The Prayer of a Boy

A couple of nights ago I joined my friends at the close of their day for a family prayer. The turn fell upon the 14 year-old son to voice the prayer. I know this young man pretty well. He is a quintessential boy: sports loving, loud, hungry, sometimes crass, often self-focused. As he prayed I listened intently to him importune the Lord to bless each member of his family, not in generalities, but in very specific ways unique to each member of the family.

"Bless Dad to be able to take command at work and succeed so he can provide for us." 

"Bless [sister] to be able to catch up on her homework that she missed while she was sick."

"Bless [brother] to have the strength to prepare for his mission and still play well in his baseball games."

This he did for each member of the family, present or not. I was so impressed with this young man's thoughtfulness and specificity—his obvious interest and awareness of the details in the lives of his family members.

And then, as I thought he would close his prayer, he said, "Please bless that Darin won't have dispair and that he will know that we love him."

Tears filled my eyes. Gratitude filled my heart. Another reminder sparked within me that if a gregarious, sometimes flighty boy notices me and my needs, how much more my Father in Heaven knows my needs. And for that evening, that tender mercy was sign enough for me.

 

 

Spiritual Stamina

Saturday I awoke to profound despair. I often talk to myself but oftener it is more of an open prayer: informal, unstructured, and raw. I probably said aloud, "How can I possible do this today?" Minutes later, an email arrived from my mother. She reminisced and reminded of the annual picnics we had with extended family. She reminded us, my siblings and I, of the heritage we enjoy and the inheritance of joy awaiting us because of our Savior, Jesus Christ.

As I read her little note, I was nestled by the Spirit. My pain diminished. A flow of hope poured from Heaven infused my heart with some spiritual stamina. And although this sweet little email didn't solve any problems or remove any obstacles, it did remind me that I'm not alone. God is watching, helping, listening, prompting, and even waiting. It made the day possible... and that was enough.

Lesson from a Stoic

I heard a radio article last week that has really made me think. The man interviewed, William Irvine, talked about how much joy and happiness he gained in his life from emulating the practices of the Stoics of ancient Greece. What entered my heart listening to this man was not a newly rediscovered way of thinking, but an emphasis on what I believe is a core principle for anyone who acknowledges a loving God.

The mental exercise advocated by this modern-day Stoic goes something like this:

Take a few moments, perhaps five seconds, and contemplate the loss of a loved one. Do not dwell longer on this thought, but let the base emotion in long enough to appreciate the loss.

The man then gave an example of something ostensibly mundane and how he was able to transform that experience into something profound. He talked about walking with his wife in the evening after work. Just a neighborhood walk... nothing extraordinary. Then he spoke of imagining himself at the twilight of life. He found it easy to imagine outliving his wife—one spouse usually precedes the other in death. He also had no trouble imagining being old, feeble, and unable to walk. Letting these thoughts in, albeit briefly, allowed him to savor this beautiful moment walking with his wife because it was not a stretch to envision a time in his future when he would long for just such a moment. By allowing himself to imagine a life without, he became more grateful for the life within.

Loss is inevitable. Tragedy is uncomfortably common. Acknowledging these facts can lead us to gratitude for the present and allow us to savor the magnificent meal placed before us instead of planning for a feast that may never be.

I am grateful for today. Hopefully I can alter my own attitude to revel in what I have and reject wallowing in what I lack.

If you want to read more about philosopher William Irvine, I found his website here.

Antidote for Entropy

Decay, dissolution, erosion, entropy. We learn early in our education that the natural world's destiny is to dissolve and wear away. There is no stasis, no status quo, no standing still. There is only digression, degradation, disorder or progression, growth, creation.

Intuitively we know that destruction and decay are easier than building and organizing. Any two year old knows that building the tower of blocks is harder than knocking it down. What we do not seem to intuitively undertand is that the choice to create, build, organize—while more difficult—brings happiness and a kind of satisfaction that can only come by walking the uphill path. We conquer gravity with effort; we counter death by creating life; we defeat desolation by sewing seeds.

The simple acts of writing, drawing, doodling—while taking a modicum of effort—add something to the world. And in that minuscule toil, we rise. In opposing entropy we emulate the Maker, we learn to become more like Him, we earn the wages of creation. Then we can see what we have made and behold that it is good. (see Genesis 1:31)

Each one of us has talents allowing us to battle entropy. We can each, in our own way, access the power of our Creator by creating, building, growing, making, teaching, doing. I am grateful that He is so quick to reward my tiny efforts and bring satisfaction and peace to my heart as I try, in my infantile way, to act more like Him.

The Barrel of Burdens

What if there was a barrel—say, a 50 gallon drum—into which we could each could put our toughest, most painful trial? The barrel could hold that one thing we want so desperately to escape... but only temporarily. Because, before leaving that barrel, we have to take out a trial. We get to pick one. We can study all of those terrible burdens and choose. But we have to leave with a burden.

I heard my dad talk about this barrel many times growing up. Usually, it was in the context of some trial he or our family was enduring. And this is how he concluded his little parable:

I think if we each had to stand around that barrel and look at the pain everyone else put in, we would probably just pick up our own again and walk away.

There is in this lesson a measure of perspective and gratitude. When we look around and see the tremendous suffering others have to endure it often reminds us that, although we have no love for our own pain, we know it could be much worse. If faced with the death of a child, or the decimation of my neighborhood by the bombs of a despot, or the utter loneliness of having concrete and cardboard for a bed, could I possibly choose those trials from that barrel?

It is hard to be grateful for our own pain, but with a little perspective we might start to perceive that we can bear what we are called upon to bear, endure what we must, and be grateful that through grace and providence we can not only survive, but thrive. And maybe, as we spend a little time at the barrel of burdens, we might even develop a stronger compassion for one another... and become "willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light." -Mosiah 18:8

A Brother

On perhaps the most difficult day of my life so far, my brother-in-law—and one of my best friends—was called and selected for jury duty in a federal case here in town. Were it not for his presence last night I don't know if I would have made good decisions taken care of myself. I feel deep within my heart that God knew the moment of my greatest weakness and I see evidence of His love in sending my brother to comfort, protect, and counsel me. At this time of feeling so very alone, I see "signs enough" to endure another day.