North Carolina

I love this state.  I like the people here.  I like the sports teams.  In fact, since we’ve been here about a week, I have been on the prowl for North Carolina sports paraphernalia.  When you are temporarily living in a place known as “God’s country”, you take in as much of it in as you can in as many ways as you can.  Everything about the place is a legendary, almost ”otherly” feeling, so I’ve been inclined to buy up on stuff that represents its story and take it with me wherever we go next.

Why North Carolina?  For one, the beaches are the best on the mainland.  Not better than Hawaii’s shores, but close.  And the mountains.  Yes, other states have mountains, but no other state has mountains along with the best beaches , so therefore NC’s mountains  come with a better package.  Third, there is the charm of the people.  If you moved here from somewhere else, you know exactly what I mean.  If you have lived here your whole life, you might not get it, but then again, you don’t have to.  As you are among them, and you probably have the charm yourself.

Finally, it doesn’t hurt that we have the  greatest athletic department  known as the Tarheels working its magic here.

The Wii

If I were to write a memoir about my six month sabbatical from my consulting job, one chapter would be titled birthday.  And the chapter’s content would bubble up into the subject of a certain birthday present–that being, the Wii.  My nephew got one of these for his 15th birthday.  Since then, I have spent many hours playing various sports and a Star Wars game with my niece and him.  My favorite is bowling, although my niece has my number on that having beaten me 8 out of 10 games.  If anything, the best thing about the Wii is that it is a great source of exercise and an excellent alternative to the games that keep people staring motionless at a handheld or much larger television screen.  The idea did travel through my brain to buy one myself, but then I remembered how hooked on it I was, and that the hook would get deeper in me if one lived in my own place.  I guess that is one addiction I am going to pass up on.

favorite books

One of my favorite questions to ask others is: what are your 3 favorite books? Rarely do I ever get around to reading any of the books which are in their answers, but I did actually read one recently that was very good.  So for what it’s worth, I thought I would take a moment to note my favorite books in a few different genres.

Favorite Biography:  Abandoned to God, by David McCasland
Favorite Memoir:  A tie between A Walk in the Woods, by Bill Bryson and Through Painted Deserts, by Donald Miller
Favorite Fiction:  A tie between Wicked, by Gregory Maguire and The Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkien
Favorite book on Christianity:  Ruthless Trust, by Brennan Manning

theology in the making

I am reading a book that is making some great points related to theology formation.  It says lots of things I’ve thought before, but for the first time (actually second), I am learning that my theology is not perfect and has plenty of room to grow into something more.  The author himself is talking about how his own theology changed after years of teaching theology at seminary and pastoring.   His change happened due to a conversation with a fellow Christian leader.  Usually, he was able to use Scripture to support his beliefs.  Usually, he would say something that could not be refuted.  This time, he did not have the last word.  The other person did.

Greatly challenged, he retreated to the Scriptures.  His goal was to approach them objectively.  He was willing to change his mind on particular theological points if Scripture seemed to validate the points the other guy was making.  Days and nights later, his theology was changed.  His ministry changed too.  And the book he has written because he changed, is changing me.

Like I said, this guy was a smart seminary teacher and influential pastor.  He was the co-founder of the church he was helping pastor, and it had grown into a good-sized congregation.  He knew the Scriptures well.  Adding all this together, how could he have been so wrong when it came to certain pieces of his theology?  Simple.  As he puts it, his Bible reading and practice of the Christian faith were a subjective practice.  When he read the Bible, he took what he read and fit it into his own brand of faith.  He was boxed in.  In a bubble.  Clinging to a man-made concoction of Christianity and not the real thing.  Following bits and pieces of Jesus, but not the complete Son of God.

After this man’s renewal (not conversion), he started to see the same shortcomings in others.  When asked to defend particular points of faith, he noted some people could not back their faith and theology up with the use of Scripture.  These people were full of cliches, pitches, and trains of thought, but could not make a very good scriptural presentation on the reason for their Christan spirituality.  His conclusion was that many Christians are walking around, coming in and out of churches, holding on to a subjective form of Christian faith, and not growing.  They believe they’ve got it all figured out, and the Bible supports their Christian faith completely – and every variance to their own is flawed.  I’ve thought this way before, and this book is reminding me of the dangers of using the Bible to support my beliefs rather than allowing the Bible to be my belief.

Why do some people cling to pieces of belief that they have never searched the Scriptures to support?  Why aren’t they interested in objectively searching the Scriptures in order to grow?  According to this author, it is because some people inherited their doctrines of faith from a relative, a teacher, a television preacher, or someone else.  These doctrines were a part of the culture they grew up in, or the church they first started attending after they converted to Christianity.  Their conversion, while real, was followed by the creation of an idol.  They never enter into a full relationship with Jesus and get to know Him as the only Lord.  Sure, they say a few prayers for what they need from Jesus, but most of their beliefs about Jesus rest on what others have said about Jesus and the Bible.  Their beliefs have become an idol, because they worship their beliefs more than they do the real Jesus.    They have fashioned a different Jesus, a different path regarding what it means to follow Jesus.  They do quote  a few Scriptures; Scriptures that make them feel comfortable with their idols.  They are not growing.   The real Jesus desires them.  He desires for them to renounce their religion and call Him God, Lord.   The real Jesus is merciful and continues to love them, inviting them into deeper fellowship.

Again,  I have struggled with religious idolatry and have discovered idols in my heart on a time or two.  I want Jesus, the real thing.  I want to run to God’s word faster than I do when my favorite Christian authors have released a new thought.  I want to exit the boxes I have created to make me feel comfortable.  I want to be able to look an atheist in the eye, over a cup of coffee, and thoughtfully and prayerfully reference the story of the Bible as proof for the existence of a creator, savior, healer, and Father.  I want to be in awe of the Bible.  I want to be in awe of this great salvation God has given.  I want to follow Jesus.

swinging

The three of us are still spending time at my parents’ house.  Today, there were two projects occurring, one outdoors and one inside.  My parents spent several hours doctoring some plants in their rock garden.  Indoors, Shannon was hard at the EBay business.  Beyond the borders of those projects, was Silas and me.  We had father and son time.  We sat outside, on the back-porch swing, which is one of his favorite places of motion.  He loves to be in motion and loves to be outdoors, so the swing is right up his alley.  We were on the swing for a good 90 minutes, and half of the time he spent sub-consciously tucked away in that dream world of his.

Silas likes the outdoors so much we sometimes use it as a calming therapy if he is in a crying fit.  There is something about the breeze brushing up against him, the sound of the birds in flight and on limbs, the natural light enveloping him.  The whole experience gives him much more than oxygen.  This, though, would make sense.  Silas means “secure one,” but also extends to mean “of the forrest.” Perhaps, some Saturday in the future, my son will be playing in a tree-house, or confidently teaching a friend how to build one.

my editor has spoken

I got the manuscript back from my editor.  His remarks total 7 pages.  While he is mostly generous to the work, he still found many opportunities to recommend changes.  I was expecting this, which was why I invited him to join the project and why I asked him to pick my manuscript apart.  Some things I will not change, but 60-70% of what he has suggested will be massaged into the work.

I have already sailed from the dock of what was the manuscript and began the orchestration of new content.  I have formulated a brand new chapter, of which I hope to begin its writing sometime next week.  To be so close to the finish line is exciting, but sometimes daunting.  Now I am in the unknown, delving into ideas I was not originally thinking through or involving with the rest of the outline.  Now I am having to remove thoughts I thought were brilliant and the editor congratulated, but don’t fit the overall body of work.  In all this, I am learning that book editing can humble and challenge in the same ways that life editing can.

road trip: the conclusion

I am struggling to keep my eyes open.  It is after 10pm, and at this point, my body has rested only 2 hours over a 38 hour period.  The GPS tells me I should arrive at my destination by 11, but I am doubting I can do it.  But I can’t stop now.  I’ve come too far and have so much more to do over the next few days, including catching a flight back to Memphis tomorrow.  I have no choice.  I am using every muscle in my body to keep my weak eyes from surrendering.  I try everything.  I drink the watered down ice from a soda I worked on a couple of hours earlier.  I call Shannon.  I call her again.  I call my parents.  I give myself a motivational speech, telling myself to stay focused on the goal of the moment and then the rest that is supposed to happen will happen sequentially.   All this is not taking the tired away, but it is keeping me afloat.

I am so sleepy I am beginning to see black objects scattered over my vision.  The images are coming and going, like apparitions.  My right tires are crossing over to the shoulder more and more, and I am now on a back road highway, and the lanes have slimmed down.  Thankfully, very few cars are around, and my margin of error has borrowed the other lane on my side of the road.  I am weaving.

But I make it.  I arrive at my parents’ house.  They are kindly allowing me to park our stuff in their garage until my next assignment begins.  My dad comes out and encourages me to leave the stuff in the truck until the morning.  To do that would mean a failed goal, which was to have the truck unloaded before I went to bed.

I needed a few minutes to think about it, so I went in and sat down to eat a home-cooked meal my mom had kept warm for me.  Fried chicken, green beans, sweet potatoes, and apple pie for dessert.  This is my favorite meal, and my wonderful mom would have stayed up past 12, I am sure, to serve me this and watch me eat it.  My parents are the best.  They remind me of the father in Jesus’ parable of the prodigal son.  They always cheer when I come back home, always hug me, always give me their best.  The house is mine.    Their love is never used up.  It multiplies.  I can finally understand why they do it.  I am a dad, and everything I am and own is for my son.  He gets it all, multiplied.

Unfortunately, I can’t eat the apple pie.  I am too tired.  I think my stomach is even tired, unable to eat, wanting me to lay it and the rest of my body down for many hours.

I go to bed.

road trip, part 5

Things do happen for a reason.

The mechanic finished up his job, called everything in to the rental place, and before I got in and pulled away, we talked about business and what it means to be an entrepreneur.  He said he was one, and I told him I wanted to hear the entrepreneur on the radio preaching fire and brimstone the next time I passed through this area in a moving truck.

I flew out of the garage.  On the highway, I drove uncharacteristically fast.  Like a madman on wheels, with the wind behind me giving extra strength to my mission to make up for lost time,  I was cruising past just about everybody.  Many passed cars later, I slowed down and moved into the right lane.  I gave up driving like those that I usually get upset with who put everyone else’s safety and promise for long life at risk with their selfish and reckless maneuvering.

Soon I stopped to fill up the truck and my stomach.  I went back to McDonald’s for lunch and more good coffee.  Another long line.  I could tell that some local church had just let out and most of the families who congregated there decided to re-gather here.  This McDonald’s sported one of those large, indoor play areas, and I think that explained their presence.  I got mine to go.

I finished lunch only a few minutes off the exit.  I sipped coffee for 3o minutes, listening to radio music and Tennessee- accented sermons.

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I love mountains.  I stopped at a rest stop just as I was about to begin the weave through those in east Tennessee and western Carolina.   I wished I could wander in the woods and up one of those mountains.   But it was back to the road and the move.  The mountains are not going anywhere, anytime soon.  God’s artwork will never, ever cease to reveal his glory.

*********************

At around 5:30,  North Carolina played Oklahoma for a trip to the final four.  I would’ve rather been in front of a large screen to see this, but I guess getting to listen to it helped pass the time.  The poor steering wheel.  I am an excitable fan, and I have to take out my excitement and disappointment on something.  North Carolina wins.  My trip wins…

road trip, part 4

I don’t think he was much interested in hearing my theology on Jesus, backsliding, and preaching.  He was not done.  His words jumped over mine.  He talked about how Christians right down the road and way up the highway told him he was a hypocrite, and hypocrites can’t preach.  I don’t know the definition he applied to the term hypocrite, but he did mention how smoking, drinking, and cursing were sins, and that he did these things.  He did not list anything else, but he did mention how much he loved his wife and daughter.  I thought love was the central command of the New Testament, and since he loved, did he not have something to preach about?  There were probably Christians in that fold he mentioned that maybe didn’t curse, smoke, or drink, but failed at loving those closest to them.  Were they more Christian than this guy?   Were they more qualified to preach?  Really, what does it mean to be a hypocrite?

But I kept having flashbacks to those thrillers I have seen in front of the big screen.  He threw that tire around like it was a frisbee.  I kept wanting to say, Hey, take it easy on my tire, but I didn’t dare, fearing that it might trigger the garage door to close again and all the lights to go out, and thriller-sounding theme music to sound out of a salvaged boom box.

I don’t get all these different kinds of churches.  My thought is we are all washed in the same color blood. I nodded.  And there is only one way to get there, you know. I nod.   So how is the tire looking?, I ask.  Oh, I can fix this.

Great!  Hey, I have to make a call.

I walk around to the other side of the truck and give Shannon a ring.  She doesn’t answer.  I fake the conversation, talking really loud, wanting him to get re-focused on the tire.  It works.  I fake it for three minutes until Shannon rings back.   I tell her I am fine, the truck is about fine, and I should be on the open road again.

Ending the conversation, I walk back around into the next chapter of the story.  The tire is leaning against the side of the truck and he is going through his stash of tools again.  Is it fixed?, I ask.  Yep.  A rush of relief comes over me.  I am real close to getting back into my schedule and finishing the trip I have started.  But for the first time, something about this interruption feels peaceful, purposeful, like it may have been staged.  It hits me that I have not thought any more about the disturbing encounter that was mine earlier in the morning.  The flat tire, the McDonald’s, the time in this garage with a Tennessee mechanic, all of it was ok, all a really good deal…            

road trip, part 3

The operator told me he had Mr. Fix-it on the line and he wanted to bring him in on our conversation and allow for a three-way call.  We exchanged greetings, and Mr. Fix-it asked me to confirm my location so that he could get where I was – ASAP.  So much for 40 minutes, which as I said, would have taken a customer service miracle to begin with and was not within my barrel of expectations.  I told him where I was, describing other landmarks around the McDonald’s.  Thankfully, I am still surprisingly calm, glad that I am stuck in a parking lot and not on the side of the highway.  Things could be worse, and hopefully, they will be much better soon.

I called Shannon again and gave her the update.  I then thought about pulling out one of my books and get some reading in, but I was not in the mood.  So I sat there and thought about various things.  And then, he arrived.

I got out and walked around to the other side.  He was already out and sizing up the situation.  He told me he was going to put in enough air in the tire so I could follow him to his shop.  He pointed as he talked, writing the directions in the air.  He also told me that since I looked like a trustworthy fellow, he would be willing for me to stay in his garage with my truck while he drove to a tire store and picked up a replacement.  It is always good to know you have that kind of look and make good first impressions on people.  However, this reaction concerned me.  I have watched enough horror movies to ascertain that being locked up in some garage, in the middle of nowhere, is not the ideal template for security.  But this was my lot and I had to go with it.

We got to the garage, and the plot thickened.  The tire could be salvaged.  No loneliness in an unfamiliar Tennessee garage.  But it was still an unfamiliar garage, still in the middle of my nowhere, this guy starting to smoke with no fresh air within my reach.

He also started telling stories.  He talked of serving in the military, his years behind bars, meeting Jesus, hearing Jesus call him to become a preacher, getting out of prison and backsliding,  thinking about becoming a preacher while living as a backslider, how much he liked fire and brimstone sermons on the radio, and his thoughts on parenting.  Finally, after a few smokes, he opens the garage back up to allow fresh breaths of air.  By now I am realizing his talking and my listening would delay my trip even more.  I embraced the situation, dove in to conversation and thanked him for his service in the military and responded to his points about backsliding and Jesus.  I told him he should just start preaching and stop overthinking everything…