Forward this if you love America - Delete it if you don't...

Just for fun, this is the latest "Gourmet Initiative" at Maul Hall! Now, back to today's post:

Today I have to say a big shout out "THANKS!!" to people who send me emails - yet are unwilling to engage in conversation. Because of you, my dear "walk in lock-step or you're not really an American" friends, I have a great subject for my post today.

Here's the exact quote, taken from the opening paragraphs of an email. It's priceless! "This is not sent for discussion. If you agree, forward it. If you don't, delete it. I don't want to know one way or the other. By me forwarding it, you know how I feel."

It's the email equivalent of ringing a doorbell and then running away because you don't want to get caught. This is America, good grief. If we're unwilling to have the conversation then what in the world are we doing with loud opinions?

But it's also a commentary, I believe, on the fact that too many of us fail to come by our position honestly. What happens, instead, is the ad-nauseum repetition of stylized ideas and prejudicial commentary that pairs certain ideologies with concepts such as "Patriot", "Christian", and "American." Many people become afraid to own opinions at variance with what they're hearing - because they have been told that such thinking makes them "un-American" or "marxist", or "pro-atheist" or "against freedom."

Consequently, "Forward this if you love America" becomes coercive - a kind of bullying. People become afraid to work out their own position on ideas and end up walking in lock-step because - they believe - at least this means they're on the right side.

All I can say is "hogwash" and "hooey".

To be pro-America is to be in favor of intelligent conversation. I don't mind of you disagree with me passionately - just don't preempt dialog. When you do, it's hard to take anything you say seriously.

Fact is, I didn't even read the email that started out "This is not sent for discussion..." But I did hit "reply all" and submitted the following:

Dear everyone on this "thread"...
This is funny! I haven't even read the article and I have a response already... Sending something with "This is not sent for discussion.... I don't want to know one way or the other." simply will not work.

It's like ringing someone's doorbell and then running away!

Here's the idea, and let's all respond this way when something like this (whatever it is) comes around.... Ready?

"Don't send an email to my in-box if you don't want to talk about it! This is America, good grief. One of the biggest problems with today's political climate is the unwillingness of people to engage in intelligent conversation."

So - "forward this if you agree". But don't tell me you're not interested in a conversation!

Respectfully - DEREK MAUL

The MIRACLE that is science...

This morning, I'm initiating a new "occasional" feature in this space. A particular newspaper column was on my mind, so I searched my files to find it. It occurred to me that not everyone who reads this blog read the Tampa Tribune "back in the day". Regardless, I enjoyed it so much I'm going to share it with you today. Look for a new "Classic from the archives" every couple of weeks or so.
- DEREK

The Back of My Hand - Derek Maul, The Tampa Tribune; August 3rd, 2005: This time last week I reached blindly for my sunglasses and somehow cut the back of my hand. The nerve receptors on the first layer of skin prompted me in the way only pain can, and I pulled back. Consequently, the three-inch cut turned out to be more of a scratch than a laceration.

Because I use a computer keyboard every day I have had the opportunity to closely observe the process of healing.

“Healing,” say Thomas Romo III and Lee Ann McLaughlin in a 2003 Emedicine article, “is the interaction of a complex cascade of cellular events that generates resurfacing, reconstitution, and restoration of the tensile strength of injured skin.”

It took the learned doctors close to a thousand highly specific and extremely hard to pronounce words to describe what happened in the first 5-10 minutes after I scratched my hand. Unfortunately, as I was driving to a restaurant at the time, I missed most of it.

Some of the highlights of those first minutes included hemorrhage, vasoconstriction – I knew both those words without looking them up – and an amazingly complex gathering together of resources by the body; everything from containment, to infection, to the release of a variety of helping chemicals - including serotonin. Finally, the initial triage was concluded by the onset of coagulation.

Lest you think things tailed off from there, I have to point out that my body was just getting going. While I consumed Italian food the surface of my hand started to throb, signaling an activation of inflammatory pathways, an intervention designed to modify events to come.

There were histamines to activate, pH levels to adjust, and proteins to stimulate. Then, a cadre of friendly neutrophils charged in like the cavalry to cleanse the area of bacteria and necrotic debris.

Obviously, I am merely scratching the surface here. Stuff has been going on with the back of my hand for a week now and thinking about it has simply blown me away. The full scientific paper, describing exactly what was going on, totaled a mind-numbing 4,300 words and gave me a headache; attaining a more complete understanding of the miracle, however, fed my soul.

Little by little, the imperative of life coalesced all the various processes until the protective translucent wrapper fell away to reveal brand-new skin, recreated even to the fine details of freckle, tint, and wrinkle.

From the 18th to the 20th Centuries, answers suggested by science and rationalism led many people to eliminate the word “miracle” from their vocabulary. I have an old college friend who uses the term “free-thinker” to describe what he understands as an intellect unconstrained by such superstitions as God; he believes those who trust in God are not free to seek more realistic explanations.

As I observed my regenerated skin knit together this week, I also slogged my way through details that allowed me to understand the exact nature of the physical processes that took place. I did not pray for God to heal my hand, but I did watch him do it.

Maybe I have a limited intellect...? Maybe if I were a true free-thinker I would refuse to think freely enough to allow for the possibility of divinity...? All I know is this: The more wonders I see, the more science I understand, the deeper into space I peer through my telescope, and the further into atomic matter I allow concepts like quantum physics and string theory to take me. . . . Well, the more I believe in miracles.

It’s like something you’ve never seen before; something like the back of your hand.

Oh Crap - He's Up!

Here's a great thought. I ran across it a couple of weeks ago and ended up tweaking the statement so I could use it for my presentation out in Texas this past weekend. It's aimed at men, but the idea works just as well for women, so feel free to substitute the word "she" for "he" if it helps.

• Let's make the commitment to be the kind of men who, when our feet hit the floor on our side of the bed in the morning, the Devil says, "Oh crap - he's up!"

I just love that! I love the statement because it moves forward from the assumption that who we are and what we do makes a significant difference in this world. Not just in our homes; not just in our workplace or school; not just in our community; not just in our region.... but who we are and what we do actually makes a difference in the great scheme of things. It makes a difference in and for eternity.

We were talking about this in my Men's Room small group yesterday evening. I brought in a list I'm working on for one of my writing jobs. It's a list that references a number of ways we can be remembered 100 years from now.

You can find literally dozens of such lists at theAllProDad website. Just click on one of the billboards at the top-left and you'll likely get something I have written in the past few weeks - click here for an example "3 Ways to Fight Conflict in your Marriage".

So I asked my friends for ideas and we enjoyed a deep, insightful conversation. It's certainly more likely that we will be remembered if we're the kind of men who, when we get out of bed in the morning, the Devil says, "Oh crap - he's up!"

#5 on my list is this: "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!" The words are obviously those spoken by Ronald Reagan and in reference to the Berlin Wall. But, they make me think about the way so many of us - men in particular - build walls around our hearts, our emotions, our vulnerability. We do it because we want to be strong, yes, but we also do it because we're afraid that we're not.

The truth is that we are stronger when we are honest, when we allow other family members in, and when we live in open, honest relationships where support, unconditional love, encouragement and accountability are as natural as breathing.

My friend Andy said this in group yesterday. "We won't be remembered 100 years from now if we're not willing to tell the stories. How can we be remembered if nobody knows who we are?"

Awesome, Andy.

- Amen

An element of consecration in the day-by-day...

This past weekend, out at the men's conference in the Texas hill country, one of the highlights was Sunday morning communion. The service is held in an outdoor amphitheater, a "fair piece" up the hill and overlooking Mo-Ranch Assembly in the Guadeloupe River valley below. (In fact, if you're reading this at my "A Life Examined" blog and I haven't changed the "header" yet, you can see the spectacular view in my title photo).

WORTH THE WALK:

With 412 registered attendees, plus leaders, staff and other visitors, somewhere in the neighborhood of 450 men participated in the weekend. Some couldn't stay through Sunday morning, and others slept in, but I'd estimate around 300 crowded onto the stone benches and folding chairs to watch the sun rise, sing songs of praise, break bread and sip from the cup.

It was enough of a walk and a good enough climb to nurture contemplation on the way to church. I left my room early, swung by the cafeteria for coffee, then set out with time to spare. As I crossed the gorge on the high metal bridge it was still pitch dark (picture taken later that day).

Then, during the steady climb up the one-lane road, features of the landscape started to emerge and I thought about the invitational character of each dawn, gently calling me into another day that means something significant in my journey as a child of God.

Consequently, and by the time I arrived at the niche in the cliffs where a huge wooden cross speaks hope into a spectacular vista, my spirit was virtually humming in anticipation.

MISSED OPPORTUNITY:

But I was amazed at the choking traffic jam of vehicles crawling up the hill to the parking area adjacent to the sanctuary! Their progress was slower than a casual walk, and the noxious overload of exhaust fumes threatened to spoil the fresh morning air. The parking area quickly filled, vehicles piled up both sides of the road, and some simply wedged themselves between the trees and shrubs.

I understand that some of the older or infirm need motorized assistance. But the conference center golf carts and a handful of vans could have shuttled with ease. However, the majority of the riders skipped the walk because they have - essentially - forgotten the point of a sanctuary cut into the hillside that takes a little effort to access.

Less that half of those in attendance made the climb on foot.

I talked with one man, older and not in the best of physical shape, who had struggled up the hill. "I want the complete experience," he said. "It costs me something to be here - and I wouldn't have it any other way."

CONVENIENCE MISSES THE POINT:

It's easy to slip out of the habit of sacrificial living. Note that I didn't limit the concept to "sacrificial giving." I believe that sacrificial giving is a natural component of sacrificial living. Sacrificial living means adding an element of consecration to the day-by-day details that define us.

It's a concept that is just now sinking in to the groundwater of my spirit. Thank you, God, for teaching me - every new day.

- DEREK

Plug in; it doesn't happen by itself!

This picture - from my flight out to Texas - just grabbed at me today. I think it's because the sense of perspective in the image reminds me of how important it is to look at things differently every once in a while.

I've found that it's very difficult to post a blog entry once the first couple of hours of the day have passed. I got up on time, left the house for an early interview, returned to my desk already behind, and consequently never caught up!

Good interviews tend to run long, typically because I end up simply enjoying a great conversation. So it's almost noon now and I still have a full day of work to attend to.

But I'm taking a few minutes to post first, because this discipline is an important element of my personal devotional life - and my priority system reminds me: "Don't get caught up in your writing until you've dealt with the 'God be in my head' thing."

... Even though my morning interview was full of spiritual content; it just wasn't the same as my personal time plugging in with God.

I'm going to leave it at that, pretty much, and post a couple more pictures from the weekend in Texas. Some of the guys there told me that the retreat is so important for them because it is "The one time in the year when I get to spend some quality, personal time, with God."

- No, I didn't let them get away with something that ridiculous! I pointed out that they were talking as if something was preventing them from a more regular tete-a-tete with the Almighty. But the truth is more along the lines of they...we... prevent ourselves.

So, plug in. Plug in often. Plug in like your (spiritual) life depended on it. It does...

Love and blessings and encouragement - DEREK

From The Texas Hills - maybe this really is "God's Country"?

That's me, down by the Guadeloupe River, where I enjoyed a long talk with a good man from Fort Worth. The photographs in today's post are from my Texas trip this weekend. I'll try to include a smattering of the best this week - so long as they support what I'm writing about - DEREK

Monday morning. Good to be home. It's always good to be home! But, I did enjoy another inspiring and encouraging weekend away; this time in Texas.

The more I travel, and the more I enjoy the opportunity to talk with other people about their lives as God's children, working out what it means to be faithful disciples in all the details of life, the more convinced I am that this huge risk we took several years ago (when I gave up a decent paycheck teaching and made the commitment to follow my writing muse) was no risk at all; but simply engaging my natural pathway as a follower of The Way.

There are some who would take a look at my income as an author and speaker and question my conclusions. "The math doesn't work for me," they might say. "I'll admit you didn't make a fortune teaching middle school... but I know people who are unemployed who pull in more than you do now!"

"Well your math is flawed," I'd likely say in return. "Your methods of calculating are far too narrow and limited in scope. I receive income you can't measure."

Case in point. Yesterday morning, right after sun-rise at the hill top, sharing the bread and the wine with a great group of men, I take my breakfast tray and plonk it down at a table with five men already chowing down. Three minutes into the conversation one guys says... "Hey - you're the fellah wrote that book." That's an exact quote, this is Texas.

It turns out all five gentlemen at the table are in a men's group that's studying GET REAL! And here's the funny part, they've been at it almost a year now and the group has made it maybe two-thirds of the way through!

"Well," one of them explained. "We read us a page - or almost - and then get to talking about it; you know there's easy enough to chew on for one meeting."

Then there are the one-on-one times of rock solid sharing I get to have with guys who are either wrestling with faith, or frustrated about what's going on in their church, or anxious about their role as faithful men in their home, or on-fire for God and ready to take it to the next level but no-one seems quite ready to walk with them....

I had all those conversations this weekend - and more. What a privilege.

Stay tuned - DEREK

Then Sings My Soul....

It's late Saturday evening in the Texas hill country, and I'm hanging out with guys from all over the five-state region. There's a great spirit here at Mo-Ranch Assembly. 450 men, gathered together because of the simple fact that they love God, want to grow in faith, and are motivated to learn more about what it means to be a disciple.

Sometimes the simple message is the one that we need the most. Especially in today's contentious political climate - an unfortunate state of affairs that reaches deep into so many churches, and threatens the unity that Jesus talked about so pointedly in his final hours.

But there's no trace here of anything other than peace, and a compelling unity of spirit has settled into the hills and alongside the Guadalupe River.

I'm not sure if there's anything more indicative of what I'm talking about than the sound of 450 voices singing songs of praise together. There's a quality to the sound produced by so many men's voices that reaches deep into the soul, searches out the tenderest place, and then bears down.

We sang the classic hymns - How Great Thou Art, Great is Thy Faithfulness, Here am I Lord, Amazing Grace... they all touched me. But, when those rich voices blended in harmony to sing The Lord's Prayer - it was almost too much and I was overwhelmed.

It's interesting, because in Men's Group this week we had talked about the emotion resident in music. I'm not sure if it was the music, the music and the words, or all that plus the cumulative spiritual weight of so many men singing at the tops of their voices and from the bottom of their hearts.

I think that was it. It was the truth of their faithfulness and their commitment, and it weighed even more than the music. At least that's what it felt like. It was beautiful - and it slayed me.