“So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.”  – Genesis 1:27 

Several years ago, we were invited by a friend to a local hangout where she knew one of the musicians performing with the jazz ensemble that was playing that evening.  We accepted the offer, quite honestly to spend time with our friend, not necessarily for the musical performance.  But as the evening wore on, we became more and more intrigued with the music.  Not that we were not fans of jazz before, in fact we often enjoy listening to it in the car when we are on road trips.  That evening, though, we realized something in the live performance that we had failed to recognize listening to recordings; that is, we were not just listening to the music, but experiencing the musicians themselves.  Jazz is like that, you see, a unique music form that is not simply being played, rather it is being created before your very eyes.  It is more like entering a studio where artists are painting and sculpting instead of a gallery filled with completed works.

In his book Blue Like Jazz, Donald Miller describes a similar epiphany about jazz music.  “I never liked jazz music,” he says, “because jazz music doesn’t resolve.  But I was outside the Bagdad Theater in Portland [Oregon] one night when I saw a man playing saxophone.  I stood there for fifteen minutes, and he never opened his eyes. . . After that I liked jazz.”

Dorothy Sayers, the late British writer, poet, and playwright would often analogize that an artist is one who “does not see life as a problem to be solved, but as a medium for creation.”  I think what she was trying to say is that the context of our lives is in the story we create with them, and that the problems we solve, however great or small, are only details within the story.

“So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him.”  Referring to that scripture Julia Cameron, in her classic book The Artist’s Way, concludes that if we are made in the image of the Creator, that means that we too are creators.  Thus, like jazz music, we do not resolve, as long as we have breath within us, we are not completed works.  Until then, we remain artists, continuing to create in this our earthly studio.

“. . . let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds . . .”

• Matthew 5:16 

Some referred to him as the “Snake Man,” this mysterious man who would appear on rare occasions in the rural northwest Texas community where I grew up as a kid, who rode into town on a silver bicycle, wearing bib overalls with a backpack slung over his back.  He only came to town, I suppose, to stock up on basic provisions, after which he could be seen peddling his bike out along the edge of the highway toward wherever he lived.  Some speculated he dwelled in a cave or a tent out in the countryside somewhere.  Maybe he was nomadic, I’m not sure.  Another rumor was that his livelihood came from catching rattlesnakes and selling them for the venom, and that he had been snakebit so many times that he developed an immunity, thus he became known by some as the “Snake Man.”  A mysterious fellow for sure, but whether any of that is true I don’t know.

It was John Donne, the seventeenth century English scholar, poet, and preacher who wrote the well-known phrase in one of his meditations that “no man is an island”.  While that may be true, the Snake Man came as close to being an island as anyone I have ever known.  Yet, even he, this hermit-like person living alone out in the wilderness who I never spoke to nor whose real name I ever knew, had an influence on my life, however subtle it may have been; for his lifestyle, true or speculation, inspired a sense of adventure in me which I have never forgotten, as I fantasized about the freedom of living out in the wild – except for the rattlesnakes, which usually snapped me back into reality.

“No man is an island,” for our actions inevitably touch the lives of others, especially those close to us – family, friends, and those we encounter on a regular basis – but also those off in a distance who we have no idea are paying attention, like me with the Snake Man.  Did he have any idea some young kid was watching?  I doubt it.

Indeed, the decisions we make and the actions we take inevitably spill over into the lives of others – whether good or evil.  It is a responsibility we can view in one of two ways, either a burden or an opportunity.  Is it a burden that no matter our efforts to withdraw from society, no person can be an island?  Or do we see it as an opportunity, an opportunity to “let your light shine before men, that they may see your good works?”

“. . . the wise listen and add to their learning.”  Proverbs 1:5 

There is a seldom spoken yet commonly practiced proverb in my profession of executive coaching that goes something like this: “Questions attract.  Statements repel.”  Wharton Business School professor Adam Grant offers a thoughtful explanation to this proverb in his recent book Think Again, by warning that as we get too wrapped up in what we have to say, “we often slip into the mindsets of three different professions. . . We go into preacher mode when our sacred beliefs are in jeopardy . . . We enter prosecutor mode when we recognize flaws in other people’s reasoning . . . [and] We shift into politician mode when we’re seeking to win over an audience.”  The risk is in talking too much, so that even if the message is a valid one, it may fall on deaf ears for failure to learn about those to whom we are presenting.  The way to avoid that is to ask questions and engage in conversation; for questions attract, statements repel.

When we were considering selling our home several years ago, we invited four highly reputable real estate agents to be interviewed as candidates for the listing of our house.  One at a time, the first three took his or her place at our dining room table armed with an impressive résumé, well-researched pricing information, and a creative marketing plan.  Each made his or her presentation, asked if we had questions, then made a final pitch for why we should choose him or her over the others (preacher, prosecutor, politician).

Then Susan showed up, the fourth candidate.  She too came armed with an impressive résumé, pricing information, and marketing plan, but more importantly she came armed with warmth and curiosity.  She refrained from talking except to ask questions, wanted to get to know us, why we were considering selling the home we had lived in for twenty-five years, where did we plan to move?  We discussed mutual friends, common interests, even our dog who she fell in love with – seriously!  And her questions did not come across as routine fact-finding, but genuinely curious as from the heart, much like a close friend.  Eventually, she did present her professional information, but only after we asked.  By listening, Susan not only won the listing on our home, but was also chosen to represent us in the purchase for our new home, earning not one commission but two.

Questions attract, statements repel, as “. . . the wise listen and add to their learning.” 

“‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,’ declares the Lord.”     Isaiah 55:8 

Blessings, as we have all no doubt experienced, sometimes show up disguised as trouble, disappointment, heartache, even tragedy.  I think back to the time as a young man in my early twenties, freshly discharged from active military duty and eager to get back in “circulation”, my first date upon return was with a girl named Donna.  We seemed to hit it off and have a nice time together, so we arranged another date.  But several days later she called and broke the date.  I was disappointed, of course, but what bruised my fragile ego even more was when as an alternative she offered to set me up with a friend (translate, don’t bother to call me again).  But I decided to take a chance and call Donna’s friend anyway.  Recently, her friend and I celebrated our fiftieth wedding anniversary; for there, disguised as a bruised ego, I received the blessing of meeting the love of my life.

Imagine the disappointment two thousand years ago when the long-awaited Messiah appeared not as a warrior-king riding in on a white horse as everyone had hoped, rather as a helpless baby born on a bed of straw in a barnyard to a teenage girl and her husband from an obscure Galilean village.  Worse, fast forward thirty-three years later, and despite all his great miracles and profound teachings and the multitude of followers he had gathered, to be executed in the cruelest fashion as if the worst of criminals.  What had appeared to be nothing but trouble, disappointment, heartache, and tragedy all rolled up in one brief lifetime, was nothing less than a disguise for the greatest blessing the world has ever known, when Christ reappeared from the grave three days later.

What an amazing story beginning to end, a baby born in a sheep pen who grew up to lead and teach masses the greatest lessons ever taught, only to be nailed to a cross where he suffocated and bled to death.  Think about it, Easter would never have occurred if the child had not been born on Christmas.  Nor would there be reason to celebrate Christmas – imagine no lights, no trees, no carols, no presents, no Santa Claus – if the Savior had not risen on Easter.  Only God could deliver such a blessing in disguise.  “‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,’ declares the Lord.” 

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL.  Abundant Living will return in January 2022.

“. . . he commanded our forefathers to teach their children, so the next generation would know them, even the children yet to be born.”  – Psalm 78:5-6 

Recently I got charged with the responsibility of helping our seven-year-old granddaughter, Olive who is in second grade, with her math homework.  The assignment, a page of simple addition math problems, seemed easy enough, after all I have had addition and subtraction mastered since . . . well since I was her age.  But as I studied the assignment it was not simply about deriving the correct answers, instead about using a specific method for solving addition problems, one that made absolutely no sense to me.  Suddenly, the lyrics from the 1970 hit song by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young came to mind, “Teach your children well.  Their father’s hell did slowly go by.”  And what a failure I was at teaching well!  That is, until I finally figured out their methodology.

Long before Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young and their famous recording, Psalm 78 delivered a similar message, to teach our children well.  But the emphasis was not on teaching arithmetic (which thankfully lets me off the hook), but about lessons from history, specifically about the Jewish nation from the time of slavery in Egypt, through the Exodus, to the time of David’s reign.  It should be told over and over, the Psalmist urges, from one generation to the next so they would not forget God and make the same mistakes as their ancestors.  That is, “Teach your children well.  Their father’s hell did slowly go by.”

Fortunately, helping my grandchildren with their schoolwork is seldom a responsibility that falls on me as a grandparent; rather, that responsibility lies in the more capable hands of their teachers and parents who are on the front lines.  But that does not dismiss grandparents to the sidelines, to being hands-off.  In fact, among the many blessings of being a grandparent, for me at least, is the opportunity to right some of the wrongs I may have made in parenting my own children and having a second chance to teach and influence a new generation, not about arithmetic, but life and values and wisdom, our relationship with God, seeds sewn that may not sprout until long beyond my years.

“Teach your children well . . . so the next generation will know, even the children yet to be born,” not just for the sake of our families, but for the well-being of all mankind.