Bryan’s Blog – Page 2

Wisdom To Know the Difference

My daughter, Ava asked if it ever bothered me that I was short. I thought for a moment and honestly replied that it didn’t. I will joke around about it. My wife says I’m 5’6″, but I know for certain that I’m 5’7″. I recently went in for a physical for the first time in 25 years. The nice, elderly nurse wrote down my stats. I was excited to finally have proof that I was, in fact, 5 feet and 7 inches tall. I couldn’t wait to tell Lianne. The nurse was holding the chart so that I couldn’t quite see it. I had to ask her how tall I was. She replied, “5 feet, 6 and a half inches.”

I teasingly gave her a hard time, “C’mon!! You couldn’t just give me that extra half an inch?”

She looked at me with a flat stare and said, “I already did.”

Joking aside, my height has never been something I think about. Neither is my hair, or lack thereof. My Dad started losing his hair when he was young. Mine was getting thin in my early 20s. I had already bamboozled Lianne into marrying me, so what did I care? I’m vain enough to know that a comb over is a no-go. Like Dad used to say, “God only made a few perfect heads. The rest He covered with hair.”

Fortunately, I have a perfectly shaped head. It’s Jordan-esque, really. So I started shaving my head when I was 24 years old and I’ve never looked back.What else was I gonna do? Which is the heart of the matter … What else was I gonna do?

Height, hair, handsomeness. Those are things I can’t really control. Why should I take credit for my beautiful eyes and perfectly symmetrical facial features that make all the ladies swoon? In the same way, why should I fret over my stature or defective follicles? Instead, I should focus on the things I CAN control.

The Serenity Prayer is used in 12 step programs, such as Alcoholics Anonymous. That’s a more serious concern than my receding hairline, but the prayer is apropos.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
courage to change the things I can,
and wisdom to know the difference.
Reinhold_Niebuhr

I can change how I treat my wife and children. I can change what I eat and how much I exercise. The list of things I DO have some control over is infinite, so I’ll focus on those and let everything else go. I made a poor choice when Lianne asked me about the jeans she was wearing. I answered with a frank assessment, “Eh, they look OK.”

That was a poor choice. Can I go back and change it? No. Can I learn from it? Yes. I can give those jeans to Goodwill and then steadfastly refuse to take the bait when asked anything about appearance from a female member of my family. That’s the lesson I’ve learned. Always forward. That’s my motto.

When Ava asked me about my height I recognized that I already have some serenity with the things I cannot control. Our self-esteem is often tied to outward appearances, and we spend far too much emotional energy on those appearances. Instead, let’s identify the things that we CAN control. This is the key, we first need the Wisdom to know the difference between what we can and cannot change.

This is how we grow and mature as individuals. First we define what we can control, and then we exercise courage and discipline to initiate the change in our lives. So I’ve got a simplified 2 step program.

Step 1: The wisdom to know the difference between what I can and cannot change.

Step 2: The courage to change.

It sounds easy, but there wouldn’t be life coaches and self-help programs if that were true. Despite the challenge, it is worth it. Our happiness is worth it.

My name is Bryan. I’m 5 feet 7 inches tall.

Character Before Charisma

We all have authority figures in our lives. We have parents, bosses, pastors, and politicians. We tend to look for knowledge and skill in our leaders. They should be confident and competent. This may be adequate for most influential people, but we need to require more from our spiritual advisors.

I don’t have to recite the litany of abuses and flaws in religious leaders, particularly in evangelicalism. There are cases of financial impropriety, chauvinism, and bullying, not to mention infidelity, sexual harassment, child abuse, and rape. Powerful people and organizations in the church world have worked together to stifle the voices of victims, and to protect their own power.

Why is it that the very people who should exemplify integrity are the ones abusing their power and harming those in their care? How can someone who represents a loving, caring God become an instrument of evil? It’s because we’ve elevated charisma over character.

Our preachers have become celebrities. Their ability as orators draws crowds and helps to fund impressive church buildings. The churches are often run like businesses, centered around the influence of the lead pastor. Extra-church ministries are similar. A well educated and charismatic leader can sell books and sell out arenas. The ministry creates jobs, and the livelihoods of countless people are intertwined with the success of a single individual. The pastor is less Jesus Christ and more Elon Musk.

Divinity degrees are great. The ability to rouse emotion and tell a good tale in front of a crowd is a useful skill. However, knowledge and magnetism must be paired with integrity, character, and a servant’s heart. I think about my Dad, who late in life became a pastor. He had a master’s degree in Entomology, but no real theological training. Despite that lack of formal education, he knew God. He lived a life of righteousness, and was a willing servant to anyone in need. That’s what made him a good pastor.

I didn’t listen to his sermons and expect to hear a dissertation on the original Greek meaning behind Paul’s letters, given the Eastern cultural context during the Roman occupation of classical antiquity. I did listen to his advice about how to strengthen my marriage and raise a family.

We’ve lost sight of 1 Timothy 3:1-7. Paul says that a church leader’s life must be “above reproach,” and unbelievers “must speak well of him.” Paul says leaders should be “able to teach,” but otherwise doesn’t mention education or speaking ability. Instead, it is ALL ABOUT CHARACTER. Read it and ask yourself if your pastor or favorite TV evangelist fits that description.

When famous Christians struggle morally, or worse, abuse their power, it turns people away from God. These leaders should represent God’s character, but too often they act on the worst of our human frailties. We can’t expect perfection, but we should expect them to try. We should expect them to be the best among us. Of course, we should forgive, but it is also right to remove anyone who abuses their power from all leadership positions. Repentance and forgiveness doesn’t absolve someone of the consequences of their actions, and the consequences for those in spiritual leadership must be harsh. Honestly, this is one of the reasons I’ve never felt called to be a minister. The weight of responsibility is too great.

Fortunately, all of the pastors I’ve had in my life are men and women I respect. I’ve gotten to know them and I can see their character with my own eyes. The glitzy sermon with the professional video montage may be entertaining, but is the pastor living a life of integrity? We focus on the showmanship at the risk of forgetting about the character. We have got to rebalance our expectations and look for the highest integrity from our pastors. We need to put character before charisma.

RIP, To Who I Once Was

Carman and Rush both passed away this week. Two men who had an impact on me during my high school and college years. The fact that I knew them by only their first names is evidence of their fame and influence in the circles I kept. While thinking about their deaths and legacies I realized that there was a common thread between both of them and the way my perceptions of them changed over the years. In each case, quite simply, I outgrew them.

I grew up in a traditional, charismatic home. Charismatic Christians emphasized spiritual gifts such as speaking in tongues and healing, along with a pretty strict understanding of morality. For those familiar with religious movements, my house was part of the Third Wave of the charismatic revival that began in the 1980s. Carman fit squarely within that spiritual warfare realm of Christianity. He blended rap, rock, and pop into a cheesy blend of spiritual fervor. He spoke powerful words about Jesus’ victory, about our dominion over Satan, and about turning away from sin. Middle school Bryan, trying to figure out how he fit in, loved the counter cultural message. I was different from most kids my age, in part because of Carman. The Champion and Revival in the Land were made for youth group skits, and I knew that as a child of God I had authority over every demonic force that would try to stand against me.

Gradually, my musical tastes changed, and my theological foundation crumbled to be rebuilt anew. Carman didn’t speak to that new me. I listened to emo and punk rock. Tooth & Nail replaced Sparrow. Seeking, questioning, and changing replaced the static faith of my youth. I no longer see demonic forces behind every evil nor do I believe that everything will always work out perfectly for those who believe in God. Life and spirituality are more nuanced than this. I outgrew Carman.

Similarly, in high school, I started getting very interested in politics. I was a diehard ditto head. I read Rush’s first book. I listened to his radio program all summer. In college, I remember sitting in the car, late for class, listening to the IEB Network. I was part of the club.

I argued with a friend for days and days about whether he should vote for Ross Perot in 1992. Like Rush, I was convinced that Bill Clinton’s election would be the end of America. I cried when Bill Clinton won. I started to notice however, that Rush’s conservative ideals seem to buckle in the face of partisan politics. It didn’t matter who was in charge, we were still moving toward more government and less freedom. By 1996, the end of my college career, I had moved on. My job, my new family, and my music were all more important than whichever narcissist was sitting on the throne in DC.

I listened to Rush a little bit last year and it struck me how his views hadn’t changed a bit. I guess there’s something commendable about sticking to your convictions, but his tone struck me as simplistic and even childish. The tribal structures of us vs them don’t work for me anymore. I couldn’t connect with anything he was saying. I outgrew Rush.

I’m happy with my growth. I think I’m a better person now than I was 30 years ago. I don’t say this to demean those who have left us. I’m still very fond of Carman and Rush. They were good for me at the time. However, I don’t ever want to be so convinced of my rightness that I’m unable to learn something new. Einstein said, “The measure of intelligence is the ability to change.” By definition, the only way to become a better person is to change the person you are right now. I hope that 30 years from now I’ll be a different man. I’d like to look back on this blog, shake my head, and say, “RIP, To Who I Once Was.”

Dragon Killers

The 6th year of life is a turning point for many children. It seems like that is the year kids learn how to swim, how to ride their bikes, and they start asking questions that are a little more difficult to answer. I did those things when I was six. I also learned that Dad wouldn’t always be there for me, but that I could find the strength to go on without him.

There comes a time in all of our lives when we have to take the training wheels off. We start by feeding themselves, going to the bathroom on our own, and getting dressed. Eventually we choose our friends, register for high school classes, drive a car, and get a job. Our instinct as parents is to prevent our children from falling and getting hurt as they make these life choices. We don’t want to see our children suffering because of bad decisions. The problem with this is that we humans often learn by doing, and by failing. To learn how to make decisions, we need to make decisions. As parents, it’s OK to be training wheels for our kids, but eventually they need to learn how to ride the bike on their own, even if they get hurt.

When I was 6 years old we lived on Dragon Killer Circle. What a great name for a street! We lived in single family, Navy housing, and Dragon Killer Circle had no through traffic. A perfect place to learn how to ride a bike. Recently, I’ve seen some tiny tykes pushing themselves around on miniature bicycles without any pedals. That’s a neat way to learn, but I didn’t have that. I had the good old fashioned training wheels. They were terrible.

Think about it. They only supported the back tire. It’s as if someone was trying to design an unholy tricycle/bicycle hybrid that was made to tip over. They didn’t teach balance, and if you tried to turn, the training wheels prevented you from leaning into it. The only thing left to do was pedal straight, on a newly paved road. God forbid that a small rock, or a crack in the sidewalk would catch under one of those hard, rubber training wheels.

Fortunately, Dragon Killer Circle was a nice, smooth road with very little traffic on it. I was able to pedal straight, hop off, turn around, get back on, and pedal back, over and over. Dad raised the training wheels a bit so I’d have to balance more. I hacked the system though, and would ride the left training wheel hard, leaning precariously. This made it tough to ride in a straight line, so I’d have to continually adjust, slowly meandering down the street like a drunkard with a shortened left leg. Hop off, turn around, and pedal back. (Hiccup)

Eventually it was time. Dad took the training wheels off. “Don’t worry, I’ll be holding on to the back,” he assured me.

I remember the sun and the wind. I remember the freedom of peddling and knowing that Dad was there to make sure I didn’t fall. I went so fast that it brought tears to my little eyes. I had a huge grin on my face. The grin of a kid experiencing a wondrous freedom for the very first time. I heard Dad whooping and cheering me on, which encouraged me to peddle faster, but something was amiss. In the back of my mind I realized that it sounded like Dad was pretty far away. I looked over my shoulder and there he was in the distance, shouting, waving, and laughing. Way in the distance.

“Dad!?!?” I choke-screamed, as the bike started wobbling. I stopped peddling and tried to control the left and right twisting of the front tire, but fear overtook me. Like Peter on the raging waves, all I could see was the curb and the street racing by so incredibly dangerously fast. Without Dad to support me I couldn’t do it. I crashed spectacularly. I say it was spectacular because Dad came running up laughing and throwing around words like “PHENOMENAL” and “AWESOME.” Plus, there was a lot of blood, and as we all know there is a direct correlation between bloodiness and epicness when we’re reliving childhood adventures.

I felt betrayed by Dad. He said he would be there for me. He claimed I was going “so fast” that he couldn’t keep up. Plus, look how far I had gone without him! That mollified my anger a little bit as I recalled the speed and freedom of the wild ride. I wanted to do it again, and (spoiler alert) I soon learned how to ride a bicycle. I don’t remember any of the other lessons or how many times I fell. I do remember that first crash though, and the realization that I could accomplish something on my own. I was a Dragon Killer.

That is probably my earliest memory of Dad, and it is perfect. It is Dad supporting, encouraging, and telling a little fib, as he helped me work through a quintessential childhood challenge. Lianne just read a book titled, The Gift of Failure: How the Best Parents Learn to Let Go So Their Children Can Succeed. Dad let go. I failed. And because of that failure I was able to succeed. As parents we need to take the training wheels off, let go, and then cheer like crazy as our kids go slay some dragons.

Ava’s Wrinkle

I’ve experienced the presence of God a few times in my life. Out on the ocean fishing, in the quiet of the little prayer room at church, and holding my infant child for the first time. On this graduation day I think back to how Lianne and I were so overwhelmed with joy to have a baby girl. We happily glued a pink bow to her bald head for the hospital pics. A girl. So precious. We immediately wanted to protect her and Lianne couldn’t wait to dress her up.

We did notice one tiny issue with our new baby. Ava, she had a little wrinkle on her brow. She looked like she was frustrated or frowning or focused. Lianne and I were worried she’d be stuck that way. Now we think that the little furrowed brow represented her determination.

I could list off Ava’s accomplishments; her successes in music, sports, and academics. Her 55 college credits and all-state singing. I could talk about those things. She is amazing, but that’s not who she is.

Who she is is that determined kid with the wrinkled brow. The private school, public school, home schooler who doesn’t exactly fit in, but fits in everywhere. The girl who was told she wouldn’t succeed in advanced math, but worked hard and got an A. The girl who has the drive to be the pitcher on her softball team, the libero on her volleyball team, and the lead in the musical, but is shy in front of crowds.

We signed her up for everything we could as she was growing up. We signed her up for gymnastics, karate, and chorus. She always excelled. One day, when she was a bout 10 years old she came up to me and asked, “Dad, do I have to get married?”

I said, “No, you don’t HAVE to get married, but you might want to some day.”

She thought for a moment and said, “Good! Don’t sign me up for that.”

We don’t plan to sign her up for it until she’s at least 25.

So, who is Ava? She’s an open-minded and loving follower of Jesus. She’s physically and mentally tough. She is beautiful. She can belch entire words on command, and bring tears to your eyes through song. She’ll laugh and insult you when times are good, then listen to you and hug you when times are tough.

When we think back on that amazing, wrinkle-browed baby girl, we never could have imagined who she would become. The wrinkle disappeared in a couple of weeks, but her determination didn’t. The baby became a young woman.

Ava, look at this day as a turning point. You have your entire life ahead of you. It’s a canvas that will be painted one brush stroke at a time with all the wondrous colors of life. So today, pick up your brush and start painting. We’ll always be here to help guide your hand and to admire your work, but this is your canvas.

We love you and we can’t wait to see your masterpiece.

Hold On To the Memories

When I was 6 years old we had a green, 4 door, Oldsmobile Omega. Our family was growing however, and with the addition of Grant, the 5 of us were outgrowing the sedan. Mom and Dad decided to get rid of it and buy a van. I was heartbroken. I cried. I begged Mom and Dad to let me keep it. They said they would take a picture of me with it, so I could remember it. It’s a picture of me, just me, standing next to the car. I cried myself to sleep that night.

Salad Masseuse

We make a big salad mix a couple of times a week. I was putting it together on Sunday while Lianne sat across the bar from me reading. I could sense her eyes on me as I worked, and I knew she was thinking something. “What am I doing wrong?”

She pretended like she wasn’t watching, “Nothing. It looks good.”

“I feel like you’re judging me.”

“Well, I was thinking that you’re not cutting the right way.” She acted reluctant, almost apologetic, but I know she was just bursting at the seems to share her thoughts.

“I’m cutting romaine lettuce into narrow slices with a large knife. I’m not sure how to do it any differently.”

She says, “You’re holding your wrist wrong or something.” I tried a different angle with no success. I finally resort to full-on Swedish chef mode, slicing with reckless abandon as lettuce chips fly around the kitchen.

I added some cabbage and lettuce and spinach without too much comment from the self-appointed salad making expert. I was starting feel pretty good about myself until I got to the kale.

“You should massage that.”

I looked up, not sure that I had heard correctly. Lianne wasn’t even looking at me, and I wondered if I was imagining things. “Did you say something?”

“Yeah, you should massage the kale.” Then, with a tone that implied I was an ignorant buffoon, “You haven’t heard of that?”

Shrugging, I cracked my knuckles, flexed my shoulders, and leaned in to do some vigorous, deep tissue, leaf massaging. Meanwhile, Lianne was searching the internet, “Yep, it says here you should hold the kale in your hands and gently agitate it so that the cell structure breaks down.”

Feeling like a fool, I dutifully did as she instructed. I’m a great husband in that way. “It’s making the kale wilt,” I complained.

“It’s not wilting, it’s relaxing.”

This better be the most incredible salad I’ve ever had.

Practice Practice

We need to establish the practice of practice. Figure out what you enjoy, and what you are good at, and then practice it. Kobe was renowned for his work ethic on and off the court. He said, “Great things come from hard work and perseverance. No excuses.” Obviously he was naturally gifted, but he also worked hard. That combination brings greatness.

Gray Pride

For the past 8 years I’ve grown a beard over the winter. I love my beard. Beards are manly. I put on my red flannel shirt and blue jeans and I’m like a miniature lumberjack. Last weekend I whipped out the chainsaw, fired that bad boy up, and cut down a tree. I epitomized manhood, climbing, cutting, I even yelled “Timber!!” a couple of times. I eventually had to stop because of the blister on my left hand, but for about 10 minutes I was the picture of virile masculinity.

Christmas Joy (2019)

I talked to a young man at church after the Christmas Eve service. He said he felt like he was in between the magic. When he was a kid, Christmas morning was magical. The wonder and excitement of all the presents, and the food, and the lights. When he gets older he’ll have the wonder of experiencing the magic again through his kids. Right now, he’s in between.