Friday Night at Ruby Tuesdays

It’s amazing how God drops something or someone in your life when you’re least expecting it. My good friend Nathan Boen and I decided to hang out last Friday. We played some pool, got some food, meandered around looking for someplace to sit and talk. Eventually we wandered into a Ruby Tuesday’s after 9, ordering a dessert and chatting. The waitress was an older woman, mid to late forties I’d guess, and cheerful in the manner and facade that waitresses are supposed to maintain whether or not they actually were; we would learn that her manner was not a façade.

After we’d received the check, the place almost empty, the waitress, Michelle, came up and we engaged her in polite chitchat. Instantly she revealed that she’d recently returned from living two years in Mexico. Intrigued, we pressed for details. Here is what she told us:

(I have organized the narrative in a somewhat clearer fashion. And let me just bewail up front the fact that no matter how impressed or awed or impacted you are by this story, the fact that you didn’t hear it from her leaves so much to be desired. I’ll explain later.)

Her husband was in a car accident several years ago. A drunk driver, uninsured, hit him on New Year’s Eve. As a result he was paralyzed and his face was completely destroyed. After a quarter million dollars in surgery bills, he was stable and apparently returned to Mexico, his homeland, where the cost of health care is sufficiently cheaper that it was possible to afford continuing his rehabilitation and reconstruction. After working here for six month and sending money down there, Michelle packed up her things and moved down to be with him and help nurse him back to health.

(Aside: as she recounted his injuries, she batted not an eyelash, maintaining her poise and upbeat demeanor the entire time. This was every bit as impressive as the account itself, in my book.)

She regaled us with stories of life in Mexico. For example, she loathes the smell and taste of beans anymore, since at least 2 of 3 meals featured this staple. Simply put, they were affordable and not much else was. She told of the increasingly remote and tiny villages she passed through until she came to her husband’s family’s residence, far from the metropolitan centers of Mexico. The houses had no running water, and people generally survived on 100 pesos a week; about 8 American dollars. She hauled water from wells and rode burros to town and her other jobs. She trained and raced horses, a lucrative job comparatively, but still worked in the fields. The days were long and hard. 

She recounted the extreme stratification between the rich drug lords and the poor serfs subsisting on pennies a day while the rich luxuriated in mansions. If a drug lord told you that you were on their payroll, you accepted or you didn’t survive. Which made her story of standing up to a drug lord that much more impressive. She bluffed him, challenging his willingness to kill an American citizen and thus incur the wrath of an international incident. Apparently the obvious retort, that her body could be buried in the desert and never found, never occurred to the gangster, and though her heart was pounding, her face was calm and hard and she politely declined to work for him. This in addition to the story about the job she quit after three of her bosses were murdered. I think she said that they were killed in front of her, but I might have that wrong. The police were no help; corruption runs rampant in Mexico. She told an amusing story about a race day when she came upon a pile of cocaine in a common area. She was aghast, but the others there assured her there was nothing amiss. However, when someone pulled out some marijuana to smoke, everyone urgently and immediately ordered him to conceal it. It seems that the only people allowed to grow and distribute marijuana are the police, and if you don’t buy it from them, they’ll lock you up for a good long while!

Her husband, meanwhile, had surgery to repair some 48 fractures on his spine, and had his face entirely reconstructed using cartilage and bone from his hips and buttocks. Once paralyzed, he can now walk and talk, lift 25 lbs and ride a horse. He lost some language ability, especially English, and Michelle, who didn’t speak a lick of Spanish when she moved to Mexico, had to learn in order to communicate.

Eventually she came to the realization that if she stayed in Mexico, she would end up dead; in a chauvinistic society where men are killed willy-nilly, a blond foreign woman was in real danger. She was too radical and refused to play along with the powerful, so she decided that she would return to Kansas City. She journeyed to the border, bullied the border guards to let her across instead of spending the night in Tijuana alone and penniless (almost certainly a fatal move), and entered the US with a couple bucks in her pocket. Somehow she made it to Kansas City with basically no money, and within twenty-four hours had contacted her old boss and scored some work with horses, called in a favor with a friend to stay with, and landed a job at Ruby Tuesday’s, even though they weren’t hiring and she didn’t have any waitressing experience, a prerequisite to work there. This is not a woman to be denied or discouraged.

(Aside: she said several times how much she changed from her sojourn in Mexico. She was harder and stronger and more capable than she ever imagined, because she had to be in Mexico or else she would have been dead and her husband soon to follow. She was profoundly thankful for the experience in that way, as well as many others.)

Now, the friend with whom she’d been staying had told her that her favorite horse had died, and that her car had been stolen while she was in Mexico. She had no cause to doubt her friend, and accepted this as true. A few days ago, another friend called her about a horse he’d found that he wanted her to have. She could keep it or sell it for a down payment on her truck, he said, and urged her to come look at it. The horse was in a wretched state, starved and diseased, gelded but wild. She decided to sell it and took it to a dealer. As she was unloading it, she and the horse made eye contact. Instantly she thought, I’ve owned this horse before. This was unlikely, as the man had found it in Oklahoma, bedraggled and apparently even more emaciated than when she saw him. A friend who was accompanying her advised her to sell it, and the dealer offered her $300, but she insisted that she knew this horse and took it home, whereupon she discovered, after examining it, that it was the horse she had been told had died. This made her suspicious and she checked the story about the stolen car, to see whether a police report had been filed. None. She called another friend and asked about it; he replied that her friend had enlisted his help in selling the car.  

(Aside: at this point I am mesmerized and astounded. Again, she’s not brooding or angry, or filled with self-pity and despair. The recitation of events is lively and chipper. Though there was a bit of an edge at this point in the story. Little wonder.)

Upon hearing this, she returned to the house, packed her things and demanded her rent back, which she had recently paid. The pernicious two-face took one look at her and reimbursed her. She calmly told her friend that if she ever saw the other walking down the street, it would be better to cross to the other side of the road. Two years in Mexico had put a glint in her eye apparently, and the friend meekly promised so to do. This was the day before we walked into the restaurant. 

Boen and I looked at each other in amazement. Mostly we’d been silent, listening to this remarkable tale. You might wonder at its veracity, but I myself have absolutely no doubt as to the truth of what she said. She did give credit to God, though I rather felt like her conception of God was a bit karmic: if she keeps her end of a bargain, He’ll keep His (which He did in healing her husband). 

There were other elements to the story, like the notion of working three jobs, which she does here in KC, and how the work ethic of most Americans, and nearly all teenagers, is pathetically abysmal compared to that of the people she saw in Mexico. Indeed, it made her understand why immigrants here work as hard as they do; they can actually make money here to send home to their families. She showed us the calluses on her hands and the cords in her arms that came from backbreaking work in the fields and constant toil with the horses, frequently doing the work of a whole team of ferriers herself. She remarked on the incredible bounty that we have here in the United States, and how we take it so much for granted. She commented on the reverence the people have for Holy Week, Good Friday, and Easter, which are celebrated as religious observances and not as egg hunts.

But I’m less interested in that than the amazing saga she recounted, the hardships and trials she and her family endured (her husband’s father is a paraplegic, and his mother has lung cancer). The determination and will she demonstrated was remarkable; early on in the story, when we’d only heard about a third of it, I commented that it was more inspiring than 80% of the stories that come out of Hollywood. In fact, I’d recommended to Boen the novel Peace Like a River by Leif Enger earlier that evening, and afterwards I mentioned that the book also tells of a family’s trials and triumphs; it is one of the best and most moving books I’ve ever read. I also said that Michelle’s tale was more incredible! And true!

We thanked her profoundly and invited her to attend church on Sunday. Typically, she replied that she works twelve hours on Sundays. Go figure. We were effusive in our praise and thankfulness, and left the place marveling to each other about what we had just experienced. Hitherto it had been a relatively uneventful evening of wandering around, enjoying each other’s company, but nothing special, nothing spectacular. This, now, this was spectacular.

What does it mean? you ask. God knows. Ask Him; I know I will. If nothing else it reminded me of my trip to Nigeria, where I experienced some of the same events and emotions and witnessed similar things from impoverished people with joy in their hearts and fellowship with their neighbors. Will the Lord use it to teach me anything, or direct my life? I know not. As I sit and muse on this, I’m convinced that it might have just been a rainbow. By this I mean it was a gift from the Father to be enjoyed and appreciated and marveled at, nothing more. I tend to over-analyze things, look for meanings or applications too often; somehow, I think this was mainly God sharing His life and stories of His work with us.

Does this mean I can’t take anything away from it? By no means! First, I am awed by the provision of God. I’ve seen this in my own life, but hearing about Michelle’s saga made me realize how insignificant my own struggles have actually been in comparison. I’ve been slogging away at my new job, studying dry financial concepts and feeling woebegone, when probably 2 billion people around the world will never have the opportunity to work and live such a life that the income from that job will afford. How much I take for granted! And Michelle said that about herself! Working 3 jobs, caring for a disabled husband (by the way, I haven’t even thought about the depths of love and dedication she must have to go through what she did for her husband!), and she still thinks she’s taking things for granted! Amazing!

Second, I am struck by the fact that God works in so many more varied ways than we think He does. We think He has to work through us, through Christians, through Christians who believe and live the way we do. If I sat down and talked with Michelle, I’d probably find that her theological concepts of God and salvation and sanctification and the Christian life would be different from mine, and I could probably correct her by referencing the Bible and C. S. Lewis and so on. And you know what? God is not impressed. He wants us to have right notions about Him, true, but He also doesn’t want us to limit what He can do by what we disregard as impossible. “Not that God couldn’t do it, but that He wouldn’t do it that way.” Because we know God! We’ve read the Bible and commentaries and go to church and listen to sermons! And if it’s not covered by one of those mediums, then by Golly it’s not possible that God would do something that way! It all comes back to Humility. Will we allow God to work out things His way? Accept what He does how He does it when He does it where He does it and why He does it? I don’t think that’s too deep a thought to ponder. It’s actually essential. Everything else hinges upon it, doesn’t it? 

Mainly, however, what I marvel at is the utter coincidence, the complete inability to dictate events. We’d gone to a bookstore and an ice cream shoppe looking for someplace to sit and talk. If we’d stayed at either place, we would have missed out on this woman’s amazing and inspiring story. But God wanted to share it with us, and He guided us there, to be at that place, at that time when the joint was empty enough that she could stand and talk for 20 minutes without ignoring customers, and to have that particular waitress serving us and willing to share these deeply personal stories with us. I could never have orchestrated it, nor even imagined it. Indeed, Boen and I wished we could have her speak at New Day or at our small group. We suggested that we might take the group here one evening and have her recount the narrative for everyone in it. But the spontenaity would not be there, and the divine appointment element would be missing. It would still probably be fruitful, but it’s so much more meaningful when you know that only the Lord could have orchestrated circumstances. May you have such appointments.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow!

Praise Him, all creatures here below!

Praise Him, above you Heavenly Host!

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!

Amen.

Who Will Save Us? Part II

To see my discussion of the documentary Waiting for "Superman" click here. 

I began with the quote which bemoans the fact that "no one was coming with enough power to save me," given by one of the leading education reformers in the country. And by "leading" I don't mean on Capitol Hill; I mean someone who runs a school in Harlem and has effected actual and meaningful improvement. I've discussed the idea behind this quote as it pertains to the question of educational reform, which was the original context in which it occurred. But the quote really struck a deeper chord in me, an eternal chord.

The documentary ended with a clip from the old Superman TV series in which Superman, played by George Reeves, rescues a school bus full of children from going over a cliff. "The children are safe," declared the Man of Steel before flying off. Superman has always held a special place in my heart. As a comic book nut I love heroes like Batman, Spiderman, the Green Lantern, the Hulk, and even the Flash. Batman in particular is compelling because unlike most of the other heroes, he has no special powers. He's a billionaire, true, with marvelous gadgets and martial arts abilities, but he's not bullet-proof, doesn't have a ring of power or a spider bite from a radioactive spider. He's an ordinary man doing extraordinary things, one reason why he's so popular these days. It seems to offend us when the hero is too strong; we want to see him struggle, to wonder how he's going to pull out the victory.

And Superman is the most powerful being on earth, impervious to anything and everything except Kryptonite. No matter the challenge, no matter the threat, it's hard for us to imagine someone who can fly, lift entire buildings, go faster than bullets, and withstand nuclear blasts, not prevailing eventually. Superman is also irresistibly good, well-mannered, considerate, and humble. He's perfect. And perfection is boring.

Until, however, the earth is threatened by a stray meteor or a giant robot. Then, of course, he's our only hope, our greatest hero. Because he's the only one with the power, the knowledge, and the will to save us. Batman would be willing to save us, and since he's the world's greatest detective he's probably got the brainpower for it. But the power? He's just a man. Spiderman has some power; he can lift cars and punch through brick walls. But enough power to stop a meteor?

The correlation between Christ and Superman has been well-documented throughout the years since the rise of comic book heroes. The latest cinematic adaptation of Superman was positively dripping with allusions to Jesus. Take this line for instance, spoken to Kal-El by his father: "Even though you were raised as a human you are not one of them. They can be a great people if they choose to be. They only lack the light to show the way. For this reason, above all, I have sent you to them, my only son." Pretty glaring, isn't it? And from Hollywood too! I was flabbergasted when I saw that, even more so that it was dialogue recorded 25 years earlier from the first Superman film.

This is Holy Week. Today is Thursday, the day of the week when Christ was crucified. (I know, tradition holds that he was crucified on Friday; however, Matthew 12:40 suggests that Jesus spent 3 days and nights in the tomb, which would mean he was crucified on Thursday if he rose again on Sunday.) Regardless, it is at this time of year that we celebrate the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, a process by which Christians believe they are saved. Jesus is the Savior of the world, paying the blood price for humanity's sins to reconcile them to God.

Every human born of a man and a woman is born in sin. We aren't sinners because we sin; rather, we sin because we are sinners. Our sins and sinful nature separate us from God and consequently the spiritual life that is only to be found in Him. The wages of sin is death, which means we are born spiritually dead. And since God is perfectly holy and righteous, unable to tolerate sin, we as sinners cannot please Him or share His life. This is our plight. This is why we need a savior.

Thus we find ourselves in the same condition earlier discussed. We need someone who has the power, knowledge, and desire to save us. We believe that God sent His Son, born of a virgin which bypasses the sinful nature which natural birth leads to. He was perfect from birth, which gave him the power and ability to die for the sins of all, instead of for his own sins. He knew that salvation for humanity could only be accomplished if a sinless man laid down his life on the altar of God for the sins of the world. Not only that, he knew that if someone put their faith in his sacrifice, God would forgive their sins and declare them righteousness, joining their spirit with His and restoring them to life. So he had the power and the knowledge to save us. Which brings us to the greatest thing of all.

Christians are rather hung up on the love of God. The majority of praise and worship songs make some allusion to the vast and gracious love God demonstrated to us through His Son Jesus. Even more than His holiness, righteousness, omnipotence, and eternal nature, we dwell on the grace, mercy, and patience of God, all of which are manifestations of His love. For this reason; since God is perfection, holiness, righteousness, He cannot stand sin. It is anathema to Him. And the idea that He would be so bent on saving humanity that He would sacrifice His one and only Son is so mind boggling that we can only weep for joy and gratitude. Because He loves us! He wants us! He desires to spend eternity with us! With me!

If there was ever someone who could legitimately turn away in disgust, to throw up his hands and say, "They're a write off," and scrap the whole thing, God had that right when He saw how perfidious and persistent mankind is on defying Him. Not only did He not give up on us, however, but He and His Son, who shared His deity, agreed that Jesus would put off His deity and throne, and condescend to be a human, to humble himself even to the point of being killed on a cross, paying for the very sins that ended his life. And what's more, God raised Jesus from the dead and beckoned to humans to share his death and resurrection, that they might share his life, the life of God.

We see, therefore, that in Jesus' crucifixion and resurrection the power, knowledge, and will of a Savior was joined in a glorious symphony. There are many more elements of the Passion of Jesus Christ that could be discussed, but for this week, this celebration, the basics are too glorious to be fully comprehended.

How great a salvation!

Who Will Save Us?

I recently watched a documentary about the public school crisis in the United States. Called Waiting for "Superman", it was a very excellent documentary that detailed the crippling problems that confront our country, the root causes (some of them, anyway), and a few possible solutions. At the beginning of the documentary, one of the revolutionaries of the reform movement said this: "One of the saddest days of my life was when my mother told me "Superman" did not exist. Cause even in the depths of the ghetto you just thought he was coming...She thought I was crying because it's like Santa Claus is not real. I was crying because no one was coming with enough power to save us."

That line jumped out at me. "No one was coming with enough power to save us." When you're in desperate straights, when everything seems to be falling apart, when the odds are overwhelmingly against you, you need salvation. And the savior has to have three qualities: he has to want to save you; he has to know how to save you; and he has to have enough strength to save you.

The comic book industry has always captivated the hearts and minds of people. The concept of someone who has all three necessary requirements of a savior resonates strongly with us. Which is odd, because not many of us find ourselves trapped in a stricken airplane that's plummeting toward earth, or threatened by a giant mutated insect, or captured by an evil mastermind armed with laser guns and a fortress riddled with traps. I daresay that none of us have ever been confronted with evil masterminds or giant insects, and air travel is statistically the safest form of travel; rationally it would make more sense to pray for salvation from other drivers than from a downed aircraft.

In other situations the need for a savior is much more relevant. I enjoy the television series House a great deal, mostly because of the dialogue and Hugh Laurie's portrayal of the brilliant doctor with the acerbic wit. But the patients on the show are in need of a savior; a disease strikes and House must solve the mystery before time runs out. It's a comic book disguised as a medical drama. However, even if the show exaggerates certain diseases for the sake of effect, there are countless real medical ailments that plague mankind. Cancer is the big gun, the Lex Luthor of the medical world, although even viruses like the common cold have no cure. People cry out for saviors from the sickness they face, another reason why medical shows are so popular. We get to see the diseases beaten more often than not; we get to see doctors save people. It's hardwired in us.

And then there are more amorphous issues that we need saving from. Things that can't be directly confronted or dealt with. Things like climate change, religious hostility, political adversaries, unemployment, illegal immigration. Things that people argue about, that they come up with good reasons for or against, where there is no agreed, objective standard of measurement. We may all agree that unemployment is a bad thing, but how to rectify the solution, well, that's a hotbed of dispute, with many sides shouting their own views are the best and only salvation. Then there are the issues that we don't even agree upon the problem. Climate change? That's a terrific imbroglio. Illegal immigration? Oil exploration? Global conflicts? How can we be saved when we don't even know if we need to be saved, let alone the form of that salvation?

Which brings me back to the original excuse for this article: education. Another issue similar to unemployment. Tests scores put us near the bottom of developed countries in academic achievement. Dropout rates are staggering, and those who do muddle through public schools are rarely prepared for college, let alone the high end jobs that are on the rise as technology continues to advance. For more information about this, watch the documentary. But how to change the situation is where the road trails off into a morass of political posturing and turf wars. And the victims are the children.

The document follows five different children all struggling in schools, and all submit their names into lotteries to be admitted into better schools: prep schools, charter schools, boarding schools. Not all of them get in. It's heartbreaking to see the despair on their faces, and on the faces of their parents, who fight and scrape and bend themselves into pretzels so their kids can get a decent education. I was moved to tears by the end of the documentary. My soul was crying out, "Who can save these kids? How can the problems be fixed?" And by the way, there are millions more just like them, suffering through poor education and destined to failure. Most don't even care that much about education, for numerous reasons, but a big one is that they've never seen it done well. If education was fun and effective, even those who aren't naturally inclined toward it would be much more open to it. These kids need salvation.

Who can save them? Not their parents, by and large. Their parents are low to middle income, without the resources and power to enroll them in private schools where effective teachers are unleashed and well-compensated to be excellent. Politicians? How many billions, perhaps trillions, have we spent on public policy? The doc covers this well, outlining the US presidents all promising change and salvation. Democrat or Republican, it makes no difference: all have failed. State and local governments have fared little better. They may have the power, but they haven't the foggiest notion of how to save education.

Teachers' unions? If anyone would have both the power and the knowledge to rescue education it would have to be them, right? Maybe, but they seem to be more the roadblock to any legitimate and fundamental change, as the doc makes abundantly clear. As incredible as it sounds, they lack the will or desire to save salvation, preferring to guard their own territory and cater to their members and to the politicians with whom they have cozy relationships. This is perhaps the worst revelation from the doc, the appalling hypocrisy of the AFT and the NEA who claim to be solely dedicated to fighting for education but when real reform is proffered lambaste the legislation and prevent their members from even voting on it.

Who's left? Teachers. Some of whom are legitimately competent and care about their jobs, but far too many of whom are unmotivated and unwilling to push themselves to reach their students. Tenure in public schools is the main cause of this, as the doc delves into.

By now you should have a sense of the enormity of the problem facing the United States. And while the doc does outline a few solutions and potential avenues of reform that might reverse the trend, the obstacles are significant. Which brings me back once again to that quote, that idea: Who has the power to save the children?

Pivot Point

What a week it’s been. Eventful and seismic, yet strangely disconnected. Let me explain.

Last Sunday, after church, my car broke down. This led to my good uncle graciously assisting me in diagnosing the problem (dead battery) and locating a remedy (Wal-Mart), resulting in a two hour wait while the car was being fixed. After two hours, I swiped my debit card, only to discover that I had no money with which to pay for the repairs. I was forced to call my dear friend Walker, who came and not only paid the bill, but also gave me a wad of cash to help meet my needs. 

As I watched him and his wife drive off, I was overcome with emotion. Have you ever felt like vomiting your feelings? Like you need to upchuck, but it is your heart that feels fit to burst, not your stomach? It’s difficult to describe. Needless to say, I required a moment to gather myself before I could be trusted on the road. 

Now, at this time, I had had two interviews for jobs the prior week, one at a company called ScriptPro, and another at JP Morgan. The ScriptPro job sounded much more appealing and I rather liked the feel of the place, seemingly relaxed and comfortable. The job itself required travel and instructing people on the use of a machine that dispensed pills for pharmacies. The JP Morgan position was less appealing, frankly; the pay was slightly less than the other job, at least from what I could gather, and the atmosphere was very formal and professional, strict and straight-laced, an environment I have never relished. I’m sure you can all see where this is going. JP Morgan offered me the job, and ScriptPro didn’t. By Wednesday I had accepted the job. 

Let’s back up a moment. I mentioned that I discovered that I was significantly in debt. Significantly, that is, as it pertains to me, not as it pertains to the national average. But a debt of over $450 when I had sporadic and ancillary pay from my teaching gig, in addition to the bills I already struggled to pay, plus the fact that my next paycheck from teaching wouldn’t come for another 3 weeks, was quite the pickle. Additionally, I hadn’t had a full time job in almost 3 years, so my track record of steady income was rather stale by this point. The interviews had gone well; ScriptPro had invited me for a follow up and I was optimistic, but I’d had several interviews that I thought had gone well and no dice. I wasn’t elevating my hopes too high. 

Strangely enough, however, on Monday morning I was serene and sanguine. When my parents called and offered to restore my account to solvency, I demurred the necessity. I truly felt no urgency or panic, even if they hadn’t gone ahead and done so. I believe that the moment of catharsis after Walker’s intervention had purged all the worry and grief from my system, at least for the moment. When the Lord provides for you like He did with Walker and my parents, it’s hard to bite your nails in anxiety. 

So within the span of 3 days, I’d gone from penniless and in debt, with a broken down car and insufficient funds to pay my bills, to having my financial needs met, and a job that will pay me more than I have ever made. 

I posted the following on my small group’s Facebook page: “Hardship is more interesting than prosperity.” It’s funny how God works things out. If I hadn’t broken down, I would not have realized the financial hole I was in, I wouldn’t have needed to be bailed out, and I wouldn’t have seen the provision of the Lord through Walker and my parents, which led to my moment of catharsis and subsequent tranquility. Am I cured of all anxiety and worry? Probably not. Am I going to panic less the next time? Absolutely. 

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When JP Morgan offered me the job, I didn’t immediately take it. I held out hope that ScriptPro would hire me, since I was more inclined and interested in working there. I told JP Morgan I would let them know by the deadline and then contacted ScriptPro to see if I had a shot. The next morning they turned me down. I told the Lord that if ScriptPro said No I would understand that His will was to work at JP Morgan, even if I didn’t want to. So I accepted the job as a discipline from the Lord. 

You see, I bought the notion that Rush Limbaugh, among others, has always touted: Find what you love to do, what you would do for free, and figure out how to get paid for it. That way you’ll never “work” again. In other words, if you discover your passion in life, from a vocational standpoint, you can get up every morning eager to go to work without viewing it as the drudgery of a regular job. That made a great deal of sense to me and I set out to both discover my passion and see if I could make it profitable. 

Well, easier said than done. I have lots of interests, like reading, writing, golf, movies, theological pondering, teaching, etc. However, I couldn’t and didn’t make that particularly profitable; other than the part time teaching, I couldn’t make any of that into a job. I’d disdained the standard office job, staring at computers all day, preferring a diverse environment and varied stimuli in my work. So I view this job at JP Morgan to be a sacrifice of my own desires and preferences, a kind of self-death. I know not how long Jesus wants me at JP Morgan; perhaps only for a year, or six months. But He opened up the door, after years of pleading on my end, and I would be both foolish and ungrateful to refuse it simply because it wasn’t exactly what I wanted. 

Am I going to stop looking for that passion, that thing that I can enthusiastically do for the next forty years of my life? By no means. But I am going to subjugate my desires to the Father’s will, to go where He sends me, stay where He puts me, and give what He gives me.

Priorities

My brother Caleb and I were sitting in church after having prayed for each other and with each other. And I think we were both a bit dazed at the emotions and fervor that swept over us as we clasped our heads together and interceded for one another; I know I was. And as is the want of humans when they have experienced a great and precious thing, that should reduce them to holy, reverent silence, I began to babble. It was truly like I'd had my eyes closed for hours or days on end, only to open them and be confronted with dizzying and brilliant colors; to see, as it were, the world again in a whole new way. 

So there I sat, my mind swimming with all that Jesus had said to me and through me, His embrace that Caleb got to act as His bit of body to give to me. And I began to marvel at the sheer joy and life that we as believers are now a part of, and have access to if we would only let go and abandon ourselves to His Spirit. I was amazed at the total bankruptcy of life without God, and how the world hadn't just killed itself in sheer despair and hopelessness. Caleb mused on his co-workers and their preoccupation with the details of this world, TV, movies, etc. when something so much better is literally a sentence away. And to say that sharing the life of Christ is so much better than the things of this world is such a infinite understatement that I can barely write the words. But you know what I mean (I hope).

I jumped in and drew the analogy to Plato's Allegory of the Cave, in which men are chained in a deep, dark underground chamber, chained hand and foot with their heads rendered immovable. They watch shadows on the wall in front of them, since other men are acting out scenes with puppets in front of a fire behind them. And the story is of the one man's release from his captivity, his discovery that the shadows aren't real, his discovery that the men playing with puppets aren't real, his ascension up to the top of the cave and out into the real world, and experiencing what is most real in this world. He'd seen a representation of a tree, but never the real thing. He'd heard tales of the sun, but never been blinded by its radiance. And the tale ends with him descending into the gloom to try to free his fellow captives. They, however, refuse to believe his stories of "real" trees and lakes and the sun, preferring their comfortable imprisonment. And that is what people in this world are like, prisoners who watch shadows of puppets on the wall and imagine that it's real. We are to be the fellow captives now free imploring them to come up into reality, the life of Christ.

And what's really sad is if those who have gone up and experienced reality come back down and get caught up in shadow puppets. All too often I find myself preoccupied with the things of this world instead of the things of Heaven, and sit back and argue with the other prisoners about the scene being acted out on the wall. It's ludicrous. And silly. And tragic. And far too prevalent in the modern Church.

But hearing about an African village in Swaziland, where the number of people with AIDS is 40% of the entire population, where women are sexually assaulted more often than not, where a pastor has to live on $100 a month and have his parishioners donate to him, and where a Canadian entrepreneur and believer began to rehabilitate a mining village and together with his team are beating back the forces of hunger, despair, death, witchcraft, and poverty, puts my recent woes of finding a job into a little more perspective. Which is ultimately more important: my inability to find a job that pays me what I think I need to subsist in the richest country on earth, or that a woman with no health care, no medicine, and severe pain and ailments in her leg gets healed and screams her praise and thankfulness to High Heaven while running laps down the aisle?

Thank you, Jesus, for the gentle humbling. May I never forget.

Cross Road

I feel like something’s going to happen soon. In my life. I’ve just about nailed the final nail into the coffin of my dream of higher education, which was always my backup plan, to be broken in case of emergency. It never seriously occurred to me that all my applications would be denied, but now that it’s happened I feel like I can finally lay it down. 

In a bizarre twist (or at least bizarre in any sense other than an omniscient, omnipotent God guiding my life), I had two separate confirmations of this feeling. My uncle came and worked on the basement of my house with me this week, the same day my top two choices rejected me. We had a long lunch and discussed the crossroads of life at which we both find ourselves, and he regaled me with tales of his own discovery of the passion of his life. Not God; that is his life, not his passion. His passion for Christian education came out of left field, and only after he had been rejected similarly from his ambitions, holy though he thought them to be. But it happened during his twenty-ninth year, the same age I am.

On Sunday, the pastor’s wife gave the message and talked about a crossroads in her life when she finally reached the point where she could say honestly, “Not my will but Yours be done” to the Father. It changed the trajectory of her life, and allowed God to give her the passion that would drive her forward into deeper walks with Him. She was around thirty years old.

This is significant because I’ve always struggled with my passion. I said the other day to a friend of mine who works as a software developer that I envied his knowledge of what he was, who he was. That is, what his job, his career, his vocation on earth is. Because that’s part of what defines us. We certainly must look first to our walk with the Lord for our sense of identity, but practically speaking we all must do something. And those who know what they were meant to do gain in that knowledge a sense of who they are. My uncle claimed to be a Christian school administrator: “I’m a leader! That’s who I am!” His gifts and talents are tied into his identity, and when God runs the show, He can harmonize everything into a beautiful symphony through which He can impact this world. 

That’s what this is all about. I don’t know who I am. In relation to this world, that is. I know I’m God’s son, His bondslave, His precious one. The desire of His heart, as wonderfully frightening as that is. But who I am on earth, what I was meant for…I’m still working on that. I don’t know. And once you know that, once that surety has rooted itself in your heart, you can pursue that wholeheartedly. 

Wholeheartedly. It’s a word thrown around without much meditation. To do something, to be something with your whole heart. That’s what appeals to me about characters like William Wallace in Braveheart. Nothing, but nothing was more important that his mission: to free Scotland from the evil English. Freedom from tyranny is an admirable goal, and the things humans can accomplish when they pursue something wholeheartedly can be remarkable. But imagine how much greater if our human nature was in tune with God’s will! The possibilities are literally endless, and we as humans can participate in God’s will while doing something that pops us out of bed each morning wildly enthusiastic about the day. 

It must begin with God, however. As Brenda said, I must come to the place where I let go and let God, give up and give in. And once the last school rejects me, that’s where I’m at. I looked in the mirror and said, “Well, God, I’m out of ideas.” Which was mostly true; I have ideas but they are pipe dreams, like being a professional golfer. But ideas, plans that I can produce on my own? Nope. I’ve failed at most things I’ve done in my life, and mostly because I’ve done them, not Him.

So God, help me. I’m ready to give up and give in. I’ve been saying this for a while now, ever since I discovered Ian Thomas’ sermons, but this affair with the doctorate programs was kind of my final crutch, and it’s been kicked away. I’m ready. I pray.

Foggy Thoughts

I stepped out into a world of white, soupy stillness, as if the very air was holding its breath. I love fog.

Fog to me speaks of mystery, adventure. I love the stories of Sherlock Holmes because of the mysteries and the clever ways that Holmes pierces the veil of crimes and clues to arrive at a solution. But I also love the descriptions of London at the turn of the century, of hansoms rattling through quiet streets, the clip-clop of horse-drawn carriages, and the foggy blanket Conan Doyle often describes London nestling under. Read “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T. S. Eliot for another wonderful depiction of fog, a yellow fog in that instance. 

Fog always gives me a thrill, for it bespeaks adventure and mystery. I feel like anything can happen on a foggy day. A bloody stranger can stagger up to the door and collapse with a cryptic message on their dying lips. A band of bandits can emerge and bushwhack lonesome travelers. Intrepid investigators can track a criminal through silent streets, each a shadowy threat to the other. No gun fire; fog is reserved for daggers or fists, or a chloroformed handkerchief. Anything can happen in fog.

So I enjoyed the drive to church today, as the world disappeared swiftly in my rearview mirror, and slowly parted to reveal only a half mile in front. I turned off the radio and listened for cryptic messages, wishing I could track a gang of bank robbers or embark on a dire quest. I yearned for adventure, mystery. 

And then I realized that life itself is rather mysterious. The future lays enshrouded in mist, inscrutable as the roads today. Who knows what will appear suddenly? Who knows who shall cross my path a year from now, or a month, or even a week? My quests might not hold the import of the Fellowship of the Ring, but what they sacrifice in romance they make up in realism. 

You might argue that, based on prior events, the future won’t be very exciting. Go to work, go home, veg in front of the tube, go to bed, rinse and repeat until the weekend, with an occasional evening activity thrown in. Certainly my life isn’t a thrill ride at the moment. But here’s where the new life in Christ comes in, because He’s got plans, jobs that need doing, and all He needs are hands and feet and voices and hearts. And we are afforded the wondrous opportunity to be those hands and feet, to speak in His name, to extend our hearts to others by His power and love. If we acknowledge Him in all our ways, He will direct our paths, as the Proverb teaches. 

Who knows where He will direct our path? Who know how He will accomplish His will? What if He puts you in a trying job for three years so that, after months of prayer and wondering, a co-worker asks you about Christ? Could you have predicted that three years of swallowing insults and mockery, of refusing to laugh at a vulgar jest, of remaining honest and true even to your own detriment, would be a brighter witness than the most persuasive speech on the cross and the empty tomb? What if He engineered that car accident and the subsequent injury solely so your physical therapist could see you rejoice in the midst of agonizing pain? What if the transfer away from your friends and church and family that you bridled at initially was used to lead to a ministry that you otherwise would never have known about?

How unsearchable are His ways beyond our understanding! Who has known the mind of the Lord? Well, our opportunity is for the Lord to make His mind known to us, if we let Him. And then, who knows what might happen?

---

After church I went out to lunch with some dear friends. As I navigated to the restaurant, I was struck anew by the severely diminished visibility that fog produces. It’s mysterious, yes, but also slightly perilous. Common sense advises you to slow down, peer closely at what lies ahead. On a clear day, the location of the restaurant in the shopping center would have been readily apparent. Even though I generally knew where it was, however, I was driving semi-blind. It suddenly materialized and I had to respond quickly to enter the correct turn-off. 

When your capacity to predict outcomes diminishes, you must be on alert. A lasses-faire attitude can produce catastrophic results, as the traffic accidents during the winter prove. Such is life, no? If we sleepwalk through our day, how much easier is it to be blindsided with disaster! The shock alone has devastating effects, sometimes greater than the actual results of the incident. The first time I was fired from a job came on a weekday, not Friday or Monday. In the early afternoon, I was called into the supervisor’s office and told I had been terminated. They accompanied me to my desk and escorted me to the elevator. No warning, no indication, just a 2x4 across the temple. I was emotionally winded, like I’d fallen down a mine shaft. I’d been lazing my way through the job, thoroughly unmotivated to excel, bored to the nth degree. I haven’t had a full time job since, almost three years now. 

The other effect of driving through the fog, like being dropped in a stormy sea, with waves obscuring your vision, is that you have to rely on something beyond your own abilities. Had I a GPS device, I could have followed its directions to the restaurant today, trusting that it would lead me safely and accurately to my destination. So my question is, In what or whom do you place your trust to guide you through the veil of confusion we blithely call Life? The answer should be obvious to believers, but I wonder how true it really is in our everyday lives. Do we rely on Him to guide us to work each day? To complete our tasks correctly and in timely fashion? To direct our interactions with friends, co-workers, beloveds, and the guy at the gas station?

Because I know I’m tempted to just turn to Him when the visibility dips below my range of vision. For simple things like running errands or looking for books in the library, I don’t involve Him because I don’t really need His intervention, do I? I mean, I’m a semi-functional adult, capable of balancing a checkbook (in theory), buying stamps at the post office, and sending emails to my sister Down Under without bugging Him, right? Why should the God of the universe be bothered with whether I should buy a book online or at a store?

But I don’t get to make the call on what things I need Jesus for and what things I don’t. First, I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THINGS I DON’T NEED HIM FOR!! Right? If He is my life, then He is my ENTIRE life. Not just the spiritual parts of it, not just the relationships and the struggles with sin. He’s supposed to be in everything. Jesus, when He walked on earth, didn’t separate His ministry from His everyday life. Even when He was a kid, He thought deeply about the things of God, He walked with His Father. And He is the template, the example we are to emulate, remembering that we don’t emulate Him by our own strength and diligence, but emulate His complete dependence upon His Father, in all things. He alone can guide us through the fog, just like someone looking down upon a maze can guide someone in the maze to the center.

The fog, then, is our opportunity to recognize our plight, that we need to be en garde, our senses alert, recognizing the potential for danger and pitfalls, as well as acknowledging our complete and utter dependence upon His direction in our lives. 

Bet you didn’t know fog had so many applications, did you?

Advocate

I recently attended a faculty meeting at the college where I taught. The occasion for this meeting related to the recent restructuring of the administration of the General Education division under which the subjects I teach fall. We now answer to a new supervisor, the chair of the division, who answers to the President and Vice President of Academic Affairs. Perhaps the main thing I took away from this meeting was the sense of definite structure, of a concrete supervisor and ordered practices that are going to be implemented over the next several months. 

One of the topics discussed was grading and homework submission, and as the discussion progressed, what emerged was that the new chair, who was conducting the meeting, was clearly asserting that she was the authority when it came to disputes with students and administration, that the buck stopped with her. We had to justify our positions and decisions with her, but once we did, she would be our advocate when dealing with students or administration branches. My supervisor, who had helped shape the curriculum as it now stands, cried, “Hooray! We have an advocate!” She was overjoyed that someone was going to take her/our side, and that would be the end of it. 

I was struck by this joy that she and others at the meeting displayed on hearing this truth established and emphasized. But I understood; it’s quite a relief to find that someone will defend and argue for you in situations where your judgment and behavior is concerned, especially when it involves those with power over you. If a student accuses you of acting inappropriately in some way, the worst thing to happen is to have your supervisor refuse to support you. I saw this happen to a colleague of mine, and not only did it render him impotent in terms of his class, handing out punishments or poor grades, but it embittered and depressed him, casting a cynical shadow over his view of teaching in general and the supervisor in particular. 

The lack of an advocate can also spread to those who have not been directly affected. I as a fellow student-teacher now understood that my supervisor would not support me if I got into a jam, and therefore had to exercise greater caution and restraint when dealing with my students, especially student of a different racial makeup as that was the circumstances surrounding my colleague’s fiasco. When you know you are on your own, it causes you to harden yourself, to draw inward, to look first to self-preservation before considering the function you are tasked to perform. The implied lesson is clear: if they are willing to cut out your colleague’s legs, you can expect no different. Apart from souring an environment like an office or collection of teacher, it inculcates cynicism and skepticism in any message of support from a higher authority. It also prevents or at least delays trust in a new supervisor who may claim to be willing to support you and your fellows in times of strife. The lack of a true advocate is a dreadful thing.

Just imagine, then, how much worse it would be if we lacked an advocate before God. If our defenselessness in a work environment acts with such corrosive poison, when the stakes are merely embarrassment, censure, or at the worst dismissal, how much more terrible would be our lives if the advocacy for our salvation and forgiveness rested on our shoulders alone? For we often find ourselves in similar circumstances in our spiritual walk; at least, I do. I find myself mired in self-condemnation and reproach for a sin I have committed, reproach that is aided and enlarged by the forces of darkness and the conscience that rightly notes evil. The offense is real, and must be addressed, but the reaction usually speaks death into our hearts. After all, God is holy and righteous; how can He not reject this sin? And in doing so, reject us? Moreover, aren’t we supposed to be saved, freed from the law of sin and death? If so, then why do we still sin? Something must be wrong. And so the script begins a drumbeat of condemnation and judgment that seems perfectly valid to us. The defendant is guilty, Your Honor, and the wages of sin is, well, you know.

But.

“We finally have an Advocate! Someone who will defend us, argue for us! Someone who can counter the attacks of the Law, the devil, and our own conscience! Praise be to Him!” Have you ever thanked Jesus for defending you before God the Father against the tirades of Satan, whose name means “accuser”? Have you ever collapsed (spiritually) at the throne of grace, weary from attacks on your heart, crying out, “Your grace is sufficient, Lord!”? Have you ever rebuked your conscience, quoting the words of Paul, that we are the righteousness of God, having been freed from the Law of sin and death, now under grace? Jesus is my Advocate; He’s on my side. If you’re at all like me, you have often felt like no one was on your side, that the entire world seems united in condemning you (even if it wasn’t true). How marvelous that we now have a dauntless and tireless fighter in our corner, a champion like the knights of old who defends our honor with blood, sweat, and tears. For He paid the bloodprice that all our sins, for all time, are forgiven; as soon as they occur, they are covered and God remembers them no more. Because the blood of Jesus pleads for you and me before God. And that blood isn’t just the death on the cross that reconciled us; it’s also the life that courses through His veins that we now share, that alone can bring us to life. The life is in the blood. 

Do you believe this? What chains would this truth strike from off your heart and mind if you truly believed this and began to walk in it? There’s only one way to find out…

Game Night Profundity

As I was journeying to Game night, I had a spiritual revelation. I almost called it an epiphany, but to me that term always suggested a purely mental awakening or flash of insight. This revelation, which was undoubtedly from the Lord as I shall shortly demonstrate, came at the heart level, the innermost being. A level, I might add, I am unaccustomed to living on, which added to the impact.

To go forward one often must go back first, and so it is with this story. Without droning on about the numerous troubles and tribulations in my life, a great many of which have, recently, been car-related, let me just say that yet another sizeable car repair was necessary, a bill I was unable to pay. Fresh from that, and the three hour drive from my parents’ house, I noted a noise in the car, which in conjunction with the “Service Engine Soon” light blazing defiantly on my dashboard prophesized future disaster (or at least, inconvenience). And I was tense, nervous as I merged onto the interstate; if the wheel came off, things might get hairy. To be sure, the chances of that happening were slim, but I seem to attract mechanical distress like honey draws bees. 

All of a sudden, a burden vanished.

The tension melted away, and inside my mind came the thought, How foolish can you be, to worry about this! If it happens, it happens. Worrying won’t prevent it; all it does is enable you to roll around in miserable self-pity even before you have cause! Besides (and here is where the Holy Spirit chimed in, if He hadn’t been speaking already), if the car does break down, that just gives God the opportunity to provide for you! It’s a chance to see Him work in your life, in physical, tangible ways! Hallelujah!
 

I chuckled to myself, and had a nice cozy talk with Him as my car hummed along. Upon arrival, I found myself cheerful, an alien state of mind for me usually. I can put on a bold face or fake levity, but the heart normally doesn’t overflow with it. Today it was. 

I was and continue to be thunderstruck at this blatantly obvious truth, that my weakness and desperation are merely opportunities for God to show Himself strong and capable on my behalf. How many times have I said this, and read this, and heard this! I believed it thoroughly, but my heart didn’t understand. Plus, what if that’s the reason so many things go wrong in life? What if God allows or causes mishaps because He not only knows it will drive us to Him, but He loves to show off! Not in a braggadocios manner, like a peacock strutting for a hen, but like a mechanic who drives along roads in hopes of coming upon a stranded motorist whom he can assist. God wants us to trust Him, to rely on Him, and the best way to accomplish this is to create or capitalize on situations where He is needed, to prove Himself. Boys love to show off for their fathers lifting heavy weights or demonstrating a killer karate chop, not out of self-aggrandizement but simply because they want their fathers to be impressed, to praise and cherish them. Girls adorn themselves in beautiful outfits and twirl for their moms and dads, eager to hear how gorgeous and captivating they are. Is there an element of this in God? Does He yearn for our praise and approval with childlike eagerness and innocence? Dare we ascribe such simple urges to the Ultimate complexity? 

We even see this in the reverse at times. A father loves the look of awe and respect in his child’s eyes, and he seeks to earn and deserve that respect, if he is a good father. In the same way, couldn’t the Father of all desire to see our jaws drop in wonder at His work? We marvel at nature and the deep mysteries of Scripture, which is right and proper, but what if He wants our wonder in the everyday humdrum of life? What if He wants us to praise Him because an unexpected bill arrived in the mail a day before an unexpected gift for the exact same amount arrives? And in the 24 hours between the bill and the gift, He wants us to praise Him and trust Him that all will be well?

What kind of a God would be like that? The kind that slips in the back door of Creation, in a manger, when everyone is scouring the landscape for a king? The kind that chooses a backwater country, a backwater city in that country, and a simple virgin girl instead of a seat of power and the lineage of Caesars? The kind that walks into Death’s open arms instead of whistling up legions of heavenly warriors? The kind that recruits fishermen and hookers instead of priests and rabbis? Who takes the ordinary, unimpressive things of life and reshapes the world?

That kind of God might.

Dirty Mirrors and Boiling Frogs

I cleaned my bathroom mirror for the first time in months the other day. And before you comment on the life of a bachelor, focus! I have a different point to make. I was and still am startled at the clearer image that glowers back at me when I face it. It brought to mind a verse from that seminal  thirteenth chapter in I Corinthians: “Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face” (12). 

Apart from the immediate context of the verse, which declares that the imperfection with which we understand God’s love is temporal and will fade once all things come together in Him, another application occurred to me. Bear with me if this is something that you have heard before; I tend to be a slow learner and it helps to process things. Quite often we don’t realize how dirty things have become until and unless we clean them. Mirrors, toilets, cars, kitchen drawers, garages, and so forth; the list is endless. We think that we are perceiving things clearly, that while dirt or clutter may have clouded our view slightly we’re still mostly seeing things as they are. Then something happens to erase the smudges, silence the din, and clear away the rubble, and we realize just how clouded and crowded our senses have been.

And I’m sure you can relate to this, how the imperceptible accumulation over time can slide under the radar, building in the background. We’re frogs in water that are being slowly brought to boil. If the distractions and encumbrances had popped up all at once, in a headlong rush, it would be simple and obvious to recognize and redress the situation. But, and here is where I truly sense the great Malevolence spoken of so often in the New Testament, circumstances conspire to keep us ignorant of the distractions. The darkness slowly creeps over our field of vision until we can’t remember what it was to look into a clean mirror. That vivid image of ourselves, our Savior, and the world is gradually crowded out, by even the most benign and innocuous events of life. Nay, even, dare I say, by the spiritual laps we run, thinking that we are doing good work for God. Not every glass cleaner leaves a clean image afterward. 

It’s death by Novocain, which the Enemy much prefers to a stab to the heart. We are, like James said, people who look in a mirror and turn away, promptly forgetting what we look like. 

What is the remedy? What is the spiritual Windex to clean the mirror? Well, the first step is recognizing the possibility that the image we’re seeing may be marred or blurry. If we just accept the image as reality, then all else is moot. Second, we must consider what the true image is. Depending on what element of your life is being masked, this answer will vary, but generally whatever strengthens your dependence on and relationship with God are the areas the Enemy will try to distort. 

Third, clean the blasted thing! Quite obvious, no? But it’s sometimes easier said than done. Deep wounds and hidden sins can be both painful and difficult to unearth and even more to correct. But by and large the distortions can be remedied by simply turning back to the Word of God and His Spirit. Seek the truth of what God communicated through the writers, and ask Him for confirmation and affirmation. Be sure, however, to always remember that it is the death of Christ for us that redeems us and the life of Christ in us that is saving us. If you begin to drum up all the check marks in your favor in the Ledger, that will only further blur the image. Cast away all hope of deserving salvation or sanctification (I’m speaking to Christians, mind!), and throw yourself wholly at the feet of the Throne. He is the great Illusion-Shatterer. Humble thyself in the sight of the Lord, and He will exalt you.

Fourth, rise and repeat as needed. I mean, rinse. Slip of the tongue.