As I was finishing my writing this morning, we received such a pleasant surprise visit from our dear friend, Mary, gifting us with a beautiful bouquet of flowers in a lovely vase. Thank you, Mary! And, yesterday afternoon, special friend Val showed up with homemade sourdough and a gourmet dinner. Look up gracious and loving in the dictionary and their two faces will pop up!

I have another good friend, Gary, who loves to read these reflections. The themes are not unfamiliar to him and he lets me know that they touch him each day. But, yesterday, he had some advice. He knows me well. Knows how Diane and I live our lives from day to day and doesn’t want people who don’t really know us, but who are reading this, to think I’m the kind of a guy who sits on a mountain top contemplating his navel, just immersed in really deep things. He has a point!!

Disclaimer Time:

I don’t sit around contemplating my navel. It’s not a particularly pretty sight. Nor does it lead anywhere. Yes, I tend to think and feel deeply. Always have and probably always will. I want to know what lies underneath that which is initially available. But that doesn’t mean I and we don’t spend the vast majority of our time doing really ordinary stuff.

For the record, Diane and I love to laugh and get one another to laugh. We laugh a lot. We like coffee in the morning. I like two cups and at the most, three. Diane likes one cup and sometimes two. We do enjoy our Keurig. I get up early because I’ve been a morning person forever. Sometimes it’s really early as in 3 or 4. My dad was a morning person. Our son, Ross, is or was a morning person. Diane is a night person who was stretched to wake up early. Somehow, it works out. I never turn down a nap if the timing is right.

As a high school senior, I participated in abolishing our high school prom because of its bourgeois values. Diane was prom queen.

I’ve always loved exercise and athletics. Diane played 8th grade basketball but swears she hates exercise. Yet, somehow she manages our two Aussies on a single leash as she does miles each day in our neighborhood.

We both love dogs. We currently have two. They are as different as can be. One is the purebred princess and the other is a rescue sweetheart. I really miss, Sydney, the best dog ever. She left us in 2008 after giving us twelve tremendous years. If I don’t see her in heaven, God and I are going to have a chat.

I can muster huge bursts of energy to tackle really big stuff. And, then I want to shut down to charge the batteries. Diane has unbelievable resources of energy and will, that help her maintain a steady state of giving and living.

We really like the fact we finally have a garden at our little house, now that we’ve lived here for 29 years. Thank you, Mike and Judy! It’s beautiful. We marvel at it morning, day, or night, enjoying its beauty.

We feel extremely blessed that our careers let us be so connected to the lives of hundreds and even thousands of children and the people who support them, be they teachers, staff or other family. We count it a blessing that we may have had some positive impact on their lives.

We feel extremely blessed that we’re no longer in those careers.

We do love kids. But, we don’t mind the break from being surrounded by zillions of them seemingly 24/7.

Diane loves to play Whirly Word and Mexican Train Dominoes. I don’t.

We always hated when retired people said they didn’t know how they fit everything in when they were working full time. Now, we say we don’t know how we fit everything in when we worked full time.

We both love our sons dearly. People boast about their children. I like to say they’ve grown into two terrific young men. They have good hearts and love their mom. What else can we ask for?

I love to read. Not nearly as much as I used to when I devoured books like a starving man. But I still read daily. Surprised?

I’m good at vision and can manage implementation. Diane likes to participate in vision and is a great implementer.

We both absolutely love camping. We love the outdoors. We love our trailer. I think Diane wouldn’t mind if we moved into our trailer.

Diane is a great cook although she might not accept that compliment graciously. She makes wonderful dinners and always makes sure we have enough food of the right kind. I can steam vegetables, heat up leftovers, and do a sorry imitation of a guy grilling. Long ago, I used to be more lukewarm on eating. No longer.

I scored zero on mechanical on my skills inventory in the 9th grade. I knew how to organize a city’s political process and make my way through the daily transcript of Congressional proceedings but couldn’t fix the simplest thing. Eventually, I gained some decent carpentry skills and Diane says I underestimate my abilities to put things together and fix things but, honestly, she’s better at the basics.

I’ve always loved history. Know one or two things about this and that. My dad read the encyclopedia every night before going to sleep. I had a really smart dad who knew a lot and seemed to remember all of it. Sharp as a tack until the day he died at 87. But, I had to come to a realization that that nightly encyclopedia thing was one indicator that my parents may have had sex only three times. Thus, me, my brother and sister. (Since, we all emerged into this world within a two week span in early February, each two years apart, the month of May could have some particular importance.)

I love music. I think all those years playing the violin helped me appreciate music even more. Originally, I didn’t get the Beatles as everyone else did. I got Vivaldi. I practiced every day for many years and it was cool to eventually produce beautiful music. I put the violin down after performing the final movement of Beethoven’s seventh symphony as third chair. Sports called. Later, I loved The Doors, The Who, Bowie and lots of other great artists of the 60s and 70s. I really like our new Sonos speakers and Spotify. We’ve been Pandora people for awhile but Spotify is tremendous!

There was a time when my full head of thick hair cascaded down to my shoulders. I had to keep telling the boys, however, that I was never a hippie. They only partially believed me. Now, I’m doing an imitation of Telly Savalas.

I used to love playing tennis and body surfing really big waves. The bigger the waves the better. There were several very close calls. I swam competitively and was OK. I was a sprinter. Long distance was 100 yards. My brother, Grant, was a an extremely good swimmer and one of our nation’s top high school water polo players. He had a gift. I just liked to play anything even if I didn’t truly excel. Now, because of a spinal issue, I can’t do anything that will be too risky. No horseback riding. No racquet ball. The neurologist says not to trip and fall a certain way or get rear ended by another car. Wouldn’t be a pretty thing. Steady as it goes.

But, I can hike. And, I love it. Diane has grown to love it, too, and we love to explore nature’s wonders together. Diane is an unbelievable hiker. She won’t admit to that but it’s true. You should have seen her go up Mt. Mansfield, the tallest mountain in Vermont. Really tough ascent in biting cold, with 50mph winds at the summit. We really could only stand up for a few moments. I don’t think it phased her.

Neither of us watch much television. We each have a couple of shows we follow on our own, but most evenings, we choose from a handful of titles to watch together if we watch at all. Netflix has helped. Neither of us likes a lot of violence. But, we can handle most PG-13. No zombies or Kill Bill for me. Diane likes Saturday Night Live. I don’t think I’ve ever stayed up late enough in my life to see it.

We both enjoy football. Diane loves when I watch it with a son or two. I loved watching football with my dad. I don’t know if we watched more than a small handful of games this year. The Chargers and the old hometown favorite 49ers were dismal. I’m sorry I tend to be a fair weather fan in my old age. However, little is better for me than standing on the sidelines of my former school, (which has great football and great coaches), and enjoying the whole Friday night thing. Now, that’s living!

Ok. I admit that I have a geeky side. Hard to imagine with this body, I know. But, I read the tech pages and puff up my shoulders a bit when Diane has a problem with the computer and I manage a solution.

I used to think my friend Mike had the corner on researching everything to the bone before making a purchase. He still may. He’s a really bright guy that knows a whole lot. But, I’m not bad, either. I admit I develop Excel spreadsheets that include all sorts of variables before diving in to big decisions. I’m amazed what an Excel spreadsheet can do.

Why is it that sometimes I find out it wasn’t such a good decision, after all?

Being retired, we really enjoy carving out moments, especially in the early morning and evening, to be together. Chatting about this and that, as well as things that are on our minds.

We love to travel but are really just getting our sea legs on this. Being educators, we’re amazed that there’s a world out there outside of summer. We’re so thankful when school is in session so we can have peace and quiet on our journeys. And, all those highways outside of California that seem empty for miles!

Once in awhile, I wistfully imagine that I travel those highways on my Harley or BMW like our good friend, Lee Bradley. What was that movie? Wild Hogs? But, my sciatic would be on redline and I wouldn’t have the slightest idea of what to do when, 100 miles from nowhere, the engine stopped. Diane asks me every now and then if she should get me a motorcycle for my birthday. That’s sweet of her but a non starter.

We’re enjoying really getting to know the ins and outs of the great western United States. We’ve put a lot of miles on our very cool 2014 diesel 4×4 Jeep Grand Cherokee. 33 miles a gallon average over long distance. That’s what I’m talkin’ about! And, yes, that mid sized SUV pulls our 28 foot travel trailer with the slide out. We plan on a Mediterranean cruise to celebrate our 30th anniversary this summer. Can’t wait and hope it works out!

Up until several weeks ago, I was quite the gym rat, training to climb that magnificent mountain in Colorado, as well as get in great shape for a 62 year old. The usual routine on most days was about 15-20 minutes of light weights to tone and keep the core strong. Then, on to the recumbent bike for a hard ride of 60 minutes at about 100+ RPM, bagging maybe 19 miles. Then 30-60 minutes on the stair climber or treadmill. I liked climbing the Empire State Building one or more times in that timespan. All of that, of course, came to a screeching halt because of a little arterial issue.

We love getting together with others … laughing and sharing stories. We have great friends. Period.

We say grace each night before dinner. We give thanks for many things and then we petition God to help out with lots of stuff. Usually those things are the challenges facing loved ones and friends. But, there are other things, too. Visitors to our table always are invited to hold hands and participate in the blessing, although we don’t ask anyone to lead unless we think they want to.

You probably don’t want to know that we now eat dinner around 5:30 every night. Check next year and it may be 5.

I used to probably make one movie a year. Let’s see if there’s a James Bond movie out. Now, Diane and I are into catching the morning features at cheap prices with the old folks. We recently discovered the reclining seats at the Angelika Film Center in Carmel Mountain. What a deal. Includes complimentary coffee.  The old folks are probably commenting that they’re happy being around the aging bald guy.

We have anxieties like everyone. We worry about all sorts of things, despite how we’re taught. But, we give up those frailties as part of life. Also, I think it helps to manage those things through sharing, being transparent, and being alongside others who can relate.

We hope for a community and a country and a world that can rise above strife and violence. We hope for all sorts of things.

We hope we’re around, sound of body and mind, for many many years.

I apologize if this is the most self-centered, boring thing you’ve ever read. Blame Gary.

There will be a long preamble today. Probably followed by another long post. I know it’s a challenge to wade through all of this stuff. 🙂

I’d like to open with a message from our friend, Patty. She sent me the loveliest email this morning … as many of you have done. Along with beautiful words of encouragement for Diane and me, she also spoke of joy. She says the sanctified person refuses to substitute happenings of the world … happiness … for real joy. She goes on to quote C.S. Lewis who says “I wonder if all the world’s pleasures are not substitutes for joy?” Thank you, Patty, for the reminder and an incentive to look for that source of joy and how that changes our lives.

Continuing with the preamble:

I begin every Monday morning with a short trip to a small church about ten minutes away. Most of the year, about eight or nine other guys and I get out of our cars in the dark in order to begin our meeting at 6:15. We’ve been doing this every week for nearly ten years. In that time, some of the faces have changed but our host, Rex, as well as Geoff and I, have been aboard since the beginning. For the first five or six years, we met from 6-7:30am but backed off, eventually to the hour starting at 6:15. We started the group in the short aftermath of the suicide death of the only child of dear Rex and Connie. We chose to go deep into The Divine Conspiracy, by Dallas Willard. I had tried to read it once, but couldn’t get traction. About six months later, I took another shot and soon found myself so absorbed that sometimes I just started laughing at the beauty of the truths. It was simply the best book I’d ever read and that’s saying something. Not long after, our little group formed and it took us two years to work our way through it, as I read it fully for the second time. Since then, we’ve taken on other books, year long devotionals, and one hundred most profound passages in the Bible. We start by sharing life, including joys and struggles. All of us have joys and struggles, some of the latter of which are pretty enormous. We then sit in silence as we greet the day and lift up our prayers aloud. At the end, we pray again, offer words of encouragement, and head out to begin the week. My office staff at school always felt I walked into work in an especially good mood afterwards. To Geoff, Rex, Gary, Tony, Jarratt, David, Hank, Mark and Justin, you are a true blessing.

In the years that followed that beginning, I found myself in a regular 6:30am breakfast with Fred and Gary, two “covenant partners.” For the last eight years or so, Diane and I have spent two hours on Wednesday evenings with six other couples. And, as I’ve mentioned previously, Diane and I are part of a 7:30am Friday morning prayer group at Susan’s home. Of course, we also attend regular worship services at our home church on Sundays.  All but the time at Susan’s were part of my weekly life while working full time as a principal and at the district office. You could never have convinced me a couple of years before that any of this was possible, not to mention desirable. All have led to a transformation in who I am and how I live my life, beyond anything I could have imagined. People who have lived and worked alongside me say I’m more loving, giving, patient and forgiving, although I feel I have a very long way to go. Is that an accident?

So, what motivated me to bring this up, other than it’s Monday?

One word: Grace.

I’ve come to believe that the most significant force in all of creation is grace. Love gets a lot of play and deservedly so. I wrote about that a few days ago. And love is a universally recognized feature of life. Most, but not all, people would say they’ve experienced some kind of love. Love is everywhere and used to describe lots of things from mundane to deep. Many people who believe in God say “God is love.” To which, I say, “Yeah, but …”

Does love conquer all? Does love make the world go ‘round? Perhaps. But we get distracted by the platitudes. We give up responsibility for diving more deeply into love in its purest form. If love is the character of God or love is the most significant feature of our lives, then what are the attributes of love that call our attention?

Like most things profound, I often find myself out of my depth. I feel called to consider and learn but feel sometimes I’m just traveling on the periphery. The periphery allows enough of a glimpse to really get my attention but it leaves me yearning for more. I read, listen, and contemplate and then on occasion actually try doing something to implement my awareness. Do some of you struggle with that as I do?

As reading comes easily to me, I’ve had the fortune of learning from some really gifted people.  And, some of them have really helped me to understand grace and to interpret my own experiences through that remarkable lens.

The first time I was ever really introduced to the concept of grace was as an eighth grader. I decided to read Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables. I’m not sure what motivated me but the copy I picked up was the unabridged version and it was close to 1500 pages long. That year also happened to be 1968 and I found myself immersed in the raw political environment that surrounded my home. The book and the time were the first major turning point in my life. I was changed forever and am the man I am today in some part because of those two experiences. I learned from that great story, of the human condition, of good and evil, of love and hate, and most importantly … of forgiveness and redemption. In short, not really knowing this, I first learned of grace.

As a theologian (having a graduate degree in theology always cracked me up as I worked in the very secular world of public education!), I can speak for a bit on the different kinds of grace. But I won’t here. They’re all basically the same thing.

A gift, freely given, undeserved.

Jean Valjean was transformed because of grace.

I was transformed because of grace.

I have experienced grace in many ways. Twice it was an experience so powerful and immediately following desperation, on the one hand, and complete surrender on the other, that there was nothing before or since that could compare. Imagine being under Yosemite Falls on full pour, except it’s not crushing water but cleansing and redeeming love. I think God really wanted to get this obstinate guy’s complete attention. For the most part, though, I experience grace in less earth shaking ways. Nevertheless, they are just as important.

As I basically said a moment ago, people get love. Or, think they do. But, people don’t naturally get grace. It’s actually pretty counterintuitive. It’s actually very radical. It makes no evolutionary sense. And, since the so called Enlightenment, that philosophical force that has ultimately elevated man above God, grace is sidelined and even ignored. I could no more fully understand grace than I could the deepest aspects of love, before I was confronted with the reality of unconditional love. And, I mean REALLY unconditional love. This kind of love is the precursor of grace. It’s probably true that many or even most of us have some sense of what this all is. I’m just bluntly saying that I didn’t really get it until about eleven years ago, although maybe thought I did.

Now, this is the air I breathe. I can no longer imagine living in a world not infused with unconditional love and grace.

Philip Yancey wrote a wonderful book with the title, What’s So Amazing About Grace?  Yancey has quite a way about him. He writes simply and honestly. He doesn’t preach and asks questions in the most humble manner. He writes as if we’re just a couple of folks, trying to make sense of it all.  Let’s leave all of those religious trappings aside as distractions. He writes as a pilgrim, not the wisest of men. Perhaps I want to be like Philip Yancey when I grow up. His book on grace was one of two books eight or nine years ago that helped me make sense of my experience. If you haven’t read it, you might give it a try.

But, the book that truly helped me get grace was Henri Nouwen’s, The Return of the Prodigal Son. I have spoken for hours at a time on the truths contained in this little book. Nouwen lived with grace at his core and he describes how he came to be able to do that. The centerpiece was his call to look at a painting and to reflect upon its significance. The painting currently resides in The Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg, Russia. I would welcome the chance to see it someday. A print hangs on our bedroom wall, many times the last thing I see at night and the first thing I see in the morning. Rembrandt did a masterful job of depicting what I believe is at the heart of the Gospel. If the Bible is the story of man’s relationship with God, then the Gospel, as expressed in the New Covenant, is the Good News about a reality that is not of this world, while still in this world. The scene in this painting is, foremost, a window into the very essence of who God is and who we are.

What is happening here and how is any of this helpful?

The God I know, the life I know, the reality I know, is contained in a little parable … a story that makes us think. A parable is kind of a riddle. Jesus was a master of creating cognitive dissonance. I learned of this component of teaching and learning very early on. I studied it as a student of epistemology (an esoteric discipline that focuses on knowledge). Jesus was called Teacher. He was a Rabbi, or teacher whose job it was to help students go to deep places. Hopefully, we’ve all had at least one or two of those. The only way we go to deep places is to “repent,” which really means rethink. We need to dive deeply into our assumptions, examine our “obviouslys” (as our friend Dawn says), and consider alternative ways to shape our understandings. No one was better at this than Jesus. People craved his wisdom and he gave them parables. These are not easy answers. They cannot be read in passing. They cannot be dismissed easily. Well, they can, but then we miss out on oh so much.

Some of you know me extremely well. Some less so. And, some, perhaps, not at all. Like Yancey and Christian (the central character in the 17th century classic, Pilgrim’s Progress), I’m just a pilgrim. But, I cannot state more boldly that I believe there is no more clear a portrait of who God is and who we are than is contained in the little parable as related in Luke 15:11-32. To me, this is the heart of reality. And, as the heart of reality, it lies at the core of who I think I am, who I think God is and how I should live my life.

And, its message is Grace.

Some of you know the story very well. Some may have heard of it and some have not. But, you’re getting the sense that at least there’s one guy who thinks this story just doesn’t explain his (my) reality but is the overarching reality for everyone.

Oh, how to get through this quickly because this post is already soooooo long!

Simply, there is an audience of two groups Jesus is speaking to. This sometimes gets lost in the telling but it’s extremely significant. The two groups are sinners and religious leaders. Put a little different, the two groups are law breakers and law keepers. Or, let’s look at them as people who know they are broken (despite any outward appearances) and people who know they are not broken.

And, there are three characters in the story. The younger rebellious son. The elder righteous son. And the father.

Two audiences. Three characters. In this moment, reality unfolds.

Many people who are very familiar with this famous parable believe it’s about forgiveness. The wayward son leaves the home, does bad stuff, ends up in squalor, comes home and is forgiven by his kind father. The Prodigal returns and is accepted. The end.

Whoa! Who or what is the prodigal and what is happening?

Yes, the younger son squandered his inheritance, did bad things and ended up eating with pigs. In other words, he was in the gutter, desperate. He decided to crawl home in shame, hopefully to enslave himself to his father to make up for his bad decisions (sins). He had nothing. No Thing Left.

The elder son did everything right. Followed all of the rules. Expected to receive his inheritance because he was a really Good Boy, unlike his younger brother. He deserved his rightful inheritance.

The father had all power, yet had been deeply hurt and shamed by the actions of his younger son, who had abandoned him for all the world to see.

“While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and had compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him. The son said, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.” But the father said to his servants, “Quick, bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fatted calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.” So they began to celebrate.”

Way too much is going on here for me to get into. Suffice that this goes beyond forgiveness, although that’s a major feature. It goes beyond the realization and admission that the son (we) lack pure hearts and can behave badly. The ring, robe, the fatted calf and celebration are all symbolic of complete inheritance. Lavish expense. Wastefully extravagant. Giving freely.

And, who complains? The elder brother in the verses that follows. “But, he didn’t follow the rules!” “How can you be giving away what belongs to me?” Rembrandt shows him starkly standing there in judgment, as the father’s hands embrace the ragged son. The father replies to his elder son, that he’s always had everything the father had to offer. We want the elder son to have compassion and to rejoice. We’re hopeful he’ll come to this senses. He doesn’t realize that his hardened heart masks the brokenness that the younger son’s experience made visible. Jesus ends the story there. He left us hanging.

I identify with the younger son most clearly. I have felt the extravagant and undeserved gift of loving grace. This is the God I know and the framework under which I live my life. However, I also know that my heart can be judgmental and that I do not spend on others lavishly as God as spent on me. But, I can say I’m very aware of brokenness, even when living in abundance. In me. In others. And, I feel sorrow when I see the “religious” spirit bury the beauty of grace. I try to guard against that in myself and that’s one reason I am called into communion with other pilgrims who seek to journey deeply into these truths. Yes, Jesus leaves the story without the ending we want. But, it is the ending he wanted. He leaves us to consider who he is, who God is, who we are and what we do about that. Of course, we can play each character and see how that fits our perception of reality.

Dear Lord, thank you for all of your gifts. Your gift of unconditional and boundless love. Your faith in us, even when we don’t have much faith in you. Thank you for teaching us. Thank you for calling us to you. Please help us to listen to that call and not the false voice that says we are alone and that this is all there is. Help us to see ourselves as both broken and, unfortunately self-righteous. Thank you for your extravagant spending. As we come to walk more closely with you, we see better what that extravagance looks and feels like. Even when we are grieving or afraid or filled with doubt. May we be your eyes, heart and hands and learn to see others and the world as you do … and act upon it.  Help us to be extravagant with our gifts. Lord, thank you for Grace, the most beautiful gift of all.  Amen.

So, what is the deal with mortality?

I’m not even fit to tie the shoes of the great philosophers, theologians, and religious leaders of all faiths who have addressed this most fundamental of all questions. I’m just a student of history who knows one or two things about teaching and learning and of some of life’s major themes.

We give a nod to the axiom that there are only two known things: Death and taxes. Consequently, we pay our taxes and then await death in all sorts of ways.

Occasionally, I read of really rich people who invest in cryogenics. Of scientists who think we’re not that far from breaking through to the solution that will extend life indefinitely.

Our son, Lee, something of a philosopher himself, asked me not that long ago, “Dad, if you could, would you like to extend your life well into your hundreds?” No offense, Lee, but you remember that I replied, no.

This is completely natural but we should pause and think about its implications.

In times of deprivation or war, the fact of mortality is much more present in the forefront of our daily awareness. I imagine the thoughts of the Greatest Generation as they hit the beaches of Iwo Jima or Normandy or flew over the skies of Germany. Of Jews, trusting in their God, disembarking the trains only to strip and enter the concrete death chambers disguised as showers.

Or, of medieval times when plague took one in three humans from an entire continent.  Or, of the genocides of the 20th century precipitated by the monsters who killed tens, even hundreds, of millions in the name of utopia.

We all die. In the west, now, we work hard to postpone it, fight it, dismiss it as a real thing. Then, when it appears, we try to rationalize it, explain it, as if we knew all along what it really means. Do we?

There are really only two possibilities. I have not found a third, given that death is a fact.

Possibility A: We are random combinations of particles that somehow coalesced by chance but we possess no meaning beyond chemistry, biology or physics. We are a the sum of purely natural forces but nothing beyond that. Our existence is completely dependent upon the brief period of time between our birth and our last breath.

Possibility B: We are more than the sum of our parts. There is something in us that transcends the purely “natural” and that survives beyond the zone we call our earthly life.

This is an existential question. Some are convinced of the answer and some are not. Of those who are convinced, on what are we convinced? Of those who are not, what are we doing about it?

Carl Sagan, the eminent face of astronomy for quite awhile and an avowed atheist, was deeply moved by the cosmos but utterly convinced he was not relevant in any ultimate way. Dust to dust.  Disease took him way too early. Either he was right or wrong.

The vast majority of humans now, and throughout history, would disagree with Sagan. While entranced with things like the expanse of the universe, they somehow believe they will survive death. Is this pure fantasy? Wishful thinking? A sad distortion on reality

Some believe that we will ultimately transcend this physical realm and merge with an amorphous spiritual being of no physical property. We will do this by sloughing off the trappings of many, many lives that bind us to the arguably putrid nature of this place we know as real.

Some believe that if we are good, we are awarded a place in a heaven, not really defined, where we reunite with loved ones who’ve basically been good and that that we’ll all live eternally in some beautiful existence. In this scenario, really bad people probably won’t have such an option.

Some believe that all will be awarded that destiny, that God or some supreme being is so loving that it really doesn’t matter how we live our lives, none will miss out on this eternally pleasant future.

Some think this whole next life thing is tantamount to a moon being made of green cheese or a flat earth. It’s a crazy distortion of reality and we should all just realize this is all there is.

Which is it and does it make any difference what we think to how we live our lives? Is there any more important question or is it irrelevant? That’s something to ponder.

On the one hand, I think it matters a great deal and on the other, I think it matters not at all. On what grounds can it matter?

On this, there’s the full spectrum of disagreement. Which makes it easy for many people to just throw up their hands and say “I don’t have any control over it. What will be will be.” I was pretty much there for a long time, although I can’t say I was a classical atheist, believing strongly there was no supreme being or force. I’d seen the evidence and experienced certain things that made such a position illogical and untenable.

Getting back to Door A and Door B:  I use the word “door” as opposed to “possibility” above because a possibility does not invite a choice and a door does. And, as Yoda might say, Choice Does Action Require.

Inaction is as much an action as any other. Kicking the can down the road still leaves the can on the road. We never know the can.

If we are just particles made up of star dust, progressing through stages, then we have as much meaning as that star dust. We are chemistry that begat biology, governed by physics. Period. Love is biochemical only. Good and bad are purely social constructs and completely relative to whatever community or society chooses. Star dust does not have an overriding morality, therefore there can be no universal truth to anything beyond physical laws. Evil actually doesn’t exist. We are born, grow, survive, thrive and suffer, die and that’s that. There is actually no meaning in any of this, other than a fleeting value ascribed to our existence that quickly evaporates not that long after we die.

Mortality, then, is a REALLY big deal. We may scramble to extend our lives because this is all there is. We may try to accumulate a lot of possessions that make us happy because we realize the time draws near when no thing is the only thing. Or, as mentioned above, we may continue to live in the moment, appreciating the day and those around us, with the full knowledge that death permanently brings all of this to a close.

Or, we choose to walk through Door B, entering a pathway that says Life After Death.  Now, of course, The Door A people will say that that’s a nice fantasy and if that’s your choice you’ll still end up like me. Dead and gone. Door B people, though, persist with a wide variety of perspectives on where exactly this general pathway goes. And, unlike Door A people, whose choice is simple and stark: There’s just nothing on the other side, so I’ll make the best of it while I can, Door B people are left with all sorts of conundrums. And, these conundrums have tremendous implications for how we live our lives now and how we look at the whole deal with mortality.

One of the things Door B people need to think about is Justice. Perhaps that will be a topic for another reflection. But, for now, we Door B people have already accepted that there is some sort of universal value that transcends the natural ones that have always governed much of our lives.  We can use words like Good and Bad or Good and Evil with some confidence that they actually mean something and that some things are just plain bad, no matter what anyone else thinks.

Door B people have to wrestle with Justice. As in, do my actions have any impact on any part of ME that continues after this death?

Some Door B people don’t want to think about Justice. However, I believe that if Evil actually does exist, then Justice does too. One of my Door B beliefs is that evil and justice do exist and I’ve come to live within that framework as, try as I might, I can’t comprehend the alternative.

If there is such a thing as a universal (non relative) truth, then what’s in store for Door B people? Do we die, wake up and get surrounded by everyone who ever lived? Mother Theresa and Adolph Hitler, all happy and backslapping one another? We shake hands with Joseph Stalin who died believing he was justified in slaughtering tens of millions of innocent countrymen in the effort to centralize all power in the state and to destroy personal freedoms?

Or, do we live our lives with the belief that those really bad people don’t get to share the same happy state as we, who are basically good, get to do?  Well, then, that begs the question on what happens to those really bad people and, similarly, by what metric are we or anyone else, including loved ones, determined to be good?

Perhaps, by now, you’re rolling your eyes with this kind of stuff but I’m almost done.

I believe that our choices matter, that our lives have ultimate meaning. I believe that as much as I believe I’m actually typing on a laptop right now, with two loyal dogs at the feet of my den chair. I believe, like C.S. Lewis, that all of our choices are branches that take us in a certain direction and those directions persist as we travel through the mortal end and into the beyond.

In the seventh and final book of his Narnia series, The Last Battle, Lewis describes the children’s death in these terms:

“And as He spoke, He no longer looked to them like a lion; but the things that began to happen after that were so great and beautiful that I cannot write them. And for us this the end of all the stories, and we can most truly say that they all lived happily ever after. But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.”

Now, Lewis, one of the most gifted thinkers of the modern age, another avowed atheist who could no longer logically support that position and became a renowned follower of Jesus, does not believe that the Great Story is automatically available to all. The seven books leading up to that statement were full of all sorts of terrible and beautiful things, with choices at the center.

In one of his other books, The Great Divorce (that has nothing to do with how we read that word), Lewis, through allegory, describes the immediate hereafter. If you are a Door B person, perhaps it would be worth your time to consider its messages.

In conclusion, I think the thing we call death is just a simple step that will seem as natural as going from one room to the next. While we may struggle with our faith that speaks to that, or we may fear the pain and suffering that proceeds it, it’s still a compelling vision. I believe it may be something like blinking and that in hindsight, we’ll wonder what all the fuss was about. I also believe that whoever successfully passes through that portal will not be existing in some disembodied state of non-physical spirit. Nor, do I believe that, as corporal beings, we’ll be sitting around for eternity in a constant state of bliss or without work or adventure or even without further growth. I do believe it will be hardly like most of our experience on earth but definitely like some of our experience. I believe we will recognize the patterns that have formed us and that, with help, those patterns will blossom in beautiful ways. I also believe, without help and leaning upon our own sense of self worth, those patterns threaten to derail the wonderfully possible.

Paul has this to say in his letter to the church in Corinth:

“Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?”  1 Corinthians 15:55.

In this place, fear has a much more difficult time taking ahold and darkening our spirit. Diane and I are content in the knowledge that we are just living on the cover page and haven’t even opened Chapter One. A beautiful cover it is, surrounded by all of our blessings, chief among them, those of you who are reading this. Indeed, the chapters that are sure to follow will prove nothing less than glorious.

Our good friends, Sky and Betsy, brought pizza and salad over last night and we had a really nice evening. We met several years ago, when Diane and I were asked to “mentor” a younger couple. We heard they were terrific and had the maturity to seek fellowship with, shall we say, a more seasoned couple, as they journeyed life’s paths. We’ve been incredibly close since then and the twenty or so years separating us in age matters little; the blessing is definitely a two way street. The four of us are open and honest and loving. That’s very cool. Last night, we caught up, laughed, hit some deep places in our lives, teared up on occasion, and closed with prayer that couldn’t have been more perfect. Makes me wonder …

How is this possible? We had a good life fifteen years ago, at least measured by normal metrics. In fact, some would argue we had a great life. What could we possibly be missing? Little did we know.

Speaking of wonder …

As I listened to God this morning … well, actually it was still night but I had awoken as usual so I call it morning … and sort of watched/heard the ticker tape of thoughts pass by, when somehow the pause button engaged on wonder. Not a surprise, really, because wonder is a big deal, at least for me.

We use the word, “wonderful,” often. Well, some of us do. As in, that was even better than nice. It was really good! “I had a wonderful time.” “What a wonderful ceremony.” As an adjective, it reflects a sense that the experience was especially fulfilling. Or, there’s another interpretation, as in I wonder what that might look like?  Sort of like, hmmmm, I think there’s another thing I should be considering.  But, is there something more going on?

Examined more closely or intimately, can we not take the word to mean, “Filled with Wonder?”

Put that way, the emphasis is not on the thing that occurred that we describe as wonderful. No, the emphasis is on us, as the receiver. It’s far more personal and sets a different bar for how we experience things outside of ourselves. The full part no longer hides at the end of the word, somehow making it sweet but not allowing us to appreciate the potential impact.

Really? Filled with wonder? What’s that? And, how does that relate to my life and whatever circumstances I find myself in?  Like now.

I hope you are joining with me as we reflect on what wonder is, how it arrives, how it affects us and what it’s like to be filled with it.

I think I touched on this a few days ago. It’s hard to talk about joy or love or grace or awe without bumping into wonder. But, I’ve found that by reflecting more deeply on the true meaning of each of these things, the distinctions (although maybe small on the surface) help me appreciate and live into each of these dimensions more fully.

I can remember wondering a great deal as a child and young man. I guess that was part of my strong inquisitive nature. Always asking questions, analyzing, trying to consider possibilities.  I think, also, appreciating the beauty in the natural world. As I matured, these senses became more developed and helped me as a teacher and educational leader, husband and father and just as an individual on life’s journey.

But, it’s largely been in the last ten years or so, that (like joy) the sense of wonder has blossomed considerably. More and more frequently, I find myself “filled with wonder.”

What does that mean?

I guess I take that to mean, first, that we are immediately struck by how small we are in the face of this thing but, paradoxically, how incredibly connected we are to its essence.  As in, I shake my head to try to comprehend the depth of what I’m seeing/hearing/experiencing because this thing isn’t a little thing. It has at least momentarily stopped me in my tracks and that’s really good.

Second, this thing has meaning for me. It speaks to me, makes life better, fuller, more worth living. And, this meaning resonates and breaks through whatever troubles or anxieties we have and shows us beauty.

Now, beauty is a loaded word. In this case, however, I take it to mean something that draws us more deeply into the core of who we are and how we are designed.

In Genesis 1:26 (and elsewhere) we are informed we are created in the image of God. Set aside how we read scripture, especially the creation story in the world’s three great monotheistic traditions. Put simply, either there is a personal God who is behind and present in all of this or there is not. And, if there is, is it realistic to think that he would “create us in his image?” And, what could that possibly mean, if that’s realistic?  And, set aside for the moment all of the reasons we don’t behave in a way that reflects his character. (That’s a worthy topic for discussion but not for now.)

Part of what’s left is that we are hard wired to appreciate the majestic. The beauty that surrounds us. The intricate ways we are tuned and connected to the vibrant things in life.  And, that this can happen even when things are dreary. I treat these moments now as remarkable gifts and wait in anticipation to see how they will arrive.

When I was maybe 23 and facing some personal struggles, including the loss of a loved one, the rather nasty divorce of my parents, and the realization that my long-planned career in the law no longer held appeal, I met a guy named John. He was a nuclear physicist and he and his family sort of adopted me. One night, he posed a simple question to me that I’ve never forgotten. In fact it helped me break through into a new way of being filled with wonder. He just said, “If I gathered a cubic centimeter of water molecules together, like in an unbelievably tiny imaginary cube, and poured them out on this table in a little pile … and then strung them end to end like in a string of beads, how long would the string be?” I have posed this same question to many people since then, including teaching it to chemistry classes when I was a principal. They always answered it as I did. Which was anything from a few feet to a little longer, or to several who really reached and said something like around the earth. In fact, that little string of water molecules, touching end to end would stretch from the sun past Pluto which was the half way point. About 9.4 billion miles. And, the math of it is actually quite simple.

Now, take about stopping me in my tracks. For years, and sometimes even now, as I drive on the freeway and look at the dashed dividing lines quickly zip by, I’ve thought about that string of molecular beads on the road’s surface and pondered, how amazing that is. How filled with wonder I am at this beautiful reality: Things infinitesimally small are part of something unimaginable vast! And, I’m made up of and part of the whole thing.

One of the greatest living scientists is a man named Francis Collins. The guy is really bright. He has a Ph.D and an M.D. He was the head of the Genome Project which was a watershed moment in the understanding of the fundamental building blocks of our life. Mapping the human genome was a very big deal. And, now he is the head of NIH: The National Institute of Health. In other words, he gets science and its relationship to who we are. He wrote a book called The Language of God which is simply astonishing in its beauty, depth and simplicity. If anyone wants to resolve the ongoing tug of war between science and faith, this is a great place to go.  In a companion book entitled The Language of Science and Faith, among many, many topics, he talks about the fine tuning of the universe. (Google it, too.) I marvel at its reality. I’m filled with wonder by a little blurb that goes like this:

Another initial condition in the finely tuned universe model was the density of the universe. In order to develop in a life-sustaining manner, the universe must have maintained an extremely precise overall density. The precision of this density must have been so great that a change of 0.0000000000001 percent would have resulted in a collapse, or a big crunch, occurring far too early for life to have developed, or there would have been an expansion so rapid that no starts, galaxies or life would have been formed. This degree of precision would be like a blindfolded person chasing a single lucky penny in a pile large enough to pay off the United States’ national debt.

Or this one,

Consider the ratio of the masses for protons and electrons. The mass of a proton is 1836.1526 times the mass of an electron. Were this ratio changed, the stability of many common chemicals would be compromised. In the end, this would prevent the formation of such molecules as DNA, the building blocks of life.

I reflect on two things. The first is that, regardless of what we think about ultimate origins and the existence of a creator God, this kind of stuff is mind-boggling and has to fill us with wonder. What an amazing and awesome place this all is! And, I’m just an almost infinitely small speck in there somewhere.

To paraphrase Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca: Our problems don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Or, our little lives can’t begin to match up in significance with the reality contained in the examples above.

Which brings me to the second thing.

In fact, our lives completely match up with those examples and we do have ultimate meaning. The beauty and immensity of the natural reality is actually manifest in our own being and we are firmly connected in a way that fills us with wonder.

It should come as no surprise that Dr. Collins, eminent scientist who grew up with no faith, was an atheist as a gifted young student and physician, finally was left with no alternative but to recognize God’s reality. And, ultimately, like me, who grew up with no faith, struggled through decades of trying to make sense of everything, came to recognize God’s reality. And, like Dr. Collins, that reality further settled on Jesus as God incarnate. Talk about wonder! I understand that some who are reading these reflections get turned off by the name or concept of Jesus and I respect your beliefs. But, I hope we can all break through a lot of that and reflect on whether these things being discussed ring at all true. Also, thank you for your willingness to participate in Diane’s and my life.

As this reflection begins to conclude, a sense of wonder does not always have to be about big, grand, show-stopping moments of clarity. What about the every day stuff?

I’ve come to believe that wonder is a state of being. It’s never that far below the surface. Like love, where we rest in the knowledge that we are loved and love others, although those things don’t occupy our every thought, wonder is ready for the picking. It’s just right there, within reach if we only knew how to be available to it, to grab ahold, to be in a place to take it in.

I’ve learned that I can’t do that when I’m consumed with tasks or accomplishing things or when my mind races like it wants to do all of the time. I’ve learned that I need to slow the world down considerably. There are many cliches that say this but that doesn’t mean they’re not true. As nearly every faith tradition teaches, we should devote time and energy to letting go and appreciating. In doing so, Wonder can’t help but break out and fill us.

The psalmist says, “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.” Psalm 19:1

Lord, thank you for giving us the gift of wonder. Help us to remove the scales from our eyes that block the beauty. Equip us with the means to see things both small and vast that touch our souls and let us know we are significant, even as we face tremendous challenges. What a grounds for rejoicing!

The other evening, our friend Pat urged me to think about mountains. She was right. We all have our mountains, as we have our valleys. In my quiet time today, before dawn and as the day slowly emerged in the lightening of the sky, I reflected on these two metaphors.

Both mountains and valleys can be seen as good and bad. Where does this knowledge lead us and what can we do with it?

Up until three weeks ago, if someone had asked me what my mountain was, my first response would have been Quandary, of course! (Or, an alternative in the vicinity.) Mt. Quandary is a peak near Breckenridge, Colorado, not far from our dear friends Rich and Sharon, who live in Edwards, near Vail. It rises to about 14,300 feet and has been a focal point for me these past nine or ten months. Many of you know I’ve been training during that time … lost a great deal of weight and have become more fit and healthy than any time I can remember. I’ve pushed myself by setting goals and surpassing them faster than I could have imagined. In the course of this, I’ve had a great deal of fun, dropped my blood pressure and found an outlet for an athleticism that has been hampered by a number of physical issues over the years.

Well, Quandary has been both the challenge and the magnet for me. Sort of like turning me into the little engine that could. I saw it as a good. And, still do. There’s nothing wrong with a challenge, especially one that helps us pay attention to things like physical health and well being. On the other hand …

Pat observed that three weeks ago, another mountain has displaced Quandary. Not all that hard a thing to agree with her thinking. This mountain is also physical and has very much to do with well being. While of the physical, it is also of the spiritual.  And, like Mt. Quandary, the climbing of which is planned with friends, this one is climbed in the company of many others.

Climbing mountains, whether in fact or in metaphor, is generally not an easy thing to do. How do we do it, then, and what are the rewards?

I believe we are created for significance. We are hard wired to climb, develop, grow, learn, create, blossom and flourish. Climbing draws us into those places where we emerge somehow changed. The act of it takes us out of secure and safe places and helps us become greater than we were before.

Last January, we huffed and puffed up the wintry forested trail on our borrowed snowshoes. It was cold but we shed some layers as the exertion warmed us. We emerged at last to an alpine meadow, pristine and blanketed with the new snow. Quiet. Beautiful. Magnificent. And, as we crossed the meadow and turned to the left, the grand vista of the Rockies was on full display. Something happens when we leave the warmth of the known and venture out, taking some risks and seeking something that puts our lives in perspective.

There are other ways to look at mountains. If the burden is great, it’s like trying to carry a way too heavy pack on our backs as we climb. In the planning for Quandary, I will of course, be very conscious of the weight of my pack. But, often, as we know, the size and weight of the pack is delivered beyond our apparent control. Diane and I had a pack placed on us three weeks ago, with a detour sign that said: This is the new mountain. Start climbing. We are surrounded by people who are in the same predicament or have been recently. Susan. Kathleen. Val. Denise. Kelsey and Sharon. Pat and David. David and Janet. Rex and Connie. Anita. Bill. And their spouses and families. There are others. And, here’s the thing with pack sizes. Some are way heavy. As in, this is really hard and my legs and back hurt as I climb. But, some aren’t just way heavy. For all practical purposes, they seem impossibly heavy. Which leaves us with only two options. Quit, or climb in faith that the strength will come. So, many of us seek help with our packs and come to find that help in remarkable places. Climbing, then, becomes an act of surrender and vulnerability as much as an act of profound will.

In my prayer time this morning, my mind went to the story of Jesus’ transfiguration as told in Mathew 17 and in Luke 9. His followers, Peter, John and James, witnessed Jesus transformed into his divine self while they were atop the mountain. “His face shone like the sun and his clothes became as white as light.” What a sight this must have been! Terrifying, yet eternally captivating.

I remember studying something called “peak experiences” while doing my masters in theology and studying faith development back in the ’80s. It’s both a psychological term coined by Abraham Maslow and a tenet of some of our world’s faiths, as in moments of euphoria, ecstasy, transcendence. It also has a lot to do with something called self-actualization. The goal for us, in that line of thinking, is to work towards a state of being that will provide peak experiences. I sincerely respect people who choose this path but I look at it differently.

Yes, that experience for Peter, John and James must have been something else! But, here’s the rub. They had to come back down and that’s not a bad thing.

In other words, I don’t believe I’m on this earth to live on mountain tops or in a state of ecstasy, however much those things can be attractive.

I’m also called to live fully in the valleys. As a matter of fact, just as fully. And, that’s a good thing.

In my prayer time, I went to two places that describe valleys.

One is terrible. In the life of Jesus, one picture of it is in the Garden of Gethsemane, the night he was given over to eventually be killed. We, who follow him, believe he was fully taking on the pain of all of mankind and of the evil that is so manifest … and he realized that in order to do that, he would be separated from the love that defined his existence. He cried out in desperation and even sweat blood. What a contrast to the radiance of the transfiguration! This may be an extreme depiction of what people think of when they’re in the valley.

(For those who don’t see Jesus as I do, hopefully, the two portraits still carry meaning.)

Our lives are in constant motion between these two places, although maybe not in as stark a sense.

Just as mountains can be both exhilarating and impossibly daunting, so can valleys be both terrifying and redemptive.

Most of us are quite familiar with the first words in Psalm 23: “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside still waters, he restores my soul.”

While Jesus’ Garden or our own deep dark places overwhelm us, we can choose to live in a place where the waters are calm and the pastures carry beauty.

One of my favorite songs is “Be Still My Soul.” I love David Acton’s rendition if you have access to Spotify or Pandora. It doesn’t take moments of pain, grief or difficult trials to rest into the deep peace the truths of these lyrics offer.

Here’s what I’d like to say to pull these things together.

As we’re all aware, most of life is not lived challenging incredibly high mountains or being astonished at those awesome vistas. And, most of life is not lived in the valleys of pain and suffering, or its opposite, the verdant pastures and alongside still and refreshing waters.

Instead, we live in the constant tension between the two, with the knowledge that things can change quickly and we’re confronting one or the other. I’ve honestly tried to live in this tension and acclimate to it. While not always easy, I am a different person because of it. Among many things, there are two benefits worth mentioning. The first is that when there is a sudden shift, the firmness of living in that middle place is stabilizing and helps us not to have to change our fundamental priorities. Or put slightly differently, when we live in these spaces in our regular walk, what a blessing that we’re not required to make a course change when things seem to crumble.The second is that we are far more attuned to the shifts in the lives of others and can respond in loving ways.

Mountains and valleys. Each understood as both wonderful and threatening. Diane and I are right now not living in the middle but in each. Wouldn’t it be great if we could all share with one another what that means?

I’d like to say thank you as we wind down today. Thank you to my dear friends, Gary and Fred, for coming by this morning to pray, fellowship and consider how we move forward with Emmaus. Thank you, also, to another dear friend, Shack (we’ve been lifelong friends!) who trekked over from Carlsbad for lunch. We rekindled that friendship and went to deep places we’d never before gone. What a blessing! 🙂 Thank you to the best prayer warriors on earth (or at least among the best); the ladies of our Little Band of Believers and our weekly home at Susan’s at 7:30am on Fridays. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it this morning but am so grateful for how you are holding Diane and me up. And, finally, but not least, thank you to all of you who are taking the time to pray and reach out via comments on this site (I think it’s harder to post them than it should be … I’ll try to work on that) and via emails or texts. You are part of the air we breathe.

Greetings, everyone! I have no idea how long this “blogging” thing will last but I really appreciate the opportunity to share and visit with all of you and it’s especially nice to get a thoughtful response, whether as a comment to an entry or a separate email. 🙂

Unfortunately, no news to report as far as getting in to see the top guy. We’re still awaiting insurance approval. Not discouraged as we’re well within the window of how long these things take. But, we really hope to hear in the next day or two.

The symptoms continue pretty much the same. I have a consistent headache, mostly centered behind my right eye and in that general quadrant of my head. Around the clock Tylenol is doing a great job of mitigation, fortunately. The other symptom is general fatigue. I feel a bit like R2D2 in the new Star Wars movie, if you’ve seen it. My normal beeping and bustling (that’s droid behavior) has powered down considerably. As much as anything, this is an internal message to just be and not try to do too much. (Shout out to our friend Ryan who talked recently about the difference between being and doing.)  We can all nod our heads and say, “Easier said than done!”

Another shout out to Diane. A few of you know her. 🙂  What grace and heart and love. Thank you, sweetheart. We met on that blind date 34 years ago on the 15th. As my friend Ken told me yesterday, I definitely married up. Not the first time I’ve heard that. I love you.

I woke up and in my quiet time, I waited to see what would be put on my heart. Yesterday it was joy. Today, it’s love.

We’ll see where that leads.

First, a kind of disclaimer. To some, scripture (and in this case, the language contained in the Hebrew and Christian Testaments … although all major faiths have sacred scripture) is the perfect word of God. To others, it’s a compendium of stories, ideas, and advice, some of which is relevant or significant  and some of which is not. In this place, I’m not at all interested in engaging that discussion. Instead, when I refer to passages or pieces of passages, it’s because they ring true to me for some reasons that I hope are obvious to most everyone … whether because you know me or because they just sound true given personal experience. As our friend, David, said last night, my writings are not intended to be preachy but a window into what I believe to be true and, therefore, a way for people connected to Diane and me to participate in our journey. Thank you, David. (And, thank you Pat and David, for dinner, and to Dan and Val and Tim and Anita and Tony and Kathleen, also for dinners and fellowship and for loving us!)

Actually, it’s not a surprise that I have no intention of tackling this big thing in all of its depth. When I was reflecting on this, I recalled a series of passages we’d recently been considering. To summarize an account of Jesus’ teaching in Mark 2:13-17, it’s about how we reach out to those who are cast out. Our friend Neal reminds us that we are very good at creating divisions and religious groups are pretty adept at that. We can be quick to state that those other people are wrong and undeserving of our care and attention. What does it look like to love the unloved?

Whether we follow the teachings of Jesus or of someone else who speaks of love, or whether we just feel some kind of love but don’t really reflect on it a whole lot, we all have a sense of what it is or can be. And, we probably all have a sense of what it is not or its opposing forces.

For the record, I have been loved and I have felt unloved by people who were supposed to love me. I have also felt the difference between conditional love in its many forms and unconditional love. Those are not unimportant distinctions and they affect our lives deeply.

I do know that, when facing something like we’re facing right now and that many or all of you have faced during your lives, that love resonates deeply and is immensely healing.

One of the wisest people I’ve ever come across and the author of the best book (of thousands?) that I’ve read, Dallas Willard, says that love is “willing the greater good of another.” Simple enough on the surface. Less so in careful examination.

Setting aside the cavalier use of the term, such as I love chocolate cake or going to the beach and so on, and setting aside the kind of love we use to describe our feelings towards spouse, children, pet, closest friends and so on … is there any real … and I mean real …role for love in our lives? Should there be?  If so, why and if not, why not? And, if there is a role, what does it actually look like and what does that mean for me, as well as others? I can say honestly that I have struggled with this for a long time, yet feel in so much a better place than I was 5, 10, 20, 30 years ago. I would not wind back the clock for anything.  Maybe, unlike most of you, I’m just a slow learner!!

I wouldn’t say I lived a sheltered life as I felt very connected, growing up, with many of the destructive forces that make life so difficult or even miserable for so many people. I saw a little of it first hand but did not get full exposure in the sense that I lived it daily until being an assistant principal in a disadvantaged area. There, I encountered a constant stream of brokenness and violence that both repelled and drew me in. The repulsion was in the terrible things that I saw people doing to one another and themselves while the draw was that I may in some ways help at the most basic level of life. And, here I had thought school was about learning! 🙂  Diving into gang conflicts, where large young men were brandishing bats and more, and were intent on hurting one another. Wrestling to the ground people on PCP, lashing violently. Being handed beaten and bruised young women, under the supervision of adults who should be locked up. Holding on to those moments when someone said in their own way, “you saved my life.”

Fast forward to that terrible year as principal when, in an eleven month span, five of my students committed suicide, surrounded in that same time period by the two shootings (and deaths) at two neighbor schools and of the attacks of 9/11.  I grew immensely that year and realized, as a leader, I had not focused on the right priority. I had thought that learning and achievement was our job and that we needed to act in ways to promote that.

No, instead, love was our job and our first priority. A light switch was flipped and I began a sea change from being a head guy that tended to have a pretty good heart to a heart guy that tended to have a pretty good head. For the record again, I still have a ways to go!!

Our faith is grounded in love. Love of God, love of others. Many rightfully can point out that we not only fall woefully short much of the time but there are many who act as if they dismiss the concept altogether. It’s also pretty true that we can’t make ourselves love someone. Or can we?  Can we actually practice love and get better at it?

My friend, Gary, goes to prison every week. I’ve joined him at times although it’s been awhile. Prison could be about the most unlovely place on earth and the prisoners the most unloved and most unlovable. Yet, I would be hard pressed to find too many examples of more abundant love that I have witnessed in that dreary place. Surrounded by fence after wired fence and by inmates who have committed the whole range of bad things, some of them horrific, where chaos and violence is held at bay by a thread, love blooms.

I heard on nearly every occasion I entered that place, stories of men who had never experienced a moment of love in their life until engaging in the kinds of activities and deep relationships offered through people like Gary, who is called to love the unloved. I also heard from those, who have now experienced that love, yet who are locked up forever, that they are really free … freer than they’ve ever been.

What a window into the human condition and a call for how to live our lives.

We are not alone and are enriched in the most beautiful ways when we connect with others, many of whom are outwardly broken or secretly hide guilt and shame.

As our friend, Dawn, recently shared:

“Love requires community. Love cannot be expressed unless we share it with others. We can’t stand at a distance or keep people at arms’ length. We must choose to be in real, flesh and blood relationships with messy people.”

She goes on: “Sharing life in community means other people get to see it all. Others truly know and choose to love me with all of my goodness and imperfections. And, in turn, I love them for all of theirs. This is the kind of love that fills us to the brim because when we experience it, we know that we are living exactly how were created to live.”

She concludes that it is an indescribable thing to be fully known and fully loved.

I can say without reservation that I know those words to be true. And, that I can’t imagine a reality worth living where they aren’t.

Of course, we need to ask who or what makes that possible and how does it really work? But, I’ll leave that alone for now.

Our friend, Delorie, left a little while ago, after generously bringing by lunch. She has the most caring and generous heart. She shared her hopes and struggles as Diane and I shared ours. We prayed and surrendered into the knowledge that we loved one another.

I get asked how I am doing and I try to answer truthfully. There are some unknowns and some of those are not good things. But, I do know this, I am held. Diane is held. We are held by a God and dear friends and family who love us and seek for us a flourishing life. What a blessing! What joy!

Here is my daily prayer (have I shared it before?)

“Lord, help give me the eyes to see the world and other people as you see them. Help my heart to feel for others as you feel. And, please help give me the hands to act upon these things and to be a blessing to all those with whom I come into contact.”

Have we ever had the opportunity to explore the true differences between happiness and joy? And, the kind of role each does or can play in our lives, whether in good times or bad?

I’ve spent a lot of time in reflection on this and not just since retiring. In fact, I used to think about it when driving to and from work and during those crazy hectic days. I used to think about it when strolling across campus, surrounded by thousands of teenagers and hundreds of adults, living lives individually and in community. As I thought about it and gained new experience, the differences became much more clear and I find more and more moments that can only be described as joyful … joy filled. So, where does that come from and what does it have to do with happiness?

Of course, our nation formally began via the Declaration of Independence, wherein the pursuit of happiness was one of three unalienable rights endowed by our Creator. In other words, life, liberty, and happiness are the most important principles of our society and are gifts we should protect and deeply value. Ok, enough of being a history teacher.

Fast forward to this young 21st century and not the time of the Eurocentric Enlightenment. I actually do believe that our culture is built around the pursuit of happiness as a foundational principle. Don’t worry, be happy! Grab what we can get because the stuff will make us happy. I have nothing against happiness and in fact like to be happy, rather than sad. But, not at the expense of what’s real and lasting and significant.

I’m particularly displeased that a portion of a rather important source of my life decided to shear off and disrupt things. I’m not pleased that we had to cut our anticipated trip to the Colorado Rockies short or that I may not be able to do some other things in the short run that I like and look forward to. But, do those things make me happy or it something else?

Can the distinction between happiness and joy run something like this: Happiness is usually tied to some thing, whether in the possession of or in a way that disappears fairly shortly afterwards. Maybe I don’t have that exactly right. On the other hand, joy is a consuming thing that fills us not with a momentary soft good feeling but cuts deeply into us and can even abide strongly in our memory. Surely, all of us have experienced joy, although some may not as much anymore. Is there any greater joy than love? Isn’t joy connected to love in some way? Isn’t it a window into something permanent that says I belong in this moment, in this place and I can’t imagine being anywhere else right now?

Isn’t one of the distinctions that we pursue happiness but joy just arrives, unbidden, and with a force that can range from subtly warm to something that knocks us back or down? That takes our breath away?

Isn’t the pursuit of happiness an effort to find fulfillment in things that don’t last? Isn’t joy about the the recognition that the things that last are available if we surrender that pursuit?

My/our faith is one that recognizes the remarkable connection between love, grace, hope and joy. I did not understand this all that well in the first five decades of my life, although I had many glimpses and had experienced all of these things to a degree. In fact, a life lived through a lens of these four things is a life that flourishes, regardless of the circumstances.

My friend, Sally, posted a reply yesterday to my reflections (I guess that’s something you can do with a blog … I’m not on Facebook and have never really participated in a blog!) where she remarked on the fact that the words “scared” and “sacred” are so close. I get her point. If hope is the opposite of anxious or fearful, sacred spaces truly mitigate the things that can make us afraid.

God has gifted me with being ok being quiet and contemplative, to be contrasted with the times that I burst forth with tons of energy. I believe that fact has allowed me to surrender some strivings that are ubiquitous these days (not all!) and be available to joy. I believe that it’s much more difficult for fear and anxiety to secure a firm foothold if our days are punctuated by moments of joy.

Put bluntly, I believe joy is a gift from God and evidence of his role in our life. I believe that the pursuit of happiness can be a deterrent to that gift and that we sacrifice the opportunity to be in those sacred places too often.  I think it was in 2009 that I finally experienced the true power of joy. It changed me. As some of you know, I thought my heart would burst and it was deeply painful as a bursting heart inevitably is! I didn’t know if I could breathe but I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. The moment, surrounded by (100?) loving people acting out of grace, gave way to a pure vision of heaven and I knew that deep was calling out to deep, in abiding love. Every moment of joy since then, even the small ones like having breakfast or lunch with a close friend, sharing life together in a way that is not common, especially for men, is connected to that grand moment. Full breaths. Beautiful music, instrumental and vocal. Hiking through forests where Diane and I are about the only ones around. Or, hiking or snowshoeing high in the alpine with close friends. Or, early moments with Diane in the morning, just sipping coffee, chatting about this and that and ushering in a new day. Or the embrace of one of my sons. Or deep in prayer where prayer is much more than asking but about listening and, perhaps, even hearing. Or participating in helping to renew the spirits of others, especially if they’ve been wounded. I could go on for hours. What are your joys?

Yes, the writing of this is a kind of therapy for me but I pray ahead of time and ask God what he’d like me to share that can touch lives and help others flourish as I have. Then, the fingers sort of dance quickly across the keys of the laptop.

Rest assured, dear friends, that Diane and I are not afraid and we rejoice each day. We can’t begin to account for all of you and our relationships with you other than to see it as miraculous and to receive it as gift. This little thing going on upstairs in my own “God’s Country” has its own story but the bigger story is eternal.

“Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.” Romans 12:12

Amen.

Can anyone overestimate the power behind words of encouragement and affirmation? It seems so simple but how much of our time spent in daily interaction with others is structured around that knowledge?  And, let’s cull out the kind of hollow encouragement our culture awards to celebrities and the powerful. Much of that is simply idolatry and sycophancy. No, this is about an openness to the life of another in such a way that we can be aware of their challenges, however small or large, and be at least a momentary light in their journey. I know that I am growing in this capacity (and some would say it’s already a gift for me) but I also have a long way ago. I just received a message late yesterday that I had overlooked someone’s pain and and they felt neglected. I could have a number of excuses why that was the case but I was convicted and need to pay attention to that today.

Thank you to all of you for your remarkable words of encouragement, affirmation, and affection. I don’t believe I’ve mentioned this but I find a sweet parallel between where this particular physical problem I’m having actually is and the relationships that are at the core of how we’re dealing with it. I shared before that the neurosurgeon said it resides in “God’s Country,” a jam-packed cluster of unbelievably complex networks of nerves and vessels. The power for the operating system, so to speak.  In the same way, we are designed to be connected with one another, each piece (person) uniquely able to provide sustenance to others. The more connected we are, while focused on those things that really matter, the more we flourish individually and as communities. I know of an elderly family member, once vibrant and highly successful, who long ago chose isolation over relationship. He has descended into a state that is truly tragic. I learned more about his condition late last night and will try to think of ways to help but it may be too late. I juxtapose his state with where I am, given all of you, and I am simply in awe. I wonder what each of us is going to do today to reach out in an encouraging way to someone who could probably use a boost? Salesperson? Child? Friend? Stranger? My friend, Ken, says to try to catch someone doing something good each day.

So, encouragement was on my heart early this morning. 3:30 and I are now very well acquainted! The other is significance.

We had the most delightful dinner and visit last night with our dear friends of thirty years. We have shared so much of our lives together and are intertwined in beautiful ways. Both of them have suffered huge physical setbacks and, although they are quite healthy today, need to conscientiously monitor their conditions. They do not take life lightly. They care deeply, with full hearts. We got to chatting about how, too often, friends and acquaintances gather and make a lot of small talk (not that small talk is bad by any means) but rarely spend time boring deeply into the things that matter. How often do we admit the things that truly trouble us or volunteer that we struggle not knowing or understanding things that are really meaningful? Anyway, our discussion flowed and included laughter and tears and even stepping out of comfort zones for a minute.

What is significant, anyway? I like to ask the question, to what do we ascribe ultimate meaning?  And, is it important to answer that question? And, if answered, how does that translate into the many ways I live my life?

For most of my life, I believed meaning was in the search for meaning. As an educator, I was intimately involved with the learning of my students, then in how to lead hundreds and even thousands of other educators in helping people learn. We had this maxed out adage called “life long learning.” It was this kind of grand objective around which all else was shaped. In other words, the goal of all education and all learning was to create learners.

Not bad on the surface. No one I respect wants to create a population of unintelligent, disinterested, uninformed adults. However, I grew into seeing a hollowness in this. If the process is around promoting the process, is that all there is?

What are we processing or progressing towards?  Equality? Freedom? Unlimited happiness?

Isn’t it true that when we face crises, especially existential ones, that we learn what is significant and where we place ultimate meaning? In a  wealthy culture where we’re able to mitigate many of the formerly powerful threats to our existence, we can more easily slough off responsibility to pay attention to these kinds of things.

In our couples’ small group, we spend a lot of time diving deeply into this. It reminds me of when Jack, Mike and I sat around our little duplexes in Del Mar while in college and wrestled with the grand questions. We were undoubtedly not the norm and I can’t say it never involved an adult beverage but I was remarkably enriched and became attached to what my dad remembered in his college days (1938-42) as bull sessions. These weren’t always debates but, rather, inquiries into what is important. Fast forward many decades and jobs and families and routines and pressures and how many of us have benefited from regular outlets for our grand hopes and deep anxieties?

I’ve learned to ask those two questions in professional settings as we try to get to what is really significant. What do you hope for and what are you anxious about?  Wow.

I need to be clear: Life is not necessarily just a constant plumbing of the depths. What wonder in simple relaxed interaction with others when we can just be and let go!

But, we need balance and I’ve grown so much in the past ten years, through interacting with many others who think deeply and care even more deeply.

We did this little exercise in our Monday morning men’s group (there have been anywhere from six to ten members over the past eight or nine years) a few years back. What do you want your epitaph to say? Of course, this is figurative because almost no one gets grave stones with epitaphs these days but that’s not the point. In other words, here lies fill in the blank, he/she blah blah. What is the significant thing about this former life we’d want to be known and remembered for?  Do you ever think about that? I do. And, I’ve changed.

Diane and I recently attended the memorial for the father of one of my very best and favorite high school students. In fact, her family basically adopted me and, later, Diane and I had more contact with Sally than any other of my thousands of students. Her dad was my doctor for awhile. The large Episcopal church downtown in San Diego was filled beyond capacity. Hundreds and hundreds came out and we all learned how Sally’s father had lived a life of deep service and care beyond what most of had an inkling of. Yes, he was a gifted physician and a devoted husband and father. But, he was described as one who had a remarkable capacity to just listen and be present to all he came into contact with. He cared deeply for each individual and sought to help them flourish in their life. We went out to dinner just before I retired and he gave me a beautiful little book about what is significant for someone living into life after “retiring.”  The good news for Diane and me is that we’d already begun talking about that before retiring and we’ve been trying to live by its principles.

I’m almost done. Let’s take it beyond epitaph and make it a eulogy. What would we hope would be described about us, should we die tomorrow, by those who know us best and are gathering in remembrance?  And, what lies behind the words being used that really reflect how we looked at the true meaning of our existence in this life?

As Tim Keller has said and we all know intuitively, each of us gives ultimate meaning to something or group of things. As Diane and I face this current challenge, we hope to stay centered on exactly that which gives us ultimate meaning and, therefore, creates significance for our lives. You all are a very special part of both of these things.

Finally, we are still awaiting insurance approval to the final specialist. It normally takes 7-10 days for this level. We have a good relationship with the executive assistant to my neurosurgeon doing her best to expedite things. The Tylenol around the clock is doing well. I still get tired much more quickly which is ironic given the exertion I was doing only three weeks ago. But, that may also be God’s way of getting me to submit and dedicate attention to healing.

I’m humbled by a lot of this. I sat down a few days ago to gather my thoughts in one place and almost as quickly, this whole blog thing came out. The humility is in knowing that I’m not enduring anything that many people I care deeply for have not also endured. From those (you know who you are), I have gained strength in so many ways. If anything I share resonates with you, please know that they are your words as much as they are mine. And, words are windows into the heart. Truly.

This promises to be a long one. No problem if you cut it short, feel drowsy or hit the delete button.

It was a long month ago that I had this thought. It wasn’t a new thought, actually, and I get them from time to time. Most of you know that I’ve been on quite a training regimen. For the first time in my life, I’ve felt completely healthy. Yes, I’m restricted in my activities due to the upper spinal thing but I was able to find outlets that I really enjoyed and found deeply fulfilling. And, of course, besides living as healthy a life as I could, I had this nice little goal of joining several friends and climbing one of our nation’s highest mountains in Colorado this August.

It was only about four years ago that we were wondering if I could ever travel to Idyllwild again (where Mary and Greg live), because of lung issues. And then that really kind and good doctor asked me to trust him and that we could bring my lungs to robust health in a year.  Oh, really!  As a lifelong asthmatic who has learned to cope with never really getting a full breath (or, at least not consistently), that was a tall order. But, I took him up on it and he was right! The last time I thanked him for changing my life, he said that meant more to him than I could know.

Of course, it was about twenty years ago when that very nasty disease struck me down and I faced partial blindness and probably worse, given the hole eaten from the frontal sinus into the brain cavity.

So, here was the thought last month as I reflected on the remarkable resiliency of my body and its ability to be healthy and perform as it was intended:

This is grace. This is a tremendous gift and I rejoice in it.  But, went the thought, I will not always have this. I’m 62 and not getting younger. Eventually it will erode.  Or, more bluntly and given my experience, I could lose it tomorrow. I remember saying to God, “God, I REALLY appreciate this gift and would REALLY like to have it continue. BUT, if it doesn’t, I want to thank you for this moment and I rejoice in it.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have included that last sentence. 🙂

The point is this: We are all on borrowed time.  (Perhaps I should name this blog, “Borrowed Time.”) Now, that may be a controversial thing to say. The world (a term I use to mean conventional wisdom, prevailing cultural opinion and all of that) says “I deserve.”  I deserve things that make me feel good, make me happy or successful. I worked hard so I deserve the fruits of my labor.  (That is a tricky one.) Or, I deserve God’s beneficence because I pray hard or, again, I work hard to do good things.

I look at it differently. I can never work hard enough to deserve the things that are important. No amount of work or trying will help me to love more deeply, care more fully, act more graciously. And what is more important than those things?

These are gifts and I treat them as “borrowed” because they do not come from me. As such, so is life and its many grand qualities. Part of the process right now is knowing that I’m the same person with the same joys and challenges as I was a month ago.  And, thankfully, I had a sense then that this could happen.  And, just as importantly … and this is a BIG deal: If not me, then someone I’m very close to. And, if not someone I’m very close to, then someone with whom I come into contact that very day.  And, how am I being present to all of that? Not, without help.

If you’re still with me, I’m finally getting to what was on my heart early this morning and on the drive back from my regular Monday morning men’s meeting.

I’ll get there in a roundabout way.

After returning home, I was on the telephone with two dear friends. One, my oldest friend from earliest childhood. The other, much more recently, a woman in our couple’s small group (there are seven couples active and we meet on Wednesday evenings to share life in all of its dimensions). Both had reached out in previous hours, sharing love and concern and wanting to get together. Both expressed pain, although in somewhat different terms. They opened their hearts and I was deeply touched. Because I’m a sap, the eyes got teary, but again, for joy that I have relationships with people like you who are reading this, who care and love.

The woman (I’m about as novice a blogger as you can get and don’t know the protocol about sharing some names and conversations), bless your heart! even asked how she could take the pain onto her. But, that’s what we do, isn’t it? We seek to take the pain from those we love.

This will continue being roundabout a little longer as I detour into an experience from about nine or ten years ago:

A close friend and professional mentor, someone who had helped make me the educational leader I became, had experienced the greatest grief. He lost his daughter to the terrible disease of anorexia. (I have another dear friend and member of our Monday morning group who is in that raw place of grappling with the same disease for his precious daughter.) We were at the church memorial service when my friend, who I knew extremely well and whom I cared for and about deeply, went to the podium to speak. He was never a man to just be stoical. He felt deeply and admitted weakness, although he was very bright, successful and good at what he did. Anyway, I instantly saw that he was unable to speak because of his agony and this prayer just leapt instantly into my head: “God, please let me take his pain and free him to honor his daughter.”

God responded without hesitation and I was hit physically with the fullness of my friend’s pain. It literally threw me back into the pew and I had trouble breathing. I reached for Diane’s hand. It was awful. I experienced a brutal and dark agony and it didn’t go away quickly. However, as hard as it was to be in that state, I saw, joyfully, that my friend was composed and proceeded to deliver a beautiful eulogy.  It was one of the most profound spiritual experiences of my life and confirmation of how God connects us in ways that are both inexplicably beautiful but also extremely challenging.

Ok, the roundabout is coming back.

I started today with the desire to comfort all those who are anxious or fearful or worried about what Diane and I are facing. While being realistic, we are filled with hope and you should be, too! We do not awake in fear but in gratitude for another day to share. There is so much to see and do! We hope for a healthy resolution in the near future and are so grateful for your prayers and many offers of support. In the meantime, while the pace of my life has slowed considerably and the focus has shifted somewhat, the underlying values and principles that guide my heart, mind and spirit … therefore, behavior … have not changed.

My prayer is, “Lord, thank you for my dear friends and family who love me and surround me with their kindness … who pray for me and over me … and who are a main reason why my life flourishes. Life would indeed be hollow and absent of so much meaning without their (your) presence. Thank you, Lord, for the times such as now, when I may stumble a bit and their (your) hands are there to embrace me. They are your hands in human form just as you became human and showed us how to live. But, Lord, I also ask that you help me to care for all of them. Help me to take any discomfort they may have and release it. Help us all to see beauty even in turbulent times.”

Two last things to share if you haven’t fallen asleep yet.

Last night, Diane and I were blessed to be the guest of Ken and Marjorie Blanchard, along with about fifteen others at a fabulous dinner. We each had a chance to reflect and share. Without going into a lot of details, one of the prompts was to share one word that would help guide us in the coming year. Ever the contrarian, when it came my time, I said I had two. They are surrender and awe.

Surrender and Awe.  To me, two sides of the same coin, joined in love, grace and the ever-present Holy. Each leads to the other. One is a conscious act of will. The other is a gift that arrives unbidden at times. It is a borrowed piece of the Other and a glimpse into eternity.

My friend, Gary, likes to use the example of the medieval German soldiers who the king desires to baptize by full immersion as a display of surrender. The soldiers were fine with this, with the exception of their sword arm and sword, which they held aloft, unwilling to fully submit that last and important feature that made them strong and distinct. What do we hold back and why?

Awe arrives frequently as a surprise. Sometimes in grand and breath-taking fashion and sometimes in more subtle ways. I think awe is the twin of wonder and I’m so grateful God has gifted me with a sense of both. How wonderful that Susan (dear Susan, our sister of the Friday mornings) and her husband, Andy, and daughter, Drew arrived with dinner as we got back from the hospital. That Mary drove down from Idyllwild to the hospital. How awesome is it to be so closely in touch, sharing one’s soul with people nearby and far away? We have dinner tonight with dear friends and, again, this Wednesday. You two sets of couples have also known suffering and trials that have shaken you to your core. Two other couples brought dinner over a week ago and they (you) are no strangers to past and present suffering. Lunch last week with a special friend of over forty years who reached out immediately and has been with me in some of life’s greatest trials. Monday morning men laying hands and anointing with oil. Prayer groups around the country who do not know me, being brought into fellowship through dear ones who act out of love and hope. How could this not be awesome??

I was asked about my levels of anxiety or fear and how to meet each day, not knowing. Well, it’s not hard when the moments are filled with the beauty of full hearts, laughter and endless kindness.

Finally, my friend, Fred, sent me a dear note last night. Full of wisdom and love. He included a link to a song I’d never heard but had had a profound impact on him. I played it long before sunup, then for the guys in the morning group and, finally, for Diane when I got home.

In the gentlest but most powerful way, the singer, with his acoustic guitar, speaks of difficult trials and how we are often on our knees (sometimes, literally!), but can exclaim “Hallelujah!”  Thank you, Fred.

This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.  Psalm 118:24

I truly rejoice and am glad. Thank you for listening.