A Big Little Boy Lives Here

That sweet little angel of ours threw something this morning. She threw it right in my face! It was big and loud, it was a three-alarm Hissy Fit! My precious daughter let loose, with a red-faced screecher!

Yeah, yeah, it was warranted. She had every right to be upset. I had obviously been waaay in the wrong, when I didn’t let her take her breakfast to eat in front of the television. She had a perfect spot picked out on her pink kiddy couch. It was obviously going to be an awesome way to enjoy her oatmeal until I ruined her great idea. How dare I!

Something occurred inside my mind while it was trying to batten down the hatches and shut out the volume roaring from her mad little face. I noticed a familiarity to her tone. I didn’t like hearing her sounds at that time, but yet I had to look inward and realize a truth…

She sounded just like me!

Ha! I know you’re probably thinking that it would be a little strange to watch me throwing myself around on the floor, crying and gasping and pausing in between wails of frustration. I will admit that not getting to eat in front of the TV probably wouldn’t set off a major temper tantrum for me, but there are other seemingly silly things that can.

The reason her outrageous crying seemed to resemble dear ol’ dad, is that sometimes I fear that I haven’t really found better ways of dealing with problems than throwing a fit about them. Sad I know, but true. Now my 38 year-old fits are a little different from a toddlers’. I have a deeper voice and I use actual words instead of shrieking and bawling… usually.

Truly though, I find that when tensions are rising and irritations are mounting, I can snap. I’ll sink knee deep into an emotional outburst in a flash. There are some people reading these lines right now probably shaking their heads like, ‘Uh Huh, That’s For Sure!”

Anyway, I did laugh at myself today watching her go off. She has already found a mechanism by which she can try to force her way. It’s a VERY persuasive tactic! I didn’t give in though, and eventually we had a nice breakfast up at the bar-top, where we always do, with only the radio on, like we always do. It turned out fine.

The moral to me, is that when you really break it down, there isn’t a lot of difference between how I tend toward outbursts and how she did today. I’d like to think that I have higher levels of maturity, I can navigate treacherous situations with sound compassionate reason and detachment from outcome. Ha, really that’s a load of gar-bage!

Actually, I think the truth is that I’ve been quite blessed. I have been fortunate that people around me, must’ve seen that same infancy and ridiculousness in my tantrums that I saw in hers. I felt sorry that she was so upset, but I didn’t take on her outrage over the situation. For all my chest beating and primate howling, the people around me probably saw a little boy, a brat, in a big ol’ body, throwing a fit.

I have been the antagonist in a bunch of conflicts. Even in the last few years. I’ve seen though, that the best versions of those conversations happened without any yelling, without high heart-rates, they have been fewer than I’m proud of, but usually they end with a hug. So it must be possible, even with me.

I hug my little girl a lot. She’s teaching me so much every day. I found out this morning, that I’m too much like her sometimes, and I’d like her to be less like me in certain ways too.

Until next week, count your blessings for they outnumber the curses by far.

Sincerely,

Aaron Nichols

A flaw in the practice of Easter Worship

It’s the practice of this thing, this writing thing, that matters. It’s the returning to, and the stepping again forward on this continued path, that seems worthy. I doubt it’s the concepts or the drilled-down specific points that I’ve typed out over the years that hold real weight. I want to keep open a channel for expression, in case something important or profound arrives through me.

It’s these moments, late at night, of simple contemplation, that nourish me. It’s the resting steady focus for a few fleeting minutes per week that I must enjoy. On this Good Friday, at this Easter moment, I ponder in these early morning hours, the act of Worship.

See, I am really really REALLY good at worship!

It’s true. I can pretty much worship in the morning, or while I’m at work and before bed too. I probably worship in my sleep sometimes.

On a weekend like Easter, worshiping revolves around the crucifixion and the Resurrection of Jesus. For all dedicated worshipers this is the Big One!

The only slight problem for me, is that my skillz at worship, don’t always have to do with the Father, the Son or the Holy Ghost… Oops.

I know, I know, somebody in the last few years, probably said something behind my back, like I’ve become some kind of a Jesus-Freak! Just because I’m not a raging party animal every weekend, I’m probably stuck nose deep in the Bible from dawn to dusk, or as much as possible… right?

Well, TBH (to be honest) I’m probably so much less freaky about Jesus, that it’s embarrassing. My behavior and vocabulary can be so not church appropriate, yet I maintain my previous statement.

I’m awesome at worshiping!!!

The only little issue, is that my worship is too often pointed in the wrong direction. I am so quick to idolize and be fascinated by the shiny trinkets of the world around me. A new thread of YouTube videos can suck me in for weeks on end. I become almost instantly devoted and throw myself completely into new distractions all the time.

This truth relates to my relationship with a simple practice like a glass of inky-dark room-temp Malbec blooming in my hand at the end of a long work day. I could become entranced and dedicated to the vino itself. I would want to identify myself with it. I’d find it at the center of my discussions. I might throw myself, mind, body and soul into an idolatry of alcohol. I could sincerely mean words like LOVE in relation to a rotten grape…

In that worldly kind of worship, I’m masterful!

To this day, even through a few years of sobriety, focusing on creating a church life for myself and my family, I struggle to love Jesus, like I do the tangible things of the world.

So broken spiritually, I sit here in the middle of the night. Playing again the keys of this mental piano, sounding thoughts onto the lcd screen. I maintain that somewhere on the journey, the meaning of this act will be revealed.

I will attempt this weekend for split seconds, longer moments, then maybe minutes on end, to worship the one true God. I remind myself right now, that in the Resurrection, my many sins have been redeemed. The detestable idolatry I commit daily, in worship of almost everything but God, has miraculously been wiped away. In this event, things that cannot be done, were done, through love.

Until next week my friends, in small ways practice a contemplative worship . If you dare, ask yourself what it is that really deserves your worship and what doesn’t.

Sincerely,

Aaron Nichols

The mouth to mind ratio

Surely you’ve heard this quote. “Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people.”

I find it convicting and confounding within this certain context. (Basically, what I think it means)

  1. The discussion of ideas to me refers to universal truths, the nature of spirituality, principals of philosophy and consciousness or existence itself. THE eternal questions humans have always wrestled with.
  2. The discussion of events would be like the evening news, or the local news. It’s the actions of individuals or nations or the weather. The range could also include physical things, and materialism.
  3. The discussion of people would be gossip; judgmental conversations about third parties…

Well, maybe these are the meanings behind this quote, or maybe they’re not. I can’t be sure, not my quote. In fact, the quote itself is attributed to a couple different people including Eleanor Roosevelt and Hyman Rickover.

Whoever said it, they might agree with my breakdown. If they did, and if they followed me around in my day to day life, they would probably describe my mind as small with flashes of average. It’s strange though because I fancy myself, not as a great mind, but as someone deeply fascinated by ideas, and uninterested, even detested by so much else.

It’s my personal time, spent on Youtube or podcasts, where I consume my philosophy. My headphones are never tuned to popular music or radio, but often to the voice of a wise Rabbi. I love learning about the spiritual fabric of this thing we call the world around us. A debate on consciousness or ethics can captivate me for hours without any boredom. Yet I talk to almost no one about these things.

It’s just the stuff, it’s a ballgame on, and it’s an easy stab at someone’s obvious shortcomings… That’s what I choose to talk to others about. How small minded that is… how true this quote looks through my own eyes.

I wonder if or when it will be that I might mature? I wonder if growth and mental expansion will transfer this secret love of mine, from my inner world, or these few words online, to an actual conversation with a real human being?

Talking about wider concepts, questioning the reality of existence or where our thoughts come from, is so intriguing. But I hardly ever say that aloud.

I must thank my wife though, for entertaining me and my haywire ideas. She will go there, she will listen, she hears me out and challenges me too. One best friend, the best kind of best friend, my spouse, is open to my meandering mind. For that, I’m greatly appreciative.

For everyone else, I’m sorry. I’m not really giving you my whole self when we talk. I’ll keep it simple, and shallow and small-minded, but not because I like it that way. I’m just too afraid to try and go deeper. I apologize for that.

Until next week, let your great mindedness blossom, step away from the average, drop the small stuff like a bad habit, and thank God, for the breath within you speak from your heart.

Sincerely,

Aaron Nichols

How dare they! Those church people!

It was almost exactly 20 years ago tonight when I remember anguish and gut-ache over a seemingly simple task. I was reminded of it recently, as I was asked to write letters of recommendation for some of my high-school seniors that staff our restaurant.

Right now a few of them are scrambling to fill out forms and apply for local scholarships that are due tomorrow. I have emphasized to them that they would be smart to sign those forms. I told them somebody’s going to get the money, it might as well be them! It’s easy to say for me now. I know the benefits of saving on school tuition from my ‘old-man’ point of view.

It wasn’t quite the same though back when I was their age. I had a hesitant approach to the whole idea of writing down my merits in a letter and submitting it to a group of unknown people. I’m sure I was a self-defeatist, claiming within that there were tons of other more qualified candidates than me. Why waste my time filling out forms and including references when everybody else was more involved, more active and more scholarly than me!

There was one application for scholarship that I remember above all others. It actually bothered me to the core. I know that my mother asked over and over, for me to check into it. She was urging me to do it, and I didn’t want to. She probably even told me that almost anything I turned in would be accepted and I would receive some money for my freshman college year.

She wanted me to apply for the Westminster Presbyterian Church Scholarship opportunity. The premise of the application was simple. I think I had to fill out my name, and maybe some basics about school, but not much more than that. It wasn’t a competition for the highest GPA or the most enthusiastically extra-curricularly engaged.

I only really remember that the form required a response to a simple question. “What does God mean to You.”….

WHAT!!! WHOA!! HOW DARE YOU!!! HOW SCARY!! HOW PERSONAL!! How could I possibly answer a question like THAT!! And write it down for other people to read??? AND THOSE JUDGEMENTAL CHURCH PEOPLE!?!?! NO Way!

That about sums up my recollection of the response to that essay question. Really!

Back then, and for so many years of my teenage and young adult life, any conversation or thought experiment that circled close to the idea of God, and especially to church, was jarring emotionally to me. I immediately would exhume loads of past hurts and mental wounds. I was insecure and held onto regrets and inadequacies that I had experienced in relation to church. As a teenager,  I thought that I didn’t understand God at all and didn’t really want to. God was a tough subject for me altogether.

Because of all this inner turmoil, I felt guilty and wrong about my relationship with this ‘God’ character. At that moment in life, honestly answering that scholarship form question was terrifying.

Even now, to write my current answer for ‘What does God mean to You?’ could occupy this blog for weeks, for months, probably years of weekly posts. And in fact I’m sure it has. My stories in response to this question have been typed out over and over in many different ways, right onto these digital pages. Beyond typing, I would have to say that my personal actions and also inactions reveal my true soulful answer to this question. The shape and substance of my being itself is a literal and figurative response, as I go about my life, day-by-day.

I really cannot remember if I did write out an essay of application for that scholarship. I probably didn’t. I likely shirked it and avoided it until the deadline had passed, thus eliminating the chance of this terrible pain I imagined it would cause me.

I know now, as a member of the session of that very same church, that anything written with sincerity would have been accepted with Christian love. Even if the letter I crafted was nothing more than a rant on the injustices I’d felt toward God, as a typical awkward teenager, going thru a critical growing-up moment of life, they would have understood. If I did nothing more than list my questions and confusions about God, they would have understood. If I only had the guts to say that I wasn’t sure I actually believed in God, they would have understood. And they would have loved me for it anyway.

The people of my church would have been happy that I shared. They would have been willing to pray for me. They would have been part of the process of supporting a young person struggling with his beliefs.

This is what I know now, because I eventually did reach out and ask Jesus Christ to come into my life. These truths are now obvious to me, where they were confusing and unnerving before. This is part of what happens when God’s grace begins to work on you from within.

All that said, I have such a looooooong way to go, on this journey. Instead of a high school senior, it’s like I’m an infant newborn, when it comes to my relationship with Almighty God. I am crying in the darkness so often, so unsure that I’m being nurtured always. I wail whenever I’m slightly uncomfortable. I forget to calmly rely on God. I don’t tend and nuture even the tiniest ember of faith that could warm me through a cold winter’s night. I know though, that if I did, it would be so worth it.

Until next week my friends, reflect on these words that I learned from our Pastor Ron. “The Church is a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints.”

Sincerely,

Mr. Sinner Extraordinaire

Aaron Nichols