Time and Money

When I was a kid, I had all the time in the world.  I even had the audacity on a few occasions to utter those most cursed syllables that are now the bane of my existence.  Namely the phrase, "I'm bored."  Back then, I had an abundance of time, but very little money.  In those days I was willing to trade what I had a lot of for what I had very little of.  But the older I've gotten, the more I've noticed those two things have changed.

I'm not saying that I have more money than I know what to do with.  And I'm certainly not rich at all by American standards (though compared to most of the world I'm filthy rich).  But I am certainly much more keenly aware of the preciousness of time than I was as a child or youth.  Now I'm willing to trade some money for time because the amount of time I have seems so finite.  Where once I would do all I could to invest and parley my money to try to get an improved return, I now think in those terms with my time.

Every moment I spend now is an investment in a relationship.  And since I have limited capital to invest, I need to be increasingly intentional about the investments I make.  Is the time I'm spending with the people I meet with going to produce fruit?  Is it beneficial for them?  Will it help me grow personally?  If it will do neither, can I justify the time I'm spending, or is it a prodigal expenditure I could do without?

There are many different kinds of benefits, so I'm not specifying the sort of productivity involved.  There are many possible benefits from being alone or with other people.  But I believe the time comes in our life when we have to ask ourselves whether we are being good stewards not only of our money, but of our time.  Perhaps especially of our time!  When we get to the other side, we're told the streets will be paved with gold, and we'll have an eternity to spend.  But in the meantime, let's redeem the time, seize the day, and make the most of every opportunity.  We don't have an infinite number of moments to work with before time is no more.

The Checklist

Most of my life, I operate with a checklist. I’ve got lists of things I want to do, and lists of things I have to do. I put these lists together to make sure I don’t forget the things I need to get done. And I often gauge the success of my day by how many items I’m able to check off my list. The bigger the item is, or the longer it has been on my list – the more gratified I am. My sense of achievement and accomplishment is often wrapped up in just how much and what I can check off of my list.


The problem with this way of doing things is what I don’t put on my list. As I look at my lists, the things I put on there are almost never things that really matter. I don’t put things on my list like, “spend time with my kids,” “go see my Dad,” “tell Ann I love her,” and “worship the Lord.” Sure, these things that occupy my time and attention are things that need to get done. I need to pay my bills, get the inspection done on my car, and mow the lawn. But the thing I need to most be reminded of is that the most important things in life may never get put on a list – but they’re still the most important things in life.

I – we – need to make sure we never allow the most urgent things in life to replace the most important. Being part of God’s praise and His plan is the most important thing we’ll ever do.

Lessons from a Zinnia

Two weeks ago I was teaching my Systematic Theology class about spiritual growth.  Scripture uses agricultural metaphors to describe the nature of the spiritual life more than any other metaphor.  So, I decided to use a live demonstration as a tool for teaching.  Ann provided the pot, and recommended a couple different kind of seeds.  When I got to Wal-Mart, I recognized "Zinnia" as one of the names she'd mentioned.  Then in class I had one of my students plants the seeds.

After class was over, I watered the soil and made sure the seeds got some sun, and the lessons began.

Lesson One:  Even if the seed and soil are good, and you give it water and sun, there will not be immediate growth.  Spiritual growth takes time.

While the students went home for a week for their Spring Break, I took the "Z-Man" home with me.  I called the plant that because being a flower and called a zinnia, the guys in the classroom (myself included) needed to feel a sense of connection with our flowering metaphor.  About a week after the initial planing, the Z-man showed signs of life and I posted it on our class Facebook site.  But as encouraging as the growth was, it was still very tender.  Which leads me to . . .

Lesson Two:  When growth first begins, it is very fragile.  It would take very little for the growth to be killed or squashed.  New growth is fragile.

Over the next week, some additional growth occurred, but the most obvious change was that the Z-man was leaning whatever direction the sun shone on him.  The shoots obviously leaned in the direction the light was coming from.  Healthy growth is toward the light.

I'm sure the Z-man will be the means of several more lessons about growth in a godward direction.  But for now, it is worth reflecting on what has been demonstrated to this point.

Dad Home

Nearly a week after he went into the hospital, Dad came home.  I'm not sure what time it was today, but the doctors sent him home despite his diverticulitis and a few other lingering issues.  Apparently they feelt the benefits of Dad being able to go home to rest outweigh the negatives.  I can certainly understand that it is likely a LOT easier to sleep and heal at home than it would be in a hospital.  I've never really understood that aspect of modern medicine.  The fact that they so regularly disturb resting patients suggests to me they undervalue sleep in the healing process.

As much as I'm grateful for modern medicine, I'm caught in the tug of war between technology and natural healing.  Clearly there are things modern technology can do (like removing or replacing a lung) that go far beyond what any holistic medicine will address.  Yet there seems to be more value to dietary changes, exercise, vitamins, rest, and prayer than I think most doctors are even willing to consider.  Perhaps they are nurtured on a world view that encourages a far more mechanistic view of the human body?  I can see where a coldly clinical approach to humanity would rob one of a broader perspective.

When I think about this sort of thing, my mind inevitably goes to two books that have been highly influential in my thinking.  One is Lewis' The Abolition of Man, a very short but deep book that explores the nature of truth and perspective.  He believes man is not mere machine, and that concepts like sublimity are not social constructs but statements of real value that correspond to an objective reality is a sort of divinely inspired Platonism.  The other is Huxley's Brave New World, a novel written about the human race after it has achieved its current cultural goals.  We have it all, entertainment, happiness, physical pleasure without consequence, reproduction without pain -- and yet find ourselves impoverished once we've finally arrived at our apparent destination.

What does all this have to do with modern medicine and my Dad being sent home from the hospital?  Perhaps nothing, but maybe everything.  What is the point of prolonging life when we don't know why we live?  And can doctors who do not understand the true nature of humanity really be expected to grasp the nuances of healing in a body that is more than matter?  Years ago I met Hugh Ross, a scientist and doctor who had been part of the cloning project in Scotland.  This is when the sheep "Dolly" was successfully cloned.  Of course such medical advancement invites numerous questions.  I asked him one of them.  "What do you think of the morality of cloning humans?"  He responded that once this sort of thing was done, it is likely people would discover we wouldn't be getting what we were looking for.  Clones would be less like the original than "identical twins," and of course be a different age as well.  Beside, he went on, "we can clone a body, but we cannot clone a soul."

The limits of medicine are far greater when doctors and scientists do not grasp this concept.  Yes, you can make the body function; but is that truly the essence of healing?  Or is it possible that for true healing to take place, we must address both body and soul?  If doctors really believed this, it would rock the medical establishment.  Not only this, it would likely also throw yet another wrench into what role we think the government ought to play in health care.

How's Your Dad?

Let me say at the outset that I deeply appreciate the hearts of those who ask me how my Dad is doing after surgery.  This has been a very difficult season for our family, and one that isn't likely to get better soon.  But it is hard replaying the same conversation over and over every time someone asks the question.  It feels rather unfair to me that those who ask it tomorrow are likely to get a severely truncated version following my being peppered with the question at a birthday party I attended tonight at church.  So for those who care enough to read this blog, let me answer the question here.

Two months ago or so, my Dad had a skin cancer removed.  The immunosuppressive drugs he has been on have made him particularly susceptible, so this wasn't terribly surprising.  But when they realized this particular cancer was a melanoma, it was suddenly much more serious.  He went to UVA to have it removed, and they thought they got it all.  This was until a routine CAT scan about a month later that he gets annually since he had a lung transplant in 2005.  The scan showed four tumors in his original lung, ranging from golf ball to nearly baseball sized.  After doing several other tests, including an MRI on his skull, doctors concluded that the majority of the cancer was in the lung.  Although it was an aggressive approach, they felt they could maximize his chances for long-term survival by removing the lung.

The surgery went as well as anyone could hope.  They removed the lung and the lymph nodes they identified as cancerous on the PET scan.  But, the surgeon cautioned, we need to realize they know he still has lymphoma since these were metastases from another location.  Currently they are in a tug of war.  The immunosuppressive drugs are necessary for life.  Even after this amount of time, if he stopped taking them, his life would be in danger within mere weeks.  But they also suppress his body's natural ability to fight disease, including cancer.  So, Dr. Kandahar explained, if there is anything Dad wants to do, he should do it.

I heard these words loud and clear, but I'm not certain the rest of my family heard the same thing I did.  I spent the next three days in the hospital room with Dad.  He had a few complications, most notably involving his ability to swallow.  Even now he cannot drink liquid without risking it going straight into his lungs.  He also had some dementia that set in during his time in the stepdown unit.  This was worse during his lung transplant surgery, but was still quite unnerving for all of us who love him and care about what he has to say.  It is a scary thing to see someone you love not know what they're saying.

So, how's my Dad?  Well, he's walking more now and seems to be on the mend in the short term.  His return home isn't imminent since they won't be sending him home with an IV in.  But at least there is measurable progress.  In the meantime, I feel like once he does get out, I'll just be waiting for either a miracle, or for the other shoe to drop.  I don't want to live with regrets because I waited too long, but I also would prefer not to live this entire year as a gloom and doom alarmist waiting for a tragic phone call.

My Dad is fine by the only measure that matters.  I'm convinced he knows the Lord and we'll spend eternity together.  But in the meantime, I'll be seeking the Lord's wisdom about how to best handle this uncertain length of time we have together on this side of eternity.  But as I've been powerfully reminded many times in various ways -- who knows whether he may outlive me?  None of us have any guarantees.

Numb

I've been asked "how are you?" more times than I can count.  Those who've known anything about my Dad's health situation have asked me regularly how I'm doing.  I appreciate the question and recognize from the times I've asked it that it is a well intentioned one.  But it is sometimes difficult to know how to respond.  Have you ever felt unsure how to tell someone how you're doing?  In the blur of tests and results and prognoses Dad has had over the past 2-3 weeks, I can only describe my own disposition as "numb."  It isn't that I hurt, I just don't really feel anything right now.

As I type these words I sit in a hospital waiting room with family.  Dad's preacher Jon is also here.  And we wait with a beeper that reminds me more of Olive Garden than surgery.  Waiting rooms are odd things.  I suppose we need a designated place to wait.  We're gathered with other families who are similarly waiting for news of their loved one, with their own buzzer handy (party of five?).

In some ways to this point the news about Dad has been eerily similar to the situation with our Mom.  Of course we're all hoping this turns out quite differently.  But who knows?  Doctors always act far more confident than their competence justifies.  To listen to the nurse and anesthesiolost talk, you'd think they were taking out Dad's tonsils, not his lung.  So, like so many families before (many of whom I've been the preacher sitting with), we wait.  There are many levels of uncertainty.  One is the success of the surgery itself, another is whether this leaves any cancer in his body, while yet another is what they're going to do after this -- chemo?  radiation?

The degree of uncertainty in my life right now may be good for me on a certain level.  I didn't even know I was driving up here last night until 2:30 yesterday afternoon.  When my [half] brother Arthur asked me how long I was staying, I didn't know how to answer.  Because I really have no idea.  So here I sit, feeling like I have far more to do than I can even recall in this moment.  I likely won't be using my time very well over the next few days.

About an hour ago, I went on a Starbucks run with Jon and my brother-in-law Joel.  While we were out, I asked him about his recent mission trip to Thailand.  I asked him what God taught him while he was there.  Could it be mere coincidence that his response was to "slow down"?  I'm not sure whether this says more about how hard-headed I am or God's sense of humor.  My Dad apologized to me last night for my "having to come up here."  But perhaps this trip will not only be an opportunity for ministry to my family, but a chance for the Lord to remind me of truths I likely shouldn't have forgotten in the first place.

The Ache of Uncertainty

When you know quite a few people, and have an emotional investment in them, one of the hardest decisions to face is whether to tell them something you know will hurt them.  This is particularly the case if you know that if you were in their situation, you would want to know.  But when you look in the face of someone who is already carrying a burden, it can be very difficult to know whether you should speak the words, or wait until they soon find out anyway so you don't have to be the bearer of bad news.

As I've been reading through Ezekiel lately, I can relate to how he feels when the Lord keeps asking him if he is willing to prophecy against the city and people he holds dear.  But it is even more difficult when the message must be delivered personally -- face to face.  And the more you love the person involved, the harder it can be to muster the courage to say what you know must be as difficult for them to hear as it is for you to say.

I suppose someone could consider my reticense to be cowardice.  But more often than not, I will speak the hard words if I am able to speak to the person face to face.  What is most problematic is when technology allows for what most people consider communication, but isn't at all suitable for connecting with another person emotionally.

I realize I haven't solved any problems by blogging these words.  I just want to get them out there to say I'm struggling with how to handle this sort of scenario.  And lately it seems to be coming to me far too often.  When I've been asked by friends and brothers and sisters in Christ what they can pray for me; my answer lately has been oft repeated.  If you choose to pray for me, pray God will grant me the wisdom to speak when I ought and to remain silent when I ought.

I Doubt It

Perhaps you know this card game by a different name.  But I was told it was called "I doubt it."  The idea is that you have a handful of cards you have to get rid of by claiming how many of a particular numerical value you have.  Play begins with Aces, moves to Twos, and so forth.  You keep going around the circle until all the cards are gone.  If you think someone isn't telling the truth, you say, "I doubt it."

There are many reasons you might doubt what someone claims.  Obviously, if you have four Jacks, if someone puts a card down and says "one Jack," you're safe doubting him.  But there are other reasons you might doubt.  Perhaps she looks like she's lying, maybe you remember who else has the cards, or perhaps you just want to be difficult.  Whatever the reason, doubting is the way to get ahead.

The way people seem to revel in doubting Christianity, you'd think there was a prize being awarded for it.  Certainly, there is a point at which doubt can be healthy.  Author Timothy Keller suggests in The Reason for God that a Christian without any doubt is like a body without antibodies.  It will get along just fine until there is tragedy or an articulate skeptic.  Then an untested faith quickly crumbles under the untested weight of doubts.

As I thought about this, I couldn't help but think of Luke 1, where twice the angel Gabriel tells unlikely candidates they will be having children.  First Zechariah, and then Mary are both told they will soon have a child.  Both express concern about their life situation hindering that possibility.  But Gabriel appears angry at Zechariah for his doubts, and seems quite compassionate toward Mary.  Why the difference?  Although there are other nuances in the text, I suspect the heart of the answer lay in the motives of the questioner.

Doubts that are spoken in the midst of faith and trust are not received in the same way as faithless doubt.  Again, Keller suggests that deep doubt stems not merely from incredulity, but from a greater trust in an alternative belief system than in God.  And that is where doubt departs the realm of helpfully stretching us and solidly into an area where it is displeasing to the Lord.  So doubt away, but also be willing to critique your doubts.  Make sure you scrutinize the alternate beliefs underlying  your doubts with as much vigor as you scrutinize the truth you find difficult to believe.

Whose Purpose-Driven?

Twice I've been part of leading a "Purpose-Driven" program with our congregation.  Once about five years ago when we did the 40 Days of Purpose, and again last year when we did the 40 Days of Community.  Both programs were well received, and seem to play well to those of us who seem to do better when we have a specific goal.  When we have a specific goal in sight, it seems much easier to strive toward.  We have small groups in our congregation who were spawned during both programs that still endure.

At least part of the concept behind this program is rooted in the idea that God has some specific purpose or goal in mind for each of our lives.  When Paul was preaching in Antioch, he commented, "when David had served God’s purpose in his own generation, he fell asleep; he was buried with his fathers and his body decayed . . ." (Acts 13:36).  What a challenge -- to serve God's purpose in our generation!  I can't help but wonder if David realized that purpose while it was unfolding?  Did he recognize he was fulfilling God's purposes while he was doing this thing called life?

My struggle here is knowing what to do when I feel like I'm in-between purposes.  When you're pretty sure what the Lord wants you to next, it isn't terribly difficult to stay motivated to go toward it. Of course there are other sorts of obstacles and distractions.  But what I find most difficult personally is when you're not really sure what your next goal should be.  I've been in a season of my life for some time where I have been striving toward a particular goal.  But now that I see that season of my life fading, I'm wrestling with what to run toward.

Of course I know the "right" answer is to run to the Lord.  That ultimately HE is the goal, the prize, the direction, and the motivation.  And perhaps deepening my personal walk with him is precisely what needs to be the sole consuming passion of my life right now.  It may be that my relationship with him must be deeper and more intimate before I will be equipped for the next thing or task He has for me.  I can life with that, but I find that relationships are harder sometimes to know precisely how to pursue.

For example, as a Dad I know I need to spend time with my kids.  Sometimes I know what to do with them.  But other times, I just have this vague sense that I should be doing something, but I'm not sure what it ought to be.  Similarly, as a husband, I know I need to find ways to love my wife in a way she can receive and appreciate.  But sometimes knowing what specifically to do (other than taking out the trash on time) is hard to do.

What I know more than anything else is that I don't want to substitute my purposes for His.  I don't want to try to make myself feel important or valuable by contriving my own sense of purpose to replace my felt absence of His purpose.  I believe it would be all too easy to devise some scheme and conclude that must be what the Lord wants for me.  But I would rather live an aimless life than settle for a self-made sense of identity.  So, yes perhaps we ought to be Purpose-Driven, but let us make sure it is His purpose for which we live.

Filthy Rich

Habitat for Humanity provides affordable housing for families who would otherwise never be able to live in a decent home. Millard Fuller of Habitat for Humanity once led a workshop for pastoral students at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary. He pointed out that every year, there are three homes costing a million dollars or more built in the United States for every one Habitat home. The students and pastors in attendance pointed to greed and selfishness as the reason the church never had enough money to assist others creatively.


Millard then asked this seemingly innocent question:
“Is it possible for a person to build a house so large that it's sinful in the eyes of God? Raise your hand if you think so.” All 200 of those present raised their hands.

“Okay,” said Millard, “then can you tell me at exactly what size, the precise square footage, a certain house becomes sinful to occupy? Silence from the pastors. You could have heard a pin drop, until a small, quiet voice spoke up from the back of the room: “When it is bigger than mine.”

This true story well illustrates the problem we face in trying to communicate to America about wealth.  I've been in a sermon series for the last couple months on the Sermon on the Mount.  Jesus addresses the issue of the proper handling of wealth numerous times here and elsewhere in the Gospels.  But we too often miss the significance of these words because they are spoken to the "rich."  And in our minds, the rich are always someone else.
 
But the truth is, I am filthy rich.  I live a life that would be the envy of kings a few hundred years ago.  I live in the richest nation on the planet, and our leisure and luxury is unsurpassed.  So when Jesus begins talking about how difficult it is for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven, he means me (and probably you too, if you have a computer with which you can read this).

The Relief of Failure

Sometimes you set your heart and mind to something and you realize part of the way in that it is requiring more from you than you bargained for.  Maybe you agreed to play for a sports team, be in a band, or won a spelling bee.  With each success, more is required of you.  You start investing more time and more of yourself in it so you can advance to the next level, make the next playoff game.  But sometimes along the way you realize that what you're doing is taking more from you than it is giving.

When that happens, failure can be a relief.  Suddenly the schedule frees up, and the pressure is off.  Of course, there is always the momentary letdown of the loss.  But in the long run, sometimes the lessening of expectation isn't necessarily a bad thing.  Succeeding beyond your level of commitment to something is a difficult position to be in.  Often others get involved, who are more enthusiastic about your continued success than you are, and suddenly you feel the additional pressure of expectation.

Yes, this happened to me today.  I was playing on online Survivor game, and I got voted out.  I've played three times, and this is the first time I didn't make the final.  I was the third member of the jury (for those that means anything to).  This was the first time I've seen myself get votes other than to win the game at the end.  It was a weird feeling, but I'm SO relieved!  With the health struggles my Dad has had of late, I feel so much better not feeling there are people in my alliance counting on me to perform and network to push us forward in the game.

Did I do my best?  No.  But I gave what I felt I could afford to give, and it wasn't enough.  People out there I don't know and will never meet probably think I'm less of a player now.  And frankly, I don't really care.  I'm just glad it is over (aside from voting at the end for a winner).

Worthwhile Passion

As I sit here, I'm listening to the songs we sang while at the Passion Conference this year.  The impact of these memories is only heightened by the realization that two dear friends are now teaching in China.  My daughter is only two hours away, but her 20th birthday is tomorrow, and it isn't likely I will see her.  Meanwhile, my Dad is 3 1/2 hours north, and awaiting results of a PET scan that will probably give us some indication about how long we have with him on this side.

It is crazy what such a confluence of events will do to your heart when you begin considering what things are worth caring about.  No matter how much you want to win that game, no matter how much you want the United States to get the gold, no matter how concerned you are about that bill you have to pay; when eternal concerns are placed before you, all else pales in comparison.

In a very real sense, the typical trivial obsessions of our lives -- of my life -- are embarrassing.  It is very difficult avoid this tendency.  Clear evidence of this is found in the resonance of this allegation with so many people.  For most of us, this sense is cyclical.  For a moment, we apprehend truths of life with crystal clarity.  Gradually these realizations fade, and we find ourselves slowly slipping back into a familiar complacency.  Perhaps the best we can hope for is for the cycles of truth to gradually eclipse the cycles of triviality.  If we are fortunate to live long lives and still think soberly at the end of our days, we may find that on our death bed we see more clearly than we ever have before, but it is familiar territory for us.

When no emergent moment presses inself on our consciences, we desperately need something transcendent  to draw our hearts back to an eternal focus.  All sorts of things can suffice to take us to that point of spiritual sobriety.  But for me, it is more often music than anything else that drives me back to the foot of the cross and the heart of God.  I don't want these moments to ever elude me.  Whatever I need to do to recapture this sense, it is worth it, even if it sometimes involves repentance, confession.  The ability to truly apprehend the sublime sometimes requires the amputation of the mundane.  The trade is well worth making.

May we never settle for less.

Uneven Revelation

Some days I feel God has shown me so much that I could just explode trying to get it all out.  I see truths in His word and in my life that beg expression.  Interactions I have with others are full of insight.  Events around me seem coordinated, as though the Lord is trying to make sure I don't miss what it is He wants me to see.

But other times, I'm struggling to see what is fresh.  I feel like I'm walking through the day faithfully, but I don't see this neat coordination of events as though it is being composed for a purpose.  I don't mean that life seems random and nonsensical, only that I don't perceive the same level of interconnectedness.  For some reason, I don't feel the Lord is giving me fresh insight or revelation.

Why is this?  Is it because I cannot handle being in that mode all the time?  Is it because my sin (both known and unknown to me) hinders it?  Could it be that the Lord still is revealing things to me, but I miss them because of my own distraction or busyness?  When I began this blog, I believed that one of the big reasons I was missing some of the things the Lord wanted to teach me is because I simply didn't have a planned avenue for expression of this sort of thing.  My hope was that by having this blog, and placing an expectation on myself that I would write every day would aid in that process.

I believe the blog has likely performed that function.  But I still find myself some days late at night having not written anything and wondering what I should write for that day.  Several times lately (obviously), I haven't had anything to say and thought it better to write nothing that something with so limited value.  But I am still wrestling with why that seems to be happening more now than it was a month ago.