One of the things I hate with a passion is having someone stand behind me and look over my shoulder. This is the case whether the person is the love of my life or a total stranger. They could be coming in for a kiss or the kill—it doesn’t matter because it pretty much affects me the same way and I pretty much react the same way.

It isn’t something that I admire about myself. It isn’t something I even fully understand. I think it goes to a much more basic and primordial level than I am able to access. Perhaps it is a protective instinct that God gave us so that we know when an enemy is creeping up on us? Maybe it has something to do with being a preacher and living next to an elder when I first entered the ministry? Maybe it is something to do with having three sons and only one computer for the majority of their lives growing up? Maybe this is just one of those areas in which I am able to exercise my unvarnished jerkiness? Because, believe me, I can be a big jerk if you stand behind me for any length of time!

What would it be like to look over God’s shoulder and watch Him work? Would you be able to follow the billions of things that He is able to juggle all at once? I don’t think so! Would you want to point to out a few things you would like Him to do differently, or faster? Probably! After all, that is part of the jerkiness of the human heart (Yes the word of the day is ‘jerkiness,’ but you may not want to use it in a sentence too often today!).

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What do faith and cinnamon rolls have in common? Well, if ‘life is like a box of chocolates’ why can’t faith be like a plate cinnamon rolls? Am I deep or what?

We were in Jerome Arizona. Jerome is a great town up in the mountains of Arizona. From all accounts it was once a rip-snorting, rough and ready mining town in the 1800’s, but eventually it became pretty much an empty ghost town until the 1960’s. It was then that the flower children discovered it. They soon moved in or ‘squatted,’ depending on your perspective, and started living in Jerome. Of course, as soon as the town started to fill up, those who had abandoned it remembered that they owned it, and they decided it was time to start charging rent or expecting buy-outs.

Well, to make a long story short, the creativity and the optimism of the 1960’s won out as the new residents started up small business to pay the bills and tourism went through the roof. Many of those hippies still live there and Jerome is now the third largest tourist attraction in Arizona—after the Grand Canyon and Sedona. I love this story because it has the feel of frontier risk and opportunity. But, more than that, to take something lost and give it a second chance is downright Christian, is it not? Christ is all about taking that which is lost and giving it new life, but I digress.

While we were there, we had to do the most essential thing any traveller has to do—no, not that! Remember that I am from Canada and the most essential thing for Canadian travellers is that we find GOOD coffee. We went to a place that my buddy Rick knew of, but alas it was closed. I almost started to panic, but the high altitude and lack of caffeine made panicking too difficult. Thankfully, next door and down a few steps was this little shop that you could easily walk by without noticing. This harbinger of delight is called “Gisel’s Café and Bakery.”

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The Handyman’s Shop is gone. I just walked by it the other day, but now it is gone. And by gone I mean, no longer in existence. I don’t mean they moved or I forgot what street they were on. The building itself is gone. It has been razed. (Have you ever wondered why raze sounds the same as raise but means the opposite?) I find this mildly disturbing. I mean I know stores open and close all the time, but buildings don’t come and go quite as often and yet it has become a trend in my neighbourhood lately. In other words, my concern has been raised by all this razing. I am down in the dumps because of all of the dumps that have been downed.

In fact, just in my neighbourhood, I can think of at least three places that have become open spaces. One of them is now on its way to becoming a condo, but another has remained a barren gap in the flow of a commercial block that reminds me of an eight-year-olds’ simile. Missing teeth are cute, in an eight-year-old that is, but missing buildings aren’t. They are just a reminder that something used to be there, until someone comes and fills them in.

Now, I don’t want you to worry about me. I am not going to fall apart because of what has been taken apart. I am sure I can handle all the dismantled. After all, life goes on. But, last year when we were back in PEI, I drove by the location that housed the place in which we lived and the church building in which I served and there was nothing to indicate that either one of them was ever there. The highway has been improved and so the house and the church building no longer exist. What once was an essential part of the community has now made way to an easier exodus out of the community. Apparently all it took was a day to wipe out the one bit of PEI that was most familiar to me.

I couldn’t help but reflect on whether we ever really lived on PEI. I know we did. I know we spent six years there, but at the same time, now with all physical evidence gone, it seemed more of a dream than a reality. That led me to ponder what lasting effect our presence in PEI has had. Since there is no longer any physical evidence, is there any lasting spiritual evidence that we ever lived in PEI? It is a good question, albeit a bit unsettling.

Ultimately I am reminded that our investment in people is by far the most lasting of investments we can make. It is possible to have all physical record of your life removed, razed, and rubbed out, but what you have invested in friends and family and community will remain. One day your own abode will be lowered into a grave and all your investments in the gym will rot and become fast food for worms. But all your investments in people will live on—particularly the Investments of the eternal variety.

One last point—ripping down is part of what is necessary to build up. When you have an established community, the only option you have to build something new is to tear something old down. With that in mind, and as we still see the New Year in our rear view mirrors, what, in your life, has to be razed to raise your spiritual infrastructure? What has to be ripped down so that you can be built up? Often less is definitely more.