The Human Stuff

Bead art by Kaylene

You may already know some of the history behind Valentine’s Day, an occasion that many will celebrate this week. But to recap, at its base, this day honors the life and death of a man who believed so strongly in the importance of love and marriage that he set the truth of his convictions above the laws of the land – and it ended up costing him his life. Not only his life, but also the chance to stay with the love of his life just a short time after he had finally found her. In fact, the only part of our modern celebration that closely reflects his story is the idea of writing a note to the one you love, something he did before he was executed.

Another early saint named Paul wrote a letter of his own to people he cared deeply about a couple of centuries before Valentine lived. In his letter, Paul wrote, “If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.” This was a truth Valentine believed in, and though he wasn’t burned to death (he was executed by archers), he both surrendered his body AND had love. Therefore, though he sacrificed his earthly relationship in the process, he gained everything.

We often think of February 14 as a day for overpriced flowers, steak dinners, imported truffles, and jewelry; these are the modern symbols of love. But love is so much more than that.

Like Thanksgiving, Christmas, Martin Luther King Day, Easter, and Mother’s Day, we are momentarily recalling values and concepts that are much bigger than what can be contained in any single day. Gratitude, peace, love, service, victory, and devotion are all things that would be better exhibited 365 days of the year. And yet, sadly, this February 15, somewhere two friends will have a huge fight, somewhere else a couple will divorce, and at a third location a parent will abuse her child right next door to the small business where a coworker will slander his boss.

Why is this? Could it be that we’ve all developed love-specific dementia? In his same letter, St. Paul went on to describe how we can identify love by these traits: patience, kindness, contentment, quietness, humility, respect, selflessness, slow-fused reactions, forgiveness, purity, truth, protection, trust, hope, faithfulness.

Wow. That’s the kind of love the soul is starved for.

Most people, if they’re observing closely, even if they can’t express it in words, know when they see or feel examples of this deeper love. But living these traits out ourselves with any kind of consistency? That’s another story.

In our modern society, I think this is because nurturing these traits inside of our own self and in relationship with other people takes an incredible amount of time, energy, focus, and solid listening skills.

But I would argue that love-laced traits (far more than the blue whale, the snow leopard, and the giant panda) are the real endangered species of our era. Because without them, hearts, relationships, and communities will whither and die.

So this Valentine’s Day – and in all the days following – would you consider setting remotes and devices aside more often and choosing to extend respect-filled patience or hope-filled trust to another in place of fancy gifts, pricey meals, self-seeking gestures, and empty words?

The best choices are rarely the easiest choices. But, in the end, they lead to everything that matters.

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Word Art by Kaylene

From the moment we are born until the day we die, what do we need more than anything, in addition to air and water? Love. To be loved and to be able to give love. This is the emotional equivalent of physically inhaling and exhaling.

And I think it’s fitting to think of it in those terms. For, as the story goes, the first person was formed from dust. And only when God breathed into him did the man exist as more than just a product of the earth. With that breath in his lungs, Adam woke up to the knowledge that he was made for a purpose – and that he was loved. And a short time later, he came to be loved not only by the One who had breathed into him but also by the one who was taken from his side.

I don’t know about you, but sometimes it’s easy for me to get frustrated, impatient, or angry with self/others. And at the root of it all, I think there is a degrading belief that I came from dust so I’m not worth any more than dust, and the people around me came from dust so they’re not worth much more than dust either. This realization sobers me.

While it’s true and humbling to recall we have come from dust, we are filled with so much more than that. And though we have messed up or let others down, when we are refilled with the love we need, there is a potential in us to BE so much more than that.

Scripture speaks to this too. God is a Potter and we are wet clay in His hands. He’s not giving up on His work until all of our edges are smooth and all of our imbalanced spots are evened out. Just like dust gains limitless value when it houses heavenly breath, wet clay gathers infinite worth under the touch of the most masterful Artist.

Take a moment today to deeply breathe in and out, to feel the worth you carry deep inside…

YOU ARE LOVED. 💛

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Image result for God's spirit as wind
Image Borrowed from: soulshepherding.org

Snow has blown in. Quite literally. The wind is nasty today. Blustery is one traditional adjective many a writer has used, as I recall.

When Jesus started his teaching work, He met with a religious leader in private and explained some things about His kingdom to that intrigued gentleman. Among the thoughts shared in that session was a comparison of God’s Spirit to the wind. We can’t see it with our eyes and we don’t know exactly when and where and how it will blow (yes, even those of us with advanced radar technology!). But we can see how it affects the things around us, and we can experience how it affects us by how it makes us feel.

Today, I feel cold. I’m snug and warm inside with working power (thank God), central heat (thank God), and a big pot of soup (thank God). But I still feel cold. The sound of its blowing reminds me of its raw power and how cutting it would feel if I were standing outside in it right now.

When I’ve read that story in the past, I’ve often visualized a warm and soft summer breeze gently drawing out the long drooping branches of a willow tree. But in every season, and at every turn, the wind is different.

Sometimes it is soft as a whisper, other times it roars through. Sometimes the effect is refreshingly cool on a warm day or delightfully warm on a cool day. Other times, though, the stinging heat or brutal cold carried on its crest is miserably uncomfortable. Or even (seems to be) a threat.

I think it is easy, in our minds, to limit God the Father or forget about certain aspects of His being we’d rather not dwell on. I think it’s easy, in our minds, to limit God the Son or ignore aspects of His teaching we find confusing, confounding, and unacceptable. I think it’s easy, in our minds, to limit God the Spirit or miss seeing how that Spirit is present in every season and moment of our lives simply because it is not showing up in whatever way we always thought it would.

And those thoughts humble me.

I’m humbled by my own limited vision and by the vastness of the mystery.

Please join me in the coming weeks while I focus each Sunday on a different part of Advent as it relates specifically to the mystery of the Holy Spirit.

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How would you answer that question? Would you simply rattle off your name, date of birth, address, etc. to the person who needed to know?

Or would you automatically list your identity in terms of relationships (“I’m a spouse, sibling, child, parent, grandparent, friend, etc.”) Or perhaps turn to your career field or current job for an easy answer?

If you were to, instead, answer according to, say, some aspect of your personality or a skill, talent, or hobby that’s prominent in your life, would that provide a clearer picture of you as a person?

When someone “steals” our identity, what does that mean? Supposedly they “become” us, at least in terms of having access to our money and credit, buying things in our name and making off with what we have worked hard to earn. 

But are any of these things, in the truest sense, a real picture of our identity? 

I firmly believe that our identity goes far beyond what can be listed on a small plastic card or even in a social media profile. Instead, in the deepest sense, it is the very origin of our soul mixed with the elements of our material heart, mind, and body while we walk the earth AND it is, springing from that origin, the foundation upon which the rest of our life (our actions, decisions, and sense of personal direction) is built. 

While reflecting quietly on the depths of my own identity this weekend, I wrote a poem that demonstrates what the first part of the above statement means in my life at its most important level. Please allow me to share it with you here. 

Identity 101

I come from a God

Who has never produced a single flaw,

Who knits supremely with needles finer than fishbones,

Who will always see me as His priceless handiwork.

I turn from a God

Who was weeping at my absence long before I left,

Who wants only my best – while I chase slippery perfection,

Who will always do His utmost to show me His door stands wide open.

I pray to a God

Who created time for our finite minds alone,

Who holds its limited, counted sand grains in His capable hands,

Who will always hear my cry – no matter its volume.

I cling to a God

Who swaddled me in arms supremely meek,

Who offers me unlimited time in the spot at His side,

Who will always grant a feast for the soul in the touch of His hand.

I learn from a God

Who was planning my courses with precision long before I breathed,

Who scaffolds the lessons in all my days – reviewing as necessary,

Who will always give the wisdom I need to complete each application.

I love from a God

Who has modeled the only way to care completely,

Who restores a broken world through clay vessels like me,

Who will always know what we were is what we are and what we will be.


Next week, I’ll reflect a bit further on the second part, about the foundation.

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Cold weather is teasing us…and my car’s tire pressure sensors apparently don’t like to be teased. While I struggled to add air today at a gas station I don’t usually frequent, a kind stranger informed me that Firestone Tires gives a complementary pressure reading and air refill when needed.

I made a beeline for the nearest location. And I came back from my lunch break to inform several (grateful) co-workers who had no idea about the availability of that simple but wonderful service. I felt a little sheepish in doing so, having to admit in the process that I’d learned the hard way after wrestling with an air pump that had a less-than-familiar nozzle type, spending far more time than I would have liked struggling on my own — when that free service was just down the street.

Recently, I’ve been reading a lot about how our personal growth (spiritual and otherwise) – if it is to be called true growth – often involves things getting harder before they can get easier, darker before they can get lighter, and more fragmented before they can become fully mended.

In addition, a person will rarely be set free from an addiction or overcome a long-time area of weakness unless they personally recognize their need for such freedom and decide that they will do whatever it takes (or give up whatever they must) in order to find that desired freedom.

What we most often crave and need is love. God’s love.

The only kind of truth-bound love that will really set us free.

The only kind of love that will keep us going on the journey toward meaningful growth.

The only kind of love that struggles with us until we stop struggling and cooperate with it, trust it, to find what we’ve been looking for all along – the only One who can meet our every need.

And that – far and away above the kindness of Firestone – is something to tell others about.

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It’s that time of year again for those of us who live in certain climate zones: the season of heavy dew that can border on frost and the time when early morning drives may require use of defrost for a moment, to keep that film of mist on the inside of the windshield from temporarily blocking our view of the road.

While I thought about that this morning, I began to imagine that mist as a representation of all that holds us back and burdens us in life. For the person who only has him/herself to rely upon, internal angst over the areas where we feel afraid or inadequate can certainly and understandably be daunting. But if a person believes that Providence will provide needed strength, protection, and life-foundation, what’s there to truly worry over or be lacking in? 

In this society of ours, it seems: a great many things, areas, reasons.

That’s because we dwell in a world where imperfection, fear, selfishness, and pain temporarily have the upper hand. And while we live here, we will always have to wrestle, to grow and learn repeatedly how to lean if we want to find and maintain a true sense of security.

And finding that true sense of security means the foundation of my soul-house must be on the rock of God’s faithfulness. And the framework of my soul-house must be nailed together with the iron of His unchanging truth.

If that’s the case, the windy days will certainly come, and hurricanes are bound to hit in their season, but though a window may crack or some shingles come loose, the soul-house will still be left standing in the end. In other words, the temporary circumstances that lead me to question my identity and sense of security will eventually clear away, repairs will be made, and peace will flow from the center of the soul-house again.

Through all of these musings, I ultimately came to this conclusive prayer: “Blown upon by the security of my Father’s-child identity, may my morning-mist insecurities evaporate day by day.”

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This Labor Day, I pause to reflect for a few moments. And if I’m honest, I will confess that I struggle to maintain a balance between two extremes: working my heart to the bone to try please those I work for or with versus not really caring about work and wanting to somehow escape its responsibilities.

The first extreme springs from a fear that the work I’ve done and all the work I’ve yet to do will somehow never really be good enough. The second has roots in the over-exhaustion that comes when I find myself trying to recover from the backlash of the first.

And somehow, I have a feeling I’m not the only one out there who has found him/herself in this boat, caught in this cycle.

So my mind floats to those old, wise words telling me not to worry, not to fear. “Look at the birds and the flowers – they don’t worry and all is provided for them…” And yet, I see members of the natural world also doing their “work” and receiving the gifts provided for them, gathering and storing for the winter ahead. Noticing one of my bushy-tailed little neighbors yesterday inspired me to write this poem:

Instincts sharp

and shiny

eyes vigilant

enough to

steer clear

of my

careening tires–

even though

that mouthful

surely outweighs

your head.

Bounding gracefully

over blades,

launching expertly

onto bark…

I instinctively

want to

hear if

you fear

the knowns–

and unknowns–

of winter?

Then I ask myself – what’s the difference between worry and fear? And how are humans different than animals with our given ability to make choices — choices that include one to trust the Creator when fear or worry (or both) would threaten to drain the joy from work that we should be reaping along with a salary (as Solomon suggested in Ecclesiastes 3:12-13)?

My head tells me that the contented and peaceful trusting-middle is the place where I should dwell, and my heart cries with the need to comply. But every day, as I face the winter of the world, I, the human, must make a very real choice: to be a little bit more like the lily, the sparrow, the squirrel.

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While reflecting a lot recently on the life of an ancient prophet named Elijah, I found I could identify with him closely – a nearly-impossible success finally achieved…but coming down off the “high” to find an exhausted body and soul in a desert (of sorts). 

After reading Psalm 9:9-10 and chewing more on the aforementioned thoughts, I crafted the following short poem. If you or someone you care about is going through a trying or dry time right now, I hope the words might bring some comfort to your heart, and that you might find (or rediscover) the water that will truly fill you up again.

See how a river, mighty once, now runs: a fragile stream instead,

Enough to feed a single tree — to shade my drooping, sun-brunt head,

Inviting, careless: death, sleep, end — this sandy shelf becomes a bed.

Now comes a hand to pierce my dreams, a voice to rouse my weary soul,

Coals near my face releasing smoke, burned for the bread to make me whole, 

And water sweet to quench this thirst, to make both gut and spirit full.

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Last week I began teaching a new group of Asian students – those who were fresh off the plane and fighting jet lag to stay awake in class.

From the first day, I have tried to draw them out to actively participate, think critically, and ask responsive questions. Anyone who has worked with Asian students trying to adjust to American academic expectations knows all of this is quite counter-cultural.

At one point on that first day, a young man in the front row mumbled under his breath, “We have questions. But we don’t know how to ask them.”

How ironic: earlier in the same lesson I’d been trying to explain a new word – appropriate. And this student’s barely-verbalized thoughts so appropriately described the feelings of every person in the room.

This made me think about all the questions at every level that my students carry and may want to ask (from the meaning of an unknown word to things that run far deeper)…and even all the questions that average people around me want to ask – or don’t even know they have. Even my own questions: am I asking the right ones, seeing them clearly, speaking them aloud when necessary?

Ultimately, where will the answers to all these questions come from? Who is trustworthy to answer them? And Who is worthy of trust to lean on even when answers are illusive or beyond grasping?

That last question is, perhaps, the one that trumps all others.

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Tracy Tyner-Padilla passed away a couple of days ago; she suffered from a brain aneurysm about a week before and never regained consciousness. She leaves behind a mother, two sisters, and a thirteen-year-old daughter. She also leaves behind many friends and colleagues who are thankful for the opportunity to have known her.

I am one of those colleagues.

Tracy was a bright light in my working life. Among the hundreds of employees who work for our university, she is/was definitely one of my favorite people.

She wasn’t just a “nice” person, she was a self-sacrificing person. She wasn’t just a “good” person, she was a quiet and beautiful example of a Christ-follower. She wasn’t just an able woman, she was incredibly intelligent and articulate, and she was a great mom and example for her sweet daughter. She wasn’t just another name and face in the world, she was a treasure – whose memory is to be cherished now even as she was appreciated while she walked this earth.

Waiting for updates on her condition over the last week, I was reminded of how suddenly death can often come. Suddenly for us who live in time, anyway.

And I pause now to reflect and be grateful.

Grateful for the legacy each of us can leave behind by our words and deeds, grateful for Tracy’s life specifically, and grateful for the reminder of what a precious gift we have been given with every breath we take.

Enjoy the arms of Jesus, dear sister.

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