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.