Where are we going?

Pippin:
Anyways, you need people of intelligence on this sort of... mission... quest... thing...

I loved maps as a kid.  I would pull out an atlas, or old road map and just stare at them for hours.  I liked tracing the routes and figuring out where they lead.  I would figure out how many different ways you could get from one place to another.  I know... weird.  I just liked maps.  I suppose it had paid off in my adult years.  I have a pretty good sense of direction, I can get back to just about any place on my own if I have been there once before.  When we moved to Michigan I planned out the whole trip (maps and all) and put them in a trip binder just in case we didn't have cell signal.  My nerdy map skills (obsession) paid off.  Maps aside, I think I'm just like most other people, we like to know where we are going and when we will arrive.  Sure, the journey is part of the fun, but if we are honest it's the destination that really matters.  
I find myself in a bit of an awkward place at the moment.  We are supposed to be heading somewhere, but I don't seem to have a map.  I have no itinerary.  No ETA.  Even worse, I'm not driving.  Someone else is planning this trip and I can only wait and see.  15 years ago i hopped in for a ride and well... I haven't been the best passenger.  I keep changing the stations, I grab the wheel when I panic, and I'm constantly asking "are we there yet?"  God said "I'm going to make you into a pastor" and I forgot to ask for directions before climbing in.  I think we are getting close.  Maybe one more stop for snacks and to top off the tank, but I can't be sure.  Maps are only useful if you already know where you are, and on this last leg of the journey I have no idea where we are headed, so a map is no use to me now.  Oddly enough, I am okay with that.  This time I don't need to know where we are, or when we will get there.  I've tried to navigate, I even tried to rip the wheel from His hands... This trip has taught me to be patient.  I've learned to wait.  It's not the path I would have chosen, but if I had I would not have seen some of the amazing sights along the way.  I recognize, much like Pippin, that the important thing is be a part of the journey.  There is something very special going on, and I know that I am meant to play a part.  As long as I am there where the moment comes, as long as I am present when we finally arrive, that is all that matters.  God has done a great job so far, I can trust Him to take me the rest of the way.  Like a very wise Took also said, "Great!  Where are we going?"

What is that beeping?

That little light comes on, and maybe your car beeps at you... If you're driving with me in our van you might actually notice that it visibly startles me; that beeping is loud.  It's telling me it is time to pull over and find a gas station; you won't get much farther, the tank is empty.  I don't know about you but I personally don't have an early warning system. When I hit empty it usually happens without much warning. You push and push, you drive on and don't stop because that is what is required of you and suddenly you can't go on, there's no more gas in the proverbial tank.  In college I got pretty good and pushing the limits of both tanks, my car and my body.  "The light's on... I've got $20 in the bank.  How far can I really make it?"  Pizza, beer, or gas for the car?  Physically I could pull an "all-nighter" or even stay up for an entire weekend when friends were in town.  Somehow I could recover in a day or two and be ready to go again the next time something fun presented itself.  Now... not so much.  A few nights staying up finishing that paper for class, or calming a teething baby and I'm done.  I've heard it said you can't "make up" for lost sleep, I believe it.  I'm tired all the time, no really ALL. THE. TIME. The emotional and physical demands of working, parenting, being a good husband (I hope) and trying to finish my M.Div have taken their toll.  I missed the loud beeping noise, I didn't see the warning lights.  

In San Diego we rented a house that was at the bottom of a small hill, not really long, but fairly steep.  I learned the hard way not to push the limits of that little warning light.  One morning I went out to my old trusty Ford Bronco (no it was not white) and started to drive to school.  I hit the bottom of the hill and the engine died almost instantly.  I had run so long on so little gas that when I started up the hill the gas all shifted to the back of the tank and away from the full pump.  No gas, no go.  Last Tuesday I found myself at the bottom of personal hill with an empty tank.  I'd be kidding myself if I said the warning lights weren't there.  Like I said, I'm tired all the time.  I've been sick on and off since November.  My neck and back hurt from all the typing I do at work and at home, I have even developed "tennis elbow" and I don't play tennis.  I was sick and tired of being sick and tired.  Call it a strong work ethic or provider instinct, but these things were fine as long as I was supporting my family and working toward a better future... right?  Not quite.  

Many of you know that we are trying to move to Michigan so I can finish school there and hopefully cut our cost of living.  Finances are tight for us here in Seattle, which is nothing new really.  We pay bills, buy what we need, sometimes what we want and somehow there's money left at the end of the month and then we start all over again.  Except lately there hasn't been any money left, bills get juggled, needs sometimes aren't met and wants, well...  I've always kept a mental budget in my head, but I decided it was time to put in on paper and actually see where we are financially.  It's not a pretty picture.  There was a reason I was dipping into the savings account every month just to cover diapers or groceries.  Our son needed shoes and suddenly we couldn't put gas in the car.  What was going on? The ends used to meet! Here it was on paper, the final proof that we just couldn't make it work in Seattle any longer.  Unfortunately trying to make it work had drained our savings pretty drastically.  I began to wonder if we would even be able to afford to leave.  Our oldest overheard Jasmine and I talking about our moving fund and being the sharp kid he is put 2 and 2 together.  While getting ready for bed he offered me his piggy bank to help out.  I politely declined saying we needed a little more than that.  "But I have $5 cash! You can have it."  For some reason that one little comment was all it took to break the dam.  In my mind I had failed as a provider and therefore failed in every other aspect of my life.  Tank empty.

In the week or so since then (did I mention it was my birthday?) I've spent a lot of time talking to friends and trusted mentors/counselors about everything going on.  Through this I've come to the realization I need to ask for help.  I don't do that very well.  I'm a fixer and a problem solver.  "I've got this!" No greater lie has ever been told.  I do not have this.  But I know who does, God.  God has got this.  And in this last week He has proven just how much of it He has.  God is using friends and family to help lift our burdens and lift our spirits.  The soul crushing loneliness of trying to do it all myself is slowly being replaced by a sense of peace.  Peace in knowing that God is ultimately in control and whatever happens will happen according to His will.  I've always been someone who is willing to help out others when I see the opportunity, God is teaching me that it goes both ways.  And what a lesson.  I was reminded of Galatians 6:2 this morning on my way in to work.  God has us living in community for a reason.  Sometimes life is just too much for one person to handle.  It is in these times that we are to "bear one another's burdens" and in doing so we show God's love and at times His providence.  

With my Bronco stuck at the bottom of the hill I had to call a friend I was supposed to carpool with and tell him I wasn't going to make it to school that day.  He offered to come and pick me up so we could make it school on time and when he arrived he had a gas can in his trunk so I could get up the hill and fill my tank.  

Outbound

Wrote this last weekend and am just getting around to posting it...

A patchwork quilt of brown and green stretched out from my window. The captain had just informed us that we had begun our final descent I to Kansas City. A city I've never been to, a city I won't really be going to. Not staying, not really visiting. Just another stop on my way to someplace else. Life is full of "stops" just like this one. Places we never intended on going. Places we have to go through in order to get where we actually want to go. Places that might not be that bad if the circumstances were a bit different. Places we would have avoided if we had a choice. Places filled with people coming and going. People trying to get to some place else. People who are content to be right where they are. People like me, watching the condensation run down the side of a cold pint, waiting. Waiting for some where, some thing else.  Waiting for new and different. Just plane waiting. So, I sit here watching the people go by. Watching the drops soak into my cocktail napkin. Content be be where I am, waiting to get to the next place, remembering the places that I left behind to get where I want to go. Watching. Waiting. Remembering.

You don't walk away unchanged...

I felt like Job.  If I’m honest, I fully expected the outcome to be no different.  I didn’t trust that God would come through.  I didn’t trust Him that things would really be okay.  I trusted His will would be done, but I didn’t believe His will was “good”.  You see, when my dad died I had prayed like crazy.  Everyone I knew was praying to whatever god, higher power, source of anything good they believed in. Yet there we were, 72 hours of complete utter chaos, last minute passports, 3am flights, and thousands of protesters in yellow shirts.  The second worst week of my life.  Why would this time be any different?  Why would God answer these prayers and not the others?  I’m not sure I want to know to the answer to why things turned out differently.  All I know is they did.  My best friend.  THE love of my life.  Mother to my children, partner in this crazy things called life.  My staunchest supporter, my most reliable critic.  She’s alive and well.  She can breathe, and run, and hold our children and me when we need it.  For these things and more I am thankful.  Yet, for one week, the worst week of my life, I fully expected to lose all that.  For one week I was scared, angry, confused and exhausted, all at the same time.  Trying to be strong for the ones you love is not an easy task.  Trying to be strong when your mind is consumed with what life would be like if/when the worst happened, is impossible.  I lost it more than once.  I drove home with tears pouring from eyes.  I needed to “get it all out” so I could put on a brave face for my kids when I got home.  Telling them, “Mommy is going to be okay” and feeling like I was half lying.  What would I tell them if the worst did come to pass? How could I look them in eyes and say “Mommy is never coming home?”

Again, thank God I didn’t have to have that conversation, but it’s a feeling that I can’t shake.  I felt emotions I hope to never feel again.  You don’t forget that, but what do you do with it?  What do you do with the knowledge gained from an experience like this?  We watched Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D last night.  Whatever your feelings on that show are you are of course entitled to them.  However, if you don’t like the show, you’re wrong.  Just saying.  Anyway, the main character had an apparent “near death experience” in the Avengers movie (spoiler alert), should that have come before I typed the last sentence? Whatever. At the end of episode he was reflecting back on that time he was stabbed with an alien spear while onboard the S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier and died… he said he didn’t feel okay, he felt “different”.  One of this team members responded by telling him of course he was different.  He died.  You don’t come back from something like that unchanged, you can’t.  So, I asked myself, how did I come back from the hospital with Jasmine? How are things different?  Are they really?  I’m not sure yet.  I’m still figuring this out.  What I do know… my best friend is home.  She’s going to be fine.  We’ve been through hell and back, twice.  And we’re doing just fine.  More than okay.  Yeah, we have a bankruptcy attorney now and will finish fileing early next year, but you know what… F--K IT!  It’s only money.  I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, I’d rather be bankrupt with Jasmine by my side than a single dad any day.

My son the dog...

I’ve decided my son is like a dog.  I know that sounds a bit strange to say, but let me share how I arrived at this conclusion.  It started a few weeks ago.  The idea slowly infiltrated my brain as I was over hearing a conversation about pets.  A “dog person” and “cat person” were talking about the pros and cons of each respective species.  Not an abnormal conversation by any means.  How often have each of us engaged in a similar discourse?  This time, however, was different.  This time I was struck by the characteristics that each owner ascribed to their pets. 

“My cat is very independent and resourceful.  That’s what great about cats, they aren’t needy like a lot of dogs.  (S)he pretty much takes care of him/herself and only comes up to me when they need something.  (S)he really doesn’t care for strangers either.”

“Well my dog is really smart too, but (s)he also loves people.  (S)he will run up to anyone and great them, just begging to be petted.  (S)he will sit and shake hands, and fetch until you tell him/her to stop.  You can tell (s)he loves doing tricks because (s)he knows it makes people happy.”

What stuck with me was the formulation that cats = independent, stubborn, indifferent = good; and dogs = loyal to a fault, overly friendly, people pleasers = bad.  Big, dumb drooling fur balls that will fetch until they fall over if only because it makes the owner happy are to be laughed at; while sleek, cunning and manipulative felines should be praised for their disregard of others and attention to their own needs.  I thought to myself, “If the chief enjoyment you derive from owning a cat is that they don’t actually need you, why have a cat at all?”  Of course as I thought about the owner making these statements I began to see the appeal of owning cat.  They weren’t exactly a “people person” either.  Traits that are largely negative when applied to humans were being spun into positives when applied to a cat.  Perhaps it was because there were no false pretenses when it came to the cat.  You knew from the beginning that this pet was only using you for food and shelter.  It wasn’t pretending to like you or even enjoy your company only in the hopes of getting something in return.  “If I want you to scratch me I’ll let you know, otherwise you stay on your end of the couch.”  Granted not all cats are like this, and some dogs wouldn’t realize you weren’t there until they got hungry, but the “positives” of cat ownership struck me as odd.

This brings me back to my son.  My son loves competition.  He will race you to the front door of the house, from the car to church, across the playground, even from the kitchen to his room.  He loves playing video games and “keeping score”.  If he can turn it into a game and somehow keep track of who is winning, he’ll do it.  I know this sounds like a bad thing, especially in the context of this blog, but bear with me.  The reason he loves competition… he likes to see other people win.  He hates losing himself, so he doesn’t want other people to feel like a loser.  He cheers when I beat him.  He loves it when his sister makes it to the door first.  He cares so much about how other people feel that he doesn’t mind suffering defeat if it means they are happy about winning.  He is always asking me “Dad, are you happy?” If I say no, he asks what he can do to make me laugh.  Last night he told the same knock-knock joke about 20 times because it was making me laugh.  Not so much the joke itself, of which the punch line consisted mostly of the word “poop” in various word combinations, but the fact that he was trying so hard to make me laugh.  Everyone should be happy, everyone should be having fun.  I told him yesterday that if the world had more people like him, it would be a better place.  If more people were like dogs… big, drooly and dumb… but so full of love they would fetch til they dropped, the world would be a wonderful place.

I hate this Fall...

Autumn is an odd time of year.  In a way I kind of feel sorry for Fall.  It’s like Summer’s younger sibling, the screw up who can’t manage to get anything right.  “Your brother was always so warm and sunny.  We had longer days and warm nights to do whatever we pleased.  Our gardens bloomed and grew, we reaped the harvest all season long… and then you showed up.  You came with clouds, and rain.  You brought shorter days, colder nights.  Our gardens are dying, the leaves are falling off the trees, and then there’s the whole clock changing thing...”  Poor Fall.  Sure, there are some people who like the changing leaves, and the cooler weather.  There are even people who like the rain.  But for many, the change in season marks an anti-climactic end to Summer.  Perhaps there is one last trip Labor Day weekend, but that only serves as a reminder that you don’t get any more holidays until Thanksgiving.  For school aged children the freedom of Summer is replaced with the daily rigors of school work and set schedules.  Harvest celebrations let us appreciate the abundance that a warm growing season offers, but after the crops are cut down, and brought in we’re left with a mess to clean up and a barren patch of earth that will grow little more than weeds for the next several months.  It’s a season of change, but perhaps change that isn’t viewed in a positive light.  Autumn is when the world “dies” and sinks into its winter slumber.  Yet, without Fall, there can be no Spring.  Without the cold and dark, we cannot appreciate the warmth and light that follows.  You will never know how high you’ve climbed unless you know where the bottom is. 

Once on month on Communion Sunday we recite the Apostles’ Creed.  In it we are reminded that Jesus

Suffered under Pontius Pilate; was crucified, dead and buried:

He descended into hell:

The third day he rose again from the dead 

Three days of darkness.  Three days marked by death.  Three days leading to new life, redemption and reconciliation.  Three days to help us see a new day dawning and appreciate the warmth of God’s love. 

I’m not going to sugar coat it: this Fall is a rough time for us.  It marks 5 years since we lost my dad.  It sees our pending bankruptcy because of Jasmine’s medical expenses.  It’s a Fall that I thought would be my first semester back in seminary for another Master’s, but instead it’s another Fall with dreams on hold.  This Fall I’m really looking forward to the Spring.

What now...

I don’t complain much.  I don’t really see the point.  There are things in life that you can do something about, and things that you can’t.  Complaining just wastes energy that could be spent towards fixing the fixable or exhausted by griping about things that cannot be changed.  I’m also pretty reserved and private.  I don’t share a lot of what’s going on in my private life, mostly because I still believe that there is something called a “private life”.  That being said, this is a rare moment for me.  Public complaining.  You see, I try to do the right thing in nearly all situations. I believe in God and also believe that Jesus is my personal Lord and Savior. The one thing I always try to do (I almost never speak in absolutes, so this too is a big statement) is honor God and build His Kingdom.  That’s why – after 6 years as a biology major, thinking I was going to go to medical school – I went to a small Christian college and doubled majored in Pastoral Ministry and Theology.  After that I went straight to seminary and in four years received my Master’s of Arts in Theology with an emphasis in Biblical Studies and Theology.  I was preparing to do God’s work.  Still am.  Yet, here I am, two years after grad school, working an okay job (for a great boss) waiting for what’s next.  I thought going back to seminary and getting my Master’s of Divinity to prepare for ordination was the “next thing”, but we find ourselves stuck at a stand still.  You see, after switching to William Jessup University and pursuing the ministry as a vocation, things more or less went smoothly.  However, seminary was another story. In the four years I spent at Fuller Seminary I had two kids, two knees surgeries, lost my dad in a freak accident when he fell through a roof, and moved to Seattle.  When I applied to go back to school Jasmine ended up in the hospital with a collapsed lung and we got stuck with thousands of dollars in medical bills and possible bankruptcy.  Leaving me to wonder, what’s the deal?  Either this is the greatest trial ever and the payoff for perseverance will be beyond anything we can imagine, or I’m stubbornly kicking against the goads and failing to see the light.  As we struggle week to week to pay our bills and put food on the table I can’t help but wonder where God is in all this.  I’ve spent the last 10 years trying to do what’s right and the reward is overdraft fees, an empty fridge and delinquency notices from our student loan lenders.  I’m starting to wonder if there really will a payoff in sticking with “the plan” or if it’s time to think about something else.