Fresh Starts

Every few months, I get motivated. I clean my room. I mean, I really clean it. You know, toss out all the old papers, find random items under the bed.... A fresh start. Then, I turn to my online life... There's a part of me that would love to be organized and narrate who I am online. Keep the blog, photos, facebook, twitter, and assorted other sites connected and well-informed. Unfortunately, it just takes too much time.

However, when I'm motivated, as now, I always want to toss this blog and start afresh. It's like a New Year's resolution. I'm going to.... learn a language. Lose weight. Read more. Be organized... but there's a reason these resolutions don't work.

See, all of these things are about habits. Habits are tricky things. They sneak into your life unexpectedly, then seem so hard to break. But that's not the worst thing, as we all know. The worst thing is trying to create one. I mean, they slip into our lives on their own easily enough, so why should it be so hard to gain one you actually want?

Now, I know all the tricks. Anchor a new habit (like reading) to an old habit (like commuting on the train). Then there's the whole thing about goals - set big goals, then break them down into smaller goals. Or grab a partner to help you stick to the new habit. These are all excellent tricks, but they exit precisely because changing habits is so hard.

Then, there's my journal. If you ask me, I say I journal. Yes, I do. I keep a journal. Regularly. I've been keeping one for more than half my life now. Portions are on the computer and portions are in some well-worn journals, but they all add up to the narrative of my life. Honestly, that's an impressive habit.

But you know what's interesting when you look at this habit? It's full of holes. "Regularly" is relative. There are months where I wrote every day. Every single day, for an hour or more - I wrote. Then there are six months of silence. Absolutely nothing is said for whole portions of my life. Did nothing happen? Was I simply to busy to write? Writer's block? Yes. Yes. Yes.

Some people have an amazing ability that most of us envy: Discipline. They can stick with it no matter what. That's great. For them. But for the rest of us, there's the perspective of the big picture. When I look back at 15 years of journaling, I don't notice all the gaps. I notice what was actually done.

So it is with prayer. Or a healthy lifestyle. Or even organizing all my photos online. The thing that I love most - God sees from the big picture perspective. He celebrates that we managed to do it, not berating us for the times we missed. So let's throw out the guilt and do it just one more time.  Even if you didn't feel like it yesterday, of for the past year. Pick up where you're at and move forward. Don't go back to the beginning.

I won't be starting a new blog. I might be adding to this one. I might not. But the fact that it's been wobbling around for nearly two years means I should help it out, not scrap it and try to be perfect.

An Afternoon with Jesus

I walk in and focus on an image, his hand. As I looked, I realized he was soothing a fresh piece of wood. I looked up and saw his face, smiling, glad I had joined him. It was the first time I've found him as a carpenter, and it shocked me.

He showed me the long piece of wood, with the intricate grain. And he spoke, "Feel the wood, it is smooth and soft and warm. It feels alive beneath your hand. Remember the ancient wooden steps in the castle you visited? How worn and smooth they were, until they glowed? Remember how they felt under your feet, knowing that thousands of feet had trodden the same steps? That someone had taken great care to smooth and place them? Wood only gets better with age, if it's taken care of."

"What is this particular piece going to be used for?" I asked.

"This will be a beam in a house. See, our houses need long cross beams to support the roof, they are only visible from the inside."

"But why are you smoothing it with so much care? No one will ever touch it. It's simply support, half hidden in the mud roof."

"I always take great care, in everything I do. It's the attention to detail - making perfect details, that makes the whole perfect."

"But why do you spend so much time on your carpentry? Don't you ever feel like you're meant for something more? Like you have a mission to fulfill? Can you be content in this?" I asked, knowing full well that we both knew what his mission was.

With a caress that betrayed his love of the wood, and an intense light in his eyes, he responded, "If I didn't take time with this, how could you trust that I'd take time with you, with anyone? What I do here reflects my character. See, just as I smooth out the wood, I find the grain and work with it, not against it, I sand and polish, even so I work with people. I carve them, smooth them, polish them, working always with the grain to bring out the greatest beauty. If I didn't take the time here, how could you trust me to take the time with people? And what, should I do it for a chair and not for the roof beam, simply because no one will ever touch it? What then, should I take the time with a pastor or prominent teacher, but not with the least and the lost, with the servants, the supports? How then should I draw the line? Who is to say which beam deserves or requires my utmost attention? Do I not say that each piece, however small, is worth it? No, if I didn't take the time, and have a love for my work here, I'd never be ready for my "mission" as you call it."

I smile, satisfied. With eyes closed, I too caress the warm wood, feeling the soothing silkiness.