The Crucible

cru·ci·ble [kroo-suh-buhl]; noun; 1. a container of metal or refractory material employed for heating substances to high temperatures.

There is a play by Arthur Miller that shares the same name as this post, yet that is as far as my post and the play are alike. I refer to a phenomenon in my life where multiple trials and tribulations coincide, putting me under almost unbearable pressures over (thankfully) short periods of time. I am also thankful that I don't find myself in The Crucible often, yet that refers to history only. It could change at any moment.

Trials are a given in life. When life becomes perfect, I'll assume I'm either in an extended dream state, plugged into a poorly programmed Matrix construct, or enjoying the glories of Heaven. I've never naively assumed that life should have no problems and have reluctantly accepted their presence, yet I do think it is generally abnormal when they pile up.

I've recently spent a short while in The Crucible. You find yourself rethinking decisions you've made and wishing that there was something you could do to reduce the heat. It's a time for second-guessing and irrational thinking. It's a time when you seriously consider major life changes with no more reason than it would allow you to escape the present turmoil. Escape, of course, is a short-term change and fixes nothing, but when you are in The Crucible, you don't care. Emotionally speaking, to me the feeling would resemble someone sitting on your chest, making every breath difficult. All you want is for the pressure to be gone and to breathe one unhindered breath.

In the midst of The Crucible, I look for a quiet place where I can evaluate my circumstances and see them in uncolored light. I strive to find a moment where I can center my life and recalibrate my senses. I remind myself of the central truths that are foundational to me. I remind myself that the present state is temporal. I look for purpose in the midst of the dark cloud. I do any of a number of things sharing the purpose of sweeping away the false notions that begin to fill my thinking.

In the end, I find that The Crucible does to me what it does to more elemental things. Impurities are burned up and I later leave it cleaner than I entered it. I'm not quite pure enough yet that I react favorably to it from the start, leading me to believe that I still have lessons to learn. I just need to become a better student.

 And I will put this third into the fire, and refine them as one refines silver, and test them as gold is tested. They will call upon my name, and I will answer them. I will say, ‘They are my people’; and they will say, ‘The Lord is my God.’”  ~  Zechariah 13:9

Musings on Music, Lofty Dreams, and Responsibility

If you can truthfully say, "Music has played a big part in my life", you will find yourself in the company of most others that have been born in the last 40-50 years. Music is a big part of the American experience, touching the lives of most of us in some way. For some, it is more integral, more essential, more pivotal. For others, it is more or less a soundtrack to our life's story. A song brings back a flood of memories, linking to to a time, an event years ago. Those of us who love music have this in common, yet the soundtrack is as varied as the art form itself is.

Many of those in the smaller subset of music lovers, those for whom music is more pivotal, long to weave music into their daily lives in a bigger way. Young men and a few young women want to join the ranks of music creators and performers, those who are on the cutting edge of that scene to which so many of us are connected. I am one of those and have been since my early teen years. For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to be a musician. I've wanted to perform, to give to others what has meant so much to me for so many years. Yet it seems that adulthood responsibility pushed my musical aspirations aside years ago. You'd think that the passing years would have tempered that desire with reality, but not so. It's as strong now as it has ever been. Reality is there, but I try and ignore it. I am deep into my adult years, almost certainly past the halfway point of my life, so reality is there to tell me my ideas are childish and unrealistic. Yet they remain there, nagging me and disagreeing with everything that seems realistic and sensible.

Some have their dreams tempered by a lack of initiative and/or a lack of talent. When I was in high school, a friend and I were going to start "a band". One Christmas, our parents bought us a bass (him) and an electric guitar (me). I set out to learn what I could teaching myself. I would play all the time, but my playing was mostly without focus and definitely without a more knowledgeable, guiding hand. My friend, on the other hand, didn't practice, didn't learn anything, and didn't even know how to tune his own guitar. When we would get together and "practice", he would noodle around with no real purpose and trying to teach him something was like trying to communicate with a foreigner. He seemed happy in this state, whereas I was frustrated with my own (and his) lack of progress. Other opportunities didn't show up, so my early aspirations withered on the vine. At each stage of my life though, I have retooled the dream to fit that particular stage. I have continued to play the guitar (now the bass, my true love), and have made slow progress. Skill-wise, I find myself where I should have been 30 years ago. I have been, as the saying goes, "all dressed up with no place to go."

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Some weeks ago, I read parts of a book my wife had been reading. It had been written by a young woman back in the 60s, Ann Kiemel, and was titled, "I'm Out to Change My World." I found it quite inspiring. She spoke of hopes and dreams and desires with a confidence that was certain to see them become reality. That kind of thinking makes unlikely things happen, I thought. I began to wonder how such a positive attitude would work for me. If I set lofty goals, then began to work to make them happen as if my efforts were all it would take, would they happen? Ann made me believe they would.
Traditionally speaking, I'm a realist. Not a pessimist, nor an optimist. I look at the environment I'm in, weigh the evidences I can see, factor in unseen variables, then draw a conclusion as to an outcome. Some would say that is slightly pessimistic. It doesn't factor in certain unseen forces and powers. Ann's thinking always factored in the unseen variable of God's power. She always knew that her strengths would bring nothing to pass, but God's limitless power and his boundless means can make anything happen. OK, I thought. I believe God can do all this. My question is will He do all of this for me and my dreams?

This, I feel, is an important question. God's will is not bent by ours. Our prayers do not cause him to shift his purposes. He already knows what we can do, what we will do, and how our lives can bring His kingdom the most glory. For me to think that I can pray hard enough or wish for something hard enough or even work hard enough and it will come to pass is naive. It doesn't take into account God's ultimate purpose for our lives and how that purpose might differ from ours.

It is in our warped human nature to think that it only takes good intentions to please God. We feel that we can make choices that please us, and as long as our intentions are basically good, God is pleased as well. Not true. God will always make the best choice for us. We rarely do. Our choices are poisoned with selfish motives. Apart from aligning ourselves with the will of God, even our best choices and intentions are tainted with this self-centeredness, disguised behind what we try and convince ourselves is a saintly motive.

Psalm 37:4 says, "Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart." We want to believe that "delighting ourselves in the Lord", whatever that means, is all it takes to make our dreams come true. I'm pretty sure that's not what it means. God is not a genie, hanging out in his heavenly bottle or lamp, waiting for us to summon him with our delight in order to make our dreams become reality. I believe this means that delighting ourselves in the Lord changes our desires. It makes us want different things, all of which the Lord is willing to freely give. We no longer will want those things that feed our selfishness. By making the Lord as the source of our delight, we begin to see through the charade where we try and convince ourselves that we want to be rich and famous for no other reason than to be a better witness and example of God's goodness. A better witness, my foot! We want it for ourselves, to feed our selfishness and to elevate ourselves to a position where we are bigger and better than other people. It's hard to be that honest with our inner man. We want to believe that we are better than that and that there is a nobility in what we desire. We trust the opinions of that inner man. He is, after all, our favorite person. Yet, he lies.
And now an example from my life...

On several occasions in this very forum, I've joked about wanting Adam Clayton's job. I've mentioned taking over when he decides to retire. Though these things were mentioned thoroughly in jest, I'm compelled to acknowledge that there is a tiny thread of truth in them. The fact that it is more likely that I would sprout wings and fly that get Adam's job doesn't change the fact that deep in the secret recesses of my heart, I wish it would be true. There is still something in me that wishes that a miraculous turn of events would bring it or something like it to pass. I think about what a great idea this would be. I think about how this position would allow me to proclaim God's name in the public square. I think about the great example I could be to so many people who could really use a good example. I think about how absurd this all sounds.

Luke 16:10 reads: "If you are faithful in little things, you will be faithful in large ones. But if you are dishonest in little things, you won't be honest with greater responsibilities." (New Living Translation) This sheds a lot of light on the flawed thinking I use in my musings. An elevated position or an opportunity to better use certain gifts or abilities doesn't guarantee that we will use them to honor and glorify God. "You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much." Responsibility doesn't spring out of great opportunity. It is born in small opportunities, where it is nourished by small rewards, small gains, and humble circumstances. A mighty oak doesn't rise out of an acorn. It rises out of a smaller oak, which rises out of a sapling, which rises out of an acorn.

So if you haven't been exactly faithful over the small things in your life, give up on your lofty dreams, at least for now. Work on your contentment. Work on being the best you can be where you are right now, whether that be as a CEO or a greeter at Wal-Mart. Delight yourself in God's goodness that is evidenced in your everyday life. When you can do this, you will stop looking for these great but unrealistic opportunities. There's no telling what might happen when the Lord sees you being faithful in the small things, but the sky is the limit.

The Heaviness of Failure

I just spent some time today reading different "inspirational" quotes about failure. There are many perspectives, but most every one addressed the inevitability of failure in this life. Many paraphrased, in one way or another, the notion that simply not succeeding was not failure, but not trying was. Others focused on the learning aspects of failure.

One of the most interesting ones was attributed to Confucius: "To be wrong is nothing unless you continue to remember it."

In general, it seems people need encouragement concerning the failure in their lives. I need this myself on occasion. It's nice to know that your failures are not defining moments. It's nice to know that the chance for success is always right there next to failure and the only way to avoid both is never to try. Other quotes addressed that particular thing--not trying--as the true definition of failure.

Simply not trying doesn't seem to be a fitting definition of failure, or at least is not a practical working definition. We all try and fail and it still seems and feels like failure no matter how you slice it. We all know what failure is. We aim, we miss, we fail. Whatever the reason, whether it be due to poor planning, poor training, superior competition or some unknown factor, we know failure when we feel it. Therefore, although not trying is failure in one regard, trying and missing is also failure, yet it is not the type of failure we should be ashamed of. It is a natural consequence of of life and of trying and striving and attempting to make our lives better. It should be our goal to not view both types of failure the same way.

This being true, then we do make choices and we do make mistakes. Our judgments, assessments and appraisals of life's situations are always imperfect. They are often clouded by bias, ignorance and a selfish refusal to see things as they really are. Even on our best day, when we make the best decisions possible, outside forces act against us and our perfect aim ends up falling short of the target. Perfection is not within our grasp.

Ultimately, we should strive for perfection, even knowing we can never attain it. Then when we fall down, we get up and try again, knowing that there is at least one more path we should avoid in our endeavors. Aiming for perfection while knowing we can never reach it isn't necessarily pointless. Aiming high, you will always do better than not aiming at all. In striving for perfection, we may not be able to reach it, but our best efforts will bring us closer and closer with every attempt. As a musician, you do this. In learning a piece of music, most of us start out with a very imperfect rendering, practicing over and over, getting better with each attempt. Hopefully, eventually, after hundreds of play-thrus, the mistakes disappear or are lessened to an insignificant level.

So failure helps us to move toward perfection, and as long as we don't store up our failures like trophies on a shelf, we can't be crippled by them. Confucius pretty much had it right: "To be wrong is nothing unless you continue to remember it."

The Summer of Biking

Through a random series of thoughts and events, I recently bought a bicycle. I haven't had a working bike in years, so this was a departure in itself. I thought it would be a fun way for my two sons and I to spend some time together doing something active and manly in the outdoors. This desire coincided with a sudden windfall, so I decided to invest the money in a bike.

I first went to a real bike shop in town and quickly knew I was out of my league and out of my price range. These bikes started at $400, which may not be much in the grand scheme of bikes and biking today, but was much more than I could spend. I had also been looking bikes at Academy, most of these being within my price range. Through some honest reflection, I realized that if I insisted in waiting on a nicer, more expensive bike I would probably never get one. This project seemed important enough, so I swallowed my pride and bought a Chinese-made bike (It is made by a company that rhymes with "Duffy"). It was initially apparent that the standard saddle would prove inadequate for my ample caboose, so I upgraded it. I bought other things, too: a rack for the back, tools for a tool kit (one that would satisfy me with its adequacy, not the little Swiss-Army-knife type of tool kit), a CO2 inflator, flat repair items, a lock, and a tool bag to hold all of these essentials on my rack.

The shakedown cruise took place on a camping trip the family took to Lake Ray Roberts. The boys and I spent a good amount of time riding the trails, some improved (concrete), and others more rustic. I liked the bike and continued to try and adjust here and there for a more comfortable and well-functioning ride. We had a lot of fun that weekend, and I realized that I had a mouthful in having adopted this project. I was in pretty poor shape, so the trees swayed to and fro with my every breath and wheeze. This, I hoped, would improve.


A couple of weeks after this trip, the boys and I went to Lake Mineral Wells State Park for a camping/biking trip. The LMWSP Trailway runs from downtown Mineral Wells to Weatherford, some 20 miles away. The trailway is an old railway bed, so longer uphill grades and shallow curves were the norm. We rode for about 3 hours, covering a distance of around 8 miles when we decided to stop for lunch and to turn around for the return trip. This is a great, fatiguing bike trip. Round trip would be a bit much for all but the most advanced and in-shape of bikers, but most of the trail is remote and winds through farming land and wilderness. It is all crushed limestone, which is more resistant than concrete or asphalt, but on the whole it is a great ride. Take lots of water and/or Gatorade. You'll be glad you did.

One evening within the last week, I rode back-and-forth down a 3.5 mile stretch of the Trinity Trails, an improved path along the Trinity River in Fort Worth. The Trinity Trails is a rather extensive network that follows the different forks that make up the Trinity within the confines of Fort Worth. I biked from University to Bryant Irvin and back, about 7 miles round trip. It was a nice ride also. On this day, the paths were populated with runners, walkers, other bikers and on one occasion, a couple skating and pushing a stroller. The bikers were mostly the serious types:  expensive bikes, the strange biking apparel, helmets and other things that communicate, "I'm more serious about biking than you, so get out of my way!" However, there were a few that were more in line with the boys and I: out for fun, sun and perhaps a little fitness.

The serious bikers are also much faster than my boys and I are. Our top speed could be classified as "Leisurely". These guys were usually passing us at what I would call "Testing the Laws of Physics" speed. I believe I usually heard a sneer as they passed, though I could have mistaken the sound of the rushing wind for the sound of derision. I also could not see when they rolled their eyes at us--they were always wearing some type of trendy sunglasses, most of this eyewear costing more than my entire bike. In spite of all the differences, I think we can coexist. We need to cultivate the Biker Wave thing like the motorcyclists do: you wave at a passing motorcyclist, no matter what they're riding, be it Harley, BMW or a rice burner, crotch rocket or cruiser. Us bikers need that kind of esprit de corps.
The Summer of Biking is just beginning. Another road trip is in the works, and perhaps a few more local outings on the Trinity Trails. In about a month, I'm planning on taking us to Lake Somerville to ride their bike paths. We'll camp a couple of nights there and see the sights from the seat of our two-wheelers. I'm also hoping to lure my brother and another friend and his son to Somerville for certain biking adventures. Who the heck knows! I may just loose a few pounds and end up in better shape because of this. As far as the boys and I are concerned, it's already a success.

The Greatness of a Normal Life

My Uncle Richard died last Saturday. The fifth of my mother's seven brothers, he was easily my favorite uncle (Tell any of my surviving uncles this and I'll deny it and claim my weblog was hacked). Uncle Richard was a great man, and I will miss him greatly.

I grew up closer to Uncle Richard than I was to my other uncles. A goodly portion of my childhood was spent in the company of my cousin, Mark, who was Uncle Richard's only son. My closeness with Mark in those days brought me in frequent contact with Uncle Richard. As cousins, our times together were not always spent pursuing noble tasks, and I remember our foolishness and how it would occasionally raise Uncle Richard's hackles. The waters of time have run over these rough places though, and some 40 years later, it seems smoother and less coarse than it may have actually been.

The Uncle Richard I remember best is the one of my adult years. Somewhere between then and now, he came to know his Maker in an intimate way. Every time I was in town and would stop by and see him, he would talk about how good the Lord had been to him. Even later, when his lung cancer had zapped him of much of his vitality, he was always positive and upbeat, exuding a firm and true faith in the God that had loved him and had forgiven him.

Not only did he love his Lord; he loved his family, too. He loved my Aunt Brenda faithfully for the 51 years that they were married. He loved his children, Renee and Mark. He loved their children and their children's children. He loved his brothers and their families, his only sister and her family (That is where I come in). He loved my stepfather, which was a task that I found nearly impossible myself. He loved everyone, and his love was sincere, without a smidgen of falseness.

My infrequent trips back home for visits would, whenever possible, include a stop at Uncle Richard and Aunt Brenda's house. I was always welcome and was always offered a cup of coffee. These visits would always be among the high points of every trip. Those times when I was unable to stop by, for whatever reason, were always accompanied by regret at not having done so.

My favorite times with Uncle Richard were talking about the one passion we shared: woodworking. We would wander around his shop or he would show me his projects scattered around his home. On July 2, 2007 at 1:40pm, I took the above picture as we toured his shop. I had my camera and asked that he pose for a picture there in the midst of his domain. He gladly obliged. His arms rest atop a cedar chest that he was in the process of finishing.

Our most recent visit was in early August of last year, about 8 months ago. We were in town for my father's 70th birthday and I stopped by for a visit. It would be the last time I saw him. We just sat in his living room and talked. Eventually, Aunt Brenda returned from her errand-running and joined the conversation. That's a great memory of time spent with one of my favorite people.
 
It was Uncle Richard that called me to tell me that my mother had died. I remember his soft, tender voice, softened even more by his own heartfelt tears. It was Uncle Richard that called to tell me that my stepfather had died, and he did it with a tenderness and respect that I found absent in my own heart.

Uncle Richard loved God's creation. He loved gardening. He loved the outdoors. He loved the mountains. He would tell me about his trips, often marveling again and again at how beautiful this place or that place was. I can only imagine the joy he is now experiencing, walking around the magnum opus that God has created in eternity for his faithful ones.

Uncle Richard's life would not be considered great by the standards of this world, but he was a great man. He took the plain and ordinary things of his life and handled them with an extraordinary love and care. He saw God's hand in these simple things and accorded them the respect they deserved, having been divinely touched. He was an example of what true greatness is, and that it is not found in great deeds but in humble deeds done with great love.

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With little of substance to go on, I like to let my imagination run wild when I think about Heaven. I love imagining people walking in the gates of the Celestial City, beholding for the first time the unimaginable glories of God's home.

I imagine there at the end, he drew that last breath, his lungs refusing to draw another. Then, with a renewed strength, he drew another breath, yet he knew this breath was different. The air was...perfect. It filled him with an energy that made him believe his old body had been replaced with a new one. When he opened his eyes, he saw a hand reaching out--a hand with a wound that never healed. He grabbed it and was lifted to his feet to find himself standing at the gates of New Jerusalem.

A cheer goes up as he enters the gates, and the residents of this great and glorious community swarm around him to greet him and welcome him. At the front of the line are those he has loved that have gone before him. Mom is there. She gives him a long hug and says, "Richard: It's as good as you have imagined, and better! You won't believe it! You just won't believe it!"

Not long from then, the call will go up that a new arrival is at the gates. It will be one of us, and he'll be there with that big, loving smile on his face, pushing his way to the front of that line of greeters, waiting for the go-ahead to rush the gates.

Uncle Richard: Enjoy your reward, good and faithful servant. Thank you for your example. Thank you for being a mirror in which we can see God's love reflected. We love you and will see you soon. Just not soon enough.

That's Not the Name, Folks...

I read an article today about how showbiz folks, from Lady Gaga to Eminem to Snoop Dogg to Diddy/P-Diddy/Sean Combs/(enter current name here), have invoked the name of God, giving him the nod for their fame, in some cases giving him credit, and in other cases, professing belief that God had a purpose for their fame.

Granted, their acknowledgement of their creator is shallow at best, and is most likely insincere and rooted in an ignorance of who God is and what he expects of us. There is a tendency among all of us to squeeze and mold God into a shape we like, as if he were made of Play-Doh. We formulate our ideals based on whims and fancies. Notions are planted in our heads over a lifetime by people with the same shallow perception of God, and our own perceptions are often patchwork quilts of the parts of these ideas we like, mainly because they don't offend us or make us uncomfortable about who we are.

It's easy for these people to invoke the name of God. People have no problem calling Him by name, except for a few rebellious folks out there whose rejection of the Creator is very active. Relatively speaking, people don't have a problem believing in God; they just have a problem submitting to Him. There is often a general skepticism of the Bible and how authoritative it is, or some other rejection of whatever absolutes might pin them down in what they consider unfriendly territory. In the absence of an absolute standard, they construct one out of Lego blocks. Some have built faith structures that might look impressive in a monochromatic world, but in reality the colors are mismatched and it looks just like it is: a patched together mess of incongruous parts.

A refusal to acknowledge the Bible as authoritative or an ignorance of what it says guarantees that many will absolutely miss one of the most important messages the Bible has to share, namely this:

 ⁵ In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus:

 ⁶ Who, being in very nature God,
   did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage;
⁷ rather, he made himself nothing
   by taking the very nature of a servant,
   being made in human likeness.
⁸ And being found in appearance as a man,
   he humbled himself
   by becoming obedient to death—
      even death on a cross!

 ⁹ Therefore God exalted him to the highest place
   and gave him the name that is above every name,
¹⁰ that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
   in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
¹¹ and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord,
   to the glory of God the Father.

(Philippians 2, emphasis mine)

Reflecting on this, you might be able to conclude what I have: people have a much harder time calling the name of Christ and professing their allegiance to Him than they do to God. This is too bad, because it is Christ's name that is the highest and greatest and most worthy of worship and praise. God the Father has said so Himself.

I don't believe it bothers God when his name is maligned as much as it does when the name of His Son is. God the Father decreed that it be this way--that Jesus's name be the one above every other name. So many people just don't understand that God prefers obedience to half-hearted worship or fleeting mention in an acceptance speech or liner notes. Obedience, in particular, to His command to place the name of Christ in the place of utmost reverence and worship.

There's no need to fret though, those of you who are believers and sorrow at the lack of faith that surrounds us. One day everyone will believe, and that's not a Universalist proclamation. Remember:

Every knee will bow...every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

Unfortunately, for most people it will be too little and too late to make any difference for eternity.

Chronic Imperfection

My daughter brought home a book entitled, "Messy Spirituality". The subtitle summed it all up: "God's Annoying Love for Imperfect People." When I saw this sitting on the couch, when I saw the title, I knew I had to read it. I am one of those imperfect people.

It seems that all my efforts to reform myself, to make myself more perfect, are doomed to fall short of the goal. Failure is assumed. When you live such a defeated life, you can turn in a couple of directions. You can consider yourself as a perpetual loser, always falling short of the mark, never being good enough at anything you do, never setting lofty goals or having dreams or aiming high. The other option is to understand and work within your failure, not letting it disable you. I choose the latter.

Striving for perfection seems to require a healthy dose of denial. In spite of our successes, we are all failures in one regard or another. Success in one area doesn't negate failure in other areas, and even the most perfect of lives is built around a core of moral failure. We are all sinners. We are all losers (cue up Beck). It's just that some of us don't see it or some of us refuse to acknowledge it.

I see it. I see my failures. I'll never be the kind of Christian I want to be. I'll never be able to chat up theology with the best and the brightest. I seriously doubt that I'll ever be able to have a consistent time of personal Bible study. I'll probably never have the rich prayer life I desire. I try, again and again, and I just can't do it. That doesn't mean I give up. I keep trying. More than likely, I'll keep failing.

My efforts center on certain realizations. First is realizing who I am. Second is realizing who God is.

I am a sinner. Being forgiven doesn't mean I've been recast in a perfect, flawless mold. The "new man" is not of flesh and bone in that way. I still have the same old flesh and bones. I still have a heart with some dark, inhospitable corners. It's like the old man took on a roommate, the new man, and the two are incompatible in every way. The new man tries to influence the old man to better himself and the old man does change in small ways, yet his core remains unpleasant and is prone to temper tantrums, cuss fits, vile thoughts and other unpleasantness that makes the new man not want to invite friends over.

The attitude of an optimist comes in handy here. I must look at the glass as half full. What keeps me thinking optimistic thoughts is that I know I serve a God who loves me in spite of my failures. He doesn't want me to fail, nor does he want me to give up striving for perfection. I know that when I fail, I can return home and He'll meet me at the door. He won't give me the cold shoulder. He won't change the locks. He gives me a hug and says, "Hey, there! Come on in and let's talk about your day." I'm ashamed at first. After all, I can live through a whole day without thinking about Him. Yet here He is, and it's like He couldn't wait for me to get home. I come in, we talk, and I always leave our conversations wanting to be better, somehow believing that perfection is within my grasp.