Like few who have gone before him, Richard Exley has a gift for making simple the deep things of God. When I first read Living in Harmony, I started hoarding copies, that I might give them as precious gifts to my dearest friends and associates.

Roy H. Williams

Wall Street Journal and

New York Times best-selling author

Richard Exley’s writing is crisp, alive, and practical. In Living in Harmony, he shows us how weaving together a four-part harmony of work, rest, worship, and play helps us experience the rhythm of life that God intended, rather than the chaos so many of us know. It is a book you will want to read over and over, then pass on to your friends.

Max Davis, author of

It’s Only a Flat Tire in the Rain,

Never Stick Your Tongue Out at Mama,

and Desperate Dependence

Living in Harmony is a “must read” for everyone who has a pulse. It may save your life. It definitely will improve it. Whether you are an overworked executive, over-stressed pastor, harried mother of pre-schoolers, or just feel like life has become a “have to” instead of a “get to,” this book is for you. I ought to know; it saved my ministry and gave me back my life. Learn how to live life as God intended! Buy one for yourself and one for a friend. You deserve it!

Randy Phillips

Founder and Senior Pastor of

Oak River Church

Living In Harmony increased my understanding of the need for balance in all the main areas of my life. I believe this book will help anyone who wants to finish their race — strong.

Pastor Billy Joe Daugherty

Victory Christian Center

Tulsa, OK

First printing: July 2003

Copyright © 1987, 2003 by Richard Exley. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations in articles and reviews. For information write: New Leaf Press, Inc., P.O. Box 726, Green Forest, AR 72638.

Originally published as The Rhythm of Life (1987). Rewritten and updated, 2003.

ISBN-13: 978-0-89221-552-2

ISBN-10: 0-89221-552-6

Library of Congress Number: 2003106238

Cover by Farewell Communications

Printed in the United States of America

Please visit our website for other great titles:

www.newleafpress.net

For information regarding author interviews,

please contact the publicity department at (870) 438-5288.

DEDICATION

To Roy Williams,

a special friend whose vision for my ministry

was often greater than my own

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction

Section One: Work

Chapter 1: The Driven Person

Chapter 2: The High Cost of Success

Chapter 3: Work Isn’t the Enemy

Chapter 4: Finding Fulfillment

Chapter 5: Called or Driven?

Chapter 6: Dare to Change

Section Two: Rest

Chapter 7: A Brush with Burnout

Chapter 8: Rest Isn’t a Four-letter Word

Chapter 9: The Courage to Cut

Chapter 10: Going for the Gold

Chapter 11: Deserts, Silence, and Solitude

Chapter 12: Cultivating Silence in a Noisy World

Chapter 13: Pictures from the Past

Chapter 14: Old Friends and Good Books

Section Three: Worship

Chapter 15: A Gift and a Discipline

Chapter 16: Glorious Worship or a Cheap Masquerade?

Chapter 17: Naked and Not Ashamed

Chapter 18: The Window of Eternity

Chapter 19: There Will Always Be Another Bus

Chapter 20: Worship Is a Many-splendored Thing

Chapter 21: Songs in the Night

Chapter 22: Wildflowers and Other Holy Things

Chapter 23: The Singers of Life

Section Four: Play

Chapter 24: A Little Madness

Chapter 25: The Performance-enhancing Power of Spinach

Chapter 26: Tree Houses, Trout Fishing, and Tomatoes

Chapter 27: Nature’s Tranquilizer

Chapter 28: The Family That Plays Together, Stays Together

Chapter 29: I Didn’t Marry Very Well, Did I?

Chapter 30: Celebrate the Temporary

Chapter 31: Cold Feet

Epilogue

Study Guide

About the author

INTRODUCTION

If you are conscientious and hard working, if you cannot rest as long as any task remains unfinished, if you constantly push yourself to the point of exhaustion and beyond, then this book is for you! I should know for I have just described the man I used to be, and I desperately needed a book that would help me discover the harmony between work and rest, worship and play.

You may be a visionary pouring your life into the work of the Kingdom. Or you may simply be ambitious, driven to succeed, driven to prove to yourself and the world that you can do it, that you are somebody. Then again, you might just be trying to live up to your parents’ unrealistic expectations, still searching for their approval and affirmation.

Whatever the case, your life is probably out of harmony and bursting at the seams with stress. Even when you succeed you experience only a momentary sense of satisfaction before the old emptiness returns. All too soon you are looking for new challenges, new projects to tackle so you can once again “prove” your worth. In the company of others, you likely appear confident and outgoing, but it is often just a facade. You feed upon their presence, drawing strength from their attention and approval. Alone, however, you seem to shrink within yourself. The self-doubt your gregarious manner disguises now returns with a vengeance. The tormenting inner voices suggest that if others really knew you they would know how phony you are no matter your success. As a consequence, you can never rest. More is never enough! You are constantly in need of reassurance from the people around you to keep the nagging voices within at bay.

Even if you do succeed in escaping your haunting self-doubts, you will likely find that your success is double-edged. Every benefit is offset by increased responsibilities. Now you find yourself working harder than ever just to keep up with the never-ending demands. The pressure is relentless. There’s no time for family or friends, no time for solitude or self. Even God is often crowded out.

You are not a bad person. In fact, given a chance, your friends will likely give you a glowing recommendation. And it’s your virtue, your goodness that is your undoing. You are most likely a “need-centered” person and every need you see becomes your personal responsibility. You are probably a committed Christian, perhaps a working mom trying to manage both your family and your career. You may be a minister, or involved in one of the helping professions. Unfortunately, the good you accomplish does not make you immune to the accompanying stress and the cost can be staggeringly high — an empty marriage, resentful children, burnout.

It is a subtle trap, a mindset masked in the work ethic. A Jewish rabbi alluded to it while addressing the graduating class of a rabbinic seminary.

There will be Friday evenings when you will rush your family through dinner so that you can get to services on time to give a sermon about the Sabbath as uninterrupted family time. There will be days when you will leave a sick child at home or a child studying for a test, while you go to teach religious values to the Temple youth group. There will be Sundays when you will cancel plans for a family picnic to officiate at a funeral, where you praise the deceased as a man who never let his business interfere with his obligations to his family. And worst of all, you won’t even realize what you are doing as you do it [emphasis mine].[1]

I’m guilty. I’ve been there and I’ll probably succumb again. But here’s the good news: Once you recognize the symptoms and accept the solution, you will usually catch yourself before you are in over your head. It happened to me just a few weeks ago and I found myself praying:

Lord, forgive me —

I’ve failed You again.

Some believers wouldn’t consider it a failure,

but I know better.

It’s not prayerlessness, not this time.

Nor evil thoughts or vain imagination.

Or even unholy ambition.

No, I’ve failed You in a much more subtle way.

I’ve become the ugliest of all things — a compulsively busy man.

It was okay for a while.

The long hours,

the constant pressure —

counseling, administration, visitation —

unrealistic expectations,

relentless demands. . . .

I loved what I was doing.

I was committed,

creative,

energetic. . . .

Like a quick change artist

I switched hats,

changed roles,

tried to be all things to all people.

There was no time for solitude or daydreaming.

Radio scripts had to be written,

sermons prepared,

deadlines met.

It was exciting and demanding.

I was out to change my world.

But there was no rhythm in my life,

no harmony between work and rest, worship and play.

Now I’m not just a compulsively busy man.

I’m an angry man, too.

I’m tempted to resent the people I love

and to dread the ministry

I’m committed to.

Forgive me, Lord,

for working too hard and playing far too little.

Let me become a child again

at least for a time each day.

Balance my busyness with solitude,

my work with rest.

Let me walk away from time to time

so I can return refreshed and renewed.

Help me, Lord, for I am a compulsively busy man.

Although I am constantly in danger of reverting to my driven life-style, I take hope because Jesus showed us how to overcome our propensity for busyness. Like us, He was often pressed on all sides. Everywhere He went, needy people mobbed Him. So great were the demands of ministry placed upon Him that Mark says, “He and his disciples were not even able to eat” (Mark 3:20). To His credit, Jesus managed to balance the work of ministry with both rest and worship, thus avoiding burnout. Not infrequently He withdrew from public ministry in order to renew His physical energies and restore His spiritual strength.

If Jesus needed to practice the rhythm of life in order to remain effective and fulfilled, then it only stands to reason that we do also, only more so. The pace of contemporary life simply amplifies our need for that delicate harmony between work and rest, worship and play. Who among us is not in danger of becoming enslaved by the very things that were supposed to make our lives more manageable? Pagers, cellular phones, notebook computers, and e-mail all threaten to take us hostage. No matter where we go, our work goes with us. In truth, our time — that is our life — is not our own.

As a result, Dr. David L. McKenna, noted theologian and educator, concludes:

Modern society has upset the rhythm of life. Work has been devalued and play has been invaded by the purpose of work. With so much leisure and so many options, play has been subjected to a time-clock schedule with its demand for successful production. In many instances, worship has been eliminated from the rhythm of life and rest has become a dreaded experience on a “crash pad.” The result is that work is a necessary evil, play is work, worship is idolatry, and rest is a short course in death.[2]

Sad but true. Yet life doesn’t have to be like that, it doesn’t have to be a rat race. With God’s help, you can turn your life around. Your work can be meaningful again. Rest can renew, worship can inspire, and play can be the joyous pleasure that seasons it all. That’s why I wrote this book.

Let me invite you to pause in the mad rush of busyness and examine your life. Ask yourself some hard questions. Are you practicing the rhythm of life — that delicate harmony between work and rest, worship and play? Are you fulfilled? Are the most important relationships in your life in good repair? Do you take time for yourself? For God? What about play? Are you fun to live with? These are just some of the issues I will be dealing with as I try to help you implement principles that will enable you to truly live life to the fullest.

In the strictest sense, Living in Harmony is more than just a book to be read. It’s an invitation to laugh and cry, to experience your deepest and most profound feelings. Hopefully, before long you’ll pause, put your fingers between the pages, and relive a treasured experience. By the time you have finished this book, I trust that it will be more yours than mine — a collage, a reflection of your personal history. And in the process I believe you will rediscover the renewing power of a life lived in harmony with God and His purposes.

Endnotes:

1.Harold Kushner, When All You Ever Wanted Isn’t Enough (New York, NY: Summit Books – a Division of Simon and Schuster, Inc., 1986), p. 4.

2.David L. McKenna, The Communicator’s Commentary: Mark (Waco, TX: Word Books, 1982), p. 77.

Work is not a consequence of man's fall, nor part of the Curse, as many of us have been taught to believe. It is a gift from God. As beings created in His own image, we have an inherent need for meaningful work. It is our divine destiny. God is a creative workman, a master craftsman; and we have been created to be co-laborers with Him.

Chapter 1: The Driven Person

There is simply not enough success, power, or wealth in the world to satisfy the human heart’s hunger for relationships. Unfortunately, most driven people never realize this, or at least not until they have severely jeopardized the significant relationships in their lives.

The other day someone mailed me a comic strip called “Cathy.” The first frame showed Cathy standing by her desk as a group of co-workers begin filing in from lunch. She asked, “Did you have a good lunch?” and immediately wished she hadn’t.

The first guy responded, “Fantastic! I did a 40-minute workout and a three-mile swim!”

A lady executive said, “I dictated all my correspondence in the Jacuzzi!”

“I studied my French language tapes on the stationary cycle!” chimed in a secretary.

A yuppie-type added, “I hit my heart rate target zone and endorphin peak while meeting with my broker on side-by-side rowing machines!”

In the last frame Cathy is alone at her desk wearing a look of chagrin. Wistfully she asks, “Whatever happened to the good old days when ‘Having a good lunch’ meant you got to eat something?”[1]

The Bane of Busyness

What a commentary on our culture. We are obsessed with busyness. Even our “leisure” time is dominated with the need to be productive. We are driven to succeed, to get ahead, to get established in our careers. Any temptation toward moderation is quickly swallowed up by guilt. Life is competitive. Our performance is being measured against that of our peers. We can’t let up, not even for a moment, or life will pass us by.

If you are like most Americans, you have been taught from an early age that all things are possible to him who works hard. And not only possible, but expected! You are undoubtedly competitive and often more than a little insecure. Even if you have achieved a measure of success, you probably still struggle with self-doubt and work all the harder because of it, driven by the mistaken assumption that success will finally still those tormenting voices within. The illusion of fulfillment calls you to redouble your efforts and so you forge ahead — blindly, desperately. Before you know it you are defining your life by what you do: You are a banker or a teacher or a plumber. Tragically, you have lost your way, your identity. You have become the ugliest of all things — a compulsively busy person — a workaholic!

Characteristics of a Workaholic

You may find yourself taking exception with me. To your way of thinking, you are not a workaholic. Oh, you may put in a lot of hours, even bring work home with you, but that is only because you are conscientious. Indulge me for a moment. I have prepared six questions to help you determine the role work plays in your life. Read and answer them carefully. You may be surprised at what you discover about yourself.

1) Is work the primary source of your identity? If you were suddenly unemployed, would you still know who you are? Would you still be a person of worth?

2) Do you believe work is inherently good, and therefore the more work you do, the better person you are? When you’re “tooting your own horn” do you “bemoan” the long hours you work? If you do, the chances are that you ascribe to this tenet, at least unconsciously.

3) Do you feel you are not really 9[0-9]+) the Lord unless you consistently push yourself to the point of fatigue? Do you ascribe to the old tenet that you would rather burn out than rust out?

4) Do you think the more you work, the more God loves you? Let me put it another way. When you imagine standing before the Lord on Judgment Day, in what do you place your confidence? In what you’ve done for Him or in what He’s done for you? Be honest with yourself.

5) Do you feel indispensable? Think about it. What would happen if you couldn’t work for several weeks?

6) Do you control your work or does it control you? Do you work in order to make a living or do you live to work?

If you answered “yes” to more than three of those questions, you probably need to take a serious look at your priorities. It is likely that work is too important to you! If you’re not already a workaholic, you are well on your way to becoming one.

The Driven Person

Gordon MacDonald, past president of Intervarsity Christian Fellowship and long-time pastor, calls the workaholic a driven person. He writes:

There are lots of driven people doing very good things. Driven people are not necessarily bad folk, although the consequences of their drivenness may produce unfortunate results. In fact, driven people often make great contributions. They start organizations, they provide jobs and opportunities, they are often very bright and offer ways and means of doing things that benefit many other people. But nevertheless they are driven, and one worries about their ability to sustain the pace without danger to themselves.[3]

He goes on to list eight readily recognizable characteristics.

1) A driven person is most often gratified only by accomplishment. . . . So the driven person begins to look for ways to accumulate more and more achievements. . . . He becomes the sort of person who is always reading books and attending seminars that promise to help him to use what time he has even more effectively. Why? So that he can produce more accomplishments, which in turn will provide greater gratification.

2) A driven person is preoccupied with the symbols of accomplishment. . . . That means that he will be aware of the symbols of status: titles, office size and location, positions on organizational charts, and special privileges.

3) A driven person is usually caught in the uncontrolled pursuit of expansion. Driven people like to be a part of something that is getting bigger and more successful. . . . They rarely have any time to appreciate the achievements to date.

4) Driven people tend to have a limited regard for integrity. . . . Shortcuts to success become a way of life. Because the goal is so important, they drift into ethical shabbiness. Driven people become frighteningly pragmatic.

5) Driven people often possess limited or undeveloped people skills. . . . There is usually a “trail of bodies” in the wake of the driven person. Of this person we are most likely to find ourselves saying, “He is miserable to work with, but he certainly gets things done.”

6) Driven people tend to be highly competitive. . . . Thus, he is likely to see others as competitors or as enemies who must be beaten — perhaps even humiliated — in the process.

7) A driven person often possesses a volcanic force of anger.

8) Driven people are usually abnormally busy. They are usually too busy for the pursuit of ordinary relationships in marriage, family, or friendship, not to speak of one with God.[4]

As we’ve already noted, driven people, or workaholics, often make great contributions. They start organizations, they provide jobs and opportunities, they are often very bright and offer ways and means of doing things that are beneficial to many, but at what cost? Because they have not balanced their work with rest, worship, and play, they are terribly vulnerable.

Success Without Fulfillment

Life’s meaningfulness often escapes them. Although they may achieve success they seldom find fulfillment! For such a person, hell is the loneliness of having everything and knowing that it is still not enough.

I’m thinking of a 46-year-old TV newscaster who had climbed to the top of his profession and was basking in the affluence and affirmation that went with being a national celebrity. Unfortunately, he was not as satisfied or fulfilled as you might suppose. Ruefully he commented, “I am near the top of the mountain that I saw as a young man, but lo and behold, this is not snow up here, it is mostly salt.”

He went on to say that most of the persons he knew who were considered “successful” had left their personal lives far behind them. Professionally, they were terrific, but on a personal level their lives were in utter disarray.[5]

The gap between achievement and fulfillment is not a new phenomenon. It is likely as old as the human race. Consider the teacher who penned Ecclesiastes. Although he lived nearly a thousand years before the birth of Christ he sounds very much like that disillusioned newscaster.

I undertook great projects: I built houses for myself and planted vineyards. I made gardens and parks and planted all kinds of fruit trees in them. I made reservoirs. . . . I also owned more herds and flocks than anyone in Jerusalem before me. I amassed silver and gold for myself. . . . I became greater by far than anyone in Jerusalem before me. . . . I denied myself nothing my eyes desired; I refused my heart no pleasure. . . . Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind. . . .

I hated all the things I had toiled for under the sun. . . . So my heart began to despair over all my toilsome labor. . . . all . . . [my] . . . work is pain and grief; even at night . . . [my] . . . mind does not rest. This too is meaningless (Eccles. 2:4–23, emphasis mine).

What happened? He achieved success, but he did not experience fulfillment. He established a great kingdom, but he had no one to share it with. He reminds me of those business tycoons and politicians who are experts at manipulating people and exercising power, yet who end up lonely old people surrounded by hired servants and favor-seekers, wondering why so few people love them.

Of course, not every workaholic will be so successful, but you can be assured they will all experience the same exasperating sense of futility. The more the workaholic achieves, the more biting, the more bitter his disappointment when he discovers he is still haunted by the same old emptiness. The truth is, there is simply not enough success, power, or wealth in the world to satisfy the human heart’s hunger for relationships. Unfortunately, most driven people never realize this, or at least not until they have severely jeopardized the significant relationships in their lives.

Endnotes

1. Cathy Guisewite, “Cathy” (1987 United Press Syndicate), Tulsa World, Mar. 3, 1987.

2. William McNamara, “Wasting Time Creatively” (cassette tape), Spiritual Life Institute, Star Route One, Sedona, Arizona.

3. Gordon MacDonald, Ordering Your Private World (Nashville, TN: Published by a division of Thomas Nelson, 1984), p. 31.

4. Ibid., p. 31–36.

5. John Claypool, Stages, (Waco, TX: Word Books, 1977), p. 60–61.

6. Harold Kushner, When All You Ever Wanted Isn’t Enough (New York, NY: Summit Books — a Division of Simon and Schuster, Inc., 1986), p. 3.

Chapter 2: The High Cost of Success

Having sacrificed everything — family, friends, even his own personhood — on the altar of ambition, the driven person finds himself poorly prepared for the challenges of mid-life and beyond.

In her best-selling book Passages, Gail Sheehy coined the phrase “concomitant growth” to describe the unique challenge of adulthood. Based on her studies, she concluded that adults need to develop concurrently on the three basic frontiers of their lives: (1) work or vocation, (2) relationships with significant others, and (3) one’s own unique selfhood, the realm of inwardness, that part of one’s self that is expressed simply for one’s own private delight. I would add a fourth dimension — the spiritual, one’s relationship with God. That’s a tall order, I grant you, but an important one. We ignore it to our own peril. Without concomitant growth, we become prime candidates for a mid-life crisis.

Such a crisis usually occurs between the late 30s and the late 50s. It is generally characterized by a great deal of turmoil and difficulty in one or more critical areas — your work, your marriage, or your relationship with your children. It’s a time when you may find yourself seriously questioning your life patterns and goals.

This crisis is caused, at least in part, by the tendency in our earlier years to over-invest in one of the three areas Sheehy identified — work, others, or self — at the expense of the others. The effects of this imbalance usually don’t surface until sometime in our middle years. For example, the workaholic pours almost all of his energy into his career and thus has little or no life apart from his work. When he begins to realize that work is not enough, that he needs something more than “success” to be fulfilled, he often experiences a mid-life crisis. Having sacrificed everything — family, friends, even his own personhood — on the altar of ambition, he finds himself poorly prepared for the challenges of mid-life and beyond.

Christians Aren’t Immune

As a Christian you may naively believe that you are immune to such self-serving ambition and its consequences. Nothing could be further from the truth. Like everyone else, we, too, are tempted to live our lives in the desperate pursuit of material things, career advancement, and the obvious power and recognition it affords. We may even succeed, yet such “success,” is not without its price.

Frequently, the first casualty is the family. That really should not surprise us — after all how can we expect a marriage to survive, let alone thrive, when we give it only the leftovers of our time and energy. When confronted by his frustrated spouse, one confirmed workaholic defended himself with absolute sincerity saying, “I’m doing it for you and the children.” To which his longsuffering wife replied, “Why don’t you try doing something with us instead of doing so much for us?”

Although we may pretend otherwise, most of us driven types know the real reason we invest so much time and energy in our careers. It is not for our families, no matter how much we protest to the contrary, but for the recognition and power it affords us. To be sure, our efforts do provide a higher standard of living for our families — a bigger home, nicer clothes, membership at the country club, and the best schools for our children — yet that is not what motivates us. In our heart of hearts we know that we are driven to succeed by the misguided idea that wealth and recognition will finally free us from our deep-seated self-doubts and insecurities.

Nor is the clergy immune. Many ministers are driven to excel, to do things God has not called them to do. And in his relentless pursuit of achievement, the man of God often falls prey to the same materialism that inundates the workaday world, albeit a religious version. Success now replaces service as the motivation for ministry, and the minister gets caught up in the numbers game — attendance, membership, budgets, and building programs. As a consequence, the church ceases to be a community of faith, becoming instead a religious conglomerate. The minister no longer sees himself as a pastor, a shepherd of souls, instead he thinks of himself as the chief executive officer. Like many of his secular counterparts, he may become a power broker, sacrificing family and friends on the altar of his misdirected ambition. Although he tells himself he is doing it for God, he takes great pride in his accomplishments.

The price he pays can be staggeringly high, although the ultimate cost may not be obvious for a quarter-century or more. Ultimately, his inner emptiness, his emotional and spiritual void will demand a resolution. By now he has probably achieved more “success” than he ever dreamed possible, and with it, more frustration. This isn’t how he is supposed to feel. Where is the fulfillment, the satisfaction? Who is there to share his achievements? He is not intimate with his wife, not even close, and his children are strangers, grown and gone, making a life of their own.

If his public ministry is any indication of his work habits, then it is safe to say that he is a confirmed workaholic who thinks nothing of putting in 70 to 80 hours a week. Suddenly, at mid-life, he realizes the futility of it all, but he is at a loss as to what to do. He doesn’t know anything else. Lonely and depressed, he is especially vulnerable.

Mid-life Affairs

It is not hard to imagine what happens next. In the course of his pastoral duties, he finds himself counseling with an estranged wife. Her inner emptiness mirrors his own, and, almost without realizing it, an emotional bond is formed. For the first time in longer than he can remember, he feels alive. Here is a woman who appreciates him as a man, not just a minister. She listens to him and really cares about the things he is feeling.

At this point he probably would be shocked if someone suggested he was well on his way to having an affair. He has never allowed that thought to enter his mind — well, almost never. How, you may be wondering, could things come to this?

Dr. Carlfred Broderick, successful marriage counselor, may be able to shed some light on the subject. After counseling with dozens of couples who were fully committed to fidelity, yet who found themselves involved in affairs, he concludes:

. . . more people get themselves into the pain of infidelity through empathy, concern, and compassion than through base motive. The world is full of lonely and vulnerable people, hungry for a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to cry on. With a little help from ra-tionalization, the sympathy leads smoothly into tenderness, the tenderness to the need for privacy, the privacy to physical consolation, and the consolation straight to bed.[1]

Affairs begin not just for sexual reasons but to satisfy the basic need we all have for closeness, goodness, kindness, togetherness — what I call the “ness” needs. When these needs are not met on a regular basis in a marriage, the motivation may be to find a person who will be good to us, touch us, hold us, and give us a feeling of closeness. Sexual fulfillment may indeed become an important part of an extramarital relationship, but the “ness” needs are, for most men and women I know, initially more important.[2]

What am I trying to say? Simply this: When we worship at the altar of ambition we set ourselves up for some devastating losses in our personal lives. Even if we never have an affair, or if we have one but our spouse never finds out, we are still the losers. As one marriage counselor noted, “Most marriages that fail never end up in the divorce court.” What good is a family if you’re not a “family”? And what good is success if you have no one to share it with?

King of the Mountain

A famous banker was given a testimonial dinner and presented a distinguished award. After expressing his appreciation he said, “This award does not mean much to me now. My wife died last year, and I have no one to share it with.”

So it is with the workaholic. He may achieve great “success,” become “king of the mountain,” but he will not have anyone with whom to share his success. Relationships require time and tenderness, communication and closeness, and he has neither the time nor interest. Consequently, he frequently ends up a lonely and bitter man. Even if his spouse has not died, and his marriage has not ended in divorce, he is still alone. Together, but alone! That is loneliness of the most haunting kind.

For years I read Ecclesiastes with a mixture of frustration and confusion. Why, I wondered, was it even included in the Bible? It was the most depressing thing I had ever read. Then one day its meaning dawned on me. The writer was a workaholic nearing the end of his days. He had invested his life in his career rather than relationships, and now, too late, he realized the utter futility of a life lived for things rather than people

He was successful — “I became greater by far than anyone in Jerusalem before me” (Eccles. 2:9). But he found no pleasure or fulfillment: “I hated life, because the work that is done under the sun was grievous to me. All of it is meaningless, a chasing after the wind” (Eccles. 2:17).

At the end of his life, he realized he had no one to whom he wanted to leave his wealth. Though he had fathered many children, they were all strangers to him. “I hated all the things I had toiled for under the sun, because I must leave them to the one who comes after me. And who knows whether he will be a wise man or a fool? Yet he will have control over all the work into which I have poured my effort and skill under the sun. This too is meaningless” (Eccles. 2:18–19).

Is There an Answer?

As we come to the close of this chapter take a moment and examine your life. Are you living in a way that will leave you fulfilled when you come to the last seasons of your life? Are you investing time, love, and energy in your spouse and your children? Do they get priority time or just the scraps you have left after giving your best in the marketplace? To my knowledge no one has ever said on his deathbed, “I wish I had spent more time on my business.”

No one can set your priorities for you, only you can do that. In order to do it well, you will have to decide what is really important and then commit yourself to it at all costs. If you are a confirmed workaholic, changing your lifestyle will not be easy, but with God’s help you can do it. If you make the accumulation of wealth, or the pursuit of happiness, or any other personal benefit, the goal of your labors, you will find only futility. But, if you give yourself selflessly in service to God and others, God himself will give you the desires of your heart. Remember, fulfillment is not a goal. It is a consequence of a life lived in service to God and others.

Endnotes

1. Carlfred Broderick, Couples (New York, NY: Simon and Schuster, Inc., 1979), p. 163.

2. Peter Kreitler with Bill Bruns, Affair Prevention (New York, NY: Macmillan Publishing Co., 1981), p. 68.

Chapter 3: Work Isn’t the Enemy

The workaholic has a spiritual problem, and as such he requires a spiritual solution. As long as he seeks for his significance in his work, he will be driven to excel, to do more and more, in a misguided attempt to prove to himself and others that he is a person of worth. Whether his passionate devotion to work produces the ultimate success, or just another case of executive burnout, is in many ways of little consequence, for the payoff he seeks (self-esteem) will ever elude him.

It is common to think that the workaholic’s primary problem is working too much. Nothing could be further from the truth. Compulsive work is merely a symptom of an underlying problem in the same way a fever is a symptom of an infection in the body. If you treat only the fever, the sufferer may experience temporary relief but the root cause — the infection — remains. To heal the patient you must cure the infection. So it is with the workaholic. We must address the underlying issues that drive him to compulsive busyness if we hope to help him become a whole person.

The Search for Significance

The workaholic has a fundamental misunderstanding about the role work plays in his life. He sees work as a means to an end — a way of earning money, making a name for himself, even a way of exercising power. All of these things he considers proof of his personal value. Unfortunately, his efforts are doomed to fail. There simply is not enough success in the world to quiet the discordant voices within. Self-esteem is not the by-product of achievement, but the natural consequence of a healthy relationship with one’s parents, peers, and, of course, God. The proof of our personhood is rooted in “whose” we are — God’s — not “who” we are — personal achievement.

Sometime ago I read an interesting article in USA Today, detailing the achievements of some the country’s most successful entrepreneurs. Not a few of them came from deprived backgrounds — some were reared in poverty, others were reared in foster homes or orphanages. I could not help wondering how much of their drive to succeed was rooted right there in the need to escape the limits of the past, to prove that they were persons of significance.

The man or woman who attempts to use their work as a vehicle for proving their personal worth, however, is setting out on a journey to which there is no end. No matter how successful they become, no matter how high they climb the cooperate ladder, it will never be enough. As each success proves to be as temporary and unsatisfying as the last, they redouble their efforts, blindly believing that one more achievement will finally produce the inner significance they seek. Whether their passionate devotion to work produces the ultimate success, or just another case of executive burnout, is in many ways of little consequence, for the payoff they seek (self-esteem) will ever elude them.

The Workaholic Has a Spiritual Problem

The workaholic’s compulsive need to prove himself grows out of a deep-seated self-doubt. There may be any number of contributing factors — childhood poverty, parental rejection, abuse, personal failure — but at its core it is a spiritual problem and no amount of work-related success will long still the nagging voices within. The workaholic has a spiritual problem, and as such he requires a spiritual solution. As long as he seeks for his significance in his work, he will be driven to excel, to do more and more, in a misguided attempt to prove to himself and others that he is a person of worth.

His is not a new temptation; in fact Jesus himself was plagued at this very point during His wilderness temptations. Although the entire 40 days and nights that Jesus spent in the wilderness were a time of doing battle with the devil (Luke 4:2), they were followed by three specific temptations, each carefully crafted to strike at a point where Jesus was most vulnerable. The first temptation (Luke 4:2–3) was a double-pronged attack appealing to both His physical hunger and His need to prove himself: “The devil said to Him, ‘If you are the Son of God, tell this stone to become bread’ ” (Luke 4:3).

This temptation really had little to do with physical hunger, though Jesus was indeed hungry. It was not about turning stones into bread; it went deeper than that. By calling the deity of Jesus into question, Satan struck at the foundations of our Lord’s self-esteem. Would Jesus look to the Word of the Father — “You are My beloved Son” — for His validation, or would He try to prove His self-worth by turning stones into bread? Would He trust His identity to the Father or would He trust in His own accomplishments? That’s what this temptation is about and that’s precisely what the workaholic is dealing with.

Knowing Jesus’ inner struggles in this area, the Father provided special confirmation as He prepared to launch His ministry. When John the Baptist saw Jesus approaching to be baptized he said, “Look, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29). How Jesus’ heart must have leaped at those words, so reminiscent of the things Mary and Joseph had told Him as a child.

Then John gave this testimony: “I saw the Spirit come down from heaven as a dove and remain on him. I would not have known him, except that the one who sent me to baptize with water told me, ‘The man on whom you see the Spirit come down and remain is he who will baptize with the Holy Spirit.’ I have seen and I testify that this is the Son of God” (John 1:32–34).

As meaningful as John’s testimony was it could not compare with the subsequent confirmation of the Father. After Jesus was baptized “a voice came from heaven: ‘You are My Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased’ ” (Luke 3:22). There would be other times when the Father repeated that confirmation (Matt. 17:5), but nothing could match the first time. It was the special revelation that Jesus needed to move forward with confidence.

In the first wilderness temptation, all of this is called into question. The enemy challenged everything that Jesus believed about himself, everything that He was. “The devil said to him, ‘If you are the Son of God, tell this stone to become bread’ ” (Luke 4:3).

Though He was physically and emotionally wasted, Jesus did not fall prey to the enemy’s trap. Instead of being baited into turning stones into bread He said, “It is written: ‘Man does not live by bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God’ ” (Matt. 4:4). By refusing to be tempted into proving who He was, He settled the issue once and for all. He would not use His divine power to benefit himself, but only for the good of others. He would not build His identity on personal achievements, but only on the Word of the Father –– “You are My beloved Son” (Luke 3:22; NKJV). Personal achievements will pass away, but the Word of the Father is established forever (Ps. 119:89).

God’s Solution

The account of this temptation is included in Scripture, not simply because it was so critical to the formation of our Lord’s character, but also because it goes to the heart of our human condition. Most of us are born with self-doubts that are exacerbated by the emotional wounds we suffer while growing up. Consequently, we question our value as persons. We question our value and our place in our family circle. We question our value to our spouse, to our friends, to our employer, to our church, and to our pastor. And most of all, we doubt our value to God. As a result, we spend much of our life trying to prove our worth. For many of us that means over-investing in our work, we become workaholics. Unfortunately for all our work, for all our “success,” we are no nearer a resolution.

Only God can heal the deep self-doubt that haunts the human race. Only He can make us feel like persons of worth and dignity. To that end He gives us “the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, ‘Abba, Father.’ The Spirit Himself bears witness with our spirit that we are the children of God, and if children, then heirs — heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ” (Rom. 8:15–17; NKJV).

If Jesus dared not turn stones into bread to prove His self-worth, but trusted only in the Word of the Father, how dare we do otherwise? (See Luke 4:3–4.) We must not turn inward in search of significance, for we will never find it within ourselves. Nor do we dare turn outward, hoping to find personal validation through our achievements. There simply is not enough success in the entire world to satisfy the heart’s hunger for significance. Men and women created in the image of God cannot live by “bread alone.”

Our search for significance — our workaholic quest to prove ourselves — ends only when we look backward to the Cross and upward to the throne. Through the finished work of Jesus, we have been transformed into persons of worth and dignity. “How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God” (1 John 3:1). “Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and aliens, but fellow citizens with God’s people and members of God’s household” (Eph. 2:19). We are people of significance, not because of what we do or what we achieve, but because we are inherently significant to God.

Conclusion

Work is not the enemy, and working less, while beneficial in the case of the workaholic, is not the answer. Work is not a consequence of man’s fall, or part of the Curse, as many of us have been taught to believe. It is a gift from God. As persons created in His image, we have a built-in capacity, as well as an inherent need for meaningful work. God is a creative workman, a master craftsman, and we were created to be co-laborers with Him. It is our divine destiny.

Without Christ, we are self-centered and our work is primarily a way of meeting our own needs. In Christ, we are God-centered and others-centered. As a consequence, we now see our work as a way of honoring Christ through our service to others, especially our employer and the clients he serves. We “do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than [ourselves]. [We] . . . look not only to [our] own interests, but also to the interests of others” (Phil. 2:3–4). Work has now become a gift, an act of worship, which we offer to God, and an expression of our loving service to others.

Chapter 4: Finding Fulfillment

Our work is an expression of who we are, an expression of the creative nature we share with God the Creator. As beings made in His likeness, we are designed to share in His work and His world. This truth sanctifies and gives dignity to even the most mundane task.

I like to work. I really do. For a long time, I’ve been ashamed to say that. After all, I don’t want people to think I am a driven person, nor do I want to become one again. I’ve seen the consequences of a life built on work and work alone: executive burnout, nerves rubbed raw, angry outbursts, inappropriate emotional responses, and the inability to make decisions. Still, the truth of the matter is I like to work. I agree with Solomon who said, “. . . when God . . . enables him [any person] . . . to accept his lot and be happy in his work — this is a gift of God” (Eccles. 5:19).

You may be thinking, Of course, you enjoy your work. You have a meaningful job with high visibility and lots of positive strokes. Put in 50 hours a week in the sweat shop where I work, and then you can talk to me about job satisfaction. A good point, but may I remind you that while my work as a minister and writer is meaningful, it is far from easy. If the truth be known, the work of ministry is tremendously demanding (as I am sure your work is, as well). Expectations are unrealistically high, the hours are often long, human need is nearly overwhelming, and the work is never done. From time to time, even the most competent minister finds himself run ragged; still there’s nothing in life more meaningful than working with God in the reconstruction of a shattered life.

Co-laborers with God

That, I think, is the secret to finding fulfillment in your work — the ability to see beyond your immediate task to the grand scheme, to recognize that your daily duties, no matter how mundane, are part of God’s plan for the ages. I’m sure making that connection is easier for a minister; we are, after all, doing “God’s work,” but in reality we are, each and every one of us, co-laborers with Him. Whether we realize it or not, we are working with Him to feed, clothe, and shelter His human family.

While directing the construction of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, Christopher Wren, the English architect, visited the building site. Stopping to talk to one of the laborers he asked, “What do you do?” Not realizing that he was talking to the great architect, the man, who was a cement mixer, answered, “Sir, can’t you see? I’m building a great cathedral.”

[1]

I like that! Here was a man who saw past the limits of his job description to the grand scheme and was able to claim it as his own. He wasn’t just mixing cement; he was building a beautiful cathedral. It was more than a job, more than a way of making a living. It was an opportunity to be part of something great, and he had sense enough to know it.

The Grand Scheme

Making the connection between the actual work you do and the role it plays in the grand scheme is not always easy, especially when society has conditioned you to believe that the importance of your work is determined by the amount of money you are paid. This point was driven home to me anew a few weeks ago at a breakfast meeting where I was scheduled to speak. While waiting for the program to begin I introduced myself to the man seated across from me. In the course of our conversation I asked him about his work. Obviously embarrassed, he told me that he was a janitor at a manufacturing plant. Since his position was at the bottom of the company flow chart he felt devalued, as if the work he did was of little consequence. His was also one of the lowest-paying jobs in the company, which to his way of thinking confirmed the insignificance of what he did.

In reality there seems to be little connection between the true importance of a person’s job and the esteem in which society holds it. For instance, few jobs are more critical to the smooth functioning of modern society than the collection of garbage and the disposal of human waste. Yet I’ve never met a single person who aspired to be a trash collector or an employee at a sewer treatment plant. It goes without saying that the salary for these jobs is equally unattractive. Consequently, most people who labor in these types of jobs feel that what they do is unimportant.

Emptying trash cans into the back of a sanitation truck does seem mind dulling and unimportant if viewed in isolation, but when considered in light of what would happen without these essential services, their true importance comes into focus. John Q. Public may hold fashion models, professional athletes, and entertainment stars in higher esteem, but in reality we could survive without them. Without the proper disposal of human waste and garbage, our cities would soon become uninhabitable. Life as we now know it would grind to a screeching halt. Now you tell me who has the more important job!

The Dignity of Work

Honest work, whatever it is, is an expression of who we are, an expression of the creative nature we share with God the creator. As beings made in His likeness, we are designed to share in His work and His world. This truth sanctifies and gives dignity to even the most mundane task.

Not only do we have the capacity for meaningful work, we have a built-in need for it. It is the center around which we order our lives.

“Six days you shall labor, but on the seventh day you shall rest . . .” (Exod. 34:21). Without meaningful work everything else in our lives grows stale. Rest without work is not rest at all but boredom. Rather than restoring our energies, it makes us lethargic. Without work play is not fun. It is simply a diversion, something of which we soon tire. Even worship is somehow diminished if we do not have God-given work to do.

The called person understands this in the core of his being and he approaches his work as an opportunity to align himself with the Creator. God is the eternal architect; he is just the “cement mixer.” Still, there is something grand about working with God to create a world where poverty, disease, injustice and unrighteousness have been obliterated. It gives his life’s work meaning and eternal value.

Endnotes

1. Anthony Campolo, Who Switched the Price Tags? (Waco, TX: Word Books Publisher, 1986), p. 111.

Chapter 5: Called or Driven?

A driven person is need-centered. His need to be liked, to be thought well of, to be accepted is all consuming. The called person, on the other hand, is God-centered. He is committed to the Father and seeks His approval above all else. The driven person is ambitious. He seeks his own advancement. The called man is obedient. He seeks only to please the Father.

Some weeks ago, I preached a sermon based on Matthew 11:28–30 where Jesus said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn of me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

The point I was trying to make was twofold: 1) God’s work done in God’s way and in God’s time will renew us rather than exhaust us. His yoke fits well. It is easy to carry. 2) You must balance your God-given work with rest, worship, and play. Vocationally, you may be exactly where God wants you, doing exactly what He’s called you to do and still burn out. The problem is not the “yoke,” but the fact that you haven’t practiced the rhythm of life — that delicate harmony between work and rest, worship and play. Many wonderful people have crashed and burned, been lost to the Kingdom, for this very reason.

Weary in Well Doing

There is nothing I love more than the work of the ministry. It is a “yoke” that fits me well. I love sharing the significant moments in people’s lives — births, baptisms, and weddings, even funerals. There is nothing like ministering God’s grace to people in those critical moments. Few things in life are more rewarding than mentoring tomorrow’s spiritual leaders. I love watching them develop into the men and women God has called them to be. Preaching is great, too. Not just the actual event, but the whole process. Waiting before the Lord, researching the Scriptures, preparing the material and, of course, delivering the message. Being the instrument that God uses to speak to His people is profoundly fulfilling. Yet if I am not careful I will try to do too much, more than God has called me to do, and when I do I risk burnout. When it happens, you can usually read about it in my journal.

I’m tired, Lord.

Bone weary from the inside out.

I’m tired of a constantly cluttered desk

and an overcrowded calendar.

I’m tired of broken things,

like marriages with too little love,

and families with too much anger.

I’m tired of problems I can’t solve,

and hurts I can’t heal.

I’m tired of deadlines and decisions —

duties done without pleasure.

I’m tired, Lord.

I really am.

My creative juices are at a low ebb.

I have no inspiration,

no insight,

no freshness.

It’s been a long time since I have felt truly alive.

I can’t remember

the last time I walked barefoot in the park,

or lay on my back in the grass watching the clouds,

or sat in my study at night

with only a kerosene lamp for light,

thinking of Grandma Miller

and the good times we had.

I’m homesick for the mountains,

for the smell of pines after a rain,

for the sound of the wind in the aspens.

I’m hungry for home-baked bread and country cream,

home-canned peaches,

and fresh tomatoes right off the vine.

I’m tired of books

that satiate my mind,

without touching my soul.

I want to feel.

I want to laugh and cry,

live life to the fullest,

love and be loved.

Help me, Lord.

I’ve gotten so caught up in my work,

that I’m missing life’s best.

Remind me

to balance my busyness with rest, worship,

and play.

Of course, you don’t have to be a minister to feel overwhelmed. The truth is, even the most rewarding work can become burdensome if it is not balanced with time for solitude and self. If you doubt that, just ask the mother of three pre-school age children. No matter how much she loves her children, she will tell you that she still needs some time for herself. Without it she will find it almost impossible to maintain her emotional equilibrium. In time she will become impatient, maybe even angry. She may even grow to resent her children, the very ones she loves more than life itself.

Herein lies our dilemma — the only people who consistently find fulfillment in their work are those who love what they are doing, those who, as the old cliché says, “would rather work than eat.” Yet these very same people are at greatest risk of becoming workaholics. The challenge then is to find a way to enjoy your work without allowing it to take over your life. Maybe the first step is learning to live a God-centered life rather than a need-centered one.

“God-centered” Versus “Need-centered”

If you are a truly conscientious person you probably tend to be need-centered. You likely cannot rest as long as any task remains unfinished. You undoubtedly push yourself to the point of exhaustion again and again. Every need — world hunger, human rights, the plight of the homeless, ad infinitum — becomes your personal responsibility. As far as you are concerned, if you don’t do it, it won’t get done. Ministers and committed Christians are especially susceptible. More often than not, we lead lives of frantic busyness rushing about trying to meet every need in sight. Although we love Jesus passionately and are deeply committed to the coming of His kingdom, we often know little or nothing of the abundant life He promised.

I’m reminded of a minister who was often heard to say, “The need is the call.” Being a man of great vision and nearly endless energy, he accomplished many worthwhile things, yet he seemed to take little pleasure in his achievements. No one who knew him doubted his devotion to God, but it was a relationship built on work rather than intimacy. Even his prayer life focused on things that needed to be done rather than fellowship with the Father.

Of course his need-centered lifestyle took its toll, and during mid-life his health began to fail. Those closest to him counseled him to cut back on his work, but to no avail. Not even his doctor could get him to adopt a more moderate lifestyle. Each time he experienced a flare-up with his health he simply plunged back into his work with renewed determination. As far as he was concerned, his health problems were just another obstacle to be overcome.

Late one night, while he was praying, the Lord spoke to him. In a voice that was nearly audible he seemed to hear God say, “Go to bed, Bishop. I will watch the world for the rest of the night.”

In that moment he saw his drivenness, his need-centered living, for what it was — not humble service but a thinly disguised pride. In his heart of hearts he simply did not think that God could manage without him. Of course he would never have said anything like that out loud or even admitted it to himself, but in light of the Lord’s rebuke his true attitude became apparent.

God’s Responsibility or Ours?

Where does this kind of need-centered thinking come from? The church, most likely. In a misdirected effort to motivate us to love one another, the church often makes us feel responsible for the whole world, and that is a burden too heavy to bear. In the final analysis the world is God’s responsibility not ours. I am not suggesting that we are not our brother’s keeper, but only that our compassion be tempered with wisdom. Only God is infinite; we are not. Although He neither slumbers nor sleeps, our bodies require regular rest. Only as we recognize and live within our limits will we know the joy of working as co-laborers with Him.

Let Jesus be your model. He was the most “called” man who ever lived. Although He was moved with compassion by the needs of humanity (Matt. 9:36) He was governed only by the will of the Father (John 4:34 and 6:38). He did not respond to human need unless the Father directed Him to do so. He said, “I tell you the truth, the Son can do nothing by himself; he can do only what he sees his Father doing, because whatever the Father does the Son also does” (John 5:19). On some occasions, Jesus healed every sick person in sight (Matt. 8:16), while at other times he literally stepped over suffering humanity to minister to only one person (John 5:2–9).

The only way I can explain His behavior is to conclude that He was God-centered rather than need-centered. He did only what the Father directed Him to do. Dare we do any less, or any more, for that matter?

Finding a Yoke That Fits

The second key to enjoying your work without letting it take over your life is to find a yoke that fits (see Matt. 11:28–30), a vocation or career that matches your temperament and talents. No one knows you better than the Creator and He has a plan for your life that will maximize your talents while providing the deepest fulfillment possible. When He calls you to follow Him — be it into business or law, medicine or construction, or even into the ministry — He is simply matching your gifts to the needs of His kingdom. In fact, one of the ways of determining if you are in God’s will, is to see how well your yoke fits. By that, I mean is your work renewing or does it leave you emotionally depleted, dreading the thought of doing the same thing again tomorrow?

Consider the college student who took a job selling insurance to pay for his education. Things didn’t work out, and just before the holiday break, he quit his job. His entire time at home was tainted with the shame of his failure. He put off telling his father until the night before he had to return for the new semester.

“Nothing,” he said, “is so indelible as the memory of [that] failure. I remember how the coal fire muttered in the grate, and the tawny light flickered on the shadowy bookcases. I said slowly, ‘I’m a terrible salesman. I get self-conscious and discouraged. Other people do the job much better. I’m in the wrong pew, that’s all.’ ”

He waited for his father’s remonstrance, the exhortation, the you-can-do-it-if-you-really-try lecture. But the room remained silent. Finally, his father laughed gently. “Well,” he said, “that’s fine. It’s just as important to learn what you can’t do as what you can. Now let’s forget about that and talk about getting you into the right pew!”[1]

How, you may be wondering, does a person find the “right pew,” how does he know what kind of job best fits his temperament and talents? Most guidance counselors have tests designed to identify the areas where your greatest strengths lie, as do the human resource departments of most companies, but you probably don’t need anything that scientific. You can discover your inherent talents just by following your instincts, by doing what you enjoy. I call that “going with the flow,” or “doing what comes naturally.” If you have the courage to follow your heart’s desire you will usually gravitate to your area of giftedness. You may not end up in the most prestigious position, or land the best-paying job, but you will have a more fulfilling life in the end. Remember, work isn’t just about making a living; it’s about finding meaning in what you do.

“I like to get paid for my work,” Max Lerner said, “but what fulfills me and makes me whole is the work, not the payment. I am involved with both, but if I am to be a whole person, I must know what is primary for me, and what is secondary. If I know that the quality and integrity of my work come first, then I am true to my profession both as writer and as teacher. If money comes first, then I am corrupt — even if I never steal anything or accept a bribe. If I am unsure about which comes first, then I am morally confused and a divided person.”[2]

That pretty well says it, doesn’t it? All of us work for a variety of reasons. If we want to live a fulfilling life we had better know what reasons are primary, and what reasons are secondary. We work to make a living, to provide for our families. We work in order to

be successful, to get recognition, and to gain security. There’s nothing wrong with that as long as those are secondary motives. As Lerner said, “I like to get paid for my work, but what fulfills me and makes me whole is the work, not the payment.” In other words, for the called person, work is its own reward!

Endnotes

1. Arthur Gordon, A Touch of Wonder (Old Tappan, NJ: Fleming H. Revell Company, 1974), p. 92–93.

2. Bruce Larson, The Relational Revolution (Waco, TX: Word Books, 1976), p. 133.

Chapter 6: Dare to Change

Many people spend a lifetime in a career they detest simply because they don’t have the courage to cut their losses and start over in another field. Not infrequently, they end up bitter, filled with regret, never knowing the joy of work that fulfills them.

When my friend Keith was just a newlywed, he entered a bank seeking a new car loan. The loan officer he spoke with was an older man and obviously troubled. Even though Keith was young enough to be his son, he struck up a conversation with him. In a matter of minutes the loan officer was confiding in him. “This is my last day of work,” he said with more than a hint of bitterness. “By this time next week I will be living in Hawaii enjoying a life of leisure.”

“You must be looking forward to that,” Keith replied, trying to lighten the mood.

“Hardly,” the man muttered.

When Keith looked puzzled he continued, “I never wanted to be a banker. My wife’s family is in banking and when we married they just assumed I would join them. Being young, I didn’t have the courage to chart my own course, so I allowed them to decide for me. For 40 years I told myself that I was going to make a change, do something I enjoyed, but I never did. Now it’s too late.”

“Well,” Keith said, “if you are able to retire in Hawaii, banking must have been pretty good to you. I know a lot of people who would like to have your setup.”

“You don’t get it do you?” the man replied, not even trying to disguise his irritation. “This isn’t about money. I’m talking about my life. I’ve spent my entire life doing something I hated.”

The new car Keith bought with that loan is long gone, but the memory of that painful conversation lingers still. From time to time he replays it in his mind to remind himself that there is more to work than making money. And if he ever finds himself in the “wrong pew,” he is determined to have the courage to make a change no matter how great the risk. The last thing he wants to do is end up like that disgruntled banker.

The Seasons of Life

The kind of work you find fulfilling may change as you pass through the seasons of your life — at least it did for me. In fact, it changed several times. In the early years of ministry, pastoral counseling played a major part in what I did. Each week I spent between 15 and 20 hours in scheduled sessions. It was often exhausting, but it was also renewing. Seeing broken lives restored, past hurts healed, and shattered marriages renewed was deeply fulfilling. Even though the hours were long, the pressure heavy, I exulted in it. It was regenerating to my spirit — it renewed me! Balanced with rest, worship, and play, it was a yoke that wore well.

Then things began to change. The congregation I was serving was experiencing significant growth with all the dynamics that entailed. We were building a new facility, adding more staff, and enlarging our ministries. My own responsibilities were expanding as well. With increasing frequency I was traveling and ministering throughout the United States. The radio ministry was placing more and more demands on my time. Soon, I began to resent every request for counseling. Each session was a major challenge. God gave me grace, and people continued to receive ministry, but it felt like counseling was sucking the life right out of me.

It took me almost two years and a close brush with burnout to realize what was happening. God was changing my ministry, giving me a new yoke, but I was still trying to wear the old one. Pastoral counseling no longer fulfilled me. It was no longer an investment that renewed me, but an expenditure — one that depleted my spiritual and emotional reserves.

When I finally realized what was going on, I was able to make the necessary adjustments. It wasn’t easy, and my decision to give up counseling generated more than a little resentment within the congregation. Still, I stood firm and within a few weeks my old zest for ministry had returned.

Stepping Off a Cliff in the Dark

Things were fine for a while, maybe four or five years, and then I found my enthusiasm for ministry waning again. Although I continued to minister with surprising proficiency, on the inside I was growing increasingly discontented. By this time I had been serving in local church ministry for nearly 25 years, and until now I had fully expected to do so until I retired. Unfortunately, the things that had once brought me such satisfaction — mentoring my staff, working with the elders, administrating the church, preaching, pastoral care, and the myriad other duties that constitute pastoral ministry — now wore on me. Try as I might, I could not wring any joy from my duties. Ministry just wasn’t fun anymore.

At first I thought I was just physically exhausted, but when my discontentment continued for more than a year I knew something was up. Earnestly I began to seek the Lord. As I did I became convinced that it was time for a major life change. No simple reassigning of duties this time, but a radical, mid-life career change. The idea was alternately terrifying and exhilarating.

Leaving Christian Chapel, where I had served as senior pastor for 12 years, meant turning my back on everything I had worked so hard to attain. Not only would I be giving up the prestige that went with being the senior pastor of a significant church, but I would also be walking away from a very handsome pay package that included an expense account, health insurance, retirement, and paid vacations. I told someone that it was a little like stepping off a cliff in the dark.

Still, the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that this was exactly what God wanted me to do. After weeks of wrestling alone with this decision I decided to discuss it with Brenda. When I told her what was on my mind she surprised me by saying, “What took you so long? I knew it was time for us to leave the pastorate two years ago.”

Her response shocked me. I had expected her to try to talk me out of leaving. After all, she is a woman and women are supposed to be concerned about things like security and home. Instead, she urged me to take a chance and follow my heart. She reminded me that as newlyweds we had dreamed of living in a cabin on a lake or in the mountains where I could write. If we were ever going to do it, now was the time.

As appealing as it sounded I had visions of starving to death — not literally, of course. Although I had written seven books, my royalties amounted to hardly more than grocery money, sometimes less than that. In the previous 12 months they had totaled a whopping $775.00. When I reminded Brenda of this, she brushed my concerns aside. “God will provide,” she said. “He always has and He always will.”

Sixty days later, on August 30, 1992, I officially announced my resignation as the senior pastor of Christian Chapel, effective December 6, 1992. That final Sunday was emotionally wrenching. I managed to make it through the service and the farewell reception without breaking down, but as I was driving away from the church for the last time the tears came. A flood of bittersweet memories washed over me and I wondered for just a moment if I had made a terrible mistake.

Although I grieved for many months, I never once regretted my decision. Virtually every major life change is initially experienced as loss followed by a period of grieving that is both normal and appropriate. Grief is a healing emotion providing closure while regret is an unhealthy fixation on the past. Had I not understood the difference I might have been thrown for a loop.

Without a doubt, the past 10 years have been the most fulfilling years of our entire life. (The 12 years we spent at Christian Chapel were the most exciting, but the past 10 have been the most fulfilling.) Not only have Brenda and I been privileged to lead “Forever In Love” marriage seminars and retreats all over the country, but I have also written 15 books (not counting this one).

With the help of Brenda’s parents, we built a small cabin that sits on the side of a mountain overlooking Beaver Lake in northwest Arkansas. Although we live 7 miles from the nearest paved road and 25 miles from the closest town, we love it. And Brenda was right. God has supplied all of our needs!

Best of all, my zest for ministry has returned. I literally love what we are doing even though traveling as much as we do can be a killer. Remember, when you are doing God’s work in God’s time, it is an investment from which you will get personal returns. You may grow physically weary, but you will not become emotionally depleted for “[his] yoke is easy and [his] burden is light” (Matt. 11:30). However, if you try to continue wearing a yoke that no longer fits, you will soon find yourself living on the ragged edge. Persist and it will be just a matter of time until you burn out.

Godliness with Contentment

In conclusion, let me remind you that God intends for you to enjoy your work and the fruit of your labors. That thought is not original with me. The teacher of Ecclesiastes first expressed it more than a thousand years before the birth of Christ. He wrote the following:

I realized that it is good and proper for a man to eat and drink, and to find satisfaction in his toilsome labor (Eccles. 5:18).

I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That every man may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil — this is the gift of God (Eccles. 3:12–13).

[Such a man] seldom reflects on the days of his life, because God keeps him occupied with gladness of heart (Eccles. 5:20).

For work to be truly fulfilling it must be balanced with rest, worship, and play — what I call living in harmony. In the next few chapters I am going to show you how to take a break without feeling guilty, how to see all of life as a call to worship, and how to find God in the crush of living. Finally, I will help you rediscover the freedom to play. I will show you how to become a child again, at least for a little while, so you can return to your work renewed and refreshed.

Rest is more than a good night's sleep, more than mere physical recuperation. It's a time when we forget our problems and life's pressing demands long enough to remember who we are and who God is. It's a few minutes of solitude in the midst of a hectic day, a time when we pause in the mad busyness of living and remember a special moment from the past. This kind of rest, taken daily or at least regularly, restores our physical being and renews our emotional and spiritual energies.

Chapter 7: A Brush with Burnout

Rest was God’s idea. He thought it up and called it the Sabbath. It limited travel and entertainment, and prohibited work on the seventh day of every week. Most of us busy-beaver types tend to view the Sabbath principle as an outdated, legalistic imposition. Nothing could be further from the truth. The Sabbath is God’s gift of rest, a reward at the end of a demanding week of hard work.

Rest has gotten a bad rap. How many times have you heard someone say, “I wish my body didn’t require sleep? It seems like such a waste”? Maybe you have even said it yourself. I know I have. After all, we are active people with a “production” mentality. Our lives are geared to goods and services. Our culture admires the doers and shakers. If you can work 70 to 80 hours a week, serve on various civic boards, remain active in your church, and get by on five to six hours of sleep a night, you are held in high esteem.

But, who gives a rip about rest? Who ever heard of giving someone a pat on the back for having sense enough to take it easy? Yet, in the harmony of life, rest is just as important, just as necessary, as work. Is it going too far to suggest that much of the current stress-related illness and the general decline in mental health have their roots right here, in our total disregard for rest?

Sleep Deprived

Consider the case of Peter Tripp, a suave 32-year-old disc jockey. In less than a week he went from a loquacious radio personality to a pathetic creature who broke down sobbing at his inability to solve a simple algebra problem. On day two of his decline he began to suffer hallucinations. He thought his shoes were filled with cobwebs. By the fourth day, his memory was obviously failing and his hallucinations were becoming more severe. Now he saw a doctor’s tweed suit as a tangle of furry worms. When he went to the bureau for a change of underwear, he thought the bureau drawer was in flames. By the end of seven days, he was no longer sure he was himself and frequently tried to gain proof of his identity. In his psychotic delusion, he was convinced that he was the victim of a medical conspiracy in which doctors were trying to send him to jail. By the eighth day nightmare, hallucination and reality were indistinguishable to him. He was literally “out of his mind.”

What precipitated Peter Tripp’s free fall into madness? Hallucinogenic drugs? A severe head injury? A family history of dementia? A personal tragedy?

No!

The culprit was nothing more serious than sleeplessness. To raise money for the March of Dimes, Peter Tripp decided to stage a 200-hour “wake-a-thon” in a Times Square booth during January 1959. During his sleepless marathon, he was attended by several doctors and given periodic medical examinations, performance tests, and psychological tests. Although he behaved as if he were awake, his brain wave patterns resembled those of sleep.[1]

I share the Peter Tripp incident to illustrate what you are doing to yourself when you continually violate the rhythm of rest. When you burn the candle at both ends, you are not only depleting your physical energies, but risking your spiritual and emotional wholeness as well. Like Tripp, you can probably justify your hectic schedule — it’s for a good cause, it’s only for a little while. When you finish this project, when you graduate, when you. . . .

Rest Is Not Optional

Don’t deceive yourself. Rest is not optional. It can’t wait! “Six days you shall labor, but on the seventh day you shall rest; even during the plowing season and harvest you must rest” (Exod. 34:21). Need I remind you that plowing season and harvest were absolutely critical to the life cycle of an agrarian culture? A single day could spell the difference between feast and famine. Still God said, “. . . you must rest” (Exod. 34:21).

In Old Testament times, Sabbath-breakers were executed. Exodus 35:2 says, “Whoever does any work on it [the Sabbath] must be put to death.” Those who break the Sabbath today suffer the same consequences. Not at the hands of a religious or judicial system but as the inevitable consequence of their transgression. When you violate the Sabbath principle of rest, your soul suffers, as do your relationships, your creative energies, and, ultimately, your physical health.

A Brush with Burnout

This truth was driven home to me several years ago while I was serving as the senior pastor of Christian Chapel in Tulsa, Oklahoma. For more than a year I had ignored the Sabbath principle. I hadn’t taken a day off. I knew it was wrong, but there seemed to be one emergency after another, not to mention the ever-present demands of a growing congregation. I was preaching five and six times a week, leading a Field Education reflection group at Oral Roberts Seminary, continuing a heavy counseling load, and hosting a live nationwide 90-minute, call-in radio program weekly. We were just completing a major building program at our church and, on top of everything else, my father had open-heart surgery followed three weeks later (to the day) by an emergency gall bladder operation.

Physically and emotionally, I was drained — more than I realized. I began to resent my work, especially the counseling with its constant requirement to be affirming and encouraging. I told Brenda (my wife) that I felt like a piece of raw meat in a tank of piranhas. For a while I thought I could work through it. I mean, what choice did I have? If I tried to take a few days off, the work just piled up. It was always waiting for me when I got back. Besides, I had been away from the church as much as I dared during my father’s illness.

By and large, I managed to minister with surprising proficiency. On the inside, though, I was falling apart. My nerves were

rubbed raw. I had no spiritual or emotional reserves left. Not infrequently my wife and daughter received the brunt of my angry outbursts. Things finally came to a head on Labor Day. I just lost control, screamed at Brenda over nothing, and then I hated myself.

My brother Bob and his wife were spending the weekend with us and I found myself sharing my pent-up feelings with him. Once I started to talk, I couldn’t seem to stop. I was tired, but there was no time to rest. I loved my work, but it was killing me. I felt trapped and hated that feeling, too. By now I was sobbing. All the pain I had kept under such careful control just came pouring out. It scared me. It really did. I hadn’t realized just how close to the edge I was.

With Bob’s help, I was able to make some important decisions. First, I had to admit that I wasn’t Superman. I couldn’t do it all.Then I had to decide what to do, what to delegate, and what to let go undone. Finally, I had to return to the rhythm of rest. I had to take my day off religiously.

The emotional release that outburst afforded me was invaluable. However, it would have been of little lasting benefit without the subsequent lifestyle change. Now I’m learning to live within my emotional limits. Just as I have to budget my finances in order to live within my means, so must I budget my emotional and spiritual resources as well. If I give out more than I take in, I become overdrawn. By practicing the Sabbath principle of rest and solitude, I am able to make regular deposits in my emotional bank account and return to my public ministry with renewed energy and effectiveness. In addition, I’m a much better husband and father, not to mention a more satisfied man.

Working Moms

You don’t have to be a corporate executive or a busy minister to burn out. It can happen to anyone who doesn’t practice the rhythm of life. Several years ago I heard Charles Blair, the pastor of Calvary Temple in Denver, Colorado, tell a touching story which illustrates the cumulative effect of life’s never-ending demands.

Late one afternoon as he was leaving the church parking lot, he noticed a woman sitting at the bus stop. She was alone and as he turned into the traffic he saw that she was weeping. After circling the block, he parked the car and made his way to her. Introducing himself, he asked if she was all right. Embarrassed by his concern she hastily dried her tears and said, “Yes, I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all. Really tired.”

When he nodded compassionately she continued, “I get up each morning at 5:30, fix breakfast and make lunches for my husband and four children. After I get my husband off to work and the kids leave for school, I tidy up the house a bit. Then I catch the bus that takes me across town where I spend the day cleaning houses. Late each afternoon I take the bus home, arriving just in time to fix supper. Then I do the laundry and help the kids with their homework. Usually around midnight, I fall into bed for a few hours of exhausted sleep only to get up the next morning and do it all over again.”

Like most working moms she was okay — just weary in well-doing — a little disillusioned, perhaps, and wondering whatever happened to her dreams. Of course she felt guilty for feeling the way she did considering that God had blessed her with a hardworking husband and four great kids.

Does that sound familiar? Oh, you may have to modify the circumstances just a bit, but I think many of you can identify with her weariness and her guilt. Like her, you are blessed. But, that doesn’t seem to keep you from wearing out. It’s usually not the big things that get you down, but life’s little hangnails. The daily demands that never seem to go away.

What can she do? How can she incorporate rest, worship, and play into her already overscheduled life? That’s a good question, but I’m not sure it’s the right one. The question that demands an answer from us is: “What am I going to do? What practical and specific steps will I take to restore harmony to my life?”

I will address those issues in detail in the next two chapters, but for now let me suggest that you “. . . learn when to retreat, like Jesus, and experience the recreating power of God. . . . And along [your] journey [you] need to discover numerous ‘tarrying places’ where [you] can receive heavenly manna.”[3]

A “tarrying place” can be anywhere that affords you a few minutes of solitude in the midst of your demanding day. The park behind Christian Chapel was such a place for me. When the load got too heavy, I would slip out the back door and make my way to the bench beside the pond. For five minutes I focused on nothing but the warmth of the sun on my face, the beauty of the ducks on the pond, and the joyous laughter of children in the playground. It never failed to renew me and I retuned to my tasks a better man.

I know a lady who retreats to a favorite chair in her bedroom whenever she puts her baby down for a nap. She only stays a few minutes, but during that brief interlude she is free from the expectations of others. That momentary respite not only restores her physical energies, but it also nourishes her soul. Another friend putters in his yard. He finds working in the soil relaxing. Brenda’s “tarrying place” is the back deck. She sits in the cedar porch swing watching the birds and the squirrels, while the quietness seeps into her soul.

It doesn’t really matter where your “tarrying place” is, but it is important that you have one. You don’t have to go far or stay long. Even the briefest interlude will afford you the opportunity to quiet your noisy heart. And in the quietness God will renew your strength.

Endnotes

1. Floyd L. Ruch and Philip G. Zimbardo, Psychology and Life (Glenview, IL: Scott, Foresman and Company, 1971), 8th ed. p. 260.

2. Richard Foster, The Freedom of Simplicity (San Francisco, CA: Harper & Row, 1981), p. 91.

3. Ibid., p. 91.

Chapter 8: Rest Isn’t a Four-letter Word

If you are tired of the mind-numbing pace of contemporary life you can do something about it. With God’s help you can take control of your life. It won’t be easy, I grant you, but you can do it.

In spite of what you may have been conditioned to believe, rest isn’t a four-letter word. It’s not in the same category as lazy or idle, nor is it a synonym for sloth. Rest is a gift from God to be received with thanksgiving and enjoyed without shame.

Most of us will have to overcome at least two hindrances in order to enjoy God’s gift of rest. The first is psychological and the second is habit — lifestyle. Psychologically, at least on a subconscious level, many of us feel guilty when we rest. That’s a big hurdle to get over in a society that emphasizes physical prowess and the bottom line. No one wants to be seen as a non-productive malingerer. Noted author Judith Viorst catches the essence of our obsession with busyness in a piece called “Self-improvement Program.”

I’ve finished six pillows in Needlepoint,

And I’m reading Jane Austen and Kant,

And I’m up to the pork with black beans in Advanced

Chinese Cooking.

I don’t have to struggle to find myself

For I already know what I want.

I want to be healthy and wise and extremely

good-looking.

I’m learning new glazes in Pottery Class,

And I’m playing new chords in Guitar,

And in Yoga I’m starting to master the lotus position.

I don’t have to ponder priorities

For I already know what they are:

To be good-looking, healthy, and wise.

And adored in addition.

I’m improving my serve with a tennis pro,

And I’m practicing verb forms in Greek,

And in Primal Scream Therapy all my frustrations

are vented.

I don’t have to ask what I’m searching for

Since I already know that I seek

To be good-looking, healthy, and wise.

And adored.

And contented.

I’ve bloomed in Organic Gardening,

And in Dance I have tightened my thighs,

And in Consciousness Raising there’s no one around

who can top me.

And I’m working all day and I’m working all night

To be good-looking, healthy, and wise.

And adored.

And contented.

And brave.

And well-read.

And a marvelous hostess . . .

And bilingual,

Athletic,

Artistic. . . .

Won’t someone please stop me?

(emphasis mine)[1]

That’s a little exaggerated, of course, but it does reflect the tremendous pressure we place on ourselves to perform, to measure up, to fill every waking minute with busyness. If the truth be known, most of us are too busy because we have chosen to be, our protests to

the contrary not withstanding. To be sure, there are certain responsibilities that we cannot leave unattended without serious consequences, but these required activities — jobs, marriage, child rearing and worship — are seldom the source of our frantic busyness. It is usually the “extra-curricular” events that push us over the edge.

Overdrawn

Allow me to allude to the analogy of finances I used in the previous chapter. It is usually not the “necessities” that break our budgets but the extras. Most of us can afford to provide adequate housing, reliable transportation, nourishing food, and warm clothes for our families without over-extending ourselves. The trouble comes when we add the extras — a second car, a bigger house, a big-screen TV, a new computer, a cell phone, a boat, a motorcycle, etc. These are not necessarily bad things, but they can create serious financial problems. When they do, adjustments have to be made and made quickly.

Now apply this same principle to your busy life. Almost without realizing it, you have been adding to your schedule. You have enrolled your children in a host of activities designed to make them productive, well-rounded people, and being a conscientious parent you spend no little amount of time taking them to and from their various activities, not to mention your commitment to attend every game, concert, recital, etc. Being a committed Christian you sing in the choir, teach a Sunday school class, serve on the Women’s Ministry Board and lead a weekly Bible study. In addition to your busy life, your husband has also added to his non-negotiable responsibilities by volunteering to coach your daughter’s soccer team and to help coach your son’s football team. Did I mention that he serves as an usher at church and helps lead a home fellowship group?

How, you may be wondering, did you allow yourself to become so over-committed? You can be sure it did not happen all at once. Most likely it is the result of a combination of factors — a sincere desire to make a difference in the lives of others, combined with a need to feel important. Most of us equate busyness with importance, therefore the busier we are the more important we feel, hence our tendency to live beyond our means physically and emotionally. Given our limited resources, it is only a matter of time until something has to give. It may be our health, our marriage, or even our relationship with God, but be assured, some part of our life will come unraveled if we continue to overextend ourselves.

Thankfully, more and more of us are coming to grips with our compulsive busyness before it precipitates a life-altering crisis. With God’s help, we are breaking through the psychological barrier, the mindset that considers rest a weakness or, worse yet, a waste. Out of necessity we are rediscovering the Sabbath principle and as we do we are making the appropriate adjustments in both our thinking and our lifestyles.

Breaking Free of Busyness

The second hurdle we have to overcome is habit — lifestyle. As we have already noted, most of us live lives of frantic busyness. We are overextended, over committed. Our motivation, for the most part, is noble, but that doesn’t reduce the risks to our families or us. Consider what we are doing to our children. By trying to give them everything — music lessons, ballet, drama classes, gymnastics, soccer, swimming, little league, ad infinitum — we end up depriving them of the thing they need most: time to be. Time to be a child, time to be creative, time to be a family.

And by making sure they have the opportunity to participate in everything, we are sending them the wrong message. They will grow up believing they can have it all. They can’t! No one can. There simply isn’t enough time in a single lifetime to experience everything life has to offer. Wouldn’t it be better to teach our children how to choose what is most important to them? Learning to make such choices at an early age, difficult though they may be, will prepare them to make wise choices later in life — choices that will enable them to live in rhythm — balancing work, rest, worship, and play.

Learning from the Past

As I recall my own childhood, it is not the Little League baseball games I remember or the Jr. High football games, but the long summer evenings spent playing catch with my dad. Nor do I remember a single time when I gulped down a Big Mac on the way to a soccer game, but I do remember eating dinner as a family virtually every evening of my childhood. The rhythm of mealtime gave order to our daily lives while affording us an opportunity to be a family. It also provided a respite in our otherwise busy day, a time when we could loiter around the table enjoying a few minutes of rest and relaxation.

Have those days gone the way of old time radio dramas and black and white television? It would appear so, but it doesn’t have to be. If you are tired of the mind-numbing pace of contemporary life, you can do something about it. With God’s help, you can take control of your life. It won’t be easy, I grant you, but you can do it.

In the next chapter I will share with you the life changes I made following my brush with burnout. Hopefully, my experience will shed some light on your own and inspire you to make whatever adjustments are necessary to ensure that you and your family live in harmony.

Endnotes

1. Judith Viorst, How Did I Get To Be 40 & Other Atrocities (New York, NY: Simon and Schuster, Inc., 1978), p. 45.

Chapter 9: The Courage to Cut

Before you can intelligently change your lifestyle, you will need to clarify your values. You must decide what things are really important to you — what to cut and what to keep.

The novelist Petru Dumitriu has a scene in one of his novels that graphically depicts the trauma many of us feel when we consider pruning our overcrowded lives. He writes:

Long wooden shoots had been built in the forest to slide tree-trunks down the slope to the valley and into the river. They were hundreds of yards long, smooth and polished inside, and the foresters used them as well. They’d sit on the floor of the shoot, or an axe-handle, and go tobogganing down to save themselves the trouble of walking. Well, this man caught his foot in a hole in the shoot and couldn’t get it free, and at that moment he heard a shout of warning, which meant that a trunk was on its way down. He saw the thing coming, and as he still couldn’t free his foot he hacked it off with an axe and jumped clear just in time. He was crippled for life, but at least he was alive.[1]

As radical as it may seem that’s exactly what you have to do to free yourself from the trap of compulsive busyness. Like Jesus said, you have to lose your life in order to find it (Matt. 10:39) — you have to have the courage to cut out many good things in order to experience the abundant life He promised.

Making the Tough Decisions

In a previous chapter, I alluded to a brush with burnout that I experienced while serving as senior pastor of Christian Chapel. As a result, I was motivated to make some tough decisions about how I was going to manage my life. I had to admit that I wasn’t Superman, that I couldn’t do it all. Then I had to decide what to do, what to delegate, and what to let go undone.

For me, the first step proved to be the hardest. All my life I had been taught that I could “do everything through him [Christ] who gives me strength” (Phil. 4:13). Now I was being forced to acknowledge my limitations. How could I reconcile this apparent contradiction? Then it hit me. I can do everything God calls me to do because He will give me the strength to do it, but if I add to my God-given responsibilities, then I am on my own. It’s the difference between living a God-centered life and a need-centered one, the difference between a divine assignment and an opportunity. At that time my life was a hodgepodge. There were a number of divine assignments to be sure, but I had also cluttered my life with things I had taken upon myself. In order to live in harmony with God, I had to recognize the difference and choose accordingly.

Step two was deciding what to do — what my divine assignments were — those non-negotiable responsibilities. Some of them were readily obvious. Of utmost importance was my personal relationship with Jesus Christ. If I did not maintain a vibrant spiritual walk, nothing else would work, not my ministry or my marriage. Being the husband and father God had called me to be was also mandatory. No one else could fill that role. As the senior pastor of Christian Chapel there were certain God-given responsibilities that no one else could do. I could not delegate the preaching or teaching responsibilities. I could share them, but as long as I served as senior pastor I would be the primary person through whom God spoke to our body. Neither could I abdicate my responsibility as the pastoral intercessor. God had given me a charge to pray for His people and I would answer to Him. Everything else on my plate, however, was negotiable.

Step three was deciding what to delegate. After careful consideration, I decided to delegate the day-to-day administration of

the church to my senior associate. He was gifted in this area and a man I trusted. Next we called a minister of pastoral care and gave her the primary responsibility for pastoral care and the counseling center. Trained volunteers were brought in to help with the preparation and editing of tapes for the daily radio broadcasts. Finally, each elder was given an area of responsibility with a written portfolio. Although the ultimate responsibility for the administration of church and its ministries rested with me as senior pastor, I now had a capable group to help me do the work of the ministry.

Another thing that helped me incorporate the rhythm of rest into my daily routine was recognizing my individual work/rest cycles. By learning to work within them I was able to eliminate much unnecessary stress. For instance, I divided my workday into two parts. I arose each workday morning at 5:15 and drove to the church for prayer between 6:00 and 7:00. This was followed by a vigorous game of racquetball, and I was back in the office by 8:45. My mornings were devoted to pastoral duties, meeting with the staff, and my radio broadcasts. I usually had a working lunch, and then I would go home around 3 p.m.

As soon as I got home, I took a short nap and then began my second workday, which was devoted to writing. The nap served not only to rejuvenate my energies, but also helped to clear my mind of the day’s activities so I could come to my writing as fresh as possible.

Within each workday, I also developed routines that minimized day-to-day decisions. On Tuesdays, we had staff meetings. I wrote my weekly column for the church newsletter, dictated correspondence and dealt with a host of little details. On Wednesday mornings, I took appointments and worked on my Wednesday evening message. Thursdays were devoted to radio. Fridays were writing days, and on Saturday I prepared for Sunday. Of course, there were constant interruptions. Life, as you know, is unpredictable, but for the most part, that is an accurate overview of my week. By doing the same chore on the same day each week, I developed a flow. It also eliminated the emotional energy I would otherwise have spent trying to decide what to do and where to start.

We all have limited amounts of time and energy, so we must use them wisely. The less emotional energy we spend on routine tasks, the more there is to invest in the things that really matter. By recognizing and developing your own work/rest cycle you can minimize your emotional expenditures while maximizing your effectiveness. This leaves more time and energy for the other areas of your life — your relationships, your spiritual life, and your inner self.

Of equal importance were the responsibilities I delegated on the home front. Having grown up in a blue-collar household, with a father who was a jack-of-all-trades, I just assumed it was my responsibility to service my own automobiles, take care of my own yard, and repair anything that broke around the house. With all of the demands being thrust upon me by a growing ministry I came to realize I no longer had the time or energy, not to mention the interest, for these mundane tasks. For the first time in my life I began taking my car to the garage to have the oil changed. I hired a lawn service to take care of my yard, and when something broke around the house we called a repairman to fix it. At last, the rhythm of rest was becoming a part of my life.

That is not to say there were no challenges, for there were. When it came to the third area –– what to let go undone –– there was no end to the complaints. While almost everyone applauded my attempt to establish rhythm in my life, most people felt their situation was the exception to the rule. I will never forget the board meeting where the elders unanimously agreed that I needed to restructure my workload, especially where it involved counseling and other time-consuming one-on-one ministry situations. Following the meeting one of the elders pulled me aside. With no little urgency he said, “I need to meet with you as soon as possible to discuss a pressing family matter.”

No sooner had he gone than a second elder shared a similar request. Neither man saw anything incongruous about requesting personal ministry only minutes after urging me to cut back in that very area. To their way of thinking, the boundaries they urged for others did not apply to them. Unfortunately, they were not alone in their thinking. Almost everyone thought I should guard my time, but no one thought I should do so at his or her expense. Nonetheless, in order to maintain the rhythm of rest in my life I had to resist the temptation to allow the expectations of others to structure my life and ministry. It wasn’t easy but it was critical that I do so.

A Criteria for Change

Before you can intelligently change your lifestyle you will need to clarify your values. You must decide what things are really important to you. In order to do that you will need to take a hard look at your life. Be as objective as you possibly can. Ask yourself some tough questions. Are you investing your time and energy — that is your life — in the accumulation of things or in those you love? Is that promotion you’re gunning for really worth all the extra hours you have to work and the business trips that take you away from your family two and three nights a week? Is a larger house in a nicer neighborhood more important than being a “stay-at-home mom”? Do you really want a day care center rearing your children? Do you want them coming home from school to an empty house day after day, year after year?

When the late Erma Bombeck, the housewife’s philosopher, was asked what she would change if she had her life to live over, she promptly replied, “I wouldn’t change a thing!” Then she thought about it and changed her mind.

Given a second chance she decided she would have cleaned less and listened to her children more. She would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet needed shampooing and the sofa was worn. She would have used the fireplace more often instead of worrying about the mess it made. She would have taken time to listen to her grandfather ramble about his youth and to sit cross-legged on the lawn with her children. She would have cried and laughed less while watching television and more while living real life. When she got sick she would have gone to bed instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if she wasn’t there for a day.

She said there would have been more “I love you’s,” more “I’m sorry’s,” more “I’m listening’s,” but mostly, given another shot at life, she would have seized every minute of it, looked at it, and really seen it. She would have tried it on, lived it, exhausted it, and never given a minute of it back until there was nothing left of it.[2]

That about says it, doesn’t it? Given a second chance, most of us would like to think that we would do better, that we would invest more in relationships, and less in things. Perhaps, although I have my doubts. Anyway, the real question isn’t, “What would I do if I had my life to live over?” but “What am I going to do with the rest of my life? Do I have the courage to change? Do I know how to change? Do I dare make rest and relationships a high priority in a work-oriented society?”

Endnotes

1. Petru Dumitriu, Incognito (London and Glasgow: William Collins & Sons Ltd., 1964).

2. Erma Bombeck, (Field Enterprises Inc., Field Newspaper Syndicate, 1981).

Chapter 10: Going for the Gold

The Sabbath, with its severe restrictions on work and travel, is not an archaic imposition, as many of us assume, but a gift from a wise and loving God. In addition to serving as a constant reminder of our special relationship to the Creator, the Sabbath also legitimizes rest and reaffirms the value of relationships.

For months, Eric Liddell had trained for the 100-yard dash in the 1924 Olympics, only to learn that the race was to be run on Sunday. Having already won the 100 and 220-yard races in Scotland, England, and Ireland, he was the hands-down favorite to win in Paris. After an agonizing night of prayer, he decided to withdraw from the 100-yard dash although it was his best event.

His fans were stunned. Some who had praised him, now called him a fool, but Liddell stood firm. He simply did not think it would honor the Lord if he raced on the Sabbath. Instead of participating in the Olympics that Sunday, Eric stood by his convictions and preached a sermon at a Paris church.

Given the current disregard in which Sunday is held, not only by the un-churched but by Christians as well, it is hard to imagine why anyone would choose to throw away their chance at an Olympic medal rather than run on a Sunday. Still, as hard as it may be for us to conceive of such a thing, it surely makes sense in light of the Scriptures. The Old Testament commandments regarding the Sabbath are absolutely unequivocal:

Observe the Sabbath day by keeping it holy, as the Lord your God has commanded you. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord your God. On it you shall not do any work, neither you, nor your son or daughter, nor your manservant or maidservant, nor your ox, your donkey or any of your animals, nor the alien within your gates, so that your manservant and maidservant may rest as you do. . . . Therefore the Lord your God has commanded you to observe the Sabbath day (Deut. 5:12–15).

What’s So Special about the Sabbath?

Why, I wonder, is the Sabbath different from any other day? Why would God command His people not to work, not to be productive, on the seventh day of each week? It’s not disrespect that causes me to raise these questions, but curiosity — a holy curiosity — a God-given desire to understand not just the letter of the law but the spirit of it as well.

The Old Testament does not really address these questions, except to say that in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth and He rested on the seventh day. Therefore, the Sabbath day is holy (see Exod. 20:11). Deuteronomy 5:15 says, “Remember that you were slaves in Egypt and that the Lord your God brought you out of there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. Therefore the Lord your God has commanded you to observe the Sabbath Day.”

Apparently, God wanted His people to pause once a week in the busyness of living and remember that He was their Creator and deliverer. In light of the hostile environment (i.e., famine and plagues) and the constant threat from alien armies, it is easy to appreciate Israel’s need for such a reminder. It served to reassure them of God’s special provision and protection.

White-collar Sweatshop

In contemporary culture we have a new threat, a new plague — what Jill Andresky Frazer calls the white-collar sweatshop. Work has become a god. It is the preeminent factor in organizing human life and establishing personal identities. It so dominates our lives that there is little time left for our families or ourselves. Studies show that while companies pay lip service to a 40-hour week, the American worker is actually putting in more hours than ever. Many companies find it more profitable to pay overtime than to replace employees lost to retirement or downsizing. As a consequence, 25 million Americans work more than 49 hours a week, 11 million work more than 60 hours a week.[1]

If one considers the hours put in away from the office, the numbers are even higher. Pagers, cellular phones, laptops, and e-mail have effectively blurred the line between job and home. The very technology we thought was going to give us more free time has done just the opposite. Now we can’t get away from our work no matter where we go.

The Sabbath is God’s answer. It serves as a counterbalance establishing the inalienable human right to rest. In His infinite wisdom, God designed the Sabbath to protect us from the dangers of physical exhaustion, psychological stress, and the interpersonal alienation that results from idolization and over-identification with work. “Six days do your work,” He says, “but on the seventh day do not work, so that your ox and your donkey may rest and the slave born in your household, and the alien as well, may be refreshed” (Exod. 23:12).

In the Jewish tradition the Sabbath begins at sundown on Friday and all preparations are to be completed ahead of time so the Sabbath can be totally free of mundane concerns. The tensions and conflicts of the week are to be put aside so it can be enjoyed. “Friday evening traditionally is spent at home with family and friends, thus providing a regular opportunity for family members to become reacquainted with one another and their neighbors. . . . The prohibitions against riding, the use of money, and work serve to keep everyone within the boundaries of the neighborhood and to encourage socializing, contemplation, study, dialogue, and those activities that promote refreshment and personal renewal.”[2]

The Sabbath is not distinguished by ritual symbols, although the lighting of the candles and the recitation of the Kiddush over a cup of wine traditionally introduce it. “Instead, its holiness rests in its emphasis on time — time for interpersonal relationships, for reestablishing contact with the world of nature, for the expression of the emotional dimensions of being, and for the enjoyment of the present. On the Sabbath, everyday activities and weekly routines are put aside and time is made for oneself, one’s family, and one’s friends.”[3]

The Christian Sabbath

For centuries, the Christian church continued to practice the principle of the Sabbath, although they observed the first day of the week instead of the seventh in honor of the Lord’s resurrection. Like their Jewish counterparts, they would neither work nor shop on their Sabbath. They considered Sunday a sacred day not to be violated except under the most unusual circumstances.

World War II changed all of that with the first widespread practice of seven-day-a-week, 24-hour-a-day production. By the 1960s and the 1970s, retailers were following suit, and the Sabbath principle was a thing of the past. Not coincidentally, there was a significant increase in emotional dysfunction, juvenile delinquency, and divorce. Without the rhythm of rest provided by the Sabbath, life was unraveling at the seams.

As a boy growing up, my family conscientiously practiced the Sabbath. Not in the strict Jewish sense, but in principle. Our Sabbath began on Saturday afternoon when Mother did her baking for the week. Soon the whole house took on the tantalizing aroma of baked goods — homemade bread, oatmeal cookies, chocolate cake, and a variety of fruit pies. Once this was done, Mom began preparation for Sunday — she polished our good shoes, selected our Sunday clothes, and made sure we had our baths before supper. After supper the entire family gathered around the kitchen table to study our Sunday school lessons and recite our memory verses. It was a quiet evening, a family affair, and it prepared our hearts for worship the next day.

There were four of us kids, all under 11 years of age at one time; still we managed to make it to church on time every week. By organizing everything before going to bed Saturday night, Mother eliminated much of the stress that has become so much a part of Sunday mornings for many churchgoers. As I recall those earlier times, I can’t remember a single argument about what to wear or whether we were going to church or not. Those things weren’t even issues. Family tradition was established early and carefully kept. That may sound restrictive to you, but it provided the routine that freed us to enjoy Sundays without a hassle.

Sunday dinners were also part of our Sabbath tradition, a part that I remember with great fondness. Our family almost never ate alone. Two or three families, sometimes more, always seemed to get together after church for Sunday dinner. We might scrimp all week, as Mom used to say, but on Sunday we had a feast —

huge platters piled high with fried chicken, heaping bowls of mashed potatoes, fresh vegetables from the garden, homemade hot rolls, and gallons of iced tea. For dessert there was always a variety of cakes and pies from which to choose.

When we couldn’t possibly eat another bite, we kids disappeared outdoors, while the adults lingered around the table talking for an hour or two. That’s all they did — just talked. It seemed like such a waste to me then. Now, I know better. Few things in life are more important than deep sharing with good friends. That kind of talking nourishes the soul; it reaffirms our place in the scheme of things. This, too, was part of our Sabbath ritual.

One Final Thought

Even as I contend for a return to the Sabbath, I am not naïve enough to think we can roll back time and recreate an earlier age when most of the country closed down on Sunday. Rather, I am contending for a return to the Sabbath principle where we recognize and accommodate our need for rest and relationships as well as worship. And when I speak of rest, I am not talking about leisure activities (that comes under play), but to relaxation, solitude, and sleep. Without these, our lives and our relationships will disintegrate faster than we can repair them.

What, you may be wondering, happened to Eric Liddell? Did he ever win an Olympic medal? Well, God honored Liddell’s decision to honor the Lord’s Day. Not only did he win a gold medal in the 440-yard dash (an event for which he had not trained), but he also set a new world record in the process. In 1981, his story was made into a movie — Chariots of Fire — that won an Oscar for best picture, inspiring millions in the process.

Following the Olympics in 1924, Liddell went as a missionary to China. Dr. David Mitchell, who knew him after he was captured by the Japanese and put in their prison camp, said, “None of us will ever forget this man who was totally committed to putting God first, a man whose humble life combined muscular Christianity with radiant godliness.”

Endnotes

1. Jill Andresky Fraser, White-Collar Sweatshop: The Deterioration of Work and Its Rewards in Corporate America (New York, NY: Norton, 2001).

2. Alan D. Goldberg, “The Sabbath: Implications for Mental Health,” Counseling and Values, 31, No. 2, (April 1987), p. 149.

3. Ibid., p. 148–149.

Chapter 11: Deserts, Silence, and Solitude

By consistently honoring our commitment to the Sabbath we are able to renew our energies — physically, emotionally, and spiritually — as well as maintain a quality family life even as we give ourselves to the demanding work of the ministry.

Rather than isolating us, the Sabbath restores our spiritual and emotional vitality so we can return to our mission with renewed vision.

Now that I am an adult and a minister, Sunday is no longer a Sabbath for me. In fact, Sunday is the most hectic and demanding day in my week. While serving as the senior pastor of Christian Chapel, I often preached three times on Sunday morning, frequently ministered again in the evening, and then hosted a live, nationwide, 90-minute radio broadcast called “Straight from the Heart.” Though I no longer serve as pastor of a local congregation, I generally preach three or four times each Sunday. That’s a taxing load for anyone, and when my day is done the last thing I want is a big meal with a lot of people around. What I need is a quiet place to unwind.

Since Sunday is not a Sabbath for us, we have had to find another day. In order to achieve the maximum benefit, we have learned that it should be the same day each week, thus creating a

rhythm of rest and renewal. After experimenting with several days, Brenda and I settled on Monday for our Sabbath. There’s nothing special about Monday, but after Sunday’s exhausting schedule we need a day to recover. Besides, there seems to be less scheduled early in the week, making it easier to honor our commitment.

Our Sabbath Ritual

Frequently, we stay in all day, enjoying our privacy and our home. If we do venture out, it is usually just to share a quiet lunch in a nearby restaurant. We use Monday to catch up on our rest, and we often nap for two hours or more in the afternoon. We talk at length, sharing deeply, catching up on the things we’ve been too busy to share with each other during the week. We read, listen to music, or even watch an old movie on the DVD player.

Years ago, when our daughter Leah still lived at home, she became part of our Sabbath when she came in from school around 3:00 in the afternoon. We would play board games on the floor in front of the fireplace and talk, especially around the dinner table. Deliberately, we relived our family history, each one of us sharing a favorite memory, enjoying the experience again. If one of us had a pressing concern that couldn’t wait, we would deal with it, but for the most part Mondays were reserved for renewing our relationships. Problems could be dealt with on another day.

By consistently honoring our commitment to the Sabbath, we are able to renew our energies — physically, emotionally, and spiritually — as well as maintain a quality family life even as we give ourselves to the demanding work of the ministry. In the process we came to realize that pausing for rest and renewal once a week simply wasn’t enough. If we were going to live the abundant life Jesus promised, we needed to carry the spirit of the Sabbath into every day of our week.

The Spirit of the Sabbath

“The Sabbath,” as S.R. Hirsch observes, “was not set apart to compartmentalize our lives, but so that your working days (might be) suffused with the spirit of the Sabbath.”[1] In other words, every day should have something of the Sabbath in it — a time for rest, a time for relationships, and a time for worship — but it won’t just happen. You will have to work at it.

Wayne Oates, author of Nurturing Silence in a Noisy Heart, suggests that you “write down what your typical day’s schedule tends to be like, and then begin landscaping the schedule to create some places and times of privacy for your regular cultivation of silence, communion with your inner being, and communion with the eternal in your noisy heart.”[2]

According to Oates, no one did that better than Douglas Southall Freeman, who was for many years the busy editor of the Richmond, Virginia, Times Dispatch. Each workday morning Mr. Freeman arose at four o’clock, ate a light breakfast, and then went directly to his office. He devoted the earliest part of his day to reading, meditation, and study, all of which are traditional Sabbath exercises. Next he would reflect on his writing assignments and rearrange the emphases of his life. Finally, he would think through the commitments of his day. At 9 a.m. he would begin his regular appointment schedule. He usually ate a light lunch in his office, worked until 2 p.m., and then went home.

Arriving home he would immediately undress and go to bed — remember rest is part of the Sabbath, too. After sleeping two to three hours he arose for the second time that day. While awaiting dinner he would read his stack of other newspapers. He was then free to eat dinner with his wife and children and spend the early part of the evening with them. As a rule he retired between 9 and 10 p.m. Thus, he had plenty of time for meditation, reflection, silence, and solitude at times of day when everyone else was doing something else.[3]

I’m not sure whether Mr. Freeman realized he was practicing the spirit of the Sabbath or not, but that’s the kind of thing I have in mind when I say every day should have a bit of the Sabbath in it. No matter how demanding your schedule or how busy your life, you owe it to yourself to create a time in every day for rest, relationships, and worship.

Not many of us will have the latitude to structure our work schedule to the extent that Mr. Freeman did, but we can learn to utilize the “pauses” that are built into our day. Instead of fuming impatiently when your telephone call is put on hold, use that minute or two to become aware of God’s nearness. Breathe a prayer. When you find yourself stuck in rush hour traffic, instead of listening to the inane babbling of the local drive-time radio personality, turn the radio off and enjoy a moment of solitude. Considering the plethora of technology, I should probably suggest that you turn off your cell phone and/or pager as well. Now what you initially considered an irritating delay has become a gift, a few minutes to yourself before facing the responsibilities that await you at home.

Along this same line, a friend of mine arrives at work 15 minutes earlier than necessary and uses the extra time for reflection and meditation. Since his workspace offers little or no privacy, he simply spends that time sitting in his car in the parking lot. Another acquaintance delays his departure for a few minutes each evening. Once his co-workers have gone he enjoys a brief time of solitude before heading for home. Having avoided the worst of the rush-hour traffic, he usually arrives home at approximately the same time he would have anyway. The solitude afforded him by those few extra minutes not only restores his spirit, but it also better prepares him to interact with his family.

A Moment of Grace

Since we live in a busy world, a noisy world, we sometimes have to take rest and quietness where we find it, or in some cases where it finds us. For instance, I remember a hectic Wednesday some years ago when God surprised me with a refreshing breath of the Sabbath. Normally, I go home shortly after noon on Wednesdays so I can return for the evening service refreshed, but on this particular day a series of events conspired to keep me at the church office all afternoon.

Finally it was 5:30 p.m., and the last secretary was gone. For the first time since early morning, the office was quiet. Taking a deep breath, I admitted to myself just how tired I was. The evening service was scheduled to begin in 90 minutes, and I couldn’t imagine where I was going to get the energy to preach.

Pouring myself a cup of fresh coffee, I walked back into my office. Instead of returning to my desk I turned toward the window, which opened on an 11-acre field. It was dusk and the last rays of the setting sun were glistening on the rain-wet grass. As I sipped my coffee I watched a man romping with two of the prettiest hunting dogs I’d ever seen. Standing there enjoying the beauty of God’s creation — man and beast — I felt the day’s tension draining out of me. A holy quietness settled over me and all at once I sensed His presence.

Like Jacob of old I heard myself saying, “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it” (Gen. 28:16; NKJV). Like Moses standing barefoot before the burning bush or Elijah listening to that “still small voice,” I knew I was standing on holy ground. Don’t ask me to explain it — I can’t. I can only report what happened. For a minute, God met me in the midst of my busyness and when He did it seemed He made all things new.

By now my coffee had grown cold but my heart was strangely warmed. Returning to my desk, I found myself renewed in both spirit and body. Moments before, I couldn’t imagine having the energy to minister and now I was chomping at the bit, so to speak. My heart was full to overflowing and I couldn’t wait to share the bread of life with those hungry souls who would soon gather in the sanctuary.

The Miracle of the Sabbath

The true miracle of the Sabbath is not that it sets us apart from the world, but that it returns us to it clear-eyed and caring, tenderhearted and compassionate. Its theology is not one of “either/or,” but both. It celebrates both solitude and service, both reflection and risk. Even as the Sabbath gives us permission to focus on our personal needs for a time, to sit at His feet without feeling a need to do anything, to enjoy the comforts of home and the love of family without feeling guilty, it also moves us to compassionate concern for those less fortunate than we.

A page from my journal, written during a time of Sabbath reflection, will give you an idea of what I mean:

It’s bitterly cold outside and everything is iced with a thin frosting of snow. Inside the room is warm, music is playing softly, and Brenda and Leah are in the kitchen making blueberry muffins. Love permeates everything — God’s love, our love.

God, in my comfort don’t let me forget the cold and the hungry — those poor souls who have no one to love them — winos huddled in doorways seeking shelter from the cutting wind; the unemployed sleeping in their cars, hoping for a brighter tomorrow; even the wealthy who seem to have it all but are cold and lonely on the inside.

Make me sensitive and compassionate. Let me see the hidden hurts, hear the cries that are never uttered. Help me to care enough to get involved, to extend a helping hand, to do what I can. Help me to love like You love.

How do you feed a hungry world?

One person at a time.

How do you love a lonely world?

One person at a time.

I’m doing what I can, Lord — help me to do more.

Help me to reach out further.

Without the Sabbath, without rest and renewal, we would never have the inner resources to embrace a hurting world. In our weariness we would be tempted to resent the needy with their ever-present claims on us, but renewed by a Sabbath of rest we can embrace them with the love of Christ. Rather than isolating us, the Sabbath restores our spiritual and emotional vitality so we can return to our mission with renewed vision.

Endnotes

1. S.R. Hirsch, HOREB: A Philosophy of Jewish Laws and Observances (New York, NY: Soncino Press, 1962).

2. Wayne E. Oates, Nurturing Silence in a Noisy Heart (Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1979), p. 33.

3. Ibid., p. 32.

Chapter 12: Cultivating Silence in a Noisy World

A good night’s sleep helps, but it cannot restore our spiritual and emotional energies unless it is supplemented by the inner disciplines of renewal — silence, solitude, and inwardness. Add to these the renewal generated by special friends, and you have a lifestyle that is continually replenishing the inner man.

It happened again, Lord.

I got up late . . . tired . . . running behind.

I had an early appointment

— then a hundred pressing details.

Others waiting on me to complete my work

so they can get at theirs.

More counseling,

phone calls to return,

people to see . . .

things to do.

Here it is, 6 p.m.

and I’m finally getting

to my morning devotion!

Forgive me, Father,

You deserve better . . . I need more.

Make me sensitive to the demands of my body.

Teach me to live within my limits,

physically and spiritually.

Today’s problems started two nights ago.

I stayed up too late,

and again, last night.

If I’m going to work as hard as I do,

make this many demands on my body,

then I’m going to have to listen

when it screams for rest!

Teach me to listen, Lord,

to You and to my body.

Busyness Is a Way of Life

Does that sound familiar? Probably. After all, busyness is a way of life in the 21st century and has been for most of us since we were just children in elementary school. It starts with music lessons, Little League, Girl Scouts, church camp, and a host of other legitimate activities. By the time we reach high school, we are addicted. Yearbook, drama, jazz choir, and the French club all compete for our time. Then there’s the youth group, Friday night football games, dates, and a part-time job. Not to mention homework and family time.

It’s even worse in college. By the time we graduate, frantic activity and the accompanying tiredness have become an accepted way of life. In fact, it seems to be a measure of our commitment, our importance. Yet for all of that, we have a vague feeling that we’re missing something, so we redouble our efforts, increase our involvements, and reduce our joy yet again. We find ourselves doing more and more, yet enjoying it less.

We complain frequently about how busy we are, about being too involved, about always being tired, but we never do anything about it. Sometimes we pause in our mad rush through life to wistfully dream about a restful evening at home. Yet when, by some stroke of fate, we find ourselves alone for the evening, we’re wound so tight we can’t even enjoy it.

Tilden Edwards describes it this way:

It is late evening. We are alone, perhaps for the first time since we woke. Bits and pieces from the day dart in and out of our consciousness. Little desires and fears for tomorrow scatter us further. The more that rushes through our minds, the more complicated and anxious life seems. Maybe TV will help settle us down — or the newspaper — or some work — or sex — or a big snack. Less seems to gnaw at us then. Life stays put for a moment. We feel in control again — we’re “doing” something — anything.

The aftereffect of the doing leaves us less anxious, but more drugged. We’ve exchanged a gnawing anxiety for a dulled sensibility. . . . You and I share such a [life]. It is usually bearable; it even seems “normal,” out of sheer habit. Sometimes it is even fun. But it is not fulfilling.[1]

And I might add, it’s not the abundant life Jesus promised!

Most of our work is not that physically demanding, and yet we often drag home hardly able to put one foot in front of the other. Compare our exhaustion with the satisfied tiredness our grandparents felt at the end of their day. They were tired, too, but it was from the outside in. Ours, I think, is just the opposite. We’re tired from the inside out. Our weariness is more emotional than physical. Our spirits are depleted. The constant pressure and the continual interaction with people taxes our emotional energies. Add a touch of interpersonal conflict, and the drain increases exponentially.

A good night’s sleep helps, but it cannot restore our spiritual and emotional energies unless it is supplemented by the inner disciplines of renewal — silence, solitude, and inwardness. Add to these the renewal generated by special friends, and you have a lifestyle that is continually replenishing the inner man.

A Sanctuary of Silence

It sounds easy, but it’s not. Ours is a noisy world. Even as I type these words, I hear the sound of an airplane on its final approach to the airport, traffic in the streets, a lawn mower. Consider the outrageous number of TVs, stereos, and radios all adding to the din. Our addiction to noise is almost absolute. Parks and beaches resound to the blaring of boom boxes. Joggers can’t make it an hour without noise, so they run to the beat of their headsets. Now add to this the almost constant clamor of conversation, and you can see why so few of us have been able to incorporate silence into our frantic lives.

So how do we go about cultivating silence in a busy world beset with noise? First, we have to take time for it, carve out a space in our crowded lives. Remember, the noise we hear is inner as well as outer. Noisy thoughts clamor for our attention. Budgets, programs, and other details from our workaday world intrude upon the silence within. Even as we dedicate a physical time and place for silence, so we must cast out the noisy intruders who would turn our inner sanctuary into a wild cacophony of noise.

Silence may come a bit more naturally to me than it does to you; after all, I’ve always been something of a solitary person. Although I have a deep appreciation for friends, I still enjoy being alone. As a boy, I always had a private place, a hideaway where I could go and be alone. Once it was a tool shed attached to the garage. I personalized it by turning a large storage shelf into a bunk, moving in Mom’s old radio, and displaying all of my fishing gear. Almost every day I spent time there, alone with the silence and my thoughts.

Another private place was my Grandma Miller’s house. Grandpa died when I was nine. After that, I began spending four and five nights a week with her. It was like stepping back in time. She couldn’t read or write and didn’t trust electricity. Many a night we sat in comfortable silence, each entertained by our own thoughts, wrapped in the soft glow of a kerosene lamp. Sometimes we talked, but it wasn’t necessary. Silence was a friend we both knew well and welcomed.

The outdoors became yet another sanctuary of silence for me. As a boy, I tramped the river bottoms in northeastern Colorado, both summer and winter. I fished and hunted, sometimes with friends, but more often alone. Early on, I made friends with myself and learned to enjoy my own company. Others were not the source of my happiness, nor was I dependent on their approval for my self-image. Only now, these many years later, am I able to appreciate how liberating that was and is.

Cultivating Silence in a Noisy World

If silence hasn’t been a regular part of your life, the thought of it may seem a little unusual, perhaps even frightening. According to Susan Annette Muto, one of the reasons we avoid silence is the discovery that it evokes nameless misgivings, guilt feelings, and a strange, disquieting anxiety. But if we can pass through these initial fears and remain silent, we may experience a gradual waning of

inner chaos. Silence becomes like a creative space in which we regain perspective on the whole.[3] In disciplined silence, we forget our problems for a while and remember who we are and who God is.

Making time for silence and solitude is a constant challenge, even when you believe in it and value it highly. The world is constantly encroaching — an important meeting, your daughter’s spring concert, special services at church, a new project. The list is endless. Again and again, I have fallen prey to the press of busyness. Soon my life is devoid of silence, then joy. Finally, life’s meaningfulness is lost as well. At those times I’m not only tired, but tempted with depression. Usually I can’t put my finger on the cause, but life is flat and tasteless. Now and then, I have a vague sense that something is missing, but I can’t quite get a handle on it.

If I continue to ignore my need for solitude and rest, my body usually lets me know. I get a severe headache — the kind that makes it impossible to work or socialize. Out of necessity, I shut out the world for a few hours, sometimes even overnight. Alone at last, it begins to dawn on me — I haven’t been practicing the rhythm of life. I haven’t made time for myself, time for solitude. Even in the midst of that realization, I am severely tempted to turn on the radio or pick up the telephone and call someone. Silence has become a stranger, and I can hardly bring myself to seek it.

Be Still

Why do I tell you this? Because I want you to know that I struggle with the same pressures that you do. And I fail more often than I would like to admit. Still, I keep going back. In the midst of my frantic faithfulness, I continue to hear God say, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Ps. 46:10).

Sometimes I need help finding my way back. Busyness has so desensitized me that I can’t feel. I’m numb. With determined deliberateness, I do the things that have worked in the past. I brew a cup of coffee. I light the kerosene lamp in my study. I force myself to sit and be quiet. At first, half-a-hundred thoughts wrestle for my attention. Phone calls I need to make. Things I need to do tomorrow, chores I should be doing around the house right now. His words again, “Be still . . . be still. . . .”

Bit by bit I feel the tensions slip away. The noise of the world is pushed back for a little while. Even the discordant voices within grow quiet. Out of the silence He speaks in a still small voice

(1 Kings 19:12) and my soul is renewed. There is no other way to say it — my soul is renewed. I know who I am — a child of God. I know who He is — my Heavenly Father. Within the warmth of His embrace, within the comfort of His presence, my concerns, even my fears, seem so inconsequential. They are still there, but they are no longer of any real concern.

It is such an incredible experience, unspeakable in its profoundness; why then do I come to this holy place only as a last resort? Could it be that I fear the solitude? Am I afraid that there won’t be anything there, that when the noise stops there won’t be any still, small voice? That’s part of it I am sure, as is the fact that parting is inevitably painful, even for a short time. Yet as Anne Morrow Lindbergh says, “Once it is done, I find there is a quality to being alone that is incredibly precious. Life rushes back into the void, richer, more vivid, fuller than before.”[4]

If that is what your heart hungers for — a life that is richer, more vivid, fuller than before — then let me urge you to make the discipline of solitude a part of your daily routine. It won’t necessarily be easy, but it will be worth whatever effort it takes. Believe me, I know.

Endnotes

1. Bob Benson and Michael W. Benson, Disciplines for the Inner Life, “Living Simply Through the Day,” by Tilden H. Edwards (Waco, TX: Word Books, 1985), p. 13–14.

2. Wayne E. Oates, Nurturing Silence in a Noisy Heart (Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1979), p. 3.

3. Susan A. Muto, Pathways of Spiritual Living (Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1984), paraphrased.

4. Phyllis Hobe, editor, Dawnings: Finding God’s Light in the Darkness, “Praise Ye the Lord!” by Anne Morrow Lindbergh (Waco, TX: Word Books Publisher, 1981), p. 79.

Chapter 13: Pictures from the Past

Out of the stillness comes a picture from the past, indistinct at first, just a dim outline. Then I give myself to the memory. I embrace it, and it all comes rushing back — the colors, the smells, the sounds. Even now, that memory has the power to refresh me. I let it carry me back. I live it again, feel the feelings, and as I do, I sense the tension leaving me.

As I grow older my appreciation for the gift of memory increases, as does my thankfulness to the God who provides them. Not long ago I wrote in my journal:

Thank You, Lord,

for the gift of memory.

With it I can leave

the suffocating confines of an overcrowded schedule

and return, for a few minutes,

to the barefoot days of my youth.

I feel sun-warmed sand between my toes.

I sit, half-hypnotized,

watching the slow-moving South Platte River.

The smell of wood smoke blends

with the fragrance of fresh-cut alfalfa.

It only lasts for a couple of minutes,

but for that brief time, I’m a boy again —

carefree,

roaming the river bottom,

living my own version of Huck Finn.

Thank You, Lord,

for the gift of memory.

With it I can put

present pressures into perspective.

I recall other times when trouble

threatened to overwhelm us.

There was a Christmas in Holly, Colorado,

when we were flat broke,

and feeling blue.

Then on Christmas Eve,

You came through

— a check for $224!

Oh, what a Christmas that was!

The numbers are bigger now,

but the pressures are just the same,

and so are You.

Thank You, Lord,

for the gift of memory.

Past joys enrich my busy days.

Mini-vacations,

trips to the past,

return me to my present tasks renewed.

Past victories put today’s challenges

into perspective.

I remember, and I’m a better man.

I remember, and I am blessed.

“I remember the days of old; I meditate on all thy works” (Ps. 143:5; KJV).

Special Memories

Even as I write this, I embrace such a memory. It’s as real as the day it happened, maybe more so. It was a Saturday afternoon in early spring. We were living in Houston, Texas, where I was serving as associate pastor at a troubled church. To complicate matters Brenda’s mother, who lived nearby, was undergoing radiation treatment following surgery to remove a cancerous tumor. The tensions at the church had reached the point where we had considered resigning. We decided not to because that would have necessitated a move, very possibly out of state. The last thing Brenda needed was the additional stress of moving, not to mention leaving her mother at this critical time, so we gritted our teeth and hung on.

Suddenly the setting sun broke through the dark clouds of a retreating thunderstorm, giving the rain-washed neighborhood a just-bathed freshness. For a moment I was transfixed. I forgot my half-finished sermon notes, Brenda’s mother’s illness, the church troubles . . . everything. I could hear Brenda in the kitchen preparing dinner, and I felt a deep contentment.

After a few minutes I wrote:

I sit here

in the near darkness

of a late, rain-washed afternoon.

Thunder growls deeply in the distance,

drowning out the sound

of the retreating rain.

Yellow light from the kitchen

spills into my mostly dark study,

and I can hear you banging pans

and humming softly.

I feel contented,

but I can remember

when it wasn’t so.

When my life was

mostly sadness and shadows,

before the yellow light

of your love came spilling in.

Now my life is

mostly sunshine,

and what sadness remains

huddles in the darkest corners unacknowledged,

unless you are unhappy

or away.

Even now, that memory has the power to refresh me. I let it carry me back. I live it again, feel the feelings, and as I do, I sense the tension leaving me. Unfortunately, that kind of experience is rare indeed for many people. For them, memories are random at best, or reserved for family reunions or a wake. How tragic, for when we ignore our memories or relegate them to special occasions, we rob ourselves of their renewing power.

Dealing With Depression

“Not long ago,” writes Arthur Gordon, “I came to one of those bleak periods that many of us encounter from time to time, a sudden drastic dip in the graph of living when everything goes stale and flat, energy wanes, enthusiasm dies. Every morning I would clench my teeth and mutter, ‘Today life will take on some of its old meaning.’ . . . But the barren days went by and the paralysis grew worse.”[1]

In desperation, he went to see a doctor, not a psychiatrist, just a gruff old doctor. Beneath his surface gruffness though, there lay great wisdom and compassion. He told Gordon to drive to the beach alone the following morning, arriving not later than nine o’clock. He could take some lunch, but he was not to read, write, listen to the radio, or talk to anyone. Then, almost as an afterthought, the doctor scrawled some instructions on a pad of prescription blanks and handed them to him. “Take them one at a time,” he said, “at three hour intervals.”

The next morning Gordon did as he was instructed. When he arrived at the beach it was deserted, lonely, a northeaster was blowing; the sea looked gray and angry. For a while, he sat in the car, moodily, the whole day stretching emptily before him. Finally, he took out the folded prescription blanks and opened the first one. On it the doctor had written: “Listen carefully.”

His first reaction was amazement. The doctor had ruled out music, newscasts, and human conversation. What else was there? Still he decided to give it a try. At first all he heard was the screech of a gull, the steady roar of the sea, the whine of the wind. Determinedly he persisted, and after a while he realized his mind was slowing down, coming to a rest. When you truly listen for something outside yourself, he concluded, you have to silence the clamorous voices within. Sitting there, he found himself thinking of things bigger than himself and that was a welcome relief.

Before he hardly realized it, three hours had passed and it was now noon. Taking out the second prescription he read: “Try reaching back.” Crumpling the prescription blank he stuffed it into his pocket and got out of his car and started tramping along the dunes. He found a sheltered place and lay down on the sun-warmed sand. Lying there, he wondered if perhaps the doctor had sent him to the beach because it was a place of happy memories. Maybe that’s what he was supposed to reach for — the wealth of happiness that lies half-forgotten in the past.

As he peered into the past, the recollections that came to mind were happy but indistinct. He decided to experiment, to work on those vague impressions as a painter would, retouching the colors, strengthening the outlines. He chose specific incidents and recaptured as many details as possible. He visualized people complete with dress and gestures. He listened carefully for the exact sound of their voices, the echo of their laughter. Soon his melancholy began to yield to the happiness of the past. Happy, positive memories, he discovered, have the power to infuse the more difficult present with a sense of hope.

The doctor’s third prescription told Gordon to examine his motives. That’s a bitter pill for anyone to swallow and he was no exception. Still, as difficult as it was, it too was part of the cure, for if our motives are wrong, nothing can be right. As long as you feel you are serving others, you do the job well. When you are concerned only with helping yourself, you do it less well — a law as inexorable as gravity.

By the time he got to the last prescription the day was nearly done, just a smear of pale pink on the horizon. Opening it he read, “Write your worries in the sand.” Picking up a piece of shell he walked to the water’s edge and began writing. When he finished he turned toward the car. He did not look back. The tide was coming in.[2]

More Than a Cure

That gruff old doctor had provided a simple but effective cure. The paralysis of depression was broken. Gordon was well on his way to recovering his zest for living. Yet, as I think about it and compare it to my life’s experience, I see it as more than a cure. It’s preventative medicine — more a way of warding off depression rather than treating it, especially the part about listening deeply and reaching back. This, too, is a part of our Sabbath rest.

The practice of drawing strength and inspiration from memories is not original with me. It’s a biblical concept. Again and again God commanded His people to establish memorials as reminders of His great faithfulness. Holy communion is probably the best known to the church, for Israel it was the Passover, but there are many others. Read the Psalms and see how often the Psalmists recalled how God brought them out of Egypt, how He divided the Red Sea so they could cross on dry ground, how He quenched their thirst with water from a rock and how He fed them with fresh manna every morning. When the present seemed hopeless, they reached back and drew strength from the past.

Life, as you well know, is a constant mixture of success and failure, joy and sorrow, hope and despair. God has given us the responsibility of sifting through these experiences and choosing which ones to remember and which ones to forget. Happy people, for the most part have mastered the holy art of remembering good things. When the present is painful or foreboding, they reach back and get some happiness from the past. I’m not talking about denying reality, just putting it into perspective. Try reaching back; try making memories a part of your spiritual disciplines, and see if your spirit isn’t renewed.

Endnotes

1. Arthur Gordon, A Touch of Wonder (Old Tappan, NJ: Fleming H. Revell Company, 1974), p. 83.

2. Ibid., paraphrased.

Chapter 14: Old Friends and Good Books

There are times when we need to be totally alone, to be sure, but there are other times when only a friend can renew our vision and restore our soul.

In addition to special friends, I also need the renewing power of good books — not necessarily weighty books that tax my mind, but insightful books that touch my soul — books that give me a glimpse of life in both its tenderness and its tragedy.

Another element of Sabbath rest is special friends. They give you someone to be with when you have to get away, but can’t bear to be alone again. They provide a safe place in a high-pressure world, a place where you can let your hair down and be yourself, a place where you don’t have to weigh every word. Persons with whom, as Emerson said, “I may think out loud.” With them, you can share your secret dreams without fear of being put down. You can share your hopes and fears without being misunderstood, without risk to the relationship. There are times when we need to be totally alone, to be sure, but there are other times when only a friend can renew our vision and restore our soul.

Special Friends

The early 1970s were a difficult time for me. Try as I might, I could not seem to find my place in the ministry. Part of it was my fault, but at the time I couldn’t see that. I simply felt betrayed, wounded by the church I had chosen to serve, rejected and misunderstood by my peers. It was a complicated situation, and there is nothing to be gained by delving into the painful details. Suffice it to say that were it not for some special friends I might not be in the ministry today.

Following a painful misunderstanding, I suddenly found myself without a place to minister, wondering if there was any place for me in the organized church. To provide for my wife and baby daughter, I took on a number of odd jobs. I stacked hay in Colorado, worked as a longshoreman at the Port of Houston, drove a grain truck during harvest, and finally ended up with a bit part in a movie being filmed at Buckskin Joe, just outside of Canon City, Colorado.

For months I lived in an ever-deepening depression. I covered it pretty well, but on the inside I felt as though I was dying. I loved God but I didn’t feel I could trust Him. I loved the ministry, but there didn’t seem to be any place for me. I felt betrayed, yet at the same time I knew there was disobedience in my own heart.

In desperation I turned to some special friends — Bob and Diana.

Remembering them, I was almost overcome with emotion. They were the first two converts of our ministry in Holly, Colorado. Many was the night Bob would call and say, “Diana has just baked a loaf of bread. Why don’t you bring a bottle of grape juice and come on out and have communion with us.” Suddenly I wanted that, more than anything. I wanted that special relationship, with them, and with Jesus.

Then and there, I made a decision. I was going to find them, and in the safety of their love I was going to recommit my life to the Lord. Without a word to anyone, I just walked off the set. I drove to Canon City, picked up Brenda and Leah, and headed for Kansas.

After driving for the better part of the day and making a half a dozen phone calls, we finally located them. They were working on a farm in the southwestern part of the state. Though they hadn’t heard from us in over two years, they were delighted when we showed up. It was as if we had never been apart.

On Saturday I bought a bottle of grape juice and I asked Diana if she would bake bread. After we got the kids to bed, the four of us gathered around the scarred coffee table in the living room. It was just like old times, only now our roles were reversed. Many was the time I had heard Bob’s confession; now he heard mine. Many was the time I had cried and prayed with the two of them; now they wept and prayed with me.

I poured my heart out; I confessed everything — my hurt, my bitterness, even how close I had come to losing my faith. There were a lot of tears then, and even more love. That old farmhouse became a holy place, a sanctuary. We broke bread together, celebrated Holy Communion, and this broken man was made whole again.

The circumstances of my life didn’t suddenly change. I still didn’t have a place to preach, or a way of providing for my family, but those things seemed somehow inconsequential, especially in light of the holy thing God had done. I was forgiven, I was among friends, I was back home at last, where I belonged. With God, my family, and my friends I could face anything.

Who is your special friend, the one person you can talk to about anything in world? If you learned your 15-year-old daughter was pregnant, whom would you call? If your 17-year-old son got busted for selling drugs where would you turn? If you discovered your spouse was having an affair, do you have a single friend you could go to for help? If no one leaped readily to mind then you probably don’t have the kind of friend we’re talking about.

Maybe the best way to make a special friend is to be one. More and more of late I have found myself praying with Michael Benson:

“Lord, You know I am not particularly heroic or saintly; that I need someone who will be my friend on this spiritual journey. Let them find me through my willingness to be a spiritual friend. Amen.”[2]

Special Books

In addition to special friends I also need the renewing power of good books — not necessarily weighty books that tax my mind, but insightful books that touch my soul. Books that give me a glimpse of life in both its tenderness and it tragedy. Books that put me in touch with my own life experiences. As far as I am concerned, any book that can do that is worth whatever it costs and more. Many times life has worn me down, left me numb, wondering if I would ever feel deeply again, then a special book touched me and I began to live again.

More than 25 years ago, when our daughter was just six or seven years old, I had an experience like that. While putting the finishing touches on my Mother’s Day sermon one Saturday evening, I happened across a meditation written by Mary Jean Irion titled “Gift from a Hair Dryer.” Had I read it at another time or place it may not have touched me so profoundly, but that Saturday evening it moved me to tears. I share it with you here in hopes that you might be moved as deeply as I was.

As she scrambles out of the Saturday night bath and shampoo, dripping dark green footprints on the light green mat, you throw a towel around her head and rub vigorously as she jumps up and down.

“Mommy, I’ve got goose pimples!”

“Stand still,” you say, handing her another towel. “Dry yourself while I rub your hair.”

Five minutes later she is pink pajamaed, clean-toothed, and sitting crosslegged on her bed, damp hair going in all directions. She resembles nothing so much as a newly hatched chicken. You perch beside her and plug in the hand-operated hair dryer, pointing it at the nape of her neck. “It’s nice and warm,” she says, reaching for a book. “I’ll read you a story while it dries.”

“Good,” you say, combing from south to north on the back of her head and directing the warm air stream into the moving hair, watching it fall in layers, finely, as it sifts apart from the damp mass. A horizontal part moves upward following the comb. Over and over again — south to north, hair falling, air blowing.

“John and Cindy had a little dog. He was brown and white. His name was Toby.” Second grade reading books are fascinating to second graders, and that is as it should be. You find your fascination elsewhere, in the way the light falls on the gold-brown strands.

“Go get the ball, Toby,” she reads on. You are trying to decide whether she is really quite beautiful or just ordinary and beloved. Likely not beautiful. But beloved.

The comb lifts the hair, baring a pink ear scrubbed to Saturday night perfection. Something about the pink ear takes you back over the years, and you remember this same head, baby-bald as a darning egg. Then came blonde curls. Now no curls and not any special color, but clean and soft and shining, warm-laid on the side of her cheek.

“John and Cindy went looking for their dog.” You are not listening.

Comb and dry, comb and dry. You half-close your eyes and pick another memory out of her blowing hair. She was three that summer on Cape Cod when the strong sea wind blew the curls up from her neck just like this. You remember how she turned around and suddenly up went the bangs, baring a white forehead above sun-pink nose and cheeks. You remember the unbelievable quantity of sand she carried home on her scalp that day to be brushed out on the cottage floor. How little she was then! And now seven. Seven!

The air current swings her hair suddenly to one side, and she is five again, skipping off to her first day at kindergarten, the breezes undoing all the work of a careful comb as they play through her hair, swaying it like this in rhythm to her skipping. The cadence of her merry gait captures you completely even now, two years later.

She coughs you back into Saturday night on the edge of her bed and goes on reading. “’The children asked the grocery store man if he had seen Toby.”

“Turn around now,” you say. “Let’s do the other side. It’s dry over here.” Yes, she is beautiful. You have decided it, and that is that.

Comb and dry, comb and dry. Soon I won’t be able to do this any more, you say to yourself, knowing that the little straight bob must inevitably yield to grown-up coiffures and ugly curlers. What will she be like at 14? Where will her hair be blowing then? And 16 and 18 — you suppose boys will love to watch her hair blow as you do now. And some of them will feel it on their faces, and one of them will marry her, and her hair will be perfect under the veil, and there will be her hair spread out on his pillow . . . oh, you hate him a little and wonder where he is at this moment and whether he’ll be good to her . . . they will grow old together . . . the gold-brown hair will be gray, and you will be gone, and then she will be gone . . . this very hair that now your fingers smooth. . . .

All the tears of the world swim for a second in your eyes as you snatch the plug out of the socket suddenly and gather her into your arms, burying your face in the warm hair as if you could seal this moment against all time.

“Hey, don’t you know we’re just at the end of the story?” she asks, surprised by your embrace.

“Yes, honey. Of course.”

“I peeked ahead. They find their dog. It’s a happy story.”

“I knew it would be.”

She reads the last page. You sing an evening song together, exchange kisses on each other’s noses, turn out the light, and go downstairs to finish ironing as if nothing bittersweet and wonderful had happened.[4]

The first time I read Irion’s poignant account, I was so deeply moved that I got up and went to the door of Leah’s room and watched in wistful silence as she played Barbies. My heart swelled with love and thanksgiving, and I realized, maybe for the very first time, that this was “abundant life,” not all there was to it to be sure, but definitely abundant life. Sensing my presence, Leah glanced a question in my direction. I smiled and spread my arms wide: “I just wanted to say I love you big — this much!”

Returning to my study I remember asking myself, “How many times have I lived moments like that without even realizing it?” Tears were swimming in my eyes as I sat down at my desk. Before returning to my sermon notes I bowed my head in prayer. First I sought forgiveness for all the times I had missed life’s special moments because I was too busy or preoccupied. Then I thanked God for Leah and all the moments we had shared. Finally I vowed to slow down, to enjoy life, to live it to the fullest.

With holy moments like that, life can’t grow old. It’s renewed day by day. The rhythm of rest — silence, solitude, memory, old friends, good books that touch the heart, and deep sleep. Taken together, day by day, they renew us, cause us to “mount up with wings as eagles . . . [to] run, and not be weary . . . [to] walk, and not faint” (Isa. 40:31; KJV).

Endnotes

1. Bob Benson and Michael W. Benson, Disciplines for the Inner Life, “A Place Apart,” by M. Basil Pennington (Waco, TX: Word Books, 1985), p. 104.

2. Benson and Benson, Disciplines for the Inner Life, p. 103.

3. Benson and Benson, Disciplines for the Inner Life, “Living Simply Through the Day,” Tilden H. Edwards, p. 104.

4. Mary Jean Irion, Yes, World: A Mosaic of Meditation, “Gift From A Hair Dryer” (New York, NY: Richard W. Baron Publishing Company, Inc., 1970), originally from United Church Herald, November 1962.

Worship is the spontaneous, irrepressible cry of the heart when the glory of the Creator breaks in upon it. Sometimes it happens in a sanctuary or synagogue, but as often as not it happens in some ordinary place — on a busy street, at a dinner party, or even at the beach. When it does, we are moved deeply, our hearts burn within us and we see all of life through new eyes.

Hugh Prather writes, "I associate this spiritual way of seeing with many causes: with music and poetry, with sunsets and seas, with friends who are friends, with love, and now and then with a book or a passage within a book. These things have at times inspired me to this broader vision, but rarely have I been able to return and use one of them to recapture it. If I try, the poem or song will have lost its magic, and I only receive an echo of my previous wonder."[1]

It's like that for me, too. If I don't stop and enjoy it to the fullest when it first moves me, I will miss it. When I come back to it, it's never the same. If it happens for you while reading this section, put your finger between the pages, forget the book for a moment, and let your spirit soar to meet His. The book will be there when you're finished. But if you miss that holy moment, it's lost, gone forever. It will never happen quite like that again.

Chapter 15: A Gift and a Discipline

“Abundant life” is foreign to many believers because we are largely ignorant of its dynamics. We mistakenly assume it is something that happens independent of our efforts. Not so. It is both a gift and a discipline.

Recent archaeological discoveries uncovered letters written by martyrs during the first three centuries following Christ. Just before death, one saint wrote:

In a dark hole I have found cheerfulness; in a place of bitterness and death I have found rest. While others weep I have found laughter, where others fear I have found strength. Who would believe that in a state of misery I have had great pleasure; that in a lonely corner I have had glorious company, and in the hardest bonds perfect repose. All those things Jesus has granted me. He is with me, comforts me, and fills me with joy. He drives bitterness from me and fills me with strength and consolation.[2]

How is it that a prisoner, facing death for his faith, living out his days in a dark hole, can know joy and contentment, while there are many successful people, enjoying all the amenities of the good life, who are miserable and depressed? Don’t settle for the easy answers: “Money can’t buy happiness,” or, “If you don’t have a good marriage and family, nothing else matters.” That’s all well and good, but those aren’t the only kind of people who have a mediocre existence.

What about those believers who are faithful, who have godly families, who are successful in business, yet know little or nothing of real contentment, not to mention the “abundant life.” Those, who in their heart of hearts, live with secret disappointment. They wouldn’t admit it to anyone, maybe not even to themselves, but life hasn’t been all they expected. Marriage, children, career success, and even Christianity have all failed to produce the promised return. What about them?

Jesus said He came to bring us abundant life (John 10:10), yet most of the Christians I know are living on the ragged edge. Oh, they have their moments but, for the most part, it’s hard to distinguish the quality of their lives from that of the unregenerate. Why? Is abundant life an empty promise? Is it unrealistic for those of us living in the third millennium to expect to experience it?

No! The promises of God are eternal, the same yesterday, today, and forever. Paul declares, “For no matter how many promises God has made, they are ‘Yes’ in Christ. And so through him the ‘Amen’ is spoken by us to the glory of God” (2 Cor. 1:20). If the promise is still valid — and it is — why then do so few of us experience abundant life in any consistent way?

I believe it is foreign to many of us because we are largely ignorant of the dynamics involved. We mistakenly assume it is something that happens independent of our efforts. Nothing could be further from the truth! The abundant life Jesus brings is both a gift and a discipline.

A Gift

The “gift” of abundant life originates in God, and without His direct intervention in your life, you will never experience it. Still, what God gives you is the capacity for abundant life rather than the reality of it. It is the quality of life that was imparted to you by the Spirit when you received Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior. Without that “gift” there is nothing you can do to create it. A right attitude and positive thinking can improve the quality of your life, but it will not be the abundant life Jesus promised.

As a believer you possess the “gift” — that God-given potential to experience abundant life in all of its fullness — yet if you do not practice the disciplines it won’t happen. You will be left with nothing more than unrealized potential, and there is no burden more difficult to bear. To live with the knowledge of what could have been, what should have been, is torment indeed. Unfortunately that is often our fate — we have the “gift,” the potential, yet never experience the reality of abundant life.

A Discipline

God has given you the potential for abundant life, but it is up to you to exercise the spiritual disciplines that will make it a reality in your life. The spiritual disciplines that transform this potential into reality are detailed and well documented. Although they are relatively simple they are not easy. They include, but are not limited to: daily prayer, the study of Scripture, regular fasting, meditation, solitude, and corporate worship. Conscientious practitioners, since the time of Christ, have experienced the abundant life as they practiced these disciplines, and you can as well.

An equally important but less recognized discipline is the rhythm of life — that delicate harmony between work and rest, worship and play. Meaningful work gives your life definition and purpose. Yet, without rest even creative and/or spiritual work becomes tedious. Work without rest inevitably produces burnout. Worship and play must then be added to the work/rest cycle to produce the abundant life.

Rest restores our physical vitality and renews our emotional energies. In restful solitude, we forget the world with its pressing demands for a while and remember who we are. Worship goes a step further and enables us to forget ourselves for a while and remember who God is. It puts everything into perspective. In worship we remember the goodness and the greatness of God. We remember that His grace is sufficient and that His power is made perfect in our weakness (2 Cor. 12:9). Against the backdrop of these truths, life’s most disconcerting difficulties are put into eternal perspective. Or as the Apostle said, “If God is for us, who can be against us?” (Rom. 8:31).

The final element in the rhythm of life is play. It relieves the tension and gives balance to the whole of life. By divine design, we need it all and we ignore this rhythm at our own peril. Without it, life’s richness hangs by a slender thread and even the hardiest among us risk burnout.

Worship

Since we have already dealt with work and rest in the first half of the book, we will now turn our attention to the renewing power of worship. In the coming chapters you will discover how to be “real” rather than “religious” when you worship. You will learn to see all of life through spiritual eyes, and when you do, the whole world will become a sanctuary.

For instance, when I was 16 I went swimming in the South Platte River on a hot August afternoon with a pretty girl who would later become my wife. Carelessly, we splashed in the river, oblivious to the sun’s deadly rays. Later that evening, I rubbed Noxzema Skin Cream on her sunburned shoulders. That, I think, is when I discovered I was in love, and to this day Noxzema Skin Cream smells like love to me.

Only now, these many years later, do I realize that the source of my joy that sunlit afternoon was not young love, but God. He was the One who brought us together, who made our running laughter a kind of holy music, who destined that we would one day marry and give birth to a child of our own. This, too, is worship.

In truth, once we understand something of the mystery of His presence, all of life becomes a sanctuary and each experience, no matter how mundane, an opportunity to worship. The beauty of nature, the birth of a child, the majesty of a great piece of music, a wedding, a special book or movie, even the death of a friend or family member, all become an opportunity to experience His presence, an invitation to worship.

Sometimes worship happens in a sanctuary or synagogue as it did for Simeon when he took the baby Jesus in his arms and praised God, saying, “My eyes have seen your salvation” (Luke 2:30).

Sometimes it happens when we are under pressure, facing circumstances that threaten to overwhelm us. That’s how it was for Jacob one dark night on the muddy bank of the Jabbok. Afterward, he could only speak of it in hushed tones and then only to say, “I saw God face to face” (Gen. 32:30). That’s the essence of worship, isn’t it — seeing God face to face?

It happens, I think, more often than most of us realize. We usually only see it in retrospect, and then we are undone. How could I have been so blind? How could I have been so dumb? Then we feel unworthy, sinful — like Peter who fell to his knees and cried, “Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!” (Luke 5:8). But He doesn’t go away. He stays with us, and we begin to see all of life through different eyes.

As you can undoubtedly see, this section is not so much a treatise on worship as it is an invitation to share in the actual experience. It’s not even a call to worship, at least not in a traditional sense. Still, if the writing goes the way I hope it does, you will hear His Spirit calling to yours or, as the Scriptures say, “Deep [calling] to deep . . .” (Ps. 42:7). When it does, let your spirit soar to meet His, “Ascribe to the LORD the glory due his name; worship the LORD in the splendor of his holiness” (Ps. 29:2). This, too, is part of the rhythm of life.

Endnotes

1. Hugh Prather, I Touch the Earth, the Earth Touches Me (Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1972).

2. Charles Hembree, Pocket of Pebbles (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Book House, 1969), p. 33.

Chapter 16: Glorious Worship or a Cheap Masquerade?

When we approach God with less than total honesty, we become actors playing a role. As a result, there can be no real relationship. That’s bad enough in itself, but things become even move convoluted when we can no longer distinguish our real self from the role we have created. The indignity is complete when we create a caricature for God that complements our false self.

For all of its laughter and surface gaiety, our world is not a very happy place. That really shouldn’t be all that surprising. I mean, how can we expect to be happy when we violate almost every principle of the “abundant life?” We work too long, play too fast, laugh too loud, and worship too little. We are hedonistic, always looking out for number one. We are materialistic. We buy things we don’t need and can’t afford in order to impress people we don’t even like. Like a bunch of pack rats, we are constantly carrying home the latest gadget in a misdirected effort to satisfy our gnawing emptiness.

This absorption with self manifests itself even in our worship. Listen to the language we use, the questions we ask. “What did you get out of that service?” “There’s really nothing at that church for me.” “I’m not being fed.” I could continue, but surely you get the point. The disproportionate ways we invest the church’s limited resources in favor of the local congregation is only more evidence of our ingrained selfishness. Where is our social concern? Where is our world vision?

No wonder we are unfulfilled. The more we focus on our needs, our desires, and our rights, the more unhappy we become. People who live only for themselves soon become obnoxious to themselves. Noted psychologist William James was often heard to say, “The only truly happy people I know are those who have found a cause greater than themselves to live for.” You may be ambitious, brilliant, successful, and even powerful without being other-centered, but you will never be happy. That’s a fact of life as inexorable as death.

Our Only Hope

Only true worship makes us God-centered rather than self-centered. But for worship to work, it will have to be real instead of religious, and that’s not easy for those of us who grew up in the church. Early on we were indoctrinated in duplicity. We were taught to say “right” things rather than “real” things. John Killinger put his finger on it when he said, “The self we send out to meet God is almost always a false self.”[1]

Nowhere is this tragic truth more clearly seen than in the Old Testament story of Abraham and Sarah. God visited Abraham one day and told him that his wife, Sarah, was going to bear him a son about the same time next year. Sarah, who was standing just inside the tent door, overheard God’s promise. The whole thing struck her as rather humorous, and well it might have. Abraham was nearly 100 years of age. Sarah was doubly cursed herself — barren and well past the age of childbearing. or in the words of the King James text, “it ceased to be with Sarah after the manner of women” (Gen. 18:11). To top it all off, she was probably over 90 years old herself.

Sarah’s mistake wasn’t in laughing. Anyone in their right mind would have laughed, given those circumstances. Sarah laughed because if she didn’t laugh, she would cry. What she had just overheard was too good to be true. I think God himself would have shared in her laughter if she would have given Him half a chance, but she didn’t. As soon as she realized God was on to her, she froze up. Genesis 18:15 says, “Sarah was afraid, so she lied and said, ‘I did not laugh.’ ”

What happened? For just a moment she forgot herself and simply responded honestly, naturally, from her heart — she was real. But as soon as she realized what she was doing, she became self-conscious and reverted to her religious conditioning. The image she had of God wouldn’t allow her to be herself. The God she knew was humorless. As a consequence, she ended up lying and sending out a “false self” to be with God. That kind of worship may be “safe,” but it is not the real thing.

I think I understand this dilemma best when I liken it to a cast of characters in a play. On stage, the leading man and the leading lady may have a romantic relationship, they may even marry, while in real life they may have only the most superficial association. The characters they portray actually have little or nothing to do with who they really are. And their relationship in the play is not real. It is a role created by the playwright and it has nothing to do with their real lives.

Now apply this analogy to worship. When we approach God with less than total honesty, we become actors playing a role. As a result, there can be no real relationship. That’s bad enough in itself, but things become even more convoluted when we can no longer distinguish our real self from the role we have created. The indignity is complete when we create a caricature for God that complements our false self. What could have been a glorious worship experience turns into a cheap masquerade.

In Spirit and in Truth

Jesus gives us a glimpse of how genuine worship is supposed to work in His encounter with the woman at the well in John 4. Let me set the scene for you. It’s hot, and Jesus is tired and thirsty after walking all morning, so He sits down beside Jacob’s well. He is alone for the disciples have gone into Sychar to buy food. Shading his eyes against the brightness of the sun, He makes out a woman approaching through the shimmering heat waves. She is carrying a water jar and, being thirsty, he asks her for a drink.

Astonished she says, “You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?”

“If you knew the gift of God,” He replies, “and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water. . . . whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”

Of course she wants this living water, who wouldn’t? “Sir,” she says, “give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water.”

Here is where the story takes its most interesting turn. Instead of giving her the living water He promised, Jesus tells her to go and call her husband. He is not being disingenuous, for He knows that He cannot meet her deep spiritual need until she addresses the things that haunt her, the things that separate her from God. The past she denies, the things she tries to pretend never happened, are beyond the reach of God’s grace. It is only as she confesses her past sins — that is owns them, takes responsibility for them — that God can heal and forgive (1 John 1:9-10).

Unfortunately instead of being real with Jesus the woman sends out a “false self.” She pretends that she has no husband and, as long as she insists on pretending, Jesus has nothing to work with. There is no basis for a relationship.

Thankfully, He is not fooled. “You are right when you say you have no husband. The fact is, you have had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband.”

Even though Jesus puts His finger on her painful past, she is still not ready to face it, nor is she prepared to let Him deal with it. Instead of dealing with her issues she tries to change the subject. Now she wants to talk theology. “Sir,” she said, “I can see that you are a prophet. Our fathers worshiped on this mountain, but you Jews claim that the place to worship is in Jerusalem.”

“A time is coming,” Jesus says, “and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks. God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in spirit and in truth.”

According to Jesus, where you worship is of little or no consequence, but how you worship is a matter of life and death. He tells us we “must worship in spirit and in truth” (John 4:24), but what does than mean exactly? To worship in spirit is to worship with the anointing of the Holy Spirit, not in our own strength but in the life-giving power of the risen Christ. But that is not enough; we must also worship in truth — that is personal truthfulness. In other words, we must send out our “real self” to meet with God, otherwise what He intended to be a life-changing encounter is nothing more than an emotional experience.

Let me illustrate it like this. A man gets into bed beside his wife only to sense that something is not right. As he leans over to give her a goodnight kiss she deliberately turns her back to him. Hurt and anger lie heavy between them and after a few tense minutes he reluctantly asks, “What’s wrong?”

His tentative question gets a tightlipped, “Nothing,” in response, delivered in just such a way as to let him know there’s plenty wrong.

How long this icy standoff continues depends on the personalities involved and the significance of the offense. The point being, there can be no meaningful communication until the hurt — real or imagined — is acknowledged and honestly addressed. As long as she insists nothing is wrong, he can’t do anything to make it right.

Isn’t that how we often worship? With our lips we draw near to God, but our heart is far from Him; as a consequence our worship is in vain (Matt. 15:8–9). That doesn’t mean we are insincere, it just means we are not real. We really do love God and we truly worship Him with our lips, but we can’t bring ourselves to trust Him with the secrets of our heart. We are afraid if He knew us as we really are He would reject us, so we pretend to be something we are not. We may fool ourselves, but we can’t fool God.

Sending Out Your “Real Self”

If you are tired of pretending, tired of worshiping in spirit but not in truth, then let this anonymous woman of Sychar be your model. Although she initially tried to pretend she had it all together, she finally found the courage to be “real.” “Then leaving her water jar, the woman went back to the town and said to the people, ‘Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the Christ?’ ” (John 4:28–29).

Although it must have been a terribly frightening experience for her, it was also liberating. Freed from the need to pretend to be someone she was not, she could finally come to grips with her past. At last, she accepts the truth about herself, the truth that heretofore had simply been too terrible to face. And there in the presence of Jesus, she found love that accepted her as she was, and, at the same time, a redeeming love that freed her from the prison of her shameful past.

Thinking about it now, I find myself praying:

Lord,

all of us

are a little like

the woman at the well.

We have sins and failures in our past,

A closet full of skeletons

which rattle from time to time,

threatening to get out

and spoil our good image.

For many of us

it’s not just skeletons either,

but real live boogie men.

For the most part

we keep them tightly suppressed,

but from time to time they escape,

terrorizing our families,

and reducing us to guilt and confusion.

I hate and fear the boogie men inside of me.

The egomaniac

who talks too much.

The proud presumptuous me.

The critical, cutting me.

The carnal man,

my feet of clay.

The pseudo-spiritual me.

The Samaritan woman

found release

when You told her

everything she had done.

Does this mean

blackmailing boogie men

cannot survive

in the light of Your

loving acceptance?

If it does,

then tell me,

tell us,

everything we’ve ever done.

Show us the futility of pretending

and protesting our innocence.

Give us the courage

to be “real,”

to own up to who we really are,

and in this owning up,

let us find forgiveness and freedom.

Amen.

That’s the real challenge for many of us — to allow the Lord not only to tell us everything we have done but to come into agreement with Him as well. The average person has repressed much of his past, especially that which is painful and embarrassing. And all of us have things of which we are ashamed. “Things in our past,” that, according to Tournier, “we should like to blot out, things for which we feel ourselves responsible.”[2] Yet our only hope, our only path to freedom, is honest confession as we worship in spirit and in truth. Determine now that there will be no more cheap masquerades, only glorious worship experiences as you send out your “real self” to meet with God.

Endnotes

1. John Killinger, For God’s Sake, Be Human (Waco, TX: Word Books, 1970), p. 18.

2. Paul Tournier, To Understand Each Other, translated by John S. Gilmour (Richmond: John Knox Press, 1962), p.29. Copyright 1967 M.E. Bratcher.

Chapter 17: Naked and Not Ashamed

To truly worship God, to draw near to Him with your whole heart, means to bare your soul before Him, holding nothing back — not the good, the bad, or the ugly. Our conditioning, not to mention our sins and shortcomings, makes it difficult for us to come into His presence without shame. Still, from time to time, the reality of who He is and how He loves us is so totally disarming that we find ourselves naked before Him. Which is to say that we are fully ourselves, totally transparent, and wonderfully alive!

Have you ever spent two or three hours in Spirit-anointed worship, only to discover that it had no lasting impact on your nature or the quality of your life? What happened? More than likely you were worshiping in spirit but not in truth. God can forgive and sanctify, heal and restore, only as you honestly address the issues in your life — only when you send out your “real self” to meet with Him. To truly worship God, to draw near to Him with your whole heart, means to bare your soul before Him, holding nothing back — not the good, the bad, or the ugly.

Our conditioning, not to mention our sins and shortcomings, make it difficult for us to come into His presence without shame. Still, from time to time, the reality of who He is and how He loves us is so totally disarming that we find ourselves naked before Him. Which is to say that we are fully ourselves, totally transparent, and wonderfully alive!

A Worship Encounter

Some years ago I had a worship experience like that. It was at a special conference where I was scheduled to speak. As I stepped to the pulpit, I was suddenly, overwhelmingly, aware of His presence. Even now, several years later, I can hardly speak of it. Like Isaiah in the temple, I was “undone” on the inside and inwardly I cried, “Woe is me! . . . for mine eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts” (Isa. 6:5; KJV).

Wave after wave of His glorious love washed over me, and as it did, I was overcome with weeping. I could not stand. I fell to my knees and pressed my forehead against the floor. God’s overwhelming holiness was all around me and never have I felt so unclean. Every shortcoming, every failure was shamefully obvious, and yet I did not feel condemned. I felt absolutely unworthy. Yet, as paradoxical as it may sound, I also felt totally accepted.

This went on for more than 30 minutes, though it seemed much shorter than that. During the whole experience, an awesome sense of the Lord’s presence filled the sanctuary, touching everyone present. The praise singers continued to lead the congregation in worship, and there was an ever-increasing liberty. When I was able to regain my composure, I briefly shared what I could of what I had experienced. Then we began to worship again and never have I experienced anything like it.

As one person, several hundred worshipers praised the Lord. The intensity of our praise was literally overpowering and yet, never has worship been so effortless, so spontaneous. We sang of His holiness and His majesty. We encouraged one another — “Be bold, be strong, for the Lord thy God is with thee.” We sang militant songs about spiritual warfare —“I hear the sound of the army of the Lord. . . . It’s the sound of praise, the sound of war. . . . The army of the Lord is marching on.”

With each succeeding song, the sense of His presence and power increased. Two or three times we attempted to stop, as it was now after 10 p.m. But each time, the congregation picked up the song and began to sing again.

About 10:30, we were singing “Be Bold” yet again when the trumpet player took off on an inspired solo. He was a recent convert, a former jazz musician, and he just stood there screaming his testimony through his trumpet. It took very little imagination to see where he had been — years of drug and alcohol abuse had left their scars. He had suffered; there was no doubt about that. But now he was redeemed and his music had a different theme. His joyous celebration held us spellbound at first. Then we were caught up with him in it. We sang and danced before the Lord with all of our might. It was uninhibited, but it was not disorderly. It was spontaneous, but it was not out of control. It was Spirit-directed. It was worship!

Worship and the Word

Sometimes worship like that happens during the preaching of the Word as well. Remember, the purpose of preaching is not so much to tell you about God, as it is to enable you to experience Him for yourself. The message needs to inspire at least as much as it informs. In fact, too much information can rob an experience of its reality.

Let me illustrate: there are two ways to view a sunset. First, there is the cognitive way. As you watch the sun setting, you compute all the scientific information you can remember — things like how far the earth is from the sun, their relative sizes, how long it takes the earth to revolve around the sun, and, last but not least, the fact that the sun is really not setting at all, the earth is simply rotating on its axis. Now all of that is accurate, even interesting, but you’ve just missed the sunset. Many times preaching is like that.

In my opinion, a better way to view a sunset, or to preach a sermon for that matter, is to focus on the affective dimensions — experience it, touch it, taste it, live it! Not to the exclusion of cognitive considerations, of course, but some things are better caught than taught.

The Power of Preaching

Recently I ran across something that portrayed the preaching/worship experience the way I understand it. G. Robert James writes:

All of Michael’s past crystallized into this moment — every experience, every thought, all the love and laughter, all the sorrow and grief, the pain, the loneliness, the hate and woe — and 45 years of life found its voice and spoke with a haunting, trembling hope. His gestures were appropriate, his body language powerfully eloquent, in perfect harmony with the tone of the message. Weariness stooped his shoulder, tension tightened his features, his eyes probed the exposed beams of the sanctuary’s ceiling as he described man’s search for the invisible God. He spread his arms wide in a gesture of acceptance, extended his hand in invitation, and every move was reinforced by the tone of his voice, his choice of words, and most of all by the touch of God.

In the beginning he had struggled, flapping futilely like a bird with a broken wing, but now he was soaring like an eagle. At the start, the congregation had been lethargic; it was mid-June, the first of the lazy days of summer. But now they were with him, giving as good as they received, limping as he limped, soaring when he soared. This hodgepodge of humanity, all dragging their ratty failures behind them, had somehow become one — one with each other and him, one that was greater than the sum total of its individual parts.

The worshipers weren’t just hearing a message, they were living it. The temptation of Adam and Eve was no longer just a bit of biblical symbolism, but their own soul’s awful moment of truth. They all heard the same evil voices — inside of them, outside of them, sometimes whispering, sometimes shouting — “You shall be gods.” And Adam’s guilt and nakedness became theirs, for every one of them took the forbidden fruit and played God for a time.

But Michael did not leave them in their sin, hiding, fearful, and alone. Now he led them deeper into the darkness, an eerie noonday darkness, a thick death darkness, an end of the world darkness. And in the darkness they could not see, not even their hands in front of their faces, but they still saw their sins more clearly than ever before. The mad beasts of misspent passions sat upon them, the crippled jackals of moral failure howled hideously and would not be still. When it seemed they could bear no more, they heard a new voice, heavy, throbbing, pulsating with pain. It raised the question none of them dared ask, though it screamed wordlessly inside every one of them.

“My God, my God, why have you forsake me?”

Nor did Michael leave them in the darkness with the question they dared not ask asked but still unanswered. Now he took them into the light where they recognized the nail-scarred Christ and His heavy wounded voice. And in the light they saw themselves and one another new. Guilt and fear, sin and shame were all gone, at least for the time being, washed in the brightness of the light. They were speechless; tongue tied, mute and well they might be for what can one say in the midst of a miracle?

Something had happened, that they knew; just what they were not sure. But they were different, better for the experience, and some of them would never be the same. Not that they would always live on that holy mountain but they would never forget it. They would live always measuring themselves against its majestic memory.”[1]

True worship has the power to do that!

Like the worshipers James describes, I, too, was changed by my Tuesday night worship experience. I was allowed just a glimpse of God’s glorious holiness and it was enough to imprint me for life. I was undone. In the light of His presence, all my righteousness was obviously nothing more than filthy rags. Yet for all of that, I did not feel humiliated or put in my place. Instead I felt privileged, howbeit, in a way that left me strangely humbled. I was determined to live the rest of my life so as not to disgrace that holy moment. That, I believe, is the ultimate consequence of true worship — a changed life and a renewed commitment.

Endnotes

1. G. Robert James, Michael (an unpublished work), p. 179–182.

Chapter 18: The Window of Eternity

Worship doesn’t cease when we leave the sanctuary, at least it shouldn’t. What happens at church is designed to sensitize us to His presence in our everyday world. It tunes us to the eternal. We see the world through new eyes. We listen to life with new ears, and, to our amazement we discover that God is everywhere present.

In the last chapter we got a glimpse of what corporate worship can be. Unfortunately, the truth of the matter is that, for the most part, worship falls far short of that. Usually, it is meaningful but definitely not awesome, and sometimes it is downright pedestrian. There are things we can do to enhance the reality of worship, to be sure. Still, by and large, it is a mystery. The wind of God’s Spirit “blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going”(John 3:8).

That is not to say that we are absolved from all responsibility, for we are not. Worship cannot be forced, but it can and must be encouraged. While His presence cannot be manufactured, we must learn to recognize His nearness and accommodate His manifestations. It is up to us to prepare our hearts and minds for His coming. This is the true purpose of the liturgy. It is not worship, but a discipline that prepares us to worship. It is, according to the prophet, “a sacrifice of praise” (Jer. 33:11), an act of our will that sensitizes us to His nearness. True worship only happens when we “see” God.

The Window of Eternity

This truth was driven home to me several years ago, when a friend of mine told me about boarding a small airliner in a rural airport in southeastern Colorado. Sitting directly in front of him was a young mother and her small son. The boy was probably two or three years old, and properly fascinated by his new surroundings. The seat belts were mechanical marvels to be figured out. Briefcases and other small pieces of carry-on luggage were treasures he determinedly tried to reach. All in all, the young mother quite obviously had her hands full. To complicate the situation, she was trying to persuade him to wave goodbye to his daddy.

First she asked, then she tried coaxing, and finally she ordered him. All to no avail. The boy’s attention could not be diverted from his new and exciting world of gadgets and strangers.

Having exhausted all civilized means of persuasion, the young mother resorted to force. Wrapping one arm around his middle, she firmly grasped his right arm, midway between his elbow and his hand. Turning him toward the window, she began clumsily waving “bye” with his stiff arm.

The boy was a fighter; I’ll give him that. Although she outweighed him by almost a hundred pounds, he squirmed and twisted until he managed to jerk his arm free. The victory was a small one and short lived. The end was inevitable. With renewed determination, his mother took hold of him, pressed his face close to the plane’s small window and forced his reluctant arm to wave a mechanical goodbye.

Suddenly everything changed! Pressing his face against the small window he cried excitedly, “Daddy! I see Daddy!” Now he was waving both chubby arms eagerly, almost frantically.

Now apply that principle to worship. The worship leader, like the boy’s mother, directs us in “acts” of worship. They are designed to wrestle our attention away from the distractions of the world. It’s almost as if he were pressing our faces against the window of eternity. At first we don’t “see” anything, but because of his enthusiasm we continue to pray and sing, we continue to go through the motions of worship. Suddenly, in the midst of the ritual, we catch sight of God, and our mechanical motions are transformed into reality, into true worship. Now His presence is undeniable, and our hearts, without further prompting, respond of their own accord. “Abba, Father,” we cry, “The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God” (Rom. 8:15–16; KJV).

Life Itself Is Sacramental

As magnificent as such worship experiences are, that is not all there is to it. Worship doesn’t cease when we leave the sanctuary, at least it shouldn’t. What happens at church is designed to sensitize us to His presence in our everyday world. It tunes us to the eternal. We see the world through new eyes. We listen to life with new ears, and, to our amazement, we discover that God is everywhere present. Or as Frederick Buechner says:

Church isn’t the only place where the holy happens. Sacramental moments can occur at any moment, any place, and to anybody. Watching something get born. Making love. A high school graduation. Somebody coming to see you when you’re sick. A meal with people you love. Looking into a stranger’s eyes and finding out he’s not a stranger. If we weren’t blind as bats, we might see that life itself is sacramental.[1]

Several years ago, Brenda and I had just such a sacramental moment. We were eating fried chicken from a fast-food place, while sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living room with our backs against a roll of carpet. Even now, as I write about it, something of the feeling comes back — a mixture of physical exhaustion and a sense of accomplishment. Night and day, for the better part of three weeks, we had poured ourselves into that run-down rent house, and finally it was starting to feel like home. Swallowing one last bite of chicken, I leaned back against the roll of carpet and wiped my hands on my soiled jeans. It was one of those rare moments — a true serendipity, and I felt content in a deeply satisfying way.

Looking at Brenda, I realized again how blessed I was. At 18 she had committed her life to me, for better or for worse, holding nothing back. Without a complaint she had accompanied me to one struggling church after another. She was my closest friend and lover, the mother of my daughter. That afternoon, she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Her hair was a mess and there was a smudge of paint on her cheek. Still, she had never looked better, and I loved her more than I can say.

From somewhere down the street, the sound of children’s laughter drifted in through the open window. In the distance a dog barked, and belatedly I realized that God was with us. I’m not sure where that thought came from, but suddenly it was there, full-blown and as clear as any thought I’ve ever had. In a strange sort of way, that unfinished living room became a sanctuary, chicken and corn-on-the-cob, a holy meal, and our conversation a kind of prayer. I know I’m not saying it very well, but for the life of me, I can’t get it into words. Still, if you’ve ever had a moment like that, I don’t need to. You already know what I’m talking about. And if you don’t, words won’t help anyway.

Immanuel — God with Us

Where is God in all of this? Why, just where He’s supposed to be — in the thick of it! For at the very heart of it is God manifesting himself in life’s ordinariness. A child, born in a dung-infested sheep shed to peasant parents. Shepherds stumbling all over themselves in their excitement to answer the angelic summons. An old man — a priest — seeing his dreams, and the dreams of all the ages fulfilled in a baby that for all the world looks just like any other baby. It’s God doing what He’s always done, doing what He does best — coming to us in the birth of a child, the joy of common men, or even the toothless musings of an old priest.

Now before you decide I’ve lost my mind or committed a sacrilege, take a minute and remember how often God revealed himself to ordinary people in the most ordinary appearing ways. The best known, of course, is the incarnation — God incognito! — “The Word became flesh and lived . . . among us” (John 1:14).

To the busy innkeeper, Jesus was just another baby. I’m not sure if that poor man ever realized any differently. To the two despairing disciples on the road to Emmaus, He was just a stranger, and an unusually uninformed one at that. He spent an entire day in their company before they realized who He was. To Peter and his fishing buddies, He was just a beachcomber squatting beside a breakfast fire in the early morning mist. Only later, after He called to them, did they recognize Him as the Lord.

What am I trying to say? Just this: “Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery it is. In the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace.”[2] Do that, and you will find Him even when you are sure He is nowhere to be found. Miss those “little” moments and you will be the poorer for it no matter how faithful you are to the house of the Lord.

Endnotes

1. Bob Benson and Michael W. Benson, Disciplines for the Inner Life, “Wishful Thinking,” by Frederick Buechner (Waco, TX: Word Books, 1985), p. 201.

2. Ibid., p. 120.

Chapter 19: There Will Always Be Another Bus

I knew the joy of sharing something lovely with someone I loved, and I had the added joy of knowing that God shared it as well. This, too, is worship — enjoying the wonder of life with each other and with God!

According to Frederick Buechner, “There is no event so commonplace but that God is present within it, always hidden, always leaving you room to recognize Him, but all the more fascinatingly because of that, all the more compellingly and hauntingly.”[1]

I couldn’t agree more, and I was privileged to have one of those “hauntingly” special moments when I dedicated Steve and Gwen’s baby. Let me hasten to say that every baby dedication is special, but this one more so than most. Steve and I were close friends and had been for several years; therefore anything that touched him in a special way also touched me. Gwen, too, was a dear friend and she was so obviously moved by the whole experience that I couldn’t help but be moved as well. But I’m getting ahead of myself so let me go back and start at the beginning.

A Private Grief

Steve and Gwen are among the 3.5 million American couples who suffer from infertility. Like most infertile couples, they struggled with feelings of frustration and inadequacy. They were tempted to conclude that there was something seriously wrong with them, that they were somehow flawed. As medical science proved increasingly ineffective, they felt more and more helpless. Still they persisted, determined not to leave any stone unturned. If there was a chance that medical science could help them find a way to have a baby of their own, they were determined to find it.

Well it has been observed that no one other than a cancer patient so willingly subjects themselves to so many and so radical a series of medical treatments. Perhaps this, more than any other single thing, reveals how deeply the childless suffer, and how desperately they desire to give birth.

Though we seldom see their private grief, it is probably not unlike the anguish of childless Hannah who wept and would not eat (1 Sam. 1:7). Desperately, she sought the Lord, begging Him for a son. On one occasion she was so overcome with emotion that she couldn’t even find words to express the desperate longings of her heart. Her lips moved but she couldn’t make a sound. Observing her, Eli the priest accused her of being drunk. “ ‘Not so, my lord,’ Hannah replied, ‘I am a woman who is deeply troubled. I have not been drinking wine or beer; I was pouring out my soul to the LORD. . . . I have been praying here out of my anguish and grief’ ” (1 Sam. 1:15–16).

Only God knows how many sleepless nights Gwen spent crying out to Him for a child. Only Gwen knows, and perhaps Steve, how hard it was for her to smile and share in the joy of her friends as they gave birth to baby after baby. Though Steve and Gwen had a good life, with many things for which to be thankful, they lacked the one thing they desired more than anything else — a child of their own.

An Unexpected Answer

Steve and I had discussed their predicament as we flew to Alaska in March 1986 for a series of meetings, never realizing that God’s answer was just hours away. Our first stop was Fairbanks. We arrived, after flying more than 14 hours, just in time for our first service. It lasted until almost midnight and when we finally made it back to our room we were totally exhausted. Early the next morning the telephone awakened us. It was Gwen, and did she have some news! A friend of theirs, a doctor, was delivering an illegitimate child. The teenage mother wanted to give it up for adoption. The baby was theirs if they wanted it.

They had discussed the possibility of adopting, but only briefly. Now they had to make a decision, in a matter of hours, and they were separated by more than five thousand miles. After several hours of prayer, discussion, and no little agony, they decided to proceed with the adoption. Steve caught a flight home, and two days later they were the proud parents of a beautiful baby daughter.

If that wasn’t a miracle, it was the next best thing. For certain, it was an answer to our prayers. When I faced Steve and Gwen and asked them, as the first step in the fulfillment of their charge, to repeat after me the dedicatory prayer from 1 Samuel 1:27 and 28 (KJV), it was a poignant moment, heavy with long-repressed emotions. “For this child I prayed. . . .” They could hardly get the words out; the joy of their overflowing hearts choked them. Pausing to allow them to compose themselves, I struggled with my own emotions. Finally we started again, “. . . and the Lord hath given me my petition.” By now Gwen was weeping unashamedly and, maybe for the first time, I realized, I mean truly realized, how she had suffered. This moment belonged to her and to God. It was the culmination of her hopes and dreams, the answer to her desperate prayers.

Steve was moved, too; we all were, for all of us, each in our own way, had shared both her anguish and her joy. We, too, knew about weeping in the night, lonely desperation, and the silence of God. Her baby became our answer, as well, and for the length of that dedication all was right with the world. Later, our fears would come back, but not with the same debilitating power. Now we had the wonder of that experience to use against them, the evidence of God’s faithfulness. He would see our tears, He would be touched with our bitter cries, and He would give us the desperate desires of our hearts, too!

A Prayer for Parents

When I took the baby in my arms to pray the dedicatory prayer, I felt a new rush of emotion. Like a vision, I saw all the various facets of parenting. I saw the pain and frustration as well as the joy — nothing is more devastating to a young mother than seeing her baby suffer, especially when the baby is too small to tell her where it hurts. Even when healthy, a baby’s needs are insatiable. The most committed mother can feel overwhelmed at times, even resentful. No wonder marriage experts call the birth of the first child a predictable marriage crisis. In light of that, I found myself praying that all the changes, coming at once and so unexpectedly, would not rob Steve and Gwen of the wonder of parenting.

I also prayed that they might be sensitive enough to enjoy each moment to the fullest. So many of us are so intent upon preparing for the future that we frequently miss the joy of the present moment. It’s not hard to do. Aletha Jane Lindstrom shares an experience that illustrates what I mean. She writes:

One spring morning I paused beside a park fountain to watch the spray diffuse sunlight into shimmering rainbows. A young mother, followed by a tiny blond girl, came hurrying along the path. When the child saw the fountain, she threw her arms wide. “Mommy, wait!” she cried. “See all the pretty colors!”

The mother reached for her daughter’s hand. “Come on,” she urged. “We’ll miss our bus!”

Then, seeing the joy on the small face, she relented. “All right,” she said. “There’ll be another bus soon.”

As she knelt with her arms around the child, joy filled the mother’s face, too — that rare and special joy of sharing something lovely with someone we love.[2]

There will always be another bus, but experiences like that are rare and special. Blessed indeed is the parent who is wise enough to pause in their rush through life long enough to enjoy the moment. In the years to come the missed bus will be forgotten, but the memory of that special moment will be revisited again and again.

I don’t think it’s going too far to say dedicating Steve and Gwen’s baby was, for me, an experience not unlike that moment shared by that young mother and her blond daughter. For a few minutes that Sunday morning, I knew the joy of sharing something lovely with someone I loved, and I had the added joy of knowing that God shared it as well. This, too, is worship — enjoying the wonder of life with each other and with God!

Endnotes

1. Bob Benson and Michael W. Benson, Disciplines for the Inner Life, “Now and Then,” by Frederick Buechner (Waco, TX: Word Books, 1985), p. 120.

2. Aletha Jane Lindstrom, “A Legacy of Rainbows,” Reader’s Digest, December 1984, p. 122.

Chapter 20: Worship Is a Many-splendored Thing

Yet even in my sadness, I found much for which to be thankful. I realized anew that even life’s tribulations could be a source of spiritual richness if a person has faith, and a lifetime of shared experiences to draw upon.

God calls us to worship, not only in those “hauntingly special moments,” but in the dark night of tragedy as well. As we worship we will likely discover that even tragedy can be redemptive. It gives life a special poignancy. This, I think, is what John Killinger had in mind when he wrote, “Somehow, joy arises from loss and suffering and toil as much as it does from pleasure and ease. . . . It is the perfume of the rose that is crushed, the flash of color in the bird that is hit, the lump in the throat of the man who see and knows, instinctively, that life is a many-splendored thing.”[1]

Upon learning that she had cancer, one woman said, “A diagnosis of cancer . . . is a powerful stimulus against procrastinating on warm and kindly or beautiful things . . . a reminder that many of the material things aren’t all that urgent after all. . . . Take time to watch the sunset with someone you love; there may not be another as lovely for the two of you.”[2]

I am not suggesting that God sends adversity to enhance our appreciation of life or to make us more aware of His nearness. Nor am I implying that the fullness of life comes only to those who have passed through deep waters. I’m simply affirming the fact that God is present in all of life, including its tragedies. His presence transforms even those agonizing experiences into opportunities for worship.

A Sacrifice of Praise

In one day Job lost everything — his servants, his livestock, his wealth, and his children. “At this, Job got up and tore his robe and shaved his head. Then he fell to the ground in worship and said: ‘Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart. The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised.’ In all this, Job did not sin by charging God with wrongdoing” (Job 1:20–22, emphasis added).

Don’t misunderstand me. We don’t worship God because of our losses, but in spite of them. We don’t praise Him for the tragedies, but in them. Like Job, we hear God speak to us out of the storm (Job 38:1). Like the disciples at sea in a small boat, caught in a severe storm, we too see Jesus coming to us in the fourth watch of the night. We hear Him say, “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid” (Matt. 14:27).

This past week, I ministered to a young man whose mother had just had a radical mastectomy. The prognosis was not very encouraging, and for the first time in his life he came face to face with the reality that one day his parents would die. As I listened to him work through his anxiety, I couldn’t help reliving a very similar experience. I remember thinking, It’s sobering when you realize for the first time that your parents aren’t going to live forever. Theoretically, I have known that for years, but it really sank in when my seemingly indestructible father was stricken with heart disease.

The Shadow of Death

Dad underwent two major surgeries in the space of three weeks. The first was double by-pass, open-heart surgery. Then, three weeks later, he had his gall bladder removed. I wasn’t able to get a flight into Houston until late evening following his second surgery, and it was well past ten o’clock when I finally made it to the hospital. Dad acknowledged my presence, but that was about all he could manage before succumbing to the pain medication. Around midnight, I left Mother to her bedside vigil and drove “home” to the house where I grew up.

Opening the trunk to get my bag, I saw Dad’s toolbox and his coveralls — symbols of his strength and resourcefulness. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t fix. In the living room I encountered his favorite chair, a La-Z-Boy recliner covered in a wool plaid. Now, it became a haunting symbol of his sickness. How many nights had he spent there, unable to sleep, alone with the darkness and his pain?

A deep sadness settled over me. I tried to reason it away. I was tired and lonely; the house was empty. My sadness wasn’t fooled. I was face to face with my own mortality and Dad’s.

I was tired but I couldn’t sleep, so I wandered through the empty house listening to the stillness. How different from my childhood, when four kids created a constant commotion. How different from other trips home, holidays and vacations when the house rang with laughter and love, and grandchildren were everywhere underfoot. I sat in Dad’s favorite chair and cried. I couldn’t help it.

Yet even in my sadness, I found much to be thankful for. Dad and I had shared on a deeper level than we had known before. We didn’t want a single affirming word unshared, any feeling of love unexpressed. I remembered holding his hand the day before his open-heart surgery and the closeness we felt. The way he blinked to hold back his tears when he told me all the things he had wanted to do for Mother and hadn’t got to, at least not yet: some improvements on the house and a trip to Hawaii. After a while, he had fallen asleep, and I was left with my thoughts and the realization of how much I loved that special man I call Dad. I realized anew that even life’s tribulations could be a source of spiritual richness if a person has faith, and a lifetime of shared experiences to draw upon.

Celebrate the Good Times

Alone in the house that night, I had a choice. I could either entertain my fears or my memories. I chose the latter. The first thing that came to mind was something I had been told rather than anything of which I had a conscious memory. My dad has always been an avid reader. When I was just a baby, I would sit in his lap, perfectly still, for hours while he read. Now, sitting in his favorite chair with a stack of books at my elbow, I thought of that and realized that my own love for books might very well have been born right there in his arms. Even today I think of a good book as a trusted friend, and I associate them with happiness and love. Is it not possible that those warm feelings are a carry-over of the love and security I found in his arms?

Then my mind leaped ahead 20 years. Brenda and I were serving as the pastors of a small church in Florence, Colorado. It was nearly 1,100 miles from Houston, Texas, yet, without fail, Dad and Mom made a flying trip to see us every major holiday. Usually they had to drive all night, both coming and returning home. They came for Leah’s first Christmas. She was only seven months old, and Brenda dressed her in striped pajamas and a tiny Santa’s cap. My family arrived about 2:00 a.m. on Christmas morning. Immediately we exchanged gifts, after lots of kisses and hugs, that is. Later that day we went ice skating on a pond swept clean of snow by bitterly cold winds, high in the Rockies. Then we took turns riding a toboggan down the mountainside at speeds no one in their right mind would ever attempt. Miraculously, no one was hurt, and we returned to the house for Christmas leftovers and childhood memories, relived with a relish known only to happy families.

Back again my mind went to my childhood. This time to the night I was called to preach. I was barely 13 years old, and when I told dad what had happened, he gave me just enough affirmation to let me know how proud he was, but not nearly enough to make me think more highly of myself than I should have. Then he gave me some of the wisest counsel I’ve ever received. He told me to keep that call a secret between the two of us. When I started preaching, or began preparation for the ministry, that would be time enough to make it public. I accepted his counsel that night without question, because I trusted him. Only now, 25 years later, do I realize the wisdom in what he said. If my call had turned out to be nothing but an emotional experience, and I had already announced it, I might have felt obligated to continue, just to save face.

Through junior high I always played football and basketball. I wasn’t really much of an athlete. Second string was the best I could manage. Still, Dad stopped at practice every night on his way home from work. Our football games were played on Saturday mornings and he never missed a single one. In fact, he saw to it that the whole family was in attendance even though the chances were pretty good I wouldn’t get in the game. Never once did he make me feel like I wasn’t living up to his expectations. With him, I was always All-State!

This reliving of the past went on all night as I tossed fitfully, unable to sleep, with only God and my memories to keep me company. Along about dawn, I realized that even if Dad died, I couldn’t be grief-stricken, not really. The 38 years we had shared had enough love and laughter for two or three lifetimes. No one could ever take Dad’s place. I understood that better than ever now, but I would always have the memories and the God he made more real to me than life.

Gratefulness Not Grief

That morning I decided to celebrate life rather than grieve, and when I did I realized that the Lord of life was present and celebrating with me! Dad recovered from his surgeries and is still alive today, 16 years later. Still, I know better now how to prepare for that inevitable moment we must all face. When Dad finally goes the way of all flesh, I am not going to grieve over what might have been. Rather, I am going to thank God for what we had. I’m going to celebrate life! Dad would want it that way. That doesn’t mean I won’t grieve, or that I won’t miss him. It just means he can’t ever be totally gone as long as I have the memories of the life he so freely shared with me, and all of his family. This, too, is an act of worship.

Endnotes

1. John Killinger, For God’s Sake, Be Human (Waco, TX: Word Books, 1970), p. 147.

2. “Taking Time” (U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, NIH Publications No. 82-2059, reprinted September 1982), p. VII.

Chapter 21: Songs in the Night

Worship is an act of faith, not infrequently in the face of the most overwhelming odds. It renews the worshiper, often enabling him to overcome nearly impossible circumstances.

When I met Jim, I was just a young preacher — barely 21, and serving my first church. He was in his mid-thirties, divorced, and starting over. Though I often wondered what went wrong, he never talked about it. Finally I managed to work up my courage, and I asked him to tell me about it. For what seemed like a long time, he didn’t say anything. Distinctly, I remember the wheezing of the old floor furnace as it fought to hold its own against the December night. Outside, the wind moaned through the leafless trees, causing them to crack and pop in the cold.

At last he spoke, in a voice I had to strain to hear.

It was the worst day of my life. When the judge said, “Divorce granted,” I wanted to die. It wasn’t a shock. Not like two years earlier when I discovered she was involved with a member of my congregation. That was a shock — like hearing the doctor tell you that you have cancer. This was more final — like a death. Until that moment I had managed to hang onto a desperate hope. Not that she had ever given me any reason to. Still I couldn’t bring myself to accept the fact that our marriage was over. I kept expecting an 11th-hour reprieve. With the judge’s words, my last hope died.

I stood alone on the courthouse steps as she drove off with our four children. They cried and waved, but she never even looked back. Walking toward my four-year-old sedan, I remember thinking that everything in the world that I loved was gone. Not just my family, but the church I had planted as well. The district superintendent thought it would be better for everyone concerned if I resigned; a funny choice of words to my way of thinking, since I had no choice in the matter. It was like adding insult to injury. Without a second thought, he removed me to this three-point charge (a rural pastorate consisting of three churches).

Somehow I managed to find my car and started driving. I ended up in the Garden of the Gods National Park. Since the tourist season hadn’t really started, I had it mostly to myself. I found a remote spot and parked. At last the tears came. Silently at first, then great gasping sobs that shook my whole body. Wave after wave of grief swept over me, and I was powerless to stop it. After a while, I found myself walking — aimlessly among the towering boulders. Thoughts of suicide flirted on the edges of my mind, wooed me, tempted me with promises of a painless oblivion.

A Sacrifice of Praise

In desperation I began to sing. At first it was hardly more than a strangled whisper.

Rock of ages, cleft for me.

Let me hide myself in thee.[1]

Then with more faith:

What a friend we have in Jesus,

all our sins and griefs to bear...

In his arms he’ll take and shield thee,

Thou wilt find a solace there.[2]

I climbed to the top of a huge rock and sang at the top of my lungs, almost in defiance of my pain and despair. Hymn after hymn came to me, and I sang until my throat was raw.

There’s not a friend like the lowly Jesus,

No not one. No not one.[3]

And:

I come to the garden alone

while the dew is still on the roses;

And the voice I hear, falling on my ear,

The Son of God discloses.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,

And He tells me I am His own,

And the joy we share as we tarry there,

None other has ever known.[4]

The afternoon was gone, the first stars were materializing against the darkening sky, as I carefully climbed down and made my way to the car. Nothing had really changed, yet everything was different. I learned something that day, something about worship. It has an amazing power to renew the soul. Without it, I don’t know if I would have made it.

His voice trailed off and we sat for a long time, each of us immersed in our own thoughts. That night and his story have come back to me many times over the past 35 years, especially in times of tragedy. Like him, I, too, have come to realize that worship is an act of faith, not infrequently in the face of the most overwhelming odds. It renews the worshiper, often enabling him to overcome nearly impossible circumstances.

Food for the Soul

My friend’s experience does, however, raise at least a couple of questions. First, how does a person worship when all hope is gone, when life is totally undone? And secondly, how does worship work? I mean how did singing a few hymns restore his sense of purpose, his life’s direction?

Jesus told a parable which may shed some light on the first question.

Suppose one of you has a friend, and he goes to him at midnight and says,“Friend, lend me three loaves of bread, because a friend of mine on a journey has come to me, and I have nothing to set before him.” Then the one inside answers, “Don’t bother me. The door is already locked, and my children are with me in bed. I can’t get up and give you anything.” I tell you, though he will not get up and give him the bread because he is his friend, yet because of the man’s persistence he will get up and give him as much as he needs (Luke 11:5–8).

Don’t kid yourself; this is more than just a story. It is life laid bare by the one who understands it best. Jesus is telling us that sooner or later life is going to catch us by the throat. He doesn’t even hint as to what form our crisis might take, but experience suggests a number of possibilities: delinquency, divorce, a business failure, a crippling accident, a terminal illness, or even death? Not necessarily to us, but in ways that will change our life forever.

This empty-handed host could have sat down and wrung his hands, but he didn’t. Instead of bemoaning his desperate situation, he took action. Through the dark streets, through the narrow, unmarked alleys he hurried until he reached, at last, a house familiar, even in the dark. Frantically he pounded on the door. “Give me bread,” he cried. “I must have bread.”

I can’t help wondering how he knew where to go. How did he know which house had bread? Why was he so sure this friend would help him? Undoubtedly he had been there before. This was no casual acquaintance but a faithful friend, one whose hospitality he had enjoyed on numerous occasions. Does he not remember his friend’s table groaning beneath its burden of bread, his friend’s cupboard about to burst with its abundance?

A Familiar Path

What will you do in the midnight of your need, when the light of life is gone, when your personal cupboards are despairingly bare?

There’s no way of knowing until it happens, still I would like to suggest that a familiarity with God will increase your ability to find Him in the darkness. If you have worshiped often in the sunshine of your life, your anxious feet will find that familiar pathway, even in the darkest night. Though blinded by disaster, though hounded and hindered by doubt, though confused by life which seems out of hand, you will find your way to God intuitively, because going to Him has become second nature, a way of life.

Like the empty-handed host in Jesus’ parable, my friend also knew where to find God. Although devastated by the loss of his family, the disciplines of a lifetime enabled him to worship. Out of some half-forgotten place in his childhood came a hymn. Songs that seemed so sentimental to a rambunctious teenager now returned with power and clarity. Worship, which in the sanctuary had seemed like so much ritual, now rose from his innermost being and affirmed the greatness of God. And with the sacrifice of praise, he began the long journey back — back to a place where life had meaning again.

Endnotes

1. Hymns of Glorious Praise, “Rock of Ages,” Augustus M. Toplady and Thomas Hastings (Springfield, MO: Gospel Publishing House, 1969), p. 336.

2. Hymns of Glorious Praise, “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” Joseph Scriven and Charles C. Converse, p. 403.

3. Hymns of Glorious Praise, “No Not One,” Johnson Oatman Jr. and George C. Hugg, p. 481.

4. Hymns of Glorious Praise, “In The Garden,” C. Austin Miles, p. 304.

Chapter 22: Wildflowers and Other Holy Things

The good life, the truly human life, is based not on a few great moments but on many, many little ones. It asks of us that we relax in our quest long enough to let those moments accumulate and add up to something.[1]

If you’ve lived for any length of time, you’ve probably had opportunities to see the various ways people respond to adversity. The same tragedy can make one person better and another person bitter. What makes the difference?

Resources. Inner resources developed across a lifetime through the faithful exercise of spiritual disciplines. If you haven’t worshiped regularly in the sunshine of your life, you probably won’t worship well in the darkness. If you haven’t been intimate with God in life’s ordinariness, it’s not likely that you will know how or where to find Him should life hand you some real heartbreak. But if you have worshiped faithfully all the days of your life, you will undoubtedly worship well in the hour of your greatest need.

Frederick Buechner gives us a glimpse of what it means to worship in the darkness when he writes:

When the worst finally happens, or almost happens, a kind of peace comes. I had passed beyond grief, beyond terror, all but beyond hope, and it was there, in that wilderness, that for the first time in my life I caught sight of something of what it must be like to love God truly. It was only a glimpse, but it was like stumbling on fresh water in the desert, like remembering something so huge and extraordinary that my memory had been unable to contain it. Though God was nowhere to be clearly seen, nowhere to be clearly heard, I had to be near Him — even in the elevator riding up to her floor, even walking down the corridor to the one door among all those doors that had her name taped on it. I loved Him because there was nothing else left. I loved Him because He seemed to have made himself as helpless in His might as I was in my helplessness. I loved Him not so much in spite of there being nothing in it for me, but almost because there was nothing in it for me. For the first time in my life, there in that wilderness, I caught what it must be like to love God truly, for His own sake, to love Him no matter what. If I loved Him with less than all my heart, soul, might, I loved Him with at least as much of them as I had left for loving anything.[2]

Now Is the Time

Maybe what I’m trying to say is that now is the time to prepare for the darkness, now is the time to worship. It should not be an activity reserved for Sundays; not something requiring sermon and song, not even stained glass. Worship is not so much discipline as it is aptitude. You can’t force a person to admire beauty. It just happens. So it is with worship — let him who has eyes to see, see.

For the seeing person all of life is a sanctuary resplendent with the presence of God. A rain-wet flower back-lighted by the setting sun is as inspiring as any religious symbol, perhaps more so. A meadowlark’s clear song, be it early morning or late evening, is as fine a call to prayer as any man could ever hope to hear. For the apartment dweller, locked behind his glass and concrete walls, it may be something as common as raindrops on a windowpane or the smell of dinner cooking. Let him who has eyes to see, see!

Don’t Forget the Best

One day, while tending his sheep, a shepherd noticed a wildflower of unusual beauty. It was different from any flower he had ever seen, uniquely shaped, vibrant in color. On an impulse, he bent down and picked it. When he did, the whole hillside opened up revealing a cave filled with an immense treasure. There were chests of precious stones, silver and gold. For a moment he stood transfixed, then he rushed into the cave. Madly he ran from chest to chest stuffing his pockets. When he could not possibly carry anything more he turned to go, heavy-laden with his newfound wealth. As he did a voice called to him: “Don’t forget the best.”

Frantically he began to rummage through the chests of precious stones a second time, searching for the “best” gem. To his untrained eye, they all appeared equally precious. Once more he turned to go. The voice, again, “Don’t forget the best.”

Again he made a thorough search. Somewhere there must be a prize gem or a special piece of jewelry. No luck. They all looked the same to him. Finally he gave up and headed for the cave’s entrance, weighted down with wealth beyond his wildest dreams. The voice stopped him in his tracks a third time. “Don’t forget the best.”

Ignoring the voice, he walked into the sunlight. As he did, the earth began to quake, and he turned just in time to see the hillside closing. The last thing he saw was the beautiful wildflower, discarded in his mad scramble to fill his pockets. Too late, he understood, and to his consternation, he found all his gems, all his silver and gold, had turned to dust. Without the wildflower they, too, were worthless!

The Good Life

Now, I’m sure you realize this is not a true story in the sense that it really happened. Yet we all know that some things are true even if they didn’t happen, and this is one of them. For it is true — the best things in life are free. Unfortunately, the world system seduces us. Soon we forget the things that made us happy, the things that made life meaningful. We discard them, without a backward glance, like the shepherd casting aside the wildflower. And like him, we often realize it only after it’s too late.

Take a moment now and remember the flowers in your life, those special little things that give life its meaning, those moments that call you to worship. Early morning prayer in a dim sanctuary is such a time for me, as is a good book or a few minutes alone at the end of a busy day. Sometimes at night, when I lie in bed beside Brenda, I am simply overcome with thankfulness, and I praise God for the gift of marriage and family.

The sound of Leah’s laughter, half a house away, can take me back to the less hectic days when she was just a toddler. I see her again in a blue flannel pajama top and wool knee socks, nothing else. I’m transfixed for a moment, and I worship again, thanking God for the miracle of birth. Looking back, I’m so grateful to God for the 14 years of ministry He allowed me in rural areas. The pace was less hectic, the demands of ministry more reasonable. During Leah’s formative years, I got to spend lots of time with her. Occasionally, I chafed at the bit, but now I’m grateful for the family times it afforded. I wouldn’t trade all the success in the world for the memories we made and the relationships we built. Let him who has eyes to see, see!

Along this line Harold Kushner writes:

In a world where not everyone will do great deeds or achieve great success, God has given us the capacity to find greatness in the everyday. Lunch can be a hurried refueling, the equivalent of an auto racer’s pit stop, or it can be an opportunity to savor the miracle that dirt, rain, seeds, and human imagination can work on our taste buds. We just have to be wise enough to know how to recognize the miracle, and not rush headlong past it in our search for “something important.” We can smile at the adolescent girl mooning over her new boyfriend. She may think that the most wonderful thing in human history has just happened to her, while we know it is just another set of glands ripening on schedule, and in six months she will wonder what she ever saw in him. Yet there is something touching about being able to be made so happy, by a letter, a phone call, or a smile. There is a capacity for finding joy in the ordinary which we might well envy. The good life, the truly human life, is based not on a few great moments but on many, many little ones. It asks of us that we relax in our quest long enough to let those moments accumulate and add up to something.[3]

Can we return to my friend Jim for a moment? He survived his divorce, and today he is an effective pastor of a significant congregation. I would hate to think what might have happened if worship had not been a way of life for him. What would have sustained him? How would he have made it? He was able to worship in the dark night of his soul because he was a practiced worshiper. For him, all of life was a sanctuary and each experience, good or bad, an invitation to celebrate his faith. That truly is the good life.

Oh, one last thing — don’t forget the best.

Endnotes

1. Harold Kushner, When All You Ever Wanted Isn’t Enough (New York, NY: Summit Books — a Division of Simon and Schuster, Inc., 1986), p. 109–110.

2. Bob Benson and Michael W. Benson, Disciplines for the Inner Life (Waco, TX: Word Books, 1985), p. 56.

3. Kushner, When All You Ever Wanted Isn’t Enough, p. 109–110.

Chapter 23: The Singers of Life

Then we grieve, for grief too, is an act of worship, and God grieves with us. And finally we sing in praise and adoration for we are children of life and not of death, and our songs are the celebration of life!

The telephone was ringing, but it sounded miles away. Struggling out of a deep sleep, I blindly reached for the bedside extension. I finally located it and managed a sleep-drunk hello.

The voice, coming through the earpiece, spoke with a forced calmness, “Chuck is dead.”

I was too stunned to speak. Chuck — only 37. Chuck — husband and father of two teenaged children. Chuck — so healthy looking, so young, so alive.

The voice, accented with an artificial calm, continued, “The doctor said it was his heart . . . everything happened so fast no one could do anything. . . .”

A Lesson from Life

Being just 23 at the time, and serving in only my second pastorate, I felt overwhelmed. This was my first encounter with sudden death. What was I supposed to say? What was I supposed to do? Somehow I managed to offer a passable prayer and, before I knew it, I was dressed and in my car.

Driving through the night to meet with the grieving family, I was frightened. My heart beat fast and heavy in my chest. I had never faced a situation like this. I didn’t know what to do. A choir of depressing voices filled my mind with a dreadful doubt-filled harmony. Although I was the pastor I knew I was in over my head. What could I possibly say that would restore their shattered world? Everything I thought of sounded trite, memorized, terribly insufficient. I prayed desperately, but still I had no idea what I was going to do.

Far too soon I arrived at the home of the grieving family. After parking the car I approached the house with more than a little apprehension. The doorbell was answered almost before I released the button. A neighbor directed me to the dining room where the stunned family was seated around an oval-shaped table. With absolutely no premeditation, I found myself sitting down and grasping the hands of those on each side of me. We sat for a few minutes in sorrowful silence then I tentatively lifted my voice in song. For the first few bars I sang alone, then I was joined by a second voice, and then another, and then still another. Finally, all of us were singing through our tears and our pain — family and friends alike. First one hymn and then another. And with each succeeding song, we sang with more conviction.

After about 30 minutes, I realized I was no longer plagued with doubt, no longer intimidated by death. Nor was I alone; the whole family was somehow encouraged. Hopelessness gave way to hope. Fear yielded to trust. The dreaded enemy, death, had been driven back. The Lord of life was present with peace and comfort.

Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not suggesting there was no more sorrow, no more pain or loss — far from it. Worship did not nullify Chuck’s tragic death, but it did put it into perspective. Chuck was not dead, just gone — “[for] to be absent from the body . . . [is] to be present with the Lord” (2 Cor. 5:8; KJV). Chuck was with God and God was with us. We could have focused only on our loss and been devastated. Instead, we chose to take our grief to the Lord in worship, and in doing so we discovered a sufficiency in His grace that was simply beyond anything we had ever known.

Without God, death is an unequivocal tragedy. Seen in the light of our Lord’s resurrection, however, it is reduced to a wound to the living, painful to be sure, unbearably painful at times, but just a temporary condition. And even in our grief we are able to say, “Death has been swallowed up in victory” (1 Cor. 15:54). In the face of our loss we sing, “Where, O death, is your victory? Where O death, is your sting?” (1 Cor. 15:55).

No matter how great our grief we know that “neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Rom. 8:38–39). This we believe and so we worship!

A Lesson from Nature

One day the noted anthropologist Loren Eisely leaned against a stump at the edge of a small glade and fell asleep. A short time later he was awakened. He writes:

When I awoke, dimly aware of some commotion and outcry in the clearing, the light was slanting down through the pines in such a way that the glade was lit like some vast cathedral. I could see the dust motes of wood pollen in the long shaft of life, and there on the extended branch sat an enormous raven with a red and squirming nestling in his beak. The sound that awoke me was the outraged cries of the nestling’s parents, who flew helplessly in circles about the clearing. The sleek black monster was indifferent to them. He gulped, whetted his beak on the dead branch a moment and sat still. Up to that point the little tragedy had followed the usual pattern. But suddenly, out of all that area of woodland, a soft sound of complaint began to rise. Into the glade fluttered small birds of half a dozen varieties drawn by the anguished outcries of the tiny parents.

No one dared to attack the raven. But they cried there in some instinctive common misery. The bereaved and the unbereaved. The glade filled with their soft rustling and their cries. They fluttered as though to point their wings at the murderer. There was a dim intangible ethic he had violated, that they knew. He was a bird of death. And he, the murderer, the black bird at the heart of life, sat on there, glistening in the common light, formidable, unmoving, unperturbed, untouchable.

The sighing died. It was then I saw the judgment. It was the judgment of life against death. I will never see it again so forcefully presented. I will never hear it again in notes so tragically prolonged. For in the midst of protest, they forgot the violence. There, in that clearing, the

crystal note of a song sparrow lifted hesitantly in the hush. And finally, after painful fluttering, another took the song, and then another, the song passing from one bird to another, doubtfully at first, as though some evil thing were being slowly forgotten. Till suddenly they took heart and sang from many throats joyously together as birds are known to sing. They sang because life is sweet and sunlight beautiful. They sang under the brooding shadow of the raven. In simple truth they had forgotten the raven, for they were the singers of life, and not of death.[1]

That’s how worship works. It recognizes the presence of the Living God in even the most unspeakable tragedies. At first we protest, not against God, though we have been known to blame Him for terrible things — unspeakable things for which He is not responsible — but against the evil thing that has rent our world. Then we grieve, for grief, too, is an act of worship, and God grieves with us just as Jesus wept with Mary and Martha when Lazarus died. And finally we sing in praise and adoration for we are children of life and not of death, and our songs are the celebration of life!

Endnotes

1. Robert Raines, Creative Brooding (New York, NY: Macmillan, 1966), p. 36–37.

In our work-oriented society, rest and play have gotten a bad name, especially play. That is not to say that we don't play, for we do, but even our play is built around a production mentality. Only certain forms of play are acceptable, those that are designed to make us more productive people. And once we buy into that, it's not play anymore but just another kind of work. Play can obviously contribute to our physical and emotional well-being, but that contribution must be a consequence and not a goal. Pure play's only goal is play itself. It is its own reward. If you are ever tempted to doubt that, just spend a hot August afternoon watching the kids in a public swimming pool. That's play at its best.

Chapter 24: A Little Madness

Let Jesus be your model. Although He lived with His mission ever before Him — “I must work the works of him that sent me” (John 9:4; KJV) — He regularly took time for both rest and play. Why? Because He realized that without the renewal provided by rest and the pleasure derived from play, He would soon become part of the suffering He sought to alleviate.

While serving small churches in the Colorado Rockies, play was a regular part of my life. The demands of ministry were manageable and the rural lifestyle lent itself to a good balance between work and play. Unfortunately, after moving to Tulsa, Oklahoma, I let play slip until it was no longer a regular part of my life’s rhythm. After a couple of years, it was obvious that all work and no play was turning me into a premature old man. Brenda and Leah, only half-jokingly, called me the Reverend O.P. (O.P., in case you are wondering, was short for Old Poop). Apparently I wasn’t much fun to live with in those days.

At Brenda’s urging, I joined a fitness club in order to have a place to “play.” It was well equipped with weight and exercise rooms, racquetball courts, swimming pools, jogging tracks, and tennis courts. At first, things seemed to go pretty well, the physical exercise reduced my stress and I was more relaxed at home, but little by little I fell back into my production mentality.

Soon, I found myself working out instead of playing. In the swimming pool, I pushed myself harder every day. I counted the laps and timed them. It was rigorous, and I was determined to swim longer and faster every week. Then my religious conditioning crept in as well, and I found myself quoting Scriptures as I swam, or praying for the pressing needs of the church and those I loved. Now, that’s not necessarily a bad thing, in fact it may be a very good thing, but it’s definitely not play. If you doubt that, just compare my Spartan discipline to the joyous exuberance of kids in a public swimming pool. Now that’s play!

Let Jesus Be Your Model

For children, play comes naturally — it is second nature to them. They have no need to justify their actions, nor do they feel guilty for spending the entire day doing what they enjoy most. By the time we become adults, however, most of us have put all of that behind us. We have become responsible men and women who no longer have time for childish games. How tragic, for without the joyous exuberance of play, life is soon drained of its color, its flavor. And all of us know good people, compassionate people, who have grown cynical simply because they failed to play. Well has it been said, “The bow that is always bent soon ceases to shoot straight.”

Let Jesus be your model. Although He lived with His mission ever before Him — “I must work the works of him that sent me” (John 9:4; KJV) — He regularly took time for both rest and play. He often slipped away to the desert to be alone, and on more than one occasion He literally fled the masses in order to rest. When it came to “play,” the religious leaders accused Him of being a winebibber and a glutton, so frequently did He socialize. Why? Because He realized that without the renewal provided by rest and the pleasure derived from play, He would soon become part of the suffering He sought to alleviate.

Tim Hansel, author of When I Relax I Feel Guilty, makes an interesting point regarding our attitude toward work and play. He points out that our English word “leisure” comes from the Latin word licere, which means to be permitted. It carries with it the connotation of permission — divine permission — to relax, to play, and to enjoy life. The Latin word for work, on the other hand, was negotium or “nonleisure.” By implication, this made work less important than leisure. Of course, in our work-oriented culture we do just the opposite. We define leisure as “nonwork,” thus devaluing it.[1]

In reality it is probably a mistake to define work as “nonleisure,” as the Latin word negotium suggests. It is equally wrong to define leisure as “nonwork,” as our society does. Work and play are both valued elements in the divinely designed harmony of life. To define them as non-anything is to elevate one above the other, and that is a mistake. In truth, they are equal in value but different in function.

In order to live the life God intends we must see it as an integrated whole where the divine harmony of work, rest, worship, and play are personalized to create wholeness. If you are truly sensitive to God and in tune with your own life, then you know better than anyone else how to integrate these elements into your life for maximum benefit. This takes effort, courage, and discipline, and in the case of play, a little craziness.

Zorba, in the book Zorba The Greek, says, “Boss, you’ve got everything except one thing — madness! A man needs a little madness or else he never dares cut the rope to be free.”[2]

I couldn’t agree more. To play well, to cut the ropes that keep us bound to the rigorous demands of our work-oriented mindset, we all need a “little madness.” In fact, it is our only hope.

Getting Started

In order to play well you must be totally convinced that play is an important priority, deserving the same time and attention that you devote to work, rest, and worship. Nothing kills fun faster than a guilty conscience. If all you can think about is the work you should be doing, then you will be hard-pressed to play well. To really play, you have to throw yourself into it, give it all you’ve got.

Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not advocating a pleasure-seeking, hedonistic lifestyle. I’m simply trying to give wholesome play its proper place. The wise man wrote, “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven . . . a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance. . . . I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That every man may eat and drink, and find satisfaction . . . this is the gift of God” (Eccles. 3:1–13, emphasis added).

After you have settled the issue intellectually, even after you are convinced that the Scriptures teach that play is a gift from God, to be received with thanksgiving and enjoyed, you will still have to overcome the habits of a lifetime. I know. I speak from experience. I’m an intense person with a very active mind. Leisure activities like bait fishing or croquet leave my mind free to roam and inevitably my thoughts return to my work. Hence, I must find a form of play that will engage my mind, at least initially, until I can shift gears.

Since one man’s play is another man’s work, it is important to establish simple criteria for distinguishing between work and play. Paul Thigpen says, “Real play, as opposed to work masquerading as play, is characterized by self-forgetfulness and an absorption in the activity at hand. Work concentrates on goals, achievements, and turning out products. It’s focused on the future. But play is centered on the present; on the joy of a process pleasurable in itself. When our ‘play’ becomes chiefly concerned with winning, keeping rules or reaching some ‘educational’ objective, it’s no longer play. When the motivation is something besides fun, it’s work.”[3]

Finding Your Hobby

While serving as pastor of the Church of the Comforter in Craig, Colorado, I bought my first 35mm camera. It became my “toy,” my “play thing.” For the professional photographer a camera is a tool and photography is work, but for me it was pure play. Creative photography is all-consuming. You have to give yourself to the process. It’s a combination of art and discipline, intuition and technique. By Thigpen’s definition, my photography was play, not work, because it was characterized by self-forgetfulness and an absorption in the activity at hand. My only goal was the joy I derived from the act itself.

I will never forget the winter morning I awoke to a silent world wrapped in a fresh blanket of snow. Looking out the bedroom window, I noticed several wooden clothespins hanging on the clothesline. The wet snow was inches deep on them, creating a rare opportunity for a truly unusual photograph. Soon I was in the back yard, up to my knees in fresh snow, camera in hand. I spent the next two hours photographing close-ups of clothespins, snow-dusted winter weeds, and other unsightly paraphernalia made somehow comely by the season’s first snow.

For years, that series of clothespin pictures hung in my secretary’s office at Christian Chapel where they were a continual source of conversation. The winter weeds are part of a collection in my study at home, and a snow-covered wagon wheel is included in the rustic decor of a country cabin owned by Brenda’s parents. That morning’s play continues to provide pleasure even now.

Having said that, let me hasten to add that all of that is a consequence of play, a benefit, but definitely not the goal. When I ventured forth into the cold, camera in hand, I was not thinking of anything beyond the immediate joy of creating a unique photograph. And I can truly say that the pleasure I derive from looking at the photographs now, from the many times I’ve discussed them with admiring friends, cannot compare to the joy I knew that winter morning when I played in the snow with my camera.

Many times I’ve been asked to photograph weddings and other special events. I almost always refuse. My play isn’t for sale. Once I start accepting commissions, it becomes just another job. Occasionally, I have agreed to photograph special friends, but never for money. I do it as a favor. If ever I start doing it for money I will have to find another hobby, because it won’t be play anymore.

Every one of us needs a hobby, a diversion. It doesn’t really matter what we do as long as we do it with all our might for the sheer pleasure of doing it. If accomplishments, productivity, or financial remuneration are involved, it won’t work. A hobby is something we do just for the fun of it.

Sir William Osler, the Canadian-born physician and distinguished professor of medicine at Johns Hopkins University, once told an audience of medical men, “No man is really happy or safe without a hobby, and it makes precious little difference what the outside interest may be — botany, beetles, or butterflies; roses, tulips, or irises; fishing, mountaineering, or antiques — anything will do as long as he straddles a hobby and rides it hard.”[4]

Endnotes

1. Tim Hansel, When I Relax I Feel Guilty (Elgin, IL: D.C. Cook Pub. Co., 1979).

2. Nikos Kazantzakis, Zorba The Greek (New York, NY: Ballantine Books, 1952), p. 334.

3. Paul Thigpen, “Dad, Are We Having Fun Yet?” Charisma, June 1987, p. 46.

4. John Bartlett, editor, Familiar Quotations (Boston, MA: Little, Brown and Company, 1955).

Chapter 25: The Performance- enhancing Power of Spinach

Sometimes, life is so painful that if we couldn’t laugh, I don’t think we could bear it. And one of God’s best gifts is a preacher with the ability to make us laugh without letting us off the hook.

It was early spring 1981, and we were living in a rented house in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma, while waiting for our home in Colorado to sell. Things had not worked out the way we had anticipated when I accepted the call to become pastor of Christian Chapel in Tulsa, Oklahoma. From a purely human perspective the move was a risky one. The congregation was small — numbering less than 100 members. They were in serious financial trouble and on top of everything else, they did not have a building of their own. Each week they worshiped in a rented junior high auditorium. Still, so clearly had the Lord orchestrated our call that we accepted the invitation and moved to Tulsa confident that He would provide.

Six months later, the pressure was beginning to build. Things were going well enough at the church, but our house in Colorado still had not sold and the double house payments had put us in a real bind. Brenda was forced to take a job working outside the home to help make ends meet. To make matters worse we were just “camping out” in the house we had rented. Believing our house in Colorado would sell quickly we had brought only the bare necessities so we would not have to move twice. With no end in sight we were growing weary of sleeping on a mattress on the floor and eating off of a card table.

Putting One Over on Jason

My brother Don and his family were visiting us, which was a rare treat since they serve as missionaries in Argentina and only return to the States every four years. Once dinner was over we moved into the living room where Jason (my four-year-old nephew) and I wrestled on the carpet. After I had pinned him several times he called time-out and headed for the kitchen. I found a vantage point where I could watch him without being seen. After pulling a chair up to the counter, he began eating leftover spinach from a serving bowl.

For a minute I couldn’t believe what I was seeing — Jason hates spinach; then I remembered what I had told him at dinner. After taking a big bite of spinach, I said, “Jason, you will never whip me again if you don’t eat your spinach.” He refused to be conned into taking a single bite and when we resumed wrestling after dinner I manhandled him. Now he gobbled cold spinach like the reincarnation of Popeye. After several mouthfuls he climbed down, and I slipped back into the living room to await his return. He strutted back in, flexing his pipe-stem arms and announced, “Now I’m ready, Uncle Richard.”

We wrestled again, and I let him win every match. He was smirking as he headed off to bed. He was the victor and a confirmed believer in the performance-enhancing power of spinach. I was a happy loser. I had put one over on the kid. Of course, my day would come, but I put that thought out of my mind and enjoyed the moment. After all, that’s what play is all about — enjoying the moment.

Soon the house grew quiet. It was almost midnight and although I was dead tired I was more relaxed than I had been in weeks. The concerns that had weighed heavy upon me had been pushed to the back of my mind. At first I failed to make the connection and then it hit me. Play had paid another dividend. Although our circumstances hadn’t changed play had put things back into perspective and laughter had reduced our stress yet again.

The Invisible Deer

As I was about to drift off to sleep I remembered the time I put one over on Dad and Brenda. It was the last day of deer season and I still hadn’t filled my tag. We had been hunting since daylight without seeing even a hint of a deer. At about eight o’clock we were easing the four-wheel-drive pickup along a cow trail when I slammed on the brakes. Jumping out I levered a shell into the chamber of my rifle and took aim on a clump of bushes about two hundred yards up the hill. I drew a breath, held it for just a moment and squeezed off my shot. Excitedly I cried, “I got him! A big one!”

Climbing back into the pickup, I shoved it into gear and headed up the hill. Shaking his head Dad said, “I can’t believe you spotted that deer. I never did see him.” By now we were halfway up the hillside and bouncing around in the cab like a bunch of crazy kids.

At last we lurched to a stop and climbed out. Dad and I drew our hunting knives and headed across a gully to field dress my buck. “I hope you know where he fell,” Dad said, “I still haven’t located him.”

Unable to contain myself any longer I burst out laughing. Both Dad and Brenda looked at me as if I had lost my mind. Finally I managed to say, “There’s no deer. I just shot the hillside.”

Realizing what I had done, Brenda began to laugh, but Dad just turned on his heel and headed back to the pickup. He was more than a little peeved at first, but Brenda and I were laughing so hard it wasn’t long until he joined in. We may not have bagged a deer but we sure made a memory, and a funny one at that.

Laughter and the Spiritual Life

You may be tempted to ask what all of this “foolishness” has to do with living the spiritual life. A good-enough question, and one that underscores our need to return to a biblical theology of play. It seems that in our zeal to be conscientious, we have lost sight of the part play has in the overall scheme of life. We will deal with this in detail in the next chapter, when we discuss the benefits of play, but for now let it suffice to say, “A cheerful heart is good medicine” (Prov. 17:22).

It may also be helpful to remember that some of the giants of the Christian faith were playful men, men with a real sense of humor. For instance, several of Martin Luther’s biographers picture him, not as a stern-faced reformer, but as a winsome, caring man. That is not to say that he couldn’t be firm or even demanding and difficult at times, but that he knew the joy of living. It was this love for life that made him so appealing to the German people of his day.

Then there’s Charles Spurgeon, that prince of English preachers. He was a character. In fact, his style was so fun-loving that he was criticized again and again for bordering on frivolity in the tabernacle pulpit. Once he replied, when some of his fellow clergymen took him to task for the humor in his sermons, “If only you knew how much I hold back, you would commend me. . . . This preacher thinks it less a crime to cause a momentary laughter than a half-hour of profound slumber.”[1] Now that’s my kind of preacher!

Some years ago I was privileged to be one of the speakers at a special camp in Kansas. The evening speaker was The Reverend Gene Jackson from Tennessee. He was an absolute hoot. He described his homiletical style as “kick the can” — give it a good whack and go after it. In truth, his sermons were scripturally sound and well thought out. And it was his humor, his ability to poke fun at himself and us, which made some of his most telling points bearable. Sometimes, life is so painful that if we couldn’t laugh, I don’t think we could bear it. And one of God’s best gifts is a preacher with the ability to make us laugh without letting us off the hook. Jackson did that as well as anyone I’ve ever heard, and I’m in his debt.

In one of his sermons he told of taking his daughter to school one miserable morning in mid-January. The temperature was just above freezing and a light drizzle made driving treacherous. He confessed to being in a foul mood when he finally sat down at the counter in his favorite donut shop for a cup of coffee before going to the office. As he was trying to warm his stiff hands over the steaming coffee, the guy next to him asked, “How are you doing?”

“I’m wet, cold, and sick to death of fighting traffic,” he growled. “Every little old lady in Memphis must be on the streets this morning.”

“Sounds like you’re having a tough day,” the guy said kindly.

Jackson just grunted.

“Before I met Jesus, I used to have days like that,” the guy continued. “Now He gives me joy even on bad days.”

Jackson barely nodded. Undeterred, the guy persisted. “What kind of business are you in?”

“Communication,” Jackson said evasively. Then he felt guilty. After a couple of minutes he sheepishly confessed that he was a minister. When he did, the two of them had a good laugh. That’s the sort of humor that makes life bearable — the ability to laugh at yourself.

If things have been a little rough lately, if you’ve been short with your spouse or your children, perhaps you need a good side-splitting laugh. Why don’t you take a minute and think of some of the really funny things that have happened to you over the years. Or maybe you ought to do something really crazy like wear a gorilla mask to the dinner table. Lighten up a little bit. Don’t take yourself so seriously. Fun and games are a part of life too, you know!

Endnotes

1. Oswald Sanders, Spiritual Leadership (Chicago, IL: Moody Press, 1967), p. 59–60.

Chapter 26: Tree Houses, Trout Fishing, and Tomatoes

It was a week well spent. We had played hard, relived some old memories and made some new ones. Play had worked its magic again, and we returned to our work with renewed enthusiasm.

Some years ago Brenda, Leah, and I spent the better part of a week with my brother and his family at a small ranch in East Texas called Vallew. One evening after dinner, we were sitting in front of the fireplace reliving our childhood. For the better part of two hours, Don and I regaled our wives and children with one story after another. There was the blizzard of 1959 when the snowdrifts were so deep they reached the eves of the house. And the camping trip on Grand Mesa with Uncle Denny and Aunt Elsie, when we caught so many rainbow trout we had to eat them three times a day if we wanted to keep fishing. As fascinated as our children were with these stories, they couldn’t stop talking about the tree house Dad had built for us boys in a huge cottonwood tree. Both Don and I took note of this and after the kids were asleep we began making plans to build them their very own tree house.

The Tree House

Early the next morning we tramped the creek bottom until we found the perfect tree — a towering oak that split into two forks about 20 feet off the ground. Once that was done we scrounged used lumber from the pile behind the barn and hauled it to the creek bottom. For the next two days we hammered and sawed with a gusto that would have made Dad proud. We blistered our hands and bruised our thumbs, but it was well worth it. Not only did we produce an admirable tree house, but not once did we think about the responsibilities of ministry. All of our energies — mental, emotional, and physical — were dedicated to that tree house. When we finished we were tired and sore, but proud, and renewed in a way that only wholesome play can renew.

To celebrate our accomplishments we had a cookout. With the kids snugly ensconced in the tree house 20 feet overhead, Brenda and Melba (my sister-in-law) cooked homemade chili over white-hot coals. Don roasted huge knockwursts in true Argentine style, and we ate until we could not take another bite. To this day Jason talks about his Aunt Brenda’s “campfire chili.”

Of course all good things must end, and the next morning we said our goodbyes before going our separate ways. It was a week well spent. We had played hard, relived some old memories and made some new ones. Play had worked its magic again, and we returned to our work with renewed enthusiasm.

You may be thinking all of that is well and good, but building a tree house is not for you. Or maybe you are remembering a disappointing experience, a time when you really made an effort to play, but there was no pleasure in it. Oh, you laughed when you were supposed to, but it was only a surface laughter. In your heart you kept asking, “Are we having fun yet?” Gritting your teeth, you plunged ahead. You were going to have fun if it killed you, and it almost did.

Perhaps you were trying too hard. Fun can’t be forced. Maybe you were operating on someone else’s agenda, trying to make their play work for you. That’s no good either. One man’s play is another man’s work. If photography, woodworking, and the construction of tree houses leaves you cold, don’t despair. There are hundreds of ways to play. In fact, the people who play best are those who have a variety of diversions. In addition to photography, my repertoire includes snowmobiling, deer hunting, basketball, racquetball, and fishing.

Spin Casting in the Rockies

As I’ve already noted, bait fishing is too slow for me, it leaves my mind free to wander, and left to its own devices, my mind almost always returns to the work of the ministry. However, spin casting for trout in a crystal-clear, ice-cold mountain stream is fishing of an altogether different genre.

First, you are always active, wading the river, never staying in one place. And you had better stay on your toes. One false step and you can get baptized in truly fundamental fashion. Then there’s the constantly changing panorama of scenery — a hay meadow in the river bottom, a towering rock wall reflecting the subtle shades of the setting sun, a startled doe, water dripping from her wet muzzle, frozen for an instant before she bursts into graceful flight. Finally, there is the therapeutic exercise of casting. It requires enough concentration to keep the mind from wandering, but not enough to be mentally taxing. On a lazy, sunlit afternoon, it can be almost hypnotic — cast and retrieve, cast and retrieve . . . over and over again. With each cast, the tension of life on the fast track seems to lessen its hold. If you happen to get a strike, and generally you do, it provides just the right touch of exhilaration.

This kind of fishing also affords a unique combination of camaraderie and solitude. If you’re fishing with a friend, there’s the special joy of sharing a meaningful experience. Yet you are usually fishing several yards apart and the roar of the river makes conversation inconvenient at best and, often, downright impossible. You’re together without really being together and, by the same token, you have solitude without really being alone. In short, you have the best of both worlds.

Trout Fishing with Ben

Shortly after we moved to Craig, Colorado, Brenda’s mom and dad came to visit us. It was early September with just a hint of fall in the air, the perfect time to introduce a South Texan to the joys of trout fishing. I outfitted Ben Roy with waders, a canvas creel, a fishing hat, and a light rod. After a 40-minute drive, we parked the car in the shade of some cottonwood trees and headed across a hay meadow toward the William’s Fork River.

Watching Ben, my heart hurt. Though the day was absolutely perfect — temperature in the mid-seventies under a deep blue sky — he didn’t seem to notice. Nor did he pay any attention to the scenic beauty around us. His mind was on other things. Hildegarde, his wife of more than 30 years, was recovering from radiation treatments following a radical hysterectomy precipitated by ovarian cancer. The prognosis was not good. In 1975, 95 percent of the women suffering from ovarian cancer died within five years. For months, this had weighed heavily on his mind. The thought of losing her was nearly more than he could bear.

Reaching the river I selected a shiny gold spinner and tied it on Ben’s line. Once I was rigged up we stepped into the swiftly moving water and made our way downstream. Coming to a bend in the river I motioned for Ben to cast into the deeper water near the bank. Moving farther downstream I cast my lure into another hole. Over the roar of the river I heard Ben holler, “I got one.” His rod was bent nearly double and as I watched, a 14-inch rainbow did a tail dance on top of the water. It took Ben a couple of minutes to land that trout, but when he did his face lit up with a huge smile. For a moment the only thing on his mind was fishing.

Nature’s Booty

It took us less than two hours to catch our limit, and as we made our way upstream toward the car Ben seemed more relaxed than I had seen him in months. As good as the fishing was, the best was yet to come. Just that morning a generous parishioner had delivered a box of large, field-ripened tomatoes to the parsonage. As we were leaving to go fishing, Brenda gave me a plastic bag filled with a half dozen of those big red hunkers. When we got to the river, I found a sheltered spot and submerged them so they would be good and cold when we finished fishing.

It doesn’t get hot in the Rockies like it does in South Texas, but by the time Ben and I got back to where we had left the tomatoes we were hot enough and more than a little sunburned. Retrieving the plastic bag, I handed Ben a tomato and took one for myself. I took a big bite, and my taste buds exploded. Tomato juice sprinkled with little yellow seeds ran down my chin. I looked over at Ben who was enjoying the same messy pleasure. We both grinned, realizing intuitively that life doesn’t get any better than this — good fellowship, good fishing, and good tomatoes!

The sun was a flaming orange disk, hanging just above the western horizon, as we stowed our gear and turned the car toward home. Driving back to Craig, I couldn’t help but marvel at the way the evening’s lingering light transformed the drab terrain. Just moments ago the sagebrush-covered hills were a dismal blending of sun-bleached brown and dusty gray. Now they had a rustic beauty, a delicate shading of sunlight and shadow, and I found myself saying, “Good job, God. Good job.”

Some of you may consider that an afternoon wasted, but I know better. For a few hours Ben and I laid our responsibilities down and gave ourselves to the moment. With each cast, each exhilarating strike, each fish caught, we sensed our zest for life returning. By the day’s end we were pleasantly tired but renewed in our spirits. Tomorrow would find us ready with renewed energy for the tasks at hand. That’s the way play works.

Chapter 27: Nature’s Tranquilizer

Recreational play (athletic games, hunting, fishing, and other outdoor sports like skiing, etc.), especially play which involves vigorous physical exercise, is particularly good for reducing stress, the bane of modern life, and for improving overall physical conditioning.

This is a dangerous chapter. Not because play has no benefits, but because focusing on the benefits tends to turn play into another form of work. Or, as Paul Thigpen says, “When the motivation is something besides fun, it’s work.”[1] For play to be play, it must have no goal but play itself.

Why then do I even raise the issue? Because, as we’ve already noted, nothing kills play faster than a guilty conscience, and for the most part, we are all products of the work ethic that says play is pointless. For people with that mindset, playing is a waste, and such frivolity is grounds for feeling guilty. No one can play well until they have overcome this conditioning. There are at least two ways of accomplishing this: Step one is realizing that God wills our play, that He designed it as an intrinsic part of the rhythm of life, that there is a time, a season, to laugh and play! Step two is to recognize the inherent benefits of play.

Here’s our dilemma: If we play in order to derive the benefits, then it’s not play anymore. Yet if we don’t acknowledge the benefits, we may never overcome either our propensity for work or our lingering guilt. Maybe we can best negotiate these difficult waters by differentiating between goals and consequences, and by keeping that distinction clearly before us. Play’s only goal is playing, having fun! Whatever benefits we derive from our play — a lessening of stress, physical exercise, enhanced parent/child relationships, etc. — are nothing more than a consequence. Against that backdrop, let’s turn our attention to the benefits of recreational play.

The Benefits of Recreational Play

Recreational play (athletic games, hunting, fishing and other outdoor sports like skiing, etc.), especially play which involves vigorous physical exercise, is particularly good for reducing stress, the bane of modern life, and for improving overall physical conditioning. Dr. Gary Collins calls exercise “nature’s tranquilizer.” He writes, “Studies have shown that when people exercise regularly they feel better, sleep more soundly, handle problems better, and are more able to cope with life. Exercise on a regular basis is good for the body, and this in turn can reduce anxiety and inoculate us so that we can better handle future stresses.”[2]

Let me share a case in point. For a number of years, I suffered from atypical migraine headaches. As a general rule, I had one about once a week but during especially stressful times I might have two or three in a week’s time. I saw several doctors and experimented with a variety of treatments, but nothing really seemed to help. In addition, I also suffered from muscle spasms in my neck and shoulders, causing me no little discomfort. By monitoring these painful episodes, I was able to determine that they appeared to be stress-related.

On February 24, 1983, I wrote in my journal:

Lord, yesterday was horrible. I awoke with a headache and it continued to get worse until I was forced to go home to bed at 1:30 p.m. Yet it was a good day, also. Last night, while reading Nurturing Silence in a Noisy Heart, I came to realize that my headaches are a cry for privacy, solitude. In my normal schedule, Monday and Saturday are my private days. I can give of myself almost totally the other five days if I seclude myself on Monday and Saturday. I need two days out of seven to be alone, away from the demanding crowd.

Mondays are for Brenda and me. Coffee and the morning paper. Books and naps. Closeness and conversation. Saturdays are for time alone with the Word in preparation for Sunday.

Sometimes things like board retreats or company for the weekend make it impossible to keep that schedule. When that happens, I must take another day for myself, at least one day to be alone or I will suffer the consequences. Help me, Lord, to do it faithfully.

Thank You for a wife and daughter who do not demand what I don’t have to give. And thank You for allowing me the freedom to live within my limits. Amen.

By honoring this discovery I was able to control my headaches, but not eliminate them. Just as sure as I got caught up in the rush of life and missed my day off or allowed people and events to crowd into my Saturday solitude, I would experience a return of my headaches — and with a vengeance!

Racquetball

This pattern continued for about three years; then I decided to add recreational play to my work/rest routine. To be absolutely honest, it didn’t start out as play at all, but as a workout. I was 20 pounds overweight, terribly out of shape and under a lot of stress. Past experience had taught me that I lacked the discipline to maintain a vigorous exercise program such as aerobics or jogging, so I decided on racquetball. I knew that I would have to fool myself into thinking I was having fun if I ever hoped to exercise consistently.

An amazing thing happened — my exercise turned into play! I found that I loved racquetball. I started playing because I needed the exercise, but soon I was playing just for the fun of it. For 60 sweaty minutes I thought of nothing but serves and kill shots. I wasn’t trying to get in shape, lose weight, or reduce stress. I was there to play. I was having fun! Winning wasn’t important, and a good thing, too, because for the first three or four months everyone beat me like a drum. Still, morning after morning, I would walk off the court at eight o’clock absolutely exhilarated, soaked with sweat and gasping for breath.

In less than a month I noticed that my headaches were decreasing. After about 90 days they had virtually disappeared. There were other things that also indicated a reduction in stress, but none was as dramatic as what was happening with my headaches. The key for me was a regular Sabbath (Monday), a day of solitude (Saturday) to prepare for Sunday, and lots of vigorous physical exercise on the racquetball court at least three times a week. Let me violate that rhythm, and it’s just a matter of days until the headaches return.

Since stress is a significant factor in our general health, especially in heart disease, I have undoubtedly improved my overall health and increased my life expectancy. That’s not why I play racquetball, but it is a nice bonus! In addition, I have lost 20 pounds and had the opportunity to develop several new relationships. Who says play doesn’t pay? Besides, I’m having a blast!

An added benefit of recreational play is the opportunity to develop meaningful relationships. There’s a sense of camaraderie when you huddle together in a duck blind in the predawn darkness, swap fish stories over coffee, or relive the big play in the bottom of the ninth. Many a lifelong friendship has been forged on the field of play. I ought to know, since several of my closest friends are my racquetball buddies.

Endnotes

1. Paul Thigpen, “Dad, Are We Having Fun Yet?” Charisma, June 1987, p. 46.

2. Dr. Gary Collins, You Can Profit From Stress (Santa Ana, CA: Vision House Publishers, 1977), p. 208–209.

Chapter 28: The Family That Plays Together, Stays Together

What we play and how we play is not nearly as important as the fact that we play. It’s not the game so much as it is the time and attention we give our children. It’s the raw material of which our later relationships are made.

Did you hear about the father in Montgomery, Alabama, who really loved his family and wanted them to have a memorable vacation? They spent months planning it. It was going to be the trip of a lifetime. Unfortunately, a few days before they were scheduled to depart a situation developed in the business that required their father’s attention. When the family learned that he wouldn’t be going with them they wanted to cancel the vacation or at least postpone it. Dad wouldn’t hear of it. They argued that it wouldn’t be the same without him, but in the end he prevailed.

He helped them plan every day of the camping trip. They would load up the family station wagon, drive to California, camp up and down the coast, then travel back home together. Each day was carefully arranged — even the highways they would travel and the places they would stop. Dad knew their whole route, the time they would reach each state — planned almost to the hour — even when they would cross the Great Divide.

It’s what he didn’t tell them that made the difference. The father took off work (he’d planned it all along) and arranged to have himself flown to an airport near where his family would be on that particular day of the trip. He had also arranged to have someone pick him up and drive him to a place where every car on that route had to pass. With a wide grin, he sat on his sleeping bag and waited for the arrival of that familiar station wagon packed full of kids and camping gear. When he spotted the station wagon, he stood up, stepped out into the shoulder of the road and stuck out his thumb.

Can you visualize it?

“Look! That guy looks just like . . . DAD!”

The family assumed he was a thousand miles away, sweating over a stack of papers. It’s amazing they didn’t drive off into a ditch or collapse from heart failure. Can you imagine the fun they had the rest of the way? And the memories they stored away in their mental scrapbook — could they ever be forgotten?

When later asked why he would go to all that trouble, the creative father replied, “Well . . . someday I’m going to be dead. When that happens, I want my kids and wife to say, “You know, Dad was a lot of fun.”[1]

Are You Fun to Live With?

Most men consider almost everything more important than making sure their family is having fun. We are concerned about providing a nice home, good clothes, and plenty of food. Our family’s spiritual welfare is also a significant concern as is the education of our children, but fun hardly merits a passing thought. In light of the disintegration of the family, it may be time for us to reconsider the importance of family play. I do not mean to suggest that play is more important than spiritual training or a quality education or financial provision. However, when everything is said and done, family play is most often the thing our children remember. It provides the memories and the traditions that link families together for a lifetime.

My dad was more pedestrian than the aforementioned father, but no less dedicated to the happiness and well-being of his family. Somehow, year after year, he managed to take us on vacations he couldn’t afford, in order to make memories we couldn’t afford to be without. Still, it was some of the more spontaneous things we shared that stand out in my mind these many years later.

For instance, I will never forget the Christmas Eve when Dad came in from work, shortly after noon, and asked, with a twinkle in his eye, “Who wants to go to the sand pits?”

In an instant Don and I were on our feet. “I do!” we chorused in unison. “I do.”

Smiling at our enthusiasm, Mother began dressing our baby brother Bob for the outing. In a matter of minutes, all five of us were in the car and on our way. Don and I could hardly contain our excitement as Dad turned off of the highway and eased the car to a stop. We were out of the car in a heartbeat and running toward the towering bluff located on the far side of the sand pits. Dad, Don, and I spent the afternoon leaping off the high bluffs to land in the deep sand 20 feet below. Then we’d climb the bluff again, take a good run to build up speed, and leap out into space, screaming at the top of our lungs. We did it again and again, all afternoon long, while Mother sat in the car and tended our baby brother. I don’t remember a single gift I received for Christmas that year, but I’ve never forgotten playing in the sand pits with Dad!

We did a lot of other things together as a family, as well. I can remember going to Chimney Canyons as a small boy, probably before I was five years old. I watched Dad and Uncle Denny target shoot with their .22 rifles. They always let us kids have the brass cartridges from the spent ammo. Somehow, I mistook it for the bullet itself and, for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how they could get to the bottom of the canyon and retrieve it without being seen. Each time they handed me a shell I would tell myself not to watch the target but to keep my eyes on Dad. Still, my attention would be irresistibly drawn to the target, and once more I would be left holding a brass cartridge and puzzling over the unsolved mystery. No one else seemed to find it puzzling, so I kept my confusion to myself. In fact, this may be the first time I’ve shared it with anyone. Still, these many years later, it is not the unsolved mystery that stands out in my mind, but the simple pleasure of doing things together as a family.

Dad was transferred to Houston, Texas, when I was 12. There were no canyons or sand pits nearby, so Dad and Mom took us on family picnics to Huntsville State Park where we rode paddle boats on the lake and played badminton. Some Saturdays we headed south to Galveston Island where we caught a ferry to Port Bolivar on the Bolivar Peninsula. After finding an isolated spot, we picnicked on Crystal Beach and swam in the Gulf of Mexico. At other times we toured the Battleship of Texas and the San Jacinto Monument. The folks didn’t have much money in those days, but they always managed to make family play a high priority and I am the richer for it.

There are four of us kids. I’m the oldest, then there’s Don who serves as a missionary in Argentina, and Bob who is Vice President for Academic Affairs at Western Community College in Council Bluffs, Iowa, and, finally, our “baby” sister Sherry, who is a highly successful mom who works outside the home. Most important of all — all of us and our families are serving the Lord. Perhaps this one thing, more than anything else, is proof of the value of family play. It not only makes for good memories, but for good people.

Years ago, when the Quiz Kids were astonishing American radio audiences with their brilliance, a writer set out to discover what common denominators there were in the backgrounds of these extraordinary children. He found that some were from poor families, some from rich; some had been to superior schools, some had not.

But, in every case investigated, there was one parent, sometimes two, who shared enthusiasms with the child, who watched for areas of interest, who gave encouragement and praise for achievement, who made a game of searching out the answers to questions, who went out of his way to supply the tools of learning. No doubt the capacity for outstanding performance was already there, but it took the love and interest and companionship of a parent to bring it out.[2]

Fun and Games

Having learned family play from our parents, Brenda and I determined early on to make it a high priority in our family, too. Brenda was better at it than me and I can remember watching her play “Hobbie” with Leah when she was not yet two years old. A “Hobbie” is a make-believe tickle bug and a carry-over from Brenda’s childhood. Brenda entertained Leah for hours with it. She would hold her open hand at arms’ length above Leah, who was lying on her back, and begin a tantalizing slow descent toward her bare tummy. Before Brenda could ever touch her, Leah would burst into happy giggles. She never got enough of the “Hobbie” and would always cry, “More, Mommy, more.”

My contribution was something I made up called “The Mad Duck.” In the middle of a sentence, I would suddenly start quacking deep in my throat. The only way I could stop was if Leah would hit me on the back and knock that mad duck right out of my throat. It sounds silly as I write it. It probably was silly, but we had loads of fun with it.

As Leah grew older, our play changed. Brenda taught her to ride a bike and roller skate. I taught her backgammon and chess. The first time we took her fishing, she caught a four-and-a-half pound rainbow trout out of a secluded lake high in the Rockies, near the Wyoming border. She was barely six years old, and after several minutes she asked me to take her spinning rod, saying, “Help me, Daddy. I’m tired.”

We ice skated together, rode snowmobiles, picnicked on Rabbit Ears Pass, and vacationed from Argentina to Mexico City to Canada and several places in between, playing all the way. We never had much money to spend, but that only made us more resourceful, more creative. I only hope Leah remembers her childhood with the same fondness that I remember mine.

A Final Thought

Remember, play comes in a lot of different packages. It doesn’t have to be games or contests or anything else, for that matter. It’s simply two or more people enjoying life just for the fun of it. The fact that their play may enhance their relationship is incidental. The fact that they are making memories and establishing family rituals doesn’t enter their minds, either. That will come later, years later. For now it’s just fun and games, just play.

What am I trying to say? Simply this: What we play and how we play is not nearly as important as the fact that we play. It’s not the game so much as the time and attention we give our children. It’s the raw material of which our later relationships are made. I’m convinced that juvenile delinquency begins in early childhood, although it seldom manifests itself before the early teen years. When a child becomes a teenager, he is finally old enough to act out his anger. If you want to enjoy your children when they are teenagers, play with them every day of their lives! Remember, the family that truly plays together, stays together

Endnotes

1. Charles Swindoll, Growing Strong in the Seasons Of Life, “The One and Only You,” by Bruce Larson (Portland, OR: Multnomah Press, 1983), p. 211.

2. Arthur Gordon, A Touch of Wonder (Old Tappan, NJ: Fleming H. Revell Company, 1974), p. 152–153.

Chapter 29: I Didn’t Marry Very Well, Did I?

If you haven’t developed your own forms of marital play, let me encourage you to do so. Its chief benefits include conflict resolution, increased communications between husband and wife, and enhanced intimacy. This kind of play builds relationships and makes memories that often last a lifetime.

In addition to recreational play and family play, there is also marital play. Its benefits include conflict resolution, better communications, and enhanced intimacy. R. William Betcher, a Massachusetts clinical psychologist who has been doing research for five years on the contribution of spontaneous play to marital adjustment found:

. . . that the common factor in intimate play of all kinds is its ability to stabilize a relationship; it seems to help couples keep a balance between too much distance, which, of course, alienates them from each other, and too much intimacy, which is apt to be threatening.

Besides this general function, Betcher found that play fills very specific needs. It can serve as an end run around sensitive spots; it can be a way of saying potentially hurtful things — voicing criticism, for instance, or expressing wishes that could destroy a marriage if they were actually realized — without hurting anyone. Play is thus a means of defusing conflict. It is also one of the best ways to probe someone’s intimate thoughts and feelings, and therefore serves to draw partners together and to cement the bonds between them.[1]

The President’s Home

As Betcher notes, one of the most important benefits of spontaneous marital play is that it defuses family conflict. My friend Dick Foth relates a personal incident that illustrates this benefit well.

While serving as the president of Bethany Bible College, he did a considerable amount of fund-raising for the college. Of course, this made it necessary for him to travel a great deal. On one occasion he returned from a particularly demanding trip to find the house littered with the children’s toys and other things. Grumpily he complained, “Why is the house always a mess when I get home?”

If you’ve been married for any length of time, you undoubtedly recognize that as a potentially volatile situation. Here’s a lady who, week after week, finds herself being both mother and father to four kids while their daddy is flying all over the country raising money for the college. As we all know, parenting four children is a big job, even if the husband is around to help. When he’s gone a lot, it can be absolutely exhausting.

It reminds me of the woman who boarded a city bus with seven rambunctious youngsters and collapsed on the nearest seat. Her hair was a mess, there were large black circles under her eyes, and weariness clung to her like fine dust. As she stumbled toward the exit at her stop, her wiggling tribe trailing behind, a fellow passenger asked, “Do all these children belong to you, or is this some kind of picnic?”

Stopping dead in her tracks that harried woman spun around and thrust her finger in that man’s face. “They’re all mine, mister, and believe me, it’s no picnic!”

Well, rearing four children, mostly by yourself, is no picnic either, and who could blame Mrs. Foth if she had responded angrily? She didn’t. Instead, she said sweetly, “Children, please pick up your things; the President is home.” She said it with a smile and Dick laughed sheepishly, but he got the message, loud and clear.

The key here is how you say it. We are not talking about sarcasm, or cruelty disguised as humor. This is genuine play, loving play, skillfully used to defuse conflict.

I Didn’t Marry Very Well, Did I?

Several years ago, Brenda talked me into watching Overboard starring Goldie Hawn. It’s a romantic comedy about a wealthy socialite who falls overboard one night when her yacht is at sea. While being rescued by a garbage scow she strikes her head and suffers amnesia. A local carpenter, who suffered her wrath while installing a new closet on her yacht, sees the story on the local television news and decides to get even. Pretending to be her husband, he picks her up at the hospital and brings her back to his house. The place is a wreck. The front yard is filled with unsightly mounds of rusting machinery, an old car is sitting up on blocks, and a broken washing machine huddles near the porch. Inside the house is no better. The furniture is broken, mounds of dirty clothes litter everything, and the sink is filled with piles of dirty dishes. On top of all of that, he has four little boys who are complete barbarians. Thinking this is the life she chose, she sits down on the porch step with her head in her hands. Finally she says, “I didn’t marry very well, did I?”

After seeing that movie, Brenda started using that line. Anytime she feels overwhelmed, or when she thinks I’m becoming too demanding, she will simply look around wistfully and say, “I didn’t marry very well, did I?” She always smiles when she says it and we both laugh, but there is no missing her point.

Of course I have my own “playful” lines, many of them developed in the heat of conflict. For example, Brenda is a perfectionist. It’s a family trait, one that she inherited from her father. When she looks at anything, her eye is automatically drawn to the slightest imperfection. This drives me absolutely nuts and has been the source of more than one heated argument. Following one especially painful incident Brenda said, “I want to change, I really do, but you will have to help me.”

“How can I help you?” I asked sarcastically. “It’s your problem, not mine.”

Ignoring my sarcasm, she said, “In the future, try asking me what I like best. That will help me focus on what I like, rather than the imperfections.” In the weeks and months that followed, her suggestion proved to be a wonderful solution. Many a potential conflict was avoided. Its most lasting benefit, however, has been the ability to disarm tense situations.

For instance, Brenda and I had flown into Portland, Oregon, and rented a car to drive down the coast to conduct a marriage retreat. The car was small, we were both tired, and Brenda was in pain. No matter how she adjusted her seat she could not get comfortable. In absolute frustration she railed at the car, finding fault with everything. After a few minutes I was tempted to tell her enough is enough, only I would have probably used a little more explicit language, which would have only complicated matters. Instead I asked, “What do you like best about this ‘stupid’ car?”

Instantly the tension was defused. Brenda laughed and said jokingly, “Can’t you tell, there is absolutely nothing I like about this car?” Once more a potentially volatile situation was resolved through the skillful use of marital play.

Initiate Communications

When I do premarital counseling, I usually ask the couple if they have any private rituals, shared jokes, or personal nicknames that have special meaning just to them. Invariably they become embarrassed. I hasten to inform them that it’s not just silliness, but a vital ingredient in all healthy marriages. K.C. Cole, reporting in Psychology Today, writes:

All happy couples aren’t alike, so there is no single litmus test for a good marriage. But if one studies couples systematically over time, it becomes apparent that many of them share a characteristic that signals, more often than not, a healthy union. It’s nothing so obvious as a satisfying sexual relationship, or shared interests, or the habit of talking out disputes freely. It is, rather, a capacity for playfulness of a kind that transcends fun and reflects considerably more than the partners’ ability to amuse each other. Private nicknames, shared jokes and fantasies, mock insults, make-believe fighting — all these might seem like mere silliness. In fact, they may stand in for, or lubricate, more complex transactions, essential but potentially painful or even destructive.[2]

I know a couple who use play regularly as a way to initiate communication. When he wants to know what’s going on in her world, he pretends to be a gossipy old woman. With a sly grin, he says, “This old gossip wants to know if you have any good tales to share.” Then he pretends to be leaning over the back fence while she proceeds to talk about what’s happening in her life. If circumstances conspire to trap them in busyness, and communication is neglected for a few days, he sometimes says things like, “This old gossip thinks you don’t like her anymore.” Or, “Let’s meet over the back fence and swap gossip.” Silly? Perhaps, but I don’t really think so. Isn’t that better than, “You never talk to me!”?

Enhance Intimacy

Spontaneous marital play can also enhance intimacy. A scene from the novel Michael by G. Robert James is a good example. It is early evening. Michael, a writer, has just finished his day’s work when his wife, enters with two steaming mugs of spiced tea. Seated in front of a window, which opens on a mountain meadow, they share the tea and the quietness as evening introduces the night.

After a bit, Michael plants a kiss on the end of her nose and asks, “Have I told you today how pretty you are?”

“Oh, Michael, you’re silly!” Patricia responds, her pleasure obvious. “I’m seven-and-a-half months pregnant and huge. I can’t even walk anymore, I just sort of waddle.”

“Well,” he says appraising her critically, “now that you mention it your figure does seem a little lumpy.”

“You’re nothing but a dirty old man,” she accuses him, feigning anger. “I’m heavy with your child and now you don’t want anything more to do with me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, ma’am,” he teases, giving her a lecherous look. “I’m fiendishly interested in women who are seven-and-a-half months pregnant and waddle.”

“You fool,” she says affectionately as she hoists herself out of the chair and moves toward the door. “I’ll prepare dinner.”[3]

Given that kind of tender play, it’s not hard to imagine a couple capable of sharing intimacy on all levels — spiritually, emotionally, and sexually. Besides, it must be fun to share those witticisms

and act out those roles. Lest you think such behavior not fitting for the people of God, let me remind you of Isaac and Rebekah’s behavior described in Genesis 26:8:

And it came to pass, when he had been there a long time, that Abimelech king of the Philistines looked out at a window, and saw, and, behold, Isaac was sporting with Rebekah his wife (KJV).

The Hebrew word for “sporting” literally means to laugh out loud, to play or make sport. Given the context, we can only conclude that Isaac was flirting with Rebekah, participating in some form of love play with her.

Of course, each couple will develop their own forms of romantic play depending on their individual personalities and the seasons of their lives. When Brenda and I were younger we loved to photograph one another in romantic settings — a table lighted by candlelight, a beautiful mountain meadow, or even a beach at sunset. We often spent hours locating the perfect setting and getting that special photograph. Having worked so hard to create the perfect picture we often experienced a special closeness when we were finished.

Since moving to our cabin overlooking Beaver Lake we have developed a new ritual — moonlight swims. As the sun sets we climb down the mountain to our dock. Once it is fully dark we launch the boat and slowly motor out into the lake. Soon the moon comes up and we slip into the water where we swim and play. When we are finally tired we return to the boat where we snuggle in our terry cloth robes and drink hot chocolate. Sometimes we talk, but more often than not we simply share the quietness while studying the stars overhead. This too produces a special closeness.

If you haven’t developed your own forms of marital play, let me encourage you to do so. Its chief benefits include conflict resolution, increased communications between husband and wife, and enhanced intimacy. This kind of play builds relationships and makes memories that often last a lifetime.

Remember, you must always guard against playing for the wrong reasons. The benefits of play must always be a consequence and not a goal, something that happens but not something we seek. Play’s only goal is play itself, and it is its own reward!

Endnotes

1. K.C. Cole, “Playing Together: From Couples That Play,” Psychology Today, February 1982.

2. Ibid.

3. G. Robert James, Michael (an unpublished work), p. 288–289.

Chapter 30: Celebrate the Temporary

Even as you come to grips with the fact that you can’t change the whole world, that there will always be open sores and crying needs, you must also realize that in the midst of all of that, you must also choose to play; to laugh and cry with those you love best. Without that, your most important relationships will wither and die.

For the past six chapters we’ve been talking about play. Now I want us to focus on time, time management to be exact, and how it affects our play. Over the years, I’ve picked up some homespun wisdom that has helped me enormously in this area.

Someone said, “You always have time for what you do first.” Most people who don’t play claim to be too busy, they claim they just don’t have the time. The truth of the matter is, they have the same amount of time as the rest of us, but they have chosen to spend it on something other than play.

Which brings me to the second bit of wisdom. My friend and fellow pastor Allen Groff frequently says, “We don’t need more books to tell us how to manage our time; that’s not the problem. We need to learn to manage ourselves!”

Our problem is twofold. Ignorance — we know almost nothing about the rhythm of life, that delicate harmony that is intrinsically woven into the whole of nature. The second part of the problem is motivation. Without a clear understanding of the rhythm of life we tend to distort the values of work, rest, worship, and play, which results in confused and misplaced motivation.

The Rhythm of Life

Let’s address these areas one at a time. First, the rhythm of life. The Scriptures repeatedly allude to this principle:

As long as the earth endures,

seedtime and harvest,

cold and heat,

summer and winter,

day and night

will never cease (Gen. 8:22).

There is a time for everything,

and a season for every activity

under heaven (Eccles. 3:1).

The race is not to the swift

or the battle to the strong,

nor does food come to the wise

or wealth to the brilliant

or favor to the learned;

but time and chance

happen to them all (Eccles. 9:11).

The Sabbath itself, which consecrated every seventh day as a day of rest and worship, holy unto the Lord, was just a reflection of this principle, an affirmation of the rhythm of life. The Lord further emphasizes this rhythm by instituting a sabbath year.

Leviticus 25:1–5 declares:

The Lord said to Moses on Mount Sinai, “Speak to the Israelites and say to them: ‘When you enter the land I am going to give you, the land itself must observe a sabbath to the Lord. For six years sow your fields, and for six years prune your vineyards and gather their crops. But in the seventh year the land is to have a sabbath of rest, a sabbath to the Lord. Do not sow your fields or prune your vineyards. Do not reap what grows of itself or harvest the grapes of your untended vines. The land is to have a year of rest.’ ”

God is saying that life’s richness, its fullness, flows out of its rhythm. God and man, land and beast, all creatures great and small, are so created that they can experience total fruition only by observing the rhythm of life. Only a madman would try to plant in the dead of winter or harvest in seedtime. The fruitfulness of his labors depends on his willingness to work within the seasons of nature, within the rhythm of the land. By the same token, we live self-defeating lives when we ignore the divinely ordained rhythm of work and rest, worship and play. It’s counter-productive to work when we should be playing, and the sooner we busy-beaver types learn this, the better off we’ll all be!

The All or Nothing Myth

Many conscientious people contend that play is out of place in a world as needy as ours. Eloquently, they argue that play will have to wait. Life is too short, the need too great. To which I respond: “Surely God anticipated the enormity of human need, still He ordained the rhythm of life. In His infinite wisdom, He decreed that life should have a season for play.”

Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not an insensitive, uncaring man, urging you to fiddle while Rome burns. To the contrary. I, too, have to overcome my need-centered theology in order to practice the rhythm of life, especially play. An entry from my journal will give you an idea of my own struggles.

Lord,

help me. I feel overwhelmed.

The needs of our broken world

far exceed my limited resources

of both time and money.

Day after day I receive new requests —

a missionary pleads for monthly support,

so he can leave for his appointed field.

The National Christian Women’s Movement requests

funds to fight court cases across the country.

The International Prison Fellowship is planning

a nationwide prison invasion.

They need manpower and money.

There’s more, lots more —

the Crisis Pregnancy Ministry needs more

host families.

A minister dies of cancer, leaving his widow

hospital bills totaling thousands of dollars.

Memorial Day weekend is the annual

Aged Ministers Assistance Day offering.

Oral Roberts Evangelistic Association wants

help to provide scholarships to send

medical students on the healing teams.

The revival in Argentina needs funds

for tents and buildings to conserve the harvest.

The General Council requests a special offering

to offset a $500,000 deficit in administrative expenses.

The list goes on and on . . .

The Scriptures are little help:

We are instructed to feed the hungry,

care for the widows and the fatherless,

visit those who are in prison,

and take the Gospel to the ends of the world.

How do we decide where to invest

our limited resources of time and money?

It seems no matter what I do it’s not enough.

Try as I may, it seems I always

end up feeling I should do more,

give more. . . .

Help me, Lord,

I don’t know what to do!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

My Child,

Seek My counsel and I will direct you.

Give what you have and leave the rest to Me.

I will take your gifts and make them enough,

even as I used the five loaves and two fishes

to feed the thousands.

When you’ve done your best,

there is no reason to feel guilty.

Compassion, yes, but not condemnation,

never condemnation!

The work is Mine, not yours.

I am the Lord of harvest.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

What does this mean? Just this: We must live God-centered, God-directed lives, not need-centered lives. Compassion that is born only out of sympathy for suffering humanity risks both the extremes of fanaticism and burnout. Healing compassion, on the other hand, combines the love and guidance of the Creator with a genuine concern for the hurting in our world. If our only motivation is need, we will be swallowed up, we will risk becoming part of the problem rather than part of the solution. Our only hope is to let God define our area of responsibility and then to live within our limits, both emotionally and physically. It’s not easy to do, but it’s the only hope we have. The alternatives — all-consuming fanaticism or self-centered apathy — are not really alternatives at all.

It’s time we came to grips with the facts of life. Jesus said, “You will always have the poor among you” (John 12:8). That’s not an excuse for doing nothing; it’s just the harsh reality of the human condition. The truth is, no matter how sacrificially we live, no matter how much we give, we will never eradicate human misery. There’s a certain danger in acknowledging as much, for there will always be those insensitive souls who will use this painful truth as an argument for doing nothing, which is a gross denial of the gospel Jesus taught. The fact is, we all have certain responsibilities, God-given patches of humanity, as it were, to love, and nothing can absolve us of that responsibility.

Play Can’t Wait

And even as we come to grips with the fact that we can’t change the whole world, that there will always be open sores and crying needs, we must also realize that in the midst of all of that we must also choose to play; to laugh and cry with those we love best. Without that, our most important relationships will wither and die.

Celebrate the temporary,

Don’t wait until tomorrow,

Live today.

Celebrate the simple things.

Enjoy the butterfly.

Embrace the snow.

Run with the ocean.

Delight in the trees.

Or a single lonely flower.

Go barefoot in the wet grass.

Don’t wait

Until all the problems are solved,

Or all the bills are paid.

You will wait forever.

Eternity will come and go,

And you

will still be waiting.

Live in the now,

With all its problems and its agonies,

With its joy,

And its pain.

Celebrate your pain,

Your despair,

Your anger.

It means you’re alive.

Look closer,

Breathe deeper.

Stand taller.

Stop grieving the past.

There is joy and beauty

Today.

It is temporary,

Here now and gone.

So celebrate it

while you can.

Celebrate the temporary.[3]

Finding time to play has never been easy for me. Over the years, I’ve repeatedly allowed myself to become trapped in weeks, and sometimes even months, of grinding work. I can always tell when I need to take a break, though. My creative juices dry up, I become irritable, and life loses its zest. Of late, though, I’ve made an interesting observation — the last place my exhaustion manifests itself is in my public ministry. I can remain effective long past the point at which I’ve ceased being personally fulfilled. If I act on this information quickly and restore rhythm to my life, renewal is just days away. Every day that I delay, however, edges me ever closer to burnout.

Several years ago, I was in the middle of one of those “grinding” periods. There were a number of extenuating factors — we had just added two new staff members, “Straight From The Heart” (our radio ministry) was just weeks old and requiring the kind of attention all newborns demand, and the church was undergoing some internal changes as well. Considering all of that, I couldn’t see my way clear to take any time off.

A perceptive young couple picked up on the signs and invited me to bring my family and join them for a day of sailing. I declined as graciously as I could, pleading a mountain of work. They were sympathetic but persistent, and creative, I might add. Knowing my susceptibility to anything creative, they designed and mailed me a formal invitation requesting the honor of my presence for a Saturday of sailing. Well, that was too much for me. I accepted, howbeit somewhat reluctantly.

Without question, that was one of the best decisions of my life. Not only did they introduce us to the joys of sailing, but it was the beginning of a very special friendship as well. I can’t help wondering at the injustice I might have done myself if I hadn’t made time to play. A few weeks later, circumstances made it necessary for them to sell their sailboat, which just further illustrates the importance of playing when the opportunity presents itself. There will always be work, deadlines, and demands. We can’t afford to wait until we’re “all caught up,” or we’ll never play. Remember, many of life’s richest experiences are birthed in the moment of play, among them friendships that last a lifetime.

Endnotes

1. Gordon Dahl, Work, Play, and Worship in a Leisure-Oriented Society (Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg Publishing House, 1972), p. 12.

2. Bob Benson and Michael W. Benson, Disciplines for the Inner Life, “Human Options,” by Norman Cousins (Waco, TX: Word Books, 1985), p. 310.

3. Benson and Benson, Disciplines for the Inner Life, “Celebrate the Temporary,” by Clyde Reid, p. 331.

Chapter 31: Cold Feet

The temptation for committed men and women will always be to put off playing until a more opportune time. Beware! That’s the deadliest of all traps. If you can’t make time for play now, the chances are you never will. Busyness is not a temporary condition but a fact of life.

It was early August and the circus was in town for its annual visit. To Tommy and Gene’s way of thinking, it was the highlight of the summer. They couldn’t wait for Saturday afternoon to come. Just as they were stepping out the door with their father, the telephone rang. Their hearts dropped when their mother called their father to the phone. It wasn’t unusual for him to be called back to work, and they braced themselves, as best they could, for the inevitable disappointment. To their amazement, they heard their dad say, “I’m sorry, but I’ve promised to take the boys to the circus and I can’t disappoint them.”

It must have been a difficult conversation; because when their dad finally hung up the phone their mother said, “If you really need to go in, go on. I’m sure the boys will understand. After all, the circus will be back next year.” With sensitivity and insightful wisdom, their father responded, “Yes, but childhood won’t. You’re young only once.”

The Tired Samaritan

How different from the father Joseph Donders describes in “The Tired Samaritan”:

I knew a family far from here

who had a father who really lived the story

of that Samaritan.

He was always busy;

he was a member of all kinds of organizations

trying to improve the lot of suffering humankind;

he really had made a 100 percent option

for the poor.

But because of that

he had never any time for his wife;

he never had any time

to sit down with his children;

he was always busy day and night

with the ones alongside the road.

One day his daughter of 14

wanted to talk to him

about something very important,

but every time she asked her father

to listen to her, her father

had no time to sit down;

he was busy, again and again.

She went to her mother

asking her what to do,

and her mother said:

“Undo your hair,

put some dirt on your face,

dress in some rags, walk barefoot,

and knock at his office door,

and you will see that he will

receive you and listen

because he will consider you

to be a stranger.”

That is what she did.

Her father, of course,

recognized her immediately,

but he understood and sat down.

Dag Hammarskjold,

who was for years the

Secretary General

of the United Nations,

wrote in his diary:

People who are worried about

the world issues,

about global problems,

very easily forget

the smaller issues.

If you are not willing to be good

in the smaller circle

of your family and friends,

you can’t do anything

for humanity as such.

Without that intimacy,

you live in a world of abstractions,

in which your solipsism,

your hunger for power,

your destructive tendencies,

maim their only

more powerful opponent:

love.

It is better to be good

with all one’s heart

to one person

than to sacrifice oneself

for the whole of humanity.[1]

A telling point, isn’t it? As you look back over the choices you have made in regard to your work and your family, which parent do you most resemble? Do you make time with your children a high priority or do you allow your work to take precedence over your family commitments? The next time you have to choose between family time and work, it may be helpful to remind yourself that work will always be there, but childhood only comes once.

Breaking the Work Habit

Let’s start by being good to our families, especially our children. It will take a disciplined commitment for most of us, because we’ve been taught to put away childish things like make-believe, curiosity, imagination, and play, especially play. We’re into adult things like responsibility and work, busyness and work, religion and work. In fact, it seems work has gotten into every part of our lives. Kids, on the other hand, will only work if they think it’s play. Remember how Tom Sawyer conned all his friends into helping him paint the fence by pretending it was great fun?

Take off your tie, roll up your sleeves, get down on the floor, on your child’s level, and play. Tomorrow he will be grown and gone. Believe me, I know. Just yesterday I was giving Leah piggyback rides and teaching her to fly a kite. Before I knew it she was getting in the car and driving off to work her shift at the pizza restaurant. Now she’s married and the mother of two wonderful children. Allowing myself a moment of self-congratulation, I decide she’s turned out pretty well. Her mother and I must have done something right.

Still, I can’t help wondering, where all the years have gone? How did she grow up so fast? Now and then I catch myself thinking how nice it would be if we could go back and play together again. Nothing planned, nothing really special, just spontaneous play — without rules or reasons, just for the fun of it. Who knows, maybe that’s why God gives us grandchildren.

Lord,

kids are so neat!

Sometimes they’re bundles of energy

gift wrapped in hand-me-downs.

Other times they’re

pajamaed packages of sleepy sweetness.

Always, they’re a miracle.

I love the way they chase butterflies,

and the attention they give to mud puddles

and raindrops on a window.

I envy their freedom from clocks and calendars,

their immunity to pressure.

Oh, they have their moments,

skinned knees and nap time,

but they recover quickly.

They don’t nurse their disappointments

or make a career out of contrition.

Lord,

kids are so neat!

Let me be converted

and become as a little child.

Let me know again

the sheer joy of being alive, and

the pure pleasure

of living one day at a time,

fully savoring each solitary moment.

Free me from past disappointments

and the little hurts

I’ve so carefully kept.

Restore unto me

a childlike anticipation for life.

A sense of wonder

which makes each day new

and my life truly abundant.

Some years ago our family spent ten glorious days vacationing in the Colorado Rockies. It was late spring and the air was cool and crisp, scented with pine. Although there were still snow banks in shaded areas, the high meadows were decked out in a riot of colorful wildflowers. The wind whispered softly in the aspens and clear streams tumbled down the mountainside, noisy and icy cold. In the evening, sunsets painted snowcapped peaks in subtle hues. It was like vacationing in some vast cathedral — all of nature called us to worship, to celebrate the beauty of God’s creation and the wonder of life.

Any time you experience something like that, it is special, but this time it was extra special. Leah would soon be graduating from high school and I couldn’t help but realize that our time with her was swiftly running out. Soon she would be going off to college and then on to marriage and a life of her own. In truth, this might well be the last time we saw Colorado together, at least for a long time.

En route to Steamboat Springs, we stopped on the summit of Rabbit Ears Pass. As we climbed down to a mountain stream that ran beside the highway, I found myself reminiscing, remembering the first time we had come this way. Leah was only five years old and we were on our way to Craig, Colorado, to interview for the position of pastor at the Church of the Comforter. Naturally I was impatient and driven to get on with the business at hand. Leah, on the other hand, was enjoying the moment to the fullest. She had her feet in the water and the last thing she wanted to do was return to the car and resume our journey.

When I suggested it was time to go, both Brenda and Leah protested. I fretted and fumed for another minute or two and then demanded that we return to the car and be on our way. Leah cried and begged me to let her stay just a little longer. Grudgingly I agreed. “You can stay until you take your feet out of the water.” I knew that wouldn’t be long. The stream was snow-fed and ice cold. No one could keep their feet in that water more than a minute or two. The cold made them ache painfully.

Brenda just looked at me and shook her head in disbelief. How, she wondered, could I be so driven, so impatient? Didn’t I realize that moments like this are rare? Didn’t I understand the importance of savoring it, the importance of putting it away carefully in my mind, knowing that some day I would need to draw strength and comfort from it?

A couple of minutes passed while I waited impatiently for Leah to take her feet out of the stream. I could tell she was in pain. By this time the cold had to be unbearable, but still she kept her feet in the water. All of the magic had gone out of the moment. Now it was simply a battle of wills. Finally I picked Leah up and carried her to the car.

Watching Leah and Brenda carefully place their feet in that same icy stream, on this sunlit day nearly 12 years later, I mentally kicked myself. If only I had known then what I know now, I would have let Leah stay as long as she liked and never begrudged her a moment. We weren’t wasting time, as I had thought then, we were making memories of a rare and special kind.

Planned Play

That trip and a vacation to Canada a year earlier didn’t just happen. We had to plan and sacrifice for them. In fact, they grew out of a letter I wrote to Leah on March 13, 1985, while flying to Alaska to speak at a district men’s retreat.

Dear Leah:

We are now about 30 minutes out of Seattle on the last leg of our flight to Anchorage. The weather is finally clear, but it was real rough between Tulsa and Chicago and it was snowing when we landed at O’Hare. The Chicago airport is huge, the biggest one I’ve ever been in. We were late landing so I had to make like O.J. Simpson and run to catch my connecting flight. Counting the three boxes of tapes and books plus my hanging bag, my suitcase, my briefcase, and my camera bag, I had seven pieces of luggage. They would only let me check four pieces so I’m carrying my suitcase, briefcase, and camera bag, plus my topcoat. Quite a load for an old man!

The letter contained a lot more — some special memories from across the years, some practical advice for the years to come, and some things I hope she will remember about me when she is grown and has children of her own. I ended with this:

Leah, the last couple of years have been terribly busy, and I’ve missed you. In three years you will be off to college, and daddy’s little girl will be gone. I don’t want to waste your remaining years, so make a list of the things you would like us to do together, and then let’s dedicate the next three years as one final fling at family fun. Have your list ready when I get home and we’ll get started.

The point I’m trying to make is this: play seldom just happens. You have to plan for it and make a commitment to fit it into your schedule. Maybe that’s part of what Jim Elliot, the martyred missionary, meant when he wrote, “Wherever you are, be all there. Live to the hilt every situation you believe to be the will of God.”[2] When it’s time to play, when you’re playing, play for all your worth!

No Regrets

The temptation for committed men and women will always be to put off playing until a more opportune time. Beware! That’s the deadliest of all traps. If you can’t make time for play now, the chances are you never will. Busyness is not a temporary condition but a fact of life. The sooner we come to grips with that and commit to the rhythm of life — that delicate harmony between work and rest, worship and play — the sooner we will consistently experience the abundant life. If we postpone play, I’m afraid we will awaken one day at the end of our lives to realize what we’ve missed. When that happens, the best we can hope for is the wistful regret so eloquently expressed by the anonymous friar who, late in his life, wrote:

If I had my life to live over again, I’d try

to make more mistakes next time.

I would relax, I would limber up, I would be sillier

than I have been this trip.

I know of very few things I would take seriously.

I would take more trips. I would be crazier.

I would climb more mountains, swim more rivers,

and watch more sunsets.

I would do more walking and looking.

I would eat more ice cream and less beans.

I would have more actual troubles, and fewer

imaginary ones.

You see, I’m one of those people who lives life

prophylactically and sensibly hour after hour,

day after day. Oh, I’ve had my moments, and if I

had to do it over again I’d have more of them.

In fact, I’d try to have nothing else, just moments,

one after another, instead of living so many

years ahead each day. I’ve been one of those

people who never go anywhere without a

thermometer, a hot-water bottle, a gargle, a

raincoat, aspirin, and a parachute.

If I had to do it over again, I would go places, do

things, and travel lighter than I have.

If I had my life to live over, I would start barefooted

earlier in the spring and stay that way later in the fall.

I would play hooky more.

I wouldn’t make such good grades, except by accident.

I would ride on more merry-go-rounds.

I’d pick more daisies.[3]

In short, I think he’s saying that, given another chance, he would play more. But he doesn’t get a second chance and neither does anyone else. You only get one shot at life so make the most of it. Work hard, rest well, worship with all your heart, and play for all you’re worth. Go ahead and eat more ice cream, climb more mountains, watch more sunsets, and most of all, spend more time with those you love most. Make more memories. Have more fun! “And whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord” (Col. 3:23; NKJV).

Endnotes

1. Joseph G. Donders, “The Tired Samaritan,” quoted in Christian Herald, April 1987, p. 45. (Reprinted in Christian Herald with permission from “Jesus, Hope Drawing Near” by Joseph G. Donder, published by Orbis).

2. Charles Swindoll, Growing Strong in the Seasons Of Life (Portland, OR: Multnomah Press, 1983), p. 214.

3. Tim Hansel, When I Relax I Feel Guilty (Elgin, IL: D.C. Cook Pub. Co., 1979) p. 44–45.

EPILOGUE

Even the most significant spiritual experiences — moments like Isaiah's vision in the temple or John the Beloved's encounter with the risen Christ on the isle of Patmos — will be fleeting at best and of little lasting value unless they are reinforced with daily disciplines, ways of living that constantly remind us of His nearness and high calling.

Included in these disciplines, perhaps at their very heart, is what I've identified as the rhythm of life — that delicate harmony between work and rest, worship and play. Without rhythm, the hardiest among us risk burnout, and life's richness hangs by a slender thread. Consider Elijah the prophet who had unparalleled spiritual experiences but who knew little or nothing of the abundant life or emotional wholeness until God gave him a crash course in the rhythm of life. After the spiritual and emotional high of Mount Carmel, Elijah crashed. God gave him 40 days of enforced rest, a worship encounter that focused on relationship rather than power, a new commission and a special friend — Elisha. As a result, Elijah experienced spiritual wholeness and emotional stability.

Let me suggest that you add the rhythm of life to your spiritual disciplines. Meaningful work fulfills us as creative persons. Rest restores our physical energies so we can work again. Worship renews us spiritually and gives definition and dimension to our lives. Play relieves the tension and gives balance to the whole of life. By divine design we require it all and we ignore this rhythm at our own peril.

Lord,

Discipline is such a dirty word.

It creates pictures

of pain and self-denial.

Freedom on the other hand

makes me think of

birds soaring in joyous flight,

children running on the beach

without a care in the world.

Yet freedom without discipline

is not freedom at all.

It's permissiveness that leads to

the bondage of self-indulgence.

The bird soaring in flight

is not "free" from the laws of nature

but free to enjoy the disciplines

of flight based on those very laws.

We are not "free" from the rhythm of life,

rather we are free through the rhythm of life

to experience life to the very fullest.

The disciplines of work and rest, worship and play,

are not a hair shirt to chafe us,

but a way of life which leads to perfect freedom.

Freedom from unbridled ambition;

Freedom from self-centered restlessness;

Freedom from spiritual deadness;

Freedom from guilt.

Discipline — freedom indeed.

Free to work and rest,

worship and play!

Free to live and love,

to sing and dance.

Free to become

and to be!

Amen.

STUDY GUIDE

Chapter 1: The Driven Person

If you are like most Americans you have been taught from an early age that all things are possible to those who work hard. And not only possible, but expected! You are undoubtedly competitive and often more than a little insecure. Even if you have achieved a measure of success you probably still struggle with self-doubt and work all the harder because of it, driven by the mistaken assumption that success will finally still those tormenting voices within. The illusion of fulfillment calls you to redouble your efforts and so you forge ahead — blindly, desperately. Before you know it you are defining your life by what you do: You are a banker, a teacher, or a plumber. Tragically, you have lost your way, your identity. You have become the ugliest of all things — a compulsively busy person — a workaholic!

1) What does the author mean when he speaks of "the illusion of fulfillment"?

2) The author has prepared six questions to help you determine the role work plays in your life. Read and answer them carefully.

a) Is work the primary source of your identity? If you were suddenly unemployed, would you still know who you are? Would you still be a person of worth?

b) Do you believe work is inherently good, and therefore the more work you do, the better person you are?

c) Do you ascribe to the old tenet that you would rather burn out than rust out?

d) Do you think the more you work, the more God loves you? Let me put it another way. When you imagine standing before the Lord on Judgment Day, in what do you place your confidence? In what you've done for Him or in what He's done for you? Be honest with yourself.

e) Do you feel indispensable? Think about it. What would happen if you couldn't work for several weeks?

f) Do you control your work or does it control you? Do you work in order to make a living or do you live to work?

If you answered "yes" to more than three of those questions, you probably need to take a serious look at your priorities. It is likely that work is too important to you! If you're not already a workaholic, you are well on your way to becoming one.

3) Describe the gap between achievement and fulfillment. Have you experienced this in your own life? Please explain.

Chapter 2: The High Cost of Success

Although we may pretend otherwise, most of us driven types know the real reason we invest so much time and energy in our careers. It is not for our families, no matter how much we protest to the contrary, but for the recognition and power it affords us. To be sure, our efforts do provide a higher standard of living for our families — a bigger home, nicer clothes, membership at the country club and the best schools for our children — yet that is not what motivates us. In our heart of hearts, we know that we are driven to succeed by the misguided idea that wealth and recognition will finally free us from our deep-seated self-doubts and insecurities.

1) What is a mid-life crisis and what causes it?

2) What are the four components of "concomitant growth"? Are you over-investing in any area of your life at the expense of the others? Please explain. What do you intend to do about it? Be specific.

3) What does it mean to you when the author says, "Fulfillment is a consequence not a goal"?

Chapter 3: Work Isn't the Enemy

The man or woman who attempts to use their work as a vehicle for proving their personal worth is setting out on a journey to which there is no end. No matter how successful they become, no matter how high they climb the corporate ladder, it will never be enough. As each success proves to be as temporary and unsatisfying as the last, they redouble their efforts, blindly believing that one more achievement will finally produce the inner significance they seek. Whether their passionate devotion to work produces the ultimate success, or just another case of executive burnout, is in many ways of little consequence for the payoff they seek (self-esteem) will ever elude them.

1) What is the driving force pushing the workaholic to over-invest in his work?

2) The author states that "The proof of our personhood is rooted in "whose" we are — God's — not "who" we are — personal achievement." Do you agree or disagree? Please explain.

3) What does the author mean when he says, "A person's search for significance ends only when he trusts the Word of the Father rather than his personal accomplishments?" What does this mean to you personally?

4) How does your work become an act of worship?

Chapter 4: Finding Fulfillment

The secret to finding fulfillment in your work is the ability to see beyond your immediate task to the grand scheme, to recognize that your daily duties, no matter how mundane, are part of God's plan for the ages. I'm sure making that connection is easier for a minister, we are after all, doing "God's work," but in reality we are, each and every one of us, co-laborers with Him. Whether we realize it or not, we are working with Him to feed, clothe, and shelter His human family.

1) What does it mean to be a co-laborer with God? Do you see yourself as a co-laborer with God? Please explain.

2) When you think of your work are you "just mixing cement" or are you "building a great cathedral"? Please explain.

3) Society determines the value of your work by flow charts, pay scales and visibility. How does God determine the value of your work?

Chapter 5: Called or Driven?

The only people who consistently find fulfillment in their work are those who love what they are doing, those who, as the old cliché says, "would rather work than eat." Yet these very same people are at greatest risk of becoming workaholics. The challenge then is to find a way to enjoy your work without allowing it to take over your life. Maybe the first step is learning to live a God-centered life rather than a need-centered one.

1) Describe the difference between a God-centered life and a need-centered life.

2) Now examine your own life. Are you living a God-centered life or a need-centered life? Please explain.

3) What does the author mean when he talks about finding a yoke that fits? Does your yoke fit well? Please explain.

4) If money and security were not a consideration, what would you do with the rest of your life?

Chapter 6: Dare to Change

Many people spend a lifetime in a career they detest simply because they don't have the courage to cut their losses and start over in another field. Not infrequently they end up bitter, filled with regret, never knowing the joy of work that fulfills them.

1) It has been said that when we come to the end of our lives, most of us will not regret the things we did, rather we will regret the things we didn't do. How does this apply to your own life?

2) The author states, "The kind of work you find fulfilling may change as you pass through the seasons of your life." Has this been true in your experience, and how did you handle it?

3) What is the difference between grief and regret? How have you seen this lived out in your own life?

4) Have you ever made a major life change — stepped off a cliff in the dark so to speak? How did things turn out?

5) In your own words, define godliness with contentment. Are you experiencing that in your own life? If you are not, why not?

Chapter 7: A Brush with Burnout

It doesn't really matter where your "tarrying place" is, but it is important that you have one. You don't have to go far or stay long. Even the briefest interlude will afford you the opportunity to quiet your noisy heart. And in the quietness, God will renew your strength.

1) Are you living on the ragged edge? Are you doing more but enjoying it less? Are you stressed out? Do you overreact to any little thing?

2) Following a brush with burnout the author states that he had to "decide what to do, what to delegate, and what to let go undone." Using those three categories, reorganize your life.

3) The author talks about learning to live within his emotional limits. What does that mean to you and how would you apply it to your life?

4) Do you have a "tarrying place"? Please describe it and the benefits it affords you. If you do not have a "tarrying place" consider creating one.

Chapter 8: Rest Isn't a Four-letter Word

If the truth be known, most of us are too busy because we have chosen to be, our protests to the contrary not withstanding. To be sure, there are certain responsibilities that we cannot leave unattended without serious consequences, but these required activities — jobs, marriage, child rearing, and worship — are seldom the source of our frantic busyness. It is usually the "extra-curricular" events that push us over the edge.

1) The author states, "Most of us will have to overcome at least two hindrances in order to enjoy God's gift of rest. The first is psychological and the second is habit, lifestyle." Do you agree or disagree? Please explain.

2) The author states, "Most of us are too busy because we have chosen to be." Do you agree or disagree? Please explain.

3) If you were serious about simplifying your life in order to incorporate quality rest into your lifestyle, what changes would you make? Be specific.

Chapter 9: The Courage to Cut

Before you can intelligently change your lifestyle you will need to clarify your values. You must decide what things are really important to you — what to cut and what to keep.

1) The author talks about the difference between a "divine assignment" and an "opportunity." In your own words, define each of them.

2) Place all of your current responsibilities in one of these two categories. If you are serious about simplifying your lifestyle, decide what things you are willing to cut.

3) Identify your personal work/rest cycle. Are you living within it or are you swimming upstream? Please explain.

4) Be honest with yourself. Do you have the courage to make rest and relationships a high priority in your life? Please explain.

Chapter 10: Going for the Gold

The Sabbath, with its severe restrictions on work and travel, is not an archaic imposition, as many of us assume, but a gift from a wise and loving God. In addition to serving as a constant reminder of our special relationship to the Creator, the Sabbath also legitimizes rest and reaffirms the value of relationships.

1) Why do you think God set aside one day in every seven for rest and worship? Do you believe the Sabbath principle is still applicable to us? Please explain.

2) In your own words, explain what Jesus meant when he said, "The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath" (Mark 2:27).

3) The author described how his boyhood family practiced the Christian Sabbath. Did you have anything like this is your childhood family? Does your family practice anything like this now? Please explain.

4) If you were serious about establishing a "Christian Sabbath" as part of your family tradition, how would you go about doing it? Be specific.

Chapter 11: Deserts, Silence, and Solitude

Without the Sabbath, without rest and renewal, we would never have the inner resources to embrace a hurting world. In our weariness, we would be tempted to resent the needy with their ever-present claims on us, but renewed by a Sabbath of rest we can embrace them with the love of Christ. Rather than isolating us, the Sabbath restores our spiritual and emotional vitality so we can return to our mission with renewed vision.

1) The author talks about carrying the spirit of the Sabbath in each day of the week. What does that mean to you? Please explain.

2) Identify some times in your busy schedule where you can "create some places and times of privacy for your regular cultivation of silence, communion with your inner being, and communion with the eternal in your noisy heart."[1] Be specific.

3) The author describes a "moment of grace" that he experienced in the midst of his hectic day. Can you remember moments like that in your own life? Describe one in detail.

Chapter 12: Cultivating Silence in a Noisy World

So how do we go about cultivating silence in a busy world beset with noise? First, we have to take time for it, carve out a space in our crowded lives. Remember, the noise we hear is inner as well as outer. Noisy thoughts clamor for our attention. Budgets, programs, and other details from our workday world intrude upon the silence within. Even as we dedicate a physical time and place for silence, so we must cast out the noisy intruders who would turn our inner sanctuary into a wild cacophony of noise.

1) The author speaks of the "inner disciplines of renewal — silence, solitude, and inwardness." What do these disciplines mean to you? Do you regularly practice them in your own life?

2) The author speaks of being "tired from the inside out." What does he mean? Are you tired from the inside out? Please explain.

3) Have you made friends with yourself? Do you enjoy your own company? Please explain.

4) Since most of us find solitude renewing once we get past our initial fears why do you think we find it so hard to practice the discipline of solitude?

Chapter 13: Pictures from the Past

Happy people, for the most part, have mastered the holy art of remembering good things. When the present is painful or foreboding, they reach back and get some happiness from the past. I'm not talking about denying reality, just putting it into perspective. Try reaching back; try making memories a part of your spiritual disciplines, and see if your spirit isn't renewed.

1) "Listen carefully." What is your heart saying to you? What is God saying to you? Be specific.

2) "Try reaching back." Take a few minutes and relive a favorite memory. How did that memory make you feel? How do you feel right now? Be specific.

3) "Examine your motives." Are you living your life in selfless service to God and others or are you living for yourself?

4) "Write your worries in the sand." Most of the things that concern us do not seem nearly as overwhelming when we name them in the presence of our Heavenly Father. Make a list of the things that concern you and consciously give them to God.

Chapter 14: Old Friends and Good Books

There are times when we need to be totally alone, to be sure, but there are other times when only a friend can renew our vision and restore our soul.

In addition to special friends, I also need the renewing power of good books — not necessarily weighty books that tax my mind, but insightful books that touch my soul — books that give me a glimpse of life in both its tenderness and it tragedy.

1) Who is your special friend, the one person you can talk to about anything in world? What sets this friendship apart from all others? Be specific.

2) The secret to having a special friend is to be one. What specific things do you do to be that kind of a friend? Be specific.

3) What did you feel when you read "Gift from a Hair Dryer?" Did you remember special moments like that from your own life? Please explain.

4) What book has recently touched and renewed your soul? Why did that book speak to you in such a profound way?

Chapter 15: A Gift and a Discipline

Meaningful work gives your life definition and purpose. Yet, without rest, even creative and/or spiritual work becomes tedious. Work without rest inevitably produces burnout. Worship and play must then be added to the work/rest cycle to produce "abundant life."

1) In what way is abundant life a gift? Have you received that gift?

2) In what way is abundant life a discipline? Are you practicing those disciplines in your life? Please explain.

3) What specific steps are you going to take in order to practice the disciplines that produce abundant life? To whom will you make yourself accountable?

Chapter 16: Glorious Worship or a Cheap Masquerade?

When we approach God with less than total honesty, we become actors playing a role. As a result, there can be no real relationship. That's bad enough in itself, but things become even more convoluted when we can no longer distinguish our real self from the role we have created. The indignity is complete when we create a caricature for God that complements our false self. Our only hope, our only path to freedom, is honest confession as we worship in spirit and in truth. Determine now that there will be no more cheap masquerades, only glorious worship experiences as you send out your "real self" to meet with God.

1) What do you think the author means when he says that in our worship we often say "right" things rather than "real" things? Is this true in your own worship experience?

2) In your own words describe what it means to worship in spirit and in truth. Have you ever had a worship experience like that? Please describe it.

3) Is there anything in your past that you are afraid to share with God? Can you confess it to Him now and receive His forgiveness, love, and acceptance?

Chapter 17: Naked and Not Ashamed

To truly worship God, to draw near to Him with your whole heart, means to bare your soul before Him, holding nothing back — not the good, the bad, or the ugly. Our conditioning, not to mention our sins and shortcomings, make it difficult for us to come into His presence without shame. Still, from time to time, the reality of who He is and how He loves us is so totally disarming that we find ourselves naked before Him. Which is to say that we are fully ourselves, totally transparent, and wonderfully alive!

1) Remember your most meaningful worship experience. What made it special? What kind of lasting impact did it have on your life and relationships?

2) What do you think the author means when he says, "Some things are better caught than taught"?

3) Can you remember a sermon that profoundly impacted your life? What made it different from all the other sermons you have heard?

Chapter 18: The Window of Eternity

"Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery it is. In the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace."[2] Do that, and you will find Him even when you are sure He is nowhere to be found. Miss those "little" moments and you will be the poorer for it no matter how faithful you are to the house of the Lord.

1) What does the author mean when he says, "Worship cannot be forced, but it can and must be encouraged"?

2) What rituals do you use to keep your face pressed against the widow of eternity until you "see" God?

3) Have you ever had a "sacramental moment?" Please describe it in detail. What made that moment so special?

Chapter 19: There Will Always Be Another Bus

Blessed indeed is the parent who is wise enough to pause in their rush through life long enough to enjoy the moment. In the years to come, the missed bus will be forgotten, but the memory of that special moment will be revisited again and again.

1) Has God ever intervened in your life in a special way like he did for Steve and Gwen? If He has, relive that special moment now. Remember the things you felt. Now give God praise for His great faithfulness.

2) Are you taking time to enjoy your own children or are you so caught up in getting ahead that you are missing out on those special moments?

3) If you were to fully enjoy your children, what changes would you need to make in your lifestyle? Be specific. Are you willing to make those changes?

4) Some special moments just happen but many of them have to be planned. Plan a special moment and then work your plan.

Chapter 20: Worship Is a Many-splendored Thing

God calls us to worship, not only in those "hauntingly special moments," but in the dark night of tragedy as well. As we worship, we will likely discover that even tragedy can be redemptive. For God is present in all of life and His presence transforms even those agonizing experiences into moments of grace.

1) What do you think John Killinger meant when he wrote, "Somehow, joy arises from loss and suffering and toil as much as it does from pleasure and ease?"

2) Can you remember a painful moment of loss in your own life that produced personal growth and joy? How did God bring good out of your tragedy?

3) In your own words, explain what the author means when he talks about moving from grief to gratefulness. How can you apply that to your own life situation?

Chapter 21: Songs in the Night

If you have worshipped often in the sunshine of your life, your anxious feet will find that familiar path, even in the darkest night. Though blinded by disaster, though hounded and hindered by doubt, though confused by life which seems out of hand, you will find your way to God intuitively because going to Him has become second nature, a way of life.

1) Have you ever had an experience like Jim's where worship helped you overcome a devastating loss? If so, recount that experience now.

2) How does worship work? I mean, how does singing a few hymns or praise choruses restore a person's faith? How does it restore meaning to his shattered life?

3) Spend a few minutes worshiping. Sing a favorite hymn or praise chorus. Determine to make worship a part of everyday so you will know the way to God, should you ever experience a devastating loss.

Chapter 22: Wildflowers and Other Holy Things

For the seeing person, all of life is a sanctuary resplendent with the presence of God. A rain-wet flower back-lighted by the setting sun is as inspiring as any religious symbol, perhaps more so. A meadowlark's clear song, be it early morning or late evening, is as fine a call to prayer as any man could ever hope to hear. For the apartment dweller, locked behind his glass and concrete walls, it may be something as common as raindrops on a windowpane or the smell of dinner cooking. Let him who has eyes to see, see!

1) Take a moment now to make a list of the "wildflowers" in your life, those special little things that give life its meaning, those moments that call you to worship.

2) Someone has said that one of the great dangers of modern life is to put off living. Late in life one woman confessed, "First I was dying to finish high school and start college. And then I was dying to finish college and start working. And then I was dying to marry and have children. And then I was dying for my children to grow old enough for school so I could return to work. And then I was dying to retire. And now, I am dying . . . and suddenly I realize I forgot to live." Examine your life. Are you putting off living? If so, make a list of the things you've put off and make specific plans to start living now.

Chapter 23: The Singers of Life

That's how worship works. It recognizes the presence of the Living God in even the most unspeakable tragedies. At first we protest, not against God, though we have been known to blame Him for terrible things — unspeakable things for which He is not responsible — but against the evil thing that has rent our world. Then we grieve, for grief, too, is an act of worship, and God grieves with us just as Jesus wept with Mary and Martha when Lazarus died. And finally, we sing in praise and adoration, for we are children of life and not of death, and our songs are the celebration of life!

1) What does the author mean when he writes, "Worship did not nullify Chuck's tragic death, but it did put it into perspective"? How does this track with your own experience?

2) In your own words, explain the meaning of the following statement: "Without God, death is an unequivocal tragedy. Seen in the light of our Lord's resurrection, however, it is reduced to a wound to the living."

3) What does the hope of eternal life mean to you?

Chapter 24: A Little Madness

Sir William Osler, the Canadian-born physician and distinguished professor of medicine at Johns Hopkins University, once told an audience of medical men, "No man is really happy or safe without a hobby, and it makes precious little difference what the outside interest may be — botany, beetles, or butterflies; roses, tulips, or irises; fishing, mountaineering, or antiques — anything will do as long as he straddles a hobby and rides it hard."[3]

1) Is play a regular part of your life? Please explain.

2) When you play do you feel guilty? Please explain.

3) What can you do to overcome a lifetime of conditioning that says play is just a waste of time? Be specific.

4) What "ropes" will you have to cut in order to be free to play?

Chapter 25: The Performance-enhancing Power of Spinach

Soon the house grew quiet. It was almost midnight and although I was dead tired I was more relaxed than I had been in weeks. The concerns that had weighed heavy upon me had been pushed to the back of my mind. At first I failed to make the connection, and then it hit me. Play had paid another dividend. Although our circumstances hadn't changed, play had put things back into perspective and laughter had reduced our stress yet again.

1) The wise man writing in Proverbs said, "A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones" (Prov.17:22). Take a few minutes now and remember some of the really funny things that have happened to you.

2) Do you agree with the author when he writes, "One of God's best gifts is a preacher with the ability to make us laugh without letting us off the hook"? Please explain.

Chapter 26: Tree Houses, Trout Fishing, and Tomatoes

For a few hours Ben and I laid our responsibilities down and gave ourselves to the moment. With each cast, each exhilarating strike, each fish caught, we sensed our zest for life returning. By the day's end we were pleasantly tired but renewed in our spirits. Tomorrow would find us ready with renewed energy for the tasks at hand. That's the way play works.

1) Can you remember a time when your parents did something fun and special with you? How did that make you feel? How do you feel now as you recall it these many years later?

2) Think of two or three fun things you can do with your spouse and/or children. Put them on your calendar and make them a priority.

3) If you've never eaten a vine ripe tomato, try it sometime. It is one of God's best gifts.

Chapter 27: Nature's Tranquilizer

Since stress is a significant factor in our general health, especially in heart disease, I have undoubtedly improved my overall health and increased my life expectancy. That's not why I play racquetball, but it is a nice bonus! In addition, I have lost 20 pounds and had the opportunity to develop several new relationships. Who says play doesn't pay? Besides, I'm having a blast!

1) The author lists several benefits of recreational play — reduced stress, improved health, weight loss, new friends, and fun. Which of these benefits is most important to you and why?

2) Are you participating in recreational play on a regular basis? If you are, what benefits have you noticed? If you are not participating in recreational play on a regular basis, why not?

3) What is the most important thing you have gleaned from this chapter and why?

4) How do you intend to apply that principle in your own life?

Chapter 28: The Family That Plays Together, Stays Together

What we play and how we play is not nearly as important as the fact that we play. It's not the game so much as the time and attention we give our children. It's the raw material of which our later relationships are made.

1) If someone asked your children if you are fun to live with, what would they say?

2) The author recounted several incidents of family play from his childhood. Did this spark any memories from your own childhood? Did it inspire you to do more things with your family?

3) Do you agree with the author when he writes, "Family play not only makes for good memories, but for good people"? Why?

Chapter 29: I Didn't Marry Very Well, Did I?

If you haven't developed your own forms of marital play, let me encourage you to do so. Its chief benefits include conflict resolution, increased communications between husband and wife, and enhanced intimacy. This kind of play builds relationships and makes memories that often last a lifetime.

1) Do you and your spouse have any private nicknames or games that you play? How have they enhanced your relationship?

2) One of the most important benefits of spontaneous marital play is that it defuses family conflict. Can you remember a time when this was true in your relationship?

3) Have you developed any romantic rituals? How have they benefited your marriage?

4) If marital play is not already a part of your marriage, how are you going to incorporate these principles into your relationship? Be specific.

Chapter 30: Celebrate the Temporary

Life's richness, its fullness, flows out of its rhythm. God and man, land and beast, all creatures great and small, are created in such a way that they can experience total fruition only by observing the rhythm of life. Only a madman would try to plant in the dead of winter or harvest in seedtime. The fruitfulness of his labors depends on his willingness to work within the seasons of nature, within the rhythm of the land. By the same token, we live self-defeating lives when we ignore the divinely ordained rhythm of work and rest, worship and play. It's counter-productive to work when we should be playing, and the sooner we busy-beaver types learn this, the better off we'll all be!

1) How can we justify playing when the world is filled with so much suffering and need?

2) What do you think the author means when he writes, "Our only hope is to let God define our area of responsibility and then to live within our limits, both emotional and physical?"

3) What does it mean to "celebrate the temporary?" Are you doing that in your own life?

Chapter 31: Cold Feet

Do you make time with your children a high priority or do you allow your work to take precedence over your family commitments? The next time you have to choose between family time and work, it may be helpful to remind yourself that work will always be there, but childhood only comes once.

1) Do you most resemble the father who took his boys to the circus in spite of the demands of work or the father described as the tired Samaritan?

2) Have you ever missed a "special moment" because you were impatient or in a hurry? Please explain. What will you do differently next time?

3) If you had your life to live over, what would you do differently?

4) As you review the missed opportunities of the past you may be tempted to say, "If only. . . ." That's an exercise in futility. The past cannot be changed. Instead say, "Next time. . . ." Next time focuses on the future and you can decide how you will live the rest of your life. Now write four or five sentences beginning with "Next time I. . . ."

Endnotes

1. Wayne E. Oates, Nurturing Silence in a Noisy Heart (Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1979), p. 33.

2. Bob Benson and Michael W. Benson, Disciplines for the Inner Life, "Wishful Thinking," by Frederick Buechner (Waco, TX: Word Books, 1985), p. 201.

3. John Bartlett, editor, Familiar Quotations (Boston, MA: Little, Brown and Company, 1955).

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

For nearly 25 years Richard Exley, D.D., served as a pastor. During those years he also wrote a number of books and served as the radio host of "Straight from the Heart."

In 1992 he left the pastorate to devote his time to writing and speaking. He is the author of 23 books and is much in demand as a conference and retreat speaker. His best-known books include The Making of a Man, Strength for the Storm, When You Lose Someone You Love, and The Indescribable Gift.

When he is not speaking at retreats and conferences across the country, Richard and his wife, Brenda Starr, spend their time in a secluded cabin overlooking picturesque Beaver Lake in northwest Arkansas. Richard enjoys quiet talks with old friends, kerosene lamps, good books, a warm fire when it is cold, and a good cup of coffee anytime. He's an avid Denver Broncos fan, an aspiring bass fisherman, an amateur photographer, and the proud grandfather of Alexandria Starr Baker and Deuce Baker.

To schedule Richard Exley, please contact:

Richard Exley Ministry

P.O. Box 54744

Tulsa, OK 74155

The author invites you to visit him on the web:

www.richardexleyministry.org

Table of Contents

Cover

Table of Contents

Introduction

Section One: Work

Chapter 1: The Driven Person

Chapter 2: The High Cost of Success

Chapter 3: Work Isn't the Enemy

Chapter 4: Finding Fulfillment

Chapter 5: Called or Driven?

Chapter 6: Dare to Change

Section Two: Rest

Chapter 7: A Brush with Burnout

Chapter 8: Rest Isn't a Four-letter Word

Chapter 9: The Courage to Cut

Chapter 10: Going for the Gold

Chapter 11: Deserts, Silence, and Solitude

Chapter 12: Cultivating Silence in a Noisy World

Chapter 13: Pictures from the Past

Chapter 14: Old Friends and Good Books

Section Three: Worship

Chapter 15: A Gift and a Discipline

Chapter 16: Glorious Worship or a Cheap Masquerade?

Chapter 17: Naked and Not Ashamed

Chapter 18: The Window of Eternity

Chapter 19: There Will Always Be Another Bus

Chapter 20: Worship Is a Many-splendored Thing

Chapter 21: Songs in the Night

Chapter 22: Wildflowers and Other Holy Things

Chapter 23: The Singers of Life

Section Four: Play

Chapter 24: A Little Madness

Chapter 25: The Performance-enhancing Power of Spinach

Chapter 26: Tree Houses, Trout Fishing, and Tomatoes

Chapter 27: Nature's Tranquilizer

Chapter 28: The Family That Plays Together, Stays Together

Chapter 29: I Didn't Marry Very Well, Did I?

Chapter 30: Celebrate the Temporary

Chapter 31: Cold Feet

Epilogue

Study Guide

About the author