I’ve been thinking a lot recently about how our nation, and
particularly my generation, plays it safe. We seek security above all else.
It’s go to school, get good grades, graduate and go to college, find a job, get
married, raise some children, put them in school, put them through a good
college… the cycle continues. And what do we have to show for it?
At the end of my life, when I’m on my death bed and all is
said and done; when I look back on everything, what will I say? How will I
feel? Will I be satisfied or will I wish for one more shot that I’ll never have
again?
I’m fortunate to have a father that knows and understands
this. He wrote a few days ago about the subject:
As adults, these uninitiated people
sail through life with a huge gap in their past. It’s natural without the help
of others for young men to become self-referential comfort seekers. Their world
view stays narrow and they don’t really learn how to live a life of faith and
risk in a culture that places a premium on safety. Instead of building the
kingdom, their focus becomes building their 401K.
What is sad or maybe just poignant
is that as our men have abdicated their responsibility, a generation of mothers
has stepped into the breach with an overprotective response to the pain life
inflicts on their children. You can’t blame them for this response, but the
result is a feminization of our churches and the creation of a group of men who
feel like strangers to themselves.
Where do we get by being safe? I wonder what would’ve
happened if Noah didn’t build the ark, if Esther never went before the king, if
Moses never came against Pharaoh, if Abraham never trusted so greatly in the
Lord that he didn’t go up to sacrifice his only son, if David never came
against a giant with five stones and a sling, if Joseph wasn’t faithful all
those years, if Jesus turned the stones into bread when he was hungry, or
didn’t stand up against the demonic spirits or didn’t lay himself down do
death, and death on a cross.
When I put myself in their situations, I don’t know that I’d
be faithful. I constantly mess up on the small things. I can only hope that
while I’ll fail again, in the words of Theodore Roosevelt, I’ll “fail while
daring greatly.” In fact, I’ll just copy part of his speech below. It’s so
great!
The credit belongs to the man who
is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who
strives valiantly; who errs, and comes short again and again, because there is
no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the
deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself
in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high
achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring
greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who
know neither victory nor defeat.
I want to better prepare myself each day to say yes to God
for anything he might ask – even if it is dangerous or doesn’t make sense. I
don’t want to reach the end with a list of regrets. I’m determined not to.
I’m told by those I trust most, and that have started the
other half of life, that life is at best a great mystery that we get to dive
into.
