In the Dry Seasons of Life

You know, I have absolutely no inspiration whatsoever today; in fact, I have been at an all time low in my creativity for several weeks now. I would speculate that this has something to do, at least in part, with the fact that this semester does not provide me with much raw material with which to work. While algebra is a mental challenge and Lifetime Wellness is quite informative, there just isn’t that much from which to pull in terms of compelling subject matter. Next semester should be better, however. While my course load does include College Algebra, it also includes American Literature, Theater, and last but definitely not least, Social Psychology! :)

Aside from my college courses, I have been listening to Christian radio to and from work every day, which has been a real encouragement to me. Yet perhaps because I grew up in the church, I tend to downplay the basics and therefore haven’t found a great deal of subject matter from this broadcasting either. For that matter, even things which ordinarily seem new, interesting, and exciting to me seem dull, lackluster, and wearisome, at least in finding the necessary enthusiasm and motivation when it comes to typing them up.

I have also been spending quite a bit of time in devotional reading as well as making renewed efforts toward personal bible study. Yet again, it is as though I have run up against a brick wall. What I am describing, of course, is what some have affectionately dubbed a “dry season.” These are the times—and we all go through them—where we just don’t seem to have that spark anymore, when our spirituality seems tired and worn thin, and when simply putting one foot in front of the other can be a real challenge. These are the times I find a certain dark comfort in the book of Ecclesiastes with its sober-minded, no nonsense wisdom. Even in our spiritual walks, there are times where we seem to be merely chasing after the wind: doing the same old thing over and over again and for what apparent reason?

This time around, I am not as bad as I sometimes get. There are days I loathe my very humanity, feeling a prisoner trapped inside my own body. I haven’t felt so much that way lately, though I have felt like I have little to offer another: not a particularly pleasant place to be when you send out weekly newsletters with the purpose of answering the skeptic while challenging others in the Christian faith.

I believe that these times are times of testing, of purifying the dross from our lives. There may be many interrelated factors involved—physical exhaustion, stress, inadequate rest, depression—yet the fact remains that the world goes on. These things will come along in our life no matter how many precautionary measures we take. Though important, the test is not so much in identifying the cause as it is riding out the storm. Put another way, the trial itself is not so much the litmus test of character: the choices we make in the midst of such circumstances is. For example, I could very easily not have written this week, saying that I didn’t feel like it, that I could think of nothing to write. Yet, without fully identifying the cause of such feelings, I chose to write about this lack of creativity, zest, and enthusiasm because I suspect that others of you are also at such a junction in your own lives. Ultimately, at such times, I believe that we must keep pressing forward, keeping our eyes on the goal ahead, and doing what we can both in season and out of season.

There are other things these dry times teach us as well. I have come into a new appreciation that my talents, my intellectual abilities, my creativity—all the many gifts and attributes in which I take the most pride in my personal life—can just as easily be taken away. All things ultimately come from God the Father; daily we are dependent on His hand in our lives.

Dry seasons such as these we are forced to “face the music” of our lives. There are times, for instance, where I am guilty of living in a false world built on the praise that I receive from my various abilities: these newsletters, my outstanding grades, my ability to keep pace when many others are left lying by the wayside. But the fact of the matter is, these things often serve as a cover that keeps me from seeing the real “me” inside. In a somewhat romanticized way, I write extensively on this topic in The Violence of Words:

Today, however, the irony of ironies is different. When I penned these words, I was consumed by loneliness, but my creativity was obviously intact. Today I don’t so much feel lonely, as just plain, ordinary, bland—just all around “blah.” If someone else were to have penned the words above, I would have thought that they were certainly poetic and easy for that author to say, but not really applicable to the reality in which I live. Given the fact that I was the one who penned the above words, I don’t guess I am afforded that luxury, huh? (Sheepish smile.)

No, I do not feel as though I have any mystique that is unexplainable, perplexing. Yet I do realize that very often the people who are the brightest lights and the greatest encouragements to me are rarely aware that they have anything special to offer. Very often, the individuals who inspire me the most are quiet and unassuming people who feel that they are not anyone extraordinary. When I consider this, I think to myself that there are many times I could easily be one of these people: during those times when I am minding my own business and feeling a little out of sorts—certainly not filled with inflated ideas about how exceptional I am.

I have found, in my Christian walk, that those times when I least expect it—when I am just minding my own business—are the times people most often approach me. I tend to be a somewhat reserved, contemplative person by nature. Yet, even though being yourself is always when you’ll appear most attractive, most of us would do well to cultivate the virtue of silence more than we do, rather than ceaselessly clamoring for attention. I certainly know that the women I am most attracted to are not the mouthy ones, and I also know that when a single woman walks into a room and fifty male heads turn to stare, the head that doesn’t invariably will be the man to whom she finds herself most drawn—if for no other reason than mere curiosity.

It has also been my observation that those Christian persons who are always saying pious things and who can’t speak a single normal sentence without interjecting a verse of Scripture are often not all they appear to be. These “super Christians” may be filled with the very best of intentions; those who are will eventually learn how to become more natural. Still, the heart of Christ beats most strongly, not in those who stand on the street corners uttering long prayers, but with those who beat their breast and lower their gaze, saying, “Lord, I am but a lowly sinner unworthy of your grace.” (Then there are those who are forever saying “oh, woe is me,” but we’ll not go there.) Christ came to set the captives free—freeing them to be who He created them to be (that is, freeing them to be themselves); freeing them from the need to be stilted, artificial, fake; freeing them to be natural; freeing them from their bondage to the sin that so easily besets; freeing them from the sin that makes them slaves to their own lusts, desires, and passions.

We all tend to admire the individuals who are not pretentious; the more transparent and honest their lives, the more we want to be around them to discover their mystery. Thus, another paradox occurs: those who are utterly simple we expend the most mental energy in trying to figure out. What is their secret? Are they really that innocent? We admire such persons, even if we ultimately turn away. And hence, we are faced with our present irony: I am writing a newsletter about not having the creativity to write. I am saying that I don’t feel very special, that I don’t feel I have much to offer at the moment. Yet I am also saying that intellectually I know that during these times I am probably closer to the heart of God than at any other time. Those times where I am puffed up and proud, filled with myself and my accomplishments are times where others probably would not have much admiration for me. Other people sometimes envy us when we are proud; rarely, however, do they admire us.

Much of the Christian walk is based on faith and an act of the will; much of the Christian walk is based on decisions and trust. There are many times that we don’t particularly feel like doing the Christian thing, when it would be so much easier just to throw up our hands and quit. Yet deep down inside we know that we have discovered the truth, we know that we have a better way, that our way is right: the way of truth, honesty, integrity, goodness, kindness, justice, mercy, love, and all the many other attributes of benevolence that come with the kingdom of light.

This being said, there are some people who, for whatever reason, we just don’t like. To give you an example, there is a woman I see nearly every morning on my way to class to whom I have taken a disliking. I have no good or logical reason for it either. She is approximately my age, attractive, always wears a summer dress, displays a pleasant personality, wears her hair short, and is a bit more petite than most—none of these particularly disagreeable characteristics—but for some reason I just feel a sense of irritability when I see her. She often smiles at me and says hello, and I make it a point to do the same. Am I being phony? No. And here is why. What makes our actions right or wrong is not how we personally feel; our emotions are themselves amoral, beyond right or wrong. They just are: often a telling internal compass, mind you, but nonetheless are beyond good or evil. However, our motives have everything to do with whether our choices are right or wrong.

I smile and greet this woman pleasantly because (a) I choose to, and (b) because I know that it is proper to do so. I will not necessarily like everyone I meet. But I should as least strive to love everyone as myself. Love is often thought of as an emotion in the Western culture, but, as I have written in What is Love?, true love is more than a fickle feeling. It is a choice and I submit to you that as a Christian, the decision to love is an act of worship and obedience to God.

In time, I may find that I come to appreciate this woman more. It is a good rule of thumb that when you treat someone unkindly you grow to like them less and less. When you treat someone with kindness, respect, and dignity, you come to appreciate them more. Furthermore, the more people you love, the more you love people, just as the inverse is also true. And even if, in some cases, you never do totally warm up to a particular individual, you will still see them in a more positive light than what you would have otherwise.

When you treat someone kindly you dislike, you may soon discover that the difficulty lies within you. For example, I have been feeling rather irritable lately, and the smallest things set me off. While I think it is likely more complicated than this, I may find, with a bit of soul searching, that the reason I dislike this woman is that I have been feeling negative and her positive attitude is just not in season for me. If this were the case, it would be a real shame to ruin her day as well as destroying the possibility of making a good friend on down the line, all because I was projecting my own inner negativity on her. No matter how touchy I feel, there is absolutely no call for ruining someone else’s day in a moment of selfish self-pity; we all have the power to spread kindness even when we feel like hell. Why wreck someone else’s day? That certainly is not in line with treating others as we ourselves would like to be treated.

Before I started sending regular newsletters, I passed along various things I had read here and there. For those who have been on this mailing list from day one, you may recall the following entry from Letting God: Christian Meditations for Recovering Persons by A. Philip Parham, an Episcopal priest and counselor who serves on the board of directors for the National Episcopal Coalition on Alcohol. June 23 reads:

On this note, the same can be said for all types of human relationships. While the experience I am about to recount hardly constitutes this same level of intimacy, it is an example of this principle. There was a woman at work to whom I was initially quite attracted, but, perhaps due to my lingering insecurities, I soon concluded she was making sport of me. The problem was, our paths had no choice but to cross. What was initially attraction on my part, however, had soured into a feeling of coldness. Still, I was determined to do as God would have me to do and each day I prayed for strength. I didn’t treat her any differently than what I did before: I was polite and genial with her. Over time the oddest thing happened. Not only did my feelings change into a deeper level than they were before (again, I am talking miles and miles away from the intimacy of marriage, mind you), but to this day, she worked herself into my mind to such an extent that virtually every stranger I am physically attracted to reminds me of her in some way or another.

The eventual result of all of this was that it brought out her femininity and my masculinity, accentuating our complementary natures, giving us both a positive boost to offset the fear of failure and rejection many singles face, particularly those of us who have histories involving failed marriages. Given that she became immensely desirable to me and vice-versa, this communicated to us both that we really did stand a chance when the opportunity for the right person presented itself. (As to this particular relationship, she was undergoing a divorce, which, being ever the “psychologist,” was the first point that caused me to tread softly in that regard; secondly, and most importantly, she was not a Christian, so obvious compatibility problems would have undoubtedly arisen. Two people do well to travel the same direction in life, particularly in terms of spirituality. If I cannot share the deepest part of myself with my soul mate, what have I left to offer?)

We both left the friendship with valuable life lessons. I believe she further communicated to me what it was to be a man—I know that accordingly I brought out the feminine counterpart in her—and I know for a fact that my witness made an impact on her life as it could not have in any other type of situation. She, of all people, could tell there was a difference in my life, for she could feel it radiating from my very pores, as it were. I am certain no other man had treated her as I had, with the level of respect and dignity afforded such a special woman. She had heard my testimony in full and I often spoke candidly of being a Christian, at times noting that it seemed strange to be sitting on this side, armed with the knowledge that I now possess. No, she knew why the relationship couldn’t have worked on a deeper level; it was no secret to either of us.

For those of you currently in committed relationships that are feeling a bit tired or strained as of late, take heart. Find ways to please your spouse—even if you don’t feel like it. Treat her like a princess; treat him like your prince. Look for ways to complement (and compliment) each other and you will soon find you don’t have as much room left to harbor your critical thoughts. Sound unrealistic? The choice is entirely up to you; it is within your power to resolve to set your hurt and/or critical feelings aside if you will but so choose. Try it and see; you saw something in him or her to begin with, did you not? What was it? Find it, bring it out again. It is difficult not to like someone who values and appreciates us: valuing and appreciating your mate is within your power to give or withhold. Withhold it from one, however, and two will pay the price. Again, I say: the choice is yours, my friend. What is it going to be? Remember the happier day you stood at the altar? You vowed then “for better or worse.” Are you going to make good your promise? Particularly for those of you who are currently at odds in relationships, I would highly recommend Men and Women: Enjoying the Difference, excerpted from the book of the same name by Dr. Larry J. Crabb.

I was mentioning earlier how times of dryness such as the one I have been experiencing lately help me see who I really am. Have you ever heard of the secular heavy metal band Savatage? They combine a metal base with a neoclassical structure and were among my favorite bands not so long ago. The 1989 album Gutter Ballet featured a song entitled “When the Crowds are Gone.” An abridgment of the lyric follows:

After making much of turning on the lights and including the honest assessment “I wasted my time/Till time wasted me” the song, filled with its saddened wisdom, comes to a dramatic pause before soberly concluding with this acoustic finale:

You see, my friends, it is often easiest to see in the dark when the crowds are gone, when the lights have all been turned out as the ghosts come floating in. Indeed, these are the times when we must face the ghosts of our past and present, when we stand naked before our Maker. Yet such self-reflection should not lead us to despair. This type of introspective self-evaluation could be better thought of as “self-maintenance.”

It is not that we improve ourselves per se, but that we see what it is that needs improving—what is unlovable, wretched, poor, pitiful—and hand these shattered fragments to the Master. He will take these hopelessly broken shards and lovingly piece them together as only He can into stained glass creations of exquisite beauty and grace, His light shining through every last one. Nothing is too difficult for Him. No, we must take these inadequacies, character defects, and sins to our Father asking Him to render the change, for without Him we are but specks of clay.

This is precisely what I endeavor to do with my life. God knows my thoughts anyway, so I tell Him how I feel and ask Him to make the change. Today at work, for instance, I felt irritable, even angry. What did I do? I told God as I would admit to an intimate friend, “I feel angry, Lord God. I don’t feel any love. I don’t feel any peace, any joy. And I feel like tearing a certain someone’s head off right now who is in my face. Please help me change my attitude.” I can’t say it happened immediately, but I can tell you that it did happen. Time and again, I take these sorts of prayers to God, asking Him to shape, mold, and change me. This is ultimately my secret, and why I can have such gentleness and compassion when dealing with people; how I can avoid majoring on minors and making proverbial mountains out of molehills. It is not because I am perfect, but rather because I am totally honest before God about my imperfections.

All of this is Biblical by the way. Do you know one of my favorite New Testament passages? It comes from Jesus’ Olivet Discourse and is most commonly known as the Beatitudes. Consider:

Like so many of the deeper Scriptural truths, we find that the ways of God are almost always paradoxical to the ways of mortals, yet herein lies the secret of our success. The qualities described in the Beatitudes are all part of God’s gift. They do not describe something we struggle to obtain of our own efforts, but start with the point where we get honest with God (blessed are the poor in spirit) and from there describe the supernatural hungers God instills within. When I wrote earlier that Christ frees us to be natural, without the need to be artificial or fake, perhaps I should have written instead that He frees us to be supernatural, agents of His mercy and grace, exercising the Divine power He has bestowed upon us. Incidentally, the Beatitudes are followed with the passage that tells us we are to be the salt and light of the world.

Evidently, in Jesus’ day, household salt was not pure sodium chloride, which physicists tell us can never lose it saltiness. It was rather a powdered blend that often became so diluted that the only use for it was to throw it out along the walkway to be trampled upon. The message is clear. We are not to be become diluted by the world, but instead we are to be agents of healing, preserving our world, and arousing thirst in others by adding piquancy and spice to life. We are also to be bearers of light, illuminating the darkness, offering comfort and warmth, and lighting the path to everlasting peace and happiness. As the Believer’s Bible Commentary notes: “The winsomeness of lives in which Christ is seen speaks louder than the persuasion of words.” Does this sound familiar: like any points on which I persistently harp?

If you too find that you are experiencing a dry season, try spreading a little light and shaking a little salt. You may just find, as I have in writing this newsletter, you aren’t quite as dry as you might have thought at first; it may simply be that your well needs a little priming. Regardless, stand strong and don’t quit. God is always faithful, and if you are doing everything you know to do and your fountain still isn’t gushing streams of living water, know that it is because in God’s provision, He is busy flushing the depths of your heart below the surface of your consciousness. A man of sorrows and well-acquainted with grief, He understands what it is to go through the fiery furnace of life. He will walk you through the fire, leading you safely through to the other side. Take heart, my friend, for always there is hope. Your dark night of the soul may last through the long hours of darkness, but soon you will find that “joy cometh in the morning.”

Postscript July 31, 2002:

Well another week has come and gone. Where does all the time go? Seems but a moment ago it was last week and I was writing, among other things, of the aspect of likes and dislikes for my In the Dry Seasons of Life newsletter. In it, I mentioned two anonymous examples, which, as it were, both happened to be female. The latter of the two was a woman to whom I was much attracted, though there was a period where my feelings soured. As you no doubt recall, I told you that by consistently treating her politely as any good Christian gentlemen ought, not only did my feelings eventually deepen, but I find myself irresistibly drawn to virtually every woman I meet who reminds me of her in some way.

On the other hand, the first woman I mentioned last week I didn’t much care for at all, though I admitted I had no good reason for such sentiments. The day after I sent out the mailing I suddenly realized why: it follows the same rationale as my attraction to those women who remind me of my “lady friend.” Allow me to explain.

In my basic algebra class last semester there was a slightly older woman (approximately my age) that had a certain sensuality about her, though I soon began to notice she was often on the defensive, frequently copping an attitude with the professor, ofttimes playing the infantile part of the spoiled child. I would imagine that she felt quite a deal of stress—I know nothing of her personal life—but I can say with certainty that her insubordinate attitude caused whatever feminine mystique she had going for her to become severely strained, polluting her personal attractiveness with its ugly stain. By the end of the semester, being around this woman left a bitter taste in my mouth, though I didn’t realize the extent.

Somehow, it seems, the woman I disliked from last week reminded me of this algebraic classmate. Even though the two of them, at least to my knowledge, had nothing whatsoever to do with one another, for whatever reason my mind connected the dots, so to speak, associating the second woman with the first. Interestingly, once I realized this, the feeling of dislike completely disappeared. Though I did not have occasion to speak to her, when I saw her again today, I saw an attractive young woman in a summer dress, not so much as a trace of my animosity lingering.

Before I carry this thought onward, this illustrates a pertinent point of which we sometimes need to be reminded: whenever we indulge in selfish behavior—pouting, feeling sorry for ourselves, whining, complaining, listing strings of excuses when confronted—we are very unattractive people, difficult to be around. Often, when we become this way, we feel hurt and are crying out for love, but our actions drive people even further away from us, though we don’t see this, so blinded by self-pity are we. This is yet another reason to treat people as we would want to be treated even when we don’t feel like it, yet another reason why there is no call to ruin someone else’s day. We might well find that the day that ends up ruined is our own.

No, my two examples serve to illustrate some of the filters from which we peer out into our world. In the two instances of the women from my past, both have influenced my present perception of other women, women who have nothing to do with the original two. This is but one of many possible illustrations that demonstrate how our past experiences color our view of virtually everything in life. If I have had one bad experience with a sales clerk in a music store, suddenly all such sales persons are suspect. If I know one Buddhist who is an inspiration, my respect for all Buddhists rises.

“The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning; but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth.” (Ecclesiastes 7:4)