Live Like You Are Alive

(For an explanation of what I mean by pixels and pixel #1, go here)

Pixel #2: Living Isn’t Not Dying.

That may not seem to be the most mind-blowing statement, but I don't think many people get this.  I know that when I reflect, this isn't how I actually view life, and from what I observe in others, I don’t think I’m alone. And while it isn't completely clear to me, I’m pretty sure I’m on to something here. 

It’s like when you are heading out the door to the zoo so your son (I'll call him Johnny) can go see Simba (all lions are Simba).  Before you leave, you check your bag for the 3rd time because you’re sure you’ve forgotten something, but everything looks right, so you apprehensively head out anyway. Sometime about three hours later, you’re standing next to the lion exhibit with Johnny wishing that the obnoxious family with the ice cream would quit showing up at the same exhibits and proceeding to the front of the viewing area as if all you were there for was to hold their places while they stopped at another snack kiosk about which you just told your son “no” for the 347^th time.  You’ve spent the last 20 minutes standing in the sun trying to point out how that dirt colored lump differs from the rest of the dirt colored surroundings, convincing Johnny the aforementioned dirt colored, inanimate blob that looks like a discarded carpet remnant is actually the same animal as Disney’s majestic movie star, and internally cursing these big cats for acting like, well, big cats.  You are on the verge of giving up on the lions and caving in to the repeated requests for ice cream, partly due to the futility of the lion-spotting exercise and partly because while standing on the pavement, in the sun, arguing with Johnny, your body temperature has risen to 103.7 degrees, when you triumphantly notice movement: the subtle, (can I say catlike?) twitch of a feline ear.   But as you are asking Johnny if he has noticed the smoking gun in your case for the existence of the lions (because an ear twitch has now become the equivalent of Simba roaring from a rocky ledge while Elton John sings in the background), you notice that Johnny has long since ceased watching the mound of dirt that his parents have been lying to him about.  Instead, his covetous stare is directed at the bratty girl with the ice cream, which just about pushes you over the edge into the oblivion of insanity when he says, “My skin hurts.”

“Oh, #@%!  I forgot the sunscreen,” you say.  To which the obnoxious family with the ice cream glares disapprovingly at your clear lack of parenting skill and ushers their daughter away to protect her sensitive ears.

So, just like when you know you are forgetting something on the way to the zoo, I’m pretty sure I’m on to something here.  And here it is.  Drum roll.

All of us die.  Death is part of life.  But unlike death which none of us choose and which will happen to each of us whether we like it or not; unlike death you have to choose to live.

Okay, this probably needs some unpacking. 

Think of it this way:  From the moment you are born, every passing moment of your life, you are closer to death.  The very nature of mortality means that every second we are alive is one less second we have left.  So, basically, from a physical point of view, we spend our whole lives dying.  I don’t know how much time people spend thinking about this.  I suspect it is more prevalent than we admit to others, because while we may think about it, who wants to talk about it?  It’s depressing. 

“Hey.  How about those Seahawks?”

“Yeah.  Man, they look good.  I hope they fix their offensive line this year, though.”

"Yeah.  Me too, because, you know, they are all closer to dead.”

[sound of pin dropping]

Maybe this is why I’m not invited to parties.

So whether we think about it or not, we don’t think about it. Instead, we fight it.  We deny it.  But it shapes how we live.  Or maybe it is just me.  It shapes how I live.  In fact, I think it shapes my life precisely because I don’t want to think out it; precisely because I deny it.  

You know why I think this is true?  Children and the elderly.  (Why is there no better phrase for "old people" than "the elderly"?  "Old people" doesn't sound very nice, but... Never mind.  Save that pixel for another time.)

Unlike adults, children live as though they are alive.  They live in blissful ignorance to their own ticking clock.  They don’t understand their mortality.  They don’t think about dying.  You can see it in the way they eat.  (You can tell a lot about how someone views life by how he/she eats.)  I ask my son Jack what he wants to eat and he knows:  Fondi’s pizza.  Does he want to try a new place? No.  Does he want to try some new toppings? No.  Does he believe that there might be a better pizza place somewhere else?  No.  It doesn't matter.  He knows what he likes.  He either has no concept of missing out or he doesn't care.  At some point, people who understand their mortality (adults) shift from thinking about what makes them happy to thinking about what opportunities they may have missed.  Children don’t do this.  It doesn’t matter if there is something better out there.

They don't even want good things improved.  Jack likes chocolate.  Chocolate is good.   Does he want to try salted-caramel-bacon-chocolate?  No.  And it doesn’t matter whether it is good for them or not. Kids don’t care about what is good for them.  They don’t want to learn to like broccoli.  They aren’t trying to prolong their lives.  They are just living them.

The same can be said for old people (I’m not going to say elderly anymore). They also live as though they are alive.  However, unlike children, they don't do this out of ignorance.  Old people live because they know they are going to die.  (Ever notice that old people often eat a lot like kids?  My dad goes hunting and packs just the staples: Cheetos and Snickers.)  They don’t have time for wasting it on things that aren’t worthwhile.  Unlike children, sometimes this manifests as trying new things, but more often I notice the opposite: They stick to what they have leaned is good, to what they enjoy. Old people know what they like.  They know what they value.  They paint or bike or travel.  They spend time with their kids, their grandkids, their dogs, whomever.  Like a kid getting sick on chocolate, it doesn’t always result in the best choices, but I think many of them simply don’t want to spend the time they have left doing things that don’t bring them life.  The clock is ticking.

I don’t live like this.  I live like an adult.  Funny word, adult.  The Latin root for adult means dead.

That’s a lie.  Adult doesn't mean dead, but it would have made a good point.  The Latin is actually adultus which means matured, but it should mean dead, because rather than living a matured life, a life characterized by being in the prime of strength and vitality, a life that looks like Simba roaring from a rocky ledge, I live a life that is indicative of caution and fear and denial. (So maybe matured does mean dead.) 

I’m 43 years old. I’m in the heart of adulthood, and for all intents and purposes, I am dying.  My metabolism is slowing down.  My testosterone levels are dropping.  I don’t create muscle mass as I once did.  I don’t learn as I once did. I don’t remember as I once did.  I don’t sleep as I once did.  I don’t live as I once did.

I plan.  I worry.  I hedge.  I protect.

My life is not characterized by what brings life or joy.  It is characterized by risk management.

Diet.  Exercise.  Budget.  Savings.  Sunscreen (SPF 193).

But this isn't living.  This is trying not to die.  This is trying to avoid the unavoidable.  This is denial.

My son Jack plays a lot of sports.  He loves them, and despite being very coordinated and having exceptional balance, one of the biggest struggles for him in sports is staying on his feet.  Basketball, Soccer, Football, Baseball, no matter the sport, he throws himself on the ground.  Getting a rebound or kicking the ball, or making the grab at the flag, or catching the fly ball...  Over the past few years, I have spent an inordinate amount of time explaining to him that "losing your feet" isn't okay.  In short, it doesn't increase your chance of making the play, and it significantly decreases your ability to react to the situation after the play.  This is all true.  This is good coaching.  And because coaches are adults, this is risk management.

All Jack wants to do is make the spectacular diving catch.  He is trying to squeeze every ounce of life out of the moment.  He isn't concerned that in doing so, the runner at 2nd tags and scores.  He made the play!  The other children cheer.  They talk about it in the dugout.  The adults though (even the 9 year old adults), they remind Jack that he cost the team a run; that the smarter play was to hold up and play the ball off the bounce.  And just like that, Jack begins to die.

In Matthew 5:13, Jesus says that, as Christians, we are called to be salty.  That un-salty salt is worthless. Kids are salty.  They bring joy to those around them.  They live.  Dead adults are worthless.

I think that is part of the reason that in Matthew 18:3, Jesus also says we should be like children.  You know what this implies?  That at some point, we grow up, and we stop living.  Adults lose their saltiness.  We become aware of nutrition.  We become aware of our mortality.  We structure our lives to avoid risk: risk of pain, risk of sadness, risk of failure, risk of rejection.  We cover our inadequacies so people don't see our weaknesses.  We make friends, but don't let them close.  We marry, but we hold back bits of our lives to ourselves.  We have children, and we raise them to be adults.

Some say that the good news of Jesus Christ is that he died to save us from our sin.  That he paid the price for us.  This is how an adult views the Gospel.  That God would send His son to die so that I don't have to. And some of you even now are thinking "Of course that is the good news!"

But it isn't.

John 3:16 says "For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life" (emphasis mine).  John 10:10  says "the thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full" (again, emphasis mine).  The gospel isn't about avoiding death. It is about living.

Jesus doesn't save us so we don't die.  He saves us so that we may live, because life without Christ is pretty bland.  It is distinctly un-salty.  It is full of worry and risk management.  It is a purely physical life which is just a slow process of dying.

Near the end of his life, Paul wrote in 2 Timothy 4:7 "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith."

That's how I want to go out.

Because I am going out.  I can't avoid it.  I can't manage that risk away.  I can't choose not to die.

However, I can choose to live.  I can be salty.  I can flavor my life and the lives of those with whom I come into contact.

I can dive for the ball.