Tag Archives: reflections

119. God’s Fool

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A couple of weeks ago, a coworker informed me quite seriously that our workplace is haunted.

I laughed and told her I think I’d have noticed by now if the bogeyman, the Slenderman or any other kind of spook were lurking in our workplace.

Later in the evening, the garbage compactor went off by itself.

“See?” said my coworker, smiling nervously. “Nobody’s in that room. How do you explain that?”

“If I were a vengeful spirit,” I replied, “I think I’ve have better things to do than activate garbage compactors.”

The incident made me laugh at the time, but it later made me think seriously about the things we believe. My coworker believes our workplace is haunted. It would be easy for me to scoff at her beliefs, but I happen to believe in an invisible, all-powerful, everlasting God.

What sets apart my beliefs from hers? What’s the difference between faith and superstition?

The answer, of course, is evidence. There’s much more evidence to support the existence of God than there is to suggest dark spirits have taken possession of the garbage compactor in my workplace.

Many people don’t agree. I recently read an article claiming science will someday eliminate the need for God. The theory of intelligent design is frowned upon by many scientists. Naturalistic evolution is the de facto explanation for the origin of human life.

Honestly, both sides offer compelling arguments. No matter what atheists may say, there’s certainly evidence for God. Regardless of what Christians will tell you, there’s certainly evidence for atheism. To quote C.S. Lewis, an atheist who converted reluctantly to Christianity, “Now that I am a Christian I do have moods in which the whole thing looks very improbable; but when I was an atheist I had moods in which Christianity looked terribly probable.”

In the end, casting one’s lot with one side or the other isn’t just a matter of reason, logic and evidence. It’s a matter of faith, even for atheists.

There are things I don’t understand about the Christian faith, even though I’ve tried. Regardless, I’ve chosen Christianity. Based on the evidence, it makes sense. I speak not only of scientific, archeological and historical evidence, but also of the evidence of changed lives.

Some months ago, I wrote about gangster pastors: men who have been miraculously transformed from violent, drug-addicted criminals into loving husbands, fathers and church leaders. I know these men personally. I’ve heard numerous accounts of miraculous events. Most powerfully, I know many people whose lives are marked by something, a loving graciousness that goes far beyond mere altruism or friendly disposition.

For me, the best evidence is my own life. Ten years ago, I was a selfish, dishonest, insecure jerk. Eight years ago, I turned my life over to Jesus Christ. Today, while I’m not perfect, I’m a much, much better person than I was.

In the eight years I’ve been a Christian, I’ve seen too many answers to prayer, too many transformed lives and too many unbelievable circumstances for me to pretend it’s all just a series of coincidences—just as it’s possible for ten rolls of a die to yield only sixes, but my first guess is that the gambler who rolls ten sixes in a row is probably using a loaded die.

I’m sure some of my readers are nodding their heads and exclaiming, “Yes, yes.” Some of my readers are probably shaking their heads and saying, “This guy’s deluded,” and a few may have stopped reading once I switched topics from the Slenderman to the Christian faith.

Christians are sometimes considered foolish, and that’s fine. Christ’s own family thought he was out of his mind. (To those who believed he was just a Jewish carpenter, some of the things Jesus said and did must have seemed pretty strange.) The Apostle Paul, who wrote nearly half the New Testament, was accused of insanity.

If I’m crazy for being a man of faith, at least I’m in good company. If I’m a fool, at least I have the consolation of being God’s fool.

I’m not quite sure why I decided to compose this blog post. The subjects of faith, atheism and superstition (and the Slenderman) have been on my mind recently, and I suppose I just wanted to share my thoughts.

116. Because I Am a Christian

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While my command of the English language is redoubtable—well, adequate—my knowledge of Spanish is weak. I’ve read very little Latin American literature, and understood very little of what I’ve read.

There is one story, however, I will never forget.

Juan León Mera, the man who wrote the lyrics to Ecuador’s national anthem, penned a story titled “Porque Soy Cristiano,” which translates to “Because I Am a Christian.” I had to read it for one of my Spanish classes in middle school.

It’s the story of a man whom a military officer treats brutally during one of South America’s many civil wars. The officer eventually cuts off the man’s arm with a machete and abandons him. Many years later, the officer is injured (or becomes sick; I don’t recall exactly) and is rescued by a one-armed peasant.

Of course, the peasant is the man whom the officer had maimed years before. Although he recognizes the officer, the peasant chooses to care for him instead of exacting revenge. When the officer learns the identity of his rescuer, he’s staggered.

“Why have you helped me?” he asks.

The peasant replies, “Because I am a Christian.”

It’s only a few words, but it’s enough. Everyone understands. Christian means forgiveness. Christian means compassion. Christian means love—not romantic nonsense, but a simple resolve to treat other people decently.

Things have changed.

To many people today, Christian means hypocrisy. Christian means superstition. Christian means homophobia, prejudice, legalism, ignorance, arrogance and prudishness. Christian means spending an hour sitting in church every Sunday.

Many followers of Christ have abandoned the word Christian due to its negative connotations. I don’t blame them, and yet I don’t agree. I think the word Christian can be redeemed. How can we redeem it? What can we do?

Do we even have to ask?

Let’s redefine Christian. Better yet, let’s stop redefining it. Its original meaning was awesome.

Why do I read those boring prophecies and genealogies in the Bible? Why do I refrain from lying and swearing and being an Internet troll? Why do I even try to treat other people with kindness and respect?

Because I am a Christian.

106. How to Make Christian Media Awesome

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Today’s post was written by Paul McCusker, veteran writer and director for Adventures in Odyssey and Focus on the Family Radio Theatre, and author of numerous books and plays. (For more from Paul, check out his website!) Since his work in Christian media has been phenomenal, I could think of no better person of whom to ask the question: “Why does Christian media so often fail, and how can we make it better?”

In the thirty years I’ve spent as a writer I’ve often heard Christians complain about the sub-standard quality of the Arts in modern Evangelical Christendom. The lament is that films, novels, plays, music and all other forms of Art seem to suffer at the hands of well-meaning Christians. I have launched this complaint myself at one time or another. And some might argue that I’ve contributed to the problem, considering my varied career as a writer in some of those fields.

Before we complain too much or too often, I think it helps to ask a few questions just to clarify what we’re talking about. What do people mean by “sub-standard quality”? Sub-standard compared to what? Are we measuring against the secular realm, which certainly has its share of flops (maybe even more if you consider the percentages)? Or are we measuring against something else? If so, what?

If nothing else, we need a coherent definition of success. For example, how do we measure artistic success? Is it based on a sense of fulfillment and experience—a story or song hits in all the right ways for the audience? Or maybe it’s the fulfillment and experience of the artist, somehow shared with others? I once read how the composer Ralph Vaughan Williams stated that he wasn’t sure if he liked it one of his symphonies, but it was certainly what he meant to say when he wrote it.

Are we measuring according to financial success? Is a great story something less than a great story if a lot of people don’t buy it? Or maybe we’re creating sub-standard art because we don’t have the right level of investment at the start? More money means better effort? Or does it?

Or are we measuring according to spiritual success, tallied by the number of people who are drawn closer to Christ in one way or the other?

These are the kinds of questions we must ask before applauding or dismissing the efforts of Artists. I’ve been moved by stories that I knew were not very well-made. Equally, I’ve been unmoved by stories because the flaws were impossible to look past. I’ve shrugged at big-budget films that should have gotten it right and didn’t. And I’ve watched in wonder at low-budget films that combined plot, character and theme in near-perfection.

All these questions aren’t meant to evade the issue. I’ve wrestled with them repeatedly over the years—from project to project, and audience to audience. There are so many factors an Artist in any discipline has to consider. But those factors aren’t always clear to the unwary. And success may only be an elusive hope, no matter what we do. But let’s allow that we should always do our best. Here are a few suggestions how.

I would suggest that any Artist—Christian or otherwise—must know the disciplines of Art. We must learn the craft. Master it, as much as it can be mastered. Do our very best while recognizing our limitations and the limitations of the Art we hope to master. Understand the objective rules of Art while appreciating the subjective experience people will have of it. Learn, learn and keep learning.

We must never do, nor accept, less than the very best, even if people seem to grow closer to God because of it. Well-intended rubbish is still rubbish. God can redeem our very worst efforts, but we mustn’t keep putting Him in a position where He has to. Yes, we can be forgiving about poorly crafted Art, but we mustn’t let that forgiveness excuse the flaws in a poor effort.

We have to remember that every Artistic effort has its own choices and challenges and opportunities for mistakes. The goal is to learn from those mistakes this time in the hope we won’t repeat them again next time. We learn—and we learn again.

It’s not popular to suggest it, but I believe we must understand for whom we write. Who are they? What are they expecting from us? (And if we don’t like the answer to that question, then we may be writing for the wrong audience.) It’s easy to look down our artistic noses at the very people we want to communicate with—especially when they’ve rejected us. Personally, I’m inclined to want to assume the best about my audience. I suspect that they are a lot smarter than me—and haven’t been proven wrong—and try to write accordingly.

None of this has to do with being “successful” in media, by the way. It’s only part of the equation. Our “success” as Artists is often determined by sales-people, distributors, producers, marketers, and a large number of professionals who will impact what we do and how we do it. In that world, we have to learn their rules—and try to play by them—until someone creates new rules for us to learn and follow. That’s yet another reality.

Even as I guest-write this blog, I’m aware that there’s someone looking over my shoulder, representing his audience, determining whether or not I’ve come close to what he asked me to write. And as I wind up, I have to paraphrase Ralph Vaughan Williams once again: I don’t know if I like what I’ve written, but it’s what I meant to say.

98. Just Try to Relax

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The past month has been pretty hectic.

Four weeks ago, I began packing my worldly goods and possessions for the five thousand-mile journey from Montevideo to Fort Wayne.

Three weeks ago, I arrived at my brother and sister-in-law’s home in Indiana, burdened with several suitcases and a dozen typewriter monkeys.

Since then, I’ve learned to drive, purchased a car, failed a driver’s test, done some author stuff, worked on my blogs, applied for jobs and busied myself with dozens of miscellaneous tasks, responsibilities, errands, duties, obligations, commitments and chores.

Until a few days ago, I kept myself almost constantly busy. I refused to give myself much time to relax. I told myself I didn’t need to rest, but to get everything done. When I had fulfilled my obligations—all of them—I could consider taking some time off.

Then, earlier this week, I stopped functioning.

I was paralyzed mentally, exhausted emotionally and tired physically. I couldn’t stay focused.

I had broken down.

At last, unable to work, I retreated to my bedroom with a cup of tea and a video game. For several hours, I set aside my self-imposed obligations and relaxed—and it was awesome.

That long rest was calming, refreshing and fun. Hour by hour, I could feel myself regaining my composure and focus.

I’ve attempted to cope with the stress and difficulty of the past few weeks by acting busy, trying to persuade myself that everything was under my control.

Everything is not under my control. That’s the bad news.

The good news is that everything is under God’s control.

He commands us to rest. It’s even one of the Ten Commandments: “Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the LORD your God. On it you shall not do any work.”

We honor the Sabbath day by resting—trusting God to work things out instead of exhausting ourselves trying to keep everything under control.

The Lord Jesus himself said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

It is now my intention to drink some tea and play a video game.

94. For When the World Seems Dark

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In the centuries since the invention of the printing press, Christians everywhere have perfected the fine art of writing in their Bibles.

Some readers of Scripture create complex systems involving symbols or different colors of highlighter markers. Others cram notes, observations and questions into the margins.

I write in my Bible, though my notations are pretty simple. A couple of years ago, for example, I labeled the psalms in order to keep track of them. I came upon the seventy-seventh psalm a few days ago. Its label intrigued me.

For when the world seems dark

The psalm begins: I cried out to God for help; I cried out to God to hear me. When I was in distress, I sought the Lord; at night I stretched out untiring hands and my soul refused to be comforted.

Well, that’s cheerful.

Moving forward a few verses: Will the Lord reject forever? Will he never show his favor again? Has his unfailing love vanished forever? Has his promise failed for all time? Has God forgotten to be merciful? Has he in anger withheld his compassion?

What a bright, happy psalm this is turning out to be.

As I read the first few verses, I was wondered why I’d given Psalm 77 a title like For when the world seems dark. When the world seems dark, I want it to seem lighter—not more depressing!

Then the theme of the psalm takes an abrupt turn: I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago. I will meditate on all your works and consider all your mighty deeds.

The psalmist goes on to describe one of God’s great miracles, and ends with these words: You led your people like a flock by the hand of Moses and Aaron.

Some great Christian thinker (I don’t remember which) once wrote, “Do not forget in the darkness what you have learned in the light.”

The psalmist didn’t forget. When God seemed far away, he paused to remember two things: the great deeds God had done, and the great love God had shown.

Psalm 77 came at a good time. At the moment, I’m under some emotional strain. Leaving loved ones, adjusting to a new place, facing an uncertain future—these things are hard. It’s easy to lose perspective and become lost in depression, anxiety or fear.

It’s at times like these that I must stop and remind myself of two things: the great deeds God has done for me, and the great love he’s shown toward me.

I remember those scholarships that allowed me to graduate from Bethel College. I remember how, when I was depressed during my third semester, I enjoyed the much-needed blessing of a long, solitary Thanksgiving break spent writing, watching Disney movies and playing Final Fantasy VII. I remember the glorious evenings spent watching Avatar: The Last Airbender and drinking tea with my friends from college. I remember all those mornings my old man brought me coffee in bed, and all those times my mum told me, “You’re a treasure.”

I remember how often God has made things right.

When the world seems dark, remember what you’ve learned in the light.

87. Keeping Pace

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I’ve never been physically fit, but I came close during my senior year of high school. Those were the days I spent in the class of Mr. Socrates, a Physical Education teacher of whose legendary exploits I’ve already written.

Mr. Socrates made every one of his classes run a mile to warm up. This was in the Andes, remember, at an elevation of more than nine thousand feet. Running a mile at a high altitude is tough. After his students had finished the mile, they began whatever activity he had planned for the day.

I hated that mile.

I always had a strong start, passing most of the other students while running the first lap around the soccer field. Then I realized I had five laps left to run, and gradually slowed to a walk.

I was always one of the last to finish the mile.

Perhaps, I mused at last, Aesop’s fable about the tortoise and the hare may have some truth in it. Instead of running the first lap, I jogged. Pretty soon I was jogging all six laps and sprinting the final stretch. After a few months, I finished the mile in less than six and a half minutes—a laughable time for an athlete, but not bad for a bookish student.

I learned to keep the pace. Slow and steady is better than quick and sporadic. It was discouraging to be passed by almost every other runner on the first lap, but I finished the final lap ahead of many of them.

I think we sometimes approach things the way I approached the mile. We throw ourselves into things, wear ourselves out and quit.

My catalysts for personal growth haven’t been emotional experiences. Emotions wear off quickly. The biggest advances have been when I’ve learned something and applied it consistently to my life. I haven’t changed overnight, but a little at a time.

If you experience a rush of spiritual fervor at a church revival, or feel a burst of enthusiasm as you finish the first chapter of your novel, or plunge into some other endeavor with wild optimism, don’t take things too quickly. Set realistic goals, and stick to them. When you’ve mastered one step, move on to the next.

A slow, permanent change is infinitely better than an instantaneous, temporary one.

Keep the pace.

75. Stoic or Stupid?

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I don’t think I would make a very good Viking.

I hate cold weather. I lack any kind of vicious bloodlust. Most importantly, I can’t grow a beard. Thus it is proved. Adam would not make a good Viking.

Regardless, I possess one quality that would make any Viking proud: quiet stoicism.

When confronted with trials and tribulations, I don’t usually talk about them. Whether depression or headache, discouragement or insomnia, sadness or soreness, I keep my problems to myself.

In some ways, quiet stoicism isn’t such a bad thing. I know people who could probably use a little stoicism: the sort of people who regularly insist on describing all of their frustrations in painstaking detail. One reason I don’t talk much about my problems is that I don’t want to annoy anyone.

In other ways, however, quiet stoicism is kind of stupid.

To be honest, one of the reasons I keep my struggles to myself is to give the impression that I don’t have any. It’s hard to be vulnerable. It can be embarrassing. The easiest option is sometimes to be stoic and tough out my problems alone.

The trouble is that some problems are too big for anyone to tough out alone.

As much as I’d like to pretend I’m totally self-sufficient, I’m not. There are times I need someone to give me advice, encouragement or criticism. There are times I need someone to listen to me. There are times I need someone simply to be there.

Not long ago, I realized I’d made such a habit of trying to deal with my problems alone that I was forgetting to ask God for help when difficulties arose. It wasn’t a deliberate, “I’ll take care of this little complication, God, and ask you to handle the really big problems” kind of decision. In fact, it wasn’t a decision at all. Asking for help simply didn’t occur to me.

Stoic or not, forgetting to ask the Lord God Almighty for help is stupid. He doesn’t merely allow us to ask for help when we need it. He flat-out commands us to ask for help when we need it!

Paul wrote, “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God” (Philippians 4:6).

Peter added, “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7).

Quiet stoicism can be a virtue. I’m a reserved person, and I don’t plan to tell everyone about every problem. I think it’s good sometimes to work through problems patiently.

In the end, though, ain’t it better to ask for help?

64. The Fear of Not Being Perfect

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Do you ever suffer from the fear of not being perfect?

I do.

In fact, the fear of not being perfect has been one of my greatest struggles.

My Thursday Afternoon of the Soul, a year and a half of intense depression, occurred partly because I was constantly afraid that I wasn’t good enough.

One of the greatest lessons I’ve learned impacted me so deeply because I was focused on trying to be perfect instead of trying to help others.

I’ve still got my fair share of qualms, struggles and insecurities, but I’m no longer afraid that God will abandon me if I make too many mistakes.

(That’s a really good thing, ’cause I make lots of mistakes.)

I’m still trying to reconcile myself to the fact that certain areas of my life are less than perfect. Some things are beyond my control: my tragic inability to grow a beard, for example. Other things, things over which I have a little more control, frustrate me because I want them to be perfect and they aren’t.

I wonder how many people have given up on something because they weren’t perfect.

I wonder how many violin players have stopped practicing because their performances never sounded exactly right. I wonder how many painters have thrown away their brushes because they were tired of finding flaws in their paintings. I wonder how many poets have quit writing poetry because their poems were met with criticism or disinterest.

Sometimes it’s best to give up on something. If a hobby is costing extravagant amounts of time, money or effort, and clearly going nowhere, perhaps it’s wise to let it go. But I think we sometimes kill our dreams before they have a chance to grow.

For example, when I write, my greatest hindrance is the nagging conviction that writing is just a colossal waste of time. An insidious little voice whispers, You’re investing so much time and effort in your writing, and for what purpose? Your writing is full of faults. Nobody will read it. Your novel is clichéd. Nobody will buy it. Your blog is pointless. Nobody will like it. There are tens of thousands of better writers out there. You should spend your time doing something worthwhile.

I think pretty much every person has heard that voice. Some people listen to it. Some people refuse to listen.

Blogger Jon Acuff is one of the people who has refused to listen. “The road to awesome always leads through the land of horrible,” he wrote. “Go be horrible at something. It’s the only way to be awesome at everything.”

Web cartoonist Wes Molebash is another such person. “There will be many obstacles on your road to success,” he wrote, “so don’t build your own.”

Amateur animator JKR is yet another such person. “Don’t worry about failing,” he wrote. “You’re going to, and it’s okay. Just learn from whatever you don’t get quite right.”

Perseverance, I keep telling myself, is a much better quality that perfectionism.

I recently saw Steven Spielberg’s film adaptation of The Adventures of Tintin, and one of its characters offered a wise piece of advice.

“There are plenty of others willing to call you a failure,” he said. “Don’t you ever say it of yourself.”

60. How to Be Useful

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Cause and effect.

These three simple, innocent words sometimes represent an incredible chain of events—not just a chain, but an entire web of events. A single action may have unbelievable consequences.

There’s a story I’d like to share. It involves two of my favorite authors, J.R.R Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. They’re both famous, but for very different reasons.

Tolkien is renowned as a literary critic and author of fantasy fiction. While he’s most famous for writing The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, he’s also held in high regard for his contributions to the study of Anglo-Saxon literature and innovative approaches to literary criticism.

Lewis is also a famous author of fantasy fiction, but he is mostly remembered for his books about Christianity. The author of The Chronicles of Narnia dabbled in apologetics, theology, biblical studies and philosophy. From Mere Christianity to The Screwtape Letters, his books have had an incalculable impact on modern Christianity. In the decades since his death, Lewis has become something of a Christian celebrity.

J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis are both famous, but only one is remembered as a great Christian. Many people don’t even know that Tolkien was a Christian. Ask anyone which man served God more effectively and the answer will be C.S. Lewis ninety-nine times out of every hundred.

Lewis’s books have led many people to Christ, and given many Christians a clearer understanding of what Christianity is all about. Many of the people whom C.S. Lewis helped through his writing have gone on to help others. For example, Chuck Colson, who committed his life to Christ after reading Mere Christianity, went on to found a ministry called Prison Fellowship, which has served hundreds of prisoners, ex-prisoners and families worldwide.

We see those three words, cause and effect, working through the life of one man to impact many thousands of lives.

Even though C.S. Lewis is a much more famous Christian than J.R.R. Tolkien, I believe Tolkien was every bit as useful to God as Lewis. This belief may seem a bit odd. The Lord of the Rings is an amazing literary work—a literary work, moreover, especially beloved by Christians—but it isn’t exactly famous for pointing people toward Christ. Really, how many conversion stories begin with Bilbo Baggins and Gandalf the Grey?

Through the process of cause and effect, C.S. Lewis and his books have impacted thousands of people. However, there’s something about his life that most people don’t know.

That process of cause and effect didn’t begin with C.S. Lewis.

It began long before Lewis, and it involved an Oxford professor named J.R.R. Tolkien.

After many years as an atheist, Lewis reluctantly accepted a vague belief in God and became a theist in 1929. A couple of years later, he happened to go for a walk in an Oxford park with two fellow professors, Hugo Dyson and John Tolkien. As they walked, they discussed myths and mythmaking.

Lewis was surprised by Tolkien’s belief that myths can originate in God and reflect eternal truth. Christianity is beautiful, maintained Tolkien, because it’s a myth. This doesn’t mean Christianity is untrue like other myths. Tolkien believed Christianity is beautiful because it’s the only myth that perfectly reflects the truth.

Perhaps, suggested Tolkien, someone could serve God by writing myths.

C.S. Lewis converted from theism to Christianity a few days later. “I have just passed on from believing in God to definitely believing in Christ,” he wrote in a letter to a friend. He added, “My long night walk with Dyson and Tolkien had a great deal to do with it.”

Would Lewis have become a Christian without Tolkien? Only God knows. However, there is one thing of which we can be sure: Tolkien helped lead Lewis to Christ. After Lewis became a Christian, he went on to write the books that would instruct, encourage, comfort, correct and strengthen thousands of people around the world.

What those people owe to Lewis, they owe in part to Tolkien.

Why does this matter?

Why have I shared this story about cause and effect?

I’ve shared this story because I’ve heard people suggest that Christians must enter official, fulltime ministries to serve God effectively.

Ridiculous.

God can use anybody anywhere.

He can use a math teacher or a computer programmer as readily as a pastor or missionary.

All that he asks is that we follow him wherever he leads us.

Let’s say a person has the desire and ability to become a carpenter. Is it too farfetched to believe that God wants that person to be a carpenter? For that person to become something else, say a pastor or missionary, would be like trying to screw in a bolt with a hammer or hammer in a nail with a screwdriver. Let someone with a passion for ministry become a pastor or missionary. Let the one who loves carpentry become a carpenter.

The Apostle Paul wrote: “We have different gifts, according to the grace given us. If a man’s gift is prophesying, let him use it in proportion to his faith. If it is serving, let him serve; if it is teaching, let him teach; if it is encouraging, let him encourage; if it is contributing to the needs of others, let him give generously; if it is leadership, let him govern diligently; if it is showing mercy, let him do it cheerfully.”

I would add, “If a man’s gift is painting, let him paint; if it is building, let him build; if it is police work, let him become a police officer; if it is playing soccer, let him become a soccer player,” and so on.

Lewis had a passion for Christianity, and God used him.

Tolkien had a passion for mythology, and God used him.

If you’ve chosen to follow Christ, don’t worry that your plans might “not be Christian enough.” Do your best to serve Christ wherever you are. Be willing to accept whatever opportunities he gives you.

If you do that, wherever you are, Christ will use you.

As Abraham Lincoln said, “Whatever you are, be a good one.”

51. Crying over Spilt Tea

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Uncle Iroh, a fictional character whom I hold in high regard, once remarked tearfully, “I know you’re not supposed to cry over spilt tea, but it’s just so sad.”

There’s an idiom about crying over spilt milk, but I agree with Iroh—spilt tea is much, much sadder. If I spill a cup of tea, tears flow like a river and anguished sobs sound forth like peals of thunder.

All right, I exaggerate. But the waste of a cup of tea certainly causes me some regret. It’s awful to lose something good irrevocably because of a mistake.

I lost a lot of good things this year—things much better than tea, and that’s saying something. Hours that could have been spent reading or writing or praying were wasted pointlessly lounging around the house or aimlessly surfing the Internet. Words that should not have been spoken were, and words that should have been spoken were not. Dreams were choked by anxiety or laziness before they could grow.

Looking back, I realize I’ve spilt a good deal of tea.

I don’t know whether anyone else is ever burdened with regrets, but I am sometimes. It’s so dashed easy to look back and say to myself, “You certainly made a mess of that, you blasted fool,” or “You had an opportunity to do something amazing, and you missed it.” Trying to let go of regrets seems irresponsible. “You made those mistakes,” I tell myself. “You’re just going to have to live with them.”

Fortunately, the Apostle Paul took quite a different view. Paul, whom I hold in even higher regard than Uncle Iroh, was quite a wise fellow. He once wrote, “But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”

Wait, what?

Forgetting what is behind? Straining toward what is ahead?

Seriously?

Awesome.

So we can live without clinging to regrets. Now what?

According to some people, the ancient Mayans predicted the world will end in 2012. Even if the Mayans did predict such a thing (which is pretty doubtful) I don’t put any confidence in their ability to foretell the future. The Mayans held human sacrifices, after all, so their views about the world were probably a little skewed.

Assuming the Mayans were wrong about the world ending in 2012, I’m going to head into the new year without any regrets about the past. There’s a saying about starting off each day with a clean slate. While it’s a little trite, I’m beginning to think that saying is also quite sensible.

It’s no good crying over spilt tea. It’s far better just to clean up the mess and brew another cup.

Speaking of which, all these metaphors are making me thirsty.