It’s bedtime. Past bedtime, actually. Being a bad Dad or good Dad, depending on your perspective, I had allowed Annie and Emma to finish watching the movie they had started.

Thankfully, my girls don’t fight sleep. Most nights it’s an easy transition from eyes open to eyes shut. In fact, Annie falls asleep faster than anyone I’ve ever known. If we had a “who’s out the fastest” contest between Annie and any light switch in your home, Annie would win every time. She falls asleep so quickly that if I have a question for her I have to ask while she is still vertical. Because a microsecond after her head hits the pillow, whatever it is has to wait till morning.

Emma, the other half of my twin tornadoes, has her own routine to ease into sleeping. She changes it up from night to night, but mostly variations on a theme.

“Daddy, tell me a story.”

“Daddy, I’m thirsty.”

“Daddy, …. ” followed by a pause as she quickly tries to think something up.

On this night they are tucked in. We’ve said our prayers. Annie is out in .047 seconds. Emma is laying on her back, hugging a purple pillow with her left arm. What will it be tonight? A request for a story? A glass of water?

“Daddy, my ice is big again.”

“My ice.”

I’ve been following their thought trails now for going on 10 years. I know them. But I’ve got no clue how to track this one.

“Emma, what are you talking about?”

“Ughhhhh!!! Daddy! Don’t you remember what you told me?”

Remember what? Ice? Huh? Maybe it’s true. Maybe parenting makes us slowly lose our mind so we can’t remember what we’ve said.

“Honey, I love you but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Emma is exasperated now. I’ve seen this look on her face before. It’s the “my point is so obvious that I can’t believe I have to explain this to you because you’re the grown up and you’re supposed to get it” face.

She sits up.

“Daddy, you told me! You said that every day is a new day and that any bad things are in the past. So 12 AM is a new day so my ice is big again! It’s big! You know…thick!”

Click.

Several days before Emma was pushing the limits and I warned her, “Emma Elizabeth, you better knock it off because you’re on thin ice.”

And several days prior to that incident was a discussion following her being disciplined. I had explained to her that what’s done is done, she received her discipline and that Daddy wasn’t angry with her because it was all over.

“It’s in the past, Emma. And every day is a new day.”

Midnight marks the new day. And with the new day, “thick ice” on which to skate.

Emma had connected the dots. I was astounded and humbled in this moment. God is at work in my daughter’s life.

Wow.

The prophet Jeremiah put it this way, “Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope; because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for Him.” (Lamentations 3:21-24)

We are God’s children. And from time to time we all skate on thin ice. Thanks to God’s mercy, His compassion never fails. He shows it to us in many ways, not the least of which is to give us “big ice” at the start of every new day.

Which, as Emma will tell you, starts at 12:00 AM. Or midnight. Whichever you prefer to call it.

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

“When I grow up I am going to be the world’s greatest hockey player. Then I will be a famous scientist, marry a perfect wife and have 5 kids. In the end, I will die.”

Being a strong believer in the value of a liberal arts education, I appreciated his understanding that he can indeed excel in both hockey and science. With the right approach he can transition his career from slap shots and body checks to titrations and electron microscopes. And I loved his innocent naiveté in believing that there exists such a creature as a “perfect wife” (or husband). A precocious kid like Ryan may be well on his way to accomplishing everything on his list, though someday that “have 5 kids” thing will require some serious co-operation from his perfect wife.

However it turns out for him, he nailed one truth to the wall.

“In the end, I will die.”

I can’t help but think if Ryan keeps that fresh in his head, everything that comes before the end will be rich for him.

When we acknowledge each day that there is an end to life on earth, it helps us live with a sense of purpose.

According to the actuarial table used by the United States Social Security Administration, my life expectancy extends another 33.28 years.

http://www.ssa.gov/OACT/STATS/table4c6.html

I can probably add several years for not being a smoker, a drinker or recreational drug user. And the family genetics indicate that 80 plus years is a good possibility. But my cholesterol and blood pressure are a little on the high side, I tend to worry too much and wherever I go I seem to be surrounded by crazy drivers. So it’s probably a wash. All things considered, if I escaped city traffic and moved to North Dakota, I could probably fire up a Cohiba, start drinking Guinness and still come out ahead. But I’m an average guy and the average 44-year old guy lives another 33.28 years.

I’ve never been good at math. But I can see the obvious. Statistically speaking, my life is more than half over. That in itself is sobering. Not that 44 is old. But it isn’t 34. Or 24. Or 12. It’s 44. I’m closer to the end than I am the beginning.

We’ve all heard or been posed the hypothetical question, “If you knew you only had a year to live, what would you do?” Such a question sends us rushing to prioritize. What’s worth my time? What’s not? What would I do more of? What would I do less of? What would I not do at all?

Of course, the follow up question is, “If there’s things you’d do more and less of if you knew you only had a year to live, why aren’t you living that way now?” Junk mail is junk mail, right? Opening it is a waste of time whether we have terminal cancer or have another 50 years on the planet. That the people in your life know you care about them is important all the time. So why wait for a tragedy to say “I love you”? Especially when telling them now will enrich the relationship for whatever time you have left?

The “what would you do if you knew you had a year to live” question is a healthy exercise if it reminds us to live with purpose. The danger lies in thinking the question is hypothetical. Because whatever the Social Security Administration’s actuarial table says about our life expectancy, there’s a more important statistic to keep in front of us.

1 out of 1…dies.

It’s just a matter of when.

There’s a difference between living with a sense of panic and living with a sense of urgency. The former is based in fear. The latter flows from confident purpose. God desires that we live with a sense of urgency because He created us for a purpose.

In Psalm 139 God tells us that He “had all our days written down in His book before there was yet one of them.” And in Ephesians 2:10 God says that “we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works that He has prepared in advance that we should walk in them.” Simply put, we can live out each day knowing that God has our life in His hand. He has a plan for us. A life of good works that He has prepared for us to do. If we live fully each day, how much time we have left becomes irrelevant. Because all we can do is make the most of the time God grants us.

And He grants us one day at a time.

So whatever you’d do more of and less of, start doing it and not doing it. Live with a sense of urgency.

Thank God for writing all your days down in His book.

Then ask Him to help you make the most of this one called “today”.

“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” – Psalm 90:12

I’d be on a plane to Chicago before you could say “deep dish pizza”.

Several years ago I had opportunity to attend a preaching/teaching conference at Willow Creek Church with my friend and pastor Duane Cross. When it was over we had some time before catching our plane back to Phoenix. So we drove downtown to the Art Institute of Chicago. My favorite place in my favorite city. One of the world’s best collections of classic art. Monet, Van Gogh, Rembrandt, and Picasso all under one big roof.

I actually got misty seeing the lion statues that guard the entrance to the museum. Perhaps you have a place you go to that is good for your soul. The Art Institute of Chicago is good for my soul.

Keep in mind that when it comes to art, I can’t draw a straight line if you spot me a ruler. So I’m sure I can’t appreciate the complexity and genius of these masterpieces the way a true artist would. But I go and stand in front of them and am moved by them just the same.

We had limited time. Duane asked me what I most wanted to see. I told him that if all we did was go and stare at Seurat’s “Sunday Afternoon”, it would be worth the trip. It’s my absolute favorite.

Seurat, a mere 25 years old when he painted this defining work, had spent previous years studying theories of light. The painting technique that he employed was based on those theories. Unlike the broader brush strokes of mixed colors that other Impressionist painters used, Seurat developed a new technique called “pointellism”. Or, as he preferred to describe it, “divisionism”.

As to size, it is a huge painting – the canvas stretches 7 feet x 10 feet. This masterpiece took 2 years to complete. From a distance what you see is the picture. The images of the people enjoying their Sunday afternoon on the Sienne River in France. What you don’t see from a distance is that the entire painting is made up of tiny dashes and dots of pure color paint.

For the first year, Seurat painted nothing but horizontal dashes. The dashes are each one detached from the others. Then he added the dots of pure color paint. As you might imagine, this was a tedious and exacting process. The project was so intense that during the two years it took him to paint it, Seurat refused to have lunch with his close friends lest they distract him and break his concentration.

Up close, the dashes and dots look like, well…dashes and dots. Yet as you step back from the painting to a distance, the dashes and dots combine optically in your eye to form the desired image.

For two years, nothing but days and days of dashes and dots.

Dashes and dots.

How could dashes and dots make a picture? It doesn’t make sense that detached horizontal dashes and dots of paint can combine to make a masterpiece.

But they do.

What are the dashes and dots of your life? What of those thousands of detached horizontal lines of seemingly disconnected events? When you step back are they really all that disconnected? When you step back far enough can you see how God has painted them in such a way that they form the picture of your life?

Was it really chance that you took that job in a different city? Was it just coincidence that you met that certain person? Was the career you felt trapped in really a waste of time? Was the serious illness really a stand alone event that led nowhere? Was the tragedy in your life the end of a dream? Or was God preparing you for something bigger?

Standing less than a foot away from Seurat’s “Sunday Afternoon” and staring at the canvas, you think, “No way does this make a picture. It’s just dashes and dots of paint. No rhyme, no reason, no pattern.” And up close, you’d be right. It looks like one big random mess.

Only when you step back does it begin to make sense. 5 feet. 10 feet. 15 feet. 20 feet. And then the random mess becomes a beautiful Sunday afternoon picnic.

Friends, if you’re like me, you might in the middle of a mess that makes no sense. All you see are dashes of dread and dots of pain. You want to make sense of it but you can’t. Not right now. We’re too close to see what God is painting. This close it’s just dashes and dots. The disappointments and heartbreaks, how can these be part of a beautiful picture?

With brush strokes of grace, God the Artist makes sense of our dashes and dots. Let’s remember to step back from time to time to see how He is bringing them together into the beautiful picture that is our life. Because whether we see it or not, He’s doing exactly that.

God promises to continue perfecting the good work that He began in us. Which is to say He will continue dashing and dotting until the masterpiece is complete.

“For we know that all things work together for good to those who love God and are called according to His purpose.” – Romans 8:28

“For I am confident that He (God) who began a good work in you will continue to perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 1:6

Funny that the scraggly looking lawn didn’t bother me until I went to cut it and couldn’t. Then it drove me nuts. I left the stubborn mule of a mower with a couple choice words and went into the house.

Being busy with work and routine over the past few weeks, I didn’t have time to take it in for repairs. So it just sat there, smugly reminding me of what it could, but wouldn’t do.

A couple days ago I looked at the lawn and realized a decision had to be made. I either had to get the lawn mower fixed or rent a hay baler. Knowing I’d just get mad all over again if I tried to start it, I tried anyway. On the first pull the engine took off like a scalded cat. The happy surprise of grass cutting potential quickly turned to the urgent, serious thought of “don’t let it die or it won’t start again.” For me, a lawn mower that quits after one stripe of cut grass is like your barber closing up shop in the middle of your haircut.

Listening to every fluctuation of engine noise, I babied the green machine through the tall rye and Bermuda and didn’t let up on the safety kill switch handle until the turf had an even shave.

Victories.

We celebrate the big ones. Graduations. Promotions. A series deciding Game 7 win. Landing the big account. Becoming fully potty trained. The big victories stand out because they are, well, big. They don’t happen every day. And because they don’t, we tend to remember them.

We don’t give much thought to small victories. But we should celebrate them more than we do. If for no other reason than there’s more of them to celebrate. Like your three year old making it all the way across the carpet without dumping their juice. A morning’s worth of work that doesn’t spill over into the afternoon. A post-surgery check up that shows you’re on the way to full recovery. Fighting rush hour traffic and still arriving on time. Hearing your kids say “please” and “thank you” to the server at the café without being prompted. And yes, a mower that starts on the first pull.

There is an unintended benefit to celebrating small victories. Celebrating small victories grounds us in the present moment. For this moment, my grass is cut. I smile and feel good and go back to the window just to look. For this moment, my yard looks great. It will be scraggly again in a week. Who knows if the mower will start next time? It might not. I might rip some more skin off my finger trying to make it run. But for this day, it’s all good.

And this day is all we have.

Celebrate the small victories today.

If my mower starts, it’s party time.

01:02:03; 04/05/06

It won’t happen again for a hundred years.

We tend to take note of events that don’t come around often. Halley’s Comet makes an appearance every 76 years. If you didn’t see it in 1986, you have to wait till 2061. Which for many of us means we won’t ever see Halley’s Comet. It’s the same feeling I have when I try to put “Super Bowl Champions” and “Minnesota Vikings” in the same sentence.

When thinking of things astronomical, we understand that certain alignments of planets and stars happen only once, if you’ll pardon the metaphor, in a blue moon. So what is it about the ordinary moment that makes us think they are ordinary?

This morning I took my parents to the airport. They have been visiting for the past week. I remember thinking when I picked them up that the days would fly and before I knew it I’d be taking them back to the airport. And that’s what happened. We thoroughly enjoyed our time together but the week was a blur. This morning it dawned on me that we were so busy having fun that I didn’t take a single picture while they were here. So engrossed in the moments that I didn’t think to capture any of them to look at later.

It’s good to be fully alive in the present moment. Yet this week I was reminded again how easily it is to take the present moment for granted. My parents commented on how much Annie and Emma have grown since they last saw them. It’s not as obvious to me because I see them everyday. Yet how important to pay attention to the ordinary day. Each day, a little growth. A little change. A little here and a little there and before you know it you’re picking out high school graduation announcements.

It’s a wonderfully cool, Winnie the Pooh blustery day in Phoenix. All my windows are open. The leaves of my orange/lemon tree are scratching on the window screen to my office. Roses are blooming in my backyard. My grapevine is leafing out. The chimes hanging on my patio play random compositions with each gust of wind. Palmer the Eskimo Dog is chilling in the grass. And I’m about to go play Chutes and Ladders with Annie and Emma while we listen to some Big Band music.

We won’t see 01:02:03; 04/05/06 on the calendar again for a hundred years.

We will never be where we are with the people we’re with on this day again…ever.

That makes this ordinary day extraordinary.

Carpe diem.

“This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.” – Psalm 118:24

“When ya’ got one foot in yesterday and the other foot in tomorrow, yer’ pissin’ all over today.”

Cowboy vernacular aside, that’s the truth. Too often we’re paralyzed by a past we can’t change and fret over a future we can’t control. The word is “worry”. And if you’re anything like me, you do it way too much. Worry is like a rocking chair. It gives us something to do, but it doesn’t get us anywhere. Worry is counter-productive and won’t add a single minute to our lives. In fact, if medical studies are accurate, worry may well shorten our life.

Worry is associated with stress. And stress is associated with elevated adrenaline levels in our body. In God’s design, adrenaline is for emergencies; for crisis situations that demand a “fight or flight” response. But in our western culture we’ve made “emergencies” out of many routine situations. So much so that many of us live each day as though we are on an adrenaline drip. When we continually spend a dollar’s worth of adrenaline on ten cent problems, our minds and bodies pay a price.

Our heads may know that worry is an exercise in futility. But honestly, when life presses in and puts the squeeze on, a Hallmark card telling us to “take life one day at a time” isn’t all that comforting. Maybe you’re worried about your kids. Maybe it’s a chronic health problem that has worn you to a frazzle. Maybe it’s a bad church experience that has left you wondering how to sort the truth from the trappings. Maybe your career has lost its luster and you’re wondering what to do with your life. Maybe you’re experiencing a loneliness of the soul that cannot be expressed. Maybe you’re grieving the loss of a friend or family member. Whatever worries you, weighs on you.

This past week I found myself worrying a lot. The usual pressures of life were magnified a bit. I found myself at odds with Jesus’ practical advice. “Don’t worry about tomorrow. Tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of it’s own.” (Matthew 6:34) When I thought about my attitude and my worry, there was only one conclusion. I wasn’t trusting that God would take care of me.

So this is what I did. I encourage you to do it, too. Right now. Grab any piece of paper in front of you and for 60 seconds (no longer) write down as many blessings in your life as you can think of. Don’t ponder them and don’t edit your list. Just write as many as you can as fast as you can. Ready? Go.

Now flip the paper over. On this side take 60 seconds (no longer) to write down as many worries as you can. Whatever’s weighing heavy on your head and heart, jot it down. Ready? Go.

When you’re finished, look at your list of blessings and ask yourself this question: “Is there anything on this list that I have ever worried about in some form or fashion?”

I bet there is. My list of blessings was loaded with items that I’d worried about at one time or another. Not the least of which are my children, Annie and Emma are my biggest blessings. For years I worried that I’d never have opportunity to be a Dad. I was finally coming to grips with the fact that God in His sovereignty may have decided that parenthood wasn’t part of the plan for me. Then out of the blue God said, “Ok. You think I’ve been really slow in responding. It’s go time now. You better buckle up because we’re going to go really fast.” And we did. From zero kids to two kids in 23 days.

The point is, if the items on our blessing list used to be on our worry list, then it’s tangible proof that God takes care of us. On His timetable and in His way, yet tangible proof that God can be trusted with the details of our lives.

There is a piece of Jewish wisdom that goes like this, “Do not worry over tomorrow’s evils, for you know not what today will bring forth. Perhaps tomorrow you will not be alive and you will have worried for a world that will not be yours.” Whatever stress you’re staring at this week, start by getting both feet in today. There’s enough trouble to kick around without borrowing trouble from a tomorrow that may not come.

Oh, and remember…God will take care of you. Those items on your blessing list that used to be on your worry list are proof of that.

“No, Annie. You’re five now. Happy Birthday!”

For weeks Annie and Emma have been talking about how they would soon be five years old. Now that the day is here, they seem a tiny bit wistful pondering that being five means they are no longer four. I understand that. We look forward to arriving and when we do we can’t help but look back.

Driving them to pre-school, we stop at Fry’s Grocery to buy some cookies to share with their classmates. Annie and Emma announce to the checkout clerk that today is their birthday and they are now five years old.

“Really? If it’s your birthday then you need balloons!” An attentive employee walking by hears the conversation and is back in a flash with two balloons, one pink and one orange. The girls giggle, toss a thank you over their shoulder and bounce out the door.

We are pulling out of the parking lot when my Dad calls. He can barely find the words to say that Steve Logemann, a high school acquaintance of mine, has died in a farm accident.

Steve was a couple grades ahead of me at North Kossuth High School. I didn’t know him well except to say hi to him in the hall between classes. He was very tall and very nice. The kind of person your parents would describe as “a good kid”.

Two years ago and 23 years removed from our high school days I received an email from Steve. Somehow one of my “Slice of Life” columns had found its way to his inbox and he asked to be added to the distribution list. Steve and his wife Gail now had four kids and a family website with pictures of their Iowa farm and of their children. The website is called www.twinkleye.com, a not so subtle reference to the Biblical passage in 1 Corinthians 15 that speaks about how believers in Jesus Christ will be changed in the “twinkling of an eye” when He returns. And that because of Jesus’ death on the cross, “death is swallowed up in victory”.

Pressing the end button on my cell phone, I turn right on to 40th Street. Annie and Emma are chattering happy twin talk in the back seat. Driving a little slower than normal, I look around. Palm trees are swaying and gray clouds are rolling on an unusually cool and windy Phoenix day. A phone company technician bends over a junction box, making repairs. Kids with packs on their backs and I-Pod’s in their ears head for the bus stop. A McDonald’s semi truck on its way with a supply of everything needed to make Big Macs and Egg McMuffins. Two ladies aerobic speed walking down the sidewalk. A Dad pushing a stroller. And me driving my kids to preschool on their 5th birthday before going off to work.

The thing about death is that it happens in the middle of life.

Pulling into the school parking lot the kids unbuckle their seat belts and we do what we always do. We have a little talk. We talk about how important it is to be a good friend to others, to be respectful of their teachers, to take care of each other and to remember that they can talk to God anytime about anything. On this day I add that 5 years ago my whole life changed when God blessed me with their lives. I tell them how proud I am of them and how much I love them. We hug for a little longer than usual.

Getting out of the car, Emma says, “Daddy, let’s let the balloons go and watch them go high in the sky.”

“Is that ok with you, Annie?”

“That’s a great idea! I go first!”

“Ok, go ahead…no. Wait Annie. Please. Just a second. Daddy needs to get something.”

Maybe it’s because today is their birthday. Maybe it’s because I’m thinking about Steve’s wife and kids and how terribly much they are going to miss their Daddy. Maybe it’s because with all my formal theological training I don’t have a single satisfying answer as to why bad things happen to good people. Maybe it’s because all of the above makes me remember that life is short and oh so unpredictable.

Whatever it was made me grab the camera.

“Ok, girls! Let ‘em go!”

Annie was right. It was a great idea. We watched them dance into the clouds and out of sight.

Happy Birthday, Annie and Emma. I love you more than you’ll ever know.

See you later, Steve. Thanks for reminding me to look forward to the “twinkle eye” time. You’ve arrived. I’m sure there’s lots to do on your first day in heaven, but if you happen to see a couple of pink and orange balloons float by, just know they’re from friends in Phoenix who are looking forward to the day of no more looking back.

“Show me, O Lord, my life’s end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting is my life.”
-Psalm 39:4

“Thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.” – 1 Corinthians 15:57

I remember my Grandfather saying these words. “My roses are blooming. Wanna come see?” He’d want me to follow and I would. Not because I had a passion for roses. More out of respect for Grandpa. Oh, I liked them ok. But he loved them. He even painted pictures of them. Me, I would lean over and smell them and say they were pretty with as much enthusiasm as a kid could.

Now that I’m (much) older I’m seeing what my Grandfather saw. I’m developing a passion for roses. Not just for the beautiful blooms, but for the entire process of cultivating and tending them. For example, since we don’t have a real winter in Phoenix, roses won’t go dormant on their own. If you want beautiful flowers in the spring, you must force them to take a three month rest. You accomplish this by stripping them of their leaves in January and pruning them back to naked canes. When you finish, if you step back and think you’ve surely killed them then they are probably pruned about right.

In March the rose bushes begin to wake up. They begin leafing out. Roses are big drinkers and big eaters. Ample amounts of water and fertilizer help the buds begin to form and in April they begin to bloom. I have twenty rose bushes in my small backyard. Hybrid tea roses, grandifloras, climbing roses and floribundas. They have delightful names like Rio Samba, Moonshadow, Sheer Bliss, Brigadoon, Midas Touch and Garden Party. Everyday I go out to enjoy the palette of colors and literally stop to smell the roses.

A few days ago I laid my nose on a perfect rose. I closed my eyes and inhaled the intoxicating scent. That’s when I noticed the bloom next to it. It had opened several days earlier and looked nothing like the one I was admiring. Its petals were spread out and displayed a different shade of yellow and pink. Only several days earlier it was a perfect rose.

Looking at the two of them I was reminded of a truth that God reminds us of. Our life, He says, is like the flower of the field. We bloom and then the wind passes over and we fade away. Which is to say our life, even if it’s long, is short. What’s 80, 90 or even 100 years in the span of eternity?

The challenge when you’re not a rose is that you’re slow to see your bloom fading. We tend to think of ourselves as younger than we are until birthdays and class reunions remind us that time is passing quickly. God instructs us to number our days so we’ll make the most of the time He gives us. Given that, it’s good to ask each other questions while the wind of life is blowing over us.

Do your kids know how much you love them? Have you told them specifically how they delight you? That you love to hear them giggle? That you are proud of them? That when you look in on them when they are sleeping you’re so overwhelmed by God’s blessing that it brings tears to your eyes?

Do your co-workers and employees know you as more than the person who gives the orders and checks off the checklists? Are you using your God-given talents and abilities? Are you chasing the American dream at the expense of God’s peace in your life?

Are you living today? Or are you wasting valuable time trying to change the past and/or fret over the future? Are you making a daily difference in the lives of others? What are you doing today that will last forever?

What are you doing while the wind is blowing over? What are you doing before your bloom fades?

My roses are blooming. Wanna come see? Better hurry. They won’t last long.

“As for man, his days are like grass, he flourishes like a flower of the field; the wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more.” – Psalm 103:15-16

After stuffing ourselves with this delicious food, the five of us decided to take a walk downtown along Michigan Avenue. It was a quintessential summer evening in the Windy City. Lots of hustle and bustle around the Old Water Tower and in the midst of incessant traffic, starry-eyed couples rode by in horse drawn carriages.

After a time we found ourselves in front of the John Hancock Building. Inside the lobby, a marble floor led to gold elevator doors. Nearby an elegantly dressed young woman seated behind a cherry wood desk rose to greet us. She politely asked our names before we stepped onto the elevator for a rocket ride to the top. The doors barely opened before a tuxedoed maitre de extended his hand, “Ah! Welcome! Good evening, Mr. Thompson” as if I dropped by every weekend for lobster with a view. It’s nice to be shmoozed once in awhile. But we won’t be dining under his chandeliers. We’ve already had dinner.

Above the restaurant was a lounge called “Images”. It’s on the 96th floor. We found an open table right next to the full length windows and though the night was partly overcast, the panorama of the city was breathtaking. Through wisps of clouds floating by we saw a giant blanket of multi-colored lights spread out in every direction. Below, tiny threads of freeway full of Friday night traffic rushed past the steady rolling waves, breaking gently along the shore of Lake Michigan.

Looking out from one of the highest vantage points in the city I couldn’t help but feel struck by the irony. It was for me the lowest time in my life. I faced problems and pain the scope of which I could never have imagined. My heart was broken. Over my shoulder I heard my buddy Mike punch-lining a joke. I didn’t think my tears would mix well with the laughter of my friends so I hid them behind a smile while twirling my swizzle stick counter-clockwise in my beverage. That’s when I first noticed it.

In the two inch gap between the inside window and the panes of glass attached on the outer structure of the skyscraper, was a spider. A big fat spider, bouncing quite comfortably in his wind blown web. On closer examination, I observed that he had friends; all apparently as healthy as he. This was curious. How can a spider be well fed 96 stories high on the outside of a skyscraper? Was he patronizing this fancy restaurant a couple times a week? Or do flies and other such spider cuisine hang out in the clouds, too?

Watching this eight-legged wonder, I was reminded that if God cares for spiders on the 96th floor, He would also take care of me.

He did. He has. And He does.

In His Sermon on the Mount, Jesus reminds us that God the Father cares about all of life, right down to the smallest details. In Matthew 6 Jesus says, “Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single cubit to his life’s span?”

Jesus pointed to the birds of the air as proof of God’s provision. If He feeds the sparrows, how much more will He do for His children? God is a God of loving detail. His faithfulness and provision are freely given at every level. He takes care of us during times of peaceful order and He cares for us when we’re hiding our tears behind a smile. God is faithful.

Whatever problems you’re facing, whatever is breaking your heart, whatever it is that’s heavy on your mind while you’re twirling your swizzle stick…remember the fat spiders on the 96th floor of the John Hancock building. God takes very good care of them. Don’t worry. God will take very good care of you, too.

“Cast all your care on Him, because He cares for you.” – 1 Peter 5:7 

Scottsdale – Welcome – “Most Livable City.”

The sign stands twelve inches away from a brown block wall marking the west edge of Green Acres Mortuary and Cemetery.

I laugh every time I drive by it. A Chamber of Commerce welcome to their most livable city and the first sight you see is a mortuary. The irony of “live-ability” is especially thick for me and anyone else who’s attempted to navigate the maze of bureaucracy in the Puzzle Palace known as Scottsdale City Hall. There’s a code number and a restriction ordinance for everything.

It must be difficult for Green Acres Mortuary and Cemetery to stay in business because in Scottsdale you’re not allowed to pass away without the proper permit. Even if you’ve been granted a Planetary Departure License, you’re not allowed to expire within 1,320 feet of any establishment not zoned for cessation of respiration, unless it’s a C-2 or C-3 business in which case you need to submit written agreement from the property owner that upon your demise you will not linger longer than 2 hours and not between the hours of 9 PM and 6 AM. And when you go, you’d best go gently into that good night because if you don’t you’ll be cited for disorderly dying. Removing all the red tape in Scottsdale sounds like a wonderful idea until you realize it’s the only thing holding the city together.

There’s humor in seeing a proclamation of livability set against a backdrop of tombstones. A sign of progress so close to the wall of finality. There’s a fine line between life and death. On one side of the block wall thousands of cars speed back and forth to jobs and homes and sales calls and Little League games. On the other side of the block wall, guys with Weed-Eaters trim Bermuda grass off inscribed granite grave markers; each one a dated proclamation that life does have an endpoint. Sooner or later, the cars on Hayden Road make the turn into Green Acres or a cemetery like it. There’s a fine line between life and death.

There’s also a fine line between living and existing. Genuine living requires our involvement with the people and world around us. Existing requires only our presence. In that light, the grave markers at Green Acres exist. We can point to them and say, “There they are. They were here yesterday. They are here today. They will probably be here tomorrow.” They are present, but not involved. Some days, that’s an apt description of me. Present. Busy, even. But not involved.

It’s easy to confuse living with existing because we too often confuse activity with significance. We think we’re productive because we’re doing so much. Ask 10 people, “How are you doing?” and I bet 6 of them will say, “Busy.” Our daily routine can have us busier than a raccoon at a crawdad hole. But unless that activity involves us in the lives of others in a meaningful way, something more than checking items off a list, busy just gets us tired.

The grave markers at Green Acres exist and never move from their spot in the cemetery. We exist flying all over the place. If neither one of us genuinely interact with people in the process, the only difference between us and a tombstone is that they exist in one place and we exist in many.

Right or wrong, we’re stuck with a certain amount of busy. It’s the world we live in. Meetings and errand running and caring for families are what we day in and day out do. It’s a fine line between living and existing. Though we think we can’t possibly fit another responsibility into our schedules, it really doesn’t take much to stay on the living side of the line. Asking your co-worker how his daughter is adjusting to her first semester of college and thanking the grocery clerk for smiling and getting down on the floor so your kids can climb on you like a jungle gym all get us involved with people. Those aren’t grand gestures. They are common courtesies that, at the end of the day, people remember. When we make it a point to actively care about someone, we don’t exist. We live.

Tomorrow’s Monday. I’ll likely be on the phone again with someone inside the Scottsdale Puzzle Palace. I’ll do my best to inject some humor into my conversation with the city code-talkers. What are you going to do on Monday? How will you inject some meaning into your routine?

“What did I do today that set me apart from the people buried at Green Acres Cemetery?”

It’s not such a dumb question to ask.