Vitamin Jared

Last night the unthinkable happened. Jared did not complete his video for the Breakthrough Youth Challenge. This eliminates the possibility of obtaining a life-changing scholarship. College, already an iffy proposition, has become even more difficult to imagine. He applied at one school, where he was denied (too white? Too male? Too academically average?). He abhors the idea of accruing debt. And he has barely scratched the surface on researching other financing or school options.

Still, Jared hasn’t been idle. During the school year, he pursued five educational streams, including courses at two separate colleges. For the last half of the year, he spent most evenings with a whiteboard at our kitchen island, banging out solutions to math problems that looked like novels written with hieroglyphs. As soon as he completed his most difficult class, he moved straight into planning his scholarship video. Too tired to enjoy his own graduation, he fell asleep before the follow-up coverage even aired on TV.

And that’s not all: In the midst of this maelstrom, Jared’s been working to secure a better lifeguard position at the local pool, maintaining a positive and influential attitude at home, and engaging with friend online and in person. He’s attended several dances, taken a few trips to the mountains, and cheerfully engaged with church and family. In short, his busyness hasn’t turned him into a bear.

Despite all these right and good things, a horrible setback still occurred. Jared had the desire to succeed, but he simply couldn’t finish on time. Was it a deficit in preparation? Distraction? Inexperience? Bad luck? Probably a combination of all four. Living in a home with other teenagers, hosting multiple guests in the spring and summer, and being inclined to procrastination probably lent a hand, too.

If only we could have foreseen Jared’s crunch at the end! Perhaps we would have limited our house guests. If only he could have known his microphones would perform poorly, the wrinkles in his green screen ruin his background, his spaceship take extra days to complete.

If only, if only, if only. The wishes that follow these words threaten to chain us to our failures. Although we must embrace grief in order to achieve closure, fixating on the past prevents healing. These things exist behind us now, far outside our control. We must examine our past with acceptance, not anguish, in order to achieve healthy growth.

Replacing “if only” with “what if” moves us toward progress, but only slightly. “What if I had stayed up two hours later? What if I had purchased a better costume?” These questions invite us to fabricate outcomes based on events we can no longer change.

Better still, may we meditate upon the gifts our experience has provided. Because of our failure or disappointment, we now have/know/feel …. what?

Jared has a fantastic astronaut costume and a sweet yellow cape. He knows how to protect a production studio (aka tin-roofed shop) from the sound-destroying influence of heavy rain. He understands the value of margin when building a schedule or plan. He realizes how deeply his family and friends care. Perhaps he’s gained a hint of his next career move, his preferred educational pursuit, his hidden talents or faults.

However, naming the gifts of our failures only activates half their power. Next comes a commitment to action. Will we pick up the pieces of our failed project, tossing them away in disgust? Will we complete it with gritted teeth - or with a good-natured grin? 

Will we speak of our failure? Will we thank those who cared?

Whatever Jared chooses, whatever we choose when we fail, too, let us only sit still for a few moments. Taking great risk implies we are people of action. Though we need not “prove” ourselves with immediate success, we must find an active outlet – even if that outlet is a trip to the woods.

Failure. Success. Both offer gifts that can enrich us. We must do the work to identify these gifts, and we must do the work to respond. But God, ever true to His Word, does the providing. He provides strength for the hard work, strength for the journey, and companionship and insight along the way. He promises to live in us and with us as we walk toward excellence through both failure, success, and the long paths in between.

Congratulations, Jared, for traveling so well. Blessings to you as your journey goes on. You are complete. You are enough. You are loved.

Even youths grow tired and weary,
    and young men stumble and fall;
but those who hope in the Lord
    will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
    they will run and not grow weary,
    they will walk and not be faint.

Isaiah 40:30-31

Vitamin Steve

Steve

I’ve never met this man you love, this man whose smile you share

I’ve never heard him tell a joke,

or, drink held high, yell, “Cheers!”

I’ve never seen him hold a room within his charming sway

I’ve never had to hold his hand

while he slipped far away.

I’ve never loved your father, friend. We’ve never even shared

a single meal, a laugh, a mile;

and yet … you’ve made me care.

You’ve spoken long and often of his love, his spark, his reach.

And though a stranger, still I feel

his impact and your grief.

But more than that, in this short time I’ve seen your love unfurled.

With you, I’ve honored his great life;

his impact on this world.

I celebrate him with you now. I’m honored to attend

while you give weight and words and space

to him, like sweet amens.

His life, lived well! His legacy now carries on in those

like you, who choose to live with joy:

His true memorials.

Vitamin Big

The words we use to describe ourselves are like pictures. Each one communicates a thousand other nuanced words, all of which we hold high. They’re serve as invisible banners, pleasantly shading us or darkening our paths with their presence, depending on what words we choose.

For instance, I’m always amazed when people describe me as “brave.” To be honest, I’ve imagined the word “TIMID” taking up most of my banner, instead. 

I’ve always been a weenie, I explain to those who think otherwise. I go on to describe my childhood memories – fear of lightning, fear of falling, fear of heights, fear of dogs. Sometimes, I recount my fear of my uncle. During church, he would reach over and thump my red-haired cousin on the back of the head when he misbehaved, a memory that still makes my own head tingle in sympathy. Even though I sat as far away from the action as possible, I lived in perpetual terror of the dreaded thump.

When I recall all these things, my listeners usually agree. I’m your standard bench-sitter, right?

Well, I don’t know. Lately, God’s been upsetting my long-held beliefs, and this one may be no exception.

For example: I’ve always assumed that certain people just aren’t my type. It probably began with my uncle. Larger personalities have never felt “safe,” so I’ve kept them at arm’s length.

But lately, God’s brought a bunch of big people close by. People with loud voices, short fuses, fuzzy plans. I’ve done what I usually do and backed away, but these people just keep edging in.

And as they have leaned forward, hands waving, nostrils flared, the strangest thing has happened Rather than seeing the supposed danger they stand for, I’ve started to see what they give.

My witty friend Lori gives me permission to treat life with a blessed irreverence.

My passionate friend Livia teaches me that big feelings must often be processed in big ways – with a raised voice, for example. Or shameless tears.

My cousin Katie, with her commitment to justice, reminds me that love without legs is just another four-letter word: LAZY.

And each time we talk, my older brother Charley shows me that my buttoned-up agenda looks like faded newsprint next to the 4K, 3D vibrance of following God’s plans instead. Charley’s the best dad to his kids, inviting them into a life that is wild and unpredictable and beautiful, just the kind of life I think God intended when He sang out to His friends, “Follow Me.”

I love my big people. They invite me beyond my shallow ideas – beyond that silly banner with its limiting list. If someone assumes that I’m brave, let it be! God’s life flows through me, after all, and He represents all the great traits in the world.

Perhaps others have spotted the truth about me all along, calling out a courage that’s lurked just out of my sight. Perhaps my banner is really a marquis, a rotating list of words God sings out, each of them more vivid and delicious than the last. That seems like His style, doesn’t it? Finding a creative way to name His favorite traits in each of us, traits He cultivates with fatherly pride.

All this inspires me to action. Rather than sitting around thinking about limitations or safety or pride, I’m taking a cue from my friends. Setting my banner aside, I’m leaning in to each day, hands waving, nostrils flared. And just like my bravest, most colorful Friend, I’m living big.