integrity

a friend challenged a group of us over the weekend to spend some time thinking about the existence of integrity in our lives. and to think about whether or not we are actually pursuing integrity. according to webster’s dictionary, integrity is the idea of being incorruptible, sound, and complete (or undivided). i like that idea and i like the idea of being that kind of person, but i can hear a voice in my head saying, “you? good luck. you’re a broken-down, mess of a man who fails all of the time. do you really think...”

okay, so is it even possible?

i want to be a man of integrity, but by definition, it seems unattainable and something that perhaps, can only be pursued. in fact, i think it would be highly arrogant of me to think that i could ever be incorruptible. i think it would be foolish of me to think that i will always remain sound. and to think that i could ever be complete is unfathomable. and so my immediate reaction is that i can’t be that which i want to be – game over, let the sulking begin. and yet i know people who i consider to be living lives of integrity. so how does this all work?

here are a few thoughts.

integrity is not perfection. integrity is not the “little picture.” and integrity does not focus on short-comings. no one is incorruptible, sound, or undivided (regardless of appearances.) we are all human and we all make mistakes. but we can’t dwell on those mistakes and forget the good that surrounds them. we need to evaluate integrity in the larger picture of a person’s life – where we step back and look at chunks of time rather than slivers. where we look at track records instead of individual races. where we look at seasons instead of moments. i do that (or at least i try to do that). it may be inconsistent from person to person, but i’m working on it. here is a scary reality though. i find it a lot easier to evaluate others within this context of flexibility than i do myself. i can say “i do that” with others, but do i do it with myself? not often. for some reason, i hold myself to a higher (almost unattainable) standard, with unimaginable expectations. why do i do that? i expect so much from myself and often find that i’m living under this shadow of darkness – keeping me from the life of integrity that god desires for me.

there needs to be grace.

this friend went on to talk about how large a role “shame” plays in keeping us from a life of integrity. we want to look good on the outside and yet we are falling apart on the inside. our inner selves and outer selves are divided. and we are ashamed of revealing the truth – of letting people see our reality. the shame that we feel (and hold onto) overpowers the grace that god has for us. lauryn hill (on one of her albums) talks about the differences between fantasy and reality. and the reality is that we all have issues. we all have things in our lives that we are ashamed of. she says that we are all in the same boat, dealing with the same stuff. and yet we continue to put on a show because we are afraid to admit to others that we don’t have it all together. we are afraid to admit the truth and through grace, find comfort in that truth. why? because we have accepted a lie. we have accepted the idea that there are some people who do have it all together. and that’s just not true. no one has it all together. they have simply found a way to mask their pain, their brokenness, and their shame.

it’s time to lose the shame in your game. or is it lose the game in your shame?

it’s a bit odd to me because as i tried to identify those areas of my life that i was ashamed of, i couldn’t. that’s not to say that there aren’t things in my life that shouldn’t be there or that discourage me (or perhaps that i’m not admitting), but for the most part, i can’t really find anything that i’m ashamed of. wait, that’s not true. there are things that i’m ashamed of, but i’m not ashamed of who i am. i am who i am. and i’m okay with that – broken and all. and i think that there is a great deal of integrity in that. one of webster’s definitions for corrupt is “to alter from the original or correct form or version.” interesting, don’t you think? by acknowledging the true me, i am actually being the opposite of corrupt. and i find soundness and unity in that. that would make me a man of integrity. that would make me the kind of man that i didn’t think i could become. that would mean that integrity is attainable.

one final thought. i think we are all concerned about how others perceive us – the real us, the inner us. so we try to fix all of our imperfections. we fail, we fall short, and we often screw the whole thing up. and our immediate reaction is to get out the tools and patch the cracks. we think that we should fix them in order to look more appealing. but what if the cracks are simply a way of letting the inner integrity in all of us spill out? what if it’s actually the mistakes and failures that reveal integrity (rather than the lack of them)? now there’s a thonder.

joyous leaves

i was reading a book of walt whitman poems yesterday and came across the following. it reminds me that we were created to be in relationship with others. however, it also reminded me that our creator can do miraculous things (in us and through us) while we are adventuring alone. for, in fact, we are not alone. (i’m grateful for reminders.)

i saw in louisiana a live-oak growing

i saw in louisiana
a live-oak growing,
all alone stood it
and the moss hung down
from the branches,

without any companion
it grew there
uttering joyous leaves of dark green,
and its look, rude, unbending, lusty,
made me think of myself,

but i wonder’d how it could
utter joyous leaves
standing alone there
without its friend near,
for i knew i could not,

and i broke off a twig
with a certain number of
leaves upon it,
and twined around it a little moss,
and brought it away,

and i have placed it in sight in my room,
it is not needed to remind me
as of my own dear friends,
(for i believe lately i think of little else
than of them,)

yet it remains to me a curious token,
it makes me think of manly love;
for all that, and though the live-oak
glistens there in louisiana
solitary in a wide flat space,

uttering joyous leaves all its life
without a friend a lover near,
i know very well i could not.

© walt whitman

i am there

do you need me?
i am there.

you cannot see me, yet i am the light you see by.
you cannot hear me, yet i speak through your voice.
you cannot feel me, yet i am the power at work in your hands.

i am at work, though you do not understand my ways.
i am at work, though you do not understand my works.
i am not strange visions. i am not mysteries.

only in absolute stillness, beyond self, can you know me
as i am, and then but as a feeling and a faith.

yet i am there. yet i hear. yet i answer.
when you need me, i am there.
even if you deny me, i am there.
even when you feel most alone, i am there.
even in your fears, i am there.
even in your pain, i am there.

i am there when you pray and when you do not pray.
i am in you, and you are in me.
only in your mind can you feel separate from me,
for only in your mind are the mists of “yours” and “mine.”
yet only with your mind can you know me and experience me.

empty your heart of empty fears.
when you get yourself out of the way, i am there.
you can of yourself do nothing, but i can do all.
and i am in all.

though you may not see the good, good is there,
for i am there. i am there because i have to be, because i am.

only in me does the world have meaning;
only out of me does the world take form;
only because of me does the world go forward.
i am the law on which the movement of the stars
and the growth of living cells are founded.

i am the love that is the law’s fulfilling.
i am assurance.
i am peace.
i am oneness.
i am the law that you can live by.
i am the love that you can cling to.
i am your assurance.
i am your peace.
i am one with you.
i am.

though you fail to find me, i do not fail you.
though your faith in me is unsure,
my faith in you never wavers,
because i know you, because i love you.

beloved, i am there.

© 1947 james dillet freeman

apprentice

i’m starting to realize that i’m simply an apprentice in this thing called life. for some reason, i’ve thought that life was a lot like a college degree – where i study and experience and then go out into the world to use and apply all that i’ve learned. you know, like an equation – you figure out what works and implement it for successful results.

ha. ha, ha. ha, ha, ha. (can you hear me laughing?)

why do i think that i should have life figured out yet? and what makes me think that i will ever have it figured out? i’m just now starting to realize that i may always be an apprentice – continually learning from my master. and what’s interesting to me, is that there is actually a bit of relief in that revelation.

taking a step back to get a closer look

i spent some time with a friend yesterday who made the following statement while discussing spirituality. he said, “sometimes i find myself needing to take a step back in order to get a closer look.” and in the context of our conversation, it made complete sense to me. in another context, it may have seemed like an oxymoron. but at that time and at that place, it didn’t. it just made sense. and over the past twenty-four hours or so, i’ve been thinking a lot more about the idea of oxymorons in my life. or perhaps the notion that things don’t always need to make sense.

why have i convinced myself that everything needs to make sense in my life? why can’t i be more open to looking at life in ways that don’t (make sense)? why do i limit my point of view based on background, upbringing, teaching, beliefs, etcetera? perhaps it’s because my mind, heart, and spirit keep looking at things through the same filter. don’t misunderstand me. i’m not saying that filters are bad. in fact, i think that filters can by good and healthy. but often, i see myself (and others) creating filters that are fixed. they are closed instead of open. and the idea of change is out of the question. we tend to interpret life from one point of view – the same point of view – over and over and over again. and when you look at things from only one point of view, you tend to think that your view is the right view as well as the only view. a bit scary.

i want to do a better job of considering things that don’t make sense to me. i want to do more digging. i want to probe and question more. i want to test and experiment more. i want to stop filling in the blanks of my life (and others) with answers simply because they make sense. (in most cases, they’re not the right answers anyway.) i want to be okay with things that don’t make sense. i want to be an oxymoron. (i think.)

so, what will that require?

it will require me to think bigger in order to think smaller. it will require me to get the overview before i can craft the summary. it will require me to go to the back of the line so that everything is now in front of me. and it will require me to step back in order to get closer.

can we cross now?

i received an email the other day that contained several letters that children had written to god. one of these caught my attention. “you don’t have to worry about me. i always look both ways.” dean

i often think that i have things under control. actually, that isn’t really true. i often think the opposite – that i never have things under control. my life seems routine, but chaotic and random and rarely on course. it’s just that i want to think that i have things under control.

as i parent, i know what it’s like to worry about my children. and to be honest, i really do want god to worry about me. why? because i want the attention from the one i seek to know in deeper ways. i’m tired of acting like i have it all together and that i can make it on my own – because i can’t. i’ve been broken too many times to know that i just can’t do it. i’m still broken in many areas of my life and i need help healing, moving, discerning, etcetera.

now, i do look both ways, but perhaps i’m so anxious to get to the other side of wherever, that often i see only what i want to see. however, god can see those things approaching that i miss. and he is able to grab me before i take that fatal step. and yet i don’t think he ever does grab me. in fact, i don’t think he ever keeps me from moving. he may warn me through an inner voice, the voice or action of a friend, or some kind of natural (or unnatural) phenomenon, but he never forces me to do (or not to do) anything.

it’s interesting, because i feel like i spend most of my time on the curb. no, i think i spend most of my time moving from one side to the other. and yet when i finally do make it across, i often find myself on a median, with another crossing in front of me. (my life is a life of medians.) it’s frustrating and i find that while my body is moving, my mind is worrying about being run over. i’m questioning my decisions all of the time – when what i really want is just to get to the other side and find a bit of happiness and joy.

so, i think that when i reach the other side, i’ll find happiness and joy, right? but i rarely make it to the other side. and i sit here, at a crossroads (or on the median), asking myself these questions. can’t there be joy in the crossing? can’t there be joy in the waiting on the curb? can’t i just grab the hand of my father and let him lead me when it’s safe?

i really want to take my father’s hand, and i try, but it doesn’t seem that easy. i don’t always feel his grasp and i wonder if he is really there or not. and why wouldn’t he be there? does he want me to try this thing by myself? did i forget to tell him where i was planning on going? and doing? did i not tell him on purpose? well, i’m telling him now.

god, i need to be led. i need you to worry about me. i need to know that you’re thinking about me. that you care about me. and i need help trusting that you know better than i do.

can we cross now?

a good reminder from africa

i stumbled across an african proverb last week that intrigued me. not only the proverb itself, but the explanation of its background as well. it’s a good reminder for me to really listen and discern – listening to the words, but also paying close attention to the motives, of the person speaking. it’s also a good reminder for me to surround myself with people who truly care about me and have my best interests at heart. perhaps god can/will use these individuals to be the voice (or at least confirm the voice) that i have been seeking. here is what i found.

tuareg proverb
ta n-ameri salah, ta n-amiksan sadsa.

english translation
the (word) of a friend makes you cry; the (word) of an enemy makes you laugh.

background, explanation and everyday use
the tuaregs are a nomadic people of the central and western sahara and along the middle niger from tombouctou to nigeria. interpersonal relationships are very close and tight in the tuareg society.

advice given by someone who has your best interests at heart is sometimes unpleasant and even painful, but the person who seeks your downfall may deliberately encourage you toward hidden danger with advice that seems pleasant and good. this tuareg proverb is used in two ways: either as an encouragement to take harsh advice from a friend in the spirit it is intended, or as a warning not to follow the deceptively attractive advice of someone who doesn't have our interests at heart.

biblical parallels
proverbs 27:6: “well meant are the wounds a friend inflicts, but profuse are the kisses of an enemy.”

contemporary use and religious application
for the tuaregs and indeed for all people everywhere, there is a great need for discernment regarding the company we keep and the advice we take.

voices

i don’t like struggles. who does? but i was reminded last night that struggles have the ability form and shape us. both the struggle itself and the way in which we respond. but can i be honest here? i’m tired. and i’m guessing that i’m not alone in my thinking. struggles suck. i struggle as a father. i struggle as a son. i struggle with sin. i struggle in relationships. i struggle at work. i struggle all of the time.

and although the struggle is often without (meaning external), i’m finding that the struggle is constant within. there are voices in my head that constantly chatter. they say so many different things. they remind me of the past. they tell me that they can interpret the present. and they try to predict the future. there is the good voice and the bad voice. the right voice and the wrong voice. the shouting voice and the whispering voice. the encouraging voice and the accusing voice. lots and lots of voices. and this is the struggle that i dislike the most.

sometimes i just want silence. or peace. or rest. and yet i don’t always do well in those settings. why? because it’s not familiar. as much as i dislike the chatter, i’ve gotten used to it. (it may not be healthy, but it’s familiar.)

part of me wishes that there was a short period in my life where struggle failed to exist. and instead, there would be nothing but blessings. good things that would bring joy and freedom and life. a time where tensions would vanish. where disagreements would go on their fifteen minute break. where sibling rivalry would take a vacation. where temptation would bury it’s head in the sand. growth doesn’t only occur in the midst of struggle, right? i have to believe that we can be formed and shaped by good experiences too. and yet i know that struggle has its place. at least that’s what one voice is telling me.

the trick here may be to figure out which voice to actually listen to. (much easier said than done.) in a perfect world, we would be able to find the voice of truth because the others would fail to exist. but because of experiences, failures, wounds, etcetera, we have been confused. we have been turned into unbelieving creatures who want proof and usually question until we find it. we’ve been lied to. distracted. cheated. abused. taken advantage of. used. and often, it becomes very difficult to focus on the one voice that desires to speak truth into our lives. we don’t know which voice to believe anymore.

i want to find the voice that speaks truth to me. the one that says good things about me. the one that encourages me. and although i may need to search a bit, i have this odd feeling that when i find it, it will sound very familiar. i don’t know that i’ll be able to explain it, but somehow, i will recognize it. and it will all have been worth the struggle – the struggle that is effectively forming and shaping me into the man that god desires for me to be. and with that goal in mind, i will struggle along.

there is a japanese proverb that says “fall seven times, stand up eight.” and although is seems easier sometimes to just stay on the ground, i will always get back up. i have to. i need to. i want to. and there’s a voice telling me that i’ll be better for it.

painfully inflamed

i’ve been getting angry lately. angry at life. angry at the enemy. and angry at god. (i think.) life is seeming more and more like a requirement to me instead of privilege. i feel like i am required to be here and for the most part, am not really enjoying myself. (perhaps this is just a season, but that season keeps returning.) there is dysfunction. there is chaos. there is oppression. there is struggle. and i’m not talking about what i’ve been seeing in the world, i’m talking about what i’ve been seeing in myself. i’ve been telling myself (and others) lately that god want so much more – and that we aren’t really living the life that god intended. and i strongly believe that. but that statement does very little beyond its attempt to inspire an attitude adjustment.

one of the definitions that webster’s dictionary gives for the word “angry” is “painfully inflamed.” interesting definition, isn’t it? interesting to me anyway, because that’s exactly how i feel. i feel pain all over. physical. emotional. spiritual. intellectual. maybe the word “sore” is more accurate. i feel sore. or maybe uncomfortable. but that lack of comfort usually leads to irritation and ultimately pain. (do you like how i took you full circle there?) there is always something that seems to be under attack and i’m finding it really hard to sustain any kind of joy or happiness. sure there are moments (of happiness) and i am always appreciative of those moments. moments by myself. moments with my kids. moments with friends. but why do those moments seem so brief and often overshadowed by moments of sadness? and i’m not sure that “sadness” really encompasses all that i’m talking about. loneliness. despair. depression. hopelessness. brokenness. failure. embarrassment. timidness. etcetera. i just don’t get it. if god intends for us (his followers) to let our light shine and if light is supposed to overpower the darkness, why does it feel so dark most of the time?

whose fault is it? is it god’s fault for not giving me the joy that i seek? is it the enemy’s fault for successfully distracting me from what’s really important? is it my fault for carrying around so much baggage and overanalyzing everything? and how does all of this work in a fallen world?

one of the things that i’ve really started to understand over the past couple of months is this whole idea of recognizing truth. seriously, it’s really got me jazzed. i think it’s important to distinguish between truth and lies, reality and fantasy, and the ability to focus instead of being distracted. however, this also has me a bit freaked out. i need help distinguishing. i’m not always very good at it. as a follower of jesus, i’ve been promised the holy spirit who will help me navigate some of these things (or all of these things) but i don’t always feel that spirit. and maybe that’s the big question in all of this. what in the world am i supposed to do when i can’t feel this spirit (or god) directing me. i know he’s there. i believe it. but i can’t always feel him.

here’s another question. how am i supposed to feel joy when i can’t feel god? how am i supposed to feel happiness in the midst of struggle? this can’t be what god intended. in fact, in the garden, he used to walk and talk with adam and eve. and even after sin found its way into the world, he walked and talked with others. there was abraham. there was elijah. there were other prophets. then jesus came to earth and walked and talked. walking with individuals. walking with crowds. walking with multitudes. and after jesus left, he promised to leave his spirit to walk and talk with us. so there is a history of god coming in the form of himself, jesus, and the holy spirit, and walking and talking with people. why not me? or why doesn’t it feel that way?

i want to feel him. i want to feel “full.” i want to feel “whole.” and i don’t.

so i’m asking myself, “do i have the right to feel angry?” and “who am i supposed to be angry with?”

i’m not really looking for your answer here. instead, i’m hoping that god will answer. (and hopefully i will have the patience to wait for his reply.)

seven things that i want

i want to be happy
i want to be loved
i want to be pursued
i want to learn
i want to journey with others
i want to be in community
i want to grow

breathe

if i was created
as a unique,
one-of-a-kind
individual
with special gifts
and purpose,
why does it feel
like i am
often wearing
a costume?

what am i
ashamed of;
afraid of?

at times,
i wish
that i could
escape
through a
trap door
and find
solace and peace
in an isolated
place.

why am i
gasping;
suffocating?

i need you
to remind me –
breathe life
into me –
so that i can shed
all that i am not
and live
as you
created me
to be.

inspired by a friend
© 2006 Kris E. Lindquist

lifted

i felt the
warmth
of the sun
on my face
today.
i turned
towards
the window
and closed
my eyes.
the light
penetrated
the darkness
within and
my spirit
felt lifted.

© 2006 Kris E. Lindquist

want

i’m afraid
to trust myself.
i can’t see you,
hear you,
feel you,
yet i know
you are there.

something in
my spirit
tells me so,
but i want
to know
beyond any
doubt.

the voices,
thoughts,
impressions
that i have,
are they you
or are they
me?

where is
the clarity
i seek –
that i keep
asking for
and desiring
deep within?

i want
an encounter,
an interaction,
answers
to the questions
that are
there.

© 2006 Kris E. Lindquist