Second Drafts

So I'm Having a Little Surgery Tomorrow...

I had a bit of a scare earlier this week by way of a doctor's appointment in which the word "cancer" randomly found its way into the list of possible pain diagnoses. Thankfully, I actually have two "significant" kidney stones (9 millimeters and 7 millimeters; one in each kidney) and am scheduled for an outpatient procedure early Monday morning to have them lasered. (All prayers appreciated for this procedure tomorrow; for the menfolk out there, this is where you cross your legs in empathy).

With the exception of one day, I haven't been in any kind of major pain; however, the doctor was concerned when I described to him the pain I had felt being in both sides of my back. He said it was rare to have "synced" kidney stones in each kidney and thought the odds were a little against that. When I asked him what else might account for the dispersed pain, that was when the briefest of cancer discussions began.

In general, I'm not one to freak out at things like this, and I didn't; odds or not, the pain was similar to the only other time I've had kidney stones, so I was pretty sure that's what I was dealing with here. But the doctor had me get a CT scan later that day so we would know what the problem was, and in the 36-hour period of waiting for the results, I experienced a few emotions at the possibility of having cancer that I'm not sure I had felt up to this point in my life.

My first emotion - starting in the doctor's office - had to do with the challenge of the prospect: I felt myself hoping it was cancer so I could take my best shot at beating it. Perhaps a form of denial or just prideful presumption, I remember thinking through how I could "use" this to inspire others through my battle and come out on top in the end. I know: sick. But that was my first emotion, self-serving and naive as it was.

My second emotion - once I moved past the idiotic hope of wanting cancer - had everything to do with Megan and the girls. I began thinking through all the details I needed to figure out (and fast) so as to make whatever time I had left with them the best that I could. I also spent a lot of mental energy trying to figure out when and how to break the news, as their disassociative abilities are not as fully developed (read: non-existent) as mine are in terms of dealing with bad news and not immediately personalizing it.

My final emotion - and the one that was strangest to deal with - was my first real visceral sense that, in my humanity, I am indeed mortal and vulnerable to death. Though I've made peace with this reality from the philosophical and theological perspectives, this was the first true emotional consideration of the fact that I am not always going to be a living, breathing person. I felt fear, sadness, and disappointment creep in at the possibility that I might be dead prematurely (at least by my watch), and I emotionally winced at the Bible's teaching that, "...you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes." (James 4:14) I prefer not to be a poster child for this truth (though I - and all of us - are).

Thankfully, I DON'T have cancer, the kidney stones will be taken care of in an outpatient surgery tomorrow, and I fully intend on making a quick and complete recovery and getting back to what God has called me to do. In fact, as I processed all of the above this week, one thing that did encourage me was that, if indeed I had limited time to live, I had no desire to do anything other than what I'm doing - no end-of-life trips or job-quitting plans required. This is reassuring and has brought new focus to the tasks at hand this week.

I'm glad for that 36-hour period in which I didn't know for sure what the future held; if anything, it was a good and practical opportunity to hold on tight with open hands to my life and check how much I do or don't trust God with it. In not knowing, I felt relief that, by His grace, I seemed able to trust Him for whatever would come, as several times Job's words were my own: "Though he slay me, I will hope in him; yet I will argue my ways to his face." (Job 13:15 ESV)

Not doing much arguing of ways these days...just grateful to God to get to have one more.

Weight, Weight, Don't Tell Me

Now that we're on the backside of Thanksgiving but still have Christmas and New Year's up ahead, I'm toying with an idea/practice that I hope will stick. It's new, fresh, and possibly life-changing.

Yes, though I hate it, I'm thinking of exercising...in the evening...at home...a couple times a month...maybe even a few times a week.

I first took notice of my weight (at least enough to write about it) around my mid-thirties when I began to toe the (gasp) 200-pound line. Now twenty pounds beyond that, it's probably time to revisit the topic.

Actually, I need to do more than revisit it; I need to do something about it. So, I'm starting a month earlier than the normal New Year's resolution crowd by exercising three times a week on a treadmill at night.

Why at night? 1) To keep me from falling asleep at 9 p.m. and get more than a page of a book read before bed, and 2) because the morning and afternoon have never worked for me in the past. In other words, this is my last shot. After this, I'm out of ideas.

Exercise always goes better with better eating habits, but I'll let the former lead me into the latter if it so chooses. Regardless, getting the blood pumping (and a few pounds dropping) would be a good thing going into 2012.

As the beer commercials say, "Here we go!"

Humble Thyself (or God/Others Will Do It for You)

So today I got a letter in the mail from St. Louis University. Wondering if perhaps they bought an address list of recent graduates from Covenant, I began opening the envelope with the thought that perhaps they wanted me to consider doing a doctorate at SLU.

Pulling the folded letter out of the envelope, I then wondered if perhaps they were writing to invite me to do a doctorate at their expense. Maybe, I told myself, they had somehow heard of me (that is, something of me - I don't know) and were sending a formal letter to set up a meeting to discuss my future (and free!) Ph.D. education at their fine institution.

Opening the letter, I saw the SLU logo and my name personalized in the greeting (yes! this was it!). Only then did I discover it was from my doctor, who happens to be part of the SLUCare medical network. Along with several sets of numbers, she wrote:

"The results of your recent laboratory test are as follows. As you can see, your triglycerides are high and your HDL (good cholesterol) is low. Please make an appointment so we can discuss the results."

Talk about your lesson in humility...

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

In the past week, I've coached five baseball games, the last of which counts almost for two as it went 12 innings (high school games are seven innings). The good news: we won every game (even the 12-inning one); the other news: by the end of the week (or really by Wednesday) I was completely exhausted.

When I got home Friday night after school, a seminary class, and a reunion dinner with my family to reintroduce myself as husband/father, I was so tired that I was in bed and asleep by 7:30...that is, until Megan came to bed at 11:30, which is when I woke up and couldn't go back to bed. I knew I was still wiped out, but I could not for the life of me fall back asleep. And now it's early morning. Nuts.

I remember taking a psychology class my sophomore year in college and reading about sleep deprivation experiments done on mice. Somehow, before taking that class, I had honestly believed that one's need for sleep was simply mind over matter; we didn't really need to sleep, but it was a good idea to do so anyway. I'm not kidding: I honestly thought this (in the words of Bugs Bunny, "What a maroon.")

Then I read about experiments in which researchers filled an aquarium with four inches of water and placed a long triangle-shaped column the length of the aquarium floor. The edge of the triangle jutted up out of the water by an inch or so, and the mice would perch themselves on the edge so as not to fall in and get wet. However, when the mice fell asleep, their grip on the edge relaxed, they fell off, woke up, and scrambled back onto the edge, newly awakened but increasingly sleep-deprived. This went on for days and weeks until they finally died from sheer exhaustion.

Maybe it's my farm background, but I've never been a real night owl; even in college, I was usually in bed by 9:30 and up before everyone else in the dorm. This all changed 8-10 years ago in Colorado, as I started getting up in the middle of the night multiple times - sometimes because of crying kids, but often because I just kept waking up and couldn't go back to sleep. I began to notice that I didn't dream anymore, and I needed naps more than I used to because I was just so tired all the time. I also snored, which along with my constant getting in and out of bed, kept Megan up at night.

This sleep pattern continued when we moved to St. Louis five years ago, but it didn't make sense because we were through the crying-kids-at-night stage, yet I was still waking (and getting) up. Studying in seminary became especially difficult as I couldn't read anything even early in the evening without falling asleep 20 minutes later. Then, when I started teaching full-time in addition to everything else, I would come home from school and have to lay down for a good hour, as I was so wiped out from the day.

At Megan's request, I finally did a sleep study at St. Luke's Sleep Medicine and Research Center and found out that I woke myself up approximately 100 times a night due to sleep apnea. Apparently, I have very narrow nasal passages that hinder my breathing and keep my brain from dropping into REM sleep because it's too busy making sure I don't stop breathing altogether by causing me to gasp for more air. Yet because I had been kind of asleep, I never really noticed (though Megan did, especially the gasping part).

For the past couple of years now, I have been sleeping with a mask that's connected to a ventilator of sorts and pushes air through my nasal passages to keep them from collapsing during the night. The mask took some getting used to (I'm a tummy sleeper, so I've had to learn to sleep more on my side), but the change has been remarkable: I sleep harder, I rarely wake up enough to get up in the middle of the night, and best of all, the dreams are back and that really makes me happy (I have cool dreams).

Except last night, when there were no dreams because there was no sleep. I was afraid this might happen going to bed so early, but I had little choice - my body just wouldn't stay up any longer. So, I'm a little tired this morning, but as this is my last clear Saturday to work on my seminary capstone project, I need to resist the urge to try to go back to bed. Thankfully, I have four alarm clocks with legs who will do the trick when they get up pretty soon, but for now, I'm glad a night like last night is the exception and not the rule anymore.

(Note: I'm not paid to endorse sleep studies, but if you're constantly tired, give some thought to whether it could be because of poor sleep. As was true in my case, you may not know what you don't know.)

Having the Appearance of Godliness, But Denying Its Power

“In his classic book Celebration of Discipline, Richard Foster reminds us that the spiritual disciplines are uniquely designed by God to allow us to receive his grace by allowing ‘us to place ourselves before God so that he can transform us…We must always remember that the path does not produce the change; it only puts us in the place where the change can occur.’” The Leader’s Journey, p. 136

I’m trying to recall when in my life I’ve felt most spiritually disciplined. It hasn’t been often. My first thought goes back to my sophomore year of college, when I embraced (via The Navigators) the concept of Scripture memory and the Quiet Time (or “Q.T.,” as we affectionately called it then). I would rise every morning at 6 a.m. (after a 9:30 p.m. bedtime – unheard of for dorm life), make my way down the hall to the student lounge (which was always empty that early in the morning), and read, pray, write, memorize, and review verses for an hour. Over the next couple of years of doing this, I read through the Bible a few times, memorized (and retained) 2-3 verses a week, and filled 6 journals with my thoughts. I learned and grew a lot those three years, which was good. I was hungry to do so.

My second memory consists of a collage of my first three summers at Eagle Lake – first as a counselor responsible for the physical and spiritual care of a tee-pee of seven teenage kids each week, then as one of four program directors responsible for the whole camp (about 2,000 souls each summer). The sense of responsibility I felt was enormous, and my prayer life reflected it through multiple prayer walks (often in the same day) around the lake, across camp, and on a particular flat rock in the path leading to the A-frame. I prayed a lot those first three summers – sometimes out of gratitude, but mostly out of desperation – as the challenges felt immense and my ability to meet them seemed so small. These were hugely developmental times in terms of spiritual growth and leadership, and much of this had to do with those times spent in prayer, voicing my dependence to God.

If spiritual hunger and voicing my dependence to God are criteria for engaging in the spiritual disciplines, one might think there would be plenty more examples of having done so in my life. After all, since my days in college and at camp, I’ve gotten married, had four children, bought three different houses, written a book, traveled and spoken many times, experienced significant ministry transition, graduated from seminary, and now teach 100 high schoolers a day in my New Testament and Biblical Ethics classes. It would seem I have/have had reasons to exercise my dependence on God through spiritual disciplines.

Unfortunately, I haven’t felt spiritually disciplined for a long time, for in addition to the spiritual disciplines producing fruit in me in the past, they have also made me more competent at handling life and ministry in the here and now. Maturity, of course, is by God’s design, but competence is not meant to be an end in itself but a means to the end of continuing spiritual transformation and formation. This is what Foster means when he writes, “the path does not produce the change; it only puts us in the place where the change can occur.” Thus, when I have been most desperate, it has been when I have been most spiritually disciplined – not because I had to be, but because I needed to be.

In considering all this (and I do often), I think of Paul’s words in 2 Timothy 3:2-5:

“For people will be lovers of self, lovers of money, proud, arrogant, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, heartless, unappeasable, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not loving good, treacherous, reckless, swollen with conceit, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, having the appearance of godliness, but denying its power.”

Sadly, I recognize myself too much in these verses – not in every way mentioned, but in more ways than I care to admit. The appearance of godliness – so often mistaken as competence – too easily hides my desperation for God. Self-reliance and self-sufficiency – values affirmed in our culture – too often numb my felt need to practice the spiritual disciplines as they numb my real need to experience God. Spiritual disciplines can help me realize what’s going on in my life, but only God has power to transform my heart.

Now Practicing in Maplewood

“Systems theory focuses on what man does and not
on his verbal explanations about why he does it.”
Murray Bowen in Family Therapy in Clinical Practice

I love Murray Bowen and systems theory. I remember first formally encountering Bowen’s work in my Marriage and Family class at Covenant and thinking, “Not only does this make complete sense in explaining the dynamics of human relationships, it also appeals to how systematic/systemic thinkers (like me) think.” From that point forward, I was hooked.

Having grown up on a farm, I was raised and led to believe that the world was basically secure rather than basically threatening, and that as long as I did my homework, finished my chores, and got to (and out of) bed at a decent hour, things would generally work out for the best. Mine was a fairly consistent existence with little drama involved.

As a result of my background, I sometimes struggle with others whose commotion tends to trump logic. In the past, I have resorted to more emotional outbursts myself in order to "out-emote the over-emotional," beating them at their own game, and (foolishly) trying to illustrate how ridiculous the drama can be. This, of course, is rarely effective (though somewhat disturbingly enjoyable), and I recognize that I assume this position when I fail to consider the systems (family, organizational, etc.) at play in the various situations.

Thankfully, after years of learning things the hard way, I'm finally on the brink of a major break-through by being able to give up my attempts to "out-emote the over-emotional"; indeed, my days of "trying to illustrate how ridiculous the drama can be" may be at an end.

What's my secret? I'm the father of four daughters. Here's my team of therapists:

It's good to be on the road to recovery...

(Photo by Kelly Park Photography)

A Few Things on Friday

I haven't done a random Friday post for a good while, so I thought I'd throw out a couple things here:

• I am way behind on email and it's driving me nuts - I'm usually a "zero inbox" kind of guy. The worst part is it's not even "good" email - somebody either wants me to know something or wants something from me. Remember the early days when we actually used email to write personal letters? Sigh.
• We're officially two weeks into school already and it feels good. I'm really enjoying the kids in each of my classes, and I think the feeling seems mutual. Still, here's the semi-depressing thought of the week (as overheard in the teacher's lounge on Monday): "We'll have three weeks of school under our belts by Labor Day weekend." Just doesn't seem right.
• Speaking of school, my final year of seminary officially begins on Monday. After earning an MA in Theology last May, I'm trying to finish up my MA in Educational Ministries in 2010. Classes this semester: Educational Leadership (Mondays) and God's World Mission (online). Next semester is the Capstone class, which serves to summarize and systematize everything we've learned on the education track.
• I'm going to be one of two "co-coaches" for Westminster's JV baseball team next spring. Pretty stoked about that. Pitchers and catchers (and everyone else) report March 1.
• Haven't had too many offers (or really much sympathy in general) in response to my previous post on the book status, so I'll suck it up and stop talking about it here (for those trying to make a point, I got it).
• I've lost ten pounds in the past two weeks, due largely to a change in diet and a slight increase in activity. Been eating a lot of cottage cheese and nuts while avoiding bread and carbs like the plague. Also laying off anything that would cause my body to produce sugar (read about the South Beach Diet for more).
• Glad for the weekend and the beautiful weather coming our way. This has definitely been the mildest summer in the MIdwest that I can remember, though I'm guessing we'll get a hot day or two in September just to keep us honest.

Hope everyone has a nice, productive yet restful weekend.

Squirrel Nam

It was dark...so dark. You could hear the squirrels chattering in the trees, calling to one another and plotting...always plotting. The bugs - the awful, biting bugs - were everywhere, as was the humidity and heat - baking us and causing sweat to roll off our noses like rain off a roof.

We were trying to protect the plants - not so much their leaves, but their fruit - from the four-legged Communist predators. We'd naively tried goodwill; we'd desperately tried negotiation. Now we were left with no choice - no choice, that is, except to build the DMZ (Dunham Menu Zone) as a frontier and boundary between our two competing powers and passions to stay alive.

This is our life now - forced to deal with metal and mesh in order to desperately cling to our hope for home-grown veggies. This is our struggle - to withstand the guerrilla attacks of various varmints in an effort to lower our food budget.

This is our conflict. This is Squirrel Nam.

The Big Push

Despite the title, this post has nothing do with kidney stones (and no, as of this afternoon the stones have yet to "pass" - such a gentle term for what I hear is a very painful process), but thanks for asking. Rest assured, I'll post a victory announcement of some sort, complete with play-by-play and pictures (er, maybe not so much the pictures), if I survive. But I digress...

No, this week begins the last big push - 8+ weeks - before school's out for summer. Four of these days are for final exams, so we're essentially talking 40 days in the educational wilderness before vacation. At this point, it seems doable, but we'll see how the kids feel coming back tomorrow from spring break.

I've appreciated the comments and emails from several of you in response to my plan to shut things down here come April. While I've appreciated the sentiments of support and explanations of your personal blog-reading habits, I'm still planning to take a blogging sabbatical for an indefinite amount of time soon. Again, I don't feel the blog has quite yet jumped the shark, but I do feel it necessary to focus my efforts on book writing now so as to gear up for the most productive of writing summers starting in June.

I also am realizing that it's going to take all I can give in the next month to finish well my seminary classes this semester. Unlike my teaching at Westminster, which ends at the end of May, my studies at Covenant are done May 9th, with graduation being May 14th - not a lot of time to finish what I need to finish, especially in light of all that didn't happen academically the past ten days. It's going to be tight, but it can be done if I make proper adjustments now.

All that to say, faithful readers, my remaining few posts this spring may not come to the grandest of finales, but that's okay. Keep me on your subscription list or check in periodically to pick up some Fresh Linkage (I'll probably keep that going regardless), and we'll talk again soon. In the meantime, I'd appreciate your prayers on my behalf (especially for these next 40 days), and am glad to hear from you for need of the same.

PS: For some actual content this past week, Megan has been writing a series of posts on our church experience(s) of the past twelve years. It's been interesting reliving things through her eyes, so check out her posts if you haven't already: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.

This, Too, Shall Pass (Lord God, I Hope So)

In the future, I'm thinking about boycotting the last week of March. Let's review:

• End of March 2007: My bout with gout (ouch).
• End of March 2008: The Fall of the House of Half-Pints (a sad day).
• End of March 2009: A hybrid of the world's worst ceiling renovation/indoor dust storm combined with two (count 'em: two) kidney stones soon to make their big (Lord, I hope not) entrance.

Spring Break week started off innocently enough: Megan and the girls headed to Oklahoma to visit her folks and I got some time to relax over the weekend before starting on the big living room project. I worked a full day at the bookstore on Monday, and then began demolition late Tuesday morning:

Things went smoothly (I'm much better at demolition than construction), and I got to this point in the progress by mid-afternoon:

From here, I finished pulling down the rest of the ceiling and put the finishing touches on an unbelievable house-permeating layer of lathe, plaster, and dry wall dust despite my best (but apparently inadequate) tape and plastic job. Coated in this same filth and muck and longing for a shower, I decided to call it a day, saving the clean-up for the next morning before my friend and general contractor, Dave, showed up to start hanging the new stuff. Besides, I was beat and was ready for an early bedtime.

That plan worked until about 1 a.m., when I woke up with a terribly acute ache in my lower left back. Embarrassed by how much a simple day's worth of physical labor seemed to affect me, I fought it for about an hour before finally getting up and applying some ointment to deal with what I assumed must be a pulled muscle. Two hours, three Tylenol, a hot bath, and 60 unsuccessful sleeping positions later, I determined that something else must be wrong and called my doctor. It was 4:30 a.m.

After taking four ibuprofen and getting in a few hours of sleep, I emailed Megan and told her I was probably in need of her returning from Tulsa, then called Dave to tell him that I probably wouldn't be available until the afternoon. Once the doctor's office opened, I made an appointment and went in, first seeing the doctor, who then me on for some lab work and a CT scan. Sure enough, I was the proud owner of not one but two kidney stones - the smaller one measuring 2x2 millimeters and still in the kidney; the larger one measuring 2x7 millimeters and making its way to my urinary tract.

Yeah, that's what I thought/said, too.

Coming home, I stopped by the pharmacy to pick up my prescribed pain medication, called Dave and cancelled for the day, and then called Megan, who had gotten my email and was already heading back to St. Louis with the ladies. I slept the afternoon and rejoiced at my wife and children walking in the door. By that time I was feeling a little better, so because the dust-covered house looked like something out of an archaeological dig, we grabbed some sandwiches at Jimmy John's and went to the park for a picnic before coming home, watched a movie (all six of us) in our bedroom, and finally turned in for the night.

Both Megan and I slept great and I was feeling pretty good Thursday morning, so we picked up the work site just in time for Dave to show up to start hanging 2x4s from which to hang the drywall. As he didn't need my help, I went back upstairs to lay down and ended up spending the rest of the morning there, as I had thrown up while trying to "push fluids" and felt weak again. Megan took the girls to the library so I could rest. By the time Dave was ready for me in the early afternoon, I was ready to work, and we made good progress all afternoon, getting to this point:

 

And then to this point: 

 

The good news: the worst (and messiest) part of the ceiling renovation is over; the other news: because of my illness and the fact that the ceiling needs a few more rounds of tape and mud before it's officially "done," it's doubtful we're going to get anything painted before school starts on Monday. This unfortunate reality mimics life in many ways: sometimes it takes so much effort just to maintain things that the time and energy required to actually improve them seems out of reach, and that's not even counting all the filth - dust in our house; sin in real life - that accumulates along the way (I won't even try to metaphorically figure out where kidney stones fit in...).

So, that's been my week - some progress, some pain, but little really to show for it (though if I successfully give birth to the stones before school starts, that will be a real accomplishment, especially if I live to tell about it). The encouraging thing for me in all this is I haven't really lost my temper, nor played the "woe is me" card (though one could argue I've been saving it up for this blog post), nor felt tempted to "curse God and die" as Job's wife suggested in the midst of his pain.

No, if anything (believe it or not), I've prayed more and tried to make the best of some unfortunate circumstances. In the midst of my struggles (minimal as they are in the larger scope of the world's problems), I've somehow been almost grateful for them and for what God has taught me through them. I've felt like I've learned some things about praying through pain and dealing with physical suffering - things I haven't really had to do much of in my life, but will probably have to do more of as I and others around me get older - and that encourages me.

In the words of my mother, "This, too, shall pass." With regard to my kidney stones, Lord God, I hope so.

Bring on April.

The Contentment Equation

I had a tough discussion with a student this week - tough not because of the student, but because of the student's family situation. Details aren't important for my purposes here, so I'll refrain from sharing any; suffice it to say, I wanted to help a lot more than I could. Leaving school, I prayed for the student, asking God to grant strength and maturity in handling parents who are both behaving badly.

As I was praying, I wondered when the last time the student had ever felt real and extended contentment in life. Was it within the past year? Doubtful - we've been processing the situation together since at least November. Any time during the teenage years? Possibly, but most of what the student is dealing with has been years in the making, and teenagers pick up on that stuff. When my student was in elementary school? I hope not (that would be a while ago). Even before then? Man.

I think about stuff like this a lot - not just with kids, but adults as well. My theory (and I'm just throwing it out here) is that the further a person has to go back to find real and extended contentment, the older they feel and seem to others. Granted, this idea may not be rocket science (and I'll grant that my definitions of "real" and "extended" are more than a bit fuzzy), but I wonder if a math-type could put together an equation to qualitatively test my hypothesis; all I've got is a gut feeling it's true.

As any good teacher asks a student for an answer to his own question, I tried to answer mine. When was the last period of real and extended contentment for me? When was the first? How many have there been in between? Most importantly (I think), how young (or old) does the accumulation or absence of these make me seem to others? I'll be honest: I feel (and have felt) pretty content for much of the past year, but has that been contentment or just happiness? What really marks a difference between the two?

A favorite passage on this topic is Paul's statement in Philippians 4:11-13:

"I have learned in whatever situation I am to be a content. 12 I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. 13 I can do all things through him who strengthens me."

God's promise in verse 13 is every Christian's favorite - that is, until they discover that being content is what God promises to strengthen us for (instead of just winning sport events or passing tests). For hermeneutical reasons, I stopped applying this verse to non-contentment kinds of things a long time ago, but I'm not sure how recent it's been since I picked it up again to apply it in the right way. I'm not sure I'm that brave.

With regard to my schizophrenic inquiries above, I'm still thinking through my answers; however, I'm as interested in whether the questions are even the right ones as well. What do you think of my equation (try this for starters: PA (perceived age) = AA (actual age) - C (contentment) / T (time))? How accurate does it seem in measuring your own experience? And what does it take for you to feel as well as talk about being content in your own life?

Bike Buddies

It's been a beautiful weekend here in St. Louis - blue skies, temps in the 70s. Despite all the grading I needed to get done (and still have to do), the girls and I spent a fair amount of time (translation: hours) riding bikes all around Maplewood and enjoying the weather. The ladies are all pretty good riders, so it was a fun thing to do together.

Last summer, a student gave us this Trail-A-Bike her family had outgrown, so I finally got it out and hooked it up. Once my five-year-old and I both got used to it (the pic above is our first attempt), I put on my helmet and some better footwear and we had a great time. She's quite the taskmaster ("Come on, Dad! Pedal!"), and has assumed the role of my own personal trainer/entertainer, breaking into a rousing chorus of "B-I-N-G-O" while flying down hills (which, of course, is supposed to be motivation for me to climb them).

Good times, good times.

Saturday Smatterings

A few things:

• It's 70 degrees today. I'm thinking about getting the bike out and going for a ride. My kids think spring is here already, and I don't have the heart to tell them that the Midwest enjoys playing games with one's weather expectations. They'll find out soon enough, I suppose.
• Our younger daughters had a birthday party to attend at the seminary's log cabin this morning, so I volunteered to bring them so I could spend an hour-and-a-half studying at the library. Of all the things I miss most about being a full-time student, studying daily at the library has to be at the top of the list.
• Several of my ethics students are coming over for our Sabbath dinner tonight, and I'm really looking forward to hanging out with them. I love everything about these high schoolers - their good-natured senses of humor; the way they get so easily embarrassed; their zeal in engaging with and trying to figure out life. I'm blessed to call them friends as well as students.
• Speaking of ethics, as this past week was Spirit Week (may it rest in peace), I treated my kids to a week-long viewing of Pope John Paul II. The film - 180 minutes long - is a really well-done treatment of the former Pope's life, his heart for young people, and his commitment to biblical ethics on a variety of fronts. My students really liked it, and if you've not seen it, it's worth watching.
• I lost five whole pounds last week, almost exclusively from changing my diet (i.e. no exercise). I'm avoiding carbs and eating a lot more fruit and fiber, which all seems to be working. On Thursday, we went out to Red Robin for a birthday dinner and I ordered a burger wrapped in nothing more than lettuce (yes, I'm that serious). Encouraged, but I still have twenty-five pounds I'd like to drop.

Have a nice weekend, everybody.

38 Today

"Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter."

Mark Twain

I turn 38 today. While my mother may have a story or two from my childhood to the contrary, for as long as I can remember I've never really cared that much about my birthday. For some (and you know who you are), a birthday is (or should be) a national holiday, but even if mine were, I don't think I'd care (they usually don't officially set aside those days until after you're dead anyway). To me, it simply is what it is.

Thankfully, God, in His infinite wisdom and mercy, graciously granted me a daughter who shares my date of birth, which makes it easier to endure the fuss about the fact that we were born, as it's usually (blessedly) pointed in her direction instead of mine. Don't get me wrong: I'm glad to be alive and believe that every year - yea, every day - is a gift from God. But a birthday is like any other day for me. I just don't get the preoccupation.

I also don't get the fear of birthdays and what the accumulation of those birthdays represents. Our culture is so paranoid about growing older and puts so much into fighting (both physically and psychologically) the effects of aging that it's amazing we haven't collapsed into one giant heap of adolescence.

Children aren't taught to grow up to be adults in society; they're taught to grow up to be teenagers. Adults aren't embracing their position of elders in the world; they're fighting tooth and nail to get back to their glory days and not be viewed as old. (For more on this, read my post on Diana West's book, The Death of the Grown-Up.)

In case anyone's wondering, I have no plans to color the spreading amount of gray in my hair or trade out the beige Delta 88 Land Yacht I drive for a fiery red sports car. My goals do not include proving to myself or anyone else that I can still woo the ladies or that I can keep us up with the Joneses.

No, I'm content trying to act my age, even to the point of occasionally going beyond it in wisdom if/when God so enables. I'm more than happy trying to make better decisions about health, as opposed to merely ones made in pursuit of a more attractive body. I'm simply humbled trying to walk with God in a way that models love to my wife, children, and neighbors, rather than appearing religious and (self-)righteous.

So, I'm 38 today, and I'm glad to be so. I look forward to 40...to 50...to 60...all of it's gravy when you consider I don't deserve to live even a day, for "Surely I was sinful at birth, sinful from the time my mother conceived me" (Psalm 51:5). From this perspective, I can say with honesty and awe that it's good just to be alive, no matter how old I may be.

Walking the Line Between Loss and Hope

You may not know it (I didn't), but on July 27th of 2005, Congress proclaimed October 15th Stillbirth Remembrance Day, also sometimes called Stillbirth and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. Though you might not know it, today is a hard day for many.

It may sound like a gigantic exaggeration, but almost every couple Megan and I know has experienced the pain of losing a child through miscarriage or stillbirth. Almost every one. Several have lost multiple babies interspersed between having multiple healthy ones; others are still trying to have their first after losing those once conceived.

For whatever reason, we have never experienced this kind of loss. We've had some scary moments - our first-born had serious surgery when she was four after a lung collapsed because of pneumonia; our third-born came out blue from having the cord wrapped around her neck during the end of her delivery - but we've never lost a child through miscarriage, stillborn birth, or SIDS. This, of course, has nothing to do with us, just as losing a child has nothing to do with those parents who have.

Though I use the language because it's familiar in our vernacular, I'm no fan of the phrase "losing a child" or of the word "miscarriage," as both imply blame that is wrongly placed on expectant parents. The idea that a pregnant woman has "lost" or "miscarried" a baby implies she once had total and complete power to keep and carry it to term. Which of our female friends misused that power during her pregnancy? None. Which of our male friends was party to such misuse? Not one.

For those who want to cast blame, our biology - or more accurately, our fallen biology - is the culprit, not God. God does not cause loss; God restores. God is not evil; God is good. For those who have recently lost a child or are still struggling with pain from years ago, Romans 8:28 (despite the cheeseball greeting cards misapplying the verse to any and every audience) offers hope to soothe heartache:

"And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose."

The Scriptures tell us that even in the loss of a child, God somehow brings good out of the worst of pain; even when he is often blamed for it, he is at work redeeming these most heart-breaking experiences brought on by the sin of our representative parents, Adam and Eve. We lose our children because we lost our true humanity; each of us is fallen from the glory of perfection in which our parents were first made.

My friend and ethics co-teacher, Larry Hughes, and his wife lost their second child to stillbirth. They named him Sean and had a memorial service in his honor. This morning, I asked Larry what his thoughts were on that day and how he processed the grief he and Nancy felt years ago. He said this:

"To my mind, a key Scripture passage is David’s response when Bathsheba loses their child in 2 Samuel 12. Because of David’s many psalms reflecting his belief of being with God always, I think the response '…he went into the house of the Lord and worshiped…I will go to him, but he will not return to me' is encouraging not only theologically but personally. I think and believe that this, when coupled with the character of God, reassures those who lose their children in childbirth, SIDS, abortions, or in whatever way, that God does indeed take those on to Glory."

David speaks of going to his son in heaven, but recognizes his son will not return to him on earth. He resigns himself to this reality (as evidenced later in chapter 12), but not before having resigned himself to the hope of reunion with his child. The Scripture is a bittersweet but beautiful passage of promise, one that records both David's loss as well as his hope.

Many couples we know have gone through this same double-resignation. Our role as those who support believing parents in their grief should not be to rush them through the pursuit of the second (resigning themselves to the fact), nor to question the legitimacy of the first (resigning themselves to hope of a reunion). It's a fine line to walk, but maybe there's a couple who needs you to try with them today.

The Heart of the Matter

As the comments keep multiplying on my previous post on gay marriage, I thought it best to condense some of the discussion to get at what seems to be the heart of the matter. I've enjoyed hearing from each of you (many of you are apparently new readers - welcome), and I've entered into a conversation or two on your own blogs as well (click here for a good discussion Paperdreamer and I have been having on ethics and morals).

I've gone through all the previous comments (at least the first twenty) and pulled some quotes (hopefully within context) to which to respond. As I think most of you will concur, the issue of gay marriage is ultimately not one of legality or even of morality; the issue is ultimately one of who has the final say in the area of our sexuality (and everything else). For instance:

Vitaminbook: "I’m taking it as a given that nonconsensual romantic or sexual relationships should be illegal...children would be in a position to be exploited by this kind of thing even if it was legal....what marriage is defined as has nothing to do with why most people would agree that adult/child relationships are harmful."

The questions here are where is the "given" coming from, and why would "most people" agree? The statement implies some kind of outside source (I would say the Christian God) who has already determined right and wrong; we, then, are simply deciding if we agree or disagree with his determination. The fact that we want to break the law - any law - is not a hetero- or homosexual issue; it's a human one. We all have the two-year-old syndrome: that is, we want what we want, regardless of sexual orientation.

Vitaminbook: "Those who are against gay marriage seem to think that it will open the floodgates for legalized adult/child relationships, but I don’t think that’s being realistic - it’s like saying that legalizing voluntary euthanasia would open the floodgates to legalized, free-for-all murder."

Given what humankind's history shows us, we'd be hard-pressed to say it wouldn't. I'm not trying to blow this point out of proportion, but am simply trying to make the connection that, just as our view of human life/death affects our tendency to respect/take it, so, too, does our view of the purpose for human sexuality affect our perspective in partaking in it.

If our sexuality is removed from God's intended context of the monogamous man/woman marriage, intimacy has no God-prescribed commitment to cement (which, biblically speaking, is a main purpose of our sexuality). With this as a reality, we will then experiment and walk down some seriously repulsive roads in our search for "satisfaction."

Vitaminbook: "For the record, I actually do think that people should be allowed to be racist or anti-homosexual if they want."

On the basis of our shared humanity and the imago dei (image of God) within each of us, I would disagree with this statement completely. I don't need or want to be "anti-" anyone in order to walk with God and love others.

Escapethedrain: "You and others are commenting on how much marriage is sacred and should be protected (from homosexuals). How sacred is this marriage you speak of when we have the highest divorce rate in the world? (talking the U.S. in general)?"

The question is what makes marriage (or anything) "sacred"? I do not come from the perspective that, because my wife and I have been married for almost twelve years, we are the ones who have made and kept our marriage sacred. The Scriptures teach that God makes marriage between a man and a woman sacred; we have just entered into the sanctity of what God has done. Marriage was God's idea from the beginning (Genesis 2), and a government document merely recognizes and protects that sanctity; it does not create or power it.

Paperdreamer: "Homosexual marriage is a valid desire, legally and socially...[still] I will say that it is against nature to be homosexual."

These two statements can only exist in the same sentence if one believes man is an animal who cannot control himself; in other words, homosexuality must be an evolutionary mistake (after all, gay men or lesbian women cannot reproduce, so this cannot be any kind of helpful natural selection), but since we're nothing more than animals anyway, so be it (the caveat here is usually "as long as they don't harm anyone else" - then there needs to be limits).

If any of us were asked if there is anyone in the world right now doing things we believe they should stop doing no matter what they personally believe about the correctness of their behavior, we would all say, "Yes, of course." Doesn't this mean that we do believe there is some kind of moral reality that is "there" that is not defined by us, that must be abided by regardless of what a person feels or thinks? If we're honest, I think we would say we do.

Lwayswright: "It is an often confusing topic because there are so many things in life nowadays that people are 'born with a predisposition to.' Where do you draw the line between predisposition and responsibility or lifestyle choice?"

I believe that the cause of homosexuality is as much nature as nurture. By this, I mean that all of us in our nature are fallen and broken sexually, regardless of whether we think of ourselves as being of hetero- or homosexual orientation. Regardless how the lines of brokenness fall, they have fallen on all of us; just as someone who may deal with homosexual tendencies and temptations, I as a heterosexual man deal with my own tendencies and temptations as well.

Thankfully, God woos us out of the sexual brokenness of our fallen humanity. We can embrace the exchange of Christ's life of perfection for our life of sin, and respond in obedience to his love out of a heart of gratitude for what he has done. Indeed, the Christian God is a god of performance; the good news is Christ performed in our place.

All that to say (and as with all of life), how you and I view gay marriage has everything to do with how we view freedom, which has everything to do with how we view morals, which has everything to do with how we view ethics, which has everything to do with how we view the source of our ethics, which has everything to do with whether we think of the final authority as ourselves (in the form of government, philosophy, or good old-fashioned preference) or God.

Thoughts?

On Gay Marriage

In light of the activist action of California's Supreme Court late last week, here are some things to keep in mind with regard to the question of homosexuality and gay marriage:

• According to a 2005 study by The Kinsey Institute, 90% of men aged 18-44 considered themselves to be heterosexual, 2.3% as homosexual, 1.8% as bisexual, and 3.9% as "something else." The numbers are almost identical for women. It's amazing how powerful a lobby the homosexual community has for being less than 7% of the population.


• Joseph Nicolosi's research in the late-90's on reorientation therapy's effectiveness has not been refuted. In fact, Robert Spitzer, who argued in 1973 that homosexuality is not a clinical disorder, wrote in 2001: "Contrary to conventional wisdom, some highly motivated individuals, using a variety of change efforts, can make substantial change in multiple indicators of sexual orientation, and achieve good hetero-sexual functioning."


• Homosexuality is not the worst of sins, but neither is it merely a "non-ideal, lesser of two evils" sin. Contrary to what more doctrinally-liberal churches teach, homosexual relationships are not God-given, nor is the story of Sodom and Gomorrah in Genesis 18 and 19 merely an example of God's wrath being poured out in response to the sin of inhospitality.


• Apart from Scripture (which is quite clear in both Old AND New Testaments that homosexuality is not God's model for marriage), there are some very compelling secular arguments against the cultural endorsement of homosexual behavior. Robert A.J. Gagnon, Associate Professor of New Testament at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary, has written as much as anybody on the topic and offers six helpful points here.

Considering where things stand, a defining federal Constitutional ammendment may indeed be necessary if traditional marriage is to be legally preserved in the United States. As much as I hate the idea of trying to legislate morality, I honestly wonder if the nation understands (or could ultimately survive) what's at stake by not doing so.

Desperately Seeking Sabbath

"All men's miseries derive from not being able to sit in a quiet room alone." Blaise Pascal

In a bit of a melancholic funk today from squeezing too much work into too little of a week last week; not sleeping well, not reading much, and not getting enough of my recommended daily allowance of time spent alone. Sabbath's looking pretty darn good.

Only 59 Years to Go

 

Here's a shot of me with my grandfather, Raymond Richardson. Grandpa Richie turned 95 this past weekend, and spending time with him reminded me of just how much/little life I have left to live. It was good and needed perspective, as it got me thinking about some personal disciplines I've let go as of late:

• First, my desk (which I cleaned tonight) - I can't do good work if I don't have good space in which to do it (and I haven't had good space for most of the fall).
• Second would be a more regular routine of devotion in the mornings - it's not that I'm not up; I just find my way to email and the newspaper far too quickly.
• Third would be reading to my girls more regularly at night - I had been reading the book of Matthew to them, but then took a break for Megan to read Anne of Green Gables; it's time to get back on the horse.
• Fourth would be diet and exercise - I haven't done anything intentional all fall and just feel like a slug; while I've pseudo-maintained my weight since summer, I still have twenty pounds to go to meet my goal, so I'm going to the Y tomorrow.

I don't know how much of this stuff Grandpa consciously thought about when he was my age (36); nor do I have hopes any of it will ensure my living to 95. But it wouldn't take a lot to make these tweaks a month or so before the new year and reap the benefits early.

After all, I may have only 59 years to go...

He Ain't Heavy, He's Me

As of today, I've lost ten pounds (10.8 to be exact) since April, weighing in at 199. My goal is to lose another ten by August 1 and a final ten by Christmas - thirty pounds total, putting me at a svelte 180. (For a preview of what that will look like, here's a picture from ten years ago of me with friend Tim Withers; as it seems to have then, I'm hoping that weighing 180 will also make me look like I'm ten years old again).

Before coming to St. Louis, I was about ten pounds overweight (190) for my six-foot frame, but easily maintained it by walking all over Glen Eyrie and Eagle Lake (especially in the summers). I never formally exercised, ate whatever I wanted, and that was that (though it probably didn't help my triglycerides level, as I have since found out).

Since moving to seminary, however, two years of lifting little more than books (not to mention having a 36-year-old metabolism that seems to be increasingly slowing down) took its toll, and I had gotten up to 210+ pounds. I looked and felt like Meatloaf (the singer, not the entree, though I'm sure a case could have been made for the latter).

I also think this is why I had a case of the gout (or something that felt an awful lot like it) back at the end of March, as my body was dealing with my extra weight and wanted to let me know it wasn't exactly happy about it. Looking back, I would say that was my official wake-up call.

While I exercised a little to lose the first ten pounds, most of the weight loss has come by vicariously experiencing Weight Watchers through Megan (who has lost just over 15 pounds and counting, and looks great). Though never fast enough for my limited patience (what is?), I've been pleased with the results so far. More on this in future posts, I'm sure.