Donald Miller:

“I’ve a shelf at home devoted to books about writing. I’d say I might even have two shelves devoted to those books now. I’ve read most of them and some are better than others. But the best writing advice I’ve ever received didn’t come from a book. It actually occurred to me one morning when I was lying in bed, not wanting to get up and do my job. Maybe it came from heaven, I don’t know. But the advice was this: Love your reader.

It sounds simple, but it isn’t so easy, actually.” Read the rest of Don’s short post…

>>>> >>>> >>>>

I love this. The Christian Doctrine of Vocation (vocation = calling) is the answer to so many questions. As Bob Dylan sang, “You gotta serve somebody.” Your calling, if you are a child of God, is tied up in serving the world (perhaps especially other Christians). I wrote a little about this here, and it has been on my heart for a while. It’s tied to the decisions I’m making and the disciplines I’m trying to achieve in my life right now. Especially creatively.

I wonder if this idea informs why so many great children’s novels have originated with a person telling stories to delight their kids? (I hope so.)

Who do ya’ love? Who do you want to serve?

I’m not exactly a mystic, but if you feel a strong desire to serve people who need to be loved the way you feel called to serve, then that might be an indication of the calling of God on your life. And ask wise people around you, especially people like a spouse, parents, pastors, and trustworthy friends. They’ll probably be saying the same thing.

My son plays happily. He flits easily between two worlds, the world that is and the world he imagines. His conversation assumes the extraordinary. His play is an adventure in make believe.

How like faith.

Perhaps nothing is more like faith than play. This “admission” would no doubt make Christians raised in an era of apologetic zeal begin to sweat. It may also delight anti-theist scolds, those champions of unhappiness and pretense.

But it is no great surrender to say faith is like play. If in a young boy’s imaginative play he sees himself brave and trustworthy in the good fight, then we are glad if he grows into a man who is like that in “the real world.” Likewise, if a little girl tenderly cares for a baby doll, devoting herself to its care while at play, then grows up to become a loving, tender mother, we are happy. And we should be. I call that good.

So child’s play is braided into the lifelong chords of faith. Part of life is anticipating, by faith, the right-side-up world. And it is deadly difficult when it feels like the ceiling’s coming down all around us.

Part of the Christian life, perhaps the heart of it, is praying “Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” This is holy imagination at work. This is a life of imaginative anticipation. Faith is play. It is playing at the most deeply true articles of the human charter.

Imagination is an essential capacity of faith.

Does our conversation assume the extraordinary? If it doesn’t, can we be Christians?

Jesus told us that children show us the way to the Kingdom. I believe he meant to commend both their lack of personal standing (they cannot cling to accomplishment as merit) and their capacity for deep dependence.

Children are suited for the Kingdom in their imaginative play. “Make believe” is one of the clearest avenues along the way to making us believers.

So, let them play. And join them.

I wrote this a few weeks back, before I learned of my Papaw’s death. Seems very appropriate. It was originally posted at The Rabbit Room. -Sam

He gets the words wrong, but his heart is in it as he sings. Andrew Peterson’s “The Queen of Iowa” somehow becomes “The King of Ireland” when sung by our two-year old son. Talk about progressive. His version goes beyond gender-neutrality into categorical inaccuracy and also breaks up those long-held biases about geographic specificity.

I thank God our cute little boy doesn’t yet fully understand all the words he tries to sing. For this is a song about suffering and death. And, of course, life and light. I hope, as he matures, he does get it.

I hope I do.

This seems like a good song (and story –see video blow) for some context on what we see as struggles and suffering and how we see them. It’s perhaps good for our New Year hopes. Are we wishing for a pain-free, suffering-free New Year? I’ll admit that it’s a deep longing for me. Part of that desire I view as righteous, longing for the Kingdom to come all the way and the world to be made right again. The other part is selfish, wanting to be spared the troubles God intends to use as tools to work good in me. Pain is often an avenue to graceful maturity.

Two of the sweetest and most refreshing Christian friends I met this year had recently experienced the death of their only child. In the deep well of their suffering, they spoke of all the good God was doing in their lives. They did more than speak, though. They sang along to the God-tells-me-who-I-am songs of Jason Gray with passion. My friend wasn’t the greatest singer, didn’t hit all the right notes. But it was among the most beautiful singing I’ve ever heard. Jason never had better accompaniment. I couldn’t sing along for the lump in my throat. This couple, so outfitted with reasons to surrender to bitterness and anger, radiated generosity and grace.

Do miracles still happen?

That is the mercy of God. That is maturity. God wants his children to have maturity –childlike faith and maturity.

We will not always get the words right and we will not always sing on-key, but let us keep singing.

So, Almighty God, do your work in us, frightened as we are. For we would be mature and childlike. We would be as you want us, for you are what we want and all our hearts need.

Andrew says meeting the Queen “…helped me to believe the words of my own songs.”

Maybe a good prayer for the New Year is that God would give us experiences, even painful ones if he must, that cause us to believe, and believe more deeply, all that we confess.

Because sometimes we get the words right, but our hearts wrong. The reverse is better, I guess. But best of all would be both.

May our hearts and tongues be in harmony this year and in the years to come. May they sing the same song, for the glory of God, Most High.

Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am filling up what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church, of which I became a minister according to the stewardship from God that was given to me for you, to make the word of God fully known, the mystery hidden for ages and generations but now revealed to his saints. To them God chose to make known how great among the Gentiles are the riches of the glory of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory. Him we proclaim, warning everyone and teaching everyone with all wisdom, that we may present everyone mature in Christ. For this I toil, struggling with all his energy that he powerfully works within me.
(Colossians 1:24-29 ESV)

Advent is upon us (as of yesterday). I’m not planning to post a lot about Advent this year (did a little last year), but wanted to share a quick thought. I’m sharing it and it’s quick, like a cupcake that takes only moments to eat, but is still a tasty and nutritious to your spleen.

Advent is a “Penitential Season.” It’s also sometimes called the “Winter Lent.” This can sometimes freak out ordinary evangelicals (like me). People might believe that it’s an opportunity to earn favor with God by doing good works. That’s very badly missing the point. As my Dad has said a thousand times, we obey because we are sons, not to become sons.

Christians do acts of righteousness. Advent is a season where many Christians all over the world do particular acts of righteousness to focus on preparation to celebrate the first coming of Christ and deepen our longing for his coming again.

It’s a season to prepare for the festival of Christmas. It’s sort of like saying “no” to cookies before dinner to heighten anticipation and enjoyment of that dinner when it comes. It’s a season of self-denial to prepare for the festive joy of Christmastide.

Anyway, this song by Rich Mullins has always been a favorite. The kids were listening to this record tonight and it struck me how appropriate it was for this season of Advent.

From the chorus to What Susan Said:

“And we both feel lost,
But I remember what Susan said.
How love is found in the things we’ve given up,
More than in the things that we have kept.”

If it’s unfamiliar to you, the entire song (which is a lot about friendship) can be heard here. You can get a good deal on 3 Rich records here, including the one with this song on it, here.

Please note: I am not an advocate of cutting out stuff just to cut out stuff. I think stuff is great. Everything is stuff and God made it. God made a lot of stuff we don’t need for survival and that’s part of the joy of life. Yay stuff. Gnostic denial of the goodness of creation (including the body) is the pits. The pits, I say. It’s infecting the church big-time in our era and I don’t want to give any ammunition to that army. So don’t take this post that way. Fasting is good. But so is food. So is food with icing.

Thanks for tuning in.

Rich: Miss you, brother.

A friend, the very talented musician Drew Michael Blake, tweeted some Dylan lyrics: “I’ve got a head full of ideas that are driving me insane.”

As I replied to him, sympathizing and agreeing and, like, totally identifying with him, another thought occurred to me.

I wrote him back:

@sdsmith_ @drewble You describe my own state of mind quite well. Trying not to let them drive me insane is my life’s work.

And this is true. Maybe it’s true for many/most people who are sort of what we call “creative types.” Maybe it describes a lot of people. Most people are creative, after all.

Anyway, I do sometimes feel like all I do is think. All ideas all the time. Not always good ones and few that issue in any result. But I do feel like it’s a constant battle to avoid letting this incurable condition overwhelm me. (And I’m really not talking about bad ideas/thoughts here, just things I want to do, create, contribute to, build, support, write.)

It really feels like some of the most important work I do. Because not going crazy over all these ideas is somewhat helpful to my family and others, including me.

Do you ever feel this way? How do you manage your drive/ambition/idea-manufacturing?

I’m learning something about myself as a thinker of thoughts and a writer of words. I must resist what I feel as a need to qualify every potentially confusing thing I write. I’m growing more comfortable with the idea that I cannot provide all the caveats I need to protect myself from being misunderstood.

I’m learning to leave more room for possible misunderstanding where it can’t be helped without really altering (damaging) what I’m aiming for. The box-ticker in me dislikes this, but the poet says, “Get used to it, Bub.”

Think about how crystal clear Jesus regularly wasn’t.

Photograph by Gina G. Smith

Note: I wrote this last week. I also scheduled it last week to be published this day. Interesting.

When I do the dishes, I use way more water than my wife uses when she does them. This is because I am not as skilled as she is and I think by an avalanche of water I may drown away my dish washing inadequacies. Of course, my wife doesn’t complain about the water.

It occurs to me that the same is true in writing and communication in general. If we are unsure of ourselves, unskilled, we pile up the words. We believe we must say everything we think and so overcome any chance we might have missed something. But so often less is, as they say, more.

This has something to do with the idea of expression vs. communication. Artists sometimes get the high-minded, self-important notion we’re a special breed of human, superior and sophisticated. We might believe the most important thing is “expressing ourselves.”

But the artist under God understands she is a servant. She works, just like everyone else, to love and serve those who receive her work. She is like the farmer, the plumber, the pastor. She is concerned with communication (and communion), with connection, with service. It’s less important she “expresses herself” in all the ways that can be self-indulgent, and more important her work serves people. Not that it serves whatever they wish (as our market-driven, utilitarian society calls for), but like all true love, serves the person’s best. This is a vocation, not a cult. She is called, not enthroned.

Of course, the beautiful thing is that often our calling is at the cross-roads of what we feel burdened to express and the way the world needs to be loved and served.

In fact, an important question to ask oneself when considering any calling, including that of an artist, is “Does the world need this?” Another couple of ways to say this:

“Are people served by this to be more fully what they are called to be?”

“Does this work I feel called to contribute to human flourishing?”

If it does, then God is probably really calling you to the work.

(Other questions include “Am I good at it?” and,  “Does anyone say I’m good at it besides my mom and people really motivated to please me?” and, “Can I do this while fulfilling the more clear callings in my life?” Such as, if I am a husband, am I fulfilling the clear command to provide for my family?)

The self-indulgent artist, writer, communicator is all about expression and so may not be concerned with brevity, feeling it might limit her expression. The kind of writer I want to be can say less and so say more.

I’m striving for an economy of words. It takes more time and more care to say more while saying less. Have you ever been in a conversation with some one who is just a never-ending, Gatling gun of words? This person will wear you out. They have so much to say that, ironically, in the end you can’t remember any words except, “How might I escape?”

I can be like that, at times. But I want to be otherwise. Others-wise. I want to say less. I want to serve with my words. I want to pass them out like a soccer mom passes out snacks at a game.

And feel not a bit superior.

It is what it is. I read it on a cubicle wall. It’s a country-craft sign with large, cursive script, a script to make one curse. Words to echo the curse. The sign is made to look like it was made on a farm, but it was made in China. And not on a farm in China. The smooth, shimmering surface lies about its age. It’s made to appear older with new-painted fading, meticulously manufactured cracks, and fabricated years. An inverted aging starlet. It is intentionally distressed and so am I. But, I suppose, it is what it is. This sign that transports me to a funeral, a child’s sickbed, an accident scene. It is what it is.

It is what it is. It is a statement of resignation. After all kinds of trouble, worry, and fear, there it sits. We can live with such a statement, but not forever.

It is what it is. Is it?

It is what it is, but it is not what it shall be.

Children will not someday die, someday. Cancer will not reduce and end us like a berserker army invading every border, swallowing our hallowed map. It is what it is, but it is not what it shall be.

There’s good all over and grace in every breath. It is today and we are alive and so we ought to happily receive these gifts all over. Gratitude should be our theme song.

Thank God it’s Friday, but Someday’s coming.

We wrestle with the Not Yetness of things. With the good, broken, incompleteness of everything. We can receive a cold valley with thanks and still long for the sun.

It is what it is. But all the same, we long for it to be different. We long for it to not be all the same. Or, we long for it to be the same, but different. Like our best friends, we want them fully themselves. We want the fully realized valley. Sun and all. We want the valley on the edge of forever to slide on over.

It is what it is, but it is not what it shall be. Some day, when Someday comes, we will slide on over into the re-Edened earth. Sunrise.

This bought by Brother’s blood,
And so our family seal,
Runs red across a guarantee,
Of Father’s glad goodwill.
From me, my sons, sin you get,
An inherited curse.
From a Greater Father, you may claim,
All of the reverse.

All of the reverse. In that day, It is what it is will be fully and finally undone, by:

I Am Who I Am.

Photo by Larry Fellows

The bicycle pictured above is from Vashon Island, Washington. Some history can be learned here, but it appears most people don’t know where the bike came from. Some say it was left there by a young man who went off to fight in The Great War, never to return. That’s how I first heard of it and it got me thinking.

A picture’s worth a thousand tears.

When I’m leaving the house I sometimes think, “If I died today, what will they find of mine and what will it mean to them?” It can be a healthy question, or worrisome and destructive. It’s good to evaluate what impact we’re having and whether that impact will carry on in the direction we hoped for after we’re gone.

Whenever I leave, how will I leave things? It is good to consider. Of course, it’s unhelpful to overestimate our importance. God is in heaven and we are on earth. So let us not believe we are what you might call essential equipment for the operation of the world. As Charles De Gaulle said: “The graveyards are full of indispensable men.”

My prayer: Oh, God. What I have built by destroying, destroy. What I have made by distortion, unmake. May the things I have shaped as things ought and shall be shaped, carry on.

What will we pass on when we pass on? Someday, when our prayers for God’s will to be done “on earth as it is heaven” are fully and finally answered, the earth will be filled with the glory of God, as the waters cover the sea. Someday the bikes will be reclaimed and we will go to war no more.

Hear. One of the most beautiful passages in the history of worlds and words.

It shall come to pass in the latter days
that the mountain of the house of the LORD
shall be established as the highest of the mountains,
and it shall be lifted up above the hills;
and peoples shall flow to it,
and many nations shall come, and say:
“Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD,
to the house of the God of Jacob,
that he may teach us his ways
and that we may walk in his paths.”
For out of Zion shall go forth the law,
and the word of the LORD from Jerusalem.
He shall judge between many peoples,
and shall decide for strong nations far away;
and they shall beat their swords into plowshares,
and their spears into pruning hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
neither shall they learn war anymore;
but they shall sit every man under his vine and under his fig tree,
and no one shall make them afraid,
for the mouth of the LORD of hosts has spoken.
For all the peoples walk
each in the name of its god,
but we will walk in the name of the LORD our God
forever and ever.

(Micah 4:1-5 ESV)

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.

This all reminds me of the song Chrome, by the poet laureate of abandoned bikes, Eric Peters.

This was originally posted in The Rabbit Room.

Gina sent this to me, because she knows this is something I believe is important. I’m a “big” advocate of using big words around kids. Obviously, there are some qualifiers to be explored. But overall, I believe parents generally don’t use enough mysterious (to them for the moment), meaningful (growing) language with children. Of course explain as you go, to be sure, but don’t shy away from using more and more elaborate language. It’s how we all learn. Kids are just way more capable than most humans to absorb it.

I think this goes for Theological/Biblical language as well. Explain UP, don’t DUMB DOWN. (I understand the need for clarity. But we need a clarity that serves people for life, not only for the moment.) We are aiming to build up understanding, not reduce the deeply meaningful, mysterious, magical wonder of Holy Scripture to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

Note: This is not an elitist position, or a stuck-up thing. It’s just about giving children more. Not more money, prestige, or high status. It’s about equipping them, endowing them, blessing them with an amazing and priceless gift. I know that writers ought to most often use the clearest, most common words, but I think that’s a bit of a different discussion.

We want our own children to have a deeper capacity. It doesn’t need to always issue in using all those words all the time. We want to expand their arsenal, not really recommend that they use the grenade launcher all the time. We just want them to have more than a squirt gun. Though often a squirt gun is called for.

Here’s an excerpt from the article by Amanda Morgan:

Don’t shy away from the big words. It is very common for adults to simplify their language when talking to young children. Instead of referring to the veterinarian, we talk about the “animal doctor”. While a sentence full of new words would be a bit overwhelming for anyone, throwing in a new word now and then is a great opportunity to build vocabulary! If we are referring to the veterinarian, we should use that word, offering “animal doctor” as an explanation, and then referring to “veterinarian” a few more times in the conversation. If you’re explaining what something is, you might as well use the right word the first time. Children may not always pick up on those big words, but they certainly won’t if they don’t ever hear them. There isn’t much opportunity for growth if we’re always using words they already know. So go ahead, use words like “identical” instead of “same” and “metamorphosis” instead of “change”. You’ll be surprised at what your children will pick up on when you give them the chance!