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Regarding truth…

February 17, 2010 in GODSTUFF, REFLECTIONS with Comments Off

What I’m about to write here is for my own self-indulgent fun. I’ll enjoy parsing through it and if anybody else would find it interesting, much the better.

I was thinking about the 60′s revolution and how it was a response to the influence of Christ. It was a a movement the baby boomers originated in direct response to the conceptions of God, church, Christ, and family held by their parents.

The foundation of that movement was a questioning of propositional truth. Jesus said “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” The hippies questioned whether truth itself could even be known and this was the basis for their rebellion against their parents and all that went with it. Continue Reading…

Things I Wish

February 12, 2010 in REFLECTIONS with 3 Comments

photo by Amir

I WISH…

1. …I lived closer to my brother. He’s the only brother I have and he’s my closest friend.

2. …I hadn’t spent so much of my life unhappy when I have been surrounded by beautiful things all my life.

3. …more people thought more often about their mortality. We’re all running out of time. If we lived in light of that fact, we’d live differently.

4. …I had gotten to know my mother-in-law better than I did.

5. …I were more naturally disciplined.

6. …I had gotten into counseling sooner. It has made a huge difference in my life.

7. …for my daughters to be more confident and peaceful than I was as a kid. I can already see that happening.

8. …there were words to really express my love of life.

9. …for a wonderful next 20 years with my wife.

10. …to find a publisher for my children’s book.

11. …to be a successful writer.

12. …to teach ever-larger crowds of people and to have the biggest influence I can in this world.

13. …I handled criticism and stress better than I do.

14. …I had dealt with my temper earlier in life.

15. …I did not go through life feeling as awkward as I usually do.

16. …my parents weren’t getting older.

17. …people really took time to listen to those they disagree with.

18. …people didn’t feel the need to argue about stuff. There’s not really much worth arguing about.

19. …I could get through the winter even one year without sinking into depression.

20. …we lived in a state without snow and cold (but where it’s not too hot!)

21. …I had more time to write and record music.

22. …I could go back to school for my doctorate.

23. …I had made better financial choices when I was younger.

24. …sports did not exist. Except ping pong.

25. …I had run track in high school (okay, except ping pong and track?)

26. …I were the kind of person who prioritized spending more time with friends. Instead I’m the kind of person who misses it but never does it. When I do it, I usually feel awkward. Which is why I never do it.

27. …I could relax.

28. …I could explain to my wife how much I admire and envy and love her.

29. …there could be 1000 people at my church this weekend.

30. …I could speak to friends casually as well as I can speak to crowds (when I have taken time to write it down first).

31. …success for our new president. The country has pinned unrealistic hopes on this man. I’d like to see him succeed.

32. …I could ditch my house and live in a condo.

33. …my daughters were not growing up so fast.

34. …I had not lost the friend I lost two years ago. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over that.

35. …I had more time to hang out on Facebook. There’s something comforting to me about being “surrounded” by so many friends – especially when I don’t actually have to feel like I’m in a crowd.

36. …I had treated some of my ex-girlfriends better than I did. For that matter, that I had treated the girlfriend better who became my wife.

37. …I could find a way to preach the perfect sermon. The one that could convince every hearer than there’s nothing more important than living to know and please God.

38. …I were more outgoing, more comfortable in crowds, and more extroverted. When I take my wife to a party, people say, “Wow, she’s amazing.” When I go to a party (not that I go to parties), I’m pretty sure people say, “Well, he must be a good guy – after all, he married that amazing girl.” (Of course they’re right on both counts. I’m a pretty good guy, and I did marry an amazing girl.) I just want to disappear when I’m in crowds, and I’m realizing at age 40 that this is never going to go away.

39. …I knew what I wanted to be when I grow up.

40. …there could be peace in our time. I know, it sounds trite. But I really do pray for it, nearly every day. “God, bring peace to our world – peace to the hearts of men and women everywhere.”

One more wish, but it’s longer. Sometimes when I’m driving in my car listening to my iPod, a song comes on that perfectly captures how I’m feeling at that moment. I wish I could live in those moments forever. Kind of like how I used to feel when my girls were small and I’d watch them playing, but they didn’t know I was watching them. I would stand there frozen, aware that I was on holy ground. I wish I could have bottled that feeling. If I could have, I’d be using it to help me get through these long Michigan winters.

Originally posted 2009-10-01 00:04:44. Republished by Blog Post Promoter

To my Gramma H.

February 9, 2010 in REFLECTIONS with 2 Comments

My gramma was Mrs. Yoda.  Small, old, and immensely powerful in a way that you would never expect and that took you by surprise.  My brother sent me an amazing email today, reflecting on the life and times of our Gramma Hibdon, my mom’s mom.  We lost gramma in 1992 and to this day I don’t think there’s been a single time I’ve thought about her without getting emotional.  I didn’t realize at the time how powerful she was, but as I grow older I see it more and more clearly, and my sense of loss over her passing grows not smaller but larger.  I didn’t know her very well.  I knew there was something special about her, but didn’t realize what it was at the time.  I realize it now, and I’d give anything for just 15 minutes to ask her questions – or just to sit with her and experience again the grace that just poured out of her.

Gramma was never wealthy.  In fact, she spent all her life quite poor.  She never dressed in fancy clothes, never had fancy gifts for my brother and I when she and grampa would come up from Texas to visit.  But she whistled a lot.  She smiled and sang and laughed a lot.  She oozed happiness and love.  When my brother and I were rebelling against God in our various ways, she loved us and prayed for us, but never said a single word in judgment of us.  There wasn’t a harsh or judgmental bone in her body.  (My mother is that way now.)  When you were around this woman, you knew what it felt like to be loved, valued, and accepted, exactly the way you were.  She showed us how to live.  And then, when the time came, she showed us how to die.  Today, having received this note from my brother, I miss her so much.

When I was diagnosed with MS in 1990 (I was 22), gramma told my mom that God told her I was going to be fine, and she was completely confident and worry-free.  Sure enough, 20 years later I’m fine.  A year later as she lay dying in the hospital, our pastor came to visit her.  He entered the room and gently said, “God bless you, Laura.”  Her response was two words, spoken sweetly, though straining for breath: “He does.”  Then a quiet and joyful laugh.

A few days later I got the call at work to tell me gramma was gone.  I left and ran up to the hospital where they had agreed to leave her body in the room for me, so I could spend some time there with her alone.  I don’t remember anything I said, or anything I prayed, but in those moments it began to sink in to me that we had really lost someone special.  It sinks in more every time I think of her.

Here’s to you, gramma.  Thanks for the legacy you left for us.  I can’t wait to see you again.  While you were here, you did a lot of listening while I talked.  Next time I see you, you’ll do the talking, and I’ll do the listening.  I want to know what you knew.  And if you have any tips that you can somehow pass on to me, I could sure use them now.  There were a lot of things you got right that I sometimes think I’m getting wrong, even though I haven’t known anywhere near the suffering that you did.

By the way, you’re going to be so proud of my girls.

—————

Here’s the note from my brother:

I’m seeking that Grandma Hibdon brand of peace and joy, and selflessness. Forged in the fires of poverty, tears for her children, the tragic and violent death of her mother, a child’s criminal trespass and jury trials for which she mortgaged her farm to pay the legal bills, the death of her husband, the loss of a baby, the death of a grandson from cancer, risking the judgment of others and giving everything she owned to take care of a mentally impaired grandson, even to her end struggle with cancer and death – she was faithful to the end. She jumped in the pool at every camp ground and floated feet up. Road every ride at Cedar Point – well into her 50′s and 60′s. Grandma never missed a moment. Never administered a teaspoon of guilt or shame (at least not to me). And her pain pushed her to greater heights of love and sweetness. That’s what love can do. That’s what keeping your eyes on God can do.  That’s choosing faith and life over fear and death.

Put Grandma Hibdon on the top of every list of things that kicked ass. She did it right. That’s how life is to be lived.

Faking It On Facebook

December 8, 2009 in REFLECTIONS with 8 Comments

I am socially awkward.  Socially I’m somewhere between Rain Man and someone just a hair less socially awkward than Rain Man. Okay, I’m not actually that socially awkward – I mean, not in the way I come off to other people.  But most social situations for me are painful.  Sometimes people say, “How can you be a preacher and feel that way?”  The answer?  I read from a manuscript.  I write down every single word I’m going to say and by the time I say those words I have thought about them for days.  I have had plenty of time to make sure I won’t say anything stupid.  This means I only feel stupid about some of what I say instead of most of what I say.  It may not show, but if I bump into you on the street corner, or after church, and we’re doing the “small talk” thing, I’m sweating it out.

Terry Scott Taylor, a brilliant songwriter and lyricist, writes of all those times he lays in bed with what he should have said.

With what I should have said I would know in advance
I’m the master of banter the King of Romance
the guy in the center whose leading the dance,
not the kid in the corner with the big pair of pants
And now I’m in bed with what I should have said

Source: Terry Scott Taylor, With What I Should Have Said

This is why I dig blogging.  And Facebook.   And email.  They are writing mediums, and as such, I am easily able to fake it.  This new world that is increasingly connected by means of the written word – that world, dear reader, is my oyster.  I can be the guy who says clever things and knows what’s up.  I can be the one who writes about stuff like marriage and parenting and living in truth, and seem like I really have it together.  I get to live out this mythology of competence and expertise.  I can take on only those topics where I am confident I can look as good as I want to look.

What is real life?  In real life I’m the gomer who doesn’t really know how to talk to people about the weather, and sports, and the traffic on I-69 this morning, and how they’re doing in their jobs.  I’m the nutty professor – the guy who can think constantly about abstract and lofty concepts and dizzy you with words and ideas.  But I suck at small talk and everyday social life is, for me, constant second-guessing and embarrassment.  But there’s a bottom line here.  If I am going to convey to people that I care about them (which I do – very deeply), I simply must keep learning how to connect with them, even if I never become comfortable with much of what is required.  As much as I’d love to text message people I’m standing directly in front of, it’s probably not a strategy for healthy relationships.  Or for avoiding getting punched in the face.

So how do you compensate?  How do you set up your life so as to avoid discomfort?  How do you insulate yourself from your fear of looking or feeling stupid?  Is there a chance you need to expose yourself a little bit more often to the very things that scare you?  Remember that it’s okay to drift toward your “sweet spot,” but it’s important to move out of your comfort zone sometimes and engage other people in ways that matter to them. This will keep your relationships strong, and strong relationships make for a happy life.

Remembering Our Giants

October 29, 2009 in REFLECTIONS with 1 Comment

I could almost count the number of teachers who really inspired me on one hand.

  • 5th grade – Mrs. Leep.  Made my rough transition to a new school district a little less bumpy. I knew she cared about me.
  • 7th grade – Mr. Creech.  Gym teacher.  I hated gym, but he loved his job, loved his students, and treated us with respect.  Great sense of humor.
  • 7th/8th grade – Mr. Abitz.  Incredibly gifted vocal music teacher who believed in me and invested in me as a person.
  • 8th grade – Mr. Yoder.  English.  Inspiring energy, enthusiasm, and love both for his students and his job.
  • 10th grade – Mrs. Hobart-Parks.  American Lit.  Passionate, enthusiastic, inspiring, amazing.
  • 12th grade – Mr. Hardy.  Advanced Creative Writing.  Energy and enthusiasm off the scale.  In class, that is.  Very introverted outside the classroom, which constantly reminds me that I can be who I am and still leave an impact.
  • Miss Bird, my high school vocal music teacher, goes into a special category.  Though I  never sensed a deep personal connection with her, she had a knack for creating intense feelings of community in her classes, and many of my closest friends today are friends I made in choir.  In her 1st hour Show Choir class in 1985, I became good friends with Christy Weidman.  This February Christy and I will celebrate our 22nd anniversary.  Thank you, Miss Bird. Talk about a gift that keeps on giving…
  • College – Dr. Wrobel.  Testing and Assessment (Psychology).  Energy and humor that helped me do well in a class I dreaded taking.  Dr. Wrobel took a personal interest in me and helped me find my way.
  • College – Dr. Frank.  Personality Theory.  When I found out I had MS in 1990, Dr. Frank said to me, "Here’s what I want you to do.  I want you to get up every morning and say to yourself these three things – 1. It’s a beautiful day.  2. I’m going to do everything I want to do today.  3. I’m in control of all my muscles.  You can still make your life what you want it to be."  Know why I remember all three of those lines today?  Because I chanted that mantra every day for a year.

Okay, not quite one hand.  But not quite two either.

These were my giants – teachers who towered far above the rest, even above some who were fantastic in their own rite, excellent people, and skilled communicators of their subject matter.  Still, these were my giants.  Most of us have a few giants.  Nearly all of us can recall teachers who deeply impacted our lives, and usually their impact had little or nothing to do with the subject they taught. 

Continue Reading…

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