Father's Day 2021

I once had an amazing art teacher. Yes, she was an accomplished artist in her own right, but what made her amazing was how she responded to our artistic efforts. No matter what we created, she was able to see something in our art that was to be celebrated. If the perspective was off, she’d point to the wonderful use of color. If our values were screwy, she’d see something special in our composition. I didn’t know what the word “grace” meant at the time, but she helped me know how it felt.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my art teacher recently. Her innate way of finding something good is particularly helpful on Father’s Day (or Mother’s, or any other Hallmark Card invention). Today, we could look at the fathers we had, or the fathers we’ve been, and see only the mistakes and shortcoming, but, instead, we could be like my art teacher and look beyond to the things that are unique and worthy of celebration. Among the imperfections are special moments or characteristics that are to be remembered and treasured.

If we can focus on them, today becomes a day of grace, and that’s worthy of a holiday.

More

I didn’t see it coming. Surrounded by Wyoming mountains and covid-free air, I closed my eyes and gave thanks. Little did I know a storm was on its way, a storm of my own making, I suppose, and I’m happy to write this having weathered it, but only barely.

You see, I have a disease. There are many names for it, but the one that fits best is what someone described as “the disease of more.” Built on the sand of my own insecurity, fueled by a wild and uncontrollable imagination, I’ve always lived a discontented life. Blessed with more than a person deserves, I’ve always looked to what lies beyond. Whether in a career that had wonderful chapters, relationships made up of remarkable people, or possessions stacked high above my rooftop, I’ve always moved from deep appreciation to longing for more with lightning speed. I’m embarrassed to admit it but need to for my own sake and for the sake of those who’ve found themselves locked in the same prison.

It wasn’t enough to bask in the beauty of the west; I wanted to have a beer (or many) to make the experience even more spectacular. It wasn’t enough to meet wonderful people; I had to compare their lives to mine which, of course, did not measure up (I thought). And it wasn’t enough to spend time with family; I had to think about those who were not with us.

Jesus said to consider the lilies of the field. I think he did so to remind us of the insidious disease of more which makes us anxious and feeling like we need to toil when all we have is all we need. He also spoke of our captivity ending. Flying home, I couldn’t help but hope that day would come to me, and everyone like me, one day. May it’ll come today.

Dark Churches

I grew up in a dark church. Although it instilled in me a life-long love of  sacred music and Gothic architecture, it’s theology was as pointed as the frames of the stained glass windows. It was a here/there church, where I was here and God was there, and life was a journey to reach God. Like a mountain, I was told to climb, and God would be waiting at the top. It was never said that way, but because there was clearly “a race set before me”, and because of my fallen nature I was “unworthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under the table,” my spiritual life became one of constant striving.

I’ve come to see what such a theological outlook has done to influence the rest of my life. I can see striving wherever I look – in every job and every relationship I’ve ever had. If I achieve this, people will admire my work. If I do this, he or she will like me. Even my life of recovery, which is supposed to be a life given, sometimes looks more like a duty assumed, another mountain to climb.

I write this in hopes that there are others out there who have grown up in similar churches, or have learned such an approach to life, and want to live life differently. I certainly do, but I have years of practice and will need to venture into this new approach one step at a time. 

God so loved the world, including me, that while we were still a complete mess God came and walked beside me. No longer am I here and God there, but we’re both here, side by side. As I list all the reasons why God should walk with someone more deserving, God turns and laughs. Nope, you can’t get rid of me that easy, God seems to say. You may want to use all your mistakes as a way to push me away, but it won’t work. I saw to it, once and for all.

Left without words, I feel God reach over and take my hand. I have no idea where we’re going, but it no longer really matters. I like where we are.