Years ago, when Daddy and Mama got a new TV, we oohed and aahed over its big screen and state-of-the-art features.
Several months ago, I visited my parents. Walking into the den, I saw their former technological wonder tuned to a show that featured an older lady singing. The lady offered peppy lyrics, a robust voice and endearing facial expressions. Alas, I could not focus on any of those things.
My, what big hair she has! I thought. Why would anyone wear their hair that big? It’s the biggest hair I ever saw.
Beyond BIG, her hair filled the screen.
Only later, when Daddy changed channels, did I realize my error. The issue lay, not with the woman’s choice of hairstyle, but with the TV screen. On every channel, people had huge cone-heads, short bodies and miniscule legs.
This opened up a whole new dimension in TV viewing. It made watching baseball games particularly fascinating. You may have heard that wealth and fame give people the bighead? We saw evidence. Swelled-head pitchers bravely pitched with shrunken arms. Cone-head batters zealously struck with stubby bats. But the real show lay in watching the hitters run, distended heads bouncing, teensy legs churning.
Same with football players. Big-headed, short-armed, practically legless, they vied for passes and handoffs while scurrying – uphill? Yes, on this TV, each football field appeared decidedly bowl-shaped, the lines converging, rather than parallel.
Whether we watched the news, a game show, sports event, movie or series, the distorted picture proved funny for roughly three minutes. Then, it became annoying. Always, it distracted.
Now, my parents have a newer TV in their den. The replacement isn’t as large or state-of-the-art as its predecessor. Yet happily, it presents people, objects and even words on the screen in correct proportion.
My husband and I visited my parents a couple of weeks ago. While Daddy and Jerry watched a ballgame on the replacement TV in the den, I relaxed with Mama in the master bedroom. Flipping on the bedroom TV, we located a Lawrence Welk rerun from the 1950’s. The performers offered us nostalgic songs, lyrical voices and lively instrumentals.
Alas, I could not focus on any of those things because of the ripples rippling across the screen. Old show, defective tape, I thought.
Only later, when we changed channels, did I realize my error. Wherever we turned, people stood still and danced the hula at the same time. Close-up shots showed people’s faces waving like flags.
Most of us care too much about high-def pictures to put up long with ailing TVs. But though we’ll fork out big bucks for clear images, how many of us live week after week, month after month, year after year with a distorted view of reality?
We repeatedly ignore evidence as obvious as cone-headed ballplayers, attesting we do not see people or circumstances, difficulties or blessings, material things or spiritual things, life or death, as they really are. More than annoying, more than distracting, it’s grievous what we miss.
Once, while healing a blind man, Jesus asked him, “Can you see anything now?”
According to Mark 8, the man answered quite honestly: “I see people, but I can’t see them very clearly. They look like trees walking around.”
After “Jesus placed his hands over the man’s eyes again . . . he could see everything clearly.”
Don’t live with a distorted picture of life. Do what a formerly blind man did. Regardless how foolish it feels, stand before the one who can miraculously restore what you’ve learned to live without, and say, “I can’t see clearly.”
© 2008, Deborah P. Brunt. All rights reserved.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Uncommon strategies
Make-believe carries us places. Books and plays, TV shows and movies transport us into regions and centuries where we cannot otherwise go.
We expect make-believe to whisk us away from reality, offering respite from the daily-ness, the disappointments, the struggles that life relentlessly throws our way. We don’t expect make-believe to offer us uncommon strategies for living real life.
But sometimes it does.
One Sunday afternoon, watching TV with my mom, I saw an old Matlock rerun in which attorney Ben Matlock, played by Andy Griffith, sets out to defend a young man accused of murder. As Matlock enters the courtroom, so does the presiding judge, played by Dick Van Dyke.
We viewers know: The judge committed the murder for which the young man is standing trial.
We think: How impossible to get justice when the person most intent on thwarting justice sits on the bench. How difficult to expose truth when the person most intent on concealing truth appears upright and wields great clout.
In this make-believe story, Matlock does not despair over his seemingly hopeless task. He uses an uncommon strategy to get the judge off the bench and onto the witness stand.
This week, I read Prince Caspian, the second of the Narnia chronicles, also just released in movie version. I won’t give the story away, but here’s a peek: The four children who journeyed to Narnia through an empty wardrobe in the first book find themselves whisked away to the same land again.
There, a dwarf named Trumpkin tells them about a young king Caspian who desperately needs help. After describing the situation, Trumpkin laments, “I suppose I’d better go back to King Caspian and tell him no help has come.”
Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy announce that they have come to help. Trumpkin does not believe four children can provide what Caspian needs. Dismissing their offer, he says, “As it is – we’re awfully fond of children and all that, but just at the moment, in the middle of a war – but I’m sure you understand.”
The children have no great physical strength and no army, yet they offer Caspian something that proves even more valuable: uncommon strategies for victory.
We applaud uncommon strategies in make-believe. In life, however, we look askance at any remedy that seems illogical. Yet, God delights in using uncommon strategies to meet real-life needs.
Once, in the real land of Israel, the men supposed to uphold justice did just the opposite. These men had great authority. In days when “messages from the Lord were very rare, and visions were quite uncommon,” God did what seemed silly and useless: He awoke a boy named Samuel, told the boy his plans and relied on Samuel to tell others (1 Sam. 3).
Ultimately, the unjust leaders died just as God had said – and Samuel, the one who dared to say what he heard God saying, became judge in the land.
On other occasions, God:
- planned for a 90-year-old barren woman and a century-old man to birth a nation.
- deployed a boy with slingshot to defeat a giant.
- led a coward named Gideon and 300 men armed with trumpets, lantersn and empty jars to route innumerable forces from three invading nations.
- commissioned 120 people without rank, status or financial clout to change the world.
How many times have you and I dismissed uncommon strategies as make-believe?
If, instead, we’ll look for them wherever this God chooses to reveal them, if we’ll receive them as the help we’ve been seeking, uncommon strategies will carry us places – places we cannot get any other way.
© 2008, Deborah P. Brunt. All rights reserved.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Giving
My husband suggested doing pizza for lunch. Checking the phone book, he found that a certain pizza chain had a location near us and called to get directions.
The teenager who answered the phone handed off to a woman who provided the details and landmarks we needed.
Easily finding the place, we ate Round One from the pizza buffet. As we stood to return for Round Two, Jerry said to a lady bussing tables, “I called earlier to get directions. Are you the one who gave them to me?”
Perhaps in her 30s, with short, curly, sandy-colored hair, she smiled and responded, “Yes. That was me. Did you find the place all right?”
“Yes,” he said. “I just wanted to say thank you.”
Our meal finished, I sat sipping root beer and contemplating an idea that had just come to mind. “Jerry, what about giving that lady a hundred dollars?”
A light dawned in his eyes. “Oh,” he said. “I’d forgotten. But yes. I think that’s a good idea.”
In 2006, I started a small business with this succinct purpose: “investigate truth, instigate bold living.” Since we relocated in January, I’ve been reestablishing my business in a new state, which has meant lots going out, little coming in.
The last month, I’ve been asking God to release resources from unexpected places, and especially to provide resources so I can give to help meet others’ needs. My husband loves to give and does so generously. I ached to contribute again to such giving.
On Sunday, we visited a church both of us had noticed. Once there, we learned this church had distributed $30,000 to its members the week before, in envelopes containing anywhere from $5 to $500 – with instructions to everyone who received money to give it away, in Jesus’ name.
When the pastor announced that more envelopes would be distributed to those not present the week before, we watched church members stand to receive their envelopes. Then, the pastor said, “Visitors, if you want to participate, stand up.”
I looked at my husband. My eyes said, “Please.” He looked at me, and together we stood. After the church service, settling into our hot car, I unsealed our envelope. It held two 100-dollar bills.
Three days later, Jerry left our table at the pizza place and returned, followed by the sandy-haired server. “Is everything okay?” she asked anxiously.
“Yes!” we both answered. “What’s your name?” I asked. She told us. “We have a surprise for you,” I said. Jerry offered her a 100-dollar bill.
“I can’t accept a hundred dollars,” she said. Jerry said, “This is a gift to you from people who love Jesus.” We explained that the donors belonged to the church we had visited, that we were just delivering the gift. With wonder, she asked, “But God told you to give it to me?”
We nodded. She asked, “Can I hug you?” She said, “I think I’m going to cry.”
“Do you have any special needs this money might help you meet?” Jerry asked.
“Oh, yes!” she said. “My husband had a wreck this week. He’s been off work all week, and we had to replace the car. We found one for $1,600, though.”
She thanked us. We all thanked God.
Now, I’m eagerly watching to see where he wants to place the second $100 and how he will continue to release unexpected resources. I’m eagerly calling:
“Come down to make your name known. . . .
For when you did awesome things that we did not expect,
you came down.”
© 2008, Deborah P. Brunt. All rights reserved.
The teenager who answered the phone handed off to a woman who provided the details and landmarks we needed.
Easily finding the place, we ate Round One from the pizza buffet. As we stood to return for Round Two, Jerry said to a lady bussing tables, “I called earlier to get directions. Are you the one who gave them to me?”
Perhaps in her 30s, with short, curly, sandy-colored hair, she smiled and responded, “Yes. That was me. Did you find the place all right?”
“Yes,” he said. “I just wanted to say thank you.”
Our meal finished, I sat sipping root beer and contemplating an idea that had just come to mind. “Jerry, what about giving that lady a hundred dollars?”
A light dawned in his eyes. “Oh,” he said. “I’d forgotten. But yes. I think that’s a good idea.”
In 2006, I started a small business with this succinct purpose: “investigate truth, instigate bold living.” Since we relocated in January, I’ve been reestablishing my business in a new state, which has meant lots going out, little coming in.
The last month, I’ve been asking God to release resources from unexpected places, and especially to provide resources so I can give to help meet others’ needs. My husband loves to give and does so generously. I ached to contribute again to such giving.
On Sunday, we visited a church both of us had noticed. Once there, we learned this church had distributed $30,000 to its members the week before, in envelopes containing anywhere from $5 to $500 – with instructions to everyone who received money to give it away, in Jesus’ name.
When the pastor announced that more envelopes would be distributed to those not present the week before, we watched church members stand to receive their envelopes. Then, the pastor said, “Visitors, if you want to participate, stand up.”
I looked at my husband. My eyes said, “Please.” He looked at me, and together we stood. After the church service, settling into our hot car, I unsealed our envelope. It held two 100-dollar bills.
Three days later, Jerry left our table at the pizza place and returned, followed by the sandy-haired server. “Is everything okay?” she asked anxiously.
“Yes!” we both answered. “What’s your name?” I asked. She told us. “We have a surprise for you,” I said. Jerry offered her a 100-dollar bill.
“I can’t accept a hundred dollars,” she said. Jerry said, “This is a gift to you from people who love Jesus.” We explained that the donors belonged to the church we had visited, that we were just delivering the gift. With wonder, she asked, “But God told you to give it to me?”
We nodded. She asked, “Can I hug you?” She said, “I think I’m going to cry.”
“Do you have any special needs this money might help you meet?” Jerry asked.
“Oh, yes!” she said. “My husband had a wreck this week. He’s been off work all week, and we had to replace the car. We found one for $1,600, though.”
She thanked us. We all thanked God.
Now, I’m eagerly watching to see where he wants to place the second $100 and how he will continue to release unexpected resources. I’m eagerly calling:
“Come down to make your name known. . . .
For when you did awesome things that we did not expect,
you came down.”
© 2008, Deborah P. Brunt. All rights reserved.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Foundation issues
Never have foundations fascinated me – until now, when mounting evidence of faulty ones rivets my attention.
Interesting thing about faulty foundations: While the problem lies at the bottom, the evidence appears at the top. Said another way: If you’re seeing rifts and fissures – in buildings and life, in organizations and relationships – to correct the problem, you must do more than patch the sheetrock. You have to fix the foundation.
Ah, but we love patching.
Patching enables denial. It keeps us from having to admit the problem’s extent. We gain a sense of accomplishment – while avoiding the painful and costly process of identifying and correcting deeper issues. What’s more, patching keeps the appearance neat.
No matter what’s happening under the surface, we want the appearance to remain neat.
Yet, instead of solving the problem, patching compounds the problem. We can hide the truth only so long. Meanwhile, the rifts we’ve carefully covered continue to grow. New fissures appear, as what once held together snaps apart.
When patching fails, do we then get serious about dealing with foundational issues? No. We blame. We love blaming.
Blaming enables denial. It keeps us from having to assume responsibility. We feel exonerated – while evading the painful ordeal of getting to the root of what went wrong. What’s more, blaming keeps our pride intact.
No matter what’s happening under the surface, we want to keep our pride intact.
Yet, instead of solving the problem, blaming compounds the problem. We can deflect the truth only so long. While we point fingers, new damage appears and grows.
When blaming fails, do we finally get serious about fixing the foundation? No. Instead, we loudly proclaim that we intend to get serious. “We’re going to fix this the right way,” we say. “We’re going to do the right thing!” Meanwhile, we continue to find reasons and ways to let the matter slide.
We love stalling. We love pretending to intend to fix things. Yet empty promises can mimic the truth only so long. The clock continues to tick, and the damage continues to mount.
“When the foundations are being destroyed, what can the righteous do?” the poet-king David cried in Psalm 11:3 (NIV). Maybe David had faced all the patching, blaming and stalling he could take.
His question sounds almost like a hand-wringing cry, an everything’s-going-to-collapse-and-there’s-nothing-I-can-do cry.
But the rest of Psalm 11 reveals that David wasn’t asking rhetorically. He was asking strategically. He wasn’t lamenting, “We’re doomed! Nothing can be done to avert disaster!” He was crying for strategy to deal with foundational issues people had denied way too long.
According to the NIV margin, David’s question might be translated, “When the foundations are being destroyed, what is the Righteous One doing?”
The answer? He’s doing plenty. In The Message rendering of verses 4,7, David continued, “He’s in charge, as always, his eyes taking everything in, his eyelids Unblinking, examining Adam's unruly brood inside and out, not missing a thing. . . . GOD's business is putting things right; he loves getting the lines straight, Setting us straight.”
What can we do when evidence of faulty foundations mounts? We can keep patching and blaming and stalling until everything crashes down around us.
We can wring our hands.
Or, desperate, we can seek God’s strategy. We can cry for the Righteous One to show us how to fix the problem from the foundation up. We can actively cooperate as he reveals root issues – humbly admitting the truth and taking each step he indicates.
When we finally pursue the strategy we tried so hard to avoid, we find it sets things straight.
© 2008 Deborah P. Brunt. All rights reserved.
Interesting thing about faulty foundations: While the problem lies at the bottom, the evidence appears at the top. Said another way: If you’re seeing rifts and fissures – in buildings and life, in organizations and relationships – to correct the problem, you must do more than patch the sheetrock. You have to fix the foundation.
Ah, but we love patching.
Patching enables denial. It keeps us from having to admit the problem’s extent. We gain a sense of accomplishment – while avoiding the painful and costly process of identifying and correcting deeper issues. What’s more, patching keeps the appearance neat.
No matter what’s happening under the surface, we want the appearance to remain neat.
Yet, instead of solving the problem, patching compounds the problem. We can hide the truth only so long. Meanwhile, the rifts we’ve carefully covered continue to grow. New fissures appear, as what once held together snaps apart.
When patching fails, do we then get serious about dealing with foundational issues? No. We blame. We love blaming.
Blaming enables denial. It keeps us from having to assume responsibility. We feel exonerated – while evading the painful ordeal of getting to the root of what went wrong. What’s more, blaming keeps our pride intact.
No matter what’s happening under the surface, we want to keep our pride intact.
Yet, instead of solving the problem, blaming compounds the problem. We can deflect the truth only so long. While we point fingers, new damage appears and grows.
When blaming fails, do we finally get serious about fixing the foundation? No. Instead, we loudly proclaim that we intend to get serious. “We’re going to fix this the right way,” we say. “We’re going to do the right thing!” Meanwhile, we continue to find reasons and ways to let the matter slide.
We love stalling. We love pretending to intend to fix things. Yet empty promises can mimic the truth only so long. The clock continues to tick, and the damage continues to mount.
“When the foundations are being destroyed, what can the righteous do?” the poet-king David cried in Psalm 11:3 (NIV). Maybe David had faced all the patching, blaming and stalling he could take.
His question sounds almost like a hand-wringing cry, an everything’s-going-to-collapse-and-there’s-nothing-I-can-do cry.
But the rest of Psalm 11 reveals that David wasn’t asking rhetorically. He was asking strategically. He wasn’t lamenting, “We’re doomed! Nothing can be done to avert disaster!” He was crying for strategy to deal with foundational issues people had denied way too long.
According to the NIV margin, David’s question might be translated, “When the foundations are being destroyed, what is the Righteous One doing?”
The answer? He’s doing plenty. In The Message rendering of verses 4,7, David continued, “He’s in charge, as always, his eyes taking everything in, his eyelids Unblinking, examining Adam's unruly brood inside and out, not missing a thing. . . . GOD's business is putting things right; he loves getting the lines straight, Setting us straight.”
What can we do when evidence of faulty foundations mounts? We can keep patching and blaming and stalling until everything crashes down around us.
We can wring our hands.
Or, desperate, we can seek God’s strategy. We can cry for the Righteous One to show us how to fix the problem from the foundation up. We can actively cooperate as he reveals root issues – humbly admitting the truth and taking each step he indicates.
When we finally pursue the strategy we tried so hard to avoid, we find it sets things straight.
© 2008 Deborah P. Brunt. All rights reserved.
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