Much has been written about Southern writers, and their predisposition for storytelling based on their experiences on a front porch. Although I grew up in the St. Louis area, which is hardly a capital of the Southern way of life, just two-hundred miles or so south and west of St. Louis, in the heart of the Ozark Mountains, Southern thinking and world views are common. And … those Ozark mountains are where most of my family of origin have its roots.

Some of my fondest childhood memories consist of sitting on some front porch — either one of my aunts/uncles front porches, or one of my grandparents, or even our own front porch — and listening to adults, relatives of mine who all seemed to be experts at telling stories. They’d talk of funny things people had said, or tragedies some acquaintance of ours had encountered. Sometimes, they talked about huntin’ dogs. (The word ‘hunting‘ is an English word and involves riding horses; no Southerner ever talks of ‘hunting.’ If you ain’t ‘huntin’, well, then, you must be ‘fishin.’) Sometimes, the talk was of politics, or religion. But usually, it was about life, and how ‘funny’ it can be. Telling stories was at the very core of almost every conversation. And the front porch was the platform from which those conversations were launched.

Only a thought, today, as life marches right on past Easter Sunday and into whatever is left of your life and mine: Don’t forget to find a porch or platform from which to tell your stories. For heaven’s sake, sit a spell. Reflect. Remember your stories. And then, tell them to your family, your friends. Pay attention to what’s going on around you, because as your story unfolds, … it needs to be told.

Just sayin’ …

I’ve been meditating on the following words of late.  Read them, and see what you think.  A quote from theologian Karl Rahner:

“Many years ago, when I was a schoolboy distinguished by the name of ‘philosopher,’ I learned that the soul is somehow everything.  O God, how the meaning of that lofty-sounding phrase has changed!  How different it sounds to me now, when my soul has become a huge warehouse where day after day the trucks unload their crates without any plan or discrimination, to be piled helter-skelter in every available corner and cranny, until it is crammed full from top to bottom with the trite, the commonplace, the insignificant, the routine.

What will come of me, dear God, if my life goes on like this?  What will happen to me when all the crates are suddenly swept out of the warehouse?  How will I feel at the hour of my death?  Then there will be no more ‘daily routine.’  Then I shall suddenly be abandoned by all the things that now fill up my days here on earth.”

Did you get that? “What will come of me, dear God, if my life goes on like this?”  That’s a great question for all of us to ask, I think.  What changes do I need to affect in my life?  What great things do I need to keep the same?  What people do I need to spend more time with?  What relationships do I have that aren’t doing me any good at all?  If my soul is like that “huge warehouse” Rahner mentions, I wonder who’s driving the trucks that unload their crates, and what’s in all those boxes?  Trite?  Commonplace?  Insignificant?  Routine?

During these days in preparation for Palm Sunday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday, I want to think about my answer to the question Rahner asks God. I want to ask God the same question about my life. Leading a distilled life — one that is intentional and focused — is something I greatly desire. But for that to happen, I must be, well, ‘distilled and focused.’ Time for thinking. Time to examine. Time to take stock. Time.

How about you? What’s in the ‘crates, piled helter-skelter’ in your life?

As I write these words, Cardinals from all around the world have gathered in Rome to choose the next Pope. The newscasts are full of reports; everyone seems to be focused on the famous ‘chimney’ and the color of the smoke. I’m not Catholic, but I have many wonderful Catholic friends. I know that many of them are intensely interested in the news coming out of Rome, and who the next Pope will be.

My reason in writing today isn’t centered around my interest in who the next Pontiff will be, but rather, what I heard a news moderator say yesterday about the ‘kind’ of person they are looking for to be the next Pope. While looking into the camera, one ‘expert Vatican-watcher’ responded, when asked about what the Catholic Church needs in a leader:

“Well, first they need someone who is holy. I mean, if the Pope is going to teach and encourage people to be holy, he needs to be holy, himself. And, he needs to be a theologian who can address the many theological challenges the church will face. He also needs to be a great communicator of the Gospel, too. He’ll be speaking to masses of people in so many different cultures and settings. And he needs to make the Gospel so simple a six-year-old child can understand it. And of course, he will need to have a tremendous understanding of the ‘business’ side of the church, the incredible wealth and finance that has to be managed. In a word, what I think the Cardinals are trying to find in a Pope is Jesus Christ … with an MBA.”

Those words have been resonating around in my head since I heard them: Jesus Christ with an MBA?

At the very core of my spiritual self, there’s something discordant about that phrase. Jesus didn’t have an MBA. I’d hate to think ANY church, Catholic or otherwise, has come to the place that even Jesus would be disqualified as leader, because he just didn’t understand the ‘business’ of the church he died for.

Easter is coming. Don’t forget that.

I get the morning paper on my iPad. I used to think it would bother me to read the paper on some kind of electronic device, but it turns out that it doesn’t bother me a bit. I rather like touching a button and having the local news downloaded to my reader. It’s free. And in color. And, I spend about fifteen or twenty minutes most mornings just checking what’s up in my local community. The ‘daily’ paper is a daily thing.

My normal routine is to read the front page, take a look at the sports scores, a few of my favorite comics (Peanuts, and especially Snoopy the author, are my fav’s) and then, oddly enough, I usually read the obituaries. One of the things I’ve noticed in my casual reading of the daily paper is that the athletes in the sports stories are a lot younger than me, even younger than my kids. And the people I read about in the obituaries— more and more —are my age. I have come to the somewhat disturbing conclusion, in reading the paper, that I’m old enough to die, now. More and more people my age are dying all the time.

I haven’t always felt that way. In fact, for the longest time, I’m afraid I acted as if I had ‘my whole life’ in front of me. Now? Now, if I’m really honest, I know that most of my ‘life’ is behind me. Some of the great things I was going to do in my life, I should have already done, because almost surely, I don’t have enough time to finish what I would like to have accomplished.

I know. Some people would say, “Oh, you’re only as old as you feel.” Is that suppose to be encouragement? Some days, I feel older than the Grand Canyon. Not always. But some days.

The reality is that I don’t have my whole life ahead of me. I only have what’s left of my life ahead of me. One of these days, people I don’t even know will open their morning papers, or touch a button on their iPads, and read of my life … and my death. They won’t read about it today, though, not in today’s paper. I’ve already read the paper this morning, and I wasn’t mentioned in the obituaries. Several people my age were mentioned, but for now, I’m still here. I don’t have my whole life ahead of me. I only have what’s left of my life in front of me.

Looking back is a waste of time. And wondering if I’ll be in tomorrow’s paper before it gets here is a waste of energy. I will choose to live my life for ‘now.’ Today. This moment. I’ll let tomorrow’s paper record the news of the day, news that may or may not include some mention of me. My plan for now is to invest in ‘now,’ the present, this moment God has given me for living. I happen to believe that that kind of investment … will pay eternal dividends.

How about you?

I work a lot with doctors. Physicians and dentists are very bright people. If they weren’t really smart, they wouldn’t be doctors. They’re smart, alright. But they aren’t ‘perfect.’ They make mistakes in judgement, diagnosis, and the treatment of their patients. It happens. But when a doctor makes a mistake, my observation is that it is a devastating thing, especially when the consequence of their mistake is catastrophic. When a patient is harmed grievously, or, God-forbid, dies because a doctor has made a mistake, it reverberates throughout every aspect of a doctor’s life. Their reputation, their livelihood, their credentials with hospitals and state medical boards, and even their ability to secure medical malpractice insurance are all impacted tremendously when doctors make serious mistakes.

And all doctors — all doctors — make mistakes. They live with that reality hanging over their heads the entire time they practice medicine.

However, as a perspective on life, or put another way, as a ‘view of the world,’ it’s pretty tough to face every day knowing that people, patients, companies, hospitals — in fact, your entire world — is expecting you to be errorless in your profession. While we all know that doctors are just people — smart, capable, well-trained and dedicated people — and we all know that everybody makes mistakes, we expect our doctors to be right 100% of the time. Intellectually, we know they won’t be right all the time, but our expectation is that when they make a mistake, we would prefer that their misjudgment be at someone else’s expense. (Who would go to a doctor who was correct in their treatment of patients even 90% of the time?) No, we want 100% perfection from our doctors.

I’d like to propose a different view, both to doc’s and their patients: Time to make a ‘Saline Connection.’ Time to give up the ‘perfect doctor’ search, and determine that the goal is not finding the ‘perfect doctor.’ That goal is not attainable. Excellence in life, faith, and practice is what’s needed. If you’re looking for a doctor, ask around. Ask your friends, the people you work with. Don’t ask them about the ‘perfect’ doctor. Ask for ‘excellence,’ not perfection.

And if you’re a doctor … God bless you. Thank you for all you do for your patients, in a day when medicine is changing so rapidly, electronic medical record keeping is ridiculous, and insurance changes are impossible to stay ahead of. The fact that you can cope with all those realities and still deliver the kind of health care you do is amazing. But aim for excellence. Excellence in your life. Excellence in your faith. And Excellence in your practice.

Leave being ‘perfect’ to God.

I’m getting older. I see it in my face. I feel it in my body. And every time I look in the mirror, I am reminded: I’m not the man I used to be.

My hair is no longer ‘thinning,’ thank God. It finally fell totally  out, (at least most of it.) So, I don’t have to spend much time primping in the mornings. I shower. I shave. I dress. And I get out of the house, usually well before 6 a.m. I’ve got a regular routine that I try to follow, too. Same coffee place. Same seat I sit in, when I get there. Sometimes, I stop off at a donut shop to have one donut. (Not always, mind you. But sometimes. Too many donuts make me swell up, you know.) I read some passages of scripture. And, virtually always, I journal something about how I feel, or what I’m thinking about on a given day.

Lately, I’ve been noticing something about what I think. Or, perhaps worded differently, I’ve been noticing how I think. Not sure everyone who notices they are getting older thinks like I do. But … the older I get, the better I used to be.

Today is my birthday. Well, it’s not exactly the kind of birthday most people celebrate every year. Most people have cake and ice cream, and crazy hats, and balloons once-a-year to celebrate the day they were born. For me, that party is always on the 18th of April. That’s my biological birthday. But today is a ‘different’ kind of birthday for me. Today marks the date of the day I was born again, … as a dad.

My oldest son was born on this date. On February 5, in the middle of a cold, foggy, Northern California night, he entered this world.  And on that same night, and at that exact same moment in time, I stepped cross a wide and significant threshold, myself. I was ‘born-again,’ this time, into “dad-hood.” I made a decision on the night of my second birth. As a man, as a husband, as a Christian who had already been “Born Again” as a little boy, I now experienced a new ‘birthing.” I discovered that the delivery of my first child came with a wake-up call all its own. I don’t know that I had prepared for it. (In fact, I’m not sure there is a way to adequately ‘prepare’ for dad-hood.’ It’s a sort of learn-as-you-go sort of class, and not something you can study up for.) My learning started the day I was born-again, the day I became a dad. So, for whatever it’s worth, here are some things I’ve learned in my journey as a dad.

1.  The influence I’ve had in the lives of my sons — all three of them — is significant. Good or bad, flawed or favorable, my influence in the lives of my sons is significant. Therefore, I need to pay attention. I am being watched.

2. I am not a perfect dad. I am a ‘learner.’ My kids know I’m not perfect. They extend grace to me every day, demonstrating that reality. (Only flawed people need grace; if they weren’t flawed … there would be no need for ‘grace.’)

3. The greatest gift I have to give my sons is to model for them — not for a day, but for a lifetime — my loyalty, love, and absolute dedication to their mother. (Their wives will rise up and call me blessed for demonstrating husbandship.)

4. The parenting values I held as a young dad were mine. Two of my sons have been ‘born again’ themselves. And the parenting values they have adopted are there own. I need to keep my mouth shut on how they raise their kids. (I’ve already finished my child-raising course. Not sure what kind of grade I got, but I don’t want to have to repeat any part of it. I’ll share experiences. I’ll tell funny stories. But being the dad of kids is a “one-guy job.” Some people may think it takes a village. I don’t know about that. But I am sure it takes a dad — one dad. (Anything beyond that is called ‘grandpa,’ a totally different gig, and one I enjoy more than I can say.)

5. Being a dad is an honorable thing. In fact, no honor that has ever been given me — no honor that could EVER be given me, no matter how lofty — can compare to the honor I feel at being a dad. The day I was Born Again was a day that secured my place in heaven for all eternity. And the day I was ‘born-again’ as a dad … has made my journey on this earth a joy and delight that defies description. I cannot imagine what my life would have been like, had I not had the friendship and incredible love of my sons.

If you happen upon these words, and chose to leave a comment about your own experience — perhaps what you’ve learned along the way, since you were ‘born again’ as a mom or dad — feel free. I’m certainly no expert. I’m just a guy celebrating a birthday.

Happy Birthday, Marcus. I love you.

Dad

I’ve been doing some reading on ‘mystics,’ and the mystic philosophy. As nearly as I can tell, mystics (or those who call themselves ‘mystics’) are folks who search for meaning and truth deep inside themselves. They read philosophers and teachers, and seem to pride themselves in finding truth wherever it may be found. The ‘source’ of that truth doesn’t seem to be particularly important to them. They may find truth in the words of Ghandi, or some Hindu guru, or one of the Desert Fathers, or the Bible. They think deep thoughts. And they seem to be honorable and in some way deeply ‘spiritual’ folks. I could be wrong, of course, and I’m sure that there may be more than one kind of ‘mystic.’

But, today, the mystic deep inside of me has a need to make a formal declaration:

Jesus said, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.”

I need go no further for the understanding and clarification of my own way, and my own truth, and my own life … than in the person and work of Jesus. If that makes me a mystic, well then, I am one. And if that ‘narrow,’ defined belief — to the exclusion of all other sources of wisdom and truth — makes me not a mystic, I will wear whatever moniker the onlookers of my life choose to tag me with. Enough talk. Time for me to walk what I believe, live out what I know to be truth, through and by his grace.

John Trent, in his book, “Heart Shift,” writes  that changes of a significant nature in our lives can happen when we choose to make small adjustments over time. A ship that makes a two degree shift in course, and maintains that direction over a one week period will arrive at a destination wildly different from the course they had been on. In other words, creating lasting change is often accomplished in small, do-able increments.

As I coach individuals, I am often struck by the fact that they want to see ‘instant’ changes in their lives and circumstances. The most effective change, however, happens when adjustments are made in small increments.

•  A small increase in the amount of exercise I get every day pays huge dividends, over the course of a year.

• Dropping desserts from my diet for a year may not seem like a huge thing, but it will produce a huge difference in how I feel, and how I look over time.

•  I may not be able to write a 350 page novel in a month, but if I write one page a day … in a year, I’ll have that book done.

It’s not rocket science, I know. But if you want to see change occur in your life, make a small ‘two-degree-shift’ in some aspect of it, and watch what happens over time.

Amazing.