Defining the Edges

Do you have any family activity traditions over Christmas? Ours puts more emphasis on the "tea" than the "active", but for many years we've loosely observed the tradition of working on puzzles over the season, a practice inherited from both my wife's and my families. We're currently in the midst of a 16-puzzle challenge, but in spite of a strong start, success is looking doubtful. Time is running out.

Like most puzzlers, I'm sure, we start by assembling the edges. A few evenings ago, as I matched up a tiger's stripes, the slowly emerging picture struck me as a metaphor for this thing we call midlife. Even though much of the image has yet to come together, and individual pieces make little sense on their own, the mystery of what we will see is being revealed because the edges are defined.

Here's what I mean: as a young person, you had lots of opportunity, and for all your inspired confidence, you really had no idea where life would take you. The edges were not in place. Anything - theoretically - was possible.

But at this point in life, the edges are set. Your personality, your preferences and abilities, are all essentially locked in place. I've come to accept that I'm not going to be a rock star, famous movie producer, or the next Bill Hybels. My puzzle edges have all been placed, the boundaries established.

The upside to this potentially depressing state, is that midlife affords us the needed clarity to focus on what we do possess. Any puzzler knows "the zone" - getting on a roll where the shape, color and texture of each piece almost seems to place itself. In the same way, knowing what we can't do, or don't do well, is as helpful as being certain about what we can do. Truthfully, most of what we've done in life can now be done better and faster by someone younger, quicker, smarter.

So instead, with edges defined, the pieces being assembled in what seems to be an accelerating pace, we should have the freedom to clarify and pursue our unique image. The  time for guessing "I wonder what it is?" has passed. The picture is emerging.

Oh, but the best is yet to be. For I am not the puzzler, I'm the puzzle. The One bent over my jumbled pieces is my Maker. Just this morning I read in Philippians, that "God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns" (Phil 1:6).

That's a promise I cling to. The Christmas break is nearly over, and our puzzles, finished or not, will go back in the boxes for next year. But my Maker has a plan, and because each piece makes sense, he will finish the challenge, in his good time.

Moments in the Middle

"I love these moments," said my wife, as she sipped her tea and I crafted my second Americano of the day. It was Saturday morning, the to-do list was waiting, and I was already behind on my "should-do" list (that guilt-generator in my head that loves to remind me of what I haven't accomplished!). We chatted about the comfort of our many years together, and marveled at the countless blessings we enjoy. Marriage small talk. No agenda. No planning of the day's activities or arranging of chores. Just a moment in the middle.

It was a sweet moment, as though time stalled, simply by being at peace with slowing down to be together. And then, as unexpectedly as it arrived, the moment slipped away with the buzz of the clothes dryer and the chime of an incoming text message. The dog needed attention and I was off to an appointment at church, and with all that, life was back in motion. It ended up a busy weekend, without much chance to connect as it passed. But oh, that lovely moment in the middle.

Those moments happen in all the best relationships - a surprising conversation in the car with my kids, a shared laugh with a colleague, or a kind Facebook post from a distant friend. It is a treat every time.

A variety of Biblical thoughts came to mind that day. Paul wrote the Thessalonians and said, "Make it your goal to live a quiet life, minding your own business and working with your hands...then people who are not Christians will respect the way you live..." (1 Thess 4:11-12). My previous day's Bible reading included Psalm 39: "Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be...each of us is but a breath...I am a traveler passing through."

I guess I shouldn't be surprised - but I still am - that the most precious relationship moments are unplanned and unexpected. You've no doubt at times made elaborate efforts to spend inspired moments with a family member or loved one, only to be disappointed with the result, while another time catching yourself laughing deeply at something spontaneous, even ridiculous. Oh, I know the spontaneous moments are a by-product of intentional and meaningful times together, but how sweet the moments in the middle.

Should I expect it to be any different in my relationship with God, my heavenly Father, the lover of my soul? The Psalmist wrote, "My heart has heard you say, 'Come and talk with me.' And my heart responds, 'Lord, I am coming'" (Psalm 27:8). It's the informal and unplanned moments that can mean the most.

You and I deepen a friendship with God with time spent with him. But we need to slow down at times and be open to those delightful spontaneous moments.

Because even a relationship with God needs those moments in the middle.

Not a Bridge to Nowhere

This might almost be an epiphany, but I'm okay with calling it an "aha".

It started about a week ago, as I reflected on some significant milestones. Ten years ago this month Beck and I started working on what would become Promontory Community Church in Chilliwack, Canada (www.mypcc.ca - check it out). And January will mark five years since we left Promontory to try new challenges. Both were highly emotional times, marked with stretching highs and cavernous lows, yet completely worthwhile and, hopefully, all to the glory of God.

But the revelation struck me last week as I met with a couple seeking some marital spiritual direction (what I do really can't be called counselling). I noticed that one or both parties seemed to be dreamily lost in the past. They were spending their days looking over their shoulder at an idealized rendition of the past, and I realized in doing so they were missing out on the best of both the present and the future.

And here's my "aha moment": it's a bridge. A what? A bridge, life is a bridge. In youth, there's nothing but a long stretch of future, but further on, there's a lot to look back on. Right now, I'm somewhere out in the middle.

When we lived in BC we would occasionally visit the Lynn Canyon Suspension Bridge in Vancouver. Stepping on the bridge is fun and scenic and all things wonderful. But if fear of heights is an issue, or the swinging sensation of a suspension bridge is a problem, somewhere in the middle a person might look back and say, "I'm not so sure about this."

It's obvious to say that everyone has a past. Some spend their lives trying to forget it, while others try to hold on to it, depending if it was painful or beautiful. That's obvious. But I've also seen friends cling to a painful past because they fear the future, or because they simply cannot imagine a future any better than the glorious past. Either way, it is at best aimless, and at worst, hopeless.

The backward look only lets a person see what they've already seen, and that from an unrealistic perspective. They fail to embrace the present or anticipate the future, missing the best of what God has today. It's not a bad thing to glance back to check progress, but we can't stay there. And standing still is not given as an option. Time only goes one direction.

The Apostle Paul understood the need to look forward. He had a past that some applauded, but it was an  embarrassment to him. Maybe that's why he wrote in Philippians 3, "Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us." And to the Colossians he wrote, "Think about the things of heaven, not the things of earth" (Colossians 3:2). The writer of Hebrews said that Jesus endured the cross "for the joy set before him" (Hebrews 12:2). All forward-facing.


So if life really can be compared to a bridge, I don't want to spend my life looking at where I've been, only to be surprised by the destination ahead. And I don't believe God wants us to set up a permanent home on Memory Lane. It was God, after all, who promised his people "a hope and a future" (Jeremiah 29:11).

There is tension, is there not, between honoring what's been good, even while gazing ahead? How does one decide what to preserve, and what to release?

It strikes me that one should carry forward whatever helps to move boldly on into the future God has. Past relationships that have honored God and nurtured your walk with Him? Save those. But past memories and connections that leave you unaware of - or worse, dissatisfied with - the present, can only give you a backward-looking crick in your neck? Time to re-think what you do with those.

So that's my "aha" moment. I'm asking myself, "In which direction am I looking?" Because my bridge-walk is one with purpose, and I don't want to miss out what God may have for me today or in the days ahead.