Walk in the Woods

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Daily Journal: #106 Suffering is Part of Life

People who take risks aren’t idiots. They are willing to fail and suffer because they believe whatever is on the other side is worth the trip. It’s that simple. It’s immature to believe we can avoid this journey in areas of life like marriage. It’s immature to believe we can find the “right” person. (Right meaning safe and perfect.)

Sunday, I went to a friend’s house to socialize, smoke spare ribs, and watch football. In the waning moments of Seahawks/49ers game, the group discussion turned to dating. My buddy Nathan has an upcoming date with a very colorful young lady. She is not like anyone in this group of friends, so naturally it’s cause for concern. It wasn’t long before one of the gang used a phrase that makes me cringe: red flags. The young lady at question has red flags according to this self-appointed judge. I held my tongue. Newsflash bud, everyone has red flags.

Immaturity on Display

Pain is real. Our first, yet immature, instinct is to avoid it. I will add, our desire to avoid pain is practical. As children we learn the stove is hot, ice is slick, and bad grades are unacceptable. More subtly, we are taught to do what we are told, to live lives acceptable to others, and mistakes are unacceptable. When we become adults we see failure and disappointment as blights on our souls. (She dated a deadbeat. Something must be wrong with her.) Ultimately, we learn safety is the first goal of any venture.

I spent much of my adult life trying to avoid being seen as foolish, and I hate to feel humiliated. It goes back to when I was a kid. Several times I experienced severe stage fright. Which is a bit odd when I think back on it. I didn’t have a problem being a class clown. Something about being the center of attention overwhelmed me, but off the cuff? No problem. I’ve entertained hundreds of people at football games with my in-game commentary. (Literally. I’ve had an entire section of this stadium laugh at my jokes. Multiple times. My brother and I kinda had an unofficial, totally improved comedy routine.)

My point is I once believed I could tease the pain out of my life, that I could avoid being seen as foolish, avoid public humiliation. It’s not true. I want to live a life on the edge of my being, in pursuit of Jesus. It’s uncool and likely to exact a price. So be it. I’m tired of being afraid to make mistakes. My heart was meant to be used, so what’s the point of protecting it.

Balls Out, Heart Out

The best parts of life are when we are in motion. I have rarely experienced the greatness of God sitting on my ass waiting for something miraculous to happen. I gambled multiple times in the last twelve month, and I lost everything on those bets. On paper. On paper, I lost my business partnership and suffered a heart-wrenching breakup. I opened myself to possibilities and the fruit was not what I wanted, but it was nonetheless good.

The Lord shows up and meets me when I move and put my faith on the line. Wisdom is not the avoidance of disappointment but in the acceptance of it. If we do not let disappointment beat us down, we win. Suffering is absolutely part of life. Our loved ones will die. Jobs we thought were awesome will exhaust us. And our relationship with the Lord will sour from time to time, in need of refreshment.

People who take risks aren’t idiots. They are willing to fail and suffer because they believe whatever is on the other side is worth the trip. It’s that simple. It’s immature to believe we can avoid this journey in areas of life like marriage. It’s immature to believe we can find the “right” person. (Right meaning safe and perfect.)

Grace Grace

On my walk this morning, I found a weak spot in my heart. I’ve held anger toward the person who brought up “red flags.” This person is tied up in fear, trying to be perfect. They expect perfection from a date or significant other. They can’t see the inherent flaws in that perspective. It’s easy to sit in judgment of others from the sidelines.

What my friend needs isn’t my anger but my love and prayers. I can hear the strain in their voice and the idealism dominating their heart. They apply these judgments to themself first, so I know whatever they express about others is a fraction of the dialogue of their mind. It’s a shitty place to live, wanting more but unable to move.

Lord, touch my friends with grace and patience. Break the cycle of perfection and shame. Let them see and experience the goodness of Your love. Let them know they must move. It’s dangerous, but worth it. Mistakes will be made. Worth it.

Lord, set us free from idealism and performance.

Amen.

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A: Three Years, Old

I was three years-old. I did what three year-olds do on a quiet Thursday afternoon, sat on my bedroom floor and pushed matchbox cars through the beige carpet. I enjoyed the mostly empty house and the unsupervised alone time. 

The peace was shattered when the phone rang. It rang just once, and I heard the muffled voice of my father answer. Unaware of the life changing moment about to unravel, I continued to be a three years-old. 

I’ll never forget the light through my bedroom window that day. It was early evening soft. The kind when the sun hangs low in the sky and shadows are long. I’ll never forget my room. It was clean, or as clean as a room will be when shared by two brothers. Beds made. Clothes hung neatly in the closest. Life seemed to be in order. 

Two ticks later, my father exploded into my room. Tears flowed down his red face, snot dribbled from his nose, and streaks of saliva connected his lips as he weeped. Forever frozen in time is my father, my broken, grieving father, and the words he whispered as he scooped me up from the floor, “Uncle Todd is dead.” 

Instantly, matchbox cars were unimportant. Being three years-old was irrelevant. My immediate mission, my new calling, was to console my father. More than that, to heal him. But how? 

It was the first time I felt old and hopeless. I was done being a three years-old. 

I desperately long to go back to April 19th, 1984. I want warn that boy, to tell him awful shit is going to happen in life. He’s not called to be a super hero. Be a kid Nik! Be content to play on the floor, to take pleasure in simple moments! Your dad never intended to transfer his grief to you. He never asked you to carry his sorrow. 

Thirty-six years later, I still want to fix it. I want my uncle to live and my father to have his brother. What a creative miracle it would be. 

Today, I closed my eyes, and I saw him. That three year-old. I smiled at him, and he waved me closer. I walked closer and he held up his arms. As I picked him up he whispered, “awful shit is going to happen. Your calling is not to fix humanity. Be childlike. Be content to make messes on the floor. Find joy where ever you are. Our Father never intended any grief to transfer to you. He never asked you to carry anyone’s sorrow.

It’s time. Let go.”

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