Christmas Wonder: Through a Child's Eyes

There's a San Damiano Cross on the east wall of our house. Beneath the cross, there's a gold plaque with the Healing Prayer of Surrender engraved upon it.

Each morning, I break away from getting the girls dressed and fed to stand in front of the cross and read that prayer. With the sun rising in a nearby window, it starts each day off on a good note no matter what problems await me.

The other morning, Fiona jumped down the stairs saying that she wanted to pray too. I pulled her up into my arms.

At 3 1/2, Fiona lives in a world of wonder waiting to be prodded by her curiosity. "What are the dots on him?" Fiona asked.

"What dots, baby?"

She pointed to one on his stomach.

"That's his belly button."

She pointed to two on his chest.

"Those are his nipples," I answered, hoping that the next question wasn't why he had nipples.

"Why doesn't Jesus have a shirt on?" Fiona asked.

"People took it from him."

The little girl nodded. Not questioning the unfairness, just acknowledging the fact. "What are those dots?" she asked, pointing to his feet.

"They're nails, honey."

Fiona pointed to his hands and asked again, "What are those dots?"

"Those are also nails, baby." I paused, struggling to find the words. "They nailed him to a cross."

Fiona stared up at the statue of a man crowned in thorns and nailed to a cross. "Why did it happen?"

I paused again. "Because he wanted us to be set free from sin, so we could live forever with him in heaven."

Fiona nodded. She didn't have anymore questions. Her process of questioning, learning, and believing was complete. Fiona didn't understand everything about the Resurrection, but she felt she knew enough to believe.

It was a powerful demonstration of a child's ability to believe in the miraculous nature of the Divine. The same kind of belief that all of us are called to (Mark:10:15 "whoever does not accept the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it.")

Christmas is approaching. I've sent out cards and bought some presents. The tree is up and I listen to the weather reports, hoping they call for snow. I juggle my calendar trying to figure out how to make as many family gatherings as possible. There are snowman cookies and little voices singing carols.

It's a lot of fun and a lot of racket, but it's easy to lose sight that all of the celebration is based upon the premise that God's son was born in the small town of Bethlehem a little over 2,000 years ago. As described by Romano Guardini in his book The Lord, "The young creature in the stall of Bethlehem was a human being with human brain and limbs and heart and soul. And it was God."

It's an amazing thing to believe. Utterly 100% miraculous. Human reason falters beneath the angel's statement, "For today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Messiah and Lord." Luke 2:11.

I know that I will never understand the physics of that amazing event. Some of the theological complexities will remain a mystery me, no matter how deeply I study or meditate upon them.

The only right answer is to follow Fiona's lead and simply believe.

Merry Christmas,
matt

*** My book, Looking For Answers Through Dirty Glasses: Finding the Divine in a Challenging World, is now available on Amazon. Please pick one up for a friend. It's a compilation of the first year of this blog. A portion of the proceeds go to fund the amazing work of the Uganda Rural Fund. ***

"The Sin of... Wanting to Be Heard"

I spent the last two months compiling Looking for Answers posts into a manuscript and then editing them to publish as a book. My initial copy of the book arrived yesterday. I showed it to a friend and she said that they couldn't believe that someone as sinful as me wrote a book on religion. It was a statement, not a judgment.

It's also the same thing I think each time I sit down at the computer to write this blog. I told her that I wrote a buyer-beware disclaimer stating that I'd racked up more than my fair share of sins in more than my fair share of sinful categories. But still, it feels strange to try and offer guidance in the face of my own flaws. I've got a particular weakness for sins of arrogance, lust, and vengeance. I've fallen into all of those traps before and almost certainly will again. I can't help but wonder what could anyone learn from someone like that.

My friend also pointed out that the very act of writing a book about humility is hypocritical. Again, she was right. Thomas Merton, one of the most prolific religious writers of the 20th century, accused himself of, "The sin... of wanting to be heard..." I know that I share that sin with Merton, though I lack his talent and prolificacy.


It's been over a year since I began this blog, but I am still not qualified to write it. I've tried not to pretend to be anyone that I am not, but I'm sure that I've failed at that. Yet, I still feel compelled to tell what I believe and why in hope that those words might help someone who is struggling.


I've asked for the Holy Spirit's help, but I don't know if my words will be able to overcome my own sins. Yet, I am heartened by the example of King David. In Psalm 51, King David gave us one of the most beautiful and lasting prayers in all of history; but he would not have been able to write it if he hadn't committed some of the darkest sins.



Psalm 51

 ¹ Have mercy on me, O God,
   according to your unfailing love;
according to your great compassion
   blot out my transgressions.
² Wash away all my iniquity
   and cleanse me from my sin.

 ³ For I know my transgressions,
   and my sin is always before me.
⁴ Against you, you only, have I sinned
   and done what is evil in your sight;
so you are right in your verdict
   and justified when you judge.
⁵ Surely I was sinful at birth,
   sinful from the time my mother conceived me.
⁶ Yet you desired faithfulness even in the womb;
   you taught me wisdom in that secret place.

 ⁷ Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean;
   wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.
⁸ Let me hear joy and gladness;
   let the bones you have crushed rejoice.
⁹ Hide your face from my sins
   and blot out all my iniquity.

 ¹⁰ Create in me a pure heart, O God,
   and renew a steadfast spirit within me.
¹¹ Do not cast me from your presence
   or take your Holy Spirit from me.
¹² Restore to me the joy of your salvation
   and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.

 ¹³ Then I will teach transgressors your ways,
   so that sinners will turn back to you.
¹⁴ Deliver me from the guilt of bloodshed, O God,
   you who are God my Savior,
   and my tongue will sing of your righteousness.
¹⁵ Open my lips, Lord,
   and my mouth will declare your praise.
¹⁶ You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it;
   you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.
¹⁷ My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit;
   a broken and contrite heart
   you, God, will not despise.

Being Washed Clean

October 19, 2011

I was going back over some of my old "Looking for Answers" posts.  My focus was on editing and compiling them for a book, but I had trouble separating myself from the writing.  I became wrapped up in the places and times again.  I couldn't help but think that it's been a year since I've been writing these posts.  I've done my best to testify to what I've seen and shared my reflections of what I think it means.

It's been a deep and challenging process that I hope has helped a few people and made me a little bit better person.  Yet still, I think about how far I have to go and it's demoralizing.  I still lose my focus and become overwhelmed by daily realities.  Some days it feels easier to sin that to breathe.  Too many testaments to the wisdom of Mark Nepo's words, "Stay alive and you will be hurt, and you will also hurt others."

The personal harangue is interrupted by Fiona, my oldest daughter, crying and calling "Daddy" from upstairs.

I climb the stairs and enter the girls' room.  Fiona is crying in her bed while her sister is fast asleep in her own bed.

"Daddy, I got sick," Fiona said.  "My tummy hurts."

I pull back the covers and take her into my arms.  I can feel the wet vomit on her shirt and in her hair.  Fiona sobs as she pulls her little body into mine.  She's disgusted by the half-digested food.  I carry her into the bathroom and turn on the bathwater.  Fiona continues to cry as I run the water and pull off her clothes.  She doesn't calm down until after I've washed and rinsed her hair for the second time.

Within a few minutes, Fiona out of the bath and in clean clothes.  I change the soiled bedding.  She crawls under the covers and I search for a different pillow.

Fiona smiles as I lean down to kiss her goodnight.  I know that I'll probably be back up later for another cleanup session, but for now she is at peace.

As I walk back down the stairs, I'm drawn again to the parallels between our relationship to the Divine and the relationship between a parent and a child.

Like Fiona, I can feel alone and overwhelmed by the darkness.  Disgusted messes I've made and continue to make.

I know that, like Fiona, I don't have the ability to clean myself.  My best efforts are required, but they will not be enough.  Ephesians 2:8-9 ("For by grace you have been saved through faith, and it is not from you; it is the gift of God; it is not from works, so no one may boast.")  I too call out for help.

I know somehow that call will be answered.  The Divine will wash away my failings and transgressions.  Ephesians 1:7.  Scrubbing on my soul until I finally qualify as "holy and without blemish" enough to stand before Him.  Ephesians 1:3.  Then, I'll be set forward to tackle whatever "good works" the Lord has put in my path. Ephesians 2:10.

It won't take me long to make a mess of it again.  But I know that, like Fiona, I'm just one cry away from a stronger hand to come and set me back upon the right path.

Free Delivery: Being Part of Someone Else's Plan

Note:  This is a story about the Divine using one person to affect the trajectory of another's life. Please don't confuse my role as being anything more than a dumb pawn in a larger game.


Late February - Early March 2001

I opened up my door on Sunday morning to go to church.  A newspaper lay upon my step.  I hadn't had a newspaper since West Point.  I looked to my right and left, as if someone would be there to explain to me whose paper it was.

I felt a little guilty, but took it into my house anyway.  I pulled off the rubber band and unrolled the paper.  An announcement fell to the ground stating that I'd been given a free month subscription to the Honolulu Star-Advertiser. 

After Mass, I came home and read the newspaper from the first page to the last.  At West Point, newspapers had been both a source of stress and relaxation to me.  The freshmen (plebes) are required to read and memorize the front page and sports page of The New York Times before leaving their room in the morning.  I spent every morning trying to absorb all that information and hoping that it would stick with me for when I'd be called to report on the  articles later that day.

While I cursed The New York Times for its involvement in those grilling sessions, I couldn't thank it enough for the Sunday "Travel" section.  Each Sunday during the academic year, I'd sit on my bed in the barracks and read about far away places.  I told myself that someday I'd graduate and I'd find my way to somewhere with sand, sun, cold beer, beautiful women and not a single copy of The New York Times. 

The newspaper in my hand brought all those memories back.  I sipped on coffee that was grown one island away and I felt happy to know that at least some parts of that adolescent dream had been fulfilled.  Military life hadn't turned out like I'd thought.  I was recovering from an ankle surgery in Hawaii instead of being a platoon leader in Korea, but I had a feeling that young plebe would be okay with that.

The paper was interesting and well-written.  Politics is politics and sports is sports regardless of the latitude and longitude.  One article popped out at me.  It was about a shortage of Special Ed teachers in Hawaii and their efforts to recruit teachers from the mainland.  

While my stint here hadn't been exactly paradise, it was hard to imagine Hawaii having a recruitment problem in any profession.

A few weeks later, my friend Jimmy and I went down to Waikiki to our favorite bar, "The Irish Rose."  It was tucked in a mid-range hotel and was the kind of place that most people, including us, only found by accident.  The "Irish Rose" had a mellow feel and a nice anonymous mix of people.  There was live music on the weekends, but the band never played to an audience of more than a couple of handfuls.

Tonight was different.  Waikiki was overrun with Spring Breakers and they'd spilled over into "The Irish Rose."  Jimmy and I were lucky to find a table.  We worked our way through a couple of rounds, talked about work, and watched the tourists take shots.

The bar continued to fill up.  I noticed a pretty blonde and brunette with drinks in their hands looking for a place to sit.  Jimmy and I weren't exactly Lotharios, but I figured it was worth checking to see if they wanted to share our table.

The blonde's name was Wendy and her friend was Nikki.  The girls were from Wisconsin, like Jimmy.  The conversation came easy and a few hours slipped by.  They were midway through college.  Wendy was studying Special Ed.  She said that she'd always thought about living in Hawaii and would love to teach here, but didn't know if she could find a job.

I remembered the article about Islands' need for Special Ed teachers in the Honolulu Star-Advertiser that had appeared on my doorstep.  I told Wendy what I remembered and got her email at the end of the night to send her the article.


The following December, Wendy graduated from college.  A few days after graduation, her father passed away from a heart attack.  That February, Wendy fled the tragedy for the warm sun and crashing surf of Maui.  Over the course of the years, Hawaii transformed from her refuge into her home.  Wendy fell in love, got married, and is raising a family.  To this day, she still credits the information that I gave her about Hawaii's teacher recruitment program as key to realizing her dream to move to Hawaii.

I never would have known about that program if a newspaper miraculously shown up on my doorstep a few weeks earlier.  I'm not going to say that Wendy wouldn't have made the same choices without that information, but there's enough evidence for me to believe that the Divine was giving her a little push.

p.s. You can read more about Wendy's journey to recover from the loss of her father in her novel, Seasons in the Sun.  She's a powerful writer with an honest analysis of her own feelings of loss and anger.

Hang Gliding and the Perils of Being Self-Taught

Note: Please do not use this as an instruction guide for hang gliding.

Spring of 1993

"Mackin has a hang glider,"  KK whispered those words across the aisle in English class.

"Awesome!" I responded.

There was never any doubt that we were going to try it out.  It didn't matter that Mackin had just found the hang glider in the attic of his garage and the last person to use it was Mackin's grandfather sometime in the mid-1970's.

A quick query of our group of friends turned up no hang gliding knowledge beyond "You're supposed to run off high things."

So I went to the Capital High library and looked for a book on hang gliding.  They had one.  Well, kind of.  It was a book about kites that included a few chapters on hang gliding.  The book didn't have a set of directions, but I managed to identify these key points.

Lean left to go left.  Lean right to go right.  Lean forward to go faster.  Lean back to slow down.  Lean too far back and you risk stalling the hang glider in mid-air - not recommended.

I checked with my friends and we decided that those directions would be enough to get us through the maiden voyage.  As a precaution, we decided not to take it off anything too high until we got the feel for it.


Three days later, my friends and I stood on top off a large grassy hill northwest of Helena.  The hang glider had ripped when we bumped it into a barbed wire fence during transit, but we'd remembered duct tape so the mission continued.

The wind picked up from the east.  My stomach was full of nervous butterflies.  It was still a toss-up between me and Mackin for who would take the maiden flight.  I'd read the book, but he'd found the hang glider.  According to teenaged male logic, it was a close call.

I looked down the hill at the powerlines half a mile away.  "Do you think that those powerlines are too close?" I asked.

"No, it'll never go that far," KK said.  "Besides, even if it did, a guy would probably figure out how to steer it by then."

I nodded.

Then it happened.  While putting on one more layer of duct tape over the torn fabric, someone noticed a label that said the the hang glider had a weight limit.  It was 160 pounds.

I wasn't big, but I was well out of that range.  Mackin was ten or more pounds above 160.

Chet was the only member of our group that met the weight limit.  He volunteered with a chuckle.  Chet put on a motorcycle helmet while the rest of us tried to strap him onto the base of the hang glider.

The wind had died down while we were up on the hill, but we decided to give it a go anyway.  I held onto one side of the hang glider.  Mackin held onto the other side.  Chet held onto the bar in front of him and stared out at the horizon.  On the count of three, we ran...

And we ran and we ran.  Our flight team went a full fifty yards up and over the crest of the hill and then down below.  No lift, nothing.  So we turned around, walked back up the hill, and did it again.  Still nothing.

We went back on top of the hill and waited for the wind.  After about five minutes, a stiff breeze began to blow from the east.  Chet nodded and we began to run.  The wind caught flapping wings and launched the hang glider off of the hill.  Chets blue jean covered legs flapped in the blue sky.

I was cheering when a hard gust of wind hit the hang glider.  The nose of the hang glider snapped backward.  Chet didn't have time to lean forward.  The hang glider did a complete flip in the air and continued going backward.

Chet's feet were up in the air when the hang glider slammed into the ground below him.  The hang glider snapped in two.

I couldn't see Chet through the wreckage of the hang glider, but I could hear him scream in pain.  My feet carried me down the hill expecting to find snapped limbs and impaled guts.

I was wrong.  Chet was up and fighting way out of the harness.  His screams became more coherent.  "Cactus!  Cactus!"

The gust of wind had pulled Chet sixty yards through the air and dropped him down upon a massive patch of cactus.





I still chuckle every time I think about that day, but there is a lesson beyond the obvious hang gliding safety issues.  When tackling something challenging and important, it's important to have guidance from someone who knows more than you do.

It's a basic lesson and most of us wouldn't struggle to apply it to hang gliding; but we do struggle in applying it to something infinitely more complicated - our spiritual journey.

Most of us stumble along through our spiritual life.  We sit through the sermons on Sunday and nod at the appropriate times.  We might read through a Bible or some other spiritual book, but there's no system to it.  No one to help us get through our personal spiritual challenges.  No one with enough authority to tell us that we're not getting it.

We wouldn't expect to learn a trade with that learning style.  We wouldn't expect that method from any degree bestowing institution.  Yet, we rely upon it to come up with the answers to some of the most critical issues of our lives such as "Why are we here?" and "What happens to us when we die."

At some point, anyone working on developing a deeper spiritual life needs to go beyond that superficial level and find someone to help them find their way around the more challenging questions.  The anonymous author of  The Way of the Pilgrim strikes out upon this path when he determines that he is not going to get the specific answers he needs from general sermons.  "I settled on another plan - by God's help to look for some experienced and skilled person who would give me in conversation that teaching ... which drew me so urgently."

There aren't a lot of hermits on the mountains in this modern world.  Monks and sages are in short supply, but that's not a worthwhile excuse.  We can always find someone with enough knowledge about a faith question to a least point out a good book or two on an issue.  That spiritual director will not always be right, but some of the most powerful lessons will come while you're trying to figure out why they are wrong.

Without help, you might not go any farther than sixty yards down a hill and into a cactus patch.  With help, the horizon becomes a more likely destination.

Cider Vinegar, Anxiety and Mindfulness

August 2011

I'm not the best housekeeper.  It's not to the level where the Health Department is making complaints, but there's plenty of room for improvement.  I also tend to buy way too much fruit at Costco.  The result of those two character flaws is very predictable.  Every couple of months, my kitchen is taken over by fruit flies.

Fortunately, someone was kind enough to put a solution to my fruit fly problem on the internet.  Now each time they arrive in droves, I fill a glass with cider vinegar and then add a few drops of detergent.  The result is always a mass fruit fly drowning.  Their little bodies float around the cider like mob victims in the East River.

If I were a better person, I'd feel bad about it.  Maybe someday I'll reach that point and begin storing my fruit in the fridge.  Until then, I'll keep a bottle of cider vinegar in in the cabinet over the stove in preparation for the next wave of flies.

The last one was two weeks ago after I got overzealous in purchasing bananas.  I put out a vinegar trap and watched the carnage play out over the next couple of days.  The trap is that it takes advantage of the one of the fruit flies most important survival instincts - their ability to detect foods rich in natural sugars.

The fruit flies natural instincts tell them that the cider is a natural sugar jackpot.  They're always a little wary at first, but eventually move in to feed.  When faced with a sugary liquid, the small flies' feeding technique utilizes the surface tension of the liquid to support their bodies while they drink.

The detergent eliminates the surface tension on the surface of the cider.  The change of one variable transforms this normal and healthy feeding impulse and transforms it into a destructive urge.

As someone who has struggled against the crippling effects of anxiety over the years, I see some parallels in the way that the cider trap and anxiety trap their pray.  The root of anxiety is usually something good.  It may be anxiety for your past sins, your ability to care for your family, complete obligations at work, etc. 

These are all good inclinations when we can actually take action to affect the situtation that we're concerned about, but the change in one variable transforms them into anxiety that hazardous to our daily functioning and spiritual journey. 

That variable is the separation of our inclination to take action on an issue from the ability to take action.  If we are not able to act on the issue that concerns us, that natural concern festers into anxiety.  We spend more and more time dwelling on an issue that is currently beyond our control.  Until we end up in a situation that Buddhist monk and Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh describes as "lost in the past or carried away by future projects and concerns." 

The path to anxiety is well-traveled and its one that every Seeker needs to to avoid.  Saint Paul makes this very clear in his Letter to the Philippians when he writes, "Have not anxiety at all[.]" Saint Paul continues by stating that instead of being anxious we should make our requests known to God through prayer, "[t]hen the peace of God that surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus."  Philippians 4:6-7.

Prayer is a simple shortcut around anxiety; but some of us, myself included, struggle to pray our way around it.  Some of my own shortcomings in this department are probably caused by weaknesses in faither and fervor, but I believe part of the probloem is my inability to reach a level of Inner Silence where I can pray effectively.  (I borrowed the term Inner Silence from the Sufi tradition, although in my case the Buddhist's goal of taming the "monkey mind" is probably more apt.)

For those of us not yet sitting at the front of prayer class, Saint Paul further describes the path to overcome anxiety.  "[W]hatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things."  Philippians 4:7-8. The practice of short circuiting our brain's movement towards anxiety by focusing on something beautiful is described as concentrated mindfulness.

Buddhist practitioners call this practice vipasyana (looking deeply).  According to Thich Nhat Hanh, vipasyana "means observing something or someone with so much concentration that the distinction between observer and observed disappears."  Hanh add, "The result is true insight into the nature of an object."

Modern psychology is taking notice of the benefits of the type of concentrated mindfulness recommended by both the Buddha and St. Paul.  Many of the best therapists are now utilizing mindfulness based therapeutic practices such as Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and Dialectical Behavioral Therapy to treat extreme cases of anxiety, depression, and addiction.

Unfortunately, this rise in the secular world's practice of concentrated mindfulness has corresponded with the diminishment in the  average Western Christian's use of these techniques.  We are so focused on Sain Paul's first lesson calling us to prayer that we have forgotten about his second less calling us to mindfulness. 

We must reclaim practice because for many of us Saint Paul's call to mindfulness is a necessary tool to achieve the Lord's command to "Be still, and know that I am God."  Psalm 46:10.  


END NOTE: The quote of Psalm 46:10 is taken from the New International Version of the Bible.  The New American Version of the Bible describes the command as "Be still and confess that I am God!"  For anyone looking for simple techniques to experience mindfulness, I recommend Come to Your Senses: Demystifying the Mind Body Connection by Dr. Stanley Block and Carolyn Bryant-Block.  Dr. Block's techniques are being utilized by everyone from combat vets with PTSD to major league baseball players.

A Little Charring is Not a Bad Thing

August 29, 2011

I drove to Kalispell last Tuesday to attend a Wednesday morning hearing of one of the Montana Legislature's interim committees.  The August sun beat down on the asphalt.  A hot breeze blew hard even at the top of McDonald Pass.  The beetle-killed pine trees lined the road in both directions and marched en masse to the horizon.

I took a right on Highway 83 from Highway 200, not far from where the Clearwater River dumps into the Blackfoot.  Both rivers were running low, lucky to pull any water away from the parched earth.  There was an orange sign on the side of the road that read fire crews ahead.

I couldn't help but think that it was amazing how I'd driven all this way through tinder-dry wilderness and this was the first sign I saw of wildfire.  It had been a wet June and July.  To my left, snow still capped some of the peaks of the Mission Mountains.

Montana was well on its way to escaping fire season relatively unscathed.  This would be the third year in a row - a minor miracle considering the fact that the pine beetle-ravaged trees caught fire easier than cheap charcoal.  Four years ago, the state had already been burning for two months by now.

Now we were preparing to have football season start before fire season had much more than kicked off.  I counted our blessings and continued driving north to Kalispell.

The next day, I traced my way back down Highway 83 through a smoky haze.  I figured that the Swan Lake fire had stirred up a bit over the night, but when I hit Highway 200 it was clear that the smoke was coming from more than one fire.  The Blackfoot River was cloaked from its headwaters on the Continental Divide until it dumped into the Clarkfork River 75 miles away.

I'm often wrong about things, but seldom does the level of wrongness become that clear, that fast.  Usually my wrongness tends to meander back and forth, just below the surface; until it finally pops up and sweeps me away.   I cleared my mind  and continued onto Butte where I had one more meeting, before heading home to Helena. 

I drove down Interstate 15 and into the Helena Valley that evening.  The sun was low in the West.  A huge cloud of smoke rose up in the sky from the North, beyond the Scratchgravel Hills.  It was obvious that we were on the front end of a miserable couple of weeks, if not months.

I couldn't help but think how often I misjudge life's adversity.  No matter how many times I'm proven wrong, I still think that if I do certain things or follow the right steps then things will be okay.  The chaos of life will settle down and drift along as gently as the Missouri River beneath Holter Dam.

Life doesn't have a Holter Dam.  Churning adversity will appear before us, no matter how hard we fight to avoid it.  When we clear that set of adversity another round will pop up from a direction that we do not expect.

In the midst of this turmoil, most of us will ask God to clear the way for us.  Sometimes those prayers will be answered, but for the most part they won't.  I will not hazard a guess about why some are answered and others are not, but I know that we are not called to paddle gently down the meandering river of life.  We are called to immerse ourselves in the struggle.

Often, it will feel that we're about to lose the fight.  The things that we fight to hold onto are ripped from our grasp; but, those losses are not as tangible or permanent as they appear.  The Divine scores our wins and losses differently.  As described by Jesus, "For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me and for the gospel will save it.  What profit is there for one to gain the whole world and forfeit his life?" Mark 8:34-35.

It's a strange system and one that we are not meant to completely understand.  We build our life knowing that the fire will claim some of it and we will have to build again.  Success and failure falls on upon us all.  We love and we lose.  The task at hand, our general directions, and the final goal are the only givens.  Thankfully, that is enough.

The Sunset Didn't Have to Be That Beautiful

Note: This post does not make an argument for or against evolution.  That question is between you, your pastor, your rabbi, your scientist, your monk, your guru, and anyone else who might be able to help you shine light on that riddle.  Fortunately Catholicism lets me off that hook by providing that: "Christian faith does not require the acceptance of any particular theory of evolution, nor does it forbid it, provided that the particular theory...does not deny...that God creates each human soul directly to share immortal life with him." U.S. Catechism, page 60.  That's good enough for me.

Near sunset on a Sunday night in late July of 2011

I drove home to Helena from Canyon Ferry Lake.  Fiona and Rowan were in their carseats in the back.  Our little Subaru Forester climbed up the Spokane Hills.  The pines stood green over the dry yellow grass.  I didn't have a direct view of the Sun, but the sky took on shades of orange and pink into its deep blue.

We drove through some construction, past the Glass Slipper bar, then by a little subdivision sprouting up in the farmland.  The radio rattled on.  The girls jabbered to each other.  My mind flipped back and forth between the road and trying to plot out my schedule for the upcoming week.

Then we crested the hill and the Helena valley opened up before us.  I didn't hear the radio.  I didn't care about next week's calendar.  Thankfully the road stayed where it was, because all I could focus on was the sunset erupting in front of us.

The ball of trembling golden light struck the mountains to the west and rippled its rays up through the clouds above.  The clouds surrounding that gold patch, were divided between shades of orange and pink.  The colors rippled, tore, and cascaded through each other.  A massive turqoise perimeter nipped at the edges of the orange and pink clouds.

It was amazing.  From the back seat, Fiona (3 1/2) said, "Ooh, pretty!"  Two seconds after her, Rowan (2) said the same.  Then the car was quiet.  We were all transfixed on the dance of light beyond the windshield.

Black tires rolled over black asphalt between the painted lines all the way into town, but I'm not sure that would have been the case if it wasn't mostly a straight shot.  Somewhere during that drive, I realized that the sunset didn't have to be that beautiful.

The spectacle was caused by the Earth turning in its rotation around the Sun.  Earth's act of rotating part of itself way from its primary light source had to cause a transition from day to night.  That transition required some changes in the coloring of the sky, but really it didn't need to be spectacular.  From light, to gray, to black would have worked.

Similarly, the human eye and mind had to take in that the sun was going down.  This evening, that knolwedge let me to flip a switch to turn on the car's lights.  Generations ago, I would have known it was time to either light a fire or call it a night.  That basic human knowledge could also have been accomplished by the ability to perceive a transition from full light, to gray, then black. 

That's probably overstating it, but evolutionarily-speaking me and my two daughters did not require the ability to take in and appreciate the immense beauty of that sunset.  A little less color sensitivity and natural beauty appreciation probably wouldn't have gotten our ancestors eaten by sabre tooth tigers, but just functional wasn't enough for the Divine Creator.

The Creator took what needed to merely function and made it indiscribably beautiful.  From the wildflowers poking up from the wet Spring dirt to the stars glittering in the night sky.  They didn't have to be that beautiful and we didn't require the senses to appreciate that beauty.

The beauty of the Universe is evidence that the Creator loves Creation.  Genesis 1:31 ("God looked at everything he had made, and he found it was very good.")  It's the same pride in workmanship that every great craftsman knows.  Functional is not enough.The details have been unfolded and reworked from the smallest particles to entire Galaxies.  The Creator has noticed even the smallest sparrow and counted the very hairs on our heads.  Luke 12:6-7.

We were given the ability to appreciate that beauty so we would know from the core of our being that something incredibly powerful loves us and has blessed us beyond measure as evidence of that love.  In dating terms, the Creator could have gotten us carnations.  That would have done the job, but the Creator went the extra mile and sprung for roses.  Most of us intrinsically know what that means, now we need to let ourselves believe it.

Trapped: Focus on the Basics

March 2008

The winds hit gale force levels by the time we finished sledding to the bottom of the canyon.  The snowstorm had become a blizzard.  Dropping a fresh layer of white on top of the four and a half feet snowpack.

Quake Lake was on our left.  It was frozen solid.  Fifty yards from us the ice opened.  Water flowed out of the ice and into the canyon to form the Madison River.  The Madison's first ripples turned into rapids right in front of us.  By fifty yards down river, the water had already developed serious hydraulics.  At that point, the river turned into the canyon and out of sight; but we could hear the rapids beyond that.

Josh Galt, one of the icons of American riverboarding, sat next to me on the icy riverbank fiddling with his camera and putting on his fins.  Josh had ridden whitewater from Norway to New Zealand.  On the way up, he'd told me that he had his eye a potential world record waterfall drop that summer.  Despite all that, it was clear that Josh thought that running a Class IV in freezing temps and blowing snow was probably a bad idea. 

Five minutes later, we were off.  Josh was the better rider and quickly took the lead as we headed into harder rapids.  I followed him over a powerful swell and then blasted through the wave below.  I cringed as my face went through the wall of icy water.  I squeezed the handles tighter and adjusted my hips to track the top of the plastic inflatable board.  Losing the board on this stretch of water in these temps could be fatal.

I pushed fear from my head and focused on finding the smoothest line possible through the crashing hydraulics.  The Madison was much fuller than it had been last fall.  The water rushed through the canyon.  Rising and falling, cascading over icy rocks.  We rose, fell, and cascaded with it.  I was beginning to get into the groove.  Time seemed to slow.  It was perfect timing.  Right as we headed into the S-Curve, the hardest stretch of water on the run.

The roar of the rushing water increased as the canyon opened up to the S-Curve.  I let my eyes linger for a moment too long on the horizon.  The water careened me up against a rock and my board stopped.  My still-moving body pendulumed through the water, wrenching against my shoulders.  I pulled myself part of the way up onto the icy rock.  I tried to peel the edge of the board free.  It didn't move, then the current took me.

I fell backwards off of the rock.  The current pushed that backwards fall into flips.  The world became dark, wet, and icy.  The base of my neck slammed against a rock.  Then my hip.  My arms flailed, trying to pull towards the surface but not sure what direction the surface was.  My face bounced against a rock.

I reached towards the bottom, found a hold, then was ripped away from it by the churning rapid.  I felt death pulling me from below.  I thought of my soon-to-be born daughter as the river sent me cartwheeling into the next set of rapids.  I couldn't die without meeting her.

I focused on the basics.  Let my body slacken to prevent injuries and lower the heartrate.  Every extra beat wasted oxygen.  Short, measured breaths only when I knew my face was well clear of the water.  The desperate urge to breath  and the water-filled lungs that resulted from it had to be fought at all costs.

Time slowed again.  My body bounced against the rocks, but the pain wasn't as sharp.  I snuck a breath every two or three rapids.  I didn't feel peace, but the terror subsided.  Eventually the final turn of the Madison's S-Curve completed and the current released me towards the shore.

June 2011

Rita came in the NAMI Montana office again today.  I could see that she'd had a breakthrough.  Rita didn't look well during her last couple of visits.  She struggles with a combined illnesses of diabetes and bipolar disorder.  She'd really been in a bad place over the last couple of weeks and I was worried that she was going to end up back in St. Peter's hospital's behavioral health unit.

But, something had changed.  Rita's smile was content.  A smile of happiness, not a symptom of mania.

I commented on how happy Rita looked and she beamed back at me.  "I didn't let it destroy me."

I nodded and waited for her to continue.

"We took in a vet last week.  He really got to me.  Well, we got to each other."

"Took in a vet?"

"An Iraq war vet.  He was in our trailer park and needed a place to live.  We knew that it was only right to take him in."

I nodded again.  A small trailer, Rita, her husband, Rita's deathly ill mother, and a homeless veteran.  Why is it that the poorest among us are always the quickest to give?

Rita continued, "It was alright for the first couple of days.  He was like the son I never had.  We had long talks and got along great.  Then we started getting on each other's nerves and it got ugly after that."

I winced, "Did it get violent."  You see a lot in our office and get comfortable asking questions that politer company would dance around.

"No, nothing like that.  Just real ugly on both sides.  I caught myself feeling and saying things that just aren't like me.  It just kept getting worse.  I didn't know where it was going to stop."

She was trapped in the current, I thought.  Two bruised egoes whirlpooling around another.  Each dropping further and further in order to lower the other.  I'd been there too many times.  Eventually, you get to the point that you can hardly recognize your actions as your own.  They've been so twisted by power of battling egos.

Rita put her hands on my desk.  "I went to church and asked God if I should kick him out.  He told me not to.  So instead, I prayed for strength.  I didn't want to end up back on the behavioral unit again."

"That's great Rita."

"So I went home and worked on the little things.  I took walks.  I made sure I got enough sleep and ate right.  I took my medicine.  I prayed and I went to church."

She focused on the basics.

"I couldn't really separate myelf from him because the trailer's so small, but I tried.  Eventually after a few days, we pulled out of it.  I took him to the VA and they set him up with a plan to move to Missoula.  It's better for him there anyway.  Lots of young kids and way more to do."

I agreed with Rita and told her to let the vet know we were here to help him if he got stuck and needed some guidance on where to go.  But I was more interested in Rita and how she'd pulled herself out of the negative relationship.  She went back to the basics.  The simple building blocks of life that we all take for granted.

Rita knew that the best way she could straighten out a complex negative interaction with someone else was to focus on the basics within her control.  It was the same philosophy that had set me free from the Madison's current in the winter of 2008.  I hadn't thought about applying it to interpersonal relationships, thankfully Rita had.

NOTE 1:  Here's a video clip of our riverboarding trip on the Madison. 

NOTE 2: Try out the Looking 4 Answers cell phone app.  It's free on iTunes and the Android Market.  Looking 4 Answers is a personal and spiritual growth tracker that uses a short daily quiz.  Let me know what you think.

 

The Tyranny of Skepticism

July 20, 2011

This afternoon I put on the audiobook for The Believing Brain by Dr. Michael Shermer for my drive from Helena to Missoula.  I hit play on my way out of town and hit stop when I crested McDonald Pass.  I'm sure there's a metaphor somewhere in that about finding truth on top of the mountain, but I'm not going to scramble for it.

From the half hour that I listened, Dr. Shermer made it clear that he is a skeptic.  Dr. Shermer's marketing materials refer to him as "the world's best known skeptic and critical thinker."  He is a true disciple of scientific method and did not have a high regard for anyone who holds beliefs that cannot be proven through scientific method.  The remaining twelve and a half hours of the audiobook appear to describe Dr. Shermer's reasoning for why people hold these beliefs without standard evidence to back them up.

I wasn't in the mood to listen to anymore or take potshots at Dr. Shermer's arguments.  In part, he's right.  I am a puppet to my faith and belief system.  I analyze the world according to those guidelines and try to act accordingly.  My faith and belief systems have the capacity to change but that requires a serious dose of education, lived experiences, reflection, and/or grace.

But, Dr. Shermer doesn't realize that he is just as much of a puppet to his faith and belief systems as I am.  It's just a different variety.  While I too believe deeply in the scientific method and gathering as much evidence as possible to guide beliefs and decisions, I feel that eventually the scientific method runs aground upon the limits of humankind's ability to perceive the compexity of existence. 

The attempts to use the scientific method to push beyond those barriers while intellectually courageous is similar to trying to teach a lizard (or me) to appreciate the opera.  At best, all you can hope to achieve is to have heads nod up and down to the right beat.  At worst, you've wasted a lot of time playing Vivaldi when the lizard (or me) should have been doing something more productive like catching flies.

It's hard to challenge Dr. Shermer's argument for this skeptical belief system in the present context, because we don't know what we don't know.  It's easier to analyze this system based upon how it would have interpreted the past based upon the evidence available at that time period.

• For the majority of human history, a scientific method-based belief system would have ruled that the world was flat.
• For the majority of human history, a scientific method-based belief system would have held that the Sun rotated around the Earth.
• For the majority of human history, a scientific method-based belief system would have ruled that it was impossible for humans to fly.
• For the majority of human history, a scientific method-based belief system would have ruled that it was impossible for people to create light at night without a fire.
• For the majority of human history, the scientific method-based belief system would have ruled that there was no such thing as atoms, molecules, or genes.

The list could go on and on.  When examined through a historical lens, it becomes pretty clear that our ability to gather evidence of massive, complex, or mind-blowing concepts is pretty limited and therefore relying upon skepticism as a tool to navigate through these challenging issues can almost guarantee failure to comprehend them.

As Thomas Aquinas described it.  "We can't have full knowledge [of complex isssues] all at once.  We must start by believing; then afterwards we may be led on to master the evidence ourselves."

On the other hand, evidence contrary to our beliefs cannot be avoided.  It must be grappled with and faced or spiritual seekers risk giving the fields of science and reason away to the Dr. Shermer's of the world.  As Aquinas counseled Catholics faced with scientific challenges from Islamic scholars, "The truth of our faith becomes a matter of ridicule among... [non-believers] if any... [believer], not gifted with the necessary scientifc learning, presents as dogma what scientific scrutiny shows to be false."

Creating a rift between science and religion would be a two-sided shame.  First, because the religious would lose the natural grounding of scientific thought and discovery.  Second, because the scientific would lose the spiritual seeker's appreciation of the divine.  They're meant to compliment each other.

"There are two ways to live your life.  One as though nothing is a miracle.  The other as though everything is a miracle." Albert Einstein

"How long will you make a drunken show of yourself?'

The Bible is generally not seen as a funny book.  Most of it isn't, but then there's 1 Samuel 1:9-18.  It may just be my twisted sense of humor, but this passage cracks me up everytime I read it.

That passage focuses on Hannah, one of Elkanah's two wives.  Elkanah loved Hannah more than his other wife, Peninnah.  Peninnah responded to this troubling state of affairs by making constantly fun of Hannah for not having any children.

The two wives' bickering was at its worse each year when the family would take a pilgrimmage to the Lord's Temple at Shiloh.  Once there, Elkanah would make a big scene of honoring Hannah in his sacrifices.  Peninnah responded to this affront to her honor, by especially humiliate Hannah.  Then Hannah would weep and refuse to eat.
 
One night after the taunts had become too much, Hannah left the family meal and went to the Temple.  Hannah prayed furiously asking the Lord to give her a son and promising that she would give the son over to God.  Hannah wept through the prayers.  Her lips moved, but no words came out.

The reader of 1 Samuel is following Hannah's moving prayers and her passionate vow the Lord.  We are fully expecting a burst of sunlight shooting through the clouds to mark God's ascent or maybe an earthquake.  Something dramatic to make it clear that this woman's prayers have been heard and her suffering is coming to an end.

Instead of that glorious revelation, the head Temple priest thinks that Hannah is drunk and comes up to rebuke her.  He says, "How long will you make a drunken show of yourself?  Sober up from your wine!" 1 Samuel 14.

Hannah explains herself and the head priest eventually tells her,"Go in peace, and may the God of Israel grant you what you asked of him."

Hannah's prayer was answered and she did dedicate her son, Samuel, to God.  Samuel would become a great prophet.  1 Samuel 20.  He was even tasked by the Lord to annoint was the one that the Lord tasked with annointing Saul and David as Kings of Israel.

There are a bounty of stories and lessons from Samuel's life, but I still can't get over the image of his plaintive, praying mother being accused by the head priest of being drunk.  She'd fled the belittling remarks of Peninnah only to be further belittled in the Temple.

I enjoy irony too much not to laugh at that story every time that I hear it, especially since Samuel's first task from God was to tell that head priest he was finished.  There's a lesson in there not expecting prayers to be answered in the way that we think they should, but I think the more powerful lesson is in how Hannah responded to the head priest.

Hannah was already at the end of her rope.  Peninnah's hurtful taunts had driven her away from the family.  She's come to the Lord for sanctuary only to have one of His servants rebuke her.  Hannah could have stormed out of the Temple and said that was the last time she was going there to pray.  How many people have done something similar after a priest, pastor, or rabbi have said something challenging or hurtful?

Hannah didn't.  She corrected the head priest.  Hannah told him what she was doing there and what she was asking of God.  She left with the head priest's blessing, not because he was a great head priest; but because she made him a better priest.

Hannah's lesson is that we cannot allow the failings of some of the practitioners of organized religion to become a barrier that prevents us from accessing the Divine.  As long as our churches and temples are manned by people, they will do things either on accident or even intentionally that will make us want to quit going. 

It's up to us not to let that happen.

The Spirit Works Through the Flawed and Incomplete

Note: This subject of this post (God's use of the flawed) was recommended by my friend Christina.  She sent me the message after a long night a long night of sitting around a campfire with friends and family talking about big issues - with the help of a little wine.  Thanks Christina.  I really appreciate the guidance.

December 2000

I looked down at the brace on my left leg then down into the trench.  It was decision time.  Take  shovel from Father David and shimmy down into the dirt or join the confirmation kids in picking mangoes with the nuns.

Father David wasn't overly concerned about my ankle's mangled ligaments and tendons.  It was pretty simple.  God had sent him two strong adults to help him shovel dirt all day so they were supposed to shovel dirt.

I reached for the shovel.

We were in-filling dirt around the foundation of Benedictine Monastary of Hawaii's new church.  The Monastery had some funds for the architect and a construction crew, but relied on Father David and volunteers to complete a lot of the work.  Our church in Waipahu sent volunteers out once a month. 

This was my first time volunteering with this group and I didn't think that they would give me anything to strenuous to do.  It had been six months since I injured my ankle in Ranger School.  While I was well on my way to proving the doctor wrong who'd said I would never walk again without the brace, I felt like I was a shell of the man that I used to be.

It had been a long six months.  That injury had destroyed my career.  My relationship with my fiance collapsed in a spectacular and humiliating manner.  Through the help of God and a wary doctor, I'd managed to avoid suicide and a potential painkiller addiction; but overall I didn't see myself as the person I was before my injury.  Weakness replaced strength.  Doubt corroded through my self-confidence and sense of purpose.

Father David didn't seem to notice or care about my inner angst.  He pointed out a dark line on the foundation.  That was the line that we had to fill the dirt up to.  The game plan was simple.  Father David would use the Monastery's small tractor to dump piles of red volcanic dirt in the hole.  Matthew, the volunteer coordinate-fellow dirt mover, and I would stand at the bottom of the trench and redistribute the dropped dirt so it gradually filled up to the line on the concrete.

Father David jumped in the tractor and headed off in the direction of the dirt pile.  Matthew dropped down into the trench.  I slid, braced, and scooted down after him.  My grimace reflected my fear of that any loss of hold might lead me to fall onto my injured left ankle.  It seemed like it took me five minutes to lower myself down into the trench.

I made it to the bottom and looked up at Matthew.  He smiled in support, but that only made me feel worse about the big production that I'd just made of getting down into a hole.  I was happy to look up and see the bucket of the white tractor above us. 

Father David looked down into the trench to make sure we were clear.  Matthew gave him the thumbs up and the tractor dropped a pile of red dirt.  The fine volcanic sand hit the ground in front of us and then rose again as dust.

We coughed and wiped the grit out of our eyes then got to work leveling out the mound of dirt with our shovels.  Matthew had two shovelfuls to ever one of mine.  I was worried about my ankle.  I'd felt a few sharp pains, nothing serious yet; but enough to have me worried. 

I thought that I'd help with a two or three loads before giving up.  I didn't want to push it.  I was a lifetime away from the Ranger School student who'd hopped down Mount Jonah one leg after blowing my left ankle out.  I'd drug that left leg for three days, before my right knee gave out and I couldn't stand.  That version of me hadn't been afraid of crippling myself for life, this version was scared to set my physical therapy back a few weeks.

I heard the tractor pull up above us with another load of dirt.  Matthew and I pulled our shirts up over our noses this time.  We went after the mound of dirt with our shovels again.  We'd barely cleared it before Father David's tractor pulled back up for another drop.

The dirt kept falling.  Matthew and I kept shoveling as the sun rose higher in the Hawaiian sky.  My two or three load limit gave way to five, then ten, then was forgotten all together.  I felt the muscles stretch and flex in my shoulders and back.  Sweat dripped down my arms running through the red dust then dripping down like drops of blood.

My shovelfuls began to match Matthew's.  I forgot my fear.  I forgot my weakness.  My ankle ached, but it was from weak muscles learning how to work again - not from damaged ligaments and tendons.  I felt the blisters building on my once-calloused hands.  I smiled at the thought of how sore I was going to be on Monday. 

It was clear that despite all my doubts that this was exactly what I needed.  For some reason, I was supposed to be here helping to build this church.  I felt like the reason probably had more to do with rebuilding me than leveling dirt.

We broke for lunch around noon.  We'd filled the trench all the way to the other side of the foundation and it was clear that we'd be able to handle the rest of the in-fill later that day.

I told Matthew and Father David to go on ahead of me while I hobbled behind. I'd been so focused on my own weaknesses that I hadn't realized that Father David probably didn't feel qualified to be leading our construction crew.  Or, that Matthew, the diesel mechanic from Hickam Air Force Base, wouldn't have chosen himself from a lineup of two to be volunteer coordinator. 

They did the tasks because they had to.  God hadn't sent a skilled construction foreman to take Father David's place on the tractor.  He hadn't sent someone with a master's degree in nonprofit management to coordinate the our little church's volunteers.  God didn't need to.  The people he sent were up to the task, even if they didn't believe it.

My mind analyzed and then expanded the lesson.  I'd spent my whole life trying to build the perfect resume to qualify me to do something important for the world.  It was time to quit worrying about being qualified for some future job and to start working on the problems that the Divine had put in front of me - regardless of whether I felt capable of solving them.

The Spirit works through the flawed and incomplete.  It always has.  Moses was a murderer, but that didn't keep him from freeing the Israelites from Egyptian slavery. Exodus 2:12.  Saint Peter was a lowly fisherman whose weakness led him to deny knowing Jesus when Jesus needed him the most.  That weakness in Peter did not prevent Jesus from giving him the "keys to the kingdom of heaven." Matthew 16:19.  Saint Paul persecuted Christians and tried to destroy the early Church.  Galatians: 1:13.  That didn't prevent God from using him to spread Christianity through the Roman Empire.

Who we are is good enough to do the work of the Divine.  Where we are is the perfect spot do the work of the Divine.  It is okay to fear and it is okay to doubt, but we can't let that stop us from grabbing a shovel and getting to work.


End Note: Here's a link with a picture of the church described in this story. .  The church is the white building in the foreground.

Destiny, Goals, and the Gallatin River

After my last post, a friend sent me a message asking for more clarity on what she says to be conflict between setting goals and being proactive in life versus trusting in the Divine to lay out a path for you. 

I don't think they have to be in conflict.  The key is to try and discern the proper time and place for each approach.  Unfortunately, that's easier said than done.

I'll use my career path as an example.  As you read through it, keep in mind I was praying for direction throughout all of these decisions and grumbling or worse when it appeared that my prayers weren't going to be answered. 

I majored in International Relations at West Point.  I was fortunate enough to have then-Major John Nagl design an Asymmetrical Warfare focus for me that highlighted insurgency and counterinsurgency strategies.  John would later co-author the Counterinsurgency Field Manual, so I can honestly say that I had some of the world's best guidance in the strategic use of insurgency and counterinsurgency principles.

So I graduated from West Point steeped in these disciplines and then went into the Army.  Unbeknowst to any of us, the US would enter into a major conflict just over two years after my class's commissioning date.  A few years after that, we would be engaged in two different wars in which we'd use counterinsurgency strategies against insurgent forces.

From a human's flawed perspective, it would seem that I'd been directed by a higher power to learn about insurgencies and counterinsurgencies in order to participate in those conflicts.  But that wasn't the case, I received an injury in Ranger School that led to a medical discharge.

What was the point of all that training just to fail?

So I bounced around for a little while before going to law school.  Before and during law school, I had grand visions of myself as everything from an environmental defender to a human rights attorney; but the job market for young attorneys with good, but nonstellar law school grades was less glamorous than I'd anticipated. 

I was fortunate to end up practicing corporate law for a private firm in my hometown. Over the course of the first six months that I worked for that firm, I realized that great traditional attorneys have a particular makeup that combines intelligence and obsessive attention to details.  I also realized that I did not have that makeup.  I stayed with the job for another year and a half, but it only became more clear that I would never be the kind of attorney that either me or my bosses had hoped.

What was the point of all that training just to fail?

Three months later, our family lost my stepbrother to a PTSD suicide.  The details surrounding his death made it clear that the military had to change how it was caring for our returning heroes' post traumatic stress injuries.  The family met in my stepmother's kitchen and decided to tell his story to try and make a difference.  We decided that I would lead the advocacy effort.

I was qualified to take this on because:

• I'd been in the military, but failed.  I understood the system, but wasn't beholden to it.
• I'd been trained in the law, but failed.  I had the skills of an attorney, but wasn't afraid that picking a public fight would get me canned.
• I'd studied insurgency strategies and tactics, but failed to practice them in the military.  The political campaign was classic David versus Goliath.  It would not have been successful without the use of classic insurgency strategies.

This advocacy effort led to a national screening protocol for all deployed servicemembers that will save more lives than I ever could have in combat.  I can't take any credit for the success of the campaign. (See this post for a fuller explanation.)  However, I can say that I would not have been as effective at completing my tasks if I hadn't had the exact mix of training and failures that I'd experienced in the decade leading up to this event.

While I think that hand of a higher power is evident in that process, I don't know whether those failures and boondoggles of mine were necessary parts of a higher plan or whether God designed a very creative outcome to utilize my diverse and somewhat stunted skill-set.  It's a divine mystery that's beyond my comprehension.

The takeaway is that the process of setting and working towards goals was important, even when the goals were not completed as I had planned.  At some point, the Divine took over and led me where I needed to go; but that doesn't mean that my earlier efforts weren't essential. 

The Bible describes the process as, "A man's heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps." Proverbs 16:9.


I was rolling my friend's question around in my head this weekend when I went riverboarding on the Gallatin River.  For those of you who haven't heard of riverboarding, it involves going headfirst down rapids on top of a foam or inflatable board.  (Here's an old video of me on that stretch of water for anyone that needs a visual.)  You wear a helmet, life jacket, wetsuit, fins, and some type of leg protection.

I couldn't help but think that riverboarding provided an analogy to my friend's question.  Like life, you outfit yourself with the best tools that you can.  In the river, I'd be lost without my Churchhill fins.  Similarly, I couldn't imagine trying to navigate through life without an education, relationships, and spirtual guidance.

While moving through the rapids, a riverboarder is constantly planning and revising their "line," the path that they intend to take through the churning water.  A riverboarder knows that they won't be able to follow their line all the way down the river.  They will be knocked off course and swirled in different directions by the current.

A riverboarder is constantly trying to keep themself on their line and then readjusting their life when they are knocked off course or in response to a new set of obstacles.  It's the exact same process that we use to navigate through our careers and other life challenges.  The world has it's own set of rapids, eddies, and holes that push us off course of our goals and objectives.  But like a riverboarder midway through a run, our only option is to recalibrate and keep going.

In some situations, we will be completely overwhelmed.  The riveboarder's line might lead them facing a ten foot wall of water that plunges into a rock garden.  Or in life, we might end up in even more precarious straits: job loss, relationship disasters, serious losses, etc.  Either way, we don't have the option to quit.  The trial has to be faced and somehow overcome.

In riverboarding, the answer is to creep up on your board to maximize your bouyancy and pray that the powerful force of the liquid beneath you will push you and your board through the obstacle without too much damage to board or body. 

When confronted in a seemingly insurmountable obstacle in life, we can't know if the obstacle was set in our path as part of a higher plan or whether we stumbled into the issue and will have to trust in God to sort it out somehow.  We're probably too worried to care. 

At that point, prayer becomes our version of creeping up on the board.  Hoping that our call to the Divine will be answered by a loving hand to push us beyond the peril.  Prayerfully waiting the fulfillment the promise of Psalm 34:18, "When the just cry out, the Lord hears and rescues them from all distress."


























 

R-Day and the Eclipse of Self-Confidence

Note: A friend sent me a message after my last post on humility.  She said that she struggled more with a lack of self-confidence than she ever did with humility.  In some ways, it seems like two sides of the same coin of self-reliance.  I thought I owed it to her to look deeper into that nexus.

June 2000

Reception Day (R-Day) into Beast Barracks for West Point's Class of 1999.  A matter of hours ago, we were civilians.  Then the loud speaker echoed these words through the tense gymnasium, "You have one minute to say goodbye to your parents and report to the cadets at the top of the bleachers."  From there, it was a blur of yelling, head shaving, and the issuing of uniforms, canteens, soap, etc.

Eventually, I stood in a line of "new cadet candidates" on a painted yellow line on the black asphalt of Central Area.  Granite buildings surrounded us.  Locking me and my classmates into the Long Gray Line of cadets that stretched back to 1802.  The sun baked down on us through the muggy air of the Hudson Valley.  Excitement mixed with terror.  As the day went on, somewhere around a dozen of my potential classmates cracked and quit.

I looked out upon the scene through my thick Army-issued glasses. My head was shaved and covered with issued sunscreen.  My classmates and I all wore gray t-shirts, black shorts, black socks, and black leather shoes.  The green duffel bag on my back held all of my belongings.  Sweat seeped through my clothes.

The line inched forward toward the "Cadet in the Red Sash" to report in to our new cadet company.  I'd heard of this storied tradition.  I tried to peer over the new cadet candidate's shoulder in front of me.  All I could see was towering man barking out orders to the new cadet candidate at the front of the line. 

I was scared, but I was also cocky.  I'd been an All-State Football player in high school and had won a state championship.  I held school wrestling records for the most pins in a season and the most pins over a career.  My grades had been honor roll or better for the last four years.  These past accomplishments straightened my spine and reminded me that if anyone was equipped to master this scenario it was me.  I'd been through the process of the wheat separating from the chaff before and I knew that was only a matter of time before I demonstrated my worth.

That self-confidence began to run low as I approached the front of the line.  The, the new cadet candidate in front of me was getting grilled by the Cadet in the Red Sash.  Everything he said and did was wrong.  He saluted wrong, reported wrong, and even stepped up to the line wrong.  My own nerves were rattling, but I knew that I'd get it right.  Maybe not the first time, but defnitely the second.

Then the Cadet in the Red Sash was yelling at me.  He had to have been six inches taller than me with a gleaming white hat, white shirt with ribbons, gray cotton trousers, and a red sash around his waist.  "New Cadet Candidate, step up to my line, salute, and report into your company!  Do not step on, my line, or over my line."

"Yes, sir!" I said and snapped off a quick two steps.  I was beginning my salute when his voice boomed out.

"New Cadet Candidate, I said step up to my line!  Look at your feet!"

I looked down.  One of my black leather shoes was a half an inch on the line.  The other one was a half inch behind it.

"Go back and start over New Cadet Candidate."

I did.  I looked down to make sure that my feet landed perfectly.

"Did I say you could look down New Cadet Candidate?"

"N-n-no, sir."

"Go back and start over!"

I stepped wrongly up to the line two more times, each time by what seemed like less than an eighth of an inch.   When I finally made it, I forgot how I was supposed to report.  I can't remember whether it was three, four, or even five more times that I tried and failed.

Eventually, I either got close enough or the Cadet in the Red Sash just decided it was time to keep the line moving. 

I turned on a heel and darted into barracks for the first time.  My ego was broken and self-confidence dashed, but it didn't matter.  I was heading onto the next task because it was my duty.  I was supposed to follow orders even if I didn't have the means to get them right.

It wouldn't take three more minutes before I failed at another "simple" task.


May 2011

Out of all of the lessons that I learned in my experiences at West Point, the Cadet in the Red Sash's lesson to continue on in spite of personal failure was the most powerful.  Through Beast Barracks and into Plebe year,  I failed everyday at simple tasks such as memorizing the newspaper, properly calling out the minutes and uniform before meals, addressing senior cadets by the proper organizational greeting, and even cutting cake at a proper angle.

Those failures and the lessons to continue on despite of them were good practice for the years to come when I would fail on varying in importance from landscaping to marriage.  Sometimes, I even failed to save lives.  The sting of some of the failures didn't last for an hour others will haunt me forever.

Somewhere along the line the question of whether I was self-confident enough to complete a task fell by the wayside.  The operative question became was I taking the action or following the path that I believed the Divine had laid out before me.  If I was, then there was no other option but to do my best to complete whatever task was in front of me - regardless of my skill or capacity.  If not, then it was time to alter my path. 

The determination of whether we are on the proper path or taking the right action is a continuing wrestling match between the ego, faith, and reason.  As long as we are breathing, we will struggle with that fundamental analysis.

In contrast, the question at the root of self-confidence is whether we have the capacity to complete the task in front of us.  That question is just a distraction.  If we trust in the Divine to put us on the proper path, the question of whether we can complete the tasks on that path is irrelevant.

We'll attempt them because we're supposed to.  If we fail, we've got to believe either that a higher power is judging off of a different scorecard than the one we have in front of us or that we're being prepared for a more critical future trial.

Proverbs sums it up better than I ever could.  "Trust in the Lord with all you hear, on your own intelligence rely not; in all your ways be mindful of him and he will make straight your paths." Proverbs 3:5-6.

It's a challenging trail but thankfully your success doesn't depend on whether you think you have what it takes to succeed.

If you're still terrified that you're not up to a task, it's hard to been a "Holy Spirit work through me" or "Holy Spirit speak through me mantra."  I wish I would have had that in my toolkit when I had to report to the Cadet in the Red Sash.

A Humble Foundation

May 19, 2011

I had lunch yesterday with my friend Matthew Fischer.  While Matthew and I disagree on some things, he's been a great spiritual mentor for me.  Particularly, helping me put specifics that I'd seen or experienced into the bigger context.

It one of our typical rambling conversations that ranged from fun to sad topics then back again.  But Matthew always leaves me with a something to think about, even if it is just a single sentence to a bigger story.

This time the sentence was "God's power works through weakness and humility."  Matthew continued his explanation saying that the ego was great for building human strength and work ethic.  Tapping into divine power required the exact opposite approach.

I mulled his point around for the rest of the day.  I thought of the five most obvious times the Divine had acted in my life: to save a falling coworker, prevent my suicide, to campaign for better care for veterans, and to stop my family's financial collapse.  With the exception of blocking the coworkers fall, each of those incidents had occurred after I'd failed.  The fight was already lost before victory claimed the day.

I didn't get any help until I gave up my illusions that I could resolve the situation.  I had to admit personal failure in order for my requests for help to be answered.  The admission of my own position of weakness was critical.  As long as I tried to maintain control over the situation, that control was left up to me and I would have walked down a path of failure or tragedy.

It's hard to pull a broader lesson out of this realization.  How do we give ourselves up completely in a world where we are still required to be in control?  What is the proper balance between maintaining personal responsibility and asking for divine help? 

I can't sit on my couch waiting for God to feed my kids.  I can't stand in front of the computer screen all day waiting for zeroes to get added to my bank account.  Yet on the other hand, I can't labor under the illusion that I have all of the answers and brains to solve my family's daily problems.  The world is full of pitfalls deeper than any ladder I possess.  It doesn't make sense for me not to ask to use a better ladder.

I struggled to pull some type of lesson from this paradox.  Then I remembered that Matthew hadn't just said God's power worked through "weakness."  He'd said, "weakness and humility."

Humility might be the answer to the question of how can we balance our own personal responsibility on one hand and a belief system that says Divine help is a possibility on the other.

Humility allows us to be honest about our status in the world and our ability to affect our own situation.  It allows for a strong sense of personal responsiblity, yet removes any internal barriers hat the ego can create to keep out Divine help.
Jesus was clear on the relationship between humility and Divine support when he said, "Whoever exalts himself will be humbled; but whoever humbles himself will be exalted." Matthew 23:12.  Similarly, "The greatest among you must be your servant."  Matthew 23:11.

The words of the Dalai Lama take us further.  "Humility is an essential ingredient in our pursuit of transformation, although this may seem at odds with our need for confidence. But just as there is clearly a distinction between valid confidence, in the sense of self-esteem, and conceit, so it is important to distinguish between genuine humility, which is a kind of modesty, and lack of confidence."

It's a powerful realization in a modern world that finds humility as a weakness instead of a virtue.  That realization challenges us to protect our own humility which is under constant attack whenever we are fortunate enough to find success in or approval from the world.






 

Vigilante Day and the Bigger Battle

Note: The credit and blame for the historical analysis discussed below should fall upon the shoulders of Frederick Allen and his book "A Decent, Orderly Lynching: Montana's Vigilantes"

May 5, 2011

The reason I started doing this project was to share my belief that there is a spiritual reality that affects our our lives.  The world is more than what we have the ability to consistently perceive and measure.  We can argue all day about the theology that may define that reality, but my core message is that it exists and it is not in our best interests to pretend it does not.

The follow-on to this argument, is that the spiritual world is not all Divine love, rainbows, and guardian angels.  Evil exists.  It exists in the physical world and it exists in the spiritual realm.  This basic concept of evil in the spiritual realm is reflected in Christianity, Buddhism, Islam, Hinduism, and Zoroastrianism. http://www.beliefnet.com/Faiths/2001/08/What-The-Devil.aspx?p=1. 

I've struggled with how to describe this basic concept to an audience that is so versed in media stories about evil.  It feels like trying to tell someone that the sky is blue when really the point is why the sky appears blue. 

Earlier this week, a Navy SEAL team killed Osama Bin Laden.  The story of the operation and Bin Laden's death reverberated around the world.  For the past few days, even the most blithe have had trouble avoiding conversations of justice, evil, and retribution. 

A courageous writer would tackle this story and try to drain deep meaning out of how a man who fought for Aghan freedom from the Soviet occupation transformed into a terrorist, but I am not a courageous writer.  I'd rather analyze Vigilante Day.

Tomorrow afternoon, Helena's teenagers will celebrate another Vigilante Day by riding historically-minded parade floats through downtown streets.  The parade will offer a fun couple of hours and a full serving of our frontier culture, but it's not likely that there will be a lot of reflection about the men and events the day is named after.  That may be a good thing.

In the first six weeks of 1864, Montana's Vigilantes killed twenty-one men.  These twenty-one were alleged members of the Plummer Gang who the Vigilante's claimed were responsible for over one hundred murdres across the Montana territory.  Over the course of the next six years, the Vigilantes killed thirty others. 

The initial accounts of these killing shone with the glory of dime store novel frontier justice, but over time the accounts have become more skeptical, some even going as far to say it was all a political power play to seize control over the young Montana Territory. See, http://www.jcs-group.com/oldwest/sinners/plummer.html.  The truth probably lies somewhere in the middle, but there is little doubt that a portion of the people that ended up the wrong end of a noose without a trial either were innocent or had committed crimes that didn't justify death even in the 1860s.

It's beyond me to try and determine how good the Vigilantes were before they starting lynching the Plummer Gang or how bad they became by the end of their spree.   But their fall from grace reflects a pattern that we still see played out every day.  People fall to temptation and commit evil acts.  The evil can be commonplace arrogance or hard heartedness or somewhere more along the lines of lynching and flying jets into the World Trade Center.  Either way, it's from the same vein. 

It's easy to look in hindsight and say that these people were never good.  We blame it on their childhood, their environment, their genes, their brain structure, their religion, their lack of religion...  All of those justifications have their place, but there's something bigger going on.  Something that we've tried to put behind us.  It's the basic reality of what evil is and how it impacts our lives.

The Buddhist say that Mara is the king of demons and his goal is to keep humans from proceeding down the right path.  Iblis, the devil in Islam, tempts humans and tries to mislead them.  The Bible describes the fight against evil as a battle for souls.  "For our stuggle is not with flesh and blood but with the principalities, with the powers, with the world rulers of this present darkness, with the evil spirits in the heavens." Ephesians 6:12.

If you follow any of these spiritual paths, then your course is lit by the reality that there is evil in the world and it is going to constantly try and take you away from your duty to the Divine.  Evil has the power to shape the events in our lives and set us up to fall.  It will attack you at your highest point and again at your lowest.

We will all take that fall, over and over again; but each day and even every decision offers an opportunity for redemption.  We can take two steps forward for every step back, because we are called to the light and the light is more powerful than the darkness.  While each of those faiths has definite description of the Devil and other evil entities.  None of them presents evil as being anything more than a candle against the sun of the Divine light.

That Divine protection from evil is waiting for us.  We just need to ask for it with an an open humble heart.  As described by Saint Paul, "draw your strength from the Lord and from his mighty power."

Each one of us is going to lose our daily battles with evil, but we cannot let those defeats stop us from trying to win the war.