Do You Need A Fresh Start?

I will have to learn how to walk all over again. Well, not completely from scratch. I can still move down the sidewalk on both feet with very little conscious thought, but I still have a hobble in my step, a limp. I still walk like a combination of Granny Clampett (from the Beverly Hillbillies) an Uncle Joe Carson (from Petticoat Junction). I still walk like I did before having my knees fixed.

My knee problems began in 2004, which means I have an entrenched, 11-year muscle memory for walking with a limp, for walking without bending my knees, for hobbling from side to side.

Just because I have new mechanical knees, and so far they are working great and making me very happy, doesn’t mean I have new muscles or new neurons.

I’m writing about this because just two days ago I noticed myself limping down the hallway in my office, not from surgery, but from habit. I wasn’t happy to have a persistent limp I didn’t need and didn’t want. I was compensating for something that no longer existed.

Is it possible to live so long in injury that our bodies forget how to live without it? Is it possible to forget how good life can be? Or is it possible we learn to enjoy limping? After all, it provides a convenient excuse to explain away poor performances.

I know this much: It’s possible to limp so long we make agreements with ourselves. As in, “Pain-free walking just isn’t for me,” or “I’m stuck in this lousy relationship but I’m used to it now,” or “I’m saddled with this addiction for the rest of my life, I should just get used to it.”

We live on and on, limping through life out of habit, and something inside us dies.

The question we have to ask is this: Do I want to get well?

Jesus asked this same question of a man in John 5:1-9. The man had been paralyzed for 38 years, and Jesus found him lying by a pool of water, a place where blind, lame, and paralyzed people were left for the day by their families.

There was a tradition that when the water was stirred, the first person into the pool was healed. Jesus asked the man, “Do you want to get well?”

The man said, "Sir, I have no one to put me in the pool when the water is stirred up and someone else steps down ahead of me"

Curiously, the man didn’t answer Jesus’ question. He started making excuses. Jesus didn’t ask him, “What are your problems? What makes your life so hard?” He asked, "Do you want to get well?"

This man had been sick so long he forgot about wanting to get well. All he could do was explain his own limp.

Too often we settle when we don’t have to, because we forget how good life can be. We forget about God’s healing. We hide behind our limp to avoid living the life God has for us.

I would encourage you to ask yourself: Am I limping? Have I given up hope? Am I settling for a life of habit instead of living the life God has for me? What have I allowed to die within me?

Maybe, like me, you’ll have to learn how to walk all over again.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

 I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Healing

We were eating dinner at the neighborhood clubhouse across the street from my house and listening to a friendly police officer talk about neighborhood watch, when Amber looked at the scars on my knees, both the old one – six weeks old – and the new one – two weeks old. She said, “I’ve got scars five years old that aren’t as smooth as that.” I pointed to my left knee and said, “The curious thing is, I am almost 60 years old, and it takes all my willpower to keep from picking the scabs off this scar. Why am I still addicted to such a childish thing?”

Scabs are an important protective mechanism used by the body to prevent bleeding and infection (and deserve a nobler name). We should leave them alone. Especially as adults. And yet, we don’t.

Picking scabs is like pressing bruises, touching painful teeth, or rubbing a sore elbow. It’s almost instinctual. As if we were born unable to leave well-enough alone.

And even worse, our tendency to pick isn’t limited to physical wounds. During the past two months we’ve had controversial and painful changes in our church. This is the church we’ve attended for 33 years, that helped us raise two children, and comforted and nursed our family through multiple layoffs and crises. The changes left a lot of people hurt, feeling removed and unappreciated. Our church is now in the process of navigating through the debris field, and we have a long way to go before we’re clear.

I’m in a unique position since I serve on the church governing council. It gives me insight into the process and background of the controversial decisions, yet I’m not part of the committees that actually had to make those decisions so I still have a thin layer of separation. As a result, I get lots of questions from friends who want my thoughts about the situation. I’m happy to help.

In addition to the questions, I get emails from well-meaning church members who see conspiracy and manipulation behind every decision, and now are standing on the ramparts at full-alert watching for the next bit of news that might confirm their theory.

The fact is, and it is a fact that is hard to accept and understand, but good people who seek God daily, who have dedicated themselves to serve others and live in grace and love, often end up on the opposite sides of decisions. How can that be? Shouldn’t godly people think alike?

But often, they don’t.

Why can’t we disagree without assuming the other side is deceived, or worse, possessed by evil?

It takes constant vigilance to avoid becoming a cynic; cynicism is simply too easy. Cynics seldom solve problems. They might point them out, but that is never as helpful and they think. Being a cynic is nothing but lazy thinking. It requires no faith, no imagination, and no trust to talk about the worst of the worst.

So this morning as I read yet another scary email about the underhanded things afoot, I thought about my left knee.

I decided to stop picking scabs. I vowed to let healing occur, stop picking and poking and pressing, and let Jesus heal my knees, and heal my church, in His own good time.

I don’t mean to belittle the pain we’ve all felt, or underestimate the loss and hurt we’ll live with going forward. I don’t mean to say I’m completely comfortable with all the decisions that have been made (to be truthful, I’m not comfortable with many of my own decisions, especially during my twelve years as an elected member of city government).

But all I have to do is walk down the hall with my cane to remember that healing takes a long time. Maybe years. And not all healing is complete. Sometimes we move with a limp even after all the scars are gone. There is nothing easy about healing deep wounds.

But I want to live the rest of my life allowing people and churches and knees to heal. I want Jesus to show me patience through the debris, give me hope for clear sailing ahead, and the wisdom to spread that to everyone around me. I hope and pray that will be your life as well.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

From Weak to Strong

My recently repaired right knee, still tender and stiff from surgery in late June, went from being my weakest link to one of my strongest links, just like that. How did that happen? I didn’t actually increase its capacity or flexibility. I didn’t do any hyper-effective leg workouts that transformed overnight. I didn’t get a visit from the knee fairy who tapped me with her wand.

What happened was, I was crawling around on the floor of Katie’s house in Mansfield trying to find a graceful way to stand up without putting my knees down. I didn’t fall. I was on the floor on purpose so I could do rehab exercises with 5-year-old granddaughter Madden. I could’ve, maybe should’ve, called for help, but part of rehab is learning how to do stuff, and I was determined to get up on my own. I knew this wouldn’t be my last time down on the floor. I needed to learn new techniques.

Finally, I gave up and put my right knee on the floor with full body weight and stood up. It was amazing. It was easier than I’d expected.

The thing is, only three days before, I was babying that same knee and I would never have pushed off the floor with it like I did. It was too weak and too sore, and I was too nervous and afraid. But now, after having the left knee worked on, what was once my bad knee became my good knee, and what had been my good knee (although not that good) became my bad knee. What was weakest became strongest, just like that. It was instant phase change.

Most of life’s changes take months or years. As in training for a marathon, or learning to speak French, or graduating from engineering school.

But some phases change in the blink of an eye. For example, in 1970, Apollo 13’s mission changed in one moment. In 2001, the future of the United States change in one Tuesday morning in September. In 2010, I changed from goofy fun-loving dad to patriarch, with the birth of one granddaughter.

And now, in 2015, my right knee went from weak to strong. It went from being the dependent leg to being the supporting leg. Why? Not because it literally gained strength, but because its role changed.

And since I was forced to depend on my right leg more and more, even before it was ready, it actually did get physically stronger. The process was self-fulfilling; being used added strength.

Of course, I wouldn’t write about this if it was just about knees. It’s really about us.

How do we get stronger? We change our place in community – become supporters instead of dependers. Changing places makes us stronger.

Spiritual leadership is not about being the smartest, boldest, or strongest on the room. It is about being the most loving. It is about serving. About giving yourself away every day.

What to be stronger? Find a new role. Serve others more.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Walking Distance

I saw this quote from comedian Stephen Wright: “Everywhere is within walking distance if you have the time,” and so to prove the point I asked the mapping app on my phone to give me a route for walking from our house in Midland, Texas, to our daughter’s house in Mansfield, Texas, 319 miles. The app said it would take 4 days and 13 hours to walk. I assume that does not include rest breaks, eating, or sleeping. Like the man said, everywhere is within walking distance. Which reminded me of one of our great family stories, a vacation to Washington DC in 2002. In order to save money I found a hotel outside the actual city and planned for all of us to ride the subway, the Met, from our hotel to the center of DC. When I phoned to make the reservations I asked, “How far is your hotel from the nearest Met station?” The young man answered confidently and convincingly, “It’s within walking distance.”

But our first morning we discovered our hotel was a solid thirty-minute drive from the station. And most of the road had no shoulder or sidewalk, so walking alongside was dangerous if not impossible. Hardly what a reasonable person would call “walking distance.”

The other part of the story, and an added observation that might explain the “walking distance” misunderstanding, was the gentleman who checked us into the hotel when we first arrived. He was the slowest person any of us had ever seen.

I don’t mean slow in the sense of dim-witted, although we had our suspicions. I mean slow in that every single one of his actions, like typing on his keyboard, moving his hand from keyboard to mouse, reading data from his computer screen, was so slow it was all we could do to keep from laughing. It was all we could do to keep our balance and not fall to the floor. He was so slow he was even slower than that. I don’t think anyone could be that slow on purpose, even if he was being forced to give us the room he’d hoped to keep for his fiancé when she arrived from France and it was the only room left and if he didn’t have a room for her she would fly back home and the wedding would be off. He was slower than that.

It occurred to us that maybe he was the one who told me over the phone that the Met station was within walking distance. Maybe he lived in a wrinkle of space-time so that normal distance and normal pace were different for him than for everyone else in the world.

I’ve been thinking about walking a lot, lately, being between knee preplacement No. 1 (right) and knee replacement No. 2 (left). One of the reasons I opted for this procedure was so that I could enjoy walking again. And today, three weeks after No. 1, I’m already walking even better than I expected. Better, in fact, than before surgery, which I suppose, was the point of replacement.

I recently finished a book by Jim Forest titled, The Road to Emmaus: Pilgrimage as a Way of Life, and he wrote: “Walking is a physical activity that is meant to have spiritual significance.”

Walking is so simple and common, and one of the earliest things we learn how to do as human beings. We learn to walk long before we learn to talk, or go to the potty, or find our own food.

For me, walking includes running and hiking … at least, the spiritual significance of it. Some of my richest spiritual conversations with God have come while walking, hiking, or running on a dirt trail.

Forest wrote, “Unimpeded walking is one of life’s most ordinary, least expensive, and deeply rewarding pleasures … Putting one foot in front of the other and going forward can provide a foretaste of heaven.”

Well, walking didn’t feel like heaven a few weeks ago when we spent seven hours on the medieval stone streets of Florence. It was fun, and I wouldn’t have it any other way, but it felt far from heaven.

However, I can already see a brighter and deeper future ahead of me. I am glad to be walking again. Ready to converse with God again on the trails.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

 I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Step Forward or Step Back

Monday morning I was on my bike in the living room of our home, spinning on a trainer, watching a documentary called “The Wrecking Crew.” I was cycling (stationarily) as part of my physical training rehab following knee replacement, and watching the documentary as part of my plan to catch up on unwatched DVDs. The documentary was about the recording studio musicians who played on most of the rock and roll hits of the 1960s … you might not know their names but you certainly know their music. They played amazing music and seldom saw their own names on record labels. They used their world-class skills to make other people famous.

One of the questions implied in the documentary was, “Would you be OK knowing you are the best in the world, yet living completely behind the scenes and out of the spotlight?”

I realized I was looking at the life I want to live nowadays. Not that I want to be a recording studio musician (although I’d love to have the chops), but I want to be a spiritual leader who pushes heroes forward so they can shine. I’m happy staying behind the scenes. I’m even happier when one of my guys steps forward into his place of leadership and ministry.

I would rather be the consigliore than the Godfather, Bagger Vance than Rannulph Junah.

Early in my adult life I’ll admit I held back out of fear. I thought the front row was for the cool kids and not for me.

Later, I began to accept more lead roles, hoping to replace my fears with boldness. But even then, most of the leadership roles I held were because I was drafted, or pulled up, or recruited, not because I pursued them.

And now that I’m firmly on the threshold of my 60s, my challenge is to know when I should stay behind and push others forward, or stand up and be the front man.

Even now I’m haunted by the question: Is my desire to remain behind the scenes a noble effort, or is it merely my own fear of standing tall and taking on the risks of leadership? Am I still afraid I don’t have what it takes and so use the humble card to stay back, hiding my fears behind the mask of nobility?

Cyndi reminds me often that if I avoid positions of leadership, an important voice will go unheard and unheeded. I can’t disagree with her. I know she’s correct. I married a very smart and insightful woman. I have an obligation to give away what God has given me – grace and love and peace – and I cannot always do that from the back of the room.

And yet, I was talking to Joe Willis earlier this month about his participation in the Timothy Ministry, a mentoring program for new deacons, it occurred to me how many of the new young deacons in the past three or four years have been part of Iron Men or Journey Group with me, and I realized the unique place God had put me, to speak into the hearts of future leaders. God has entrusted some of his best young men to me, and that probably wouldn’t have happened if I insisted on being the front man in everything I do.

And so, my prayer: “God, thank you. Keep my heart full of integrity and humility and generosity. Thank you for trusting me with these young men. Give me wisdom to know when to stay in the background, and when to stand up and step forward.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

A Promise to Breathe

“What are you going to write about this week?” asked Cyndi. She was taking my happy birthday peach cobbler out of the oven (I’m not a cake man (the cobbler was amazing)). “I don’t know yet. I’m at a loss. And forgot today was Wednesday and my piece is due tomorrow.”

“What do you think I should write about?” I asked.

“Just don’t write about the lowering-your-pulse-contest-with-yourself you had in post-op. Nobody wants to hear about that.”

Before my surgery last week I assumed this slowed-down recovery time would be rich with insights and ideas. But the truth is, my journal - where I write daily - is surprisingly thin lately. Most of what I’ve written is about rehab exercises and medication and daily details. I anticipated more. I’d hoped to be more productive.

Cyndi pulled out her iPad and read this poem to me by Danna Faulds:

It only takes a reminder to breathe,

a moment to be still, and just like that,

something in me settles, softens, makes

space for imperfection. The harsh voice

of judgement drops to a whisper and I

remember again that life isn’t a rely

race; that we all will cross the finish

line; that waking up to life is what we 

were born for. As many times as I 

forget, to catch myself charging forward

without even knowing where I am going,

that many times I can make the choice

to stop, to breathe, and be, and walk

slowly into the mystery.

“It only takes a reminder to breathe, a moment to be still, and something in me settles.” Those are good words. As she read, my mind traveled back to a morning in the Guadalupe Mountains, at the junction of Tejas and Juniper Trails, when I sat on a fallen log planning to spend some time writing in my journal, but instead, I simply sat still and breathed and listened for a half hour and allowed the sounds of the forest to soak into my heart.

The significance of the moment surprised me. I am so process-driven in most of my life I seldom stop and listen just to stop and listen. It turned out that “doing nothing” was important to this “doing stuff” guy.

I told Cyndi, after she finished reading the poem, “That trail junction, sitting and breathing, became a thin spot for me. I stop and sit every time I hike past that fallen log.”

So what does that tell me about surgery rehab? Will it be one of my thin places if I’m prepared to slow down, sit, and breathe? How can I make this time as productive as I’d imagined?

For the past three months I’ve been looking forward to knee replacement surgery, or more accurately, to my new life on the other side. It’s hard to be patient and let the healing take place. I want to heal faster. I’m ready to be back on the trail.

Sit and breathe and wait.

I am so in love with the idea of a lifelong search for God, which for me is an active process, I forget about silence and listening.

So here is my challenge to myself for this summer. I will continue to work hard at rehab and recovery, but I’m determined to listen and breathe, not try to force the insights or plan good writing.

Sit and breathe and wait.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

 I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Time for Restoration

Let me just say right up front: I’m having knee surgery next week and I can’t concentrate on much of anything else. Actually, it’s knee replacement, the first of two. And they tell me I’ll be home-bound for three weeks after each one. Counting the minimal interval between knees, I’ll be on injured reserve until September.

People ask if I’m nervous about it and my consistent answer is “no.” I don’t feel nervous, but the fact that it takes up a significant amount of my mental RAM tells a different story. It’s been hard for me to concentrate on normal projects, like paying bills, daily writing, cycling, and paying attention to Cyndi.

Not only that, but Cyndi gave me my Father’s Day / Birthday gift early – a Big Green Egg grill – and it’s even been hard to engage with that. Hard to see through the fog of distraction.

Usually when I get nervous about something my first defense is to start making lists … lists of things to do beforehand, lists of things to take with me, lists of things to consider and think about, and lists of projects to do afterward, and like that. A list is a plan of action, and having a plan to follow is more satisfying than fretting over what I might be forgetting. In fact, having a list in my hand relaxes me. A list lets my brain floaters settle. I know what to do next, I don’t have to keep guessing.

But my list for this surgery consists of only two items: (1) show up at the hospital on Wednesday, and (2) see what comes next. That isn’t enough list for me. I need more. It isn’t satisfying or soothing.

Don’t misunderstand my apprehension. I’m looking forward to this surgery. Or rather, looking forward to life on the other side. I’m ready for restoration, ready to get moving again, ready to stop limping, ready to go to the mountain trails again with my guys, ready to chase God into The Bowl, ready to go on walks with Cyndi, ready to play with granddaughters without my knees being my first concern.

I’ve already been invited to join the Senior Cycling Group that owns the highway on Saturday mornings. “We have several artificial joints,” was what I heard them say.

We just vacationed in Italy, where I calculated I spent 35 hours on my knees over five days. It was brutal by the end of each day, but I decided I could recover and heal when we got home … I didn’t want to miss out on anything. The trip proved to me that I could do more than I thought, especially when doing it with great friends. It also confirmed that knee replacement was the right thing to do. I’m looking forward to many more trips like this one, with less pain.

I’m not complaining - I’m doing what writers do – I’m settling in, and finding my way, by putting thoughts on paper. Nowadays I’m more comfortable with winging my way through the near future than I used to be, but the idea of eight weeks of improvisation is stretching my newfound flexibility. I wish I had a better list.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

A Close Encounter in Assisi

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” (Marcel Proust) One of our favorite stops in Italy was Assisi, home of St. Francis. It was built on the slope of Mount Subasio and surrounded by a protective wall, and it is very old. Roman ruins have been found dating back to 295 BC. And so, all the streets are very narrow and winding, built for pedestrians and horses, not automobiles.

The first place we visited was the Cathedral Church of St. Rufino, named for the bishop who converted Assisi to Christianity in 238 AD. St. Francis was baptized in this church 1182, and preached there often during his adult years.

Next, we descended a small steeply-sloping street (take it from a man with bad knees, Italy is one sloping street after another) to the Chiesa Nuovo (“New Church,” built in 1615) which was built over the childhood home of St. Francis.

After lunch we descended (again) to the Basilica of St. Francis, the mother church of the Franciscan Order. It actually consists of two churches, one above the other. And below both of them is a small chapel containing the tomb of St. Francis. We spent time in the upper churches admiring the medieval frescoes; it was very cool to realize pilgrims have been coming here to worship for 400 years.

But my moment came in the chapel containing St. Francis’ tomb. We sat for a bit on the benches; my intention was simply to rest my knees, but as I sat and gazed at the tomb I was overwhelmed. I suppose it came over me all at once, the reminder that one man with a heart to know God can gather like-minded companions, and literally change the world.

I prayed, “Lord, give me a life to give away, that will draw men to Jesus, who will in turn change the world for Christ.”

Behind the tomb was a stack of paper that you could use to write a prayer to St. Francis. I wasn’t interested in praying to a man, even if he was called a saint, but I wanted to reinforce the moment, so I wrote out my prayer and put it in the box.

It was a powerful moment, and caught me off guard. I shouldn’t have been surprised, since God often ambushes me in places like this. Thomas Merton said he was drawn to sacred sites, not because he knew the places, but because he believed the places knew him. Well said.

How about you? Have you been pulled in closer to God through history and architecture? What is your story?

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

When in Rome

Do you like to plan your vacations, or would you rather improvise and discover as you go? Me – I’m a planner, and I seldom take a trip without a list and a spreadsheet. But as I carry out my plans it’s usually the adhoc experiences that I talk most about when I get home. During our recent trip to Tuscany and Rome we visited the Villa de Piazzano, Cortona, Montalchino, Sant’Angelo in Colle, Actesino winery, Santa Croce Cathedral, Saint Mary of the Flowers Basilica, Arezzo, Parco il Prato, Fortezza Medicea (more than one of these), lots of piazzas, Assisi, Cathedral of St. Rufino, Basilica of St. Chiara, Chiesa Nuovo, Basilica St. Francis, Chiesa di San Pietro, Spanish Steps, Fontana di Trevi (but it had no water), Titus’ Arch, The Forum, The Imperial Palace, Palantine Hill, The Colosseum, the Vatican art gallery, the Sistine Chapel, St. Peter’s Basilica, and well, lots more.

Writers much better than me have described all the places I mentioned better than I can, so I’m going to write about food. And since I can’t write about all the amazing food we ate, I’m going to write one Friday afternoon in Rome.

Our guide’s name was Anastasia Bizzarri, a Rome native who alternates her time between Italy and Florida. She wanted to take us away from “all the tourist food” in central Rome, so we went to a neighborhood called Testaccio. It was full and lively, and obviously preparing for some sort of weekend festival. We ducked into a small but modern restaurant called Trapizzino, named after their specialty - triangular-shaped “sandwiches” that could be carried around and eaten on the move - Roman street food. They were made from thick Roman pizza crust (more like sourdough bread) stuffed with a variety of “stews.” I had one stuffed with chicken cacciatore and another stuffed with some sort of spicy beef. They were wonderful, and as Cyndi and I stared at each other with our mouths too full to talk, we were both thinking the same thing – how can we make these back home.

Then Anastasia lead us to the Testaccio Market to sample cheese. Most of the shops had closed for the day except for one cheese stall and one meat stall. We skipped the meat since it was mostly internal organs and other parts of the animal kingdom we preferred to avoid, but the cheese was excellent. We ate fresh Ricotta, which Anastasia said was especially good in Cappuccino, and a yogurt-like cheese called Stracchino.

The only reason we didn’t set up our camp in the market and eat cheese the rest of the evening was the promise of gelato. (Actually, Anastasia promised gelato that was so good we’d never be satisfied with any other … a mixed blessing, I’d say.)

She took us across the Tiber River into the neighborhood where she grew up, to her favorite gelato place, La Gourmandise Gelateria, owned by a Jim Croce lookalike. As it turned out, all her bragging was spot on. This was the best gelato ever.

I had Madagascar Vanilla, Italian Pistachio, and Pear Crumble. I also tasted, from Cyndi and Anastasia, Apple & Sage (which was everyone’s favorite), and Saffron & Walnut. It was so unbelievably good, for once I was happy to have only a tiny spoon to eat it with … I wanted the experience to last as long as possible

The truth is I probably fill my life with too many certainties. I need more improvisation. I need to try more new things. If I can only figure how to add them to my spreadsheets.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

How Big

Do you have gifts and talents that you underestimate? The answer is: Yes, you do. We all do. We typically don’t recognize or understand our most powerful talents on our own, we need to hear from friends and family. In fact, it is unlikely we’ll ever understand our calling or purpose without the advice and counsel from people who are close around us. But we get glimpses, and for me that often comes through music or movies.

Cyndi and I often watch a movie in the evening while working on stuff (like family finances, writing the next book, managing a mobile home park, running a yoga studio, etc.) We tend to pick movies we’ve seen many times so we can follow along without being distracted by a story we don’t already know. And much to nephew Kevin’s dismay, when he is with us, as he often is, we typically choose non-exploding non-fighting movies.

This week we watched August Rush again. I’ve now seen this movie many times since my first viewing at a Wild at Heart Advanced Camp in May 2008, where it changed almost everything about my life, so I didn’t expect it to affect me in the same way as it has in the past. I supposed I’d built up some immunity.

I was wrong. The movie nailed me, once again, and I had to go sit by myself in my closet (I have a rocking chair in there) and absorb the message. Specifically, I internalized what God was saying to me before I let it get away.

There are a lot of movies that dig emotional responses out of me - no, that’s too weak a statement - there a lot of movies that make me cry. And each year the list of movies gets longer, either because I’m better at picking out movies, or because I’m getting softer. August Rush is one of those; it slips past the bare patch of my armored chest like Bard’s black arrow and sticks directly into my heart.

The movie is about a young orphaned boy named August Rush, a musical prodigy, who uses music to reach out to the parents he hopes to find. Only, when I watch it, it isn’t about music, but about writing and teaching.

In the movie, when a man asks August, “What do you want to be?” he answers with one word, “Found.” Not being lost is profound, and watching this movie helps me realize it’s my job to find people and lead them on the trail so they won’t be lost.

But the scene that penetrates my armor is when the head of a music conservatory asks young August, “Where does the music come from?” He answers, “It’s like someone is calling out to me. Writing it all down is like I’m calling back to them.” This is exactly what writing feels like to me.

Wednesday night after the movie finished I sat in my rocking chair with tears rolling down my cheeks, praying, again, “I’m sorry, I don’t know how big it is.”

“I’m sorry I continually underestimate what You’ve given to me. Because I don’t speak to big crowds or sell tons of books or have thousands of readers I underestimate the gift, and the result. Thank You for giving me so many turns, Thank You for lighting the fire inside to teach and write and give away and improve. Thank you for sharing insights and connections. I want to give them back to You.”

Here’s the thing. None of us understands our own influence. None of us knows how big it is because we don’t pay attention to the same things God pays attention to. We don’t notice the same results God sees. We don’t see hearts the same way God does – we are stuck in this present day and God sees the long-term benefit. All we can know is that we aren’t the heroes of our own stories, no matter how big. The heroes are the people who respond, who stand up and step forward, and we are simply lucky to be part of that.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.