My Birthday: Ten Things I Think I Think

Yes, it's my birthday so please, indulge me. I figured, why not reflect on some things I've learned over the years. I stole the idea from SI's Peter King who includes a "Ten Things I Think I Think" each week on his blog, and it's usually fantastic.  So, I thought I'd have some fun. 

If, at the end of this post you can surmise my age, then I'll send you (you being the FIRST person to guess it correctly in the comments) and your small group copies of my new book due out with Thomas Nelson April 29th, Home Behind The Sun: Connect With God in the Brilliance of the Everyday. I've included one major clue to help you. 

So, here goes. 

Ten Things I Think I Think ... 

1. I think when you're a kid, focus on being a kid. And adults, let that happen. 

a. All I remember about growing up in Florida is jean shorts, bike races, and kissing Lori Jones. When did we get so caught up with getting our kids into the right "Pre-school?" 

b. I think churches that let children be children, and encourage imagination and play are on the right track. 

c. As a dad to three little pixies, I see how important it is to be a kid with them; to romp on the floor and play; to leave the TV off, and keep the laughter loud. 

d. I think I miss how the Spanish Moss on the Florida oaks made the trees look like monsters.

2. I think I'm the man I am today because other men took time to build me up. Call it mentoring, apprenticeship, I call it good ole fashioned discipleship, and it's sadly missing in the church today. 

a. I think I'm thankful for Tim Weaver pulling me out of 7th grade youth group to set me straight. 

b. I think I'm thankful for a dad who was constant. 

c. I think I'm thankful for Ken Keener who offered no-holds-barred discussions. 

d. I think I'm thankful for Nelson Peters who told me, as a 20something, "Tim, you're Okay. Stop running." 

3. I think a good teacher is worth more than we know, and certainly more than they're paid. 

a. I can vividly remember my first grade teacher Mrs. Summerall, and how she taught me how to "feel" love bubbling up in my spirit. From American Political Behavior teacher Mr. Boyer to Dr. Lehy to Dr. Hugenberger to Dr. McGrath, I have been shaped by the minds and lives of teachers. 

The academic voyage has taken most of my life, and each teacher played a vital role. From challenging me to think for myself (Mr. Boyer), to telling me to pursue writing full-time, to telling me my writing needed to get tighter, clearer, to encouraging me to pursue something most thought I'd never accomplish, a PhD. 

b. Both of my sisters are teachers, and excellent ones at that--now, they collectively homeschool seven brilliant children. They've taught me so much, but mostly they've taught me how to be myself with kids, to let my imagination run, to challenge but always to love. I have the best sisters on the planet. 

c. C.S. Lewis had an excellent teacher of logic and Latin and literature when he was a teenager. The great Knock (Kirkpatrick) was of tremendous influence in Lewis's young formation. Even the most brilliant minds among us are influenced and formed by another. 

d. Some of the ladies I coached on the varsity volleyball team are now coaching and teaching. No greater reward than that! 

4. I think experience is vital. If you can travel, do it. If you can climb it, get your harness, if you can chase your dreams, then why not. 

a. Life experience must be mixed in with classroom learning. We're unwise to champion one over the other. 

b. Dreams come to life with the support of friends who will love you no matter what. 

c. Experience does not always look like a romantic dream-chasing. It hurts, it's hard, and it will leave you wishing you were home with family. 

d. Nothing can compare to shooting the Lehigh River rapids in a canoe. That insane adventure gave me a doctorate in risk management and "sucking all of the marrow out of life." 

5. I think there are four vital items in this life that you never skimp on and you always make sure you're never without. 

a. Orange Juice (with pulp)

b. Fresh whole wheat bread

c. Honey

d. The Holy Spirit

6. I think bonfires are essential to forge friendships. 

a. Most of my lifechanging decisions began and came to fruition around a fire. 

b. Fires in the winter are best: the sparks can go high into the trees and blend with the stars. 

c. Fires in the mountains near cliffs and waterfalls are preferrable. 

d. Fires with your brothers are life giving. 

7. I think music is essential to sustain life. 

a I've talked to adults who, sadly, have lost interest in music; as if once you turn a certain age you're not allowed to head bang in your office or mosh in your living room with your children. Whatever. 

b. I think everyone should get to Pearl Jam concert at least once. 

c. I think worship music is wonderful, but the church teeters dangerously close to idolatry by hoisting it up as a "draw" or "lure' to convince guests that a certain church is "relevant" or "cool." Be who you are church ... and that is Christ himself. 

d. I think Bach has to be the foremost musical genius ... ever. 

8. I think the church is in desperate need of revival. The burning kind! 

a. And by revival I mean a dynamic movement back to prayer, to yearning for God through fasting, to life swelling up in God's glory and beauty, and healing occurring in people's lives. 

b. I think the need of most Christian leaders is true affection for God. Our once vibrant religio has turned into the marketplace of ideas, best practices, efficiencies, and glorified self-help. 

c. Prayer marks all revivals. Ever wonder why? Where is prayer in our churches? Where is prayer in our daily lives? And by prayer I do not mean the liturgical, not to deny its benefits, but to point to an intimate conversing with the Lord of Hosts. 

d. I sat backstage in a church once and heard the worship team laughing and joking just before it took the stage. There was no spirit of prayer, no spirit of humility. It seemed like a job to them. Has our faith become something we turn on like the television each Sunday morning? 

9. I think your age doesn't matter. Do whatever you can to keep your heart vibrant. 

a. I was riding my mountain bike around my parents house last summer and the neighbor said, "Hey Tim, aren't you too old for that now?" Of course I bellowed out a loud laugh to let her know how ridiculous that notion was and rode on. 

b. Mountain biking keeps my heart young. I once had my lunch handed to me on the trail by a 60something who put the hammer down, as they say. I want to be that guy. 

c. I once repelled off a 300 foot cliff with a 50something gentleman. He's bagged most of the 14er's in Colorado. I want to be that guy. 

d. Each day, each dream, each opportunity is an opportunity to glorify God and to feel the joy he's infused into this life. Forget how old you are and do something that keeps your heart fully alive. 

10. I think God gives us everything we need to be brilliant in this life. But we miss it because we're too busy with, well, whatever. Look around you, what do yo see? I'll tell you. It's not what, it's who. 

a. My wife makes me brilliant because she digs past my muck and loves me still. My pixies wake each morning ready to hug the day. Today they woke me up, all dressed up in their best outfits and said, "Happy Birthday, Daddy." Brilliant! 

b. I have been richly blessed with a quiver full of brothers. Blood brothers, brothers-in-law, and brothers of heaven. Peter tells us to love deeply, to love the brotherhood. I take that literally. 

c. The Family of God should be a force to be reckoned with. And by reckoned with I mean a brilliant star of good ole fashion front-porch-love. What if we treated one another like a family rather than taking every opportunity to blast one another from our blogs, from our podiums, from our platforms.

d. I'm so sick of hearing about platforms. Think about the ramifications on relationships when every person is viewed for their network-ability, meaning how much their worth to your platform and network? I'm so tired of the ambulance-chasing (as my friend Jason calls them) bloggers who look for everything and anything to react to in the news. How about some blogs that praise, some that just offer poetry, some that offer thoughtful interaction with real topics--oh, right, those don't produce traffic. I get it. No, really, I do. 

e. In this life, it's not about what you do as much as it is about who you do it with. I'm on a journey, an adventure in England with three vivacious daughters and a wife who fears nothing. We miss our family and friends but we're making do with what God has given us right here and right now. Beauty abounds! 

So, today I'll head down to The Terf Tavern and do some writing. I'll walk the ancient streets of this beautifully bookish town and thank God for his brilliance, his glory, his wonder.

But then I'll speed home and hug my girls and we'll roll around and wrestle on the floor. I'll open their homemade cards and we'll laugh. Chris will prepare the cake and give me the biggest piece.

And when it's all said and done, we'll fall asleep in the peace of a love we can't explain.

The older I get the more at home in mystery I become.

In my twenties I wanted to argue and win arguments and fight. My writing read like rants. 

But now I've settled into the poetry of my youth.

I began writing to woo the girls, because I loved sonnets, because I loved rhyme and language. And now I see language and writing as a means by which to step daily into the brilliance. 

Sure there are times to pontificate and demand change and revolution. But more than anything I pray for a discerning eye and ear; when do I opine, when do I remain silent. 

The poetry of age rises, I fall deeper into it and I long to wade into the waters of beauty; letting all the rest bicker and argue.

Give me a bonfire and a brother. Give me music and a good book. Give me life, this life. 

What really matters? This. 

The Man of Action

Post by Tim Willard.

The Violence of Bees

I'm running too fast. So, I decide to make it fun and throw myself down the hill—a perfect head first grass-stain. I slide right by her. She keeps running and throws herself on me, “Yeah!” she shouts. The mountains sing.

When I catches my breath, I runs, just fast enough, into some old friends and they talk about life and babies and church and the mountains—how beautiful they sing. The wedding party is detained with photos, so I sip lemonade, nibble cupcakes and continue to run into my past and present relationships. Quick nuanced discussions, the kind that corner and reveal.

I pile the family into the truck and drive home through the mountains—in the graying the mountains sing. The river echoes the round.

Beautiful Collisions

Shuffle, shuffle. Plunge the press. Coffee-hot, the morning soars. Hymns on the Airport Express usher me and the girls on to “the gathering,” to church—it is a celebration. The pastor speaks of Thomas, “My Lord, and my God!”

After the Body and the Blood, the congregation is dismissed. I wipe my eyes, turn to leave and collides into radiating faces—brothers and sisters united. The soundman runs into me and grabs my baby girl. “I just want to hold her. She is beautiful.” We smile together, he gets his fill and more collisions ensue.

Lunch is a lovely fiasco. Two families, six children, and a floor full of Teddy Grahams; the wait staff is patient as the girls scream and run. We adults raise our glasses and toast: “To the celebration!” Once home, we all nap long and hard. Somewhere in the distance, the mountains sing again.

The weekend emerged from the week and grabbed us by the throat. We loved and laughed, fought and cried, and passed through the other side shaped by it all—the run-ins, the discussions, the here, there, and everywhere. 

Eucharist Signature

When I am finally able to sit and reflect on it all, life doesn’t seem so grand—just full of tension.

But I think of the Eucharist, how it always seems to break me (and everyone) in half. How, on this past Sunday, it reminded me that grace and confession and love all coalesce in the person of Jesus—they are signatures of humanity made beautiful through the Divine. The immensity of Jesus’s sacrifice wells up and pours from my eyes. So much to take in.

From the Eucharist my thoughts land somewhere amid the Trinity. I thinks how God runs fast toward humankind, overwhelming everyone with his lavish love. God can’t help but love—I love that fact. And those loving fingerprints are everywhere—especially on my family and friends.

So Much Like Bees

We are social creatures. With our loved ones we dance through this life, though it most often looks like frantic running. And we lean into one another, pushing headfirst to see who will give. Then we fall in a heap mid tears and laughter and pain and joy. God created us this way and the mystery of the Eucharist completes the puzzle. We are only able to love because he first loved.

The bees in my back yard love the jasmine blossoms and blueberry buds. They hover, and then climb the popping plumage. They collide and swirl into each other high up into the maples. In a frenzied disappearing act, they abscond into the holly tree—a violent aerial display.

Are they fighting? Love making? Discussing? Laughing? Killing?

We are so much like bees, living the Gospel mystery of the Eucharist in the wild collisions of life. And we disappear into death and sex and work and play in a violent showing that rings out, like the mountain song. One another, one another, one another, “our fellowship of kindred minds … like to that above.”

*This post is an excerpt from my book Veneer: Living Deeply in a Surface Society  that I co-authored with my friend @jasonlocy. You can pick up a copy here. 

On Spiritual Intimacy

Sometimes I think people fancy spiritual intimacy as a final destination, something you achieve. But that's not true. Spiritual intimacy is an ongoing pursuit, a developing conversation.

Being that it's a conversation with an unending and unfathomable being [God], our pursuit of intimacy will never see an end. Our pursuit will never experience the fulfillment of the finish line. When we, therefore, approach the topic of spiritual intimacy we should remember not to be discouraged when we drift. 

Like any relationship, either with our friends or spouse or sibling or parent, we will drift in our affections and may even experience estrangement for a time.  

But evenso, those times of distance contribute to intimacy. For we draw from those times just as we draw from those times of beauty and closeness—all times close and far layering our relationships, coloring intimacy. Each creates a depth and artistry appropriate to our existence and form. 

"Love never ends." (1 Corinthians 13:8) 

This partial verse reminds us that God is love. It's not our love that never ends, it's his and it's him. All the earth passes, but he remains. We grope through the fog of the world. We squint through the murky glass of reality.

And all in pursuit of that which has no end. All in pursuit of that which prompts our hope, and undergirds our faith. All in pursuit of an eluding closeness. All in pursuit of the tremenda majestas ... of God our Aweful Majestic.  

Do not dismay in "the drift." Close your eyes and listen. He is close. Intimacy stands, just over there. Simply reach, and hold.  

When Your Mother Suffers

Long shadows stretched over the newly paved 178th St. near Shore Acres Drive in late July, and this meant the day was nearing its end. 

"Don't you think you should be getting home by now?" he smiled.

We'd been discussing my mother's arrival after a long trip. She should be home by now, and I should be home to see her. 

Late July in Grand Haven as a budding youngster means rising out of bed some time in the mid to late morning, with the sun streaming through the windows, offering light and life to the cave of slumber now faded with the flood of dawn. Then, it's grabbing a piece of fruit and getting a run-and-jump start on a BMX bike, hitting the trails, swinging on vines in the hills, and taking the raft out on Lake Michigan on days where you can see the bottom from thirty feet up, and the sand ripples together in wavy, congruent lines like the rings of sawn tree stumps. 

Late July in Grand Haven means riding all day, all over town, never caring for a bite to eat, because, "Who has time to eat?" Late July in Grand Haven means folks go on vacation, and maybe your mom goes to visit relatives in Chicago or some other big city. 

That was 1985. Late July in Grand Haven.

"Your mother's been in an accident."

"Is it bad?"

"Yes. Go take a shower; we need to go to Indianapolis."

Indianapolis? How did Mom end up there?

The Crash

Mom lives at Sanctuary on the Shore, a nursing home only a mile or two from where I grew up. She's in a wheelchair, and has only one leg. Her brain is damaged, she has diabetes insipidus, and suffers with bipolar as well. (As long as she's on her medication, she's "alright.") There's been some serious weight-gain over the years, sitting in that wheel chair and eating chips. Her favorite? Diet Coke with a ton of ice in the glass. 

You know something? She was more beautiful than Barbara Streisand in her hey-day.  But it was the accident when she was 40 which served as the progenitor of her demise, and it was the accident that killed another Mommy who had four children of her own. 

"I remember seeing headlights," she told me a couple years ago. That was news to me.  I had always thought she didn't remember. Huh. What do I remember? Seeing my mom in a hospital bed in Indiana hooked up to tubes and machines pumping life into her, and the shock I felt in looking at her swollen, black and blue and yellow face, and at her bloated, bruised body; and then her lifeless eyes open like a dead cow's, she rolls her head toward me, fixing her gaze upon me. Her body heaves up and down under the will of the machines' beeps and sighs. Mom? Her head turns away as her eyes close.  

This morning we were asked, "So, what are the issues that bother you when we talk about predestination?" (We're studying Romans in church.)  I have a couple: If all things are under God's eternal decree and command, how is God not the author of sin and evil?  If God knows the future, how do humans make free choices? 

The sovereign power of God as it relates to how things work in the world, especially regarding suffering and evil is a mystery, obviously (duh). Some get around it by denying omniscience (Cicero and Open Theists). Some deny free will (many--not all--Augustinians and Calvinists). Some affirm both (compatibilists). Some don't bother about it at all because it makes the head swim (pragmatists). Some try to resolve it with modal logic (scholastics and analytics). Others deny Christ because of it (apostates and rebels).      

"Don't you think you should be heading home by now?" That was John. He was older--in his 20's, and he smiled at me through his John Lennon specs. His feathered hair wore like a kind and gentle hat.  

"My mom went to visit my gramma a few days ago. She left this morning to come back."

"She's not home yet?"

"No." 

"Where'd she go?"

"Chicago." 

"And she left this morning?"

"Yeah." 

"And she's not home yet?"

"No."

"You're mom should be home by now." 

 "Yeah."   

"Don't you think you should be heading home by now?"

Pedals pushed hard in gyroscopic fear on that BMX bike, with a huffed and puffed worried flash to home. He's right. My mom should be home by now.    

There's my dad, on the phone with the police, his head on the freezer door. Now he's talking with my mom's parents, and he's leaning against the wall, face in.  

"She left long ago," they said. 

That's when I grab the little golden cross from my bedroom and start rubbing it between my fingers and thumb. Something to provide solace. Or maybe good luck.  Maybe an answered prayer. Never really prayed before, and not sure I know how to. The stars are out now, and it's dark all over. Where's my mom?

Hope Trumps Evil

How that does indeed fit with the predestination of God? "He comforts us as we comfort others with the comfort we receive from him" (2 Corinthians 1:4). That's a perfect circle if there ever was one. But does he actually send the pain, only in order to comfort us through it? Odd. But is he not in control of all things, as surely that nothing happens by chance? 

Hard to figure out. Sailing between the Charybdis of determinism and the Scylla of human autonomy ... not sure how to do it at this point.  

Just now, my daughter shows me a leaf with a flower attached to it. She's written on it, too. "I'm making a card for Jade. She's vomiting really hard." My daughters (8 & 6) came home from church today to find out that one of the neighbor girls next door is sick. So they decided to make some cards for her.  

They took green leaves from the trees and put flowers on them, and wrote her little notes on the leaves. "I hope you get well soon." Signed, "Nylah."  

"Hope" was missing the "e" and instead had a macron (long-vowel marking) over the "o."  Interesting. She's bringing someone some comfort, because she has been given comfort by God. How did they get the flowers to stick on the leaves? God, I love my daughters. 

Mom's speech is usually slurred due to her medication and normally, she "doesn't feel well." That's been the story for 20 years. Just now, she told me she woke up this morning and said to the Lord Jesus that she was ready for whatever he gave her today--whether to stay there in that place, or to throw off the garment of this temporal body and wait for the resurrection. 

"Whatever the Lord wants, Chris," is what she told me. I'm 41. How would I like to live the next 30 years the way my mother has lived hers?  God, no. It's what philosopher Marilyn McCord Adams calls "Horrendous Evil." 

Horrendous evil is evil that happens to someone that renders their life meaningless or simply unable to live. 

One example of horrendous evil is knowing that you are personally responsible for the death or disfigurement of a loved one. Or maybe it's being responsible for the death of someone else's loved one and then suffering mental and bodily damage to the point of being made inoperative in most of life. Or maybe it's being 13 years old and having this happen to your mom. Our hometown newspaper reported that she had been found naked. Naked. What? How? 

On the other hand, Adams says that such evil is capable of being "engulfed" and "defeated" by the love and power of God, because of his overwhelming presence. This seems to push off the "problem of suffering" to the next life, so I'm not sure how that helps us here and now. 

Still, knowing that Christ was tortured means that when we suffer, we are suffering with him and he with us. And perhaps the knowledge of the beatific vision (presence of God in the next life) aids us in coping with evil here and now. And maybe a get well card made by a little girl from a tree and a flower is a little way of defeating the evil, bit by bit.  Maybe with every good deed, every act of kindness, every act of forgiveness and reconciliation, there is the defeat of evil: with every act of faith.  

In His Hands

It's raining outside, and it's a real downpour, like liquid spikes made of crystal. Steady rain on a Sunday brings the soul into restorative sleep, and my mom's response is the restorative rain of faith: trusting the Lord for good or for ill.

"My life is in your hands," she told the Lord this morning. That's what she told me, in her crackling, slurred voice, her 68-year-old voice. 

"Honey, I told him, 'Lord, my life is in your hands.' Are you there? Honey? Hello?"

"Yeah, Mom. I'm here. I'm just listening to you." 

Her faith leaves me numb and speechless. It's not a bad kind of numb, but a good kind. Still, I can only listen at this point.

So, my mother is comforted by the Lord and the little Vietnamese girl next door is comforted by my daughters, and I am comforted by the downpour of rain outside and by my mother's faith. It's an act of the will to have the faith that is comforted by these things, and it's something that is like a buoy, keeping us afloat, as we await the rescue ship, for surely it is coming, and we must hold on. 

---

*Read more from my friend Chris at his blog. It's here ...  

The Unsaid // A Talk

As always, I had a fantastic time in Sioux Falls this past weekend with the folks at Embrace Church. The energy and spirit in that church feels special to me. For those interested, here's my "talk" or "sermon" from one of the morning services. ​

The Veneer of Media

Thought I'd resurrect a few articles that Q Ideas ran upon the release of my book Veneer: Living Deeply In A Surface Society. This week we'll hear from literary agent Christopher Ferebee on "The Veneer of Media. Enjoy! 

​***

The world I work in is a double-edged sword. One edge of the publishing industry is the romanticized notion of what the life of an author is like. The second is nowhere near as romantic as one hoped it would be. 

There are introverted folks who never fit in, but publishing gives them a voice. Once successful, however, they’re no longer allowed to be the introvert because the world loves its celebrities. There are behind the scenes kind of folks who have great ideas, but mourn that those ideas aren’t voiced in public, so they publish in hopes of starting an important conversation. Of course, once that idea takes hold they can no longer be behind the scenes because every idea needs a public figure to champion it.

Then there’s another group that's driven to get their message to the masses and have no problem being a public figure. This group wants notoriety and often has the resources to achieve it. Their starting place is, “How do I reach the New York Times Bestseller's List?” An entire industry has emerged to help this group.

Unfortunately, this group often finds that after they’ve spent tens of thousands of dollars to reach the bestseller list, it didn’t really deliver. They thought it would bring them a certain level of success or validation in their field. They thought it would mean every book thereafter would be a bestseller. It didn’t. The second edge of any double-edged sword delivers painful cuts.

Continue Reading ​

Tracing Beauty

"When Oscar Wilde and the aesthetic movement declared art to be immoral they undid the final stitches that bound beauty to her ancient sisters goodness and truth. In this week's Sunday Feature, Ben Quash, Professor of Christianity and the Arts at Kings College, London argues that beauty has now become a concept in exile, one that we hesitate to use.

"He goes on to explore the idea that we can recover confidence in the word because it names an experience of recognition and communion between us and the world.

"Ben traces beauty through London Fashion Week, the editorial offices of British Vogue Magazine, the National Trust gardens at Sissinghurst, a medieval church on the Welsh Marches with the curator and historian Sir Roy Strong, and an exhibition by the contemporary artist Raqib Shaw. And he discovers what neuroscience is revealing about the relationship between brain activity and aesthetic appreciation."

Producer: Caroline Donne

Original Link: BBC

​Ben Quash, Professor of Christianity & The Arts, King's College, London