The Visitor's Center
A few of us turned 30 this year. Even with all the talk about "30 being the new 20", I know it's easy to be afflicted by some kind of early-adulthood-existential-crisis. What did I do with my 20s? Where is my career going? What have I done with my life so far that I can be proud of? Why am I not where I thought I would be? And worst of all--why is my life not like __________'s?
I've been doing a lot of thinking about this, out loud, to some, but mostly by myself.
One story that I've been mulling over is from Gary Haugen. I think it's a worthwhile read whatever age you are or level of existential angst you may be experiencing. I hope it can be encouraging to some. I did have to hack his original talk to bits because it's really far too long to post anywhere. But you can read the whole thing here.
"One of the saddest regrets of my life is having gone on the trip but missed the adventure. One summer when I was a young boy of about 10, I was camping and hiking with my Dad and my brothers up in Mount Rainier, this massive volcanic dome of rock and glacier that goes 14,000 feet up into the sky outside Seattle.
One particular day I just didn't want to go on. [I saw] these large warning signs that indicate that you're now beginning to get on the trail that leads up to the summit. The sign warns of every possible catastrophe that could happen if you went on beyond the sign.
Now, my Dad suggested that we go up to the base camp from which the summiteers go to the top. My brothers, of course, they eagerly accepted and off they were beyond the sign and up the trails. My dad assured me. He said, 'You can make it', that he would help me, and that the view and the triumph would be more than worth the effort. But I was worried. What if Dad is wrong and I can't make it?
With all kinds of mounting anxieties beating within my little chest, I responded really the only way a 10-year-old boy can to such a situation, I just said, "No, that looks boring to me." I suggested I'd like to hang out at the Visitor's Center. My dad tried to woo me up the mountain, but then after a while he relented and explained that it would be a long day at the Visitor's Center with them climbing the mountain.
I scurried back down the back, back into the Visitor's Center, and quickly found myself feeling pretty pleased about myself. The Visitor's Center was warm and comfortable with lots of interesting things to read and to watch. Judging by the crowd, this was really quite the place to be.
As the afternoon stretched on, however, the massive Visitor's Center started to seem awfully small. The warm air started to feel stuffy and the stuffed animals seemed just dead. The inspiring loop videos about the extraordinary people who climbed the mountain just weren't as interesting on the 6th and 7th time. They just made me feel like, I wish I was one of those people going up the mountain rather than just watching others. I felt bored, sleepy, and small. And I missed my dad. And I was totally stuck. Totally safe but totally stuck.
After the longest afternoon in my 10-year-old life my dad and my brothers returned, flushed with their triumph. Their faces were red from the cold and their eyes were clear with delight. They were wet from the snow, they were famished, they were dehydrated and nursing scrapes from the rocks and the ice. But on the long drive home they had something else. They had stories and they had a remarkable day with their dad upon the great mountain.
I, of course, revealed nothing insisting that this was my favorite day of the entire vacation. But, truth be told, I went on the trip but I missed the adventure, and 34 years later I still remember the afternoon in the Visitor's Center. Moreover, it's my sense that many of my fellow Christians are starting to suspect that they are stuck at the Visitor's Center. And they are traveling with Jesus but missing the adventure.
In different times and in different ways our heavenly Father offers us a simple proposition: Follow me beyond what you can control, beyond where your own strength and competencies can take you, and beyond what is affirmed or risked by the crowd, and you will experience me and my power and my wisdom and my love. Jesus beckons me to follow him to that place of weakness where I risk the vulnerability of a child so that I might know that my Father is strong and how much he loves me."
I've been doing a lot of thinking about this, out loud, to some, but mostly by myself.
One story that I've been mulling over is from Gary Haugen. I think it's a worthwhile read whatever age you are or level of existential angst you may be experiencing. I hope it can be encouraging to some. I did have to hack his original talk to bits because it's really far too long to post anywhere. But you can read the whole thing here.
"One of the saddest regrets of my life is having gone on the trip but missed the adventure. One summer when I was a young boy of about 10, I was camping and hiking with my Dad and my brothers up in Mount Rainier, this massive volcanic dome of rock and glacier that goes 14,000 feet up into the sky outside Seattle.
One particular day I just didn't want to go on. [I saw] these large warning signs that indicate that you're now beginning to get on the trail that leads up to the summit. The sign warns of every possible catastrophe that could happen if you went on beyond the sign.
Now, my Dad suggested that we go up to the base camp from which the summiteers go to the top. My brothers, of course, they eagerly accepted and off they were beyond the sign and up the trails. My dad assured me. He said, 'You can make it', that he would help me, and that the view and the triumph would be more than worth the effort. But I was worried. What if Dad is wrong and I can't make it?
With all kinds of mounting anxieties beating within my little chest, I responded really the only way a 10-year-old boy can to such a situation, I just said, "No, that looks boring to me." I suggested I'd like to hang out at the Visitor's Center. My dad tried to woo me up the mountain, but then after a while he relented and explained that it would be a long day at the Visitor's Center with them climbing the mountain.
I scurried back down the back, back into the Visitor's Center, and quickly found myself feeling pretty pleased about myself. The Visitor's Center was warm and comfortable with lots of interesting things to read and to watch. Judging by the crowd, this was really quite the place to be.
As the afternoon stretched on, however, the massive Visitor's Center started to seem awfully small. The warm air started to feel stuffy and the stuffed animals seemed just dead. The inspiring loop videos about the extraordinary people who climbed the mountain just weren't as interesting on the 6th and 7th time. They just made me feel like, I wish I was one of those people going up the mountain rather than just watching others. I felt bored, sleepy, and small. And I missed my dad. And I was totally stuck. Totally safe but totally stuck.
After the longest afternoon in my 10-year-old life my dad and my brothers returned, flushed with their triumph. Their faces were red from the cold and their eyes were clear with delight. They were wet from the snow, they were famished, they were dehydrated and nursing scrapes from the rocks and the ice. But on the long drive home they had something else. They had stories and they had a remarkable day with their dad upon the great mountain.
I, of course, revealed nothing insisting that this was my favorite day of the entire vacation. But, truth be told, I went on the trip but I missed the adventure, and 34 years later I still remember the afternoon in the Visitor's Center. Moreover, it's my sense that many of my fellow Christians are starting to suspect that they are stuck at the Visitor's Center. And they are traveling with Jesus but missing the adventure.
In different times and in different ways our heavenly Father offers us a simple proposition: Follow me beyond what you can control, beyond where your own strength and competencies can take you, and beyond what is affirmed or risked by the crowd, and you will experience me and my power and my wisdom and my love. Jesus beckons me to follow him to that place of weakness where I risk the vulnerability of a child so that I might know that my Father is strong and how much he loves me."
posted by Duncan and Jen | 1:25 PM
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