the way...continued

I may be wrong (it happened once), but I'm thinking that this movie, "The Way," can only be understood or fully appreciated by those who are in a season of grief and loss...or working through grief and loss from the past. I'm no expert in grieving...but I'm starting to learn a few things. As did all four travelers in this story that journeyed the 800 kilometers from the Pyranees in southern France to the coast of northwestern Spain.

It was a setup for me, of course. In the coach training I led this past weekend, I had the whole class coach me for a session. I put out a topic, rather benign, about business-building, but it didn't take long until I got "ambushed" (in the best sense) by one of my students asking me if I had grieved the season that was ending...in order to embrace a new season of opportunity. I had not...and immediately knew that I must.

Business changes. Housing changes. Kid changes...with my oldest heading off to college. Spouse changes...with Kellie looking for employment. Budget changes. And a few more to boot.

As I watched Tom (in the movie) spread ashes at various mile-markers, my own heart spilled out its grief in quiet tears. His loss was unmistakable, but as his colleagues traveled alongside, they too began to confront their own grief in powerful ways. Alone and together.

Finally, at the very end of the journey, Tom spreads the last of his ash, leaves his great burden behind, turns, and walks forward a free man. I'm not quite there yet...but I will be. If you're carrying a load, I wish this freedom for you as well.

the way

About three months ago, on the recommendation of my sister-in-law Jane, Kellie and I went to see the movie "The Way," starring Martin Sheen and Emilio Estevez. While it has an almost documentary-type feel to it, the plot line is quietly inviting and surprised me with unexpected humor and a profoundly deep look into the humanity and spirituality of its key characters. I enjoyed it. I can't say that it impacted me in a significant way, but I appreciated the experience.

Fast forward to today. We had never showed the movie to the kids and wanted them to be able to appreciate it as well, so this morning was the time. Within five minutes I was stunned to find myself crying...and continued to be moved and stirred to the core throughout.

What had changed? I knew instantly.

I am in a time of grieving a number of things in my life...and this movie is, arguably, about grief. About acknowledging loss eyeball to eyeball without flinching or running away. About naming change--hell, about naming ourselves in the midst of change. About coming to grips (at least the first stage of it) with who we are when life changes dramatically, when we find ourselves in a very different life than the one we thought we chose. One of the notable lines in the movie is, "You don't choose a life; you live one."

In addition to grief, the story is about the relationships that help anchor our souls to our skin in the midst of such traumatic discoveries. Part of our lives we can only understand alone. Other parts can only be understood in community. The journey of Martin Sheen's character explores both. Now it's my turn. I wish I could explore the landscape of my life upon the gravelly trails of Basque; instead, I'll have to settle for the rooty lakeside trails of Summerfield. We each have our own "way" to walk.

Buen camino.

the cruise ship & the lifeboat

This morning I sat down with Kellie in our "morning chairs," looked at her and said, "I think I'm a bad Christian." I wasn't trying to be funny. This weekend, I shared, I had heard a song by a Christian artist that referenced what used to be one of our favorite verses--"Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine" (Eph 3:20). That statement used to inspire me; now it just irritates me. Try "less than we can ask or imagine," I said to Kellie wryly. My faith has taken a beating; can you tell?

But it's still there, Kellie encouraged me. Many Christians have become so discouraged or wounded in their journey that they have left the faith altogether. Even though we're weary, we're still hanging in there. True that. Even in our bleakest moments, we've never doubted the presence of God and his reality in our lives. But we've doubted a lot of other things...particularly all the hoopla that goes on in the name of Christ.

Call me cynical. But the Christian community, to me, conjures up images of a massive cruise ship--one giant entertainment metroplex. "Join us today at 1pm on the Lido deck for a seminar on the 17 different forms of prophecy while the dude with the incredible speaking gift will perform his latest verbal juggling act to great applause in the Hughes Auditorium. And don't forget the midnight smorgasbord of 32 life groups and 49 service opportunities!" Seriously? The glitz, glam, and hype just doesn't do it for me these days. Of course, these are really good people, sincere and earnest; in fact, my calling is really to help the cruise directors stay sane. It's just that I don't want to be on the ship.

Yet to be honest, when I look at where I'm sitting, I'm tossed around in a little inflatable life raft, just trying to survive on freeze-dried rations and a thermos of stale water. So while I rail on the cruise ship, I also look at it a little wistfully, secretly wishing I could feel something under my feet that felt a little less wobbly, fantasizing occasionally about the chocolate bar on the mezzanine.

Periodically, one of them will look over the railing, drinks in hand, and with pitying eyes say, "Come on up!" They're concerned about me. Hell, I'm concerned about me! But I just can't do the Love Boat any more.  Cruise ship or lifeboat...which is worse? I don't know. Are there any other options?!

violin

Lyrics to "Violin," by Amos Lee

Lately I, I've been heading for a breakdown
Every time I leave my house
It feels just like a shake down
Between street sweepers and a .. of the lawyers
Who may as well be butchered
Between the small timing hustlers who all, seem to feed upon each other

[Chorus]
Oh God where have you been
Hanging out a little violin
While I've been waiting for you, to pull me through

Lately I, every time I try to lie down
My mind just gets away
I can't even close my eyes now
Between the big fish ambition, and the lovers
Using words as ammunition
Between war plan I've been pacing endlessness
Impossible dream that I've been chasing

"Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me!"

Jesus.  Mercy.

contested

Last summer on vacation, I had a powerful insight. For months (maybe years) I had chafed somewhat, realizing that my coaching brand was too vague. Who am I actually supposed to be coaching? I coach a lot of different things--what is the center of the bullseye? And it came. Came with simplicity and clarity and--perhaps like many aha moments--felt anti-climatic in the sense of, of course this is my focus; I knew this all along.

Helping leaders thrive. Helping people cultivate a healthy, sustainable inner life. That is my passion.

It is enormously invigorating to know what you're supposed to be about--to be able to say, with Jesus, "I must be about my Father's business"...and know what facet of the business belongs to you. So, knowing that, I am faced with a perplexing dilemma. A potentially devastating dilemma: the reality that I am not thriving myself. Since I am committed to authenticity, how is this supposed to work?

If I were coaching someone else wrestling with a similar struggle, I would probably offer the following insight--it's my experience that the Enemy of our souls doesn't attack our weaknesses nearly as much as he attacks our strengths. Above all, he wants to neutralize the threat we most pose; in my case, it makes sense that he would seek to undercut my truest calling in this way. So I believe this...but find little comfort in it.

The fact remains that I am caught in the throes of the greatest life-storm I've yet encountered, and I've been in survival mode for a long time. In recent weeks, I've wondered if I will survive. Day after day, it feels more bleak. Can we move past the "contested" stage and into destiny yet? When does that get to happen?

the whisper

I recently came across the story of Elijah in 1 Kings 19. On the heels of, arguably, his greatest triumph (the showdown with the prophets of Baal where God drops fire from the sky to consume his offering and altar, rocks and all!) Elijah is running for his life. Jezebel, the evil queen, has promised to have his head, and Elijah believes it.

Walking out into the wilderness, Elijah says, "I've had enough, Lord. Take my life and let's be done with this." He lies down under a tree and goes to sleep...presumably his last. Apparently, God doesn't agree with this plan and sends an angel to revive him with food and water. I appreciate the fact that the angel acknowledges Elijah's condition: "The journey is too much for you!" The journey to this place is too much...and, you have a journey yet to take that requires nourishment.

So far, I'm feeling Elijah. I'm not running from a maniacal queen, but I've been running for 10 years to have a business. Running hard with all sorts of chaos and fear chasing me...just one step ahead of destruction. It's been a hard way to live, and frankly I've had enough. God, would you just make up your mind and either establish my business or kill it? This grasping and scraping is beyond old. Many times I've lain down to die, metaphorically speaking. Actually feel that way today.

But Elijah does rise for the journey and makes his way to Mount Horeb. I wonder if he's still planning on dying and just changing locations--hard to say. God meets him there with a somewhat blunt, "What are you doing here?" Reminds me of Jesus asking the blind man, "What do you want me to do for you?" Hmm... isn't that a bit obvious, God? But of course he wants us to name it. "I've been very zealous for you, Lord. I could have had a profitable career, but no--I've devoted my life to your business, and this is what I have to show for it: these people I've been trying to serve have rejected it all and are trying to kill me. That's why I'm here--I'm tired of this and ready to quit."

God's answer? His presence. That's it.

And the presence shows up in a novel way. Lots of drama--a hurricane, an earthquake, and a wildfire. Impressive but no God. My daughter Abbie remarked in family church Sunday that this may have been the drama he thought he wanted--the "felt need" to get the upper hand on Jezebel. But the "real need" shows up next, in a whisper. God is there. And Elijah covers his face.

God, I'm waiting for your whisper. Waiting...

half of everything

More years ago than I can recall, a dear old pastor friend told me something I’ve never forgotten. “Jerome,” he said, “You can expect half of everything God wants to tell you to come through your wife.” Whoa. Now that was a new idea! And I took it to heart…although it took me a long time to improve the art of listening so I could actually take advantage of the other half.

Tomorrow I’ll use this idea when I address the chapel service at George Fox University, talking about building gender partnership. I’ll share with them how, without partnership, we walk through life with only one ear instead of two, one eye instead of two…missing half of everything God wants to say and do in our lives because we fail at partnership. What a tragedy that is.

As I was preparing my talk, I found myself pondering what might be a good example of this in our marriage. I’m sure there are only about a thousand examples to be had…but none were coming immediately to mind. Until last night.

Last night I had a meltdown. “Meltdown” was always the perfect word when our kids were little—the evocative descriptor that conveys the trauma of sleepy, cranky children who had crossed over their threshold of tolerance and, in a short instant, devolved into howling, thrashing masses of distress. Yeah, that was pretty much me last night.

I was trying to rehearse my talk in front of Kellie, but stumbling only a few lines into the spiel, my own angst caught up with me and I crumbled. Swearing at myself, I fell into a nearby chair in what Ann Shirley would call “the depths of despair.” I kid you not. “I can’t do this,” I wailed at Kellie.

I crawled onto the bed beside her, ensconced in shame. My fear was palpable, and in between the waves of self-loathing, I tried feebly to understand what the fear was really about. Not the crowd of faces so much. No, more just afraid of myself…afraid I would sabotage myself and freeze, killing my message and fatally wounding my future as a speaker.

“It’s really just your pride,” she said softly. Really? That’s your big pep talk? I wondered. But I knew she was right. But fear feels a little softer, a little kinder than pride. To me, anyway. My mind was spinning, trying to process it all—really they’re no different, fear and pride. Different faces, perhaps, but the same ugly truth behind the mask. Both are so thoroughly self-absorbed. No room for anyone or anything else.

“Remember why you’re doing this,” Kellie continued. “You have an enormously important message for these young people to hear. Focus on that. Focus on them. Get over yourself.” Wow. What could I say? It was the truth, and her words were life. And although it took some time for my emotions to catch up, the comfort and security of those powerful words began to seep into my soul. I awoke this morning refreshed and encouraged. Yeah, I can do this…because it’s not about me. Funny how often I need to hear that.

Half of everything God wants to say to me. True that. Thanking God for my partner and another set of ears and eyes.