The Difficulty With Advent

Sometimes it feels like I have a mild form of split-personality disorder. There’s Past Brendan, who is usually blamed for all my problems; Present Brendan, who makes all the sacrifices; and finally Future Brendan, who is probably going to be perfectly complete and have his life together.

I tend to live for the future, making compromises now that will benefit me in the time to come (For example, years and years of grad school so that Future Brendan can put fun letters after his name or paying lots of money now to own a house that will hopefully be worth more money someday). Consequently, I have a hard time living in the present; rather, I spend a great deal of time focusing on whatever comes next, whether that’s tomorrow, next month or a year from now.

Because of my inability to live in the present, Advent is hard for me. The difficulty with Advent (Hey, that’s the title of this blog! What an odd coincidence…) is that it is a time of year when I am supposed to live primarily in the present. I’m intended to sit in the “now” as I await an impending “then.” I find this challenging in general as I usually live for the future but it gets even more complicated; the “then” is ALSO vitally important. The essence of living in the now of Advent is that it is a four week long season of anticipation. Rob Bell calls Advent “The moment before the Moment” and that’s the difficulty. How on earth do I celebrate and exist fully in the present when my present is celebrating a future event? Advent is supposed to be different than the rest of the year, but it seems to me that ends up being more of the same; I live for Christmas day.

But there is a lesson in Advent and I think it is actually more applicable to the other 11 months. The future event has value and may be my main focus; yet, there is growth in the anticipation of that coming. In regards to school, I’m learning and developing along the way, not just waiting for a piece of paper to put on the wall. That house I’m using as an investment has proven to be a place for me to host, provide a home for people without one and give my community somewhere to draw deeper in relationship with each other.

Perhaps the anticipation of a future event is what gives the immediate its value; knowing that the future has something coming creates opportunities for me in the present.

So Future Brendan, say thanks to Present Brendan; not only is he working hard now to make your life easier, he’s becoming a better person now so that you can creep closer to being perfected.

Managing Disappointment Part Two

If you haven’t read Managing Disappointment Part One, go back and read it, because really, this post is dependent upon that one.

Two weeks after I made that painful phone call, I received one eerily similar.

On short notice, I’d arranged for those students to spend the week serving on a Native American Reservation. We had spent time there before and I knew that this was a good option for us, and I was extremely fortunate to discover they were available to host us.

But, as life would have it, 48 hours before leaving for the trip, I was on the receiving end of disappointment. The Reservation had a staffing issue and was no longer able to host us.

The resemblance between these two phone calls was not lost on me; in one case, I had to disappoint people I cared about and in the other, I needed to be gracious with those disappointing me.

A month later, I suppose what I’ve learned is a sort of grace. I’ve seen a glimmer of the idea that when people fail me, they likely do it with heavy hearts. I’m discovering that it’s no easier to be on either end of that phone call…both sides stink. But that means we must maintain our focus on being in gracious relationship with one another; even when it feels like I’m getting the short end of the stick, I have a part to play in managing both my disappointment and theirs.

Worthy of Delight

Last week, I started training for a half marathon. I found running partners, created a workout schedule, I even created an account on mapmyrun.com.

I hate running. Of all forms of physical exercise, it’s probably the one I hate the most. I would even say I loathe it. I have to get up earlier to run, drink more water (and therefore less coffee), and plan parts of my life around making sure I have hours each week to devote to running. This is stupid.

So why am I running?

Three weeks ago I was sitting in a local park and a boy about five years old ran past me. He was going top speed, arms and legs pumping in that cute uncontrollable manner of a child putting his all into what he was doing. Of course, he wasn’t going very fast (he’s barely over three feet tall) but he poured his whole heart into sprinting past me. And you know what? He had a smile that covered his entire face. I watched him, and he wasn’t racing towards anything in particular. He was just overcome with joy at the running, with passion for testing the limits of his five-year-old body. He was happy because he was discovering what he is capable of, and that was worthy of delight.

I’m running because I want to capture the feeling I saw in that boy. I want to learn how to rejoice in having ability; I want to test my boundaries and find that worthy of delight.

Choose Someone

A week ago I took some of my students to an elderly care facility where most of the residents are wheelchair-bound. It’s a disheartening place to see; it’s a visible, physical manifestation of human frailty and it makes me anxious/resentful that such a life is what waits for me years from now.

But there was an unexpected learning for me last Wednesday.

When we arrived, many of the residents were about to do a group activity. We were told to make ourselves at home and find an open chair. I walked over to a 99-year-old woman named Dorothy. When I sat down, she smiled at me so I took her hand in mine. Then she said to me, “Out of the whole world, you chose me.”

The depth of this statement struck me. At first, I thought she was less than lucid, but after speaking with her for a few minutes I discovered that Dorothy was totally coherent; she meant what she had said to me. She really did believe that I chose to sit next to her, and she was touched by my decision.

So, today, choose someone. Whatever it means for you, be intentional and choose to be present with someone…and make sure they know that you picked them.

Managing Disappointment, Part One

I really dislike letting people down. Because I tend to be a reliable, stable, dependable person, it hits me hard when I come up short. And sometimes it’s just unavoidable.

It’s an inescapable reality both because I have faults and I’m not perfect; but it’s also due to the fact that I can’t control the world around me as much as I like to pretend I do.

Because of that, a few weeks ago I had to make a heart-wrenching phone call. Months ago, I had arranged for my students to go to Mexico for a mission trip and stay with an organization that I love in Ensenada. We were going to help build a second story onto a church building that exists because my youth group has been a faithful partner with them for ten years. We planned to do community outreach and show tangible love to the children of that impoverished neighborhood.

But there has been a growing amount of violence in Baja California, and the time came when my leadership team decided it just wasn’t safe to take teenagers across the border. The painful phone call I made was to tell my beloved ministry friends at Rancho Agua Viva that even though they were expecting us in 11 days, we wouldn’t be coming. It caught them by surprise and I was aware that my phone call had dramatically changed how they planned to spend a week of their lives. We talked through how to communicate this to the pastor of that church that was now going to have to wait for that second story on his building; I tried to emphasize just how much I regretted having to give this news, but I just didn’t have the words to tell them how hard it is to say no to being with them.

I know without a doubt that making that phone call was the right thing to do, and I shouldn’t bear the weight of disappointing them. But I still heft that burden onto my own shoulders, because I feel that someone must carry it. How tragic and irresponsible it would be if I were flippant about the impact that news carries with it. YET…the way I manage my disappointment in having to call is to know that the call MUST be made. Someone must be strong and have the courage to do a task that no one wants; so I picked up my phone, and as an act of love to my friends in Mexico and in Walnut Creek, I called with bad news. 

Living Into Unpredictability

It’s a feeling I’ve only experienced four times. It happens when I peel the wrapping off a new journal. I sit it next to old one and find myself surprised at how white the pages of the new one look. The old journal has walked through six or seventh months of life with me, and somehow has become beat up, yellowed, dented and in some cases torn.

But doesn’t that make sense? If the journal is capturing my life and thoughts, shouldn’t it carry the same kind of battle wounds it feels like I’ve had?

I think what excites me about the new journal is looking at the potential of what that book will contain; it represents the next six months of my thoughts, experiences and life. It makes me wonder what new insights will come in the next season.

Also, there is something about holding a completed journal and knowing that the last six months were real and tangible. It’s a confirmation of my growth and development, and perhaps most importantly, insight into who I am. As I flip back through the completed journal, I see prayers, sermon notes, joys, frustrations, quotes from friends and authors, reflections on my daily life and tremendous vulnerability at committing my feelings into words.

This rare feeling that comes with that new potential makes me wonder, where else is that available in my life? So much of what I do feels routine (because I thrive on routine) and maybe that gets in the way of seeing promise in the future. I love the journal because its impending contents are unpredictable. Maybe what I need is to let go of my routine and live into the unpredictable.

How Speeding Tickets Are Like Life

I’m pretty good at getting out of tickets. I know how to talk to a police officer. I just had a stretch of being pulled over 11 times without getting one ticket. About a year ago, the officer thanked ME before getting back into his car.

But highway patrolmen are a totally different thing.

Consequently, back in July I got a ticket on Highway 17 just north of Santa Cruz. Like so many other people, the first thing I did when that officer was out of range was to look over the ticket and see if he’d made a mistake anywhere. Maybe he misspelled my name or wrote down my license number wrong. I immediately looked for a way to fight this ticket.

Of course, I’m sure we’ve all heard the different ways to get out of a ticket. If you take it to court, the officer won’t show up. If there’s a mistake in the filing, you can get out of it. My first inclination was to try and find a loophole, even though I knew exactly what I was doing when I set my cruise control over the limit.

What is it about us that inherently thinks that things like speeding tickets are something we ought to fight? I was definitely driving over the limit and I clearly got caught; so why am I so quick to think this is something I can escape? Even though the mistake was mine, I wanted to find a way to make the officer at fault in order to excuse my error.

I wonder, is this something I do everywhere in my life? Do I seek to pass responsibility or blame onto others, or onto my circumstances? The problem really isn’t whether I’m doing the wrong thing, it’s that I’m so prone to trying to excuse my own behavior, even when I knew from the start that I was in the wrong. Loopholes are often my savior, and frankly, I need to unlearn how to talk my way out of tickets. So, instead of fighting this ticket, I’ve decided to pay it. And now that I’m $225 poorer, I might actually start driving slower instead of relying on my ability to talk my way out of a problem.

Why I'm Not Busy Anymore

Let’s get clear about something right now: my calendar is massively full right now. There’s a lot on my plate. But I’ve started refusing to say I’m busy. “Why,” you ask? Well, I’ll tell you. There are two reasons.

I suppose I should first explain what brought about this shift for me. Don’t worry, it’s connected to my reasons for changing. Whenever anyone has asked me recently how I’m doing, I have the same standard response: I’m busy. No doubt this has been my reply for a long time, but it is only lately that I’ve noticed that “busy” is my default answer. As I’ve thought about this, I’ve realized it’s a huge problem that my answer isn’t an answer at all.

First of all, I’m always busy. While I have seasons that are more or less full than others, I can always describe my plate as full and my calendar as packed. Doesn’t that therefore mean that “busy” equals “normal” in my life? If busy is the state I’m constantly in, that’s actually just my usual. Everyone I know describes themselves as busy, and no doubt that’s true; but if we are ALL ALWAYS busy, I think we need to rethink how we talk about it. To me, “busy” implies “moreso than normal.” So I’m going to stop telling people I’m busy when really, I’m just living my usual full life.

Second, when people ask me how I’m doing, I reply with what I’m doing. They want to know how I am and respond by telling them that my calendar is full? What’s up with that? It’s not to impress them or convince them that I’m important; I’m positive that’s not the reason. But really, there’s something wrong with my communication and my priorities when my closest friends ask how I am and I essentially tell them what I’m doing.

Who I am is not defined by what I do, and my language needs to reflect that. So I hereby declare that I am no longer busy. I am normal, and next time you see me, you should ask how I’m doing. 

Solitude at Altitude

A little over a month ago, I spent a week in Colorado. There are more than 50 peaks in Colorado higher than 14,000 feet, and it's my goal to climb half of them. Most of them aren't particularly difficult hikes, but when you get up that high it's brutally hard to breathe; getting to the top becomes less about your physical ability and more about your mental commitment to arriving. 

On August 22, I hit the trail a few minutes before six a.m. with the intention of making it to the top of three peaks. They're all part of the same range, so summiting all three in a day is attainable, but it requires around 3,500 feet of elevation change. 

The "warm up" summit, Mt. Democrat, took me about an hour forty-five and turned out to be the easiest part of the day. The stretch between Democrat and Mt. Lincoln (with a brief stop at Mt. Cameron's summit) had 35 mile an hour winds pushing me towards a 1,000 foot drop off on either side. But the cold and the wind were well worth it when I arrived at the peak of Mt. Lincoln and had a profound moment.

I had the peak to myself for ten minutes and it was a unique experience. At 14,286 feet you feel like you can see the whole world spread out before you. It was perfectly peaceful, and I was completely alone. In that moment, it seemed to me that I was solitary in the world, and the whole of creation was designed and wrought together solely for me. I wonder if it’s possible to capture such a feeling. Because no doubt, in that moment, God felt the same about me. We were alone together. For an instant, I truly understood that I am important enough for creation to exist; I’m that valuable. It was a brief flash and then gone, but I was left with the aftermath of a startling realization of what it means to be weaved into God’s story and what a grand, larger than life tale He’s telling.

The Real Reason I Say No

It’s hard for me to say no. I do my best to be diligent about knowing what I have time for and what I don’t but I constantly find myself with a schedule that’s too full. I love helping and being involved...I find it valuable to participate so I constantly say "yes" to lots of opportunities. Which is why a recent “no” was so unique for me.

I belong to a church that does things well and pretty intentionally. So when you get an invitation to lead something, that invite is meaningful. A few weeks ago, I was asked to serve in a capacity that I think uses my gifts and would be a great opportunity for me to grow. But as I said, my schedule is fairly packed. With school, my job, speaking engagements, a wedding that I’m officiating and trying to have time for normal friendships, I had to decline; I knew that I wasn’t capable of saying yes to another thing.

But after some time passed, I’ve realized that I said no not because I didn’t have time for it…or rather, the time crunch indicated the truth. Instead, I became aware that I had the time but not the capability. Because my church does things so well, I want to live up to that standard. I have the time to squeeze that opportunity into my schedule, but I don’t have the capacity to do it well. Because my church works so hard to do everything well, I wanted to honor that standard and knew that my plate was too full and I wouldn’t be able to live up to a commitment of quality.

How much does a full calendar become my excuse for passing on things, when in reality I need to acknowledge to myself that I’m only so capable? I think that’s the reason I have a hard time saying no…because that feels like admitting that I’m not Superman, able to meet everyone’s needs. Maybe that’s why I hide behind a full calendar; I’m scared to confess to people that I have limitations.

Why I Blog

One of the things I’ve discovered as I spend more time behind the lens of my camera is that my Nikon changes the way I see the world around me. Because I’m looking for a good shot, I experience my surroundings more deeply; I get more out of the world. When I want to frame my world through the camera, I see it all differently and somehow I’m more present with it.

So I wonder…what would happen if I learned how to shift the frame of my world on a more consistent basis? I’m not looking for a better frame really; just a more intentional, thoughtful frame. I don’t want to miss out on the unique in my everyday.

In order to do that, I need a tool to help my eyes see things differently. And that’s what this blog is going to be. I’d like it if others get something out of reading this, but really this hopefully habitual writing is to help me witness the world through a different frame and become better with the words that describe it.