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I am 40 as I write this.

Used to be 20.

When I was 20, my faith was like a jar of oil.  It was clear and consistent.  I could jump in it and float around on the top or dive down to the bottom and wherever I went, I would find pure, consistent oil.

Over the years, events in my life have invaded that faith and at some point I realized that my faith had become like a jar filled half with oil and half with vinegar.  My faith became dichotomous and compartmental.  I realized that I thought one thing and experienced something altogether different.  I was challenged by a long held belief that one’s jar of faith is either all oil or all vinegar and I felt torn with the need to decide what would fill my jar and thus, how I would live my life.

Now I am 40, and I think I have come to some peace with the conundrum of my own faith.  Not resolution, mind you…just some peace.

I realize that whether I like it or not, the oil and vinegar both remain, and the best thing that can happen to my faith nowadays is a good, hard shake every once in a while.

So I am glad for all of the parts of my faith that struggle and challenge and push and pull and never fully gel in any permanent way, yet somehow seem to make sense in a way that oil or vinegar alone simply never would.

Ok. So this is what happens when my 16 year old daughter picks up a guitar, sets her phone down in front of her, and hits “record”.

I just don’t want to keep this one to myself.

I stopped today to look a little more closely at the snail that was moving along the sidewalk.  I forget to notice sometimes…I move so quickly…too quickly.

Today I remembered to take a moment…to take it in.

I was struck by the beauty of the shell.  It was the deepest and richest color of brown I had ever seen.  It had the tiniest spots that were a cream color, like the color of a creamy cup of coffee just the way I like it.  The spots against the shell began to take my breath away as I realized the beauty I almost missed this morning.

There was something else though.  As I was paying close attention to the shell, the snail kept moving, plugging along on it’s course and I noticed something that I have never noticed before.  The movement of the snail is not fluid or smooth.  He (I think of him as “Herbert” as I write this) stretches his body as far as he can and then relaxes his body to cause forward momentum.  He “inches” his way along one stretch/relax at a time.  It is a slow process but he eventually makes it across and to the grass where he will, I imagine, just continue to do the same thing.

As I watched this, I began to consider how our journey through life and personal spiritual growth and maturity is sometimes so very similar to this.  We do not wake up one day and find ourselves suddenly “arrived” at some destination or final enlightenment.  Rather, enlightenment, spiritual maturity, wholeness and connectedness to Source comes in deeper and deeper levels as we prod forward through cycles that cause us to be stretched to the very limits, only finding in the resulting state of relaxation that we have moved to a place we have not yet been before.

C.S. Lewis wrote on the process of moving through the stages of grief to a point of acceptance that it does not happen in one great moment but rather is “..like the warming of a cold room or the dawning of a new day…” in that one generally does not even recognize it until it has been happening for some time.  Personal growth to a deeper spiritual connection to Source, to Life, may be a process much the same.

May I remember to open my eyes, slow down and see the value of stretching in the moments of retraction that allow this journey to a place I have not yet been.

Many years ago, I had the best dream that I had ever had in all of my life.  It is strange to me that I would have had this dream that particular night as life had been tumultuous and I was going through a tremendously stressful time.  Nevertheless, I had the dream.

The place where I was walking was beautiful.  It was a land of gently rolling hills, golden in their color and wide in their scope.  There were orchards of apples and groves of oranges and vines of grapes and fruits of all kinds.  There were some roads, old and quaint as one might think of leading to a small vineyard in a European village.  Sometimes I would walk on these roads while other times I would wander about the trees and fields with no concern at all for direction.

Eventually, there were castles and cathedrals that were grand in their scope and yet warm and inviting at the same time.  I could see them from a distance and then find myself a moment later wrapped in the comfort and safety of their corridors.  The beauty and peace found in this place was without parallel.

It was not this beauty, however, that made the dream my favorite.  It was not the hills or the fields or the trees or the great structures.  It was not the colors of gold and red and warmth or the feelings of safety and contentment.  The wonderful nature of this dream was found in one element.  It was my company.

In this dream, I was walking through this land with my daughter.  She was five.

We spoke of the trees and the plants and the fruit.  We looked up at the castles and cathedrals and she asked me what a cathedral was for and I told her that it was a great big church.  Most of the time, though, we just walked.  I was with my child in a land where there was nothing and no one else.  It was just me and her, walking and talking and being together.  She had a cloth bag with her in which she placed items that she collected from our walk.  A leaf, a rock, an orange.  And every once in a while, I would realize that she had set her bag down and forgotten it along the way.  We would back-track and find it and it didn’t really matter how long it took because we had all of the time in the world.

Eventually, in the halls of a cathedral, my daughter became too tired to walk anymore.  I picked her up to carry her the rest of the way and I realized that she had again lost her bag.  I was not sure if I should go find it or just carry her home and I woke up too soon to decide.

As I sit here now, I know exactly what I would have done.  I would have carried her and found the bag.  The extra looking would have made my time with her that much longer.

speak to me says the child as she pulls upon the beard
of her father who puts down his coffee to see her
curious and captured in the world of safety called daddy’s lap
and he smiles a tired smile
looking at the face of years gone by and many years to come.

and with a slight tilt to her head she asks
why the people stand at the red lights and hold up signs
and hold out their hands
and always look so very sad
so very tired and old and sad

and why when she went to the zoo did the goats eat grass
and people can’t do that
but they can eat broccoli and she doesn’t like it

and he marvels at the little foolish wonders and sighs at the thought
that someday she will learn
not the answers to these questions for we know (he thinks)
they lie in a region far beyond the realm of our wisdom
and so we will teach her and she will learn

she will learn to forget those questions with hiding answers
she will learn to forget the tired old man with
two shoes and not much more and she
will not have to reason why even they don’t match

for who are we if we cannot enjoy
the top of this heap and who am i he thinks if i
cannot teach my little one to sit and watch and forget

and so says he with beard and coffee
years and wisdom
house and land
and so says he with wife and children
run and racing
wind and sand

you see my child this life will one day
be your own and capture you
and you will have no need to worry
about the old man’s miss matched shoes

i see said the child with lips of purity as she released his beard

I heard a story recently about a man who trained Muhammad Ali.  The story (and I do not know if it is truth or fiction) is that this man did very little, if any, technical instructing.  He did not spend his days yelling from the corner “Hey kid!  You gotta watch out for that left hook!” or “A little less dancin’ and a little more fightin’!” or whatever it is that trainers say to boxers as they coach them in their craft.

Instead, as the story goes, this trainer would always be right next to his boxer whether in the ring or on the gymnasium floor…and he would be talking in his ear.

“…You’re the best…you are the greatest…nothing can stop you…you are a fighting machine…you are unstoppable…who are you?  who are you? WHO ARE YOU?…you are Muhammad Ali and YOU ARE THE GREATEST!  NOTHING CAN STOP YOU…”

Hour after hour, day after day, Ali would hear this voice in his head reminding him that he was unstoppable and he heard this so much that it became the voice in his own head that pushed him on in the ring when it was just him and his opponent.

As I think about this story, I have to think about what kinds of things Ali heard about himself before this time.  He grew up in the segregated South where he was likely called “boy” and forbidden from even engaging much of society.  He was taught by some, in no uncertain terms, that he was inferior…less then.  Ultimately though, it would seem that the pounding voice of that trainer won out in Ali’s mind.

There is something more significant for me about this story, though.  It’s the reason I don’t even care if the story is true or not.  You see, I know for certain that the principle is true.  I know because of the voice that has been drilled into my own head that remains with me to this day.

When I was a boy, I was on the puny side.  I was neither athletic nor socially graceful.  I wasn’t cool (and my daughter will tell you I’m still not but she says it with a smirk to let you know she’s teasing) and I wasn’t comfortable or confident.

But my mom was relentless.

“You are a winner…you are a leader…God made you special and He has amazing things in store for you…there is NOTHING you cannot do…you are smart…look how handsome you are…YOU CAN…YOU CAN…YOU CAN…YOU CAN!”

Sometimes it made me mad when I wanted to sulk and wallow.  She didn’t care, she was determined.  Sometimes I was obnoxious.  She didn’t care, she was relentless.

And she was successful.

Eventually…slowly…I began to believe it, and as I did I began to act like it, and as I acted like it I began to prove it, and as I began to prove it, I believed it even more, and as I believed it even more…well, we get the picture.

I see now that life is always telling us something about ourselves.  Whether it is the grateful patient who thinks I’m the greatest thing since chocolate and peanut butter or the man who I hurt looking down on me with anger…whether it’s the driver waving in thanks because I let him through or the one gesturing obscenely in anger because I cut him off…life is always telling us something.

I have come to know that God’s love and acceptance of me is unconditional and for this I am eternally grateful.  But when He wants to remind me of my worth, to tell me that I’m okay, it is the voice of my mother that pounds and resounds…”You are wonderful.”  And all the other voices slowly fade away.

I’m tired of taking my time when I’m making my mind up
I’m prone to get overwhelmed with the choices that be
This list of menu selections is making me wind up
I think I need more attention to focus the beam
My eyes are wandering about and can you really blame me
The more they open the more there is to find
For far too long I learned about why the caged bird sings
But now I’m taking this day and leaving nothing behind

I wanna read old poems in a haunted cave
And run away with someone on a summer day
Make angels in the snow and castles in the sand
Let the wheels fall off and get to know the land
I wanna ride to the river that will quench the soul
Listen to the opera and rock-n-roll
I’ll throw away the dirt and take the jewel
But I’m digging either way ‘causes life is cool

I never danced with the people around in the city
I’d rather watch from the wall where I’m planting my roots
Tonight is gonna be different though cause I’m open and seeing
It may be scary but I’m gonna shake in my boots
A sweaty man in a polyester suit said he’d save me
If I would only surrender my life to his truth
I thought about what he offered for more than a minute
Then finally said no my man you let me rescue you

So I have a habit that started several years ago.  When I come into a room or see folks, I tend to greet the room or the people with a turkey noise that has been described as my “bloopbloop”.  (I also tend to have a lot of “bloops” in my speaking but I will leave that one for another post.)

One day about twelve years ago I had been training a new therapist to work with high risk families and it was our last training day before I moved on to another program.  As we were on our way to work with the family we had been assigned to she asked me a question.  “I don’t want to sound stupid” she said, “but I have been curious about this and I wanted to ask as I might not ever see you again.  Why do you make that strange sound all of the time?”

I told her she would have to wait but that I would tell her before the day was over.  Later that day we were driving back to the office and I made my little sound and she laughed and said “That is crazy!  Why do you do that?!”

I asked her what her reaction was when I just did it.  She said “Well, I laughed.  It’s funny.”

This, I told her, is the reason.

Life is made up of moments.  We have what we might describe as “good” moments and what we might describe as “bad” moments.  And at the end of the day if you have had more good moments than bad, you might say it has been a good day.  And, at the end of the week if you have had more good days, you might say it was a good week.  And at the end of the month, at the end of the year, etc.

And what is so awesomely powerful about it is that we all have the amazing opportunity to effect the moments of each person with whom we come in to contact.  The way in which I effect others’ moments is very important to me.  I have come to realize that when I make a silly sound, when I respond with mercy rather than judgment, when I listen rather than ignore, when I love rather than not, I can effect a moment of another’s life.

I am thinking about the moments of my day today.  The interactions I had with people.  How did I impact their moments?

It is a great responsibility we all have.

A dear friend of mine recently had a waitress spill lemonade all over her.  This was a moment in the waitress’ life.  My friend responded in kindness and I have no doubt that this had a dramatic effect on what kind of moment it was for the waitress.  I wonder how it effected the rest of her day.  Was it easier for the waitress to be kinder to others?  Maybe to her coworkers or her customers or maybe even her kids?

A few years ago, I stopped making that strange turkey-like sound.  Recently, I have started again and I think I will continue with the same frequency I always did.

I get to effect other people’s moments whether I realize it or not.

I am thinking now that maybe being aware of it and consciously making the effort to help people have good moments is a pretty cool thing.

2008

The other day I noticed that my six year old son had some scratches on the inside of his arm and wrists and I asked him what had happened.

This is what he told me:

“I was up in this tree because I wanted to climb up it and I stayed there for so long and I could see everything and I was up so high and it was totally cool.

But then I tried to get down and I got stuck.  I was like holding on to the tree and I had my arms around it trying to get down but I got scared and I was just hugging the tree and holding on so tight and I couldn’t go anywhere and I got really afraid.

But then I realized that my only hope was to let go.

And so I did, and I fell, and it wasn’t so bad, and then I was free.”

This is my son’s direct quote.  I am not embellishing.

The importance of applying this principle to life struck me immediately and I have been thinking a lot about it since that time.

I get myself into positions where I can feel completely locked up.  Like I can’t go up or down and any option is terrifying.  And it is, I think, much harder now because at least when you’re a kid in a tree, folks can see that you are in trouble.  In grown up world, it is all internal and no one has a clue.

I really want to do the right thing.  Sometimes I want that too much.  Maybe sometimes I am still trying to pay for past failures.  Who knows?  Whatever the reason, sometimes I get into over thinking, over controlling, and trying to “figure things out” to the point that it becomes paralyzing.

So, I am trying right now to remember JP’s lesson to me.  Sometimes, my only hope is to let go.  Even if I fall and get hurt, right now I am thinking that it is better than being locked up in a tree with nowhere to go.

He sets his face back towards the river
All these deserts have left him dry
By the banks he sets the table
So hold the water, and pour the wine

Bruised a little from the taking
Bruised some more from giving back
Not sure he’s going or defending
Not sure he’s coming or attack

He stood his ground and played the catcher
He saved and lost some in his time
Tonight he walks from rye to river
So hold the water, pour the wine