Gone Baby Gone

Today, during the teaching time at church, Patrick made the point that one of the primary reasons life is precious is because it is temporary. "There will be a last time. A last time to hold hands with your spouse, children, grandchildren, and friends." If life was permanent, it would be altogether different. 

Kids won't always hold hands with their parents. Fall fades into Winter. Excitement morphs into ordinary. Mountain peaks become valleys. 

Two people were on my mind this morning. First, Lucas (of course). There will come a day, not to be depressing or dramatic, when Lucas and I cannot play catch, watch a movie, talk about politics, listen to good music (I'm hoping he'll like U2 as well). My grandfather grandmother held Lucas yesterday at my parents home. My parents both held Lucas. Lexi (my niece) held Lucas. My brother and sister each held Lucas. There will come a day when none of these people will hold Lucas. 

These moments are temporary. 

I sat in the home of a friend this afternoon almost four years into battling cancer. She has four kids. Beautiful kids. Smart and passionate. During the conversation in which our shepherds encouraged and blessed, we broke bread, drank of the cup, remembering Jesus who teaches us the temporary-ness of our existence. We celebrated Jesus. This Jesus had the uncanny ability to make every conversation, moment, friendship, opportunity--he made them all count. Probably because he recognized that to be human, on some level, is to live within the confines of the temporary.  I'm a follower of Jesus, in part, because he teaches us not just how to live but how to live well.   

The friend I spent time with has already buried a close friend due to cancer. She was from Hawaii, an amazing life-giving person who's smile is still remembered fondly in our church community.  

But, it doesn't last. 

One of my favorite poems is a Percy Shelley poem. It's called Mutability. Essentially, the point of the poem is that life has moments of sheer eternity. But the moments of eternity are short. Fleeting. Gone baby gone. "The flower that smiles today, tomorrow dies." 

Part of being a Christian, then, is learning to live in the God-tainted moments of our lives. Those single moments become, by the grace of God, a thousand moments.  

Hair VS Weight

Some of your comments reminded me of a debate I used to have with one of my college basketball teammates.

At the age of 30 (which I'm closing in on), would you rather weigh near what you weighed at 22 and be in the process of losing your hair . . . OR . . . would you rather gain 25 lbs and maintain a head full of flowing locks?

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I will have two or three highly abstract and theological posts after these last two.

On Losing My Hair

It happens to a large part of the male population. It is something that some men scoff at, “it’s no big deal.” Others fret, worry, and obsess with their larger forehead.

I got my haircut this morning at Fantastic Sam’s. I always go to Fantastic Sam’s. Mainly because the ladies who work there are from Eastern Europe and, in my next life, I plan on being a spy planted in Kazakhstan.

Today, while getting my hairs cut sitting in the “big chair,” I realized, “Wow, I’m really losing my hair.” No before you guys with full mops start to feel good about yourself, losing one’s hair does not mean your manliness is dissipating. I’m in better shape now than I was at 25. So, back off.

I think that losing one’s hair is important for a few reasons. First, it humbles me a great deal. I am no longer, despite the mental games I play, the 21 year old who could eat four full meals plus two bowls of ice cream, all while staying right at 195 lbs. I actually need seven or eight ours of sleep, not the four or five that got me through college.

Second, it reminds me that there’s a brighter day on its way. A day when God is going to renew our bodies, and our earth. I don’t subscribe to the pop-theology that believes God is going to burn up the earth and give us harps and a cloud for eternity. Frankly, that sounds closer to hell than heaven. I think God is going to redeem his own world. And, in that world, I hope I have Fabio-like hair. Or, I’d settle for hair like Magglio Ordonez.

Now, when I look in the mirror, I don’t worry too much. I remind myself that from dust I came and to dust I shall return.