OnFire Encouragement Letter
OnFire #280 The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far from the Tree
We are well into gardening season and I hope that we’re not so different from others who feel like they’re falling behind on the yard work and weeding. It seems that we get one area done and then it is time to do another, and then by the time we get that finished the lawn needs to be mowed, and more weeds have sprouted in the first place we worked.
It is interesting to think that we actually reflect the image of God when we garden. Genesis 1:26-27 tells us we were made in God’s image, so it only makes sense. “Like father, like son,” as the saying goes. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” “A chip off the old block.”
So how is it we reflect God’s image when we garden? First, there is the urge to bring order from chaos. This is exactly what God did at the beginning when He created the heavens and the earth. We are reminded that the earth was formless and empty. God set about to bring order from the chaos - scheduling day and night, separating sky and sea, arranging plant and animal life. Gardening is nothing if not bringing order from the chaos.
There is the urge to create and to be creative. Before creation, nothing existed, but God called it all into being from His imagination. He made it new. He is Creator and creative. In the same way, we reflect the image of God in us when we look for new ways to do things. “Wouldn’t it be neat if...?” is the question of creativity.
(On a side note, I think this issue of creativity is a possible solution to the “worship wars.” Often we turn the issue into one of new music VS old music, when the real issue is not music, but creativity. No one is asking (or allowed to ask?) the question, “Wouldn’t it be neat if ...?” Anyway, back to the main topic.)
No gardener will question that humanity’s first place to commune with God was in the garden. There is something about being in a garden which connects us to God and brings a sense of peace and calm. No wonder Jesus prayed in Gethsemane, a garden outside Jerusalem. I think this is all related to Romans 1:20, where we discover that nature reveals some of God’s character traits – power and divinity, for example. Not much wonder we feel closer to God outdoors.
While we have the image of God in us, Paul tells us that Jesus is the real thing. He is the “image of the invisible God.” (Colossians 1: 15) While activities like gardening show that we have some of God’s traits in us, Jesus fully glows in these things because He himself is God.
Every time I look out the window, I am reminded of my shortcomings as a gardener. There is always more work to be done, something I could have done differently or better. I guess in this way gardening is a little like life. But I have One to look to, Jesus Christ, who isn’t hindered by imperfection. It gives me hope and direction, that I can look to Him as I face life’s troubles.
I hope this helps. Be on fire.
Troy
OnFire is a bi-weekly letter on faith and character written by Troy Dennis. This letter published May 29, 2012. To subscribe or reply, email onfireletter@gmail.com. Archives are located at www.onfireletter.com. Blog located at www.onfireletter.blogspot.com.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Thursday, May 17, 2012
OnFire #279 Squizzeled is Not All Bad
OnFire Encouragement Letter
OnFire #279 Squizzeled is Not All Bad
Squizzeled is the word some fishermen on the Bay of Fundy use to describe the appearance of lobster buoys which have been compressed after been driven underwater by the tide. Bay of Fundy tides produce strong currents which drag them down and in many places they only surface at slack tide, when the waters change direction.
I wouldn’t have believed it, but I’ve seen it for myself. The foam buoys start round when they are new, but over time the pressure of the deep water compresses them and they develop wrinkles – squizzeled. I guess the word is a combination of squished and wrinkled.
There are times when the demands and duration of stressful situations leave us feeling squizzeled. We have been submerged for so long that when we finally surface at the other side of a difficult season, we feel like those buoys - pressed in, squished, shrunken.
Our church has called a new senior pastor and he will begin during the last week of July. This is great news and already I can feel a burden lifting. For the last year I’ve been submerged in the details of trying to plug holes in our ministries, and now that our new pastor is coming I can relax a little, which is good, because I passed tired a long time ago and now I’m depleted and weakened. I’m feeling squizzeled.
As I have been thinking about this state I’m in, I see it is not all bad. I am tired, but I sense an opportunity now to remake my routines. I don’t want to fall blindly into some other numbing routine, but rather, I sense a chance to think about the things I need to put back into my life to regain some life balance and build up my spirit.
I plan to add back into my spiritual life the kinds of things I know rejuvenate me. I’ve kept up Bible reading and prayer, but I haven’t been able to journal or take personal spiritual retreats. In the past I have connected with God in powerful ways through these and I plan to add them back to my routine.
I know I need to reengage some of the important people in my life. My family has been understanding, but as I look back, I see that my busyness has risked something with them. Sometimes when we are submerged, people move on without us. I need to reengage them.
I need to reevaluate and reinvent my schedule. What are the important things I want to do? I’ve already talked about putting some spiritual disciplines and family time back in my routine. I need to determine what other major areas I will focus on. I will obviously need to work this out prayerfully and with our deacons and new pastor, but now is the time to consider these things. The hard part will be that some things won’t go back in the schedule and I’ll end up disappointing someone.
So, while squizzeled is uncomfortable, it is not all bad. It presents the opportunity to reevaluate and reconsider. We’ll all face difficult seasons at times, but when we resurface, we have the chance to remake our routines.
I hope this helps. Be onfire.
Troy
OnFire is a bi-weekly letter on faith and character written by Troy Dennis. Troy is the Pastor of Family Ministries at Highfield Baptist Church, Moncton NB Canada. This letter published May 17, 2012. To subscribe or reply, email onfireletter@gmail.com. Archives are located at www.onfireletter.com. Blog located at www.onfireletter.blogspot.com.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
OnFire #278 We Are Not Guitars
OnFire Encouragement Letter
OnFire #278 We Are Not Guitars
It didn’t sound like it hit hard, but when a guitar falls off the stand it’s more about how it hits the ground than it is about how hard. Not long ago I knocked mine from the stand as I walked past. My hands were full, so I tried to catch it with my leg, perhaps to slow it down to minimize the damage.
The instrument pivoted around my knee and fell behind me so I didn’t actually see it land, but I knew it didn’t sound good. The strings rang twice as the back of the head hit first, followed by the body. Not good, I thought, but I hoped for the best. After all, it was not the first time it had fallen.
I picked it up gingerly, but it didn’t matter. The neck was broken where it joined the guitar. The foot joint, as it is called, was split.
The guitar was not an expensive one. I bought it used, not for its high quality, but because I loved its rich bass tones and comfortable action. It sounded better than its price tag, and felt good to play. Later I installed a pickup. A few people over the years have suggested it was time to upgrade because I’ve worn down the frets. I knew the time would eventually come, but in my mind, why upgrade when I loved the one I had?
It’s not worth fixing. I didn’t pay much for it, and it would take a lot of time at professional rates to repair and restore it. Perhaps if it had been better it might be worth it, but it’s not. I checked some friends who know about these things and it might be possible to glue and clamp it, but there is a problem with that, too. The broken joint isn’t wide enough to insert the glue. Too broken to play, not broken enough to fix.
Not worth fixing. There is something very depressing about that assessment. Not impossible to fix, but not worth doing. How can that be? And yet it is, because of the simple economics. It would cost more than it is worth to fix it. I would never get my money back, and chances are it would never look or play the same again, either. Perhaps if there were some reason - historic or sentimental - I could justify it, but otherwise it is not worth fixing.
Life goes on and it is just a guitar, after all. But it made me think. I wonder if any of the angelic beings looked down at Jesus and questioned God for sending His Son. Did any of them suggest that the price to repair and restore humanity was too costly? Not worth fixing?
Sometimes we wonder. What about the times we blow it? How often is too often? How broken is too broken? Are we worth fixing? Is the cost too great?
It helps us realize God’s love for all of us. He sent Jesus for us. We must be worth it if he did not spare His own Son, as Paul reminds us in Romans 8:32.
We are not guitars, or cars, or something else that isn’t worth it to fix. God loves us. God’s economy is different from ours. We are not beyond repair. We are worth fixing, and he sent Jesus to do the job.
I hope this helps. Be on fire.
Troy
OnFire is a bi-weekly letter on faith and character written by Troy Dennis. This letter published Apr 26, 2012. To subscribe or reply, email onfireletter@gmail.com. Archives are located at www.onfireletter.com. Blog located at www.onfireletter.blogspot.com. Check out Troy's other blog at www.pastorofeverythingelse.blogspot.com
OnFire #278 We Are Not Guitars
It didn’t sound like it hit hard, but when a guitar falls off the stand it’s more about how it hits the ground than it is about how hard. Not long ago I knocked mine from the stand as I walked past. My hands were full, so I tried to catch it with my leg, perhaps to slow it down to minimize the damage.
The instrument pivoted around my knee and fell behind me so I didn’t actually see it land, but I knew it didn’t sound good. The strings rang twice as the back of the head hit first, followed by the body. Not good, I thought, but I hoped for the best. After all, it was not the first time it had fallen.
I picked it up gingerly, but it didn’t matter. The neck was broken where it joined the guitar. The foot joint, as it is called, was split.
The guitar was not an expensive one. I bought it used, not for its high quality, but because I loved its rich bass tones and comfortable action. It sounded better than its price tag, and felt good to play. Later I installed a pickup. A few people over the years have suggested it was time to upgrade because I’ve worn down the frets. I knew the time would eventually come, but in my mind, why upgrade when I loved the one I had?
It’s not worth fixing. I didn’t pay much for it, and it would take a lot of time at professional rates to repair and restore it. Perhaps if it had been better it might be worth it, but it’s not. I checked some friends who know about these things and it might be possible to glue and clamp it, but there is a problem with that, too. The broken joint isn’t wide enough to insert the glue. Too broken to play, not broken enough to fix.
Not worth fixing. There is something very depressing about that assessment. Not impossible to fix, but not worth doing. How can that be? And yet it is, because of the simple economics. It would cost more than it is worth to fix it. I would never get my money back, and chances are it would never look or play the same again, either. Perhaps if there were some reason - historic or sentimental - I could justify it, but otherwise it is not worth fixing.
Life goes on and it is just a guitar, after all. But it made me think. I wonder if any of the angelic beings looked down at Jesus and questioned God for sending His Son. Did any of them suggest that the price to repair and restore humanity was too costly? Not worth fixing?
Sometimes we wonder. What about the times we blow it? How often is too often? How broken is too broken? Are we worth fixing? Is the cost too great?
It helps us realize God’s love for all of us. He sent Jesus for us. We must be worth it if he did not spare His own Son, as Paul reminds us in Romans 8:32.
We are not guitars, or cars, or something else that isn’t worth it to fix. God loves us. God’s economy is different from ours. We are not beyond repair. We are worth fixing, and he sent Jesus to do the job.
I hope this helps. Be on fire.
Troy
OnFire is a bi-weekly letter on faith and character written by Troy Dennis. This letter published Apr 26, 2012. To subscribe or reply, email onfireletter@gmail.com. Archives are located at www.onfireletter.com. Blog located at www.onfireletter.blogspot.com. Check out Troy's other blog at www.pastorofeverythingelse.blogspot.com
Monday, April 9, 2012
OnFire #277 Empty is Not Void
OnFire Encouragement Letter
OnFire #277 Empty is Not Void
Hi Folks:
When I think of the word “empty” my first thought is of disappointment. An empty plate in the fridge means the boys ate the leftover meatballs. When the needle of the gas gauge sits on E, I’ll have to make another trip to the pumps. However, an empty bank account may prevent me from filling the empty tank. An empty cupboard, so the nursery rhyme goes, frustrated Old Mother Hubbard. Empty words are broken promises.
“Hollow” is a related word with the same letdowns. A hollow potato is rotten in the centre. We gain nothing in a hollow victory. To be hollow-hearted is to be insincere.
That was the feeling I had as a child when I discovered that my Easter candy was hollow. What kind of sick joke was that, to build up my milk-chocolate hopes, only to have them crack like the sides of bunny under my teeth?
Empty and hollow are not always disappointing. I love finding empty parking spots. PEI, where I grew up, is covered with pretty farms located in hollows between the hills. I have secret compartments in my desk, small hollow spots perfect for hiding trinkets.
Empty was good on Easter Sunday. When the women first spotted the empty tomb, they didn’t yet know what it meant. Had someone removed Jesus’ body without telling them? It took a little while to understand that the empty tomb was a good thing. “He is not here; he has risen,” and angel said.
Imagine their joy as Mary, and Mary, and Peter and John, and soon all the others began to realize the empty tomb meant Jesus was alive. The impossible was possible with God. Empty was where hope began.
Genesis tells us that before creation the earth was without form and void, another way of saying it was empty. God took that emptiness and turned it into something. He brought order form the chaos and turned nothing into something. That’s what the resurrection was. The empty tomb was not void.
We tend to see empty as the end. We had something and now it is gone. But with God, empty is the beginning. This is the place where God can fill us up once again. I wish there were an easier way, but it seems we often don’t discover how powerful God is until we’re sucking the fumes of our empty. In this way empty is where hope begins.
May God fill your empty on this Easter Monday morning. Be on fire.
Troy
OnFire is a bi-weekly letter on faith and character written by Troy Dennis. Troy is the Pastor of Family Ministries at Highfield Baptist Church, Moncton NB Canada. This letter published Apr 9, 2012. To subscribe or reply, email onfireletter@gmail.com. Archives are located at www.onfireletter.com. Blog located at www.onfireletter.blogspot.com.
OnFire #277 Empty is Not Void
Hi Folks:
When I think of the word “empty” my first thought is of disappointment. An empty plate in the fridge means the boys ate the leftover meatballs. When the needle of the gas gauge sits on E, I’ll have to make another trip to the pumps. However, an empty bank account may prevent me from filling the empty tank. An empty cupboard, so the nursery rhyme goes, frustrated Old Mother Hubbard. Empty words are broken promises.
“Hollow” is a related word with the same letdowns. A hollow potato is rotten in the centre. We gain nothing in a hollow victory. To be hollow-hearted is to be insincere.
That was the feeling I had as a child when I discovered that my Easter candy was hollow. What kind of sick joke was that, to build up my milk-chocolate hopes, only to have them crack like the sides of bunny under my teeth?
Empty and hollow are not always disappointing. I love finding empty parking spots. PEI, where I grew up, is covered with pretty farms located in hollows between the hills. I have secret compartments in my desk, small hollow spots perfect for hiding trinkets.
Empty was good on Easter Sunday. When the women first spotted the empty tomb, they didn’t yet know what it meant. Had someone removed Jesus’ body without telling them? It took a little while to understand that the empty tomb was a good thing. “He is not here; he has risen,” and angel said.
Imagine their joy as Mary, and Mary, and Peter and John, and soon all the others began to realize the empty tomb meant Jesus was alive. The impossible was possible with God. Empty was where hope began.
Genesis tells us that before creation the earth was without form and void, another way of saying it was empty. God took that emptiness and turned it into something. He brought order form the chaos and turned nothing into something. That’s what the resurrection was. The empty tomb was not void.
We tend to see empty as the end. We had something and now it is gone. But with God, empty is the beginning. This is the place where God can fill us up once again. I wish there were an easier way, but it seems we often don’t discover how powerful God is until we’re sucking the fumes of our empty. In this way empty is where hope begins.
May God fill your empty on this Easter Monday morning. Be on fire.
Troy
OnFire is a bi-weekly letter on faith and character written by Troy Dennis. Troy is the Pastor of Family Ministries at Highfield Baptist Church, Moncton NB Canada. This letter published Apr 9, 2012. To subscribe or reply, email onfireletter@gmail.com. Archives are located at www.onfireletter.com. Blog located at www.onfireletter.blogspot.com.
Monday, March 19, 2012
OnFire #276 Lessons from the Fish Tank
OnFire Encouragement Letter
OnFire #276 Lessons from the Fish tank
Hi Folks:
My latest post on Pastor of Everything Else is “What To do When the Senior Pastor Resigns.” So far, I’ve spent a total of almost three years of my nine years in associate ministry without a senior pastor at the helm. Feel free to pass this along to associate pastors you may know.
http://www.pastorofeverythingelse.blogspot.com/
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A few weeks ago I began to see signs that our koy and goldfish were distressed. Not the “I’m overwhelmed and I’m going to flip out” kind of emotional distress, but the lethargic, not eating, kind of distress which signals that the fish were weak and might not survive.
To explain, these are fish that I brought in from our backyard pond because last year’s fish didn’t survive the winter in the shallow water. A friend gave us a tank and all winter we’ve been keeping 3 koy and 4 goldfish. I couldn’t catch one goldfish, and so it remains somewhere in the pond, forever traumatized by my efforts to net him.
Anyway, one by one and two by two I lost all of the fish over the next couple of weeks. They died despite my best efforts to change the water and filter and clean the gravel. I felt really bad that I tried to save them from freezing, only to have them die in my fish tank later from problems I was ill-equipped to handle.
It was hard not to reflect on those fish and see my life. I sometimes wonder if I’m pouring time and energy into situations and problems which will only be a wasted effort. How depressing that thought is! And yet, it is one of my secret fears. Is all this trouble for nothing? I’m generally a positive, hopeful person. It’s something people like about me. But deep down, when things aren’t going so well, I have these fears.
I have to be careful because some people think I write OnFire like a diary or journal. They think I must be writing about church life or my current mood. This is not always so. I write OnFire because I think that if I talk about the secret feelings we’re afraid to say in public, then we’ll all be better off for it. If I feel this, then others do, too, and so let’s do this together. “I’m not the only one!” is what I hope people will think.
I was surprised when I had these thoughts, and I had to work through them. It really came down to this. As frustrating as things are sometimes, as difficult and discouraging as they may be, I cannot surrender to these fears. Even as these thoughts occur, I must reject them and choose instead to trust that God is good and He is not finished with me.
This is one of the thoughts I cling to. “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus,” Paul wrote. (Phil 1:6)
I hope this helps. Be on fire.
Troy
OnFire is a bi-weekly letter on faith and character written by Troy Dennis. Troy is the Pastor of Family Ministries at Highfield Baptist Church, Moncton NB Canada. This letter published Mar 19, 2012. To subscribe or reply, email onfireletter@gmail.com. Archives are located at www.onfireletter.com. Blog located at www.onfireletter.blogspot.com.
OnFire #276 Lessons from the Fish tank
Hi Folks:
My latest post on Pastor of Everything Else is “What To do When the Senior Pastor Resigns.” So far, I’ve spent a total of almost three years of my nine years in associate ministry without a senior pastor at the helm. Feel free to pass this along to associate pastors you may know.
http://www.pastorofeverythingelse.blogspot.com/
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A few weeks ago I began to see signs that our koy and goldfish were distressed. Not the “I’m overwhelmed and I’m going to flip out” kind of emotional distress, but the lethargic, not eating, kind of distress which signals that the fish were weak and might not survive.
To explain, these are fish that I brought in from our backyard pond because last year’s fish didn’t survive the winter in the shallow water. A friend gave us a tank and all winter we’ve been keeping 3 koy and 4 goldfish. I couldn’t catch one goldfish, and so it remains somewhere in the pond, forever traumatized by my efforts to net him.
Anyway, one by one and two by two I lost all of the fish over the next couple of weeks. They died despite my best efforts to change the water and filter and clean the gravel. I felt really bad that I tried to save them from freezing, only to have them die in my fish tank later from problems I was ill-equipped to handle.
It was hard not to reflect on those fish and see my life. I sometimes wonder if I’m pouring time and energy into situations and problems which will only be a wasted effort. How depressing that thought is! And yet, it is one of my secret fears. Is all this trouble for nothing? I’m generally a positive, hopeful person. It’s something people like about me. But deep down, when things aren’t going so well, I have these fears.
I have to be careful because some people think I write OnFire like a diary or journal. They think I must be writing about church life or my current mood. This is not always so. I write OnFire because I think that if I talk about the secret feelings we’re afraid to say in public, then we’ll all be better off for it. If I feel this, then others do, too, and so let’s do this together. “I’m not the only one!” is what I hope people will think.
I was surprised when I had these thoughts, and I had to work through them. It really came down to this. As frustrating as things are sometimes, as difficult and discouraging as they may be, I cannot surrender to these fears. Even as these thoughts occur, I must reject them and choose instead to trust that God is good and He is not finished with me.
This is one of the thoughts I cling to. “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus,” Paul wrote. (Phil 1:6)
I hope this helps. Be on fire.
Troy
OnFire is a bi-weekly letter on faith and character written by Troy Dennis. Troy is the Pastor of Family Ministries at Highfield Baptist Church, Moncton NB Canada. This letter published Mar 19, 2012. To subscribe or reply, email onfireletter@gmail.com. Archives are located at www.onfireletter.com. Blog located at www.onfireletter.blogspot.com.
Monday, March 5, 2012
OnFire #275 The Creepy Guy Emerges
OnFire Encouragement Letter
OnFire #275 The Creepy Guy Emerges
We have a concrete figurine in our backyard, one of those little fishing boy statues which sits by our goldfish pond. Not long after we moved in we affectionately named him, “The Creepy Guy in the Backyard” because all he does is hang around and stare blankly into space. By the way, we like the Creepy Guy, even though we gave him this name, and the boys have resisted our suggestions that we should give him a new coat of paint. They like the “character” he has right now and he would be “too pretty” if we freshened him up.
As I write, the Creepy Guy is melting from the snow bank. With a few warm days his hat and eyes have emerged. I like the way he seems to peer above the snow and I think of him as a symbol of the changing seasons. There is hope for warmer and longer days ahead.
In my last OnFire I wrote about the difference between real and perceived limits. I wrote it on what I call a “low motivation day.” I get these occasionally, not regularly, but once in a while, when I am tired and not feeling like I can push myself. I’ve learned over the years that they last about a day so I just plan to do simple tasks which don’t require a lot of brain power or emotional strain. And then the next day I go back to my normal pace.
That didn’t happen. My low motivation day turned into the better part of a week. I have to be honest, it was a little unnerving. I like to work hard and to push myself. And yet I couldn’t seem to muster my full amount of energy. I put myself on “light duty.” The reality was I couldn’t do much more, anyway.
I’m still not sure what happened, other than I was probably exhausted, spiritually, mentally and physically. The next week was better, last week better again. I wouldn’t say I’m back up to 100%, but then again I’m not sure I want to go back to running at 100%. I recently told one of our church leaders that there are seasons when we go flat out, when it is necessary, and it even feels good to put it all out there. But, I said, we can’t do that all the time. (Someday we’ll all be better at taking our own advice.)
Somebody is going to read this and be worried about my health and my mental or spiritual state. A lot of my relatives are on the OnFire list, including my mother. I’m OK. Really.
Here’s the thing, the reason why I’m writing all this. I figure that if I go through something, other people are going through the same thing, too. And that by sharing my experiences it helps and encourages other people. We’re not alone in this journey.
It’s OK if we’ve been running at 100% and we get tired and need to back off. Really. There really are limits. And it is OK to tell someone we’re tired. We often do much better at telling other people they can take their breaks. Somehow we think we’re unique and so we don’t need it for ourselves.
I think there are lots of reasons why we feel others can and should take breaks, but we can’t. 1) Something won’t get done. Well, sometimes things need to go undone before someone else will step up. 2) We need to prove we can handle it, that we’re tough enough for the job. But, who are we trying to prove it to? 3) Out of a sense of duty. This is my poison, and it’s a tough one because I’m often motivated by the feeling, “It’s the right thing to do.” I’m not sure I have the answer to this one, other than to say, sometimes I just can’t go any further, and that’s OK.
I’m guessing someone in OnFire Land needs to hear this today. I can’t be the only one riding this train. Be encouraged. It’s OK to admit we’re tired and that we’ve reached our limits. Furthermore, it’s even OK to say No.
The Creepy Guy is melting out of the snow bank. We’ll emerge from being buried, too.
I hope this helps. Be OnFire. Oh, and don’t take the “Creepy Guy” metaphor too far. I’m not suggesting that you or I are “creepy.”
Troy
OnFire is a bi-weekly letter on faith and character written by Troy Dennis. Troy is the Pastor of Family Ministries at Highfield Baptist Church, Moncton NB Canada. This letter published Mar 5, 2012. To subscribe or reply, email onfireletter@gmail.com. Archives are located at www.onfireletter.com. Blog located at www.onfireletter.blogspot.com.
OnFire #275 The Creepy Guy Emerges
We have a concrete figurine in our backyard, one of those little fishing boy statues which sits by our goldfish pond. Not long after we moved in we affectionately named him, “The Creepy Guy in the Backyard” because all he does is hang around and stare blankly into space. By the way, we like the Creepy Guy, even though we gave him this name, and the boys have resisted our suggestions that we should give him a new coat of paint. They like the “character” he has right now and he would be “too pretty” if we freshened him up.
As I write, the Creepy Guy is melting from the snow bank. With a few warm days his hat and eyes have emerged. I like the way he seems to peer above the snow and I think of him as a symbol of the changing seasons. There is hope for warmer and longer days ahead.
In my last OnFire I wrote about the difference between real and perceived limits. I wrote it on what I call a “low motivation day.” I get these occasionally, not regularly, but once in a while, when I am tired and not feeling like I can push myself. I’ve learned over the years that they last about a day so I just plan to do simple tasks which don’t require a lot of brain power or emotional strain. And then the next day I go back to my normal pace.
That didn’t happen. My low motivation day turned into the better part of a week. I have to be honest, it was a little unnerving. I like to work hard and to push myself. And yet I couldn’t seem to muster my full amount of energy. I put myself on “light duty.” The reality was I couldn’t do much more, anyway.
I’m still not sure what happened, other than I was probably exhausted, spiritually, mentally and physically. The next week was better, last week better again. I wouldn’t say I’m back up to 100%, but then again I’m not sure I want to go back to running at 100%. I recently told one of our church leaders that there are seasons when we go flat out, when it is necessary, and it even feels good to put it all out there. But, I said, we can’t do that all the time. (Someday we’ll all be better at taking our own advice.)
Somebody is going to read this and be worried about my health and my mental or spiritual state. A lot of my relatives are on the OnFire list, including my mother. I’m OK. Really.
Here’s the thing, the reason why I’m writing all this. I figure that if I go through something, other people are going through the same thing, too. And that by sharing my experiences it helps and encourages other people. We’re not alone in this journey.
It’s OK if we’ve been running at 100% and we get tired and need to back off. Really. There really are limits. And it is OK to tell someone we’re tired. We often do much better at telling other people they can take their breaks. Somehow we think we’re unique and so we don’t need it for ourselves.
I think there are lots of reasons why we feel others can and should take breaks, but we can’t. 1) Something won’t get done. Well, sometimes things need to go undone before someone else will step up. 2) We need to prove we can handle it, that we’re tough enough for the job. But, who are we trying to prove it to? 3) Out of a sense of duty. This is my poison, and it’s a tough one because I’m often motivated by the feeling, “It’s the right thing to do.” I’m not sure I have the answer to this one, other than to say, sometimes I just can’t go any further, and that’s OK.
I’m guessing someone in OnFire Land needs to hear this today. I can’t be the only one riding this train. Be encouraged. It’s OK to admit we’re tired and that we’ve reached our limits. Furthermore, it’s even OK to say No.
The Creepy Guy is melting out of the snow bank. We’ll emerge from being buried, too.
I hope this helps. Be OnFire. Oh, and don’t take the “Creepy Guy” metaphor too far. I’m not suggesting that you or I are “creepy.”
Troy
OnFire is a bi-weekly letter on faith and character written by Troy Dennis. Troy is the Pastor of Family Ministries at Highfield Baptist Church, Moncton NB Canada. This letter published Mar 5, 2012. To subscribe or reply, email onfireletter@gmail.com. Archives are located at www.onfireletter.com. Blog located at www.onfireletter.blogspot.com.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
OnFire #274 Living between the Red Lines
OnFire Encouragement Letter
OnFire #274 Living between the Red Lines
Last weekend the saga of the snowblower came to an end. After restarting the motor to finish the driveway, it revved way too fast and then there was a loud “pop.” The pushrod, broken and no longer bound to the crankshaft, smashed the thin walls of the engine. Judging from the pieces sprayed across my driveway, the motor will never start again.
I really enjoyed that little snowblower. I learned a lot about tuning the engine and I took a certain amount of pride in keeping it going. It was a nice mental break from what I normally do.
There are times I feel like that little machine, times when I wonder if life will rev to the point when something comes apart. I can’t be the only one who sometimes wonders how much more can be piled on and added before things suddenly go pop. That’s not a comfortable thought. Life doesn’t come with a red line to tell us where our limits are.
Now here’s a funny thought. I was at the gym the other day. Exhausted. Not really feeling like I wanted to be there, but knowing it was important to get some exercise, I hopped on the first machine to get some cardio. I wasn’t expecting good results. Just finish the workout, I thought, and go home for nap. A few minutes in, I felt my body respond to the challenge and the numbers on the electronic screen said I was working as hard as I normally do. I finished the weights and machines at full form. It made me wonder if it was mind over matter, that I was capable of more than I felt I was.
Some limits are real and some are imagined. If I go into the danger zone of the cardio monitor, I need to back off because my heart is at risk. Other times I need to push through because my limit is actually beyond where I think it is.
Reality is probably between these two lines, between where we think the limits are and where things go pop. It takes faith to work beyond our imagined limits, and discernment to know the real ones.
Paul knew something about living close to the limits, for real. “We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired even of life. Indeed, in our hearts we felt the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead. He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope.” ( 2 Corinthians 1:9-10)
Discovering new limits means finding new trust in God. First, we have to hang in there to trust him more. And second, we discover new ways in which God is faithful. In both these ways we find new trust in God. Only when we run out of our strength do we discover God’s, and its a good thing, for at that point we don’t have what it takes. Paul writes, “On him we have set our hope.”
Hope this helps. Be on fire.
Troy
OnFire is a bi-weekly letter on faith and character written by Troy Dennis. Troy is the Pastor of Family Ministries at Highfield Baptist Church, Moncton NB Canada. This letter published Feb 15, 2012. To subscribe or reply, email onfireletter@gmail.com. Archives are located at www.onfireletter.com. Blog located at www.onfireletter.blogspot.com.
OnFire #274 Living between the Red Lines
Last weekend the saga of the snowblower came to an end. After restarting the motor to finish the driveway, it revved way too fast and then there was a loud “pop.” The pushrod, broken and no longer bound to the crankshaft, smashed the thin walls of the engine. Judging from the pieces sprayed across my driveway, the motor will never start again.
I really enjoyed that little snowblower. I learned a lot about tuning the engine and I took a certain amount of pride in keeping it going. It was a nice mental break from what I normally do.
There are times I feel like that little machine, times when I wonder if life will rev to the point when something comes apart. I can’t be the only one who sometimes wonders how much more can be piled on and added before things suddenly go pop. That’s not a comfortable thought. Life doesn’t come with a red line to tell us where our limits are.
Now here’s a funny thought. I was at the gym the other day. Exhausted. Not really feeling like I wanted to be there, but knowing it was important to get some exercise, I hopped on the first machine to get some cardio. I wasn’t expecting good results. Just finish the workout, I thought, and go home for nap. A few minutes in, I felt my body respond to the challenge and the numbers on the electronic screen said I was working as hard as I normally do. I finished the weights and machines at full form. It made me wonder if it was mind over matter, that I was capable of more than I felt I was.
Some limits are real and some are imagined. If I go into the danger zone of the cardio monitor, I need to back off because my heart is at risk. Other times I need to push through because my limit is actually beyond where I think it is.
Reality is probably between these two lines, between where we think the limits are and where things go pop. It takes faith to work beyond our imagined limits, and discernment to know the real ones.
Paul knew something about living close to the limits, for real. “We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired even of life. Indeed, in our hearts we felt the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead. He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope.” ( 2 Corinthians 1:9-10)
Discovering new limits means finding new trust in God. First, we have to hang in there to trust him more. And second, we discover new ways in which God is faithful. In both these ways we find new trust in God. Only when we run out of our strength do we discover God’s, and its a good thing, for at that point we don’t have what it takes. Paul writes, “On him we have set our hope.”
Hope this helps. Be on fire.
Troy
OnFire is a bi-weekly letter on faith and character written by Troy Dennis. Troy is the Pastor of Family Ministries at Highfield Baptist Church, Moncton NB Canada. This letter published Feb 15, 2012. To subscribe or reply, email onfireletter@gmail.com. Archives are located at www.onfireletter.com. Blog located at www.onfireletter.blogspot.com.
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