Small: Resolved

I've been around carpentry most of my adult life. And I'm no stranger to the table saw. Recently, while remodeling our century home I ended up doing some fancy stuff closer to the blade than Norm would ever approve of (at least on camera). And sometimes that can leave you reflecting about losing a finger or two. Ironically the two you'd be most likely to tangle up in the blade would be the thumb and forefinger of your right hand, since you want your best players on the ice when the stakes are high. But if I had to lose a finger and I were able to choose, I think I'd pick the pinkie finger on my left hand. Seems like I'd get over that loss quicker than any other. [note to Mom: don't worry: I paid careful attention to Wilkinson's lectures on vectors and physics, which makes boards and table saws surprisingly predictable. I plan on keeping all 10 so please just keep reading]

Tonight, we had the chance to go hear world-renowned concert pianist Antonio Pompa-Baldi. (Google that name for a taste on you-tube). That's a pretty big name for these parts. We were fortunate to get tickets. And it seems that they may have even oversold the concert a little, so after all the cushy seats were packed, they started setting up portable chairs on the auditorium floor behind the piano bench. Turns out that not everyone wants to sit on the stage of a concert hall. And, I'm a really nice guy. After a couple of seat-swapping episodes, I ended up right where my Teacher wanted me. I was about 8 feet behind the piano bench, and perfectly aligned with the straight edge of the concert Grand.

FROM this perspective, just about the length of a sheet of plywood away from the player's back, I could see very little of the 'action'. Nice silk shirt, shiny black with a cool tone on tone design that kept my attention for around 90 seconds.... been a while since his last haircut (neck hairs are always the giveaway)... Great music.... Good posture.... WAIT what's that little white thing flashing and dancing past his black-silk draped left elbow. The pinkie finger on his left hand! And so, I watched. Leftist Pinkie performed all of the lowest notes in a set that included some extremely dramatic and beautiful works by Debussy and Chopin. He danced, and jumped and smiled and crouched and tiptoed. He shouted and whispered. He held up all the other fingers all on his own at times. He was often the loudest and most pervasive of all the dancing fingers. He carried the rhythm, often leaping over octaves to land perfectly and bounce expertly back and forth between distant keys to form the foundation of a sound that had most of the crowd (of which I also had a great vantage point) enraptured. By then end of the Debussy set, I was Leftist Pinkie's friend. By the end of Chopin, I was a dedicated admirer.

And here are some of the whisperings of my Teacher: "Nice, pinkie eh?! Remember that passage about the body [I Corinthians 12, I looked it up later] where Paul talks about the eye can't say to the hand 'I don't need you'...?"
"Watch the finger. See its strength: where's that coming from? Right, Shoulders, back, elbow, forearm, all perfectly aligned to support L.P. to perfectly execute that loudest resounding bass note. Check out the audience. They see a blur of fingers. They hear a symphony of music. But listen to that bass note. Isolate it those root notes. What if they weren't played? Where would the drama go? Where the impact of the highs?
Now, what if the support weren't there. What if the focus of that support system was so tuned to the highs and feature notes that the L.P. couldn't strike and dance and crouch and caress with the right proper weight? What if L.P.'s support were unpredictable? " [...This guy would still be back in Italy getting yelled at by some overzealous piano teacher!]
"Getting the picture, eh? ...You've always been a clever kid, Mike. I'll leave you alone now to make the application...but be thinking about how you choose to support the L.P.'s in your life, and then give a little thought to the unnoticed significance of some of your overlooked roles and tasks... "

Together

So today started out kind of crappy. Several things had gone wrong with our breakfast routine, and the whole off-to-school thing. I won't go into details, but it was all my kids fault. Had to be. And then, I'm driving along the interstate on my way to a cold day of construction fun at the camp, mulling over the events of the morning. I'm contemplating the changes I'll want to implement, and the blame I'll want to assign and the punishments I'll want to wield when I get back. I'm fuming still, but rather proud of the way I DIDN'T unload on the kids, even though I had really wanted to do the badass dad thing to restore my sense of personal power, and remind everyone who's in charge.

I-26 is a particularly curvy interstate. Enter the woman in the black SUV, cruising along in the blindspot to my left. Enter the painting truck just coming into view as we round the bend near Rock Springs Road exit. Rush hour. MY rush hour. Brilliant. I hit the brakes, counting the dimes and now quarters of my brakepad budget as I slow dramatically to let SUV lady cruise past me so I can change lanes and avoid the life-changing encounter with the nice guys on the paint crew not so far ahead of me now. SUV woman is slowing at the same rate. "oh, I'll just slow down a little so the guy to my right can speed up and change lanes in front of me," I can hear her thinking. "Oh skubalon!" I think (one of those more useful Greek words from Bible School). No time to say it. Now I'm peeling dollars off my brakepad budget. (yeah, I've done the Dave Ramsey course). And SUV woman is holding out for great seats to the collision of the month. Finally I out brake her, likely because her SUV has antilock brakes and my old 89 4Runner is from an era where we actually knew how to drive. So, Brand New SUV Lady saunters on ahead while I deftly tuck myself in the narrowing opening behind her, managing to keep most of the coffee in the mug at the same time. (evidently we didn't need cupholders in 89 either)

Now, I'm fuming. Road Rage. And, as i suspect is usually the case, its a rage that didn't just appear on the road. Much more to it than that.

And look! SUV woman is slowing again to take the next exit. Which happens to be mine, as well. Now all of my creativity is channeled at crafting the perfect insult, the ultimate rebuke. I'm getting ready for the stoplight at the bottom of the exit ramp and trying to figure out how to stow my coffee mug, gear down, unbuckle my seatbelt and reach over to roll down the passenger window before she gets away at the green light.

Then, it dawns on me... I really should show a little self restraint. Yes, I'm going to show patience, and let it go. I'm really ticked off about alot more than this traffic event and her obvious incompetence, and she might have a learning disability or something. I don't know what her week has been like, and shucks, she might be driving that brand new SUV because she just finished totalling the last one on the weekend. I decide to show mercy, and choose to look the other way entirely. I couldn't come up with anything kind, so like Dad said to do, I didn't say anything at all.

Left turn signal shows its my turn to go and I ease away from the light to begin the more pleasant leg of my journey to the Camp. As continue reviewing what I might've said to that poor wretch of a SUV driver, I thought to check in with God,

"See that. I didn't blow. I held my peace and didn't vent my anger on that SUV woman. In fact, a little earlier, I sent my kids to school today really working at holding my temper and letting them go out with positive vibes.
Okay, neutral vibes.
Yeah, alright, at least unspoken negative vibes. I really worked at putting a good face on it.
I'm really doing better, aren't I. We're really getting somewhere, right?"

[to get the paradigm for the God part of this little conversation, check my first blog post about "Eternal"]

God was silent for a while. Silently smiling.

"I know that invisible smile," I think.

"I have so much more for you," He says.

once again I feel the smalling. And I glimpse for a moment His Strength. His Love.
My little score sheet flutters to the floor, and I try to scuff it behind me with a discreet right toe.
"I'm not keeping score, Eh?" He says.
"Yeah," I say. " I forgot."

And then, without words, and all at once, He said this, "I have put my own heart in you. Not defensive. Just strong. Stuff just doesn't need to affect you like this. My Love is in control of my anger. I am stronger than the moment. I see eternal outcomes, and not just temporary bursts of power. You can love and bless and BE. Just believe. Enter into your rest."

It was that and so much more that He said. But I got to see Him Bigger today. And I think of my sister in the SUV, on her own journey, on a road without rage. And I think of my kids, on thier own journey. With a dad. Without rage.
And my creativity rests, and turns, and looks to create again. To create my today. Me and God.

Together.

Small

One of my favorite birthday memories is the first of what has become something of a tradition for my son and I. We share the same birthday, so when he was about 4, we took each other out for lunch at McDonalds. The McDonalds playplace had a gamestation console, and this particular son has a 3D Sensurround Sound imagination that is really drawn to video games. He really does hook into the matrix when he plays. So, while our uneaten burgers and fries waited on the table, we beamed ourselves into the world of MarioKart. I must admit, I may be the worlds worst at videogames, so as he was lapping me, one of his favorite things to do was to hit the Question Box in the track, which would unlock a random power for him to use at will for several seconds. His favorite power to use was what we called the 'smalling' power. He would hit a button on his controller (that didn't seem to exist on mine) and my mariokart player would become half its own size and go really slow for half a lap or so. (I actually liked this because it gave me a chance at staying on the track) I would groan and stomp and taunt appropriately, and he would laugh a sinister 4 year old delighted laugh, and go on hunting for the next Question Box to unleash on the dad.

When our cold burgers and fries were as finished as we could make them, we left for home. When we got home, my Responsible Dad gear kicked in, and after a short lecture on the evils of video gaming, we made up our own MarioKart game, racing around the gnarly old lightning ravaged Oak in our back yard. We incorporated all kinds of obstacles and powers. But his favorite was still to "small" me. Actually he did that one quite regularly. That, and the banana-peal-on-the-track trick. I liked the banana peel better in this race because it gave me a chance to spin out and lie on the ground to catch my breath. The "smalling" however was simply brutal. Go ahead and take a lap around your living room in a duckwalk position, you'll see what I mean. (possibly for days). Every time I'd start gaining on him, he'd small me. And the delighted laughter kept me motivated to do the duckwalk again and again.

So, last Sunday the pastor and a small team came back from a 'missions scouting trip' to Rwanda. The stories of genocied orphans, and tragedy and violence from 1994 were pretty impactful. In the midst of running kids to lessons and games and youth groups, and constantly trying to improve our living and increase our potential, I felt suddenly smalled. I've been duckwalking my way through the week, wondering what DNA fluke ended me and my family in the lap of "hard times because of the cost of gas and gosh, my mutual funds just tanked" and some other family with feelings, dreams, fears and desires just like mine in the lap of a brutal genocide. I've been on lots of mission trips. I've seen poverty, tragedy, hopelessness and fear. I've seen hope and joy in the midst of that stuff as well.
This time I don't quite have a reaction or a coping mechanism.

I just feel the smalling.

Focus

Number 5 on the Eagles is a cute little fireplug, full of enthusiasm and a love for the game. When tonight's soccer match was canceled, Number 5 convinced me to stay for a little 1 on 1 full field scrimmage. Obviously, she had the advantage, being a well conditioned non-smoker, with no extra baggage to haul up and down the field. She also happens to have her dad wrapped. We played. 1-0. 2-0, 3-0, and so on. End to end action: Me always missing; She always coming back to score. Around 5-0, and 20 minutes into the fierce battle, the field lights go out, and the last of the cars exits from the parking lot. Thank God. [you'll understand the gratitude in a moment] Number 5 gets the ball about half field, having overrun the old lad for a turnover. She turns the ball, and heads directly in what I remember to be the direction of my net. I realize now she has just picked up another advantage. She can see farther in the dark. Navigating by the stars, I turn and give chase. Laughter...taunts...more laughter...Feet pounding. I slow just in case we're closing in on a goalpost. She takes advantage of the extra stride and shoots hard and low. Just wide. So, with energy to spare, she follows the shot, and returns the ball to the field. "Goal Kick," I assert. (yeah, I'm working on the assertiveness thing). She places the ball at the corner of the box, raises her arm and walks backward, receding into the blackness. "Ready... tweet" and, I imagine, the raised arm falls decisively. Now, I'm thinking... this is a great father-daughter moment. I have to score at least one, so its gotta be a long kick. Really long. Just don't screw it up by hitting the kid in the nose! Not the nose.... NOT the nose.... The nose....nose....nose.
And now you know... the rest of the story. Focus is really powerful, even in reverse. Fortunately, Number 5 did get up again after several loud and hysterical minutes, and came back to finish humiliating her opponent 8-0. (aided by the lights of a few of the neighboring backyards, who must have wondered what the screaming in the darkened soccer park was all about) So, Thanks Number 5 for my fresh reminder of the power of focus. I wonder if I could simulate that same focus with the same kind of absolute intensity, like "DON'T score...."

Nesting

I HATE it when people put away the mixing bowls, nested in improper order. We invested alot of money in FISHER PRICE toys to make sure this would never happen. It just goes to show you, no matter how good you raise and train your kids, their journey ends up being the product of their OWN choices...just like our own lives.
Parents are, however responsible to make sure the kids know better.

(disclaimer: MY KIDS SHOULD KNOW BETTER THAN TO NEST THE BOWLS IN RANDOM ORDER)... and I'll be watching, guys.

Trade-Ins

Its after midnight. I just got home from taking some stuff to my sweetheart who is working night shift.
On the way out of the hospital, and then on the way home past some bars, and then driving through some housing projects, I could see broken lives. Each with his own journey, her own pain, their own poor choices, and with those, consequences. I often think at times like that, reflective and just a little sleepy, " God, what can be done for all of these, really. How can we fix our society. How can we increase the chances for individuals and families to survive and stay healthy in this world. And, really, I've got enough of my own work cut out for me."
So God seemed to say, "Yeah, it hurts my heart too, to see pain and emptiness. But I haven't called you to fix people, just to Love them. Love them with my love, and tell them the good news. But don't worry too much about fixing. You're all trade-ins anyhow. And I've got that covered already."

We're not really evolving. We're spiraling down the bathtub drain. We need replacing, not fixing.

That's a relief.

Patience

So, I was on my way to a gathering of Christ followers (we used to call it Church, but I think that was too easy to understand. This newspeak is much more elitist and selfserving, and probably helps to further alienate the unseeking seekers we're seeking to seek. Whenever I get into the whole ultra cool postmod lingo with my friends, they're like, "on your way to a what, now?" so i start explaining this gathering/meeting thing with music, and somebody sharing relavent wisdom from some ancient manuscripts... and they're like.. "oh yah, you mean church" then they look at me like I'm irrelevant, and they go, "why didn't you just say so". and I'm like, "if you want to understand me, you have to read bluelikejazz first. Because I've made the move to cultural relevance".....)

now, where was I...

oh yeah, on my way to what-we-used-to-call-church, with the kids in the soccerVan. Two of my boys start a little skirmish thing that seemed a little loud for early in the morning in the small soccerVan. But it was positive and friendly, so I'm thinking...hmmmm.... this is getting on my nerves. But really, they're not hurting anything. Their mom (my 'what-we-used-to-call-wife') is on a string of nightshifts, (legitimate reason to forsake the Gathering) so she's not in the soccerVan. So, they're not really bothering anybody but me. And, I figure, we're almost there.You know I have a few trump cards that can end it pretty quick. But I hold my cards. So, let them continue to prepare their hearts for 'what-we-used-to-call-worship' in whatever way seems good to them. I can be patient. Patient, knowing Relief comes when I unload them on their 'what-we-used-to-call-SundaySchoolTeachers'.

So, I flip my rearview mirror to its night setting, and smile, feeling like I'm an awesome dad for letting the boys make a happy commotion on the way to what-we-used-to-call-church.

Feeling like I'm patient.

A while later, I'm in the gathering formerly known as church. The band is playing, some song about how great God is. With no known relevance to the song, God says, " You remember that I'm eternal, eh?" Wait. let me try to explain. No voices, really. its just the voice 'in my head'. And it seems God always speaks to me in the most familiar voice. So, just like when God spoke to Samuel, and was repeatedly mistaken for Eli his spiritual teacher, God has spoken to me in the most familiar of Godly voices. My dad. So when God speaks to me, he says "eh" because dad says "eh". I think God is pretty cool that way. So God says, "You remember that I'm eternal, eh" in this Torontonain accent. Which is one way that I figure it was God speaking. But, it starts this wild chain of thoughts in me. God's patience is rooted in His eternity. its not like my play-doh patience. He's got the real thing. He doesn't just put up with us until He can't take it anymore. He doesn't get 'annoyed' from a frame that is weakened by nothing in the cupboard but decaf coffee. He is angered from a center of great strength. No frazzled nerves. No "just can't take it anymore". He does shut us down when things go too far for our own or anothers good. He just doesn't ever get 'fed up'. He always ends things for Stronger reasons. His patience is always watching His timing, not guaging to see how far He can go before He snaps.

So, I'm hungering for more of that God-patience within, to take the place of my play-doh patience. I don't think God ever finds himself "feeling patient". He just IS.

"You remember that I'm Eternal, eh?"