Introspect

I've been thinking alot lately about those two titles that are given to Jesus Christ. Chris Goldman, about a month ago, said, "There are many who are willing to accept Jesus as their Savior. The number of people who are willing to accept Him as Lord is far fewer."

So, what does that mean?

I began by thinking about those words and what they mean to me. For someone to "save" me means a couple of things. First, before the act of saving, I was lost and incapable of rescuing myself. Second, it means that there is nothing I did to earn it. This is true of any type of salvation, be it my soul from eternal damnation or a child from a burning building. Using the child analogy, you can sense the helplessness in that situation, but it's harder to sense the fact that the child didn't earn his or her salvation from the fire. We place value on human life, and I don't think it's wrong to do so. In fact, I think we don't place enough value (more on that another time). But, in the end, if you are the savior of that child, how has that child earned the price you are willing to pay to provide rescue? After all, you would be risking your own life (and may lose it in the process), which also has value. So, while the child's life may have value, he or she has not directly "earned" salvation. So, if you picture yourself trapped in that fire, how hard would it be to reach out to the one risking everything to rescue you? You wouldn't even have to think about it.

The correlation to Christ as Savior is a bit tougher, though. First, in order to accept His brand of salvation, you have to categorize yourself as "un-saved." This is harder than you think. We have alot of things that get in the way of this, including our pride and sense of our own abilities. Also, it calls us to look at our lives as they currently are, which for a typical American really is pretty great by the world's standards, and then say, "This isn't enough. I am lost in all of this." It's because of this relative comfort that religiosity in general, and Christianity in particular, is shrinking in the US (there are other factors, I know. I'm being very general on purpose). For me, I have no problem working out that I need Christ to save me. It isn't hard for me to look around and see what sin has done in peoples lives, what pain and suffering those choices have caused. I have felt it first-hand.

Still even though it's more difficult to allow yourself to be saved by Christ, there are still truckloads of people who proclaim their salvation through Him.

But Lord? That really is a different matter altogether. You see, a lord is someone who has the rule, who enacts a system of acceptance into his kingdom and who expects certain things from those who would call themselves citizens. If you identify yourself as an American, then you are going to accept the lordship of the US governing body. This accords you all sorts of privileges, like freedom of speech and the right to vote. It also means that you are bound by its rules, which means you have to pay taxes and you can't drive 160 mph on the freeway, among other things.

So, to accept Christ as Lord is to say, "Since you risked so much for me, even to death by crucifixion, I acknowledge that there is a pattern after which you want me to live, and will strive my very best to do so." THIS is where the rubber meets the road. You see, it isn't enough to say, "Jesus Christ is God Incarnate, Messiah, and Savior." That doesn't make you a Christian. What makes you a Christian is you implementation of His pattern in your life. In other words, we have accepted citizenship into His kingdom, now we have to follow the rules and pay our taxes, as it were.

So, what does that entail? Well, theologists and preachers have been going on about this for centuries. I'm not going to start the argument again here...what I will do is say this: By accepting Christ as Lord, you are accepting His complete authority in your life. In doing so, you are relinquishing your specific "rights," and esteeming others higher than yourself. You are also accepting that He gave His authority to a certain group of guys, the apostles, and being the good Jewish boys that they were, they ensured we would have the pattern of His kingdom to follow in the things that they wrote. It is one thing to tell someone how to do something, it's another thing entirely to write it down. So, since we have this written record passed to us through the centuries, those of us who accept Christ as Lord would do well to listen.

I didn't say interpret. I said listen.

That's the crux of it...when I interpret something, I am running it through filters of my own in order to consume it in a manner of my liking. when I listen, truly listen, I am turning those filters off and not letting my predeterminations tell me what's important and what isn't. Just because an apostle may have written something only once doesn't mean it carries less weight than something he had written down dozens of times. Both of those things stem from the authority that I am choosing to recognize, and both of those things are parts of the pattern that Christ established.

He is my Savior, and He is my Lord. I am trying my best to listen.

I haven't been this tired in a very long time. I haven't had a full night's sleep in over a week. I'm the type of person who cannot sleep when they are stressed. I toss and turn and cycle through all of the stuff that is in my head, endlessly churning through past conversations and future possible outcomes. Never restful, never really sleeping.

I'm really good at telling people that Christ says to cast your cares on him, that tomorrow has enough worries of its own. I'm not so good at self-application at times like this.

One major shining light is that my relationship with Teresa is the real unquestionable in my life right now. I do not fear for us as a family, and I have every confidence that she loves and supports me.

I think any married man can say this, but I have not always done right by my wife. She deserves far better than I have been, or am now. We have been married for 16+ years, and I can say this: there has never been an attitude of surrender in our relationship. Neither of us has ever desired to give up, even though times may have been really tough (remember the Navy? blech). She has been eternally patient with me, even when I have been irresponsible in decisions. Today, I am not what I was 16 years ago. Pff...i'm not even what I was ONE year ago. I have devoted more personal time now in my life than ever before towards spiritual growth, and I think she would tell you that it shows. I am not tooting my horn, but I believe that we all have a responsibility towards gaining real maturity, and I take that very seriously. Or, at least, I take that seriously now. My wife is my love, my cohort, my companion, and my dearest friend. She isn't perfect, but neither am I. And here is the absolutely most beautiful thing: she doesn't love me for me; she loves me for the Spirit that lives inside of me and transforms me to be more like Christ. If she loved me for me, she would have left me inside of a week. I continue to strive to be better today than I was yesterday, for two reasons: I love Christ and want to be more like Him, I love my family and want to be more for them. It doesn't always work out like that, but that is my goal.

My life, in almost every other area, is in a state of turmoil. My life inside of my family is a sea of tranquility and a bedrock of unconditional love. Because of that, I will get through.

'nuf said.

At the base of every tree there are roots. All trees have them, and all trees are reaching towards the sky, towards sunlight and nourishment. No tree can live without its roots, dug deep into the soil. This is why we, as people, identify so easily with trees, why we experience peace within the dappled shadows of their leaves, tucked into the folds of earth and mulch wrapped around where the trunk ends and the roots begin.

Every person, everywhere, has roots. Mine are here, in Kentucky.

It is always a strange experience when I am around people who knew me as a child. There are pieces of them that want to continue to interact with me on that level because of its familiarity and, in no small part, because dealing with me as an adult is an acknowledgement of time passing and growing old. We all have little reminders of aging in our daily lives, but it is shocking to be confronted with an adult face that you last saw as a child. I am an instant reminder of times past, and all conversation is based on reminisces.

There is always pain with the searching and finding of roots. The exposure of things past requires effort and work. Memories, unthought for many years, resurface. Especially of my father. This is the hardest part of my return here. Everywhere I go I see him and people who knew him. Wherever I am those who knew my dad are reminded of him again. Old sympathies are reflected in older faces, sadness dimming the corners of happy smiles. I have grown accustomed to living without these reminders of him, surrounded by friends who did not know him and know only me.

I am different in Kentucky.

There is happiness here, too. Friendship rekindled that spans the years of child to adult. And I would be a liar if I did not say that there is a measure of satisfaction in knowing how far I have stretched towards the sun since these people last saw me. Yet another benefit of this excavation: a true finding of your growth.

I am glad I'm here, but I'm not here for me. I'm here for my mom.

My mom lives with pain and discomfort. She is diabetic (as was her mother). She has undergone a double masectomy as she fought cancer, and so far, has won. Arthritis betrays her movement and her current disease is stealing her eyesight. With all of that, she lives daily with the loss of her husband. I enumerate this not to make you feel sorry for her. She has enough sorrow to share. I do this so that you can know her, and know why she is who she is. If you know me, you know that my relationship with her has not been the easiest all the time. It is fine now...well, mostly. I spent many years cycling between angry and indifferent. Angry because she does not allow me to grow up in her mind. Indifferent because she lives in her worry and sorrow, and I cannot do that.

I love her, too. I am who I am because of her. She gave me life and sustained me, even when times were very harsh. I remember her struggling to make supper for us as she fought against the terrible side affects of chemotherapy and radiation treatments. I remember her attempts to shield us as Dad deteriorated. I remember us being very poor, and she would make my clothes because it was cheaper than buying them at the dollar store.

Our relationship now is very different than it was then.

I sit here next to her as she slips in and out of sleep, the pre-op drugs taking effect. In some ways I am her reliance now. She is nervous about today, as anyone would be. She is tired of not being able to see clearly. She loves to read, and cannot.

Dear God, I hope this surgery helps her.

I know this isn't news to those out there who are already parents...but it might be news to those who aren't.

Being a parent is tough.

Okay, so almost everyone isn't shocked by that. Lucky for you, this entry doesn't end there.

My sweet, precious, special, smart and funny Anne has had a tough day. She's maturing when she doesn't want to mature and too young when she wants to be older. She's got this whole orthodontia thing that is driving her crazy, and today she got a bunch of bands in her mouth...just when she thought she could coast to the finish. She's a teenager in a two months, which brings all of its own triumphs and nightmares. She is an incredible girl who often struggles with her own identity.

Through all of it, I am her Dad.

I love her immensely. Every true parent has experienced this epiphany, this twinkling moment which happens shortly after birth. You realize in an instant that you never knew your own capacity for love until that child was born. And then, if you have another child, your capacity for love doubles. It's as if, before parenthood, you were huddled in this corner of your heart, taking warmth from the love of your spouse (which is no small thing), and suddenly the cavernous capacity of your own heart was revealed in a flash. You stumble forward into the vastness of this love, dumbfounded and joyous. This new-found reservoir fills you up, driving malice, envy, and spite into the farthest recesses. You look back at the ever-burning fire that you have for your partner and see it kindled and joined with this immense ocean. Basking in its heat, you marvel.

I wish I could say that this feeling lasted, but it rarely does. Humans grow callous towards one another, sometimes hurting each other for no good reason. The best parents all have had to seek forgiveness from their children. We make mistakes, as only humans can.

But there are days.

Days like today, when that child you coddled as an infant is in desperate need of that oceanic love, and the only response you can have is to give. It's not even conscious. Any other motives are set aside, regardless of their disposition. Days like today are all about them. You coddle them again, and love them again. You allow them to say what they have to say, even if it's weird and awkward. You take this moment in time, this blessing from God, and you give it to them. You tuck them in at the end of this day, seeing the love you have for them reflected back to you through their eyes, and you can only hope that you've earned even a tenth of a part of that devotion.

And when they have gone to bed and drifted into half-sleep, you sit down and stare into nothing, seeing nothing, and you hold on to the fact that the moments in this day, like those few other life monuments, will stay fresh in your mind until your time here is done.

Today was a tough one for Anne, but it was a necessary one. For her, and for me.

Today, she was my sweet darling baby, and I was her perfect strong Dad.

Betcha can't name that movie. First one to name the movie in the comments section gets an all expenses paid trip to the closest 7-11 of your choice. And no googling! Cheaters stink.

So, I'm in a bit of a slump, emotionally and physically. The drama continues, regardless of my involvement or not, and it is taxing. I have a cold that won't go away, with the occasional coughing fits. The UK Wildcats are not in the top 25. Barry Zito is now a Giant. David M. and I worked out how much that cat will make. If he pitches 30 games a season, 100 pitches per game, that's $6,000 per pitch. for a better-than-average leftie with a killer curveball.

I made the wrong career choice.

Can someone get me some cheese? Something that compliments my whine...

I really should count my blessings. I am not separated from my friends and family by thousands of miles of ocean and sand, in the thick of a war that we can't win. I'm not huddled on the corner of some downtown street, collecting warmth from the nearest vent grate, stuffing newspapers in my clothing for insulation. I am warm, fed and clothed; in a house that I own in a great neighborhood, sustained by a wife who loves me and children whom I adore. I have the opportunity to spend time with close friends, and, most of all, I enjoy a relationship with my God that does not fail and is as real to me as breathing.

Psalms 121.