Wednesday, May 24, 2006
It's a deep burn...
I guess I'm getting older. I remember the day that Ryan Davis told me that his body just didn't heal like it used to, I thought he was being ridiculous. We were snowboarding in the Catskills, taking video of the boys, relaxing, having a fun time. 
He was not prone to falling, but after some ill-designed moguls and a hefty body slam to the snow, he began to preach to me on how his body wasn't like it used to be. However, since he nearly killed himself with a router, he's never been the same. He said something about taking life a little easier and not doing stupid things that might result in a serious injury, things about the realization that he is mortal, bla bla bla, and after dismounting his soapbox of safety, we went about our day.Within 30 minutes I was kneeling next to an unconscious, moaning Ryan who could never back down from a challenge. I actually have video of him, with the same mouth the preached to me about taking it easy, lean over to 3 complete strangers and tell them to watch this jump. Inevitably it was followed by him landing on his head, 30 extremely scary seconds, and one of the funniest moments Ryan and I ever had together. A semi-conscious and very confused and concussed Ryan asking if he was married and began preaching the same safety sermon again, followed by how much trouble he would be in with Mary Beth, who had told him "no tricks!" before he left. He would then forget where he was, and cycle back through the same safety sermon and line of questioning -- a process which would repeat itself about 7 times, all the while with a very confused, yet wry smirk.
After picking him up from the local hospital after the ski patrol transported him all the way down the mountain and to the ambulance, we talked about the safety sermon, about how our bodies were not the same.
I learned my lesson this week. No, there was no trip in an ambulance. No interesting semi-conscious dialogue. Just the naivete of a 24 year old body, who's been sitting in an office, deciding it could run 6.2 miles.
Yes, this weekend was the Shelter Island 10k Run, on a beautiful, small island between the two forks of Long Island. It helps to benefit the Ranch, and naturally, we are avid supporters of the event. At the last minute I decided, "Heck, why not give it a try?" And there I was, standing in the middle of well over 700 people thinking it was possible to finish this race. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't naive enough to think I would win, much less even place, but I thought I could at least muster up enough mental discipline to fool my body into 6.2 straight miles of calm and consistent running. After all, I had kept to the strict training regiment of ho-ho's and yoohoo, and to top it all off, I watched "Without Limits" -- a movie about Steve Prefontaine -- the night before. I wasn't going to pull a Pre and be the front runner, but I sure as heck could gather the brain power to successfully navigate the course without stopping... and I couldn't have been more wrong.
The plan was this: take it easy, 9 minute miles for the first 6 miles and give it everything I've got in the last two tenths. It started without a hitch. My pacing partner was one of my boys, Terry. I'll admit it, I knew I was overmatched, but I thought if we could stick together for the first 3 or 4 miles I would be in good shape. Terry was kind enough to stick around, knock off his place a little, and run with me. A great kid, he always has something funny to say, and felt the need to talk the entire time. It was no doubt the combination of boredom from the turtle-like pace and the excess of oxygen from the lack of necessary energy expulsion -- point being, I was too slow. He would make a comment about wishing he would have done his hair, or worn better clothes if he knew all these good looking girls were going to be running all around us. Running along with us was an older gentlemen in his 70's with an Australia hat on. Through labored breath I made a joke about judging the success of our time versus him. We didn't think much about it, and continued on our way.
We hit the 1 mile marker, 8:58, right on time. I felt a little winded, but pretty good. The plan was working. Then came the hills. Holy crap, the hills. They weren't even that bad, but whatever meager amount of mental preparedness I had mustered struck up a labor union and went on an indefinite strike, and thus the battle within my head waged. Mile two, 17:32, actually a little ahead of schedule, no doubt thanks to the downhill. Then my mind kicks in "A little ahead of schedule, maybe we could slow down a bit, you know, catch some energy before this big hill, then make up for it on the down side." Lashing out quickly, whatever small force of discipline was left broke through my mental picket line and began to work, "No, we have to keep the pace, if you slow down now you'll never finish." Agreeing with what would be their final response, I kept going, only to come around the corner and discover an even larger hill. A quarter of the way up, I personally killed off the last of the discipline and honored the strike, mainly out of laziness, but partly because I was losing the sensation in my arms. I sent Terry on his way, chasing after the girls, and pulled over to the side and began to walk, apologizing to my body for not listening before. People are passing me right and left, many in worse shape than mine. But I stood my ground, walked up the hill, and ran down the back side.
This strategy continued through mile 3, until, while walking I heard a lady in her mid 40's blow by me, casually explaining to her friend how she had lost precious time already after pulling over to pee. My pride took a huge shot, "An old woman can stop, pee, start again, and still outdo you?" I was ashamed, but I committed to my plan. I waited till the next hill and ran down the back side. Several other incidents of much odler and more disciplined people inspired my pride to make a final effort towards a strong finish, taking me all the way through 4th mile without a stop.
But it was right after the 5th mile line, when the 50 year old accountant from the Ranch patted my back as she ran by that even my pride gave up on the running. It was pronounced dead several minutes later.
Late in the 5th mile everyone was passing me. There was a kid no older than 13 leaping by like an antelope, with his father right beside him. I like to think that I had the opportunity to appreciate the scenery, as, at this point in the race, everyone was staring at the ground, plugging ahead. Then a phenomenon occurred. It was at the moment when the group of parents pushing their toddlers in the strollers came running by, that I realized the entire new level of laziness I had achieved. Pulling out the mental defribulator I gave a solid charge to my wounded pride and gave it a final push.
After gaining a significant lead on the babies, I pulled off to the side again to find Fern Hill pushing her granddaughter Ellie, and we had a casual conversation. Something to the effect of my wanting to push Ellie out of the cart and get in myself, or at least that's what she says, I personally don't remember, admittedly my brain was not receiving much oxegyn.
Unknowingly, all the baby pushing parents wizzed past me again, and it this point I was okay with it, I had come to accept my weak fate. Walking there, in my pool of self-indulgence I looked up to see my worst nightmare. No, not another hill, rather, the man in the Australia cap, a good fifty yards ahead of me, about to cross over the 6 mile marker.
Unannounced, with all the fury of a bat out of hell (but none of the speed) I booked it for the finish line, refusing to lose to Australia. And I am proud to say, that with the speedy time of 1:07:25 I won my own personal race against the land down under by almost three minutes.
If you don't believe me, just ask Ryan, he was smart enough to take it easy, and not even run at all.
My man Terry, still chasing after the girls -- 51:46
The woman is telling on me to her grandchild, "he didn't start running till the end." Snitch.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Suit yourselves.
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There was no flashed used in the taking of this picture, my complexion offered enough light for us all. Yes, this is my best attempt at looking tough.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Why?
I don’t have the answers for all of life’s questions, but the more I experience in this short time that I’ve been here, the more I believe there’s a reason for everything. This isn’t a debate into why natural disasters happen, the presence of evil, or the depth of God’s direct interaction with mankind; they’re all matters to be settled another time. Like I said, I don’t have all the answers, only increasingly convinced that there is a reason for everything. There’s a reason why God created the fart, it’s not necessary, He could have made us differently, but He didn’t. Chalk it up to Divine humor or creativity, but there is a deeper reason I do not presently understand.
There is a reason why our present canon includes Esther, and it’s more than for the saying "for such a time as this." There’s a reason why Job made it in, even though we’re not totally sure; there’s a reason for Song of Solomon, though no one will ever agree; and there’s a reason for Revelation, though no one will ever totally comprehend. And there’s a reason why we as Christians still read the Old Testament.
Some would say it’s because it shows us how a perfect God interacts with imperfect people, a sort of snapshot into the holiness of God. They are no doubt correct, but not completely. Some might say it’s the indication of the measuring stick God holds us to, and how short we fall without Jesus, again, true in a sense, but not completely. Others might even show that it contains all the prophecies which help prove that Jesus is the Christ, again, true, but not completely. On and on I could mention the examples of why the OT is there, but none would be complete.
There’s a reason why God chose Jacob, and I for one will never understand. I’ve wrestled with this for a while, and still the answer is lacking. The historical ramifications of this one man are too innumerable for me to comprehend, much less put into words. Why would God choose to name the "chosen people" after a con artist who tricked his way into the blessing of God? Why shift the entire course of history over a bowl of stew? Why would God allow that to happen? Why would God reward him? Why? So here I sit again, on the edge of the pool, dangling my feet in the water, knowing just how deep it is, yet this time I find myself wanting to dive in.
Why? Because there is something about the story of Jacob that intrigues me, it has for a long time. Maybe it’s because I’m a sucker for a good story, no doubt, but there is something about Jacob that I connect with, something that relates to me, something the draws me in.
I don’t look good in an apron. You can kiss this chef if you want, but it won’t be because of the cooking. If it wasn’t already frozen, then I haven’t cooked it. I can grill pretty well, don’t get me wrong, but culinary mastery is not my forte. Yet, in some strange way I find myself connecting with Jacob. On paper this wouldn’t make any sense at all. I’m not a twin, I’m the firstborn, I like hunting, fishing and being outdoors, and I sure as heck can’t cook. I’ve got pretty hairy legs and feet to boot; I mean, I’m no Esau, but I’d say I’m more on his side of the boat, if you know what I mean. I don’t recall conning my brother out of anything, and if there is a lick of con artist in me, then I learned it from him in the first place. Just about any way you happen to look at it, I don’t match up with Jacob, yet I increasingly find myself attracted to his story, as if there is some sort of connection I have not realized.
So let me set the stage for you:
Jacob’s just stepped out on his own for the first time. He wasn’t ready. It wasn’t his choice. He had to – has was forced to. The problems that he’d started were catching up with him, and it was time to hit the road. This wasn’t the first time he’d run from life’s problems. He took off when he was younger, left his home, the mother that loved him, the dying father, and the brother waiting to kill him. He spent 20 years side-stepping that battle, countries away from the brother whose heel Jacob grabbed for the last time. I’m sure if you asked Jacob, he would have rather been home, hanging around the tents, talking with his mom, cooking up something nice. But this is where he had to be, it wasn’t his choice.
Sure everything turned out pretty nice. He’d met the girl of his dreams, and she became his wife. Of course that goes without mentioning the 14 years of work and the consequential bride that accompanied this deal. Yeah, so his home life wasn’t the best, between the warring wives and the furious father-in-law it couldn’t have been too pleasant at home, yet God had truly blessed him. He showed up at their tent door with nothing but the staff in his hand, and now he was leaving a wealthy man. Sure, he was deceived by Laban, but let’s face it, in the end Jacob always wins. He was running away with the man’s two daughters, all the grandbabies, the majority of his sheep, and a bunch of his stuff, all without ever saying good-bye.
But we cast Jacob in a bad light, like he was the only family member to ever deceive. His father and grandfather did the same thing, lying about their wives, and ended up wealthier because of it -- heck, Abraham did it twice it worked so well. Not to float around in the psychology pool, but after all, he’s simply a "product of his environment."
So here we find him, running again. Behind him is his father-in-law, from whom he took just about everything, and in front of him, his brother, for whom he left nothing. Jacob’s back in the middle again, between the rock of a hairy, angry brother and the hard place of a father-in-law done wrong.
He’d seen this middle before when he ran the first time. He had the blessing, but never really known what it was. And along the journey to his new life he laid down to sleep one night only to experience God for the first time. Standing there, atop the ladder, Jacob’s ladder, God gave him the reminder of the Promise, the affirmation of the Blessing, the connection between God and man; his first real experience with God.
So why is it so strange that he find himself in the middle again? Amidst the chaos of his life, trying to protect his family from his enraged brother and rectify the animosity with his wives’ father, we find this quick, nondescript incident about another Divine experience. Yet, this time, it’s much more. What was once a dream in years gone by, an experience of the mind, turns into a first hand encounter, a literal brawl with the Living God. All night they wrestled, until the break of day. No one knows what style they used, whether or not Jacob had God in a submission hold, or if God ever got Jacob in a half nelson. All we know is this: the sun was rising, and God had apparently forgot the lesson that Laban learned the hard way – in the end Jacob always wins. Pinning down the Creator of the universe, Jacob demanded a blessing. Why? Could it be that he forgot the blessing from the ladder? Could it be that he couldn’t see a blessing through the turmoil surrounding him? Could it be that the man who had it all already wanted just a little more? Who knows? All it says is that God had to pull a cheap shot to get His way, wrenching Jacob’s hip, but even that didn’t help. Finally God caved in:
The man asked him, "What is your name?" "Jacob," he answered.
Then the man said, "Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel,
because you have struggled with God and with men and have overcome."
Then God blessed Israel.
The questions are endless: Why would God choose to come to earth, take on flesh, and wrestle with a man? What was so important? What is the meaning? Why name your chosen people after a wrestling match? Why let their name, their identity, the very people whom God recognizes as His own, be the people "who struggle with God."
This has revolutionized the way I view ministry. I see Jacob in my boys. I see a kid who just stepped out on his own for the first time. He wasn’t ready. It wasn’t his choice. He had to – has was forced to. The problems that he’d started were catching up with him, and it was time to hit the road. This wasn’t the first time he’d run from life’s problems, but it’s the first time he’s had to face up to them. There were no more opportunities to side-step this ordeal, they had to meet it face to face, just like Jacob.
Just like Jacob they’ve been in the middle, not knowing where to turn. They’ve experienced times of ambiguity, times of uncertainty, and times of despair. They’ve had moments or experiences in which they’ve "seen" God, be it getting ripped out of their homes, watching friends suffer, fail, even die, or just losing a year of their life. There have been positives too, escaping poor environments, negative influences, and hurtful people. These are their experiences with God, they want to give Him credit, good or bad, for their live’s circumstances, but they’ve never encountered God... until now.
Now they’re here, in the night of their lives, surrounded by looming pressures, wrestling with life, wrestling with God. He’s more than a story they’ve heard about, or an unfulfilled promise from years gone by. He’s an acting, moving, loving force impacting their lives, and they’re not sure what to do with it. In turn they ask the question He’s been waiting for: "Why?"
Why would God bring me into a world where I would be criticized for who I am? Why would God make me pay for the mistakes that my mother made? Why would God take away my brother? Why would God bring me to this place? Why don’t they have to "learn from their mistakes"? Why did he make me this color? Why would he send my father away? Why would God allow that to happen to my sister? Why won’t God listen to me? Why won’t He answer me!? Why would he love me?
There I stand, just outside the ropes of the arena, towel and water bottle in hand, watching the fight. After every round they come back to my corner with a "Why" question, and there was a time in my life when the naive part of me thought it should be answered. Now I know better: it’s not my fight. I’m not the contestant, that I should be in ring wrestling for them, that offers no help. I’m not the referee that I should lay down the parameters and rules, I have no such authority. I simply the man in their corner, the Mickey to their Rocky, setting down the stool of direction, telling them where to punch next. And as I wipe away their blood, sweat, and tears... I doctor their cuts, slap them on the black, and send ‘em back in again, praying that they step back in for another round, hoping every moment that they will make it till sun up, and limp away with God’s blessing.
I’m helping people encounter God, many of my guys are doing it for the first time, and the fight is on. Make no mistake, it’s a fierce fight; not because there’s a God sick of questions, but questions sick of remaining unanswered, ignored, or even forgotten. They battle with a God who welcomes the fight, not out of vindication, but love and support. His self-worth is not based in their opinion of Him. Instead He appreciates, like Jacob, an honest seeker, an earnest traveler, a sincere heart. He beckons questions, like little children at His feet, that they might come unto Him and find in Him their fulfillment, their completion, their answer.
So what does the Jacob story mean to me? A lot. A lot of great, incomplete ideas. Like I’ve already said, there’s a reason why God chose Jacob, and I’ll never understand. I’ve wrestled with this for a while, and still the answer is lacking. The historical ramifications of this one man are too innumerable for me to comprehend, much less put into words. Why would God choose to name the "chosen people" after a con artist who tricked his way into the blessing of God? Why shift the entire course of history over a bowl of stew? Why would God allow that to happen? Why would God reward him? Why would God come in the flesh, wrestle with man, and from that experience birth a new nation? Maybe because several hundred years later He’d repeat it again, in the flesh, and once again wrestle with man, and from that experience birth a new nation. Who knows?
So what does the Jacob story mean to you? Why should I know? It’s not for me to answer. I’m just here to get you to the next round.
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