Yes Indeed

Many years ago it seems, but not so far away, my wife and I found ourselves in a Christmas play as the parents of three middle aged children. It seemed plausible at the time since we weren’t far from having children of our own. We were living in the Land of the Rising Sun and all around us the notion of Christmas was present, yet the presence of Christmas was absent.

Our stage children were keeping us busy with life and somehow time passed and we never really explained to them what Christmas was all about. So as the play unfolded there was the piercing question of “Dad? Mom? What is the real reason for Christmas?” I don’t recall what my scripted answer was, however, I vividly recall thinking how odd to have three middle school children who had never heard the true meaning of Christmas. But as the play suggested, sometimes we become busy being busy. Decorating cookies and filling stockings gives us immediate joy and suddenly time passes and we’ve glossed over and forgotten to share what the presence of what Christmas is all about.

****

Fast forward many years to a lunch conversation. Cue the music:

As the background music floated through the room reminding us all that “it’s the most wonderful time of the year“, a little voice pierced the tranquil thoughts and memories floating through my head.

“Papa?”

“Hmmm”

“Papa?”

“Yes.”

“Papa. What is the real most wonderful time of the year?”

“I don’t know, what do you think?”

“I think it’s when Jesus resurrected from the dead. What do you think Papa?”

“Yes, indeed. Well said son.”

****

Maybe we did learn our lesson from that play so long ago but not so far away. Keeping the main thing, the main thing can be more of a challenge than we think sometimes. However, to live in the presence of the Risen Son is indeed the most wonderful time of the year. And that is truly worth sharing.

All Because

“Papa. It’s been 28 years since your bellybutton problem. That makes you 45.”

“What? Why are you up? It’s not even six.”

“Papa. I just wanted you to know.”

“What are you talking about? Ugh. Go back to bed. It’s too early.”

It was then that I noticed a different little boy, wide-eyed, lying next to me.

“You’re awake. Get up! Get up! Let’s get some juice.”

Inside my head, it went something like this, “AHHHHH!”

Setting aside resentment against my wife who seemingly slept blissfully beside me, I forced myself out of bed, as a little one helped by pushing my back and a bigger one pulled on my arm. Morning is never as enjoyable as I would wish. Stepping out of the bedroom I am met by another child, saying he couldn’t sleep anymore since it was light outside and obviously the day was well underway. To say there was light outside would be a gross exaggeration. I think there was one, earliest of early birds which was just beginning to tune its song for the day stretching in its nest as the light was nothing more than the faintest of faint hazy glowing embers of pre-brightness. This is not the morning I had envisioned during spring break. Or any other day for that matter. I consider it less than joy to be up at this time of what some call “day” but never-the-less, up I must be.

Having three different sons with incredibly different sleep needs I find it a challenge to constantly be patient, kind, and not jealous of my sleeping wife. In all honesty, it’s hard. Well, actually hard doesn’t even come close. It’s a challenge to say the least, a chore to borrow a term from an older generation, and a daily choice to make. But isn’t that what real love is made from?

Now I’m not trying to boast and I certainly don’t want to come across arrogant as to say I have it all figured out, but it seems to me that love is a challenge sometimes. It is a daily chore. And it must be a constant choice. Throw in attitude, action, and behavior into the mix and love is something that is clearly in a different realm from the emotion based phrase, “I love pizza.” I have nothing against pizza but when our own personal emotional enjoyment of something, or someone, is the driving force behind our actions and behavior, we’re not talking love anymore.

Could you even imagine if Jesus decided he didn’t feel like hanging on the cross? To hang on the cross knowing there will be suffering. That he must bear all things without boasting. Intentionally choosing to endure such agony without being provoked. He chose to get up out of his comfort zone, meet us with all our unique needs, and still love us by putting us first. Now that’s a choice. That’s love.

Kind of puts into perspective my whiny little feeling based mornings as they really are. Struggles of self-centeredness. Yep, it’s that frustratingly resentful feeling, the beginning of irritation, when my self-centered world collides with the needs of others. There’s no falling out of love. Just a choice between self or others. I think that’s what the real action, attitude, and behavior are all about. A battle to see who has importance.

So, although it may be a challenge and a chore at times, I will constantly choose to love my family, even when they think a cricket is the starting sounds of morning. Striving to have the right attitude so that my actions will be the real indicator of my love, thereby showing a pattern of behavior that rejoices to everyone of the One who is True Love.

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. — 1 Corinthians 13:4-7

 

Waking

“Looking through rose-colored stained glass windows, Never allowing the world to come in………..so dim.”*

Sharp stabbing pain followed by a flooding of color into my dark world.

“Papa. I want your eyes.”

Immediate tears washed my cheek before coherence collided with my senses.

“Papa. I want your eyes.”

A sticky little thumb and finger reached towards my right eye, in an attempt to pluck it out. Sitting straight up in bed with eyes wide open I see the events as they are truly unfolding. A son’s sincere desire to see through his father’s eyes.

May my own desired vision be mirrored in his eyes.

“Give me Your eyes for just one second
Give me Your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
Give me Your love for humanity
Give me Your arms for the broken-hearted
The ones that are far beyond my reach
Give me Your heart for the ones forgotten
Give me Your eyes so I can see”**

 

*Rose Colored Stained Glass Windows by Petra

** Give me your eyes by Brandon Heath

 

 

Don’t Put Stickers On The Cat

 

Do you ever see what you’re saying? I mean really stop and soak in the things that come out of your mouth, then pause and reflect upon what you’ve just said? I’m not entirely sure what this communicates about myself, however in the past week I’ve heard unusual phrases uttered, such as “Don’t put stickers on the cat.” bursting forth from my mouth. It seems common sense to me that one should not put sticky adhesive things all over a hairy creature, yet those were the words I heard myself say. I can concede that curiosity was the motivating force behind the sticker scenario, but what about this phrase?

“Don’t jump on your brother’s head.”

And how many times must it be said before the message is understood? Apparently, my attempts to leave a lasting impression are not readily grasped. Ok, I’ll admit, the jumping was probably more about curiosity again. Or perhaps, “Don’t put the diaper pail on your head. It’s not a helmet.” Or “Don’t stretch out your brother’s underwear. Get it off your head.”  Or “Don’t put the lollipop back in your mouth.” after it fell sticky side down in the ant infested dust. And then there’s yesterday’s fun little exchange, “Don’t talk about poop in public.” Michael’s retort, in much too loud of a voice was, “But Papa. You’re talking about poop right now.” We were standing in the middle of the grocery store with a plethora of people around us watching out of either curiosity or some strange sense of humor. Or both.

As I hear what I’m saying, I see what I’m communicating. Naturally, my intentions are to instruct and keep the house from falling apart, but I’m not sure my intentions are as visible as I think. Of course if one should fail to notice a pattern there is always evidence of the sickening realization that the message was misinterpreted when you hear your own words boomerang upon you or others.

“Joshua. The Bible says to listen to your elders. I’m your elder. So don’t move around so much. And don’t take my pillow. And don’t keep pulling the blanket.”

See the theme? At least Michael got a little rationale woven into the message, right? He took the theme “Don’t” that I provided, and polished it with a little biblical wording. Given his tone and delivery I find it hard to believe that he was truly trying to better his brother with instruction on the proper way to go to sleep. Furthermore, I seriously doubt the two-year old learned anything other than “don’t” from that little interaction. All the right wording does nothing to change the motives that lie underneath the surface.

“But what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this defiles a person.” Matthew 15:18

“Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.” Psalm 51:10

Outline of a Family

 

A seed was planted many years ago

An immature thought covered in naivete

Roads diverged, paths crossed

Time passed, events unfolded

Marriage began, maturation multiplied

 

The metaphorical bun was eaten

We cried out to God for a revelation

Show me what to do

God protected and sent you

A “son of my right hand”-Benjamin- came forth

Joy filled hearts, sanctity of life

 

Time passed, events unfolded

The ground opened, radiation flowed

We cried out to God for a revelation

Show me what to do

God protected and sent you

A little MAN “who is like God”-Michael- marched forth

Joy filled hearts, sanctity of life

Time passed, events unfolded

God shook us, migrated our lives

The dormant seed began to awaken

Planted before families combined

Nurtured enough to sustain

 

Ten years along an idea took shape

Discussions, prayer, lunch dates

We cried out to God for a revelation

Show me what to do

 

Paper pregnant, shifting lives

A life with a non-traditional beginning

God’s hands around you in warmth and protection

God protected and sent you

Joy filled hearts, sanctity of life

“God is salvation”, Joshua

“God will be with you wherever you go*”

Three lives intertwined with two

“A cord of three strands is not quickly broken**”

And life began anew

 

“Our God is a God who saves…Let God arise… His love reigns now and forever.” -Let God Arise by Chris Tomlin

 

* Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.”-Joshua 1:9

** Ecclesiastes 4:12

 

 

 

 

 

The Ghost And The Darkness

Walking down the lane one late afternoon with the encroaching green foliage on either side my attention was commanded by piercing screams. Children in our compound yell for many reasons, but there was a distinction of fear in this instance. Around the lone turn on our lane came three boys yelling for me to run with them because there were strange noises coming from the bushes. “It’s a ghost.” they cried. With my skepticism on high alert I wanted to know more before I joined the little motley crew and ran.

Instantaneously my pragmatic checklist was activated, completing an analysis of the situation in mere seconds. This ghost was obviously terrifying a few children under nine, but was it real? I mean seriously, a ghost? That same day the boys had been playing in the trees making a game out of stepping on overripe guava the birds and monkeys had rejected. Could it be an animal the boys had heard that startled them causing panic to take control? As the boys’ yells grew louder and their steps drew closer I wondered where my oldest son was.

Recently there has been a number of lions wandering around outside of Nairobi National Park. No one is exactly sure how they made it out but reports indicated two visual confirmations with the possibility of four more roaming the surrounding areas in search of new hunting grounds. A friend sent a video of a lion walking down the street, amid blaring car horns and screams while multiple drivers called in the alert on their way to work. Then two weeks ago another lion sighting, a mere two miles away. They may not be the man-eaters of Tsavo but when it comes right down to it, even for the fiercest Maasai warrior, a lion is nothing to ignore. Earlier in the school year a leopard had entered the compound next to ours and killed a dog leaving behind footprints and carnage. Were these the signs of the ghost that the boys were screaming about?

I had passed two girls playing close to the outer gate as I entered the compound and I knew that two other boys were away with family. Joshua was with my wife and the adults were mysteriously absent. Now three boys were wildly approaching me yelling about strange sounds coming for them. Mental math completed, there was only one child unaccounted for. My oldest son. While my eyes scanned the brush, my head thought of logical solutions to the mayhem. Standing frozen in thought trying to make sense of it all I too heard the sound of the ghost coming closer. I quickly ruled out the wind rustling the bamboo leaves and the ibis calling out danger. It had a deeper sound to it that I instantly recognized as that of a mammal. The three boys ran past taking their screams and leaving me standing alone in the growing darkness.

Then from the shadows rode Benjamin on his bright blue bike calling out “Woooo! Woooo!”

 

Concealed

 

As a parent calling out after a fleeing child who is barefoot, and seemingly free knows, the battle is not always won. But it is always fought. The two older boys know not to run around outside without shoes but inevitably I’ll look up and see one of them standing in the dirt. White feet turned rusty-red.

It seems much of the compound we live in is built upon a past life that has left much behind. Yet in spite of being cleaned and made new, the land continues to hold on to its refuse. Nothing remains concealed. It’s a regular occurrence to find bits of metal or shards of glass protruding up from beneath our outwardly green and cheery little compound.

A simplistic analogy perhaps but, when it was red that washed us white, there is no need to hold onto the rusty brokenness of the past.

 

 

Don’t Wake The Monster

After being told repeatedly that his behavior was not something desired, the mother said in a stern voice, “Benjamin. What am I going to say to you?” The almost six year old sat pensively for a moment, cocked his head, and with all seriousness uttered “Bleh.”

I couldn’t help myself. I laughed out loud from where I was standing in the kitchen. Immediately two sets of eyes flashed their way to meet mine. One pair with a gleam of approval and a touch of playful mischief. The other pair had the look that you get from someone who says they love you yet nothing in their look is loving. Parenting is such a delicate balance. On one hand you get to enjoy the moments of randomness and discovery, encouraging them to go further than they ever thought possible. Enjoying the messiness of life and laughter of love. While on the other hand instructing that sometimes what is thought as creativity is not really creativity at all.

We have one son who thinks that streaking through the house is hysterical. He’s dramatic about it too. No mere naked running for the little dude. Oh no, he needs to make enough noise to draw attention to his marathon. Occasionally he wears a hat but usually that’s just an after thought. So where is the line drawn? When is it ok to laugh and let it go and when do you turn it into a teachable moment giving instruction on acceptable behavior? Maybe I should just let it all go and wait for Grandma to deal with it the next time she visits.

Sometimes a parent or teacher can feel like a monster squashing creativity for conformity. Sacrificing aspects of independence and pride for integrity and humility. It seems that even the clothes the boys have tells us to let it go and just be friends. However, truth be told, my sons are not my friends. They are my sons. Knowing right from wrong and acceptable behaviors are not something for me to ignore teaching. Having high expectations and holding them and myself accountable is not something to be inconsistent about. The real loveless monster would be to ignore such instruction in their lives. What they learn now will be the foundation they stand on later in life.

I will continue to enjoy every moment of my current world. A world where plastic dinosaurs high-five each other and the bad guys say “excuse me” and “sorry” after doing a most heinous crime, such as laughing loudly in an evil villain way. “Mwa-ha ha.” But deep within me I know that the monster of self entitlement and complacency waits for all of us just around the corner.

 

 

 

Mimesis

Chills. Sweats. Nausea. Constant desire to crawl into a hole never to return. Been there? Many times this is just common place when you live in a country that sells awesome, but not always clean, street food. For the last six days I’ve been traveling the road of food poisoning. This in and of itself is not such an issue, although one I certainly don’t need to repeat. There is no pleasantness in this form of discomfort but it is livable.

This time was different though. The crawl in the hole part was much the same but the chills and sweats were replaced with a draining fatigue actively extracting energy at every moment of my consciousness. If given a choice I’m sure I would have just closed my eyes and hoped to wake at some time in the future, but there was no such choice. Between dragging my deteriorating body from one room to the next it was the driving knowledge that in spite of my present ailments, aches, and dare I say it attitude, my focus could not be about me. I was here for a greater purpose.

I’m sure my son thought I was trying a new teaching approach to get him to crawl as I regularly pulled my body across the floor towards him. After his initial staring at my attempts of mobility, he most likely thought I was mocking him, he realized there was a possibility of freedom if I ever reached him. No doubt he would interpret his cries as encouragement for me to get there sooner. One wretched day he seemed to encourage me a bit more. Seems he was desperate to be free from the disturbingly uncomfortable stench wafting into the air. Of course smell is a trigger point for all kinds of emotions, and it did. Then it intensified my nausea causing me to turn and crawl back towards the toilet. With my departure Joshua’s cries pierced louder leading me to turn back to him. And there it was, that awkward moment where you find yourself lying on the floor halfway between the toilet and the crib, reduced to the mere mortal who realizes they have no control over life itself. If there had been an observer I’m sure this would have been a moment of farce watching a grown man on the floor flopping like a dying fish.

As I lay dying, or so it felt, it occurred to me that it wasn’t just in my sickness that my focal point was skewed. Oh certainly it would not be pleasant to vomit on a child, even though a small child does not carry the same sentiments towards an adult, but how often had I truly and completely focused on his needs alone? Now in my incapacitation I could only resolve to devote more to him and less to me. Even in a small guesthouse with minimal distractions on an isolated hill and a singular goal, the self cries out for complete devotion. A constant battle of two opposing forces frantic in efforts to defeat and reclaim my life. One force a poison needing purging the other a requirement for love.

Before leaving Kenya I jokingly told people I didn’t want God teaching me any lessons through the upcoming experience. In my life, lessons from God often come after an uncomfortable understanding that I am not God. A simple little concept that anyone who knows me can clearly see, yet when I place myself first that’s exactly what I am saying. Humanistic actions, justification, and rationalization always seem to seep into me leading me back to me. And so I flop from God to me. Perhaps it was a lack of food for six days that led my thoughts to this point or possibly just the perspective to see the unfolding comedy as a tragedy. Regardless, I am glad for the lesson.

My son on the other hand, well I think he feels I should have got the message a lot sooner.

“So God bruise the heels we’ve dug in ground, that we might move closer to love. Pull out the roots we’ve dug in so deep. Finish what you’ve started. Help us to believe. Keep our eyes wide open.” — Eyes Wide Open by Jars of Clay

Although there are many meanings for Mimesis, most hover around the central definition of imitator or to imitate. I prefer Aristotle’s definition with regards to literature – “Imitation of life”

Welcome To The New

“But it’s no use to go back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.” – Lewis Carroll

“Now here you are eyes open wide. It’s like you’re seeing things in a brand new light, for the first time. Let us be the first to welcome you… Life you thought was too good to be true…Welcome to the new.”*

“Now here you are, a new point of view. Now it all makes sense, why it’s the called the Good News. Let us be the first to welcome you…We’ve been waiting for you… Welcome to the new.”*

There are no words to adequately convey emotions and thoughts that dance through your consciousness when you are able to hold a cherished little one after a long wait. Knowledge of pain, time away, and sorrowful heartache melt into nothingness with one look from his eyes. An overwhelming sense of joy floods through the crevices of life softening even the mightiest and most callused. In short it is love.

A brother’s love, while containing all the thrills of being an iconic superhero, is deeper and more fulfilling when the relationship develops. Devotion to one another in brotherly love is not merely an aspiration but rather an action for us all. Yet this love is often pale when standing next to the love of a mother. Much has been written about motherly love being one of power, beauty, intimacy, heroism, and even majesty. The depth of a mother’s love is a testimony to be sure, but the love of a father stands alone. Part superhero, part nurturer, a strong tower. The love of the father is patient and never-ending. Like a true superhero, he has come to save in spite of our heartaches and wrongful choices that led to our near demise. Then there is unspeakable joy when we arrive into his presence and are held by our one true Papa. Welcome to the new.

Opening Quote taken from Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

*Lyrics and title shamelessly stolen from Welcome To The New by MercyMe