Wrestling With Robots could be the title a chapter of my autobiography.
When I set out to build a small scale chessboard, I knew one of my armies would be the greater challenge. Plants and robots seemed like natural adversaries, but I have a lot more experience with robots and the wealth of Lego references for automatons is immense. There lies my difficulty, I want to create something new and different.
“It will be like a man going on a journey, who called his servants and entrusted them his property. To one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability. Then he went away.” -Matthew 25:14-15
Parenthood is the task of caring for someone else’s property. I take no ownership over my children. They are children of God.
I am not their servant, but God’s servant. The heavy responsibility of watching over them is temporary, yet the rewards are great. It is the first place I minister. It is the first place I practice caring for others.
I am fortunate to have felt the rewards accruing from the first moment I became a father. I was paid forward by a deep well of love for these tiny humans.
Similarly, when God chose to double my responsibilities by calling their mother home to Heaven, He sent forth riches of love. When the burden feels too weighty, I call on that reserve to carry forward with my load.
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There’s a lot to learn here about how the United States of American have grown and may now be too big for the modern world.
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One season outdoor completed last night and I was energized by the sheer thought of having a couple days of rest from soccer. I had to push myself to get back to class at Elevated Studios tonight, but it was well worth it. I rolled until the official end of class, which isn’t a given, and walked away motivated to get on a more frequent schedule.
I am blessed with stamina, motivation, and a body that stays healthy. I look forward to developing my nascent martial arts skills.
I don’t struggle with faith, exactly. I struggle with understanding, deepening, and living in harmony with my faith.
This conversation between Jordan Peterson and Jonathan Pageau is the first time I’ve heard Peterson identify as a Christian and volunteer the fact that he doesn’t go to church.
Perhaps my favorite thing about Peterson is the personal investment he brings to intellectual discussion. It can be painful, as important learning must be.
Attending worship services has never settled into routine for us.
Before we were Baptized, Mary and I sought community and stability. We thought we could find that in church. After we had children, Sunday mornings became more challenging. One Sunday, once we had two children and resolved to expose them to regular worship, Mary went to tears before they were awake. We never talked about it deeply, I gave her time. It was months before we started attending again. And then a few months later she asked me about faith.
Mary’s faith was easy. Baptism was a formal declaration of what was on her heart. I was, and am, the overthinker.
I’m confident that Jesus moved my heart, but Peterson did a lot of work on by brain.
Worship as a widower has been different. It feels lonely, especially when one son would rather read Deadpool comics in the front pew than listen to the sermon (mind you, he ALWAYS choses the first or second row as his reading spot). The scripture and the message never fail to carry meaning for me, but there’s something out of place about our little family.
This past year has been especially difficult. I tried virtual worship, virtual Bible study, and virtual Sunday school. It all fell flat for all of us. When I was invited onto a Spanish league soccer team that played on Sundays, there was no conflict. I had begun a daily and developing prayer practice and was feeling closer to God, despite missing fellowship with my Christian brothers and sisters.
Soccer shifted indoors and to different days just as I was invited into a new fellowship. There hardly seemed to be a choice to make when I had the opportunity to meet new people and worship unencumbered by regulations that do not ring true to the way I believe Jesus showed us how to behave.
We are becoming a part of this new fellowship. We have been welcomed and I am leading a small in-person study group.
And soccer season approaches.
Not all the games will interfere with worship, but many will. My body craves the level of competition and comraderie of this league and team. My sense of loyalty and gratitude is activated by last year’s invitation to play “normal” soccer when nothing else was. That one invitation has led to dozens of hours of soccer in places where white people don’t usually get welcomed.
I thank God every day for my actively physical life. Mary knew better than I how important soccer is for me. I’ve embraced that somatic need and I feel closer to God when I thank him for my gifts.
There is an ego-driven piece of me that fears explaining to my Monday group that I missed service for soccer. I wonder if this makes me “less of a Christian.” There is comfort in knowing that Peterson has a similar disconnect in his Christian life. I also try to take heart in God’s Grace not being a thing that humans can sort out among themselves. Being Saved isn’t about works, but what is in one’s heart. God knows that better than we do ourselves.
It’s the aim that counts. I can love God and play soccer in an effort to honor the body that God gave me. I don’t worship the game or the body, I worship the Creator and strive to aim at His Kingdom every day.
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What do you do when you’ve been insulted by a loved one?
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I want to forgive and make an effort to not take it personally, but I also don’t want to make myself vulnerable to future attacks. I have done well to adhere to Don Miguel Ruiz’s Agreement: Don’t Take Anything Personally. I find it most difficult when the insult is worded in a deeply personal way.
I can intellectualize why this person has an internal conflict that he is projecting on me. I’m especially good at explaining this when I’m not the one being insulted.
I struggle with letting him close again. I want to model a healthy environment for my sons and curating the souls I choose to be around is an important factor. Since becoming a widower, one of my most important intentions was to invest myself in those who invest in me.
That’s not to the exclusion of strangers and community. Many of our blessings come from these sources and I continue to pour out the energy and resources we possess. It is those who would reject and insult our gifts that I do not want in my life.
Is that it? Is an insult delivered out of a lack of self love harmless and forgettable? Is it still deserving of a new boundary? I don’t see myself or my sons as too fragile to be compassionate to our loved ones. I do see life as precious enough not to share energies with those who would not accept them.
I often tell my sons, “You must ask before helping someone. You cannot help one who does not want help.” Can all communication be defined as “help?” Whether attempting to understand someone or yourself, solve a problem, or share joys and confusions, aren’t we always helping ourselves and others when we are communicating properly?
For now, that is how I will frame it. I will establish healthy boundaries and keep my heart open to forgiveness.
Twitter has been banning and shadow banning people for years without clear communication, although with clear ideological bias. This has been a growing problem, but Trump was unwilling to stand up to them, until he was the target. It was predictable.
You can oppose the ban and the man, although the ban is a much bigger threat. He was voted out, for goodness sake, now they’re trying to turn him into a martyr. Bad move on Twitter’s part.
