A song I'm not going to be able to play well enough to match whats in my head, so it'll just be a poem for now...
Have you ever seen a dying flower so beautiful
As a rose wilting on a hero's grave?
A weary image of the thorns of sacrifice
Blackened red just like the blood he gave
Have you ever seen a dying flower so beautiful?
A measuring of love and remembrance
Of the mark left behind by decent men
Who'd give their life just the same again
Have you ever seen a dying flower so beautiful
As the roses drooping on a widow's sill?
A reminder of the man that she loved and lost
A man who loved, no thought to cost
Have you ever seen a dying flower so beautiful?
A measuring of love and remembrance
Of the mark left behind by decent men
Who'd live their life just the same again
Have you ever seen a dying flower so beautiful
As the rose fading from a woman's cheek
As her last breath ushers in forever
And she smiles for the one shes dying to meet?
Have you ever seen a dying flower so beautiful?
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Silver Bells. Santa suits. Lit up trees and eaves. Christmas is most definitely in the air. And as we get ready for the 25th, I find myself thinking about how Mary and Joseph must've felt as they got ready for the first Christmas. I remember how worried/scared/stressed/excited I was my daughter's day of birth approached. And Mary and Joseph had more than enough reason to feel those emotions.
Much has been made over the years about Mary's position in her society as a pregnant, unwed young woman. Suffice to stay she would've been ostracized. Joseph had the opportunity to have her killed or black listed, but the Bible tells us an angel convinced him to stay with her. I would imagine he was probably also ostracized. On the other end of their journey to Bethlehem, their is the infamous small town with no rooms available for the son of God, only a stable with a humble manger. But its that journey, the approaching Christmas that interests me this year.
As worried as my wife and I may have been about the logistics of having a baby, at least we knew we had our family around to support us. We knew we probably had a hospital room. We even knew what the hospital room was going to look like. We had clothes, and a crib, and a car seat, and all of those things that the affluency of america requires us and allows us to have.
As Joseph hoisted Mary on that donkey to begin their journey, what was going through their heads? They were leaving everyone they knew behind. Mary was losing all of the women who normally help with the birth of child. She was leaving family support and, in the process, the "nurses." She had no idea where the birth would take place, who would help, or how the baby would survive. Shoot, if 1 in 3 pregnancies in 2010 end in miscarriages (or so I've heard), how huge was the chance that Mary was going to lose hers? But that couldn't happen, right? God promised this child! On the other hand, maybe it could...
Did Joseph wonder how he was going to deliver this child? Men don't do that. How was he going to take care of a baby that isn't even his? What does a father teach a son when that son already knows everything? Was this child really the son of God? Of course it was - the angel told him so! On the other hand, maybe he was dreaming...
As they laid their heads on rocks in the desert, together but incredibly alone, how did they convince themselves that they could bring this child into this world and actually take care of it? Did they talk about their fears, or simply swallow their tears and trust God would take care of them? Did they trust God? Did they trust each other? Was Mary gentile or pained and cranky? Was Joseph gracious or easily angered?
Whether your life feels like the peace of a new snow, the ferocity of a shopping mall, the optimism of lighted houses, or the darkness of lonely desert night, I hope that you are anticipating Christmas. As we do, I hope that we remember the gift that having family around is (even when it doesn't feel like it). I hope we remember that Mary and Joseph were faithful despite doubts, not faithful without doubts, and we strive to follow their example. Mostly, I hope we discover what Mary and Joseph discovered that Christmas morning: God ALWAYS fulfills His promises.
Much has been made over the years about Mary's position in her society as a pregnant, unwed young woman. Suffice to stay she would've been ostracized. Joseph had the opportunity to have her killed or black listed, but the Bible tells us an angel convinced him to stay with her. I would imagine he was probably also ostracized. On the other end of their journey to Bethlehem, their is the infamous small town with no rooms available for the son of God, only a stable with a humble manger. But its that journey, the approaching Christmas that interests me this year.
As worried as my wife and I may have been about the logistics of having a baby, at least we knew we had our family around to support us. We knew we probably had a hospital room. We even knew what the hospital room was going to look like. We had clothes, and a crib, and a car seat, and all of those things that the affluency of america requires us and allows us to have.
As Joseph hoisted Mary on that donkey to begin their journey, what was going through their heads? They were leaving everyone they knew behind. Mary was losing all of the women who normally help with the birth of child. She was leaving family support and, in the process, the "nurses." She had no idea where the birth would take place, who would help, or how the baby would survive. Shoot, if 1 in 3 pregnancies in 2010 end in miscarriages (or so I've heard), how huge was the chance that Mary was going to lose hers? But that couldn't happen, right? God promised this child! On the other hand, maybe it could...
Did Joseph wonder how he was going to deliver this child? Men don't do that. How was he going to take care of a baby that isn't even his? What does a father teach a son when that son already knows everything? Was this child really the son of God? Of course it was - the angel told him so! On the other hand, maybe he was dreaming...
As they laid their heads on rocks in the desert, together but incredibly alone, how did they convince themselves that they could bring this child into this world and actually take care of it? Did they talk about their fears, or simply swallow their tears and trust God would take care of them? Did they trust God? Did they trust each other? Was Mary gentile or pained and cranky? Was Joseph gracious or easily angered?
Whether your life feels like the peace of a new snow, the ferocity of a shopping mall, the optimism of lighted houses, or the darkness of lonely desert night, I hope that you are anticipating Christmas. As we do, I hope that we remember the gift that having family around is (even when it doesn't feel like it). I hope we remember that Mary and Joseph were faithful despite doubts, not faithful without doubts, and we strive to follow their example. Mostly, I hope we discover what Mary and Joseph discovered that Christmas morning: God ALWAYS fulfills His promises.
Friday, December 03, 2010
F is for Fake-Believe
My daughter recently received a present from her god-parents: A DVD by the band They Might Be Giants intended to help kids learn the alphabet. One of the songs is called Fake-believe: "F is for fun, F is for fun, F is for fake-belieeeeeeve...." The song is about all the fun one can have pretending. I can't tell you how the rest of the song goes, though, because the Baby Girl only likes to watch the first 10 seconds of every song. Unless it involves puppets. Or robots.
My realization is that fake-believe has been generally harmful to my adult life. When I was a kid, I didn't play with a lot of other kids. I preferred to live in my own "fake-believe" world, where I was Joe Montana, Ken Griffey Jr., or Michael Jordan. Sometimes I would pretend I was me as an adult, setting the world on fire as the first three-sport pro athlete. And I think all of that was good; it has made me a better thinker and problem solver as an adult. I hope Ashlynn does lots of creating and pretending. To this day, I still sit down with a video came and pretend that I am a Head Coach or General Manager as I lead my teams to championship dynasties.
The harmful part is that I still find it easier to pretend. I couldn't hit a home run or dunk a basketball at 8, 10, 12 years old, but I could pretend. As an adult I find it easier to pretend that I could be a good husband if I actually worked at it than it is to put in the time and effort. I can tell myself my wife is a lucky woman because of what I am capable of doing for her, because of the father and husband I can be. Yet if I don't actually put forth the effort to show her that, it means nothing in the real world. It is simply easier for me to lie to myself about whats possible than it is to work hard at proving the theory. I know that sounds obvious, and a little horrible, but I have to imagine I'm not the only one.
And the list goes on: It is easier for me to pretend that people would like the songs I write instead of actually playing them for people. Its easier to believe I can sing and write like the people on the radio than it is to put myself out there for the criticism I know would be coming. It is more fun to pretend than to face reality, so I choose to believe the fake-believe world I create for myself.
No matter how much people compliment my writing, it is easier to simply believe people would like a book I wrote rather than actually write one. Its easier to come up with the excuses not to write one, tell myself that if I ever did write one it would be great, and simply live in the fake-believe. Even if God tells me to write, its still easier to make excuses in reality and bask in the pretend.
I used to think that the hardest part of having an active imagination was the day all those dreams disappeared; the day I found out I would never be a pro athlete. Today, I'm finding the hardest part to be living in reality...
My realization is that fake-believe has been generally harmful to my adult life. When I was a kid, I didn't play with a lot of other kids. I preferred to live in my own "fake-believe" world, where I was Joe Montana, Ken Griffey Jr., or Michael Jordan. Sometimes I would pretend I was me as an adult, setting the world on fire as the first three-sport pro athlete. And I think all of that was good; it has made me a better thinker and problem solver as an adult. I hope Ashlynn does lots of creating and pretending. To this day, I still sit down with a video came and pretend that I am a Head Coach or General Manager as I lead my teams to championship dynasties.
The harmful part is that I still find it easier to pretend. I couldn't hit a home run or dunk a basketball at 8, 10, 12 years old, but I could pretend. As an adult I find it easier to pretend that I could be a good husband if I actually worked at it than it is to put in the time and effort. I can tell myself my wife is a lucky woman because of what I am capable of doing for her, because of the father and husband I can be. Yet if I don't actually put forth the effort to show her that, it means nothing in the real world. It is simply easier for me to lie to myself about whats possible than it is to work hard at proving the theory. I know that sounds obvious, and a little horrible, but I have to imagine I'm not the only one.
And the list goes on: It is easier for me to pretend that people would like the songs I write instead of actually playing them for people. Its easier to believe I can sing and write like the people on the radio than it is to put myself out there for the criticism I know would be coming. It is more fun to pretend than to face reality, so I choose to believe the fake-believe world I create for myself.
No matter how much people compliment my writing, it is easier to simply believe people would like a book I wrote rather than actually write one. Its easier to come up with the excuses not to write one, tell myself that if I ever did write one it would be great, and simply live in the fake-believe. Even if God tells me to write, its still easier to make excuses in reality and bask in the pretend.
I used to think that the hardest part of having an active imagination was the day all those dreams disappeared; the day I found out I would never be a pro athlete. Today, I'm finding the hardest part to be living in reality...
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