I Love Science - World View Matters

 “I Love Science” - World View Matters

There is a theme today whereby one will exclaim, “I believe in science…” with the implication that they do not have time to believe in God because of their advanced understanding.  It is often accompanied with a dismissive tone of voice or other apparatus of condescension.  

Mankind has accomplished some pretty amazing things.  The recorded history of civilization’s advancement is breathtaking.  From the advent of the written language, with as many variations are there are people and geographic groups, to the instantaneous full-duplex communications between any places on this planet, or others, our accomplishments are staggering.  From the first nomads and their mud caked bare feet to our pressurized, autonomous suits that allow us to work in space (after strapping ourselves to rockets that blast us into orbit), the complexity to our modes of transport and the accompanying level of accomplishment cannot be understated.  It is almost understandable how one could be enamored, perhaps even intoxicated, with our accomplishments.  After all, we are the top of the food chain.  We are the alpha dogs.  We have opposable thumbs and have used them to harness silicon and electrons, putting massive amounts of technology into the hands of our people, allowing us to execute complex computer modeling, peering behind the curtain of some of the greatest mysteries of the known world.  What’s not to be impressed with?

Here's the rub.  With all our advances, all our discoveries and all our breakthroughs we are still just trying to figure out what has been known, in full, by the Creator since long before any Bangs, Big or otherwise, were popping off in history.  Our brightest minds, using the most powerful tools in the history of mankind, are still just pulling on the end of a piece of yarn that was designed, implemented and woven into the tapestry of all that is around us, both seen and unseen, from the beginning.  The haughty proclamations “I believe in science” to the exclusion of admitting God’s supremacy in all of it remind me, in some woefully inadequate way, of my son declaring that he is ‘the greatest ever’ after successfully putting 2 pieces together on a puzzle.  I am proud of him but am not ready to crown him king of all.  See, he found a pair of related pieces and was able to put them together.  But he only found what was already there.  And while not diminishing his role in pushing back the limits of our understanding; he is still very much just playing catch up to One that knows the end before the beginning began.  Should he continue to assemble the puzzle he would find more of the picture coming into view, more profound, more intricate and more beautiful that anything previously known.  Each new piece, each fresh view of the big picture, would lead him to a further appreciation for and realization of the beauty and complexity in the created world.  If he were truly wise, that appreciation would cause him to proclaim his adoration for the One who has been so many steps ahead of him and Who did works so far surpassing anything he could do.  

So, I love Science, but not simply for the sake of putting puzzle pieces together or pulling on strands of yarn.  I love science because it allows us to see more clearly those mysteries that were hidden in the beginning and are just now being made clear.  We have so far to go because, despite our advancements, we are still looking up and into an Intellect that far surpasses our own.  We are trying to push back the darkness of our own understanding.  We are chasing The Light, The Truth, The Life and we are doing it from the vantage point of dust and clay.  I do love science.  I have great hopes for the future as we piece it together.  My greatest hope is that, in doing that, we ‘accidentally’ touch the hand of the Creator as He slides another piece onto the table. 

Manhood That Stands the Test of Time

As I reflect on the things I've studied and learned over the past 30 years or so, it is clear to me that they have all, eventually, taken their place at the feet of the Word of God as revealed in the Scriptures.  As I push away from the shore of my early 40's and make my way increasingly into the deeper, personally uncharted waters of middle age, I find myself increasing finding strength in the depth, the history, the wisdom and the power of God's Word.

But, much more than a personal aid in growing older, the Scriptures are being proven true, time and again, in the world around me.  I've moved from the young father and husband to a more seasoned, but equally wide-eyed, father of 4. I've wrestled inmates.  I preached funerals.  I've sat around conference tables with wealthy executives at the height of their business success and watched as they weep when it all evaporates.  The culmination of those experiences thus far call me to passages like James 4:13-15.  

13 Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit”— 14 yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. 15 Instead you ought to say, “If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.” 

Indeed, there is more to being a man that finding success in business or accumulating wealth.   

And today, as I watch the American experiment totter under the weight of social disruptions, crippled morality and ineffective leadership I cannot help but think back to all the times in history when things seemed irrecoverable.  As cities burn and explosives fly, as police are attacked and established institutions come under criticism, it can be easy to grow bitter or to be swept up in the excitement.  But history can be rightly viewed as the pause for a rushed, ragged breath between periods of unrest.  The books are written after the bombs stop falling or the waters recede or the statues are toppled.  This was true for the era when the Bible was written as well.  Nearly all of the Scriptures were written during or about a time of intense trouble, either personal or national.  And all historical writing, be they secular or sacred, are predominately occupied with how men responded to the peril facing their families, their communities, their nations and the world.  

Regardless of the lenses worn by the authors, as a man of faith, I have become increasingly convinced that God sits astride the affairs of men, His hands open and engaged in the active completion of His plans.  This worldview, or framework of interpreting the events and outcomes in light of God's revealed word, mean that births, deaths, wars, famines, genocides, atrocities, captivities, and seemingly irredeemable and unrelated tragedies are actually single notes in the Symphony of Redemptive History.  This can be seen throughout the Scriptures, from Adam to the Apostles.  Paul puts an edge on that blade in Romans 8:18-25

18 For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. 19 For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. 20 For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope 21 that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. 22 For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. 23 And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. 24 For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? 25 But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.

Where does this leave a man in the current American climate?  Where does it leave that man that must wrestle with how to respond to the society around him while protecting and leading his wife and children?  That man finds himself toeing the line of greatness.  He looks up at the winding, mountainous trail with determination and resolve, not fear or retreat.  As the popular voices shout for destruction or hedonism, material success or personal gratification, men of God understand that their chief end is to bring glory to God and find their enjoyment in Him.  Men of faith understand that God has always called men to work, to subdue, to preside, to lead and to simultaneously rest, be subdued, to defer to One greater and to be led themselves.  These are the marks of the great men we read of.  These are the marks of men that leave legacies and heritages worth writing of.

This model of manliness is one predicated upon being a man of faith, walking against the flow, head bowed in prayer but shoulders strong in the face of the challenges before him.  Doug Wilson describes this as 'the glad assumption of sacrificial responsibility."  Nowhere is this more clearly demonstrated than in the man, Jesus Christ.  And, in Christ, God is calling men back to Himself, to be made new and then conformed to the image of God (2 Corinthians 2:19).  While there are many loud voices shouting for their version of manliness, the mark has been set in stone and written in blood by Christ who gladly assumed responsibility for us by sacrificing Himself.  The call of Christ to men has not changed.  We are to imitate Him as we follow Him.  

And he said to all, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. - Luke 9:23

If men were called to follow Christ, daily, under the occupation of Rome and that call was enough to set the world ablaze with the Gospel of Christ throughout the ages, then it remains today, unchanged.  Burning cities, raging crowds, toppling statues, diseases, masks and a litany of things that are all the rage today are but a footnote in the life of a man of faith.  Self-denial, not an exercise in stoicism for the sake of simplicity or discipline only but, rather, as an agreement in faith that God's ways are better, higher and truer than our own.  We ascribe Lordship to Him by willingly, daily, bowing our heart to Him and allowing him to transform us.

I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. 2 Do not be conformed to this world,[c] but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. - Romans 12:1-2

It is not seeking comfort, but conformity to Christ.  It is not seeking ease, but evangelistic effectiveness.  It is not seeking success, but sanctification.  It is not seeking happiness, but holiness.  This manhood understands that to find holiness, sanctification,  evangelistic effectiveness and conformity to Christ is to find happiness in this life and the next.  This is the manhood that stands the test of time. 

A Day on the Illinois River

The View From Up Here

The canoe made a dull scraping sound as we pushed it into the current.  The girls had tested their life jackets and approved with large, delighted smiles as they floated effortlessly across the surface of the water.  As we prepared to shove off we were met with our first obstacle, a large downed tree about 100 feet from our launching point.  A few moments later we were blasting around it, the girls nervously crying out ‘daddy?!’ as I told them to keep their paddles up to cover their eyes.  Then it was behind us and the river opened up into miles and miles of memories.  Over the next 11 miles I watched my daughters grow from timid and fearful to relaxed and experienced.  That’s what the river does, you see.  It’s relentless push, it’s consistent power, it’s methodical, mechanical movement – all the while alive – changes everything that it touches.

My eyes drifted from the daughters in front of me, young and free, to the deeply cut valley through which we paddled with it’s rock steps and towering tree lining and I could not escape the immensity of the scene as it unfolded before me.  This same river that carved the valley now shaped my girls.  With each passing mile their smiles became more relaxed.  Like the rocks that we raced over, worn smooth by the steady hands of the river, so my girls were being changed.  Did they realize it?  Of course not, they were just having fun.  But the change was happening to them, unbeknownst to them, as they paddled along the river.  Before long they were picking lines to aim for in the water, sensing where to point the boat by the color of the water or the presence of obstructions protruding.  A few times we were spun around in the canoe to where my eldest daughter, no longer on point in the front was in the rear, facing backwards.  I called out commands, ‘spin in your seat’ or ‘paddle hard on the left’ and each time we would right the vessel and resume our march down the river. 

What these girls don’t understand, what I barely do, is that these days we spend playing on the river are sweet memories for me to cling to as we both grow older.  But they are more.  They are also solid granite foundations upon which these girls will grow, climb and reach higher than they realize today.  I love my little girls.  I must accept, however, that just like the water must push the canoe and the rocks must be smoothed by the current, they too must grow.  So I look to this partner which has flowed since long before I was born to help me raise them right.  Days on the river will turn to nights under the stars.  Time spent learning and marveling over God’s creation will turn to a deep love and appreciation for His goodness and love for us.  Those lessons, carved out together and indelibly as the river valley under the pressure of the water, will press their marks deeply into my daughters’ character.  It will shape who they are and who they become. 

But before then, there is another downed tree to navigate around.  There are more smiles to light up their faces and warm my heart.  There is more laughter to join with the singing birds and babbling water over the rocks.  There are more moments where I look at them when they don’t realize it and I thank my God that they are mine, there with me, floating down God’s river.  These moments slip away  like the water through my outstretched hands over the edge of the canoe.  I know I can’t hold that water any more than I could stop these moments.  So I cherish them, allowing them to bring joy and hope for the future while being a refreshing blessing for today.

I look ahead to see Zoe fast asleep in the middle of the boat.  Rori is back on point helping me to guide and steer.  My mind drifts back over the generations that have used this river.  It has a written history during the Civil War in America and, no doubt, generations before that in the unknown Indian histories.  How many fathers have hunted, trapped and fished these waters with their daughters?  How many families have beached their boats and laughed over lunch?  How many men have watched as their daughters became women, right before their eyes over the weeks and years spend here?  Each time I set foot in the river I am confronted anew with how overwhelmingly blessed we are to have this land.  I feel like a king as my family splashes and jumps and plays.  Only a truly rich man can take his children each week to a place like this to enjoy life together as a family like we do.  The sight of another stretch of rapids pulls my thoughts back to the task at hand.

Zoe wakes up and helps to steer us towards the center of the rapids as the canoe bounces and accelerates.  I hear one of them say “This is the best day ever, I don’t want it to end”.  Me either, I think, me either.  And again, I am richer than a man like me deserves.  In just a few days we will be on the river again.  And the week after that we plan to take the boys and mom too.  We are blessed.  We are rich.  We are doing it.  And, for that, I am eternally grateful.  I came to this river for the first time about 15 years ago.  It left it’s mark on me then.  Here’s to many, many more years enjoyed first with our children and then with theirs.  

Had to Walk the Rocks to See the Mountain View

15 Years of Roads Leading to our Cabin in the Woods

Tonight finds me hundreds of miles away from all that I hold dear.  She and they are safe and warm back home.  Tonight marks one more business trip.  It's the same as so many before and very different at the same time.  You see, for the past 15 years I've been tilling the soil of this garden plot called responsibility.  It's been an honor.  Over the years I've covered a lot of miles, cleared more airline security checkpoints that I care to recall and blown through more than a few turnpike toll booths than I paid for.  Over the past several years I've noticed that leaving is less exciting and the longing to return starts much, much sooner.  I'm reaching for the phone to call within an hour of pulling out now.  It's harder to leave the kids because I know painfully and honestly that I will miss moments that I can never recover.

I am by no means complaining.  I'm very grateful to have these opportunities to provide for those entrusted to me.  I am also thankful that appreciation and longing has grown in my heart and tamped down some of that wild recklessness that so characterized my early 20's.  This trip is also different because the payoff is much more immediate.  This weekend I will be back home with my crew and we will be heading to our homestead to continue the progress towards living there full time.  I have no less than 6 trees down that need to be processed.  Those will keep us warm next year in what aims to be our first winter living in the cabin!  I've got about 20 final cinder blocks to set.  And, as soon as the rain cooperates, we will finish our floor joists and decking.  In addition to that splitting maul I rehung two weeks back that needs to be tested, there are children to be molded and a bride to pull close.

I work this trip with my mind on the task at hand and my heart eagerly looking forward to the tasks on the horizon.  I am a man made rich by God's mercy.  I press on knowing that there are more steps to take, more mistakes to make, more lessons to learn and more life to treasure.  Onward to a heritage and their inheritance.

Proverbs 127

Unless the Lord builds the house,
    those who build it labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,
    the watchman stays awake in vain.
2 It is in vain that you rise up early
    and go late to rest,
eating the bread of anxious toil;
    for he gives to his beloved sleep.

3 Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord,
    the fruit of the womb a reward.
4 Like arrows in the hand of a warrior
    are the children[a] of one's youth.
5 Blessed is the man
    who fills his quiver with them!
He shall not be put to shame
    when he speaks with his enemies in the gate.

So This Is Christmas

It’s Christmas Eve, 2016.  Our bedroom closet has been officially off limits to anyone under the age of 11 for the past several weeks.  The trunk on the car also requires security clearance.  We’ve had an environmentally friendly, less combustible plastic shrub in our family room now for weeks.  Thanks to the dog I’ve had the pleasure of applying electrical tape more than twice now to ensure said shrub will glow beautifully while at the same time reducing the risk of electrical shock and fire.  We’ve watched the young man nearly shoot his eye out (twice already this year) and played air guitar with that orchestra from across Siberia.  Gluttony has occurred at least 3 times now since November 25 and it’s safe to say will come up a few more times before 2017.  That’s the standard stuff though.  Something else is happening with more frequency now as I put some miles between my own childhood Christmases.  Memories from the past come back to me now as I see my own children recreating them in their own lifetimes.

Watching the kids excitedly make up sleeping pallets under the tree reminded me of years gone by

where I would (and could easily) slide under the tree and gaze up at the lights and ornaments as I drifted off to sleep.  I’m thankful that my wife has instilled such a joy for giving in the kids.  Even now I can hear them in their room wrapping and giggling (it’s 615am).  She told me last night that they had used 3 new rolls of tape to wrap 10 small gifts.  I shook my head and smiled.  I remember wrapping gifts as a kid.  It is neither environmentally friendly nor fiscally responsible.  OSHA would not approve of the manner in which blades are wielded and then held in mouths.  But blood dries.  Clearly these joyful memories are worth it.

But there is more.  This year is a bit of a treat, as Christmas falls on a Sunday.  Natalie and I have talked several times about the excitement of gathering with our church family to sing of Emmanuel’s arrival.  I suspect the choir and band will step it up a notch and that more than a few times on Sunday morning I will be overcome with the intense awareness that "this is it…this is what it is all about".  I’ll look down the row of seats, see my row o’ kids and think "yeah, I’m rich beyond what I deserve".  And that is a small part of what Christmas is about.  I am acutely aware of the fact that my life as I know it today would not exist were it not for the event that we commemorate each year on December 25^th.  Were it not for the ultimate condescension of God into man I would still be looking to a temporary sacrifice to cover my guilt and, let’s be honest, the guilt is copious and there are all sorts of government agencies now to regulate animal sacrifice. 

When we return from church tomorrow afternoon we will have a family supper and then gather up in the family room to read the account of when God became man, hope took on flesh, death was put on notice, sin lost it’s sting and the grave began to tremble.  All the childrens’ church plays, all the knick knacky nativity scenes, all trees with stars…all of those point towards a profound and powerful event. The remind us of the cataclysmic collision between God and man, Light and dark, Holy and profane, Live and death.  Christmas commemorates the offer made by the King of All to all of us.  No longer must the slave tremble.  No longer must the hooker hang their head.  No longer must the sinner die.  The captives can be set free.  The blind can begin to see the truth.  The deaf can begin to hear the words of life.  Heaven came down.  God became man.  He is God with us, Emmanuel. 

So, *this* is Christmas.  

Merry Christmas, ya’ll.  

Merciful Marriage: Building a Home and a Heritage

Twelve years ago today she took my name.  Long before we would even talk about buying land or moving off-grid we were just a pair of wide-eyed fools with a very, very loose understanding of what it meant to love.  In the era of TV trays and 2 seater cars we were laying the foundation for this life.  There are moments in the noise and clamor of our lives now when I pan back and see that we are becoming the type of family that I had probably been afraid to even hope we would.

Growing up we were a Christmas and Easter kind of Christian family until my folks divorced.  I remember buddies who's parents were active in the church.  To me then, those were 'those church kids' that seemed to know all the songs and always seemed at home surrounded by the extended church family and loved closely by their own.  A few weeks ago during the weekly worship service I looked down the row to see my 4 kids and their 2 friends from church sandwiched between Natalie and me.  As the girls sang all the songs and we did our best to keep the boys under control (read: at least in the same row of seats and preferably not army crawling under the ladies dress in front of us) I realized that we had, in fact, become one of those families that I looked up to as a boy.  Now I'm experienced enough to know that real families are, in fact, real.  I know it's not always meadows of flowers and giggling.  Natalie and I have been known to clear the pipes from time to time but that certainly happens less on this side of 12 years than it did in the early days.

More often than not these days we find ourselves outnumbered by these crazy children and simply too tired to fight amongst ourselves.  Our energy is spent reminding folks to keep their feet off the kitchen table and to shut the bloody doors.  But in between door shutting sermons we seem to find ourselves snuggled up as a family watching Little House on the Prairie or Star Wars (yeah, we cover the whole gamut).  The bible is more than just something we keep on the shelf here.  Most days start or end with the family gathered around it looking for either guidance or correction.  I know that at any time I can holler out 'family group' and the kids know to rally up in a circle for prayer.  It's a rare day that doesn't start with a warm breakfast and a family group before I head to the office.  And that is, in and of itself, a testament to God's mercy in our lives.

This is the good life.  It's because of the good wife.  She motivates me to become more than I would have even been without her.  We've come a long way from that frozen December morning in Amish country, Ohio.  We press on, laughing and holding hands, occasionally reaching back to slap her on the butt and smile.

Thankful Reflections on 2 Years

Thanksgiving 2016 - Today we reflect on the adventure of raising 4 kids, goats, ducks, chickens and rabbits in our backyard.  Well, we let the kids in the house from time to time, but you get the idea.  As we look forward to transitioning to the 10 acre homestead we couldn't help but smile at how far we've come and laugh when we think about the adventures down the road.  It's the good live, ya'll.  Peace.

Why no politics?

Why don't I talk politics here?  It's simple.  This is a family place and I don't want to sully it by dragging that junk in.  No, but really, there are plenty of places for you to get your political fix or rant and rave.  This isn't it.

This is a place to come together, share ideas, form a community and grow as humans.  You'll pick up on my worldview just fine, I'm sure.  I'm not going smother anyone with the American flag, I promise.  There is a life to be lived, let's live it.

Simple Truths in a Complex World

It is better to fix a tool you already own than to pay for a brand new one.

Walking barefoot in your freshly tilled garden beats wearing the finest shoes to the office.

Life is the breath of God and should be revered and protected as such.

Once you hold your newborn child, humility and fear take on a new meaning.

A man that starts each day with his family in prayer has done at least 2 things right that day.

Smiles and snuggles from your children are the most valuable currency around.

Much of the difference between success and failure comes down to how we define success.  The rest is just determination.

Why trade time, of which we have so little, to buy things that we do not need?

The quiet of a summers evening right after the kids have gone to bed is one of the loudest whispers known to man.

A spouse or a parent should carry a gun.  Anyone that carries a gun should be able to fire one shot and hit center mass on any target that needs to be shot.  Just in case that first shot is not enough, carry at least 15 rounds in the mag. 

The Maturity of the Wheelbarrow

Used it to build character and our homestead

About 4 summers ago we bought our first family wheel barrow.  We had purchased our first home and that was all the excuse I needed to begin a series of projects that I had neither the experience nor the instructions to accomplish.  The scope and number of those projects has only gotten larger in the years since and shows no sign of abating, but I digress.  We had recently begun attending local auctions to accumulate the supplies and tools that often times contributed to harrowing, near death experiences and occasionally ended in some version of a successful project.  On our second or third trip to the local farm auction, my eldest daughter and I had spotted a single wheeled, wooden handled red chariot for barrowing.  Being August in Oklahoma, the auction yard battlefield was 3 degrees shy of Hellfire but Rori’s eyes gleamed as I nodded to her, whispered ‘poker face’ and handed her the bidding card.  With each bid and counter bid she would look at me as I nodded gently for her lift the card again.  I watched as the crowd caught on and the bidding slowed.  Folks were watching a young girl learn the auction way.  When the auctioneer gave last call and nodded to Rori with his customary ‘Sold’ she nearly came unglued, then quickly composed herself and whispered ‘poker face daddy.’

In the years since I’ve watched that little girl learn to balance the barrow.  She has hauled everything from toys to cinder blocks (yes, my daughters move cinder blocks).  She has moved firewood, both split and not.  Many times I’ve looked up from working at the table to see her out by the goats or gardens, wheelbarrow loaded with some adventure, plowing across the yard.  We had to convince her on more than one occasion that our puppy was not, in fact, a Siberian Husky sled dog so she could untie her from the barrow. 

Last fall, after several seasons of hard use (and occasional misuse – my sons mistook it for a trampoline a time or thrice), the wheel bracing bracket gave way.  All fall and winter the contraption lay on its side, seemingly destined to become a planter or fodder for the local landfill.  This past Saturday I watched as Rori was once again trying to move cinder blocks.  I saw her try her trusty wheelbarrow.  The wheel wobbled and came apart several times.  As I watched this young woman, teetering on the edge of her teen years wrestle with the blocks and the busted barrow I was struck by how much she has grown.  No longer only my little girl but now also a strong, capable young woman; she managed to slide the wheel axle under the wooden handle to hold it in place.  Then, quietly and confidently she completed the task at hand.  As she walked away I was left looking at this object that brought her so much joy those years ago and so much satisfaction so many times since.  That was Saturday morning. 

A few hours later found us in the hardware store looking through bins of bolts and nuts.  We picked a pair that looked like they would fit.  The following day, with all my kids plus a few neighborhood regulars gathered around I attempted another of those projects that I had never done before.  With a strip of drilled steel, a wood block, a mallet and an angle grinder we fashioned a new bracket to hold that wheel on.  Now, this may not seem like a big deal but I promise you, it was profound.  About 20 minutes later I was standing over our first family wheelbarrow with the same satisfaction that my daughter had those years ago.  It was fixed.  Money was saved.  Lessons were learned.  With a quiet satisfaction I loaded up my tools into the freshly repaired wheelbarrow and walked it to the shed.  4 years have passed since that sweltering auction afternoon.  Who would have thought that this tool used to carry cinder blocks would also build character, both in my young daughter and in me.