28

Today is my 28^th birthday. This morning I woke easily. I put my bare feet on the cool hardwood floor and thought of how glad I am to be alive. I do feel the incline of the slippery slope between 27 and 30 grow that much more steep for the loss of a year. 2 years to 30! I only have a 2 year buffer between me and 30. Old people will accept me as one of them in 2 years. They certainly won’t do it all at once, but they will. Some of them already have. I was called boss at work today, and there was less of the typical jab to the comment than there used to be when I was 26 or 25. To be clear, I am no one’s actual boss at work. Sometimes I’m just head up a project or something. My point is that I am fast approaching that age where I am no longer called young man. I’ll just be called a man, or since that is a bit awkward, I’ll be called by my name.

I remember turning 27. It didn’t happen that long ago. A co-worker of mine said, “Ah… What was I doing when I was 27. I think that was the year my wife and I got married.” Then he gave me a look like, “What the hell are you doing with your life dude? I’m a slacker and even I think it sucks to be you.” I was 27, and I had no idea what I was doing with my life. I did know that whatever I was doing was not working. This has been a good year.

I had a cancer scare this year. I went to a regular appointment and after a short examination, the doctor type looked scared. He went and got another doctor type, who also looked scared, and this one looked a little sad too. They went and got an assistant. They all adapted a very sweet, encouraging way of talking, and I got scared. The whole cancer thing isn’t as open and shut as you might think. There is a lot of expensive testing involved, and the tests take a long time to return with results.

I just wish I could express to someone, anyone, what it is like to think seriously that you will be dead in less than 5 years. I read a statistic while I was ravenously researching my symptoms that said what I might have had proffered a 50/50 chance of death within the next 5 years, and the world washed out for three weeks. I know that sounds weak, but I don’t care. People said things I didn’t hear. I ate tasteless food. I had entire conversations I don’t remember. I went to a place of only functioning and I survived each moment filled an eternality expressed as a fractal moving to the next moment. This went on for about 6 weeks before tests came back. I had something a little less life threatening than cancer. The feeling stuck with me.

The feeling was a voiceless thought that told me to do it now. I learned that I really like living. Living is great. I could stand to get by a lot worse off than I do, and continue to just love living. Oh, living is great. I can’t tell you how great living is. I can’t tell you how much it is possible to love going to work; how sweet everything is when you are sure you are saying a quick goodbye to it all. When I am unhappy, I know that I’m really not as sad as I’m making out, and I get happy. I found out this year that I’m happy. I’ve been happy for years and I didn’t know it. I’m happy because I’m in love with breathing, and anime, and blues dancing, and jazz, and that TV show the Mentalist, and the voice of that person I don’t like, and fast food, and coffee, and the way mountains look in the dark, and the night sounds, and a room filled with conversation and laughter, and the dullest day at work, and all of it, all of it, all of it, all of it is so sweet, so good, so beautiful. I love the feel of a breeze on my arm, and that of a sip of water. I know I sound so full of crap. I’m not. I love life for being life, and it is a good thing to know.

I also learned that things worth doing are worth doing now. I’m not saying to lose all patience or moral standards. What I’m saying is that things you want to happen won’t just happen eventually. There is no eventually. There is now. Desirable things require effort, and boldness. Actions bring about change. All the things I wanted were very close to me, and they all required asking. I started asking, and being bold, and asking, and working, and staying. I like my life now. I just didn’t care so much about getting it right. I care about getting things done.

Oh, this is a good one. I learned that the things that I really cared about were obvious to me. That might seem like a no brainer, but most things are no brainers. The really smart people are the few people that can articulate the no brainers to themselves in a clear enough way to keep track of them in their daily lives. I learned that I knew what my priorities were. I started acting in accordance to my value set, and got even happier.

I learned that I believe that God is good. I learned that I believe that if God killed me right now, he is good. See, I’ve experienced so much good stuff in my life, so that when I am honest with myself I am filled with gratitude. As to the whole, “Is there a God issue

I learned to stay away from safe, because there is no safe.

I have worries. I get down. I can be a jerk. I try to say sorry and not be a jerk.

Anyway, I had a pretty rock’n year. I’m glad to be alive, and you can too.

I should also note that most of the garbage I wrote up there has to do with my finally dealing, somewhat, with an existential crisis. Who knows if such a thing can ever be fully handled? Anyway, the stimulus of being faced with a very real mortality, caused me to be glad to be alive. It is all very simple and there is a bit explaining the simple formula of one's knowledge of their own mortality being equal to one's joy to be alive found in the first few chapters of Sophie’s World by Jostein Gaarder. I expect the book handle’s existentialism, which is a different and related way of thinking, more thoroughly in a later chapter, perhaps having to do with Kierkegaard, Dostoyevsky, Nietzsche, and Satre. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Existentialism I don’t know. So while this may all be very textbook, just know that it meant a great deal to me. It still does, and I’m still a slightly less manic version of happy for it. Thanks. May you have a very happy …day.

A Heart of Flesh: Part 2 of 3

The congregation then sang from the Psalter Psalm 32 which begins, “O blessed is the man to whom is freely pardoned, All the transgression he hath done, whose sin is covered,” and ended in a long plagal cadence “Aaaaaaaahhhaaameeeeeeeeeeeeen.” By the end of the psalm, I felt awful. I felt so tired I could sleep. 

That is when and old man in a nice suit walked to the lectern, bowed his head, and began to pray. He prayed for a long time before I ever started to listen to what he was saying. I was looking at the great arching roof beams climbing high over my head to the vast canopy of the sanctuary. I was looking at the ornamentations of the fixtures where two beams would cross in the ceiling when I realized the man was still praying. He prayed for the new member’s class for a while, and he prayed about the ice cream social. He prayed for the sermon, and that the hearts of the congregation would discern truth. He prayed for the congregation that was there, and for those who were sick or away. He prayed for the leaders of our nation and of many nations that would be seeking wisdom in how to handle affairs in Syria. He went on to talk about the nature of the offence, how children died in the streets. This is when I noticed that everyone around me had their eyes closed. I did not feel like closing my eyes. I wanted to watch what this old man was doing. He was standing perfectly upright. The only thing that bowed was his eyes, and the slightest inclination of his head. His hands fell naturally on the lectern. I was amazed at how still he was, and that his face expressed the conviction of one who was sure.  He was sure that his words were drifting up, or where ever they go to become a fragrance in the courts of Heaven, in the presence of the LORD. He was talking as he would to someone he knew well, and for whom he had a trembling respect. He began to pray for the sick in the congregation. He called them by name. He mentioned a little girl who had the misfortune of having both parents grow deathly ill at the same time. I wondered what God would do for the little girl. He prayed for the moms, and the dads, and for the strength of the families. He prayed for Greenville. He prayed for the lost souls of Greenville, and for the physical needs. He prayed and he prayed, and I stared at the stain glass window with the words “Come unto me all who labor…” I felt very tired. A long time passed. I stopped listening to the old man pray. I looked dumbfounded at all the bowed heads around me. They were all praying, and if there was a God, their prayers were filling his Sanctuary. If there is a God, He was right next to each of them listening. If there was a God, He was changing the future for his love of them. I felt very tired. The old man stopped praying, and the congregation entoned, “AAAAaaaaaaaaaAAaaahhhahammmeeeeeeneeneennenenen.”

Then we stood and sang another hymn. I knew this hymn, and I sang out as loud as I could. The hymn ended in another long “Amen.”

The preaching pastor stood and preached for a long time. He had this massive voice that resonated rather than booming. He was a class act, and everything about the message had polish. He began by reading from Hebrews. He said:

“For if Joshua had given them rest, God would not have spoken of another day later on. So then, there remains a Sabbath rest for the people of God, for whoever has entered God’s rest has also rested from his works as God did from his.

Let us therefore strive to enter that rest so that no one may fall by the same sort of disobedience. For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, and piercing to the divisions of soul and spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And no creature is hidden from his sight, but all are naked and exposed to the eyes of him whom we must give account.

Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin,” The pastor paused to look at everyone in the room,

“Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”

The pastor looked up from the text like he was swimming back to our realm, back from the words to the world of people with arm watches, cell phones, and dinner appointments. He said,

“The grass fades and the flower withers but the word of the Lord lasts forever and ever. Amen.” His voice reverberated off the rafters, and I was troubled. I felt weary. My exhaustion was enormous. I was hooked on every word this man said, and he said a lot. 

I knew that this tiredness was a tiredness of the spirit, and that I was only feeling it now because what was happening here was a source of relief, the way a runner might feel very tired during the last hundred yards of a long run. I felt I might sink into the pew and get lost in the cushion. I felt I might liquefy. I felt I might turn to vapor and waft away, but the pastor was booming away about how we might enter the throne of Grace with confidence.

My head filled with my own thoughts. How could anyone enter the presence of God with confidence? The old man in the suit prayed with confidence, but was that the same? So what if it was? How could anyone enter with confidence what they did not know as there? Then I thought, wait. This can’t all be true. I’ve been a believer since I was nine, but I’m always surprised that I really do believe this Gospel message. I’m always arguing against Thomas Aquinas in my mind, thinking the tenants of Christianity and the portents of reason cannot work together seamlessly. I want to hear Thomas Aquinas say “To one who has faith, no explanation is necessary. To one without faith, no explanation is possible,” and I want to bap him in the face for saying it. I want to find A. W. Tozer as he scribbles, “Any faith that must be supported by the evidence of the senses is not real faith,” and I want to scream at him and say, “So sue me!” I know what it is to know in my guts and nowhere else, but I am forever afraid of being taken in by something that seems too good to be true. This rest, this ‘come unto me all who labor and I will give you rest’ kind of rest, seemed just too wonderful to grasp for. I did not grasp for it. I thought, “Dear God, if you are not real, have the good heart to tell us.”

Just then the pastor started to read from Ezekiel. He made a few snarky comments about baptism and sprinkling, then he read, “Then I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean; I will cleanse you from all your filthiness and from all your idols. Moreover, I will give you a new  heart and put a new spirit within you; and I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. I will put my Spirit within you and cause you to walk in my statutes, and you will be carful to observe my ordinances…”

Something in me gave way. I started to pray, and ask a lot of questions about rest. I wanted to know why I should have to strive to enter into rest. I wanted to know why I couldn’t just have it, and what it cost. I wanted to know why I did not have it, since the stain glass window Jesus was offering rest, and I had gone to him at age 9. Why was that not enough? Why did the eternal rest always end, and this was accepted by those who really believed. Did the woman at the well feel jipped two hours later when she got thirsty again? How did she feel when Jesus left the city, and left her there? I wanted to know how much I had to come to Jesus to have rest, and what exactly coming to him was. Was it a state of mind? Was it like seeking Zen or whatever? Was it a matter of right conduct, and if so, wasn’t all that garbage about grace really just garbage? I felt like the answer to all of these questions had to do with something obvious I was omitting from myself, and that I would admit it later, sorrowfully, and come crying back to God. I would, but where would I run. I wasn’t ready for that yet. I had some unformed question that needed answering just on the tip of my tongue. I whispered, “I believe, please help my unbelief.”I was willing to haggle with God over rest. I wondered how likely it was that an object of infinite density and zero volume could have ever existed. I wondered what type of catalyst it would take to make such a thing explode at 100 billion Kelvin. I wondered if the Universe really was homogeneous and isotopic. I wondered if dark matter was just a cheeky way to make a hypothesis correct when the math didn’t add up. I wondered how any of that explained the human psychological makeup; personality. I wondered if I could ever just feel ok. I was tired. I was just very, very tired.

The sermon ended. We sang another hymn. There was another long amen. The preacher man blessed us all in the name of Christ Jesus. I took the hand of the nicest, most lovely woman in the world, and started toward the staircase when a man (we’ll call him Jack) held out his hand and said,

“Hi, I’m Jack.”

We shook hands.

He was a young man of almost 30. He was dressed in a blue suit with a blue and yellow bow tie. He had a big grin, and big bright eyes. He was talking very loudly and the greaser swoop of his hair, with his cleanly shaved face gave him away as clergy, new clergy. He introduced his wife who was holding an infant, and asked me my name and the name of the gorgeous woman by my side. He asked us if this was our first time visiting. Our time at Church was not over.

People Who Wear T-shirts with Their Own Faces On the T-shirts

                There are people who put their own faces on t-shirts. Those same people in those same t-shirts bearing the visage of their own faces are also prone to wearing these t-shirts in public. It gets better. These people are also prone to enlist a third party to take a picture of them wearing the shirt and post that picture on the internet. Without taking the time to account for the person who took the picture or the person who searched the internet for a picture of a person wearing a t-shirt with their own face on it, I would like to take a moment to marvel at this singular odd fact of life. Wow. …wow. Just…wow.

                Oh, this is a very good rabbit trail, and my day is bound to be less interesting than this for the next 8 hours. Let’s follow the trail and see where it takes us shall we? Lets.

                We can marvel by analyzing. Yes. First, the person who thought they should put their own face on a t-shirt probably feels alright about the way they look. That follows right? I mean, it would be preposterous for a person to put a face on their shirt that they did not find to be aesthetically pleasing. It is a good guess then, that this person has good and happy feelings about their looks. They may be confident even as far as conceit. It is also fair to say that most truly ugly people are aware of their condition. So, this person is fairly good looking, and knows it. … or what is worse, they might be ugly and not care in any way it wouldn’t take a psychologist to see. Interesting.

                Next, this person has enough money and drive to have a specialty shirt made. A person wearing a shirt with their own face on it is not dying of hunger.  No, they are not saving their money for a big bag of rice. No, they had the idea, “Man, you know what? I want, no, need a shirt with my pretty face on it. This is a good idea I had. Yes.” Then this person went to the place where they keep their money, and they paid a professional t-shirt maker, and a designer, to make a t-shirt with their face on it. This idea was an idea they would invest money, money that was capable of buying other things like sodas, or a trip to the movies, or candy, or to pay the electric bill, buy gas; they exhausted resources to have a shirt with their own face on it. This person will spend money on anything. I bet they send money to organizations they know nothing about, and vote a party line. I bet they buy kitchen appliances from late night infomercials and take the unopened boxes of neat-o junk straight to the attic when they get it.

                The person who buys a shirt with their own face on it is also a frighteningly driven person. I go to work. I go home. I go out. I put my time into things I think are worthwhile. I do enough cleaning so that the people in my life that could get mad at me for not cleaning are appeased. It is a pretty good life, and I think I am a fairly driven person. I don’t hold a candle to the person who is willing to put energy and time into buying a shirt with their own face on it. This person has maniac energy, and must be very capable. This person on top of having bills paid, and a place set up, the laundry done, food prepared, TV shows watched, family visited, job kept, phone calls and emails phoned or written, correspondences maintained, parties attended, books read, music listened to, conversations had, also managed to contact a designer and a t-shirt making company with enough clarity and forethought to communicate the need for a shirt with their own face on it in a particular color etc. The world quakes before such a power.

                The person who made a shirt with their face on it fits into society somewhere. They are confident. They are reasonably good looking. They are driven. They work with people to achieve a goal. They have a decent job. It only makes sense that this person is successful. They probably have a good job, which means they are probably someone’s boss. They might be your boss. They might be your boss, and the best boss you’ve ever had. It isn’t hard to imagine that person who blows money on a shirt with their face on it, will also blow money on coffee and doughnuts for the team every now and then. Doughnuts from the boss equal love for the boss, and everyone knows it’s a wicked little trick, but I’ve been distracted. Haven’t I?

                The world is strange, and I like to maintain my wonder. The person who wears a shirt with their own face on it deserves a moment’s observation. I hope I’ve garnered that. Well, have a nice day, and if you boss doesn’t own a shirt with their face on it, at lease you’ve got that. Right? Happy Friday.