Reclaimed wood can be acquired for basically nothing because most people don't want it. It takes a time investment to source, acquire, and morph into usable shape. It takes imagination to utilize pieces varying in size and wear and scar and assemble something functional or beautiful. But the imagination and the imperfection (and mostly the inexpensiveness) are the things making it most attractive. The inexpensiveness is initially attractive because if my project fails I am out nothing but time. But the harmonious feeling I get from taking something from behind a dumpster and generating value, it's a peace somehow affirming to my own worth. I am attracted to the beauty that comes from the scars in the pieces, the weathered look, the imperfect edges, the individual shapes, and the creation of value. Reclaim. verb:“To rescue from an undesirable state” Re-. prefix: "Once more" Claim. verb: "To call out" Self-deprecation, like false modesty or worse yet, true devaluation of the self, is my spiritual tendency. And it is no better than pride or arrogance. Arrogance being a self-involved claim of worth for my own merit, and devaluation being a belief in my general state of worthlessness. But there is a better way. Creating with reclaimed materials is something I do to remind myself my value is not attached to the state in which I find myself or the state in which I once was. It keeps fresh in my mind that I have been claimed. I've been called out to be used for some purpose. And feeling the rough edge of a weathered board with a large knot and a few holes from some rusty nails I hear in my soul my creator saying, “That’s mine. That one, right there. He will be part of something great. He may not look like much, but he is unique. His weaknesses I will make into strength.” And that's just about the most affirming thing that could ever be heard. I've not just been rescued; I've been reclaimed. Put into a new state with a new purpose, assured in the midst of the undesirable there is something useful. And the creator calls me out, he pulls me into something wonderful. He claims me. Again. And you, dear Reader, perhaps your time and function in a role has expired and you find yourself teetering on the edge of irrelevancy--feeling as though you are no longer useful. You may find yourself in some undesirable state, far removed from your purpose and unsure of your worth.Or you’ve been discarded, misused, or underutilized. Know this: There is someone who will claim you. Again and again. He will set you up with a purpose. Let go of self-deprecation, take off your false modesty, lose the arrogant front and humbly, and vulnerably take up grace. O Thou, far off and here, whole and broken,
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I spend a lot of hours on benches thinking. It's a reflex leftover from my time as a baseball player. And these thoughts I️ am chronicling now are more than just a passing phase, they are the culmination of many quiet musings; they are the form and shape my mind has taken from the last several years’ experience. Like most of the world I️ am in a constant fight with time. An endless war of too much and too little, skirmishing with patience and commitment, debating effort vs. cost. I️ idealize life as a moment, a today; believing the present is the only place to live. And in a way I'm right. But, slowly, I’m realizing the essential point of long relief. Baseball terms have always been my way of making sense of the world, so I’ll argue this side of the story. For years I pitched out of the bullpen in short relief. Short relief is ideal because you’ve only got to do a little bit to be a big hero. I️ loved that. Coming into a high-pressure situation with just a few quick pitches to rally the troops. It’s highs and lows and that’s the beauty of it. A flash of vivid life, and then on to other things. 1-2 innings, sometimes just one or two outs. I’ve still got that short relief mindset. Avoiding things built with patience, I prefer the things that come from feverish passion and a quick blaze of inspiration. But, to be something truly great I either string together an exhausting number of tiny blazes or patiently and stoically build a roaring fire. I️ frequently try my hand at crafts and wood working, blogging and writing, in attempts to create, but I lack consistency, and I despise working without inspiration. It's why its so important that I post every week. But, if I only work when inspired the flame (or my patience) runs out, and I️ become disinterested. Or worse yet, I start things that I never finish but know I ought to and have an endless number of open tabs and unfinished to-do lists that work their way into an exhausting sense of duty. Even now I️ struggle to close out this post. I️ always say the greatest pitchers are the ones who come out and give a solid six innings when they don’t have their best stuff. The guys who can grind out a 3-4 run outing when the breaking ball isn’t sharp, and the fastball lacks the bit of extra zip. Those players who somehow keep competing for a win without feeling the poetry in their pitches. My definition of pitching greatness fits neatly into this Oswald Chambers quote, “The proof that we are rightly related to God is that we do our best whether we feel inspired or not.” And baseball and the Bible and literature and life experience are consistently reminding me the romanticism and wonder in life are only partially in the spontaneity. To build or be something truly great I️ must do more than just ride the moment. Even those laid back surfers swim hard and far to catch the wave. To perfect my craft, whatever it is, I must try my hand at looking beyond my inspiration to work on something long and sometimes tedious, that may not end in glorious fashion but brings about those June wins that get me to the postseason. Dear Reader, my encouragement to you (and mostly to me) is to practice daily practice every single day. Even when it is redundant. And to have patience. Even when you (and I) don't feel like it. There's some mysterious joy in these everyday challenges we do not see now but will love later. And watch some baseball this week. It’s a metaphor for life.
A house is never done. Every homeowner knows this. When there are no more projects or updates the home is sold, or something needs to be re-done or renovated. It's an accurate depiction of human life. The constant in life is called change; I’m learning how to befriend it. I admitted in a previous post my tendency to be change averse, but I committed to working on it. A fortuitous decision because at this moment I am staring down the mouth of life upheaval with a much better perspective than I had this time one year ago. Foundations and frameworks seem to be the things needed to mitigate a disdain for change. They provide necessary insurance some things cannot be destroyed or taken away. Emerson said, “It is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.” Jesus said, “The rain came down, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house; and it didn’t fall, for it was founded on the rock.” You may find yourself, dear reader, as you read this, amid some great tumult. Or perhaps just on the verge of a new start and new adventure. Staring at the blank page of the unexpected, terrified to pen the next words lest they be written in stone. For there is no undoing, but only the doing. And like my disdain for change, the fear of writing and the fear of making decisions may lead you into non-direction. And non-direction will inevitably lead you to depression. And you may pray and pray for a sign, like Tommy Wilhelm. But no sign will be given but the sign of Jonah, the sign of resurrection. I made a lofty claim last week that the cross and the empty tomb are invaluably relevant to practical everyday living. And this claim didn’t have much evidence or follow up attached. Outside Wendell Berry's encouragement to, “practice resurrection”, the necessity of revival, (and support for my claim), is evident in human life, and in nature. Death and rebirth are as inevitable as change. In business and economics, they call this forcing of death/life combo “creative destruction” and it is vitally important to sustainable long-term market growth. In conservation they call it "controlled prairie burn". It’s a sort of intentionally bursting people’s bubbles, or acting on the environment to prevent extreme trends because of the patterns of the landscape or the market. But it is counter-intuitive. It’s not the pattern people naturally take. It’s this minor shift from doing what feels habitual, to doing something with forethought, even if it means doing something different from what’s been done. These patterns of counter-intuitive growth, (you may call them supernatural if you want) the patterns of rebuilding and changing, of revival and resurrection and all the other wonderful re words, are sweet but they are vulnerable. They necessitate things like hard goodbyes, new lives, new places and new habits. At the least they mean disruption of current patterns and at the most they mean utter upheaval. And as a human, it is natural to desire comfort and security and normalcy. But know this, as I have learned, the patterns of change aversion will still lead us into change whether we desire to arrive there or not. We will just be unwitting and subjugated and most likely, extreme. But that cross/grave combo I mentioned is a ticket to this free-will word, transformation. It's a pattern of restoration through creative destruction. It’s renewal. A break from the inertia of our minds and unintentional habits. A resistance to those natural tendencies, like a dog going back to its vomit. The supernatural tendencies are new patterns. Like resurrection. Patterns where things cycle upwards and are made whole. But they require something challenging. A vulnerability, a letting go. And that vulnerability—the vulnerability it takes to accept change, to steer into the beautiful and challenging future, to make peace with an unlived past—it’s possible because as humans, created in an image, following a creator, we rise. And we rise again. And we practice resurrection, and we build on a rock, and we shine bright, and we worship loud with resounding voice. Because we are the redeemed, the revived, the resplendent. Dear reader, if you have made it this far, thank you. I want to encourage you this week to pray with gratitude for your past. If you need to write down memories, do it. But do not live there. Embrace the reality of your present, with quiet meditation and wholesale consumption of its wonder. And do not fear change. It is a ticket to a transformational future. Shake your grave clothes off. A quick shoutout to my sister for her wonderful insight into patterns. She was a major influence in a lot of these ideas.
Pride is a catchy topic, and gets a lot more attention than it's antonym Humility. But humility is the sweet release of a constant need to be better than other people. To be more right, or more rich, or more powerful, or have a nicer place. Humility takes away the drive to ignore the means in favor of the ends. Humility gives us compassion for people, and lets us build strong, deep, and truthful relationships. It's a trait a leading business publication believes to be one of the important characteristics of a successful leader. "Humility is a core quality of leaders who inspire close teamwork, rapid learning and high performance in their teams, according to several studies in the past three years." Sue Shellenbarger ,The Wall Street Journal It's a trait Jesus said would give people the kingdom of heaven as a reward and the earth as an inheritance. It's a trait that makes genuine love possible because it is not competitive, it is authentic. It's a trait that makes compassion second to being right and mercy more important than animal sacrifice. It is a trait that makes Christianity attractive and sweet and wholesome. Because there is recognition of how absolutely necessary the Holy Spirit is for change to occur and how invaluably relevant the cross and empty tomb are to our practical everyday living. Because humility lets go of all the things that are clouding the mirror and keeping us from reflecting Jesus in that bold way that says "I'm part of something lovely, and you can be part of it too." I'm going to close with a C.S. Lewis quote from one of my favorite books. "Whenever we find that our religious life is making us feel that we are good - above all, that we are better than someone else - I think we may be sure that we are being acted on, not by God, but by the Devil...The point is, He [God] wants you to know Him: wants to give you Himself. And He and you are two things of such a kind that if you really get into touch with Him you will, in fact, be humble - delightedly humble, feeling infinite relief of having for once got rid of all the silly nonsense about your own dignity which has made you restless and unhappy all your life." |
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I'm a Hoosier. I like the outdoors. Taxes are my job. I write for a living. This Blog
Writing my way to an adult life of minimalism, sustainability, and joy rooted in Truth. I'm learning, unlearning, and relearning.
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