Happy Memorial Day

At church this morning I saw a friend who is a fellow combat veteran. Out of pure habit I said, “Hey buddy, happy Memorial Day.” As the very words were coming out of my mouth I regretted them. I had already said that same phrase to at least 15 other people. It’s what you’re supposed to say. But as I said those words and looked in the vet’s eyes I realized he feels the exact same feelings I feel on this holiday. This day is designed with the specific intention of remembering the fallen. For most it is like a junior 4th of July. A day to cook out and feel patriotic and say “I’m grateful for those who paid for freedom.” And that’s great. We SHOULD feel and express those things. I love celebrating a country I’m very proud of and the heroes who have defended it with their lives.

But in that moment I realized that “Happy” was not the correct word to describe this day. For some, like my friend at church and I, the major thought on this day isn’t cookouts or a generic form of patriotism. For those who can picture the faces of the people this day was created to remember, the day is not happy. For some, Memorial Day is more heavy than happy. It is a day of gratefulness, reverence, remembrance and sadness. It’s amazing how the same day can mean different things and feel so differently to various people.

I’m not sure what the point of this post is. I don’t want to offer any advice or say I have some deep insight on anything. I guess I’m just sharing a moment and some thoughts. Today I’m thinking of brothers who didn’t make it home with us. I’m thinking of widows, parents, children and fiancés that I know who aren’t having a happy day. I’m thinking of other veterans who feel the same heaviness I do right now. I wish all of these a very “meaningful” Memorial Day.

Bombs and Boxers

The first time I deployed to Iraq was in the spring of 2005. This was still during the height of the insurgency. I’m no John Rambo, not by any means. I know there were units that saw more action than us, but we saw our fair share. I’m not ashamed to say that after a few months of daily patrols, traffic check points, small arms engagements, sniper fire, mortar and rocket attacks and roadside bombs our nerves were a little raw. Some might say we were jumpy.

One particular day we had just come back into our tiny FOB (forward operating base) from a patrol. We returned to our shanty like living quarters, dropped our flak jackets, and passed out on our racks. We thought we had a full four hours until our next patrol. Luxury! Consciousness was slipping away from me when, BOOM!!! With no warning a large explosion shook our FOB. We were under attack and, Marines being Marines, training and experience took over and we leaped into action. We didn’t have a lot of time. So we grabbed our rifles and Kevlars, a few put on boots, and we rushed out of our shack to engage the enemy…in our underwear. Yep. In our boxers and skivvies. Now there’s an image that strikes fear in the hearts of America’s enemies. 24 sleep deprived Marines rushing a dirt berm in helmets and boxers. When we got outside we were shocked to  find no enemy attacking the FOB. And even more shocked to realize nobody else seemed to be reacting.

Apparently, nobody told us there was to be a controlled blast just outside the base perimeter to destroy explosives, old mortars and other potential bombs collected in recent patrols. Man did we look awesome. A platoon of Marines bum-rushing the berm in our skivvies while everyone else went about their day.

We naturally assume all explosions are bad, intended to take life and do harm. Yet this one was the exact opposite. This explosion was detonated specifically to prevent the taking of life. Its purpose was to eliminate the very things that cause death. But nobody told us that. Its very hard to tell the difference between a good explosion and a bad explosion when you are expecting no explosion at all.

One of the most quoted scriptures in Christendom is Romans 8:28, “We know that all things work together for the good of those who love God…” What exactly this means I do not know. I wish I did.  I can tell you that for many it means God causes all things to happen because there is some good, known or unknown to us, which he wants to bring about. This seems appealing on the surface. There is some weird sense of comfort when you can say “But there is purpose in my suffering. God HAD to do this for some greater good.” But I have some problems with this.

First of all the most literal translation doesn’t say “God causes all things to work…”, but “…all is working together into good…” Secondly, it doesn’t say anything about a “greater” good. How could any good that comes from a community leveling tornado be seen as great enough to justify causing that much pain and suffering? And lastly, I simply can’t get my head around God operating this way – causing pain and death around the globe every day for seemingly tiny and mysterious “good” reasons that we are to accept as greater than the lives ruined to accomplish them. Now, I know his thoughts are higher than my thoughts and I honestly don’t want to be able to understand everything he does. Any God whom can be fully grasped by my feeble mind must be a “puny God” (said in my best Hulk voice). But this is beyond mysterious. For me it contradicts what I see in Jesus, who is the fullest expression of God. Jesus was around a crap ton (trademark pending) of suffering. Many times he alleviated it. Sometimes he didn’t. At the pool of Bethesda in John 5 there were many sick people, yet he only healed one. What I’ve never read about, though, is Jesus causing the suffering he was around for the sake of some other good somewhere else. And only once did Jesus indicate that God even allowed suffering for a specific purpose (John 9).

I do in fact think there are times when God is at work in some horrible situation, perhaps even allowing things to unfold how they do for a particular reason. There are times when a horrible situation ends up being beneficial, when God really is behind the scenes working out something good. But not always. I think when it comes to our suffering more often than not God is brokenhearted along side of us. I think because of sin this world doesn’t work the way he made it to work and that results in a lot of heartache. I think the vast majority of the time suffering happens simply because we live in a broken system, not because God handcrafted it for us. And even though he is able to miraculously intervene in any situation, he often choses not to. I don’t get that and it often seems unfair (theology is tricky). Maybe Romans 8 isn’t saying God causes all things for the sake of some other good, but that he’s awesome enough to know how to make s’mores in the fire that seems to be burning down my life.

We all face trials. We all have bombs dropped on us. A phone call about a sick parent. A horrible diagnosis for your 6 year old. The discovery of a cheating spouse. A letter from the collection agency. Realizing in your junior year that you hate your major. Just like real bombs they catch us off guard and when they do there’s no way to tell immediately if this is a good thing or a bad thing. In that moment they all seem bad and we react accordingly.

I’d like to say that since I’m a pastor I’ve figured all this out and feel confident that everything I face will result in some greater awesomeness. In reality, when a bomb goes off in my life (literal or figurative) you can find me running towards the berm in my underwear, not sure what exactly is happening and praying, “God, please let this turn out to be a good one, and if not please let me see some purpose in it, and if not please help me trust your goodness.”

Invictus

lyrics by Brave Saint Saturn

I’ve been breaking my back… yeah,
only to show You,
how very lost one can be,
And bitterness fires through me.

The brilliance that was
is flickering cold,
slowly burning to ash.
I’m choking on pride,
I’m closing my eyes,
’till one day I’m scared to go back.

You part the shadows,
Light of the World.
Destroy the blindness
Peace Eternal.

Take this broken heart,
if it brings You praise,
Take this beaten soul,
shivering hands I will raise.

Hope Unstoppable,
Sing the morning sun,
Wake up oh sleeper,
the Daylight has come.

You are, You are,
Invincible.
You are You are,
Unbreakable.

Take this broken heart,
if it brings You praise,
Take this beaten soul,
shivering hands I will raise.

Hope Unstoppable,
Sing the morning sun,
Wake up oh sleeper,
the Daylight has come.

You are, You are,
Invincible.
You are You are,
Unbreakable.
You are You are,
Invincible.
You are You are,
Unbreakable.

I’ve been breaking my back,
only to show you how very lost
One can be.

Utilidors.

Some quick background info: It’s no secret that I am an enormous fan of Walt Disney…not so much the movies and cartoons, but the man himself. He created a company that to this day embodies the spirit of “if you can dream it, then you can do it.” Walt was a master at creating something from nothing and blurring the lines between fantasy and reality. He and his team of Imagineers constructed a physical location for the suspension of reality – Disneyland. Walt poured his heart and fortune into his park. He often said of Disneyland,”…it is not a museum.” In other words, his park should constantly be in a state of change and growth.

Once Disneyland was completed in an old orange grove in 1955, the loner park suddenly became neighbors with countless hotels, homes, and various businesses. Walt longed for space. Enter “the Florida Project.” Walt began buying up acres and acres of land in central Florida under pseudonyms to avoid skyrocketing costs. When it was all said and done, the Walt Disney Company owned 47 square miles (just over 30,000 acres) of Florida land…more than enough for every dream to be realized. Construction began in 1967 (one year after Walt’s death) on what would become the number one vacation destination on the planet – Walt Disney World.

If you’ve ever been to the Magic Kingdom (WDW’s signature park), you’ve undoubtedly taken a picture smack dab on Main Street U.S.A. infront of the most photographed building in the world, Cinderella’s Castle…you’ve walked around Adventureland and listened to African drumbeats…you’ve strolled around Frontierland with screams from SplashMountain in the distance…you’ve meandered around Liberty Square in the shadow of the Haunted Mansion…you’ve skipped around Fantasyland while allowing your inner 10 year-old to emerge…and you’ve marveled at the futuristic utopia that is Tomorrowland. But, were you aware that just below your feet is another city. Just a few feet below the magic is a network of tunnels stretching throughout the entire park transporting food, merchandise, characters, trash, and other “undesirable” eyesores unbeknownst to all guests. Think about it: have you ever seen a maintenance truck? Have you ever seen a cart taking off trash? Have you ever seen someone transporting boxes of food, clothing, toys, ANYTHING? No, because it all happens in the Utilidors.

Walt was all about magic. He wanted his audience to believe in make-believe. He wanted people to feel his reality. He wanted visitors to suspend their reality for a short period of time and accept his. The Walt Disney Company took this to a whole new level (pun fully intended) when they built the Magic Kingdom on the 2nd level with the Utilidors on the 1st level. They fully intend for their guests to never see a trash truck. The will never allow guests to see (spoilers ahead) Mickey without his mask. No unruly guest will ever be dragged out through the front gate for all to see. All hidden beneath the wonder that is the Magic Kingdom is the actual logistical source of sustainment that keeps the guest believing the magic and suspending their own reality. 

I wonder…does my life have a Utilidor? Is their a source of sustainment hidden beneath the surface of my life that allows me to be me? If I were to peel back the first layer and see what really goes on would I be amazed and overwhelmed? I have to admit that the idea of God is puzzling to me. I don’t understand Him. I can’t quantify or qualify His existence. Most of the time I feel like my faith is just an act. Truth be told – just like Fox Mulder, I want to believe. I want the magic. I want to be able to flow through life with child-like faith feeling the hand of God on my shoulder as He whisper’s words of encouragement, hope, and love. But, He never has and probably never will. What I am left with is the hope that somewhere in the Utlilidor of my life, Jesus is walking around carrying my hurts away, restocking my hope, planning my future, mending my broken heart, and looking out for me.

I wish I could write this with some giant piece of evidence that God is, that God loves, that God cares, but I can’t. Its in these moments where we have to believe that God is in the Utilidor doing the hard stuff so we can enjoy the magic.

Jesus, if you can hear me, I want to enjoy you and the magic you have for me.

Roundabout

If you ask my wife there are an endless number of things that annoy me. I’m not an unhappy person by any means. I feel pretty confident in saying anyone who actually knows me would file me under “happy-jovial-laughs loudly and often”. You know, if there was such a filing system and that was one of the options. But my wife is somewhat correct. I’ll be the first to admit that in spite of how much I love life I’m that guy who lets everyone around know how much I dislike getting one letter text responses, or when someone leaves unused time on a microwave. If you take it out early hit cancel. Is that so hard? My list of pet peeves is…healthy. Probably too healthy. Definitely too healthy. I should pray about it. But this post isn’t intended to just be a confession of my non-Job like gift of short suffering. It’s about something that might very well be in my top 5 peeves: Traffic roundabouts.

I think roundabouts are phenomenal in theory. Instead of having to stop (especially if you’re the only one there) you can keep going and only yield to other cars that are already in the roundabout. BRILLIANT! But only in theory. In reality they make me long for a good old fashioned red octagon of desistance. Instead of a smooth, circular flow of traffic leading to your desired route one of two things usually happens. Sometimes people come to a complete stop before entering when there are no other cars in the roundabout causing every car behind them to slam on the brakes. Other times people speed into the roundabout when I’m already in there forcing me to yield to my should-be yieldee. In either case I can usually be found punching my steering wheel and foaming at the mouth. Ok, that’s an exaggeration. But only a little bit.

Why does this bother me so greatly? I don’t know. I usually justify it by saying I’m angry at how inconsiderate and oblivious people are. I mean, you’re endangering lives here! You’re going to cause a wreck. My anger is righteous anger that merely wants to protect the innocent. Well, it sounds good in my head. However, I’m realizing they aren’t the problem nearly as much as I am. Sure, those things really are inconsiderate and oblivious. But its very unlikely someone will die even if there does happen to be an accident in the 15mph circle. No, my anger is me focused. I get angry because they have inconvenienced me. They have caused me to temporarily slow down. They didn’t wait for me to pass. They clearly aren’t concerned with the fact that I am in a hurry (though rarely in an emergency). I am the center of the world but nobody else was notified!

So there it is. I hate roundabouts not because other people don’t know how to use them, but because other people not knowing how to use them gets in my way. My much more important than everyone else way. I recently heard a preacher say that a life that is all about me will always be full of offense because nobody else seems to be living for my sake. This is true for me, in the roundabouts. But I want to be better.

Lawnmowers

A favorite “lunch date” destination for my wife and me is a Mongolian barbeque type of restaurant. If you’ve never eaten at a restaurant like this you basically fill a bowl with some raw vegetables and meat, pour sauces and oils on it, then take it to an enormous griddle where someone cooks it for you. My bowl is always full of red meat and then I throw a jalapeño and a few water chestnuts on top in an effort to look healthy.

We had finished our lunch the other day and I had gotten on my bike and headed back to work when I saw something that caught my attention.  My route back to work took me through a pretty nice neighborhood. All the houses are older, but in great shape and pretty big. All the yards are perfectly manicured. You get the feeling that all the neighbors roll their eyes and whisper about that one house that has that one bright yellow dandelion in the front yard. I mean seriously, have some pride. I rode past a house where a little old man was mowing his yard. When I say little old man I mean he was a very little, very old, little old man. My guess is that he was in his upper 80s or lower 90s. He seemed shorter than me, and I’m not tall by any means, and couldn’t have weighed more than 130lbs. He was a true old-schooler sporting blue jeans with a noticeable crease, a John Deere hat and a long sleeve plaid shirt even though the temperature was in the mid 80s. And he was smiling from ear to ear.

His ridiculously huge grin was what caught my attention. Since there was nobody else in the yard, and since I’m a genius, I quickly deduced he was not this happy because someone had just told him a joke. It seemed he was this happy just to be mowing his yard. There’s nothing inherently enjoyable about mowing. It’s work. It’s sweaty. We pay other people to do it. Yet here was this man delighting in mowing his lawn so much that it could be seen a block away.

There is something amazing about humanity that makes us do things not because the act itself is inherently pleasurable or because we have to in order to stay alive, but because we long to accomplish something. This longing is so powerful that we are willing to, and often enjoy, toiling and working for the sake of the accomplishment. We pour ourselves into a particular task not because we need to, but because we can. And that is what we need. People need to feel purposeful, to feel useful, to know that they are able to accomplish something. The task itself may not be needed, but we need to know that we can and are moving towards some goal.

We see this reality early when the one-year-old figures out the square block goes into the square hole and immediately giggles and looks around as if to say, “Did you see that awesome thing I just did? I did that!” This reality continues throughout life as teenagers and college age people whittle down the choices of what it is they will point their life at accomplishing. And we see the negative side of it in the sad eyes of the elderly who feel they are no longer “useful” because simple tasks are now performed for them by the young. The simple ability to “do” is a powerful thing.

This need to accomplish something certainly comes with drawbacks. Pride, boasting, obsession and idolizing are all too common in our species. However, I think this drive is inherently a good thing, a God given thing. It is part of the imago Dei in us. We reflect a creator who is and who does. He creates, works, moves, alters and accomplishes and even though we are utterly unable to accomplish our own salvation, we are designed to accomplish something.

So, this thought occurred to me as I watched Happy Hank (I named him that in my head), life cannot be solely about survival, or pleasure, or even a combination of those two. By design, we must accomplish. You can see it in the eyes of an old man who is still able to mow his own yard. The saddest life is not the life without pleasure. It’s the life without purpose. So find something and accomplish it. 

Grill

I am no grill connoisseur. My grill doesn’t have a cool name on the front. It doesn’t have a cover to shield it from the elements. The grill part itself (I don’t even know what its called) has lost its non-stickability. There are remnants of chicken and beef on there from 2004 (ya, I just grossed myself out). The smell thats SUPPOSED to permeate from the innards of my grill does’t smell like delicious culinary expectations, but instead conjures thoughts of fire and brimstone. Repeat: I am no grill connoisseur. But luckily, I don’t need to be one. My family eats that crap anyway.

So it goes with me. I’m not perfect. I have too much middle on my middle. I bench press a tad less than the Rock. I don’t have a flowing mane like Brad Pitt. I don’t have bank like JayZ. But, somehow, it doesn’t stop my children from kissing me. It doesn’t stop my wife from loving me. It doesn’t stop my daughter from crying on MY shoulder. It doesn’t stop my wife from trusting me with her heart. It doesn’t stop my son from emulating me. It doesn’t stop my wife from growing old with me. They take my crap, and they love me anyway.

I’m a pathetic excuse for a human being/father/disciple/whatever…but my family loves me, so I’m good.

 

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