Icebergs

Lettuce, or large chunks of ice floating in the ocean, it adds up the same. There are parts you can see and parts you can't. There are things that don't show. How come we don't use artichokes as a symbol for the human condition? Or rocks?

If we were able to unwrap one another, if we we're able to dive below and see what's underneath, I think we would have a very hard time living with each other. Sure, there would be some good stuff living in there that we didn't know about, but we tend, I think, to show the good. Of course we do. It's the other stuff that sits and waits for some tragic moment of opportunity to strike out at the world we fear.

Perhaps our ignorance is a kind of grace.

But what if you knew it all? What if you knew every tendency toward the darkness in the people around you? What if you knew every single dehumanizing thought that came to mind in the people in your life? Where would love be then?

For us, I think, it would melt like ice on a hot stove. Wilt like lettuce in the sun.

But the Creator sees it all and somehow still finds a way to love. It is astounding to me. And all I really have to go on is myself. I can only guess at the darkness in others. But I am fairly well aware of the darkness in myself. And even that is a guarded self awareness. After all, we have to live with ourselves, don't we? Don't we?

The truth is that I don't deserve any of the love I have in my life. But it's there anyway. And I'm thankful for it. And it teaches me to love in spite of the darkness; in spite of the things that are not seen.

© LW Publishing 2015

Simple

I want everything to be simple, but almost nothing is. Perhaps nothing is. It’s hard to say.

I have doubts about simplicity. Complexity rules, to the point of being confused with chaos, which is, I believe, an illusion. The concept of chaos is just a clever way of saying, “I can’t figure this out. I don’t know how this works. This is too complicated. I can’t keep track of the variables.” To which I say, “Big surprise there.”

But I get why we’re attracted to the concept of chaos. It kind of gets us off the hook. It’s a rationale for being comfortable with our limitations.

But life certainly feels like chaos a lot of the time.

People say, “I’m a simple person.” But they aren’t. They like to think they are, especially when they don’t want to deal with the complications. We want to be simple so we won’t have to expend the energy. We get too tired or too lazy or too disinterested to keep track of the calculations. Or they’re just beyond us. So we over simplify, you know, pretty much everything.

It’s a survival thing.

But complexity finds us: when morality won’t let us go, when problems rise up that we can’t solve with trite platitudes, when the doctors says, “I need you to come back in for some more tests.” When the simple answers don’t offer any solace.

Let me tell you: there’s nothing simple about life. And certainly not death or dying. Or human beings. God help us, the things we can do if we aren’t held back by something better than ourselves. The complexities of evil and the human heart are uncountable, unknowable. At least by us. Our hearts can be very dark. Caves. Black holes. Deny it all you want.

But it’s not all darkness, is it? What about love? Love is an amazing thing. But it’s not simple either. It’s very, very complicated. Too bright and pure to keep our eyes on for too long. Too complex to appreciate like we should. But, you give and take what you can and try to make it through the day. See a smile and smile back. Try to keep your cool when things get ugly around you. Look up at the stars and wonder. In awe. There is love in that sky.

We are fearfully and wonderfully made, planted on this little, green circle of soil and stone and water. A world so stunningly complex it leaves us without enough adjectives to adequately describe it. On top of that, we are conscious. We think, because we are. We are alive, floating in an immense, unfathomable universe. Space and time and matter, bound together to form all that is, yet like a grain of sand in the hand of God.

But there is a mark on the map of the universe. You are here. Breathe.

© LW Publishing 2011

When Knievel Was King

Oh yeah, I was totally and completely an Evel Knievel fan.

What? Like you weren’t? Right. Only if you weren’t born yet. And still, even then...

Of course, at first, my mom wasn’t too sure about this . . . fascination. After all, his name was “Evel.” It couldn’t have been more clear. But it wasn’t clear at all. Turns out his name was more of a gimmick. Hyperbole. And it wasn’t actually “Evil,” right? It was “Evel.” Vowels make all the difference. Turns out he was a nice guy. At least as far as Evel’s connection to me as a kid, he was an all American daredevil who jumped motor cycles over rows of cars, trucks or whatever else he could find, in ever increasing numbers while telling us kids to stay clear of drugs.

He set world records, jumping over things with that motor cycle. It was magical, my friend. Magical.

I didn’t know much about what he did with his private life. That was the stuff of legends. All that mattered was the joy of waiting for him to jump, then the joy of watching him approach the ramp, then the joy of seeing the jump and seeing him land. When he crashed, it really upset me. I wanted him to make it. I didn’t want him hurt. It really was all about the jump, the risk, the daring do, and the flash of a smile when he was through.

For Christmas one year, I received a treasured gift. It was an Evel Knievel action figure with stunt bike. The most popular toy in the land of America at the time. It made the toy company over 300 million dollars. Viva Americana! Oh yes. It was a little Evel on a little motorcycle that you wound up with this round lever on a little red plastic platform. Zim zim ZIM, louder and louder. You would launch Evel and he would ride and jump over a ramp, over whatever you might put in his path.

Here’s what happened.

Someone broke my Evel. And when they did, they just shrugged their shoulders and walked away, like it didn’t matter. And no one did anything about it. It was not replaced. It was not fixed. I was left holding the sad and tattered remains with no hope of justice.

Now THAT was evil.

Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2011

The Odyssey of Theodicy

A delusional man, driven by evil impulses, shot a bunch of innocent people this past week and everyone wants to know “why?”

Here’s why: He was delusional and driven by evil impulses. He is simply an extreme, out of control, version of a broken human being. There is no math of experiences that can explain it away.

Why was he delusional and driven by evil impulses? Why?

Maybe a better question is: Why not?

What do you think keeps this from happening every five minutes?



Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2010

Sympathy for the Devil

Sure, the man was crazy. But you would be too if you went through what he went through. I mean, if you had seen the things he had seen, you would be crazy too. How could anyone live through that and not end up a little, you know, whacked out or something? Off-kilter. Messed up.

I realize not everyone who goes through that kind of thing ends up doing the kinds of things he did. But they would sure understand why he did, wouldn’t they? They would get it.

Unlike you.

I’m not saying I get it either. I mean, I’ve had it pretty good compared to some. I’ve had my bad days. Everyone does, don’t you think? But what some people go through, it’s like Hell, man. Hell on earth. And that causes problems. It messes people up.

Then you get what you get.

What do you expect, anyway? This world is falling apart. And no one cares. It’s madness. I think it’s amazing we all don’t throw up our hands and start howling at the moon, doing things that don’t make sense. A violent world produces violent people.

People ask: Is he guilty? But what does that even mean? Guilty of what? Not being able to cope?

I’m not saying he was right. But who’s to say he was wrong? It was bad, yes, and I feel for the people he hurt. But if you saw things from his perspective, you wouldn’t hate him so much. One of the reasons this kind of thing happens is because we just don’t understand each other. People are disconnected. And whose fault is that?

Not mine.

I didn’t create this world. I just live in it. Same as you. I’m just trying to find my way. I don’t have all the answers. I don’t think anyone does. We’re all messed up. We all fall short, right? I think Jesus said that, didn’t he? Something like that. No one is any good. So why pretend? Why condemn? God said not to judge, right?

Who do you think you are anyway?




© LW Publishing 2010