Writing
A Little Footnote to Your Personal History
Imagine this.
You are sitting in the pew of a church with a cathedral-high ceiling. Stain glass windows.
It’s lit with sunlight but a tad chilly.
Eventually the pastor approaches the lectern, sets his Bible down, reaches inside his wool sport coat and pulls out a pair of reading glasses.
He then cracks open his Bible.
He leafs through a few pages, anchors his finger on a text and then reads.
He reads the text with a sober, but soft voice. And when he’s finished, he removes his glasses and launches into his sermon.
Nothing out of the ordinary or cause for concern.
You listen, take notes, smile, laugh, look at your boots, scratch your elbow, stare at the stain glass window behind the lectern.
Then, with about ten minutes before his sermon ends, the pastor embarks on his own personal story.
His salvation story.
Quickly you learn that central to his story is a man. You don’t catch his name. But that’s own purpose. And, as you’ll see, that you don’t know his name isn’t important.
Not to his story. Or my story.
What you do catch is the role this man played in the pastor’s life. A significant role, to say the least, because it was this man who introduced the pastor to Christ.
Eventually he does name the man. And you’re shocked. But not for the typical reasons.
You’re shocked because you don’t have a clue who this man is. You’ve never heard of him before. And you feel…well, somewhat embarrassed for the man.
Why embarrassed? Because the man is a nobody. He’s not a towering figure in history who the world knows.
He’s not a Theodore Roosevelt. Gandhi. Or Mick Jagger. So, in the world’s eyes, he’s a failure. Unfortunately, you toy with this idea that he’s a failure.
But to the pastor this obscure, unremarkable man is perhaps one of the most significant persons in his life.
Have you ever heard a pastor tell a story like this? Whether in your own church, a church you visited or at a conference?
I’ve probably heard this story told–in a variation of forms–four times in the last ten years.
[Could be more, but only four actually stand out.]
And I’m ashamed to admit that each time I heard the story…I frowned. Frowned because the “poor” man who led the pastor to Christ is unremarkable. Obscure.
He’s not a legendary CEO. A stellar actor. A current president. He’s just a man who introduced a person to Christ.
And that kills me each time.
Each of these men are footnotes in the lives of these pastors. But significant footnotes. Meaningful in the eyes of eternity. The only point of view that truly matters.
Why am I telling you this? Simple. I want to be a footnote in your life. A meaningful reference anchored somewhere in your life.
But not for my own glory. For Christ’s glory, of course.
This is one of the reasons I want to pour myself into this blog: To educate you and encourage you, to correct and condition you towards Christ.
I’ve got slim hopes that I’ll actually lead someone to the Lord. But if I can nudge you just a smidgen in the direction of Christ and the hope found in his grace…
If I can merely point you to the heavenly city where our omnipotent King sits enthroned…
If I can equip you to fight the good fight of faith or impress upon you the support and care you have from me in the form of constant prayer and supplication…
I’ve succeeded.
Whether you remember it or not ten years from now, I’ve succeeded in becoming a little footnote in your personal history.
Truly, the real reward will come when we sit together in the banquet hall with our bridegroom. Together, in adoration and zealous celebration of the only person who could have satisfied the justice and wrath of God–Jesus Christ.
But until then–and years from now–may you remember the tiny dent you got when you collided with Christ at Fallen and Flawed.
Have a great weekend.
45 Miles on Foot and All I Get Are These Lousy Epiphanies?
Actually, the epiphanies aren’t lousy…
I’m just smarting over the low-grade but ruthless abuse I took to get them.
Yet I have no one to blame but myself.
I chose to hike 45 miles through the Smokey Mountains in 3 days.
Why? Because I love to hike. I love a ridiculous challenge. And I love hanging out with my friends.
The epiphanies, on the other hand, I credit to God. So, here are some lessons learned, thoughts stewed over and questions asked.
Never Trust a Downhill Hiker
Here’s the deal: Hiking etiquette demands downhill hikers yield to uphill hikers. This creates the perfect opportunity for uphill hikers to ask “How far to the top?”–the perennial question on every uphill hiker’s mind.
The answers always vary. “Half a mile. Half an hour. Fifteen minutes. You’re almost there.” The truth is, they don’t know what they’re talking about. Their sense of distance varies widely from yours. I eventually stopped asking.
Irreducible Complexity Remains Evolutions Biggest Stumbling Block
Hardly surprising that hanging out on the backbone of the Smokies drives me to think about evolution. Principle questions that I want answers to: Evolution posits that we have an instinct to survive, to reproduce. What is the origin of those instincts? What was it before complex organisms? What are the odds that organisms can survive the transition from cell division to one sex organisms to two sex organisms?
Swarms of Flies Sound Like Talking Humans
Don’t know why, but on certain stretches of the Appalachian Trail hordes of flies buzzed. Freaky, because you’re expecting to run into hikers but find yourself surrounded by tiny black winged insects.
Then, when you actually do hear humans talking, you’re not sure it’s not the flies. I can see why some people go AWOL on the Appalachian.
Ibuprofen Is a Good Over-the-Counter Drug
Thudding mile after mile up and down steep hills works ugly magic on your knees, joints, hips and head. Eventually the monotonous pounding deadens your motivation to keep hiking. Pop four ibuprofen, though, and a new, stout mad man emerges to finish the days hike.
Brotherly Love Ranks High on Pleasures of the Christian Life
I adore the unity of Christian brothers. The fellowship. The discussion. The accountability. The corporate worship around a camp fire. Brotherly love is evidence of God’s grace. And it is a means of grace I cherish deeply. Second only to marriage.
Stop Telling Unregenerate Sinners That God Loves Them
I’m guessing I mulled over this because of a few comments I’ve recently received that carried a tone of God’s unconditional love for sinners.
Yes, John 3:16 does say that God so loved the world. And he wishes that none perish. But John 3:36 says that unbelievers remain under the wrath of God. And Romans 1:18 declares that God’s anger falls upon the intentionally wicked. Nothing can deliver us from this predicament except Christ. Therefore, God’s love for unregenerate sinners IS conditional. It cost something. Dearly.
Here’s what I’m not saying: God relishes sending condemned people to hell. Jesus, in fact, grieved over the Jews’ disobedience. Paul said he’d take the curse for the sake of his brothers. But neither skirted the issue of God’s justice. God’s love begins and ends with the cross of Christ, not the sinner.
Bears DO Fall Out of Trees
Less than four miles to go and I heard something scrambling in the tall trees. Not uncommon with chipmunks everywhere. Yet I looked up and saw a black bear–maybe 150 pounds–plummet 30 feet to the ground. He immediately charged downhill, crashing through brush and disappeared. I think I spooked him.
Forgot What I Looked Like
No mirror, no see self. For three days. Bizarre. But does that mean I bring a mirror next time? No. I quite like the absence of concern for self.
By the way, the image is a photograph of Fontana Dam under construction back in the 40s. Our hike ended on top of the dam. We started at Newfound Gap. Total distance: 45 miles. Read more about the Appalachian Trail.
The Abusive Hike [A Short Story on a Fortunate Event]
If you’re interested in stories with classical happy endings, you might be better off reading something else…
Naturally, it depends on how you define “happy endings.”
The prince and the princess elope and breed a royal family inside the walls of a mammoth castle on a hill in England.
The fumbling Iowan outcast wins the school presidency, finds someone to play tether ball with and gets back the girl.
Or the restless penguin breaks free from domestic monotony to surf the biggest waves with his childhood hero.
Those, in the classic sense, are happy endings. This story, however, is not like those.
But it ends happily. I think.
This story begins one day on the Appalachian Trail. Five hikers who embark on a forty-six mile journey.
Our first mile was a dirty, abusive mile. The trail, like a rocket, rose rapidly in elevation. No one was prepared. It took us one hour to cover one mile. We were exhausted. AND we were in trouble. In many ways.
One, we needed to cover about two miles an hour to stay on schedule. Two, according to our stupid maps, the trail continued to climb. Three, one of the hikers was battling a nagging leg cramp.
That leg cramped turned into frequent stops. Eventually the hiker could no longer carry his pack. That meant that everyone else took turns sharing the extra load…
Yes, at times each of us had one pack on the back. One pack on the front. Other times we’d hike our packs to the top, run down and hike the other pack to the top.
Our pace was pathetic.
Competitive and selfish, I bristled that we were moving so slowly. And by the end of the first day we were four miles off target. At the end of the second day, eight miles off target.
At that point somebody mentioned the unmentionable: Maybe we should cut the hike short. Calculations determined we’d arrive at the end of our 46 mile hike about 9 P. M. on Monday. Not helpful if you had to immediately drive ten hours.
So, on the third day, we decided to do just that: Hike to mile 34 and call someone in to pick us up.
Often, during that day, I wandered far ahead of the pack, ambling on in the sunshine over the narrow dirt path. Often I contemplated leaving them behind. Pushing forward by myself. Knocking the remaining 12–or whatever miles–and accomplish the goal we set out to achieve.
But my conscience wouldn’t let me do that. In fact, I didn’t even feel it was appropritae to ask permission to finish.
As much as the thought made me want to vomit, we came in as a team…we leave as a team.
So, around 3 pm on the third day I climbed into the van that would take us back to the cabin. Climbed in smarting like hell that I couldn’t finish the hike.
The only reason I tell you this story is because, by the time you read this I’ll probably be on the Appalachian Trail, half way up Clingman’s Dome.
At 6,643, Clingman’s Dome is the highest point in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. The park I’ll spend the next four days in. Trying to hike 42 miles this time.
And while you wait for me to get back on Tuesday, I thought it might do some good to tell you this story and the moral behind it…
How a man who four years ago would’ve stomped away–arms folded, chin into chest, teeth grit–in a subtle rage, managed by God’s grace to see beyond himself and care for the feelings and needs of other people.
That’s a happy ending via God’s gift of grace. Pray for that grace again. Happy Labor Day. And see you soon.
How to Absorb a Book into Your Bloodstream
Just in case you were beginning to mistake me for a methamphetamine addict who blazes through books, I thought I’d write a post to correct that picture in your mind.
In fact, I want to convince you of one of the most important rules when it comes to reading.
I want to show you why absorbing a book into your bloodstream is a good thing.
And I want to show you that unless you do this, you’re likely missing out on the best kind of reading. Let me show you what I mean.
Mutilating the Garden
Now, what I’m about to say might make you grit your teeth. Clench your fist. Pick up a crow bar.
You might compare my idea to a suggestion we rip out the chrysanthemums from your garden. Uproot the lemongrass, lavender or tarragon. Or pluck your prize-winning cherry tree out with a winch hitched to a pick up.
But that couldn’t be further from the truth. So relax.
3 Kinds of Book Owners
There are book owners who buy and never read. They worship the bestseller. They adore the elegant binding and pristine paper of a collector’s edition set. These book lovers are marked not so much by intelligence but by wealth.
Then there’s the book owner who buys but seldom reads every page of a book. More likely flirts with a few pages before setting a volume down. Like the first, his books look brand new ten years after he bought them.
Then there’s the book owner who owns a small shelf collapsing under the weight of stained, dog-eared, loose in the binding and, most importantly, scrawled-in-from-front-to-back books.
It’s that last reader who absorbs a book into his bloodstream. And it’s that last reader who I want to convince you to become.
5 Good Reasons to Write in a Book
Writing in a book isn’t a magical act. And it isn’t like destroying a garden. But it is a symbol that you’ve crossed over from owning a book to actually absorbing a book. Mortimer J. Alder compares it to buying a steak versus eating the steak…
Until it’s in your bloodstream, you’re simply keeping it cool. And until you write in a book, you don’t own it. You’re just babysitting.
So, before I give you ideas on how to mark a book up, let me show you why writing thoughtfully in your books is a good idea.
Here are five reasons:
1. Activates your mind. Instead of being a participant who merely sits back and tries to acknowledge everything that comes at him, the mind leans forward and starts to interrogate.
2. Marks your territory. Disgusting, but think dog, urine, fire hydrant. Going back to a book two years later after you marked it up can be so entertaining: You get to explore your thoughts, moods and passions from the past. It’s an intellectual diary.
3. Establishes a footprint. Your scribble marks in a book tell you what ground you’ve covered in a half-read book. And they help you recall ideas and concepts you’ve read if you’re going in for a second time.
4. Teaches you how to write. After picking apart a chapter, you naturally start to absorb that writer’s style. Important if you’re an emerging author.
5. Exposes the intangible. Marking up a book uncovers the writer’s patterns, styles and meaning…much like an archaeologist meticulously dusting debris away from a ceramic pot buried three thousand years ago sees the design.
How Does This Approach Differ from Speed Reading?
Are you kidding me? It’s the difference between a dog swallowing a burrito versus a caterpillar systematically nibbling away at a leaf.
One’s fast. One’s slow. And one is better.
You drill through a newspaper in 15 minutes…devour a magazine in an hour…claw your way through a Kellerman in a night because these are light, superficial readings.
On the other hand, you linger on the poems of John Donne. Repeatedly grind a rut with a pencil into the first four pages of Charnock. And laboriously fill the margins of a chapter like Galatians 3 with notes.
Why Go Through All This Trouble?
The point of writing in a good book is NOT to see how many you can get through. The point is to see how many get through to you. How many you absorb into your blood.
And one of the best ways to do that is to write in it. Let me give you some obvious and no-so-obvious tips on how to do just that.
10 Tips on How to Write in a Book
1. Circle interesting words.
2. Underline interesting sentences.
3. Write questions or comments in the margin.
4. Draw arrows from the notes in the margin to the section of book the note refers to.
5. Record the page number where an idea is repeated.
6. Summarize each chapter on the blank page in between chapters.
7. Create an outline of the book on blank pages in the front of the book.
8. Summarize the main idea of the book in the blank pages at the back.
9. Summarize some of the supporting ideas.
10. Create an index of topics, books or ideas for future exploration.
If I’ve failed to convince you of writing in a book, at least use a scrap of paper to write on. A scrap of paper you keep in the book.
Your Turn
Writing in books: Good or bad? Easy or hard for you? What tricks do you use to mark up your books? Anything I didn’t mention? Looking forward to your thoughts.
My Blog Defined [or, Is C. S. Lewis Really a Christian Novelist?]
This is abundantly clear to me:
Left-brained intellectuals can school me in sophisticated arguments–whether scientific or philosophical–just about any day of the week.
That’s one of the reasons why I’m not that great at debate…
I wasn’t born to wrestle with nuances. On the fly. Neither do I care.
Why am I telling you this? I’m on a perennial search for this blog’s voice.
And I need your help.
A Brief History of Fallen and Flawed
At first I thought I would treat the blog as a platform to chase a theology M. A.
Simultaneously I decided to craft a confessional guide to living a vivid, meaningful Christian life. And gear content toward that goal.
Then I toyed with the idea that this blog could be a place where believers and non-believers could debate Christianity. Kind of like a university.
But none of these felt quite right. Something was amiss.
The M. A. angle is not a great way to build community or conversation. The confessional guide was grossly centered on me. And the university debate theme was awkward, because, well, I’m not a scholar.
I might be an intellectual snob. But I’m no meticulous brain like Roger Nicole.
However, what’s become abundantly clear to me in the last nine months–as I’ve developed content in response to comments, discrepancies in my own thinking and discussions over apologetics with friends–is that what I’m truly after is a clear, graceful articulation of the gospel.
Everything else is peripheral.
What I Don’t Care About Too Much
I wish I could care about apologetics. Inferences. Logical arguments.
Don’t get me wrong: I’ve taken a stab at this a few times with posts like Do You Make These 6 Mistakes When Debating or 18 Books or Blogs You Shouldn’t Read.
Furthermore, I wish I could be immediately practical. At times I managed to do so with posts like 18 Tricks to Memorize Scripture or How to Read a 291-Page Book in 2 Hours.
But for the most part, I’ve been drawn to a relentless exaltation of Christ and that clear, concise articulation of the gospel. In other words, the eternally helpful.
Thus the gospel in 10 words. Thus the Messiah series.
Where I’m Struggling
Not too long ago I mentioned a sabbatical in the month of November to write some fiction.
With an overabundance of ideas I’m confident I can write a rugged and roughshod 75,000 word first draft in 30 days.
But I’m having a hard time seeing how such an adventure equals a clear, graceful articulation of the gospel.
How it threads into Kingdom building.
I’m here to serve Christ. By word. By deed. By thought. I can not think of a greater way to spend my life.
Backward for a man who at one time was hellbent on becoming a world-class novelist. And that’s the kicker.
I can’t seem to escape this passion to write a book. Or two. What do I do?
What Do You Think?
Yes, C. S. Lewis wrote extraordinary novels. But do they promote a clear, graceful articulation of Christ? Do they have to?
I’m still on the sidelines. Mainly because I’ve NEVER read the Chronicles of Narnia. I’ve read Great Divorce. Pilgrim’s Regress.
Nothing else, though.
So, what do you think: C. S. Lewis a genuine Christian novelist? How Christian does a novel from a believer need to be? What’s your take on Christian novels? Any good ones you can recommend?
I’m looking for ideas. Guidelines. Prayer. And a heart enslaved to my Savior. Let me know what you think. I’m looking forward to your thoughts. Have a great weekend.
Search
Get Updates | Subscribe
Somewhat Essential
Recent Posts
Categories
Archives
