My father would be 98 today. I am not sure why, but I miss him. Dad and I were not close - no outright hostility but not close. He was a quiet man, passive, married to a woman who was neither.
Although quiet, some could ask just the right question at just the right time and Dad would open up. His last birthday with us in 1999 was one of those times. My wife asked Dad what was his favorite birthday. At first he spoke of his 80th. Mom and Dad were "full-timing" in their fifth wheel and had planted themselves in Port Orford, Oregon. My younger sister and I surprised Dad by driving with his three grandchildren to spend the weekend with them; she from Seattle, me from Sacramento. Then his eyes lit up and he recalled his 21st. birthday back in 1934. It was a wonderful story of a barn dance, and angel food cake and the dawn breaking up the party. Not even my mother had heard him speak that story.
I think that is where my melancholy stems from today; I simply didn't know my father, nor did he know me. I hear other stories of fathers and sons who have healthy relationships and the void becomes amplified a bit by knowing them. I simply have no idea what Dad thought of me.
That's what the hole looks like for me, the desire to be known by Dad and in turn to know Dad as well. I believe its a common desire that some have filled by their earthly fathers, but all too often it is not. Passivity, neglect and, at times, outright abuse has crushed this desire for good fathering.
In this melancholy that arises from time to time I am reminded of a word used by Jesus, Abba. One simple four letter word that must have sounded revolutionary to those that heard Him speak it. Abba, Daddy is what it means, a term of intimacy and endearment foreign to those who walked with Jesus during His earthly days. The God of the patriarchs was not a distant, remote deity who kept Himself at arms length but a Dad.
A Dad who invites, desires deeply for me to step closer to Him and allow Him to father me. He knows me and wants me to know Him, INTIMATELY. Its a huge step of faith but one that has paid deep dividends in healing my shattered places. "Abba, I am yours. Father me", is my prayer on this day of remembrance of my dad, Charles Elwood Bowers.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Wandered
Something stirs in you. Sometimes it is a smell or the taste of the grass you are grazing on or a memory of something but it touches something in you and an old desire is reawakened. You want to ignore it, after all, shouldn’t you be satisfied with the pasture the Good Shepherd has brought you to? Something though, has stirred and feels nearly overwhelming.
You follow your nose down a path, grazing here and there. Looking back you still see the other 99 in the flock. You belong there and your heart is tugged with that realization. Turning back, a step or two is made towards the flock but the poison of rationalization steps in to turn you the other way. “It’s just a short way off the pasture” or “I can handle this, just a taste of this old thing that I am hungry for will make me never want it again” or even more deadly, “I’ll be back before the Shepherd misses me.” And with a trot in your step, your mind is made up and you leave the pasture behind.
Head down with your nose filled with the smell and memories of times past and the anticipation of what is to come you buy into the lie thinking you feel alive. The chase is on, the pursuit of that “it” you think you’ve missed. “What fun” is the thought that shoves aside the inner, deeper voice of caution that says, “Turn back, you still have a choice”.
You arrive to where you’ve been headed. It doesn’t matter what it is, it’s a greedy morsel and you willingly partake of the fruit that will soon eat you up. It all floods back, the moments of pleasure, feeling alive, maybe feeling wanted in a way you’ve been hungering for, a hunger that little by little ate the satisfaction you once knew in the gaze of love from the Good Shepherd’s eyes.
No sooner have you partaken of the old delight than it turns on you and shouts, “What have you done?” You poke your head up wanting desperately to escape the thorny clutches of the vine you’ve been feasting off of. You tug against the capturing arms and feel the pinch of thorns work through your wool
You push against the thorns, side to side, forward and backward but with a sickening realization you know you are stuck. “Why did I do this again”! If I could just get out, I will never come this way again” Heaviness creeps into your heart and you want to cry but you know you’ve done this to yourself and you deserve to be stuck, back in the thorns you once lived in. You want to go back to the pasture, want to see the Good Shepherd again but you are ashamed. Even if you get yourself out, you don’t know if you can face Him.
Then you think, “If I get myself out of this myself maybe He will love me more. Maybe I will finally learn the lesson and never come this way again”. These thoughts energize you again and more futile attempts are made to extricate yourself from your predicament. The end result though, you have dug yourself in even deeper, more thorns have lodged into your wool.
You hear someone coming, you hear His voice; it’s the Good Shepherd. He’s come looking for you. You hear his voice and you want to cry, “Here I am, here I am”, but the shame of what you’ve done silences your cries. You hope, just a little, that He won’t find you. You indulge yourself into a little fantasy. You aren’t really stuck, you’ve been playing a little game. You will just jump out and with a little chuckle shout out, “Here I am. I’ve just been playing a little game”! It’s no good, though, your stuck and you know He will know better. He knows what you’ve done.
“Oh, there you are” you hear His voice say with delight. “Look at you, you’ve wandered off and gotten stuck in these old thorns” is spoken without an ounce of condemnation. You expect that, it might even “feel” better to hear anger or accusation; the delight and love hurts a bit. You wish you weren’t stuck and you wish you could prove yourself worthy of His delight by getting yourself out of the thorns but all you can do is sit there, accept his thorn-scratched hands as they slowly work you out of the bush. You are humbled by His tender love and determination to find you. Humbled as only you can be if you give up the fight and simply accept His tender love.
At the same time you want to hide from Him and you want to bury yourself in His arms. He tenderly holds you so you opt to let yourself be nuzzled, loved. “Oh my, look at all these thorns. When we get back to the pasture you will have to sit still and let me get them out of your wool. Some of them have burrowed in deep. They must hurt”. You are stunned at His compassion; after all, you did this to yourself.
After no small amount of time, the thorns have been removed but you still ache inside with the heaviness of wandering off. You want to vow to never do this again but there is something about trying to claim the future that keeps you from doing this. You simply know you need to learn to accept His mercy in searching, His grace in taking you out of the thorn bush, His love in setting you down once again in the pasture He’s lead his flock to.
You follow your nose down a path, grazing here and there. Looking back you still see the other 99 in the flock. You belong there and your heart is tugged with that realization. Turning back, a step or two is made towards the flock but the poison of rationalization steps in to turn you the other way. “It’s just a short way off the pasture” or “I can handle this, just a taste of this old thing that I am hungry for will make me never want it again” or even more deadly, “I’ll be back before the Shepherd misses me.” And with a trot in your step, your mind is made up and you leave the pasture behind.
Head down with your nose filled with the smell and memories of times past and the anticipation of what is to come you buy into the lie thinking you feel alive. The chase is on, the pursuit of that “it” you think you’ve missed. “What fun” is the thought that shoves aside the inner, deeper voice of caution that says, “Turn back, you still have a choice”.
You arrive to where you’ve been headed. It doesn’t matter what it is, it’s a greedy morsel and you willingly partake of the fruit that will soon eat you up. It all floods back, the moments of pleasure, feeling alive, maybe feeling wanted in a way you’ve been hungering for, a hunger that little by little ate the satisfaction you once knew in the gaze of love from the Good Shepherd’s eyes.
No sooner have you partaken of the old delight than it turns on you and shouts, “What have you done?” You poke your head up wanting desperately to escape the thorny clutches of the vine you’ve been feasting off of. You tug against the capturing arms and feel the pinch of thorns work through your wool
You push against the thorns, side to side, forward and backward but with a sickening realization you know you are stuck. “Why did I do this again”! If I could just get out, I will never come this way again” Heaviness creeps into your heart and you want to cry but you know you’ve done this to yourself and you deserve to be stuck, back in the thorns you once lived in. You want to go back to the pasture, want to see the Good Shepherd again but you are ashamed. Even if you get yourself out, you don’t know if you can face Him.
Then you think, “If I get myself out of this myself maybe He will love me more. Maybe I will finally learn the lesson and never come this way again”. These thoughts energize you again and more futile attempts are made to extricate yourself from your predicament. The end result though, you have dug yourself in even deeper, more thorns have lodged into your wool.
You hear someone coming, you hear His voice; it’s the Good Shepherd. He’s come looking for you. You hear his voice and you want to cry, “Here I am, here I am”, but the shame of what you’ve done silences your cries. You hope, just a little, that He won’t find you. You indulge yourself into a little fantasy. You aren’t really stuck, you’ve been playing a little game. You will just jump out and with a little chuckle shout out, “Here I am. I’ve just been playing a little game”! It’s no good, though, your stuck and you know He will know better. He knows what you’ve done.
“Oh, there you are” you hear His voice say with delight. “Look at you, you’ve wandered off and gotten stuck in these old thorns” is spoken without an ounce of condemnation. You expect that, it might even “feel” better to hear anger or accusation; the delight and love hurts a bit. You wish you weren’t stuck and you wish you could prove yourself worthy of His delight by getting yourself out of the thorns but all you can do is sit there, accept his thorn-scratched hands as they slowly work you out of the bush. You are humbled by His tender love and determination to find you. Humbled as only you can be if you give up the fight and simply accept His tender love.
At the same time you want to hide from Him and you want to bury yourself in His arms. He tenderly holds you so you opt to let yourself be nuzzled, loved. “Oh my, look at all these thorns. When we get back to the pasture you will have to sit still and let me get them out of your wool. Some of them have burrowed in deep. They must hurt”. You are stunned at His compassion; after all, you did this to yourself.
After no small amount of time, the thorns have been removed but you still ache inside with the heaviness of wandering off. You want to vow to never do this again but there is something about trying to claim the future that keeps you from doing this. You simply know you need to learn to accept His mercy in searching, His grace in taking you out of the thorn bush, His love in setting you down once again in the pasture He’s lead his flock to.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Inconvenient Wisdom
What kind of people do we surround ourselves with? I went "friend hungry" for so long that at times I've accepted friendships a bit too easily. When I finally hit my wall in 2005 I found myself utterly alone with no one I could trust with my story. At that point I needed to be alone so that I would turn deeply to my true friend, Jesus. He spoke and carried me through several months to help me discover my heart, the heart He'd put in me. It is a journey I am still on to this day.
But He did not leave me alone for long. He led me to several men who could be trusted with my heart. All but one of these men are geographically scattered; Pennsylvania, Florida, Indiana, Colorado, Oregon and one who, due to his vocation, has been in Germany, Iraq and now is in California receiving training before a move to Nepal. Except for my local friend, we all met on an internet forum sponsored by a ministry we'd all been touched by.
These are men who have spoken hard truth to me and who will also let me speak into their lives as well. They have stood by me when I've hit dark places that I needed to face. They are friends who have, at times, spoken inconvenient wisdom to me when I needed it and God led them to speak.
Inconvenient wisdom, words that call out truth, are not always welcome but because I know these friends are for me and because they really know me, I will listen. They will also listen to me as I offer inconvenient words. I am deeply blessed to have them in my life. I've learned to not dismiss what they say as simply, "their opinion", and they do not dismiss me or my words.
I believe it is in this kind of community that God does some of His best work. We need this type of community. It is not always easy to hear what is needed but I trust the community, the fellowship of these friends and I will listen knowing God uses them to speak His truth to me at times.
The question that is on my heart today for any who wander in and read these words is, do you have those kinds of friends around you or are you surrounded by the shallowness of "yes men"? I am reminded of this verse from Proverbs 27:6 "Better are the wounds of a friend than the deceitful kisses of an enemy."
But He did not leave me alone for long. He led me to several men who could be trusted with my heart. All but one of these men are geographically scattered; Pennsylvania, Florida, Indiana, Colorado, Oregon and one who, due to his vocation, has been in Germany, Iraq and now is in California receiving training before a move to Nepal. Except for my local friend, we all met on an internet forum sponsored by a ministry we'd all been touched by.
These are men who have spoken hard truth to me and who will also let me speak into their lives as well. They have stood by me when I've hit dark places that I needed to face. They are friends who have, at times, spoken inconvenient wisdom to me when I needed it and God led them to speak.
Inconvenient wisdom, words that call out truth, are not always welcome but because I know these friends are for me and because they really know me, I will listen. They will also listen to me as I offer inconvenient words. I am deeply blessed to have them in my life. I've learned to not dismiss what they say as simply, "their opinion", and they do not dismiss me or my words.
I believe it is in this kind of community that God does some of His best work. We need this type of community. It is not always easy to hear what is needed but I trust the community, the fellowship of these friends and I will listen knowing God uses them to speak His truth to me at times.
The question that is on my heart today for any who wander in and read these words is, do you have those kinds of friends around you or are you surrounded by the shallowness of "yes men"? I am reminded of this verse from Proverbs 27:6 "Better are the wounds of a friend than the deceitful kisses of an enemy."
Monday, February 7, 2011
Stillness
Stillness. Say the word. Let the sound of the word rest in your mouth; the beginning and ending softness of the "s" sound settle on your mind, your heart. The word, with only the slight percussive "t" invites one to a resting of our body, mind and heart for something deep, something good.
If one is honest with themselves they will find a hunger for stillness. Our heart, minds and bodies need stillness to thrive. Taking time for quiet is good in and of itself. However, there is more, so much more.
Perhaps some who have read this far have a concern. Many of us who lived in the rise of eastern meditative practices have a "gut check" whenever someone suggests a practice that appears close to those ideas. Let me emphatically say, I am not speaking of those practices. This is not "an emptying of oneself" but really a time of being present as authentically and deeply as possible, a practice of allowing distractions to fall away and a listening for God's still small voice.
"Be still and know that I am God", an oft remembered phrase from Psalm 46:10, has come to me lately as not so much a suggestion or invitation but a gentle command. Being still to know Him, this is where the depth is but nearly everything in our culture, even in most churches, we are bombarded by "doing" to know Him, not "being still" to know Him. We are constantly invited to read, listen to radio programs, CD's and podcast, watch television to learn; a constant cacophony of good ideas and words but do we take time for stillness? We neglect it to our own peril.
Do we listen for His voice? He chooses to use a still, small voice so that we have to stop in stillness and faith to listen with our hearts. Be still and know that I am God. There is a bit of urgency to it. Shut it all off, find 10 minutes alone, let the distractions fall away and listen, He will speak.
If one is honest with themselves they will find a hunger for stillness. Our heart, minds and bodies need stillness to thrive. Taking time for quiet is good in and of itself. However, there is more, so much more.
Perhaps some who have read this far have a concern. Many of us who lived in the rise of eastern meditative practices have a "gut check" whenever someone suggests a practice that appears close to those ideas. Let me emphatically say, I am not speaking of those practices. This is not "an emptying of oneself" but really a time of being present as authentically and deeply as possible, a practice of allowing distractions to fall away and a listening for God's still small voice.
"Be still and know that I am God", an oft remembered phrase from Psalm 46:10, has come to me lately as not so much a suggestion or invitation but a gentle command. Being still to know Him, this is where the depth is but nearly everything in our culture, even in most churches, we are bombarded by "doing" to know Him, not "being still" to know Him. We are constantly invited to read, listen to radio programs, CD's and podcast, watch television to learn; a constant cacophony of good ideas and words but do we take time for stillness? We neglect it to our own peril.
Do we listen for His voice? He chooses to use a still, small voice so that we have to stop in stillness and faith to listen with our hearts. Be still and know that I am God. There is a bit of urgency to it. Shut it all off, find 10 minutes alone, let the distractions fall away and listen, He will speak.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Quick Fix
Yesterday I got in the holybluemazdapickup to drive home, tuned in to the traffic report to hear my main route home was blocked by a major accident. Essentially all freeway routes were parking lots. I routed in my mind a long surface route home and proceeded on my way. Half way home my wife called. Our daughter had just called her, sobbing, at the end of a tenuous emotional rope with her ongoing job search. Frustrated and beat down by the continuing weight of interviews apparently gone well, the hope of interviewers words of "We will call you by such and such day or week", and her phone remaining mute; crushed hope had brought her to sobs.
My long simmering frustration for my daughter broke out in me a rage. I, alone in my prolonged commute, spoke out in sharp angry prayer, "What is this all about? Did you make a mistake with my daughter? Why is nothing going well for her? Is she being punished because I screwed up as a father during her formative years?" My actual words were sharper, but you get the idea.
It does not compare well; my frustration and anger of yesterday's drive home and a later outburst in a post on Facebook (now deleted) and the lingering low-grade infection of anger I still feel this morning, but I taste a tiny bit of Job. He'd lost so much more than I can even imagine and he had no clue of an enemy out to destroy him because he was adored by God. But I understand the feeling of being half-drunk with rage and God being the only one who would know, listen, understand and, while feeling the heat of the anger, would not abandon.
Job's friends did their best ministry in their initial silence. Companionship, offered in silence at first, spoke more deeply than their pre-supposed arguments made in feeble yet verbose attempts at fixing Job. It is that part of the story I understand, the need to simply be heard.
I was mad, angry yesterday at God. My daughter's efforts to secure employment have been soundly thwarted. It is a fog of dis-understanding that our little family sits in right now. There are no apparent fixes to her immediate need and the crush that threatens her. As a father, I am angry at this.
I am not done though. I have several friends who have proved to be true, six "virtual" friends scattered across the country and one local. True to me because they have read and heard previous rantings when I've felt crushed and pressed down by my own personal struggles. They offered no words, no rush to fix me. Rather, they sat in silent trust with and for me. Trust in Abba's steadfastness when I could not. They themselves may not have had answers but were willing to sit by the side of the road with me as I returned my voice to the prayer, "Abba, have mercy. I am a sinner. I need you."
These friends, they know who they are, offer simple companionship. They may not think they offer much, but they do. Their lack of assumption of words to fix my angry questions does more to heal than quickly spoken fixes. They know there are no quick fixes at times. This is the tiniest bit of truth I see this morning as I think of the seminal story of Job.
My long simmering frustration for my daughter broke out in me a rage. I, alone in my prolonged commute, spoke out in sharp angry prayer, "What is this all about? Did you make a mistake with my daughter? Why is nothing going well for her? Is she being punished because I screwed up as a father during her formative years?" My actual words were sharper, but you get the idea.
It does not compare well; my frustration and anger of yesterday's drive home and a later outburst in a post on Facebook (now deleted) and the lingering low-grade infection of anger I still feel this morning, but I taste a tiny bit of Job. He'd lost so much more than I can even imagine and he had no clue of an enemy out to destroy him because he was adored by God. But I understand the feeling of being half-drunk with rage and God being the only one who would know, listen, understand and, while feeling the heat of the anger, would not abandon.
Job's friends did their best ministry in their initial silence. Companionship, offered in silence at first, spoke more deeply than their pre-supposed arguments made in feeble yet verbose attempts at fixing Job. It is that part of the story I understand, the need to simply be heard.
I was mad, angry yesterday at God. My daughter's efforts to secure employment have been soundly thwarted. It is a fog of dis-understanding that our little family sits in right now. There are no apparent fixes to her immediate need and the crush that threatens her. As a father, I am angry at this.
I am not done though. I have several friends who have proved to be true, six "virtual" friends scattered across the country and one local. True to me because they have read and heard previous rantings when I've felt crushed and pressed down by my own personal struggles. They offered no words, no rush to fix me. Rather, they sat in silent trust with and for me. Trust in Abba's steadfastness when I could not. They themselves may not have had answers but were willing to sit by the side of the road with me as I returned my voice to the prayer, "Abba, have mercy. I am a sinner. I need you."
These friends, they know who they are, offer simple companionship. They may not think they offer much, but they do. Their lack of assumption of words to fix my angry questions does more to heal than quickly spoken fixes. They know there are no quick fixes at times. This is the tiniest bit of truth I see this morning as I think of the seminal story of Job.
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