Monday, 08 December 2008

• Healing and Hope

  The word's been out for over a month now: my daughter's tree house is finally finished! The fact that Jeff B. and I didn't complete it until just past Halloween is probably one of the reasons few of our friends have actually seen it up close but countless folks have at least reviewed some of the pictures that I've posted here on my blog and also via my FB page. So the accolades we've received have been based on people's reactions to my photos, not merely trying to massage our egos.
  
  But even if a single picture is supposed to be worth a thousand words, none of my photos come close to explaining the almost indescribable sense of validation I received by constructing this elevated wooden recreational platform for our 9-year-old daughter Janessa. Since I've been meaning to blog about this for months, now's as good a time as any to try and describe what happened to me.
  
  The Three Fong Brothers. To those who know us, we're a pretty impressive trio of siblings. All of us are unusually articulate and are in professions where speaking with intelligence, wit, and persuasiveness are absolute requirements if you're going to be successful. Although we each have our own peculiar tastes, we're each recognized as 'stylish' dressers and possessors of high degrees of self-confidence and ego-strength. But only those closest to us know that all three of us are severely crippled when it comes to using our hands in constructive ways. Hand us a microphone in front of a large crowd and we are ready to captivate and convince. But hand any of us a hammer or a power saw and you will trigger waves of self-doubt and inferiority messages.
  
  Since I'm the oldest, I've been infected by this mechanical malady much longer and maybe even had it the worst. When I was my dad's only son, I can remember gamely trying to help him with whatever project he was working on at the time. This was a guy who had single-handedly built our family home, did all the repairs on the family cars and appliances, and literally forged his own pair of pliers back in the day. Dad was not only precociously adept with his hands, he was also a perfectionist. So when I would bend a nail or strip a screw's head or be unable to make sense out of engine, Dad would say "You're useless. Let me do that myself." I've carried his invalidating voice ever since then and so have both my younger brothers. I will say this, though. After I got married and we would buy furniture at those Scandinavian-based furniture stores that require expert-wielding of an Allen wrench and the ability to decipher exploded diagrams, I developed some measure of confidence about assembling those puzzles This summer, when I was staying with one of my brothers, I noticed a tell-tale large, flat cardboard boxes leaning up against the wall in the spare bedroom. My sister-in-law had bought a matching bookcase @ Cost Plus Imports several years ago but my brother couldn't muster the courage to unpack the new bookcase and put it together even though it was his books that were overloading the first bookcase. Brimming with a narrow measure of confidence, I volunteered to assemble that bookcase. After I finished, my sister-in-law remarked, "I don't know what it is about your brother. Every time I ask him to do something that involves tools, he sort of retreats into a sort of funk and never tackles the project, no matter how simple or small. Even hanging a picture on the wall is too much for him to handle."
  
  I had overcome that part of the malady but still was battling all kinds of self-defeating messages about my lack of ability to use tools. So it was beyond ludicrous for me, earlier this year, to become obsessed with building a tree house for Janessa.
  
  In case you haven't noticed, kids today hardly ever play outside. And when they do, it's typically through some sort of organized league with uniforms. I was concerned that Janessa wasn't spending enough time outside playing by herself or with her friends. She preferred to park herself in front of the big screen TV or cruise the internet. I announced to my wife back in January, "Janessa needs to go outside and play more. We've got this huge backyard and she doesn't seem to want to play out there. I'll bet if I built her a tree house, she'd love to play in the backyard." Knowing full-well that she married a man who doesn't build or fix things, she replied, "How's that supposed to happen? You just can't go out and hire some day laborers to build Janessa a tree house." "That'll be my problem. But I'm going to build her a tree house." Over six months later, the tree house is done and I've acquired some carpentry tools, skills, and necessary confidence.
  
  Now that the project is finished (and you can see some new pics on this page), I can honestly say that God used it to validate two crucial aspects of my life:
  
  1) My dad's 'curse' wasn't true nor was it permanent. Sure I bent some nails, stripped some screws and didn't always make the straightest cuts with the Skilsaw. But neither did my friend(s) who partnered with me. I learned that it's wise to buy more screws or nails than you need because you're bound to make mistakes. Having a box full of spares breeds confidence. The one friend who was absolutely essential to turn this dream into a reality is also a perfectionist. The biggest difference? He's not my dad. Plus, he's working hard on not being such a perfectionist. So there was a solid psychological symbiosis happening between us. Dad's way too frail even to fly down to SoCal to see what I've done (rats!) but I showed him pictures when I was up in Sactown last month. "Gee, you built that? It looks really good and sturdy." That compliment, plus the fact that I was able to "talk shop" with Dad was an amazing gift from God.
  
  2) Building this tree house also was a way for God to validate how he's inspired me to lead others, especially EvergreenLA. When I became the senior pastor in 1996 I didn't have a clear and compelling strategic plan, just like I never had a plan on paper for how to build the tree house. What I did have in both cases was a compelling vision of a preferable future. God gave me a compelling vision for a Faith Village, a unique social community whose life together serves as both a picture and a preview of what God is doing in and for all creation. I didn't have a road map, only a captured imagination. I didn't need to know exactly HOW we were going to become a Faith Village or build my daughter a safe and fun tree house. In both cases, I started talking about the preferable futures everywhere. Jeff Bradshaw heard me talk enthusiastically about building Janessa and her friends a safe and fun tree house. He'd built an amazing one the summer after he graduated from high school and couldn't wait to tackle another one nearly 40 years later. He came over and, after we selected the tree, climbed up and sat in the main fork of the old avocado tree, waiting for the tree to 'tell' us what kind of tree house it would let us build. We began with different design notions but knew that we'd have to construct a solid foundation first, so we got started on the three-primary support legs and floor joists. The end result doesn't look like what either of us envisioned at the start but we both agree that it reflects our respective sensibilities while also being far better than either of us originally were imagining. All this is to say that you, your church or just about any organization doesn't have to wait until they concoct the 'perfect' strategic plan. Let yourselves be so captured by God's vision of his coming future that it gets you off the couch and out there talking it up and eventually hammering. Even if you end up bending a bunch of nails.
  
  pken.
  
  ps: My favorite response to those who ask "Did you download the blueprints from the internet?" is "No, because our TREE isn't on the internet."
  

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