Too Busy
“Be still, and know that I am God;
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.”
Psalm 46:10
Too busy to write, to study and to relax.
So much to be done — I’m just far too busy.
Too busy to go to church, to exercise or to do the dishes.
A mess: my kitchen and my mind share this in common.
Too busy to eat well and to take care of myself physically.
This pinched nerve in my neck serves as a reminder.
Too busy to plan my trip of a lifetime.
Italy beckons in the near future, but I’m too busy to plan for rest.
Too busy to pray or even to weep for Haiti.
If ever there was a time, it is now.
Too busy to feel; to feel for myself or for others.
A mind distracted has no emotion.
Why so busy, my soul?
What must you prove?
A man without arms juggling is surely entertaining, if not impressive.
Especially when he juggles so many balls at one time.
Making up for the wounded body God placed me in is tiring.
Maybe I was meant to live at a slower pace?
Maybe we all were.
But, that slower life is where the pain and mystery sneaks in.
It’s where emotions come in waves;
where I’m forced to wrestle with God.
In just being, I am forced to look at myself in the mirror.
Naked, not wrapped in my activities or achievements.
Forced to see myself as a person that cannot earn approval.
It’s a place I’d rather avoid.
And, well, I’m just too busy to linger there.
Too busy to sabbath.
Too busy to do what I desperately need.
Far too busy to be still.
A Mysterious Manger
In reflecting back on 2009, I am left with one word that has played a more significant role in my life than any other this year: mystery. Although the word applies to many facets of my life recently, it has been particularly true of my interpretation of God and our relationship.
Although I’ve spent the last several years asking questions about my birth and the “why”s that go with that, this is the first year that I can honestly say that I’ve had that conversation directly with God. And, it is the first time that I’ve presented some of that questioning in such an open, public manner. I’m glad I’ve engaged in these areas; yet, I can tell you that none of my questions have been answered — or at least answered in a manner that I am currently satisfied with.
That’s the thing about God. His ways are extremely mysterious to me.
But, that’s not all bad. The thing I’ve come to realize about God is that I am engaged in a relationship with him – times of ups and downs, times that require work, times of contentment and times of extreme frustration. As is true with a solid relationship, though, I’m realizing it can bear these fluctuations in emotions.
I don’t need God to answer all my questions, just to be confident that he hears them and to know that there are times that he weeps alongside me.
Christmas brings us a fascinatingly mysterious story. Yet, it’s a story that I feel we’ve tried our best to take the mystery out of. Images from our nativity sets show a clean manger lined with fresh straw, Mary and Joseph with smiles on their faces and Jesus sleeping quietly.
Silent Night? Holy Night? I’m wondering if, in that moment, Mary and Joseph would have named the night as such.
Imagine the tumultuous travel that would be inherent for a woman nearing birth while riding on a donkey. The frustration of being denied access to an inn – on a night Mary would give birth, nonetheless. And, I can only imagine that Mary’s mouth was not only shouting blessings to heaven as she lay there birthing a child in a damp, stinky manger that had been used to house animals.
There are so many pieces to this story that do not make sense – so much so that you can only think that the facts are true, because no one would make up a story this crazy to introduce the Son of God!
Think about these few basic pieces of the narrative that make up the Christmas story:
– A virgin giving birth
– No room at the Inn in Joseph’s hometown of Bethlehem, leaving the birth of Jesus to be held in an empty stable
– Angels appearing to sheperds, telling them, “Do not be afraid”
– A new star in the sky lighting the way for the Wise Men to find Jesus
– Herod demanding that all males be killed at the time of Jesus’ birth
This is crazy, mysterious stuff! There’s no way around it. As much as you sing soft, quiet hymns, dim the lights and light candles in the room for a Christmas Eve service, I simply can’t get away from the absolute insanity of this story.
As a friend recently told me, though, God’s insanity is far better than man’s knowledge.
No, God does not make sense to me – but I’m not sure he was meant to. For centuries he has made himself known to humans in a way that few comprehend. So, why should I expect that to change for me?
God seems crazy. His ways appear insane. And, his methods are often mysterious.
That’s fine with me, though. To be honest, I’m not sure I’d like some of the answers that would be offered to in response to my questions anyway!
Subversive Baby
This weekend I’ve enjoyed my time with my dad and brother, in town to go to the Seahawks’ game today. Although that was the main reason for the two of them making their way to Seattle, we also attended Black Nativity at Intiman Theater. My dad is a big fan of gospel music and it was a fun holiday festivity.
Although there were many facets of the performance that I enjoyed, the key message that resonated with me was the unique way in which God chose to insert himself into humanity. You know the story: a virgin mother, a census to force a return to Bethlehem, the manger, etc. But, what was presented was the shunning and rejection that Joseph and Mary experienced in looking for a place to stay overnight — in Joesph’s hometown nonetheless. According to Christian belief, it was in a manger that the King was born. A king born in a manger? Now, that’s subversive! In one of the most critical moments in history, God chose to upend logic and to upset the way of royalty.
Another story presented later in the performance was a song about the woman who came to Jesus with her alabaster box in the New Testament. Simon was having a gathering of Pharisees (men of means) at his home to meet with Jesus. These were people of influence and prestige, so it was with displeasure that they responded to the entrance of a woman from the city (a woman with a sinful past) who sacrificed everything she had in order to wash Jesus’ feet with her tears and to anoint them with expensive perfume from her alabaster box. The Pharisees (the religious leaders of the time) pushed back on Jesus, noting that this disreputable woman had interrupted the gathering of people who lived holy lives. But, Jesus noted that she was forgiven and that he did not see her as an annoyance in the least. She subverted the concept of the party in a way that Jesus must have loved!
You see, God has never done anything in a logical way. He’s always been — and always will be — subversive. I think we (especially Americans) have lost sight of the true message of the Gospel. The false vision that we have of Jesus being a white baby is just the beginning of our folly! We want an organized, safe life where God does things our way. We seek wealth and power, while God entered into our world in the most humble way possible. And, there are churches out there that tell parishioners that God will bless them only if they give generously to the church.
This brings to mind this famous quote from Annie Dillard —
“On the whole, I do not find Christians, outside the catacombs, sufficiently sensible of the conditions. Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake some day and take offense, or the waking god may draw us out to where we can never return.”
God should scare the hell out of us! As a friend of mine says, “God is insane. It’s just that his insanity is more sane than man’s knowledge.” But, we don’t want him to be so scary and mysterious. So, we domesticate him and put him in box where we can place him on a shelf where we can retrieve him when we most desperately need him.
Jesus was born a subversive baby and loved to subvert the religious leaders in the New Testament — and I’ll bet that he continues to work in ways that upset us and topple our world.
Beginnings and Endings
Beginnings and endings are where we wrestle the most.
Our struggles center around creation and death.
So many days my breath is taken away by your creation.
The mountains, trees, lakes and the sun glistening off the Sound.
It’s curious, though, this fascination.
I see so much beauty in the nature you created,
but when I look in the mirror I don’t see the same.
Instead, I see a God that was absent.
You knit me together in my mother’s womb, right?
You tell me that know the number of hairs on my head,
but you missed the arms.
Were you there?
Did you miss me passing by on the conveyor belt of life?
Or, did you actually choose to create me this way?
“It was not because of his sins or his parents’ sins,”
you answered, when asked why a man was born blind.
“This happened so the power of God could be seen in him.”
I’m not comfortable with a God so sadistic and selfish.
But, maybe that’s who you are.
Or, maybe you’re loving and you grieve my wounded body alongside me.
So many of my questions for the Creator remain unanswered.
Death is the other bookend that leaves me struggling with you.
You took her so young; only 54 when the cancer consumed her.
She was my best friend and I was Grandma’s Little Angel.
So many traits I’ve inherited from her – enjoyment of flowers and planting,
and foods that I could have only learned to love from her.
My Grandma Phyllis was not perfect, but her love for me was.
I miss her.
An impression is made on a young boy feeling so frightened;
helpless to aid his Grandma “Phil” while she lay convulsing from seizures.
Not able to open a door or to reach the phone.
To not be able to do anything for a friend in need sets you down a path;
a path to never be caught off guard again.
So, I’ve learned to be prepared,
to not get too attached,
to not give my heart fully.
Because if I do, you may take that away from me again.
Stuck between beginnings and endings is where I live.
A frightened boy, living in a wounded body.
Afraid to make a move, scared to take a risk.
Paralyzed by the fear that you won’t meet me there.
Yet, you’ve met me so many times.
You’ve brought me safely thus far,
So bring me safely again.
Lord, let things end so that you can create anew.
All Sort of Crazily Beautiful
I borrowed the title of this post from a sentence in Bird by Bird, a book on writing and life by Anne Lamott. In the chapter called Polaroids she speaks of the need to show up and be present — for writing assignments, specifically; but for life in general. Lamott recalls attending a Special Olympics event in the Bay area, where she lives, with no idea what she’d write about for her upcoming newspaper article. After lunch she wandered into the gym and found a basketball game being played. “In lieu of any scoring,” she says, “the men stampeded in slow motion up and down the court, dribbling the ball thunderously. I had never heard such a loud game. It was all sort of crazily beautiful.”
As I walked around San Diego yesterday, taking in the warm weather and experiencing a new city, I couldn’t help but think the same thing of my life recently.
A few weeks ago I wrote of my need to begin to wrestle with God, especially involving issues around my disability. 32 years into my life I’ve finally begun to engage in questions around my creation as a man without arms (as well as severe problems with my left leg). Last weekend was a rough time for me — mostly due to that wrestling. It was packed with true feeling and emotion — something that I rarely stay present for. I tend to limit my emotions, good or bad, in order to stay on an even keel.
So, two main points of Lamott’s chapter struck me as being very poignant:
1. Showing up and staying present — It’s going to take times in the valley in order for me to appreciate the mountain top experiences like I’m having this week. I hate this. I’ve perfected the art of pushing away anger, emotions and truly feeling. To stay present, as Anne Lamott wrote about, takes a lot of work on my part. But, that presence is what makes things so good and so bad at the same time.
Rarely do I show up with all I am, and even when I do, I can shut down quickly at the moment feelings start to appear. It’s a fear of the wellspring of emotions that may come flowing out if I really plumb their depths. They’ve been kept down for over three decades and they’ve built up a lot of pressure over that time. To start to open up that well is scary, but I’m doing my best to start exploring what’s down there — as ugly or toxic as it may be.
On the positive side of things, it means breathing in the ocean air, smelling the scents of the city (not all of them pleasant) and noticing faces. I did this well yesterday. I was noticing the stares, hearing the comments from kids as I passed by and truly engaging with folks when the opportunity presented itself. Being fully present led to a great day.
2. Beauty does not mean perfection — Perfection is what so many of us strive to present to others, no matter how unrealistic everyone knows it is. That’s the paradox of facades — those of us presenting them are often the only ones who can’t see through them. Meanwhile, the rest of the world sees us for who we really are — struggling and stumbling.
Obviously the Special Olympics basketball game that Lamott wrote about was not played at the NBA level. But the moment that the one and only basket of the game was made, she explains, “The crowd roared, and all the men on both teams looked up wide-eyed at the hoop, as if it had burst into flames.” To an outsider, there was nothing spectacular about that 2-0 game. But, to those wrapped up in the drama and the struggle, that moment was pure bliss. It was beauty at its finest!
My life has not been perfect and neither has the past week. It’s been rough. But, walking around on a glorious day in San Diego yesterday I could only say to myself that life has been crazily beautiful as of late. Just as it has been for the past 32 years.
Struggling, staying present and living beautifully is what we’ve been called to — each and every one of us. As I was reminded by an atheist (ironically) this past weekend, “maybe it’s God’s glory” shining through. It’s not perfection and it’s nowhere near that — but I’m beginning to see how brilliant, yet difficult, this life can be when I allow myself to wrestle, stay present and persist in the muck of life.
Move that bus!
I’ll admit it. I’m addicted to one of TV’s most emotionally-manipulative shows, Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. You likely know the show by the screaming host (Ty Pennington), the demolition of a house and the inevitable tears from the family when they see their new home. (Nevertheless the tears from all of us who watch the show!)
Extreme Makeover: Home Edition is somewhat formulaic. First, the family tends to have at least one member with a physical disability. Whether it’s an asthmatic in a house with toxic mold, a recently-paralyzed dad in the multistory house or a child with special needs, a story is told about how the current home severely limits the ability of its inhabitants to live a full life. After we hear about the needs of the family and they depart for vacation, the demolition of the old house begins. There’s something great about watching an old, unaccommodating house being destroyed!
After the house is gutted, the design team gets to work with the surrounding community in order to build a new home that is specifically suited for the needs and desires of the family. Every aspect of the house is redesigned in order to make life easier for those who live there, including special touches that seek to heal the emotional wounds of the homeowners. At the end of the show, the family returns to their home town and arrives at the site of their new home. But, their view of the house is always shielded by a large touring bus so that the house will be revealed only after those gathered chant, “Move that bus!” The music crescendos and we see the faces and tears of each family member as they see a home that is too good to be true. Within minutes they are touring their new home that has been meticulously built for their unique needs.
This show resonates with me for several reasons. First, there is the commonality around disability. Although I successfully live alone in a standard condo with no special design features, I recognize how a home could be severely limiting. These are always extreme cases that, at times, threaten the lives of the family members living there. I’m nowhere near that level in my situation, but I can empathize with those in need of a home that works for them.
I also appreciate that the design team always researches and hears the specific needs of each individual in the family. You may say, “The show is about meeting the needs of the family, right? So, of course they seek to meet them.” Yes, but people with disabilities live their lives being flexible and doing whatever necessary to survive and react to a society that rarely seeks to meet their needs. To be listened to is a big deal; to have your home rebuilt to meet your special needs is quite another.
Finally, this show is all about redemption. It’s about moving a family that was in darkness to a place of light and hope, simply by constructing a new home around their specific needs. I have no doubt that the looks of shock, the tears of joy and the smiles are real when the home is revealed. What an unbelievable transformation — these families’ lives have been significantly changed in the matter of seven days!
At a larger level, I recognize what it’s like to live in a world that was not built for a man without arms and I hope for redemption. I long for the day when my needs will be heard and understood — and, furthermore, that those longings will be met. (Now, you can start praying that I’ll grow arms — you wouldn’t be the first — but, those old ladies’ prayers weren’t answered and I’m not sure I’d know what to do with arms even if they dramatically appeared.)
Simply put, I long for heaven. One day I’ll stand with the angels and those gone ahead of me and this will be our earnest plea — “God, move that bus!!!” I’ll yell it with all my might and I fully expect tears as my new home is revealed — a home where a disability no longer limits me in any way.
I commit
The weather has dramatically changed in Seattle these past few days, with clouds, rain, wind and thunderstorms rolling through the area. I’m sad to see the sun and warmer weather go, but I’m excited for a new season. It’s football season! A season of limited daylight and turbulent weather. A slower season for me personally, without a grad school class until Spring quarter. A time for me to read, take a cooking class, commune with friends and to wrestle with God.
This past month and a half has been a busy and stressful time for me. And, you’ve likely noticed that my posts have been sparse. There are certainly seasons in life and this is one that I’m glad to be done with.
This changing season opens up new opportunities and challenges for me. Here are a couple I want you to know about so that we can continue on this journey together:
1. I commit to write at least one blog post per week. Hopefully it will be more frequent than that, but there will be one per week at a minimum. This is a challenge that my friend and colleague, Jeff Brooks, gave me a several days ago as we discussed the discipline of writing and story-telling — and I think it’s a wise step for me to take.
I’m really enjoying writing this blog and admittedly, through conversations with you all, I’m starting to have dreams and thoughts about how my story might have a bigger impact on others. Whether a vocation or not, I’m seeing how God works through my words as I share my story. Writing more and telling my story is an intimidating prospect for sure; but creating one post per week is a way for me to “steer my elephant” by taking small, actionable steps every week. At the end of one year I’ll have written 52 posts — surely enough words and thoughts to use as a skeleton to a memoir or some form of a book.
2. Additionally, I commit to God to wrestle with Him more. If there is one thing that is exceptionally clear to me these past few months it is that I’ve failed to fully engage in the emotions and frustrations that apprehend me daily as a man born without arms. Wes Stafford, the President & CEO of Compassion International, spoke at the Willow Creek Leadership Conference last month and his topic was leading through the pain of your past. He told a very disturbing and moving story of his childhood as a missionary kid in Africa and how that exceptional pain has compelled him to commit his life to helping children. “No one cares what you know until they know why you care,” he said. Well, the reason I care about the issues of disability (that I’ve begun to explore here) is that God created me with a body that makes my life difficult at times. And, in that alone, there are many questions.
Guaranteed, some of that wrestling with God will spill out into this blog. There are areas of my life that are very sensitive and those will remain between Him and I for now. But, I want this space to serve as a realistic and honest place. I could easily create an entire blog that radiated with hope and that literally glowed with optimism. People love that stuff and, honestly, it’s a simple message that the church eats up! But, that’s not my life — and I doubt it’s your reality, either. Because of that, I must wrestle with God as Jacob did. Welcome to ringside!
Finally, Sunday evening will be my deadline for the weekly post. So check back every Monday and expect to see something new. I hope you’ll continue to interact with what I explore here, as that’s the part I enjoy the most. And, feel free to wrestle through life’s issues and struggles with me.
The season is changing to Fall — and that’s where simple beliefs die and blow away in preparation for a future season of growth and possibility. Let the rains come and the winds blow.
Waiting for God
Sort of a weekend of paradox for me so far.
Without getting into a ton of detail, the past 48 hours have been full of both refreshing time alone and being surrounded by large groups of folks I hardly know. It’s involved great conversation and meaningful touch and, yet, a longing for something more. And, lots of time in the presence of friends and on the phone with family, but too much time spent in my head contemplating.
What strikes me today is my need for God to speak. Much like Jacob wrestling in the Bible, I need an encounter with God — matter of fact I’m demanding it. The challenge is that God seems silent to me more often than I enjoy. It reminds me of the passage from C.S. Lewis in A Grief Observed:
Meanwhile, where is God? This is one of the most disquieting symptoms. When you are happy, so happy that you have no sense of needing Him, so happy that you are tempted to feel His claims upon you as an interruption, if you remember yourself and turn to Him with gratitude and praise, you will be — or so it feels — welcomed with open arms. But go to him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that, silence. You may as well turn away. The longer you wait, the more emphatic the silence will become. There are no lights in the windows. It might be an empty house. Was it ever inhabited? It seemed so once. And that seeming was as strong as this. What can this mean? Why is He so present a commander in our time of prosperity and so very absent a help in time of trouble?
I have no answers for Mr. Lewis. He has captured my feelings exactly.
Ironically, on a person-to-person level, my interactions this weekend have been great. I’ve had great conversations with my parents over the phone, I’ve been around friends quite a bit this weekend and I’ve even had quality interactions with strangers (special thanks to the guy at the grocery store for recommending semi-sweet over milk chocolate chips for cookies!). And, I’ve received many hugs, pats on the back, and a meaningful embrace within these past two days — moments that mean a ton to me. (Touch is very important to me, as a man with a disability. You may never know how much a simple hug or touch means to someone who’s physical appearance sets them apart from the rest of society.)
But, the events of the weekend have also been a little confounding. And, that’s where I find myself reaching out to God — needing to know that He’s still there. Right now, there’s silence.
For this afternoon that’s okay. Paraphrased from a favorite song of mine —
I am hanging on every word you say. But, even if you don’t want to speak tonight, that’s alright with me. Because I want nothing more than to sit outside Heaven’s door and listen to you breathing. It’s where I want to be.
Sighs & Hallelujahs 