An Ogre Layer Cake

"Ogres are like...onions!"  

"They stink?"  

"Yes... No!" 

"Oh, they make you cry?"  

"No!"  

"Oh, you leave 'em out in the sun, they get all brown, start sproutin' little white hairs..."

"NO! Layers. Onions have layers. Ogres have layers. Onions have layers. You get it? We both have layers." 

"Oh, you both have LAYERS. Oh. You know, not everybody like onions. What about cake? Everybody loves cake!"

"I don't care what everyone else likes! Ogres are not like cakes."

"You know what ELSE everybody likes? Parfaits! Have you ever met a person, you say, 'Let's get some parfait,' they say, 'Hell no, I don't like no parfait'? Parfaits are delicious!" 

"NO! You dense, irritating, miniature beast of burden! Ogres are like onions! End of story! Bye-bye! See ya later."  

"Parfait's gotta be the most delicious thing on the whole damn planet!"
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This conversation between Shrek and Donkey is one of my favorite moments in animated cinematic history. It always makes me laugh, which is why I allow such a weak transition:

 

Sometimes, I am like an ogre.

 

I have layers, and, I would argue, they are more like an onion than a parfait. Not a nice, caramelized, Walla-Walla sweet onion. No, I am one of the stinky, foul, yellow onions that absolute destroy my mucus membranes. My peeled-back layers stink up my house and make me cry.

 

I am not sure what He is hoping to find at the center of me, but God keeps peeling back my layers. Just when the pain begins to subside, He digs in again, stripping back layers and layers of pride, fear, mistrust, and weakness. Honestly, I would have been fine if He hadn't started on this last layer. I was feeling pretty good: sufficiently humble to know that I wasn't perfect but successful enough to be free of self-doubt and conviction.

And then the peeling.

 

"Growth" is something of a misnomer. It implies methodical progression from juvenile to adult; the process is fairly unidirectional. I feel like what we call "growth" is more like exploration or revelation. I dig into myself, revealing sin and weakness, and sift through the dirt, trying to cull out the impurities. But just when I feel like I have accomplished something, God rolls up in his backhoe and tears up the earth, revealing another layer of filth. I feel like I am excavating my soul.

So about those layers...

 

Lest you think that I exaggerate the naughtiness of my sin-nature, let me share with you a bit of the stinky onion layer currently under His fingernails:

 

I am dishonest.

Not impressively, though. I suppose that's probably a good thing; if I was dishonest about something impressive, like grand theft auto or my loyalties to the Russian Mafia, I might not be so ashamed of it. Instead, I am dishonest about stupid things, things that make me look foolish, ignorant, or naive.

For example:

• I am ashamed to admit that I only recently read Blue Like Jazz, because I know that this puts me about 6 years behind the cool curve.
• I am scared to death that by the time I read Crazy Love, I won't have anyone to talk to about it. "Crazy Love," they'll say, "What is this, 2008? More like 2,000-and-late."
• I am afraid that people will one day find out that my vast and profound knowledge is really just a cleverly disguised knack for googling.
• I'm scared to admit that I have no idea what you're talking about so I just nod along until I can steal a moment alone with my smartphone.
• I'm afraid that, like Mr. Inman in the 12th grade, you'll actually ask me to support my vociferous opinions with facts.
• I'm afraid that you'll look up "vociferous" and discover that I've used it incorrectly.

These are all relatively silly, the really nasty stuff is more insidious because it disguises itself as honesty. I talk about authenticity and even admit that I'm a sinner, but the only sin I confess is that which I have already prepackaged and separated from myself. This is not real honesty because it doesn't cost me anything; there is no vulnerability. I am willing to admit my sinfulness but I'm not willing to feel it. I'm not willing to wear it in the present. 

This is a stubborn layer but I do think it can be torn away. The trouble is that there is stuff in the way.

In carrying with the tradition of the "Walden Weekend," I'd like to start pulling up the weeds that are sucking nutrients from the good things planted in me so that this excavation process is a little easier or to "drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms." See, I keep coming back to this idea that it is possibly to live differently, free from the empty expectations of a Culture of Affluence.

I can't help but think that, maybe, if we, if I, weren't so heavily rooted in the peripheral things, it'd be a whole lot easier to actually do the Christ-ish things, things like being loving, joyful, peaceful, patient, kind, good, gentle, faithful, temperate, and honest. If these "unseen" things are real and eternal and the visible "stuff" is temporary, wouldn't it be a whole lot easier to be "authentic" without so much stuff?

Isn't that something we all want but never seem to actually pursue? It's not just an idea, it is vital and I'm so tired of just talking about it.

Here's to living stuffless.

As I rise to the surface...

There's been a new shimmer of hope in the sunrise these past few days that can only be described as Summer Vacation. Admittedly, however, the summer-hope-shimmer is somewhat dampened by the fact that I actually still have to work. I expected summer vacation to be...a vacation.

But life just goes on, without even a head nod to my expectations. May I take a moment to bow humbly before that millions of working moms out there who have decided to go back to school? I do not know how you do it, you are the closest thing to superheroes that I can imagine.

So, now that we've had a collective laugh at how busy life is, shall we take a moment to reflect?

Why is this so?

This is an old conversation. But the fact that it is so familiar, so often repeated, should tell us something. We are living busy, encumbered lives and we don't like it, but we don't know how to stop.

I have a strip of paper taped to my computer monitor that my friend Amy gave to me which says,

"The things you own end up owning you."

Do you find that inspiring or depressing?

Three years ago I bought a house because it seemed like a responsible thing to do and two years later I was horribly depressed. I hated the feeling of obligation I had to that chunk of grass and wood and I hated how I felt like I wasn't living up to the expectations of a homeowner.

I hated it so much that I actually yelled at my house.

I stood in the center of my half-finished basement and said, "No, I'm the boss! I will finish you when I want to do it!"

I walked away from that argument with lightness in my step, not because I had taken control of my life, but because I finally recognized the lie that tied me to something that really does not matter. This is just one of many lies tied up in our culture of affluence. The trouble is that we are so conditioned to listen to the lies without thinking that it is a painfully difficult process to simply say, "No, I don't want to do/own that, I don't have to, and I'm not going to."

Of course it is not that simple (especially with a family), but it is also not as complex as you might think.

Think about the next few months of your life; the amount of time dedicated to swimming lessons, weddings, meetings, volunteering, cooking for potlucks, vacations, home improvement projects, reading, social events, television, camps, etc.

Don't ask yourself if they are all "good" things, because they probably are; ask yourself if you are passionate about them. Do you feel full of life when you do them? Because these are the kinds things that are valuable enough to justify spending your very limited time. Obviously not every moment of your life is going to be energizing and exciting, but do you think perhaps you are yielding your time too easily?

Is this really a big deal? Sort of, yeah.

When you are talking about your existence on this planet, your health and your time, you don't really have a surplus. Ethically, you can argue that we have a responsibility to make good use of the limited time we have, but, ethics aside, your life is simply to important to waste on things that don't matter.

This is not about being selfish or taking "me time," I'm actually not an advocate of that concept, this is about finding the things that light you up and make you excited about living. People who are excited about living are healthy, effective, and responsible, and these are the kinds of people empowered to help others, to love, and to make the world better.

If you are a Christian, does the idea of "doing whatever you want," seem a little bit like cheating? Do you feel guilty choosing to do something you love rather than something you should do? How do you reconcile your passions to your "obligations" as a Christian?

If you're interesting in a case-study on challenging the prevailing "stuff" culture, check out Dave Bruno's 100 Thing Challenge.

"It is not enough to be busy; so are the ants. The question is: What are we busy about?"
-Henry David Thoreau

Trust: A Culture of Affluence

If you've poked around this blog at all you may have gotten the impression that I have a bit of a "thing" for helping the poor. It's true, I'm just a nice person like that. But the real truth is that, though I sponsor a child through Compassion International and, technically, I am an Advocate for the same, my world is very insulated from the poor.

For the past decade or so, the term global village, has been thrown around quite a bit. The term describes a concept of global, international, cross-cultural unity that is made possible through world-wide network of communications technology. The Internet and the world wide web have brought this concept closer to realization than ever before. But still, a global village is far from a reality. The social, linguistic, and cultural separations between the peoples of the world are still overwhelming.

In my culture, we live in, what I like to call, a "culture of affluence." This phrase came to me while I was reading Richard Stearns' The Hole in Our Gospel. I realized that the chasm that separated me from the poor was made up of more than just physical space. I live in a world characterized by wealth. The having of it, the attaining of it, and the spending of it are the chief preoccupations of myself and my world.

For a staggering number of people in my "global village," 40-50 percent of the world, the chief preoccupation is survival. The difference between wealth and survival is fundamental, they are as different as mud cookies and tiramisu. As I tried to understand the difference, I realized that I had built up some kind of fantasy about what life was like for one of the children for whom I claim to be an advocate. My wealth and culture create such a wide buffer that their lives did not even exist in the "real" world: my world.

For some reason, the subject of clean water was what drove this truth home for me. I had heard the statistic that 1 in 6 people do not have access to clean water before, but still, this did not have meaning for me until I understood the implications. Water is central to life on this planet; we can go for weeks without food but we would only last a few days without water. Survival aside, when I think of how much water I use in a single day I am staggered. Have you ever let the tap run for 15 seconds or more simply waiting for it to heat up? That water is literally down the drain, what if you had walked miles to haul that water?

Not having a well or plumbing means that this morning, before the work and school day begin, the mother and children in a family have had to to haul enough water to do the day's washing and cooking or they would not have water that day. This means walking miles in some cases. This is not Little House on the Prairie, this is January 18th 2011. Before I even woke up this morning, children, sometimes as young as 5, have been hauling buckets of water. Have you ever hauled water? Have you ever hauled water in the predawn chill? For hours? Have you ever tried to go to school afterward? Have you ever spent hours hauling dirty, parasite-infested water in the predawn chill?

No. No, of course you haven't, neither have I. This is why there is a chasm separating us from these people, our neighbors in this global village, that will keep their reality a fantasy unless we can find some way to bridge it. The travesty is that the people living this lifestyle are as numerous as we who are not, yet it is quite possible for those of us living in this culture of affluence to never even consider, let alone understand their situation. For many of us, they simply do not even exist.

Part of the problem is that we like our separation from the poor. Drawing near to such a desperate and obviously unacceptable cultural reality, while we labor over whether to buy the ATV or save the money for Disneyland, is very uncomfortable. When we encounter poverty we also have to deal with guilt and responsibility and I will be the first to admit that I don't like it. I prefer telling others to help the poor. Bringing the responsibility for the situation of the desperate poor into our own house pollutes our way of life and makes it impossible for us to live in the same way we always have, the voice of justice in our hearts requires us to do something about it. Again, I'll admit it's easier to keep the injustices toward the poor a fantasy.

Yet this disparity is more than ethically wrong, it is dangerous. Obviously it hurts the poor, but it also hurts those of us who are rich. We cannot be so widely separated from others and expect to remain unharmed by the divide. We cannot truly accept the humanity of people who are so completely different from us. If we are serious about this concept of global unity, we have to address this disparity and find a way, not as a culture, but as individuals, to narrow the gap. We have to find some way to make the reality for the rest of the world to impact our reality. The alternative is that half of the world will continue to not exist.

This is particularly significant for people like me who claim to care for this cause. If I cannot make the reality of the poor, people I claim to want to help, impact my life in a real way, then I am worse than a hypocrite. This is the next step of my journey to trust (and it is very specific to me): God is asking me how willing I am to experience the reality of poverty, if I am willing to separate myself from my culture of affluence in order to better love the rest of the world. This does not mean He is calling me to a life of poverty, but He is calling me to seek a living faith in Him, a life of freedom from money, and a life of true compassion.

Practically this means living "abnormally:" living simply, without the waste and excess that is unique to a culture of affluence. Because I love my lists, I've already started several lists of things to sacrifice on the altar of my works, things like my car, sleep, eating out, and other luxuries that 40 percent of the world does not have access to. While these things may become part of my reality I have to remind myself, and urge you as well, if you are also so inclined, that God is looking for the sacrifice of a changed heart before the outworking of a changed life. Please do not fall into the trap, as I so often do, of assuaging your conscience by heaping up good works. You will be disappointed and skip over the better part God has for you. Pray first, and then do.

However, do not be afraid of letting your faith have a practical outworking. Nothing brings richness and substance to prayer and faith like an outpouring of practical love and compassion. If the subject of clean water is of particular interest to you, you can access more information, including how you can be part of the solution, through Compassion International (via their partnership with Healing Waters International) or World Vision.

I also cannot end without the request to consider sponsoring a child. There is no easier and quicker way to make the reality for half world your reality than by inviting a living, breathing child into your life.



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