Home

Home.  It's a powerful word.  It's where the heart is.  Whether it's with "your people" or in "your spot"....there's no place like it. And while I know I'm guilty of yearning for adventure, I can also attest to the truth that there's nothing quite like coming home again.

Imagine this scene from The Hobbit, just after the company of Dwarves have survived their escapades in Goblin town.  Bilbo had gotten separated from everyone else, and they're wondering where he might have gone.  Thorin, who doesn't have a lot of trust or confidence in Bilbo, thinks he has given up and abandoned them to head back to the Shire.  But after this less-than-supportive declaration, Bilbo emerges from behind a tree and says he's back.  Most of the company accepts this with a mixture of disbelief and joy.  But Thorin is still suspicious and demands a further explanation:

Gandalf: What does it matter? He's back.

Thorin: It matters.  I want to know.  Why did you come back?

Bilbo: I know you doubt me. I know you always have. You're right. I often think of Bag End. I miss my books, my armchair, my garden. See, that's where I belong. That's home. That's why I came back. You don't have one. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can.

It was this scene that flashed in my mind when I read this passage from the first chapter of Joshua:

So Joshua ordered the officers of the people: “Go through the camp and tell the people, ‘Get your provisions ready. Three days from now you will cross the Jordan here to go in and take possession of the land the Lord your God is giving you for your own.’” 

But to the Reubenites, the Gadites and the half-tribe of Manasseh, Joshua said, “Remember the command that Moses the servant of the Lord gave you after he said, ‘The Lord your God will give you rest by giving you this land.’ Your wives, your children and your livestock may stay in the land that Moses gave you east of the Jordan, but all your fighting men, ready for battle, must cross over ahead of your fellow Israelites. You are to help them until the Lord gives them rest, as he has done for you, and until they too have taken possession of the land the Lord your God is giving them. After that, you may go back and occupy your own land, which Moses the servant of the Lord gave you east of the Jordan toward the sunrise.” (Joshua 1:10-15)

I don't think I fully realized that not all the tribes needed to cross the Jordan river to claim their inheritance.  For two and a half tribes, their long journey was over.  They were already home.  But they still had to send their fighting men to help the other tribes claim their land.  This was their Bilbo moment.  But was also more than that. It struck me as a very clear picture of how the family of God really is one big family, who is expected to band together and help out, even at personal cost and sacrifice.

What impresses me most about Bilbo's story is that despite Thorin's consistent doubt, Bilbo sticks with the quest until the very end.  That's no small thing.  Could I do that?  Stick with someone who doubts me? Cross a river to help someone fight for their promise when there's no guarantee of coming home again?

But isn't that kind of the whole point of the Gospel?  To be love in action and live a life that points to the hope I've found?

You are to help them until the Lord gives them rest, as he has done for you. ...That's home. That's why I came back. You don't have one. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can.

The Catch

Nearly two weeks ago, I witnessed what was probably the most amazing catch I've ever seen in football.  It was the epitome of playing to the whistle.  Of never giving up.  Of basically willing the catch to be complete. In the age of DVR, it was the kind of catch that demands to be instantly rewound and watched again.

It was just incredible.

And thanks to YouTube, you don't just have to take my word for it.  Take a look for yourself.


This is the kind of catch that wins games and is forever etched in the annals of history.

Except....

Less than a minute later, there would be an interception that would again change the course of the game and become the talking point of Monday Morning Quarterbacks for ages to come.

In less than a minute, this play went from being "one for the ages" to that "awesome play that happened a minute ago that doesn't matter all that much anymore".

But it *did* happen.  Jermaine Kearse made the play of his career, and we were all beside ourselves with a mixture of disbelief and joy (or despair if you were rooting for the other team).

I couldn't help but think of the Paradoxical Commandments: "The good you do today will be forgotten tomorrow.  Do good anyway."

What if your awesome catch is only the headline for 30 seconds?  Would you make it anyway?

Because you should.

No one knows what the future holds.  So make that catch. Do good anyway. 

You never know. While history might take an extra second to remember it, playing to the whistle is worth it.

Every time.

Good, bad, or ugly.  Remembered or instantly overshadowed. Whether it's good for 30 seconds or 30 years.  Do good anyway.  

It's a beautiful play.  And it might just make all the difference in the world.

Divergent

At church this Sunday, we sang an oldie but a goodie:

I will never be the same again.  I can never return.  I've closed the door.  I will walk the path. I'll run the race.  And I will never be the same again.

Suddenly, I found myself picturing a scene from the movie Divergent.  In this world of this story, society is grouped into five factions.  Each one focuses on the cultivation of a particular virtue, and the idea is that they work together to all make their city better as a whole.

Things are never simple.  In this society, when children reach the age of 16, they have to decide which Faction they want to belong to -- whether it's the one they've been raised in, or one that's completely different. And of course, it's a decision that cannot be changed.  They're forever committed. Their Faction becomes their family.  In fact, there's a saying in this society: "Faction before blood."

Tris, the heroine of this tale, decides to change her Faction from Abnegation (selflessness) to Dauntless (bravery).  In doing so, she faces a pretty intense initiation period; one in which not all the initiates will succeed.  The stakes are high too.  If they fail, initiates can not go back to their original Faction.  By the rules of this society, they'd be condemned to being one of the "Factionless." And kind of like in "The Biggest Loser," if you fall beneath the red line, you're out.

All of that is backstory to set up the scene.  Back in the dormitory after a rough day of training, Tris is sharing her concern about her ranking (second from the bottom) with her best friend Christina.

Tris - I'm never gonna make it.
Christina - Yes you will.
Tris - I'm the weakest one here
Christina - Then you'll be the most improved.
Tris - You're Candor, you're not supposed to lie.
Christina- I was Candor, and I'm not lying.
Al - If they cut me I think my parents would take me back.
Peter - No it doesn't work like that. Even if they wanted to, their faction wouldn't allow it.
Tris - Even if my parents would take me back, I wouldn't belong there anymore.

I can never return.  I've closed the door.

There are days when I struggle, (And days when I feel like I'm doing pretty awesome.)  But whether it's day when all the cylinders are firing, or a day when all I can do to keep from crying tears of frustration, this one thing I know... even if I could go back, I wouldn't.  I've been forever captured and changed by a love I will spend the rest of my life trying to imitate and understand.

As Four might say: "It's brave, and selfless, and smart, and kind, and honest."  It's also divergent. And my choice to follow it has irrevocably transformed my life.

I will walk the path.  I'll run the race.  And I will never be the same again.

Maxing Out

Like many others, I made some fitness goals and resolutions a few weeks ago for the new year.  Actually, I got a jumpstart on the whole "new year's resolution" idea and started my new routine a week early.  My chosen program:  Shaun T's Insanity Max 30.  It follows a high intensity interval training format, which basically means it's no joke.  But thankfully for me and my sketchy knees, there's a low-impact modifier for almost all of the moves.

For three weeks, I was content to follow the modifier track.  But inspired by my dreams of a flat stomach, killer triceps, and 8-pack abs, I decided it was time for me to make the jump.  To take the chance.  To max out and go high impact.

So halfway through last Saturday's routine, I decided to leave my modifying ways behind and do the regular, jumping, high-impact move along with the rest of Shaun T's crew.

And I promptly rolled my ankle and landed in a heap in the middle of my living room floor.

Ouch.

As I gathered myself back together and talked myself into finishing the routine, I had the thought: "How many times has this happened in other parts of my life?"  (For example: not just with push-ups, but with patience?)  I try to take things up a notch and be a bit better, only to fall in a inglorious heap of good intentions, missed marks, and flubbed opportunities.

It's humbling to realize you're not ready for the high impact stuff.  But it takes away the sting to know that keeping up with the athletes on the screen isn't the point.  (Though, admittedly a hard one to always accept when you're competitive like I am.)

The point is to go as hard as you can, to take a break when you need it, and then to get back up and get in there and focus on making yourself stronger.  As Shaun T would say, "You are simply working on your personal best.  There is no shame in stopping at your max."

Whether in my workout, or in life, the point is to do the best I can.  Not to measure up to the superstars (or to the unattainable), but just to do my best.  And I won't discover what that point is until I push it and take that chance.

Surprisingly, this workout is teaching me to give myself a bit more grace; to not be afraid or ashamed of maxing out.  But to find that point (and perhaps fall down), then gather myself, get back up, and do better next time.

No shame.  Imua.  Moving forward and being better than I was before.

------------

P.S. - I want to mention that for a few days after my embarrassing fall, I walked with a bit of a limp.  Falling hurt!  But it made me think that sometimes a limp can be a badge of honor.  Because it means you tried.  You reached.  And maybe it didn't work out the way you planned.  But you'll heal, and you can try it again.

One Little Word: Imua

In late December, I was minding my own business and watching the latest episode of The Biggest Loser.  The final five contestants left "The Ranch" to go to Kauai, Hawaii.  When they were officially welcomed by Alison Sweeney, the host, she said:

"Aloha.  Welcome to the island of Kauai. Elite athletes from every corner of the earth head here to battle the elements and push themselves in some of the greatest physical challenges on earth.  It's traditional in Hawaii to wish people before a sporting event Imua, which means "move forward". So for all of you, keep up the good work. Imua everyone.  Good luck.  I'll see you soon."

And it was like a little bit of lightning struck my brain.  I immediately knew I had my next "One Little Word."  Because it was right around this time when I truly felt like I was emerging from a fog. It's a surreal feeling actually -- to finally get enough distance from something to have some perspective.

That sounded vague.  Here's what I mean.

I didn't really realize how much of a toll my spirit had taken over the past two years until I started settling back into my house and trying to move forward.  Instead of immediately springing into my dreams and ambitions, I feel like I've wasted the past two months! (maybe more.)  But God has been speaking to me; healing cracks and hurts I didn't know I had, and revealing areas in which I need to repent and change.  That's never comfortable, but at the same time, I'm also grateful to have my eyes opened.

Soon after finding the word imua, I read Philippians 3:12-14 from the Message translation.  It literally shouted out to my heart.

"I’m not saying that I have this all together, that I have it made. But I am well on my way, reaching out for Christ, who has so wondrously reached out for me. Friends, don’t get me wrong: By no means do I count myself an expert in all of this, but I’ve got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward—to Jesus. I’m off and running, and I’m not turning back."

That's my prayer.  To go ever toward Jesus, and not turn back.

Taking a moment to look back on my previous words -- Tenacity, (2010) Generosity. (2011) Fast. (2012) Servanthood.(2013-2014) -- I can see how meditating on each one has helped me to learn and grow.

I really have a special feeling about this one though.

Like I said... I'm emerging from my fog, reconnecting to my life, and looking forward to my year of  moving forward.

Imua.

Amen.

Sniff

It was the summer between 9th and 10th grade, and I was sitting in orchestra rehearsal midway through the month-long summer music academy at Pensacola Christian College. I’d been playing violin for a few years, but this was the first time I was in the world of soundproof practice rooms, sectionals, and several hours of practice a day. It was challenging, but I loved it.

We were working on Tchaikovsky’s Capriccio Italian (A 15 ½ minute song! Talk about serious musicianship!), and the trombones were in trouble. There’s a part in the song where they have a tricky rhythm. Triplet 1, rest, triplet 1. If you sang it it would go something like “di-di-di-da {pause} di-di-di-da.” It starts at the end of the measure too, which is typically harder for young musicians because you have to count the rests before jumping into your notes.

It’s a critical rhythm at that point in the song, because it sets the tone and tempo for that section, and everyone else’s part layers on top of it.

And the trombones just couldn’t get it.

After trying everything in the book, from one method of counting to another, playing super slow, and trying over and over again to get it right, it still just wasn’t happening. In fact, I think it was getting worse. Because by this point, the poor trombones aren’t just frustrated and mentally tired, they’re also embarrassed because the rest of the orchestra is there just waiting and witnessing their struggle.

Then our conductor said something I’ll never forget. He was a short, Einstein-haired, big-nosed, elderly sort of guy. But he was diminutive in appearance only until he picked up a baton. Then he transformed to have this quiet assurance that brooked no contradiction. If he said it, that’s the way it was. He was picky, but he was right. And what made him special was he was able to communicate all of that with a sense of humor. 

Anyway, he rapped his baton on his stand and said, “You need to sniff.”

Everyone looked at him like he was a bit crazy. But our incredulity didn’t faze him in the slightest, “You need to sniff. Di-di-di-da {sniff} di-di-di-da. Beethoven would sniff. You need to sniff. Try it.”

Memory is a funny thing. I know it’s a Tchaikovsky piece, but I swear our conductor said Beethoven would sniff. Maybe he was meeting us halfway, knowing Beethoven would stand out in our minds.

So we did. First he just had the trombones do it, singing the rhythm out in time.
Di-di-di-da {sniff} di-di-di-da. Their sniffs were a little tentative so he had everyone join in. Di-di-di-da {sniff} di-di-di-da. After a few repetitions (and more than a few giggles), we got over the craziness of the whole idea and really committed to the sniff. And once we did, that tricky rhythm came together like magic.

It was amazing, and I’ll never forget it.

That’s what I think scripture means when it says Jesus spoke with authority. The phrase “with authority” was a known term in the rabbinical teaching structure. It basically meant that people recognized Jesus had enough insight to look at a familiar thing in a fresh way. But a little more than that because anyone can have a crazy opinion, but if you spoke “with authority” then people actually respected your point of view.

When I read, “The people were all so amazed that they asked each other, "What is this? A new teaching—and with authority!” (Mark 1:27) I imagine the crowd feeling the same sense of wonder we did in the orchestra. After all, who in their right mind would tell a trombone section to sniff? You won’t find that anywhere in an exercise book. But he did, and “Beethoven would sniff” changed everything for us that summer. It took a tricky rhythm and made it attainable. Frustration gave way to comprehension and we went on to play the piece with confidence and unity. And I think that’s just what Jesus does with God’s law. Time after time, he offers a new insight that suddenly makes the convoluted very simple.

If you want to take a listen, the infamous rhythm is at 0:52. I dare you not to sniff. But make sure you mean it if you do.

Overcomplication

The following conversation took place in one of the early episodes of MasterChef this season:

Joe - Mystery Box, Season 5. We start with desserts. What's the biggest mistake we see with mystery boxes like this one?

Gordan - It's one of overcomplication.

Graham - As you get more and more experienced as a cook or a chef, it's all about putting less on the plate. I think here you're going to see people try to add every single thing possible, and we all know that just muddles it.

"You're going to see people try to add every single thing possible, and we all know that just muddles it."

Ouch.  How often do I (do we) do just that?  Try to throw every trick we have, whether it's to impress, to please, or to measure up?

But when we do that, the painting we're trying to compose with our programs or with our lives just ends up looking like the brown, soupy, finger-painted masterpiece of a four-year-old artist.  You know the kind. It might be beautiful to the imagination, but the reality is just a bit of a mess. As Harry Potter observed in the Half-Blood Prince: "Bangs and smoke are more often the sign of ineptitude rather than expertise."

"As you get more and more experienced...it's all about putting less on the plate."

Be intentional.  Keep it simple.  Put less on your plate.

It will be less muddled.

And ultimately, more delicious.