The Spiritual Wanderings of a Famous Author

I went to see Les Misérables a few days ago. Amazing Film. And in the interest of full disclosure, I unashamedly cried like my three-year-old in several places throughout the film.

There’s a story about Victor Hugo that few people know. I stumbled across it  a few years ago and I couldn’t help thinking about it as I watched the film. Hugo grew up as the son of an atheist father and a devout Catholic mother. Initially, he found spiritual meaning in the Catholic Church but over time he found himself wandering into the “spiritual but not religious” movement of that day: Mesmerism. People who embraced Mesmerism were looking for some of the same “buzzwords” you might hear today: holism, spiritual encounter, empowerment, connection and, above all, meaning.

Steeped in political activism, Hugo was exiled to the Channel Islands in the early 1850s where he penned some of his most famous works, including Les Misérables. But also while there, he continued to grieve over the death of his only daughter, Léopoldine, some ten years earlier. Though Hugo was technically a rationalist on paper, he saw Mesmerism as a way to make contact with his own dear “Cosette.” So using a Mesmerist trance medium, he reached out to his daughter in the afterlife. There are records of Hugo’s séances.  They cite him pitifully pleading with his deceased daughter saying,

“Do you see the suffering of those who love you?”

It’s interesting to me that when Hugo reached for spiritual and emotional comfort, he did not embrace the formal religion of his youth. Rather, he sought contact with the spirit world through alternative spirituality. Someone who might be hailed as the political conscience of a entire country – like Hugo was – was really just like everyone else. He was simply a human trying to make sense of the world around him in the midst of tragedy and loss. He was simply someone willing to take risks to find a way to connect with God when more conventional means of religiosity had failed him time and again.

There’s a line in the song Red and Black that lodged in my memory as I watched the film the other day. As a political rebel fighting for a cause, Enjorlas chides the love-sick Marius, “But now there is a higher call. Who cares about your lonely soul?” But personally, Hugo was staging his own inner spiritual revolt on the Channel Islands while writing Les Misérables. And the question follows, is there really any higher call than each person’s desire to connect with God? Maybe the result of Hugo’s spiritual quest was unconventional. But we must admire someone who is willing to continue to look for something beyond what he could see.

My New Year’s Resolution

I like older people. Much of the time, they are content with where they are and they have an ease about them that makes one drop their defenses quickly. They don’t smirk either…they give you big, wide smiles, savoring them while they share a moment of laughter. They also have incredible B.S. detectors that can be set off at a moment’s notice. Don’t mess with them – they will call your bluff. Older people often have a simple wisdom that can be applied to most any complex situation in life. But most are not begging to give advice to others – they are simply content to live with what life has already taught them and we are presently learning.

I love watching parents turn into grandparents and the slow but steady shift in perspective this creates. Much of the responsibility (and headache) of parenting is gone and all that remains is a simple joy in providing unconditional love to a young child. And, with it, an unending supply of sentimentality and nostalgia. For grandparents, it’s amazing how quickly their nostalgia “filter’ can find and resting place over the most difficult of family situations. Sometimes I wonder if they see life through the warm and glowing lens of Hallmark Channel camera.

We have not had the easiest year. Life threw the kitchen sink at us. And in the past year I have not savored the love and liveliness of a beautiful wife and four children. I haven’t been a “bad” father or husband. I simply realize that there have been times when I was distracted by less important things. And that has caused me to live life somewhere other than in the immediate present.

I don’t normally do the New Year’s resolution thing. But I’m making an important one this year. My resolution this coming year is to live life with the sentimentality and nostalgia of someone double my age. It’s to imagine the fondness with which I will remember these very moments much later in life and transport that same fondness into the present. To revisit memories that, though they seemed bleak at the time, turned out to be powerful moments of grace in my life. And I’m not waiting until the New Year to make the change. There are many chances for “old” Sam to influence “young” Sam’s worldview in the next two weeks. Hopefully, my New Year’s “exercise” will turn into a lifelong habit. Feel free to try it with me.

Three Kinds of Friends

Still thinking about people and relationships. Here’s a follow-up post to Two Kinds of People.

Friendship is an elusive category. Not only de we have a difficult time perceiving people’s true intentions and motivations, we also find it difficult to sustain the friendships we aready have. Confession time: I am not the world’s greatest friend. I will let months pass before I make contact with people dear to me all the while believing the relationship won’t suffer. It’s a serious emotional “blind spot.” Fortunately, many of my closest friends understand this about me and continue to initiate conversation. Thank God for good friends.

 

There’s an old adage that says, “If you can count the number of true friends on one hand, you’re a fortunate soul.” I am very blessed to have more than a handful of people who care deeply about me. Some of them are longtime friends or relatives. Others are ministers – mentors and peers – from all over the U.S. And then there is a group I just “click with.” They “get” me. At the risk of sounding hokey, I think part of this is due to spiritual connection…a shade of explanation often lost when talking about why friendships last. I’ve also had people disappear from my life that I thought would be there forever. Though none of this is new to anyone, I’ve narrowed down friendship to three basic kinds. Understanding these has helped me define relationships and temper expectations for friendship. I thought I’d share them with you:

1) Friends of Mutual Accommodation - This the broadest field of friendship and may be little more than acquaintances…but often times there is more to it. By mutual accommodation I mean that these friendships are only as stable as our ability to meet the other person’s need. Once you can no longer provide the “upside” you once brought to the relationship, then the relationship fails. Sadly, most people come to friendship with the perspective that a friend is only as good as his or her ability to make us feel popular, attractive, or important. But none of these things has anything to do with real friendship. Our culture drives these shallow friendships.

2) Proximity Friends - I remember the first time I left a work environment. I assumed that the friendships there would last. Barring the occasional exception, they didn’t. I assumed these were deeper friendships than they were. Then I began to think, “Maybe something’s wrong with me.” But actually they were just proximity friends. By that I simply mean that we gain friendships based on our access to people. Rotary, Junior Service League, co-workers, church, the gym, etc. These friendships last only to the extent that we are a part of someone’s everyday routine and location. When “ease of access” disappears so does the friendship. A hurried lifestyle and convenience drives these friendships.

3) True Friends - True friendship is not tied to a person’s “upside” or to convenience. In fact, to have true friendship, we must discard all the motivations that drive the first two categories. So, there’s risk involved. Friendship exists simply because of an acceptance and a commitment to someone. These are the friendships you travel to maintain. These are the ones where the “surface talk” disappears quickly and an openness pervades the conversation. There’s no need for masks – no need to pretend you’re something you’re not. Weakness and struggle are not taboo topics. These are the friendships that have progressed and changed as the people inside them have changed. Some of the best clues are when others comment, “I never would have thought the two of you would be such good friends.” Or better yet, when someone asks how you became friends, you stare at each other and say “I’m not exactly sure…”

Circles of friendship and influence ebb and flow – that’s part of life. But don’t let anything hinder those true friendships God has placed in your life. They are the bedrock of a fulfilling life.

Refusing to Grow Up

Childhood is fun. Of course, when we are children, we think that there is some greater significance in being an adult. Then we become adults…and we become nostalgic for our childhood days, friends, and activities. The truth is that growing up sucks big time. No one tells you why being an adult is so difficult. But at the risk of sounding simplistic I see one big difference between adulthood and childhood: a well-honed ability to conceal our deeper emotions and hide our true selves. Getting to this state is a grueling process. We slam our fingers in the emotional “doors” of life at home, school, work and church until we figure out that it’s not safe to be emotionally available to others…or at least not on a deep level. Girls become superficial and guys become “commitmentphobic.” And then we make a big life decision. Not the big ones you are thinking of though this one impacts all the others. We decide to share only 10% of who we are with others. Why only 10%? Because those are the only parts of us we can control in public. And the other 90% turns into anxiety, concealed rage, depression, and addiction.

Depressing, huh? Yep.

God never designed us to live this way. He thinks you’re okay. But part of adulthood is conceding to the fact that others don’t think you are. They criticize, judge, and manipulate to prove this to you. Sadly, Jesus bled out on a cross to show you the exact opposite. Could that be true? It’s a risk to believe something so radical. I came across this quote in Dallas Willard’s book, The Divine Conspiracy. He describes mature spirituality in a way that seems foreign to what we encounter daily:

Interestingly, ‘growing up’ is largely a matter of learning to hide our spirit behind our face, eyes, and language so that we can evade and manage to achieve what we want and avoid what we fear.  By contrast, the child’s face is a constant epiphany because it doesn’t yet know how to do this.  It cannot manage its face.  This is also true of adults in moments of great feeling–which is one reason why feeling is both greatly treasured and greatly feared.  Those who have attained considerable spiritual stature are frequently noted for their ‘childlikeness.’  What this really means is that they do not use their face and body to hide their spiritual reality.  In their body they are genuinely present to those around them.  That is a great spiritual attainment or gift.”

There’s no need to be afraid of who we truly are. If you haven’t made a New Year’s Resolution yet, here’s one to consider. Refuse to grow up. Refuse to hide the best of who you are from others. Be childlike…so much so that your emotional and spiritual states shine through your body and facial expressions. Say “no thanks” to intimidation, social pressure, and shame…and just be you.

Life Lessons with Johnny Cash

My children really enjoy listening to Johnny Cash. I do, too. The story lines in his songs are great – some of that stuff is difficult to play, too. My oldest daughter really likes “Walk the Line.”  I’m not sure if it’s the subtleness of the melody as the chords make their way around a modified circle of fifths or the droning precision of the rhythm section. A very well-crafted song.

From a theological perspective, it’s the lyrics that fascinate me though. Here are some of them:

I find it very, very easy to be true
I find myself alone when each day is through
Yes, I’ll admit that I’m a fool for you
Because you’re mine, I walk the line

You’ve got a way to keep me on your side
You give me cause for love that I can’t hide
For you I know I’d even try to turn the tide
Because you’re mine, I walk the line

To me, the lyrics of this song really capture an understanding of relational holiness. Now, when I say “holiness,” most people think of a list of tasks that Christians must do in order to find acceptance in God’s sight. Or they attribute the holiness of God to the idea that because God is holy (read: better than us) he, in the words of Plato, “mingles not with man.” Of course, all this does is make God seem unapproachable. But I think Johnny Cash does a pretty good job of portraying an accurate view of what God is hoping for among us.

In all of these lyrics, the speaker “walks the line” in response to the generosity, kindness, actions, and support of the one he/she loves. It’s “easy to be true” to one who loves you so much – Cash describes the ease of resisting temptation based on the goodness of his lover. When we have “cause for love,” our response (if we are fully invested in that love relationship) is one of reciprocity. It becomes effortless to “walk the line” when we’re enraptured with the beauty of the one we intently gaze upon. Nothing else seems to matter. When those factors are in place, then the behavior that reflects that relationship naturally follows. And that, my friends, is relationally-based holiness – a sign of transformation, not conformity to rules. Natural, comfy, peaceful, uncomplicated, honest, and open.

Holy living is not the goal of the Christian walk. Relationship is. And changes in our behavior are signs that encourage us that we are one the right track. But if we only focus on the signs, we ignore the Sign-maker. That’s a great way to make sure we never see the personal changes we’re hoping for. Look at it this way: the Ten Commandments (at least for the Christian walking in grace) are no longer “commandments” – goals for outward conformity. They become the Ten Promises. They represent the natural results that occur when someone is infatuated with Jesus. They are not coerced or “willed” into being. They are engendered by a deep trust in God. Wrapped in the arms of a loving God, we find it “very, very easy to be true.”

LeBron, Nick Saban and the Prophets

Here’s a strange post for you.  Occasionally I find a recurring theme in the media that so reminds me of a theological topic that I have trouble seeing the two ideas separately. That has happened in a sports scenario recently. As all sports fans know, LeBron James is returning to Cleveland tomorrow night to face the team and fans who feel betrayed with his departure to the Miami Heat. Everybody’s nervous. And rightfully so. There are few things more unnerving than a “spurned lover.” And for James, the entire city of Cleveland feels this way. No, it makes no difference that LeBron had every right to pursue a career change that promised more than his current situation. Don’t tell that to the people burning his jersey (or better yet, watch this video).

 Same thing happened when Nick Saban returned to collegiate coaching after a stint in the NFL. Saban accepted a position at the University of Alabama. Great Job. Only one problem. His former school – LSU – was in the same SEC division. Upon Saban’s return to Baton Rouge in 2008, fans decided to burn Saban in effigy at a pep rally. Not a pretty sight. But it still reflects the “spurned lover” idea in the Cleveland scenario. Both of these events speak to something more universal than sports. We often identify with those things that we feel bring us significance. And the place that explores the “spurned lover” idea the most is the prophetic books of the Old Testament.

Now, lots of people in the evangelical tradition read Isaiah or Micah solely through the lens of Messianic prediction – as if the only reason the prophetic books are in the Bible are to proof text on Jesus’ behalf. Bad move. Essentially the prophetic books are to rehearse the emotional hurt and betrayal that God feels. Descriptions of “whoredom,” idolatry, and rebellious behavior inform all these passages. What God is usually trying to say through them is “I am so hurt that I am angry.” In essence, God comes across as a spurned lover who by opening himself up to become vulnerable to humans has his hopes for fidelity and spiritual “monogamy” constantly trashed. Anyone who has felt that level of personal betrayal understands this wrath. Physical harm rarely occurs, but betrayal often hurts so deeply that it expresses itself in a tirade of emotions. Outrageous love when rejected produces emotional devastation. See Isaiah 1:21; Jeremiah 2:20, 25:3-7; I think the passages quoted below from Hosea sum it up best (6:4-6, 11:3-4, 8-9). Read it with the emotion of your first high school crush and you’ll get the picture:

“O Israel and Judah, what should I do with you?” asks the Lord.
“For your love vanishes like the morning mist and disappears like dew in the sunlight.
 I sent my prophets to cut you to pieces—to slaughter you with my words, with judgments as inescapable as light.
 I want you to show love,  not offer sacrifices.  I want you to know me more than I want burnt offerings.

I myself taught Israel how to walk, leading him along by the hand.  But he doesn’t know or even care  that it was I who took care of him. I led Israel along with my ropes of kindness and love.  I lifted the yoke from his neck, and I myself stooped to feed him.

“Oh, how can I give you up, Israel?   How can I let you go?  My heart is torn within me,  and my compassion overflows.
No, I will not unleash my fierce anger.  I will not completely destroy Israel,  for I am God and not a mere mortal.
I am the Holy One living among you,  and I will not come to destroy.”

So, describing God’s anger is a way for the prophets to convey God’s deep hurt when he is rejected by his creation. Other Old Testament passages show him weeping and obsessing over whether the Israelites will respond to his romantic overtures, like a girl waiting for a phone call from a boy. Even Jesus wept over the people who refused to hear his message. In Luke 13:34, he imitates the prophets by saying that he wished to tenderly gather his people to him like “a hen gathers her chicks under her wings.” He also imitates the anger of God’s rejection in Matthew 11:20-24 by shouting death threats at Tyre and Sidon. Essentially, Jesus blurts out the emotion of the Father, like a young man shaking his fists in the air shouting, “You’ll pay for this!” as his girlfriend rides off in a car with another guy. Both examples reflect the love of God that he desperately wants to show all people. If God’s definitive characteristic is love, then the anger we read in the Bible flows out of that love. That’s not to say that there aren’t consequences for actions on earth. But it does mean that love finds a way to meet people where they are and enable them to walk in relationship with God. And that’s what the prophets are all about: the heart of a spurned Lover.

In Case You Have Forgotten…Again…

More random thoughts from my brain that may mean something to you.

There’s a difference between being nice and being kind. They are not the same. Niceness has to do with telling others what you think they want to hear. It’s a vehicle for social context and it rarely, if ever, rocks the boat. God has called us to something else: kindness. Kindness is honest and originates from a heart deeply invested in the well-being of another. Kindness has many faces – it can provide shelter for the homeless or it can confront the addict. Both are done out of a spirit of love (I Cor. 13:4; Eph. 4:32). Being nice is often concerned with making people like us. But some of the greatest moments of kindness will be met with violent reaction. Kindness involves sacrifice and risk…of resources, reputation, or time. It can make people uncomfortable…because kindness thinks outside the box on occasion to meet the needs of others. Kindness serves the deeper purpose of loving others. And it reflects the heart of God. 

Pathological optimism is a good thing. I heard the term “pathological optimist” from an interview with Wikipedia founder Jimmy Wales. I liked it. It represents someone who isn’t afraid of thinking on the bright side…constantly. Of believing that any one person can change their environment for the better. We can all do that. And we can all choose to be unafraid of the unknowns. Anyone can tell you the reasons why a good idea might not work. Where’s the originality in that? That idea you have swimming around in the back of your brain? You should act on it. You’re capable. You don’t have to be neurotic to believe the best about others and about your own abilities (Phil. 2:3-4). You don’t have to be neurotic to believe that you’re the focus of God’s intense and personal love. It’s already true. If believing the truth in a sea of bet-hedging, risk assessing, conventionalists is pathological, then come join me in the asylum.

In the end, all we have is our integrity. Integrity is the place where your actions match your beliefs. You may not have the same beliefs as me, but we can all be authentic enough to let those beliefs inform our actions. AG and CG were in a musical this Summer. But AG is only five…and several times it showed. I had never seen a child pick their nose onstage until mine did. What AG thought was a personal moment was out there for everyone to see. Same with all of us. People can see what we are doing – they see how we live and the choices we make. That’s not a reason to live for others. But it is a reason to know that what we do matters. Clinging to your integrity may not even translate well in the public eye. Sometimes doing what’s right can hurt a little (Psalm 15:4). In the end, the only thing you’re buried with is your integrity.

“I Like Best to Think of Him that Way.”

The last few weeks at our house have been insanely busy. Major decisions and life choices have taken a back seat to children’s play practice, the air conditioning going out in mid-July, and babies with ear infections. Beth and I became aware of just how little margin we had for “error” in our daily routines. Sometimes it’s tough to keep your cool in those times. I sure didn’t. By the end of it all, I was raising my voice at my kids and barreling past every insight and principle of parenting I had gleaned in the past few years.

I read a book about…well…bad parenting a few weeks ago. The book spends most of his time talking about the psychological impact of  corporal punishment. And I think the book probably ends up unbalanced in its final conclusions. But the more interesting aspect of the book involves where Christianity and parenting intersect. And that was really fascinating to me. It tells a marvelous story about nineteenth century evangelist Dwight L. Moody:

In [Moody's] home, grace was the ruling principle and not the law, and the sorest punishment of a child was the sense that the father’s loving heart had been grieved by waywardness and folly.

Moody’s son, Paul, relayed an incident where he had been caught directly disobeying his father by inviting a friend over to play after his normal bedtime hour. Moody lost his cool and raised his voice:

…I immediately retreated and in tears, for it was an almost unheard-of-thing that [Moody] should speak with such directness or give an order unaccompanied by a smile. But I had barely gotten into my bed before he was kneeling beside it in tears and seeking my forgiveness for having spoken so harshly…Half a century must have passed…and I can still see that room in the twilight and that large bearded figure with great shoulders bowed above me and hear his broken voice. I like best to think of him that way. I had seen him hold the attention of thousands of people, but asking the forgiveness of a disobedient little boy for having spoken harshly seems to me now a finer and greater thing, and to it I owe more than I owe to any of  his sermons. For to this I am indebted for an understanding of the meaning of the Fatherhood of God and a belief in the love of God had its beginnings that night in my childish mind (emphasis mine).

Horace Bushnell is one of my theological “heroes.” In his book Christian Nurture (1861), he writes some of the most piercing words ever regarding parents reflecting the character of God:

[Harsh treatment by a parent] is a great discouragement of piety in children…Anything that puts the child aloof from the parent…will be a wall to shut him away from God. If his Christian father is felt only as a tyrant, he will seem to have a tyrant in God’s name to bear…But there is a kind of virtue which is not in the rod – the virtue of a truly good and sanctified life. So much easier it is to be violent than to be holy, that [parents often] substitute force for goodness and grace and are wholly unconscious of the posture (emphasis mine).

 These quotes cut me to the core. I passionately desire to be this father but often times find that I am not. Yet quotes like the ones above don’t condemn me – they give me a glimpse of what the Holy Spirit can do in my heart as I continue to seek him. They are not hollow or shallow objectives to meet; that won’t change my behavior or impact my children. But they are examples of what “Spirit-led” parenting can look like. Each scenario is always different, but the love of God can be found in everyday interactions with children. Hopefully, my children will look back fondly on a particular memory and be able to say, “I like best to think of him that way.”

Answering the “Whys” of Life

I hear too many horror stories. Of course, that’s part of the ministerial profession and I’m thankful I can be available to those who trust me with their personal tragedies. But I never get past hearing about the injustices and sadness of others. Yet, at the same time, every story I hear is familiar in a way. After relaying stories of betrayal, death, misfortune, disease, and suffering, people always take the next logical step: they ask me questions of theodicy. Theodicy is just a fancy theological word for the issue of why evil exists in a world where a caring God is present. I recently finished reading this book and at the end, the author puts down some candid thoughts on this very issue. He says:

I am a theist…and must reconcile my belief in God with the existence of evil. In a word, I cannot. In spite of years of thinking and teaching about this topic…I cannot reconcile the existence of a good God with the existence of evil…I cannot fathom why God does what he does, and thus I will never understand why this God permits evil. The author of Job had to accept his ignorance and trust in his God. So do I.

I talk to people constantly who struggle with their faith in the midst of having these very same thoughts. I also find that behind the hardened exterior of the most objective atheist exists a story of personal betrayal or pain. But it’s those that follow Christ that worry me the most. They say, “I’ve committed my life to God. Why was he not there in the midst of my pain?” Good question. I’ll let you in on a secret. I don’t have an answer for that. Maybe I should, but I don’t. Sure, I’ve got some good theories. We’ll sit down sometime and I’ll tell you about them…and watch your eyes glaze over after 15 minutes of theologizing. But I don’t have one simple, definitive answer. Our world teaches us that by understanding something, we can diminish it’s power over us. Education eradicates poverty or war or suffering, etc. But in moments of tragedy, knowing why something happens rarely numbs the pain of loss. That’s when it becomes clear that we don’t need answers as much as we need healing.

I can tell you this. God wants to build relationships with us that are bigger than the “why” questions we face. You see, from what I can tell, God wants to create a dynamic, living, growing level of interaction with you that eclipses that pain and confusion felt in a particular moment. Intimacy that will swallow the circumstances of a moment in time.  But there’s a catch: Christianity, to withstand heartache and tragedy, cannot be nominal. It must be the center of existence for living. Otherwise, tragedy will easily swallow a fledgling faith. The question is not “Why did this happen, God?” but rather, “Is my love relationship with God strong enough that it can absorb the “whys” and unknowns of living on this planet?” In other words, is my trust in God unfazed by what I don’t understand about God? And that, my friends, is why theology only works inside the context of dynamic relationship.

Let me explain it this way. I am a minister at a church. My “job” is to foster a deeper walk with God for my congregation and create chances for them to know God in a more intimate way. But that role as a minister is only as valuable and fulfilling as my role as husband and father. The husband and father roles are much more important. I know, I know. I’m ”called” to the ministry, right? Nope. I’m called to be a Christ-follower, a husband, and a father. My professional life is only a result of those deeper, more important relationships. Some truths have such significance that they inform and shape our understanding of our world. And that’s what matters in the midst of the “whys.” I believe confusion and pain and tragedy in our lives can take a back seat to the overflowing abundance of God’s grace and love. The unknowns can be swallowed up in the definitively known: the security of God’s unconquerable love. That may not tell you why tragedy happens…but it may help you survive in the midst of it.

What is God Like?

What is God like? Can anyone really know? If you pick two random people off the street and ask them to describe God, you’ll get some significant variations on the topic. Here’s a thought: if God is love (1 John 4:8) and if there’s a place in the Bible that describes love, it may be worth our time to look at it. For me, 1 Corinthians 13 immediately comes to mind. If you were raised in the church like I was, this chapter was used in two specific ways: to describe what Christian marriage should look like and to guilt the rest of us into behaving like we love each other. And yes, the context of the passage deals with treatment of others in church settings (chapters 12 and 14). But what if there’s more to it than that? What if that chapter describes the nature of God for us? What if we substitute “God” for “love?” It would read like this:

God is patient

God is kind

God does not envy

God does not boast

God is not proud

God does not dishonor others

God is not self-seeking

God is not easily angered

God keeps no record of wrongs

God does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth

God always protects

God always trusts

God always hopes

God always perseveres.

 What is God like? He looks like that. All other understandings of divine attributes are housed within this larger context of his goodness and love. God is holy. He’s holy love. And how does holy love act? At a level of sacrifice that human love can never reach. God is sovereign. He’s sovereign love. What does sovereign love do? It lays its life down in a way that’s unconquerable and undefeated. God is everlasting. He’s everlasting love. How long does it last? It’s love that never stops its relentless pursuit of seeking its beloved.

Now that’s a God I can give my life to.