Today, Part 1

Wednesday, 07. October 2009 by Dan Ryan

You and I are Batman.

Now hear me out on this one. Because if I can find the right words to pull this off, I believe I’ll have shared the most pivotal lesson God has taught me in the past year.

When I was little, I remember watching the TV show version of Batman. Sometimes Bruce Wayne would spot the Bat-light knifing through the night sky high above Gotham’s skyline, signaling the need for everyone’s favorite Caped Crusader. Other times, a bright red phone in Bruce’s mansion would light up, indicating that the police chief (Commissioner Gordon) was calling Batman directly. 

Well, sometimes God speaks through circumstances, other times through music. Sometimes through messengers dressed as humans. I suppose these and others would represent the Bat-lights in our life, noticeable only if we’re looking for them.

And sometimes He just picks up the phone and uses His direct line to reach us.

Such was the case for me last Sunday. Just after communion, I was sitting in church…just trying to listen, I guess. Ever the teacher, Jesus decided this was the day. And in a single moment, things burst into clarity.

As I said, we had just finished with communion. My mind drifted back to the days leading up to Jesus’ life-saving death. Eight days later, I couldn’t tell you how my mind arrived at one particular scene (other than Jesus taking my mind there), but here’s where I found myself:

“Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift you as wheat. But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail.”  —Luke 22:31-32

For whatever reason, I couldn’t shake that scene. Now I see that I couldn’t shake that moment because Jesus was using His direct line. I listened as my Teacher turned the hidden into the obvious. He called me directly, and it went something like this:

“Dan, let Me get this straight. You’ve heard people talk about how the Bible is still happening, which is highly cool to you. So cool that you’ve talked to other people about how it’s still happening—including this very week—right?

So how is it that, when you read this story, you read it as one isolated event in history? It’s powerful to you that I would fight for Peter like that, and it should be! What ever made you think that I am not doing the same for you? Today. What led you to believe I am not fighting for you the same way? Today.”                                   

How could I not have realized this? To be honest, I wasn’t nearly as bothered by my oversight as I was empowered by the discovery and its timing. How long this will last, I’m not sure. But 8 days later, I can tell you His words have definitely changed me so far.

To know that the God I’m trying to follow, to know He is fighting for me today—this brings hope into my discouragement. Over the past week, possibility has actually trumped despair. Yeah, I can write about all of this, but that doesn’t do this past week justice.

Oh, I almost forgot the end of the story. In that scene, Jesus leaves Peter with these words:

“And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.”  —Luke 22:32

So I suppose that’s what I’m attempting right now. Maybe He wanted one of you out there to know the same thing, to discover you have a God who is fighting for you this very day. And tomorrow, He’s going to do it all over again. This was no single, one-time gesture reserved for Peter; it was one preserved for you.

For me, simply put, that changes things.

Born To Run

Monday, 28. September 2009 by Dan Ryan

When Neil Armstrong took that first step on the moon, I was…

Not alive yet. 

We always remember where we were when history interrupts our lives, don’t we? We remember what we were doing. And more to today’s point, we remember who we were with at the time.

Now last week, nobody landed on the moon, but I did get to witness history (at least in my book), nonetheless. On a drizzly Sunday evening in the great city of Chicago, 7 of my friends and I converged on the United Center for the Bruce Springsteen concert that night. And while this would mark my 10th Springsteen show, this concert was guaranteed to be markedly different from any of the previous nine.

For starters, more often than not, I attend these shows by myself. But for some reason (unknown to me at the time), I got caught up in the fever of the moment and bought 8 tickets as soon as they went on sale in July. As concert night approached, I became very aware of this heightened anticipation building within me.

To have 7 friends in the house with me, this was going to be different in a way which words can’t seem to do justice. And sitting in the UC before the show, it definitely was. I could feel the simple power of shared experience. I liked it. That time served as yet another reminder that the most beautiful things in this world can rarely be explained. So to Ann, Austin, Ben, Ken, Luke, Ron, and Ty, thanks for a great memory.

Also, for the first time in history, Bruce and his band were going to play the entire “Born to Run” album—probably their most famous, defining contribution to rock ‘n’ roll—from beginning to end. With the whole arena shrouded in darkness, Bruce walked underneath the burn of a solitary spotlight, harmonica in hand. He began to introduce the legendary album which saved the band’s careers from an early death.

The currents of freedom, adventure, the romanticism of the open road flow strongly throughout Born to Run, both song and album. As the UC’s house lights sprang to life and 24,000 people followed suit, my mind drifted back to what Bruce once said about the evolution of Born to Run, an anthem he penned when he was 24:

“I guess when I wrote this song, I was writing about a guy and a girl who wanted to run and keep on running. And that was a nice, romantic idea. But I realized that after I put all those people in all those cars, I was going to have to figure out some place for them to go.

And I realized that in the end, I guess that individual freedom—when it’s not connected to some sort of community or friends or the world outside—it ends up feeling pretty meaningless. So this is a song about 2 people trying to find their way home.”

For you and me, there are profound truths to be mined from these words. In His brilliance, God wired us to be communal, relational creatures to the core. In our most self-aware moments, we notice how we usually come alive in interdependent situations and treasure one of His greatest gifts—good company for this journey.

“A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.” —Proverbs 17:17

Fellowship. Togetherness. The need to be a part of something bigger than me. Friends, this is powerful stuff; these emotions are fundamental to our core.

“A man of many companions may come to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.”  —Proverbs 18:24

So this week, may we reconnect with the simple power of having an inner circle of friends, brothers and sisters. May we meaningfully pause to throw some gratitude the way of our God, Creator of that inner circle, giver of that inner circle.

And member of that inner circle.

Mike the Tiger

Tuesday, 15. September 2009 by Dan Ryan

After this weekend, I have become a firm believer in “interstate lag.”

I just touched down from a 34-hour whirlwind of a trip down to the bayou swamplands of Louisiana and back. We drove all through the night both there and back, so my body clock was thrown for quite the loop this weekend. The desination: Baton Rouge and an LSU football game, home to one of the best atmospheres in all of college football. Saturday nights in Death Valley—Tiger Stadium’s more popular nickname—are quite the experience.

My co-pilot Casey and I pulled into LSU’s campus around 10:00 am Saturday morning. At that point, we were running on a full tank of adrenaline and determined to soak up a full day of the LSU experience. On football gamedays, the entire campus and surrounding area are overrun by roughly 150,000 tailgaters (mind you, the stadium itself only holds 93,000). Many of these purple and gold-clad Cajuns are stirring these huge black vats of jambalaya and gumbo with what could best be described as an oar.

There are a handful of famous traditions and sights associated with LSU football, and Casey and I experienced all of them with the exception of the ultimate one: Mike the Tiger. Mike is an actual Bengal tiger who doubles as LSU’s mascot. During the week, he lives in an enclosed habitat in the shadows of Death Valley, literally right across the street from the stadium.

A couple hours before LSU home games, Mike is traditionally loaded into a mobile cage and placed right in front of the visiting team’s tunnel. Talk about menacing. He is then rolled out onto the field right before gametime and remains on the sideline to watch another Tiger victory (they’ve won an unreal 34 straight home night games!).

As we approached Mike’s home, I was surprised by how big it was. Mike’s habitat is an expansive jungle-type environ with plenty of room for Mike to roam. There’s even a 3-4 foot pond that butts right up against a glass wall separating us from him. That’s right, Mike has his own swimming pool. Go for a morning dip, take a nap, then watch the LSU game from the field that night–not a bad life, if you ask me.

To our disappointment, however, we couldn’t spot Mike from behind two layers of chain-link fence or the glass walls. Maybe he was in his cave sleeping. Regardless, I figured we’d just catch up with Mike later at the game.

That afternoon, I was talking with a fellow tailgater when he mentioned that the latest Bengal tiger, Mike VI, has proven to be quite elusive. Whether he’s disturbed by all the commotion or was put off by LSU’s subpar season last fall, apparently Mike VI only made the trip across the street for 2 games last year. Sure enough, there would not be a Mike sighting on Saturday night. Upon my return to Illinois, people asked me, “Did you see the tiger?” Nope.

Now that I think about it, though, it’s rather symbolic that I never saw him.

“Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.” —1st Peter 5:8

Haven’t seen him, either. And I can’t help but wonder, “Where is he camped right now?” Just like Mike the Tiger, you are not able to see him, but you know he is there. Or do you?

Is it your mouth that gets you in trouble? Your eyes? Your mind? Don’t kid yourself—he knows. He’s there. And he lurks…whether we take him seriously or not.

Jesus’ own brother James left all of us with a timeless warning concerning Satan:

“Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.” –James 4:7

This week, may each of us take the time to imagine what resistance would personally look like. That’s why I mentioned earlier that it depends on how serious you take this threat, the unseen presence of the devil. If he’s just a cartoon to you, I doubt you’ll contemplate how you could be more self-controlled and alert. 

“Dear friends, I urge you, as aliens and strangers in the world, to abstain from sinful desires, which war against your soul.” —1st Peter 2:11

“So then, let us not be like others, who are asleep, but let us be alert and self-controlled.” –1st Thessalonians 5:6

Because the alternative is equally clear: throw him some meat, and he’ll stick around.

Wipeouts, Wasps, and Walls

Tuesday, 18. August 2009 by Dan Ryan

Ever wish you could rewind history, somehow go back in time and alter something you did or thought?

For me, that moment would be the morning of Saturday, July 18th. I awoke to one of those gloriously crisp summer mornings, blissfully unaware of what was about to take place. All I knew was that these conditions were screaming for one last training ride before I packed my road bike and headed west to Yellowstone with my brother.

With the temp probably hovering in the low 60’s, I wore a t-shirt and a running shirt, but quickly realized this was too much. After 4 miles, I chucked the t-shirt off to the side of the road and forged on. I’d pick it up on the way back.

After an exhilarating 30-mile ride, I did just that. I had planned on jamming the t-shirt into the bag below my seat, but that wasn’t going to work. So I briefly thought about tucking it down my running shirt before deciding to wad it up and just pin the shirt against a handlebar. After all, I was only a couple miles from being done.

With a couple minutes left, I kicked it in gear and really tried to bust out that last mile. I remember glancing down at my speedometer, which read 18.5 mph. Seconds later, my front wheel locked up and literally stopped instantly.

Unfortunately, I continued on at 18.5 mph. I hurtled over my handlebars, quite confused at this point. My head and right shoulder met the pavement violently, busting some pieces off my helmet.

When I came to, I laid there for a while, taking careful inventory of myself, before a jogger who had heard the wreck ran back to see if I was okay. Turns out the shirt had gradually wiggled free of my grip until it finally caught the tire and shot up into the gap where my front brake pads are located (I’m an idiot).

To appease my mom, I reluctantly went to the emergency room that night. The verdict: a fairly bad separated shoulder. Could’ve been worse, though; I shudder to think of what would have happened had I not been wearing a helmet.

When I returned to central Illinois a couple weeks later, I was still facing an uphill climb of 8 more weeks of rehab. With weightlifting, golf and running clearly not options, I resorted to the only thing I could do with a bum shoulder.

What else? Riding my bike.

I’m not sure what the doctors or PTs would say about this; thus, I never asked. But on my second ride back, I was cruising downhill when I was suddenly bombarded by this loud buzzing. Turns out a black hornet (maybe a wasp?) had somehow miraculously flown into one of the tiny slits in my helmet. That wasp did not want to be in there, and I was in total agreement.

But before I could slow to a stop and throw my helmet off my head, the wasp stung me 4 times on the head and neck. By this point, I felt like Luke Wilson’s character in the movie “Anchorman.” After losing an arm in a fight, he later is leaning over a railing at a zoo, only to have a bear maul off the other arm (don’t worry, it’s funny). Needless to say, he reacts in stunned disbelief.

Then, this Thursday—you thought I was done?—I was run off the road by a pickup truck. As I saw the truck approaching, I saw that the driver was not exactly fixated on the road, so I bailed right into a grass ditch. On Friday, I was biking into Champaign when, in the distance, I saw a pit bull standing defiantly in the middle of the road. Then I noticed his brother was in the front yard as well.

“Hmm,” I quickly thought, “Champaign can wait,” and promptly turned around.

To a person, everyone who’s heard these stories (especially the wasp episode—how unlucky is that?!) reacted by suggesting I give up riding—at least for a while. I’m not sure if they were serious, but I wouldn’t consider quitting anyway.

I have revisited the inspiring story of Nehemiah the past 2 weeks. In it, the Israelites had been unceremoniously kicked out of Jerusalem—and told to stay out—for almost 150 years. All the while, the city walls had laid in ruins, neglected.

Enter Nehemiah. He gathered 45 families or so and they began the tedious, daunting process of rebuilding Jerusalem’s wall, brick by brick. Before long, their efforts attracted the trash talk of some critical onlookers.

“What are these feeble Jews doing?...What they are building—if even a fox climbed up on it, he would break down their wall of stones!”  – Nehemiah 4:2-3

When their taunts don’t work, the naysayers resort to plotting a military attack on the now-weary workers. Nehemiah is unphased, having half the men stand guard while the other half work. And even those who did work were slowed.

“Those who carried materials did their work with one hand and held a weapon in the other… each had his weapon, even when he went for water.”  –Nehemiah 4:17-23

But they forged on. They kept going (by the way, I can relate to the one-armedness!).

On the surface, we’ve been talking about cycling and re-building a wall. But I’m convinced it’s all connected. It all deals with who we are becoming. Each day, we’re either becoming more persistent or less. We’re becoming more like Jesus or less.

We are thirsty for perseverance. Admittedly, my getting right back on my bike does nothing for you. But when I ask God for something, He rarely gives it to me. Instead, He introduces me to situations which would require that character trait.

Maybe that’s because we already have been gifted with it.

Signs

Monday, 03. August 2009 by Dan Ryan

Have you ever driven through Nebraska or Wyoming?

If not, don’t bother. No offense, but what a waste of real estate. Apparently God was fatigued after creating the majesty known as Rocky Mountains and promptly decided to take a couple states to recoup.

The one redeeming feature of their landscape (or lack thereof) was the absence of signs. Growing up near Chicago, I have often thought that we’ve overdone the whole sign thing. Whereas you get reminders of an upcoming exit at 2 miles, 1 mile and a ½ mile and 500 feet in the suburbs (are we really this pathetic?), I can promise you there is no such overkill in the Great Plains. Three weeks ago, my brother and I were discussing this on our way out to Grand Teton and Yellowstone National Parks.

Once we arrived at the parks, however, the signs returned…to a degree. While they may have lacked in quantity, they did not disappoint in the quality category. For your enjoyment, I jotted down 4 of the more bizarre signs in Yellowstone:

1) “Deer on road when lights flashing.” And how exactly does this work? Do the deer press a button before crossing? And am I to presume moose, elk and bears too stupid/irresponsible to do the same?

2) “Stay on bridge.” Without such a timely tap on the shoulder, this never would’ve occurred to me.

3) “Watch for wind.” Hmmm….

And my personal favorite:
4) “Avoid broken windshield.”

To my bewilderment, these last signs were posted continually throughout the park. Good thing, too. My last day at Yellowstone was marked by a soft rain throughout the afternoon, and I couldn’t help but think that without a windshield, it just might’ve ruined the experience. The whole thing remains inexplicable to me.

After a while, the novelty wore off and I became used to their presence, so I largely ignored the weird signs. Surrounded by brilliant scenery and abundant wildlife (hello, buffalo), I’m sure I drove right by some without noticing them.

Bizarre or mundane, God used the signs to have a chat with me late in the afternoon (when you’re stuck behind a buffalo herd for 3 hours, you’ve got time for such things). As you’ve already seen, many of these signs were of obvious nature. They were posted as reminders. And here’s the part where God grabbed me: oftentimes I need consistent reminding when it comes to the obvious. Especially when it comes to the divine.

After centuries of observing humanity from afar, Jesus re-discovered as much after a couple months of close interaction with His followers.

“He said to the crowd, ‘When you see a cloud rising in the west, immediately you say, ‘It’s going to rain,’ and it does. And when the south wind blows, you say, ‘It’s going to be hot,’ and it is. Hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of the earth and the sky. How is it that you don’t know how to interpret this present time?’ ” –Luke 12:54-56

When you read this passage, it’s awfully easy to dismiss its relevance. I did. The crowd didn’t “know how to interpret this present time.” So they didn’t recognize Jesus for who He was. Many people didn’t. But that’s not a dilemma postmarked for you or me, right?

Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. But perhaps Jesus was speaking in a broader sense. I strongly suspect that there were people in that crowd who did see Jesus for who He was. And yet He spoke these words to them, too. Maybe they could identify Jesus, but couldn’t clearly see what God was up to in their own lives. Maybe they weren’t interpreting those signs.

The Greek word for sign is “semeion,” which takes on a variety of meanings in Scripture. The most popular use of semeion, however, translates into “having in itself an explanation of something hidden.” Which brings to light the duality behind all of this. On one level, we see the signs but just don’t process them through God’s lens.

On another, maybe we are driving right by them.

What are those signs in your life? Because that’s the question, that’s the whole point.

Maybe you are currently focused on an illness, injury or disability. And it’s caused you to drive right by a sign reminding you of this priceless gift we call life.

Maybe you are consumed with thoughts of a potential relationship, and you’ve driven right by the sign reminding you that the true God feeds off your companionship.

Maybe…actually, maybe you just might want to keep your eyes peeled for your own signs.

Whatever you do, when you take to the road today, avoid those broken windshields.

Cheating at Solitaire

Monday, 22. June 2009 by Ronald T. Brown, Ph.D.

The following is dedicated to the person somewhere out there who has the fierce courage to simply let God take over:

I never have cared for solitaire.

For starters, the game never struck me as skill-based; rather, you seem to largely be at the mercy of the cards. What’s more, you play all by yourself. While my dad can sit there and play for annoyingly long stretches of time, solitaire is definitely not for me.

While surfing the net last week, I came across an album entitled “Cheating at Solitaire” by Mike Ness. Immediately, I was enamored by the title. It grabbed me…and hasn’t let go.

(By the way, you have no idea how many websites out there are dedicated to actually cheating at the computerized version of solitaire. Pretty sure if you look up “pathetic” in the dictionary, you’ll see someone trying to do just that. )

You know, God can use something as innocuous and mindless as surfing the net to jumpstart our next conversation. Because I’ve been thinking about the spiritual implications of my own cheating at solitaire. So without further adue, I would like to proceed with reading ridiculously more into the album’s title than Mike Ness ever intended by considering two simple questions. Off we go.

1)    So what would it mean for someone to cheat at solitaire?

Naturally, someone would not be cheating at anyone else’s expense except their own. Nobody else would know. To them, the lure of a fake victory inexplicably outshines the substance of a true victory. So in a way, they have lied to themselves…and what’s more, they have allowed themselves to be lied to.

First roadblock: Do you even believe that’s possible? Could you trick your own self?

“Do not deceive yourselves.” —1st Corinthians 3:18

So we get a pretty succinct answer from Paul. Evidently the people of Corinth could pull off a little self-deception back in the day, and I don’t think times—or people, for that matter—have changed much in that regard. Assuming we’re all capable of lying to ourselves, let’s move on to the 2nd question.

2)    Why would anyone be interested in lying to themselves? Given the choice, don’t we always prefer the truth compared to the alternatives?

Well, that’s just it. Logically, it follows that we must not always prefer reality (e.g., losing at solitaire), so our solution is to make up a new one (“winning” at solitaire). When we do this, though, we forgo a shot at the real deal, which is infinitely better than the made-up prize we try to sell ourselves. Amazing, really, when you think about all this. 

Recently, I’ve been learning about this guy named Jim Elliot. I’m not sure if he played solitaire, but nonetheless, you may have heard of him. Elliot was the guy who decided to leave his family and friends behind and headed to Central America in the 1950’s. He felt called to tell the Auca Indians about this difference-maker named Jesus. Here is Jim’s brilliant defense of what must have been an agonizing decision:

“He is no fool who gives up what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.” –Jim Elliot

Friends, Jim Elliot did not cheat at solitaire. Jim Elliot took Jesus at His word:

“What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul?” –Matthew 16:26

Yes, Jesus arrived on this earth so that we could hang out with Him forever. But He came here for so much more, too. Jesus came to show us how to live the best and fullest life possible, to show us the difference between fool’s gold and the real deal, and leaves us to each day decide which we will grab for.

As we look at our own lives, Jesus’ whole “losing your life” mindset applies to the big, the little and everywhere in between. May it drive where you and I will be located and what we’ll be doing in 5 years, may it drive us to more selfless uses of our summer…and may it drive what comes out of our mouths today.  Check it out:

“Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says… If anyone considers himself religious and yet does not keep a tight rein on his tongue, he deceives himself and his religion is worthless.”  –James 1:22-26

With the exception of God, nobody will know if you’ve been “cheating at solitaire.” Then again, who really loses when you do that?

Bean and Bellhops

Tuesday, 09. June 2009 by Dan Ryan

Growing up, watching my uncles drive tractors through the fields and wait desperately for rain, I always figured farmers loved rain. The more, the merrier, right? And they do love rain.

Sometimes.

Lately, not so much. Last week, I visited my friend Luke on he and his dad’s farm. Upon arriving, we took a drive south and encountered field upon soggy field just sitting there still unplanted. So it’s understandable if Illinois farmers wouldn’t mind seeing a long stretch of blue skies.

In the meantime, many farmers are scrambling to switch their seed from regular-season corn and beans to the short-season variety, compensating for their late start. This is where I enter the picture.

On Friday, I was given the task of driving to a seed distributorship to pick up an order of beans for some farmers and then haul it back to Luke’s farm. Well, these beans don’t come in the traditional 50-lb. bags; they now come in a mammoth device called a Probox.

If you ask this city boy, Proboxes are pretty cool-looking. They’re black, sleek and hold 2,500 lbs. of seed in each. My trailer was now weighed down by 3 such Proboxes. Doing some quick math (it’s everywhere), I figured there were almost 4 tons of beans sitting on the back end of my truck.

When I pulled out of the lot, I did so cautiously. I’ve never driven with a ton of anything, let alone 4. With roughly $30,000 worth of seed on my trailer, the plan was simple: don’t spill it, you idiot.

Now I knew it would take me a little longer to slow down since I was lugging around so much weight.

As I drove to Luke’s, Jesus spotted a teachable moment; He casually pointed out how much spiritual truth is embedded in that one thought. We all have this fundamental need to slow down and reconnect with what matters most.

“Come with Me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.” –Mark 6:31

But how often do you and I do that? Yeah, not near enough, right? God has been trying to address our inability to slow down for centuries.

“In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength, but you would have none of it.” –Isaiah 30:15 (…it’s sooo easy to gloss over this idea)

Really, why is that? After all, awareness is the first step. Truth is, there are numerous reasons for my not slowing down and re-anchoring to God. And sometimes, the cause of my bustle is all the crap I’m hauling around.

For example, I’m not crazy about a face-to-face with Jesus when I’m carrying around the guilt of my latest screw-up. Nor am I prone to get away from it all when, say, I’ve got 20 things to do in the next 2 days. Pressure, expectations, to-do lists—they all add weight to our trailers. And God can wait on hold, right? 

Back to Friday afternoon. God pressed on, calmly asking me, “Dan, what do you want Me to take from you?”

Continue Reading...

Quemar los barcos

Monday, 30. March 2009 by Dan Ryan

Last weekend, I was watching the NCAA basketball tournament. Oklahoma was locked in a duel with Michigan and during a timeout, I noticed something peculiar written across Michigan’s warmups:

“Quemar los barcos”

Spanish? Huh? I recalled that “los barcos” means “the boats,” but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember “quemar.” So I googled the verb, and found out the Wolverines’ shirts translated to “Burn the boats.” Curious?

In 1519, Hernando Cortez and some Spaniards set sail from Cuba. Their mission was to claim Mexico as the latest Spanish territory. When Cortez and Co. arrived in Mexico, he gave the now-legendary order to “quemar los barcos.” History remains unclear as to whether Cortez issued the order on his own or whether his comrades enthusiastically joined him in the decision to torch the fleet.

Regardless, the resulting message was crystal-clear: we are in this together, and our only hope for survival was total commitment. Cortez did not want any in his company to waver or consider turning back and abandoning the cause. Thus, every boat was set ablaze and burned into the bay. Problem solved.

For a bunch of Spaniards in a strange land, there would be no looking back to Cuba, no dreams of escape if and when the going became difficult. And while this metaphor may not translate perfectly into our lives, I think it’s instructive, nonetheless.

Because something about that story aroused a certain reaction in me and I can’t imagine that I am alone here. There are some things in life that warrant, demand, and even deserve our total commitment. Yet, aren’t we humans excruciatingly reluctant to surrender our total commitment? For a number of reasons, we’re extremely guarded with it. After all, that may capture why Cortez burned the boats in the first place.

Continue Reading...

Prairie Fire

Tuesday, 17. March 2009 by Ronald T. Brown, Ph.D.

Sixty-four laps.

That may be the blink of an eye for NASCAR drivers, but for someone who runs slightly under 8 mph as opposed to driving 200 mph, 64 laps is a surefire recipe for monotony. This past Friday, our community hosted Relay for Life, an all-night event designed to raise funds in the fight against cancer.

For the second straight year, we hosted the Relay in our fieldhouse, which boasts a blue indoor track whose outer lane measures a quarter-mile. At 11:30 pm, when my time came, I ran around and around that confounded track. Halfway through, I was aching for a change in scenery—any change—so I turned around and ran against the flow of traffic for the final 4 miles.

By Sunday, I was eager to take advantage of climbing temperatures and abandoned a whole winter on the fieldhouse track for the nearby running trails that wind through 5 miles of our local forest preserve. Conditions were soggy in spots, but wet socks were a small price to pay for the scenery and fresh air.

Early in my run, I detected the smell of burnt toast. A couple minutes later, with the odor growing stronger and stronger, I scaled a hill and arrived at the source. Earlier in the week, the forest preserve must have conducted a controlled burn on my favorite stretch of the trails. As I surveyed the landscape, the prairie looked, well, naked.

I had grown accustomed to the tall, waving prairie grass and shrubs which had been there for years, so to see nothing but scorched earth in their place was a little on the surreal side. Little green stubs of growth were shooting up through the surface everywhere, undoubtedly wasting no time in taking advantage of the suddenly roomy conditions.

And in those little green stubs, I saw a glimpse of how God operates.

Continue Reading...

Fingerprints

Wednesday, 11. March 2009 by Dan Ryan

As the unofficial caretaker of our school’s weightroom, I recently tried (unsuccessfully) to prod one of our janitors to wash the windows leading into the room. The glass is smudged with unsightly fingerprints—they’re everywhere.

Last week, however, I came across some fingerprints that I wouldn’t want anyone to touch. First things first, however, so we’ll start at the beginning of this story about arguably the most extraordinary thing that’s taken place in my life in the past 3 years.

This story begins two Mondays ago. I was on the interstate when I felt the unmistakable pull of the Holy Spirit; He wanted to me to call Luke Williams. Now Luke is one of my best friends from college—heck, one of the best friends I’ve had in this life—yet I hadn’t talked to him for almost 5 years.

Luke had left me a couple messages about 3 years ago, and for absolutely no reason whatsoever, I hadn’t gotten back to him. And now, on Interstate 74, it had gotten to the point where I really didn’t want to call Luke and have to face my shortcomings as a friend. Luckily, God knows how to push my buttons.

“Listen, quit being a wuss. Man up and just call Luke. Or maybe you’re right, Dan. Maybe you’d rather just go on living without him in your life. Sorry to bug you.”

Ooooo. I hate it when He busts out the reverse psychology on me. Well, there was nothing left to do but take out my cell phone and call Luke. When I did, however, I discovered that Luke’s number was no longer in service.

Continue Reading...