back in Topeka, and in a couple days I will begin an internship with my home church for the summer, while I work on nailing down an apartment and finding a job for when I move to Cincinnati in August (so if you happen to be an employer in Cincy...hire me!)
The end of my "break" has reminded me just how busy life tends to be. There is always something to do, and probably none of us have as much time as we would like. When I was at Ozark, I always felt like I was behind (and I really was much of the time). Last fall, I was up for a good chunk of the night working on a project, and that's when I decided that I needed to be more responsible with how I used my time so that such occasions wouldn't happen as often. So at the beginning of each week, I began to make a weekly calendar that planned how I would use each hour of my days, and I would hang it on the wall next to my desk. And it helped a lot. It kept me on task and helped me eliminate the "dead time" of my week--times that I would poke around online or just sit and veg out.
What I have begun to think, however, is that some dead time is actually healthy. When I created my weekly plans, I filled up just about every moment of my day with something--doing homework, writing sermons, reading, watching movies, etc. That problem was that I missed out on times to actually do nothing besides sit and think. I was in need of purposeful downtime. I needed time to be still for a moment and just let my mind work through some issues. When I was so focused on always doing something so that I could get everything done, I neglected to give my mind some space.
After being a college student for so long, I have developed an unnecessary tendency to feel guilty if I'm not busy. It's like I don't know what to do if I don't have anything to get done. Lack of activity means I'm lazy, right? It feels like I have to be doing something. But that's just the thing. We don't always have to do something. In fact, we shouldn't always be doing something. Sometimes, what we need most is to be still.
I did a better job of this when I was younger. My freshman year at Ozark, I would often just lay on my bed and look at the ceiling and chill for a bit, rolling some ideas around in my head. A guy down the hall would always walk by and see me just laying there, and he would ask what I was doing, and I would reply, "Just chilling, man." And those times were important for me, I think. In many ways, I was smarter five years ago than I am now, and that is partly because I allowed myself to stop and reflect more regularly.
I have written before that in order to have something substantial to say (in blogs or conversations or anything else), it's important that we take in from others by reading and listening. I think this is true, but that's not all. We also need to allow ourselves to process what we have taken in. We need to spend time ruminating on the concept that we read, the conversations we have, the experiences we go through. Input without processing doesn't create very good output.
My encouragement to you, then, is that you allow yourself some time in your week to stop and think. When you go to bed, just lay there for a bit and reflect on your day before you go to sleep. Or sit in your favorite chair and let yourself daydream. Go on a walk but leave your iPod behind. Sometimes, it's when it looks like a person is doing nothing that they are the most productive.
And what should you think about during these times? Why, you should think about what sort of nice comments to leave here, of course.
The end of my "break" has reminded me just how busy life tends to be. There is always something to do, and probably none of us have as much time as we would like. When I was at Ozark, I always felt like I was behind (and I really was much of the time). Last fall, I was up for a good chunk of the night working on a project, and that's when I decided that I needed to be more responsible with how I used my time so that such occasions wouldn't happen as often. So at the beginning of each week, I began to make a weekly calendar that planned how I would use each hour of my days, and I would hang it on the wall next to my desk. And it helped a lot. It kept me on task and helped me eliminate the "dead time" of my week--times that I would poke around online or just sit and veg out.
What I have begun to think, however, is that some dead time is actually healthy. When I created my weekly plans, I filled up just about every moment of my day with something--doing homework, writing sermons, reading, watching movies, etc. That problem was that I missed out on times to actually do nothing besides sit and think. I was in need of purposeful downtime. I needed time to be still for a moment and just let my mind work through some issues. When I was so focused on always doing something so that I could get everything done, I neglected to give my mind some space.
After being a college student for so long, I have developed an unnecessary tendency to feel guilty if I'm not busy. It's like I don't know what to do if I don't have anything to get done. Lack of activity means I'm lazy, right? It feels like I have to be doing something. But that's just the thing. We don't always have to do something. In fact, we shouldn't always be doing something. Sometimes, what we need most is to be still.
I did a better job of this when I was younger. My freshman year at Ozark, I would often just lay on my bed and look at the ceiling and chill for a bit, rolling some ideas around in my head. A guy down the hall would always walk by and see me just laying there, and he would ask what I was doing, and I would reply, "Just chilling, man." And those times were important for me, I think. In many ways, I was smarter five years ago than I am now, and that is partly because I allowed myself to stop and reflect more regularly.
I have written before that in order to have something substantial to say (in blogs or conversations or anything else), it's important that we take in from others by reading and listening. I think this is true, but that's not all. We also need to allow ourselves to process what we have taken in. We need to spend time ruminating on the concept that we read, the conversations we have, the experiences we go through. Input without processing doesn't create very good output.
My encouragement to you, then, is that you allow yourself some time in your week to stop and think. When you go to bed, just lay there for a bit and reflect on your day before you go to sleep. Or sit in your favorite chair and let yourself daydream. Go on a walk but leave your iPod behind. Sometimes, it's when it looks like a person is doing nothing that they are the most productive.
And what should you think about during these times? Why, you should think about what sort of nice comments to leave here, of course.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Ready for Rest
Right now, I'm laying on my bed back at the house where I grew up. No more blog posts will be written from my desk at Ozark. I took the last test of my undergraduate career last Thursday afternoon, and Saturday I donned my gown and mortarboard and walked across the stage to receive my degree, and then I stood on the outdoor basketball court and took pictures with all the weeping girls who will be distraught that I never married them, and then went home, and that was that.
It's always a nice feeling to be done with something. To finish a long novel. To watch the finale of a television series. To crawl across the finish line of a 5K. Or, in my case, to turn in your chapter identification test for your Revelation class and realize that there are no more papers to write, quizzes to study for, books to read, or dioramas to construct.
And in all honesty, I'm glad to be done. I need a break. I need some rest. It feels like I've had my head down and have been running as hard as I can for a long time, and now I can finally stop and breathe. I think it's been over a year and a half since I have had a true break--a few days in which I had no real responsibilities, nothing to work on, nothing to prepare for. I've been looking forward to the next couple weeks for a long time. I'll watch TV, read books that I want to read, and take a nap and not feel guilty about it.
It all makes me wonder what it will feel like when I'm at the end of my life and I know that I'm almost done. Getting through Ozark was hard--probably the hardest thing I have ever done. But I feel like getting through life is an even more tiring process.
This is how far I was through this post before Sunday evening. This was supposed to be a fairly light post, talking about what I plan to do with my couple weeks of a break. But then I was given a startling reminder that even in periods of temporary rest, life continues to go on, and that life is so incredibly difficult.
Last night, a massive tornado tore through Joplin, Missouri, the town that I have called home for the last five years. There's no need for me to give you many details; you can turn on the news to find out as much as I know. But from the latest report that I've seen, 116 people were killed in the storm, but that number could continue to rise. One student from Ozark lost her life. I've talked to friends whose apartments have been destroyed. The pictures I've seen are unreal, and those in Joplin that I have talked to have said that the devastation is terrible. It's an absolute tragedy, and it seems like a bad nightmare that this happened in a place so close to my heart.
Life is really difficult. It is a long, treacherous road. We get knocked down and beat up on the way. So what does it feel like to know that you're near the end of it? When I know that I'm close to death, what will I be saying? I hope that I'll be able to say, as Paul did, "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day--and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing" (2 Tim. 7-8). Paul had lived a tough life. He had gone through a lot. And at the end of it, I think he was ready to be done. He was anxious for some rest. He knew that he had given everything he had to Christ and his kingdom, and he was awaiting his reward.
People often postulate about what heaven will be like. I don't know exactly how it will be, other than that we'll be with Jesus. But I like to think that when I get there, God will say, "David, why don't you rest for a while. Take a break. Go enjoy a nap. You ran a good race, and now it's time for you to rest." That's what I hope for. We await that Sabbath-rest that Hebrews 4 promises us. And there won't be any more tornadoes. There won't be any more sicknesses. No more family quarrels. No more injustices. No more disasters. No more sadness. The race will be over. The fight will be finished. And we'll finally rest. We look forward to the day when we can say as C.S. Lewis does in The Last Battle, "The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning."
And until then, we continue to run as hard as we can. We serve Christ in everything. We love and care for those around us. We rush into devestated neighborhoods to help in any way we can. We share Christ with our friends and families. We push on through every obstacle and stumbling block, chasing after the example of Christ, pushing forward to that crown that Paul mentions.
Pray for Joplin. Pray for the those who have lost loved ones. Pray for the injured. Pray for those who lost their homes and possessions. Find a way to give to help in the recovery of the city. One good way would be through my old church at Carterville. And as this race of life goes on, and trials and difficulties continue to batter us, pray the words of John from the end of Revelation:
Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.
It's always a nice feeling to be done with something. To finish a long novel. To watch the finale of a television series. To crawl across the finish line of a 5K. Or, in my case, to turn in your chapter identification test for your Revelation class and realize that there are no more papers to write, quizzes to study for, books to read, or dioramas to construct.
And in all honesty, I'm glad to be done. I need a break. I need some rest. It feels like I've had my head down and have been running as hard as I can for a long time, and now I can finally stop and breathe. I think it's been over a year and a half since I have had a true break--a few days in which I had no real responsibilities, nothing to work on, nothing to prepare for. I've been looking forward to the next couple weeks for a long time. I'll watch TV, read books that I want to read, and take a nap and not feel guilty about it.
It all makes me wonder what it will feel like when I'm at the end of my life and I know that I'm almost done. Getting through Ozark was hard--probably the hardest thing I have ever done. But I feel like getting through life is an even more tiring process.
This is how far I was through this post before Sunday evening. This was supposed to be a fairly light post, talking about what I plan to do with my couple weeks of a break. But then I was given a startling reminder that even in periods of temporary rest, life continues to go on, and that life is so incredibly difficult.
Last night, a massive tornado tore through Joplin, Missouri, the town that I have called home for the last five years. There's no need for me to give you many details; you can turn on the news to find out as much as I know. But from the latest report that I've seen, 116 people were killed in the storm, but that number could continue to rise. One student from Ozark lost her life. I've talked to friends whose apartments have been destroyed. The pictures I've seen are unreal, and those in Joplin that I have talked to have said that the devastation is terrible. It's an absolute tragedy, and it seems like a bad nightmare that this happened in a place so close to my heart.
Life is really difficult. It is a long, treacherous road. We get knocked down and beat up on the way. So what does it feel like to know that you're near the end of it? When I know that I'm close to death, what will I be saying? I hope that I'll be able to say, as Paul did, "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day--and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing" (2 Tim. 7-8). Paul had lived a tough life. He had gone through a lot. And at the end of it, I think he was ready to be done. He was anxious for some rest. He knew that he had given everything he had to Christ and his kingdom, and he was awaiting his reward.
People often postulate about what heaven will be like. I don't know exactly how it will be, other than that we'll be with Jesus. But I like to think that when I get there, God will say, "David, why don't you rest for a while. Take a break. Go enjoy a nap. You ran a good race, and now it's time for you to rest." That's what I hope for. We await that Sabbath-rest that Hebrews 4 promises us. And there won't be any more tornadoes. There won't be any more sicknesses. No more family quarrels. No more injustices. No more disasters. No more sadness. The race will be over. The fight will be finished. And we'll finally rest. We look forward to the day when we can say as C.S. Lewis does in The Last Battle, "The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning."
And until then, we continue to run as hard as we can. We serve Christ in everything. We love and care for those around us. We rush into devestated neighborhoods to help in any way we can. We share Christ with our friends and families. We push on through every obstacle and stumbling block, chasing after the example of Christ, pushing forward to that crown that Paul mentions.
Pray for Joplin. Pray for the those who have lost loved ones. Pray for the injured. Pray for those who lost their homes and possessions. Find a way to give to help in the recovery of the city. One good way would be through my old church at Carterville. And as this race of life goes on, and trials and difficulties continue to batter us, pray the words of John from the end of Revelation:
Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Gozark!
When I was just a freshman in high school, I decided I wanted to go to Ozark Christian College when I graduated. For the next four years, I knew that would be where I would end up. I never even applied to any other college. I didn't visit other campuses. I was Ozark all the way. In fact, by the time I was a sophomore, I was ready to be done with high school. There were good things about high school, but I was anxious to move on to something else. Ozark was my Promised Land, and I impatiently weathered my years in the desert of the high school hallways. At long last, in August 2006, I drove my Buick onto campus, parked it in front of Williamson Hall, and started carrying my stuff to my dorm room. I wore my David Crowder t-shirt that day, and we had chicken parmesan for lunch in the cafeteria. There are some days that you just don't forget easily.
Ozark has been my home for the last five years. But a week from now, I will be graduating and will be leaving. As cliche as it sounds, it had not yet sunk in that graduation is finally here, possibly because I still have quite a bit of reading and studying to do for my Western Civ text for Tuesday. When I stop and actually think about it all though, it is an odd feeling to realize that I'm leaving this place. This hill means a lot to me. The people here are maybe the greatest community I've been a part of. I've grown and matured a lot here (but have also gotten less mature in some other ways, so it probably cancels out). In our culture today, we don't often think about the important of "place," but places really do mean something, and Ozark is a place that is especially significant for me.
As I walk around campus, and even go elsewhere in Joplin, I see specific places that mean something to me. I can go to the cafeteria and see where I've talked and laughed and eaten countless cheeseburgers. I can see classroom in the library where I began to realize that I love to preach. I can see spots on campus where I've had to have some really difficult conversations. I can see the round tables in the student center where I played cards for hours--where friendships were forged and I laughed more than I possibly have anywhere else. I can see the ping-pong table where I would play until I got dizzy. Right now, I'm sitting at the desk I've been sitting at for five years, writing papers and blog posts and facestalking. I can see my bed where I've laid staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the happenings of my life. I can see the chair on the other side of the room, where Charlie, then Ryan, and now Nick have sat, talking with me about all sorts of things. I can see the spot on the gym floor where I injured my knee and tumbled to the hardwood, and I can see another spot where I closed my eyes and heaved up a buzzer-beater in our intramural game. I could go to the mall's food court and see the place where I slept on the floor so I could get free Chick-fil-A for a year. I can drive out to the church at Commerce, where for the last year I have been taught wisdom and ministry, as well as being constantly told how my body will fall apart when I'm old. I can see the projector in its spot on my counter, which we have used to watch seasons of Smallville, Arrested Development, Freaks and Geeks, The Office, and who-knows how many movies.
But now, it's time to leave all of that. In times like this, I tend to become rather reflective and sentimental. I love this place. But it's a place where I can't stay. I think that a lot of the time, God uses a certain place to prepare us so that he can send us to another place. It's a pretty cruel trick, really. When we become attached to a place, that's when we're often sent out from it. Thankfully, though, we serve a God who transcends places. It's not as though I need to be at Ozark for God to be with me. He was with Joseph in Egypt, David in Jerusalem, Jonah in the fish, Daniel in Babylon, Paul in Rome, and John on Patmos. While places are important, God is bigger than all of that, and everything really boils down to him anyway.
I'm ready to leave Ozark. Not especially happy about it. But ready. I'll miss this place deeply, and I'll miss the people here even more. But I believe that God has used Ozark to do what he's wanted it to do in my life, and now he has something else for me to move on to. I'm excited to start seminary in Cincinnati in the fall, and I'm excited to continue down whatever path it is that God has set before me. But part of me will always be left at Ozark (not that I'm going to dismember myself before graduation and leave bury a piece next to the time capsule by the library).
What are some places that mean a lot to you?
Ozark has been my home for the last five years. But a week from now, I will be graduating and will be leaving. As cliche as it sounds, it had not yet sunk in that graduation is finally here, possibly because I still have quite a bit of reading and studying to do for my Western Civ text for Tuesday. When I stop and actually think about it all though, it is an odd feeling to realize that I'm leaving this place. This hill means a lot to me. The people here are maybe the greatest community I've been a part of. I've grown and matured a lot here (but have also gotten less mature in some other ways, so it probably cancels out). In our culture today, we don't often think about the important of "place," but places really do mean something, and Ozark is a place that is especially significant for me.
As I walk around campus, and even go elsewhere in Joplin, I see specific places that mean something to me. I can go to the cafeteria and see where I've talked and laughed and eaten countless cheeseburgers. I can see classroom in the library where I began to realize that I love to preach. I can see spots on campus where I've had to have some really difficult conversations. I can see the round tables in the student center where I played cards for hours--where friendships were forged and I laughed more than I possibly have anywhere else. I can see the ping-pong table where I would play until I got dizzy. Right now, I'm sitting at the desk I've been sitting at for five years, writing papers and blog posts and facestalking. I can see my bed where I've laid staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the happenings of my life. I can see the chair on the other side of the room, where Charlie, then Ryan, and now Nick have sat, talking with me about all sorts of things. I can see the spot on the gym floor where I injured my knee and tumbled to the hardwood, and I can see another spot where I closed my eyes and heaved up a buzzer-beater in our intramural game. I could go to the mall's food court and see the place where I slept on the floor so I could get free Chick-fil-A for a year. I can drive out to the church at Commerce, where for the last year I have been taught wisdom and ministry, as well as being constantly told how my body will fall apart when I'm old. I can see the projector in its spot on my counter, which we have used to watch seasons of Smallville, Arrested Development, Freaks and Geeks, The Office, and who-knows how many movies.
But now, it's time to leave all of that. In times like this, I tend to become rather reflective and sentimental. I love this place. But it's a place where I can't stay. I think that a lot of the time, God uses a certain place to prepare us so that he can send us to another place. It's a pretty cruel trick, really. When we become attached to a place, that's when we're often sent out from it. Thankfully, though, we serve a God who transcends places. It's not as though I need to be at Ozark for God to be with me. He was with Joseph in Egypt, David in Jerusalem, Jonah in the fish, Daniel in Babylon, Paul in Rome, and John on Patmos. While places are important, God is bigger than all of that, and everything really boils down to him anyway.
I'm ready to leave Ozark. Not especially happy about it. But ready. I'll miss this place deeply, and I'll miss the people here even more. But I believe that God has used Ozark to do what he's wanted it to do in my life, and now he has something else for me to move on to. I'm excited to start seminary in Cincinnati in the fall, and I'm excited to continue down whatever path it is that God has set before me. But part of me will always be left at Ozark (not that I'm going to dismember myself before graduation and leave bury a piece next to the time capsule by the library).
What are some places that mean a lot to you?
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Write On
Today I finished reading A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. If you haven't gathered it from others posts I have written, I'm a pretty big fan of Lewis. I think he was one of the sharpest Christian thinkers in history, and he had an incredible understanding of human nature and a special knack for putting his thoughts into words. Many of his books present clear, thought-out arguments concerning some aspect of Christian belief and behavior. He typically wrote with the precision of a heart surgeon. However, A Grief Observed is different.
A Grief Observed is composed of several journal entries that Lewis wrote after his wife, Joy Davidman, died of cancer after they had been married for four years. It does not read with the organization that Lewis' other books do. Instead, it seems scattered. While his other books demonstrate the power of Lewis' incredible mind, this book gives a glimpse of his aching heart. In it, you find Lewis struggling with his faith. You see him doubting God. You sense the agony that he feels at his loss. He writes with brutal honesty and self-disclosure. This book is not the product of months sitting in an office, revising each paragraph so that it has the right flow. This is the product of a broken man pouring himself out as he pushes his pen to paper.
It is especially interesting to read A Grief Observed in connection with another of Lewis' books, The Problem of Pain. The Problem of Pain was published in 1940 and is a theological treatment of the existence of pain and evil in the world. In it, Lewis explains how pain is a necessary by-product of human free will, and he shows how God uses pain to bring his creatures back to him. While not written in a cold manner, The Problem of Pain comes from an objective position. In contrast, A Grief Observed comes from the trenches of grief. It's raw and uncensored. And when I stop to think about it, I am so impressed that a man like C.S. Lewis, a Cambridge professor and world-renown Christian writer, would reveal the tormented working of his soul by publishing such a book. The world is better off because he did so.
All of this has reminded me of the purpose in writing. In writing, we share life with others. A person may object, "But isn't it better to converse in person? Don't we share life together by actually spending time together?" And in some ways, I think this is true. There is no substitute for a face-to-face relationship. At the same time, however, writing does have it's place. I, for one, am a better writer than I am a conversationalist. Because of this, when I want another person to know that I sincerely mean what I say, I often write it. For me, speech can too often be flippant and instinctual. Writing, on the other hand, requires actual thought and attention. When we write, we have an opportunity to share together, to learn from one another, and to grow together.
However tacky it might be, I want to quote one of my earlier posts: "Life is a conversation." That's why I write. That's what this blog is all about. It's about engaging in conversation with those who care to join. It's about recognizing the fact that we were not made to hack our way through life alone, but that we are meant to navigate its paths together. It's about the truth that many people are smarter and more insightful than me, and that I need to hear their corrections and additions to my thinking. It's about making my life experiences about more than just me, but allowing them to somehow speak to others.
My encouragement to you, then, is simply to write. Put your pen to paper, or your fingers to keyboards. It doesn't matter if the end product is finely polished. It doesn't matter if you're presenting some ground-breaking concept that no one has ever ideated before. We need to converse. We need to learn from one another, in the good times and the bad. In the triumphs and the tragedies. I've come to realize that many of my best posts are ones that were written in times when I was having a rough go of things. I can trace my mental and emotional state through my words from the last three years. Sometimes I need to go back and hear from my younger and wiser self. And I know for sure that I need to hear from you too.
Final note: A few of my friends at Ozark that are in a worship band called Axios have just finished putting together an EP. They're really good, and you can check out their stuff here and buy their songs. Which I highly recommend you do.
A Grief Observed is composed of several journal entries that Lewis wrote after his wife, Joy Davidman, died of cancer after they had been married for four years. It does not read with the organization that Lewis' other books do. Instead, it seems scattered. While his other books demonstrate the power of Lewis' incredible mind, this book gives a glimpse of his aching heart. In it, you find Lewis struggling with his faith. You see him doubting God. You sense the agony that he feels at his loss. He writes with brutal honesty and self-disclosure. This book is not the product of months sitting in an office, revising each paragraph so that it has the right flow. This is the product of a broken man pouring himself out as he pushes his pen to paper.
It is especially interesting to read A Grief Observed in connection with another of Lewis' books, The Problem of Pain. The Problem of Pain was published in 1940 and is a theological treatment of the existence of pain and evil in the world. In it, Lewis explains how pain is a necessary by-product of human free will, and he shows how God uses pain to bring his creatures back to him. While not written in a cold manner, The Problem of Pain comes from an objective position. In contrast, A Grief Observed comes from the trenches of grief. It's raw and uncensored. And when I stop to think about it, I am so impressed that a man like C.S. Lewis, a Cambridge professor and world-renown Christian writer, would reveal the tormented working of his soul by publishing such a book. The world is better off because he did so.
All of this has reminded me of the purpose in writing. In writing, we share life with others. A person may object, "But isn't it better to converse in person? Don't we share life together by actually spending time together?" And in some ways, I think this is true. There is no substitute for a face-to-face relationship. At the same time, however, writing does have it's place. I, for one, am a better writer than I am a conversationalist. Because of this, when I want another person to know that I sincerely mean what I say, I often write it. For me, speech can too often be flippant and instinctual. Writing, on the other hand, requires actual thought and attention. When we write, we have an opportunity to share together, to learn from one another, and to grow together.
However tacky it might be, I want to quote one of my earlier posts: "Life is a conversation." That's why I write. That's what this blog is all about. It's about engaging in conversation with those who care to join. It's about recognizing the fact that we were not made to hack our way through life alone, but that we are meant to navigate its paths together. It's about the truth that many people are smarter and more insightful than me, and that I need to hear their corrections and additions to my thinking. It's about making my life experiences about more than just me, but allowing them to somehow speak to others.
My encouragement to you, then, is simply to write. Put your pen to paper, or your fingers to keyboards. It doesn't matter if the end product is finely polished. It doesn't matter if you're presenting some ground-breaking concept that no one has ever ideated before. We need to converse. We need to learn from one another, in the good times and the bad. In the triumphs and the tragedies. I've come to realize that many of my best posts are ones that were written in times when I was having a rough go of things. I can trace my mental and emotional state through my words from the last three years. Sometimes I need to go back and hear from my younger and wiser self. And I know for sure that I need to hear from you too.
Final note: A few of my friends at Ozark that are in a worship band called Axios have just finished putting together an EP. They're really good, and you can check out their stuff here and buy their songs. Which I highly recommend you do.
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