Standing In a Pool

     A long dormant memory from childhood summers surfaced recently. I suppose that at the age of 54 my brain houses many unaccessed memories; some ignored for very good reasons. In this case; however, the little old lady in tennis-shoes who manages my memory-recall unit brought forth something pleasant.

     Throughout most of my childhood, we spent a significant portion of each summer in Memphis, Tennessee, visiting relatives. Early in the summer my parents would load us up, heading east, delivering us to summer camp at Camp Wildwood near Searcy, Arkansas. A couple of weeks later, my grandparents would show up and take us back to Memphis, where they lived, for a couple of weeks of slow Southern living. I suppose it took that long to scrub the accumulated dirt from our bodies and the few clothes we wore while at camp. You see, I always figured that the only bath I needed while at summer camp came during the swimming hour. Who cared if my hair got stiff and yellow? While in Memphis we would enjoy slow days lazing around. Each summer we would visit the Pink Palace, a local museum of natural history, play with my cousins, and enjoy eating BBQ. Playing with my cousins was always a lot of fun.

     Uncle Terry and Aunt Thulia lived outside Memphis in a comfortable sprawling home on several wooded acres. Their two sons, Lindy and Rusty, were a little older and great fun to hang out with. Being a few years older and living out in the woods, they knew things about swinging on vines, finding and eating Muskidine, riding zip-lines, and shooting; all skills young men needed. Being good cousins, they willingly taught us about such things in that casually gentle way that older boys teach younger boys when no one is watching. In their backyard they had one of the greatest inventions of all time; the swimming pool. We spent hours playing in that pool, seeing who could swim the furthest underwater, finding out who could make the biggest splash, and all the other fun things you can do in a pool. For a while they had a pet coon. Occasionally we would let the coon and their Irish Setter into the pool at the same time, laughing at the plight of the poor dog. The coon would ride on the dog's back as it swam around the pool. Periodically it would hold the dog’s head under water, occasionally letting it up for air. We would let this go on until the spluttering dog was completely disoriented, exhausted, and almost drowned. Once Aunt Thulia caught us doing this and I found out how angry she could get. Yes summers around the pool provided great pleasure. One day I discovered something very interesting.

     I found out that if I exhaled enough air I would sink to bottom of the pool. Back then my body-fat percentage was such that I needed a lungful of air to remain buoyant. Unfortunately I doubt that it true today. Anyway; I would get in the deep end of their pool, exhale and slowly sink to the bottom, standing there for a few moments looking up at the shimmery world about twelve feet away; seven if you factor my height into the equation. I found the experience thrilling and vaguely unsettling.

     Standing on the bottom of the pool, I sensed the pervasiveness of the water. Moving around in atmosphere, normally I do not sense the air. Oh it is there. Travel to a higher altitude and you miss the oxygen immediately; however, at my regular elevation the atmosphere is just there. Unless the wind blows I do not give air much thought.  Immersion in water brings a new appreciation of being fully surrounded. I suppose scuba divers experience this all the time. Standing on the bottom of the pool, water pressed in on all sides. I remember feeling the presence of water acutely in my ears, eyes, and sinuses. Water changed everything, feeling, sight, and sound. My entire world altered in those few moments. Lungs nearly empty, my time on the bottom soon expired and with a couple of kicks and strokes I returned to the surface gasping, where my brother and cousins would stare at me for a few moments, wondering at my silly game. I always enjoyed those brief moments on the bottom despite the vague realization that danger lurked at the far edges of this game.

     The Psalmist speaks of this in Psalm 137, vividly in verses 9 and 10.

“⁹If I take the wings of the morning,

And dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,

¹⁰ Even there Your hand shall lead me,

And Your right hand shall hold me.

He paints a series of small pictures illuminating the omnipresence of God. In our day-to-day walk we rarely give much thought to omnipresence. I suppose we tend to relate to God like air or atmosphere. It’s there and we always expect it. However, occasionally, at the bottom of the pool we become acutely aware of His constant, abiding presence. He presses in from all sides and our perception of the world changes, altered by His presence. And then there is the danger.

     At the bottom of the pool I was always aware of the fundamental change in state. Tarry too long and my pleasure would turn to terror. In some ways God’s presence is a terror. He’s totally holy, unable to bear the presence of sin. In scripture almost everyone who comes into the presence of God responds in fear. In our modern, relationally oriented religious experience, we tend to downplay this aspect of God. But, the truth is as C. S. Lewis said in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, “He’s not a tame lion.”

     Coming into the presence of almighty God is an awesome and fearful thing. Yet, He’s always here, always present, always seeking, always yearning for us. Somehow we need to get better at walking on the bottom of the pool; practicing the presence of God.

    

    

      

Exterior Issues

     I like to think well of myself. I suppose we all do; like to think well of ourselves. I periodically engage in self-congratulatory reverie when I contemplate the seemingly endless parade of jerks and bigots, streaming across Facebook or some other social media, thinking, “Wow! I’m better than that.”

     And in some earthly, carnal, way I may be…sort of. I clean up well. I keep my lawn mown, yard picked up and even have a few nice flowers scattered about bringing color to the place. I don’t beat my wife, pay my taxes, treat my children relatively well, and visit my parents periodically. I even go to worship on Sundays, participating on occasion in “other duties as assigned.” You know, the outreach activities we in modern Christianity so enjoy. I’m a nice guy.

     You see I like the earthly standard. No fuss, no muss, no real sacrifice, and when they lower your box into the ground to slow salutes those left will say nice things about you as they walk back to their cars, scuffing the dust from their hands. But God refuses to leave me alone in this matter; as well as others. Sometimes God’s like that annoying crack in your fingernail. You know the kind; it catches on your clothes reminding you of the imperfection. At first you safely ignore it. But after a while, the defect grows and if ignored further, it will catch and hang, ripping out an unsightly chunk which may bleed embarrassingly. Unrelentingly honest Jesus reminds us of this in Matthew 5:20, “²⁰For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” This is not the only place He employs a sledgehammer on my pride, my self-image. In Matthew 18 He tells us to forgive seventy-seven times! He then goes on to tell the parable of the unforgiving servant. In Luke’s account, the apostles cry out, “Increase our faith!”

     Recently I’ve had opportunity to show forgiveness, significant forgiveness, not the little some stranger cuts me off on the freeway forgiveness, but the someone stabbed me in the back or abused my love forgiveness. These are not unusual circumstances. They do not merit fulsome description since everyone deals with this. But in both of these cases, I failed, unwilling to extend forgiveness I did not approach Jesus’ standard. Like Darius, I was placed in the scales and found wanting.

      All of which brings me to my point, how do we deal with our own personal failures. I do not mean those smaller insignificant lapses. I speak of deep, dark moral collapse; revealing inner faults and character flaws. We tend to focus on the outward signs, engaging in a wide variety of strategies to keep them under control. We want to look good. We emphasize exterior appearance at the expense of interior realities. Like the Pharisees of old we carefully cleanse the exterior of the cup, all the while, ignoring the rotten filth within (Luke 11:38-40). While we may speak the language of grace, we live lives of desperate legalism with all its attendant bitterness. No matter how hard we try, occasionally our own moral failure surfaces and we must face our true depraved nature. So how do we deal with this unfortunate truth? We can reach for the social makeup, apply enough base to hide the blemish and hope for the best. Sooner or later though, like the aging Hollywood star, all our efforts unravel and the truth spills out and we find our failure exposed for all to see. Or, perhaps, like David, we prostrate ourselves, seeking God’s forgiveness.

     Paul talks about this in II Corinthians 7:10. He speaks of Godly grief, comparing it to worldly grief. Worldly grief stems from embarrassment at being caught out. As a teacher I see this almost every day. Most of the time students are sad about being caught in some minor infraction, not seeing their mistake as something especially egregious. And for the most part they are correct. In some cases; however, the mistake reveals a deeper failing, a lack of forgiveness in my case.

     When I understand that my failing indicates how far away from God I am, then I approach Godly grief. In reality, I truly offend God by my lack of forgiveness. He is the one hurt by my intransigence, my selfishness, and callous treatment of others. My sins wound Jesus and when I understand that, I begin to repent, finding grace, freedom, and joy. True repentance admits the great chasm which lies between the Lord and me. True repentance understands my inability to fix this problem. True repentance understands that all the “good” things I do are merely, as Isiah says, “filthy rags” (Isiah 64:6). When I understand my inability to “be good,” I can relax and stop worrying about how I look and focus on loving God and those He places in my path. Then I understand that my exterior will sort itself out as His hands shape my life. Focusing on exterior issues leaves me exhausted and weak. It sucks the joy from my life, leaving me an anemic, dried out shadow of what God intends. This does not mean that exteriors are unimportant, just not very. When God rules my interior, His presence changes my exterior into His image. 

Family Values

     What does it mean to support “family values?” I see the term tossed about in a variety of circumstances and by any number of people, including various politicians. After all, who can be against the family? People normally use the term with little or no explanation. They just toss it out there as if we all agree on what the term means, what it stands for, and why it’s important. I hear friends say, “I support the “family values” candidate.” I wonder, have we given any real thought to what it means to support families and family values? What does the term really mean; stripped of political baggage?

     For the purposes of this essay, I will use the following definition: Politically speaking, to support family values means that I recognize the contribution of strong families to our nation and culture and consequently, support public policy that strengthens the American family. So what would a family values candidate support?

     First, a family values candidate would understand that families are messy things. Families do not fit well into this age of slick, Madison Ave., sound-bite driven, twitter-based attention span, drive through culture.  Families take effort. They require patience. All too frequently individuals and groups choose poorly. They make decisions that seem right at the time; however, as events unfold the gravity of the mistake manifests itself. When dealing with families love and patience rule. If you desire to be a functioning, contributing, part of a family you must roll up your sleeves and invest time and energy. As a pluralistic society, we may argue about the composition and structure of a family, but we all must understand that successful families require an extensive investment of time and energy. A candidate who claims to support family values necessarily agrees to a lot of untidy hard work. Any candidate who supports one-size-fits-all, cookie cutter solutions to family issues either does not really care, or has not given the problem set serious consideration.

     Second, a family values candidate would support public wage policy that enables non-professional or non-degreed individuals to earn a living wage. Far too many individuals must work two or three jobs in order to secure the basic necessities. In order to support families, our culture must recognize and honor the day laborer as well as the high powered lawyer. The rate of recompense will differ, naturally; however, the day laborer deserves a living wage for the sweat of his brow. We need to structure our society so that we do not consign those who are either unable or unfitted for careers requiring advanced education to lives of drudgery. All contributing members of society ought to earn enough to secure their present and a future for their progeny.

     Third and closely related, a family values ought to support a work-week structured around forty hours. Recent research shows that the average American works 47 hours a week; among the highest of the industrialized nations of the world. We frequently chastise parents for not spending enough time with their children, yet we support policies that make it hard for them to set aside enough time to engage in active parenting.

As President Theodore Roosevelt said, “No man can be a good citizen unless he has a wage more than sufficient to cover the bare cost of living and hours of labor short enough so that after his day’s work is done he will have time and energy to bear his share in the management of the community, to help in carrying the general load.”

A family values candidate should support programs that allow all members of society, no matter their education or rank, to enjoy the warm embrace of family; the opportunity to nurture and enjoy those crucial familial bonds that bind generations together. Failure to support such platforms relegates large sectors of society to a life of struggle without hope of either relief or the joy of raising children.

     Fourth, a family values public servant supports an equitable public education system. Too many families have no choice but to send their children, their future and their hope, to marginal public schools. A public official who supports family values will find ways to strengthen those public institutions charged with educating our future. Supporting these institutions often involves great risk since those who need the most help (children and the poor) have the weakest voice. Often voucher programs and charter schools service a very selective community, draining resources from an already underfunded system. A family values oriented candidate supports teachers by paying them well, giving them the maximum freedom possible in the classroom, keeping class sizes at an acceptable level, recruiting the best and brightest, and encouraging respect for the profession. A well run education system provides not only a hope for the future, but also, a stable present; a safe environment where parents can send their children.

     Fifth, a family values politician understands the importance of a viable publicly managed retirement system to a stable society. While the well-heeled may chafe at the sight of their funds going into a social-security system, they need to take a broader, longer view. While it is true that the well-to-do could invest those funds on their own, receiving an excellent return rate, the majority of poor and middle class must deal with the vagaries of life on a day to day basis and would find sequestering those assets into some sort of retirement plan extremely hard. Without some sort of social security plan most families would revert to a pre-depression model in which families would shoulder the additional financial burden of parents who age out of the workforce. We need policies that ensure the elderly do not suffer abject poverty and that families do not endure needless eroding of income to care for loved ones.

      Sixth, a family values oriented public servant works to discourage and diminish abortion. In this arena I expect practical, executable policy that reduces the societal pressures that make abortion a viable option for many; not meaningless sound-bite oriented votes on impossible legislation. Resolving this thorny, intractable problem will take hard detailed work. However, for a politician to claim this mantle, they must be willing to labor at this problem from a variety of angles, incrementally chipping away at this vexing and abhorrent societal ill. Grandstanding, posturing, and the like are all out. We need thoughtful approaches that get at the root causes of this issue.

     Seventh, a family values statesman understands the need for affordable healthcare for all. The time for posturing has passed. The time for creative thinking and work has arrived. What we have is a good start; we need to correct any serious problems and fine tune for the future. In our land of plenty, families need not grapple with choosing food or needed medication. A family values stand keeps the impact of such legislative actions on all families in mind, not just those with large wallets. Again, in this issue, as with abortion, we need good solid practicable ideas not posturing and meaningless votes.

     These are just some of the family values we ought to weigh when considering public policy and candidates. We should also consider real work as opposed to slogans. It is one thing for a politician, serving or elected, to vocally espouse “family values,” but it is much more important for them to be willing to shoulder the burden of detailed research required for truly creative legislation. We as the electorate ought to demand such commitment from those who seek our support. After all, our families and values hang in the balance. 

The Drama of Rain

     

    

     Drive north out of Alamagordo on highways 54 and 55 for about 160 miles and you find the ruins of an Indian Pueblo. Situated on a hill, the ancient Pueblo enjoys broad sweeping vistas in all directions. Hundreds of years ago, Indians established this trading post to take advantage of nearby salt-lakes and the intersection of natural trade routes. A small community grew up, trading salt and servicing groups of traders passing through the area. Eventually the Spanish arrived, sending missionaries who brought the Gospel to this remote location in their far-flung empire. After another hundred years or so, local economies shifted and salt production no longer proved economically sustainable and the little community and the cross-roads withered and died, leaving the carefully constructed buildings with great views to the Pronghorn Antelope, Cottontails, snakes, and scorpions. Today, a national monument, you can wander among the tumbled down walls, listening to the wind whisper tales of men and women who rose up and sank down, leaving only scattered stones and shards of pottery. When you come, you will not fight crowds as this particular piece of American history lies literally and figuratively at the end of the road. However, should you make the trek; you may find an unexpected reward at the end of your journey.

     If you return to Alamagordo from these ruins, you will drive down-hill the entire way. To the east lie the Sacramento Mountains and the Lincoln national forest, home of such notables as Smokey the Bear and Billy The Kid. To the west lies another range. If you visit during the summer you may enjoy one of the great weather displays on earth. During the summer months winds frequently sweep across the Great Plains which lie to the east of the Sacramento Mountains, picking up moisture along the way. These damp winds strike the mountains, slowing down, forming towering, turbulent white clouds with dark undersides. During the day they grow, seemingly anchored by the hulking purple mass lining the eastern rim of the Tularosa Basin. A few scouts break away,

drifting slowly across the basin, harbingers of coming rains. Late in the afternoon their brothers, gigantic behemoths, break their ties and rumble out across the parched valley. The show has arrived.

     When it rains in Lubbock, it is a local event. My view, obstructed by buildings and trees, takes in the rain as it moves across my neighborhood. Driving down the near empty highway in New Mexico, a sweeping drama unfolds in awesome splendor. Heavy laden clouds, pregnant with rain, start releasing their load on mountain tops. Seen from the valley, this rain obscures the dark blue forested peaks in veils of gray. Then, the towering clouds cast off their restraints and majestically parade out across the valley, all the while dumping millions of gallons of water. You can actually watch rain pour out of a cloud, as if from a gigantic aerial hydrant. It does not traverse the distance quickly. Seen from a distance, the rain slowly peels out of the cloud in clumps, drawn inexorably earthward. A vast sheet slowly descends, writhing in the wind, millions of gallons blown first one way and then another. Escorted by bolts of lightning the life-giving waters descend to the valley floor. As the western sun descends, rainbows form in the sheets adding rich color to the varied hues of gray, blue, and purple. If you are patient, this vast drama plays out over scores of miles and hours of the day.

     This annual spectacle unfolds bringing great beauty to a normally dusty, seemingly barren, ecosystem. Prior to the rains, the Tularosa Basin appears barren, devoid of beauty. The primary inhabitants all wear thorns or prickles of one kind or another. But after the rains, flows and grasses bloom. The dun hills put on a mantle of light green. Cactus, so painful to the touch, put out tender

blossoms of vibrant purple. Bees appear, busily bumbling about pollinating and gathering nectar for honey, while soft brown rabbits hop about munching on tender greenery. The rains, in their majesty, change everything.

     God is like this. Often, trapped in the crush of day-to-day living, we do not see the grand theater of God’s supply. Running from errand to errand we simply lament our parched existence; never noticing the giant clouds building on the horizon. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, clouds appear, the sky darkens, lighting crackles, and water pours forth. Occasionally, if we are attentive, God lets us enjoy the wide sweep of His generous and timely provision. From the mountains steams of living water pour out across the desert of our existence. Then, wonder of wonders, that which seemed so hostile, so prickly, so alienated from beauty breaks forth in a boisterous riot of colors, radiant in His splendor.

     

New Mexico Summer

     Christy and I trekked up to her parent’s cabin in Cloudcroft New Mexico to celebrate our 31^st wedding anniversary. We always enjoy coming up to the mountains. The Alpine environs always rejuvenate the body, soul, and spirit. The crisp mountain air clears the mind, giving a new perspective to many seemingly intractable problems. Time slows down a bit. We take a leisurely breakfast on the front porch, listening to the sweet serenade of mountain birds framed by the bass caw of ravens and the rumbly percussion of Humming Birds. Long interludes of calm silence pass; occasionally broken by the rustlly sip of coffee and cappuccino. We luxuriate, breathing the thin mountain air, heavily laden with fragrant pine. As we slow down, we slip into a more unified rhythm. There is something ineffably comforting, about going up to the mountains.

     We find this in scripture as well. Old Testament writers frequently refer to “going up.”

Noah, Abraham, Moses, David, Elijah, Elisha, and others went up at key points in their spiritual walk. Jesus often went up; alone, with the Apostles, in small groups, and assembled masses. There is something spiritual about going up, which I find odd since scripture reminds us that we find God everywhere. As Jonah and other prophets found, you cannot hide from God. So why do we find such spiritual uplift during physical uplift. Standing on the Western Slope, gazing out across the Tularosa Basin provides some clarity and insight.

     At the southern end of the basin white sand gleams in the hot summer sun. Minerals washed out of the mountains by annual spring rains crystalize in the hot glare. Wind sweeping down out of the mountains breaks up the fragile formations turning them into wind-born sand, which collects in the formation we call, White Sands National Monument. On clear days the rippling dunes shine in the sun as one looks down from the high vantage point.

     At some point in the past, this region endured a period of seismic activity. It appears that the mountains split apart and as they spread out the land sagged, forming a great basin. During this turbulent time, lava welled up out of subterranean reservoirs, creating a vast magma flow instead of a new mountain. Indians of the past treated the rugged black rock with some level of caution. Perhaps they witnessed the destructive power of molten rock spewing out across the ground. Today, we wander around the jagged rocks, gawping at the rugged mass which still lies where it cooled. Most days in these lower regions a gossamer haze renders the sky a dull blue gray. Climb the hills to the east or west and elevation transfigures the view.

     From an elevated vantage point the view changes. Dust no longer fills the sky. Cleared of impediments the sky arches over you and a vivid cobalt blue. From the ground you often cannot see across the Tularosa Basin, but from on high the distant peaks of the other side appear in finely etched detail. You can see the ground hugging haze as a long fuzzy, dusty worm stretching out in the bright noon sun. Elevation, temperature, and thin atmosphere combine to provide a clarity frequently missing at lower elevations. In some ways, the physical reflects spiritual reality.

     When we pack for our trip to the mountains we pack lightly, only taking those things we deem necessary to the journey. A few clothes, a couple of tomes that I’m working on, a camera, a computer, and some food complete the list. Why bother taking things we either do not need or will not use. We know that at our destination we will find all the things necessary to our comfort and pleasure. Christy’s family maintains a well-appointed cabin. A few minutes with a small valise and I’m ready for the trip. In a side note, evidently we all consider coffee quite important. I counted six, no seven, different containers of coffee; several unopened, to which I added yet another. The point is, we travel light in order to come to the mountains.

     Spiritually speaking, our entanglement with the world below hinders our spiritual sight. We cannot expect to enjoy “mountain-top” experiences while weighed down with the things of this world. Only when we divest ourselves of unnecessary baggage can we expect to enjoy the rarified air of the mountaintop. Jesus dealt with this problem repeatedly. Often when people, hopeful disciples, came to Him, He encouraged divestment. The Rich-Young-Ruler is only one example of many who grappled with this concept. In our acquisition driven, keep-up-with-the-Jones, society we live to larder ourselves with a wide variety of baggage, trappings of twenty-first century America. These things weigh us down, thwarting our journey to the top. I’m no exception. While here, I purchased two new hats and added them to the two I brought with me. Christy and I laughed at my “collection” of hats here in Cloudcroft. If I had four heads, perhaps… Stuff accumulates and impedes our spiritual walk.

     Then there is the dusty haze of cares and concerns. In recent weeks and months Christy and I have dealt with a serious problem. While not threatening to our relationship with each other or the Lord, it did consume considerable emotional and mental energy. Often it seemed to block our view of, or communion with, the Lord. Martha grappled with this problem. Often the cares and worries of this life impinge upon our walk with the Lord. We need to set aside our burdens and go up to the mountain; if not physically at least spiritually. Jesus took time to get away with His apostles, away from the maddening crush of the crowds demanding attention and ministry. This does not mean that we discard important concerns willy-nilly. Christy and I still face the same problem; however, for a period it recedes into obscurity while the Lord helps us with some much needed perspective.

     From the mountain, we see things differently. Down in the valley I see but a few miles in any direction; in Lubbock only a couple of blocks. Going up to the mountain changes my viewpoint. Instead of only a few miles, now I see in tens, twenties, and on a clear day more. As I grow in my walk with the Lord, I gain some small portion of His point of view. Some things which seem gross and extensive in the valley shrink into insignificance when viewed from a higher elevation. In order to enjoy the mountain-top I must willingly accept the fact that what I consider important may be just a small inconvenience when viewed from a perspective closer to the Lord’s. Paul refers to this in II Corinthians when he speaks of this, “light momentary affliction…preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all comprehension.” He understood the transitory nature of the cares of the world. When I stand on a mountain-top, spiritually speaking, I get a glimpse of the true nature of things, a more Godly perspective if you will.

     So in order to ascend, I must be willing to let go of things; physical, emotional and spiritual. When I do so, God will transport me to a fuller understanding of spiritual matters, letting me gaze, at least for a few moments, on the world from His perspective. Of course, I must return to the day-to-day world, but with a reinvigorated spirit and a new, perhaps more accurate, view of things. And even though I often exist in the valley, the memories of the view from the mountain-top remain crystalline and clear etched in my memory.