Nothing New Under the Sun?

One of the benefits of this mid-stage of life is that, in spite of living in a time that pretends to be unprecedented, I'm ready to accept that there really is "nothing new under the sun" (Ecclesiastes 1:9).

Oh, there are plenty of new things under the sun. Sometimes, just for fun, I'll try to help my kids understand my world. It's a great game to play. I try to help them imagine a time before Nintendo, microwave popcorn and keyless entry for the car. My son's 12-year-old friend, riding in my (old! 2001 model year) pickup pointed to the window crank and asked, "What's this?" He had never been in a vehicle without power windows. Am I really that old?

Both sets of my children's grandparents visited this fall, and I had my boys ask them to share some childhood memories. To our delight, they told marvelous stories of a different era; my children seemed most suspicious at the story of riding to school in a horse-drawn sleigh - for real. Could anyone they know actually have lived in such a time?

I admit that at times I feel overwhelmed. My grandparents (all born at the start of the 20th Century) didn't have to memorize online passwords or retrieve voicemail. They didn't have to protect their kids from the dark side of the internet. They never had to fuss with batteries for the remote control, or organize a plethora of digital photos, or use the self-checkout at the hardware store (definitely not a perfected technology!)

Sometimes I despair of keeping up at all with the firehose-stream of incoming information. Just yesterday, we tried shopping for a TV, and discovered there is yet another whole language to learn - plasma, lcd, led, 1080p in hd! I can't keep up.

It's tempting to assume earlier times were blissful and easy. But I'm also old enough to know that's not true. While my grandparents and great-grandparents did not deal with the digital technology and info-noise you and I manage every day, they had to acquire knowledge and technology completely beyond me now. Could I diagnose an ailing milk-cow, or operate a wood-stove at precise temperatures as my grandmother did? Would I know how to repair a damaged wagon or read the weather at harvest time? Not to mention, could I have fled the nation of my birth as a refugee and started with nothing in a cold land speaking a foreign tongue? Trust me, I don't have it that bad if my "hassle" is forgetting a username and password.

Which gets me back to thinking, the essential issues have always been the same. Can I clear the deck of my life enough to be sure I am connecting with my heavenly Father? Am I growing in understanding, and gaining a wise heart? Do I grasp how to lead my family closer to the cross of Jesus Christ?

I could spend my lifetime gathering and maintaining "stuff", but to what end? There truly is "nothing new under the sun" because ancient people and we are much the same. We sense these deep holes of longing, and spend far too much time trying to fill the holes with habits and handbags filled with goods. I love the marvel of technology, but the most wondrous gadget still leaves me empty. We get a little closer with our Facebooks and text messages, but the pseudo-intimacy is a social sugar-high.

The Ecclesiast said, "God gives wisdom, knowledge, and joy to those who please him" (Ecclesiastes 2:26). And the prophet reminds us that "The Lord has told you what is good, and what he requires: do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with God" (Micah 7:8).

Nothing new under the sun, right? Thank God for that.

Dribbling Words

We have finally become a dog family. Early in the summer we took in a homeless Chihuahua-cross, named him Satchel. This has been a much better experience than I’d expected, although at times I resent the level of personal involvement with his bodily functions dog ownership demands.

And yet, walking Satchel for his “personal moments” opened my eyes to a bad habit creeping into my life. I’ve realized lately I’m a one-upper – you know, the guy who always has to add his version of your story, only a little better, or worse, or faster or slower, or somehow just superior to yours. Yeah, I’ve been catching myself doing that lately.

It might have something to do with this midlife thing. I might be trying to rely on past accomplishments to assert my significance. I might be feeling some disappointment that I’m not “all that” compared to guys younger, faster, better read, most techno-skilled, and downright better looking! And just to prove that I’m still “all that”, I somehow feel at liberty to add my two-bits.

What does this have to do with the dog? It’s like this: when Satch and I head out the door, he’s got a pretty good stream to take care of on the first couple trees. But after that, all the way around the block, he’s got this notion that he has something to leave on any number trees and bushes. It’s barely a drop or two, but doggone it, he’s going to make his mark. Does he know he’s got nothing to offer?

As I dragged him along today, it occurred to me that I’ve been guilty of the human conversational equivalent. It’s as though I just have to dribble a few words into any conversation just to make my mark. You want to tell me an amazing story? Oh, let me lift my leg and grace you with my even more amazing moment. How embarrassing. Proverbs 17:27 says, “A truly wise person uses few words” and Ecclesiastes 5:3 says, “Too many words make you a fool.”

Yes, midlife affords me the benefit of experience. I’ve been blessed to see and experience many quality moments. But none of them trumps your unique experience, how impressive or simple it may be. And even your greatest triumph should be no threat to the ways God has blessed my life. I really have no need to prove myself.

Time to test my heart – again, because “The heart of the godly thinks carefully before speaking” (Proverbs 15:28). Carry on, Satchel. And thanks for the lesson. No more dribbling words for me. 

The Great Thing About Middle Age...

So here's the thing...there was a time in my life when my appearance really mattered to me. But it was at a time when my body was largely cooperative. I actually had a full head of hair, and the hair I did have wasn't always trying to grow out of weird places. I could pretty much eat what I liked without adding a spare tire, and I had the energy of a solar panel in the Sahara.

But things change, I've learned. My body doesn't respond as quickly to my brain's commands, and the bounce-back from bursts of bravado is a little slower.

Fortunately, I'm finally starting to figure out that people think about us, talk about us and notice us a lot less than we ever think. I've discovered I can walk into a Starbucks dressed like a dork and really, it doesn't matter. Not only does no one care, I don't think anyone notices.

This came home to me when on vacation last week. I was snorkeling off-shore and found myself blessed with the middle-aged, "Who cares?" freedom. Imagine the scene: me wearing a bright yellow flotation belt (at 20 I would have rather drowned than wear that goofy thing) and feeding my breakfast to the fish multiple times (they enjoyed it more than I did the second time). And even with an audience of a dozen or so folks, I really didn't care. So what?

There are more meaningful implications, which have yet to really kick in for me. The perennial problem for every Christ-follower is the tension between others' acceptance and speaking up. For example, I want to tell my friends and neighbors about the incredibly good and life-changing news that Jesus saves - but I want them to still like and accept me even if they reject my message. My goal is - or needs to be - thinking less and less about how they see me now, versus how they will look at me in eternity. I may succeed at looking cool now, only to be seen an eternal fool  later. Not a happy prospect.

But I'm slow at this, much slower than you'd think, at this point in my life. I still care too much about what others think. My saving thought is this: when I feel like I let God down, I'm reminded that it wasn't my job to hold God up! Which means he has surprising and creative ways of accomplishing his purposes, and even allowing me to be a part of the process. And as I discover the joy of that, how I look and what others think of me will matter less and less.

So midlife may work to my advantage after all. I may even get away with socks in sandals, if only my wife and kids will look the other way!

The Journey

Yeah, I know. Journey. Kind of an overused word. As in "life's a journey" and "it's not the destination, it's the...". Exactly. Road less travelled, and all that.

And yet, here I am. 42 years old, and still trying to figure out my journey.

I'm going on vacation this week, and I know where I'm starting from, where I'm going, and how I'm getting there. Too bad life's not as clear - I can tell you where I've been, but not really how it all started. I certainly can't tell you where I'm going - not because I don't want to, but because I don't know myself.

But I'm starting to figure out the mode of transportation. When I was young, I thought the journey was all about high speed vision and high octane energy. Then someone told me the transport was strategic planning, well-prepared and well-executed. Somewhere in there I was told it was all spiritual - all a matter of prayer and prophetic anointing. It's some of all of those, but there's something else.

Because here I am in midlife and it has just dawned on me that the journey is through relationship. That's right. I thought my life was a solo walk to discover my purpose and eventually my bridge to Avalon. Turns out it's a bus ride (and in my case, usually the short bus), an experience of community where real people get real.

Ever been the solo passenger on a bus? Now that's depressing. Sometimes I feel like my bus is empty, and then I'll meet a friend - like one I shared a coffee with today - and I'm reminded my bus is full. My bus is full, I just need to look around  a little. And strike up a conversation or two.

My bus is a bit smelly, sometimes. Not everyone is beautiful or brilliant, to me, but they certainly are to my Heavenly Father, and they are all lovely. A few people on my bus are nothing but needy. And guess what? I'm learning I even need the needy ones; they fill gaps in my life. At times, I'm the neediest one there. And all of them combined pour into my life, like colors on a tie-dyed t-shirt. A bus with passengers is way more interesting than a bunch of empty seats.

So it really is a journey. Got a long way to go, but know this: it's a worthwhile journey.