More Wind Than Anchors
Usually, when I'm driving, while mindless radio drones on in the background, I think about the state of affairs in America, my claim to be a Christian, and if the two will ever be compatible again. Also entering my mind yesterday were the thousands of baseball cards I’m trying to unload.
The countless and worthless baseball cards in my closet are clearly an artifact of my youth. I’m slowly putting them on eBay and am resolved to put them in the recycle bin if they don’t sell. While part of me wants to keep them “in case they’re worth something someday,” I remind myself that those were the same thoughts I had when I was ten. The difference is that when I was ten, the cards were actually worth something. Now, recycling them is the best play. These cards were mass-produced in the 1990’s, making them worth less than the newspaper that lines my cats’ litter box. But am I resolved to sell, as I need to own more wind than anchors.
While I struggle to find the connection between American capitalism as it’s practiced and the life of Jesus as it’s written, I have realized that one way I live out my relationship with Jesus is in what I own. In my short life, I have already seen that what we own ends up owning us, and that the pursuit of money really makes you just chase your own tail. But, if we believe that Jesus dares us to chart the open waters rather than wade on the shoreline, we need more wind than anchors.
Anchors are necessary on boats. On my cruise, I was amazed that anchors and ropes could hold a thousand-something-ton ship in place as if it were a dog being told to sit. While walking the gangway to set foot on the Bahamas, I had no fear that the large boat would suddenly jerk left and be buoyed out to sea. Anchors provide safety, security and predictably. They signify commitment and sometimes complacency. Although they keep us grounded, they do not allow us to stretch our legs and embrace notions of exploration and discovery.
In contrast, wind is the fuel the sailboat needs to make its way on the waters. When the sail is hoisted and the captain is at the helm, the ocean is your oyster. As the breeze blows harder, the boat picks up steam and barrels towards the horizon. Yes, the water gets choppier and the ride becomes a little bouncier. But the turbulence can make you feel alive. The wind in your face and hair give you a certain confidence and risk that only come with untamed gusts. The risk is greater, but so is the reward.
So many of our possessions in America only serve as anchors. Smart Christians invest in wind, knowing that the call on our lives to follow Jesus is one daring, adventurous, and unpredictable call. This notion hits me hardest, because as much as I want to be like those who box up their lives to travel the earth or sell everything and then follow Jesus, I can’t bring myself to pull up all the anchors and raise the sails. I try my best to buy wind when I can (books that make me smarter, coffee with a friend who I haven’t seen in a while, movies that speak to the heart), but invariably I am lured by the prospects inside Brookstone, Home Depot, and yes, even Pottery Barn.
One of my resolutions of 2006 and the next quarter century of my life is to live simply. I do this not by buying fewer things or just spending less money. I do this by thinking about the things I buy and whether or not these purchases get me farther out on the open ocean with Jesus. Little by little, I’m trying to get rid of the anchors in my life. If you want some of them, just visit eBay or your local Goodwill. I’ll be out sailing.
The countless and worthless baseball cards in my closet are clearly an artifact of my youth. I’m slowly putting them on eBay and am resolved to put them in the recycle bin if they don’t sell. While part of me wants to keep them “in case they’re worth something someday,” I remind myself that those were the same thoughts I had when I was ten. The difference is that when I was ten, the cards were actually worth something. Now, recycling them is the best play. These cards were mass-produced in the 1990’s, making them worth less than the newspaper that lines my cats’ litter box. But am I resolved to sell, as I need to own more wind than anchors.
While I struggle to find the connection between American capitalism as it’s practiced and the life of Jesus as it’s written, I have realized that one way I live out my relationship with Jesus is in what I own. In my short life, I have already seen that what we own ends up owning us, and that the pursuit of money really makes you just chase your own tail. But, if we believe that Jesus dares us to chart the open waters rather than wade on the shoreline, we need more wind than anchors.
Anchors are necessary on boats. On my cruise, I was amazed that anchors and ropes could hold a thousand-something-ton ship in place as if it were a dog being told to sit. While walking the gangway to set foot on the Bahamas, I had no fear that the large boat would suddenly jerk left and be buoyed out to sea. Anchors provide safety, security and predictably. They signify commitment and sometimes complacency. Although they keep us grounded, they do not allow us to stretch our legs and embrace notions of exploration and discovery.
In contrast, wind is the fuel the sailboat needs to make its way on the waters. When the sail is hoisted and the captain is at the helm, the ocean is your oyster. As the breeze blows harder, the boat picks up steam and barrels towards the horizon. Yes, the water gets choppier and the ride becomes a little bouncier. But the turbulence can make you feel alive. The wind in your face and hair give you a certain confidence and risk that only come with untamed gusts. The risk is greater, but so is the reward.
So many of our possessions in America only serve as anchors. Smart Christians invest in wind, knowing that the call on our lives to follow Jesus is one daring, adventurous, and unpredictable call. This notion hits me hardest, because as much as I want to be like those who box up their lives to travel the earth or sell everything and then follow Jesus, I can’t bring myself to pull up all the anchors and raise the sails. I try my best to buy wind when I can (books that make me smarter, coffee with a friend who I haven’t seen in a while, movies that speak to the heart), but invariably I am lured by the prospects inside Brookstone, Home Depot, and yes, even Pottery Barn.
One of my resolutions of 2006 and the next quarter century of my life is to live simply. I do this not by buying fewer things or just spending less money. I do this by thinking about the things I buy and whether or not these purchases get me farther out on the open ocean with Jesus. Little by little, I’m trying to get rid of the anchors in my life. If you want some of them, just visit eBay or your local Goodwill. I’ll be out sailing.
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Comment (1)
8:58 AM
Happy Sailing friend!
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