When you can't describe the indescribable

"Sehnsucht"

I first read the word and just passed it by in my mind. It was foreign, unknown and unneccesary. With 100,000 English words to use, why bother to with another language?

Dad spoke German. So did my Aunt.  But "I know nothing," of German, picking up phrases from Hogan's Heroes and that's it. But still, I was intrigued and I don't know why.

"A noun translated as 'longing,' 'yearning' and 'craving,'" said the dictionary. "Or, in a wider sense, a type of 'intensely missing.'"

I gulped. For my whole life, I've had an awkward shifting in my soul, a back and forth movement, a stammering to describe something unknowing.

"Sehnsucht is diffucult to translate adequately," the dictionary says. "It describes a deep emotional state."

Could this actually pinpoint the hollow echo, the sad and distant goodbye, the endless waves that resonate deep within?  Or those glimpes and shadows, the knowing that I could never put my finger on?

C. S. Lewis used the word, calling it the "inconsolable longing in the human heart for we know not what."

I know this word!

It's the feeling that I don't belong, that my home is in a distant land.
It's the wooing of another world, a place of hope.
It's the deep question mark that is embedded in everything i do.

I have heard it my whole life!

It's that nostalgia for places I have never been.
It's the love affair of Someone that I've never seen
It's the longing for the longing

The enigma is this -- the Germans described something that cannot be described in a word I cannot pronounce. These things shouldn't be easy. In fact, I never want the full answer. I always want to be on the quest.

There is a distant shore, a place without a name, a destination that I cannot know --- until I've arrived.

 I am not alone, for we have all heard its calling.
Sehnsucht

I hear You.

 Hooking up with Bonnie at Faith Barista, who prompted us to find our whitespace with God. What can be better than just recognizing that sehnsucht in all of us. That's whitespace! That's where he can move! Read what others have to say here.

“I will put My instructions deep within them,

 and I will write them on their hearts. I will be their God, and they will be My people” (Jeremiah 31:33).


If only I had just a little more . . .

If only I had a little more money,
  I could make a difference.
If only I had a little more talent,
  I could really write things that would impact lives.
If only I had a little more time,
  I could spend more time with the hurting.
If only I had better looks,
  I could be more confident.
If only I lived in a different location, I
  could be involved in my community.

If only...

I've used them all. All the "if onlys" in the book. It seems I never have enough to the things that need to be done. Excuses thrown against the wall.

"If only I had more, think of what I could do."  But since I don't, I quit, or give of myself half-heartedly, convinced that I don't have what it takes. And the latent resentment that builds, thinking I've been ripped off, thinking of all I don't have,  instead of what I do.

The talented awe me. They sing effortlessly, write flawlessly, speak convincingly. If only I had that talent.  I'm like the sap who just had a single talent and buried it in his yard, afraid it would be lost or stolen. Instead, it went unused which is a worse crime.

How much time do I spend, thinking about what I could do, if only? What if my energies were  spent appreciating, cultivating and using what meager abilities I have.

Do I really want my unspoken epitaph to be, "he was afraid?" Or do I want it to be, "well done, good and faithful servant. You've been faithful with a few things, so I will put you in charge of many."

Could it be, the reason I don't have more is because I haven't been content with less?

Joining up with Graceful, Heard it On Sunday, Use it On Monday. See the others who have posted here.

"Have you been flossing?" -- Truth decay

She asked me the question, and I could not lie.

Myrna, I will floss more.
I promise.

Myrna, the sweet hygienist that I've seen for years is passionate about tooth care. She has a lifetime invested in this profession. So on Wednesday, I went for my scheduled cleaning. I tried to relax, while she lovingly scraped, poked and prodded my gums until I spit blood. It was for my own good, I reminded myself.

Every six months, she asks the same question. "Have you been flossing."

The truth this time was, "no."

I could have told her a lie to save me from the coming sermon. I could have bent the truth, telling her "not as often as I should," or "I always eat at work," or "I have a woman at home who does it for me."

But I could not. She only wanted me to have healthy teeth. And most of all, she knows the truth. After running her instruments through the cravaces of my teeth, she knows whether I've been flossing or not. Why lie when she knows the truth?

I've not always been a truth teller, more concerned with reputation than character. But truth, I've found, is liberating. It frees me to deal with my weakness, instead of hiding and cowering behind a facade.

Myrna's question kind of reminds me of the question God posed Adam in the garden. "Where are you, Adam," after he and Eve had taken a bite more than they could chew. Hiding in the trees, naked, ashamed and afraid, God knew exactly where they were. He knew what they had done. He knew the consequences. And still, He asked.

I still get asked those kinds of questions from God:
What are you doing?
Where are you going?
What are you thinking?
What is your direction?

He knows all the answers, and by asking me the obvious, He's hoping I come to my senses.

And yes, I flossed tonight.

Care to comment?

Please, disturb me

I have a car that's paid for and a house that's wonderfully appointed with furniture and gadgets. I have clothes that are in great condition in a variety of colors and styles. I have a job and some degree of security. There is food on the table and extra in the cupboard. I have people who love me.

I bow in humble prayer, giving thanks for the blessing, thanks for the good things.

But maybe it's all too comfortable. Maybe I am missing out on the true blessing. All this stuff and comfort is a ruse, a big plush pillow in life. 

Maybe my prayer should be to "disturb me."

Disturb Us
by Francis Drake

Disturb us, Lord, when
We are too well pleased with ourselves,
When our dreams have come true
Because we have dreamed too little,
When we arrived safely
Because we sailed too close to the shore.

Disturb us, Lord, when
With the abundance of things we possess
We have lost our thirst
For the waters of life;
Having fallen in love with life,
We have ceased to dream of eternity

And in our efforts to build a new earth,
We have allowed our vision
Of the new Heaven to dim.

Disturb us, Lord, 
to dare more boldly,
To venture on wider seas
Where storms will show your mastery;
Where losing sight of land,
We shall find the stars.
We ask You to push back
The horizons of our hopes;
And to push into the future
In strength, courage, hope and love

-- Sir Francis Drake, 1577

God, shake my apathy. Keep me on the edge. Forgive my addiction to comfort. Give me fire. Give me passion. Move me to a different place in my heart, in my life.....

Driving the Wienermobile - Could this be the best job anywhere?

As a child, I was swept up by the Oscar Meyer PR machine. I knew the words to the hot dog song, singing it in the bathtub and in bed when I couldnt sleep. I hummed it in my mind while Ms. Cole droned about math equations. And oh how I loved those tubular delights, filled with mysterious product that always had perfect consistency.

And then there was the day when I saw the Wienermobile slowly come down the street at the Nevada Day Parade. There was no going back. I graduated from wanting to be an Armor hot dog to wanting to drive the Wienermobile. Oh what rapture!

I have lived a great live, but somehow, still feel unfulfilled. It could be that my destiny still awaits.

The Wienermobile is 75 years-old this year, and the drivers blog about their adventures. The Hotdoggers Blog is full of some of the worst puns you can imagine, "driving the scenic krauts," "meat ups," "franks to my parents," "just ketchup with me," and "bun-filled nights"

One of the drivers, Brian, wrote about the day he pulled up in his driveway with the Wienermobile. I wonder what the neighbors thought.

When the Wienermobile comes to town, everyone is happy. On the contrary, Santa Claus scares some kids, with the long beard and crazy, twinkling eyes. And clowns don't engender everyone with their cheap makeup and dimwitted stunts. But who's afraid of a hot dog? The crazy concept has never really grown old, even with those enlightened adults who know the contents of frankfurters. Driving a Wienermobile has to be the best job in the whole world.

Wouldn't it be great, if I arrived at my job or at a gathering and everyone was happy just because I showed. I wouldn't have to impress anyone with my knowledge, skills, or looks. Old people would look at me, because I reminded them of happy days. To the young, I could bring joy and adventure.

Just like the driver of the Wienermobile. The luckiest person on earth.

Care to comment?

You can subscribe to this blog here.

You can track the four Weinermobiles as they trek across the U.S.

Danica, you have the best job in the world.

Writer's Retreat - There's room for you

Last year, I was blessed to attend the Laity Lodge Writer's Retreat, located about two hours from San Antonio. If Texas sounds unappealing to you in the West and North, this location will forever change your preconceptions.The location is magnificent, with great hiking, kayaking and swimming. I was totally isolated.

Photo by Glynn Young

And the real beauty of this retreat? There's no agents, book selling or hawking. It's all about the writing.


I'm headed back. This year, the writer’s retreat is being held Sept. 29 to Oct. 2.


There are fantastic general sessions, focusing on the heart and soul of the writer and then specialized workshops.


Five workshops are scheduled: Me, Myself and God: Spiritual Writing and Memoir in the Light of Faith, taught by Gregory Wolfe, writer-in-residence at Seattle Pacific University; Parable and Play: How to Write Stories Worth Reading More than Once, led by Jeffrey Overstreet, author and film critic; Gold from Straw: Poetry, taught by Julia Kasdorf, English professor and director of the Masters of Fine Arts program at Penn State University; Take and Think: Consuming Art in Order to Make Our Own, led by David Dark, author of Everyday Apocalypse: The Sacred Revealed in Radiohead, The Simpsons and Other Pop Culture Icons; and Songwriting, led by professional songwriters Jill Phillips and Andy Gullahorn.

There's still room for you. More information on fees, location and retreat and workshop specifics can be found at the Laity Lodge web site.

Can we partner with those that don't believe?

Is it possible to have a partnership with someone who believes differently than you, to create a successful business? One of my favorite new bloggers is Mike Eaton at Greater Seas and he posed this question to several of us who write about faith and the marketplace.  

Bradley Moore, of Shrinking the Camel said yes, that it was acceptable, because running a business requires many partnering relationships, and "business is filled with gray areas that don’t provide a flat biblical yes-no framework." True. We have to forge many deals with those that don't believe like we do. But a true partner in business is a different kind of relationship. Similarly, I have many friendships with nonbelievers, but would not marry someone who didn't share my faith.

Mike St. Pierre, at the Daily Saint, said it depends. "A person can be honest and not be a Christian," he says. Fair enough.

Sue Miley at Christian Business Crossroads also says "it depends."  "It is important for businesses to be built on a foundation of Christian values," she writes.  If the partner we choose - whether Christian or not - leads us away from those values, then it isn't right. I know plenty of "believers" who I simply couldn't  trust. 


What did I say? Well, my answer was just a flat out "no" Why? Here's what I said:
More than a moral code book, the Bible is actually a practical guidebook for successful living. For those of us who have lived by it’s teachings, we find that we reap everyday blessings. Things just work better when you do it by the book. Go figure.

So when I first read the words, “don’t be unequally yoked with unbelievers,” I dutifully added them to the long list of commands for my life. But these words are meant not to just keep me “clean,” they are meant to help us be successful in life. — they are there for my own good. You see, when I sign my name on the dotted line next to another name, it means that as a partner, I am sharing the consequences of that venture. Through the good, the bad and the ugly — we’re a team.

The problem is that when the other person doesn’t share the same worldview. On the surface, our outlook on profit, the competition, employees and a host of other principles might seem to be the same, but are drawn from different wells. Why we work, who we work for and how we treat the world around us define us. These ventures often start good, but almost always end up badly. That’s when the command becomes just good sense. And while I can be friends with a non Christian, I would never partner.

Be a regular reader of all of these blogs, but please weigh on this at Greater Seas. 


You can also comment here. What do you think? Am I too harsh?

Too much thinking, not enough doing

Photo by Malena

Sometimes, you just have to quit thinking and start doing.

At least, that’s the argument that Mike St. Pierre gives when confronted with over planning: “Don’t think unless you have to.”

There’s some wisdom in this for us in the workplace, at home and in life

I tend to overthink—and then get bogged down in the mess of it all. There's a certain ability God puts in us to make decisions, to analyze and review all the data and make a snap judgment. Often,  it is not foolish, but the ultimate in wisdom to decide with our guts like this.

Mike was a Little League pitcher and was so wrapped up in mechanics, motion, and timing that he lost his little mojo. He was frozen by the process. Finally, his coach encouraged him. “Don’t aim the ball,” he said.

“Don’t think. Just go out there and have a catch.”

It worked for little Mike. And it might work for you.

Read the full blog post, Why Your Productivity Shouldn’t Require You to Think.

Do you think too much, or not enough? Comment here.

Thrift-Store Trophy Case

They sat on a shelf in the corner of the Disabled Veterans Thrift Store.  There were at least 20 of them, unmoved for years, as evidenced by the thick layer of dust that encased the polished bronze plastic.

A bowler in perfect handshake follow through stood on top of one of them; A golfer driving a ball, looking into the distance posed on another; A cup with two handles given for the best 4-H goat in the teen class for 1984; Student of the month; An Award of Excellence; and a Most Improved award were all part of the collection.

Trophies. At some point, each of these meant something. The recipient stood beaming and the small gathering clapped while offered a hearty handshake and a smile. They were the apex of achievement. But here they were, disposed and forgotten. The thrill was gone.

We all like to win. Who doesn’t? But the thrill of victory dissipates. For some, it’s sooner than others.

I’ve had a few trophies over the year – A Pinewood derby Cub Scout champion, Speech and debate state award, and a most improved bowler. Where did they go? Where did they disappear?  Did I throw them away? Did I given them away, like these thrift store trophies? I looked at them, pitiful, abandoned like forgotten puppies, eyeing each shopper, hoping they could relive their glory.

What happened to the prestige, the glitter, the glamour, the glory?

If I’ve forgotten about yesterday’s trophies, what about today’s? My promotion that I think I deserve, how long will that last? The car I drive will eventually wear out. My 401K will get rocked in the market and eventually not be the same.

The things I hold up as trophies, the things over my head, are really short-lived, vain and meaningless in the end. My house. My good name. My skills and abilities. My good name. All of these are like chasing after the wind.

Over these last few years, I’ve lost a lot of things I thought were important. And through the loss, I’ve learned about trophies, about importance, and about things that last.

Care to comment?

Living large in a shrinking world

That Saturday is a day I won't forget. It was the day I lost my mind.

You see the day before I found an unexpected bounty. It happens a couple of times a year, you know when there are three paydays in a month. No mortgage payment. The power bill was paid. No car payment. I had a whole paycheck -- extra!

I was going to live large.

I sauntered through Lowe's like I owned the joint, buying tools I didn't really need. And then I went to Foot Locker and bought a pair of tennis shoes, just because. And the Orvis store was in my sights, where I bought fishing gear for no good reason at all. I ate a huge, overpriced steak for lunch.

Come Sunday, I felt strangely cold.

It happens every time I do this.

I realize that materialism is such a false lover. It leaves me empty in the end with nothing to show but worn-out possessions and a hefty bill to pay.

Our nation, our neighbors and friends realize this as well.  Still, we buy and we charge and we consume. And in the end we swallow the bitter pill of rejection. Our toys stand lifeless, unable to meet out deepest needs.

With the financial crisis upon our land, we are thinking about all the things we are losing -- stock balances, 401ks, big televisions, new cars.  We mistakenly believe that more money will cure us. It doesn't.

Rich people are lonely. I've seen it while I lived as a pauper in one of the most affluent communities in the nation. I heard and saw it all. Parties. Purchases. Plans. These people often substituted busyness for importance. And at night, like the rest of us, they still look in the mirror and the hollowness mocked them.

With all this buzz about money, debt, credit ratings and insolvency, I think I need to move my investments, to reallocate my portfolio. My affections need to change from the dollar to something that lasts -- a treasure that cannot be taken from me.

Care to comment?

"Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things." - Col 3.2

Wax on, Wax Off

One of my favorite all-time movies was Karate Kid, released 25 years ago!

Mr. Myagi, the wise handyman and old karate master, agreed to teach Danel a thing or two about defense, about standing up to the bully.

So he had Daniel sand his deck. “Left the circle. Right the circle.”

He had him paint his fence. “Brush stroke up. Brush stroke down.”

And he had him buff his car. “Wax on. Wax Off.”

It was excruciating to the boy. “I thought you were going to teach me to defend myself?” It just didn’t make sense. To Ralph, it seemed like free labor and a tremendous waste of time.

Later, those discipline moves would prove the very motions Daniel used to defend himself in the competitive arena.

So it is with our discipline. It’s grievous. It’s painful. It seems like a waste of time. But when we listen to the Master, we understand that “Wax On. Wax Off” is really a preparation for the rest of life.

Right now, I’m not enjoying the waxing. I’m grousing. I’m frustrated by the pace. I should have ‘arrived’ by now and am concerned that it’s taking far longer than it should.

And I hate waxing.

Care to comment?

Save the Males

Have you noticed? Men are fools. 

For proof, just look at the jokes,  the innuendo of stupidity, and the subject of thousands of sitcom gags. The fool, the oaf, the bumbling male is so common in movies that it’s expected. Jim Carrey, Jack Black, Ray Romano, and Owen Wilson have made millions strutting  this persona.

They are the complete opposite of the Archie Bunker-George Jefferson-Fred Flinstone buffonery that dominated the airwaves a generation ago.

Admittedly, for thousands of years, men dominated and put down femininity. Women couldn’t voice their opinion, vote or participate in culture and society, except under the shadow of their man. That was wrong. We realized the mistake and our culture has righted the wrongs. But now we are on a rebound that has whiplashed back around again.

What do we do? Should we stuff our masculinity in a bag, spray it with perfume, and put it in a cedar chest to be pulled out only at family reunions and only at the request of a matriarch. We’re dancing around in a culture that is increasingly chiffon and soft.  What have we become?

Do you  think it's gone too far?

This isn’t a gender war. It’s a culture war. We need men to be men and women to be women. Things work best when this is the case. Marriages last. Children thrive. The workplace order is restored. When things have failed in my life, it's because I wasn't man enough to step up, to make the hard choices, to fight for what was right.

Did you know that just 43 percent of collegians are men? Why don’t young men go to higher education? It's well documented how poorly  boys do in elementary and high school, now ceding the  traditionally higher performing math and sciences to girls. 


Girls get better grades. They have higher educational aspirations. Girls now outnumber boys in student government, in honor societies, and in debating clubs. Girls read more books. They outperform boys on tests for artistic and musical ability.

Boys are more likely to be suspended, to be diagnosed with attention-deficit disorder, and to be jailed. Teen suicides for boys outnumber girls by a ratio of 6 to 1.

So, have our sons believed the lie?

There is some good news. Men are coming back to the church in droves– that place we had ceded to women for generations. Bless these women, who, in our absence,  stepped up.

And it’s that way with families too. Men have not shouldered their responsibility, so women have done what it took to make things work. Millions of single mothers have balanced work with diapers, school with career and their kids made it – no thanks to the deadbeat dads.

But for those who are doing their best to be involved with their kids, to be good husbands and leaders, they should be praised. Instead, the blistering assault continues. And frankly, it needs to stop.

Save the males.


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