That was the question thousands of editors in newsrooms all over the country asked their reporters today when it was reported that more than 25 people, including elementary-aged children, were shot to death in a Connecticut school.
I made a conscious effort for several hours not to comment on these events in any sort - not here or on Facebook or Twitter (where I got a RT from Pulitzer Tweets about my outrage). But here we go.
Plenty of people will have their say about the shooter and about gun control, but my comments have nothing to do with the incident itself, which is obviously horrific and maddening.
As a former journalist, I do take solace on days like today that I am just that. At first, I was grateful that I didn't have an editor telling me
today that I had to be the one to "localize" a national tragedy by
talking to school officials and first responders to find out what their
crisis plans consist of and what their thoughts were in the minutes
after they found out the news. I was also grateful to be able to read a book to my son, take him outside for a walk and hold him as he began to fall asleep. I know every parent is doing the same thing tonight.
As the day unfolded, I continued to watch hours of news coverage, just as I did when I heard about Columbine and 9/11, as I am sure thousands of people did. The more interviews I saw today with children who were in the school at the time, the more I became disgusted by the media. One reporter asked a girl, "How many gun shots did you hear?"
Are you serious? Not only did he, and many other reports, have the audacity to interview a child who had just
endured an unspeakable tragedy, but that was one of his questions? Shame on every reporter who approached elementary children to ask them questions after watching their friends, classmates and teachers die in front of them. What could a traumatized child possibly add to your report? There is no news value. There is no justification. There is no tact. This, sadly, is the culture of the media now.
A former co-worker posted on Facebook that she cried while driving home
after covering today's events. At least there are some
people in the business (including many of the people I have worked with) who have hearts and see people as people, not
just sources of information.
In addition, the "facts" being reported about the incident changed so often that it was difficult to keep up with what was real and what was "reported." Law enforcement didn't make an official statement on who the shooter was until a couple hours ago, but media outlets reported the names of two brothers at separate times. One of them is dead, and the other may or may not have even been involved, but his life has been destroyed either way, because for several hours, his name and image were being plastered on TV as the shooter. If there is one thing you learn in journalism school, it is the value of accuracy in your reporting, right down to the grammar and punctuation. Neither seems as important as publicizing the wrong name of an alleged mass murderer.
Fortunately, my only involvement in this needs to be praying for those involved, as well as all victims of violence and injustice. You should join me.
Friday, December 14, 2012
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
(Disclaimer: Most of the men I spend time with are married, and I know they love their wives, so this is not an indictment on them, but on men in general. Just to be clear. I am not discriminating).
But what is it about love that makes it so scary or mysterious that as men we are not quick to show love outwardly or express it with our words, especially when there are other people around? Maybe we want to send some kind of message that we are in control. Perhaps we are afraid to be seen as weak or less manly if we do what we are asked to do when we are asked to do it (Note: women like it when we do thing without even having to be asked, but if we do it when they ask us to and before they can ask us again, this seems to be equally as acceptable).
In reality, the most manly, brave, admirable men I know are those who love well and are not afraid to show it. We can show love with simple words, actions, glances and touches. Our women are dying to be loved. They talk about it to other women. They stress about it. They hurt because of it. And we can fix it, men.
The lyrics of a popular Mumford & Sons song, "Sigh No More," explain that love will not betray you, dismay you or enslave you.
While those who have had their heart broken can say they were betrayed, it was not love that betrayed them but the incompatibility of those two people for whatever reason. Love was not the culprit - you were or she was or, more likely, you both were.
I looked up the word "dismay" and found it to mean "to break down the courage of completely." If that doesn't sound like something men want to avoid like the plague then I don't know what does. If love were to take away all of our courage as to dishearten us thoroughly, who -man or woman - would ever want to be in love or feel love? Again, the feeling of a love lost can leave us empty, but only for a time. We have all gotten over it.
To enslave is to reduce to slavery, as if love could make us do anything it told us to do without ever letting us go or do anything on our own free will. We have probably all been there, willing to do anything our love interest asked (or told) us to do for the sake of proving our love. A man, when stricken by the woman who will be his wife, will do crazy things, but they are on his own accord.
In my experience, true love does not need to be proved. It is obvious. It is felt. It is there. Whether that is the supreme love of our Creator, the unconditional love a parent has for their child or the beautiful love of a spouse, it is unexplainable yet obvious.
Yet something happens when we get married and, after a few years, that unbridled love has been put in the stable, only to be brought out on birthdays and anniversaries. This is evident in the extreme divorce rates and the even higher number of marriages that are void of love.
There are dozens of places in the Bible where God commands us to love others and specifically tells husbands to love their wives. In Colossians, he adds that we should not become bitter toward them either. In the "love chapter" of the Bible (First Corinthians 13), Paul writes that love is kind and honors others, it always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
The same Mumford song goes on to say that love "will set you free" and make you "more like the man you were made to be."
While I believe the only way to make those statements entirely true is to substitute God for the word love, as in often done in First Corinthians 13, I do agree that if we are willing to show our women the love they desperately deserve, we will become the men God has created us to be.
Men, let us honor our women. Don't be angry or self-seeking. Protect her. Love her above yourself. Don't be a wimp - go tell your woman you love her, and if there are some other people around, say it louder!
But what is it about love that makes it so scary or mysterious that as men we are not quick to show love outwardly or express it with our words, especially when there are other people around? Maybe we want to send some kind of message that we are in control. Perhaps we are afraid to be seen as weak or less manly if we do what we are asked to do when we are asked to do it (Note: women like it when we do thing without even having to be asked, but if we do it when they ask us to and before they can ask us again, this seems to be equally as acceptable).
In reality, the most manly, brave, admirable men I know are those who love well and are not afraid to show it. We can show love with simple words, actions, glances and touches. Our women are dying to be loved. They talk about it to other women. They stress about it. They hurt because of it. And we can fix it, men.
The lyrics of a popular Mumford & Sons song, "Sigh No More," explain that love will not betray you, dismay you or enslave you.
While those who have had their heart broken can say they were betrayed, it was not love that betrayed them but the incompatibility of those two people for whatever reason. Love was not the culprit - you were or she was or, more likely, you both were.
I looked up the word "dismay" and found it to mean "to break down the courage of completely." If that doesn't sound like something men want to avoid like the plague then I don't know what does. If love were to take away all of our courage as to dishearten us thoroughly, who -man or woman - would ever want to be in love or feel love? Again, the feeling of a love lost can leave us empty, but only for a time. We have all gotten over it.
To enslave is to reduce to slavery, as if love could make us do anything it told us to do without ever letting us go or do anything on our own free will. We have probably all been there, willing to do anything our love interest asked (or told) us to do for the sake of proving our love. A man, when stricken by the woman who will be his wife, will do crazy things, but they are on his own accord.
In my experience, true love does not need to be proved. It is obvious. It is felt. It is there. Whether that is the supreme love of our Creator, the unconditional love a parent has for their child or the beautiful love of a spouse, it is unexplainable yet obvious.
Yet something happens when we get married and, after a few years, that unbridled love has been put in the stable, only to be brought out on birthdays and anniversaries. This is evident in the extreme divorce rates and the even higher number of marriages that are void of love.
There are dozens of places in the Bible where God commands us to love others and specifically tells husbands to love their wives. In Colossians, he adds that we should not become bitter toward them either. In the "love chapter" of the Bible (First Corinthians 13), Paul writes that love is kind and honors others, it always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
The same Mumford song goes on to say that love "will set you free" and make you "more like the man you were made to be."
While I believe the only way to make those statements entirely true is to substitute God for the word love, as in often done in First Corinthians 13, I do agree that if we are willing to show our women the love they desperately deserve, we will become the men God has created us to be.
Men, let us honor our women. Don't be angry or self-seeking. Protect her. Love her above yourself. Don't be a wimp - go tell your woman you love her, and if there are some other people around, say it louder!
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
What's your excuse?
I volunteered to help my friend, Jody, write a book about his life. I have always wanted to write a book, which is why I started this blog, but I always thought it would be about my own life. Who wouldn't want to read that?
I have no idea what this process entails, but Jody published a book a few years ago (You can get an autographed copy on amazon for $170), so he knows a few things about writing books. He has some interesting opinions about writing about yourself too. I'll give you a hint - he is not really a fan. Jody says you have to have a hook. His is that, more than 18 months ago, he was told he had a brain tumor and would be lucky to live another year.
I met Jody a month after he found out about the tumor, and even having only known him a short time, I know that his story is one that needs to be told. One conversation with Jody will tell you that. He is an inspiration, an encouragement, a testament of faith.
Jody said two things to me the other day that will stick with me regardless of whether his book is ever published or even finished. When speaking of his life now that he has the tumor, he said, "When you are blessed with something like that, you've got to get up and go forward. If you sit still, you're going to sink."
He sees the tumor as a blessing because it opens doors to talk about his faith and share the gospel, or as he likes to say, "the true love of Christ." He spends most of his time now praying for other people and visiting cancer patients.
And when I asked him what his response was to the original diagnosis, Jody said that although he did make a bucket list and complete many of the things on it, like visit all of the Great Lakes, "A bucket list is an excuse to live. I don't need an excuse to live."
I have no idea what this process entails, but Jody published a book a few years ago (You can get an autographed copy on amazon for $170), so he knows a few things about writing books. He has some interesting opinions about writing about yourself too. I'll give you a hint - he is not really a fan. Jody says you have to have a hook. His is that, more than 18 months ago, he was told he had a brain tumor and would be lucky to live another year.
I met Jody a month after he found out about the tumor, and even having only known him a short time, I know that his story is one that needs to be told. One conversation with Jody will tell you that. He is an inspiration, an encouragement, a testament of faith.
Jody said two things to me the other day that will stick with me regardless of whether his book is ever published or even finished. When speaking of his life now that he has the tumor, he said, "When you are blessed with something like that, you've got to get up and go forward. If you sit still, you're going to sink."
He sees the tumor as a blessing because it opens doors to talk about his faith and share the gospel, or as he likes to say, "the true love of Christ." He spends most of his time now praying for other people and visiting cancer patients.
And when I asked him what his response was to the original diagnosis, Jody said that although he did make a bucket list and complete many of the things on it, like visit all of the Great Lakes, "A bucket list is an excuse to live. I don't need an excuse to live."
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
G-man
I said this blog wouldn't be a complaint about my kid(s), and I have
zero complaints about Grayson. His current growth spurt prevents him
from sleeping for extended periods of time, often leading to this bundle of cuteness:
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I know these will change into much more pressing worries about how I'm going to mess him up, who he is hanging out with and why he doesn't want to do his homework.
For now, I will enjoy the crying because it means he needs me and his mother because that will disappear for about 12 years only to come back when he is in his early 20s.
I will enjoy the raised eyebrows and mischievous looks while he can't even walk because, really, how much trouble can he get in while he's wearing pants with ducks on the feet or a football on the butt?
I will enjoy the days when he wakes up earlier than I'd like to because I get to see his smile and help him wiggle around his little legs and arms.
I will see each diaper change as a chance to serve him because he can't do it himself, and my wife, who changes him all day long while I'm at work.
I will put his pacifier back in his mouth even when I know he is going to spit it out in three seconds because he hasn't figured out that it makes him happy just to keep sucking on it.
I will kiss him and tell him I love him as the first thing I do when I go into his room in the morning and the last thing I do when I put him in his bed at night.
I will pray for him and with him every day.
I will hold him when he cries and hug him when he laughs.
I will love him every day, all the time, because he is my son and I am his dad.
Monday, March 19, 2012
I've been a dad for about 18 days now. It is spectacular. It helps that Grayson is calm, loves to be held and rarely if ever cries or fusses. And Kate says he looks like me. It's hard to tell, but sometimes I do feel like I'm looking in a time machine mirror and watching myself as a baby.
I harped a lot on parents who like to tell you how much your life changes when you have kids, and I don't know what will happen over the next 50 years, but life as a dad over the past two weeks has been the best. Neither of us has any idea what we're doing, and we often look at each other and wonder how we became parents and who let us have a child.
Probably the idea that sums it up the most came from Friday Night Lights (which we watched A LOT of while I was home). Coach Taylor and his wife are starting to get into an argument about something their 17-year-old daughter did, and Tami says something to the affect of how they have each been a parent for the same amount of days and hours and therefore have the same amount of knowledge to draw from. What ever happened to maternal and paternal instinct?
Dads do get the easier end of the deal with a newborn though. Moms (for the most part) are the ones getting up in the middle of the night to feed them and changing their lives around to accommodate their child's every need. I do my best to wake up to help out when Kate can pry me out of bed, but she has been great about letting me sleep, since I am already back to work while she stays home for a few more weeks. It seems that is often the case, as the dad works and returns to more of the life he was used to before the baby, getting outside the house, interacting with other adults and getting back to a routine.
My first days back to work were tough. I was blessed with a week off after Grayson was born to be with him and take care of Kate, but leaving him every morning hasn't gotten easier. Fortunately (I guess) he is awake before I would like to be, so I do get to start my day seeing this little guy:
But how can you say good-bye to that face?
I harped a lot on parents who like to tell you how much your life changes when you have kids, and I don't know what will happen over the next 50 years, but life as a dad over the past two weeks has been the best. Neither of us has any idea what we're doing, and we often look at each other and wonder how we became parents and who let us have a child.
Probably the idea that sums it up the most came from Friday Night Lights (which we watched A LOT of while I was home). Coach Taylor and his wife are starting to get into an argument about something their 17-year-old daughter did, and Tami says something to the affect of how they have each been a parent for the same amount of days and hours and therefore have the same amount of knowledge to draw from. What ever happened to maternal and paternal instinct?
Dads do get the easier end of the deal with a newborn though. Moms (for the most part) are the ones getting up in the middle of the night to feed them and changing their lives around to accommodate their child's every need. I do my best to wake up to help out when Kate can pry me out of bed, but she has been great about letting me sleep, since I am already back to work while she stays home for a few more weeks. It seems that is often the case, as the dad works and returns to more of the life he was used to before the baby, getting outside the house, interacting with other adults and getting back to a routine.
My first days back to work were tough. I was blessed with a week off after Grayson was born to be with him and take care of Kate, but leaving him every morning hasn't gotten easier. Fortunately (I guess) he is awake before I would like to be, so I do get to start my day seeing this little guy:
But how can you say good-bye to that face?
Friday, March 2, 2012
So I'm a father now, which is very weird and awesome and surreal. My son, Grayson, is hilarious and sleeps a lot so far (at least in the 22 hours that he has been around), as long as I swaddle him. I should start a business teaching dads how to swaddle babies because I am really, really good at it.
I waited for this day for years, since way before Grayson was thought about. What would it be like to be a dad? How will I raise a kid? How soon can we play catch? I'm sure I didn't dream about it the way Kate and so many other girls dream about being moms as they play house growing up, but I always knew I wanted to have a family of my own, and I was excited to get married and become a dad.
Granted, I was resistant and scared when Kate was ready to start that family before I was, but from the day we found out she was pregnant, I waited for this day (well, yesterday actually) as I knew our dreams would come true.
Sorry, had to change another diaper...
Parents always say things like, do everything you want to do before you have kids, and kids change everything. Of course they do. And what could I do before kids that I can't do now - travel the world? Drink 300 types of beer? Stay out past 8 p.m.? I wouldn't do any of those things anyway. A friend of mine told me having a kid was a great excuse to be home before 7 and in bed by 9. Sounds like a great night to me!
While some parents might be spending their nights dreaming of experiences lost, I will spend mine watching my son grow into a man and trying to help him do that every step of the way.
I waited for this day for years, since way before Grayson was thought about. What would it be like to be a dad? How will I raise a kid? How soon can we play catch? I'm sure I didn't dream about it the way Kate and so many other girls dream about being moms as they play house growing up, but I always knew I wanted to have a family of my own, and I was excited to get married and become a dad.
Granted, I was resistant and scared when Kate was ready to start that family before I was, but from the day we found out she was pregnant, I waited for this day (well, yesterday actually) as I knew our dreams would come true.
Sorry, had to change another diaper...
Parents always say things like, do everything you want to do before you have kids, and kids change everything. Of course they do. And what could I do before kids that I can't do now - travel the world? Drink 300 types of beer? Stay out past 8 p.m.? I wouldn't do any of those things anyway. A friend of mine told me having a kid was a great excuse to be home before 7 and in bed by 9. Sounds like a great night to me!
While some parents might be spending their nights dreaming of experiences lost, I will spend mine watching my son grow into a man and trying to help him do that every step of the way.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
The hammer holds
I was early with my Valentine's Day post, so here are some words of encouragement, courtesy of Bebo Norman. This song played repeatedly in my CD player when I was an young Christian, but I am still being molded and shaped by the Maker, always waiting to see what he has for me next.
That shaping can often feel like hammering, leaving us in pain and wondering why we had to experience the latest trial. But as we continue to walk with God, the pain of that shaping is subdued as we begin to understand that all that hammering and the burning flames were transforming us into something different, with a new purpose.
I have to realize it is not always for me to know what comes next, but to rest in the fact that God is in control. Easier said than done.
And if you like this song, check out Bebo's early stuff, especially Ten Thousand Days.
A shapeless piece of steel, that's all I claim to be
This hammer pounds to give me form, this flame, it melts my dreams
I glow with fire and fury, as I'm twisted like a vine
My final shape, my final form I'm sure I'm bound to find
So dream a little, dream for me in hopes that I'll remain
And cry a little, cry for me so I can bear the flames
And hurt a little, hurt for me my future is untold
But my dreams are not the issue here, for they, the hammer holds
And the water, it cools me gray, and the hurt's subdued somehow
I have my shape, this sharpened point, what is my purpose now?
And the question still remains, what am I to be?
Perhaps some perfect piece of art displayed for all to see
So dream a little, dream for me in hopes that I'll remain
And cry a little, cry for me so I can bear the flames
And hurt a little, hurt for me my future is untold
But my dreams are not the issue here, for they, the hammer holds
The hammer pounds again, but flames I do not feel
This force that drives me, helplessly, through flesh, and wood reveals
A burn that burns much deeper, it's more than I can stand
The reason for my life was to take the life of a guiltless man
So dream a little, dream for me in hopes that I'll remain
And cry a little, cry for me so I can bear the pain
And hurt a little, hurt for me, my future is so bold
But my dreams are not the issue here, for they, the hammer holds
This task before me may seem unclear
But it, my maker holds
That shaping can often feel like hammering, leaving us in pain and wondering why we had to experience the latest trial. But as we continue to walk with God, the pain of that shaping is subdued as we begin to understand that all that hammering and the burning flames were transforming us into something different, with a new purpose.
I have to realize it is not always for me to know what comes next, but to rest in the fact that God is in control. Easier said than done.
And if you like this song, check out Bebo's early stuff, especially Ten Thousand Days.
A shapeless piece of steel, that's all I claim to be
This hammer pounds to give me form, this flame, it melts my dreams
I glow with fire and fury, as I'm twisted like a vine
My final shape, my final form I'm sure I'm bound to find
So dream a little, dream for me in hopes that I'll remain
And cry a little, cry for me so I can bear the flames
And hurt a little, hurt for me my future is untold
But my dreams are not the issue here, for they, the hammer holds
And the water, it cools me gray, and the hurt's subdued somehow
I have my shape, this sharpened point, what is my purpose now?
And the question still remains, what am I to be?
Perhaps some perfect piece of art displayed for all to see
So dream a little, dream for me in hopes that I'll remain
And cry a little, cry for me so I can bear the flames
And hurt a little, hurt for me my future is untold
But my dreams are not the issue here, for they, the hammer holds
The hammer pounds again, but flames I do not feel
This force that drives me, helplessly, through flesh, and wood reveals
A burn that burns much deeper, it's more than I can stand
The reason for my life was to take the life of a guiltless man
So dream a little, dream for me in hopes that I'll remain
And cry a little, cry for me so I can bear the pain
And hurt a little, hurt for me, my future is so bold
But my dreams are not the issue here, for they, the hammer holds
This task before me may seem unclear
But it, my maker holds
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Happy Valentine's Day
When women envision “romance” or think of a “romantic night out,” they typically think of a man surprising them with flowers and a candlelight dinner, all in an attempt to impress her. Men would probably add that the night would get a little more “personal.”
Love makes people do and believe crazy things, like the lie that says love is what you make of it, or those who mistake romance and lust for love.
The only real, true love comes from God. The only type of “romance” we will ever experience is believing that God loved us so much that he sent his only Son to be a sacrifice so we would not have to live an eternal life in the worst place imaginable – a million times worse than any natural disaster area.
When I met my wife, I fell for all the cliches. It was love at first sight, despite what I thought of her outfit (it was the first time I saw someone wear tights under a skirt). I barely knew her name, and didn’t know her last name, but that didn't matter because I knew I would give her mine. There was something radically different about this woman, and it wasn’t just her clothes. It was her genuine love for Christ that was most attractive (other than her obvious physical beauty).
For some reason, it is often harder to feel that same unrequited love toward God than it is toward a member of the opposite sex. My love for God was not love at first sight. I knew all the Sunday School stories and even believed in God from quite an early age. But I spent most the next 10 years getting entangled in the holes of the world’s romantic lies, believing that I could be satisfied by earthly love or alcohol or the pursuit of money. Everything in our society promises enjoyment, most of it immediately or your money back. I am not the first person to say that this is simply not true.
What makes it different when I say it? Admittedly nothing, other than the fact that I am just like you and lived those lies for years, even after deciding to follow Christ. I never thought I had much to offer anyone, but that was a lie too. We all have influence over the people around us. Even me. Even you.
So with Valentine's Day coming up, whether you will be spending time with a loved one or not, enjoy some time with the One who loved you first. Consider what God means to your life, if you believe he's real, if you believe he can move in your life, if you believe he has, if you believe he loves you.
And for some light reading, check out some history on Valentine's Day, named for several early Christian martyrs.
Love makes people do and believe crazy things, like the lie that says love is what you make of it, or those who mistake romance and lust for love.
The only real, true love comes from God. The only type of “romance” we will ever experience is believing that God loved us so much that he sent his only Son to be a sacrifice so we would not have to live an eternal life in the worst place imaginable – a million times worse than any natural disaster area.
When I met my wife, I fell for all the cliches. It was love at first sight, despite what I thought of her outfit (it was the first time I saw someone wear tights under a skirt). I barely knew her name, and didn’t know her last name, but that didn't matter because I knew I would give her mine. There was something radically different about this woman, and it wasn’t just her clothes. It was her genuine love for Christ that was most attractive (other than her obvious physical beauty).
For some reason, it is often harder to feel that same unrequited love toward God than it is toward a member of the opposite sex. My love for God was not love at first sight. I knew all the Sunday School stories and even believed in God from quite an early age. But I spent most the next 10 years getting entangled in the holes of the world’s romantic lies, believing that I could be satisfied by earthly love or alcohol or the pursuit of money. Everything in our society promises enjoyment, most of it immediately or your money back. I am not the first person to say that this is simply not true.
What makes it different when I say it? Admittedly nothing, other than the fact that I am just like you and lived those lies for years, even after deciding to follow Christ. I never thought I had much to offer anyone, but that was a lie too. We all have influence over the people around us. Even me. Even you.
So with Valentine's Day coming up, whether you will be spending time with a loved one or not, enjoy some time with the One who loved you first. Consider what God means to your life, if you believe he's real, if you believe he can move in your life, if you believe he has, if you believe he loves you.
And for some light reading, check out some history on Valentine's Day, named for several early Christian martyrs.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Several months ago, Kate and I were worried about what to name our son, who will be joining us in about six weeks. We looked at name lists, family trees and the Bible for inspiration. I made a big deal in a post about the meaning of a name, and then the name we chose - Grayson - means son of the bailiff. That's right. The courtroom security guy. But it really was the only name that was always on our ever-changing list, the only one that was never removed, as may were taken off and put back on.
So, what's in a name, I asked. When it comes to naming children, there is a lot of pressure to make sure he doesn't get beat up or made fun of, but as long as we like it, that's what really matters, right?
In Biblical times, parents were often told what to name their children or they were given a name that would literally define their life. Take Jacob, for example. He was a twin, born second, and named heel-grabber, which also meant deceiver. He went through life tricking his brother and taking advantage of him, only to be renamed by God. After wrestling with God all night, Jacob was given the name Israel, meaning one who struggles or wrestles with God (for a great story of transformation and redemption, read Genesis chapters 25-32).
Jacob didn't pick either of his names, but he lived up to them. For good or for bad. There's a parallel here somewhere to the way God moves in our lives.
From the beginning of time, I believe, God has called each of us to a certain life. He created us exactly the way we are. Sure, our parents gave us a name, but it is up to us to answer God's call on our life. To follow him or not. I believe God wants us all to chose him, to chose eternal life with him, but he doesn't force us into that decision. I also believe he knows what we will chose before we chose it. I can't get into a theology debate here (even though it would be with myself) about free will versus predestination. I just can't do it.
I can tell you that God tried to get a hold of me around age 14 when for some reason I developed a strange interest in Christian music. I started to pray on occasion but I still don't know why. God called. I didn't answer.
Fortunately, he called again when I was 16, and this time I was more than happy to pick up. I could have continued to ride the fence and never taken the plunge, or whatever cliche you want to use. I could have stayed in my bubble, continuing to live in a fantasy world where I could satisfy myself and the things of this world would fill me up. If I hadn't turned to God then, I'm not saying he wouldn't have tried to reach me again, but I don't know if I would have been accepting. God wanted me to accept his offer of everlasting love, but I wasn't ready for it. There might be a lot of people out there who God is calling to, but who just aren't willing or ready to say yes to the gifts he has for us.
So, what's in a name, I asked. When it comes to naming children, there is a lot of pressure to make sure he doesn't get beat up or made fun of, but as long as we like it, that's what really matters, right?
In Biblical times, parents were often told what to name their children or they were given a name that would literally define their life. Take Jacob, for example. He was a twin, born second, and named heel-grabber, which also meant deceiver. He went through life tricking his brother and taking advantage of him, only to be renamed by God. After wrestling with God all night, Jacob was given the name Israel, meaning one who struggles or wrestles with God (for a great story of transformation and redemption, read Genesis chapters 25-32).
Jacob didn't pick either of his names, but he lived up to them. For good or for bad. There's a parallel here somewhere to the way God moves in our lives.
From the beginning of time, I believe, God has called each of us to a certain life. He created us exactly the way we are. Sure, our parents gave us a name, but it is up to us to answer God's call on our life. To follow him or not. I believe God wants us all to chose him, to chose eternal life with him, but he doesn't force us into that decision. I also believe he knows what we will chose before we chose it. I can't get into a theology debate here (even though it would be with myself) about free will versus predestination. I just can't do it.
I can tell you that God tried to get a hold of me around age 14 when for some reason I developed a strange interest in Christian music. I started to pray on occasion but I still don't know why. God called. I didn't answer.
Fortunately, he called again when I was 16, and this time I was more than happy to pick up. I could have continued to ride the fence and never taken the plunge, or whatever cliche you want to use. I could have stayed in my bubble, continuing to live in a fantasy world where I could satisfy myself and the things of this world would fill me up. If I hadn't turned to God then, I'm not saying he wouldn't have tried to reach me again, but I don't know if I would have been accepting. God wanted me to accept his offer of everlasting love, but I wasn't ready for it. There might be a lot of people out there who God is calling to, but who just aren't willing or ready to say yes to the gifts he has for us.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Ryan goes to an art museum
I feel cultured today after my first trip to the Cincinnati Art Museum - actually my first time at any art museum. There is a Picasso exhibit at the museum right now, and I never realized the drastic differences from one of his pieces to the next. I guess the genius behind Picasso is that one painting is the most magnificent thing you could imagine and the next, if I drew it, you would even think it was terrible. I envied the talent of all the artists displayed there and their ability to imagine and create such vivid pictures and stories through their art.
It really got me thinking about the story I am telling and what I am creating.
My grandfather was an artist, a painter mostly, but he could also build anything you asked him too. How I wish I had his talent when it comes to art! I can't build either. Kate takes care of most of the handy work around our house.
I suppose writing is my art form, as that is where my creativity comes out (or at least I'd like to think so). I don't write enough, as evidenced by my lack of posts recently, which I think happens to many people like me, who are ambitious at first but let that fade away. If I don't write, I won't be any good at it, and I won't have an outlet to release many of my thoughts.
But more than that, as the reality sets in that my son will be born in less than two months, I am more concerned with the story my life is telling rather than my words. I am going to be entrusted with caring for and loving this child, and raising him to be a man who loves God and wants to serve him because he wants to and not because I told him to.
Don't get me wrong - I can't wait to play catch with him and watch him strike out and hit home runs and give him unsolicited fatherly advice. But it really is a lot of pressure, especially if I take an honest look at my life. I am far too concerned with myself right now, often spending too much time thinking about work or being upset that I can't do what I want to do because of this or that. I better get used to someone else dictating my schedule though. I have always wanted to be a dad and I can't wait until my boy is born, but I have a lot of work to do before that happens.
By the way, Kate and I really enjoyed the paintings of Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot. I encourage you to Google image his stuff and find something that tells you a story, then take some time to think about how you express yourself. What is your art? What are you creating?
It really got me thinking about the story I am telling and what I am creating.
My grandfather was an artist, a painter mostly, but he could also build anything you asked him too. How I wish I had his talent when it comes to art! I can't build either. Kate takes care of most of the handy work around our house.
I suppose writing is my art form, as that is where my creativity comes out (or at least I'd like to think so). I don't write enough, as evidenced by my lack of posts recently, which I think happens to many people like me, who are ambitious at first but let that fade away. If I don't write, I won't be any good at it, and I won't have an outlet to release many of my thoughts.
But more than that, as the reality sets in that my son will be born in less than two months, I am more concerned with the story my life is telling rather than my words. I am going to be entrusted with caring for and loving this child, and raising him to be a man who loves God and wants to serve him because he wants to and not because I told him to.
Don't get me wrong - I can't wait to play catch with him and watch him strike out and hit home runs and give him unsolicited fatherly advice. But it really is a lot of pressure, especially if I take an honest look at my life. I am far too concerned with myself right now, often spending too much time thinking about work or being upset that I can't do what I want to do because of this or that. I better get used to someone else dictating my schedule though. I have always wanted to be a dad and I can't wait until my boy is born, but I have a lot of work to do before that happens.
By the way, Kate and I really enjoyed the paintings of Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot. I encourage you to Google image his stuff and find something that tells you a story, then take some time to think about how you express yourself. What is your art? What are you creating?
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