Seth Lewis's Blog, page 15

If I Can Do It, Anyone Can

There’s a lot of helpful how-to content online, and I’m often thankful for it. If I want to fix a broken appliance or learn a new skill, there’s bound to be a video tutorial posted somewhere that I can follow. In some ways it’s sad that our first place to seek advice is now Google instead of a real life social network of family, friends, and neighbours. However, my friends and family have almost certainly never replaced a ball-bearing unit on a Hotpoint X350KW. So I am thankful for strangers who make online tutorials.

They certainly make a lot of them. You can get how-to content on pretty much anything these days. One popular genre, which I’m sure you’ve seen, is successful influencers and millionaires posting about how they made their money or gained their audience, and how you and I could do the same if we would just follow their five-step fail-proof system. First, they talk about how they started with so little (showing their common, ordinary origins), and then they describe their ascent to greatness before coming back around to their humble beginnings and finishing with an encouraging comment like, “If I can do it, anyone can!”

Are you encouraged? Because I’m not so sure I am. It seems to me that the phrase has a bit of a backhanded bite to it: “I’m just an ordinary person. I’m just like you. Except I’m fabulously wealthy, and massively successful and influential. And you could be, too, if you just get moving and do things like I did. What are you waiting for? You’re already behind! You could be living in luxury enjoying your millions already if only you were more like me!” Which might very well be true. But I wouldn’t call it encouraging.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against success or wealth or influence. I believe in hard work, and I do think we all need good examples to inspire us. I am, however, against the idea that being ordinary is just a shameful starting point that we should all be trying to move away from as quickly as possible. I’m against the idea that bank balances and wide platforms are the most important measurements of a meaningful and significant life. The hidden assumption underneath this kind of content often seems to be that my ordinary, unnoticed life is something I should be dissatisfied with, and that their luxurious wealth and influence are clearly much better and more desirable than anything I might think I am enjoying where I am.

I know I am small, ordinary, and emphatically average. Just one more face among billions. But this face is smiling. When I look around at my ordinary little life I see a wealth of blessings. I feel the richness of relationships and the love of my Creator, who designed me for a purpose in his kingdom that is more significant than any bank balance could ever be. So maybe the influencer millionaires are right—if I was more like them, I could have more of what they have. Maybe I could be rich, or famous, or fabulously successful. Maybe. But I’m aiming my ambitions in a different direction. I want to use my time and energy and hard work and yes, even my money to store up “treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal.” I don’t need to be rich to have a life rich with meaning. I don’t need a big platform to have a big purpose in God’s kingdom. The most important things in the world are right in front of me, right now—loving God and loving the people he made, as Jesus said. I don’t need to wait for a big break, or discover a secret key, or follow five fail-proof steps in a helpful video. I can invest in eternal treasure today, right here in my ordinary life.

And if I can do it, anyone can.

These thoughts are developed more fully in my book Dream Small

Old Links That Still Make Me Think

The internet is a fast place. New content is posted every day, every hour, every minute—if you refresh your news and social media feeds right now, you’ll get loads of new posts to scroll through. When you’re done with those, you can refresh again. And again. In the online world, new content is constant, but it doesn’t stay new for long. A day or two later, it’s already old. It’s already been said. Attention has already shifted to today’s fresh, new posts. 

But the best thing about good content is not how fresh it is. The best thing about good content is… the content. And if the content really is good and helpful and thought-provoking, then it’s still good even after a couple of days, or months, or even years. Truth is still true, long after the wave of internet interest has passed. So with all of this in mind, today I’d like to share a few old links with you—old by internet standards, anyway. But the ideas I read in these articles are still sticking in my brain, still making me think. They were posted months or even years ago, but the content is still good, and it’s still helping me. I hope it will help you and make you think, as well. 

What If The Worst Happens? – Vaneetha Rendall Risner

This article encourages us to make a liberating change in our thinking from “what if” to “even if”—based on the solid ground of God’s character and promises. 

Having Kids Is Bad For Quality Of Life – Ian Harber

I know, I know, the title sounds backwards. But give it a chance—this article is a short but excellent discussion on pleasure and meaning in life. 

The Saviour’s Jerusalem Playlist – Mark Loughridge

Mark is a friend of mine, and he introduced me to this idea in a conversation at a conference. Later I saw that he had written about it, so now you can benefit from his thoughts like I have. Fair warning: this article could permanently change the way you read the Psalms. 

The Village Poet – Laura Lundgren

This is an article is about blogging, online platforms, and how we view our presence on the internet. It has helped me greatly. It’s specifically about writing, but you don’t have to be a writer to benefit from Laura’s perspective. How are you using your abilities for your “village”?

Are there old links that still make you think? Share them in the comments section, I’d love to see them!

The Key To Understanding The Bible

The Bible is the most influential book in history. No other book comes close to its print numbers, translations, or the number of lives and even cultures that have been radically changed by it. The message is more important, and more transformative, than anything ever written before or since. But although this book is the ultimate best-selling, world-shaping classic of literature, it can’t be fully understood if it is read like other books. It is not one more textbook to study, or history to appreciate, or how-to guide to follow. It is unique: it is God’s revelation of who he is and what he has done, and of who we are and what our lives are for. It does not present us with a religious or philosophical system to assent to, it presents us with a personal God to respond to. Reading it, hearing sermons about it, and studying it are all great things to do, but if you really want to understand the Bible, it’s not enough to listen to it. You have to respond to it. You have to obey it. 

You won’t know the “peace of God that surpasses understanding” until you “present your requests to God” in prayer (Philippians 4:7). 

You won’t experience the truth of Jesus’ promise that he will “give you rest” unless you accept his invitation to “come to me, all who are weary and burdened” (Matthew 11:28).

You can read that “godliness with contentment is great gain” but you’ll never understand that gain until you are growing in godliness and contentment (1 Timothy 6:6).

You won’t know how it is “more blessed to give than to receive” until you start giving (Acts 20:35).

You won’t experience the joy of not having to “worry about tomorrow” until you trust God enough to “seek first his kingdom and his righteousness” (Matthew 6:28-34). 

You won’t taste the goodness, wisdom, and freedom of following God’s commands until you actually follow them (Psalm 119). 

You won’t know how faithful God is until you step out in faith.

The list could go on and on. All through the Bible, the blessings of faith are for those who trust. The blessings of obedience are for those who obey. The generosity of God is for those who admit their need and come to him. The wisdom of God is for those who listen. You can start now: you don’t have to know everything about God to start responding to everything you do know. As the Apostle Paul put it, “only live up to what you have attained” (Philippians 3:16). The key to understanding and experiencing the transforming power of God’s word is not mysterious or mystical: just do what it says. You’ll learn more about God by trusting and obeying him than you will by any other means.

Strangers Are Some Of The Nicest People You’ll Ever Meet

During the first covid lockdown, with its strict travel restrictions, our family discovered a local treasure: a little spot known as Brown Island. Our neighbour told us about it. It’s not an easy place to find. When we went the first time I had to ring him because we couldn’t find the entrance hidden away down a country lane through a small gap in the hedge you’d never notice unless someone like my neighbour told you exactly where to look.

Brown Island isn’t brown, and it isn’t actually even an island, but it’s a great little spot to walk with the family. There are always some good stones for skipping there, and interesting things like driftwood and mussel shells and dead crabs. My children used to collect pieces of those crabs in an attempt to build the ultimate Frankencrab, but he never came to life, thankfully. There are usually a few other folks walking at Brown Island, but mostly they keep to themselves and we keep to ourselves except for the smiles and greetings as we pass each other. Sometimes we end up walking past the same people more than once, which happened the last time we were there. 

He was an older man, and by that I only mean older than us. The definitions of “old” and “young” are changing for me every year. When we walked past him the first time, he didn’t really acknowledge us at all. Later, he passed again and gave us no more than a quick nod. Clearly, this man didn’t come to talk. But then we saw him a third time, and this time we were all walking back towards the car park at roughly the same speed and it just wouldn’t have been right to say nothing at all so my wife made a friendly remark about the weather. He responded, and before we knew it we were having a grand old chat about all sorts of things like the history of Brown Island and the best kinds of seaweed to use as a fertiliser for flowers. His phone came out to show us a picture of his prize dahlias. We lingered by the cars talking about the way things used to be when people had more time for each other. He said, “people say not to talk to strangers, but strangers are some of the nicest people you’ll ever meet.” I might be imagining it, but I really think the day was a little warmer and brighter when we drove away.

He was right, of course. Sometimes strangers really are some of the nicest people you’ll ever meet.

Everything You Touch

I have a simple poem for you today, inspired by the beginnings of Spring that I’m starting to see around me:

Everything You Touch

Your hands
Flung stars
And stretched out space
Your fingertips
Shaped Earth and placed
A garden on
This small oasis
Bursting full of life

Your touch—that spun
The moon around
Reached down
And flowers blooming now
Show of the tender
Care in how
You cause all things to grow

Oh Lord, I want to know
Your living power
Overwhelming
Recreating
Blooming
Shaping
Lord, reach down
Your hand
To me
And

Grow your
Life in me

Looking Back On Right Now

They say hindsight is 20/20, and if that’s true it’s amazing because I know how blurry the world can be when I don’t have my glasses on. Every morning I wake up and the world around me is blurry, but my memories are clear, and that clarity is a gift that should never be taken for granted. When I roll out of bed and put my glasses on, my eyes begin to see the sharp outlines of reality. When I cast my thoughts back with the glasses of hindsight, my mind begins to see the sharp outlines of the past. 

Looking back, I have the advantage of time and the greater perspective it brings. I see not only what happened, but where it was leading. I see the good decisions that grew into good results, and (too often) the foolish decisions that grew into problems. With the bright light of the future shining back, the shadows and gaps in my thoughts and actions are thrown into sharp relief. How ignorant I was. How selfish. How foolish. How easy it is to see.

Looking back, I feel wise and mature compared to my past self. Hopefully I am wise and mature compared to my past self. But what would happen if I turned the comparison around and looked forward instead? Let’s say ten years forward, after another whole decade of living and learning. Looking back from where I am then, what will I think of myself today? What will I think about my current ways of thinking, my fears, my priorities, my choices? Hopefully I’ll see ways that I’ve grown, but probably (if my life up to now is any indication) I’ll also see my own foolishness in stark relief. 

As much as I’ve grown, I have a long way to go. This calls for humility. The best way to make sure I’m further along ten years from now is to be realistic about where I am now, realistic about my continuing need for help and correction and growth in wisdom. The best way to stop making progress at all is to believe I’ve already arrived. 

Someday we’ll all look back on today with the sharp clarity brought by the glasses of hindsight. What will we see?

Hannah’s Funeral

My wife and I have never met our first child. We lost the baby during the pregnancy, in the early stages before we even knew for sure if it was a girl. But we both knew she was a girl. We named her Hannah Grace, and yesterday would have been her 16th birthday. Years ago I wrote about Hannah for an Irish magazine called 4you. I posted that article on the blog in 2018, and I’m reposting it today in honour of the daughter we look forward to meeting for the first time in Heaven.

It’s taking too long. That’s how I know my world is crumbling. The midwife can’t find what she’s looking for. She keeps trying, but every new effort is the ringing of steeple bells tolling a funeral. Not a formal, prepared, eulogised, dressed-in-black funeral. No, this is an impromptu affair, with no time to think, and no black shoes to look at as I stare at the floor. But I can’t just stare at the floor, people are talking to me. I have to concentrate to keep looking at them. I have to focus. It’s not their fault. They’re trying to help. I need to be polite and listen. What about my wife? She must be feeling the same as me. No, she must be feeling worse. After all, Hannah is still inside her. Hannah who we weren’t even sure was a girl (but we knew). Hannah who was a world of new life and dreams. Hannah who we have the little dress waiting for at home in a room right across the hall so we can hear her if she cries…

Now my wife is crying. She is beside me, looking at the floor. She’s not wearing black shoes, either. I don’t think she’s even trying to listen to those nice people who never, ever stop talking about helpful things I can’t hear. I just want to go somewhere where no people are talking so I can look at the floor and let the whole world be as black as it should be. How can the sun not be ashamed? Why do people in the waiting room keep chatting and laughing as if the whole world hadn’t just fallen to pieces? Turn off the lights. Let all creation mourn.

The precious body is too small to bury. There will be no prepared funeral. Only this horrid, sunlit, incessant chatter and brown shoes. But the dress… The little dress is still in the room across the hall at home, waiting for the precious body that is too small to bury. If my wife sees it, she will cry. I have to put it away before that happens. I have to put it somewhere deep in a wardrobe, somewhere dark where there is no sunlight and all the clothes look as black as they should be. This is the funeral. The burial of my dreams. The flowery dress is the casket, as empty as my heart. The wardrobe is the grave, with darkened coats standing in for mourners. And when the door is closed, my world is forever changed.

And now I begin to understand. I understand why the sky turned black and the earth shook in heaving grief as you breathed one last ragged breath from your place on the cross. Except it wasn’t your place. You were innocent. Creation was right to mourn it, as I mourned for Hannah. The world is broken by sin, and death is the result. I know that. But it wasn’t Hannah’s sin, so why should it be her death? Neither was it your sin, so why should it be your death? She didn’t have a choice, but you gave up your life willingly. You did it because you knew that only your wrongful death could break the power of our sin once and for all, and begin to undo the horrible result of our sin—making death itself begin to work backwards for those who belong to you. So you died our death. And when you walked out of the grave, the world was forever changed.

Now I understand why Easter is the birthday of hope for humanity. Hope for precious bodies that are too small to bury. Hope for broken fathers and mothers. Hope for liars and thieves and sinners. Hope for good people who can never be good enough. The steeple bells are tolling again, but not a funeral: a resurrection!

Hope is alive because you are.

I have also written a poem for Hannah, which you can read here:

For Hannah Grace

Generous Patience

“She’s so generous,” he said. 

If he said it to you, what would your first thought be about the person he described? Would it have anything to do with how she uses her money? Probably it would. Money is the context we almost always use the word “generous” for. And that’s not bad—we need far more financial generosity in the world. But let’s not forget that the word (and the reality it stands for) applies to far more than our finances. 

Have you ever met someone who was generous with their time? How precious a gift! Some people can give lots of money away and barely notice because they still have lots more. Time is different. We all have the same number of hours in a day. Those who are generous with their time are generous indeed.

There are also a few blesséd souls among us who are generous in their opinion of others. When there is room for doubt, they give the benefit of withholding judgment and leaving space for the possibility that things may not be as bad as they seem at first glance. Or maybe they are. But when that turns out to be true, these generous people will be the ones seeking reconciliation, restoration, and forgiveness. There is a deep generosity in not giving up on people. 

But not giving up on people is not an end in itself. For humans to become what God made us to be requires one of the greatest generosities of all: the generosity of patience. What is patience but pure generosity? It recognises that some things are not right, and yet refuses to retreat. It looks ahead to a better future, but gives people time to change, space to grow, and support—over and over again, if needed—to get there. It is the triple generosity of valuing who a person is, believing in who they can be, and continuing to work through the long, messy process of growth. In patience, all three of these generosities are braided together into a rope of strong support—a rope that God himself braided for his children. He has told us, and shown us, that he is generous in his patience with the people he has made, “slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love” (Exodus 34:6). 

He’s so generous. 

Are we?

Burdens

I’ve been surprised many times at how strong the connection is between my mind and my body. Thoughts may not be tangible, but there is no denying that they have tangible effects on how my body works (or doesn’t work, as the case may be). My doctor told me years ago that the symptoms I described to him were not a disease—they were the natural (and quite common, he assured me) results of stress. The cure was not medicine, but a quieter mind. Easier said than done. The good news is we’re not alone: Psalm 55:22 and 1 Peter 5:7 invite us to cast our burdens on the Lord, who cares for his children. Galatians 6:2 also encourages God’s people to imitate their Saviour and “carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfil the law of Christ.”

Life has shown me conclusively that my mind and my body are parts of one united whole, and that whole is not as strong as I like to think it is. I depend on help and hope from beyond myself, and I can say with deep gratitude that I have received them from the Lord and from the people he has placed around me. God has also given me the privilege of sharing this same kind of help with others—and has the world ever invented a greater honour than this? These are the things I was thinking about when I wrote these two short poems:

Burdens

How does stress
Inside my mind
Make my muscles
Start to ache?

How do burdens
On my soul
Feel like burdens
On my back?

How can shadows
I can’t see
Dim the light
Behind my eyes?

How do simple
Words of courage
Give me strength
Again to rise?

An Eternal Honour

To carry the burdens
Of an eternal soul
Is an honour far greater
Than the whole of the world

A treasure that outshines its riches
A position that outranks its privilege

To carry the burdens
Of an eternal soul
Is an eternal honour—

Like nothing the world can offer

The Wise Man Is In Town

The wise man, with his flowing white beard, sits alone on top of a high mountain. The air is crisp and clear and the view is stunning, but he doesn’t see it. His eyes are closed in peaceful meditation. Nothing disturbs his solitude until the sound of footsteps announces the arrival of a wisdom-seeker. The sage remains seated, relaxed, as enigmatic (but deeply profound) answers fall slowly from his lips. As the footsteps of the now-satisfied (though slightly confused) intruder once again fade into the distance, the wise man resumes his silent reflection as if nothing had interrupted him.

Where did we get the idea that the wisest among us dwell in seclusion in hard to reach places? The origins of an idea like this would be hard to trace, because it has already spanned so many different cultures, times, and places, from the reclusive Oracle of Delphi, to the Desert Fathers in Egypt, to the Yamabushi monks in the mountains of Japan, and many others. It has even found its way into fictional spaces like the Star Wars universe—Rey seeks Luke Skywalker on Ahch-To in The Last Jedi, among huts that were not props at all but the real huts of ancient Irish monks who really secluded themselves there long, long ago in a galaxy that was not so far, far away.

Maybe it’s because the world is so messy and troubled that people throughout the ages have naturally assumed that wisdom is found in those who distance themselves from it. They avoid the mess, rise above the controversy, and speak to us from the outside, beyond our ordinary stresses and struggles. Their aloof position can easily appear to be the path of wisdom, leading us away from the problems of society and the pain that relationships so often bring.

There once was a wise man who sat on a mountain and prayed. But he didn’t stay there. After his solitary times of prayer, Jesus went straight down into the valleys full of needy and unappreciative people and taught them. He went into the cities full of sick and suffering people and served them. He traveled in the company of friends. He ate with whoever would welcome him—the rich, the poor, and the outcasts who earned him a reputation of being a “friend of sinners.”

Jesus did not wait on a mountain for us to climb up and hear his otherworldly wisdom. He came down to us. He walked with us. He talked with us—not from the outside, beyond our struggles, but from the inside, with his hands open and an invitation to cast our burdens on him. He entered our suffering, fully and completely. He gave us more than his profound words, he gave us himself.

Jesus showed us that the wisest among us are not those who isolate themselves (Proverbs 18:1) and distance themselves from the world and everyone in it. The wisest among us are those who follow the footsteps of Jesus—up the mountain to pray, certainly, but then straight back down again to serve, to love, and to give out of all that Jesus has given to us.

If you’re looking for a wise man, he’s probably in town.