The "F" Word

It's that dirty little F-word that compels us to do things we wouldn't dream of doing were we in our right minds...that dirty little F-word that makes us turn on people we love and scream at strangers, run from our responsibilities, hide in closets, hoard our possessions, lock our doors to keep out strangers, and generally behave badly.  It's that dirty little F-word that makes our stomachs churn and keeps us up at night.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt said we've nothing but this dirty little F-word to fear, and he was right, of course.

These days Science is telling us a lot about this dirty little F-word; that it's been a part of our survival tool box for a long, long time, that without it we would likely die out as a species, that the part of our brains that reacts to perceived threats--the so-called "reptilian" brain continues to be an important part of our personal survival...and who would argue.  "Duck and cover" or "run like hell" seem to me to be appropriate fear responses in our 2nd Amendment obsessed, fear-driven society.  

But we're also learning that, in many ways, this dirty little F-bomb of a word can truly be the death of us.

So the next time you find yourself pacing the floor..maybe you can stop for just a moment, and ask yourself what it is that you fear.  Is it something over which you have no control?  Then perhaps your energy would be better spent on something more constructive than wearing a hole in the carpet.  

And the the next time you're rolling around in the sheets with the fear of that which may never even happen keeping you wide awake...maybe take a moment in the wee small hours of the morning to consider that love--as trite as it may sound--may truly be the answer.

And maybe the next time it seems that life is crashing down around your ears your eyes will be opened to a new reality, and you will see that it was a house of cards all along, and that the only constant in this world God made is the foundational love God has for it...for US...for YOU.

It's all a big risk, of course.  And what you're giving up may be your life.  But who knows?  In giving up your life...you may just find it.

And what's to fear in that?

For you see, in the inevitable end, God has already won--love will never die....and you have nothing at all to fear--not even fear itself.  

Glory, Glory, Glorious...

One of my favorite bike rides takes me up Nichols Canyon Road in Hollywood.  If I get on the road early enough it's mostly mine to enjoy as I wind my way up the canyon, in tune with the bird songs and breezes.

Glorious mornings.

Yet I've often noticed, in that early morning light, that if I try to look too far ahead my glorious morning soon feels more like a dreaded chore.  You see, in some spots along the road I can only see a short distance ahead.  Without knowing what's around the next bend it can feel as if I'm just going to have to keep on pedaling forever!  From other places on that road I can see far ahead to the top of the canyon.  Seeing the high altitude to which I aspire from my lowly vantage can leave me feeling like I'm facing an impossible task.  It's easy to forget that I won't be getting there in a straight line; the road will bend, carrying me upward at a steady, manageable pace.

But isn't that like life?  How often do we feel as if we're on a treadmill because we don't have the vision to see around the bend to what's coming next?  How often do we look so far ahead and lose hope because we forget that life is not a goal to attain, but a journey to be enjoyed--with all it's twists and turns--a glorious adventure?

The next time I feel a bit short or long of vision, I'm going to try to remember Nichols Canyon.  The view from the top may be spectacular--but it pales in comparison to the wonderful adventure of getting there.  

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Wishing you joy for your journey!

What Do You Expect?

It had been a minor selling point, but one that had finally moved me into the "buy" column.  The neighborhood looked great, the condo was in good shape and had a really nice layout and design.  The complex even had a pool.  But the thing that finally helped sell me was the little lemon tree on the back patio.  Lemonade!

I looked forward to being closer to my new work and getting to know a new part of town.  I quickly discovered that from an upstairs window of my new condo I could watch the Disneyland fireworks every night, and it would soon be only a short walk to the new Starbucks under construction on the corner.  And the lemonade....I looked forward to the lemonade!

After a few years, though, it all proved to be a bit of a disappointment.  Oh, the fireworks were always good--but after a while running up the stairs to watch got kind of old.  The Starbucks was typically hot and fresh...but you know, sometimes it's nice to enjoy your morning coffee at home.  The pool that was right across the street turned out to be for the apartments there--our pool was a ten minute walk across a busy highway, and so I never really got in the habit.  And the lemons?  Well, even though I kept that tree nicely trimmed and it produced plenty of fruit each year, those lemons never seemed to be any good--after a while they would turn yellow, but they tasted funny and seemed to go bad before they were any good.

So after several years, when life called in a new direction and the "For Sale" sign went up, I wasn't very sad to go.  It had been a good place to live, but it never quite lived up to my expectations.  

It's a funny thing, though.  As I was packing up to go, that little lemon tree was just loaded with fruit--fruit that I'd learned would never make the lemonade I'd once looked forward to.  When I explained my disappointment to my partner, Ben-Andy, who was busy helping me pack, he took a closer look.

"Limes" he said.  

So there you have it.  For five years I'd hoped for fresh lemons and dreamed of lemonade.  For five years I'd been disappointed because a lime tree hadn't produced the lemons I'd expected, and watched as one beautiful crop of limes after another just rotted on the branches.  For five years I'd insisted on lemonade and never once heard that tree saying "Margaritas!"  

We all go through life with expectations, hopes and dreams.  But I wonder, sometimes, how often we miss the party that's within our grasp because our expectations have blinded us to life's glorious reality.  If life is handing us limes, instead of letting them just rot on the tree, maybe we should wake up and smell the coffee!

"Love," after all "does not insist on its own way." 

I Remember

The sign has been replaced, the bank and curb repaired--but you can still see the damage on the tree at the place where she'd driven off the road and lost her life.  

I stopped at the spot today to remember.  It had been so quiet that morning as I went out for my run, the sound I heard so different from the "crash" you hear in the movies.  But I knew something was amiss and ran toward the spot.  I was the first on the scene, and completely ill-equipped to do anything other than signal to others to call for help.  We'd all learn soon enough that it was too late anyway.

Who was she?  What was her life like?  Did she have a family?  What were her hopes and dreams?  Where was she headed that day?  Who grieved for her?  

On this Memorial Weekend we pause to remember those who gave themselves in service, most of whom we've never met.  With hopes and dreams they went off to fight someone else's battles. And whether, like me, you despise the act of war or not, you cannot help but admire their bravery and give thanks for their sacrifice.  They had names and dreams.  They had families and friends who grieved for them, and maybe still do.  They had hopes that were ended so that we can still hope today.  

For these we are thankful.  For these we all grieve.

These we remember. 

Seeing the Light

Are we living, or just clicking and tweeting?

Not long ago we spent a day at an area amusement park.  It was crowded and the lines were long, and I found myself mumbling things that I once thought I'd only ever hear my father say.  

It's OK.  There is a season for everything.

I noticed something, though.  While there were plenty of people who seemed to be having a great time, there were also many who simply appeared to be there to make a record of it all.  There was the grandmother who, though seated next to her grandchild, was more intent on making a video of her experience on the spin-around ride than actually experiencing it herself.  She held on tight to that iPad while her grandchild held on tight for dear life.  And there was the teenager who held a bright cell phone high above his head in the dark, scary ride, thus ruining the effect for the rest of those who had boarded the ride hoping to suspend reality, not watch as someone else took a picture of it.

Now don't get me wrong.  A Kodak moment is a Kodak moment, and even though Kodak has gone the way of the dinosaurs, the legacy of creating a record of our experiences, a lasting memory, lives on.  But my question, in this age of amazing technological advances, is this:  Have we crossed the line?  Are so many of us running around looking at the world through our smart-phones and tablets that we're missing something?  Are we living in a virtual world, forgetting there's an actual world out there beckoning us to experience it?  

What's our plan for today--to watch videos of what we didn't actually do yesterday?  

Technology is a wonder.  But when we get to the end of this life, let's not wonder why we didn't spend more time in the garden and less time sniffing at the pictures of roses on our computer screens.

If you enjoy reading, please feel free to share.  And at some point be sure to shut it down and go out and smell those actual (real, living, blooming) roses!

Everywhere

I don't remember where it came from or exactly how it looked, but I do remember what the little plaque on the wall of my grandmother's front porch said:

"God couldn't be everywhere, and so invented mothers."

Happy Mother's Day to all!  I hope this Mother's Day has been a terrific day of celebration and remembering, of thanksgiving and hope.

Now back to that little plaque for a minute--because I have to admit that I never really liked it much.  In fact, it bothered me--a LOT.  Maybe because it seemed so trite.  Maybe it bothered me because I knew that there were plenty of folks who didn't have mothers to care for them...or anyone to care for them, for that matter.  Maybe it was a little of all of that...but mostly it bothered me because I didn't believe it was true.

That's not to say that I didn't think my mom was wonderful.  I still think she's wonderful.  In fact, it's precisely because my mom is such a blessing that I didn't believe that plaque....because if I learned anything from my mom--from her patience and love and care--it was that God indeed COULD be everywhere...God IS everywhere.

And sometimes God is present through the caring hearts of those we call "mother."  And always, God is present through the actions of those who love and care for others.

Maybe even through you.

Share the good news....offer a listening ear, a helping hand, a caring heart!  

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And have an amazing week!

Are You There?

Do you ever feel as if you're missing something?  That there's something going on and no one bothered to tell you?  Have you ever felt as if you've been left out of the loop, uninvited, left behind?  Have you ever wondered why it seems like you're the only one who didn't get the memo?

You're not alone.  Belonging--the desire to be a part of something bigger than ourselves--is a normal part of the human condition.  That's why there are times when we feel as if we are insiders, and other times when we feel left out.

It's a good thing, too.  Our desire to be included helps to keep us connected in ways we might never seek if our sense of independence and self-reliance were given free reign.  If we're going to survive on this planet--which seems to me a noble goal--a recognition and deliberate practice of our interdependence is going to be increasingly important.  On the flip side, an overwhelming desire to be included can be a source of trouble in our lives and even lead to all kinds of destructive behavior.  After all, your mother was right to ask, "If they jumped off a bridge would you jump too?

Our desire to belong can also blind us to the presence of others who, themselves, long for inclusion.  These are the lost and lonely, the sick and the sick at heart, the homeless, the abused, the neglected, the ones we've been promised would be with us always...in many ways, the presence of God.

So the next time you're feeling left behind, remember--you're really not alone.  Somewhere, waiting for you and not very far away, there's someone who knows exactly how you feel.  I think you'll know what to do.

"When did we see you, Lord?"

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