At 30 years old, I’m on the leading edge of what has, for some time now, been called the most selfish generation in history. In a memorable article from The New York Times Magazine, Judith Warner wrote that our generation—born between 1982 and 2002—has been depicted “by employers, professors and earnestly concerned mental-health experts as entitled whiners who have been spoiled by parents who overstoked [our] self-esteem, teachers who granted undeserved A’s and sports coaches who bestowed trophies on any player who showed up.”
Ouch. That stings a little, but I don’t disagree with the general idea. I’m not convinced, however, that the problem can be explained by pandering parents, grade inflation or equal-outcome sports. It goes much deeper than that.
Continue reading “Deny Yourself”
Rob Bell’s new book, What We Talk About When We Talk About God, is releasing this week. To mark the occasion, I’ve composed a clerihew about Rob. Yes, that’s right: a clerihew. I offer it here in celebration and anticipation of WWTAWWTAG:
Wrote a book about hell.
Other things he’s done include
Surfing and eating Mexican food.
It’s a wonderful thing to be proud of my son. As a general rule, it doesn’t take a lot: cleaning his room without too much struggle, eating his veggies without the same, cracking his own eggs in the morning, coloring inside the lines, saying his own prayer at dinner. But new heights of pride were reached only a few days ago when, after watching the 1979 made-for-TV cartoon of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, he turned to me and said, “Dad, is there a book of this movie?”
Why, yes. Yes there is. I took my old paperback off the shelf to show him. “Here it is, buddy. But it’s for older kids, see?” I flipped through the pages so he could see the astonishing number of words and relative lack of pictures. “I’ll read it to you when you get older.”
“Can you read it to me now?”
Continue reading “Storytime pt. Five, or Narnia’s Deep Magic”
Some time ago, I wrote that stories “peel back the world and show us what lies beneath,” that they teach us about good and evil. I also promised to write about the qualities of a Good Story. So here goes:
If stories teach us about the nature of good and evil, then the best stories are those that do so truthfully.
Which is why I don’t like Twilight. Full disclosure: I’ve neither read the books nor seen the movies. And I don’t intend to. I dislike them on principle because I don’t think they peel back the world and tell us the truth about what lies beneath.
Some of you, I’m sure, think Twilight doesn’t peel back the world at all, that it doesn’t make any claims about truth or good and evil, that it doesn’t propose a worldview. But every story makes these claims. When it comes to worldview, there are no neutral stories; every story either reinforces the truth or denies it. The question, then, isn’t whether a story makes a claim about the world, but whether the claim made by a story (any story, every story) is more true than not. A story is good when it is true.
Continue reading “Storytime pt. Four, or Why I Don’t Like Twilight”
There are some people—and I am one of them—who think that the most practical and important thing about a man is still his view of the universe. We think that for a landlady considering a lodger, it is important to know his income, but still more important to know his philosophy. We think that for a general about to fight an enemy, it is important to know the enemy’s numbers, but still more important to know the enemy’s philosophy. We think the question is not whether the theory of the cosmos affects matters, but whether in the long run anything else affects them.
These past few weeks have seen several conversations about (and clashes between) worldviews — those metanarratives that form a framework for understanding our cultures and places, and which direct so many of the opinions we form and choices we make every day.
I won’t be going into specifics about these conversations, or laying out a defense of my own worldview (which can be too often interpreted as forcing it down one’s throat), but I am interested in discussing the importance of having a stable worldview. And (despite a handful or recent accusations about my own close-mindedness) to lay out the reasons I believe it’s important to engage with people who disagree.
Continue reading “Close your mind on this”
“My Little Warrior” is a guest post by my wife, Becca, who blogs at www.beccasbalancingact.com, where this post first appeared. She is a phenomenal writer — a better writer than I am — and when I read this post I felt a twinge of jealousy before realizing how well it fits into my series on Story. I wish I had written it; it’s that good. But The Rib has done it already, and with more eloquence than I ever could. Not only is Becca a phenomenal writer, but she’s also an incredible woman, wife and (as you’ll see below) mother.
Tucking Jackson into bed tonight was especially precious. Not only because we continue to work on the art of snuggling, but because he asked me, “Mom, can you tell me a story?” and I replied, “Yes. I want to tell you a story about God.” I began the creation story describing something I can’t comprehend myself: nothingness. I tried to describe the emptiness that existed before God made the world. And if Jack was a little bit older, I would have parked there for a while because not only was I trying to imagine the unimaginable, I was trying to do so through the lens of a child. It was overpowering. Jack currently has no concept of outer space other than knowing, “Hey! There’s the moon!” And my understanding isn’t much greater than his. So even though the depth of my own fascination was swelling as I spoke to him, I summed it up quite simply: “God decided to make the world because it was a very good place, including oceans, mountains, animals, and even people.”
Continue reading “Storytime pt. Three, or My Little Warrior”
First of all, a disclaimer: I am not a linguist. I’m not qualified to discuss why we choose the words we use, or the history of language development, or the differences between regional or national dialects. I am, however, interested in digging deeper into a conversation we had with our Cable group last night. (For those not in the know, a Cable group is what our church calls a small group.)
Here’s the short of it: A few days ago, Gary and Kacie were having a friendly marital debate about what a burglar has done in the past. Kacie said that the burglar burgled while Gary insisted that the burglar burglarized. So they called another Cable couple: Chris is an English teacher, and he put the question to his wife, Cara, and a carful of people. He came back with a unanimous burglarized. Sorry, Kacie.
Continue reading “You got burgled”
There isn’t a boy in this world who can resist the siren call of adventure on the open sea. So when a pirate ship showed up in the harbor beyond the hill, the boy ran home, packed a bag, kissed his mother goodbye, and sprinted to the quay and up the gangplank, where he asked the weathered captain if he could join the crew. The captain, of course, said yes, and Scrappy Jack, at 2.5 years old, became the youngest pirate boy to ever sail with such a ragtag bunch of ne’er-do-wells as this.
Continue reading “Storytime pt. One, or Scrappy Jack and Books My Son Can’t Read Yet”
Simplicity has been a recurring theme in my life lately. Through books, movies, conversations, t-shirts, and bumper stickers, I’ve been relentlessly pursued by the gentle insistence that I need to simplify. In some regards, this is nothing new. When Becca and I were house shopping a few years ago, I told her, “I want something nice, and big enough for the family we hope to have — but modest.” No ostentation for me, thank you very much.
Continue reading “It isn’t always that simple…”
I hate myself.
That is to say, I hate people who Announce their Return To Blogging in a blog post, which is exactly what I’m doing here. Ergo: I hate myself. The truth is, I’ve needed to blog for a while — I’ve got things to say (I think), my wife and a handful of friends have been encouraging me to get back into it, and I’ve realized that any self-respecting writer has his own blog (I’ve realized the same thing about Twitter, but I’m not sure I want to go there again).
Continue reading “Back in the game”