A long, long time ago, I was a linebacker for the East High Thunderbirds. Depending on the defensive scheme we were running, I followed the quarterback's eyes or the tailback's hips. I tried to keep from getting blindsided by offensive linemen resembling Mack trucks. Regardless of what play transpired, it was always appropriate to put everything you had into a tackle. If you didn't get a "stinger" or tingling sensation after each collision, something was wrong.
Fast forward to mid-life and the more somber "sport" of golf, which I'm stumbling my way through as I find the time and spare change. Swinging the club as hard as possible might make your friends laugh but it generally gets you into really embarrassing places on the course.
The irony of the golf swing is that as you slow it down, the ball travels farther and more accurately. Following the few precious good shots I've had, I find myself thinking I had barely swung.
I'm starting to learn about deeper paradoxes.
Although a little early for my liking, my 10-year-old daughter is starting to take an interest in boys. She's a hockey player so she still likes to rough them up at recess, but the natural and gradual turn is starting to unfold. At Grandma's, she watches the Disney Channel and, more often than not, some show is trying to force-feed her an adult theme.
Today, although there are exceptions, Disney producers try to pry open kids' heads and fill them with mature subjects. Relationship angst, cynicism toward adults, and sexual innuendo are the norm.
The brilliance of Walt Disney was that he knew what was in a child's mind and knew even better how to transfer that to the big screen. He exploited the good things like wide-eyed wonder and pure excitement. In holding back gratuitous and age-inappropriate material, he actually gave our children much more. Walt knew all too well that innocence flees quickly enough.
My 7-year-old boy is a Lego fanatic, and the more he has, the more he wants. Ultimately, the dresser drawers full of every color, size and shape of Lego do not satisfy him. I am learning, and attempting to convey to him, that more is not always better. By giving away toys and emptying his Lego drawer to others who have less or none at all, he gains immeasurably.
The paradoxes I'm discovering with my kids have moved into the spiritual realm. As a man, I want to have control over life by providing for my family and playing the "warrior role": lowering my shoulder pad and feeling the pain; just one more rep on the bench press or one last jab to win the debate.
God, however, says that his power is made perfect in our Achilles' heel. Paul tells the Corinthians that he will "boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me" and that he will "delight in weaknesses, hardships, and difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong."
How's that for a paradox?
Speaking of weak spots, I've had some difficulty lately with the whole forgiveness thing. People who offend, attack or ignore you deserve to be snubbed, don't they?
Solomon, the wisest man who ever lived, had something else in mind. He said to feed and water your enemies when they're hungry and thirsty and that it is to a man's glory to overlook an offense.
In other words, lowering yourself to love your enemies elevates your spirit. Oh, the irony.
In the end, this shouldn't come as a surprise to those clinging to the cross. Just as our old nature must die before we can be made new, God himself became lowly and humble -- even dying a criminal's death -- only to be raised up to heaven's heights and given a name above every other name. The wounds and pain he endured offer healing to us all.
When life's rejections, disappointments and bruises surround us, that paradox is one that provides a peace that passes all understanding.
Jim Minnery is a Community Voices columnist. He is founder and president of Alaska Family Council.
