I hate to lose.
I don't mean like board games. We have a group that plays games, and I could really care less if I win or lose. Some people get pretty worked up about it, but honestly, my goal is usually to get to bed. 4 am comes too soon, and horses get testy if they're not fed on time.
Perhaps I just hate to lose things I've worked hard to succeed in.
I had a lousy horse show this weekend. I took a green mare who believed that the devil resided in the indoor arena and that the sunlight patches were jumps. Too bad it was a dressage test. She thought canter meant breeze a mile in 1:35 and that "A" was the starting gate. My 10 year old son scored better than me in his first dressage test ever. And it frustrated me. Those voices I talked about in the last post? They love that wide door that swings open when I lose.
I hate to lose competitions, but I really hate to lose to horses. I battled that same mare this morning. We were working on a new movement, and she reared. A lot. So we went to the round pen and battled until she did a nice, light, turn-on-the-forehand... two hours later. What made me spend two hours fighting with a half-ton animal who wanted to kill me just so she could move her haunches in a circle while keeping her front legs in place? Is that crazy? But the goal wasn't a perfect turn-on-the-forehand. The goal was to win.
I hate to lose to my patients. I don't like to pick battles with them - it's bad form and never helps the healing process. But sometimes they pick fights with me. Like screaming "I want (name that narcotic)" when they'd really like my DEA number to sell to their buddies. I have a pretty strong "no" that is at times necessary for the welfare for the patient, society, and my license, but there are times when my stubbornness gets in the way, too. I'm right. I win. Not the heart of the Great Physician. And when I fail to model that - guess what? I lose. And it hurts.
Maybe it's not that I hate to lose what I work hard in. Perhaps I detest losing in things I feel I should have done better in. I should have ridden better. I should have prepared more. I should have shown courage. I should have modeled Christ. But I didn't.
Alec won a blue ribbon last weekend. He scored a 60% - a really good score for a 10 year old in his first show. In the warm-up arena, his horse, Star, was misbehaving and began to canter. Star has a huge canter that can intimidate adults, much less a 60 lb kid. But Alec sat up, turned him in a circle, kept his head, and slowed him down. Afterwords, he walked up to me terrified. He was scared to ride his test. But he did. We prayed before hand (with a lot of people looking at us funny), and he rode well.
Alec won. Before the scores were even posted, he won.
As much as I hate to lose, I'd lose seventy times seven to see my kid win in that way. Not a blue ribbon. I'm happy he got it, but to win by showing courage? By modeling Christ? By being unashamed to pray in front of strangers who look at you like you're an alien? That's success.
Maybe that's love. Perhaps it's grace.
But it sure beats losing.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
In Defense of a Name (Dustin)
At our house it’s just me and the dogs (and the bipolar kitten) by 9:30. And, since reading more than a couple hundred pages gets dull, you can only do so much origami before the paper cuts cause clinically significant blood loss, and since it makes little sense to continue training for the pro tiddly winks circuit until it surpasses mixed martial arts as the next nation wide alternative sports craze (when it does I’ll be ready), I find myself, and the dogs, watching a lot of late night television.
Something I’ve noticed lately as I’ve watched a number of different comedians is that more and more often the name of Jesus is featured highly in their “bits.” I find this to be both sad and troubling. It used to be that people would joke about some kind of generic “god”, heck there are whole genres of jokes based upon St Peter at the pearly gates, and the stereotypic all-powerful alternately smiting or chuckling at those he observes from his cloud (you know the one I mean, always has a long beard, white robe, looks like a benevolent yet sort of creepy department store Santa on his day off). But the name of Jesus was one that simply didn’t get used as more than an expletive, something that somehow seems more acceptable than what I’ve heard lately.
It used to be that the name of Jesus, the person, not the expletive, was one that people were unwilling to allow into conversation. I know that to be true when sharing spiritual discussions let alone humor. You could talk about “god” all day and not offend or turn off anyone, but the name Jesus triggered some kind of reaction in the unacquainted hearer -- and not usually laughter. Most people weren’t entirely sure why, but that name offended them, challenged and angered them, at the very least ended the conversation. Now maybe that’s changed.
Whether you accept Jesus the way Scripture names him, as God incarnate who died for the sins of men; as some religions might portray him, as a moral and wise teacher who was killed by those who disagreed with his teaching; or as history describes him, as a religious figure who, though loved by the masses made too many powerful enemies and was brutally silenced, his name and story ought to mean more than fruit for bad jokes.
On one hand I’m thankfully the name of Jesus is getting to be less taboo. It makes my job as a pastor easier, and people don’t run quite as quickly from conversations about him. But on the other hand, I’m deeply saddened that we could find it in our humor to laugh at a man who, Lord, liar or lunatic, gave so much.
The name of Jesus is more recognized than any president, movie star, athlete, or writer. Have you ever wondered why?
Something I’ve noticed lately as I’ve watched a number of different comedians is that more and more often the name of Jesus is featured highly in their “bits.” I find this to be both sad and troubling. It used to be that people would joke about some kind of generic “god”, heck there are whole genres of jokes based upon St Peter at the pearly gates, and the stereotypic all-powerful alternately smiting or chuckling at those he observes from his cloud (you know the one I mean, always has a long beard, white robe, looks like a benevolent yet sort of creepy department store Santa on his day off). But the name of Jesus was one that simply didn’t get used as more than an expletive, something that somehow seems more acceptable than what I’ve heard lately.
It used to be that the name of Jesus, the person, not the expletive, was one that people were unwilling to allow into conversation. I know that to be true when sharing spiritual discussions let alone humor. You could talk about “god” all day and not offend or turn off anyone, but the name Jesus triggered some kind of reaction in the unacquainted hearer -- and not usually laughter. Most people weren’t entirely sure why, but that name offended them, challenged and angered them, at the very least ended the conversation. Now maybe that’s changed.
Whether you accept Jesus the way Scripture names him, as God incarnate who died for the sins of men; as some religions might portray him, as a moral and wise teacher who was killed by those who disagreed with his teaching; or as history describes him, as a religious figure who, though loved by the masses made too many powerful enemies and was brutally silenced, his name and story ought to mean more than fruit for bad jokes.
On one hand I’m thankfully the name of Jesus is getting to be less taboo. It makes my job as a pastor easier, and people don’t run quite as quickly from conversations about him. But on the other hand, I’m deeply saddened that we could find it in our humor to laugh at a man who, Lord, liar or lunatic, gave so much.
The name of Jesus is more recognized than any president, movie star, athlete, or writer. Have you ever wondered why?
Sunday, July 11, 2010
The Voices of Romans 8
I hear voices.
But I think I found better cure than Zyprexa this Sunday morning in church.
I've heard the voices for years. I first remember them when I walked through the doors of junior high school with my braces and glasses. They continued into high school and seemed to speak the loudest before climbing the ladder of the diving board at meets. They followed me to college and rained from the loudspeaker in my mind as I rode into the arena for equestrian team try outs. They came with me on dates. And they screamed at me in medical school.
"You're worthless. You don't belong here. They'll find you out soon enough."
I don't think I notice them as much as I once did, but they still speak.
They speak at the entrance to the ICU as I flash my badge over the security scanner. Or when a patient returns from a surgery I cleared them for with a medical complication. "You're just fooling anyone who thinks you're a good doctor. They're figuring it out, though."
When I sit to down to write my new manuscript. "No one will want to read this. Your crit partners are just too nice to be honest."
When despite my attempts at picking up the house, shoes and water glasses accumulate. "I'm a terrible wife. My husband does all the cleaning. Remember the party at that other doctor's house? His wife keeps it perfect. You're lucky to wash out your bowl at breakfast."
At the start of long bike rides. "You're going to make such a fool of yourself on this hill."
When teaching a riding lesson. "You have no idea what you're talking about. You can't ride yourself!"
Watching Corrinne at dance. "The other moms all know each other. They don't know you because you're not here every week. You're at work."
And even at church. "Look at all these amazing women. They're kids look perfect. They're in Bible studies and serve in the nursery. You don't even make it to church every week! What kind of pastor's wife are you? You don't even play the piano!"
Ever hear voices? I do. They're not audible. But thoughts echo longer than words.
I find solace from Paul. In the sermon today, Pastor Willie called him one of the "top five Christians in history." I'll agree with that. But Paul stated in Romans 7, "What a wretched man I am!" If you look up "wretched" in MS Word's thesaurus, you get "shameful, vile, worthless, base, despicable, inferior."
It hit me in the sermon today. Paul -- who loved the same God I love -- but who accomplished more through Christ than I can ever dream of -- heard the same voices I do.
And they didn't have Zyprexa in the first century. They had something better. And we still do today.
In Romans 8, Paul writes, "Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." Condemnation? The first definition in the dictionary defines condemn as, "To make a judicial pronouncement stating what punishment has been imposed on a person found guilty of a crime, especially in the case of a heavy penalty or a death sentence." Jesus took away our guilt. I'm a pastor's wife. I get basic theology. I know this. He died so we could have eternal life with God. My three year old can recite that, even though she has no idea what it means.
But do I understand it any better than she?
Farther down the page, another definition pierced me. To condemn is "To state that somebody or something is in some way wrong or unacceptable."
I've heard that before. So, apparently, did Paul. And that's why he knew we all needed to hear Romans 8:1.
I love MS Word's thesaurus. It gives antonyms, too. The antonym of wretched? Noble. Like a king - or the child of one. Paul writes in Colossians that God "has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the kingdom of light."
No more condemnation. Instead of being wretched, we inherit nobility from our Father the King.
So maybe the next time I hear those voices say, "You're worthless," I'll close my eyes and imagine walking into the light of a great royal court. And I'll answer, "Be silent. I'm the princess, and my daddy says you're wrong."
But I think I found better cure than Zyprexa this Sunday morning in church.
I've heard the voices for years. I first remember them when I walked through the doors of junior high school with my braces and glasses. They continued into high school and seemed to speak the loudest before climbing the ladder of the diving board at meets. They followed me to college and rained from the loudspeaker in my mind as I rode into the arena for equestrian team try outs. They came with me on dates. And they screamed at me in medical school.
"You're worthless. You don't belong here. They'll find you out soon enough."
I don't think I notice them as much as I once did, but they still speak.
They speak at the entrance to the ICU as I flash my badge over the security scanner. Or when a patient returns from a surgery I cleared them for with a medical complication. "You're just fooling anyone who thinks you're a good doctor. They're figuring it out, though."
When I sit to down to write my new manuscript. "No one will want to read this. Your crit partners are just too nice to be honest."
When despite my attempts at picking up the house, shoes and water glasses accumulate. "I'm a terrible wife. My husband does all the cleaning. Remember the party at that other doctor's house? His wife keeps it perfect. You're lucky to wash out your bowl at breakfast."
At the start of long bike rides. "You're going to make such a fool of yourself on this hill."
When teaching a riding lesson. "You have no idea what you're talking about. You can't ride yourself!"
Watching Corrinne at dance. "The other moms all know each other. They don't know you because you're not here every week. You're at work."
And even at church. "Look at all these amazing women. They're kids look perfect. They're in Bible studies and serve in the nursery. You don't even make it to church every week! What kind of pastor's wife are you? You don't even play the piano!"
Ever hear voices? I do. They're not audible. But thoughts echo longer than words.
I find solace from Paul. In the sermon today, Pastor Willie called him one of the "top five Christians in history." I'll agree with that. But Paul stated in Romans 7, "What a wretched man I am!" If you look up "wretched" in MS Word's thesaurus, you get "shameful, vile, worthless, base, despicable, inferior."
It hit me in the sermon today. Paul -- who loved the same God I love -- but who accomplished more through Christ than I can ever dream of -- heard the same voices I do.
And they didn't have Zyprexa in the first century. They had something better. And we still do today.
In Romans 8, Paul writes, "Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." Condemnation? The first definition in the dictionary defines condemn as, "To make a judicial pronouncement stating what punishment has been imposed on a person found guilty of a crime, especially in the case of a heavy penalty or a death sentence." Jesus took away our guilt. I'm a pastor's wife. I get basic theology. I know this. He died so we could have eternal life with God. My three year old can recite that, even though she has no idea what it means.
But do I understand it any better than she?
Farther down the page, another definition pierced me. To condemn is "To state that somebody or something is in some way wrong or unacceptable."
I've heard that before. So, apparently, did Paul. And that's why he knew we all needed to hear Romans 8:1.
I love MS Word's thesaurus. It gives antonyms, too. The antonym of wretched? Noble. Like a king - or the child of one. Paul writes in Colossians that God "has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the kingdom of light."
No more condemnation. Instead of being wretched, we inherit nobility from our Father the King.
So maybe the next time I hear those voices say, "You're worthless," I'll close my eyes and imagine walking into the light of a great royal court. And I'll answer, "Be silent. I'm the princess, and my daddy says you're wrong."
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