Things I Didn't Know About Life with Polio

I didn’t know that, though Polio’s aftermath would rule me for most of my life, I would come to the understanding that it produced in me worthwhile things that I would not trade for anything—even for two strong legs.

I didn’t know that the outward weaknesses I struggled with throughout childhood could turn around to become profound inward strengths in adulthood.

I didn’t know that the adversities I fought so fiercely to avoid could, in the end, provide the missing pieces that would make me complete and whole.

I didn’t know that when he proclaimed, “I have no place to lay my head”, Jesus wasn’t making a self-pitied plea for help, but making a statement about priorities and giving me an open invitation.

I didn’t know that certain disappointments and perceived dead ends of life have actually been orchestrated as diversionary protection from my stubborn presumptuousness.

I didn’t know that the wisdom of heaven would purposefully trounce my earthly apathy and through me accomplish things of great value despite my wishes to forfeit.

I didn’t know that when he says, “Follow me”, that Jesus really means follow him, no matter where he may lead.

I didn’t know that the hardship of Polio was really not the end of all things for me, just merely the beginning of a lifetime of discovery.

I didn’t know these things then, but I know them now.

A Letter to Somebody

Dear Somebody,

I wanted to let you know that I used to be a “somebody”. Not that being a “somebody” was the number one goal in my life. In the beginning, I never really considered being a “somebody” as a career path. I used to experienced real fulfillment and purpose by serving God’s people and my eagerness to help out eventually opened a few doors for me.

Over time, I became a “somebody”. It seemed to have had something to do with my ability to lead worship, even though I’ve always led worship more out of the love of doing it than the potential of becoming a "somebody" through it. Early on I would have led worship for the joy alone. But a true “somebody” surely would pursue the more important “ministry” of worship. And a real “somebody” certainly would answer the call to bless admirers with his God-given worship talents—that’s what a real “somebody” would do.

A little while back, I officially became a “nobody”. Don’t misunderstand me; I did not intend to become a “nobody”. It sort of chased me down and I was eventually overcome by “nobody-ness” against my will. Strangely enough, I don’t mind it at all now. It feels kind of cool to be free. I'm getting back to feeling the way I used to feel before I became a “somebody”. Mind you, it was nice to be a “somebody” for a while, but it sure took a lot of ridiculous pretense and politics to try to remain a “somebody”. You know what I mean? It just didn't seem right to me, near the end. Anyway, I found out down the line that being a “somebody” did not necessarily guarantee me any more happiness or any more peace of mind. 

So, I think I’m a lot better off just being a “nobody”, and letting God continually create me into whatever, and whoever, he wants me to be. I think I’ll be a lot happier this way. And nobody knows it more than me.

Sincerely,
Nobody

Rich and Famous

Others were tortured and refused to be released, so that they might gain a better resurrection. Some faced jeers and flogging, while still others were chained and put in prison. They were stoned; they were sawed in two; they were put to death by the sword. They went about in sheepskins and goatskins, destitute, persecuted and mistreated— the world was not worthy of them. They wandered in deserts and mountains, and in caves and holes in the ground.

These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised. God had planned something better for us so that only together with us would they be made perfect. (Hebrews 11:36-40)

This passage, from Hebrews 11, contains the most incredible statement one could make about another person—the world was not worthy of them! What an amazing epitaph! I cannot imagine any other commemoration being greater or more inspiring. But what made these pathetically marginalized people worthy of such a great mark of respect? None of them were pastors of mega-churches, or authors of best-selling books, or voted among the sexiest worship leaders.

They were all applauded, in the heavens, for their enduring faith in the shadow of insurmountable odds. Their profound acts of faith positioned them head and shoulders above the rest of us. They must have known about something otherworldly that propelled them beyond concern over their very lives. What sort of crazy ambition would it take for me to even consider their path? And would I contemplate such a path, if offered an alternate route? It’s sobering to think about what I would or would not do.

Then again, maybe its not so much about willfully choosing such a path, as it is about the willingness and resolve to carry through when the path chooses me. If so, I stand a whisper of a chance.

Don't Call-Off the Jam

Today I was talking to a friend about how we loved to watch Roller Derby when we were little kids. We reminisced about sitting in front of the television, with family, cheering on our team the Los Angeles Thunderbirds.

For those who were not fans of the “sport”, the rules were simply to roller-skate around an oval track as you try to overcome, beat on, and surpass the opposing team to accrue points. All points could only be attained during the “jam”, the term used for the active attempt to score. At times, skaters would actually “call-off” the jam when the threat of elbows and fists to the head seemed too severe. The fun part of Roller Derby was that most of the action seemed to take place off the field of play, as benched players would resort to treachery to disable the opponent and thus win the match. The “good-guys”, of course, never had to resort to cheating to win.

Believe it or not, Roller Derby made for some exciting Tuesday nights.

If I were completely honest, I would admit that at times I am tempted to call-off the jam. Some days, like today, I feel as if I’m getting beat on. Some days, like today, life seems to be going in circles. All I see in front of me is the intimidating presence of my foe, and trying to get past the opposition only means more vicious blows to come.

The Roller Derby illustration will never be accused of being too poetically profound. But at times, neither will life.

Don’t give up, don’t call-off the jam.

The Blue-Collar Journey

hack  | hak | 

noun

an amateur proficient enough to fake it most of the time.

I am a total hack. My life’s M.O. is very simple: slug it out, listen intently, then slug it out some more until I begin to sense it coming together—whatever "it" may be at the moment. I am not uniquely gifted nor am I extraordinarily intelligent. Characteristically, it takes me a lot of time and effort to acquire average ability at anything.

I've given plenty of energy to gleaning the rudiments of the guitar so that I can feign journeyman-ship in certain circles. I've had enough history being "out-of-time" and "out-of-tune" to know when to make the adjustments. And, I have arrived at a place where I can actually pull-off a good performance due to years of failing at it—the way a good hack does.

In the same way, when I sit down to write, I am dependent on my hack sensibilities to help me formulate and convey the spirit of things with clarity and creativity. But it takes struggle and perseverance for me to catch those currents and ride on them rightly. For me the timing, ebb, and flow of writing is a continual road of hacking through trial and error.

Sometimes I grow weary of being such a hack.  I’d love it if a few things in life came easy.

But I’m not so sure that life is set up to be a cakewalk—at least that’s been my experience. I’ve spent years attempting to hear the subtle groaning of the Spirit regarding certain issues of life and I still don’t fully get it. So, I am a total hack when it comes to living a spirit-filled life as well.

I believe God is cheering for the hacks, though. I think he knows that hacks have to commit to trying harder than the gifted, the talented, or the privileged and has the grace to reside in the effort. God’s residence in my effort means I can enjoy the presence of the Spirit while I struggle with the flesh.

Why does God cheer for the hacks? I think it’s because he does not intend for us to remain hacks forever. That was his intention all along. There is a time and a purpose that remains hidden for the moment. But one day, time will reveal the purpose—the moment of transformation from the hack into a person full of faith, wisdom, and discernment.  It will be a time through which we won’t have to try to fake our way.

Still, for now, it’s all about the blue-collar journey.

Are You A Surfer?

Some time ago I found myself sitting in a church service. I am not a “regular” attendee of this church, only an infrequent visitor. During the worship portion of the service they engage in what is called the meet-and-greet. The meet-and-greet is the part where you are obligated to turn and shake hands with strangers seated around you in an attempt to remedy the discomfort of unfamiliarity. Moments like these have always seemed a bit strange to me but this Sunday morning was especially interesting. As I turned around to find someone to “meet”, I caught the eyes of a young woman. I decided to forge past the awkwardness of the moment and to try to actually “greet” her. As I extended my hand, and before I had the chance to say anything, the young woman blurted out, “Are you a surfer?”

My first thought was, Huh?

My second thought was, maybe this was all a part of the meet-and-greet game—kind of like 20 questions, only with way fewer questions.

My third thought was, maybe I appear to her like someone who enjoys certain water sports.

My fourth thought was, “name’s Glen, how you doin’ today?”

My last thought was, I don't really know what people see when they look at me, but I sure would like to appear more like Jesus. And that's the gnarly truth, dude.

Another Year Older

Today is my birthday. I don’t feel like I’m 53 years old—whatever that means. I’ve never been 53 before, so I can’t say I’m an expert on what it should or shouldn’t feel like. When I was a kid, though, I thought being 50 was pretty close to the end of life. I mean, not even my dad was that old! All I knew about being 50 was that it was twice as old as 25 and halfway to 100.

People who were over fifty years old were a big mystery to me. I thought they existed in a faraway-unknown-region of the world—a place where little kids were never heard from again if they mistakenly wandered into it. I was under the impression that folks from there spoke a different language than “normal” people because I always had a hard time understanding anything they said.

Now that I’m aged well into the faraway-unknown-region I realize that the perceptions I had as a child were right!

There really is a lot of the strange and the unknown for people who live in this stage of life. For the first time, more of life seems to be behind us rather than ahead of us, which can make us ill at ease. We’re confronted with our bodies going through even more drastic changes while our minds take more and more time off. We have learned to use a different vocabulary including words like deficiency, colonoscopy, and prostate.

But there are certainly many wonderful things about being “older” that I never thought I would embrace so readily:

I don’t have to keep trying to be cool anymore.

I don’t have to prove that I can lift big and heavy things—which allows me to get a free pass on being obligated to help people move.

I don’t have to pretend to be relevant or influential anymore.

I can smile at a complete stranger (of the opposite sex) and not have it be misconstrued.

Seriously, the most wonderful thing about getting older is that I now have a long, long history of experiencing God saving my rear end. There is no better way of securing peace for the future, that faraway-unknown-region, than to look back and recount the unfailing, undeniable love of God.

A Glass of Persimmon-Ade, Anyone?

There is an old adage that says... If life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Now, I get the gist, "make do with what you've been given" (even if it's only a useless pile of lemons). Lemons are getting a bad rap here. What's so bad about lemons anyway? I sure would love to have some lemons right about now. Having lemons means having the options of making a refreshing summertime drink or of livening up a cup of tea. Having lemons around means there's always potential for a fresh smelling kitchen floor. All in all, lemons ain't so bad, if you get my meaning.

Now, as I sit under the persimmon tree next to our tent, I can't help but ask the question: What if life gives you persimmons? Anyone interested in a cold refreshing glass of persimmon-ade? Or how about tangy wedges of persimmon to zest up your seafood? To me, persimmons are good for only two things: for punching holes in my tent roof as they plummet toward the earth and for getting lodged in the soles of my shoes as they rot underfoot.

Having persimmons is synonymous with lack of options. It means I try, in every conceivable way, shape, and form to get the right people to try my persimmon pie only to get rejection in the end. I don't think I'm the only one who fights frustration while wishing they had just a few lemons with which to create some lemonade. People who have been given persimmons seem to have far less options for creating a way out!

But hang on, there is a point to this... and it has little to do with proverbs about lemons, or persimmons, or clean floors and shoe soles. The point is to rethink the purpose for the altered status of your life.

What if there is a slight chance that God doesn't want me to create anything with what I've supposedly been given by life? What if I am the creation that is ultimately intended to be prepared? By not relying blindly on keen "entrepreneurial savvy", I am stepping out of the way long enough to allow God to create what he wants to create. Ingenuity is wonderful, but so is seeing God's angle on your life. And in the end, wouldn't his creativity not produce far better tasting lemonade? Maybe I can become the cool refreshing drink that God prepares to replenish other thirsty people after all is said and done.

Under the "Persimmons R Us" tree

The Greatest Gift of All Time, And Then Some

When I first became a tent dweller I was most profoundly struck by the fear of how the losses would affect my family. They did not choose the road on which we found ourselves and so did not deserve the repercussions of my faint heart. We decided to spare our children the many disheartening details of how our tent-life came to be in an attempt to keep their hearts from becoming downcast.

It turns out; our four children grew uniquely suited for this strange and unexpected life that has come upon us. They have uncommon love for each other, steady and unfaltering peace of mind, extraordinary awareness of life's greater issues, unending creativity, and an overflowing sense of humor. In fact, all the fears I held at the beginning of this journey have been eased over time. Our kids have what they need for emotional wholeness and physical strength. God takes care of them when I am incapable of doing so myself.

The greatest gifts given to me have surely been my children, but the greatest gift of all time is to experience the single-mindedness of willingly laying down your life for another person. I had never known these feelings until my children arrived. The intensity of the emotions connected to such readiness is beyond words. It is a divine gift that begins to demystify the enormity of eternity and unpack the thoughts of God.

I would gladly give up my life in an instant for any one of my children. This alacrity immediately transports me into the realm of holy perspective. When I lose sight of things I meditate on unconditional sacrifice. The whole thing is so unearthly, so beyond the material, that it carries me to places indescribable.

And yet, so simple are the rudiments of real love.

And One More Thing...

Self-disclosure has never been one of my fortes. This has been true about me as far back as I can remember. Sheer trepidation as a youngster drove me to clam up early. I grew up thinking I was much too weird to risk drawing attention to myself by saying stupid things.

As I entered into my teens I decided to maintain my low profile. Not entirely out of fear, but simply because I did not wish to add to the clamor already being made around me. At that stage, there can be a lot of talking going on with very little actually being said. All of this early experience resulted in my comfort zone of withholding thoughts and ideas and filing them under "good-listening".

I remember years ago, a pastor accused me of sharing too little of myself. I had never been cited for that one before. Though it was a little odd at the start, I began to explore the ins and outs of sharing more of myself with others. As with all potentially good things, learning moderation takes practice, trial, and error. Tipping the scales back-and-forth to find a new self-disclosure comfort zone takes a little bit of wrist action.

So why bother at all, you ask? Well, for one reason only. I know now that a certain amount of self-disclosure is important for wholeness. By that I mean, my wholeness. I've found, for me, that little else has the enabling feature that self-revelation possesses. There's something intangible about putting myself at emotional risk that strengthens my spirit in the end.

I've gotten better at "healthy" self-disclosure since I've been able to see the benefits of it. Sharing who I am (the good and the not-so-good) smashes fear and empowers me to accomplish feats never considered attainable before. Sort of like finding unexpected "bonus" applications included in software packages. Ok, that's not a good metaphor. Maybe more like swallowing the bitter pill to attain a wonderful healing.... Hmm, yeah, that works.

Rain Is Good, Entropy Sucks

The rains have returned to L.A. They came in early this morning while everyone slept. Generally, I like the rain—when it's not overdone. I like the sound of falling rain. I like the smell of it on the ground. The rain wonderfully nourishes the earth and the awesome wonders of our planet exist because of it.

Entropy sucks. Entropy is a law of physics that states all things gradually decline into disorder. In other words, all things on earth (natural or manufactured) degrade, degenerate, and decompose over time. Though some things have outlasted others by thousands of years, nothing on earth can escape the law of entropy. Look at all the automobile junkyards scattered across the land. Given long enough, all things return to dust and I suspect the whole universe is not unaffected by it.

So what do the rain, entropy, and I have to do with each other? Well, a lot. When rain and entropy converge over the roof of my tent, I lose... a lot. Camping tents do not last for very long if used year round, especially the roof. Suddenly, like in a classic novel, I'm battling the elements just to keep family and myself dry.

It usually takes me a couple of weeks during the fall to get the hang of inclement weather. Fortunately time and experience have taught me how to face another winter staying relatively warm and dry. After all this time I've been able to adapt with fewer outbursts of anger or falling into a funky depression. But the human knack for adapting to environment does not make entropy suck less.

There is only one thing on earth that I can think of that is NOT subject to entropy... our spirit. In fact, our spirit can be renewed and strengthened through the passage of time. What else can say that? So doesn't it make sense to battle entropy with the spirit? I mean... duct tape can only do so much.

Another valiant roll of duct tape expired.

To Be Or Not To Be, A Yardbird

On occasion I’ll find myself standing within a group of people unfamiliar to me, engaged in casual conversation. Typically a conversation can cover a number of surface topics from the weather, to where people live, to what people enjoy doing. Inevitably, if I linger within the group long enough, the conversation will begin to move toward the topic of careers and personal achievement. Suddenly I feel myself start to tense as the dreaded “who-is-the-most-successful-among-us” conversation begins to take shape. People begin eyeing each other in a whole new way, as if sizing up the competition. I panic at the thought of what I will say when the discussion comes around to me. At once my pulse-rate speeds up and I begin to perspire. At those moments I find myself slowly backing away toward the outskirts of the group. Stealthily, and with crafted timing, I edge my way toward the exit for a quick getaway.

It’s sad but true. I steal away because I fear being caught in the awkward moment when someone asks me, “So, what do you do, Glen?” It’s a fair enough question and one that requires exploration for infant relationships to gain momentum and grow.

           

In those situations, if I were totally forthright and fearless I would reply, “Nothing. Currently, I am unemployed and I do nothing.” I would not be the least bit concerned about what others might think of my “career status”. But unfortunately, I am nowhere near having the ability to be so dauntless. I still desperately want to appear successful. I want to be inside the circle of comfort and confidence. For now, I'm not, so I run and hide.

           

Years ago, long before tent-life, I was sitting at my neighbor’s house with another man of whom I previously had only heard about. The few details I knew of this man was that he had been trying to find work for years after being laid-off. He was a family man who once held down a well-paying position that afforded both a good income and self-fulfillment. But now he was known only as the-guy-who-lost-his-job-so-long-ago. His struggle with the months of trying to get back on his feet was very evident in his demeanor. He appeared as a man squirming in discomfort, as if he wasn’t getting enough oxygen. No doubt he had previously been very outgoing and warm toward strangers like myself. But now, the weight of his loss had made him into an introverted, fearful, remnant of his former self. My heart ached for this man with the lost identity, but I knew that I could not bring my thoughts into our conversation without making him more uncomfortable. What he needed was to be treated as a significant person, with worthy input and opinions, regardless of his jobless stance in life.

The image of success that we're told to uphold can crush us into dust and steal away the crucial attributes of passion and fire. The unforgiving gauge of success can cripple human vibrancy and drive us into dull seclusion and apathy.

             

I sometimes wonder about Jesus' thought process when he was asked the question:

            “So... what do you do all day, Jesus?”

            “Well, I have no place to lay my head.” Jesus would reply.

            “You mean you are homeless?”

            “Yes, I am.” He would say.

            

What acumen allowed Jesus to be so comfortable in his discomfort? How was he so wonderfully immune to the wiles of status? What mystery did he know that empowered him and catapulted him out of the potential prison of self-aggrandizement? I'm not completely sure, but I think it has something to do with knowing from where true fulfillment really comes.

(Yardbird: a prisoner sentenced to menial tasks.)

The Jesus I Never Knew

I've recently finished a great book by Philip Yancey, The Jesus I Never Knew. In it Yancy tells of his re-discovery of the man Jesus. He reveals how his early conceptions of the religious figure have been redefined to a more down-to-earth version of the divine incarnate he grew up believing in.

Jesus was a human in the best sense of the word. And because of that, he was an example to us not just in a divine way but also in a uniquely human way. In other words, he shows us how to live as members of the human race. Jesus purposefully spent his life doing un-recommended things with people who were not recommended. And in the process, the deeds as well as the people changed the world. What a concept!

If nothing else, this tent-life has taught me that God is very different from what I believed he was before. I thirst for continued knowledge of this God.

I Am Who I Am, Even When I'm Not

I have lead worship in some form or another for a long, long time—having started in youth group around 1973. For all these years I have defined myself through my participation of leading the body in our expression of worship. Some things in life your gut says you're supposed to do no matter what happens or what anyone may say. In my case, the one thing that became evident was that I was a worship leader. I somehow knew in my heart I possessed the peculiar gifts and talents to function effectively at this endeavor. From early on, I always felt that I would lead worship for the rest of my life, fulfilling the "call" doing the thing I loved to do most.

Today, more than 35 years later, I do not lead worship anymore. It's difficult to explain how and why this has happened. It's certainly not because I made the conscious decision to quit—I have tried very hard not to stop. Through the most recent years in my tent, I have attempted in every way I could imagine to find the open door that would lead me back to my joy. Nothing has panned out to this date and, needless to say, there were many days I've felt thoroughly confused about the stoppage.

On occasion, doors that held potential for a new "position" swung ajar but they closed and bolted without so much as a nod in my direction. Other doors, though they appeared perfectly suited for me at first, left me fearing that a bigger mistake could not be made than to walk through them. One of life's toughest scenarios is to consciously decide to stay put when you feel as if you cannot hang on one more day where you are.

In time, the question arose whether God was actually taking worship leading away from me! Would God really take something away that was so important and life giving? The short answer...Yeah, he would. But he would not remove it merely to test my commitment to it, for he knows that already. He may remove it to gauge my devotion to him, though I don't think so in this case. I believe the most crucial of all intents is to show me how much more than a worship leader I am.

This whole tent-life seems to be adding to me things I could not have attained through any other means. This is the only way to get there! And whatever future God has set aside, enduring this part of the journey is critical to getting it done.

One thing is sure; I don't want to resume worship leading until I am certain that God has initiated it. I hope that one day the opportunity will come again. But there's a chance that I may never do it again. If that is the case, then I think I may be okay with it. I think I've come to the conclusion that it's not doing something that validates you as a person, it's simply being what God intended all along.

Over The Handlebars

For fitness and stress release, I enjoy riding my mountain bike up the many fire-roads found in this area of the L.A. foothills. I love the whole experience of burning lungs and quads for the reward of a spectacular view at the pinnacle of the ascent. One particular four-mile climb has an ornery hairpin turn that is especially feisty on the descent. Though I have taken this rutted trail hundreds of times over the years I am perplexed by the number of near wrecks I've had at this very spot. Like an old friend, this turn awaits me to test my agility and experience. Fortunately, I have never gone over the handlebars or lost any layers of skin or blood to my old friend. Maybe it's because experience tells me there is only one way to tackle this particular turn—with much patience.

Ahh, you are not going to get away without me telling you of another hairpin nemesis in my life. The one called: Waiting-on-God-through-his-absolute-silence. It's a long name, but what the heck. Like nothing else, waiting on God seems to have the potential of sending me over the handlebars. I have never been good at waiting. I find it utterly nerve wracking to have to endure extended times of delay, especially here within this tent-life. I want to yell out, "Come on! What's the hold up?" Suddenly I realize it is exactly at that point when I find myself engaged in a free-fall over the front end.

The truth is I think I'm getting better at navigating through certain turns and avoiding a crash in life. Still, sometimes I wish there were a "patience pill" I could take along this particular stretch of the rut-filled trail.