This Christmas feels a little different than Christmases in the past. There’s a little more excitement, a little more anticipation of what I’ll be getting than there has been for a long time. It’s not because I have no idea what my wife is getting for me or how many presents will be under the tree. Whatever it is will be will be less than $30 and probably add up to approximately four gifts—all of this stipulated by the Maki Family gift exchange list and budgetary requirements. Christmas hasn’t held much anticipation for me since my teen years when I learned to play it cool like my parents. That and the evolution of family gift giving policies designed to hold back the materialism of our culture have helped to make Christmas happy, joyful, family-oriented and fattening but have severely limited the anticipation of what’s to come. But this year is different because this year I’m anticipating a newborn son.
I can’t help but feel that this puts me in a somewhat unique position when it comes to considering what Christmas means. After all, the anticipation of a coming baby was basically what the Christmas story is about. Almost. There’s something that Mary and Joseph knew about their baby that ups their anticipation to heights I’m not sure I will ever relate to. Jesus wasn’t just the next piece of their family, a continuation of their family lines, a step up in society and economic status, a child who would grow up to be someone they could be proud of. Mary and Joseph knew that their newborn son was going to be the Messiah. The Savior. Of the World.
Mary and Joseph spent the first Christmas wondering about what was to come. What kind of man would this Messiah be? How would he save them? Would his people finally be free of Roman oppression? Would he make their fields more productive, their armies stronger, their people more respected in the world? Would there be war or would he conquer peacefully? Would they all become rulers or would there be no one else left to rule? What will the world be like when he is done?
I am sure the anticipation of all these things kept Joseph and Mary, the shepherd and the wise men awake with excitement for many nights that first Christmas. But in these days of corporation-driven celebrations and adult sensibilities we don’t find ourselves anticipating Christmas very often. For us Christmas is a time of remembrance, a time of looking back and being thankful for what God did that day. Maybe that’s why God orchestrated for Christmas to be so close to our New Year. Because the New Year still brings that sense of wonder of what’s to come. It’s the end of the old and the beginning of something else. Something that may be more of the same, but just might be gloriously different as well.
I know there are those whose collars ruffle when others wish them a “Happy Holidays” instead of a “Merry Christmas”, but maybe the two holidays together come close to what the first Christmas was really like. Christmas wasn’t a memorial, it was the day everything changed and the world became a new place. What hopes will be fulfilled this next year because of Christmas? What wars will cease, what sorrows will be quenched, what pain will be soothed because of Christmas?
As for me, I will be laying awake at night during the holidays wondering what kind of person my son will become and what kind of father I will be. May your nights be more restful than mine but may you also experience a sense of wonder at what kind of person you will become this year and what kind of Father our God has always been. And may you have a merry Christmas—and a Happy New Year.
That Guy Frodo
Fifteen minutes of written communication.
12/16/11
9/18/11
Death and Taxes, Minus the Taxes
Last week I was asked to be the speaker at a camp that was being run by my coworker. I didn't want to. I actually kind of like public speaking, but public speaking about the things of God has always been something I've avoided if I could. And so I had, at least up until then.
My wife, of course, has been saying I should do something like this for nearly as long as we've been married. And then my boss suggested to my coworker that maybe I would be a good speaker for his camp. And then it turns out there's no money in the budget to hire a speaker anyway and I'm already on the payroll and nobody else really wants to do it either and, well, there's this little part of me that actually kind of wants to do it to and so it was just a matter of time. I pretended to be "considering" it for as long as I could so at least I didn't have to feel committed and then gave in.
It went well. It went really well, actually. And, after I had pushed through the agonizing torture of preparing a talk (someone once likened it to birth pains and while I won't know those personally I think its a good analogy), I even kind of enjoyed it.
I bring this up because yesterday I read Donald Miller's blog and the article was entitled "The Best Writing Advice I’ve Ever Received". You should read it for yourself because its as well written as any of Don's stuff, but I'll sum it up for you now: Love your reader.
Now if I had read that a month ago, I think I would have thought it was a great piece of advice and stuck it in my Reservoir of Wise Things I Heard Someone Say One Time. But it was yesterday, and it hit me a little differently. See, those talks I did for that camp were on the topic of Love being the greatest commandment. And I took the opportunity to go into detail about what it actually means to love and how hard it is to love. I'll sum up my talks for you too: Love means dying to yourself.
So this idea has been simmering in my mind for nearly 24 hours now. To be a good writer (or speaker) I need to die to myself if it means my readers and listeners will benefit. Which is true. I never actually want to write, I only want to have written. And those 2 days spent preparing my talks in earnest were torture. There were so many things I wanted to do besides locking myself in an empty meeting room and hashing my way through what is a much more difficult topic that you'd expect and making it relevant to people 20 years younger than myself. It may sound a little melodramatic, but for those two days I felt like a part of me was dying. The part that didn't want to work this hard, the part that didn't want to be embarrassed if I messed up, the part that remembered the critical comments I received on my sermons back in college, the part that always harbors that flicker of doubt that I actually know anything about anything.
Like I said, the talks went very well. The kids went home after the final talk and actually shared their hearts with each other in a way that their leaders were still in awe over at breakfast the next morning. I have to be honest when I say that I was a little surprised by the results of it. I only share it here because it still seems like something that happened to someone else rather than to me. But maybe I shouldn't be so surprised. Isn't it written somewhere that love never fails? And that what greater love can there be than that someone dies for someone else?
And so I come to the reason I started writing this particular piece in the first place. I was contentedly reading my book, drinking my tea and waiting for my wife to come home. But in the back of my mind I just kept remembering my mother calling me nearly every time she reads my blog to tell me how much it meant to her. How Jesse comments on nearly every post and has always been an encouragement to me. How I hardly ever write anymore even though it seems like it brings other people such joy. How all I really wanted to do right then was just read my book and drink my tea. Getting up and turning on the computer felt just a little like death.
So I shall leave you with this question. It is actually the same question I posed to my campers just last week, though I am only just now realizing that I have been asking it of myself ever since then. What is it that stands between you and being a loving person? What part of you needs to die so that you can bring joy to someone else?
I haven't fully nailed it down for myself just yet, but I am confident in this: that there is One who will not fail to complete my transformation from the selfish person I am now to the loving person I was meant to be. Even if he has to do it one small little death at a time.
My wife, of course, has been saying I should do something like this for nearly as long as we've been married. And then my boss suggested to my coworker that maybe I would be a good speaker for his camp. And then it turns out there's no money in the budget to hire a speaker anyway and I'm already on the payroll and nobody else really wants to do it either and, well, there's this little part of me that actually kind of wants to do it to and so it was just a matter of time. I pretended to be "considering" it for as long as I could so at least I didn't have to feel committed and then gave in.
It went well. It went really well, actually. And, after I had pushed through the agonizing torture of preparing a talk (someone once likened it to birth pains and while I won't know those personally I think its a good analogy), I even kind of enjoyed it.
I bring this up because yesterday I read Donald Miller's blog and the article was entitled "The Best Writing Advice I’ve Ever Received". You should read it for yourself because its as well written as any of Don's stuff, but I'll sum it up for you now: Love your reader.
Now if I had read that a month ago, I think I would have thought it was a great piece of advice and stuck it in my Reservoir of Wise Things I Heard Someone Say One Time. But it was yesterday, and it hit me a little differently. See, those talks I did for that camp were on the topic of Love being the greatest commandment. And I took the opportunity to go into detail about what it actually means to love and how hard it is to love. I'll sum up my talks for you too: Love means dying to yourself.
So this idea has been simmering in my mind for nearly 24 hours now. To be a good writer (or speaker) I need to die to myself if it means my readers and listeners will benefit. Which is true. I never actually want to write, I only want to have written. And those 2 days spent preparing my talks in earnest were torture. There were so many things I wanted to do besides locking myself in an empty meeting room and hashing my way through what is a much more difficult topic that you'd expect and making it relevant to people 20 years younger than myself. It may sound a little melodramatic, but for those two days I felt like a part of me was dying. The part that didn't want to work this hard, the part that didn't want to be embarrassed if I messed up, the part that remembered the critical comments I received on my sermons back in college, the part that always harbors that flicker of doubt that I actually know anything about anything.
Like I said, the talks went very well. The kids went home after the final talk and actually shared their hearts with each other in a way that their leaders were still in awe over at breakfast the next morning. I have to be honest when I say that I was a little surprised by the results of it. I only share it here because it still seems like something that happened to someone else rather than to me. But maybe I shouldn't be so surprised. Isn't it written somewhere that love never fails? And that what greater love can there be than that someone dies for someone else?
And so I come to the reason I started writing this particular piece in the first place. I was contentedly reading my book, drinking my tea and waiting for my wife to come home. But in the back of my mind I just kept remembering my mother calling me nearly every time she reads my blog to tell me how much it meant to her. How Jesse comments on nearly every post and has always been an encouragement to me. How I hardly ever write anymore even though it seems like it brings other people such joy. How all I really wanted to do right then was just read my book and drink my tea. Getting up and turning on the computer felt just a little like death.
So I shall leave you with this question. It is actually the same question I posed to my campers just last week, though I am only just now realizing that I have been asking it of myself ever since then. What is it that stands between you and being a loving person? What part of you needs to die so that you can bring joy to someone else?
I haven't fully nailed it down for myself just yet, but I am confident in this: that there is One who will not fail to complete my transformation from the selfish person I am now to the loving person I was meant to be. Even if he has to do it one small little death at a time.
8/24/11
Inter Romanorum quod VCR
I'm still writing, just not very often unfortunately. Here is a blog entry I wrote for the camp I work for:
Yesterday, as I was deep in concentration over some new problem that had cropped up in our soon-to-be-released redesigned website, Laura came in to ask a favor.“There’s a family here to visit the grounds and I need someone to take them around,” she asked. “You’re the only one available.”Generally, it takes me a few minutes to switch to people mode when I’ve been coding web pages all day, but when the woman who hands you your check every other week asks a favor…well…
The family turned out to be from Utah and they had come all the way to Prescott for a whirlwind one day tour of all that was special to grandpa when he lived here as a boy.Grandpa himself was leading the tour and from the smile on his face as we climbed into the golf cart I could tell this was going to be a fun trip.
Our first stop was the Chapel.After a family picture outside the door, he stepped inside and began describing in detail how it had looked so long ago.“There were pews and the front was on the end, over here.There was a banner on the wall that said ‘I can do all things through Christ’ above the stage.And I was sitting right here when I gave my life to the Lord.” He was standing right under the left projector, surrounded by chairs facing the wrong way and staring at a blank, banner-less wall, but you could tell that the decision he’d made so long ago on that very spot hadn’t changed at all.
Now I was born in the ‘70’s, so when people talk about coming to camp in 1948, it falls into that realm of history sometime after the Romans, but before the VCR.And the difference between that time and this one seems like an impossibly long time.But as we continued the tour (his level of excitement rising to an almost giddy level when he discovered his cabin is still—barely—standing), I was reminded of something a pastor once said to me.“I’ve made a lot of decisions in my life, starting from a very young age.What I was going to be, where I was going to live, what I was going to do.But there is only one decision that has stuck with me for all these years: the decision to follow Christ.I don’t know how, but I am who I am because of that decision.”
Like I said, I’m working on a new web site.We just built a new dining hall.We’ve got grandiose plans to make this place as unrecognizable in another 60 years as it is now compared to back then.But nothing excites me more than this:that when my own childhood joins the Roman Empire in ancient history, my work here will have helped people know the One Who Never Changes and who will still be loving me.
Yesterday, as I was deep in concentration over some new problem that had cropped up in our soon-to-be-released redesigned website, Laura came in to ask a favor.“There’s a family here to visit the grounds and I need someone to take them around,” she asked. “You’re the only one available.”Generally, it takes me a few minutes to switch to people mode when I’ve been coding web pages all day, but when the woman who hands you your check every other week asks a favor…well…
The family turned out to be from Utah and they had come all the way to Prescott for a whirlwind one day tour of all that was special to grandpa when he lived here as a boy.Grandpa himself was leading the tour and from the smile on his face as we climbed into the golf cart I could tell this was going to be a fun trip.
Our first stop was the Chapel.After a family picture outside the door, he stepped inside and began describing in detail how it had looked so long ago.“There were pews and the front was on the end, over here.There was a banner on the wall that said ‘I can do all things through Christ’ above the stage.And I was sitting right here when I gave my life to the Lord.” He was standing right under the left projector, surrounded by chairs facing the wrong way and staring at a blank, banner-less wall, but you could tell that the decision he’d made so long ago on that very spot hadn’t changed at all.
Now I was born in the ‘70’s, so when people talk about coming to camp in 1948, it falls into that realm of history sometime after the Romans, but before the VCR.And the difference between that time and this one seems like an impossibly long time.But as we continued the tour (his level of excitement rising to an almost giddy level when he discovered his cabin is still—barely—standing), I was reminded of something a pastor once said to me.“I’ve made a lot of decisions in my life, starting from a very young age.What I was going to be, where I was going to live, what I was going to do.But there is only one decision that has stuck with me for all these years: the decision to follow Christ.I don’t know how, but I am who I am because of that decision.”
Like I said, I’m working on a new web site.We just built a new dining hall.We’ve got grandiose plans to make this place as unrecognizable in another 60 years as it is now compared to back then.But nothing excites me more than this:that when my own childhood joins the Roman Empire in ancient history, my work here will have helped people know the One Who Never Changes and who will still be loving me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)