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I grew up in the suburbs. A place of perpetual activity. Of Hurry. Of worry. Of 5 soccer games on the weekend, piano lessons and orthodontics. A place where there is very little time to sit and think about…well…anything.

I still live in the burbs. I don’t love it, and I don’t hate it. It’s the water and I am the fish…the suburbs are where I live. They just “are.”

funeralLast week I attended the funeral of a dear friend’s mother in small town Indiana. It included things I expected – a small country church, home-spun anecdotes about the wonderful woman who passed away, and a delicious “pitch-in” lunch following the service. It also surprised me in a few ways – the genuine warmth I received from people I didn’t know, the breathtaking landscape of rural Indiana in autumn, and how beautiful a funeral can be.

As we left the funeral home in the long line of cars being led to the cemetery by local police escort, one observation struck me. Though we moved at a snail’s pace, every car coming the opposite direction pulled to the side of the road.

I was stunned.

I looked at the people in the cars. Young, old, kids in car seats, businessmen and students. I didn’t see a single person who looked impatient, nervously tapping their steering wheel waiting for the procession to pass. They were calm and respectful, acknowledging the gravity of the moment. There was even an older gentleman on a riding lawnmower who stopped and bowed his head as the line of cars passed.

Where I live, I can’t imagine a scene like this. Even if we were required to stop, I think I would be releasing heavy sighs, calculating how I could make up for the loss of four precious minutes.

I’ll admit it. I like the convenience of the suburbs. I like the school systems and the easy, geographically convenient access to services I use virtually every day. I can buzz around with few obstacles, but do I miss the people? Are the lives around me worthy of honor and respect, and do I steep myself in their richness?

Thanks, Seymour, Indiana.

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I’m a positive guy.

Ask 10 people who know me to describe me, and you’ll almost certainly hear the word “positive” at some point. I’m a cheerleader, the kind of “rah-rah” guy you probably like when you need a pick-me-up, but who may annoy you in a contemplative moment. And if you’re given to frequent bouts of melancholy? Well, you might envy me my upbeat outlook, or more likely, you might characterize me as delusional.

I don’t apologize for it. Whether by personality or pathology, (likely a combination of both), I like being a glass-half-full guy. But….sad

It’s okay to be sad.

It’s okay to be sad when you’re lonely.
It’s okay to be sad when you experience pain…of any kind.
It’s okay to be sad when you see racism.
It’s okay to be sad when your enemies, and especially your friends, hurt you.
It’s okay to be sad when you’ve been ignored or marginalized.
It’s okay to be sad when you see the plight of less fortunate people.
It’s okay to be sad….period…for no reason, other than sadness.

I recently had one of these sad moments. I have no idea why it hit me, but sadness came over me like a misty, cold cloud. Instead of reaching for my phone to play a game, or text someone, or to start a conversation about football, I decided to let it wash over me. I owned it. I embraced it. I allowed it to run its course. It was, in its own way, something quite beautiful.

Shortly after experiencing this, I ran across a YouTube video of comedian Louis CK on Conan O’Brien’s show. Because of some coarse language, I don’t feel comfortable posting the link here, but in the middle of this clip, he talks about how in our fast-paced, multi-tasking world, we miss the opportunities to really feel sadness. We avoid it with activity, and in avoiding real sadness, we avoid real joy.

I want joy…so I’m going to embrace the sadness when it comes.

How about you?

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12 tones, mathematically precise.

When Johann Sebastian Bach first composed The Well Tempered Clavier, he had no idea the influence these works would have. By establishing tuning requirements for each note, he made it possible for compositions to be played in a variety of keys without sounding out of tune. Prior to these works, re-tuning was required for some pieces, as the distance in hertz between notes wasn’t uniform. Bach changed everything, in a sense, by making music into math.

So why doesn’t music sound like math?

Well, if every instrument had the same timbre, music would be math. Gratefully, each instrument has it’s own tone with its own set of overtones, thereby distinguishing itself from other instruments. Some have mellower tones, providing the “glue” for the musical experience. They are the foundation for those with brighter tones – tones that soar above the orchestral infrastructure.

I find that we are like musical instruments. Mathematically, remarkable similar…easily identified, organically, as homo sapiens. But the timbre of our personalities gives us rare tone. At times, the dissonance of those tones still bring discord to our lives. We long for uniformity….that other’s tones would be more like ours. But in the end, it’s the variety of tones that makes music beautiful and inviting. And so it is with people.

Thoughts?

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It didn’t take long to write, but it expressed my heart perfectly.

Recently, as part of an exercise, I was asked to write out a prayer. The facilitator wanted us to be thoughtful…writing our prayers as did the psalmists and ancient believers. Here was my entry:

The road is barely visible
Covered by the dust of frantic inactivity
The remnant of miles traveled hopefully
Long ago.

What of great import drew me away?
Why was the road inadequate –
the destination re-routed?

The lure of significance?
The beauty of a throne?
The nobility of sacrifice or the promise of reward?

The road to joy remains unexplored.
Its destinations plural…its source, singular.

I need a Map.

It’s interesting what pours out of my heart when I take a few moments to examine it.  The noise in my life often drowns out what is actually important.

I’m grateful for the Map.

I just have to read it.

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Because it’s the right thing to do.

The world is horrified by the images. We watch as a toddler in China gets run over by a car….twice. 18 people have the opportunity to save this helpless child, but they avert their eyes and pass by. By the time a stranger picks up the tiny, broken body, it is too late. The child would not survive.

Is this us? Is this what we have become?

Not entirely.

I live in Indianapolis, and this summer during a severe summer squall, a straight line wind of over 70 miles per hour toppled the stage trusses supporting the lighting and sound systems at the Sugarland concert at the Indiana State Fair . 4 people were killed, and several people were trapped beneath the crushing weight of the trusses.

As lightning, thunder and horizontal rain pelted the crowd, something amazing happened. Hundreds of onlookers, instead of running for cover, jumped over barriers and fences and ran toward the stage. Ignoring the grave danger, they worked together to lift the trusses off trapped victims. Why?

Because it was the right thing to do.

I am writing this on a flight from Bangkok, where I attended a conference with my organization – Campus Crusade for Christ. As you know, floods have ravaged this nation, and millions of people have lost their homes, their possessions, their livelihoods and even their lives.

In the midst of this mounting catastrophe, the CCC staff that live in Thailand had a decision…..should they work to protect their own homes, or should they leave their material lives to the floodwaters and help others in need? Knowing they would lose everything they owned, they made the only decision their faith left them. They helped others. But why?

Because it was the right thing to do.

They made this sacrifice without any promise of personal recovery, but perhaps we can do something to thank these heroes. If you would like to help, you can donate to them here. Why?

Because it’s the right thing to do.

Here’s a video on the effort to help….thanks for considering this!

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I love speed.

Motorcycles, boats, planes, remote-controlled cars….anything fast. As anyone with the need for speed knows, however, the love of velocity can also be risky business.

I remember my first and only trip to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway for the Indy 500. One of my good friends was college roommates with one of the top drivers that year, and he got us pit passes for the race. While almost 200,000 people were in the stands, WE were allowed on the track! I was standing literally 3 feet from one of the Indy Cars when I heard, “Gentlemen, start your engines!” As the cars roared away, I ran off the track and over the pit wall. It was an exhilarating experience.

While standing in the pits produced some amazing moments early in the race, honestly, it got a little boring after 30 minutes or so. Why? Well, we could only see about 100 feet of the track from where we were situated, right at track level, and at the speeds the cars were carrying, we couldn’t even tell what color the cars were, much less who was driving. Eventually we took some seats in the grandstands. It wasn’t as frenetic and exciting, but it definitely gave us a better and more enjoyable view of the race.

My life is often like that Indy 500. I love the exhilaration of the pace, the roar of my schedule, and the riskiness of trying to accomplish more than I should sanely attempt. But there is a problem…

I miss the race.

As husband and father of a beautiful family, I am prone to miss out on the big picture in order to experience the adrenal rush of the speed of my life. Oh, how beautiful my life looks when I slow down a little and watch from 30 rows up.

How about you?

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OK….the truth is, 111,310 people were watching. And then there was the television audience….probably millions there. They just weren’t watching what I was watching – leadership in all it’s glory.

The date was September 22, 2007, and thanks to a friend’s generosity, I was given tickets to the Michigan-Penn State game. Michigan didn’t have a very good team, but the crowd at the Big House was still amped up. It was a fun atmosphere for me and my then 11 year-old son.

The game was a grinder. Mid-way through the 4th quarter, the score was 7-6 Michigan. The Wolverine offense, quarterbacked by freshman Ryan Mallett, was basically one-dimensional. Team captain Mike Hart finished the game with 44 carries for 153 yards. He was it….the only bright spot on offense.

The Wolverines eventually pushed ahead 14-6, only to see the Nittany Lions come back with a field goal, making the score 14-9. With 6 minutes left in the game, Michigan got the ball and was desperate to run out some clock. They handed the ball to Mike Hart…..and kept handing it to him, over and over again.

With 3 minutes to play, Hart ran up the middle and was destroyed by a Penn State linebacker. It was the 41st carry of the game for the running back, and when he was carried off the field, there was a sense of dread in the crowd. Their leader was gone.

Penn State called a timeout. It was 3rd and 3, and without Hart, you could sense the Nittany Lions thought they could stop Michigan, get the ball back and put the game away. That’s when I watched the drama unfold on the sidelines. Hart had positioned himself away from the coaches, and just before the timeout was over, he limped onto the field and told the running back who had replaced him to go back to the sideline. When he lined up in the backfield, I think everyone, including the coaches, looked on in shock.

Hart knew what was coming, and he did his job perfectly. At the snap of the ball, the Penn State defense blitzed their linebackers, hoping to catch the freshman quarterback off-guard and cause an interception, a fumble, or at the very least, an incomplete pass. As Mallett faded back, the injured Hart stepped in front of the linebacker just before he reached Mallett, and he crushed the defender and put him flat on his back. Pass complete, 1st down, game essentially over.

Mike Hart, who could hardly walk, came back on the field at the perfect moment.

To block. For someone else.

I have watched a lot of football in my life, but I will remember that play as long as I have a memory. THAT was leadership.

And at least one person was watching.

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It’s been a long time since I’ve written. Honestly, I’ve missed it, if for no other reason than it gives me the opportunity to reflect on my life.

In recent weeks, my responsibilities in virtually every area of my life have increased. Less time, fewer resources, less time for relationships….700 miles per hour with my hair on fire all the time. It’s not a healthy way to live, and I know it. But do I change anything?

See, the problem is that by nature I am a positive guy. I recently took a personality test that seeks to identify each person’s top 5 strengths. My top strength?

Positivity.

Huh? Is that even a “strength”??

To be honest, I think I’m really more of an ostrich than an optimist. Instead of having a positive outlook on reality, I am, at times, more apt to look upon difficulties and trials and bury my head in the sand….pretending that everything’s okay by ignoring the problem. Eventually, it catches up with me and I land on life’s great debilitator…

Worry.

Worry sucks the life out of us. It kills our joy and shields us from the beauty that surrounds us. As Corrie Ten Boom stated so perfectly, “Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow. It empties today of its strength.”

So what kills worry? Well, if you read the title of this blog post, you know my answer…hope. I don’t have a corner on the pain and sorrow market, but I have certainly had some dark moments, and it is hope that has sustained me, powering me invisibly forward, helping me get my eyes off myself and on to something productive and purposeful.

I think it is a theory of quantum physics that two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time. I believe what’s true in quantum physics is also true in life, and that worry and hope cannot exist in the same space. My hope is in my relationship with my Creator.

Where’s your hope? I’d love to hear about it….

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When I was a kid, the main test of manliness wasn’t bungee jumping or paintball domination. You could be as tough as nails, but there was one question every boy asked his friends.

“Did you cry when you watched ‘Brian’s Song’?”

Now, let me be clear here. I cry at supermarket openings and McDonald’s commercials, so I was never the litmus test for manliness. That being said, if crying at videos is grounds for giving up one’s “man card”, I defy any guy to watch the video below without turning it in on the spot.

The men and women that serve us are amazing, but I rarely think about their sacrifice in the context of the little people they leave behind. This video will change all that…and it will for you, too.