fourfeetsixinches

the first fire of the season. the fireplace is cleaned and wood carried in. papers are crumpled and pressed into the spaces between the logs and kindling. the match is pressed against the the box that says “strike anywhere on box” but really only works on the side with that certain texture. you know what i mean. and as the match slides along it, it bursts into flame and then develops the capacity to pass that flame along.

our living room is warmed again. sometimes too warm, but is such a welcome feeling on a north iowa night like this. wind howling around the eaves and corners of the house. through the barren tree branches. the flames dance and laugh at the cold outside.

you see, i believe it when i hear it said that we all have a gift. some seem to have more than others. but we all have at least one that has the potential to shine. to burn brightly. the scriptures encourage us to “stir into flame the gift that is within you.” pile up the logs. place them so there is enough distance between them so that air can pass through and keep the flames going. burning brightly. let yourself be consumed in purpose. you have a gift. gifts. let them come to light. let them come alive.

what does that mean to you right now? are you a barely glowing ember? buried in the ashes of yesterday’s fire? is there something there yet to burn brightly? “stir into flame the gift of God that is within you.” invite someone you know or trust to help stir it as well. open yourself up to the spirit of the living God. and as things burst into flame, offer some warmth to your world. some light. some hope.

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several weeks back we were in harlan for a quick weekend thing. dad and i went out for a stroll around the barns and yards. i had been out with my camera the day before trying to capture some shots. i was looking for those things that hadn’t changed in the midst of a gradually changing landscape. where there were once lots full of livestock, there is now grass. where there were fences, there is now no rigid boundary between house-yard and field. where there was painted barnwood there is now steel siding.

so i went inside the barns. looking for detail. like hooks. light bulbs under which i spent nights waiting to help ewes bring new lambs into the world. wooden doors with the afternoon sun beaming through cracks…doors i once pushed open and walked through. fence panels and gates bent under the force of cattle or hogs pushing their wills against ours. i found some things in one shed where it was too dark to get the photos i wanted. so dad came out with me on sunday. he opened the door to let the morning sun bring light to old oil cans and funnels and wooden chicken coups and wheelbarrows. all relics of a long-past season of my life. i snapped this shot as dad, now eighty-one, pulled the door back shut.

during the early seasons of my life, dad and mom were in the practice of opening and shutting doors for me. not so much these days, but there is a long history of it. sometimes i welcomed what they opened for me. other times i feared it. sometimes i was angry at the doors they tried to shut for me. it felt limiting at the time.

i want to be able to open doors for my kids. to give them opportunity. to expand who they are and what they experience. at other times i want to close doors. to protect them from some kind of irreparable harm. and like me with my own parents, my kids don’t always agree with the position of the door. there are times when closed doors look more inviting to them than the ones that are wide open.

right now…it feels as though there are too many open doors in my life. too many things pulling from too many directions. that causes me to live on the surface. shallow. superficial. more reactive than proactive. my day-to-day experience feels thin and disconnected. i need to be reminded of what norm and jo tried to teach me when i was young and thought i could do way more things well than reality actually permits. sometimes less is more. and a good pruning is the most necessary thing for health and productivity.

I am reminded of jesus’ words in john 15. “I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.”

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a stop at pilot knob state park late last week. the winds forecasted to be at warning levels. the forecast was right on. so i knew the leaves would be at risk. holding on tightly in spite of the odds. a few remained connected while others had found places of rest on the ground below.

so there is this thing about fall. autumn. change. the dying after a season of growth. the promise of another season, but first, a period of waiting ensues. perhaps a favorite thing of the human condition…waiting. a gap between the dying of this season and the new life of the next.

beauty here. that is for sure. the color that is hidden beneath the lush greens for most of the season now responds to less light and cooler conditions. and in that condition, foliage comes alive with vibrant color. light and shadow and everything in between.

a friend of mine, ben, sang this song in worship a while back. it’s a song by michael gungor called beautiful things… it gets inside of me somehow. the words breathe hope somehow. promise somehow. so i say, give it a listen:   http://youtu.be/OR7VOKQ0xJY

so autumn reminds me of times in life where it feels like things are changing. some things coming to an end. a dying of sorts. and the reality that we may have to face a season of waiting. a time where there will be a gap between the dying of something and the new life that we hope for, that we believe will come. and so we wait…

and as we wait… he is in the process of making things beautiful. making things new.  is a prayer of mine that you see this in fresh new ways today and in the coming seasons of your life. that you allow yourself to be open to the possibilities of what he might want to do in your heart. in your life. in the season that lies ahead…

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so we near the end of our consult with jon’s neurologist at mayo clinic on friday. we had gone over test results and through physical and mental assessments. we had heard some things that we as parents needed more time to process. there were some irregular spikes in brain waves in response to specific stimuli, and as such a diagnosis of a seizure disorder, nos. medication was prescribed. lifestyle changes and healthy habits encouraged. and then our neurologist  asked jon if he had any questions. and we knew exactly what was going to come out of jon’s mouth: “can i play sports? can i play football?” and by the look on the neurologist’s face, he knew what question was coming his way as well. and his answer was, “well,..yes. i don’t want to make an invalid out of someone who doesn’t need to be one.” and jon pressed for more specifics. “no, i mean tonight. can i play in the game tonight?”  “yes you can…and good luck!”

so we drove home, very quickly i might add, because our son was so excited to get his pads and uniform on and get out on the field with his team mates. and he did. and his team won. and near the end of the fourth quarter he intercepted a pass and ran it forty yards in for a touchdown. i was on the sidelines with my camera and a friend. i dropped my camera to my lap and just watched through saline flooded eyes. it was like the last loop of a week-long emotional roller coaster.

we certainly appreciate all the concern you’ve shown, all the prayers you’ve prayed, and how we have felt rallied around as we’ve gone through this thing so far. we are grateful for that. for you. and we are grateful to our Creator God, who sustains and breathes hope into us, even when the fragile nature of this life causes us to fear, and even to question his goodness toward us.

jon got a text from a friend just as we were getting ready to leave mayo for home. a friend who is a tremendous athlete. who has dealt with his own set of physical limitations and yet found ways to overcome. found ways to live life as fully as possible. and he encouraged jon to do this, ” go out there and honor your Creator in how you play.” and i pass those words on to you today… go out there and honor your Creator in how you do your life today.

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we were back at my parents’ farm this past weekend. and on a stroll around the acreage i went inside one of the barns to snap some shots of details that have not really changed since i lived there as a walking man. a lot of years ago.

from the center of the barn i looked toward this door, where the afternoon sun was washing the west wall of the barn, but barely finding its way through the cracks. not a lot of light, but just enough to draw my sight in its direction.

the way the weekend played out, this photo now speaks to me as a reminder of the nature of life here on earth. i need to be reminded often that i am an eternal person. that we are eternal people. it is all too easy to slip into the trance of thinking that this life is the heaven part of the equation, when in reality, this is simply earth. the part of the journey much like the dark or dimly lit center of this barn. there is enough light most days to keep us moving in the right direction, but not always enough light to dispel the confusion. the disorientation that occurs when life takes different turns than we expect or welcome.

while we were all gathered around the breakfast bar waiting to share brunch and some family time on sunday morning, our son Jon went rigid and fell to the floor and had a seizure. it seemingly came out of nowhere. we spent the next several hours at the emergency room; tests there were negative as to cause. so although he seems back to normal at this point, there are a great deal of questions for us about it all. like the dark center of the barn, looking toward the rays of light coming through the door. there is faith, but there is also confusion. disorientation. fear.

we have appointments in the neurology department at mayo clinic on friday, and are hoping, praying for some kind of explanation, some kind of reason, and then of course, that something can be done… we would appreciate your prayers as well.

“Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” [from 1 corinthians 13]

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we arrived in wisconsin after an intense drive. i headed for the pontoon to take a nap in the july sun. jon and matt hit the dock and crashed for a bit. a couple of young lifeguards laid out on the dock in their matching forest city aquatic center suits. later, as they woke up, they decided to give the sailboat a try. i watched from my vantage point in the pontoon. there was more than enough wind to sail. more challenge to it than they had planned. as they made their way across the lake to the north and turned around and headed back toward the south shore, matt slid off backwards into the water. but he got back on and they glided toward the far banks of Lake 26. the turn once they got there was more difficult and the sail tipped all the way into the water. i watched helplessly from the pontoon. snapped a photo or two for fun.

over the next couple of hours they battled gravity and the wind and the waves. they fought the water’s hold on the sailboat and never did get it back upright without removing the mast. in the process the rudder was dislodged from it’s place. it was taken to a nearby dock and laid on the end. but somehow in the process of getting the boat back to it’s mooring post, the rudder disappeared. there were accusations about where it went, but it remained missing. they searched later that day. and again the next. donned goggles and searched the bottom of the lake. checked on shore. nowhere to be found.

what good is a sailboat without a rudder? this one remained tied to its mooring post. even with the mast back in its place. the centerboard there. the small craft was as the mercy of the wind and waves and it’s fickle whims without the missing rudder. no point in attempting to take her back on the open water.
there have been times i’ve felt rudderless. like everything else i needed was there. the boat, the mast and sails. the wind. the water. the sense of adventure. and yet no substantial sense of guidance. nothing to help me negotiate the forces around me that would toss and turn me wherever they choose. i remember when i was younger we had a pair of bookends around the house. i think mom and dad got them for a wedding gift. they were crafted to look like a great sea-faring vessel. at the base the raised letters spelled out the words, “Jesus, Savior, pilot me.” i remember a children’s song that boasted some of those same words.

much of the time the true rudder of our lives, the one that has the most influence on where we turn and where we do not turn is under the water, so to speak. under the surface.  the most strategic moves in our lives are not those that are decided on the surface. exposed for any onlooker to see. rather, the rudder is down where it has the most leverage to decide our direction. in our hearts, at the core of who we are and Whom we believe in, that is where our direction is decided.

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long-time friends, the shaffers,  came to stay with us over labor day weekend. they left this morning to head back to michigan. it was great to spend time with them again.

so after the white tornado cleaning frenzy on thursday night and friday morning, mare and i fell into a different pace. that of having friends be more of a focus than the list of things needing to be done around our house. for a few days we invest in relationship more than just saying that relationship is worth investing in. not like we don’t invest in relationship…but when people walk into our lives, into our home, the ratio of such investment changes. so there was a lot of food. near-incontinence-inducing laughter.  honest sharing of hearts. eye contact as compared to phone contact. great stuff. really great stuff.

and i noticed this as well; not only did we spend more relational time with our friends, and with our kids, but there was a different kind of intentionality going on between mare and i as well. because on a ‘normal’ weekend we don’t usually spend time on a pontoon tooling around the lake. we don’t often go for bike rides to pilot knob [and if you’re wondering, no, i didn’t ride a bike. i was just in my wheelchair… you know, when people say “that’s how i roll” i usually laugh inside, as most people don’t do a lot of “true rolling”  ..but i digress…] we don’t spend as much time cooking together or sitting around the table long after we’re done eating. some great communication happens after a meal, sitting around a table together. a few body noises may happen as well… i digress again. sorry.

is like the boat on the lake. when you’re going faster, you ride higher on top of the water. when you slow down a bit you settle deeper into your surroundings. you increase the potential to experience things, to experience each other more deeply. it felt like that with mare this weekend. with jon. with maggie. shaffers came to town and slowed us down and we experienced life and each other a little more deeply. so if you can, consider pulling back on the throttle and slowing the pace. even if its just for a little while in the midst of the demands of your weekly schedule. believe me, i know it can feel almost impossible some days. some weeks. but its worth it.

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went to one day of a conference two weeks ago, and honestly, was flooded with such great things to think about… such great things to be challenged by… such great things to be inspired by… it felt like an answer to some of the things i’ve been praying about for a while. so, what does this have to do with “getting naked” ? here are some words from the intro to the book with such a title by one of the speakers, patrick lencioni: [who by the way, was awesome]

“Vulnerability. It is one of the most undervalued and misunderstood of all human qualities. Without the willingness to be vulnerable, we will not build deep and lasting relationships in life. That’s because there is no better way to earn a person’s trust than by putting ourselves in a position of unprotected weakness and demonstrating that we believe they will support us. Yet society encourages us to avoid vulnerability [emphasis mine], to always project strength, confidence, and poise…”

avoid vulnerability…

will not go on an on today about this, even though i could. the busier i am, and the more demand that seems to come my way on a given day or week, the less it seems i am capable or willing to be open and vulnerable in my relationships. even my closest relationships. today, as the weekend comes upon me/us, i want to pay attention to Lencioni’s words in such a way that allow for more honest, open, vulnerable relationship… there are all kinds of fashion statements we can make to cover up our nakedness. to protect. to “project strength, confidence, and poise…” yet those things create distance between, rather than authentic relating. it happens not only with the people we live next to and come in contact with. it also translates into our relationship with God. i am reminded again of Philippians chapter 2, which speaks of Jesus’ ultimate act of becoming vulnerable in order to live out his love for us.

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