Talking to Myself Does Not Constitute a Conversation

I talk too much.

This is not a revelation to my family and friends.  They have all had to sit and listen while I grabbed a conversation by the throat and proceeded to strangle it.

Sorry about that.

It should comfort you, if only a little, to know that I am aware of my lack of listening skills and to understand that I really am making a conscious effort to change them.  I don't intend to take control of every verbal intercourse, and I feel terrible about myself whenever it happens...but changing is not easy.

Let me make an honest confession: one reason I talk so much is because I have a personal bias towards my opinions--I tend to think my thoughts are always logical and correct.  I will feel the same way about your opinions as long as they agree with mine.  Anyway, there is a disillusioned part of me that believes you are getting a special favor when you are given my thoughts.

Again, I apologize for being so stupid, selfish, and closed-minded.

But there is another reason that I often dominate conversations, and it is one that you quiet people can share the blame on: some people just don't talk.  I am not saying that is always bad, but considering that conversations require verbal interaction from more than one party, saying nothing when you are with another person pretty much assures that conversation won't happen.  It also guarantees that someone like me will grow uncomfortable with the silence and will feel the need to fill it with awkward banter.

The quiet person will think, "I wish they would shut up" and the talkative one will be praying for the other party to "say something!"

The point of this post is not that I talk too much, but rather, it is intended to recognize that my talking too much, kills conversation.  And, it is to point out that other people's lack of input also kills conversation.  This is not to tell you how much to say and how much not to say, because that will obviously vary with the depth of the relationship; but it is to challenge us to be sensitive during times of communication to know when to listen and when to speak.  It is to remind us that relationships will grow in direct proportion to how well we learn to interact with the other parties involved.

It amazes me then, that when we consider a relationship with God, most of us either talk all the time (giving our recommendations and demands), or we only listen (thereby denying God the pleasure of having a relationship with a people willing to share their hearts).

I believe I have to talk less and listen more.

I believe some people might want to share a little more freely.

And most important of all, I believe that God would like to have regular conversations with each of us that involve both talking and listening.

From Drama to the Doldrums

Just yesterday, my son commented that I hadn't added a post to this blog recently.  He wondered if I hadn't found any new inspiration.  After I thought about this, I had to admit that, even though I had not been consciously aware of an inspiration drought, his observation was spot on.

I figured something out: if you want to have new insight into your physical and spiritual existence, you might want to have open heart surgery.  There is just something about having your entire state of being thrown into uncertain upheaval that makes you want to take stock of everything.  And if you had started a blog just prior to the procedure, you would find that ideas came looking for you, rather than the other way around.

But after all of the "excitement" of surgery, things start to return to normal.  No longer was I forced to think about staying alive and making dramatic changes to my lifestyle.  No longer was the path to my door beaten down by people who wanted to do nice things for my family.  So, I just relaxed and got on with the slow, boring act of letting my body heal.

    

What has happened in that time has been uninspiring.  I look at food labels and try to eat well.  I take naps.  I watch some television.  I make phone calls and pay a few bills.  I walk around the block.  I watch the weeds in my yard grow and feel guilty when my neighbor mows my grass.  I tell my dogs to quit barking.  I take my medicines.  I ride in the car with my wife to the store, and I walk with her around the block on a regular basis.  What I am saying is this: I go about the business of living life.  And I do it with purpose--I am letting my body heal.  It's boring, but it is essential.  Few things regarding my future matter as much as how well I deal with the very "unexciting" now.

I spent twelve years of my life in school.  I went to boot camp when I was in the military.  I was potty trained as a child.  None of these things were exciting or fun at the time, but they all played key roles in making me the man that I am today.  I am thankful for the times in my life that I was troubled with them.

Sometimes living a spiritual life is thrilling.  Sometimes living for God is dramatic and fun.  Usually,  however, it isn't.  Most of the time, living a spiritual life is determined by how well we respond to the God in the physical.  Finding and loving God in the day-to-day, in the drudgery, will ultimately determine how we find and love Him in the dramatic. 

And if we are looking for the God that is real, shouldn't we expect to best see Him in the pictures of real-life?  The only God that matters is the God that meets us where we are. 

Purpose: Before and After

One month ago I ate pizza and greasy cheeseburgers because I liked pizza and greasy cheeseburgers.  And I ate bowls of ice cream because cups are too small.  I stayed away from doctors because I didn't have time to sit in waiting rooms, and I didn't bother worrying about things like cholesterol levels and blood pressure because I was too young for such concerns.  I did exercise some, but when I did, it was all about vanity: it wasn't about being healthy as much as it was about trying to look good.

     I tried not to be a selfish person, but when I get right down to the nitty gritty, my life was mostly concerned with the purpose of me being happy.  It was a process that nearly destroyed my heart.

    My surgery on March 20 was unexpected.  Some good medical people caught my coronary problems and saved me from death.  They also took the canvas that displayed my purpose in life and drew a line right down the middle.

     I am not going to make this cryptic or difficult because the division was clear.  On one side of the line was the place where my heart served the lazy, self-indulgent interests of me.  It was a service that rendered my heart useless.  But on the other side of the line, my heart was called to serve a new purpose, and that was to put the things of Jeff aside and live for others.  That could happen by changing diet, exercising wisely, and having regular check-ups.  I would have to do (and not do) things that had always been my priorities, in order to go on living for the people that I loved.  I would have to make my family and friends the priority of my heart on this side of the line of heart surgery.

     If I were to decide that I wanted to continue to live for me, and go back, it would kill me.  But if my purpose is to live for those that I love, I am given new life.  I like that purpose, and I like its benefits.

     There is a great deal of ridicule from people when they hear the Christian term "born again."  It amuses me, but it doesn't surprise me.  The problem, I believe, is that humans (particularly when it comes to the things of God) often feel superior by making simple ideas as complicated as possible.  I might not have the whole concept, but I think that for the most part, this is a great example of simplicity being lost at the expense of big words.

     The purpose of my heart was to please Jeff before surgery.  After surgery, my heart lived for a new purpose: others.  That is my new life.  To go back, is to choose death.

     Most people spend their days in search of their own enjoyment and pleasure.  We are concerned with the here and the now.  Making the most of this world is our purpose.

     But one day we wake up and say, "living for this world is living for death."  And we choose instead to change our purpose to live for God.  We choose life.

     Born to the purposes of the world.  Life that will end.

     Born to the purposes of God.  Born again to eternal life. 

Catching Up With My Heart

The recovery and healing process that comes after open heart surgery is nothing like I thought it would be.  Perhaps the most unexpected thing is that it has very little to do with the heart itself.  As my future begins to play out, I will be required to make adjustments to my lifestyle in order to keep my ticker running at its optimal best, but regarding what I am going through right now in the rehab process, it is the rest of my body that is my biggest concern.

     My heart does not hurt.  It is not my heart that feels exhausted and just plain old "blah."  It is not my heart that I am currently babying so that it will heal correctly.  In fact, right now, my heart is the very least of my concerns.

     When my surgeon went in and worked on my heart and its attached parts, he did not stop until everything within his power had been done to make sure it was operating at its greatest ability.  So my heart is now in the best condition that it can be.  The same cannot be said of the rest of my body.

     The reality of recovery from heart surgery is that my concern is for all of my body that is not the heart.  My chest was cut open and the bone must heal correctly.  My bad arteries are now bypassed and new ones are sending full flow to every part of me.  My leg is bruised and wounded from where arteries were removed to create the bypasses.  I am getting more blood and more oxygen to my system than my body is used to.  I get tired and winded and light-headed.  The whole of my person is trying to figure out how to deal with this new heart, and it is trying to adjust.

     The adjustment is the key.  That is what is happening now.  My heart was "made new" and the rest of my body has been forced to play catch up.  It it a process that will take time and work.  Sometimes there will be pain, often there will be weariness. 

     It is a process that I must be diligent and patient with.

     If I persist, my body will eventually begin to see the place of good health where my heart is leading it.  That place where the heart and body act as one is the desired objective.  It is the ultimate goal.

     God fixed my spiritual heart when I brought it to the cross of grace.

     The problem is no longer the heart.  The pain and weariness I experience spiritually has nothing to do with an incomplete work of God, but rather, it is the result of the rest of me trying to catch up with what God has done.

     It is a process that I must be diligent and patient with.

     It is a process that will require time and work.
     And if I persist, I will find that it is a process that will ultimately lead to a spiritual life which is entirely consistent with the heart that God has put in me.

My Spiritual Gene Pool

I saw my surgeon on Monday of last week, one day prior to what turned out to be a double bypass.  We discussed many things, but what impressed me the most was his desire to "fix" my problem.  He was more passionate about achieving his goal than I might have expected from a professional who had been saving lives for twenty-five years.

     The reasons for his great concern were revealed, however, when he told me that my damage was based on genetics.  I had made poor lifestyle decisions in my days, but I was assured that the damage I had was passed down from previous generations.  The good doctor proceeded to tell me about his own family history, which included the loss of a couple of brothers to heart attacks at young ages. One nearly took his own life as well.

     What I learned from the surgeon that day was that we all inherit certain things that can kill us.  They are just hanging around, waiting for a random day to wreak havoc.  I could have eaten perfectly and worked out regularly, but it would not likely have changed the chain of events that my heart put into motion a couple of weeks back.  But, if I had really considered the seriousness of my genes, I would have already been dealing with the problem by seeing a cardiologist before I had problems.  I would have been having regular tests done which heart specialists could look at and deal with before I was ripe to receive my inheritance.  I was aware of my genetic history, but apparently didn't take it seriously enough to deal with.  I might not have even thought I cared what was going on inside of me; but the resultant surgery and pain makes me wish I had.  Fortunately I am still alive after the revolt of my very own heart.  And you think you can trust your organs.

     I realize that there is a great deal of discussion in philosophical and religious circles about whether man is born good or evil, or whether or not he is born with original sin--but I don't think we really have to formulate a precise doctrine on the issue one way or another to understand what matters and to deal with it. 

     It is this: every single one of us has a heart that tends to (at least at some point in life) put its own interests above everything else.  For some, these moments are rare; but for none are they nonexistent.  Each and every person who walks the face of the earth has inherited a heart that will eventually demand its own way.  And in that moment, it will be exposing the reality that it is a defective heart.

     The question then, is this: do I really care that I have a spiritual heart condition that is capable of rising up on one unexpected day, bringing great pain into my spiritual life?  Do I care enough about my genetics to regularly stand before the eternal physician and let Him expose my weaknesses so that they might be fixed?  ...so that they can be rendered powerless?

     Does it matter? And do I even care?

     If I say "no" to either of those questions, I might suggest that the damage has already begun.

     So, please, go to the doctor.