Eat your okra: Reflections on a year gone by

My mother used to put okra in the stew. And I hated it. It was slimy and green -- two things that most little boys avoid with every fiber of their being. And never should those two ingredients be presented as food.  No way was I going to buy it. To a ten-year old, okra isn't food.

I could eat the other parts of the stew, but leaving the okra until the bottom of the bowl only meant that I would have to take several spoons of the mushy vegetable all at once. The dog wasn't to be fooled and neither was mom. It had to go down the hatch. So I ate the stew in whole - meat, potatoes, carrots, broth and okra. And it actually tasted pretty decent.


Photo D Rupert

This year is ending on a high note with great expectations. My hopes and dreams are coming true. But I'll admit, there has been some okra thrown in throughout the year. I've sinned. I've said things I wish I could take back. I've had circumstances and death come my way. I could try to pull out the bad, to make them disappear. I could try to wrap them in a napkin and throw them in the trash. But the best thing I can do is eat the whole stew. And you know what? Despite the world's attempt to make it bad, this stew is actually pretty good.

There is a tendency to want to start over again, but the reality is that we live in reality. There is no fantasy-land, no Eden of innocence. Even the redemption story saves the person where he is -- not where he wishes he were.

I was intrigued by what Cindy Waldrop wrote. As she cleaning her home, the swirling cloud of dirt from her efforts set off a time of reflection, the dust of her own life agitated in memory. She said that she was “tired of her own story.” And that story is one of failure, of loss, of rejection. “All of these things that constrict my air, that feel binding, that are dragging behind me like chains…I know this story well.”

And in her frustration she just wants to have a complete fresh start, to level the whole thing to the ground. “The world grows this way in hearts, doesn’t it?”

Then the dust settles.

And the empty pot awaits, ready for a fresh batch.

Are you ready for a new year? What will be in your pot? Do you like okra? Other comments?

Top High Calling blog posts of the year

The Top Blog Posts of the year, as selected by The High Calling

Running in place, by Jennifer Dukes Lee of Getting Down With Jesus

Failure is an Option, by Jessica of Jezamama

Seeing God, by Deidra Riggs of Jumping Tandem

God talk in the Office,  by Michelle DeRusha of Nebraska Graceful

Organizations and Bad Bosses, by Glynn Young of Faith, Fiction, and Friends

Into the World, by Billy Coffey

Becoming Men, by Lyla Lindquist of A Different Story

Can Death be Holy?, by David Rupert of Red Letter Believers

Poetry Goes Geek, by Maureen of Writing Without Paper
Why Don't We Pray for Business? by Mark D. Roberts of Beliefnet.com

What We Inherit from Eden, by Ann Voskamp of A Holy Experience

Just the Roots, Exposed Clean, by Deb of Forsaken for Lent

Beginning, by Kelly Sauer of High Calling Focus
Love at work,  by Graham Seel of Faith@Work

Honored, humbled and blessed....

You take the trip, I'll light the sky

I don't know about you, but my life really isn't all that deliberate. In fact, I find that I often come into my best situations just by stumbling into them. 

I can't tell you how many times I've looked at my blessings and then asked, "how in the world did I get here?"

I have a full-time job as a writer and communicator. The dirty little secret is that I'm really a college drop-out who banged away at the typewriter for free for decades. And now I'm paid to be creative -- with benefits.

I have a great position with The High Calling -- one that I didn't even know existed before I was offered it.

I drive a really great 2004 Infinity, owned by a widow with 20,000 miles on it and paid less for it than a comparable Hyundai. 

I had relationships and friends that have changed my life, people that I never sought out. I just found them. Or they found me.

Looking around, I'm so blessed, and I didn't do anything to deserve any of it.

But I wonder if faith can be approached that same way. Can I just be a good man, trying to the right things and suddenly find myself smack dab in the middle of his will. Dare I say it, can I get lucky with God?

Or do I have to be intentional -- seeking Him out?

This week's lunar eclipse, as well as reading the accounts about the wise men who traveled to see Jesus following only a star has my eyes gazing upon the heavens. "Are you for real God? What am I supposed to be doing? Do I matter?"

I imagine those wise men asked the same questions -- as we all do -- but they chose to find the answer, rather than wait for it to just show up. They asked and what they got was an answer wrapped inside a puzzle -- just follow the star.  It was almost as if God was saying, "You take the trip, I'll light the sky."

Paul describes humans as "seekers of God, feeling their way toward him". The Psalmist says that God actually "conceals things. But the glory of kings is to search things out."

I might know about Jesus, just by stumbling in. But to actually know Jesus, I must seek him out.

A.W. Tozer said that "God is never found accidentally."


That's why the bolt of lightening doesn't come often.
That's why I don't see signs and wonders on a daily basis.
That's why I don't have insight into the great mysteries.

Because I'm not looking.

“And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart” (Jer. 29:13).

Care to comment?

Honored to join in Faith Barista's "Unwrapping Jesus"

An amazing electronic Christmas carol celebration

I have watched this a half dozen times and am still mesmerized.

I do love a grand pipe organ, but this is not a bad substitute, courtesy of Atlanta's North Point's "iBand".

And don't miss the last song! I don't care much for Feliz Navidad, but this version can only make you smile.

Nincompoop nation?

An interesting Associated Press story last month highlighted what they call "The Nincompoop Generation." 


It seems we have on our hands two whole decades of young people are are highly adept at computing, but terribly inept at everyday life.

Photo by DanaBC, used by permission

The article talks about one poor teen who didn't know how to use a can opener. The mom said this, "Most cans come with pull-tops these days. I see her reaching for a can that requires a can opener, and her shoulders slump and she goes for something else."

More illustrations including the inability of kids to load ice cube trays, address envelopes or write cursive. There is also evidence that young people vote less, have less working historical knowledge, and eshew manual labor.

The much-vaunted "information superhighway" and "knowledge economy" has left us with a whole bunch of data and no way to use it.

I've been thinking about this article and the implications. Do we allow our children to solve problems, or do they just go to Google for all their answers?
I'm sure my parents thought that despite whatever i learned in school, I still lacked plenty of common sense. "Book smart, but street dumb" was my tag.

I've seen plenty of kids who defy the stereotypes. And my kids, ahem, are no dummies. They can fix things. They can analyze situations, and come up with practical solutions.

But I'm sure that all of our automation has prevented real-life skills. Have you tried to check the plugs on 2009 Toyota? Have you opened up an appliance, only to throw it in the trash because it's a single component? Have you bought just-add-water bread mix, instead of yeast?  But are we really missing out?  

My grandma probably made fun of the washing machine. My dad chose to use a hammer instead of a nail-gun to roof. My mother gave up her corded, rotary phone just a few years ago.

So, progress isn't all bad.

But our kids still need some basic skills to survive, don't they? Don't our kids need to know how to sew a button, or drive a screw, or read a map? Don't they need to know how to mix a bag of concrete, measure a cup of flour or balance a checkbook?

What are the spiritual implications? We are already seeing a consumer church, driven by entertainment and CEO-pastors who run the business of the body. Small groups are waning. Relationships stiff and empty, longing for the chuminess of a Facebook friend.

Do you think we will be a nincompoop nation? Do you think we are one now? 

I'd be interested in your comments here.

Stealing baby Jesus

Jesus saves, but who's saving Jesus?

There have been a number of thefts at Nativity Scenes across the nation. It seems that thieves have been robbing the cradle, snatching baby Jesus from the watchful guard of angels, shepherds and parents.  

Without the baby, it's just a crowded barn scene. Mary suddenly looks out of place. She was stroking her promised child, now her hands are brushing air. Joseph, bowed in humble prose, now prays for a rapid return. 

"Who stole our baby?" 

To combat the crimes, a company is offering free GPS tracking to religious institutions. Jesus gets a device implanted somewhere on his body. That way, if he is snatched, the church can track him via computer or mobile phone and they can notify authorities.
I'm totally serious?
  

       My first question is "who would do such a thing?" And once the deed is done, what do you do with the little figure? You couldn't throw it away. And to give him away would elicit too many questions.

Now once I got beyond the shock, and then the subsequent sarcasm, I had to ask another question. 


Who has stolen the baby Jesus from me? 

Looking in my nativity scene, I see lots of wonder and excitement, but no Jesus.

The stars in the sky, looked down where he lay. But there is no Jesus in the hay.

I hear the herald angels singing and the cattle lowing, but there is no Jesus. 

I see the star of wonder in the silent night, but no Jesus. 

Where did he go, and how can I get Him back?


Care to comment?
Thanks to Bonnie Gray, the Faith Barista, who is sponsoring a jam on "Unwrapping Jesus:".

Man vs. Mall

I’m a red-blooded American man, well equipped to take on most of life’s challenges. I can live off the land if necessary, negotiate at the business table and lead the team to victory.

But put me in a mall, and I am reduced to just another dopey guy, caught in the glare of a million lights, every one of them reminding me that time is running out. I long for any other season except this one, full of “one-day sales,” “early-bird specials” and “savings events.”

Like a hunter, I scan the shopping arena, hoping for the quick score so I can go home. After an excruciating ten minutes or so, desperation sets in. At this point, I become despondent, yet wary and suspicious.

Over the years I’ve learned that anything with a size on it is a trap — buy a sweater too large, and it’s an insult; too small, and it’s a humiliation. While she might be handy in the kitchen, purchasing a cookbook might send a wrong signal. And I’ve learned to avoid anything with “fitness” in the title.


Jewelry stores are especially confusing, as I am easily dazzled by the sparkle of cubic zirconium and 15 percent off.


Most of the time, we men get in trouble because we buy something that we think she needs. Our inclination is to be practical instead of sentimental, and what’s more practical than a tool or gadget? Or cash can always come in handy, right? How about new car mats?




Even shopping is hectic" photo
by Mark Simons.
Used with permission



Read more of "Man Vs Mall" over at The High Calling.

What should men buy for their women? Any suggestions or comments? Click here to comment.

Advent for aliens

It was a lonely December in Adana, Turkey. As a 21-year old airman with a wife and a new baby, this was my first Christmas away from home.

Every morning before dawn, the loudspeaker outside our apartment would broadcast a call to prayer. A few faithful Muslim men would  shuffle up to pray, feet bared, bowing toward the rising sun. It was a brew of smells, sounds and sights that stirred up my sense of wonder.

It was a strange feeling holding on to customs that no one else did, this Advent stirring I had. I now understand how foreigners feel when they come to this country and can't find their favorite food or hear any music from home. The whole world -- from worship, to driving patterns to conversation -- is foreign beyond words.

Walking throught the crowded shopping district during December was different too. No garish signs. No midnight madness. No dogs barking Jingle Bells over the sound system. The rug sellers, the glass shops, the merchants selling fruit, "yes, the very best fruit around mister" were all oblivious to  the American oddity of commercializing a Holy Day.

There was one shop owned by a man who spoke wonderful English, rich with the tonal qualities picked up from  BBC broadcasts on shortwave. He loved Americans and wanted to show off his language skills and converse about American life. "Dallas, good TV show, yes? Farah Fawcett beautiful woman. Lovely teeth. Stayin Alive, Stayin Alive, ah-ah-ah!"

And to display his "complete understanding" of American culture, he propped a two-foot Santa Claus doll in his window, strung tinsel over his copper wares, and played the same tape of Christmas songs, over and again. "Silent night" and "Away in a Manager," were songs he hummed, but didn't understand.

Aside from this one haven, there were no twinkling lights, no decorations and no reminders of our precious season. To them, it was just another month -- of survival.

In our little apartment, we decided to make it festive. Buying a spruce tree in this desert land was out of the question, so we found a two-foot lemon bush sold from a stand on street corner and decorated it with strands of  licorice strands and popcorn strings. We hung a fig sprig over the doorway instead of mistletoe, playing Bing Crosby on the cheap tape player. Amazingly, we got the spirit.

But the best moment came on Christmas Eve. I went to the Base Post Office and there was a notice for me to come to the counter. The military mail clerk had me pull up to the loading dock where told he helped me load  it into my 72 Chevy station wagon.

Once home, the three of us ripped open the box that was sent sometime in October -- not waiting till Christmas morning. Our families had sent items from home -- Cracker Jacks, soft toilet tissue, newspapers, a baseball glove, videotapes of the Bob Newhart show, and cherry chocolates. All the comforts of home.

Although the family situation has changed, I'm 25 pounds heavier and no longer wear those stripes, I still remember the simple joys.

And today, as a stranger in a strange land, an alien, I'm still trying to create things that last beyond the din of a world gone crazy.

Comment?

Over at Faith Barista, Bonnie Gray is hosting a blog carnival on faith. This week, the subject is the simplicity of Christmas.

Redemption isn’t just for souls – Can my vision be "born again,” too?

On Tuesday, I wrote about an interesting photography project about those who were once blind who had their sight restored through cornea transplants. They were given a camera and an assignment. “Take pictures of what you missed the most.”

You can read the story here, but think about the concept. Around here we talk about souls that are born-again and hearts that are regenerated. What if the same principle could be applied to our eyes? Once pure and flawless, we could clearly see this amazing world. But then disease took away that clarity and we were plunged into darkness, into despair. Then came restoration through a transplant and vision was restored. Born-Again eyes. And pure joy.

I've been intrigued by Lyla Lundquist's series of posts on the blind man, found in John 9, who's sight was renewed by Jesus. The haunting "Neither", which explores "who's fault it was" that the man was born blind. "He Came Home Seeing" retells the story of this man who said, "All I know is that once I was blind, but now I see." And then yesterday she carried my mind away with “The Blind see, the seeing don’t.”

I’m starting to figure out that redemption isn’t just for souls. My change is about everything. My desires, my heart, my passion – all have undergone a transformation. And because of that I need to start treating the world and my neighbors in a decidedly different way. I need to view things in an entirely different light.


My vision can be born-again. Help me see. 

Care to comment?

If my sight were gone, what would I miss?

I love my sight and count the treasure of the visual wonders of this world  as some of my richest possessions. But what if I lost my vision? What if the vibrant world of color suddenly became murky, void dark. What if the textures and hues from the sky disappeared. What if the grains and specks of detail were gone. What would I miss the most?

There's an interesting photography project about those who were once blind who had their sight restored.  Modern science gave them a new cornea and a chance to see things again. They were given a camera and an assignment.  "What did you miss the most when you were blind."

But that got me thinking about the same question. What would I miss? If all the things I see right now were taken away, what would I remember the most?

 

I would miss my boys, now men, watching their faces etched with life as they take on this world. 

I would miss the mountains, trees guardians of the forest below. Vistas high, sky blue looking down on  distant images.

How about you? What would you miss? Tell me here.

Here are a few of my photographs of things that warm my heart, that I never want to forget:



Nepali coastline, Kauai

Home sweet home, Lake Tahoe.

Love those Colorado Colors

"Wild" Colorado burros nuzzle up to the car window 

Many words, a multitude of writers, one King

If you've spent much time in the blogosphere, you'll agree that it's a vast wasteland -- with wonderful oasis' of retreat scattered in the desert. Today, over at The High Calling, I featured some great writers from around the network.  It's a joy to find places that refresh, challenge and encourage me. And maybe you, too.

One of the posts really jumped out at me is called Ahem. by Nancy Franson, who blogs at Out of My Alleged Mind.

My mother was a believer in the power of "ahem." If I accepted a gift from someone and turned away before expressing proper appreciation, she would just clear her throat. With that near-guttural sound I instantly knew what she wanted me to do. “Young man, you turn around and say ‘thank you.’”

It worked.

Now, as an adult, I’m well-mannered with people, but not always grateful toward God.  So He finds unique ways to give gentle, yet firm reminders of the gifts I’ve been given.

Many writers are active in Ann Voskamp’s Gratitude Community and are learning how to spot and respond to the divinely-inspired “ahems” in the world around us. 

For me yesterday I had a friend simply tell me that I had found my place and I that was doing well in it. I've wandered for a long time. I've wondered for many a season. Could it be true? While I contemplated the impact of those words, I was reminded to turn around and say "thank you God."

How about you? Has God cleared His throat lately? What was it like and what did you do? You can leave your comment here. 

##

Here are the posts that were featured. Just ten were highlighted out of the thousands of posts from last month and I think you'll get something out of each one. 

Nancy Franson -- Ahem

Lynn Mosher -- The Old Oak Tree

Lyla Lindquist – Neither and He Came Home Seeing
A Simple Country Girl  -- Love God, Love People

Melissa Campbell -- Dawning

Joelle – The Story

Michael Perkins -- Faking Inability
Lydia Will -- The Why of Encouragement

Cindy Waldrop – On Death

Kathleen Overby -- My Space

Who will dial 911 for you?

I just read an amazing rescue story about a three-year old girl who dialed 911 when her mother collapsed.  Her mother had been ill for a few days and eventually collapsed with no other adult on hand to assist. 

The little girl had learned about the 911 system in daycare and remembered what to do. She even let paramedics in the house when they arrived. Rightly so, she's now lauded as a hero.




Last week in our bible study group, we discussed watching over each other in such a way that if we were headed for a bad situation our believing friends would step in and let us know we are up to no good. 

That's the essence of community. When we are weak and falter, arms are there to hold us up.



But being big and strong Americans, self-made and sufficient, we don't need anyone else.  We think we can take care of ourselves. So, we just push through whatever ails our sickly souls because we’re too proud, too strong, too blind to simply ask for help.

When we know we’re on a fast track to sin who do we call?  Too often we call those key people without strong moral walls.  Why?  To gain some sort of twisted approval of course!  These are those “true” friends who only want us to be happy…right?  We all deserve happiness…right?  Wouldn’t faith be easy if we got to do everything that made us happy?

Faith can be hard. The right road can sometimes be a lonely uphill climb with the thought of a happy eternity our only solace.  Look at poor Job.  He lived his entire life struggling and asking God, “Will life ever be easy?”  It never was for him.  Life with God at the forefront brought him to his knees, his moment of total surrender.

In your weakest moment, the moment you fall to your knees, who will dial 911 for you?  And do you trust that person to open the door when you know rescue is on the other side? 

Care to comment?

(Guest post by Lisa. Thanks!)