Parenthetically Yours

Big Picture from the window seat

It’s easy to get caught up in my own superficial issues and personal drama. I mean, it’s happening to me, right? So how am I not supposed to get caught up in it? I can be like a fish in a net, fighting a losing battle. But the drama isn’t the net. The net is me. I get caught up in me. All it is is self-centeredness. If you put you at the center of everything, then everything becomes about you. Even other’s issues or struggles become about how they’re affecting you. It’s a common problem that we have because we’re human beings.

I’ve always heard that the best way to get over yourself is to serve someone else. Whether it’s a spouse, a friend, a relative, a homeless guy…whatever. Just go do something for someone other than yourself. It really does work, at least for a little while. Definitely worth the time.

Me? I take a flight.

My dad worked for Texas International Airlines (which became Continental Airlines) when I was growing up so I was flying at an early age. I loved the window seat then, and I love the window seat now. Sure, it makes it difficult getting up if I need a restroom break, but the pros outweigh the cons. See, I’m kind of a Big Picture person. Ask Katie about this, who is a details person. I may not remember word for word the conversation, but I have a general idea about what we were talking about. It can be annoying, to say the least. Again, ask Katie about this.  Here’s an example:

Did you hear so-and-so is having a baby?

No way! When did they find out?

Uhm…

Well, do they know what they’re having?

I, uh…

When are they due?

I think they, uh…(I’m still thinking about the first question)

Randy! Did you ask them anything?

They, uh…she’s, um, having a baby…? I think?

So, being a Big Picture person, it always serves me well to take a flight. I remember taking a flight at some point in high school (who knows when or why I was flying? Remember, Big Picture.) and having an epiphany-type moment. As the cars and houses became smaller and smaller immediately after takeoff, I remember having a sudden realization that inside every single car, and inside every single house were actual people dealing with life that day. There was hurt, joy, apathy, success, distress, boredom, genius, secrets, and on and on. This overwhelmed me and it’s all I could think about for hours.

Since then, I can’t get in a plane without thinking about it and it spills over into everyday life when I’m in traffic or standing on a stage looking at hundreds of faces staring back at me. I’m constantly reminded of that Big Picture epiphany I had in that window seat all those years ago. We’re ALL going through it. Fill in the blank. Everybody hurts. Or laughs. It’s overwhelming, but hopefully it makes me a little more understanding. A pinch more compassionate.

Now, don’t get me wrong. More than I’d like to admit, I’m a thoughtless, self-consumed cliché of a jerk. But every so often, the revelation will unfold and remind me that I’m not actually the center of the universe.

(rw)

The (almost) thief in the night

It’s been an emotionally jarring weekend. I left town Thursday night for shows in Philly and Chicago and I was looking forward to seeing some old friends over the weekend. Katie had plans of her own Saturday night with a girlfriend and called around 10:30 p.m. on her way home. The next call came at 11:45 and her first words were, “Well, I’ve had an eventful night. The cops just left.” Someone had tried to break into our back door around 11:15 but thankfully she had locked up everything less than one minute prior. Just typing those words still unnerves me.

They didn’t get in and as soon as they appeared, they disappeared. But what they left in their wake was something entirely more horrifying. Fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of the might-have-been.

Katie and I became CSI:Franklin the next morning looking for clues and recreating the scene. She had me shove windows, doors, etc trying to determine exactly what happened. We even found a few fingerprints but were unsure if they were ours or theirs. Kind of comical actually, but we needed anything to ease our collective minds. I unintentionally provided some comic relief by throwing my 165 lb weakling of a body into the door trying to recreate the sound she’d heard. “I think you’re too little,” she said through giggles. It helped her to laugh so I decided to not be offended by her calling me “too little.” I prefer the term “too awesome.”

The most difficult aspect of all of this is the constant replaying it over and over and over in our heads, adding or subtracting bits and pieces, playing out the various what-could’ve-happened scenarios. I suppose a big (BIG) part of that is my protective nature for my wife. As much as I’m ashamed to admit it, I truly think it would feel good to kill this person. And I don’t want to do it quickly. I want this person to understand what it means to fear, to wince, to flinch. Because that’s what they’ve done to my wife. She is the bravest person I know and it’s made her jumpy. I know this is all part of the shell-shock and it will pass, but the fact that some outside source has inflicted pain on her has made me a raging lunatic inside. I mask it. Partially for me, partially for her, but I literally want them dead. By my hands.

But this is not reasonable. Or right.

The most likely story is that this person was an addict looking for money, anything, to feed the monster living within them. We live in the downtown area of a small town. There is a social services building less than a mile from our house and we often see vagrants along our streets so this is most likely the case. Do I blame them? Sure. Do they deserve punishment? You bet. Should I have mercy? Absolutely.

We can’t live in fear although it makes the most sense right now. But, as we heard in church Sunday, the thief comes to steal. We also heard that perfect Love casts out all fear. This person who made the failed attempt to break in is my enemy. Yet I’m told by Love to love him, to forgive him, and that mercy will be shown to those who show mercy. Forgiveness and Mercy is a conscious choice, one that doesn’t come naturally. My flesh wants to sink a knife deep into his chest. God’s Spirit wants my enemy, His wayward son, to come home and find rest.

And that’s the difference between judgement and mercy, the law and the cross.

(rw)

Seven Years Ago Today

Seven years ago today, we were all waking up to a new world because everything had changed. It was the first day of post-911 America. I left the house for the first time, went to my favorite coffee shop and wrote this email to my friends. It's full of melodrama, emotion, and bombast, but those were the elements of the day. I found it not too long ago and thought it would be a good thing to share today. I'd really love to edit it but I'm just going to leave it be. It's amazing how so many things have changed since that day. It's even more amazing that so many things ended up not changing. 

My dear friends:

I awoke with a start to the phone ringing. 

It was nearly 8 a.m. which, if you know me, is when I’m typically deep into REM sleep. I’ve made it a habit to not answer the phone before 10 because it’s usually solicitors or one of my roommate’s co-workers. Anyone who knows me knows not to call before then--plus my friends are still sleeping as well, so I let the machine get it. I laid there restless for a few minutes before deciding to get online and check out some Ebay auctions I’d been bidding on. I had no idea how useless a 20-year-old Puma t-shirt would be to me in the next ten minutes. 

My cell phone began to ring. “Okay,” I thought springing from my bed, “someone is trying to reach me.” I checked the caller ID and noticed it was another roommate calling from his office. A bit annoyed at whatever could be the reason he’d call me at such an ungodly hour. And it turned out to be an absolutely unGodly hour. 

Trace told me to turn on the TV because there had been some kind of attack at the World Trade Center.  “Whatever, I’m going back to bed,” I told him, as if he was making up the whole thing. “Seriously, go wake up the guys and turn on the TV,” he nearly commanded. I switched on the television and as the picture tube warmed up, I began to see the first images of what I could only describe as completely surreal. 

Diane Sawyer and Charles Gibson were obviously as stunned as I was. I ran upstairs and woke my two other roommates and told them to come to the living room. I suppose they saw the alarm in my eyes because they jumped up without question to begin what has now become a 32-hour, commercial-free news bulletin. Peter Jennings has shown the most amazing grace, humanity, and composure I’ve seen in recent years and I have stayed with ABC for the most part with the occasional switch to FOX News, Oral Roberts University’s Chapel broadcast on TBN, and CNN.

I don’t really know why I’m writing all of this, other than I wanted to have some sort of record of what this day was like. I’ve prayed a little, although I must admit having found no comfort in it. I know in the logical sense that God has a plan and that this wasn’t part of it. I also know that He can redeem that which was intended for evil and use it to His glory. We’ve seen some of this in the constant calls to prayer, the staggering outpouring of aid from all over the world, and the hundreds of herculean, heroic acts.  

But something has changed. The thin veil of security, wealth, and liberty that we Americans live behind has been ripped apart and replaced with a black curtain of insecurity, despair, and fear. We have become grossly aware of just how vulnerable we are. We are no longer living on impenetrable soil. The irony is that the liberties and freedoms we enjoy are the same ones that allowed these demonized madmen into the country without suspicion. Now it looks like we inadvertently trained some of these to actually fly the airliners that turned into missiles at their helm. That is the price of an open society.

As a Christian, I have no choice but to look at all of this with my spiritual eyes. What does it mean?  Sen. Joseph Biden from Delaware made a statement that has stuck with me. “These men were able to do something no one in the history of the world has ever been able to do, they have united the entire globe.”  It’s a paraphrase, but a compelling thought to anyone who has studied Biblical escathology. Unexpected countries like Russia and China have rallied around the U.S. and have unilaterally condemned the attack along with all of Europe. I don’t obsess about this at all, nor do I know enough of Biblical end-times theology to state for certain, but I recognize the prophetic importance of a unified world army fighting a common enemy in the Middle East, an enemy that is unified in its hatred of Israel.

In a completely unrelated event, I lost a friend who drowned while diving in Jamaica yesterday.

Friends, I love you all and apologize for this email. It’s nothing you haven’t already heard or felt, but I just wanted to jot down my thoughts--probably for more selfish reasons than anything. I encourage all of you to do the same. Write it down. What are you thinking? What has stuck with you? I hope all of you can take thirty minutes or so and just write. Write for the catharsis, and send your thoughts to me. I’m wanting to compile a record of what my friends were going through and thinking these past two days.  I don’t know why, actually.  I just feel compelled to give you all a voice.

I know I’m being melodramatic, but I we’ve all been witnesses to unthinkable horrors. May God infuse this country with His Spirit and bring us to our knees.

(rw)

I'm not an addict...

I need an intervention. I have an addiction and Katie is enabling it with her own habit. Our drug of choice? Intervention.

Have you ever watched it? It’s a show on A&E that is the most dramatic and honest (brutally) show on television. You can even watch full episodes on their web site. The premise is they follow an addict for a couple of weeks under the guise of filming a documentary about addiction. It’s all leading up to the show’s climax, the intervention, at the end of the hour-long show. We’ve watched 6 episodes this week alone. Here’s why, though. It’s totally redemptive. It’s about the triumph of love over death, of relationship over sickness, of wholeness over brokenness. And I cry in every episode. Sometimes you sympathize with the addict, sometimes with the mom, or the husband—but in every episode, there’s at least one heroic person who’s reached the end of their rope. Most times, heroism happens at the end of ropes.

The show has the exact same format each week. We’re introduced to the addict in a confessional-style interview. The producers inexplicably have them spell their name (a silly thing that I’ve begun to say along with them) then the family's and friends’ interviews are spliced in to give an overview of the problem. There’s always a photo and video montage of the addict as a child where you see the innocence, the enthusiasm, the smiles. But there is always something sinister, something darker just around the corner which leads into the addiction and its effects that leads up to the unexpected intervention. But the absolute best part of the show happens immediately after the subject is checked into rehab. The screen fades to black and three words appear: Two Months Later. The suspense is incredible. Did he succeed? Did she do it? Most of the time it’s a success story that get the tears flowing. Other times you find out they’ve relapsed or got kicked out of recovery.

The things people use to numb their pain can be surprising, but thing is, we all have a tendency to self-medicate. Some people spend money to forget their problems, some eat. I know people who are addicted to church and worship as a form of numbing themselves. That sounds like heresy doesn’t it? The truth, though, is that to the extent that we use anything (whether it’s worship music, dating, shopping, or heroin) as a means of escaping the things the Spirit wants to deal with (our pain, brokenness, insecurities, etc), we’re missing the entire point Jesus was trying to make when He said the Truth will set you free. Ignoring the truth is called denial and numbing the pain with anything is called medicating.

The people on Intervention aren’t any different from any of us except maybe they’re just riskier with their drugs. 

(rw)

Creepy Crawly

It’s an uneasy discovery finding a tick on your body. I found three on me recently (well, I found one, Katie found the other two. Isn’t marriage wonderful?) and quickly got the tweezers to yank the buggers out. It didn’t hurt too bad and was over quickly. We played a show up in the mountains in southern Missouri last Saturday and were finding ticks all day. I’m assuming this is where the little guys hitched a ride—unless that church in Rockford, IL has some serious pest control issues.

I grew up in Arkansas and Texas and played in lots of overgrown fields and woods. Ticks are just part of that equation. It’s been years, though, since I’ve had one on me and, like most things, it got me thinking. The most unnerving part of finding those ticks was realizing they’d been there for three days. I had no idea. Just going about my day with no clue that the blood thirsty creatures had attached themselves, drinking the very life from me (melodramatic?). I had become their host unaware. As an aside, isn’t the word host just a little too polite for what’s actually happening? I never sent invitations and the hors d’oeuvres were me—a tiny tick flash mob on my nether regions.

So, yeah. I had no idea they were there. It’s slightly metaphoric for so many other things too. I let little things attach themselves and before I know it, they’re slowly killing me (or parts of me). My smile gets a little dimmer, my words a little sharper, my spirit a little dryer. I don’t realize it until something very un-me happens; I snap at my wife, make a condescending remark to a friend, withhold gratitude, etc. These things aren’t me, but they are evidence of the things that attach themselves to my soul: pride, distrust, bitterness. Unfortunately, it takes humility, love, and forgiveness to uproot these things. Slightly larger than a pair of Walgreens tweezers.

Ticks suck.

(rw)

I’m participating in Watercooler Wednesday at Ethos. My pet peeve phrases/words are: “Make no mistake…” and when someone wanting to be perceived as passionate describes anything (food, music, film, book, etc) as amazing. Amazing should be reserved for things like Steinbeck, Schindler’s List, and Led Zeppelin II.

Esse Quam Vederi

I fell down at church the other day. Honest to goodness. It was the end of service and we were standing up about to be dismissed after a few announcements. I shifted my weight and tried to move my left foot toward Katie but something happened during the transfer of weight and I just went down. Awkwardly slow. My first reaction was to just to turn it into a quick sit-down, but since my weight was still moving left, the sit-down turned into a lay-down across three seats. If you were sitting behind me (and about 300 people were), it probably looked like I needed to take a nap RIGHT! THIS! SECOND! There was nothing cool or subtle about it and my reaction was neither cool nor subtle. I hopped back up, maybe a little too quickly, which made the whole scenario look even more ridiculous. This all took around 2.8 seconds to complete but it was nearly an hour in humiliation minutes. Katie started giggling, I started giggling, and pretty soon our whole section of seating had the trying-to-be-quiet-in-church giggles. Thankfully, church giggles are incredibly contagious because the collective laughter lessened embarrassment’s blow.

Humiliation is an awful thing. It’s forced humility. A good friend of mine, Michael Guido, used to say, “Come to the Rock crushed or risk being crushed by the Rock.” I don’t know if he made that up or if he was quoting someone else, but I’ve played that piece of advice over and over in my head for years. I get that. I don’t always do it, but I get it. It’s one thing to “humble yourself” and it’s another thing entirely to “be humbled.” It’s beyond painful.

In our humbling there can be comfort if—and it’s a big if—IF we allow ourselves transparency with those close to us. However, if we put up a front like everything is ok, like we’ve got it all together, that’s not transparency. That’s a façade. Facades are the fake fronts on those buildings in theme parks that make them look two or three stories tall. It’s not real. It leaves a good impression as you walk by, but if you get too close—phony. Christians are great façade-builders. We don’t want to let anyone know that things in our world are out-of-control, that we aren’t exactly who we seem to be. This is works-based theology—that we have to earn God’s favor. This is arrogant thinking and I’m great at it. To think that my behavior would impress the Lord of Hosts. Good one, Randy. To think the Maker of all things would look down on creation and say about me, “Finally, one of them gets it!”

Equally as bad, no one can relate to perfection. I can’t relate to Tiger Woods. That type of skill makes no sense to my messy mind. I don’t relate to Bill Gates or Michael Jordan (well, until he tried to play minor league baseball) either. We relate to the underdog. That’s why we love fairy tales, Disney movies, and Extreme Makeover: Home Edition (aka: 60 minutes of Randy crying). We relate to normal people, people who don’t have it all together.

When we come together based on our perfection, we build competition. When we come together based on our imperfection, we build community. I don’t know where I heard that, but it’s one of the most sobering truths I know.

When I admit to myself, my friends, and my God “I can’t get it right,” that’s when He says, “Finally, he gets it.”