Following

The waves were big, but the current swift. As much as I wanted to reach and ride the waves like the others, it was too much for my 12-year-old legs. My cousin, however, was older and bigger. He ran through the water with ease and dipped his shoulder to carve his way through the waves. “Get behind me,” he said with an encouraging wave, the kind a younger child lives for, and I did. No longer did I struggle. He carved a path through the current and opened a passage through the waves. Soon I was out with the others waiting for a wave to ride.

I had forgotten this moment until this morning. In my set-apart time downstairs, I thought about the fact that today’s my sobriety date. Looking back, I remember how hard this journey was when I began, how the waves were mighty and current swift, but like the day on the Jersey shore years ago, there were others who had been in the water longer than I who invited me to walk behind them. They carved a path and opened passages for me that made it possible for me to make my way out to the waves.

The image also speaks to my life of faith. Like sobriety, living a life of faith is not easy (despite what some people say). It is the life I long for, but the world’s current and my own weak legs often cause me to struggle. Fortunately, I have been “surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses,” which is a fancy way to say I have been given strong men and women of faith, people who were (and are) strong enough to carve paths through the current and open the waves. Through the years, when they saw me struggling they invited me to get behind them. Because of them I was able to make it out with the others. For such people, I am forever grateful.

Finding the artist's way

“If you've never stared off into the distance, then your life is a shame.”  Counting Crows

Forty years ago, I pulled a book down from a friend’s shelf. The title, The Artist’s Way, stirred that part of me that longed to be an artist. I was a chaplain at a school in England and knew the spring within me was drying up. It turned out the book would change my life forever.

The memory is far from me now, but it came for a visit when I bought another copy and committed to working through its twelve-week creativity course. “But you’re already creative,” I could hear people say, but creativity, like spirituality, is a life-long journey. The book hasn’t changed in forty years, but I have. I’m sure this journey will be unlike any other.

I share this to invite you to consider trying something you’ve done before. Maybe you read a book you loved in college, climb a familiar trail, or try a sport you used to love. Whatever you choose, the important thing is to experience something as if for the first time. Yes, you might remember what you loved long ago, but you also may notice changes within you since your last encounter.

“Every child is an artist,” Picasso once said. “The problem is how to remain an artist once he (she) grows up.” Ted Lasso would remind us to be curious. I would say, always feed your sense of wonder. However you describe it, 2024 offers us the chance to try old things in new ways, to stare off in the distance and dream outlandish dreams, to be the child you’ve always been.

Who knows what you’ll find, but I’m pretty sure you’ll have fun along the way.

Window Cleaning

The two homes sat side by side, each with a front-row view of the sea. In the morning, each basked in the same captivating sunrise. In the evening, each had a glimpse of the same colorful sunset. But the houses were not the same, or, I should say, those who lived in them were not the same.

One was meticulous about his house. He kept the paint fresh, shudders secure, and cleaned the windows every day. The other preferred to enjoy his home and let the house take care of itself. In time, paint pealed, shudders loosened, and windows became caked with salt.  It got so bad that he could barely see the waves of the sea or clouds in the sky. Nothing outside had changed; it was the same beautiful ocean and glorious sky, he just couldn’t see them like his neighbor.

* * *

Sitting at a table during a spiritual retreat, I looked longingly at those around me. They seemed to have a relationship with God that was vibrant and electric. In what they said and how they worshipped, it was as if they knew God personally - like they could see and hear him clearly. I, on the other hand, have always felt like I knew God at a distance. It was as if I was given only glimpses and faint whispers. Rather than celebrate what my neighbors had, I resented what I didn’t.

Then I realized that God was no closer to them than to me. He was just as mighty, just as concerned, just as loving. The problem was that those around me had maintained their homes. They’d kept their paint fresh, shudders secure and, most important, windows clean. When the film came and blurred the view, they got rags and Windex out and removed the film. They didn’t do this once, but on an on-going basis. They awakened early, read scripture, prayed and meditated, and did the tough soul-searching that identifies all kinds of salty film.

The work is tiring, and I’m sure they’re often tempted to sit back and enjoy whatever view they have, but they’ve learned the view gets lost if one sits back and does nothing. So, they stay busy.

It’s time for me to follow their example.