Looking for a good book to catch up with this summer? Here are three suggestions:
The Pursuit of God by A.W. Tozer -- It will grab your heart and never let go. I was never the same after I read this book, and I re-read it every couple of years to be reminded of the truth that's there.
1776 by David McCullough -- I know it's a few years old now, but in the midst of the times this country is going through today, it's as relevant as ever. McCullough writes for the non-history buff, so don't be intimidated.
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson -- File this under the category of "Books I Should Have Read in High School but Never Did." Also count it as one of the best examples of the dual nature of man ever to be written down. You will understand yourself (and everyone around you) better after you read this one.
If you get a chance to read any of them, let me know what you think.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
There Was a Farmer. . . Who Was a Father
Once upon a time there was a man named Bill. He was a dairy farmer in a small town in Alabama. If you were writing a book or short story about the life and adventures of a small town farmer, he would have been tailor-made for the part: honest, hard working, someone who knew his stuff, a war vet. Not that his life was storybook. From what I hear, there were times when folks tried to take advantage of him, and looked down on him. But, if the stories they tell in Florette are true, he met each hardship with grace, choosing never to reciprocate any of the negativity thrown his way. I met him later in his life. After the farm was officially closed, the barns starting to fall apart, and the cows long gone, and yet it wasn't hard to see that in fact the stories they tell in Florette about Bill are in fact true. There was an underlying sweetness about him that seemed to defy the conventional farmer stereotypes of the hard men who became stoic after years of hard work and uncertainty. This farmer didn't have that. This farmer was also a father. He had a daughter and a son, and he raised them along with his wife. They grew up, learned how to do chores, and experienced all the things kids enjoy and remember about life on the farm.
Then, circumstances and life being what they are sometimes in this fallen world, later on, this farmer became a father again. This time to another son. Yes, technically, it was his grandson, but if the stories the guy who lives in the other room at my house tells are true, Bill was a father to him in every sense of the word. He loved him, cared for him, looked after him, provided for him, and gave him a sense of place and purpose in the uncertainty this new son found himself in. Genetics helped by giving the new son his grand-father's smile, but it was on long walks, those times of riding around the farm in the truck, those moments so private, that the young boy was given his father's heart, his tenderness, his love and concern for others.
Another chapter of this story played out recently, as Bill died, and as I've been thinking about and walking through this part of the drama with my roommate, I've been struck at how once, long ago, another father had a son. In fact, they'd been together since before there was even time, and they were closer than any father and son has ever been or will ever be. This father and son were one, distinct, and yet the same. Then, circumstances and life being what they are in this fallen world, this father became a father again. This time he did it by adopting people like me, giving us a purpose, a sense of place, a future and a hope. Creation helped by giving us his image, but it's by spending time with him, and his working to conform us to the image of his first son, that we are given his heart. And, much like Bill waited with anticipation, at the end of the long driveway that runs from the road to the farmhouse (and later from inside the farmhouse when he was too weak to be out) for his new son, his second son to come home, this other father waits as well for his adopted children, his new sons and daughters to come and be with him and enjoy him and sit together and learn more about his heart, and leave with more stories to tell.
Then, circumstances and life being what they are sometimes in this fallen world, later on, this farmer became a father again. This time to another son. Yes, technically, it was his grandson, but if the stories the guy who lives in the other room at my house tells are true, Bill was a father to him in every sense of the word. He loved him, cared for him, looked after him, provided for him, and gave him a sense of place and purpose in the uncertainty this new son found himself in. Genetics helped by giving the new son his grand-father's smile, but it was on long walks, those times of riding around the farm in the truck, those moments so private, that the young boy was given his father's heart, his tenderness, his love and concern for others.
Another chapter of this story played out recently, as Bill died, and as I've been thinking about and walking through this part of the drama with my roommate, I've been struck at how once, long ago, another father had a son. In fact, they'd been together since before there was even time, and they were closer than any father and son has ever been or will ever be. This father and son were one, distinct, and yet the same. Then, circumstances and life being what they are in this fallen world, this father became a father again. This time he did it by adopting people like me, giving us a purpose, a sense of place, a future and a hope. Creation helped by giving us his image, but it's by spending time with him, and his working to conform us to the image of his first son, that we are given his heart. And, much like Bill waited with anticipation, at the end of the long driveway that runs from the road to the farmhouse (and later from inside the farmhouse when he was too weak to be out) for his new son, his second son to come home, this other father waits as well for his adopted children, his new sons and daughters to come and be with him and enjoy him and sit together and learn more about his heart, and leave with more stories to tell.
Poison Ivy and My Selfishness
Over the weekend, a group of us went to help a friend's grandmother clean up around the house of the farm she lives on. It was a massive undertaking, and our energy gave out long before the list of things that needed to be done did. We were warned to be on the look-out for snakes, poison oak, and poison ivy, as all three are summer residents on the farm. I started out with the weed-eater, acutely on the look-out for snakes, but not too worried about poison ivy and/or poison oak, since I've never been allergic to it. At one point, a couple of buddies and I finished throwing limbs we'd cut onto a pile to be burned, and immediately one of them said, "Okay, let's go wash our hands, 'cause there was poison ivy all over those limbs." I hadn't even noticed the poison ivy, and as I thought more about it, I realized that I didn't even know what poison ivy looks like (poison oak either, for that matter.) Then it hit me, that I've never bothered to learn how to identify poison oak or poison ivy, because I'm not allergic to them. They don't pose a threat to me, and so I just go about my business, not too worried, unaware. Certainly, I wasn't looking out for them like I was the snakes, something that had the potential to harm me. For most of the people I was working with, poison oak and ivy can lead to days of discomfort, even potentially shots, but for me, it's a non-issue, so I'm happy to live in blind ignorance to it most of the time.
Here's the thing: through this little episode I was reminded of just how selfish I am when it comes to living life. I mean, so much of my life is lived in a state of "if it doesn't affect me, then I won't worry about it." Not allergic to poison ivy? Great. I won't even bother to learn what it looks like. Who cares if I might be able to point it out to someone else that is allergic to it. After all, it's their struggle, not mine.
Over and over again, the Bible talks about the church as a group of people who look out for one another, consider one another above themselves, put their own needs and desires on hold for the good of the group, refrain from things they have no problem with if it would cause another to struggle. In other words, it's made up of people who learn what sin--all sin--looks like, whether it affects them or not, and they are on guard, always looking out for others who might experience days, weeks, months, or even longer of problems if they were to get wrapped up in whatever it is. I'm so thankful that I'm in a church with people who look out for me and are on guard, on the lookout for potential sins that could entangle me. I pray that God will continue to take my eyes off myself and make me more into someone like that as well.
Here's the thing: through this little episode I was reminded of just how selfish I am when it comes to living life. I mean, so much of my life is lived in a state of "if it doesn't affect me, then I won't worry about it." Not allergic to poison ivy? Great. I won't even bother to learn what it looks like. Who cares if I might be able to point it out to someone else that is allergic to it. After all, it's their struggle, not mine.
Over and over again, the Bible talks about the church as a group of people who look out for one another, consider one another above themselves, put their own needs and desires on hold for the good of the group, refrain from things they have no problem with if it would cause another to struggle. In other words, it's made up of people who learn what sin--all sin--looks like, whether it affects them or not, and they are on guard, always looking out for others who might experience days, weeks, months, or even longer of problems if they were to get wrapped up in whatever it is. I'm so thankful that I'm in a church with people who look out for me and are on guard, on the lookout for potential sins that could entangle me. I pray that God will continue to take my eyes off myself and make me more into someone like that as well.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Little Marks
This week I began each of my Comp classes by having the students write from two different prompts. I made them for ten minutes. I told them I didn't care about grammar, spelling, even complete sentences. If they couldn't think of anything to write, I told them to copy (and re-copy, if necessary) what they'd already written. Some loved it, some hated it. Some just sat there, looking pitiful as if this was the longest, and most painful ten minutes of their life.
See, the school I teach at is a "technical school." Most of the students that attend this school don't have an affinity for writing, they don't enjoy it, they're even afraid of it. They will talk all day long, but there's something terrifying about putting their thoughts, feelings, and ideas down on paper, and that's what I wanted them to do. Without a lot of pressure, without a lot of stipulations about the "rules of writing," I just wanted to help them take a step toward not being so afraid or paralyzed every time someone tells them to write about "x."
Here's the thing: this is how I am when God tells me to try something spiritually, something he's designed for my good. There's just something about God telling me to do something that causes the knees to shake, the sweat to start pouring, and hundreds of excuses to come pouring forth. It's like I instantly become a reincarnation of Moses--standing before a bush that's on fire but not burning, hearing the voice of God, knowing that the Almighty God of the Universe is the one sending him to do something, hearing the promise that he'll be with him when he goes--worried about a speech impediment.
I can almost hear God saying, what I said to my students all week, "Come on, Jason, just try. I've got you. This is a safe place. I'm your Heavenly Father, and I'm not going to just leave you hanging if you screw up. In fact, I'll be smiling the entire time." So, I need to take a cue from my students, who picked up the pens and pencils in fear and started making little marks on the paper. Unsure of themselves the whole time, but choosing to trust me and my plan. Trying to believe that what I told them was true.
See, the school I teach at is a "technical school." Most of the students that attend this school don't have an affinity for writing, they don't enjoy it, they're even afraid of it. They will talk all day long, but there's something terrifying about putting their thoughts, feelings, and ideas down on paper, and that's what I wanted them to do. Without a lot of pressure, without a lot of stipulations about the "rules of writing," I just wanted to help them take a step toward not being so afraid or paralyzed every time someone tells them to write about "x."
Here's the thing: this is how I am when God tells me to try something spiritually, something he's designed for my good. There's just something about God telling me to do something that causes the knees to shake, the sweat to start pouring, and hundreds of excuses to come pouring forth. It's like I instantly become a reincarnation of Moses--standing before a bush that's on fire but not burning, hearing the voice of God, knowing that the Almighty God of the Universe is the one sending him to do something, hearing the promise that he'll be with him when he goes--worried about a speech impediment.
I can almost hear God saying, what I said to my students all week, "Come on, Jason, just try. I've got you. This is a safe place. I'm your Heavenly Father, and I'm not going to just leave you hanging if you screw up. In fact, I'll be smiling the entire time." So, I need to take a cue from my students, who picked up the pens and pencils in fear and started making little marks on the paper. Unsure of themselves the whole time, but choosing to trust me and my plan. Trying to believe that what I told them was true.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Hard to Love
Last night, I came home, and let Radley (my roommate's dog) out. I started changing clothes, and he did what he always does when we first get home, he came up to me, got as close as he could, and laid down in the floor. Clear signs that he was ready to be petted. I got changed, and decided to oblige. I got down on the floor and started petting him. Then, he did something that he's started doing more and more lately. He put his paw on my arm and started pushing me away. It's the most bizarre thing. He wants to be petted, he loves to be petted, he will interrupt whatever you're doing to let you know that he wants attention and love, and yet, when you try to do all things, when you try to give him the love he's wanting and asking for, he pushes you away. I almost don't understand. . . almost.
Here's the thing: this is what Christians do with those we're in community with all the time. We say we want true, close, authentic community. We say we want people to love us for who we are, and to get into our lives, and be close to us, and yet, so often when that happens, our first instinct is to put out our "paws" and push them away. It's like we're saying, "You can get close, but not too close," or "As long as your love and affection is on my terms, then we're fine. Just don't over do it." Maybe it's the fact that we know the closer people get, the more our sin will be exposed. Maybe we do that with people because that's what we do with God. I'm not sure.
My prayer is that I will always be someone who is always ready, when someone I'm in community needs to be shown love, that I will fight their attempts to push me away, and that I'll never tire of doing it all over again the next time they ask. And I hope I always have people in my life like that who will do the same.
Here's the thing: this is what Christians do with those we're in community with all the time. We say we want true, close, authentic community. We say we want people to love us for who we are, and to get into our lives, and be close to us, and yet, so often when that happens, our first instinct is to put out our "paws" and push them away. It's like we're saying, "You can get close, but not too close," or "As long as your love and affection is on my terms, then we're fine. Just don't over do it." Maybe it's the fact that we know the closer people get, the more our sin will be exposed. Maybe we do that with people because that's what we do with God. I'm not sure.
My prayer is that I will always be someone who is always ready, when someone I'm in community needs to be shown love, that I will fight their attempts to push me away, and that I'll never tire of doing it all over again the next time they ask. And I hope I always have people in my life like that who will do the same.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Too Much
About a month ago I came home on a Friday night to a horrible discovery, the freezer and refrigerator wasn't cold anymore, water was running everywhere, and the food was starting to thaw out. I called my go-to guy whenever there's a crisis like this (my dad), and he came over to have a look. The basic conclusion we came to was that the freezer couldn't defrost itself like it was supposed to, so everything had frozen up, and quit running. We thawed everything out, plugged it back in, and things have been fine ever since.
Here's the thing: the reason the motor in the freezer couldn't defrost itself was because air couldn't circulate on the backside of the freezer like it's designed too, and the reason air couldn't flow was because the freezer was too full of food. Did you catch that? The freezer was so jammed with food that there wasn't even enough room for air to flow! On Saturday, when I woke up to a functioning refrigerator and dry floors, my relief quickly turned to conviction. Here I was, the guy that's always wishing there was a little more money in the checking account, trying to make sure every penny is counted, and I had too much food for my freezer to handle. I couldn't help but think of the story in Exodus 16, when God gave the Israelites manna in the wilderness. Everyday the manna fell, and everyday the people were to gather just what they needed. God even commanded them not to gather more than they needed for one day, and those that did, woke up the next morning to rotting manna that stunk and had worms crawling in it. Somehow I understood as I was throwing out garbage bags full of food that had thawed and spoiled.
Now I'm not the kind of person who thinks we should feel guilty because we've been blessed by God with jobs, the resources to buy food, etc., but I was convicted and repented of my greediness, my storing away of food as if there wouldn't be enough, the fact that I just kept storing and storing and storing until the refrigerator and freezer said, "too much." Funny, somehow I feel like I should have known to say that long before.
Here's the thing: the reason the motor in the freezer couldn't defrost itself was because air couldn't circulate on the backside of the freezer like it's designed too, and the reason air couldn't flow was because the freezer was too full of food. Did you catch that? The freezer was so jammed with food that there wasn't even enough room for air to flow! On Saturday, when I woke up to a functioning refrigerator and dry floors, my relief quickly turned to conviction. Here I was, the guy that's always wishing there was a little more money in the checking account, trying to make sure every penny is counted, and I had too much food for my freezer to handle. I couldn't help but think of the story in Exodus 16, when God gave the Israelites manna in the wilderness. Everyday the manna fell, and everyday the people were to gather just what they needed. God even commanded them not to gather more than they needed for one day, and those that did, woke up the next morning to rotting manna that stunk and had worms crawling in it. Somehow I understood as I was throwing out garbage bags full of food that had thawed and spoiled.
Now I'm not the kind of person who thinks we should feel guilty because we've been blessed by God with jobs, the resources to buy food, etc., but I was convicted and repented of my greediness, my storing away of food as if there wouldn't be enough, the fact that I just kept storing and storing and storing until the refrigerator and freezer said, "too much." Funny, somehow I feel like I should have known to say that long before.
School Days
Here's the thing that's going on in my life right now: I started teaching a course at ITT Tech in Birmingham, during the Spring Quarter. After my last class, the Associate Dean offered me a full-time teaching position, starting in the Summer Quarter! So, I am now working at ITT Tech as the full-time English Comp. instructor. My first day was Monday, and so far it feels a little bit like I'm riding the rapids on white-water rafting trip: a little out of control, feeling like the boat could tip over at any minute, but having a blast! I have a full teaching load this quarter, six classes, so I'll definitely be getting my feet wet.
Most of the students who attend ITT are working full-time or returning back to school, so there are a lot of evening and night classes, and some tired faces when I walk in to start class. Add on top of that the fact that I'm teaching English and Writing, neither of which are typically held in high esteem at a technical school, and it's definitely a challenge. So far, though, it's worked, and the students are responding amazingly. (As students often do!)
I'm sure that lots of posts will come as a result of class discussions, so I wanted to give this as an intro. to what's to come. I have a feeling, I'm the one likely to get the most education in this deal.
Most of the students who attend ITT are working full-time or returning back to school, so there are a lot of evening and night classes, and some tired faces when I walk in to start class. Add on top of that the fact that I'm teaching English and Writing, neither of which are typically held in high esteem at a technical school, and it's definitely a challenge. So far, though, it's worked, and the students are responding amazingly. (As students often do!)
I'm sure that lots of posts will come as a result of class discussions, so I wanted to give this as an intro. to what's to come. I have a feeling, I'm the one likely to get the most education in this deal.
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