I'm driving to Dallas to spend a few days with my treasured nephew Kevin. Kevin lives in Midland, Texas--so named long ago because the town lies halfway between Dallas and El Paso--essentially, then, in the middle of nowhere; I live eight miles outside the budding metropolis of Farmerville, Louisiana--actually, in a "suburb" of Farmerville. Kevin and I are both roughly five hours from Dallas. We plan to redeem our time together visiting and studying, creating and composing, resting and eating.

Texas, at least on my side of Dallas, is lovely enough. Thick woods line the interstate, occasionally parting for a Loves Truck Stop and a Sonic Drive-in.

Incidentally, on the island of Manhattan, I can stand on one street corner and see four Starbucks. Would someone please tell Howard Schultz that there is nary a Starbucks along Interstate 20 between Shreveport, Louisiana and Terrell, Texas--a distance of 158 miles?

Traveling through Texas from Monroe to Dallas, I'm fairly confident I could tie off my steering wheel in a fixed position and--coupled with cruise control modestly set at 80 MPH--arrive unscathed in the city, having somewhat negotiated the tedium of driving. I recall stories from truck drivers of the early twentieth century, when they navigated the harrowing California highway ascent known as Grapevine, traveling south from Bakersfield to Los Angeles. Cruise control for these gallant men was a brick tied to the accelerator; to fight monotony, they either stood on the running board of their rigs or walked alongside them, reaching from time to time through the window for the wheel to adjust their course.

Several years ago--and I recall this study if only to break the monotony of my journey--author Peter Stoner (Science Speaks) published a remarkable observation around the Old Testament prophecies of Jesus. He identified eight of the most compelling messianic prophecies of the Old Testament (get the list here)--eight among scores, perhaps hundreds, depending upon your definition of prophecy; Stone then consulted a mathematician to calculate the odds that these eight prophetic statements be fulfilled in one man, Jesus of Nazareth. The numbers were crunched and later submitted to and verified by the American Scientific Affiliation. The probability was calculated to be 1 in 100,000,000,000,000,000. Yes, that's a one, followed by seventeen zeros. It's an incomprehensible number. It will be a long time before McDonalds can declare, "One hundred quadrillion burgers served."

Later, Christian apologist Josh McDowell (Evidence that Demands a Verdict) offered an illustration to put this number into perspective. He calculated that 100,000,000,000,000,000 silver dollars would cover the state of--yes, you had to know my thoughts would return to--Texas to a depth of two feet. (I am convinced, incidentally, that there are indeed a handful of wealthy Texans with the means to test this theory.) The odds of these eight messianic prophecies being fulfilled in one man, McDowell reasoned, amount to the same probability of marking one of the silver dollars, allowing a blindfolded man wander as long and as far as he wished, picking up the marked coin on his first attempt.

But my mind is wandering--pitying the blindfolded man wandering throughout Texas--as I contemplate the monotony of my own sojourn into the Lone Star State.

As a longtime, dedicated apprentice of Jesus driving five hours through Texas, that old illustration of the coins momentarily speaks more to me about Texas than it does about Jesus. I look about at the trees along the endless ribbon of asphalt and wonder, "Would it truly take only one hundred quadrillion silver dollars to bury this state under two feet of coin?"

So, where's all this leading? Well, to Dallas, I hope, and sooner than later. Metaphorically, however, it's a reminder of how many surrender to monotony and, therefore, settle for mediocrity. It's been said that the true character of a person is revealed in crisis; certainly true, but the ability of a man or woman to stay with this monotonous moment, and this one, and this one--when the endorphins are quiet and determination is the only stimulant--is the reflection of a person's enduring character.


How does your ability/inability to stay with monotony--"on the plateau"--show up?

What does your level of patience in key relationships suggest about your ability/inability to stay with monotony?

Do you ever stay busy just to stay busy?

Where's the "do better place"?