Excerpts: A New ongoing blog series... "The Magic of 'Why?'"

A new open-ended series I'm going to throw out every once in a while. When it comes to my book reading, there is usually a story, anecdote, or paragraph that will profoundly impact or hit me.

These posts will simply share those excerpts from those books. I will stick to books that I'd recommend the full read. Maybe in reading these sections, it will spark an interest or let you know if this is a book you'd be interested in reading.

I'll start with an excerpt from Mike Yaconelli's book Dangerous Wonder: The Adventure of Childlike Faith (Navpress, 1998). Mike went to be with Jesus in 2003, but his investment into youthworkers and being a general burr in the butt of nominal Christianity will have a lasting impact for generations to come. This book was instrumental in me holding on to an idealistic, risky, wonder-filled, childlike faith at a time where I was tempted to grow up.
I read it 9 years ago, and I find myself returning to this excerpt often. I read it at The Effect to our College age and 20 somethings last night...

The Magic of "Why?"

In the last chapter I mentioned that Karla and Ispent a week at Daybreak Retreat Center. We were soul weary...

...The first meeting brought together our group of eight, three workers at L'Arche, and three mentally and/ or physically challenged residents of the community. I had read many of Henri Nouwen's books and fully expected his remarks ar our first meeting to be life changing. During the obligiatory introductions, I had admitted to the group that my busyness was draining my sould of life -- leaving it lifeless and weak. Although Henri's opening remarks were interesting, I was disappointed. I expected profound insights. What I received was the logistical instructions for the week.

After the meeting, somwhat dismayed, I was confronted by a handsome resident of L'Arche. I'll call him Robert. Robert was in his forties, and although his appearance was normal, his vocabulary wasn't -- it was limitted to maybe a few hundred words. He stood uncomfortably close, his face within inches of mine. With his eyes focused directly on mine, he said, "Busy?"

Startled with his concise summary of what I had admitted earlier, I said ptronizingly, "Yes, Robert, I'm very busy."

"Too busy?" he continued.

"Yes Robert," I admitted rather sheepishly, "I am too busy."

I will never forget what happened next. He moved even closer (his eyes revealing his sadness for me) and asked with sincerity I have seldom experienced, "Why?"

My eyes filled with tears. Robert, a man with very limited vocabulary, had asked the one question I had been afraid to ask.