Perspective from the Couch

This beautiful January morning, I am perched on my apartment couch, gazing out at a wintry Pikes Peak.  I hear the buzz of traffic on the streets below and the ticking of the wall clock.  I am savoring the bite of my dark-brewed coffee and the gift of time.  Most of all, I am feeling compelled to think about perspective.

You see, I injured my back last Saturday.  I hurt it hardly doing anything which is a maddening thought.  I merely stretched too far on a sit-and-reach exercise, pushing my back to a point of strain.  Though I felt my back's complaint, I proceeded to do more exercises and then ran one measly mile.  I heard my back telling me to stop, but I was stubborn and pushed through the stiffness.  I didn't want to quit.  I was with others and I didn't want to say that I had to stop.  Well hello, Pride.

That stubborn choice cost me greatly.  By the end of my jog, I could barely walk, my lower back screaming foul play and causing every move to be rife with pain.  I could barely get into my car to drive home and then took embarrassingly long minutes to wince my way out of my car and up the apartment stairs. The rest of the day was consumed with downing pain meds, finding the most comfortable position and limiting movement as much as possible.  I had become a sort of invalid in just a short time.

As a result of my pride, I have missed four days of school this week and have found myself somewhat strapped to my apartment.  Normally, so much down time would be a gift.  Yet, when you feel limited in your ability to move or drive about, the gift turns into confinement.  Keeping my spirits up has been a crazy battle which has led me to ask, If I can't stand this much pain and inconvenience, how would I fair with the much-worse that so many others face daily?  This small trial has been testing my emotional and spiritual strength and I have found myself relatively weak in those regards.

So this morning as I sit on the couch that has become quite my good friend, I am convicted about my perspective.  It strikes me afresh that the human condition is naturally inclined to see the mess in a situation rather than all the things that are blessedly right.  Earlier, I flipped back in my journal and saw an old entry where I was wrestling deeply with something that is no longer a big trial in my life.  I had to shake my head in wonder.  Will I navigate life by simply trading worry for worry?  Or can I rise above and learn the art of a thankful perspective?

In that same journal, I wrote notes of thanks this morning.  It proved good medicine.  Choosing a positive perspective does not come naturally to me, but if I allow the Holy Spirit to reign in my heart, it becomes a lot easier.  To that end, I am thankful for extra time.  I am hopeful that while I sit, I will be still in spirit and dwell in the presence of God.  I am in true need of His daily redemption and am endlessly thankful that He is near.  I want to gain a healthy perspective, and He is the best Perspective-fixer I know.  Here's to sitting and dwelling and cultivating a thankful perspective during this time.

But They Laughed At Him

It strikes me as mildly ironic that a moment of sharp clarity arrived on this foggy morning.  While the dreamy mist outside hovered around the aspen leaves, one small sentence in the gospel of Matthew arrowed straight into my heart.

"But they laughed at him."  Those words in Matthew 9:24 might as well have been in all caps and a bold font for the way they popped from the page.  The context is the story of a ruler who petitioned Jesus to come heal his already dead daughter.  The ruler's faith is intensely exemplary because he understood who Jesus Christ was.  Perhaps he had seen other miracles or had simply heard of them, but he knew and believed that death was no obstacle for the Son of God.  Should Christ choose to say the word for her revival, his daughter would breathe again.  Such steady faith brought Jesus to the ruler's house.

Yet, the house was filled with scoffers, those who were bitter, unbelieving and audacious enough to laugh in the face of the Messiah.  There is really no other way to interpret the laughter of that moment.  There was no mirth, no joyful spirit to prompt such a reaction.  The laughter was not already freely flowing.  No, this laughter was out of mocking incredulity. 

Interestingly, Jesus asked the others to leave before they even demonstrated this negative response.  My best guess is that Jesus already knew their hearts and knew that they didn't believe.  Then, when he told them that the daughter was not dead but alive, they mocked Him as any logical human being would.  Why would one believe what is obviously untrue?  Yet, the ruler had.  The ruler had looked at facts and believed the impossible.  What is the difference between the scoffers and the ruler?

The difference is that the ruler knew who Jesus was and believed.  The others no doubt knew who Jesus was as well and had likely experienced the same exposure to Christ and His work as the ruler had.  Yet, they refused to believe or to have any faith in the Messiah Who had already proven His immense power and authority.  The result?  They missed out on witnessing a miracle. 

How sad this is!  What damage we incur when we do not have faith!  Yet, as I read this story, I could hardly be condescending toward those who laughed.  After all, the girl was dead!!!  It was an impossible situation, was it not?  Yes, they knew of Jesus' power, but surely He would not heal this girl!  That was their thinking, not so unlike my own in so many ways.

If given a choice, I would choose to be like the ruler.  I would choose to have logic-defying faith in the transcendent Lord of the universe.  If given a choice, I would never laugh in the face of my gracious Savior who has proven faithful over and over again.  But wait.  I do have a choice!  How is it that I demonstrate fear, worry, and unbelief so often instead of a simple faith in the God of the impossible?  I don't know, but I am deeply convicted.

I don't want to miss out on the miracles of Christ in my own life and in the lives of those around me.  I don't want to miss out on the power that He so readily demonstrates to those who believe Him at His Word.  I don't want to be put out of the house because I ridiculed the God who created me.  I want to be like the ruler and not like the scoffers.  As this foggy morning carries on, I pray that it may be so.  

On Flipping Decades

I remember the first time I watched that monumentally ridiculous chick flick 13-going-on-30.  I remember pondering just how old 30 seemed to be.  It loomed as a distant age residing far away in the murky future.  The mystery of who I would be by the time I actually arrived there was an enigma indeed.  The prospect of being so "old" felt no more real than Frodo and the land of hobbits and elves.

Crazily enough, that day has arrived.  The time for flipping decades and closing a chapter of my life has come.  In some ways, it strikes me as silly that we mark our lives by numbers and assign some sort of weight to age.  Yet, we are human and age does not leave us unscathed in the experience of this world.  Time does pass and our lives and bodies tell the story of years gone by.  We cannot bear the same youth that we did a decade ago.  This truth makes the acknowledgment of time and age vividly relevant.  It is fitting that we understand the imprinting power of time.  However, contrary to what the birthday card industry might indicate, this need not be a woeful thing.

The older I get, the more deeply profound life becomes.  I feel more aware than ever of the absolute desolation of a fallen world.  Yet, I see more clearly the redemptive work of a powerful God in the lives and stories of those who trust Him.  The bittersweet richness of life roots deeper in my soul than it did when I was 20.  In thinking of my great uncle, who is going to turn 103 this year and celebrate his 80th wedding anniversary with his wife in a few days, I wonder just how deep his root system has burrowed compared to mine.  I cannot comprehend it, but this is what makes getting old an incredibly exciting journey.  There is no other way to gain poignant insights and a multi-faceted understanding of life than to live and to let years and experience teach.

So it is that I will enjoy this day and think on all that God has given me in 30 brief years.  I am humbled by His grace and power in my life and am endlessly thankful that I can journey confidently on, knowing that no matter how much time is left for me here, I have a loving Savior who is guiding and guarding my way.  What a glorious truth.  I am ready to dig these roots deeper still.

Life is Rich

The sights, the sounds, the smells of fall and football usher in a nostalgia that runs its course in the deepest of my veins.  Childhood memories of packing up our family van with blankets and mittens to head to the Friday night game in frigid Wyoming air flood my senses.  I once again trot across the high school parking lot by my dad, his strong, protective hand on my back.  My young fist thrusts out to receive the red stamp after he gives the cash, and my excitement mounts as we round the track to climb into the grand stands.  Friendly, chill-kissed faces of long-time friends and acquaintances greet us as we scout out the perfect bleacher spot.

The loud speaker crackles, the larger-than-life football players shift and strut on the line, and the cheerleaders sparkle under the beaming lights.  The students crowded in their own section beckon admiration and awe, and the band bedazzles me with peppy sounds and sure steps.  I soak it in and dream of being older.  The details of the sport escape me for I am taken by the environment of this Campbell County Camels football game.

The trip to the concession stand for popcorn or hot chocolate or Laffy Taffys finally arrives.  After munching and sipping and reading jokes on the wrappers, I fidget.  When the allure of the game fades, I scamper to the grassy fields around the real field and play football with my brother and friends.  As the fourth quarter expires, I begin to feel a sleepy head and inescapable cold.  I am ready to pack up our van again and head home, full on a night full of community spirit and fellowship.

Those are the good ol' days.  Those are memories to cherish.  Last night, I went to Rampart High School's homecoming.  This is the school my middle school feeds.  As I strolled to the stadium, blanket in hand, I was reliving those Wyoming childhood days all over again.  And this time, in a different era and location, I was looking at the football players, cheerleaders, and band members as a loving mentor would.  I could hardly believe the pictures of the strong and manly seniors, staring at me from the glossy program.  Many of those students I taught as little 6th grade boys in my very first year of teaching.  Time had passed and they had grown up even though I have little changed in appearance myself. 

Nostalgia of a different sort hit me then.  The sentiment of feeling that I had the privilege of teaching these students in their formative years washed over me.  I felt almost sad that they would be graduating this year.  I felt sad that I can't be close to all of my students forever, watching them grow and having dibs on each step of their lives.  It is hard to explain and it is bittersweet in such a strong way.

Nostalgia and sentimentality are glorious and yet I don't know what to do with these emotions at times.   It is almost cathartic and therapeutic for me to linger in these moments, yet I sometimes feel helpless to know how to resolve the bittersweet in mind.  Anyone human relates to this.  So, in the end, I am left with the realization of how incredible and precious life is.  I have been given a rich lot in life and I have a gracious God to thank.

What if?

The world of the hypothetical is fascinating.  I think we as humans like to entertain the world of the "what if's" even though such a place can be uncomfortable.  When watching an interview on T.V., it is interesting when a host throws a guest a hypothetical situation in hopes of hearing how he will navigate it.  Most often, the guest will refuse to enter into such mind games recognizing that it usually does no good to speak in hypothetical terms because, well, it's not reality. 

Were I able to so easily refuse this world of the abstract possible, I may save myself some brain power.  Yet, I find it is stimulating to think about what could be or what could have been.  Watching the Olympics this week has continually triggered such thoughts.   What if I had been born here, been blessed with this gift, been created with that body, been given that passion?  It is crazy and somewhat ridiculous to think about.  After all, I cannot imagine spinning once around the uneven bars, let alone propelling myself into the air to spin and twist in a fancy dismount.  I can't envision jumping once over a hurdle, let alone running at top speed at those looming obstacles.  As it stands, I am not even remotely in the realm of Olympic athleticism, as much as I would like to think I am.

There is a part of me that wants to nurse the small pain that bites in such thoughts.  The gnawing question of whether or not I have made use of my life presents itself in these musings.  How does anyone measure the worth of a life's calling, of a life's work?  As I look to start another year of teaching, I peer inward and wonder whether what I do makes any difference.  I often describe my job as a constant pouring of time and energy into a proverbial black hole.  It frustrates me that the usefulness of life cannot be determined by a scientifically accurate method.

This is where my walk with Christ proves to be a comfort once again.  Knowing that He can use all people in any sort of situation reminds me that the outward measure of success is often fallacious.  True...I don't have a Visa commercial in honor of me as do volleyball greats Misty and Kerri. While they deserve such recognition, it does not mean that my life or the life of any "average" human is less precious, valuable, or useful than theirs. 

The world of the hypothetical might be fun, but, like the interviewing guest, I need to watch how often I let myself live within that realm.  What if I learned to live fully in the reality of my life?  Now there is a hypothetical question worth pursuing.

Gettin' Schooled

For the last few days, I have been hanging out with one of my dear college friends in Clayton, MO.  Clayton is an incredibly upscale neighborhood in St. Louis.  The town is completely enchanting with rich history, gorgeous landscaping and inspiring architecture.  It should come as no surprise to me, then, that some things are a bit pricey here.

Yet, like a foolish simpleton, I didn't entertain that thought at all when I decided to drop three basic dresses off at a dry-cleaning joint nearby.  A couple of them were not clean and they were all wrinkled due to traveling in my suitcase.  Because I am planning to wear them for wedding festivities this weekend, I decided it would be best to fork over a few bucks to get the garments spruced up a bit.  

So, yesterday I walked a few blocks to the nearest cleaners and surrendered the items to the man behind the counter.  Nothing about the place gave me any hesitation, and true to the idiotic tendencies I had that day, I didn't inquire about the price.  In old-school cleaners style, there didn't seem to be any prices posted.  I wasn't worried.  In my experience, getting things dry-cleaned is not too pricey.  It's true that I don't probably do it often enough to really know the ballpark figures and I generally go to the burger joint of cleaning companies, but I just expected it to be $20 at most for all three dresses.  (Please, go ahead and laugh now if you know better).

Today, I explored the city while my friend worked (by the way, she wasn't with me yesterday when I dropped off the clothes.  Too bad because she probably could have supervised this situation.).  I had a grand but exhausting time riding the metro and walking miles up and down streets around the city.  By mid-afternoon, I was ready to head back to the apartment, so I swung by the dry cleaners.  

All seemed right until the cleaning agent spoke the total: $62!!!!!   What?!?!?  I tried not to drop my jaw when the unsuspecting man behind the counter dropped the bomb.   I was super surprised, but what could I do?  It was my fault that I had not checked into the prices beforehand.  I had no option but to give the man money and walk out the door.  Out of spite, I grabbed not one, but two candies from the counter jar as I left.  Ridiculous and unethical, I know.  The initial feelings of hurt pride and frustration quickly melted into hilarity.  I just had to shake my head and laugh at myself.  I suppose that's the most sane thing to do in a situation like that, right?  It's just money.  It's okay.  There are worse tragedies in the world.  

Just goes to show you that a girl my age can still get schooled.  All I know is I better look $62 worth of clean and pressed this weekend.  I better look mighty good. 

We just need a little John Wayne

As a pigtail-sporting child, I was mesmerized by John Wayne.  I remember watching him in a few movies and feeling admiration and intimidation at observing his no-nonsense approach.  It seemed to me like John always knew what was what.  The truth of a situation and subsequent course of action were crystal clear to him.  Forget about popular opinion!  He discerned what it would take to get rid of the bad guy and that was that!  Go get 'em, John!

The idea of absolute truth is controversial.  Mention the fact that you believe in such a thing and some people will ex-communicate you, at least in their minds.  It is not popular to have standards, especially any standards that might make others feel badly.  We wouldn't want to hurt any one's feelings!

The problem with being so overly worried about other's feelings is that there is no way to draw the line once that becomes your standard of truth-deciphering.  I mean, really!  Please don't discipline your child and tell her that touching a hot stove is dangerous because that would seriously cramp her style!

This tolerance mentality is dangerous in and of itself for obvious reasons.  Worse yet is the militant tolerance that demands that everyone else be tolerant.  It is counter intuitive and self-defeating to champion such a dictate, and it demonizes those who dare to admit that they believe in absolute truths.  Circular reasoning begins now.

Absolute truth can only really be believed if one believes in a Higher Power.  For the Christian, believing in Christ means that our views of right and wrong are based on the revelation of Scripture.   In society today, that is perhaps the most dangerous philosophy to embrace, at least to the relativistic, tolerant-preaching crowd.  How dare Christians have standards!!!

I wonder what John Wayne would think if we decided to redo his movies with a tolerance message featuring a noodly waffler of a man riding around and deferring to all but those ridiculous standards-braying cowboys.  One glance at his face and I'm guessing he wouldn't like it.  Not one bit.