Be of good cheer?

There is a 'Peanuts' cartoon (Charles Schultz really was a genius) that I think about and use as an illustration often. You've probably seen it.
Snoopy is sitting out by his doghouse, in the snow, obviously freezing. Two of the kids are walking by and see Snoopy. One kid says to the other, "Look at Snoopy over there, freezing in the snow. We should do something about it." So they walk over to Snoopy and the first kid says, "Snoopy, be of good cheer!" And the second echos, "Yes, be of good cheer!" And they walk away.
The final panel is of Snoopy, with his quizzical look in his face, as if to say, "What the heck?" (But in cartoon, he's just got one of those balloons above his head with a big question mark).

As my family and I go through this past year, I've become painfully aware at how hard it is to know what to say to the question, "How is MG?" I appreciate their concern. But I'm torn between wondering if I give the simple, no-thought answer of "she's doing fine" (which isn't entirely true) or giving an honest answer that could be more than they really wanted to know.
Not that MG isn't doing well. But everything is relative. She's walking on her own, she can drive short distances, she's doing physical therapy and we're trying to figure out what 'normal' looks like.
On the other hand, her pain is still almost constant; she can't stand or sit for more than a few hours without needing to lie down; and we're being told the limitations are more than likely permanent.
That means MG will most likely never be 100 percent. This is a woman who loved long walks, who loved to dance, who liked to get up in the middle of the night when she couldn't sleep and rearrange the furniture in the house by herself; who was one of the first to show up at someones house in a time of need knowing instinctively how to care for them.
She loves to travel, and when we found out Roecker would be studying abroad in the south of France this semester, our first thought was here was our chance to fly over to see Europe - specifically, MG's dream of seeing Vienna. Her second thought was how there was no practical way she could physically make that trip.

I could go on and on about the things we may have lost, but we're really not typically negative. And beside, plenty of people live like this, or have it worse.
So we should be thankful.
And we are. Basically.
MG is possibly the most optimistic person I know. It's a great balance for my fear of disappointment that causes me to assume the worst so I won't be crushed when my hopes and dreams are shattered on the sharp rocks of reality.
And through this, we've had some interesting theological conversations. MG doesn't ask "why,'' but rather "how." By that I mean, we know James writes that we should count it all joy when we suffer trials or temptations, because the testing of our faith works toward creating Godly characteristics in our lives. But "how" are we supposed to experience that sense of joy in this situation? What is that supposed to look like, really?

A friend of mine - a strong believer who I have long admired - is in major league baseball. He said the prevalent theology in major league baseball is "name it-claim it;" you know, where if you "name" what it is you want and "claim" it in the name of Christ, and believe strongly enough, you'll have it.
That's understandable for a major league athlete, who has pretty much accomplished everything he has wanted in life anyway - although usually through developing an amazing amount of God-given talent. I know of a prominent player who, while going through a prolonged slump, was told repeatedly by his wife and pastor that he just had to "name it (get out of the slump), claim it (no longer in a slump), believe (that he'd be out of the slump), and God would deliver (him from the slump)."
Maybe. But it might not hurt to spend a little extra time in the batting cage, and reviewing video of his swing to see if anything had changed from when he was really hitting the ball well until now, or study what pitchers were getting him out on to see if he detected a hole in his swing.
But no - "name it, claim it, believe it will happen." And eventually this guy did get through his slump (as most great hitters will do).
I listened to NFL Baltimore Ravens' linebacker Ray Lewis at his pre-Super Bowl interview say his success was due to his relationship with God because "God doesn't use evil people. God wouldn't use me this way if I was evil." I love that Ray Lewis knows his Bible well enough to quote scripture freely and easily, and I absolutely believe that God's Word does not come back void.
Still, that theology sound too much like a friend of mine who, when asked about his relationship with God said - in complete sincerity - "God and I are tight. I'm more successful than I've ever been!"

Really? Then what is wrong with my life? More to the point, what great sin or lack of faith exists in MG's life that she's in the situation she is in?
I read a quote from Eugene Peterson that said, "It is impossible to understand our salvation as a life of untroubled serenity, a life apart from suffering, a life protected from disruption, a charmed life, a life exempt from pain and humiliation and rejection."
And as I read the stories of the heroes of the faith, that life - the life Peterson describes - seems to apply far more often than that of worldly success and a life of comfort and ease.

We pray for healing. But we are also starting to, more and more,  pray for endurance. What if God is indeed calling MG to embrace this disability, and not live in hope of escape? Is that a lack of faith on our part? Or could it be more in line with God's will?
And how do you embrace and live 'victoriously' in the midst of such pain?
We asked the neurologist about her problems focusing and remembering. He said her mind was so busy dealing with the pain and adapting to physical imitations that it had just not figured out how to focus for very long on any thing else.

So again, I come back to - how do we "count it all joy?" What does that look like, in practical, day-to-day terms?
Please understand that by no means do I suggest MG's situation is unique (except to her). I have friends who are facing end-of-life illnesses, and friends who have lived with disability their entire lives, and friends who have suffered emotional loss that lives with them nearly every minute of every day.
We understand that our "joy" is knowing that God is working to do His will in our lives, and every day he's transforming us more into the image of His Son, into perfection, into being the people we were created to be and will be ... in glory.

I have heard all about the "victorious Christian life." Unfortunately, I too often define "victorious" in earthly terms - maybe because that's what I want because it is what I know best.
And I'm reminded that while I'm made in the image of God, that does not make me God.
My friend Andy Byers writes that when he hears "God will never give you more than you can handle,'' we start saying things like "my God would never allow that." And we then define God in our terms, forgetting that "the Lord gives, and the Lord takes away; blessed be the Name of the Lord" (Job 1:21).

I'm now embarrassed at the times I've walked into a hospital room or visited a friend who was going through something - an illness, a death, the loss of a job, whatever - and in all heartfelt sincerity said the kind of things we're programmed to say:
"you really look good, considering ..."
or "It will get better; it just takes time ..."
or "I know it's hard now, but just trust in God ..."
or "Be thankful; it could have been worse ..."
or "There's so much they can do these days, and medicine is improving all the time ..."
or - well, you know. We all desperately want to say something, to bring some comfort to the situation. And we know words are really pointless, but it's all we have.
Often we know what we say is true, and we know the person we're saying it to knows it's true - God does use all things for His glory and our sanctification; and we are victims of living in a fallen world; and things could (almost) always be worse than they are; and time does indeed heal (or at least make things more bearable).
Still, I'm now aware at how often those well-meaning and well-intentioned phrases sometimes just trivializes the reality of the situation.
I've been on both sides, as most of us have. But I can tell you when you're on the receiving end of the support, sometimes the things people say are just, well, infuriating.
I remember once a relative whose baby died, barely a month or two old. We were at the house that night and her pastor came by and tried to comfort with the phrase, "Well, he's in the arms of Jesus now." That's a well-meant phrase and absolutely true and those of us who believe know that's the best place any of us could be; but to my relatives' credit (and I remember this so clearly, all these years later), she said rather loudly and forcefully, "But he should be here, in my arms, where he belongs!"
She was being honest. That was no sign of lack of faith and no intentional insult of a pastor saying what pastors are expected to say; it was just pure heartfelt honesty and truth - babies are supposed to be in their mothers' arms; not the arms of Jesus.
My own parents are, I fully believe, with God, in heaven, free of the cancer that took my mother and the breathing problems that took my father. Our little girl Catherine is in heaven, free of all the handicaps and pain that limited her too-short life here on earth. Yet there are still times when I wish my mother and father could be here for me to talk to, to see their grandchildren; and yes, we still miss Catherine.
The pain remains.

Which brings me back to the question, "How is MG?"
I guess the answer is, transforming. Changing. Constantly. Painfully.
With no lack of faith, no loss of hope.
Earnestly seeking to understand 'joy.'

Never interview for a job on Ash Wednesday

Most of my time these days is spent in New Orleans again, my home-away-from-home. A couple of weeks ago I was attending another of those scientific conferences that I occasionally get to go to as part of this strange new world I find myself in. I listen to scientists and researchers who can look at a collection of letters and signs and proceed to have in-depth discussions about what those letters and signs may or may not mean. I'm amazed at the language of science and research, but reminded that most professions have their own language. I was part of the sports world most of my life, and I know there were phrases we used regularly that confounded and confused others.
This meeting is in the Marriott on Canal, and it reminds me of a story - well, two stories, actually.
It seems the older I get, I can't go anywhere without being reminded of having been there before and something that happened.

This was my first Mardi Gras - which has started again in New Orleans, by the way, although it will be interrupted by Super Bowl XLVII or whatever.
And this will be politically incorrect. Let me say it right up front.
I was seeing my first Mardi Gras, in particular my first Fat Tuesday (that blow-out night of all nights before the solemnity of Ash Wednesday, which I think is such a solemn day because everyone is recovering from hangovers as much as because it's the start of Lent).
The friend I was with had a friend who was a student at New Orleans' Tulane University. This guy and a couple of buddies had rented a room at the Marriott overlooking Canal so they had a place to go to when they needed a break from the revelry - and the cold; it was freezing that year - but could still look down on the parades on Canal Street.
By the time my friend and I got up there, the room was packed, and the two guys who'd rented the room were arguing rather loudly.
Now, here is where it gets politically incorrect.
One of the guys was Jewish. The other, Puerto Rican.
As it turns out, the Jewish guy had meant for the room to only be used by a handful of select people, to keep the traffic down. But the Puerto Rican guy had invited everybody he knew, which in this case meant a lot of his fellow Puerto Rican students at Tulane.
The Jewish guy was furious. They argued, as much about the fact that they'd split the cost of the room and if the Puerto Rican was going to have more friends, he should have paid more of the cost of the room.
Finally, the Puerto Rican guy just turned and stormed off.
Trying to be a nice guy and knowing I was a friend of neither, I said to the Jewish guy, "Hey, I can leave. I'm just here with (my friend). I don't want to be a problem."
The Jewish guy said, "No, it's not you. It's that damn Puerto Rican. You invite one and he brings the whole family. Typical."
Stereotype, right?
And of course I looked at my friends on the way out and said, "typical Jew, arguing over how much the room cost."

The second story occurred the next day. Part of the reason I'd gone to New Orleans was to interview with the Times-Picayune. I'd set up this meeting with the sports editor weeks before. I was still in school but finishing soon and wanted to get a jump on a job.
So Wednesday morning, I wake up early despite having been up late the night before dealing with Puerto Rican and Jews and Mardi Gras parades, put on my best suit and drove over to the Times-Pic building.
I go in and ask for the sports editor. The guard looks at me with a rather funny look on his face and says, "Is he expecting you?"
Of course, and I say, and so the guard sends me up to whatever floor the newsroom was on.
I get up there and the newsroom is basically empty. That's not necessarily unusual, of course; news rarely occurs in the newsroom, and if I was editor of a paper I'd want my reporters outside the building, finding news stories.
There is a receptionist, however, who asks if she can help me. I say I'm there to see the sports editor. She says, "Do you have an appointment?" Again, I say yes.
She says to hold on, and makes a call.
"Is (the sports editor) in?" she asks someone.
I don't hear the answer.
"Do you know when he's coming in?"
I don't hear the answer.
She looks up and says, "He's not in, and no one was expecting him. Let me call him at home."
Clearly this isn't going well.
She calls his house, and after what seems like an eternity, she gets him on the phone, explains what is going on, and this fresh-faced college kid is standing in front of her in a nice new suit expecting to talk to the sports editor of the Times-Picayune.
Finally, she hands me the phone.
The voice I hear on the other end is very tired and, if I may say so, sounds very hung-over.
"Ray,'' he says, "Sorry I'm not making it in the office today. You're just graduating from college, right?"
Correct, I say.
"Well," he said in this graveling, just-woke-up voice, "we don't really have anything, but I'll keep your resume on file."
And so I went home with a valuable lesson:
Never go for a job interview in New Orleans on Ash Wednesday.
It's a religious holiday; everyone is preparing for Lent.
Or maybe recovering from Mardi Gras.

Playing god and worrying

The posts are less frequent. It's not that I don't have ideas - I have ideas all the time - but it's that I get one and then think, "Nobody wants to read that." I forget that I started this blog for myself, to finally write what I wanted to write, when I wanted to write it, how I wanted to write it.
Then people started reading ....
Mostly about MG and "the accident." I'll update MG soon for those of you who are kind enough to keep asking. I'm trying to figure out how honest to be, to be honest.

Sometimes I wonder why I pick up certain books to read. Books have always had a huge impact on my life. Like most book-lovers, I have always been able to lose myself - for awhile, at least - in a book, and books always make me think.
And there are certain books that I can read over and over; some I read long ago that I decide to read again to see if the magic still holds.
Jack Kerouac's "On the Road" is in that second category.
Written more than 50 years ago, it is considered a classic of American literature, although sometimes I'm not sure why. At times Kerouac's writing makes no sense. It's a rather disjointed series of stories of traveling around America in the late 1940s, and became the voice of what was known as the "beat" generation.
I can't remember the first time I read it, but I know even then I found the writing disjointed, the descriptions at times ridiculous, the characters not always easy to keep straight, and the main character not really likable (something I always think important in a book).
However, I get sucked into the idea of the book.

I have always loved to travel around the United States. My family took these extended road trip vacations when I was a kid, my Dad driving and usually pulling his latest home-built camping creation.
As I got older, I loved long road trips. The summer after I graduated from college, a friend of mine and I were going to drive his Tahoe (or whatever the early Chevy SUV was back in the days before everyone had an SUV) and head to the Rockies, camping along the way. He was a musician, and we were not great friends but good friends and just an odd enough character that I thought would make for a trip unlike any I'd ever experienced before
Then he got a gig he couldn't refuse (he said; maybe he just backed out), and we didn't go. The good news is that I'd saved up enough money to get me through a few months while looking for a job and entering the world's work force.
My wife knows -and fears - the fact that my dream vacation is a road trip to Mount Rushmore, meandering along the way, seeing "America," however that may be defined.
I have been fortunate to have been in a profession that allowed me to travel the country quite a bit, and while a good deal of it required flying, I always drove whenever I could. There is nothing like a rental car, a company credit card, and the open road. (Fun fact: The only true all-terrain vehicle is a rental car with a collision damage waiver).
It's not exactly Kerouac's story of bus rides, hitch-hiking, rail-riding and driving across country on $15, back in the days when $5 worth of gas would get a car from Baltimore to Mobile. But it's not bad. And like Kerouac, I've collected a lot of stories over the years.

But anyway, I came across a passage in Kerouac that jumped out at me.
Kerouac's character is going from San Francisco back to New York, and because Kerouac's  character (Sal) has some money, they got what was called a "travel-bureau car," which, simply put, is where several people go in together and share expenses and driving. Sal and Dean are traveling with three people, including a tourist couple that Dean describes this way: "... They have worries, they're counting the miles, they're  thinking about where they're going to sleep tonight, how much money for gas, the weather, how they'll get there - and all the time they'll get there anyway, you see. But they need to worry and betray time with urgency's false and otherwise, purely anxious and whiny, their souls really won't be at peace unless they can latch on to an established and proven worry and having once found it they assume facial expressions to fit and go with it, which is, you see, unhappiness, and all the time it all flies by them and they know it and that too worries them no end. ..."
I am a known worrier.
And as Kerouac points out, sometimes I feel my soul isn't really at peace unless I can latch on to a 'worry.' And, again, the vast majority of the time whatever happens happens and whether my worries are founded or not makes no difference: my worrying didn't really affect events.

There's a Biblical principle here, the one about Jesus saying the birds of the air don't worry about what they eat or wear, and whether you can add one day to your life by worrying. I get all that.
But still, I can't help but try to play god, as if my actions will somehow affect the universe I live in.
Those current commercials about being a fan - the holding of the labels of the beer bottle a certain way, for example - resonate with me. If I'm watching a game and something good starts to happen, I freeze. Whatever position I'm in - no matter how awkward or uncomfortable - I hold it. I spent four innings of one of my sons' baseball games half on and half off the bleacher seat, because as I was sliding off something good started happening and I didn't want to alter the karma (which I don't seriously believe in except in sports).
We were watching a recent football game in which the team I was pulling for got off to a big lead. MG got up from her chair to go do something, and the fortunes changed just like that. I blamed her.
Have you ever been driving your car and a warning light comes on or you realize you're almost out of gas, so you turn off everything non-essential - kind of like a jettisoning gear from a sinking ship - and lean forward, 'willing' the car to make it to the next exit?
And those are just the silly things.

I can lie in bed at 3 in the morning, dreaming up all kinds of things that I just know are going wrong all around me but that I can't see and won't see until it's too late.
The Trophy Wife chides me for worrying, and rightfully so. However, I point out that if you worry about everything, then sooner or later you're going to be right, which somehow justifies all those other worries.

I think it goes back to Eden (doesn't everything?). When Adam sinned, he was cursed with self-awareness. By that, I mean before the apple incident (I know, I know - the Bible never says it was an apple) Adam's sense of self was all tied up in his relationship to God. He walked with God, talked with God on a daily basis. He understood his self-worth from a true God perspective.
Then, when Adam (and Eve) stepped outside the safe boundaries of their relationship with God, they became self-aware - which is how we came to wear clothes. Before sinning, Adam and Eve were naked and unashamed because they didn't think of themselves and their own actions; after sinning, they suddenly saw each other as fallen human beings and recognized they'd exposed themselves as naked - physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
So Adam began to worry. What if God doesn't talk to me again? How far does this exile from God extend? I've disobeyed God ... what do I do to regain His favor? Can I regain His favor? What about my wife and kids - I'm responsible for them now, too. I have to play "god" to care for my family.

And so it went, and so it goes.
We've travelled a long road from Eden, and worried every step of the way.
Even as free as Kerouac's character lives, he worries too - about food and money and shelter and caring for the friends he meets along the way.
It's hard not to play 'god.' I'm not very good at it, but still I try.