Of Love and Body Fluids

(Warning: What you are about to read will likely either A) gross you out beyond measure, or B) give you a nice dose of transcendent inspiration. Perhaps it will do both. If after reading this, you do find it's both, you might want to ask yourself whether that's actually a coincidence.)

I remember sitting in my English class back in high school when our teacher invited us to close our eyes and entertain a romantic fantasy. He asked us to draw a picture in our minds of the perfect man or woman--a person with whom we were in love, or had a crush on, or for whom we simply had a strong infatuation. We were to sketch in our minds every last detail: their hair, their eyes, their shape, everything about them we found beautiful or attractive. He asked us to focus on how wonderful they were and to celebrate our love or emotion for them.

Done. I imagined this girl in my mind, and felt a searing pulse of warm affection, as I assume, was intended.

Then he said, "Now imagine the object of your affection...naked. Without clothes."

Done! The temperature in the room must have risen several degrees among the students. It couldn't get any better than this.

Finally, he said, "Now, I want you to picture this love of your life, in your mind's eye, naked and beautiful..."

"...on the toilet. I want you to picture them picking their nose and wiping the snot in an unseemly place. I want you to see them mining for earwax and looking at its texture. I want you to picture them urinating, listening to the pee as it tinkles, I want you to smell them passing gas in the most pungent sense, I want you to listen to them grunt, defecating in the loudest manner possible, dropping feces into the water below..."

I can't vouch for anyone else in the room...but my perfect fantasy just turned to nightmare.

Then, pausing for effect, he concluded his experiment by saying, "Now, if you can still tell me you love them...then I believe you."

His point was well-taken. When we consider love, beauty, what is attractive in a person, it usually begins on the surface--how they look, whether clothed or even naked. Then, as we mature, we realize that the object of our affection must go beyond the superficial to what's inside: their intelligence, personality, their emotional maturity and spirituality. But are these the only things that lie inside a person? Should these ethereal qualities be the only reason for our love and intimacy? As my teacher helped us ponder: what about the physical-internal, both the pleasant and the not so pleasant? Can we love that too?

I was reminded of this question recently due to an unusual introduction into the world of nursing and home care. Our dog was hit by a car a few weeks ago and while we're optimistic about her progress, she is currently for all practical purposes paralyzed from the "waist" down and therefore has no control over her urination or bowel movements. So, as the primary caregiver (I'm unemployed), I've had a crash course in changing bed sheets and cleaning up all sorts of bodily messes on an almost hourly basis. The most recent highlight was when she vomitted several gallons of bile all over her bedding and the living room. I'm certain the projectile must still be moving outward as we speak, perhaps even crossing state lines. It was monumental.

But in anticipation of her care, as much as I once feared her pee and poo, as much as I may have dreaded the idea of her exorcist-like vomit, my concern since has miraculously turned far more to her well-being than to my own discomfort. This is hardly a news bulletin to the billions of mothers, fathers, family caregivers, or the number of dedicated nurses in the world, but my love and care for our dog makes this intimate acquaintance with her body fluids seem negligible at best. Rather than repelling me, it bonds.

So, again I ask: is superficial appearance or even the exchange of internal thought and emotion the only medium for love and intimacy?

Why don't you ask the man and woman falling in love, who, during an intimate kiss, exchange each other's saliva for the first time? Ask the husband and wife who, in a sea of sweat, exchange their sexual fluid to become one flesh and perhaps produce a new life. Ask the mother who feels this new life inside, floating securely in her amniotic fluid, sustaining the child with her own liquid nutrients. Ask that same mother as she nourishes her child with breast milk. Ask the new parents on 24-hour diaper duty. Or when they wipe their child's nose. Or, dry their tears. Or clean and dress a wound to protect the flowing blood and plasma beneath their child's skin.

Depending our age, size, or weight, our bodies are from 55 to 78% fluid. So, if you really want to love someone, you must be intimately acquainted with their fluid makeup as much as anything else. And, this fluid, this internal part of us, is messy, it offends our senses. By the very definition of love, it forces us to reach beyond our comfort zone to truly know a person inside and out and accept them for who they are. This is the stuff we so often keep underneath that can only come to the surface in any genuine relationship. It seals our commitment and makes the connection real.

And in the theological sense, I don't think our messy body fluids are necessarily some aberration of fallen, sinful man. Didn't God in fact ordain before the fall that man and woman would become one flesh, joined from the beginning, we presume, through this messy exchange of body fluid? Do you imagine, had man NOT fallen, that he would have never gone to the bathroom? Developed earwax? That he would have never sweated or emitted any BO? I just see no evidence of this. Certainly, it was after the fall when humanity became ashamed of their nakedness, and likewise, it would follow, ashamed of all that flows beneath.

Our most inward parts, no matter how scary, I think, are a good thing. They are God-ordained.* They serve a purpose. Even the waste that we produce can often be good for life-producing soil. It all has a purpose. As vile and base as it can appear, there must be something to it that incites our mercy, and certainly, our transcendence.

The first transcendence, as said above, forces us outside ourselves into the world of true relationship and otherness. But, the ultimate relational transcendence akin to fluidity is the true love and intimacy we can have with our Maker.

Ultimately, while it is attached to different metaphors in Scripture, the very essence of the Spirit of God--the source of true life, love and intimacy--is also spoken of as a "fluid" entering the body and coming out to produce fruit that leads to eternal life. Jesus said, "If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. He who believes in Me...from his innermost being will flow rivers of living water."**

Love, while it may begin as fantasy, becomes true and meaningful when we dare to delve beneath the surface of the deep and see what treasures might emerge.

So, jump on in. The water's fine.

* Psalm 139:13-14: "You formed my inward parts...I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made."
** See John 7:37-38.

Minding Your Ps...

No need to tell you where I was, but it was wonderful.

It was high summer and I was on vacation, visiting a location I had been many times before. The sun was setting, I was alone, standing on a quiet country road at the head of an expansive bean field. The crop was low and plush, and you could see all the way to the end. The fading sunlight had been replaced by a host of fireflies, pulsing their glow over the field with a soft, glorious caress. I could barely catch my breath for the reverence of the moment.

It was a pocket of earth that had the strongest sense of peace, of innocence, a place where you could smell the organic fruit of pure and unadulterated life. For me, there was no other place like it on earth.

Now, there are many sunsets, bean fields, and fireflies to experience, so why was this place so special? It was because there was more there for me than just the physical environment. It wasn't just a place. In my past history there, it was where I'd found a sense of place. it was also where I, long ago, had my first glimpse of true purpose in the world. And too, it was where I found a community of people who have changed who I am today. In that high summer evening, I was awed by the effect of more than just some natural environment. A sense of Place. People. Purpose. That's what made it special.

This experience reminded me that, while we're told to mind our Ps & Qs (an old idiom that calls us to always be on our best manners), perhaps our decorum would be better informed by spending time just on our Ps: Our sense of people, place, and purpose. Our Qs, whatever those may be, can come later.

Very often we get to enjoy just one or two of these Ps at any one time, and we float adrift through life, wondering what's missing. Have you ever had a strong sense of people or community--i.e., a great marriage, kids, church, friends, etc.--but hated the place where you lived? Have you ever had a strong sense of people, maybe even loved where you lived, but then had no sense of purpose in life? We can go through all the combinations, but you get the picture. Life is at its best when we experience all three.

However, one obvious question is, if you can't find all three, what do you do? Just live in discontent and anguish? Well, I think there are different ways to approach this:

A sense of people, place, and purpose can exist objectively for us. I.e., we could "stumble" upon it in our journey as I did once in the instance above. But, I had to visit the place on vacation to be reminded of it. I think very few of us experience all three Ps throughout our whole lives.

I do believe they can be pursued. You can search for a people who fit you, a place you adore, you can discover and refine your sense of purpose. Some of us may be missing them simply because we haven't searched hard enough. But the search for all three, too, may be fleeting, always just around the corner, and we're missing the life we were intended to live while on this endless search.

It's possible sometimes to realize that they have in some sense been there all along, and we simply need to shift our perspective to see it. For instance, at the time of this writing, while I'm fairly happy, I'm a little disgruntled about living out my life's purpose and wondering if I'm in the right place. But then I remember that I love my wife and she loves me. Our marriage is the most important sense of "people" or community I could ever have. Wherever we are, she always gives me a strong sense of place. In many ways, living with and loving her is my best sense of purpose. I'm sure those of you with kids, grandchildren, or good friends could say the same thing. So often we pursue the three Ps outside of those who love us, and we're emptier for it.

In light of that, I think the most important place I need to focus my search and perspective concerning the three Ps is on God. I love God and he loves me. No matter where I hang my hat, he is with me. The three Ps aren't fleeting with him. They are sustained first and foremost in my relationship with him. He is my truest sense of place. My dependence on him and his community of followers gives me a sense of people no matter where I am or what I'm doing. Serving him and those in need should always be my most enduring purpose. I can often lose focus of this and try to mind my Ps apart from God. But then, life makes no sense.

And, I know I need to infuse his divine nature into the people, place, and purpose of this world. Ultimately, that's what made the three Ps I experienced above so special for me. Long ago, it was amidst that place of twilight, bean fields, and fireflies where I first had a sense that God was inviting me to be part of his people, where he'd called me to a spiritual purpose that was beyond my nearsighted view of life. It was there where his touch on creation was an overwhelming reminder of his security and significance over my life. There, like no other place on earth, I felt truly at home and had a glimpse of my eternal home.

Where are you? Who are you with? Why are you here? I hope you are on a journey to answering these questions with some sense of satisfaction. If not, start your search for all three. Pursue them. Pray for them. Step back and look for the ways they may have been there all along. Adjust your perspective. Pursue the most organic source of your people, place, and purpose in God, and in Jesus, his Son.

Are you minding your Ps? It's not just about good manners. Life doesn't mean much without them.

The Pain Now Is Part Of The Happiness Then

Today, I'm in mourning. There's a weight on me that feels like the dense pressure in your chest they say is common with a heart attack. I've cried more in the last few days than I have in years. My emotions go from disorientation to shock, from guilt to a sense of peace. I'm in mourning because sometime last night, I lost one of the best friends I've ever had.

This friend was my cat, Figaro. Now, before you roll your eyes and go off in search of something less melodramatic, let me first tell you a few things. I too was floored at how deep my reaction was to Fig's diagnosis a few days ago and his passing early this morning. Why was I so impacted by the thought of his death? Then, I reminded myself that, as a combination animal-lover and introvert, I have very few close friends, especially ones with whom I've had intimate, daily contact for over 11 years. And, Zolla and I have no children, so our connection to Fig was definitely, parent-child. Among all the pets we've ever owned, Fig has always been the most special. I won't bore you with why, but just believe me when I say it's true. And so, out of the blue, the idea of his passing struck me at least as hard as any other human death I've ever witnessed.

At one point after the vet told me he'd die very soon, I even began emulating his physical symptoms, almost like E.T. and Elliot. Like Fig, my throat had swollen, I was very lethargic and rigid. At the end of the day last night, I was even working on a fever and other severe symptoms. While I didn't sleep much, it was at some point just before dawn when my symptoms subsided. And, I knew he was probably gone.

I know there are many people who are losing or have lost human loved-ones to cancer, etc., and I would never claim you should place this on the same level. The point is, you shouldn't, but for whatever reason, I have. So, whether you've lost a pet like this, or a human loved-one, perhaps you'll find some helpful parallels here. So, call me silly, but this event has simply given me pause to consider the implications of the life and death of any loved-one.

The question that hit me with the shock and speed of Fig's death was how it was possible to reconcile the immense joy I've felt with him in my life and the vile pain of watching him fade away. It feels so offensive, almost incomprehensible that such extremes should be part of the same relationship. The feelings written down in art and experienced by others was finally hitting home for me. 'What was the point,' I thought, 'of experiencing such joy with another (even an animal), if that person was just going to be ripped away by sickness and death?' It just didn't make sense.

One thought, of course, is that it's not supposed to. You can call it one of life's great mysteries. Or, you could get more specific and say that God never intended death and suffering. All that was the result of man (and subsequently, all those under man), separating himself from his Creator. So, if I'm to focus on godly comfort and faith, maybe I should just pray for a pet heaven, or buck up and rejoice that God has it all in control.

Well, I do believe that such thoughts can be helpful, but I don't think mourning itself is meant to be that simple. One of my favorite movies is "Shadowlands," the story about how the writer, C.S. Lewis, meets and marries a woman, only to lose her to cancer. At one point before her death, his wife wants to speak to him about her illness and passing, and Lewis, of course, objects. But, she tells him, "We can't have the happiness of yesterday without the pain of today. That's the deal." And, later, after he has lost his wife, Lewis repeats the sentiment in this way: "Why love, if losing hurts so much? I have no answers anymore: only the life I have lived...The pain now is part of the happiness then. That's the deal."

While I don't believe that God caused the pain and suffering that comes with this fallen world, he has decided to enter into both the joy and the pain of our life and relationships, and that somehow, sanctifies both. Sure, there will be a day without sorrow and pain, but that day isn't today. And so, while I'll never call sickness and death "good" (it is vile and evil), I will call it part of the hand we're dealt when we choose to enter into relationship, to love another and to be loved. In this sense, we should embrace mourning with as much devotion as we embrace joy.

Part of being human in this fallen world is that we're a mixed bag of life and death, love and hate, joy and pain. Just as they conclude in the movie above, the quality of joy we have with one another in life would perhaps seem a little less precious if there were no cost, if there were no limitation or end to it. Life, love, relationship, then becomes a frail and wondrous thing to be valued above all other things. And, we must experience pain and death, I think, to catch a better glimpse of that.

I woke up at one point early this morning to see that the bathroom light was on, the door closed. My wife, Zolla, who loved Figaro as much as I did, was in there penning a poem for him. Later, we placed him in his box, wrapped him in a towel, and set near him a small teddy bear, some play-string, a jingly ball, and some cat treats. And, before also placing the poem in the box, Zolla read it to him aloud:

********

Here lies Figarodeo,
Coolest cat I've ever known.
You loved singing along to "Strangers in the Night"
Elevator rides, staying in the garden all night.

The finger game,
Making the bed,
Following us on walks,
Sleeping on the edge.

The "spot of the week" was your
Favorite place to nap,
Except when cuddle emergencies would strike,
Then it was sprint...tackle - straight to a lap.

The only cat I know who would
Always come around
To greet you for his nap pickup,
To get carried upside down.

A force to be reckoned with
10 pounds of fluff.
We learned to respect when you
Had to be tough.

"Don't touch me" kitty
We dared not embrace.
Big stray dogs
Out of the yard you would chase.

You were not just a cat.
You were our very best friend.
If animals go to heaven,
Surely we will see you again.

No more "Figgage."
No more fluffy kitty
With the beautiful face
And gray tipped hair that made you so pretty.

I didn't think we would have to say goodbye so soon.
An enormous chunk of our hearts is going with you.

********

The pain and the happiness. That's the deal.

Three Questions To Ask Yourself Before Speaking

If you're like me, you get in trouble for opening your mouth a lot. It's part of being human. But, there are lessons we can learn on how to filter our speech, whether it's with our family, our friends, co-workers, or with the stranger on the street. The following is one of the most effective lessons on this I've ever heard.

Some call it the "three golden arches of communication." These are three filters we should pass our words through before speaking up about something. As with anything, they don't always apply, but I bet you'll find that they could be used more often than not in conversation.

So, here are three questions you should ask:

Is what I'm about to say...

1) TRUE? Many times we take truth for granted, when people really need to hear it. We withhold truth for fear of hurting someone, or being rejected ourselves. But, it's often not a kindness to withhold truth from someone.

However, truth in isolation can be very abusive. So we must also ask...

2) Is it LOVING? Lots of us are truthful without being kind. For instance, how would you husbands answer your wife when she asks, "Do I look fat in this dress?" We shouldn't lie, but we must balance truth with love, discretion, and empathy. It requires translating truth into a "language" or vocabulary that is most helpful to the hearer.

Finally, we should ask...

3) Is it PROFITABLE? This is often about timing. For instance, it might be both true & loving to confront a friend about his drug addiction, but if he's not ready to hear it, it may be worth waiting for the right time. There are times, of course, when a spoken word will show profit down the road. I.e., they may not respond to what you have to say right now, but it may kick in later on. But, we shouldn't always assume this is the case. We can get impatient when we want to make a point or advise someone. But, why speak if it has no chance of being heard and received?

None of this is rocket science, but I'm guilty of applying only one or none of these in daily conversation, and my communication can be worthless or even worse, hurtful. If my words don't pass these tests, silence is usually the best choice.

This all falls back on another basic question: "When I speak, am I treating the person in the way I'd want to be treated?" It requires thinking before speaking--another habit we all could stand to apply more in our relationships.

So, probably nothing you haven't heard before, but I thought it might be a good reminder. I need to be reminded of it daily! :)

Life Is Relationship

Have you ever heard of Viktor Frankl? He was an author and psychotherapist who died about 9 years ago at the age of 92. Among his other accomplishments, he wrote a great book called Man's Search For Meaning. This book begins by showing the way Dr. Frankl would start out his therapy sessions with a new patient. Many of these patients would come to him at the end of their rope, wallowing in despair, and Frankl would start out by asking a simple question: "Tell me, why don't you just commit suicide?" Seems like a pretty counterproductive way to begin therapy, wouldn't you say? But, faced with such a stark question, these people, no matter how far gone in their hopelessness, were forced to come up with a credible answer. Why were they still alive? What sense of meaning made life worth living?

Frankl felt entitled to ask such a question because he himself had discovered the answer. His answer came in the concentration camps of Nazi occupied Europe. A Jewish Austrian, he was thrown into the camps for most of the war and, of course, barely survived (most around him didn't). He was stripped of every layer of humanity left him, and survived on what is most basic to life--at least, what he discovered was most basic.

You see, he was sent to the camps with his beloved wife, but they were immediately separated, and he never saw her again. But, there was one thing that kept him going while in the camps--he could never actually be sure what happened to her. And his faith in that little uncertainty gave him hope. At the depth of his despair, he knew that he had to stay alive and live on. Why? Because, no matter how faint the odds, if it was even possible that there was someone out there who loved him and who he loved in return, he had a reason to live. Just this prospect alone gave his life meaning.

The idea that he learned and passed onto his patients was that Life is Relationship. If life has any merit, any meaning, it's that we have the opportunity to love and be loved. Sometimes we need to be asked a startling question or endure a crisis to realize this, but this understanding exists within all of us. As goes the cliche, 'no one on their deathbed ever wished they spent more time at the office.' But, it's not a guarantee, it's an opportunity, and it becomes something like a gift. For Frankl, it was his wife. For us, it could be a friend, a father, our spouse, our children. The sum of our worth or accomplishment in life is measured, not by how much money we have, how beautiful we are, how famous we are, but by the richness in our personal relationships.

But even in these relationships, we're often faced with the sickly reality that we're all pretty messed up as human beings. We often hurt and are hurt by the ones we're closest to, often as much as we help, and being human, we're also subject to another relational hurt--the pain of sickness and death--the pain of seeing a loved one suffer or even die. So, as much significance as we can get from our human relationships, they too can often fail us, and we're left hungering for something more.

To me, that's why God is the ultimate necessity for life and meaning. But, perhaps you're one who asks the question, 'how can I have a relationship with someone I haven't even seen? How can that give me meaning?' Well, it's a bit like Dr. Frankl. He had faith in even the remote possibility of his wife's existence, and that gave him hope. And, if we really search inside, even when we're feeling the most hopeless or cynical about life, we'll know that there is a God out there who loves us. Think about it. If in the deepest parts of our soul we realize that the only thing that gives life meaning, the only thing that makes life worth living, is our personal relationships, then doesn't it make sense that the source of that life would also be personal, and relational?

In the face of our despair, we can have faith in this "little uncertainty," that there is someone out there who won't ever leave me, who won't let me down, who deeply loves every stitch of my existence. Even when all my human relationships seem to be falling away, I know there is one out there who can be the father, the sister, mother, brother, the spouse or loved one I may have never had. And, on top of that, there's a bonus. As I get to know this loving God, I can also see my human relationships more infused with the integrity and love I always wanted from them.

Do you know when God first noticed something was wrong with the world he'd created? It wasn't Eve and the apple. It was Adam, standing by himself in the garden. In the face of his glorious creation, God saw that something was still incomplete: He said, "It is not good that man should be alone." And, still today, we all feel this in our deepest heart. It is not good for us to be alone. We are not complete as human beings until we are in relationship. With others. With our Creator. And he is out there, loving us right now, and waiting to be loved by us. In my highs and in my lows, that's what keeps me going, and makes life worth living.

Character and Wonder

I love movies. For good or ill, they have had a major impact on my life. I'm a fan of most genres—comedy, romance, drama, action.

As a fairly analytical human, I was thinking a while back on what makes a great movie…great. Certainly there are many ingredients—good writing, talented actors, a visionary director, striking cinematography, etc. But, I asked myself—are there more intangible qualities in the greatest movies that go even deeper, that elevate a movie to a higher level, leaving us somehow changed?

Two qualities came to the surface—Character and Wonder. The most impacting movies (whether the impact is pure entertainment or something deeper) tend to excel in both of these areas.

Indiana Jones in Raiders Of The Lost Ark comes to mind. Indy's character was larger than life. He was a brilliant archeologist, handy with a whip, a hard-luck romantic, relentless to a fault. And also, none of the characters around him, no matter how minor, were wasted. Even if they just helped to paint the backdrop of a smelly bar in Tibet or a marketplace in Cairo, they all had an energy and color. And the world Indy encountered was also full of wonder—menacing Nazis, exotic locations, mystic and holy dangers. The more recent epic, Lord Of The Rings, is of course another classic example of this—a cast of unforgettable characters against a vast and complex world of wonder.

In some movies, it's not so much about the character amidst his or her world, but rather the wonder we find in the character himself. In As Good As It Gets, Jack Nicholson's character is a wonder to behold, a man whose neurotic peccadilloes alienate him from the one thing he wants most—someone to love. And, Helen Hunt, the eventual object of his love is more of a wondrous character in the simplest sense, that even in her own loneliness, as Jack tells her, "you say what you mean, and you almost always mean something that's all about being straight and good." We see in this film how the character of the human spirit is a wonder in itself—we're complex, we're simple, we're full of mysterious emotion, and we're all crying out for generally the same things.

In one of my favorite movies, To Kill A Mockingbird we see the innocent character in the little girl, Scout, and the wonder of childhood as she explores and seeks to understand the joys and the evils of her small town in Alabama. Her father Atticus is a towering wonder of a character—resolute, wise, compassionate. Boo Radley (my cat is named after him) represents all that is fearful in childhood—he is unknown, his reputation is built far more on shadow and suggestion than anything real. And yet, he turns out, as a grown man, to have the heart and purity of a child. We find that Boo also has the strength, like Atticus, to protect the weak and stand up for what is right. I could go on and on about the character and wonder to be found in virtually every frame of this film.

Some of you will remind me that Mockingbird is actually based on Harper Lee's brilliant novel, and that these qualities are just as relevant to great literature as they are to movies. And, I'd agree. I actually began this blog with the medium of film as more people tend to watch movies than read books nowadays. But, character and wonder have long been, I think, the supreme ingredient in great literature as well.

And, that leads me (my regular readers knew I'd go here eventually), to what I believe is the greatest storytelling of all time, the ancient story of the Old and New Testaments. The Bible is a fascinating book in that while its ultimate purpose is relational, i.e., it's meant to draw us into a closer encounter with our Creator, the medium God often uses toward this end is fantastic storytelling. And, again, character and wonder are to be found everywhere in its pages.

Moses, for instance, is quite a character, to say the least. He's this bag of massive neuroses—he's terribly insecure about his ability to accomplish anything for God, and is seen in a fairly comedic scene arguing with the Almighty ad nauseum about this fact. He asks, "Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and that I should bring the sons of Israel out of Egypt?"1

Like so many of us, Moses knew that his character simply wasn't up to the task. But, God doesn't then give him a pep talk to build his self-esteem. What he does is ask Moses to focus on something else—the character and wonder of his Creator. God tells him, "I will be with you… I will stretch out my hand and strike the Egyptians with all the wonders that I will perform among them."2

God wanted Moses to live in a state of wonder as he trusted in the character of his Maker. And, in the cinematic fashion that we've marveled at in such movies as The Ten Commandments and The Prince of Egypt, God then imbued insecure, little Moses with the character of someone who could stand up to one of the most powerful men on Earth. Moses delivered over a million people from the hopeless bondage of slavery by demonstrating the wonderful miracles of God. He became the hero of God's amazing story.

We often go to movies and read books merely to escape from the hopeless drudgery of our daily life. We would love to imagine that we could live the life of that hero we find on the silver screen or in that epic novel, where life is full of meaning and color, where we're clear about the quest at hand, and determined to see it to the end. But, then we leave the theater, or close the book, and return to what Thoreau called "lives of quiet desperation".

But, do you realize that God, the author of the greatest story ever told, has included you as a character in His wonderful quest? An ancient poet said that from your innermost parts, you "are fearfully and wonderfully made,"3 that you are a part of God's wonderful, creative works. And that, for you to play the character that God has given you to play, you must simply live your life in wonder about Him and the character of His Son, this "Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Eternal Father, Prince of Peace"4—this Jesus.

God has created us for this quest. You, the actor in God's story…Are you ready to play the part?

1 Exodus 3:11
2 Exodus 3:12, 20
3 Psalm 139:13-14
4 Isaiah 9:6

Humility and Gratitude

(Originally written June 2007)

A beautiful woman died the other day. And, for my own life, I have no reason at all to complain.

Jacqui was to turn 28 in a month or so. She was a gorgeous, petite girl with striking eyes and auburn hair. She was filled with love and with an amazing energy for life. She was married just under 2 years to a wonderful man. But, she died. Of cancer.

I went to her funeral with that sick feeling in my stomach. Why this tragedy? Why would God allow such a wonderful young woman to be taken so soon? The scale of this injustice seemed almost too high to fathom. It was so absurd, so cruel, that amidst the anger, all I could do is laugh.

So, I prepared myself for my internal role at this service. To remember her, yes, to mourn her, but what I perhaps most anticipated was to join in with all the others in an angry cry to God. "How could you do this?!!" I imagined perhaps we'd all be shaking our fists at heaven and condemning God for his rank stupidity and carelessness.

But what awaited me there was something altogether different. What I found wasn't some paltry jury full of vindictive, bitter God-haters, but a group of family and friends who had come to celebrate a miracle. Through personal stories and the pastor's eulogy, I was reminded that Jacqui's life, although way too short, was one of victory. And that nothing so simple as death could stifle that.

By her own public admission, Jacqui had been delivered from a past of hopelessness, where in a sense, though still living and breathing, she was already dead to anything that mattered. She had a baby daughter while still in her teens. Her life was devoted to the numb pleasure of drugs and recklessness, falling in and out of selfish, superficial relationships. Her behavior became so bad, that the powers-that-be removed her daughter, and so the one good thing she had produced in life was also taken from her.

But, then, in her early 20s, she started attending church and the miracle, although slowly, began to happen. Within a few years, she began to see that there was more to life than her own self-destructive desires, that God had a plan for her to rise out of the pit of her own making, and that no matter who she had been, God wanted to breathe into her a new life and a fresh start. She became free of the drugs, met and married a man who didn't run when things got tough, and after everything, achieved a goal she once may not have thought possible--she was given her daughter back.

Sitting at her funeral, I was reminded that amidst her past failures and future triumphs, Jacqui embodied two characteristics that I have found to be crucial to knowing true happiness--humility and gratitude. Jacqui was humble. After committing herself to God and seeing the changes he was working in her life, she knew that any value or worth that she had came solely from him. She once offered to help out around the church, but felt so unworthy at the time that she asked if she could serve in a capacity where she would "remain unseen." The process of change was long and tedious, but when she made a particular commitment to alter her behavior, she stuck to it. At one point, feeling she was perhaps falling back into the overwhelming desire to do drugs again, she independently entered rehab to make sure the change would stick. Her humility strengthened her resolve to rise above who she had once been.

And, Jacqui was grateful. She saw that she'd been given a precious gift, and that, no matter what future lay before her, she would never take it for granted. So, when she was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin Lymphoma and was progressively given news that her body was failing her, her sense of humility and gratitude never left her. In the latter stages of her sickness when all physical hope was lost, she wrote a friend a letter in which she referenced a passage of Scripture that had encouraged her deeply:

We have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed...All this is for your benefit, so that the grace that is reaching more and more people may cause thanksgiving to overflow to the glory of God. Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.*

Freed from her own self-indulgence, Jacqui was able to see that 1) we should be humbled by the fact that none of us are guaranteed our next breath, and that, 2) we should be grateful for the life we have been given. And because of her commitment to God and his Son, Jacqui knew that the life she'd been given would go on forever. And that her miraculous transformation of character, her new husband, the return of her daughter, were just a small taste of what that new life would be like. Jacqui was humble. She was grateful.

So, I look to my own life and see that it's not about what's happening around me, or even what's happening inside me, i.e., my health, etc., but how I choose to respond to it all. Believe me, I can often find myself griping about the smallest offense, or the silliest disappointment, but for my own life, I just have no reason to complain.

You see, I often don't have control over what will happen to me when I step out of bed each day, but I do have control over my perspective. When I'm feeling down about my life, about the people who've hurt me, about how I'm not getting my just due, or even about how God could allow people like Jacqui to suffer and die, there are specific traits that are missing from my psyche. I'm not truly humble. And, I'm not grateful. When I really get honest with myself, I have far more reasons to be humble and grateful than I have reasons to complain.

But, the hurts and disappointments of life keep coming at us, don't they? So, amidst my own self-indulgence, this true perspective of life must be renewed each day. My perspective must ultimately be about who I am before God in the context of eternity, more than who I am in this relatively short visit to planet Earth.

If you find yourself in the pit of depression, despair or bitterness, I know that this might seem like a tall order. But it is possible. Sometimes, it needs to just begin with a single area of focus, and we can grow from there. So, I'll start with Jacqui. I am humbled by her amazing life and am most grateful to have known her. And now, not surprisingly, my life is a whole lot brighter for having entertained that thought.

* 2 Corinthians 4:7-9,15-18