What These Numbers Tell You About Me

There’s a spot in iTunes that you can click that sorts your songs based on how many times you’ve listened to them. From time to time, I like to organize my music like this to see what my favorite songs are and which ones are creeping up the list. Today a friend of mine asked which is more important to music, the instruments or the lyrics. So I decided to look at my ten most played songs and see what they’re about.

I found that seven of them are about hope, love and redemption. Three are about doubt, loss or pain.

Over time, I’ve learned that we tend to listen to depressing music when we’re depressed because it fits our mood better. Is the opposite also true? Does this mean that 70% of the time I choose music, I’m feeling hope, love or redemption? I don’t know if I think that’s true but it certainly makes me wonder if the world is brighter than I usually give it credit.

I don’t tend to think of myself as particularly hopeful (I’ve written on this before) so this trend caught me off guard. So I think I’m going to start paying more attention to how my mood is connected to what I put in my ears. I might just learn something new about myself.

What does your top ten say about you?

Forgotten Hopes in 48 Months

Four years ago, I wrote a letter to myself. I did this as part of an exercise with my students. It’s a tradition that during the summer between 8^th and 9^th grade we hijack them for the day to get to know them and welcome them into high school. The evening closes with them writing a letter to themselves that we return when they graduate. The question posed to them is, “What do you hope you’ve experienced by the time you graduate?”

With unexpected anticipation, I opened the letter I had forgotten I’d written. It was such a mystery to me to be holding this single sheet of paper. What did 26-year-old Brendan hope for me? Who was I then, living in anticipation for who I am now?

I read my four-year-old forgotten hopes and realized that I stand in a place of greater wisdom and experience than the man I was then…and saw that every one of those hopes was fulfilled over the previous 48 months. This surprised and pleased me, because I am not a person who hopes easily. To see that I had lofty expectations for myself that, somehow, I managed to meet made me quietly thankful for the past four years.

Who will I be in another 48? What did 27-year-old Brendan hope for that I’ll rediscover in a year?

I look forward to more surprises next year and, with any luck, I can be the man my three-year-old hopes make me out to be.

A Name Revealed

For one of my classes, I was assigned a short task (designed to be enjoyable) in which God reveals His name to me. This is roughly paired with the moment in Exodus 3 in which Moses asks God for His name. We were supposed to give God a name based upon our own experience. Here’s what I wrote:

God: Brendan!

Brendan: Whuh?

G: Brendan!

B: Yes, I’m here Lord! I’m listening! What is your will?

G: Jeez, tone it down a notch.

B: Sorry, it’s just…well, normally when we talk, you aren’t so…present.

G: Now, come on. You know that’s not true. Normally when we talk, I’m doing all the listening. How would you know if I’m there or not? You don’t usually give me enough space to speak.

B: Oh, um..I…yeah, I suppose that’s true. Sorry about that. That, and well, the whole sinning thing. I know I’m usually apologizing for something, but I’ll just take this opportunity to say it again.

G: That’s kind of you to say. Do you think maybe this time instead of just apologizing you might try doing something different in the future? I’m just throwing it out there.

B: Has anyone ever told you that you have the nicest way ever of telling someone they are screwing things up?

G: It’s come up once or twice…

B: So, while I’ve got you here…

G: Let me guess. You have some questions.

B: Yeah, one or two.

G: Touche. Okay, shoot.

B: Alright, first of all, why?

G: Why what?

B: All of it. Everything. Why?

G: (chuckling) Well, that might take a while. And I’m not sure you’re really ready for that yet. Maybe some other time. What else have ya got?

B: Hmm. I sort of figured that one would cover it all. I guess I want to know why you let us be a part of it. Seems like all we do is let you down, yet you keep letting us come back to you and you let us right back into the plan. Why do you let us be a part of your plan?

G: Ah, now we’re onto something good. Well, it’s mostly because I love you. And because I want you to be better. You know that feeling you get when you say something that seems profound and it makes an impact on someone?

B: Yeah. It feels great. It feels like what I’m built to do.

G: I know. And I’m the one who makes you able to feel that way. You love that feeling because you just helped that person become better, or get over a hurt or see me in a new way. I love doing that too. You see, I know exactly what you’re all capable of and I delight in helping you get there. Yeah, sometimes it means I have to put up with your mistakes and you’re a stubborn learner. But when that light bulb goes off…it’s like nothing else out there. I love to watch you develop, even if it’s slow.

B: Why haven’t I heard this before? Of course that’s what you do with us, I just never thought of it like that.

G: Well, there’s a lot to me and pretty limited space in the Bible…you can only get so much in there. But that’s one of my names.

B: What is?

G: The Developer.

B: Seriously?

The Developer: Of course. I’m usually called Creator, but I think that forgets my ongoing work. My Spirit is called Counselor, but that’s just part of how I develop my children. Lots of my names are royalty, like Prince of Peace, King of Kings and Lord, but really, all of those are contained in how I faithfully work with my people to move them closer to me. I develop them more and more in my image.

B: So why didn’t that one make it into the book?

TD: Because I love discovery. It’s so much better to learn on your own that you’re being Developed rather than have someone tell you. If I revealed myself in that way, people might not actually see how much they’re growing.

B: So, wait, if you’re revealing to me that your name is The Developer, does that mean I’m done? Am I finished?

TD: No, not by a long shot. Plenty left to do with you.

B: Dang.

What would you write?

A Discipline of Names

Last night, I was having dinner with a half dozen friends and we began talking about the people in our lives who provide us services. Namely, the waiters, checkers and baristas that we come in contact with daily. So frequently, these are not people to us; they are essentially things designed to meet our need in that moment.

As someone who has both waited tables and stood behind the counter of a coffee bar, I can attest to the fact that I am, in fact, a real human being.

In the course of this conversation, we talked about the value of a person’s name. Using it communicates worth and humanity to the person you’re addressing. Because it is so easy for us to treat these service people as machines created for our own fulfillment, I think they often feel invisible.

So we came to conclusion that we should do our best to take notice of the people around us and we will treat them as such. That means using their name whenever possible.

This is a discipline of names. For the next week, commit to two things: first, look for nametags; checkers always wear them. When a waiter or waitress tells you their name, pay attention or ask for it again if you missed it the first time around. Second, call that person by name. You might be surprised at the impact that one word can have on someone. 

The Importance of Hope

As someone who loves words, I appreciate when I learn a nuance that I didn’t know before. A few years ago I discovered that our word “hope” has a distinction in ancient languages that it does not have in English.

In two thousand year old Greek, hope means more than desire; it also means confident expectation.

For us, “hope” is often equivalent to “wish.” I find myself saying, “I hope you have a great weekend” or “I hope that test/project/conversation/flight/paper/drive/vacation/lunch goes well.”

If “wish” is all that is meant in hope, what good is it? Why would hope be something we have any use for?

Instead, I want to change my language. I want to say “wish” when I mean wish, and I want to say “hope” when I mean I believe something is possible.

You see, I struggle with cynicism. Strike that, I don’t struggle with it; I embrace it. Perhaps the better statement is, cynicism is a big part of my life. I tend to think that someone already drank the water, because that glass is certainly half empty. Hope is so important because it indicates a belief that something is possible. When I relegate hope to merely meaning “wish,” I remove the importance of the word. I remove its power to make me believe that the improbable is possible and that the extraordinary could become reality. When hope is just desire, I’m only telling you what I want. But when hope becomes belief in the future, that gives me a new lens to see the world around me.

Hope is just a word, one for me to use however I wish; but hope feels different than mere desire.

Culmination

Recently, I ran a half marathon. It’s not a giant accomplishment (and certainly not a full marathon, which a friend ran that same day) but it’s not something I ever thought I’d do.

I bring this up mostly because it required me training for a few months. I committed to running three times per week for about four months to get ready.

Normally, as someone who detests running, I would make excuses for why today wasn’t a great day to run. It’s too rainy, I have a long day at work ahead of me, I’d rather make some bacon for breakfast…reasons to avoid running are easy for me to find. In the past, when I intended to run for general fitness and not training for an event, I often skipped workouts simply because I wasn’t in the mood.

But in preparing for this race, I was pleasantly surprised at how few training runs I missed. I would get up earlier than normal, strap on my shoes and head out into what was usually frigid morning air.

When I crossed the finish line after 13 miles, I realized this was the culmination of lots of effort. Don’t get me wrong, every time I ran in preparation I knew this was something that required effort. But it was the sense of culmination that was unexpected. It seems that most things in my life that entail preparation are small. Even my grad school, which will take years, seems small because I think of it in 10-week chunks. Most projects at work require a few weeks of planning. There is little in my life that has so much buildup before a final, peak moment.

I could choose to be disappointed in this realization; I could decide that it’s not worth putting in so much time for something that is over so quickly.

Instead, I choose to see those four months as more valid. I surprised myself with my commitment to training; I think I learned something valuable about the preparation process. By committing myself to something with a clear culmination, I found fulfillment in both the process and the end. In one sense, the preparation is actually more meaningful that the final moment. This was more long-term than most things in my life; I need to have less instant gratification and more delayed value because that teaches me to develop in the midst of the process.

Really, the only question for me is “What is my next commitment?”

Conversion Moment

I never had a “conversion moment.” I know many Christians who had a profound moment when they suddenly became aware of their belovedness and made a decision to follow Jesus, but that’s not my story. I grew up going to church and lived invested in that community. I never stepped into a new relationship with Jesus; it seemed to me that I’d grown up knowing Him.

Rather than a stark moment of change, instead I had a day that upped the ante. Previously, it’s like we waded through streams together and I was fine getting through the water. It was shallow and slow and I had no trouble sliding my feet along the smooth rocks.

On this day, we arrived at a rushing river. In my anxiety about navigating the flood, God told me He would make sure I wasn’t swept away. Did I believe that was true? I knew no other truth. And I knew I wasn’t strong enough to forge the river.

So I told Him that I needed Him to walk downstream of me to prevent me from being swept away and upstream of me to protect me from the debris.

I fought through the currents, thrashing wildly and trying to keep my head above water. Sometimes in the midst of that flailing, I brushed up against sharp rocks and rammed into God because He was the closest thing within reach. Because of the splashing, I couldn’t see what was trying to help me and what was trying to hurt me. In those spinning moments, it all seemed an enemy to me.

Finally, the bank came within view. The water shallowed and calmed.

He and I came out together on the other side, sopping wet and definitely worse for wear. But we were holding one another to keep warm and forever bonded by the adventure of fearfully traversing the waters.

What’s your story?