Don’t Be Boring

Are you spiritually boring? Am I?

The older I get, the easier it is to become boring.

One year I’m bushwhacking my way through the rainforest with a machete, but in the blink of an eye I’m sitting on my couch wondering if my bird listening device picked up any new calls.

Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy the birds. But somewhere along the way I realized that getting older and becoming boring tend to run in parallel tracks … but they are not the same thing.

One is inevitable. The other is a choice.

I was never bored in the junkyard. Tired? Absolutely. Hot? All summer. Irritated by customers? Daily.

Frustrated because a part wouldn’t come off, because it rained at the wrong time, because I stepped in a shallow pool of oil that wasn’t so shallow?

Regularly.

But bored? Never.

A junkyard is full of surprises. Every vehicle has a story. Every customer has a story. Every day presents a problem you’ve never encountered before. 

But we don’t all work in a junkyard, making it easy to settle into routines.

We order the same meal. We sit in the same chair. We read the same authors. We spend time with people who already agree with us. We stop learning. We stop wondering.

And before long we’re boring.

My wife and I were fielding questions from a group of college students one day, and one of them asked how, after all these decades, we stayed in love.

I can’t remember exactly what I said. But if someone asked me today, I know the answer.

We didn’t let each other become boring.

D’Aun made me go to social events when I preferred being a curmudgeon. I made D’Aun plant olive trees when she didn’t feel ready.

We lovingly pushed each other. That’s what good spouses do. And it broadens our interests.

One thing I’ve come to appreciate is that the least boring people in the room almost always have a wide range of interests.

You might have zero interest in my love for good wine. But you might enjoy talking about the Toyota Land Cruiser I’m restoring, the new exercise regime I started, or the Netflix series I watched recently.

Likewise, I might enjoy hearing about the sourdough bread you made, the antique shop you discovered in a nearby town, or the beautiful pocket knife you inherited from your grandfather.

The more interests we have, the more opportunities we have to connect. The more we connect, the more social we become.

And the less boring we are.

Of course, we can become mentally boring too.

We read the same news, listen to the same podcasts, and consume the same information flow. Before long we lose the ability to think creatively or see an issue from multiple angles.

We stop learning. We stop growing.

And you know what’s really scary? 

We can become spiritually boring.

We don’t challenge our assumptions about faith. We don’t ask God hard questions. We don’t ask each other hard questions either.

The Bible is full of people who refused to become boring. 

My favorite example might be the Apostle John. Imagine being an old man, exiled to a rocky island, cut off from friends and the life you once knew.

Most people would spend their days complaining.

John wrote Revelation.

The man was seeing dragons, beasts, thrones, angels, lampstands, scrolls, and a renewed creation bursting with possibility.

Agree or disagree with the interpretations, but nobody can accuse John of being boring.

Even in old age, he remained open to wonder. He refused to believe he had seen everything there was to see. He embraced mystery.

I think that’s part of faithful aging.

So remain curious.

Read a book outside your tribe.

Take a different road on your way home.

Learn a new skill.

Travel somewhere unfamiliar.

Have lunch with someone whose life is different from yours.

Ask more questions.

Pay attention.

Because the world God created is astonishing.

There are still mysteries to explore, people to meet, questions to ask, and corners to peek around.

And if an elderly apostle can sit on a lonely island and see the heavens crack open, the least we can do is stay interested in what’s around the next corner.

Don’t be boring.