Break In

A few weeks ago, I came home to see this:

While I was running an errand, someone decided to do their Christmas shopping at my house. All in all, not much was gone. After the hassle of fixing the door and filing for insurance, things are pretty much back to normal. 

Some say the hardest part of a break  in is the sense of invasion, of your private space becoming public. Certainly, that has been frustrating. Particularly when I discovered that they were using my laptop and my Netflix account to watch movies…it's especially hard when you see their terrible taste in film.

Seeing my closet ransacked and my drawers dumped out has made me feel exposed, and even moreso when I realized that my journal from the past year was in my laptop bag and they now have access to my most personal thoughts. 

But that hasn't been the most frustrating part of this for me.

The thing that makes anger rise up in me is the selfishness of it. If any of the people who kicked in my door came home to find someone else in their house, they would go ballistic…and rightfully so. And yet, they have decided to do the same to someone else. They are so self-focused that it does not occur to them that what they're doing will impact someone else so negatively. Or perhaps they do realize it and have simply decided that their financial interests take precedence over my sense of security and comfort in my own home. It's possible that they know exactly what they're doing, but I think it's more likely that they are simply so selfish and inwardly focused that they don't even think of me as a person. 

As Christmas quickly approaches, maybe the lesson I'm learning is this. It's not a new one, but my broken front door has reinforced it. Don't be selfish. Think about others and put yourself in their shoes. The hardest part for me wasn't the finances or the stuff…it was that the ones who tossed my closet decided I wasn't really a person.

My Black Suit

I own a black suit. I don’t wear it frequently, because I have two other suits I like better. I don’t have to dress nice very often and so the other two are in a more regular rotation than my plain black suit.

I donned this one a few weeks ago to attend a memorial service and while there, I stuck my hand in a coat pocket and instantly knew when I last wore this suit.

It was January 29, about six months prior.

How did I know this specific date? When I put my right hand into the pocket I found a half dozen folded Kleenex and remembered that I’d put them there for a wedding I officiated on January 29.

This sudden recollection of being prepared for tears brought up a realization about my black suit: I only wear it at weddings and funerals.

Immediately after I had a deeper recognition, which is that we respond the same way to both our most joyful and painful events: we reply to those emotions with tears.

There were many shed on January 29 and there were plenty on September 14 at this particular memorial.

I must confess, when it comes to crying, I’ve had multiple identities in my life. As a child, I cried often. The smallest things would break my heart and overwhelm me, and my only response was to shed my feelings. As I became an adult, it became a matter of pride that I was immune to that physical response and I actually had a three-year stretch without tears.

Now I think I’ve found a fair middle ground and perhaps I’m a little more prone to crying that I give myself credit for. I trust that others have noticed a wetness to my eyes, particularly when I’m discussing people I care about.

As I’m discovering the connection between the events that make us cry, I think I’m seeing something arise; crying is our inability to contain ourselves. Whatever we’re feeling, whether it’s joy, sadness, hope, encouragement or loss, it is more than we can handle. We cannot enclose these feelings and so they pour out of us.

So maybe now my black suit is my favorite. When I wear it, that means I’m going somewhere that is likely to open my emotions. I will use tears to respond with enthusiasm because the cascades on my cheeks mean I’m more alive in that moment and more present to the world and people around me.

Being Incovenienced

My best friend was recently asked to preside over a ceremony where his grandparents renewed their marriage vows. They’ve been married 60 years. 60 YEARS! That is entirely beyond my comprehension.

As part of his preparation he asked close friends to write a sentence or two describing what we think it takes to make it 60 long years with someone.

I pondered my response. I wanted to say something better than commitment; we all know that you don’t make it to 60 without steadfastly standing by your promise. I wanted to say something more profound than compromise. Of course marriage requires that and 60 years necessitates more than most; but somehow that just didn’t seem to encapsulate what I thought would be hardest. Compromise seems to describe decisions and conflict but not the day to day.

After some thought, I came up with this: it takes a willingness to be inconvenienced.

I realize that seems like a foolish response, almost insignificant. Surely a good marriage is more than being inconvenienced.

But I said that because frankly, I’ve found that being inconvenienced is one of the things that happens most in my close relationships. Being married, choosing to live with someone and share your most intimate space with them…you will invariably run up against them being in the way as if there were a redwood growing in your living room. It’s unavoidable and everything must account for that presence. They’re in the shower when you want to use it, they left something on the floor of the room AGAIN, they aren’t ready to go to dinner while you’re in the car starving…inconveniences.

I chose this one to share with my friend because I believe that is what is at the heart of all my best relationships. I don’t really want to help someone move into a new apartment, but I choose to be inconvenienced. I don’t necessarily want to sit with someone dealing with grief, but I choose to be inconvenienced. I don’t particularly want to help my friend process through that same break up again, but I choose to be inconvenienced.

Why do I choose that?

Because that’s what love looks like in the day to day. Allowing someone into your space enough that you cannot avoid what they want and what’s best for them. And it means they’ve let you in enough that you too are an inconvenience.

Yet, for some reason, they love you more than the inconvenience. 

Thank You

One of the most dreaded times of my childhood started a week after Christmas every single year. For the most part, the novelty of all my new goodies had worn off and that meant I had plenty of time available for a task I loathed: writing thank you cards.

It was never a long to-write list, but aunts, uncles, grandparents and family friends needed to receive something to show that I appreciated their generosity. The problem was not that I wasn’t grateful; I just never knew what to say. I would sit there with a thank you card that seemed the size of a billboard and all I had written after 15 minutes was “Dear Uncle Jim…”

That’s it. Sad, I know. At least I got his name right instead of having to scribble out “Uncte Tim” which probably wouldn’t go over well.

I always felt inadequate to say thanks to the extent that I appreciated them, but I particularly lived in fear that if I didn’t show enough gratitude then I wouldn’t get another present in 358 days. If I didn’t say thanks, they might even think that I didn’t really love them.

Now, I love writing thank you cards. I think they’re possibly the most underrated tool in my job. While I still struggle with what to say, I’ve discovered that the small effort of capturing in words why I’m thankful for someone or their contribution means much to the recipient.

It shows them that I noticed their presence, that their work was seen. It’s less about how eloquently I can praise them and more about the fact that I recognized their thoughtfulness, sacrifice or devotion.

So go to Target and spend $10 for a box of 50 thank you cards; then start looking for reasons to send them to people.

Cafe Truth

A friend of mine has been traveling through parts of the Midwest and told me about a small place she saw. It’s called Good Day Café and Bad Day Bar. We both chuckled about it but as that name rattled around in my head I decided that it was actually an interesting commentary on our nature.

When things are bad, we tend to want to drown our sorrows. That doesn’t just mean drinking; sometimes we drown them in ice cream or TV or food or the instant Netflix subscription. Regardless of the anesthetic, we tend to enact solitude and avoid our issues.

On the other hand, when things are good, we can’t wait to share them. I’ve found that the best sharing happens over a meal.

Recently, I had a few people over for dinner. I’ve discovered that when I have company over we invariable end up talking in the kitchen and attached dining room rather than sitting in the living room. There is an unavoidable attraction to the room with the table. This past dinner, I even put appetizers out in the living room to no avail; we were drawn to the dining room. There is something profound about a table and the act of sharing it with someone else that is linked to a deep part of us. So, the Good Day Café connects two important things: sharing of joy and the sharing of food.

The Midwest just might be on to something.

My Real Job Description

High School Ministries is all about embracing the unique season of life that a teenager lives in. They’re faced with having to try on adulthood; they’re becoming responsible for their own decisions, schedules and futures. They push for this development and can’t wait for the next steps. Teenagers always want to be on their own and see what comes next. But at the same time, they still long to be kids. They want to be carefree and play. This is the beautifully bizarre mix of a high school student’s world; they’re trapped between childhood and adulthood.

This sense of being “stuck” provides tremendous opportunity to connect with high school students. My ministry gets to step into this “stuck” world and help them develop mature, thoughtful, adult faith. I get to help them navigate the difficult questions that have no easy answers, and they get to do that in a place where they feel known and loved enough to admit that they don’t know what to think. At the same time, I get to help them play. They get space to remember that in some ways, they don’t need to be adults quite yet. Just as this space is safe for them to wrestle with faith, it is safe for them to be themselves and they are free to play. In this way, they build deep relationships with each other and with more seasoned people who feel responsible for our teenagers’ development.

As I reflect on the joys and difficulties of working with teenagers, I often think of the words Eddie Gibbs said at my church a few years ago. He said, “It is the responsibility of the spiritually mature to make sacrifices for the development of the immature.” I hesitate to put myself into the “mature” category or high school students into the “immature” one, but I know this: it has been a joy to sacrifice in order to have the opportunity to stand with them in their in-between world.

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?

What You Say

I’m sitting in a coffee shop and overhear a conversation next to me. I heard the words “homeless” and “poor” so I decided to listen in a little bit. What I heard encouraged me and dismayed me.

In a nutshell, the conversation was a man explaining to his friends how he likes to spend his time sitting with the homeless and bringing them food. He then told his friends, “The homeless are my Africa, because they’re just as poor.”

This stirs up a few feelings in me. Part of me applauds the man and I’m thankful for his desire to meet real and tangible needs. I’m easily overwhelmed by that need and find myself paralyzed into inaction. This man is doing a good work that is much needed and I’m grateful he has accepted such a challenge.

But a different part of me is frustrated by his statement. No doubt he truly means it; but to compare America’s poor and homeless to the situations of people living in Africa is just painful. (Side note: the decor in this coffee shop is pictures of Kenyan orphans. I’m just sayin’.) By no means am I an expert in American homelessness or in African life. But I do know this: American poor can find clean water. American poor can get help from the government (though it is woefully inadequate). There is help available for the American homeless, even if it is insufficient.

I don’t intend to ride a high horse in this case; I don’t pretend to be deeply involved in EITHER situation.

What frustrates me is that this man has created an unfair comparison in his head and is sharing it with his friends. I doubt that he has created this statement “The homeless are my Africa, because they’re just as poor” in order to impress people or validate what he does. It is just a simple, catchy phrase I expect he has used before and is now comfortable with. But it makes me sad that we NEED to compare; I’m dismayed at how easily we put things beside each other for the sake of simplicity. Why justify your passion for the homeless by comparing it to another need that is NOT comparable?

I guess what this raises for me are the questions, “What are my ‘sayings’ that I haven’t really thought through? How am I being careless with my words?”

Be careful what you say.

Exhaustion and Joy

A few days ago, I was with a close friend and we were discussing the seasons coming for both of us. His past year has been one of diligence and patience; he has worked hard and in six months this period will be over. Not only will that season come to a close, but the fruit of that work will be present; and I anticipate that his work will produce much of it.

He characterized the past year as a time of “deep exhaustion and deep joy.” I found that pairing to be beautiful, poetic and true. How often are exhaustion and joy partnered together?

It reminded me of a three month stretch in 2006 when I was unemployed. I was living on a friend’s couch in San Clemente, a five-minute walk to the beach. Every day I slept in, watched a little SportsCenter and then went body surfing. I’d work on my tan and then head out for some afternoon Starbucks and reading. When I tell people how I spent that summer, they are envious. It just seems so relaxing to them…no responsibilities, no schedule…it seems so restful.

So why does my stomach drop whenever I talk about those three months?

I think it’s because I had no joy. There really wasn’t much to my life in that season.

Vacation is only restful because it is a pause, a respite from the ordinary. The first two weeks of my couch-surfing were enjoyable until they became my daily reality; after that I just felt aimless and unfulfilled.

I don’t believe that we are to work ourselves to the point of collapse, but I do believe that there is something to be said for the connection between joy and participating in life. Perhaps the lesson is this: our goal should not be to have fuller schedules leading to exhaustion. I’m not sure there’s joy to be found in being busy. Rather, caring deeply, working passionately and being devoted to our commitments will lead to joy. My friend is exhausted because he participates in things that have meaning and purpose, not just fluff that packs his schedule. He is exhausted because he has poured his heart into life, and that has led to joy.

Go and do the same.

Self-Checkout

You know those self-checkout stands at the supermarket, where you scan and bag your own items? I used to think that they were all about convenience, but now I’ve decided that they’re more about how insecure and self-conscious we are.

I realized that this morning when I didn’t put on deodorant.

Stick with me on this.

I didn’t have any this morning but didn’t realize it until after I’d showered. So I got dressed and headed to the closest Safeway. I snagged deodorant and walked towards the self-checkout and then pondered why I went there instead of a regular check stand.

I went there because I was fearful that somehow, the checker would see my lone purchase and intuit that I had foolishly forgotten deodorant that day and now I smelled obscenely like a pig farmer or some other foul-smelling individual.

Of course, I KNEW that the checker probably wouldn’t jump to that conclusion, and even if they did, so what? What do I care what a checker thinks about me (especially when what they think would have been TRUE)? Yet there I went, towards the self-scan machine in order to avoid a Safeway employee judging me.

Maybe those self-scan machines are more about hiding the pseudo-embarrassing things we buy and preventing a stranger from getting a look into the intricacies of our private lives. So what if the checker knows you like nacho cheese a little too much, or that you’re buying donuts paired with diet Coke, or that you have problems with foot odor…does it really matter? I think we need to learn how to be okay with who and what we are. After all, you have two options in regards to those embarrassing items: you can quit buying the cheese in a can if it embarrasses you so much or you can embrace the reality of who you are and confess your love of terrible food and admit to having smelly armpits.