Disney never ceases to amaze me. For my family it has become a familiar destination as we can't seem to avoid a trip for longer than a year or two. It is a fun tradition that marks time among us: "How old was Riley when we did that?...Graydon wasn't even born that year..." etc. The magic of meeting characters...the rides that cater to the entire family...the rides that don't (you'll be big enough next year, etc.). We love it, manufactured joy or not!
This year's trip was more of the same. Great family time together focused purely on being together. Plenty of difficult and rough moments as well, but truly overshadowed by all of the fun. I could probably pick from many memories and write, and perhaps I will, but there was one specific ride that was HUGE for me and my two oldest: "Mission Space." Epcot really hit the mark with this one, I believe. From the start we were each handed warnings to read...basically big fat "caution you are entering dangerous territory" statements that even provided an "opt out" if you wanted to go on the lower impact version. Nothing better to create a sense of adventure than giving a hint of danger, you know?
So after waiving aside the warnings we enter a room to get a mission briefing. Gary Sinise, still sporting his unfortunate haircut from the movie "Mission to Mars," was our virtual instructor. Makes sense because, you guessed it, we're heading to Mars...at least heading into a simulated flight to Mars. This is the point where things start to get really, really cool. Each of us has a job to do in flight. Not only do we have a job, we have a role to play. Riley is the Navigator. I'm the Pilot. Tate is the Commander. Do you begin to see just how cool this scenario is? We've been warned...this is dangerous...this is a mission and we could get physically sick or disoriented...there is RISK and we have individual, important jobs to do. Each of us.
So, after following our team's line, painted on the floor, through the hallway and waiting outside the door for a bit (we were team 8, I think), we filed into the chamber and climbed inside our capsule. I locked the kids into their seats, right and left of me, and they immediately started worrying because the controls are too far away for them. Not to worry - as the lights go down the entire panel comes to us - each of us watching an individual display screen and looking at our own buttons, switches and joystick. I'm *so* not doing this real credit - it was incredibly cool.
As the simulation got fired up and moving I was floored by the replicated motion we all felt. When we blasted off it really felt like we were pulling G's and I thought back to the warnings we'd so easily dismissed earlier. I have NEVER felt so purely like I was actually in motion (maybe on Soarin' across the park, but that's different in several ways). We are immersed at this point. The kids and I are loving this and whooping about how cool it feels and enjoying the ride of it...and then the call of duty begins.
At first, Riley had to push a button to execute our separation from the rocket. Then Tate had to initiate a slingshot maneuver around the moon. As we neared our objective, we each had buttons to push and jobs to perform. The computer prompted each individual to get prepared and then "execute" on cue. We had an empty seat in our ship, so the computer over-rode any "Engineer" processes to help keep us on track. As we approached our landing, a systems error had us overshooting our mark (or maybe it was me, I am the Pilot, after all). Suddenly, as we tipped precariously over the edge of a chasm, all three of us were called upon to engage our joysticks and initiate some serious maneuvers in order to right the ship and safely land. All of this couldn't have taken more than, I don't know, three to five minutes...but we were captive to the experience. We were a team.
As we "disembarked," both kids pleaded to go again. It was tempting - for whatever reason the park was slow that day and there was virtually no wait for this ride. I can admit, even now, that I would gladly experience that trip again with them...but I also knew that we could never quite experience it again, ever. Not in that forum. Not without it becoming "just another ride." I reminded them of the FastPass tickets we had for Test Track and we all quickly moved on to the next fun destination.
I hope this hasn't gotten entirely lost in translation - but there was nothing better than this moment for me. This sense of working hand in hand with my kids, of seeing them come alive in the experience - seeing them live into the roles they had been given. Three minutes, five minutes, it didn't matter. How long does it really take for someone to "come alive?" Last summer it took 4 hours as we negotiated the New River in a canoe together for the first time. I don't know what it will look like next time...a weekend? An evening?
But I love seeing it happen. It was an utter surprise...not something I would expect from Disney.
I wish I could manufacture it and bottle it and shoot it into my veins. And I suppose that is what some do...or try to do. And, oddly, even just pursuing "it" for its own sake...climbing mountains, tackling rapids...visiting Disney World every few years...even those are all the same, aren't they? In the end? Empty?
But in contrast to that, there is nothing better than having someone say "you have something important to do" and then giving you the chance to go do it. Nothing. Wouldn't it be great if someone did that for me? For us? Do you believe, or dare to hope, that someone might? Not my boss giving me a goal. Not my job being the culmination of my last job being the culmination of my college diploma being the culmination of my ability to scrape through high school. Not the next step...but the mission. The calling. My calling. Could that be real?
"But I do more than thank. I ask - ask the God of our Master, Jesus Christ, the God of glory - to make you intelligent and discerning in knowing him personally, your eyes focused and clear, so that you can see exactly what it is he is calling you to do, grasp the immensity of this glorious way of life he has for Christians, oh, the utter extravagance of his work in us who trust him - endless energy, boundless strength!" (The Message - Eph 1.18)
Man. I don't mean to openly doubt scripture...but can I believe in that? Can I trust it? Really?
For me, not as a guy promoting an event or even as a guy trying to open myself up to others through this blog, but just as a guy trying to walk this life out, its worth the chance. Its worth hoping for...that God would even give me a hint of that is worth it. Certainly worth a few days of my life and a couple hundred bucks.
Gary Sinise, in our briefing, introduced us to the phrase, "Its Go Time." Not that I hadn't heard it before. Not that it isn't cheesy or hackney or silly in other circumstance. But inside the experience that we shared, "Go Time," came to be a call to action. And it has lingered for a time as an inside reference between us three. A shared secret that, to a degree, transports us back to the shared experience. I can't really fathom what it might be like to have the Lord our God tell me: its Go Time. But I think I'll go take a chance that he might...if you care to join me visit www.piercing-the-veil.com and sign up for The Calling retreat with Gary Barkalow. Sincerely hope to see you there.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
Bad Dad
Well, I finally fell from grace yesterday. After years of perfection, I blew it with my son. As I'm sure this is hard to believe, I'll relay some of the details...I think many people might find them oddly familiar.
Yesterday was a hectic one. We've been getting over illness at our house (literally every one of us...both me and my wife...all four kids...) and simultaneously preparing to go on vacation. At the same time, my daughter turned 9 on Monday and my wife's birthday is today. Busy.
One of the things my daughter wanted to do this week to celebrate was have friends over for dinner. We originally had this planned for Tuesday, but the aforementioned illness(es) forced us to push the date out a bit. Last night we caught up - a family down the street that pretty well matches up with ours (four kids, each within a year of our four) came up to the house for dinner. One of the great things about having this family over is that the kids all get along fairly well. Sure it's chaotic and there is no shortage of conflict, but you could do far worse with eight kids in your house between 7 months and 9 years old, believe me!
After a fun evening of play, their family headed for home and we began preparing for bed. This is where the "bad dad" in me came to life. My five year old, Tate, mentioned that we were supposed to play a board game. The request was new to me and completely out of any context - I casually declined (and directed him to pajamas and teeth-brushing instead). Tate is an unbelievably amiable kid who has always rolled pretty well with the punches, but when he doesn't he shuts down. And he did.
Whether or not he is adept at pushing my buttons or whether I have my own private baggage regarding this reaction, shutting down pretty well ticks me off. He averts his eyes (or stares at the floor). He is pouting. He is non-responsive and, particularly, won't talk. I, on the other hand, am somewhat verbal (in case you didn't know).
My perspective: Tate, five or not, overtired or not, needs to celebrate the fun evening he's had and not sweat it when a board game doesn't figure in because bedtime is upon us.
My perspective: Not talking about why you are mad makes me mad.
My perspective: Go to bed.
So, I execute on my response and my perspective. Frustrated but sure in the knowledge that he will soon be asleep and that this is just a small bump in an otherwise pretty good day, I put him in bed and ignore my own anger as he pulls the quilt over his head, completely rejecting me. Bad Dad? Just hang on...
Walking down the steps I run into my wife and throw the circumstance at her in passing: after all the fun we've had, you're son is mad that he can't play a boardgame instead of going to bed - you better go talk to him. That's when I find out that the reason the game came up was my wife. That's when I find out that the "fun time" I thought they'd been having included the two oldest kids excluding him from some game even to the point of forcing him out of the room and locking the door behind him. That's when I find out that the boardgame was a lifeline that my wife had offered to comfort him in the midst of rejection.
Bad Dad.
Now, let me be clear: I'm not beating myself up. My son shutting down does hit a nerve, but its also not something productive insofar as it doesn't promote healing or relationship or risking that the other person (me, friends, wife, kids) wants to change or wants to make things better. Big idea for a five year old? Yes - I don't expect him to get it...but I hope to lead him away from shutting down - though, in case you missed it, this is the familiar part for me. I'm likely frustrated because I have had far more time to master the art of shutting down...and its more pervasive and harder to recognize because I'm better at it. How 'bout you?
So now I have a choice. Move on or dig in. Hurting son has deeper wounds that I wasn't aware of, but now I've contributed to the pain and I would love to take it back but, in some ways, it is what it is. But I can love him, now that I have perspective I can love him better. I climb into the top bunk and wrap my arms around him and whisper in his ear that I love him and then play at tickling his leg or punching him in the gut and it gets a little better, though not really better...but I'm in it with him now and I'm happy to hold him for a while and, lets be honest, he'll be asleep soon.
Not so Bad Dad, yeah?
Laying there with my son, quiet and less distracted than I'm usually intent on being, I had this incredible thought that has stayed with me ever since: God is not like this. I mean He "is" in that He loves me and wants me to be healed and would wrap His arms around me in my time of hurt. But He "is not" in that he never doesn't know the context, never doesn't know why I'm shutting down, never isn't intimately aware of my circumstance and my failings - of the real battles and the superficial echos of the real battles. Does that make sense at all?
I'm laying with my son trying to redeem my mistake and trying to keep him from accidentally believing that I would hurt him, by mistake or not, and I suddenly realize that the cool thing about God is that he never blows it like that, never has to try and fix it, never doesn't have our best interest...our best hopes...our truest desires perfectly in view - and, far more important, never doesn't have His own best hope for us in His heart. But, more often than not, whether because my Dad made the same mistakes I do or because of some other reason for my consistent and pervasive doubt, I believe that He 1) doesn't know 2) doesn't love 3) doesn't care...or that if all three of those are true, that I won't like what He has chosen for me.
There's a story in the Bible where Christ is sitting with a group of guys and He says something like, "Seriously. If your son asked you for a piece of bread would you give him a stone?" And then He goes on to connect the dots and call these guys out: "Do you think your Father in heaven would do anything less!?" And the honest answer is both "yes, yes I do think He would do something less" and "no, but I've given my son plenty of stones...and I got a few of my own, too."
Hard to believe in a loving God in the midst of our own failings...and in the midst of all those times we've been failed.
Yesterday was a hectic one. We've been getting over illness at our house (literally every one of us...both me and my wife...all four kids...) and simultaneously preparing to go on vacation. At the same time, my daughter turned 9 on Monday and my wife's birthday is today. Busy.
One of the things my daughter wanted to do this week to celebrate was have friends over for dinner. We originally had this planned for Tuesday, but the aforementioned illness(es) forced us to push the date out a bit. Last night we caught up - a family down the street that pretty well matches up with ours (four kids, each within a year of our four) came up to the house for dinner. One of the great things about having this family over is that the kids all get along fairly well. Sure it's chaotic and there is no shortage of conflict, but you could do far worse with eight kids in your house between 7 months and 9 years old, believe me!
After a fun evening of play, their family headed for home and we began preparing for bed. This is where the "bad dad" in me came to life. My five year old, Tate, mentioned that we were supposed to play a board game. The request was new to me and completely out of any context - I casually declined (and directed him to pajamas and teeth-brushing instead). Tate is an unbelievably amiable kid who has always rolled pretty well with the punches, but when he doesn't he shuts down. And he did.
Whether or not he is adept at pushing my buttons or whether I have my own private baggage regarding this reaction, shutting down pretty well ticks me off. He averts his eyes (or stares at the floor). He is pouting. He is non-responsive and, particularly, won't talk. I, on the other hand, am somewhat verbal (in case you didn't know).
My perspective: Tate, five or not, overtired or not, needs to celebrate the fun evening he's had and not sweat it when a board game doesn't figure in because bedtime is upon us.
My perspective: Not talking about why you are mad makes me mad.
My perspective: Go to bed.
So, I execute on my response and my perspective. Frustrated but sure in the knowledge that he will soon be asleep and that this is just a small bump in an otherwise pretty good day, I put him in bed and ignore my own anger as he pulls the quilt over his head, completely rejecting me. Bad Dad? Just hang on...
Walking down the steps I run into my wife and throw the circumstance at her in passing: after all the fun we've had, you're son is mad that he can't play a boardgame instead of going to bed - you better go talk to him. That's when I find out that the reason the game came up was my wife. That's when I find out that the "fun time" I thought they'd been having included the two oldest kids excluding him from some game even to the point of forcing him out of the room and locking the door behind him. That's when I find out that the boardgame was a lifeline that my wife had offered to comfort him in the midst of rejection.
Bad Dad.
Now, let me be clear: I'm not beating myself up. My son shutting down does hit a nerve, but its also not something productive insofar as it doesn't promote healing or relationship or risking that the other person (me, friends, wife, kids) wants to change or wants to make things better. Big idea for a five year old? Yes - I don't expect him to get it...but I hope to lead him away from shutting down - though, in case you missed it, this is the familiar part for me. I'm likely frustrated because I have had far more time to master the art of shutting down...and its more pervasive and harder to recognize because I'm better at it. How 'bout you?
So now I have a choice. Move on or dig in. Hurting son has deeper wounds that I wasn't aware of, but now I've contributed to the pain and I would love to take it back but, in some ways, it is what it is. But I can love him, now that I have perspective I can love him better. I climb into the top bunk and wrap my arms around him and whisper in his ear that I love him and then play at tickling his leg or punching him in the gut and it gets a little better, though not really better...but I'm in it with him now and I'm happy to hold him for a while and, lets be honest, he'll be asleep soon.
Not so Bad Dad, yeah?
Laying there with my son, quiet and less distracted than I'm usually intent on being, I had this incredible thought that has stayed with me ever since: God is not like this. I mean He "is" in that He loves me and wants me to be healed and would wrap His arms around me in my time of hurt. But He "is not" in that he never doesn't know the context, never doesn't know why I'm shutting down, never isn't intimately aware of my circumstance and my failings - of the real battles and the superficial echos of the real battles. Does that make sense at all?
I'm laying with my son trying to redeem my mistake and trying to keep him from accidentally believing that I would hurt him, by mistake or not, and I suddenly realize that the cool thing about God is that he never blows it like that, never has to try and fix it, never doesn't have our best interest...our best hopes...our truest desires perfectly in view - and, far more important, never doesn't have His own best hope for us in His heart. But, more often than not, whether because my Dad made the same mistakes I do or because of some other reason for my consistent and pervasive doubt, I believe that He 1) doesn't know 2) doesn't love 3) doesn't care...or that if all three of those are true, that I won't like what He has chosen for me.
There's a story in the Bible where Christ is sitting with a group of guys and He says something like, "Seriously. If your son asked you for a piece of bread would you give him a stone?" And then He goes on to connect the dots and call these guys out: "Do you think your Father in heaven would do anything less!?" And the honest answer is both "yes, yes I do think He would do something less" and "no, but I've given my son plenty of stones...and I got a few of my own, too."
Hard to believe in a loving God in the midst of our own failings...and in the midst of all those times we've been failed.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Unbeliever
I've come to realize of late that, for the most part, I'm pretty bad at this whole "belief" thing. That sounds so nonchalant; the statement itself is strikingly symptomatic of my problem. My ability to distance myself from that problem, not just here but far more importantly in my daily life, IS the problem...if that makes any sense?
I've started this badly - let me clarify: across the board, in the midst of wide and varying circumstances, I all too often make poor choices. Not intentionally, of course, nor exclusively. And not, as you might fear, in the midst of the "big" issues. I'm not talking about the monumentally "obvious" choices that might come up in any person's life - to be faithful to my wife, to tithe, to be committed to my family or my job - but its the smaller, daily questions that seem to illumine my, well, somewhat shallow and horribly flimsy personal ethics.
There is a book called, "The Shack," that everyone should read. It is a great picture of a God who is really interested, really involved, really pulling for His people, individually. A friend of mine, one whom I thought would love this story, remarked that she didn't think it was good for people to read because she was afraid it would "get their hopes up." I'm synopsizing, of course, but the idea appears to be that reading a book like The Shack is dangerous because it sets an expectation that God might actually be involved...and clearly we shouldn't, well, expect that? Isn't that troubling? Colossally, I mean?
And yet that same issue of expectations seems to be at the heart of my problem: belief.
Her warning is just more obvious somehow - more public then my own.
You see nobody but me recognizes my doubt when I choose to be dismissive rather than embracing of a friend in need. Nobody but me knows when I watch a skirt walking slowly away or click one time more than I should. Nobody but me knows the times I turn right when I should have turned left or the time I thought ill of my neighbor or...
Wait. "Nobody but me?" Were you with me there, just for a moment? Do you see how pervasive that is? Do you see how easily, in the moment, simply by word choice, I find myself living in the land of no expectations!? Of no real belief? And now, just as quickly, my only attempt at evoking a God who cares is in the context of a God who stands ready and able to judge me deficient. No wonder I struggle with belief! No wonder the man's plea to Christ: "I believe! Lord, help my unbelief!" Heal my unbelief. Heal me.
What does that look like?
For one, it isn't about God acting as a hall monitor. At least I don't think it is. I try to envision how people experience success, how they are led into success, in other circumstance. In the armed forces it does begin with a "tearing down" of sorts - a breaking of bad habits and a filling of new. Woven into that is the idea that obedience is requied because it serves the greater good. To doubt or faulter is to betray the larger plans of one's superiors. But is an enlisted man's allegiance really just to his orders? Or is the dutiful obedience to orders a living testament to his belief?
Here's a different circumstance, closer to (my) home. In sales I have been managed by those who feel compelled to bury themselves in every detail of my efforts...and I have been managed by those who set a high mark, made themselves available, and set expectations that the "little things" are being addressed in service to the goal. As a manager I tend far more to the latter (with some necessary granularity that I hope still points ahead). Some might even call this "leadership."
So how does this come back to my belief problem. Or, more important, the help for my unbelief?
1) My problem is important - the small things I let slip are not horrible or dire, but they point to a deeper disbelief...the belief that God's plan isn't worth my obedience. So while repentance might be called for on any one issue, the greater need is to repent my lack of faith and be healed.
2) Healing is dangerous. It requires that I ask God to show me the real source of my faltering - the real depth of my distrust, rather than the effects of it. These wounds run deep and are painful to operate on.
3) I need, more than anything else, to believe in a higher calling, the upward call of Christ. I need to believe in "The Big Idea" and begin to hope for some way that I figure into it. That belief, that direction on which I can focus; that hope and, yes, expectation that God is up to something and it matters what I do, will begin to be reflected in the smaller choices I make. Because they matter...to something and Someone.
4) God wants to lend me His eyes to see. He put it in His book. He raises up people around me who act as guides...even as He raises me up to act as a guide for others.
One opportunity to gain ground on God's vision in my life, His Calling, is a retreat coming up this January at Wintergreen Resort. Gary Barkalow (The Noble Heart) will spend the weekend orienting men toward God's unique call in their lives - in pursuit of their glory in Him. I encourage you to find out more about the event and even register to join me there by visiting http://www.piercing-the-veil.com/.
I've started this badly - let me clarify: across the board, in the midst of wide and varying circumstances, I all too often make poor choices. Not intentionally, of course, nor exclusively. And not, as you might fear, in the midst of the "big" issues. I'm not talking about the monumentally "obvious" choices that might come up in any person's life - to be faithful to my wife, to tithe, to be committed to my family or my job - but its the smaller, daily questions that seem to illumine my, well, somewhat shallow and horribly flimsy personal ethics.
There is a book called, "The Shack," that everyone should read. It is a great picture of a God who is really interested, really involved, really pulling for His people, individually. A friend of mine, one whom I thought would love this story, remarked that she didn't think it was good for people to read because she was afraid it would "get their hopes up." I'm synopsizing, of course, but the idea appears to be that reading a book like The Shack is dangerous because it sets an expectation that God might actually be involved...and clearly we shouldn't, well, expect that? Isn't that troubling? Colossally, I mean?
And yet that same issue of expectations seems to be at the heart of my problem: belief.
Her warning is just more obvious somehow - more public then my own.
You see nobody but me recognizes my doubt when I choose to be dismissive rather than embracing of a friend in need. Nobody but me knows when I watch a skirt walking slowly away or click one time more than I should. Nobody but me knows the times I turn right when I should have turned left or the time I thought ill of my neighbor or...
Wait. "Nobody but me?" Were you with me there, just for a moment? Do you see how pervasive that is? Do you see how easily, in the moment, simply by word choice, I find myself living in the land of no expectations!? Of no real belief? And now, just as quickly, my only attempt at evoking a God who cares is in the context of a God who stands ready and able to judge me deficient. No wonder I struggle with belief! No wonder the man's plea to Christ: "I believe! Lord, help my unbelief!" Heal my unbelief. Heal me.
What does that look like?
For one, it isn't about God acting as a hall monitor. At least I don't think it is. I try to envision how people experience success, how they are led into success, in other circumstance. In the armed forces it does begin with a "tearing down" of sorts - a breaking of bad habits and a filling of new. Woven into that is the idea that obedience is requied because it serves the greater good. To doubt or faulter is to betray the larger plans of one's superiors. But is an enlisted man's allegiance really just to his orders? Or is the dutiful obedience to orders a living testament to his belief?
Here's a different circumstance, closer to (my) home. In sales I have been managed by those who feel compelled to bury themselves in every detail of my efforts...and I have been managed by those who set a high mark, made themselves available, and set expectations that the "little things" are being addressed in service to the goal. As a manager I tend far more to the latter (with some necessary granularity that I hope still points ahead). Some might even call this "leadership."
So how does this come back to my belief problem. Or, more important, the help for my unbelief?
1) My problem is important - the small things I let slip are not horrible or dire, but they point to a deeper disbelief...the belief that God's plan isn't worth my obedience. So while repentance might be called for on any one issue, the greater need is to repent my lack of faith and be healed.
2) Healing is dangerous. It requires that I ask God to show me the real source of my faltering - the real depth of my distrust, rather than the effects of it. These wounds run deep and are painful to operate on.
3) I need, more than anything else, to believe in a higher calling, the upward call of Christ. I need to believe in "The Big Idea" and begin to hope for some way that I figure into it. That belief, that direction on which I can focus; that hope and, yes, expectation that God is up to something and it matters what I do, will begin to be reflected in the smaller choices I make. Because they matter...to something and Someone.
4) God wants to lend me His eyes to see. He put it in His book. He raises up people around me who act as guides...even as He raises me up to act as a guide for others.
One opportunity to gain ground on God's vision in my life, His Calling, is a retreat coming up this January at Wintergreen Resort. Gary Barkalow (The Noble Heart) will spend the weekend orienting men toward God's unique call in their lives - in pursuit of their glory in Him. I encourage you to find out more about the event and even register to join me there by visiting http://www.piercing-the-veil.com/.
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