Hope O2

Have you thought about breathing today? I haven't, until the last few minutes. An adult inhales and exhales, on average, about 23,000 times per day. It could be much, much more, depending upon your level of physical activity and other factors. Think about that. You did something 23,000 times today and probably never once gave a conscious thought to it. 16 times per minute, each and every minute, waking and sleeping, working, playing, running, eating, over and over and over again.

Most of the time we do not think about oxygen. It simply is. It is available. We breathe because we are alive, that's how we roll. Most days, the only time we think about breathing is when we're trying not to. I'm holding my breath while writing this sentence, and in the course of a few short seconds am reminded that, althought I don't usually give it a second thought, oxygen is one of the most important things in my life. (Ahhh, deep breath here...) I need it. I want it. I require it. Sound silly? Hold your breath for a minute or two, then agree with me.

Hope is like oxygen. It breathes life into us. Hope is extremely powerful. Most of the time we don't even acknowledge it or think about it. Hope is what keeps us going. Hope is to the soul and spirit what oxygen is to the body. We need it. We want it. We require it.

Tonight I spent a long time on the phone with a close friend who lives far away. He and his family are walking through some very challenging circumstances. I had a few things to say that may be helpful to him, and some tax advice that will prove practical and useful. But by far the most valuable thing that I believe I shared with my friend was hope. Hope that things will get better, hope that it won't always be like this. He already knows that, and has in fact helped many, many others (including me) in times of need. But when things are dark and you feel all alone, it's like holding your breath under water. You seriously need some O2. My friend seriously needed a deep breath of hope, and I believe he got it. Lord, I pray for Todd, may Holy Spirit-inspired hope bring him strength and new life. And I pray for everyone who may read this. Thank you that the Bible says you have given us a living hope. Hope that is, in and of itself, alive. Hope will grow, it will produce fruit (i.e., results) in our lives.

Heavenly Father, I breathe deeply your living hope. Renew in us the expectation that we will see all your promises fulfilled.

a recreation on another plane

"Art is both love and friendship and understanding: the desire to give. It is not charity, which is the giving of things. It is more than kindness, which is the giving of self. It is both the taking and giving of beauty, the turning out to the light of the inner folds of the awareness of the spirit. It is a recreation on another plane of the realities of the world; the tragic and wonderful realities of earth and men, and of all the interrelations of these."
Ansel Adams

I have always loved the photography of Ansel Adams (some nice examples here). Last fall I had the opportunity to share some of those wild places with my father, and my brother and sister. Even at the time I knew it was one of the moments that birth the memories that will one day tell the story of my life. I have not been to many wild places, but I have loved all the ones I have visisted and felt a kinship with them that I could not explain or express.

There are wild places in the heart, places that are pure and reflective of the beauty of creation. There are places inside you that have yet to be tamed, wild and free and ever-young, where the wind blows cold and smells like the snow, where the warmth of your smile is like the kiss of the sun, where dreams are born and the future flows forth like water from a natural spring.

You and I are the work of a Creator, an insult to be termed a mere man or woman. Sometimes our hearts can be too civilized. Concrete does a good job of keeping the bottom of our shoes clean, but shoes were made to be worn, not be be cared for. There are paths of concrete in my heart, civilized places that are neat and straight, clean and predictable. Concrete can be fashioned but sets hard. In rare and precious moments I also see the places in my heart that are wild and pure, the work of a Creator who's medium is not concrete but rather living stones. A glimpse of creation tells me something about the artist. As C.S. Lewis said: "He's not a tame lion."

Somehow Ansel Adams was gifted to capture on film the wildness and awe, not only of the places he visited, but of his own heart's response to the beauty displayed. In a letter to his friend Cedric Wright he talked about art and love and beauty. This phrase particularly captured my attention: " a recreation on another plane of the realities of the world."

My Father is a Creator. We are created in His image. No wonder then that all our best points to Him, our desires and longings, if truly understood, all for Him, our highest and best efforts simply an imitation of His handiwork, a recreation on another plane. We are simply trying to be like Him, and I don't see that as a bad thing at all. My son wants to be like me, and I love him for it. I want to be like my Father. The wild places of the earth point me to Him, the wild places of my own heart show me the fingerprints of God.

Too busy to blog...

You know the old saying. "If you 're too busy to blog, then you're too busy." That has been me for the last weeks. This tax season has been more relaxed than all but one for the last thousand years. Oops, make that since the last millenium. I started working as a CPA in 1999, and tax season always requires a lot. A lot of time, a lot of energy, a lot of thought, a lot of grace from my wife. This one has been less demanding than most, but that is not to say relaxed. Kind of like saying running a 10k is easier than running a marathon.

I hope you have a great tax season. If you do your own taxes, that should be an evening or two. If you have someone else do them for you, you still have to get your information together and review the return (after all, you know more about your financial situation than anyone else). So it will still be a few hours long.

I have quite a few more thoughts on this subject, but right now I also have a number of friends, family, and clients who have entrusted me with their personal financial information and are hoping I can help them have the best tax season they've ever had. So back to the 1040s and 1120Ss and 1065s and supporting schedules. I've got more to say, but right now I'm too busy to blog.

Morning Musing

Just like old times, as far as my blog is concerned. When you're alone, your house can be a different place. You notice things that you don't notice when there is lots of activity. Silence, for one. 5AM. The house is quiet and peaceful, the coffee strong and black. Sometimes I take cream and sugar, a compromise to my masculine identity I allowed after being married for a month or so and realizing my wife's coffee tasted better with dessert than mine did. Occasionally I use only cream, like my German friend Dieter. (I don't know if that's a German thing or not, maybe it's just how Dieter likes it.) The only time I use only sugar is when I'm camping- the cream is too much trouble, sugar such a luxury in the woods.



Well, Jack's awake, so this little session was over before it started. Let me just catch this one thought- as I woke up my heart was praying. I sense the Lord's presence, I am thankful. Words of gratitude, words of wonder. A prayer for forgiveness, I have insulted you in so many ways. A still small voice in my heart, "Has your son ever insulted you?" No, I've never really thought about it like that, but he hasn't . Has he ever ignored you? Yes. Has he ever taken you for granted? In the adult sense of the word, that happens daily. But he's only 2. How can he take me for granted? I mean, it is a granted that I will provide for everything he needs. I'm his father. At this point he doesn't even have the ability to insult me.



The light bulb goes on (I just woke up so my brain is still getting in gear). My Father loves me! He's not mad. Once again I am surprised by grace. (For more on this wonder, listen to the latest and greatest from Pastor D at http://www.branchchurch.org/)



I know some things about the heart of a Father. My Father once again has shared with me the wonder of His love. Now it's time to share this wonder with my son.

It just sounds better when you're inspired

I am in love with my beloved. If I wasn't, she wouldn't be my beloved, would she? As evidenced by these first 2 sentences, early morning is probably not the best time for creative romantic expression. If you're an accountant, having a mike in your hand isn't either. No matter how much you are in love, it just sounds better when you're inspired.

Last night we attended the Valentines Dinner for the Branch Family Church. It was great food and great fun. We made some new friends and got to know old friends better as each couple at our table shared stories of how they had met, fallen in love, or favorite memories.

At the end of the evening Pastor John opened the mike for the men to publicly share their love and affection for their wife, aka, to embarass yourself in front of a room full of supportive people. There was a lot of laughter, and it was really encouraging to hear the depth of love and commitment that was expressed. One man had been married 4 months, another 52 years. One thing came through loud and clear: God knew what He was doing when He made Eve. These guys spoke from the depths of their hearts, valiantly looking to translate into English what the heart speaks in the language of love.

(Another thing I learned last night: there are no words in Russian for bar-b-que or ATV. Inside joke).

For my own part, I had been to these before. Before we left the house I looked into my wife's eyes and did my best to say again what I've tried to say at least a million times before: I need you, I want you, I respect you, I love you. I've never really been able to fully articulate it, I mean I can (and do) say the words but words don't do it justice. It's like trying to carry the ocean in a bucket- the container isn't adequate. Of course I was called upon to go forward, my machinations otherwise to no avail. I shared my love and embarrassed myself and had fun. What I wanted to say went something like this: "Honey, I love you. Remember those hundreds of poems and love letters from me that you have saved in your dresser? Please read a couple of those tonight. They are still all true and more, but it just sounds better when you're inspired."

Of course, she knows. She knows what I mean, and she knows that English isn't sufficient to say it. She knows because we have become one. We have something special and we know it, and we are very very thankful. The only way to really say something like that is in the cumulative effect of a thousand million ways, large and small, words and deeds, looks and touches and sacrifices and surprises and laughter and forgiveness given and forgiveness received, love expressed consistently and over a lifetime together.

You have to say it with your life. But if you try to write it down, or try to say it into the mike, it just sounds better when you're inspired.

The Wonderful Magic of Kidness

Our snowy weather has gotten me to thinking lately about being a kid. Not that it has been that snowy, but I have been telling my children stories of when I was their age.

One favorite winter activity was to drive up to Soco, the mountain pass between Maggie Valley and Cherokee, to the entrance to the Blue Ridge Parkway there. With a foot of snow on the ground the big iron gate to the parkway was always closed and locked with a federal government sized padlock, but you could park the car on the side road and walk past the gate. (Why does it seem like the best spots are always just on the other side of the gate?)

Just past the gate there is a very steep section of the hill that somehow has an alley with no trees. Its not very wide. There would be no steering of your sled on a hill like this, it's way too steep. At the bottom of this hill, the engineers sloped the ground down and away from the road to drain water. So at the bottom of this straight, incredibly steep hill is a short incline back up to the paved road. During most of the year, there is nothing about this spot to attract any attention. But with a foot and a half of snow on the ground, this spot is revealed as the best naturally occurring Ski Jump on earth.

We never took sleds to Soco, somehow they were too civilized for that wild place. Or maybe it was the fact that they probably would not have survived the ordeal. We would take inner tubes, walk up the hill as high as we dared, then try not to think about the bottom. You just have to jump on your inner tube and hang on for dear life. Sliding down is a blur, you can almost feel your stomach in your throat. At the bottom of the hill, you go airborn. If you're lucky, you land on your inner tube. As often as not, you land in the snow. I can still picture my friend Mark about 6 feet in the air on one particularly fast run. It took us a little while to revive him, but he was famous after that.

Mark and I still reminisce about that day when we get together. We talk about his famous slide down the Ski Jump, and we talk about the magic of being a kid. I'm going to hold on to this magic as tightly as my innertube, this wonderful magic of kidness.

Snow Day!

This morning Charlotte is white and the world seems magic. Schools are closed and the snowman population is about to explode.

Do you remember what it was like to be a kid? I remember one year when it was so snowy and icy that we didn't go to school at all in January. Seems like every winter my grandparent's mountain resort transformed into our own personal sledding paradise. It was a fast downhill slide for 10 acres. We'd start at the top of the paved road in front of cottage #11 (which somehow was built further up the mountain than #12) and zip through the twists and turns until the hill in front of #7 transformed your sled into a rocket. With that kind of speed a lot of kids wiped out trying to make the right bend in front of #1. If you navigated that then the very last turn before the house required some quick decisions. If you were going too fast you would slide into the creek (which happened a lot). If you slowed down too much you would make the turn but not get the longest distance. Then it was a very long walk back to the top, pulling your sled and breathing steam like a locomotive. One night we had a dozen cousins and friends there and snow was flying. Gramma had hot chocolate waiting on the back porch, after you made the run you could take your hot chocolate and watch the other kids coming down the hill, hoping they went into the creek and your slide was the longest. To top it off, Uncle Bob brought his Jeep and pulled us all back to the top! We kept going until all the moms finally shut us down. If wishes came true, I would probably still be there sledding right now.

Of course, I would have missed out on all the good things that have happened in my life since then. God's plan for me was to enjoy the sledding and the fun, it was not for me to get stuck trying to hold onto that moment. Sometimes we want to hold on to it, but it can never be. Snow melts, days pass, seasons change.

Lord, teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. Now get out there and play in the snow!