Pop Tarts, Mark Twain, and The Lessons of Experience

Mark Twain is one of my heroes. Even though he could be a curmudgeonly coot, he had a gift for observation. Some of the best and wittiest lines in American annals came from the tongue or pen of Mr. Twain. Lately, I've been thinking about one line in particular.

"We should be careful to get out of an experience only the wisdom that is in it and stop there lest we be like the cat that sits down on a hot stove lid. She will never sit down on a hot stove lid again and that is well; but also she will never sit down on a cold one anymore."

Despite the fact that most of us have never seen a stove with lids, the wisdom in the anecdote is apparent: don't let wisdom become cowardice. That sounds strange, but believe me - I've seen it just about everywhere I've gone. It starts out with the familiar, "Well, we've tried that before." If that doesn't work, then it becomes, "History has shown us that's not a great idea. And you know what they say about people who don't learn from history..." When you still push forward, the wise coward drops their biggest blockade of all: "That's just not how we do things."

It's going to sound stupid, but I get the impulse. Last week, Ella asked for a Pop Tart for breakfast (yeah, we're healthy like that). Rachel slapped one in the oven and forgot about it, until Ella asked if her breakfast was ready. Since I was closest to the oven (I use the kitchen table as my writing desk), I walked over, absent-mindedly opened the oven door and reached in to grab the Pop Tart. With my bare hands.

Now, before you call me an idiot, let me just say that I've done this countless times before. I cook Ella's Pop Tarts on a setting that gets the pastry thoroughly heated, but doesn't turn it into a flaming brick of goo - usually around 350 degrees in our oven. Rachel, however, had placed the sucker into the oven on the broil setting (something I was unaware of), so when I reached inside and touched the top of Ella's Pop Tart, the frosting on top had turned molten and immediately stuck to my fingers.

When I jerked my hand out of the oven, the Pop Tart was still affixed to my fingers.

I literally had to peel the stupid thing off of my hand. Fortunately no skin came off; unfortunately, the lava frosting remained stuck to my fingers. I immediately ran cold water over the burned area, applied ice, did everything I could remember from my decades old Boy Scout first aid training. Nothing helped. The skin blistered slightly and everything I touched the rest of the day immediately sent tingles of pain shooting up my digits. After a day, the sensitivity went away. After five days, the blisters disappeared.

But this morning, Ella asked for a Pop Tart again. My fingers immediately hurt. My brain immediately reverted to the sensation of that freaking pastry sticking to my hand and burning me. For a split second, I wanted to say "no". Instead, I turned the oven on 350, and when the Pop Tart was done, I pulled it out with a spatula. No big deal.

Now I could get all high and mighty here, taking churches or people to task for not being willing to step out in faith or to break free of a rut. But it would hypocritical of me to do so. See, tomorrow, I have some meetings and I'm afraid that they're not going to go very well. In fact, I'm almost certain of it. The fact that I even have one of the meetings should make me believe that great things are coming, because the meeting itself is borderline miraculous; instead, I find myself in a familiar position of doubt and low expectations.

Why is that?

Because that's what experience has taught me: behind every new door that opens is just more of the same. I've tried it before; history has shown me it's not always a great idea; that's just the way life works. Sure, I've stepped out and done something new, but the temptation to fall back into the same bad thinking is great.

Why is that?

I think I'm trying to soften the blow. After all, if you keep low expectations, you'll rarely be disappointed. If you don't hope for much from life, you won't be surprised when that's what you get. But I want more. I'm not afraid to admit it. I want more, and I believe God is capable of delivering more. I've come to a place where I have to choose between my faith and knowledge of the character of God and the wisdom I've gleaned from my experiences. And irony of ironies, I'm find I'm leaning more towards the wisdom of my experiences, which is stupid because the wisdom of my experiences should tell me that faith in God is the much better choice.

This is the battle for life. Heck, it's the battle of faith. Day in and day out, we face similar opportunities to choose whether or not we'll trust God or our wisdom. I think I trust God, but what that normally means for me is that I figure God will help me get through whatever disappointment is around the corner. Rarely do I ever believe that He has something fantastic in store; it's like I'm trying to protect His reputation if things don't turn out stellar.

How about you? How have your experiences colored the way you look at new opportunities? Or do you truly believe that God always has something awesome just around the corner?

As always, I welcome your comments, and you can also let me know what you think on Twitter or Facebook.