I am really skeptical and I hate that I am. When I hear about an amazing miracle I tilt my head and wonder whose leg is getting pulled. Don't get me wrong I totally believe in miracles, but sometimes I think we call a foothill a mountain just to strengthen our testimony. I say this as I contemplate what happened to me in the wee hours of Sunday morning...
I woke up at 2 am to the sound of Milo whining outside my door. He was either cold and wanted to cuddle or scared because the dishwasher had turned on. Either way I got up to let him in and as I made my way to the bedroom door I became aware of a pain in my right lower back. I let Milo in and went to the restroom where I experienced a burning sensation. The pain in my lower back was getting worse so I grabbed a handful of aspirin and swallowed them. I returned to the bedroom, pushed Milo over and crawled under the covers. I laid there for about 5 minutes wondering what this pain could be and why was it getting progressively worse. For the next 2 hours I repeatedly got up, laid down, got up, tried to use the restroom, walked around, cursed the pain and tried to lay down again. I pulled out my iPad and searched WebMD for possible reasons and solutions for the pain: muscle strain, urinary infection, kidney stone, gonorrhea, etc... It felt like the kidney stone I had a year ago so I self diagnosed it as such. The internet offered no quick fix or solution other than waiting for it to pass (this too shall pass).
At 4 am I frantically searched the house for a better pain killer, but none was to be found. I wondered if the oxycodone dealer on the corner would still be working (I don't know if there is really a dealer, but I did wonder if I could find one). I grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen and downed a handful of them (I'm bigger then most people so the normal dosages don't apply). For the next hour I debated, usually in a hunched over position, if I should go to the emergency room. I worried if I didn't make it back in time who would teach my Sunday school class and who would preach the morning message. Finally the pain was more than I was willing to handle and I grabbed my car keys (Catherine volunteered to drive me, but I waved her away--after all my dad drove himself to the hospital after his first heart attack).
I got into my Focus and thought this is stupid, I should let Catherine drive me, but pulled out anyway. It was then that I realized I had spent the whole week preparing for a sermon on Hope in Jesus that I was going to preach that morning and I had not practiced it. I sought hope in a pill bottle, self-help, the internet, but had not even given it serious prayer. So I started praying for relief.
I got about a mile away when the pain started going away. Two miles away I turned around and came home because the pain was nearly gone.
Did all the pain meds finally kick in?
Did the stone stop moving?
Did the awkward position of sitting in the car help?
Was it the miracle of prayers answered?
I don't know...all I know is before I prayed I was pretty sure I was dying and after I prayed I went home and all was better.
I am suffering from post-dissertation depression. I have not wanted to read or write since finishing the dissertation. I've tried everything and I truly thank you if you offered a suggestion. However, the good news, evident by this blog post, is that I believe I am emerging from this funk. I even took my Kindle to lunch with me today. It is important that I read and write.
My calling as a pastor mandates that I read and read widely. A pastor that doesn't read doesn't...well I will let you be judgmental and finish that sentence :-) It is important that a pastor stays current on theological issues, social issues, entertainment issues, etc... and the best way to do that is to read.
Who God has created me to be mandates that I write. Being in the image of God who created me, I have a desire to create. My outlet for creating is writing. I need to write to feel like Terry. My second favorite fictional character once said "If I don't have a good shower, I am not myself. I feel weak and ineffectual. I'm not Kramer." I'm not Terry if I'm not writing. I have had a novel brewing inside me for a number of years. I'm about ready to pop the cork and start writing it. I envision it having a similar impact as The Shack (I'm anticipating a let down).
Anyway if you've been concerned about me don't fret I think I have turned the corner.
Today was leg day in the gym, otherwise known as time spent in the squat rack. However, over the last week my left knee has given out on several occasions--no pain, no warning--my leg simply buckles. To say I thought about that this morning as I stepped in the squat rack would be an understatement. I looked at the bar, loaded with 10 45# plates (495# altogether) and sighed. My gym doesn't have a monolift so I have to lift up the bar and take a few steps backwards to clear the supports. That meant for a brief second my left leg would be supporting my 240 pounds plus the 495 pounds on my back all by itself while I stepped back with my right foot. I took a deep breath and then a leap of faith as I stepped back. My knee held!
Jesus requires us to take a step of faith--and often. Those who don't remain stagnated in their spirituality. Those who do take that step of faith, often out of their comfort zones, find that awesome things happen, not only in their lives, but in the lives of others. Is Jesus worth leaving your comfort zone and taking a step of faith for?
I watched a train wreck materialize on Facebook yesterday. It started with one friend posting something negative about a candidate he disagreed with. . . it ended with two friends shredding their own dignity by stooping to juvenile vitriol. Maybe they made up through private messages or a phone call, but based on the angry tone of their back and forth posts, I doubt if that happened.
Why do we let politics ruin friendships? Why do we get so angry when someone disagrees with us? How can we be so arrogant to think that we are absolutely right and those that disagree with us are either misinformed or downright ignorant? When I was a mailman I hated the political season because of all the extra mass-mailings. Now that I'm a pastor I hate the political season because of all the times in the year it is the season where I believe we act the least Christ-like. Dare I say we even try to manipulate Christ to fit him into our own political shoe box so that we can claim exclusivity to divine love.
SMH
I'm reading The Plague by Albert Camus. The story takes place in the listless town of Oran that the author describes as "ugly." Camus paints this picture: "a town without pigeons, without any trees or gardens, where you never hear the beat of wings or the rustle of leaves . . ." The people don't "eschew such simpler pleasures as love-making, sea bathing, going to the pictures". . . they seemingly only care about making money. In Oran there is suddenly tons of dead rats on the street. The people are burdened with the fact that there are dead rats on the street rather than why there are dead rats.
I wonder if we all live in Oran. Are we burdened with the fact there are homeless people in our town rather than why there are homeless people? Are we burdened with destructive youths running our streets rather than why there are destructive youths? Are we burdened with sexual images everywhere we look rather than why these images exist? Are we burdened with a new abortion clinic in town rather than why there is a need for such a place? And so it goes . . .
In my fellowship class (you might know it as Sunday school class) we discussed the areas of moral decline that really gets under our skin. After a good rant that took up the whole time; we challenged one another to think of a solution (or at least the birth of a solution) to the areas we ranted about. I'll be interested to hear what we come up with. After all anyone can complain--the hard work is being a difference maker.
Last night during our Bible study I told a funny story about our work and witness trip to the Kansas City Rescue Mission that we took about 4 years ago. As I told the story, several people who were involved in the story interrupted me to tell me I left out an important detail. The details they mentioned weren't important to me or to the story, I thought. After the third participant added to my story it made me think of the Gospels and the differences between them (especially between the Synoptics and John).
What was important to the author of Matthew may not have been important to the author of John, Mark or Luke (or any combination you want to put together). We tell narratives based on what we believe is important to the story. We are all editors in some way or other. This makes the Gospels come to life for me! How exciting is it that we are treated to a four-lens view of the life of Jesus (sure, maybe Matthew and Luke borrowed from Mark, perhaps those three borrowed from Q--but they're still different enough to give us a unique perspective)?
I love reading straight through one of the Gospels, searching for a theme or perspective that is unique to that Gospel and then trying to figure out why it is unique--what was that author trying to say differently? Studying the Gospels is like panning for gold!
Lately I have not felt like doing any reading--heck, I haven't even felt like doing any writing. Perhaps I am suffering from post-education blues. I'll look at my Kindle or a book I know I want to read and I just shake my head like a toddler being force-fed spinach. I'll open up Word and stare at the blank screen while my thoughts drift from the Tigers to the Lions to any number of situations that are like a thorn in my flesh. Even my workouts have been somewhat lacking.
Part of me wants to kick myself in the seat and say "giddy-up...lower the shoulder and drive on...when the going gets tough the tough get going...pull yourself up by the boot-straps, and so it goes". And that would be normal for me. However, as I have gotten older I have become more contemplative. Instead of running through the wall I have started to give thought to why the wall is there. What can I learn from the wall and what is God teaching me about myself with such a wall. I have to resist the urge (the temptation) to just smash the wall and be done with it--after all that would be much easier. It would be easier still to ignore it and walk around it. But no, I have to, I need to do the hard work of soul searching contemplation.
Janet Hagberg and Robert Guelich write that the wall represents our will meeting God's will face to face (The Critical Journey). They add: "We sit in awe of the process of surrendering and going through the wall [eventually]. But, as we emerge, we are able to move along on our journeys with much less clarity about the direction and much more assurance of not having to be in charge of our lives. We are being transformed, turned inside out."
Giving up power, giving up being in charge is difficult--even when we turn over control to God. The popular bumper sticker reads "God is my co-pilot". God needs to be more than the co-pilot, he needs to be the pilot while we tend to others on the trip.
