Solid Ground

The question we all anxiously want asked is "Who are you?" yet when it is posed, do we really know? Do we offer trite answers that are gross oversimplifications of the truth? Do we exaggerate? Possibly the reality that I am describing is solely one that I struggle with, but I have found placing them into words has been immensely useful to me.

The identity question looms large in my life. It could be solely the byproduct of my cultural makeup that compresses polar opposites into one person, or I could be simply a product of the age I live in. This struggle has only highlighted itself as I have taken up the pen over the past few months, but it is one that has - in truth - been lingering all my life because it is heavily intertwined with sense of purpose. I feel like life is a recurrent viewing of the scene of Jacob wrestling with God. Bless me already. Like most, I am not born into riches nor have I been bestowed with remarkable gifts that have set me on a meteoric path of tranquility. This firmly in mind, I continue to pour my energies into outlets that I hope will highlight what I can in fact offer. Yet this has proven frustrating as well. Especially when individuals scratch success with what appears a total lack of substance. Who has not thought of this in light of the recent teenage sensation singing about a day of the week? Seriously, what more can I do?

On the train ride this morning, Pandora hit me with a song that placed this into perspective. I was headed toward school where I read the theories of brilliant men and women who try to explain God. Some of them frustrate me while others create an immediate nod of recognition. This morning's read was the former. This theologian, titled the premiere thinker currently alive, was being interviewed and I felt like he was saying absolutely nothing relevant. I put the book away and turned on the music. The song that played I had only heard once before. It has been introduced to me two Sundays ago in a Church service. While it was beautiful, I had forgotten who sang it, the title and therefore it was an abstract memory buried in the past. When the song began it lifted me from all current thoughts of exhaustion. The song continued and as if I was struck in the head, I thought I need to stop living in a middle-of-the-road path where I care what others do, who I should be, and try to answer questions that no one is asking.

Tomorrow is Good Friday and with every fiber of my being I believe God intervened in history to save you and me. I am not speaking from religious sensationalism, emotional ecstasy, or in a last ditch effort to find self-worth. I believe in the Christ event.

Honestly, I struggle daily with mistakes I make. I am an individual who thoroughly enjoys activities that Christians have deemed secular. Where people try to tell me to rationalize my failures as part of God's plan, I cannot help but get angry with Him. And I guess therein lies the beauty. Transcendent yet immanent. The ultimate paradox.

I am a follower of Christ and I live in this world. Not in a bubble. There is no divide. As we move into this weekend, I would urge people to stop waiting for others to ask you who you are, and refrain from tying yourself in mental knots about what the answer would be. Direct the question to Him...who is He... and let the conversation unfold.

Here is the song.

What's in a name?

The room was dark; the only light was the faint glow from two small monitors above the medical table. The nurse focused her eyes on the screens as her right hand intently worked around Priscilla’s stomach. When we had Camille, we didn’t find out the sex until the moment she came out of the womb. That moment of discovery is one of the highlights of my life. This time my wife couldn’t wait. I fought the urge to know, but when the appointment is made and everyone else’s mind is made up, the anxiousness begins to set. I tried to go about life without focusing on that date, but I eagerly waited for the future to become the present.

I have always had the premonition I would only have girls. I don’t know why, but it’s a sentiment that has always been firmly entrenched in my gut. You grow up believing that the major verdicts in life – and I am referring to those that are completely out of your hands – are typically school, or job related. These are ginormous decisions that distinctly shape your entire future. I never thought differently, but this moment was in fact one of them.

I did the work, but the decision – healthy or not, boy or girl – is truly beyond my control. The nurse quietly continued her work and each minute felt longer. I screamed in my mind: Say something lady! I felt the room shrinking. A series of outcomes raced through my mind. If I leave here without knowing the sex, this lady will hear it. The imaginary movie played in my mind of me throwing a fit, but on the outside, I gave the impression of calmness.

The clock hand continued to make its way around and yet I still …had …nothing. All she pointed out were stills of a baby I could barely make out. The head. The feet. I nodded as if I saw it clear as day.

Finally the moment arrived.

“It’s a girl.” As if the nurse knew the words failed to immediately register in my mind, she spelt it out in the monitor with a clear arrow pointing to the evidence.

“G-I-R-L.”

I shouldn’t be surprised, but I was. The gravity of the situation took its time to sink in. How do I react? What will the future hold with 3 women? My shoulders dropped. I’m completely outnumbered.

An hour later we were at the coffee shop and I was still numb. Then Priscilla said, “What about Kayla?” This awoke me from my daze and I grabbed my phone and fought a ridiculously slow connection to discover the meaning of this name.

KAY-la: Who is like God?

And there it was. Reassurance. The outcomes continue to be out of my hand and the future remains unclear, but we are not God. This frustrates, angers and causes a life-long struggle between what I feel I want and what He knows I need.

Here’s to you Kayla, already teaching Dad lessons.