In reading one of the last interviews with C.S. Lewis I began to realise how important the ‘urge’ to write is, not only in social media circles, but for the sake of writing at all. Lewis was asked to give advice to young writers on how to prepare themselves:

But to speak of the craft itself, I would not know how to advise a man how to write. It is a matter
of talent and interest. I believe he must be strongly moved if he is to become a writer. Writing is like a ‘lust,’ or like ‘scratching when you itch.’ Writing comes as a result of a very strong impulse, and when it does come, I for one must get it out.”

Strongly moved.

Writing is like a ‘lust’.

It is like ‘scratching when you itch’.

It begins with a strong impulse, and ‘one must get it out’.

I’m certainly not a prolific writer or blogger, but the way Lewis describes the urge to write and the need to ‘get it out’ captures the way in which writing is cathartic for me. There are times when I am gripped by a concept, a thought, a current affair, whatever it may be at the time … and I just simply have to get my fingers moving on a keyboard.

But …

For me, and I think Lewis would agree (wow, that’s a hefty assertion, that Lewis would agree with me – ha), writing is an urge to produce content but it is also paired with an inherent desire that the content will be engaged with by an audience. The engagement can vary for sure. From simply just reading a piece to commenting on and distributing it. Either way, we writers want our audience to engage. Again, without this desire, writing would actually be journalling.

Sadly, Lewis’ life did not extend into an era (he died in 1963) in which both the urge to write and the desire for audience participation came together through technological advancement. It is a real privilege to write and publish nowadays.

Until the urge strikes again …

The difference is this: the (nearly) completed Gauteng Freeway Improvement Project has change my life. Since late 2011 I have enjoyed the benefits associated with our expanded Freeways. This is one of the main reasons why I purchased my SANRAL e-tag today, ahead of the 30th April commencement of tolling. It’s not a popular decision I’ve made. In the midst of the public upheaval around the tolling, it’s a decision that I’m not expecting many people to understand either.

Some of my twitter followers abused me this morning when I notified them that I was going to buy it. Sam raised her eyebrows and asked if I was feeling ok. But I did it. I stood in a queue for over an hour at a temporary centre in Northmead Mall to buy the e-tag and have it registered.

My number 1 reason is this: the expanded freeways give me back so much more time, reduce my stress levels and thus indirectly improve my productivity that I get more value out of using them than the capped toll amount of R550/month will cost me. The benefit versus cost ration just works for me.

Besides the massive value I get from the road network and a desire to pay for the reduction in stress as my main reason, there are a few other reasons behind why:

• Over the last 14 years of driving on SA freeways I’ve become accustomed to paying a toll for freeways, and amidst the uproar, most of you are still comfortable to stop at a toll gate and hand over your garage card, or small change. It’s become part of parcel of business and personal travel, especially when we go on holiday. So the issue is not about paying tolls, but rather it is about how much we pay.
• It seems to me that the objections to e-tolling are generally unreasonable in that people confuse protesting for ‘paying something’ versus ‘paying too much’. I am certainly against how SANRAL has gone about thumb-sucking a figure of what to charge us per kilometre, but again, I’m happy to pay something. How much is actually the issue, and I will be watching eagerly as the next round of protests begin to see how they may further reduce what we pay.
• In my opinion, and after seeing how the system works today in registering my e-tag, SANRAL have done a stellar job in setting up a world class technical system, but have fucked up monumentally when dealing with the public. Not only is it a PR disaster, but they way in which they are now implementing punitive tolls for those wanting to take a civil disobedience stance smacks of massive after thought. Someone genuinely thought they could expand these roads, build the toll gantries and begin tolling road users to pay for the changes without expecting much of a fuss from the public. Pfft. Common logic suggests that you consult first, but hey maybe someone with a “Ask for forgiveness, not permission” poster in their office realised that the e-tolling would not get off the ground if they adopted this approach.
• So, I do my best to live as a law abiding citizen. It is a choice I’ve committed to by signing an Unashamedly Ethical pledge. And so it will hurt financially and emotionally to pay for the roads, but my conscience will be calmer knowing that I’m adhering to the law. A civil disobedience position is tempting, but it’s just not in my make up.
• I’m sympathetic to the voices that oppose e-tolling based on the impact it will have to themselves and the economy. Fortunately, I’m in a position to be able to absorb the extra monthly cost that the tolls will incur. Many others cannot. I understand that. Reason still says to me that we need to pay for this awesome benefit (although, I think a fuel levy would have been more appropriate)

My experience of registering this morning was telling.

Firstly, it is a lengthy process. It took me an hour – 15mins for myself, but the rest was waiting for people who were registering their fleets of vehicles. So beware, the longer you leave it, the more your frustration levels will rise as you wait in ridiculous queues.

I was expecting to be the only one registering my account. There were however over a dozen people, ranging in age and race. No one was ululating while registering, but there was a simple resignation people exhibited towards e-tolling. One man remarked, “I’d rather get used to this than become an enemy of the state.”

How true that statement was only sunk home when the agent processing my registration asked if I had passed through an R21 toll gantry at 9.27am yesterday morning. She showed me a photo. It was my car. Remember the movie Enemy of the State?

The e-tolling staff were uber friendly, helpful and really well trained. While asking some questions, one white man asked about the punitive fee for not registering and quipped, “Ah, but Vavi won’t let that happen. He says no way! I like that Vavi!” Isn’t it interesting how the country’
s biggest trade unionist is now everyone’s friend? I wonder about COSATU’s real motives behind their massive drive to scrap e-tolling. They must be earning massive public sentiment at the moment. Very clever Vavi, very clever.

Ultimately you’ll need to make your own decision whether you’ll register or not. Your choice. These are just my reasons. Yours will be different, and that’s cool with me.

One of the most common experiences while driving up to a traffic light is seeing a beggar standing there making a (sometimes) heartfelt plea for your small change. The majority of us have developed a fine skill in ignoring them. Stare straight ahead as if you’re contemplating life deeply, right? Or we give them a cursory wave of the hand indicating that we have no money for them, which they know is untrue, just like our conscience does.

The variety of the beggar’s plea is testament to the inventiveness (and desperation) of those in poverty. I came across this “YouTube” beggar today in Pretoria. His innovation made me smile and immediately reach for my wallet. 

He also reminded me of the “Kung Fu”.

I’ve noticed how, over the last few years, the beggar’s plea has morphed from just plain (how sad is it that I phrase it like this?) pity-inducing sad facedness, to the rare but powerful ‘fall onto my knees and beg’ tactic, into the circus performance (thickly caked painted faces accompanied by poor juggling) and now poster boards that appeal to our wit.

Either way, the strategy is to entertain for money. From a business perspective, their strategies are admirable. In an attention-driven economy, our beggars know that they need to do all they can to attract our attention while we mission from place to place in our comfortable cars.

So, here’s to our intrepid street ‘vendors’. It’s a meagre living for sure, but we’d be so much the poorer in spirit without you (and if we just for damn well sorted out our employment and poverty issue in South Africa).

We had an amazing morning with him opening his presents. A few months ago, at Christmas time, the value in a present was not the present itself, but the wrapping paper. Today however, the wrapping paper was secondary because he knew there was a present for him inside. He pulled off the wrapping with gusto and then adorned each gift with a series of wow’s, wowee’s and ooh’s.

He may not understand the significance of this day as a life milestone, but I do. It is also the second anniversary of my fatherhood.It’s not only a milestone for him, but also one for Sam and I as parents. The joy of celebrating Daniel’s birthday has been accompanied by a reflection on the last two years and how life has panned out as a parent and a father.

At 10.15 this evening it will have been EXACTLY two years since I assisted in the birth of Daniel. I remember vividly the experience of putting my hands around his abdomen, being guided by the doctor in pulling Daniel out and ‘catching’ my boy. It was the first significant, if not the greatest, transition of his life. He was regarded as being ‘alive’ in this moment and the clock started tallying up the seconds, minutes, hours and days of his life. The other transition that occurred in that moment was how he became a tangible part of my life, having been carried by Sam for 9 months. It was my transition into fatherhood.

I remember my first anniversary as a father but was still sufficiently shellshocked to reflect as deeply on the significance of the moment. What few people know is that I struggled with Paternal Postpartum Depression (PPD). It was a tumultuous year as I tried to adjust to the multiple demands of being a husband, a new father and an employer. I’ve realised over the last year how a lot of my struggle was actually a process of adapting to the new levels of responsibility and how dependent a bunch of people were on me. One of the benefits of the second year of parenthood is how routine gets more firmly entrenched, both for child and parent. Life becomes a bit more stable and there is more ‘breathing space’, so to speak.

One of the things that happens in the second year of parenthood, and as a result of having a bit more headspace to reflect on the journey, is that you begin to think more critically of your parenting style … and so do those close to you. The first year is just survival – you do what you can and you do it as best as you can. People are quite forgiving in your first year of parenting when it comes to mistakes, more so than you are on yourself in fact. This is not true in the second year. In the second year people begin to see the ‘fruit’ of your parenting in how your child is developing (or not) and begin to infer and make some conclusions about your parenting based on the insecurities your child displays. Sam and I are learning to forgive ourselves for our obvious shortfalls as parents, but I’m not sure it is so easy for those closest to us. As a son myself, I also know there will come a time when Daniel will also be faced with the choice to either resent Sam and I for the mistakes we make, or to forgive us and carry on living.

Moving into the second year of fatherhood has also given my inner child more time to come out. Daniel and I have a daily wrestling match. It started out as quite innocuous in the first year, but as he gets bigger, bolder and more boisterous I have become accustomed to having a few extra bruises, cuts and scrapes. His feet naturally find their way into my crotch (he obviously doesn’t want a brother/sister) and my jaw. These times are unadulterated and help put into perspective all other stress I have at the time.

Parenting also seems to have changed nowadays. Our parents remind is, in both subtle and direct ways, that becoming a parent is ultimately about sacrifice. Some of the tension with the parentals has revolved around our differing views on this. Sam and I still want to live a full life, dedicating time to ourselves, our work, exercise, travel and each other besides the massive dedication we want to give to our son. Parenting seems like it used to be about putting aside most of your personal desires, ambitions and needs for those of your child. I sometimes wonder if this was a parenting style choice a few decades ago, or one that was born out of the necessity linked to the way life was lived e.g. we’re more of a mobile generation now, and so international travel is easier and more affordable.

Another example of this is how spiritual devotion takes a back seat in the early years of fatherhood. I sure hope God is understanding in this regard, but I have not been able to apportion as much time as I used to in the direction of devotion, study and worship. The refreshing part of this is discovering what your faith in God and Jesus looks like in the absence of ritual.

Nevertheless, this is a constant tension for me as a father. I have a multi-layered identity and I want to honour those identities, while at the same time apportioning dedication where it matters most.

One of the most significant fatherhood lessons in the last year was hearing a teaching by Richard Rohr and Ron Rolheiser. In days gone by sons would see their fathers in the field at work, and even work with the father. During this time the son would receive the father’s teaching. Nowadays though, with the father leaving for work and spending so much time elsewhere the son often receives more of the fathers ‘end of the day’ temperament than teaching when he gets home. It’s a personal goal of mine: to ensure that Daniel gets more of my teaching than temperament at the end of the day, and one that I accomodate for by making certain work choices/sacrifices.

There are many more reflections that I could write about, but let me finish with this: the dominant story of my life at the moment is that of being a father. It is the story that I am really happy to have as a defining characteristic.

Daniel, you are my son. I love you so deeply. I am intensely proud of you. And it is in the experience of being your father that I understand and resonate with Paul’s assertion about God’s love, because it is true of my love for you:

And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.

We fear nothingness. That’s why we fear death, of course, which feels like nothingness. Death is the shocking realization that everything I thought was me, everything I held onto so desperately, was finally nothing.

Now, I find myself thinking about death quite often. No, not in a suicidal way, but in a way that wrestles with what death means, what comes after it, why it means so much and why we try to evade its inevitable clutch so much? Personally, Rohr has hit the nail on the head: I fear death because of it’s apparent nothingness. And this got me thinking about people I know who believe that death is in fact nothingness (and who are fine with that) and those who believe death is a doorway into something else (but who fear it). In short, I wonder if atheists are better prepared for death than us Christians are?

In a strange way I admire my atheist friends and how they confront and accept the apparent nothingness of death. I mean, when you speak to an atheist worth their salt, they are just unperturbed by the issue of death – on surface of it all at least. You ask them what happens after death and they’ll tell you it isn’t an important question. That what happens at the point of death is that you end, you then decompose and you go back to the ground. That is the cycle of life. Ashes to ashes, so to speak.

Now, have a conversation with a Christian about death and you’ll hear a different story. Most Christians (worth their salt) would like to speak with conviction about the after life and how the promises in the Bible of a heaven are true for them personally, but there’s inevitably a sense of “I’m not totally sure” coming through in their talk. This uncertainty isn’t what most people ascribe it to be – a tussle between knowing whether you’re going to heaven or hell. No. It is actually an uncertainty rooted in not knowing what comes after death. It’s a mental speedbump before you get to thinking about heaven/hell, but is disguised as the heaven versus hell issue. It is an issue of whether after death there is something, or nothing.

How ironic.

Isn’t it strange that a belief in ‘something’ after death creates more anxiety than a belief in the nothingness of death?

I remember my mom reflecting on the death of her parents and saying that my Gran seemed to pass on relatively easier (in the context of her cancer) compared to my Grandpa when his time came. My Grandpa just seemed to want to hang on to life. My mom also said that my Gran had a sense of knowing where she was going after death, whereas my Grandpa wasn’t as convinced.

So maybe a certainty is the differentiator regarding levels of anxiety associated with death?

I’ve been to the funerals of Christians that have been spiritual giants and the sense at those funerals was one of celebration of a significant life that was now elevated to something (heaven), not a mourning of a loss to nothingness.

I guess my point is this: what can we learn from an honest acknowledgement of the ‘nothingness’ of death? I wonder if this is where Rohr was heading with his reflection, which ends like this:

The nothingness we fear so much is, in fact, the treasure and freedom that we long for, which is revealed in the joy and glory of the Risen Christ. We long for the space where there is nothing to prove and nothing to protect; where I am who I am, in the mind and heart of God, and that is more than enough.

1. Roughly 65% of people employed in South Africa are employed within businesses of less than 50 employees
2. Roughly 43% of people employed in South Africa are within businesses of 5 or less employees
3. 6 million South Africans are self-employed i.e. only 1 employee

I was astounded by these figures. They fly in the face of the assumption that big companies are the major employers in the country. The South African economy rests on the shoulders of very small businesses.

In the context of massive unemployment and the government’s focus on creating jobs, I have been wondering what tangible headway is being made in providing assistance to small business. The government needs to do two things: create an environment in which small businesses can start (entrepreneurship) and where small businesses can flourish (growth).

And so I’ve been wondering what, in my experience, the government is doing to help me establish and grow The Narrative Lab.

My first reaction is the typically cynical response of, “The government is doing fat stuff-all for me!”

But as I’ve thought more searchingly about it I realise there are two pieces of legislation that I benenfit from in making business easier:

1. Small Corporation Tax: this is a tax bracket that allows small business to register for a flat company tax rate of 10% (significantly lower than the usual 28% or so)
2. Exempt status as a SMME within the Black Economic Empowerment framework: if your turnover is less than R5m per annum, you are exempt from the prescriptions of B-BBEE and receive an automatic Level 4 Contributor status

In short, this means I pay less tax and can compete on par with bigger business for work where black empowerment is a differentiator (in theory at least).

Beyond these though I am stumped. Feel free to point out anything else the government is doing to enable and equip me to grow my business that I’m unaware of. So, in the absence of more initiatives, here is my wishlist:

1. Relaxation of labour laws
2. Graduate placement subsidy
3. Cheaper access to funding
4. Outlawing late payments

Let me explain …

I love the fact that our constitution is one of the most progressive in the world, and that it enshrines individual rights so powerfully. However, I find the reach of the constitution is a little too far when it comes to bolstering human rights of emloyees in small businesses while impoverishing the decision-making of small business owners. It’s absurd that I need to abide by the very same labour laws and processes that a business employing dozens of thousands of employees has to. Recruiting adequate staff is very tough, but it is damn near impossible to fire inadequate staff without a heap of substantive and procedural fairness and the threat of CCMA litigation hanging over our heads. Not that this is true in The Narrative Lab (we have amazing staff), but the nett result is that terrible employees are parking off in small businesses that can’t get rid of them. As Clem Sunter says, “Small business owners should be able to hire and fire at will.”

Employing people is key, but employing unemployed people is the key to poverty alleviation in South Africa. One strategy I have is to employ fresh graduates. The down side is that they have the longest adaptation curve to reach productivity. A nice little subsidy from government would be nice when I employ a graduate that subsidises their salary for 6 months until they acclimatise.

Funding. Simple. Put pressure on banks to put their money where their mouth is when it comes to cheap, easily accessible finance.

Lastly, there are some clients that are too expensive for us as small businesses. One of my first clients was Vodacom. It took them over 120 days to pay us. It nearly crippled The Narrative Lab. We vowed after that experience to “fire them”. They clearly do not understand their impact on the economy, and are rumoured to be proud of being such bad payers. Now, dear government, outlaw such practices. Make it unlawful for big businesses to hamper small businesses in this way. A law that ensures payment within 30 days will go a long way.

That’s my wish list for now. Any suggestions?

In reading Albert Einstein’s biography by Walter Isaacson, the chapter “Einsten’s God” provides some answers to the question he was plagued with again and again by adoring fans who wanted to know if he believed in God. Here, in this chapter, lie some quotes by Einstein that articulate some of what I’ve been sensing about the New Atheism (religious) movement:

The fanatical atheists are like slaves who are still feeling the weight of their chains which they have thrown off after hard struggle. They are creatures who – in their grudge against traditional religion as the ‘opium of the masses’- cannot hear the music of the spheres.

You may call me agnostic, but I do not share the crusading spirit of the professional atheist whose fervor is mostly due to a painful act of liberation from the fetters of religious indoctrination received in youth.

That last quote is telling. Einstein raises two important points about understanding atheism as a religious movement. Let me deal with the first one.

‘The crusading spirit of the professional atheist.’ In my experience, militant atheists are crusaders for their cause, which is potentially saying something more than they are evangelists. Evangelical atheists want to liberate us religious folk from our delusional ways. Crusading atheists do same but with a venom in their sting. They try to convert not by means of logic and appeal, but by derision and ridicule. In other words, persecution. Now, one wonders how effective they would be if they realized that mocking someone about a belief is THE most ineffective way of getting them to abandon that belief?

The distinguishing mark between your average atheist and one gripped by religious fervour is their intention to get into your head and convert you. I mean, if you don’t believe in a God, why spend so much time arguing against a God? This paradox possibly adds some light onto how some atheists mis-associate themselves i.e. they are probably more antitheists than atheists?

This brings me into Einstein’s second point, the reason why people becomes professional atheists, ‘whose fervor is mostly due to a painful act of liberation from the fetters of religious indoctrination received in youth.’

Pain is a massive motivator for action. For example, children who suffer at the hand of abusive parents or perpetrators sometimes go on to become counselors and psychologists. Why? Well, to aid in the healing of such wounds in other people. It’s a legitimate motivation.

The same is true for some (if not most) atheists.

Indoctrination is their wound. They are offended that they were forced to believe in a God that they now purport to realize, doesn’t exist.

Now, being offended by indoctrination is a legitimate beef to have in some respects. People believe in some very strange things due to indoctrination. But, there’s a difference between Christian indoctrination and education, and I wonder how many atheists have perceived education (which allows for a dissociation from that knowledge) as indoctrination? But, I’ll also admit that there are legitimate cases of indoctrination that are just plain wrong. I’m in no way defending indoctrination here, but merely suggesting that a subjective assessment of what is or isn’t indoctrination is problematic.

And so, the combination of a (often unconscious) crusading spirit and liberated fervour leads to a potent mixture in today’s New Atheists.

Again, one is lead to believe, based on personal experience, that these atheists are not interested in freeing us from our delusional ways for the sake of our own health (as the psychologists I mentioned above do), but more for their own righteousness. That is, they are more interested in converting us in an act of proving themselves right, than caring for what we believe.

If atheists actually gave a damn about who we are, developed some of that ‘healing touch’ and showed us how the freedom they bring will make us better people AND improve our lives, they may be more effective crusaders.

Just maybe.

This got me thinking (again) about what Richard Rohr has to say about the two stages of life, narcism, ego development and whether we think we are the centre of the world. For a toddler, they have to be the centre of the world. It’s a prerequisite for ego and identity development. It’s the incessant “Look at me, look at me!” of toddlers at play. Daniel, at nearly two, is all about that. His daily word count is made up primarily of “Look Daddy!”, repeated ad nauseum. He jumps. Look Daddy. He sits. Look Daddy. He goes to sleep. Look Daddy.

And this is somehow all fine. It’s kinda cute, and we know it is essential to growing up.

Then however, as Rohr points out, if a 50-year old walks into a room and says,  ”Look at me and listen to my story” it is not okay.It is not okay for someone in the second half of life to want to be the centre of attention. Rather, our job then is to dish out the attention, not attract it. It’s the mark of a “great” grandparent … they dole out the attention, not expecting it in return.

As I’m now occupying the cusp between the 1st and 2nd stages of life I’m wondering how one transitions from wanting to be the centre of the world (which I wouldn’t mind) and becoming less attached the the prescripts of my ego.

And so sadly, at the end of all this, you probably don’t give a shit what I think anyway. I’m now in the second half of life, and I’m okay with that.

What has been lurking below the surface is best described as a feeling of loss regarding novelty. Let me give you an example. I love epic movies. The Lord of the Rings Trilogy  was a serious highlight for me during the years in which they were released. There is just something about the opening scens of an epic movie that move me! Movies just don’t move me like that anymore. The novelty of that experience has now become, well, bland. I’ve been drawn to Richard Rohr’s teachings on Adult Christianity where he teaches about the two stages of life and spirituality. I’ve now realised that feeling associated with a loss of novelty in life is actually a symptom of my transition into the second stage of my life. 

One of my favourite quotes by Rohr is that, “We’ll all become old fools. We have a choice though between becoming a grumpy old fool, or a wise old fool”. I love that, and for a while it’s been a goal of mine to become the latter. But there is something weird in hearing a teaching about the second stage of life, that begins at roughly 35 years old, while being on the younger side of that liminal point. Now that I’m nearing that point, with a few years to spare, listening to the teachings again has much more meaning, and in a significant way, his words make more sense.

The basic idea is this: our lives are segmented into two halves, broadly. There is the building up phase until about the age of 35 and then thereafter there is the integration phase (although I’m tempted to say it’s the breaking down phase) for the next 30 or 40 years of our life. Rohr articulates wonderfully how our ego, drives and ambition are absolutely necessary processes and how we need to go through those phases in order to really understand the Gospel of Jesus, and to follow what Jesus asks of us. For example, we need to have a life in order to lose it. We need to have an identity to lose, and so forth.

A scriptural example of this transition can be found in Solomon’s writing in the Book of Ecclesiastes. He begins with the powerful maxim, “Everything is meaningless”. Now read the first chapter in light of what I wrote about the loss of novelty above.

¹ The words of the Teacher, son of David, king in Jerusalem:

² “Meaningless! Meaningless!”
says the Teacher.
“Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless.”

³ What do people gain from all their labours
at which they toil under the sun?
⁴ Generations come and generations go,
but the earth remains forever.
⁵ The sun rises and the sun sets,
and hurries back to where it rises.
⁶ The wind blows to the south
and turns to the north;
round and round it goes,
ever returning on its course.
⁷ All streams flow into the sea,
yet the sea is never full.
To the place the streams come from,
there they return again.
⁸ All things are wearisome,
more than one can say.
The eye never has enough of seeing,
nor the ear its fill of hearing.
⁹ What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.
¹⁰ Is there anything of which one can say,
“Look! This is something new”?
It was here already, long ago;
it was here before our time.
¹¹ No one remembers the former generations,
and even those yet to come
will not be remembered
by those who follow them.

This text is traditionally read with a lamenting sense that the writer is both right and wrong. He is right in the sense that there is really nothing new under the sun and that there is a repetition to our world that can be tiresome and worrisome. People interpret him as being wrong in that, with a knowledge of God’s work in the world, everything is meaningful. This latter interpretation is the easier one to assimilate into a faith position. However, as I’m now transitioning into this second stage of life, I’m connecting deeply with the writer’s sentiments, but not in a depressing way.

In many ways I’ve achieved what my ego (in the psychological sense) has set out to do. I’m happily married. I have an amazing son. I’ve built a successful business. I’ve got a lovely home, drive a great car and financially am relatively settles. I’ve achieved much, and yet in the midst of all this, there is a question that rises regarding the meaning of it all. What is next? Where to from here? Is my life rhythm destined to be linked to the rhythms of nature i.e. I move from day to day doing the same things, or is there more to this?

Rohr links some of the nasty characteristics of the first stage of life (e.g. an exclusionary approach to religion) with the possibility of not really encountering the Gospel of Jesus. I wonder if that is the challenge I’m experiencing? The invitation is there to encounter Jesus in a new way.

Then, as I’m writing these words a text arrives from a fellow Christ-follower, who connects to the Big Man in profound ways. The text reads:

I sense God is so proud of you, for who you are, and the man you have become. I hear Him saying that He loves the way you apply your mind to things to discover the unseen perspectives. He sees the worship in that. He says He misses the playfulness of an unencumbered heart.

The unseen perspectives part is timely because I left a discussion last night feeling like I was crazy for promoting an idea I feel a calling for, but that’s another story. The last bit about playfulness is even more pertinent considering the loss of novelty I’ve been sensing.

Have I really lost a sense of novelty, or have I lost a playfulness that comes hand in hand with the freedom that Jesus gives?

How’s that for a rhetorical question?

So one of the first things I did after getting the text was to go and stomp in some puddles with Daniel. More of that please.

One aspect of 2012 I chose to influence, knowing full well that the majority of the year would escape my will and end up panning out the way it will, was to refurbish my portal into the interweb. And so, thanks to the design prowess of Anthony van Beek, the new look aidencholes.com is open to the world … enjoy.