Sometimes I get so focused on one thing that I completely miss the obvious other thing that's right in front of me. When I finally come 'round, it's hard to understand what I could have been thinking.
The whole blog is titled, "...while making other plans." I know: When I came up with that, I was thinking about vocation-- more specifically, I was thinking about career. In fact, much of the time, I'm still thinking about career.
Except for last night. Last night, I was thinking about turning 41. (Happy Birthday, me.) In the middle of these thinkings, it jumped into my mind how grateful I am for my family and how my "other plans" would have kept me from knowing them at all.
I am crazy about my family. My wife astonishes me time and again with her creativity, her
thoughtfulness to our neighbors, her kindness in our community, and her
work ethic that bears so much fruit. And my two kids light me up. Like the prototypical proud papa, I'll talk about them any chance I get; and be careful if you ever ask me to show you a picture-- I'll probably show you an album!
But here's the thing: If my other plans had gone ahead, I would have headed off to the Peace Corps rather than marrying K. It got me to thinking how often my plans have gone awry, and how grateful I am that they have. I met my wife when I was planning to leave the country; my world is immeasurably richer with K in it than I could have ever planned. It's hard to top that, but there are smaller examples I see as well. Our church community has been a gift, but joining it came out of the blue and worried me at the time. Even our daughters' pre-school has been a surprise-- it's not where we would have planned for them to go, but we have been so grateful for the community of parents and teachers we've come to know that we can't think of any place we'd rather be.
A lot has happened while I was making other plans. I'm grateful for it.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Monday, April 2, 2012
Surrender and Hope
In his book The Healing Path, Dan Allender writes:
That's deep. Going to be chewing on that for a while.
Surrender is not a magic key that opens the treasure chests of our material world; instead, surrender to hope sets us on the healing path of risk. We must risk our money to make more. We must risk difficult conversations to grow intimacy. We must so hunger for a different tomorrow that we risk losing today to gain it.
That's deep. Going to be chewing on that for a while.
Friday, September 2, 2011
...where i left off
No small irony, right? An 18-month pause in a blog about vocation and life because "life was too busy." Criminey.
Work has been the attributed culprit, along with young children. This last year and a half has been incredibly busy, at times insanely so. Emerging from that insanity, I am asking again what makes life meaningful, or at least how I can live a meaningful life. I am less certain that this writing will help me discover that (much less anyone else), or that what I write here will be profound. I am much more certain that I need to write for the discipline of writing. I am learning that writing enables me to be present to the questions my heart is asking, that it enables me to breathe, to imagine, to hope. And besides, it's fun to do.
Work has been the attributed culprit, along with young children. This last year and a half has been incredibly busy, at times insanely so. Emerging from that insanity, I am asking again what makes life meaningful, or at least how I can live a meaningful life. I am less certain that this writing will help me discover that (much less anyone else), or that what I write here will be profound. I am much more certain that I need to write for the discipline of writing. I am learning that writing enables me to be present to the questions my heart is asking, that it enables me to breathe, to imagine, to hope. And besides, it's fun to do.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Calling and Character
I began this blog with a definition from Os Guinness (just a few posts, but in time much longer!):
For the most part, for years really, I have been thinking about this in terms of, "My job can be so filled with a special devotion and dynamism, and lived out as a response to his summons and service." I appear to have believed that primary calling to God is basic; having intellectually assented to that, I now move on and think about more advanced things like work and vocation.
Over and over in the past few weeks, I have been challenged anew to look deeper. And I have been filled with longing not to do some grand or important thing, but to be the kind of man who can--
In his book After You Believe, N.T. Wright calls it character. As does Morgan Snyder in the Ransomed Heart podcast "Men in their 30's," Both book and podcast challenge me to think not about finding the right kind of work, but about being the kind of man who responds rightly no matter what circumstance I find myself in. Wright gives examples of men whose character was so formed over years of practice, that when the crisis came (famously, Captain Sullenberger landing his plane on the Hudson), they were able to respond immediately and correctly. He contrasts developing character over time with following a set of rules-- character allows us to respond in the crisis, to creatively improvise by "second nature" to unfolding events. And Snyder talks about men being worthy to handle authority, about being a leader all the way through and not just in title...
"Everything we are, everything we do, everything we have." I think about being the kind of husband my wife can trust day in and day out to be looking out for her best and for our family's best, someone she can trust to lead over the long haul and not just in bursts of brief-lived energy. I think about who I am with my daughters-- how I play with them, discipline them, teach them, respond to them in play and under stress-- about being the kind of father who imbues them with a sense of security, energy, adventure, and purpose. I think about being the kind of man at work who strives towards solutions no matter the obstacle without grumble or complaint, working side-by-side with others do the best we can, helping to make the whole team better as a result.
I think about being that kind of man, having that kind of character... More to come.
Calling is the truth that God calls us to himself so decisively that everything we are, everything we do, and everything we have is invested with a special devotion and dynamism lived out as a response to his summons and service.
For the most part, for years really, I have been thinking about this in terms of, "My job can be so filled with a special devotion and dynamism, and lived out as a response to his summons and service." I appear to have believed that primary calling to God is basic; having intellectually assented to that, I now move on and think about more advanced things like work and vocation.
Over and over in the past few weeks, I have been challenged anew to look deeper. And I have been filled with longing not to do some grand or important thing, but to be the kind of man who can--
In his book After You Believe, N.T. Wright calls it character. As does Morgan Snyder in the Ransomed Heart podcast "Men in their 30's," Both book and podcast challenge me to think not about finding the right kind of work, but about being the kind of man who responds rightly no matter what circumstance I find myself in. Wright gives examples of men whose character was so formed over years of practice, that when the crisis came (famously, Captain Sullenberger landing his plane on the Hudson), they were able to respond immediately and correctly. He contrasts developing character over time with following a set of rules-- character allows us to respond in the crisis, to creatively improvise by "second nature" to unfolding events. And Snyder talks about men being worthy to handle authority, about being a leader all the way through and not just in title...
"Everything we are, everything we do, everything we have." I think about being the kind of husband my wife can trust day in and day out to be looking out for her best and for our family's best, someone she can trust to lead over the long haul and not just in bursts of brief-lived energy. I think about who I am with my daughters-- how I play with them, discipline them, teach them, respond to them in play and under stress-- about being the kind of father who imbues them with a sense of security, energy, adventure, and purpose. I think about being the kind of man at work who strives towards solutions no matter the obstacle without grumble or complaint, working side-by-side with others do the best we can, helping to make the whole team better as a result.
I think about being that kind of man, having that kind of character... More to come.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Just Get On With It
I just finished Andre Agassi's autobiography, Open. It was a good read. I enjoyed it, partly, because I've always enjoyed following Agassi's career-- from his young and rebellious "Image is Everything" rise, to his more seasoned and serious later career as the #1 ranked tennis player in the world.
What was startling to me while reading the book, though, is how different his internal life was/is from what we perceived from the crowd. To begin, while he was amazingly gifted at the sport, it turns out that he hated tennis. And second, it appears from his writing the he was pretty miserable during much of his career. (And almost as if it was incidental/by the way, "hey look, I just won Wimbledon.") Here's a guy who worked incredibly hard, had outstanding success, and still didn't seem to find it all the special.
As he grew, though, he had a couple of "This-is-what-it's-all-about-moments" when he was able to pour himself into caring for someone else. (Or something like that. We had to return the book to the library so I can't look it up.) It's a little cliche, I guess, but it hits home and it sobers me. Right now there's work I can do and can use to be of service, if for nothing else than to support my family and help raise my kids. I don't want to give up seeking what what I'm called to do. But I do want to spend more time simply seeking to be of service-- to God, to my family, to others-- and less time introspectively feeling sorry for myself in the process.
What was startling to me while reading the book, though, is how different his internal life was/is from what we perceived from the crowd. To begin, while he was amazingly gifted at the sport, it turns out that he hated tennis. And second, it appears from his writing the he was pretty miserable during much of his career. (And almost as if it was incidental/by the way, "hey look, I just won Wimbledon.") Here's a guy who worked incredibly hard, had outstanding success, and still didn't seem to find it all the special.
As he grew, though, he had a couple of "This-is-what-it's-all-about-moments" when he was able to pour himself into caring for someone else. (Or something like that. We had to return the book to the library so I can't look it up.) It's a little cliche, I guess, but it hits home and it sobers me. Right now there's work I can do and can use to be of service, if for nothing else than to support my family and help raise my kids. I don't want to give up seeking what what I'm called to do. But I do want to spend more time simply seeking to be of service-- to God, to my family, to others-- and less time introspectively feeling sorry for myself in the process.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Running
In the middle of yet another busy day at work yesterday, I remembered again this quote from Lucille Clifton (horribly out of context, but fitting):
"Pray that what we want is worth this running. Pray that what we're running toward is what we want."
It was and is a reminder not to equate work with vocation or success at work with success.
"Pray that what we want is worth this running. Pray that what we're running toward is what we want."
It was and is a reminder not to equate work with vocation or success at work with success.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Small Things
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
Like most boys, I had a string of answers for this growing up: a fireman, a stuntman, President of the United States. As I grew older, my list was refined, but one thing remained constant: I have focused on what I want to be, and have almost completely neglected what I want to do. I have attended to the titles and positions I want to attain without any clear notion of what I would do once I got there. Worse still, while thinking "grand thoughts" about what I might be, I have often neglected to do those things that are already right in front of me.
Shane Claiborne quotes Mother Theresa as saying, "We can do no great things, only small things with great love." Maybe this is part of what she meant.
I am embarrassed that it is taking me so long to begin to learn this lesson: All I am ever given is the thing that's in front of me. It changes everything to ask the question, "What small thing can I do now? What small way can I practice loving well?"-- regardless of position, or title, or what anyone else thinks of me.
So instead of position or a grandness scale, the discipline to my thinking would be something like, "If there is not a concrete and loving action I can take in regard to x thought, skip it and move on until I can envision something concrete and loving, no matter how small."
I bet that needs a lot of refining, but I'm going to post it anyhow.
Like most boys, I had a string of answers for this growing up: a fireman, a stuntman, President of the United States. As I grew older, my list was refined, but one thing remained constant: I have focused on what I want to be, and have almost completely neglected what I want to do. I have attended to the titles and positions I want to attain without any clear notion of what I would do once I got there. Worse still, while thinking "grand thoughts" about what I might be, I have often neglected to do those things that are already right in front of me.
Shane Claiborne quotes Mother Theresa as saying, "We can do no great things, only small things with great love." Maybe this is part of what she meant.
I am embarrassed that it is taking me so long to begin to learn this lesson: All I am ever given is the thing that's in front of me. It changes everything to ask the question, "What small thing can I do now? What small way can I practice loving well?"-- regardless of position, or title, or what anyone else thinks of me.
So instead of position or a grandness scale, the discipline to my thinking would be something like, "If there is not a concrete and loving action I can take in regard to x thought, skip it and move on until I can envision something concrete and loving, no matter how small."
I bet that needs a lot of refining, but I'm going to post it anyhow.
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