In her hometown tonight, I thought it shrewd to read her again. And it did not disappoint.
From one of her best pieces:
The music will swell until at last it seems that the sound does not come from the twelve men on the gang, but from the earth itself, or the wide sky. It is music that causes the heart to broaden and the listener to grow cold with ecstasy and fright. Then slowly the music will sink down until at last there remains one lonely voice, then a great hoarse breath, the sun, the sound of the picks in the silence.
And what kind of gang is this that can make such music? Just twelve mortal men, seven of them black and five of them white boys from this county. Just twelve mortal men who are together.
It had been a good day. Nothing too eventful, really, but a good day. I had a young officer, a man I have respected since I have known him, come to me to say goodbye. He was transferring to another location in his military career. Part of his reasons were to care for his family and to get back closer to home so that his wife could be closer to her family, too. He was being a good husband and shepherd of his family, and was putting his own military ambitions on the back burner for the sake of his wife and their extended family.
My respect for him continued to rise. I have known men in my decades in the Army that have General written all over them–in their character, their intelligence, their abilities. He was and is one of those men.
I am old enough to be his father, and I hate to see him go.
But it got me thinking. After work, I drove to my residence, and I was reading some Reformation history, as is my custom, and continued to work my way through the classics of literature, too, via one of Tolstoy’s 1,000-page tomes, in which I can never keep track of all the characters.
But I was writing some things down in one of my journals and came across something I had written down before from some of my lifetime of reading: “Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.” I stand by those words.
I know it is cool to be tough, to seem unfazed by those who enter and exit our lives, to seem like we are too cool to care. But I think it is folly to don that facade–at least for me.
We will all die one day, and all will come to light. And we will answer. And the scales will be open (as they are now) before God, and there will be no place for pretense or bravado or duplicity.
I guess I just want to say this: There are good men (and women), still. And we should say so. So, Nate, God bless you and your family. I am old enough to be your dad, but you’ve impressed me like few others I have known. May the Lord prosper your way.
Introduction: Train like you fight is proverbial wisdom for a reason. If you want to win, you have to put in the hours, days, weeks, and months of training. There is no shortcut to mission success. You will suffer setbacks and disappointments. When it comes to our inner spiritual lives, our mindset, our worldview, etc. I think sometimes we think the same logic does not apply. But it does.
Just as a matter of transparency, one of my weaknesses is overestimating people’s sense of honor. I am certainly a great sinner (just ask my wife), but I have been guilty oftentimes in my life of assuming, “Ah, he’s a good guy; he would never do something like that …” kind of thinking. But then I get the hard slap of reality. And the sad reality is, it hurts. Because people let each other down. We all do. We have invariably been let down by others, but we have also let others down. No one is without responsibility here. So I do not speak as one who is without blame/responsibility here, too.
God Speaks to This in Scripture: In Psalm 41:9, the poet writes, “Even my close friend in whom I trusted, who ate my bread, has lifted his heel against me.” There is something exceptionally human and viscerally painful about betrayal and abandonment by those for whom one cares, especially when you don’t know what you’ve done wrong to merit such treatment, if anything. I had a couple leave my Sunday school class awhile back without so much as a text message, email, handshake, or anything. Just vanished. And it hurt me. Why? Because I had done everything I could for years to love them, make them feel welcome, give the husband books to encourage their new Christian walk, books appropriate for their level, provide fellowship meals, etc. But they left. The painful thing was its lack of closure. No explanation. Just vanished. Now, if I were an uncaring under-shepherd, I would not bat an eye. I would just keep on truckin’. But that’s not my nature. But as the cliche goes, it is what it is. I think this is why verses like Psalm 41:9 are in Scripture for us. Nothing is new under the sun, of course. Human experiences both repeat and rhyme through the annals of history (Ecclesiastes 1:9).
Encouragement/takeaway: I think this is why we never should tire of studying the life of Christ. Scripture teaches that he was abandoned, forsaken, betrayed, and yet he died for the sins of his people. He prayed for their forgiveness. He gave himself for them. He loved them till the end. Though reviled, he did not revile in return, etc. A non-negotiable of the Christian life is that God ordains our suffering so that we might learn to appreciate and adore the Savior, Christ himself, whom we have betrayed over and over again by way of our sin. And yet he continued to love us to the end.
Illustration: Over the last couple of years, I have made a friend at work that has become dear to me. Soldiers rub elbows with each other on a daily basis due to the proximity of what we do. We do most things together. It is not an individualistic culture. But God has ways of bringing individual people into our lives who are unique and become special to us, almost as if they are put there as evidence of providence. God does this in ways that, if one is able to spiritually see, one sees that it’s a divine work. My buddy and I can simply look at one another and immediately understand that we have the same biblical assessment of what is going on about any issue. We are in sync spiritually. I remember an illustration from A.W. Tozer about spiritual kinships that goes something like this: If you want musicians and instruments to be symphonic, they need to be ‘listening’ to the same conductor. Yes and amen.
Doctrine: Providence is defined as God’s “most holy, wise, and powerful preserving and governing all his creatures, and all their actions” (WSC, Q11). In other words, there is no rogue molecule out there, but all things are under the reign of God. The difficulty is that, if one takes a look at the insanity of each day’s news, it appears that the fools are in charge and that up is somehow down now, black is white, males are females, girls are boys, and that borders are bad for our nation in particular but absolutely necessary for the luxurious mansions of politicians, Hollyweirdos, and the wealthy. Funny how that works, isn’t it?
But to return to my buddy, one of the things he’ll say to me sometimes in our talks is something along these lines: “He’s not teachable.” It reminds me of the warden’s great line in Cool Hand Luke: “Some men you just can’t reach.” Why is that? Well, Scripture speaks to it: “Whoever corrects a scoffer gets himself abuse, and he who reproves a wicked man incurs injury. Do not reprove a scoffer, or he will hate you; reprove a wise man, and he will love you. Give instruction to a wise man, and he will be still wiser; teach a righteous man, and he will increase in learning” (Proverbs 9:7-9).
Encouragement/takeaway: So much comes down not to intellectual aptitude but to one’s teachability/lack thereof. It’s a heart issue. Is one open to truth spiritually–yes or no? That’s the heart of this issue. That’s what Solomon is driving at in Proverbs 9:7-9. If you try to reach a person who is bent upon scoffing, you’re wasting your time; he’s not teachable. Rather, it is wise to invest in those who will listen and heed; God is in charge, of the hard hearts and of those whose heart’s soil he has already tilled/made teachable. Our job is just to be faithful.
I was so eager to come home. I had not been home in weeks. Due to my career in the military, then some much-needed leave, then military TDY (temporary duty assignment) that took me away, then back to post for one day. Finally I texted CJ, “I’ll see you Saturday morning. So ready to be home.” We were both excited. It was going to be a great Saturday and Sunday.
As I drove three hours to our home, excited during my drive that I would see her and our son, I did not hear from her via text or a call. Strange, I thought, to myself. Unusual.
Finally, when I was about an hour or so from the house, she called. When she spoke, I received the unexpected. She was sick. Terribly sick. She had been vomiting sine 5:00 a.m. this morning. She was completely dehydrated and the vomiting was not stopping.
Suddenly my ambitions for a refreshing Saturday and Sunday were vanquished and I turned into husband-doctor. What could I do? Crackers? Toast? Ginger ale. Friends reached out. Try this, try that. I made a run to the Publix several miles south and picked up some things we were told might help: the nasty pink Pepto Bismol, ginger ale, crackers, thick peach and pear syrup, and on and on.
She’s still sick. Curled up like a toddler, hands between her thighs, face in a gray pillow case, with glasses of medicines on the bedside table, glasses of half-drunk ginger ale and canned syrup, and ghastly pink Pepto on the table beside my side of the bed with novels by Jonathan Franzen and Leo Tolstoy on it.
I called the music director at church. “She can’t make it,” I said. “Vomiting non-stop.” He was kind as ever, and thanked me for the call and said he hoped she felt better soon.
I went outside and watched the deer that came, and I played with my dogs, and watched my bird feeder for feathered patrons. The expected creatures all showed:
A book from my favorite lecturerer during my seminary years in Louisville had come in the mail. I reminisced about Dr. Nettles’ powerful voice in Norton Hall, where he’d remove his loafers and lecture on church history on Tuesday and Thursday mornings at 8:00 a.m., and then lead us men in singing “A Mighty Fortress,” as we studied Luther and the Protestant Reformers.
I later completed a book I was reading, another volume by Natalie Goldberg. I respect her dedication to the craft of writing.
I looked down at the rug beneath my feet. My old gray shepherd mix, Brewster, is snoring at my feet, and Lady, our Cavalier King Charles, is snoring beside him, and Jo-Jo, our cat, is curled up like an S in the rocking chair.
My beloved CJ is asleep now, and I hope improving, and I am trying to rest in the unexpected become the reality.
Text: A disciple is not above his teacher, nor a servant above his master. It is enough for the disciple to be like his teacher, and the servant like his master. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household. (Matthew 10:24-25)
Context: In the immediate context, Jesus was teaching his twelve disciples about what to expect (Matthew 10:1). He was teaching them that they were chosen, commissioned, that they were to be courageous, and that they were being sent into conflict. The four C’s: chosen, commissioned, courage, and conflict.
Connection to Our Day: When I step back and reflect upon our day, and I try to understand the spiritual darkness overtaking the land, and I see utter stupidity conquer institution over institution, and I see my own nation possibly choosing socialism/Marxism to its own ruin, it grieves me beyond words. If anyone has ever traveled to countries who were/are socialist-Marxist, what you see is poverty, the elimination of human rights, corruption, deprivation, government, government, government, and human suffering. Sometimes I find myself wishing folks would actually travel and see how much of the rest of the world lives. Then they would understand why people long to become Americans. I don’t see folks forming crusades and marching into Venezuela, Russia, or China. But the sheeple just go on and ingest lies of politicians who fake their accents to pimp voters, and Satan smiles. It just seems some folks refuse to learn anything. They don’t think until it’s too late, and the enemies are not just at the gate, but have destroyed the gate and overtaken their home.
Encouragement/takeaway: Because the nature of the battle is primarily spiritual/theological, the Christian must have courage. Why? Because he/she is sent into conflict. Listen to Christ’s words again: “It is enough for the disciple to be like his teacher, and the servant like his master. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household” (Matthew 10:25). We undercut our efficacy if we minimize the overt spiritual battle we are in. Remember Paul’s words: “For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places” (Ephesians 6:12). Believers are to expect slander, expect suffering, endure hardship, but serve faithfully in the midst of all that. That’s the process. That’s the design. Christ was crucified, dear reader. He wasn’t crowned with laurel leaves but mocked with thorns pressed into his scalp and spat upon by the mobs of the mindless. We need to get real about what’s in our faces and have courage amidst the conflict.
When I got off the plane, I had a couple of hours until my next flight. I was in Concourse D, which I like, because it has Grindhouse Killer Burgers in it. The burgers are good; the breakfast is good; and in my experience, the service is good (a not altogether common occurrence in the Atlanta airport). When I stepped up to the counter, a friendly lady with a black ponytail greeted me and thanked me for my service (I was in uniform).
“Would you like a menu, sir?” she asked.
“No, ma’am. Thank you. I can already tell you what I want.”
I gave her my order and looked around the place while waiting for my breakfast.
Several travelers were sitting at small round black tables and staring into their laptops and smartphones. Another man was at the end of the bar, with a glass of beer in front of him. He looked at me and saluted me from his barstool. I nodded in return and thanked him.
He was wearing a black t-shirt and the sleeves had the U.S. flag on both sides and “This we’ll defend” on the back side.
A few moments later the friendly Hispanic woman returned with my sausage and egg breakfast sandwich. “Your meal has been taken care of, sir,” she said.
I looked again at the man with the beer at the end of the bar. He nodded at me again, as we both understood something.
Thank you, sir. I have a strong sense we are aligned.
‘Twas another blessing to be back in Iowa with fellow soldiers. Was able to break bread together, pray for them (though they may’ve not known), teach a curriculum re personality, communication styles, and how we tend to react under duress, and it was all, once again, a blessing.
I get it–trust me–that the world has, generally speaking, gone bonkers–wonky, in fact–but I am a soldier to my core and I know and love my brothers, and they’re not bonkers. In fact, as always, they are the bulwark: they are driven, driven, driven, and they’ll finish the job. (Don’t ever underestimate your local patriot-soldiers; they’re a bulwark against what’s coming, against what’s already here.) When the government is large, the citizen is small, and your local citizen-soldier understands this and is out to preserve liberty from the ground up. He has not forgotten his roots.
After I taught today, I went and walked/ran for several miles in the beautiful parks of Iowa:
Iowa, you’ve great parks. Blessings upon you! And thank you for your great soldiers.
*I hope you will indulge my Beatles pics. I’ve been an unapologetic Beatles aficionado since my stepdad turned me on to them when I was a boy and he let me have his vinyl copy of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. After I memorized that album, I was hooked for life.
*The Beatles Invasion was a band that covered scores of the Fab Four’s tunes. I was on the edge of my seat, singing nearly every word aloud (my apologies to those within earshot).
“You say you want a revolution? Well, you know …”
*Puppy love is just the best (above).
Above, my friend Ann and I relished a day with huskies as we got to play with the dogs that either have run the Iditarod, or aim to. If you love dogs, and you appreciate those who live with, feed, nurture, and train these delightful and powerful creatures, I highly recommend the dog tour in Juneau. Ann and I had a blast. We got pulled on a ‘wheeled sled’ the dogs use in training; plus, we got an education in what all goes into dogsledding and the grueling regimen of man and his best friend.
Two of my buds let me capture their mugs on the seas. What great guys.
Some of us took to the rainy streets in Ketchikan.
“It was 20 years ago today …”
My peeps …
David, my bud, and some girl I really really like …
Oops, she’s back:-)
“We hope you have enjoyed the show . . .”
I caught David kissing on some girl. Shh … don’t tell.
MIND & MATTERS 