Author: danefowlkes

The setting was typical and familiar–a small church on a quiet street in an urban neighborhood, family members assembled along with friends of the deceased as well as the decedent’s family, and a sampling of ministers that know by heart the ins and outs of just such moments in time. Most gathered to remember a long life well lived. I joined them in order to honor a friend who was also the son of the woman that had passed. Somewhere in the mix of singing and testifying and Scripture reading came the prayer for comfort by one of the clergy present, evidently chosen for the task because he had known the woman for many years. He spoke as much to the family as he did to God, but said a curious thing in the portion of his prayer addressed to the Father: “If you drop something and break it you meant to break it, because you can surely drop it without breaking it.”
“It’s hard to believe that Jesus is the Solid Rock when the world you’ve lived your whole life in has cracked beneath you into a thousand pieces. You can’t tell if everything is still half-broken or if it’s half-repaired, and hope is a scary concept when life has been full of false starts and crushing disappointments” (Addie Zierman). We are all broken in one way or another; the key decision of life surrounds who we allow to put us back together and according to what pattern. It is good to think about our brokenness, not just in broad strokes that we are accustomed to doing on the rare occasion when something rattles us about ourselves, but in great detail like an archeologist dusting off and tagging ancient artifacts rescued from a dig. Like detecting dirt hiding in folds of skin that are prominent but no longer useful, we approach our task of remembering so that we may relinquish all our broken pieces, not in effort to become a different person but the individual we were created to be. Fermentation is a process of turmoil; chaos appears to rule in-between crushing and leavening, but the outcome when guided by a master vintner can be beautiful. This is especially difficult for me because I abhor chaos, preferring sameness, routine, predictability. I apologize frequently to my wife for being boring. She smiles, assures me I’m not, and I go on being dull–Jan Karon’s Father Tim in real life. The joy of living is in acknowledging the cracks in our pots, then allowing the Potter to recast us into what he had in mind to begin with.

My wife and I are attending an overnight retreat depicted as a “Journey of Generosity.” The content and delivery are excellent, but the most riveting concept is that there is room for growth along a pilgrimage on which we never fully arrive. Often credited as having said, “Life is a journey, not a destination,” the closest Emerson actually came to that wording is his passage: “To finish the moment, to find the journey’s end in every step of the road, to live the greatest number of hours, is wisdom.” Either way, the philosopher’s point is well taken that each moment is as much a beginning as it is an end. That may be bad news for the pessimist, but certainly is good news for anyone needing a second chance. Fortunately, God expects us to be travelers, not experts.

Generosity flows from grace reflected upon in prayerful communication with the Giver of grace. The aged apostle wrote: “Each man should give what he has decided in his heart to give; not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work” (2 Corinthians 9:7,8). In other words, traveling light is a matter of the heart. There is no mention here of percentages or quotas; everything is predicated on the condition of my heart and its predisposition or lack thereof to recognize God’s voice and move towards rather than away from it. Generosity must originate in the heart, otherwise it will be seen as such while actually serving as nothing more than a reflection of my own pride and prejudice. Relationship is everything, and intimacy with the Giver resolves my lack of generosity. This journey may never end, but “now” is always the best time to take a step in the right direction. 

My wife and I returned from our spring break vacation resolute to change our diet and conditioning. A mainstay of the plan is to alternate strong walking with strength training. Our first day back included a brisk three mile walk on the dam, so the next was time to break out the Bowflex and deadweights. That’s when the plan hit a snag. I’ve needed to clean the carport all winter because leaves tend to accumulate there as if hibernating or laying low and hiding from who knows what–leaves on top of leaves, with a great many of them blanketing our exercise equipment. Before we could flex and lift, I had to bend and rake. I worked on clearing the Bowflex so my wife could begin, and continued sweeping and raking and shoveling to see the floor again. Who knew you could do yard work under a carport? Long after my wife completed her workout I continued my battle with winter clutter. An hour or so later I called it quits; it was too late and I was too spent to lift anything else, so I retreated to my easy chair and a cup of coffee with blueberry fig newtons for comfort.
Leaves aren’t the only things I allow to accumulate. Unsightly emotions have done some hibernating of their own forming clutter that stifles effort toward spiritual strength training and diminishes intensity and focus on what matters most. Discipleship contradicts clutter and demands stringent attention to whatever threatens the heart. Only when the garbage is removed am I able to see what needs to be done.

Vacations are worth the effort even if they cost a pretty penny, but home is priceless. Our daughter and grandson headed east not long ago for a mother and son getaway to the Big Apple, armed with a jam-packed itinerary and prepared to brave the crowded city. They came back with a myriad of photos and stories of metropolitan adventure, but were admittedly relieved to return home. I understand. My wife and went on our own vacation about the same time of year. Whereas they headed east, we went west for our respite, taking in the grandeur of the south rim of the Grand Canyon, the iconic red rock formations of Sedona, and seemingly endless array of Sonoran cacti. Vacation was all we hoped it would be (all of ours are), but I confess that having home to return to is what makes every journey enjoyable. Home is the greatest adventure of all.
Today’s trials threaten to steal my hope and confidence that all of this makes sense somehow. Hopelessness is a strain of spiritual amnesia; I lose sight of whose I am and where I’m headed. God never induces a comatose existence, leaving me numb and disconnected from the moment; while not always removing or resolving my strife, grace reminds that this momentary struggle is another step on a journey that leads back home. One of the prized books on my shelf is entitled, “No Picnic On Mount Kenya,” in which it describes the ordeal of Italian prisoners of war in East Africa who escaped and climbed their way to freedom over Africa’s tallest peaks. Today may not resemble a picnic in any shape, form, or fashion, but the beauty of it is that our Father is helping us over the rocks on our way back home.

The cultural ground is shifting beneath us, leading folks to question how to make a stand, or simply keep from falling. In the throes of societal change, we are in constant danger of re-creating God according to our own image. A milquetoast deity fits the bill. When it comes to how God looks at us, we want Mister Rogers, not William Wallace (Braveheart); soft when it comes to our shortcomings, understanding when it comes to our errors, and tender when it comes to failure. The last thing we want is a standard bearer, a strong and demanding Warrior Captain, a relentless Coach that will not settle for anything less than that for which we were created. We may be hard on ourselves, but God should take it easy on us.
There’s only one problem with this whole business–the Omnipotent One refuses to fit into molds of our own making. Our God is a God of grace, but his mercy is always in juxtaposition to relentless expectation. Remove the word “settle” from your Christian vocabulary–God grants unending grace, but never settles for anything less than his plan for our lives.
“For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast. For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.” (Ephesians 2:8-10, KJV)

Our foster granddaughter claims she’s deathly afraid of bugs, but giggles and sometimes belly-laughs when she can get her hands on a frog. Another granddaughter has arachnophobia, to the extent she’ll climb a wall to get away from a wall-climber. A grandson declares himself fearless until the night falls and unknown creature sounds drive him indoors. I cringe at the thought of being trapped in tight spaces, while the only thing that frightens my wife is my driving. 
We all have our demons, don’t we? Some have names and faces attached to them, while others are inanimate but no less real or formidable. I’m beginning to believe that the disciple’s life is not about eradicating these but learning to allow God’s love to loosen their hold and God’s grace to erase the damning effect when their fiery breath scorches me once again. For some, that will sound defeatist. For the most honest, it will ring true and strike an autobiographical chord. I want to think they arise from some outer region– “the devil made me do it”, but I fear their origin greatly resembles what is deepest inside of me.
I’m told there is no plot without conflict, and the same must be true for my own narrative. Growth is not possible apart from honest struggle and heartrending hardship, but the difference made by the cradle and the cross is that Christ enters the foray with us. He doesn’t fight the battles for us while we look on from a distance, but instead faces the enemy side by side with us to the extent that he sways the outcome in our favor. We are more than conquerors because he is in us and that always adds up to superior force. I will never slay my demons on my own; fortunately, I don’t have to.

None of us saw it coming, but it stopped us in our tracks. We were in our living room tending to my wife who is recovering from arthroscopic knee surgery; the entourage consisted of my wife and I, two daughters, two granddaughters, and a grandson. My role in it all was to play with the grandkids. Tough job, but someone had to do it. We played out-of-doors until triple digit heat drove us inside, then moved the party to cooler environs where we commenced hide and seek, followed by a nameless adventure with walki talkies. Through it all, two-year-old Hannah was my ever-present sidekick. She has been my buddy from birth, it seems like, so none of this was out of the ordinary. At one point, in the lull of activity, Hannah came and leaned her cheek against my knee and distinctly said, “You’re my best friend.” It was an overwhelming aaah moment for all of us, and something even more special for me. I doubt that I will ever forget that unexpected outpouring of affection. Unsolicited adoration may be the highest form of approval, and I reveled in it. 
Everyone enjoys being appreciated, and it is healthy and entirely appropriate to cherish praise and encouragement. Some of us, however, become unhealthily dependent on affirmation to the detriment of our psychological and spiritual well-being. Approval addiction may be the toughest of all habits to kick. These addicts succumb to a monkey on their back that coerces turning according to the whims of others. The danger is to lose ourselves while working to please someone else. In fact, it’s often easier to know what people expect from you than to recognize (and admit) what you want for yourself.
“After I experienced some sobriety from my primary addiction it became clear that there were a lot of other processes that I was addicted to—ways of thinking and acting that fed my main addiction. One of those sub-addictions rans deep underneath the radar of my life. It has nothing to do with chemical dependency or substance abuse. There are no twelve-step groups to help people fight it. There are no treatment centers to help us escape it. But for a lot of us it creates relational, spiritual and social havoc in our lives.
This particular addiction is what might be called approval addiction. It involves people living in bondage to what other people think about us. When you become an addict to approval, no matter how much of this drug of choice you get, you can never have enough. You’ve got to have more and more and more fixes and, like other junkies, you can go crazy when your drug of choice is withheld.” (Matt Russell of the National Association of Christian Recovery)
This subtle, yet destructive element erodes the foundation of grace upon which each Christ-life is intended to stand. Its primary symptom is the tendency to confuse performance with personal value, to seek the kind of approval from others that only satisfies when it originates with God. This addiction has been around forever. Paul reacted against pressure from the Galatians: “Am I now trying to win the approval of men, or of God? If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a servant of Christ” (Galatians 1:10). The remedy is simple, yet profound–immerse yourself in God’s approval until you begin to believe what He has already said is true: There is nothing you can ever do or fail to do that will cause the Father to love you any more or any less. You are His; He is yours–full stop.

I’m not sure there’ll be anything left of me when my time comes, but that’s just the way I want it. No one knows the length of time we’re allotted; the critical thing is to wisely choose how we spend the limited currency called “life.” Jim Elliot wrote in his journal in 1948 several years before his earthly existence ended in an attempt to carry the gospel to an unreached tribe in Central America, “He is no fool who gives away what he cannot keep, in exchange for what he cannot lose.” More recently, Karen Watson was one of four Southern Baptist relief workers killed by unknown gunmen in Iraq in 2004. A former law enforcement officer known both for her toughness and her passion for God, Watson knew the risks of working in Iraq. She had willingly returned there shortly before her death after several previous close calls with death.“When God calls there are no regrets,” Watson wrote in a now-famous letter found in a sealed envelope marked “Open in case of death.” She left it with her pastor when she departed for the Middle East in 2003. “I tried to share my heart with you as much as possible, my heart for the nations,” Watson said in the letter. “I wasn’t called to a place; I was called to Him. To obey was my objective, to suffer was expected, His glory my reward, His glory my reward.”
Karen Watson’s words and life helped inspire the ‘Fusion Creed,’ perhaps the strongest possible declaration of a life well spent:
As a follower of Christ: I am called not to comfort or success, but to obedience. Consequently, my life is to be defined not by what I do, but by who I am.

Henceforth: I will proclaim His name without fear, follow Him without regret and serve Him without compromise.

Thus: To obey is my objective, to suffer is expected, His glory is my reward.

Therefore: To Christ alone be all power, all honor and all glory, that the world may know. Amen!

Our last night near the end of orientation and security training prompted one of my newest friends to suggest that three of us enjoy dinner together for old time’s sake. The Italian cafe we chose was closed for a private party, so we drove downtown to a popular local hamburger joint, only to find it closed on Monday nights. The Mellow Mushroom seemed our next best and nearest option, but we couldn’t locate a place to park. Out of more familiar options, we settled for Casa Something-Or-Other, a safe bet assuming they would at least have tolerable chips and salsa, even if the food was a bust. I glanced left and right and spotted more than a few college students from nearby Appalachian State University, a good sign on two counts–flavor and cost.
We sat there like a scene from our own version of the Three Amigos; the members of this trio are as dissimilar as could be. One of us stands out because he is a college hall of fame football player who stands six feet five inches tall and retains a muscular frame. The second member is a salt and pepper crew cut pilot with matching mustache and reading glasses dangling in front of his chest. I am the shortest guy whose hair is much-too-rapidly thinning on top, making hats more a necessity these days than a fashion accessory. In the process of casually chatting about our new employment and familial contexts, I learned that I had the oldest child, the most grandchildren, and held the dubious distinction of being oldest of the group. It was, in a word, sobering. The bad news is that in group settings these days, increasingly, I find myself the eldest participant. The good news is that I feel much younger than I look. The best news is that advanced age offers a suitable vantage point for honest evaluation. 

A multitude of tortilla chips and two chimichangas later, my seasoned pilot friend posed a considerable question: What are the most important lessons we’ve learned in life? While listening to my companions share their thoughts, I considered some conclusions of my own. Sometimes I wish I could go back and start all over again; at other times I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Either way, I’m old enough that such thoughts matter. When my time came to respond, I drew four conclusions, and leave them as a catalyst for your own meditation:

1. Surrender to God is the surest path to a life that counts for something. 

2. The love of a godly woman is to be valued and nurtured far above any other earthly affection. 

3. An authentically loving family provides both a sacred refuge from the damaging winds that life blows our way, and a secure launch pad from which to dare to implement dreams.

4. Grace is always present tense.

I walked through the grand cross-shaped opening into another dimension. Visiting the Billy Graham Library in Charlotte, North Carolina, is no ordinary experience simply because Billy Graham was no ordinary man. Scratch that. Dr. Graham was a common country boy raised on a dairy farm who aligned himself with God in such a way that the world will never be the same as a result. The library tour is aptly termed “journey of faith,” as one’s own relationship with God and the world is prodded by gaining glimpse after glimpse of the profound breadth of Graham’s evangelistic reach, forged on the anvil of surrender and crucible of the Great Commision.
Never underestimate the value or potential of a solitary life. History is largely a collection of individual narratives magnified by critical moments. But what makes a life stand the test of time, rising above mediocrity and the temporal? David Brooks, author of “The Road to Character”, wrote in the New York Times on April 11, 2011:

“It occurred to me that there were two sets of virtues, the résumé virtues and the eulogy virtues. The résumé virtues are the skills you bring to the marketplace. The eulogy virtues are the ones that are talked about at your funeral — whether you were kind, brave, honest or faithful. Were you capable of deep love?

We all know that the eulogy virtues are more important than the résumé ones. But our culture and our educational systems spend more time teaching the skills and strategies you need for career success than the qualities you need to radiate that sort of inner light. Many of us are clearer on how to build an external career than on how to build inner character.”

We are, each of us, common clay, but therein lies our creative potential; our responsibility and opportunity is to lead value-based lives. Oswald Chambers speaks to this when he writes: “True surrender will always go beyond natural devotion. If we will only give up, God will surrender Himself to embrace all those around us and will meet their needs, which were created by our surrender. Beware of stopping anywhere short of total surrender to God. Most of us have only a vision of what this really means, but have never truly experienced it.” Each of us is called to come to the end of ourselves by surrendering all we are to Christ, whose modus operandi is transforming ordinary into the extraordinary.