Do you even know what you believe?

Journeys begin with a single step. Often the first step is forgotten by the time we reach our destination. My journey of faith, of searching the Scriptures to know what I believed, began on a Saturday when I was 16.

It was a rainy day. Normally this would not have mattered, but this was supposed to be a day for an outing of our church youth group. Most of the kids stayed home due to the weather but the few of us who had nothing else to do showed up anyway.

We were just sitting in the fellowship hall talking while the rain beat down outside. After a while the conversation turned theologically deep.  For some reason we began discussing the points of theological distinction between traditional Christianity and its cultic off shoots. (yes- we were nerds!) We were focusing on the person and nature of Jesus Christ when the youth pastor turned to me and asked, “Bart, can you prove from Scripture that Jesus was God?”

I was only 16 at the time and had been seriously studying the Bible for less than a year, but I thought I could hold my own in such a debate and I reached for my Bible to find verses to support my answer. As I did the youth pastor stopped me and said, “You should just know this!” Implying that even at my young age I should have all of the major doctrines of scripture, and the supportive Biblical texts, committed to memory.

I did not at the time think to  question his assertion, to ask, “Are you kidding? Nobody knows this stuff like that!” Unreasonable as his challenge might seem to some, I took him at his word and began a life long process of personal study and memorization. The knowledge gained has served me so well over the years. I am a Christian who knows what I believe and why I believe it. My faith has not wavered in the 37 years since, built firmly on Biblical truth.

It was a single moment in a seemingly nondescript location but it was a moment that helped shape my life. It is a reminder of how important our words can be and how important it is for adults to interact with and challenge young people. I do not think that all teens are capable of committing large chunks of Scripture to memory, but I do think that most teens can do much more than we think they can. The church has raised a Biblically illiterate generation that is ill prepared for the intellectual and philosophical challenges of the world in which we live. Maybe it is time we talk differently to younger believers. If we dare them to be better and to know more, some of them might actually do it.

How Hard do You work?

Many people work hard every day. I am not one of them. This is not to say that my job is effortless. It takes considerable focus and it requires years of training, many of which were quite difficult and were a LOT of work. After 20 years of private practice those days are well behind me and I have reached a place in life where 12 hour days are very rare. I am “on call” 24 hours a day 7 days a week, but the calls are only occasional and seldom require me to do more than spend a few minutes on the phone. I work every day and some days are difficult but there are many people who work harder than I do.

When I think of working hard I think of Manuel. Although I have known him for over 20 years I do not know his last name. Manuel has been a busboy at the local Souplantation restaurant since we first moved into town. It is one of two jobs he keeps. In total he puts in over 60 hours a week working in restaurants. He is an amazing worker. 

He is in constant motion and is consistently attentive. He is not content to simply clear away dirty plates and wipe down tables. Even though the restaurant is self-service Manuel refills beverages for every table in his section and brings coffee at the end of the meal. He greets regulars like they are family, with a warm smile and a “Good to see you!” From what I have observed he does the work of two "normal" employees.

He is also a family man who takes great pride in his son who has recently started college. He is a dedicated provider who somehow managed to save enough money to purchase a home in Southern California while earning a busboy's wages.

Manuel works hard. He is also happy. I have never heard him complain about his long hours or his low status. He seems to take great satisfaction in simply doing his best, as if hard work is its own reward. He has no sense of entitlement and does not seem to begrudge anyone else for their success.

I think Manuel is on to something. He is living the promise found in the Proverbs 13:4 

 "Lazy people want much but get little, but those who work hard will prosper."

- Bart

Sticks and Stones are Nothing Compared to Words

One of the greatest lies of childhood is “Sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me.” As someone who has been hit by sticks and stones and who has experienced more than my share of orthopedic injuries, I testify to the truth that physical pain is quickly forgotten but emotional pain hurts for a lifetime.

My parents were insensitive to the emotions of a child and insults and criticism were common. As a child I was significantly pigeon-toed, and my parents thought calling me spastic and a klutz was funny. It wasn’t. Even less funny was what they said to my brothers when they were absent minded or clumsy, “You really pulled a Bart that time!”

Even now as I write these words some of the pain returns. I feel the rush of insecurity and fear, and the hurt in my chest that characterized my childhood. I wish I could say that the wounds have fully healed but I can’t. The wounds seem to have healed only superficially as any even mildly hurtful words can cause me significant emotional setback.

So deeply ingrained is the pain that it consumes my memories and is the focus of my recollections. When I review my life it is the hurts and failures that first come to mind, those  times when my actions were clumsy, when I stumbled in my words, or when someone whose love and respect I sought responded with criticism or disdain.

I wish I could say that my experiences have worked to make me more sensitive and understanding than others and that people who come in contact with me have walked away feeling particularly loved and cared for. I wish I could say this, but I can’t. My defensiveness and hurts have caused me to often focus on self protection, self defense and self preservation. This inward focus has often times resulted in me hurting others.

It has taken years (combined with medications and counseling) for my heart to soften and my perspective to begin to turn outward. Only now at the age of 53 do I feel that I am beginning to understand how much damage my own words have done over the years.

I am reminded of the admonition of James, the brother of Jesus Christ, in his letter to the church. In the third chapter he wrote-

“Indeed, we all make many mistakes. For if we could control our tongues, we would be perfect and could also control ourselves in every other way. We can make a large horse go wherever we want by means of a small bit in its mouth. And a small rudder makes a huge ship turn wherever the pilot chooses to go, even though the winds are strong. In the same way, the tongue is a small thing that makes grand speeches. But a tiny spark can set a great forest on fire. And the tongue is a flame of fire. It is a whole world of wickedness, corrupting your entire body. It can set your whole life on fire, for it is set on fire by hell itself. People can tame all kinds of animals, birds, reptiles, and fish, but no one can tame the tongue. It is restless and evil, full of deadly poison. Sometimes it praises our Lord and Father, and sometimes it curses those who have been made in the image of God. And so blessing and cursing come pouring out of the same mouth. Surely, my brothers and sisters, this is not right!"

Words hurt. Here is praying we will learn to use them carefully, wisely and with kindness.

-Bart

Thanks for reading. If this has been a blessing or an encouragement to you, please consider sharing it with others by clicking on the link below. You can also have every post sent to your inbox by subscribing to the Blog, just click the subscribe button.

53 years, 85 pounds and a Deadly Disease.

The first thing I noticed was her weight, 85 pounds, which was dramatically decreased from the first time I saw her. She did not look well. My voice reflected my concern as I entered the room, “85 pounds? What’s going on?” Her reply caught me off guard, “I think I am dying.”

She said it in a matter of fact tone. It was not a statement of fear or anger, it was simply her opinion on her current state. She went on to explain why she thought as she did. “I feel like I am suffocating.”

3 years earlier she had been diagnosed with MAC (Mycobacterium Avium-intracellulare Complex) a cousin of TB that can cause severe chronic pneumonias, usually in patients with a depressed immune system. In her case the disease was particularly aggressive, eating away normal lung tissue and leaving infected cavities in its place. Multiple drug regimens had been attempted without success. The last combination had so suppressed her bone marrow that her white blood cells had almost disappeared from her body, rendering her defenseless against other forms of infection. The specialists had run out of options and had begun to consider experimental therapies and perhaps even a lung transplant. I asked her thoughts about the future.

We talked about some of the proposed therapies and she told me that she had made up her mind that she was not going to bankrupt her family pursuing treatment and that she was pretty sure she did not want a lung transplant. “I am not afraid of dying,” she shared, “I just don’t want to suffocate.” I ordered some breathing treatments to help open up her airways and returned later to check on her. Her breathing had improved some and I sat and talked with her some more, asking about her family and their feelings about her illness.

As we talked I was impressed by how reasonable and rational she is. She does not have a death wish nor is she giving up. She just understands the truth. She is a very sick lady with a very serious disease. Death is a very real possibility. We talked some more and she shared with me her faith, which helped me understand her reasoning. She is a devout Christian who believes that death is not the end, that she has an eternal hope. She is confident that death will not permanently separate her from her family and does not feel that she needs to grasp at straws or pursue futile treatment to prevent it.

Later in the conversation she surprised me with her insights from her recent hospitalization. “The doctors there seemed uncomfortable with me. I felt like I was a disease and not a person.” It seemed that as the doctors ran out of medical options they were uncomfortable talking to her. It made her feel as if no one cared, that she was being defined by her disease.

She then looked me in the eye and thanked me for the time I spent with her, saying that although we had not shared many visits that my office was the one place where she felt listened to, that she felt that she was a person. I was deeply touched.

Before she left I asked for permission to pray for her and to ask others to pray for her via my office Facebook page. “I will take all the prayer I can get,” she replied. “I know God can heal, I have seen Him do it before!” She concluded by saying that even if God did not heal her that she was okay with that as well.

The visit came to an end. I prayed for her and gave her a hug, and we both got a little misty eyed. She has been on my mind ever since, I think mostly because of the quiet strength that she portrayed. She and I are the same age and I wonder how my family and I would respond if I was struck with such a severe disease. It is my prayer that we would also be able to draw strength and confidence from our faith and that we would be able to cling as confidently to the hope of the Savior as she has.

As I reflect on her faith I am reminded of the words of Peter as he wrote to the Christians who were facing terrible persecution at the hands of the sadistic Emperor Nero-

“While you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith — of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire — may be proved genuine…” 1 Peter 1:6-7

Difficult times test our faith. Genuine faith endures these trials, is priceless, and demonstrates the reality of our relationship with God. Hers is a genuine faith indeed.

-          Bart

The Importance of Fixing what's Broken... By Yourself!

I don’t fix things. I occasionally fix people but I rarely fix things. Broken things scare me. I see in them a multitude of potential injuries. Lacerated fingers, broken bones and lost vision are just one misstep away.

I learned this lesson the hard way shortly after I started practice. Our home needed a new roof and we did not have the money to have it replaced. My father-in-law (who I always called “Pops”) assured me that we could do it ourselves. We decided that I could pay someone to tear off the old roof and then do the remainder of the work on our own. The day before we were to start Pops cut off about a third of his thumb tip on a table saw. He showed up to work anyway. He clearly was in pain as the sound of every third or fourth hammer strike was punctuated with a loud “Ow.”

In the mornings I went to the office and in the afternoons and evenings I worked on the roof. With the old roof off I learned to walk carefully and put my feet where the slats joined the rafters so I would not fall. This worked wonderfully until Pops moved one of the slats. There was nothing but air where I put my foot. Down I went. My descent was halted by my groin striking a rafter, unfortunately not before our master bathroom had developed a foot shaped skylight.

Lisa ran into the bathroom to see what had caused the noise and discovered my foot hanging out of the ceiling. She laughed so hard she nearly did in her pants what people usually do in the master bathroom.

Pops patched the hole and we eventually finished the roof. I was left with the confidence that Pops could fix anything but that I was simply dangerous.

Pops died 9 years ago and I have been left on my own. I think of him every time something breaks. I find myself wondering, “What would Pops do?” I have started to do more and more on my own. Each small job usually involves several mistakes and a number of bumps bruises and scrapes. Each success brings the satisfaction of knowing that he would be proud of me, not only because I succeeded, but because I tried.

I have also learned that the scrapes, bumps, bruises, cut off thumb tips and foot shaped skylights have value as well. Each brings with it a lesson and a memory. Pops had a remarkable collection of nicks and scars and he was one of the wisest men I have ever met. I think he was on to something.