I am 364 days (is next year a leap year? then 365 days) away from my 33rd birthday (33 was the final year for Jesus, and I believe, Elvis). Yesterday was the 32nd. That number, 32, used to mean alot to me. I had a Craig James football card and a Craig James football shirt (Patriots 32), and thought I could be the next Craig James. That was before I ever wore a football helmet, and before I got stuck on the offensive line because I was too fat and too slow and kind of a baby. I wanted to quit football that first season, because I hated being a lineman, and my mom would not let me quit, and I am so thankful for that, but that was a broken dream.
Seth spoke today to a room full of world racers, the June group has joined us here in Swaziland. Seth spoke of the process of our waking up to our identities in Jesus. The stages of discipleship: abandonment, brokenness, dependence, empowerment, call, and confirmation. That so much of this process is broken dreams.
Six days ago, on our anniversary, Linnea opened the file we have which shows our wedding album. What a day of mixed emotions that was for me, stress about trying to make everyone happy, worry about getting married and what it means to be a husband, and incredible joy that God had brought Linnea into my life. One of the pictures in this album shows my best man, John, sitting with his boys, David and Daniel. Behind him, I have my arm around Linnea, and my hand on a Wachusett Brewery Country Ale. We are watching the video/slide show of our lives. Linnea’s life is first, to the music of Mercy Me’s “I can only imagine”. Then my life, set to Garth Brooks’ (the Chris Gaines thing, what was he thinking?) “A Dream is Like a River” (ever changing as it flows, and the dreamer is just a vessel that must follow where it goes).
I thought of that song, as Seth spoke about broken dreams. I thought about the song Linnea and I had our first dance to, Rascal Flatts’ “God bless the broken road”, and thought about how much of my life has been a broken road, paved with broken dreams, or bad decisions. How much of my life has been wasted pursuing shallow ideas and fulfilling my appetites, while I have been afraid to pursue big dreams, afraid of failure…or maybe afraid of success. Maybe afraid of facing who I really am? Or realizing I am not who I wish I were?
I thought of the broken road which has led me here, typing in the shade, Linnea laying in the tent (recuperating from a poison hamburger she ate yesterday). I am facing a small tent city (reminiscent of the Trail Days party in Damascus, Virginia; I wonder if they still do that?) in the middle of Swaziland. The hubbub of 50 people eating lunch 100 feet away, seventy seven people pursuing something we probably can’t accurately name or describe, but hoping the river is taking us where we are supposed to be.
I thought of all these stages in my life, how abandonment is a stage I face every day. Brokenness and dependence, a minute by minute decision. Empowerment and call, confirmation, and am amazed at how God has led me, the current of the river bringing me where I need to be, even as I battle against the force of the water, I smash against rocks, some days feel like I will never breathe air again, and other days camped out on the shore, trying to learn from what is behind me, and never knowing what is in store. Scared of getting back in the flow, but more scared of staying on the beach.
I was sitting on the shore, fighting for consciousness. The raven’s prehistoric sounding cries would not let me sleep. I had shivered all night in the sand, on the side of the Saco river. The sun sparkled in the tiny pieces of quartz and mica near my pillow, and reminded my of my night staring at the swirling sparks of our huge campfire, bright orange specks disappearing into the starry night. Slapping mosquitoes and watching fireflies, all these little sparks of life, flashes of light, which remind us of our need for God. I laid there thinking of God’s call on my life, how much I enjoyed bringing teenage boys down the river, hopefully giving them some little spark of words which could ignite a fire of dreams in their lives.
I laid there wondering if it had been just a dream, or had I really heard God’s voice ask “will you go?”. I was fresh out of ‘living in sin’. I had moved back in with my parents, trying to get my life together, trying to find a reason to live. Still really sucking at the religious game, this Texas Hold ‘Em lifestyle. Playing the hand we have been dealt and trying to do better than those around us, hoping their approval equals more love from God. Still getting stoned, taking pain killers, drinking too much, and listening to Bob Dylan and various praise CD’s. How could I hear God’s voice? Does God actually speak to people? So I said “yes”. And this amazing sensation of peace and joy came over me, a fire which gave me hope.
I hold on to this night as actually ‘feeling’ called. A night where some personal doubts were changed, where I decided to pursue who God wanted me to be. Seth defines discipleship as “waking up to our identity in Christ”. That who we are in Christ supercedes what our role in the kingdom is. Seth and Andrew both seem to say they are still waking up to this identity.
John Eldredge in his book “The Way of the Wild Heart” speaks of the sage. Eldredge uses the author Norman Maclean (“Young Men and Fire”, and “A River Runs Through It”) as his sage, or his mentor. Maclean began writing “Young Men and Fire” in his seventies, as part of his “anti-shuffle board” philosophy. This philosophy seems to live in the men who are leading us, and the men responsible for Linnea and I, my father-in-law, Donald Anderson, and my father, Gary Molgard (by the way guys, Andrew dreams of a world race for the boomer generation, I would love to see my in-laws and my folks do this adventure together.)
A Maclean quote which resonates within me: “The problem of self-identity is not just a problem for the young. It is a problem all the time. Perhaps the problem. It should haunt old age, and when it no longer does it should tell you that you are dead….While the oxygen lasts, there are still new things to love, especially if compassion is a form of love.”
Seth and Andrew both tell stories of guys in their 60’s who realize they no longer believe in what they have lived their lives for: the american dream. Seth said that in 25 years many of our friends will realize they have wasted their lives. I don’t want to be one of them, and while I am not sure where the river goes from here, I am sure that this river does not lead me to a place of eternal regret.
The point of life, it seems is to come alive. And when I am alive, as I am now, to wake others up.
Wake up, O sleeper. It is not too late.
