A Conversation of Meaning

This evening, I wandered outside to check on my tomatoes and get a breath of fresh air. The cool evening air gently laid lightly against my skin. The dark night brought the humble reminder that another day was not just passing but had indeed passed.

As I made toward the back door to head in for the night, a faint whistle caught my attention. I looked back over the fence that separates my yard from my neighbors and could not determine where the whistle originated. The floodlights off my back porch only illuminated my side of the yard, so I totally missed my next door neighbor standing out behind his house waving me down. I walked up to our metal rusting fence and leaned in, and waited for him to make his way over.

Slowly, the dark shape of a tall, lanky man took form to reveal my white haired, cordial neighbor. I reached over the fence to shake his hand. He kindly asked, "How are you?" "Well." I responded. "Wish I could say the same..." His statement surprised me. I believe my face gave me away to him. "Yeah, going away for a few days." "Yeah, where you headed?" "Don't know, my wife is driving. Somewhere in Indiana." "Oh, okay." I sheepishly remarked. "Had to have a shunt put in this week. You know what that is?" "I do." I replied. "Yeah, need to just get away. Get somethings straightened out." "Well, I can only imagine." He stared blankly right past me. "Doc says I should be okay. I hope so." I could hear the doubt in the voice. He even gave one of those fearful laughs. Not really knowing what to say I responded, "Well, I am sure that's the plan." "Yeah, sure is." He then turned his gaze towards me and while I looked him right in the eye I said, "We will be thinking about you." "That means a lot... thank you."

Changing the subject he asked how Sara and I were doing. I told him the good news about Sara being pregnant. A smile lit up his face. "That's great! I know you both are excited." "We certainly are." "That's why you live there." He pointed to my house. "Yeah, apparently it's a fruitful place. The past two owners have had two children while living in the house." "Really..." he said. You could see the gears turning as he tried to remember who all had lived in the house. He spouted off a few last names, then returned his gaze to somewhere in the distance behind me. "I'll be sure to tell my wife... and my boy of course." "Please do." I said with a smile on my face.

About that time, my floodlights cut off and the dark night overcame us. My neighbor said, "I guess that's a sign." While he was getting the words out he started falling over towards the fence. His yard is on a hill just above mine so he was standing a good two feet above where I was standing. I reached over and placed my hand on his thin, frail arm. "Are you alright?" I asked with great concern in my voice. "Yeah, yeah... I'm fine. I'm fine." His voice seasoned with stubbornness. He pushed himself back from the fence to level ground and clumsily made his way back to his back door. "Have a good trip." I commented. "A safe trip is all I ask for." He bid me good evening and turned in for the night. I stood there for a few moments, leaning against the fence, contemplating the conversation that had just taken place.

I could and still can't get the image of his pale, aged face as he said the words, "That means a lot... thank you." He his hopeless gaze warmed and I saw sparks of life resurface. I would have sworn I saw a physical weight lift from his worn and weak shoulders. I suppose he knew I meant what I said. He was a totally different person when I told him the news about our baby. You would have thought I he was this kid's grandparent. Pure delight struck his whole being. I kid you not. It was cool to watch. The man that came to the fence had been replaced by one who somehow, someway remembered life and that it had meaning. I won't soon get over that.

The conversation was short and sweet. I suspect it took no more than five minutes for all that I just described to transpire. But, I can't get over the fact that a simple conversation had such meaning. In all honestly, it would not have meant so much to me had I not seen how much it meant to him. I encourage you... give your conversations meaning... mean them.

A Letter to My Child

Dear precious child,

At this moment, you find yourself warmly wrapped in the womb of your mother. Floating in fluid ever developing and taking shape to be a beautiful baby. Your mother and I anxiously await your arrival. I would be lying to say we think of much else but you. We have already developed a love for you far beyond your and even our comprehension.

We feel inadequate, unprepared, unready, and just simply at the mercy of God as to what to do with you. You are a special child, yes because you are our child. Your presence is already changing our lives and you haven't breathed your first breath outside the womb. My child you have brought abundant joy to our hearts and I assure you, we were pleasantly content before you were conceived and are even more so knowing you are on the way.

Our faces glow with smiles as we talk about you and plan for you. Our hearts know a new fulness and warmth as we pray for you everyday. I promise you child, you will know full well what it means to be loved, cared for, and adored. We do not promise you much materially, but we do promise you a wealth of hope and love.

I assure you even now we will make mistakes, we will screw up, but we will never stop loving you. You will find we are far from perfect, but we are honored to be your parents. We welcome you into our lives, our home, and our family. You are nothing less than a miracle and a blessing from the one and only God. We give honor and praise to Him who richly blessed us with this precious gift... we call our child. We know full well dear child you are only being lent to us, but what a privilege, one of which your mother and I will cherish forever. We love you and can't wait for you to join us. Godspeed.

With great pride and adoration,

Your Loving Father

The Problem with Kindaness

It appears there is an epidemic sweeping our society called, kindaness. Kindaness: I kinda want to be nice. I kinda don't. I knida don't care. I kinda care. I kinda want to help. I kinda don't. I kinda see your point. I kinda don't. Perhaps you only kinda get my point. You see what I mean. The uncertainity has left all of us rambling, confused, and somewhat insecure.

Kindaness came to my mind today as I was at the United Dairy Farmer right down the road from my home. I entered the store and noticed as I entered the door a gentleman no more than 10 years older than myself was just a few strides behind me. I decided that I would hold the door for him. A simple gesture of kindness... a forgotten common courtesy if you ask me (But of course you did not and why would you). As he rushed for the door because he noticed I held it for him, our eyes met and I saw it... Kindaness. You could see the wheels turning... I'm kinda glad you held the door. I kinda wonder if you have an alterior motive. I kinda think you might just have wanted to be nice. I'm kinda not sure. You could say he felt kinda confused. I don't blame him.

I kinda wondered the same. I kinda thought I might not hold the door before I walked in. I kinda felt what's the point. But as I processed that interaction, I realized people in general kinda have a problem with kindness. I am not sure if its due to fear, uncertainity, or just plain laziness. We act as if kindness is kinda difficult, maybe even kind of wrong. Kindaness is the in between place we find ourselves. We kinda want to be kind, we kinda don't. We also find it exceptionally difficult to put into practice Jesus' kinda odd words in Luke 6:27-3:

“But to you who are willing to listen, I say, love your enemies! Do good to those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who hurt you. If someone slaps you on one cheek, offer the other cheek also. If someone demands your coat, offer your shirt also. Give to anyone who asks; and when things are taken away from you, don’t try to get them back. (NLT)

Show kindness, do good, give away. What in the world? That kinda makes me sick to think about. Those words kinda fly against everything my society has led me to believe. However, more and more attention is given to the topic of kindness. If you paid any attention to commercials right before and after the election... the main message presented: help, do good, show kindness. Be the changing agent yourself. Act.

It strikes me kinda funny that there really is a problem with kindaness. My suggestion for a cure: You need to just kinda get over it and be kind. Take two and call me in the morning. By the way, undone ones suffer from this sickness as much as anyone. But as we are made aware... we realize just how undone we truly are. No friends, we are not kinda done. We are still completely undone. Enjoy the journey, it's kinda fun.

Change

Change... it comes and it goes. Some put change in a cup, or a piggy bank, they cherish it, they save it. These individuals know and understand change, even though seemingly insignificant it can add up over time and be incredibly valuable, well worth enduring.

For others, change is not so well received. In these individual's mind, change is meaningless and serves no purpose. They find change an annoyance, something to keep up with, leaves an odd odor, and draws attention to them because of the noise it makes when several pieces collide together. Change provides no value and therefore seems worthless to bear.

The change I speaks of really has nothing to do with money. Sure, the amount you have or do not have could play a part in the change you experience. The change I refer to here has to do with life change... simple and complex. At this moment in my life, I am discovering that the only real constant in life (in mine and in general) is change. Think about it this way: You experience a certain change in your life, whether sudden or delayed, after a period of time you adjust to this so-called change. The moment you move from uneasy to comfortable with the recent change you experience in essence experience change yet again. The moment you have adopted to that change, ah yes, you guessed it change happens once more. Change, the constant variable.

However, as astonishing as that last thought may have been, my fascination with change runs a bit deeper. We are in need of change. Whether any of us recognize this fact or not, the truth remains... we need and must have change. Change allows for growth (whether that be physical, mental, spiritually, etc). Change brings new perspective of which we all need to see. You would never know the thrill of riding your favorite roller coaster if you never changed your position from standing in line to actually getting on the ride. You would never know how good a certain food that you love is unless you changed your mind, and changed the location of the food from your plate to your mouth. You would also never change from hungry to satisfied. Just think, if you did not change shirts just how rotten your smell and appearance would be?

Change a necessary evil, or fundamental good? Sure, I agree, most likely change is both. Not all change has positive results. You change moods and hurt other's feelings. You change medicines and turns out they aren't for your diagnosed issue. You change jobs only to find that you are not has happy as you were. You change from being married to single or vice versa.

I can not say with certainty all change is indeed good. I can say change is a sure thing. So if I were you, I would put all my money (or change) on change. You bank on change you will never be guessing. You will know it is coming. Embrace change, it will happen, who I am kidding,do not be so surprise to realize change is happening now whether you want it to or not. However, I guarantee if you bet on change, you will leave with more than just spare change. You will be able to not only face change, but do so boldly and with a good spirit, you will bear it.

I'm not much of a gambler, but I am letting it ride and I am going all in on... change.

Wounded

Every wound tells a story. Whether the wound be internal or external, a mere scratch or a deep gash, everybody has had a least one. Some wounds come by self infliction, some by accident, some by pre-meditation, and yes some come by sticks and stones. Some wounds heal, some wounds leave a scar, yet some wounds are fatal. Regardless, each wound tells a tale.

The age old questions always raises it ugly head when we see wounds: What happened? How quickly we forget not all wounds are as simple as a skinned knee. Where the question may appear simple enough, the asker typically does not adequately calculate just how loaded those two words are? Whereas some stories come easy and are told with great pride, others desire greatly for the story to remain buried... deep under layers of shame and even guilt.

If I may say so, I doubt many of us have considered that wounds are one thing that all humanity shares in. Wounds form an unidentified bond between every person who lives and breathes on this thing we call earth. Now that's not to say we all share equal wounds, but we all share wounds. Our lives are wrapped up in a wounded world and society. Wounds are an unescapable reality. But I reveal this to you not to proclaim a message of gloom and doom, but to encourage you. As wounded ones, we tend to turn inward and go it alone. Many of us walking wounded convince ourselves this or that will fix it, but telling someone my story will only bring me shame and them disgust. Our only resort, hurt alone. I beg to differ.

I present to you another solution. I dare to ask you, "What happened?" I gladly hand you the shovel and take my own and say to you, let's dig this one up together. I say to you... you don't have to hurt alone. As one who is undone, I say to you, I will bleed with you, cry with you, hurt with you, and in time heal with you. I, too, am one who has been and will again be wounded. I'm not afraid, but I am undone. I am undone, because...

The one in whom I believe thought enough of me, to be wounded on my behalf. And I don't mean to say he fell and skinned his knee, mind you. Oh no, my Savior, Jesus Christ, bore fatal wounds, so that this pain I feel would only be temporary and so I would know immense joy. He bled so I would be whole. He died that I might live. He who knew no wrong became all that is wrong in me (and yes you are the "me" in this wound story as much as I am) and was dealt death's greatest blow. He willfully absorbed that pain and those fatal wounds for me. He knew pain, he knew death, but he did not know them long. He still bears the scars, so you and I can not only know the story, but proudly tell it. So as we experience our own wounds, we can boldly hope in the only one who can heal them as we hold tightly to His wounded hand. You see, God the Father, used the one bond we all share to unite us to Him through His wounded son. Wounds are a unique bond. Let us not hide them, but bear them together in Christ, who offers you His wound-scar hand of healing and hope.

Friends, I implore you, fear your wounds no more. Be free from them. Again, wounded ones I say to you, "Our wounds bring us together. You do not and must not go it along. Let us heal together." So let us be one with the one who knows our wounds, for He too, took them on and yes boldly wears them even now.

Feel free to share your wounds, via comments, or email (brotherao@gmail.com)

Practice

You have heard it said that to get better at an art (or something you love) you must practice. We all know this saying to be true. We've experienced the results. But what about the things you that you love and you seek to fully master? What must you do then?

Practice will help, but is practice alone enough? I'm not talking about learning a new skill just for the sake of learning it. Oh no, I mean actually mastering something.

I have not lived long, but my experience has taught me that those who are truly masters in their area of expertise do more than practice. Take musicians for instance. Musicians do not just practice. Do they ever practice? Sure, all of the time. And you're thinking to yourself, "Okay, AO, now you are just contradicting yourself." Hold on, I'm not done (remember I'm undone). Great musicians don't just practice, they live their music. Jazz is probably where you see this best displayed. As I have heard it said, "In jazz, the music tells the story. It sets the plot. You don't have to listen long to hear the story. " This happens because Jazz players don't just practice... they live their music.

Same is true of anyone who's really mastered something. Whether it be a sport, a hobby, or useful skill (like complex mathematical equations), the masters don't just practice they breathe, eat, sleep, and live their passion, their art... yeah their life.

For me that's teaching. People have asked, why do you study so much when you teach. I'm not one of those who just wants to get by. I study to the point that what I am learning and what I in turn will teach is in my skin. It's a natural part of who I am. I shouldn't just tell you believe I what I'm telling you. I should believe it. You, yourself, may not be convinced, but one thing for sure, you should be convinced I believe if I'm the one teaching. My preaching professor and father in the ministry (Dr. Robert Smith) always says, "You gotta live with the text. You should wake up in the morning and the text you're teaching should be lying next to you. You sit down to eat and it should be sitting across from you. Your text should be your constant companion."

So my challenge to you... You say you want to be good at something... really good. Then you have to ask yourself a real question? Am I just practicing? Or am I living my art?

Live it!

Loss

As human beings, we understand loss as a certainty. However, we most often experience it as an unwelcome event in our lives. Whether we lose something as simple as a set of keys or the remote control, or even something as major as a loss of a job or family member it is rarely convenient or well accepted. One could say that loss of any kind leaves us undone.

My family currently mourns the loss of a young family member. A tragic loss for us for sure. Oddly, death has the unique power to draw families together even more so than just living. Suddenly, our minds and hearts begin to grasp just how fragile and significant the life is in our current finite state. We realize that now our lives will be different because of the recent loss. The void is real. The pain is felt and shared. The experience grips you. Loss becomes real. We know if only for a brief moment the meaning of being undone. Our hearts... undone. Our minds... undone. Our love... undone. Our pain... undone. Our tears... undone. Our relationship... undone. Yes, in loss we are undone.

Grief and mourning are proper and need to be experienced and processed in a timely fashion. The question I pose: In our undone state, will we be trapped in the loss? Or will we embrace life and the lives around us revealing just how undone we are?