These days it’s become very popular to write messages to your children and allow them to read them as they grow up. Some people are setting up Gmail accounts and sending messages. Some people have set up Facebook pages which, since the change to a timeline format, seem to fit the bill very well. But regardless of the vehicle, the end result remains the same: reminders of important events, pictures of family and friends, and personalized messages encouraging the child.
This whole process makes me wish I could send myself, my former self, messages. I wish I could write letters or send emails to my younger self with encouragement, kind of like a bad movie or a low budget TV show. But I wouldn’t try to change the course of history; no, that would only cause problems. Instead I would send messages that kept me going; messages that said all of the things I really needed to hear at the time.
It’s okay.
Keep going.
That relationship wasn’t supposed to work out.
Dont screw up this opportunity!
Be humble.
Take it slow.
Well done.
These are all things I’ve wanted to hear from time to time as I experienced events I wasn’t necessarily ready to handle. If I got these letters, if I had an opportunity to receive a little advice from the older and more experienced me, maybe I would have progressed a little better and been more prepared to go where God was sending me.
And that brings me to now: God has flipped my world upside down, torn up my foundation and ripped every ounce of security I had right out of my selfish little hands. I’m not sure I’d call my current situation a train wreck, but a tail spin might be appropriate. So what now? What letter do I need to read? What would the older, more experienced me write to me?
Trust.
Big, bold and in sharpie. Trust.
Stop thinking about your security; you don’t need it. Stop worrying about your direction; that’s all taken care of. Stop thinking about what you’ve done up till this point and start listening to God; He’s always had a plan.
The issue that I run into is that I’m not the older me and I don’t have his counsel! I don’t know how this works out and I’m afraid that I have limited my sight and, in so doing, my faith. I am scared because I don’t know what His plans are or how this will play out—but that shouldn’t matter. What matters is this: Luke 12; Jeremiah 29; 2 Timothy 1. God has called us to trust when we see no way out; to believe when we do not understand. He has promised us that he will provide, and all we have to do is trust Him and follow where he leads. It may be uncomfortable and it may lead us away from what we had planned, but in return we have the opportunity to be a part of the greatest mission this fragile earth has ever seen: to praise God and further His kingdom.
It’s okay. Keep going. Be humble. Trust.
What letter do you need to read right now?
I just finished writing an entire post about how I’ve felt recently without actually portraying how I’ve felt. I decided to erase it and just put all my cards out.
I feel beat up.
There is no one responsible for this feeling other than myself. If you are privy to the events of last month than you may think otherwise, but let me be clear: I am responsible. In any situation, we humans try to pass blame to others, so as to avoid humiliation and defeat, but if we’re really honest with ourselves we can say that truthfully we are to blame. Regardless of how much or little you can accept right now, we are responsible. Now that I’ve cleared that up, I’ll move on.
It’s times like these that good friends and family are all you’ve got. My attorney and my life insurance agent aren’t calling me to help me sort this out. My coworkers (past) aren’t calling to check in on me. It’s my closest friends, whom I consider to be my family, and my actual blood that check in and help out. As encouraging as it is to know people care about you, it’s tough to receive help in any form. If you’ve known me for anything more than a few minutes, you’ve probably gathered that I can be quite arrogant and, try as I might, I can’t seem to shake the need to retain some kind of pride. I consider my talents gifts because I have seen God use them and I have seen Him remove them (or their use) when they do not serve His purpose. Each breath I have is also a gift, knowing full well that I should have died a number of times, most recently, and obviously, March of last year. But for all I can give away, I can’t stand being dependent.
I feel like dead weight.
In my mind, I see my family (close friends included) walking around with bags of bricks, switching them from one shoulder to another, trying to breath while the weight crushes their lungs. I feel like a burden and, as a proud man, that is an impossible feeling to bear.
But wait: I’m here, right? I’m breathing. I’m alive in every sense of the word. Is this the way I should be using my thoughts and my days?
I am not prone to surrender. Try as I might, it has never been easy for me. But in situations like the one I’m in right now, what else is there to do? Should I pretend to make it by the sweat of my brow, or give in to something bigger? If I am a man who believes Christ to be the Son of God and that He died to save the world - to save me - then I have to believe that He is made strong when I am weak; I have to believe that He will continue to give me grace when I do not deserve it; I have to believe that he has surrounded me with people who can bear my burdens when I cannot. There is no option but to surrender and watch as He holds me up.
I guess the point was to be dead weight all along.
These days scruff is all the rage. I wish I could grow a real beard that I could be cool like all the real men in the world, but alas, a neard is all I can manage (that’s a neck beard for those not hip to the lingo). Most of the people that I spend time with are pros at appearing disheveled and disorganized while still actually being well put together. I tend to fall somewhere in the middle between disheveled and put together, mostly because that is an accurate representation of my life! I embody those that don’t care and don’t try, but unfortunately aren’t apathetic enough to actually look cool.
It would appear I’m pretty rough around the edges.
Part of me is quite content being frayed; I’m a twenty-three year old punk kid who speaks his mind too often and thinks he knows much more than he actually does. This piece of me thrives on being judged and oft looked down on for being a bit mangled. I try to convince myself that this is either building character or that it is the actual manifestation of a character I’ve already thoroughly developed. While some would say those statements may actually have a bit of clout, I’m not too sure they do anymore.
There is another part of me that is beaten up; this is not the strong-willed portion of me referred to above, rather it is the part of me that actually feels rough, feels bruised and broken. This part sees the part above as an illness, an infection that has the potential to slip deeper and deeper into my being until I am no longer rough around the edges, but rough the whole way through. This part fears rejection and criticism and hides alone, wondering if the arrogant piece of me will wither away. This part has lost all hope that a change can be made and that a man can be redeemed.
There is one other prominent piece of me that doesn’t make an appearance as often as it should: the repentant, humbled part that looks to God with hope and promise. This part understands that youth will make a man proud and talent even more so. This part is assured that change will come and that a man will arise from the ashes of a tattered boy. This part wishes deeply to learn and grow, leaning on strong men who have already made the journey. That piece of me has given up, not hope, but control. It prays to a perfect God for courage and honor to be given to an imperfect man so that he can be fully invested in his Lord’s plan.
Can you take a guess which piece is rearing its ugly, feeble head today?
I know that change happens, but I’m also aware that it takes time. In my opinion it’s not the changing that’s hard, it’s the patience to see it completed. As Eugene Peterson put it, it is a long obedience in the same direction. My task now is to cling to obedience; to cling to that part of me that believes in the promises God has made, to seek God expectantly. I am not now who I will be, but I am no longer who I was and there is certainly peace in that.
Thoughts?
I was told to blog this by @brightheaded. You are welcome.
Men are like Mac OSX: simple to use and understand (for the most part) to the novice and expert alike. If you invest more and more time, you can get into some very complex and wonderful things, but you can also just skim the surface and still make movies and websites. At times there may be some confusion, but for the most part it’s all about big buttons and simple text.
Women are like Windows: you would think that it would be simple to use because, after all, you’ve been using it since you were a kid and your parents bought their first computer. But no. Nothing is simple, there is always some critical piece of software missing and it constantly tells you that you’re an idiot because you don’t know how to properly work it.
But are women really like Windows? Or more like Linux?
Yeah, women are like Linux: only a handful of people really understand how to use it and the rest of us pretend we do so that we can look cool.
So there you have it. Male and Female: We’re like computers.
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Here and Heaven - Goat Rodeo Session (Lyrics by Chris Thile + Aoife O’Donovan)
With a hammer and nails and a fear of failure we are building a shed
Between here and heaven, between the wait and the wedding
Or as long as we both shall be dead to the world
Beyond the boys and the girls trying to keep us calm
We can practice our lines ‘til we’re deaf and blind
To ourselves, to each other, where it’s
Fall, not winter, spring, not summer, cool, not cold
And it’s warm, not hot, have we all forgotten that we’re getting old
With an arrow and bow and some seeds left to sow, we are staking our claim
On ground so fertile, we forget who we’ve hurt along the way
And reach out for a strange hand to hold
Someone strong, but not bold enough to tear down the wall
‘Cause we aren’t lost enough to find, the stars aren’t crossed, why align them
And why fall hard not soft into
Fall, not winter, spring, not summer, cool, not cold
And it’s warm, not hot, have we all forgotten that we’re getting old
And it’s fall, not winter, spring, not summer, cool, not cold
And it’s warm, not hot, has everyone forgotten that we’re getting old
And it’s fall, not winter, spring, not summer, cool, not cold
And it’s warm, not hot, have we all forgotten that we’re getting old