Okay, so I got smart in the last ten seconds of the game and decided not to use drywall on my dad's ceiling. My wife suggested it might be better to do something less time consuming since I didn't have a lot of time to put into the project. So I put a drop ceiling in, and got it done in a day. We actually torn out all the lathe and plaster and cleaned up and put the new ceiling in within 7 hours. And dad was happy. When he tried to pay me, I reminded him of a few of the times he bailed me out, helped me out, or just plain gave me money. In his 79 years of life he must have learned something, because he didn't argue with me from some place of pride. He just said "Oh, I forgot about all those times" and let me do the labor for free.
I notice there is something that shifts inside of me as a man when I actually do something smart, like putting in a drop ceiling rather than a drywall ceiling. There are so few times I actually do smart things that when I stumble on doing one, I step back and take notice. I am far more used to doing stupid things and then asking myself how I got into the dumb places I get into. Making a smart choice to not push myself so hard - to work smarter, not harder - is something I want to do a lot more of in my old age.
Being a wise manager, a wise steward if you will, of what God has given me - that has become my theme of late. And I see more and more people really bad at it. They (we) eat too much, work too hard, don't work hard enough, drink too much, over spiritualize, wait too much for God to do what we should be doing; the list goes on and on. Simply taking what he has given us and doing the best we can with it has become a lost art. We get told so many times - especially in the church environment - that we are bad, and desperately in need of God to fix us. I understand the theology of it all. I just disagree. I think we are born sinful, but through Christ we are made whole again - our hearts are good, and we don't need God to always fix us. What we need is God to direct us to following the heart he has given us and start really living - to the glory of God. The glory of God is a man fully alive.
Most men I know are working hard to stay out of trouble. Few are really pursuing living. They pursue right performance and right living, but lose their hearts and their way in the process. We end up with a lot of nice men without hearts. Safe, but harmless. Saved, but impotent. Secure, but lacking any real purpose and direction in life.
Where are the men ready to launch into something alive, dangerous, unpredicatable, unsafe, and vitally pulsating with the blood of Christ?
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
I hate drywall
I had this great idea of trying to bless my dad by tearing out his hundred year old lathe and plaster ceiling and replace it with a nice drywall ceiling. I had the idea that I could do that in 2 days. I am not very bright.
I hate drywall. I hate the dust, the weight, the way it dries my hands out, and breathing the @#*^&! stuff. What was I thinking? When I was a young buck, I could carry 2 sheets of 5/8 drywall 12 ft long by myself (Please, PLEASE be impressed). Tonight I loaded up 2 sheets of 1/2 inch drywall that were only 8 ft long and I thought I was going to die. Getting old is hell. Having to admit to myself and the world that I ain't what I used to be is humbling to say the least.
I don't know what the point of all this is except to say this; I hope I can live the second half of my life smarter than I did the first half. I hope I don't ever have to sling drywall again, that I never have to brag about how much drywall I can sling to feel valuable and worthwhile, or to impress people. I want to do a whole lot more blessing of others and a whole lot less ceilings. And I want to make a difference in people's lives more than I want to make money, be popular, or get my hair back (the hair is a sore topic).
May my eternal Papa show even more mercy to a middle aged, ex idiot, and hopefully ex-drywall slinger in the years to come.
I hate drywall. I hate the dust, the weight, the way it dries my hands out, and breathing the @#*^&! stuff. What was I thinking? When I was a young buck, I could carry 2 sheets of 5/8 drywall 12 ft long by myself (Please, PLEASE be impressed). Tonight I loaded up 2 sheets of 1/2 inch drywall that were only 8 ft long and I thought I was going to die. Getting old is hell. Having to admit to myself and the world that I ain't what I used to be is humbling to say the least.
I don't know what the point of all this is except to say this; I hope I can live the second half of my life smarter than I did the first half. I hope I don't ever have to sling drywall again, that I never have to brag about how much drywall I can sling to feel valuable and worthwhile, or to impress people. I want to do a whole lot more blessing of others and a whole lot less ceilings. And I want to make a difference in people's lives more than I want to make money, be popular, or get my hair back (the hair is a sore topic).
May my eternal Papa show even more mercy to a middle aged, ex idiot, and hopefully ex-drywall slinger in the years to come.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Waiting...again
Ever hear the phrase "Twiteling your thumbs"? My folks used to use those words to describe the process of waiting. It was what you did when you were waiting. I am not a very good thumb twiteler, so needless to say, I am not very good at waiting either. I like instant gratification and spontaneity, not long drawn out ordeals. Lately, life has become a long drawn out ordeal.
For the past year we have been thinking about moving to the mountains somewhere. I have lived in the plains of the midwest for more years than I even want to mention. It's flat here, meaning that backpacking through the corn rows ain't real excitin'. I have longed to live in the mountains ever since I learned about mountains. I remember being 8 years old and seeing the Rockies for the first time. I remember it distinctly because I thought they looked like big thunderheads brewing on the horizon. I thought Dad was joking when he said they were mountains. The image of those towering masses jutting into the sky is forever imprinted on my brain.
For the last 2 months we have been trying to find a property in the mountains to move to. We found one, and the ordeal of getting it to work out has been more than grueling. We have had to let go of it more than 6 times, and somehow it keeps rising from the dead. Tomorrow it is supposed to close. I am still keeping my fingures crossed. But we won't be able to move for 3 weeks. Hence the twiteling of the thumbs.
Papa seems to like twiteling of thumbs, because he seems to ask me to do it alot. I guess some folks fold their hands to pray. Some raise their hands in worship to God. I guess my way of honoring him is by twiteling.
For the past year we have been thinking about moving to the mountains somewhere. I have lived in the plains of the midwest for more years than I even want to mention. It's flat here, meaning that backpacking through the corn rows ain't real excitin'. I have longed to live in the mountains ever since I learned about mountains. I remember being 8 years old and seeing the Rockies for the first time. I remember it distinctly because I thought they looked like big thunderheads brewing on the horizon. I thought Dad was joking when he said they were mountains. The image of those towering masses jutting into the sky is forever imprinted on my brain.
For the last 2 months we have been trying to find a property in the mountains to move to. We found one, and the ordeal of getting it to work out has been more than grueling. We have had to let go of it more than 6 times, and somehow it keeps rising from the dead. Tomorrow it is supposed to close. I am still keeping my fingures crossed. But we won't be able to move for 3 weeks. Hence the twiteling of the thumbs.
Papa seems to like twiteling of thumbs, because he seems to ask me to do it alot. I guess some folks fold their hands to pray. Some raise their hands in worship to God. I guess my way of honoring him is by twiteling.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Man without a mission
All my life I have done well when I had a clear task in front of me. My friends used to laugh at me and call me 'man with a mission'. I liked the title. I was always into something, whether it was rebuilding an old Harley or remodeling a house. I function well when there is a destination in front of me. When I have that vision, I can get pretty obsessive about focusing all of who I am on that project. My favorite hobby in the past has been rebuilding old motorcycles. I remember I bought a Sportster that was supposed to be a complete basket case. The guy I bought it from said everything was there. He had done the heads and values and all I had to do was put it together.
I couldn't sleep for a week. I would get off work (or find an excuse to get off early) and work until midnight, never stopping for dinner of needed potty stops. Covered in grease and grinning from ear to ear, I would lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, unable to shut off the momentum. Sometimes I would stop trying to fight it and just go back out to the garage until I couldn't stay awake anymore, then collapse on the couch.
All I could think about was the bike. For a week I didn't do anything but function as a severe man with a mission. It was all I could talk about, think about, or dream about. I wanted to spend every free moment building it. And believe it or not, I got it all built and had one piece left over. It looked like junk, so I threw it away, not knowing where it would go. I also had an uncovered hole on the side of the engine, but I couldn't make any sense of it, and I couldn't connect it with the left over piece.
I ran to the store and bought a battery and tried to start the bike. It turned over! I had actually gotten all the parts in the right places. Within 5 minutes I had it running. I thought the top of my head would fall off from grinning so big. I was beyond ecstatic! I painted the sheet metal parts and in two days took it for its maiden voyage. It ran like it just came out of the shop. It was perfect. And then I got depressed.
Suddenly I was a man without a mission. I didn't know what to do with myself. Life was dull and I felt unmotivated to do much of anything. I would look at the bike all completed in the garage and wish I could be back putting it all together, figuring out how the thing worked, facing the challenge of the creator of the bike's genius. I wanted to fix it more and solve more problems. Riding was fun, but the real joy was the synergy of creating something alive out of a box of parts.
As I look back on my manic motorcycle episode, I see being a man with a mission as something I thrive on. I wonder how many other men are the same way? Give us a clear vision and we know what our mission is. Let us walk ourselves into the same old rut every day and after very long we begin to fade. No vision, no passion, no purpose. We go through the motions, but there isn't much of a pulse.
I want to talk to some men who are willing to get their pulse back. I want to run the race with some guys who are ready to have their worlds shaken up a little, who want to rebuild a Harley, who are ready to embrace the passion in their heart. All the pieces are there. They just need someone to help them put it all together.
That left over piece was a breather. It let air in and out of the crankcase, and after I figured that out and fished it out of the trash, it completed the bike. Of course, being the goofball that I was (and still am), I sold the Sportster for twice what I paid for it and started another project right away.
I couldn't sleep for a week. I would get off work (or find an excuse to get off early) and work until midnight, never stopping for dinner of needed potty stops. Covered in grease and grinning from ear to ear, I would lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, unable to shut off the momentum. Sometimes I would stop trying to fight it and just go back out to the garage until I couldn't stay awake anymore, then collapse on the couch.
All I could think about was the bike. For a week I didn't do anything but function as a severe man with a mission. It was all I could talk about, think about, or dream about. I wanted to spend every free moment building it. And believe it or not, I got it all built and had one piece left over. It looked like junk, so I threw it away, not knowing where it would go. I also had an uncovered hole on the side of the engine, but I couldn't make any sense of it, and I couldn't connect it with the left over piece.
I ran to the store and bought a battery and tried to start the bike. It turned over! I had actually gotten all the parts in the right places. Within 5 minutes I had it running. I thought the top of my head would fall off from grinning so big. I was beyond ecstatic! I painted the sheet metal parts and in two days took it for its maiden voyage. It ran like it just came out of the shop. It was perfect. And then I got depressed.
Suddenly I was a man without a mission. I didn't know what to do with myself. Life was dull and I felt unmotivated to do much of anything. I would look at the bike all completed in the garage and wish I could be back putting it all together, figuring out how the thing worked, facing the challenge of the creator of the bike's genius. I wanted to fix it more and solve more problems. Riding was fun, but the real joy was the synergy of creating something alive out of a box of parts.
As I look back on my manic motorcycle episode, I see being a man with a mission as something I thrive on. I wonder how many other men are the same way? Give us a clear vision and we know what our mission is. Let us walk ourselves into the same old rut every day and after very long we begin to fade. No vision, no passion, no purpose. We go through the motions, but there isn't much of a pulse.
I want to talk to some men who are willing to get their pulse back. I want to run the race with some guys who are ready to have their worlds shaken up a little, who want to rebuild a Harley, who are ready to embrace the passion in their heart. All the pieces are there. They just need someone to help them put it all together.
That left over piece was a breather. It let air in and out of the crankcase, and after I figured that out and fished it out of the trash, it completed the bike. Of course, being the goofball that I was (and still am), I sold the Sportster for twice what I paid for it and started another project right away.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Snowed in - in more ways than one
As I write we are in the middle of the bizzard of '08. The wind has been whipping all day and the snow has been continuous since sunrise. I went outside for awhile and it wasn't that bad. I spent 3 hours rolling around on the dirt of the barn floor as I put a hitch on my truck. I thought to myself how the blizzard of '08 wasn't that bad until I had to walk to the other barn to get tools and I was hit with 30 mile per hour winds and horizontal snow. Then I realized I wasn't going to last very long.
By the time I got in to the house I was frozen in several places. After I warmed up I regained my confidence as I was able to make fun of the storm from inside the big picture window with horizontal snow flying past it. Truth be know, it's times like this that I begin to get in touch with how vulnerable and helpless we humans are. Our old farm house has gas heat, electric stove, and absolutley no way to stay warm when the power goes off. It only takes a few degrees to realize how powerless we are. It is a humbling experience.
A lot of life has been like the blizzard of '08 for me. The great adventure of following my unpredictable Daddy has been taking me through some pretty rough snow drifts. I find that I don't see very well in the blinding, horizontal snow of this season. I don't like the lost and vulnerable sense I get during this time. I want so desperately for God to make some sense, but he doesn't. And I am faced with my carnality hanging out all over the place. I don't like having to walk in faith. I want answers, clear vision, and perfect 70 degree days. I also want everything to go right in life, I want my hair back, and a vehicle to drive that has less than 200,000 miles. And I'd like fries with that too....
By the time I got in to the house I was frozen in several places. After I warmed up I regained my confidence as I was able to make fun of the storm from inside the big picture window with horizontal snow flying past it. Truth be know, it's times like this that I begin to get in touch with how vulnerable and helpless we humans are. Our old farm house has gas heat, electric stove, and absolutley no way to stay warm when the power goes off. It only takes a few degrees to realize how powerless we are. It is a humbling experience.
A lot of life has been like the blizzard of '08 for me. The great adventure of following my unpredictable Daddy has been taking me through some pretty rough snow drifts. I find that I don't see very well in the blinding, horizontal snow of this season. I don't like the lost and vulnerable sense I get during this time. I want so desperately for God to make some sense, but he doesn't. And I am faced with my carnality hanging out all over the place. I don't like having to walk in faith. I want answers, clear vision, and perfect 70 degree days. I also want everything to go right in life, I want my hair back, and a vehicle to drive that has less than 200,000 miles. And I'd like fries with that too....
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Lost in the journey
Lately I find myself very lost in the journey God has been leading me down. I don't know where I am going or why. Lots of shame from childhood seems to flood in at times like these. I know the truth about who I am. I know that Papa is trustworthy and good, even when I don't see, hear, feel, or believe it. I am so thankful that He is beyond my ability to control. I am grateful that He is so beyond my perceptions.
It is times like this that I have to remind myself of the basics of life; God is God and I am not; He is good when I am not; He is active and working when I see Him not (I feel a song brewing here); He never changes, He never fails, He is always......period. My emotions tell me a whole different message about Him, but the truths I know speak louder.
So the truths are that I feel lost, that He is present, and there ain't much I'm going to do to magically make life all better. I'd like to find a way to be fully in the stuff of life like this that isn't any fun. I'd like to trust that even though the day is cloudy, the sun still shines above it.
I find that this is one of those places where I can excercise the image of God in me. I guess I believe that us being created in His image isn't about how we look or act. I believe the image of God in us is the ability to choose. The power to exercise choice is me functioning in God's image. When I choose wisely, life comes into focus some.
The choice today is;
Do I want to let my senses (seeing, hearing, tasting, touching, feeling, emotion, intuiting, sensing, etc) dictate the truth of my world, or will I CHOOSE to substitute the truth of Papa's reality for the matrix I live in? That means choosing to believe that He is all the things I know about Him, and then trusting those truths rather than my perceptions.
Easier said than done.
My wife Laura reflected back to me something about how I have a unique way of being really honest in the journey. That really fit. Sometimes I think I am supposed to have all the answers, and that is the gift I offer as a coach or friend or husband. But anybody who knows me can see I don't have all the answers or life all figured out. My gift to the world is an honest heart.
So I guess I will commit myself to honest, from the gut relating as I blog on.
It is times like this that I have to remind myself of the basics of life; God is God and I am not; He is good when I am not; He is active and working when I see Him not (I feel a song brewing here); He never changes, He never fails, He is always......period. My emotions tell me a whole different message about Him, but the truths I know speak louder.
So the truths are that I feel lost, that He is present, and there ain't much I'm going to do to magically make life all better. I'd like to find a way to be fully in the stuff of life like this that isn't any fun. I'd like to trust that even though the day is cloudy, the sun still shines above it.
I find that this is one of those places where I can excercise the image of God in me. I guess I believe that us being created in His image isn't about how we look or act. I believe the image of God in us is the ability to choose. The power to exercise choice is me functioning in God's image. When I choose wisely, life comes into focus some.
The choice today is;
Do I want to let my senses (seeing, hearing, tasting, touching, feeling, emotion, intuiting, sensing, etc) dictate the truth of my world, or will I CHOOSE to substitute the truth of Papa's reality for the matrix I live in? That means choosing to believe that He is all the things I know about Him, and then trusting those truths rather than my perceptions.
Easier said than done.
My wife Laura reflected back to me something about how I have a unique way of being really honest in the journey. That really fit. Sometimes I think I am supposed to have all the answers, and that is the gift I offer as a coach or friend or husband. But anybody who knows me can see I don't have all the answers or life all figured out. My gift to the world is an honest heart.
So I guess I will commit myself to honest, from the gut relating as I blog on.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Honest relating
I love being a coach. Life coaching is a very unique profession where I am invited into the very workings of a person's life as their life is happening. It isn't like counseling where old things are hashed and reprocessed. It is a lot like mentoring or personal pastoring, only I can say bullshit and nobody really cares. It is what I was created to do.
What I like about coaching is the backstage pass I get into the real stuff of life. We can cut through the BS of normal life (there's that word again) and get quickly to the stuff that matters more than anything else. I am so deeply humbled when a man invites me into that place and I find some miraculous things happening there. Not because I am some awesome coach, but because God shows up. It's like the Bible says - when two or more are gathered in His name, He is in our midst. That is so true with coaching. Only the way we experience God seems so much more real, so much more authentic and visceral. We can feel the pulse of Papa's blood flowing through the conversation.
And with all that comes a deep heart question I have struggled with for years. Why doesn't He use that vehicle more? I don't understand. It's like having an exotic car sitting in the garage that you only drive once or twice a year. Maybe men are too intimidated by the intensity of what happens in coaching. But it's an intensity that says to the man in jail "The door is open, the bars removed. Run, be free, enjoy." I don't know if I will ever understand even a fraction of what and who and how my Daddy is. The eternal God of mystery.
I want to enter into the adventure of life with men who are ready to live!!
What I like about coaching is the backstage pass I get into the real stuff of life. We can cut through the BS of normal life (there's that word again) and get quickly to the stuff that matters more than anything else. I am so deeply humbled when a man invites me into that place and I find some miraculous things happening there. Not because I am some awesome coach, but because God shows up. It's like the Bible says - when two or more are gathered in His name, He is in our midst. That is so true with coaching. Only the way we experience God seems so much more real, so much more authentic and visceral. We can feel the pulse of Papa's blood flowing through the conversation.
And with all that comes a deep heart question I have struggled with for years. Why doesn't He use that vehicle more? I don't understand. It's like having an exotic car sitting in the garage that you only drive once or twice a year. Maybe men are too intimidated by the intensity of what happens in coaching. But it's an intensity that says to the man in jail "The door is open, the bars removed. Run, be free, enjoy." I don't know if I will ever understand even a fraction of what and who and how my Daddy is. The eternal God of mystery.
I want to enter into the adventure of life with men who are ready to live!!
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