lifestream of a basic being

It's been a bit of a crazy time that kind of knocked us all on our butts.  A month that was going to include a family trip to the happiest place on Earth as well as the pure joy that is Christmas started with a major heart attack and emergency quadruple bypass surgery.  We're still walking through all of this, but we're already experiencing the gift of life, my wife's dad and my kids' Papa and his second chance this Christmas Season. 

The following is an email update on my father-in-law's surgery from my mother-in-law.  I think it sums it all up pretty well.

Dear God,

Thank you for successful quadruple bypass for Larry, yesterday, Wednesday.

Thank you for a skilled surgeon and his team.

Thank you for two wonderful daughters who were with me before the sun came up.

Thank you for a faith based hospital giving care beyond expectations.

Thank you for very special "bonus sons" who took care of kids and daily matters.

Thank you for family and friends who prayed and cared.

Thank you for sleep.

Amen.

The breathing tube just came out at 6:00 a.m.,  this morning.

Thank you, Lynn

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It's easy to be distracted by the motion all around us.  I seem to have an attention span that rivals my four month old daughter.  Lights, motions, sounds, they all capture me.  Sometimes though, we need to simply finish what we started.  I've mentioned before that I am firestarter, but right now I need to tend to the burning and manage the flames.

Go ahead and support firestarters like this

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I'm currently sitting next to my son who is throwing an absolute fit about having to eat one piece of pasta (delicious, savory, creamy pasta) made by my beautiful wife. This one piece of rotini is small, about the size of a quarter, has become a death sentence on his high chair tray. You'd think it contains razor blades, rat poison and every other device used by evil strangers who pass out contaminated Halloween candy. One small piece of pasta that he could, and possibly would swallow whole any other time, but for some reason, and that reason is most likely because he's two, he simply refuses to eat this cursed piece of form flour and water. If he managed to somehow choke down this tiny morsel of demonic noodledom, he receive a whole bowl full of fresh cantaloup (a favorite dessert of this particular little foodie).

I may have made this worse by setting the bowl of heavenly fruit right next to me, and in front of him, while I'm typing this. Interspersed between screams of "all done" and "can'alope" are periods of silent longly over a bowl of sweet delicious fruit. However, one thing stands between this protesting toddler who's pushing the bounds of authority and a simple bowl of happiness...one, small piece of lukewarm pasta.

I wonder how many times I've delayed, or worse yet lost out on something due to my inability to deal with one, small dose of perceived discomfort. I say perceived because that is exactly what is troubling my son. He has perceived this small bit of dinner will be the death of him, yet if he only tried he would ask for more. In fact, he's eaten plates of this same dinner before, yet at this moment he can't bring himself to even give it a try. Has this happened to me? Have I miscalculated the cost of perceived suffering and avoided trying something that would have granted an amazing reward? Or has God, in His grace seen that I am, at times, a whiny little toddler and granted me what He saw fit?

As I type this Griffin is enjoying his bowl of cantaloup, indulging in the sweet juice of each piece. I have reassured him he is loved and he said "Thank you, thank you, thank you." Meanwhile there is a lone piece of rotini sitting rejected and cold on his tray.

Enough grief, enjoy the fruit.

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So this past Sunday I was fortunate enough to preach to Habitat, our new church, as we continued our journey through the Sermon on the Mount, a series we're calling The GodLife.  On the schedule was Matthew 5: 29-30.

If your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go into hell.

As you can see, a section that really isn't the hugs and handshakes of "Your Best Anything Now" Christianity.  This of course is the great part about preaching through Scripture, you cannot ignore the difficult stuff.  Without getting into everything, what was simply stated as the main point was that our attitude and action towards sin must be drastic and severe.  Sin always leads to action, it lead to man being cursed, to God sending Jesus to pay a pay our ransom through His death, as well as it will lead to the final judgement by our sinless and holy God (the only one able to judge and worthy of our worship).

However, the one thing that has challenged me this week is one simple question we can ask ourselves when identifying sin in our lives, is this act or thought contributing in the perversion or preservation of God’s original intent?

If our purpose is to worship God and be in fellowship with Him (as it was in creation and will be in eternity), then my actions and attitudes must preserve God's intent.  However if my actions and attitudes are in anyway contrary to God's original intent, even in the slightest way, then I am living in perversion to my created purpose, and the result is sin, and it must be dealt with.

As you can imagine, preparing for this sermon killed me.  I am destestable in the light of holiness, yet God's grace has made it possible for my rebellion to be forgiven and to be adopted into His family and share in the family business of reconciliation.  So as I walk through the day, my litmus test is simple, is this perversion or preservation of God's idea and original intent?

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I think it struck me yesterday that it is pretty obsurd that a textile has its own commercial and theme music.  Heck, this one version of the ad shows the indie folk "It girl" Zooey Deschanel as she croons her way through a very cool and yet very typical day, to the joy found in cotton.  Cotton, where do you get off having a campaign?  I mean there are people sitting around the room, getting paid to dream up advertising methods for a natural fiber!  Does this seem a bit ridiculous?  Have you ever been in a store considering two shirts made from different materials and all of a sudden the cotton theme song comes into your head, and you thought "you know I will choose this 100% cotton shirt" as you throw that lyrca shirt on the ground in a moment of consumer enlightment?  Me either, but then again I don't know if I've been in the market for a lyrca shirt.

So why does cotton need an ad campaign?  I guess I can see the Cotton Growers of America coming together in the 70's, as Rayon and Polyester were taking over racks at Sears, thinking "we've got to do something!"  Showing the wholesomeness of cotton, whose very existence played a pivotal role in the fact that slavery existed in America (something not present in the commericals), was the way to combat the evils of manufactured materials.  It's not like it needed the help, after all won't Rayon and Polyester instantly melt to your body when near an open flame?  And nylon, after its punk rock days, had the unfortunate demise of going mainstream and being forever associated with parachute pants...so you know that's some bad press it won't recover from, unless Hammer's comeback, comeback tour is a success.

Where are the commericals for wool, linen and silk?  How about an ad campaign for jute, a God's sandpaper fabric?  Or hemp, staring the cast of Dude, Where's My Car in a spoof of Fast Times at Ridgemont High?  I guess products made from the butts of worms are too sophisticated to bow down to the powers of commercial TV.  Congrats cotton, you are forever in the fabric of American and the fabric of our lives.

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It may not be the best thing to base your theology on a kid's movie.  I assure, I'm not.  However, its easy to see God throughout His creation and the stories we tell, like Toy Story, or in this case Toy Story 2.  

SPOILER ALERT!!!!

At the conclusion of TS2 - that's some insider lingo...Stinky Pete's mission to get the Round Up Gang to the Toy Museum in Japan is ruined as Buzz, Ham, Rex, Slinky and Potato Head rescue our pal Woody and new friends Jessie and Bullseye from their upcoming trans-Pacific flight.  Pete's view on being a toy was largely informed by the fact that he was never purchased or played with.  Rather, it seems from my speculation based upon dozen of time watching this movie with Fin, Pete was simply found and has been defined as part of collection rather than part of a family.

His understanding of what it is to be a toy is all screwed up.  In a villainous diatribe at TS2's climax Pete, right before his ultimate downfall, cries out in a fit of rage: 

"You idiots, children destroy toys!"

Toys are designed to be played with.  My two year old son loves his toys.  He received a real Buzz Lightyear with all the bells and whistles, and he plays with it everyday, but in his joy, he's broken an element that controls the wings.  Fin doesn't care though, but for some reason, for some time, I was disappointed it was broken.  Now this once perfect toy is incomplete, but to be honest my son plays with Buzz everyday and it brings him so much joy.  Why should I care if the wings won't pop out automatically?  Buzz is a killer toy and he fulfills his role by making my son's life full of fun and adventure.

I think sometimes I have been like Stinky Pete.  I keep inside my box, I try to avoid the annoyances of life like passion and pain in an attempt to stay pristine.  I think if we're honest, a lot of us do.  We live in our urban or suburban boxes, clustered and safe.  Like Pete we try so hard to live lie by our definitions.  For him it was a life within a box of cardboard and cellophane, away from the dirt and damage of kids.  For me, its in a box of drywall and windows, safe in my work.  But that's not my original intent.

Like Pete I was created, I was made and made with a purpose.  Not to live a safe life in a box of my own choosing, but a life of dirt and danger.  I was created to be fully alive in a world of incompletion and failure, of risk and disappointment, as well as a world of wonder and joy, of beauty and awe in order that I may bring joy for the one I was created for.  I won't get into the nuances of freewill and sovereignty here, but I know that my purpose was, is and will forever be to bring joy to God.  Its not always convenient or comfortable, however I know that unlike kids and their toys, God will not simply and flippantly destroy me, rather He enjoys when I live a life that people notice Him within my actions and words.

I guess as we are starting our new church I want to make sure that we're becoming a people that understand our original intent.  It's not to simply gather dust in a safe place away from the world around us, its to be mixed up in the toy box of life (sorry, I felt like I needed to throw that one in there).  Its to be in the world, to be alive in life where we experience God.  To be able to get dirty, and at times broken in fulfilling our role of bringing joy to our Father, Creator and Friend.

I don't want to be Stinky Pete.  I don't want to have a fundamental misunderstanding of my role in life.  I don't want to live in a box.

God, help us take the risk of living out our original intent.

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Apples, Mahi Mahi, Ice Cream, Fresh Bread, Good Coffee...

A while back I met with Aaron Youngren, pastor of The Line in Chicago.  As we walked and talked from a local bar, he told me about two chefs from the neighborhood (Lincoln Park) who were going to assist him in a teaching about Food and Worship.  It's a great topic and the idea of giving God glory while eating the fruit of His creation is perhaps one of the most tangible ways worship happens in our everyday life.

When I was a pastor on staff at a local church, I remember eating in my office one day the standard lunch fare, which was either a peanut butter and jelly or leftovers...neither of which made a huge impact on my life because I can't even remember what it is I ate that day...until dessert.  That day it wasn't tiramisu or molten cake or even ice cream, it was a beautiful Royal Gala apple.  While I can't remember anything distinctive about its appearance, I can even now, two or three years later, remember its crunch, taste and texture.  I've had apples all my life, but that day I remember a sense of the Divine while eating what I undoubtedly picked up from the local Jewel, mixed in with dozens of other apples.

Worship and food go hand in hand.  Read this post from The Line's food & worship experience.  It's only natural to taste how good God is in His creation, and I was reminded of this the other day when my beautiful and amazing wife made this...and tasting it absolutely killed me.  The combination of tastes, textures and aromas made me once again thank God for how good He makes creation...for the purpose of us to enjoy and then to worship Him. 

Eat something good, and thank God He created it in the first place...especially if its a recipe that someone who loves you made...

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I think too much and do too little. It's a constant battle of theory and action, of potential and kinetic.

 Trying to sync my brain and the rest of life can be like setting up a blind date destination for agoraphobic xenophobes.

 I get lost in my goals. I can start one million fires, but managing the flame and watching them burn, I have no patience for or aptitude.

 I rely on the people around me to keep me grounded, focused and simple.

 Maybe I need a new metric system, something concrete and custom to measure myself against.

 Maybe I need a new location to churn out the work within me.

 Maybe I need to relax and manage the sparks as flickers and flames grow into fires of progress.

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I wouldn't trade it for the world.

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Max is a Boston Terrier we "rescued" from Craigslist.

I say rescued because we bought him from his previous owners who we think were apartment dwelling Jews (Maxwell use to freak out at the sight of Christmas trees and enjoys laying on our deck in the sun, not to mention running around our yard). I don't think we actually rescued him from some horrible fate, but it makes us feel better to use that language.
 
Max lives with us in a home where he has his choice of premium napping places; the couch, chair, our bed, his bed, in the sun through our patio door and so on...Yet without fail Max always chooses to lay next to myself or my wife and snore. He is constantly snoring. This isn't a cute baby snore like our newborn daughter graces us with (the sound of fresh lungs enjoying the life-long process of every inhale and exhale), this is a squish-faced snot-nosed snore that sounds like a wet rubber ball trying to fit through a crack in a glass door. Its loud. It can be annoying, and its anything but subtle.
 
However there is something about it that seems relaxing and without fail it constantly makes me wish I was napping too, without a care in the world.

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