Sacred Scarred

Should have blogged this before now...

...but who has time between work and starting a new cell and changing diapers, etc. (obviously I haven't blogged much recently)...

Grayson Walker Hulfish was born to Jen and I on October 8, 2007.  He weighed 7 lbs, 15 oz., and was 21 inches tall.  He's a beautiful little boy (and I'd post pictures, but I don't have any available today).  Big sister Riley is really good at being a big sister!

Will be back blogging soon.  I'm often too tired to produce coherent thoughts.

Old Habits Die Hard

I thinking yesterday about the death of old habits.

As I left my house yesterday, I remembered that I had lunch plans about 9 city blocks away from my office.  So I hopped on my bike, and start riding to the Patco station in order to take the train across the bridge and into the the city.  It's a four mile ride - takes about 15 minutes.  For those 15 minutes, I kept telling myself, "don't put the bike on the bike rack, take it on the train so you don't have to walk to lunch, don't put the bike on the bike rack, take it on the train so you don't have to walk to lunch..."

Obviously, the habit is to zip right up the the bike rack, lock the bike up, enter the station, walk through the turnstile, get on the train, and go to work.

And I was doing well in my effort to remember to do something different right up until the time that I approached the train station.

Now usually, I move to the far left, cross a fairly busy road against traffic, bank left and use the sidewalk to get to the bike rack.  That's the habit - it's not difficult.  The plan was to do the same thing except to skip the bike rack and board the train with the bike.  My lovely mantra was doing it's job of reminding me.

But...as I began to move to the far left, a car decided to ignore the traffic light, preventing me from doing so.  This caused me to have to stay to the right and bike with traffic across the busy road.  This caused me to miss my left-hand bank toward the sidewalk and I had to bike an additional block before I could cross to the side of the road I needed to be on.

Now I'm facing the train station from a totally different perspective than the habit.  And what do I do?  Flustered by the extra effort required to reach my goal, I regain composure and the habit kicks back in.  I head to the sidewalk, bank to the right this time, and zip up to the bike rack, lock my bike, enter the station, walk through the turnstile, and remember, "don't put the bike on the bike rack, take it on the train so you don't have to walk to lunch."

Too late.  I already paid to go through the turnstile and wasn't about to pay to get out and then pay to get back in again.  So I walked to and from my lunch - the price I paid for my habit.

All that to say that I'm really amazed at how hard habits are to break.  Even when we have the best of intentions and have set ourselves up for success...there's always something lurking to throw us off track and land us back where we don't want to be.

Someone once told me that "a rut is a grave with both ends open."  It takes a lot of effort to climb six feet up.  But if you have a habit that you're trying to break...keep climbing...especially if there's a price to pay that's higher than walking 9 blocks.

Today

It was a Friday...July 27th, 2001.  Six years ago today.  I was driving a van and this girl who I barely knew was sitting in the passenger's seat.  She was holding a couple of pizzas on her lap...we were taking them back to some hungry hardworkers (ourselves included).  I can still remember the intersection.  Route 38 and Nixon Dr., Moorestown, NJ.  I can still remember the steamy smell of pizza.  We were sitting at a stop light and we weren't saying too much.  We had spent some time together on and off over the previous week or so and in that moment, in that van, there was one of those comfortable silences that passes between good friends.  I glanced to my right and breathed in slowly.  She was sitting there - hot smelly pizzas on her lap - this girl I barely knew - she seemed so happy.  I didn't see it coming.  I don't know what I would have done if I did.  In an instant, everything changed.

Now it's Saturday...July 27th, 2002.  Five years ago today.  I'm a year older, perhaps wiser.  A lot has occured since the intersection.  Tragedy has reshaped America in a way that makes my personal tragedies pale in comparison.  But there has been turmoil for me.  In many ways, I personally have gone through one of the most difficult and emotional years of my life.  Very draining.  That intersection changed everything.  I stand at the front of a church, right before the altar.  I am standing alone.  There are tears in my eyes.  Be Thou My Vision echoes through the silence of the building.  I breathe in slowly, trying to take it all in, trying to stay in the moment.  And I remember that girl.

July 27th, 2001.  I'm sitting next to her in a van at an intersection on a Friday evening, and I look over at her and quite unexpectedly I am hit with the thought, "She's the one.  I'm going to marry that girl."  I didn't see it coming and it changed everything.

July 27th, 2002.  I'm at the altar.  I'm in a tux.  And that girl is playing the piano.  She has handed me her flowers and left me at the altar in order to accompany our soloist on my favorite hymn.  This is a surprise to me.  One of the only surprises that she has ever pulled off.  When she returns to my side, she welcomes back her flowers, and there in that church before God, our families, and our friends, we are married.

Happy 5th anniversary, Jen.  I love you.

For Martha...

We want you because depth is rare,
And beauty is needed in order to live the truth.
Because we have a world that is missing a heart,
And my neighbors are selling their souls.
Everyone knows that depth is not needed
When your life begins with you.
But as for us?...We still believe in mystery,
In wine, long talks, and reading late at night.
So go where you're needed,
But land where you're loved.
Grow roots and take wing and follow the beat
Of something good and different and right.
Join with these angels in mending the pain,
For surely more tears will fall.
But we'll cry them and catch them
And anoint this world with a salty teardrop grace.
We want you because you are becoming you,
And we are less than we without that.

Train Hits Car

When a car ignores the flashing lights and then in a moment of panic hesitates on the tracks, what happens when the train mows it down?  A mess is made, for starters.  Many times the train sustains minimal damage and largely remains uneffected, but the car...well the car is a wreck.

What do we do in the moments where the present and the past collide?  Times where the present sustains minimal damage and remains largely uneffected, but the past becomes a wreck?

I ran into someone from my past today.  Someone that I choose to have fond memories of despite the times of pain.  I was minding my business, going through my daily routine (actually riding the train to work), staying in tune with the present - when my train smacked a car (as it were) and I came face to face with the past.

Throughout the course of our cordial conversation, I felt a bit trite.  There was once real, deep, meaningful relationship with this person, but today (many years later) it was "how's the family?  where are you working?  do you keep in touch with anyone from our shared past?"  And I've felt funny about that all day long.  I guess one can't expect a meaningful relationship from the past to be "normal" as you chat for 10 minutes on the train (I'm not even sure I wanted it to be), but it has conjured up some very weird feelings for me.

While my present will remain largely uneffected (I'll post this and then probably not give my encounter another thought - the train keeps going), somehow my past now seems to be a wreck.  There are questions I have...questions about truth and love and depth and relationship...questions that undermine fondly held memories.  It's as if 10 trite minutes have redefined the whole of our past - making it less that I thought it was.  There's a mess back there, now - and I guess that's okay.  Well, it sucks for the car, but the train keeps chugging.  I'm glad to be riding the train.

Makes me think of the disciples after the resurrection.  Talk about a train (Jesus in the present) hitting a car (the disciples picture of Jesus in the past)...what a wreck!

Giving

My wife and I had a little conversation about gift giving the other day.  She was having a hard time with giving a particular gift to a particular person because she was afraid of what they might do with it or use it for.  In the midst of her struggle, she called one of her (our) closest friends to explain the situation and what she was feeling (my wife is a great self-reflector and she's more than willing to call a friend to say, "this is what I'm thinking, this is what I'm feeling, I know it's probably not right, can you tell me how to love Jesus better in this situation?" - most of the time she already knows the answer, but we've learned to lean on our community to do the work of the church and be the audible voice of the Holy Spirit - it's good.)

Our friend told her what she already knew, but what she needed to hear...she basically said, "Give gifts because you desire to give freely like God gives.  It's not your concern what the gift receiver does - if you're giving like God, what does what they do with it matter to you?  You're supposed to give to give, not to receive something in return or make sure it all works out right.  If you're trying to control the outcomes, you're not truly giving."

And then yesterday, my friend Ed posted about wedding replies, RSVPs, thank you cards, and the like.  I ranted a bit about my personal views on thank you notes.  Note: don't send me thank you cards, they make me mad.

And last week my friend Adam and I talked about a conversation he had with a pan handling homeless man (hanging outside of our church location).  The guy asked to bum a cigarette.  Adam told him, "No, man...sorry."  Adam works for Project H.O.M.E. and sees his fair share of the homeless on a regular basis and truly desires to help the homeless in ways that can really help them (I think it can be argued that simply giving them a cigarette may not be the best way to really help).  The man got beligerent, dropped his quiet-scratchy-worn-homeless-voice act, and loudly ranted about how Adam should have simply said, "no" because he wasn't really "sorry."  After reflection, Adam's opinion was that this was a good point.  He wasn't willing to give him a cigarette for good reasons and he wasn't sorry about it - it was a conscious decision (saying "sorry" casually probably cheapened the thrust of his heart for this man).

So these things (giving gifts, the homeless, thankfullness, etc.) have been on my mind.  And then some thoughts on giving to the poor/pan handlers surfaced on the blog scene.  You can read the post's full context and what promted it if you want...but the good stuff is what follows...sarcastic at times, but challenging and good...

[rhymes with kerouac] writes...

Some questions to ask when encountering a pan-handler:

1. How do we determine who deserves grace and who doesn't?
2. How do we determine where the limits of grace are?
3. Isn't the whole point of grace that it's undeserved? That it has no limit?

Damn, there I go again.

Look, here's what I do:  when people ask for spare change I give it to them. I do this because spare change just ain't that hard for me to come by. Plus it's you know, the spare change they're asking for, not the stuff I actually need. Sometimes I don't have spare change, so I open my wallet. Twenty five cents here, fifty cents there, a five dollar bill somewhere else - I'm pretty much out of control. I'm bankrupting my future. I'm burning down the bank. I'm living in the complete and total absence of good stewardship of God's money as I drop another Looney into a dirty ball cap. They ask for spare change and I give it to them, like a rebel without a clue. Totally without a clue.

Have I been taken advantage of ? Oh, of course. I personally know two panhandlers who are multi-millionaires. One of them has split-level, ranch style house with a walk-out to the golf course - more than I could afford, let me tell you. Two weeks ago I saw the guy with the cardboard sign at the on-ramp in box seats at the Opera House. And at the Opera House he didn't smell bad and he had teeth. Plus he was very rude to me when I asked for the thirty-three cents back, so that just goes to show you what a messed up world these homeless folks live in. A couple of them even have addictions. I don't like giving those people my thirty-five cents, because they might spend it on their addiction. It would be different if they were only addicted to say, coffee, like me and all my church friends. That's an okay addiction - I'd buy them a four dollar Starbucks latte, gladly. But that's where I draw the line, Mister.

Here's what I've learned: Giving people money makes me happy. It makes me really, really happy. Oh, I know it's only chicken feed, but that doesn't seem to matter. It makes me really, really happy just the same. I love it. I once drove around the block twice so I could give a squeegee kid some serious coinage. It delighted me. I drove away and I was laughing for no reason at all. Of course, this didn't happen all at once, it sort of grew on me, but I will now cross the street so I can give money to a homeless person. Perhaps I'm an idiot, but I'm a happy, happy idiot.

Of course, if you give a beggar a dollar they call you a chump. Ask why the streets are full of beggars and.... oh, wait, never mind. Nobody's asked that.

I'm Brewing

Frankly, the last few weeks have been quite busy for me.  Too busy to put much effort into blogging.  Busy enough that I wish I had coffee all the time.

What, with buying a house, getting ready to move, launching A Circle of Hope, the load at my actual job picking up, my on-going reading project, responsibilities for Circle Venture (the site is a baby), spring evenings playing with my daughter in the grass, and daily walks with my family (Jen w/ baby on board, Riley, and Linford) in the beautiful weather, I'm finding that I just don't have a lot of time these days to formally compose very many thoughts.  Some things are brewing, but I may be fairly silent for the next several days.  Bear with me, I'll be back in due time.  The french press has to steep for a bit before the plunger is plunged and the coffee goodness is able to pour forth.

Further Thoughts on Forgiveness

Yesterday Meggan commented, that sometimes it's the hardest to forgive the ones you love most - which shows the world how awful [we are] at loving like Christ did...

We enter into relationship with one another, we explore the boundaries of these relationships, we fumble around (a lot), and somewhere in there, we solidify these relationships...love happens. 

But for love to work, it takes just that...work.  Oh, it's not that I don't believe in loving for the sake of loving.  I'm enough of a romantic to still believe in "love at first sight" and "falling in love" with someone.  But romantic ideals aside, to love someone is to choose.  It is to choose them over yourself.  It is to choose to walk in a way foreign to natural inclinations.  It is to choose a humility that recognizes that despite your best efforts, you are not truly the center of the cosmos.

There are a number of people that I love "most" in this world - my wife, my daughter, my family, some very true friends.  I love them "most" not because they love me - most of them actually do, some of them I'm not always sure about - but because I choose to love them.  Despite their mistakes, despite their flaws, despite the fact that they hurt me at times...I choose to love.  It is an active, conscious, daily discipline.

What goes wrong when we have difficulty forgiving those we love the most?  Because Meggan is right.  It is actually pretty easy to forgive just about anyone of anything...we don't hold Jane Doe who messed up our fast food order to very high standards because we're not in real relationship with her (though maybe we should be asking ourselves about our own standards regarding our relationship with fast food).  We may "love" Jane in the "I have a love for all people" sense, but we don't love her like we love the ones we choose to love most.  Why is forgiveness for her pretty easy and forgiveness for people we truly love pretty hard?

It comes down once again to choice.  When we have difficultly forgiving those we love the most, we choose that.  Forgiveness in not purely intellectual (choice is different that mere thinking), it not purely emotional (choice is different than mere feelings).

God chose to love us (his creation) in the person of his son, Jesus.  It doesn't make a whole lot of intellectual sense, and I'm pretty sure that God doesn't always feel like loving us.  But it was and is a choice that goes beyond thinking and feeling.

It is a choice that we can ignore.  And we can live like we are the center of the cosmos and forgiveness is ours and ours alone to dispense to whomever the hell we want to.

Or it is a choice that we can embrace.  And we can live in light of the forgiveness we have received, bringing forgiveness to everyone (especially those we say we love most).

We are pretty awful at forgiving like God forgives.  We are pretty awful at loving like Christ loves.  But I choose to forgive you for that.  Read it again...

Because I choose to love you, I choose to forgive you for not loving like Jesus.

Can you forgive me?  I think I need it more.

Excuses, excuses, excuses

Blogging fast is over.

So last week I experienced the same basic scenario over and over and over again.  It took a number of different shapes and forms and occurred with a number of different people, but the conversation was basically the same.  I was very attune to it.

I'll share one story that particularly highlights the scene...See if you recognize it...

Presently I am a project and events coordinator for a fairly large non-profit organization in Philadelphia.  I organize and run conferences and large events, answer questions on the phone and in e-mail,  administer two websites, produce in house brochures, and project manage the production of two major quarterly publications.  It's actually a lot like the administrative end of being in youth ministry (the actual pastoring end being the big missing part - and the part I miss most).

As project manager for these publications, I work with writers, an editor, graphic artists, a printer, a mailing house, the post office, and a boat load of administration/executive types who get final say on just about everything.

Last week, we had a major publication ready to go to print.  The editor (who works in my office) is an excellent editor...excellent.  If there were an NCAA bracket for editors, I'd pick her to take it home - she's that good (I've actually picked Georgetown to win - go Hoyas!).  She catches everything, including things that aren't that big of a deal...she's a perfectionist, so I've learned to take her where she's at and let her do a great job.  Sometimes it's pain, but she cares about her work and that's good, so I deal with her insanity intensity.

After numerous revisions (and one very late revision of a mistake that wasn't any of our faults) the publication was approved and sent ahead to the printer.  No sooner had it gone to print than a person in an executive position within the organization caught an additional mistake (it was a good catch).  A series of panicked phone calls ensued and in the end it cost us relatively little money to get the mistake fixed (virtually no harm, no foul).

When I informed said editor of the mistake she was (understandably) embarrassed.  The day before she had exclaimed, "Make sure you show it to me before it goes to print!  I need to read it!  I'm the only one in this whole organization that cares about little things, like commas, bolding, and italics!"  I showed it to her, she approved it.

So when a major mistake was missed by her (the editor) and caught by an executive (her former direct supervisor), she was beside herself.  And for the next two days, she made sure I knew how embarrassed she was - blaming the miss on everything from problems at home to too much on her plate at work.

The thing was this...I didn't care about her excuses.  One miss didn't make her a bad editor.  The mistake got caught - that's why a bunch of people work together to read the publication before printing.  Yes, she's the best at it, but everyone involved is responsible for catching mistakes.  And yet for two days, I had to hear about how embarrassed she was and how it should never have happened and how busy she is, etc., etc., etc.

I had nearly the same experience on at least two other occasions with two other people.  A mistake was made or something didn't get done and said person felt the great need to justify their "failure" with excuse after excuse.  It's grating.

I think I'm so well adjusted to the idea of life in a community that I find it useless to justify my shortcomings.  I have them, you have them, we all have them - we're going to "fail" - but we work together to make sure we are better than ourselves, to make sure we are more like Jesus.  That's what being the body of Christ is all about.  Peter says, Above all, maintain constant love for one another, for love covers over a multitude of sins.  Well said, St. Peter.

Must we always justify our very existence?
Of course there was a valid reason.
And I already trust the character of your being.
It is good enough.
It is good.
It is.
(So thanks for)
It.

One Hundred!

10 times 10 is 100.
10² = 100

The sum of the first nine prime numbers is 100.
2+3+5+7+11+13+17+19+23 = 100

The sum of the cubes of the first four intigers is 100.
1³ + 2³ + 3³ + 4³ = 100

The number 100 is the basis of percentages with 100% being a full amount.

100 is the atomic number of fermium.

100 degrees Celsius is the boiling temperature of pure water at sea level.

100 years are in a century.

100 verses are in the song 99 Bottles of Beer.

100 tiles are in a standard Scrabble set.

100 is the number for the operator in the UK, the police in Greece, India, and Israel, and the ambulance in Beljium.

100 points were scored in an NBA game by Wilt Chamberlain on March 2, 1962.

100 pennies are in a dollar.

100 yards are on a football field.

And this is post number 100 on Sacred Scarred.  Thanks for reading!