reinforced

I am not a fatalist. I do not believe in a chess playing Creator and, contrary to so much pop-theology,  I do not believe that everything happens for a reason. I believe that brokenness and separation are real and that God, in fact, may choose to not always get what he wants.

This morning though, I feel refined by the wealth of my experiences. I feel as though my perspective has been honed and I believe that in some way, the snippets and fits and starts of my life are pieces of a holy puzzle.  A set apart portrait recognizable more and more as the days go by, but not fully until the end.

 

Painfully Aware

There aren’t many things more humbling than coming to the sudden and stark realization that you’ve been working very hard to be proud of the wrong things.

Hallways

And then, when you least expect it
Grace shows her face
And it is filled with
Laughter
Pain
Tears
And peace
Perpetually moving forward
Never done

What Would I Give

In a true moment of idealistic lunacy, I had decided that it would be really cool to blog my way through the first few days of Eliot’s life. Somewhere along the way, I forgot that it is really hard to write a complete sentence, let alone intelligent prose, when you are exhausted.

What I can tell you is that it is 11 o’clock at night. I’ve had coffee with a breakfast tea chaser. I’m sitting in a darkened hospital room on the really uncomfortable couch/bench/drawer thingy that has served as my bed for the past few nights. Our room is tucked back into a corner in the CBC, so it’s really quiet and since it’s so quiet I’m acutely aware of sounds. I obviously hear the tip tap of my laptop as I type this; I hear Pandora playing softly underneath me (The Grand Archives station), and the soft sound of Lib breathing as she sleeps with the blue glowing ball that is Eliot on her chest. The machine that he is hooked up to makes a very soft whirring sound, almost unintelligible, and other than that, it’s just quiet.

I’ve taken a bunch of pictures with my phone while sitting here watching her sleep with his little bundle and I’m trying to capture something. I’m not even sure what it is that I’m trying to get, but I’m pretty sure that it has something to do with peace. There is just an overwhelming sense that everything is right in the world and that here, at least for a few minutes, we are safe from all of the craziness and noise and bustle of our existence. (except for the fire alarm that went off in the CBC earlier tonight, that was definitely NOT quiet)

The funny thing is that I feel guilty. Jack and Charlotte have had their little worlds turned upside down, and they need for us to come home and tend to the details of being 3 and 5. The need us to change pull ups and to listen to stories about kindergarten and to play lego’s and watch Tom and Jerry and kiss boo-boos and to have tickle wars and play chase. I feel guilty that I’m enjoying this quiet so much. It’s just that I have waited for these few days for so long, that I’m not quite ready to let them go quite yet. The more I sit here and think about it, the more I’m driven by this bit of angst to do something about it. After all, I’ll always preach the sermon about being proactive

It drives me to work even harder to ensure that our home is a place of peace. While I know that the reality of life is hustle and bustle, I do believe that underneath it all, our home can and should be a place of peace. I’m not naive, I know it’s a challenge. There are myriad circumstances that make it a daily exercise, but by making the exercise daily, maybe one day we’ll learn how to do it, do it well, and live richly as a result.

Thanks for the lesson little man. You and your mommy teach me well. I’ll do my best to listen.

Closing & Full

This circle.

This huge arc that seemed to trail on into the forever of the horizon.

It is closing as you sleep in this hospital bed while I watch.

Palpable

I want to bring the old poet along, with his broken voice, missing teeth, and stale smell.

I want him to watch and laugh, and then I want to listen as he lowers his voice and slips into an easy cadence of words that record the day in verse that will be re-visited by history as the moment of the beginning of something great.

I named the old poet Eliot. Why should be fairly obvious.  He saw what was real. He knew nuance, birds, Lucky Strikes, and Diet Coke. He never knew I called him that.

Eliot Nay remembered Truth in the midst of shadow, told stories in lieu of facts, and was happy with just enough.

Your namesakes, little one, knew how to live. Do the same.

For Such a Time as This . . .

So I’ve had this title saved as a draft for awhile now. I think I’ve completely written, and subsequently erased, the post that follows 5, maybe 6, times.  This morning, I deleted it again. Everything that follows is right now.

For such a time as this. . . I find myself continually reflecting on this Old Testament story in a book named after it’s main character. Esther, when you get right down to it, plays the typical heroine. Could be a Disney movie, on the shelf right next to Mulan, Pocahantas, or with a minor gender twist, even Kung Fu Panda.  Lower class girl, rises against all odds in a society so dominated by masculinity that women are reduced to spending their days waiting to be summoned, and then punished when they refuse. Lower class girl, who through great character and faith in the God of her small nation of people, deceives the most powerful ruler of the day in order to spare the lives of her own family and race. She, being one of faith, and through the mentorship of a trusted family member comes to trust that her whole life has led her to prepare for such a time as this. A time when character really matters, a time when courage has value, a time when an innate knowledge of who she is, what she wants to be, and ultimately, how she is willing to die, set her apart.

That is what I see in a first glance at the Book of Esther. Slowly however, over years (and I know I’m not the first) I’ve learned to chew on phrases and nuance. What I am discovering, even today, is that even in the most delicate of circumstances, the fingerprints of the Creator can be seen. I’m learning to see the marriage of Paul’s encouragement to the Romans that  “in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” (Rom. 8:28), to the Hebrew stories of high adventure in which those chosen by the I AM were dropped in a determined place, at a specific time, for a specific purpose. I confess freely that I struggle deeply with the notion of pre-determinism, foreknowledge, and free-will, but the intertwining of God’s economy and the actions of his people are simply too evident to be ignored.

Having said all of that, I find myself here:

I suppose that if one were to delve into a detailed account of divorces in the United States in the early 21st century, mine would be pretty near the bottom of the scale in any measure of nastiness. I’ve gotta tell you though, it pretty much ruined me for awhile. It ruined me to the point where I nailed myself into a nice tight little vault, where no one could get to me, because it was safe in there. No vulnerability was equivalent to no pain. If you sat down with Libby now (my amazing wife who is remarkably skilled with a crowbar and at digging me out of vaults), and asked her about her experiences in her own divorce then her story would of course be her own . . . but the point is that, in this life that we’ve created together, we’ve found the ability to learn from the past.  We’ve discovered that we certainly were never alone and that there is VALUE to our experiences and that in fact, these are working for the good, just like Paul said.  As we have studied at the wise feet of experience and pain, and find ourselves daily confronted with opportunities to serve other people through what we have learned.  For such a time as this . . .

We lost a little one last October. It’s an odd feeling, being one who believes that life begins at conception and that the created soul is eternal, to know that in the land of further up and farther in (credit to C.S. Lewis and The Last Battle), I have a child who I have not been able to know. It sucks really. It’s just that simple. But here, in the community that is birthing around me, and in the place where Lib works, and in the relationships that we have with people around the globe, a need is rearing its head that I shamefully confess I was blind to at this time last year. We have discovered a pantheon of women, almost hiding in secret, who have no support system, no tangible tools for grieving. Some of whom have grieved, hidden for 10, 20 and even more years.  I’m not going to claim to understand why the subject of miscarriage and still-birth remains so taboo in our society. Maybe its as simple as we just don’t know what to say to people. It’s natural for old people to die and comfort is on the tip of our tongues, but with children and babies, it’s NOT natural, and I think that we as a people are just so uncomfortable with the notion of silence as we grieve with people that we find it easier just to swallow it down. We’d rather pretend that it isn’t there than to admit out loud before God and everyone that it just doesn’t make any effing sense. But now, once again from the wise teacher that is experience, my wife and I know, and the leading of the King to serve this community of heartbroken people is tangible. For such a time as this . . .

I don’t know if he remembers or not, but the first time I ever talked to Brian Lowery about church planting was at a little bar/diner at the corner of Wells and Monroe in downtown Chicago. I don’t remember the date, but it would have been late 2006, so about 5 years ago. A lot has happened since then. I went through a divorce, moved to Indiana, started a new career, re-married and became a dad. (That’s a lot to stuff into 5 years by the way). Honestly, after all of that, I had kind of resigned myself to the fact that my future in the established church was a little bit murky to say the least. I was struggling to figure out how to connect, plug in, or even really be active with an established group of believers. I didn’t really fit a classification. I wasn’t un-churched, not really de-churched (although by some definitions I guess this label could apply), but I definitely didn’t fit. In fact, I had started a pretty good list of what I felt I wanted in a community of faith, both for myself and for my new family, just kind of as a journaled wishlist.  Then, late last July, while I was driving through Tennessee with Lib beside me and the kids in the back, my phone buzzed and it was an email from Lowery. “Do you think I’m crazy for moving to the Plainfield/Avon area to plant a church?” he asked. My answer was “no, because if for no other reason, I need it.”  I could have moved literally anywhere after I left Chicago, and I landed in Plainfield, Indiana, right where Brian and Sarah, completely unbeknownst to me, were talking with PCC about starting a new community. One that just happens to look a lot like my list. For such a time as this . . .

__________

Please hear me clearly. I do NOT believe that God pre-ordained a divorce in my life so that I could help people going through the same thing. I do not believe that God can ordain anything that is contrary to his nature. I do not believe that God chose to end the life of our unborn child so that Lib and I could begin to help others understand what they’ve experienced. What I do believe is that I am living a life that is not crowded into dusty corners of cramped vaults and that in this life, I know joy because I know sorrow and I know pleasure because I know pain. I believe that this life is not meant to be spent in hiding, waiting for the glorious hereafter, but that it is meant to be lived to the full, right now, today. If I have one takeaway from the countless hours that I spent listening to Dr. Robert Lowery lecture it is that The Kingdom is Now. And right now I find myself right here, equipped with the experiences and consequent wisdom . . . for such a time as this. . .

Right Now!

If you really love me you’ll go back and read that title with all of the love and enthusiasm that Van Halen intended.

Thank You.

This is the inaugural edition of the recurring post known as Right Now! (known in a former life as “of the moments”)

RE: Baby Simkins -  Eliot will be in here in like, 10 weeks. . . maybe. He’s huge! And we aren’t sure if mommy can hold on that long. So don’t be surprised by an early arrival.

RE: Community - Lowery’s are here, and Reunion Church is becoming reality. I’d like to tell you that I have a good grasp of just how much this may impact the life of my family, but I don’t really think I have a clue. As the kids are sayin these days “this is gonna be epic.”

RE: Reading – Just finishing up Malcolm Gladwell’s Outlier’s. I got this for my birthday and was expecting a business read, but was happy to find it just as much of an encouragment about parenting as it is a conversation tool for business and networking. Next up on the list is Fredrick Buechner’s Secrets in the Dark, a Life in Sermons. In short, I’ve really started to miss preaching at a couple of different levels, and while Buechner has long a been a mentor from a distance for all things regarding vocation, I’m kind’ve excited to plow into this and absorb the joy of word craft as much as anything else.

RE: Music – Ani DiFranco has been the Pandora station of choice recently, with the occasional migration to the Fleet Foxes. I know, cliched, but its my desk and my day so I’ll listen to what I want. For the record, when its cool enough to roll the windows down in the truck, then Mumford & Sons still rule the day (for some reason its just better loud and in the wind.)

RE: Writing – I am struggling to find the discipline to sit down and craft words and phrases and sentences and paragraphs and pages. It’s so much easier to post snippets and let the tidal wave of social media take it away. I can’t deny that these are great tools for communicating. I use several of them daily for business, to keep up with my family, and to keep up with friends . . . but it is not art. Art is hard work, and art made with words is (in my opinion) the hardest art to make. Art made with words inherently requires vulnerability, and I’m a little sketchy on vulnerability at this point. Its coming though. It is coming like a tidal wave. I can sense that I’m ready for it, as I wake up DAILY ready for Eliot to be here, and find myself daydreaming about this holy new community of faith and as I begin to saturate my soul with the musings of Buechner; well, vulnerability isn’t far away. These things that I’ve knowingly surrounded myself with, they are preparing to pull the truth right out of my chest.

on being wise

I really just want wisdom. I think that Solomon kinda had this one figured out, realizing that with wisdom, everything else just falls into place.

Oh, and if I could be full of grace and patience that would be pretty cool too.

 

Longer than 140 characters

It’s Saturday night and I’m sitting next to my bride and surrendering myself to new music.

She is shopping online for maternity clothes.

I am content. So, apparently, is the cat. (snoring like a freight train at my feet)

The kids are asleep and the day has slipped away and I have a million little threads in my head that need to be put down here so that I don’t forget them, because I think that there might be something of value hidden in them somewhere. Maybe one of those thoughts will open the vein that will change the world, or at least my world, or perhaps just me.

How is one to know?