I noticed years ago that companies sometimes treat the weaknesses of
their products as strengths in marketing. At the time, a shampoo that
was difficult to get suds from was being advertised as yielding mountains of
suds while another shampoo that produced mountains of suds was
advertised as effective against dandruff, a claim I found overstated as I
brushed flakes off my shoulders.
Today I got a survey call at
work from Duke Energy. The interviewer wanted to know how well they
were doing at keeping the electricity on, notifying us of outages,
communicating hints and tips for saving energy, keeping rates down, etc.
As
I stumbled through the questions that seemed to go on and on, I
realized that I have no expectations of Duke. They provide electricity
with impressive up-time and bill us for it. We pay the bill. That's
it. When the lights do go out, we wait for them to come back on. I
don't remember ever hearing more than rumors about how long the power would be out during the several local disasters they have had over the past
few years -- 36 hours or so for one outage. Several of the questions
were about the quality of such communications and I didn't know how to
rate NO communication at all. Is that a 1 on the 1 to 10 scale? Is
there supposed to be communication? Have I missed figuring out how to tap into that communication?
Meanwhile, where I live (as opposed to my workplace) we get our power from an REMC. R for Rural. REMCs are the Rodney Dangerfields of
the power world. They don't get no respect. Lights flickering in a
breeze, out for the count at the slightest provocation, much higher cost than the city folk pay.
And yet
... all the things Duke wanted me to rate them on that they don't do at
all, REMC does well. They send out a monthly newsletter with both statewide
and local updates on what's happening in the world of electricity, along
with recipes, tips for using less electricity, and human-interest
stories. The rates are comparable to Duke's. When I call to report a power outage, knowing that it may not
be widespread enough for immediate notice on their end, they offer to call me when it
is supposed to be restored. (And if I don't answer they leave a message on my electricity-powered answering machine telling me the electricity is back on, which tickles my funny-bone when I hear it.) They send out crews regularly to trim back
the limbs that would otherwise cause flickering during wind storms (and
took down a huge red oak tree for us once that was dead and threatening
their lines if it came down -- at no charge). We have no complaints
about the up-time we get from REMC and, in fact, have had much less
total downtime than Duke customers in recent times. And REMC talks to
us through that monthly publication. All the things that the mighty Duke corporation was
asking about for which I had no answers, I could have provided good
positive feedback for my lowly REMC. (And, yes, it's my REMC. It's a Member-owned Cooperative and I am one of the owners.)
Just kind of funny. I never even thought about expecting Duke Energy to provide the level of friendly hometown service we get from REMC. Now that my eyes are opened ... I'll just be more grateful that I have REMC at home and Duke at work. Is Duke really thinking about communicating with their customers in friendly, helpful ways? They certainly have a long hill to climb toward that goal!
Tuesday, December 04, 2012
Monday, December 03, 2012
New direction?
This blog is going on eight years old and has lacked purpose from the beginning. It didn't take long for me to vent all my angst on issues I considered fit for public consumption. (Not that all that much public has shown up, but still...) I find that I'm more inclined to jump into online discussions started by others than to do monologues here in blogland. (I know, more readers would bring comments, which would be sort of like having a discussion, but I would still be responsible for initiating every new topic.)
Last week, however, I found a new love in the world of social media -- goodreads.com. I know it has been around a while. I've probably even seen it mentioned in my Facebook feed. I just never paid attention to it.
What makes it so attractive now is that, after many years hiatus, I'm back to reading fiction for pure enjoyment. This is prompted by two unrelated happenings that happened to coincide:
1. I bought a mini-tablet off ebay -- an Archos 32. Although it runs Android applications and does fairly well with them, it's goal in life, it's favorite activity, is to be an mp3 player. It fits perfectly into a shirt pocket or will nestle down into the pocket of sweats and feed me audiobooks as I DO OTHER THINGS! This is amazing. Books have always fought to KEEP me from doing other things. Now books are keeping me company while I clean or cook or do other mindless tasks that drive me crazy in their mindlessness.
2. The local library joined a consortium offering not only ebooks, but also audiobooks, many available in mp3 format.
I tried nonfiction, but it's not a good fit. Fiction flows more easily and requires less concentration, which is good since I'm DOING OTHER THINGS while listening and am sometimes only half listening.
This morning I was messing around over at goodreads.com and wrote a review of one of the most enigmatic classics I have ever read: The Great Gatsby. I noticed that goodreads would like me to post the review to my blog. Aha! This might be a good fit. I'll try it and see.
-------------------------------------
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
My rating: 2 of 5 stars
I have a list of New Year's resolutions for readers that includes the suggestion of revisiting a book you just didn't get when you were 18. This suggestion prompted me to try The Great Gatsby again in my 40s. I still don't get it. A bunch of shallow people do shallow things. And it's a classic.
This is obviously a sign of something lacking on my part. Fortunately, I am more appreciative of other classics and my self-esteem is only slightly bruised by my inability to appreciate this one story which is so loved by others. It remains a puzzle, however. Maybe I'll try it again in my 60s and see if I'm to the point yet where I can appreciate it.
View all my reviews
----------------------------------
That's it. Not much of a review. I didn't even particularly like the book. (The second star was a recognition of the book's place in classic literature. On my own, it would have been a 1-star rating.) But we'll see where things go from here. I was amazed at how little time it took browsing goodreads to pile up over 200 books on my "read" shelf. I am only vaguely aware of how many books I have read over a lifetime, but it obviously must be a much higher number. Still, there are many more that I haven't read and goodreads did an excellent job of zeroing in on my interests and pulling up titles that I immediately recognized as good friends. I think I like this place!
Last week, however, I found a new love in the world of social media -- goodreads.com. I know it has been around a while. I've probably even seen it mentioned in my Facebook feed. I just never paid attention to it.
What makes it so attractive now is that, after many years hiatus, I'm back to reading fiction for pure enjoyment. This is prompted by two unrelated happenings that happened to coincide:
1. I bought a mini-tablet off ebay -- an Archos 32. Although it runs Android applications and does fairly well with them, it's goal in life, it's favorite activity, is to be an mp3 player. It fits perfectly into a shirt pocket or will nestle down into the pocket of sweats and feed me audiobooks as I DO OTHER THINGS! This is amazing. Books have always fought to KEEP me from doing other things. Now books are keeping me company while I clean or cook or do other mindless tasks that drive me crazy in their mindlessness.
2. The local library joined a consortium offering not only ebooks, but also audiobooks, many available in mp3 format.
I tried nonfiction, but it's not a good fit. Fiction flows more easily and requires less concentration, which is good since I'm DOING OTHER THINGS while listening and am sometimes only half listening.
This morning I was messing around over at goodreads.com and wrote a review of one of the most enigmatic classics I have ever read: The Great Gatsby. I noticed that goodreads would like me to post the review to my blog. Aha! This might be a good fit. I'll try it and see.
-------------------------------------
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott FitzgeraldMy rating: 2 of 5 stars
I have a list of New Year's resolutions for readers that includes the suggestion of revisiting a book you just didn't get when you were 18. This suggestion prompted me to try The Great Gatsby again in my 40s. I still don't get it. A bunch of shallow people do shallow things. And it's a classic.
This is obviously a sign of something lacking on my part. Fortunately, I am more appreciative of other classics and my self-esteem is only slightly bruised by my inability to appreciate this one story which is so loved by others. It remains a puzzle, however. Maybe I'll try it again in my 60s and see if I'm to the point yet where I can appreciate it.
View all my reviews
----------------------------------
That's it. Not much of a review. I didn't even particularly like the book. (The second star was a recognition of the book's place in classic literature. On my own, it would have been a 1-star rating.) But we'll see where things go from here. I was amazed at how little time it took browsing goodreads to pile up over 200 books on my "read" shelf. I am only vaguely aware of how many books I have read over a lifetime, but it obviously must be a much higher number. Still, there are many more that I haven't read and goodreads did an excellent job of zeroing in on my interests and pulling up titles that I immediately recognized as good friends. I think I like this place!
Monday, November 19, 2012
Oh, you stupid phone!
In August I retired my Dell PDA and bought an Archos minitablet from
eBay. Nice little device except for one glaring flaw -- no speakers,
only a headphone jack. I have used my PDA for doing calendar reminders
for years. This was a rather disappointing "upgrade."
Around that same time, I realized I was eligible for a cell phone upgrade and got an itch to do it. I looked around and found a Samsung Brightside phone -- not a smart phone, but pretty smart for a dumb phone. It has nice calendar and alarm features.
One of the reminders I need is to do an injection every other evening (for the MS that has been keeping very quiet since an attack in summer 2011). It's simple -- every 2 days do a reminder alarm at 9:00 p.m. Not a big deal.
I set up the alert. It worked once -- embarrassing me by playing its little ditty while I was sitting in a meeting, which obviously was running a little long. It has not worked since. I have deleted it, reprogrammed it, found an alarm that works and modified it, changed the ring tone, and everything else I can think of. Every Sunday morning at 10:15 my phone faithfully reminds me it's time to head to the church sanctuary for worship. Every night at 9:00 it sits there and does nothing.
Tonight I decided to do a search to see if anyone else has had similar problems with this phone. It turns out there are a bunch of very angry Samsung Brightside users hanging around the Verizon forums! (Where were all these people when I did a search for reviews before buying the phone?) People who used to depend on their phone to wake them up for work or, like me, remind them about medication schedules until they bought this model. Lots of complaints about alarms that work once or twice or longer and then quit or never work at all, a few "this might work" suggestions, but no fix coming from the manufacturer. I tried one of the suggestions -- turning the phone volume to "alarm only." Then I realized I wasn't really using the alarm function, that I had a calendar alert. Is that the same? And anyway, I really didn't want to turn off my phone ringer. So I turned it back up.
At 8:45 my phone alerted me that it's an injection night, for the first time since that September meeting.
Really?? That's the key? Turn the volume down to "alarm only" and then turn it back up? Or does it have more to do with having the phone close to a computer screen full of suggestions that it is the worst phone ever marketed and should be trashed?
Once again, I'm thinking that demon possession is really the only reasonable explanation for the quirks of office machines and computing devices.
Around that same time, I realized I was eligible for a cell phone upgrade and got an itch to do it. I looked around and found a Samsung Brightside phone -- not a smart phone, but pretty smart for a dumb phone. It has nice calendar and alarm features.
One of the reminders I need is to do an injection every other evening (for the MS that has been keeping very quiet since an attack in summer 2011). It's simple -- every 2 days do a reminder alarm at 9:00 p.m. Not a big deal.
I set up the alert. It worked once -- embarrassing me by playing its little ditty while I was sitting in a meeting, which obviously was running a little long. It has not worked since. I have deleted it, reprogrammed it, found an alarm that works and modified it, changed the ring tone, and everything else I can think of. Every Sunday morning at 10:15 my phone faithfully reminds me it's time to head to the church sanctuary for worship. Every night at 9:00 it sits there and does nothing.
Tonight I decided to do a search to see if anyone else has had similar problems with this phone. It turns out there are a bunch of very angry Samsung Brightside users hanging around the Verizon forums! (Where were all these people when I did a search for reviews before buying the phone?) People who used to depend on their phone to wake them up for work or, like me, remind them about medication schedules until they bought this model. Lots of complaints about alarms that work once or twice or longer and then quit or never work at all, a few "this might work" suggestions, but no fix coming from the manufacturer. I tried one of the suggestions -- turning the phone volume to "alarm only." Then I realized I wasn't really using the alarm function, that I had a calendar alert. Is that the same? And anyway, I really didn't want to turn off my phone ringer. So I turned it back up.
At 8:45 my phone alerted me that it's an injection night, for the first time since that September meeting.
Really?? That's the key? Turn the volume down to "alarm only" and then turn it back up? Or does it have more to do with having the phone close to a computer screen full of suggestions that it is the worst phone ever marketed and should be trashed?
Once again, I'm thinking that demon possession is really the only reasonable explanation for the quirks of office machines and computing devices.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Important Tasks
Yesterday I removed an old apple tree stump from the yard. We replaced the old tree several years ago with a different variety and the root ball has been sitting next to the new young tree and serving as the heart of a weed patch in the front yard.
This is not a big deal. Our yard is large, mostly in front of the house, and is surrounded by untamed woodland. There are evergreens between the weed patch and the road. My clothesline with its sagging posts is nearby. No one trims under the other fruit trees in the yard or around the clotheslines poles. Ours is a country yard, not a manicured city lot. In context, the weed patch is not nearly the eyesore one might expect.
Still, yesterday was another beautiful spring day and I was lured into tackling the weeds. One thing led to another, the wheelbarrow was called into play, and the stump will now continue its decay in the woods rather than the front yard.
Was this an important task? No. It has not once earned a place on my to-do list. Was it urgent? Not at all. In fact, it's a prime example of the benefits of procrastination -- the longer it stayed there and decayed, the easier it was to break it apart for removal. Were there more important and urgent tasks on my to-do list? Absolutely. Just the thought of those very important and uncompleted tasks with their looming deadlines starts a tempest of anxiety within my mind.
So why did I choose yesterday to move the old stump out of the front yard? Why not complete the urgent and important tasks first and then reward myself by doing something more pleasant?
Two reasons. First, did I mention it was a gorgeous spring day? And not a single important and urgent task involved outside activity. I wanted to be outside more than I wanted to clear off my to-do list. But more than that, I'm beginning to realize that I am blessed with so many opportunities in life I could fill all my days doing urgent and important things and never get around to moving the old apple tree stump out of the front yard. Or writing posts such as this. If I ever cleared out all the clamor of my current to-do list, I would discover more opportunity to do more tasks that would look just as valuable as the ones currently clamoring for my attention.
I have often started an appointment-free Saturday with the realization that I could fill it completely with unfinished job-related tasks. Or church-related tasks. Or homeowner tasks. Or I could spend the entire day building relationships. Or I could catch up on reading and writing and sewing and other pleasurable tasks for which there is never enough time. I could fill such a day five times over! And at the end of that multiplied day I would discover more job- and church-related tasks, more projects to tackle around the house, more books to read, posts to write, more relationships begging for attention. And the weeds would still be growing tall around the old apple tree stump in the front yard because, with all those urgent and important tasks demanding my attention, it's not that big a deal to have one more weed patch in the yard.
In light of all this, I could make a resolution to deliberately devote some time every day to unimportant tasks that serve to refresh my soul. Or I could simply spend less effort fighting the siren call of such satisfying but unimportant activities. Sometimes I just need to shrug off the burden of overcommitment, go out in the sunshine and move old stumps, and let the to-do list deal with the resulting loss of time resources.
Related posts:
What Is It about a Garden?
Perception
This is not a big deal. Our yard is large, mostly in front of the house, and is surrounded by untamed woodland. There are evergreens between the weed patch and the road. My clothesline with its sagging posts is nearby. No one trims under the other fruit trees in the yard or around the clotheslines poles. Ours is a country yard, not a manicured city lot. In context, the weed patch is not nearly the eyesore one might expect.
Still, yesterday was another beautiful spring day and I was lured into tackling the weeds. One thing led to another, the wheelbarrow was called into play, and the stump will now continue its decay in the woods rather than the front yard.
Was this an important task? No. It has not once earned a place on my to-do list. Was it urgent? Not at all. In fact, it's a prime example of the benefits of procrastination -- the longer it stayed there and decayed, the easier it was to break it apart for removal. Were there more important and urgent tasks on my to-do list? Absolutely. Just the thought of those very important and uncompleted tasks with their looming deadlines starts a tempest of anxiety within my mind.
So why did I choose yesterday to move the old stump out of the front yard? Why not complete the urgent and important tasks first and then reward myself by doing something more pleasant?
Two reasons. First, did I mention it was a gorgeous spring day? And not a single important and urgent task involved outside activity. I wanted to be outside more than I wanted to clear off my to-do list. But more than that, I'm beginning to realize that I am blessed with so many opportunities in life I could fill all my days doing urgent and important things and never get around to moving the old apple tree stump out of the front yard. Or writing posts such as this. If I ever cleared out all the clamor of my current to-do list, I would discover more opportunity to do more tasks that would look just as valuable as the ones currently clamoring for my attention.
I have often started an appointment-free Saturday with the realization that I could fill it completely with unfinished job-related tasks. Or church-related tasks. Or homeowner tasks. Or I could spend the entire day building relationships. Or I could catch up on reading and writing and sewing and other pleasurable tasks for which there is never enough time. I could fill such a day five times over! And at the end of that multiplied day I would discover more job- and church-related tasks, more projects to tackle around the house, more books to read, posts to write, more relationships begging for attention. And the weeds would still be growing tall around the old apple tree stump in the front yard because, with all those urgent and important tasks demanding my attention, it's not that big a deal to have one more weed patch in the yard.
In light of all this, I could make a resolution to deliberately devote some time every day to unimportant tasks that serve to refresh my soul. Or I could simply spend less effort fighting the siren call of such satisfying but unimportant activities. Sometimes I just need to shrug off the burden of overcommitment, go out in the sunshine and move old stumps, and let the to-do list deal with the resulting loss of time resources.
Related posts:
What Is It about a Garden?
Perception
Thursday, March 15, 2012
#10 Suffering produces character.
This last entry in my expositions on Ten Things to Remember has been slow in coming. One reason for the delay is that, like the first entry, this last one, the other bookend, strikes me mostly as a platitude. Yes, I know. God loves me and has a wonderful plan for my life. (Yawn.) When that wonderful life starts to fall apart, people tell me I'm unlovable, and my emotions spiral downward, it's hard to believe it. I can give mental assent when my heart cries out it isn't true, but it seems hollow.
Now here we are at the other end with another platitude: Suffering produces character. There are at least two passages from the Bible to support this thought: Romans 5:3-5 and James 1:2-4. Our parents, grandparents, and other mentors in life also sometimes like to remind us of this truth when they tire of our whining. Most of us, however, would gladly give up a little character development if we could find a way to avoid the hard times. And we all know people of weak character who readily relate all of life's difficulties that stand between them and being a better person. Sometimes, it seems, the primary product of difficult circumstances is wounded, unhappy people.
Still, it's true. When we choose to allow it, difficult times can indeed be good for us. They drive us to the God who alone can redeem them and turn what looks to be hopelessly bad into good. In the Bible, at the end of the book of Genesis, Joseph, the favored son of Jacob (aka Israel) sold into slavery by his jealous brothers, assures them that God used the terrible evil they did for good by enabling him to save the world as they knew it from starving to death during seven years of famine.
The worst evil people can do can be redeemed by the amazing life-giving power of our Creator. Hard times can work wonders within us. This I truly believe. But when trouble shows up and punches me in the gut, in those times of emotional distress, it's hard for me to see character as worth the price.
I can imagine a stand-up comedian getting some good laughs by pulling out this line, harking back to the lack of support from friends and family during the tough times. Which is maybe the greatest value it has when I'm flailing around at the bottom of an emotional pit. It can draw my attention to the world of laughter and irony and enable me to smile just a little at the drama which has so consumed my energy and skewed my perspective. I consider the measure of my suffering on a universal scale (pitifully low considering the intensity of my reaction to it) and consider how much character development I can hope to get out of it. Maybe being able to step out of myself and find even that tiny trace of humor in my heart at how serious I'm taking life's blows is a first step toward both emotional health and a stronger character.
So when I'm counting to ten in response to life's blows, if the first nine don't give me a hand up out of my slough of despair, I can at least fall back on this timeless piece of advice coming from those who aren't walking where I'm walking and think about what wonderful character development I can hope for if I manage to endure my suffering to the end.
Now here we are at the other end with another platitude: Suffering produces character. There are at least two passages from the Bible to support this thought: Romans 5:3-5 and James 1:2-4. Our parents, grandparents, and other mentors in life also sometimes like to remind us of this truth when they tire of our whining. Most of us, however, would gladly give up a little character development if we could find a way to avoid the hard times. And we all know people of weak character who readily relate all of life's difficulties that stand between them and being a better person. Sometimes, it seems, the primary product of difficult circumstances is wounded, unhappy people.
Still, it's true. When we choose to allow it, difficult times can indeed be good for us. They drive us to the God who alone can redeem them and turn what looks to be hopelessly bad into good. In the Bible, at the end of the book of Genesis, Joseph, the favored son of Jacob (aka Israel) sold into slavery by his jealous brothers, assures them that God used the terrible evil they did for good by enabling him to save the world as they knew it from starving to death during seven years of famine.
The worst evil people can do can be redeemed by the amazing life-giving power of our Creator. Hard times can work wonders within us. This I truly believe. But when trouble shows up and punches me in the gut, in those times of emotional distress, it's hard for me to see character as worth the price.
I can imagine a stand-up comedian getting some good laughs by pulling out this line, harking back to the lack of support from friends and family during the tough times. Which is maybe the greatest value it has when I'm flailing around at the bottom of an emotional pit. It can draw my attention to the world of laughter and irony and enable me to smile just a little at the drama which has so consumed my energy and skewed my perspective. I consider the measure of my suffering on a universal scale (pitifully low considering the intensity of my reaction to it) and consider how much character development I can hope to get out of it. Maybe being able to step out of myself and find even that tiny trace of humor in my heart at how serious I'm taking life's blows is a first step toward both emotional health and a stronger character.
So when I'm counting to ten in response to life's blows, if the first nine don't give me a hand up out of my slough of despair, I can at least fall back on this timeless piece of advice coming from those who aren't walking where I'm walking and think about what wonderful character development I can hope for if I manage to endure my suffering to the end.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
#9 The words are not the message
I don't know about you but I regularly interact with people who don't articulate their feelings well. Sometimes they are unable to do so. They may not be in touch with their inner selves enough to know what lies behind their surface emotions. Other times they choose to hide their real feelings from me. Sometimes it's a combination. Hiding their inner feelings from me is an unavoidable part of hiding from themselves.
I recently triggered the defenses of a friend. In his “constructive criticism” response, he put a negative label on my viewpoint and told me I was blind to the truth about him and his actions. It was a struggle for me to look beyond the negative label I didn't want to wear and the word arrows being shot my way to recognize that the message my friend was giving me was that my words to him had hit a sensitive spot. I wanted to bring in proof of my visual acuity and persuade him to take back the negative label. I wanted to respond to his words rather than to the wounded spirit that prompted them. The urge to vindicate myself was strong.
When such scenes play themselves out, the words spoken tend toward extreme positions: “You never ...” “You always ...” They hold me personally responsible for bringing unpleasantness into the world. My own defenses spring to life and I make rebuttal statements. After all, the words contains untruths and I like to get the facts straight. But when I focus on the words I am missing the point. These negative words are generally not about me. They are a trap, a distraction. There is a message behind them that I'll miss if I'm not careful.
A couple of examples:
The words:
You are always late. [Not true. I am usually very prompt, seldom early, and do slip into late more than I like, but I am NOT "always late".]
The message:
The time I spent waiting for you has upset me.
Or maybe, I have had a bad day and your tardiness isn't helping.
Or maybe, I was hoping you would be early because I'm on a tight schedule today.
The words:
You didn't do a thing to help me. [Maybe not, but it's not as though I was sitting around doing nothing. Do you want to hear my excuses for not helping?]
The message:
I am tired.
Or maybe, I am struggling with this project.
Or maybe, this project has left me feeling isolated and alone.
Or maybe, I feel like our friendship is fading.
When words start raining down on me and my “truth detector” urges me to set the person behind them straight concerning their erroneous statements, I really need this reminder to look beyond the exaggeration, the non sequitors, and the accusations to the nature of the pain that brought out the word arrows. Otherwise, I'm just examining incoming arrows for balance and weight without figuring out who is shooting at me and why. If I can get beyond the words, I can ask the right questions to figure out what's really going on.
Even though it's almost at the end of my list of ten things to remember, this is in the running for the most needed reminder of the bunch. The words are not the message.
I recently triggered the defenses of a friend. In his “constructive criticism” response, he put a negative label on my viewpoint and told me I was blind to the truth about him and his actions. It was a struggle for me to look beyond the negative label I didn't want to wear and the word arrows being shot my way to recognize that the message my friend was giving me was that my words to him had hit a sensitive spot. I wanted to bring in proof of my visual acuity and persuade him to take back the negative label. I wanted to respond to his words rather than to the wounded spirit that prompted them. The urge to vindicate myself was strong.
When such scenes play themselves out, the words spoken tend toward extreme positions: “You never ...” “You always ...” They hold me personally responsible for bringing unpleasantness into the world. My own defenses spring to life and I make rebuttal statements. After all, the words contains untruths and I like to get the facts straight. But when I focus on the words I am missing the point. These negative words are generally not about me. They are a trap, a distraction. There is a message behind them that I'll miss if I'm not careful.
A couple of examples:
The words:
You are always late. [Not true. I am usually very prompt, seldom early, and do slip into late more than I like, but I am NOT "always late".]
The message:
The time I spent waiting for you has upset me.
Or maybe, I have had a bad day and your tardiness isn't helping.
Or maybe, I was hoping you would be early because I'm on a tight schedule today.
The words:
You didn't do a thing to help me. [Maybe not, but it's not as though I was sitting around doing nothing. Do you want to hear my excuses for not helping?]
The message:
I am tired.
Or maybe, I am struggling with this project.
Or maybe, this project has left me feeling isolated and alone.
Or maybe, I feel like our friendship is fading.
When words start raining down on me and my “truth detector” urges me to set the person behind them straight concerning their erroneous statements, I really need this reminder to look beyond the exaggeration, the non sequitors, and the accusations to the nature of the pain that brought out the word arrows. Otherwise, I'm just examining incoming arrows for balance and weight without figuring out who is shooting at me and why. If I can get beyond the words, I can ask the right questions to figure out what's really going on.
Even though it's almost at the end of my list of ten things to remember, this is in the running for the most needed reminder of the bunch. The words are not the message.
Thursday, February 02, 2012
#8 What Goes Around Comes Around -- or: God Is Not Mocked
The connection between the two title choices of this eight item on my list of ten things to remember may not be obvious. The first version traces back to using a revolving door as a memory 'hook' for it. The door goes around and around. Moving one door panel inevitably moves the entire door. If I don't move with it, it will sneak up behind me and smack me in the back. I'll be the victim of my own actions.
The "God is not mocked" phrase comes from Galatians 6:7. In the NIV it reads: "Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows." Again, a chosen action (sowing a particular seed) inevitably leads to a predictable consequence. Pushing a door panel makes the entire door go around. Planting corn seed never gives you peas. If you plant corn, corn is what you can expect to grow.
This eighth thing to remember is related to the seventh and enables the seventh. When I pass on the love and mercy of God to those who don't deserve it, I give up my right and responsibility to set them straight. This could lead to a terrible injustice without the reaping-what-you-sow principle. This principle tells me that justice is built into the world and is completely independent of my efforts. I don't have to reflect someone's negative behavior to show them how it feels to be treated the way they are treating others. The whole universe is set up to handle that reflectivity. I can be confident that those who treat me with contempt will be on the receiving end of contempt at some point (if they haven't already experienced it). Those who are selfish will encounter selfish behavior in others. Those who demonstrate hatred will encounter hatred directed their way. The principle of reflectivity is so deeply ingrained in the universe that I am completely expendable as a mirror and can focus all my energy on reflecting the love and mercy of God rather than giving people a taste of their own medicine.
This principle of justice is revealed all through the Bible and abundantly demonstrated around us when we look through eyes of faith. I can look around and see that those who criticize me are often the subject of criticism. Those who fail to listen find few listeners. Those who dig pits to trap others often fall into those pits.
The psalms often talk of the wicked living well for a time, but note that their end is always destruction. It may look like everything is coming up roses for those who trample over me, but I can be confident that the thorns are there and will inevitably snag them.
The more faith I have in this principle the easier it is to resist the urge to push back against people whom I perceive to be mistreating me. Every seed they sow will inevitably produce a harvest. Those who are sowing seeds of unpleasantness may already be living in a world full of unpleasantness directed their way. Regardless of whether that's the cause or effect of their own unpleasantness, I can afford to be compassionate toward them, knowing there is no lack of negative consequences already coming their way in connection with their negative actions and attitudes.
As I apply this principle to those who have brought my world crashing down, I also remember that I too will reap what I sow and start looking around my seed bin for seeds of kindness and compassion. That's the type of crop I would like to harvest when what I set in motion comes back around to me. It's often easier said than done, but it helps to keep this on my list of things to remember.
The "God is not mocked" phrase comes from Galatians 6:7. In the NIV it reads: "Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows." Again, a chosen action (sowing a particular seed) inevitably leads to a predictable consequence. Pushing a door panel makes the entire door go around. Planting corn seed never gives you peas. If you plant corn, corn is what you can expect to grow.
This eighth thing to remember is related to the seventh and enables the seventh. When I pass on the love and mercy of God to those who don't deserve it, I give up my right and responsibility to set them straight. This could lead to a terrible injustice without the reaping-what-you-sow principle. This principle tells me that justice is built into the world and is completely independent of my efforts. I don't have to reflect someone's negative behavior to show them how it feels to be treated the way they are treating others. The whole universe is set up to handle that reflectivity. I can be confident that those who treat me with contempt will be on the receiving end of contempt at some point (if they haven't already experienced it). Those who are selfish will encounter selfish behavior in others. Those who demonstrate hatred will encounter hatred directed their way. The principle of reflectivity is so deeply ingrained in the universe that I am completely expendable as a mirror and can focus all my energy on reflecting the love and mercy of God rather than giving people a taste of their own medicine.
This principle of justice is revealed all through the Bible and abundantly demonstrated around us when we look through eyes of faith. I can look around and see that those who criticize me are often the subject of criticism. Those who fail to listen find few listeners. Those who dig pits to trap others often fall into those pits.
The psalms often talk of the wicked living well for a time, but note that their end is always destruction. It may look like everything is coming up roses for those who trample over me, but I can be confident that the thorns are there and will inevitably snag them.
The more faith I have in this principle the easier it is to resist the urge to push back against people whom I perceive to be mistreating me. Every seed they sow will inevitably produce a harvest. Those who are sowing seeds of unpleasantness may already be living in a world full of unpleasantness directed their way. Regardless of whether that's the cause or effect of their own unpleasantness, I can afford to be compassionate toward them, knowing there is no lack of negative consequences already coming their way in connection with their negative actions and attitudes.
As I apply this principle to those who have brought my world crashing down, I also remember that I too will reap what I sow and start looking around my seed bin for seeds of kindness and compassion. That's the type of crop I would like to harvest when what I set in motion comes back around to me. It's often easier said than done, but it helps to keep this on my list of things to remember.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
#7 Life is Reflective -- Choose Your Source
In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus tells us that those who are merciful will receive mercy (Mt 5:7), those who judge will be judged (Mt 7:1-2), and that we should treat others as we wish to be treated (Mt 7:12). These principles are often seen as L-shaped, i.e. God -- either in this life or the one to come -- will treat us (the vertical leg) as we have treated others (the horizontal leg). However, it doesn't take much sociological research to see that there is much truth in these statements on a strictly horizontal and immediate level. You can hear it in our language:
"I wonder how she would feel if people treated her that way!"
"It's time to give him a taste of his own medicine."
"You gotta fight fire with fire."
"He started it!'
"Don't hand it out if you can't take it."
"Now there's an example of the pot calling the kettle black."
It seems we are born with a natural instinct to treat people the way we perceive them to be treating others, particularly on the negative side of life. Those who criticize others are easy to see in a critical light. Those who are unforgiving aren't easy to forgive. Those who speak harshly to us stir up a hardness within us that makes us want to respond in equally harsh terms. It's not easy to be generous with people who hoard everything that comes their way.
Not only do we tend to reflect people's behavior back to them, we also tend to justify our own behavior. It's easy to see the attacks that come my way as unprovoked and undeserved. In contrast, my attacks on others are matters of self-defense or intended to let them know how it feels to be attacked so they don't do it anymore.
Into this back-and-forth clash of negative reflectivity come Jesus' teachings to reflect not the negative behavior of those around us but the love and grace, mercy and forgiveness of our heavenly Father. It's the positive side of reflectivity that is L-shaped; and God is the initiator. As God forgives us, we are to forgive others. As God is generous with us, we are to be generous with others. As God sees past what is ugly within us, we look past what is ugly in others. As God values us, we look for value in others. Rather than a mirror reflecting the negative behavior of others back to them, we reflect the love of God. "We love because he first loved us" (1 John 4:19). As others have put it, we are moons -- cold dark rocks until we start reflecting the sun's light for all to see.
It is easy and natural to reflect the negative attitudes of those around me back to them, to be no more generous or accepting or forgiving than they are. It takes a deliberate choice to pass on to others the grace and mercy I receive from God. It helps to include on my list of ten things to remember a reminder to choose carefully my source for reflectivity.
"I wonder how she would feel if people treated her that way!"
"It's time to give him a taste of his own medicine."
"You gotta fight fire with fire."
"He started it!'
"Don't hand it out if you can't take it."
"Now there's an example of the pot calling the kettle black."
It seems we are born with a natural instinct to treat people the way we perceive them to be treating others, particularly on the negative side of life. Those who criticize others are easy to see in a critical light. Those who are unforgiving aren't easy to forgive. Those who speak harshly to us stir up a hardness within us that makes us want to respond in equally harsh terms. It's not easy to be generous with people who hoard everything that comes their way.
Not only do we tend to reflect people's behavior back to them, we also tend to justify our own behavior. It's easy to see the attacks that come my way as unprovoked and undeserved. In contrast, my attacks on others are matters of self-defense or intended to let them know how it feels to be attacked so they don't do it anymore.
Into this back-and-forth clash of negative reflectivity come Jesus' teachings to reflect not the negative behavior of those around us but the love and grace, mercy and forgiveness of our heavenly Father. It's the positive side of reflectivity that is L-shaped; and God is the initiator. As God forgives us, we are to forgive others. As God is generous with us, we are to be generous with others. As God sees past what is ugly within us, we look past what is ugly in others. As God values us, we look for value in others. Rather than a mirror reflecting the negative behavior of others back to them, we reflect the love of God. "We love because he first loved us" (1 John 4:19). As others have put it, we are moons -- cold dark rocks until we start reflecting the sun's light for all to see.
It is easy and natural to reflect the negative attitudes of those around me back to them, to be no more generous or accepting or forgiving than they are. It takes a deliberate choice to pass on to others the grace and mercy I receive from God. It helps to include on my list of ten things to remember a reminder to choose carefully my source for reflectivity.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
#6 -- Someday I will dance
The sixth thing on my list of Ten Things to Remember actually comes from a reminder to myself I wrote years ago. In its entirety, I don't think any commentary is needed.
Someday I will dance unhindered.
I will glide across the great expanse of heaven
with bright sparks of freedom and joy in my eyes,
leaping and whirling in perfect rhythm with the music.
With that gracefulness and freedom
waiting in the great beyond,
I can afford to rein in my exuberance for today,
matching my steps to those around me
no matter how slow or clumsy.
Because someday ...
I will put on my dancing shoes and dance.
I will glide across the great expanse of heaven
with bright sparks of freedom and joy in my eyes,
leaping and whirling in perfect rhythm with the music.
With that gracefulness and freedom
waiting in the great beyond,
I can afford to rein in my exuberance for today,
matching my steps to those around me
no matter how slow or clumsy.
Because someday ...
I will put on my dancing shoes and dance.
Sunday, January 01, 2012
#5 -- Humiliation has yet to prove fatal
The fifth thing to remember on my list of ten has the morning newspaper for a memory hook. In this case, the newspaper is over my bowed head as I try to cover up my embarrassment. I am sure my life is over, that I am literally going to die of embarrassment. But as I wait for death to come the moments drag on ... and on ... and on... and it starts to occur to me that humiliation is not actually life-threatening, that I will almost surely live to see another day. So I take the newspaper off my head and add this insight to my list of ten things to remember, hoping that by remembering sooner rather than later, I can avoid the agony of waiting futilely for death to rescue me from my shame.
My earliest memory of shame happens to also be perhaps my earliest memory of being in church. My memories don't go back far into my preschool years and in this case I am old enough to know at least some of the words of the song being sung. As I sing along with enthusiasm, I am suddenly aware that the song is a "special," not a congregational, that I am the only one in the congregation singing. Oh, the shame! I bury my face in my mother's lap and sob. I don't want anyone there to see me ever again. I just want to escape somehow. And amidst many, many moments that slip past me during that time of my life, it's that moment of shame and embarrassment that imprints itself in my mind and persists for these many years. Still, I survived the moment and went on to sing with gusto again.
I've grown up a little since that time. Now when I accidentally sing when I should be silent (in whatever form that takes), it is generally only mildly embarrassing to me. I make a mental note to find a way to avoid doing it again and move on. Usually. Sometimes I hide for a while, still waiting to die of embarrassment. But death consistently fails to rescue me and I eventually return to the game.
Someone has suggested that we wouldn't be nearly so concerned about what people think of us if we realized how little they do. It's a helpful thought, although it's offset in my mind by the realization of how many formative moments in my life have come from people who had no clue how powerful their words were and knocked me down without noticing. I don't want to be that kind of person. Still, it helps in times of shame to realize that most of the people I think are staring at me are actually too preoccupied with their own stuff to focus in on my embarrassment. There are a few perks to living in a world populated by self-centered humans. Even those heaping scorn on my head or pointing out my flaws will eventually get bored and move on. It's not as though I'm not even more broken than they know. One of life's many underrated blessings is the fact that no one gets to observe every stupid thing we do. The odd person who has nothing better to do than enjoy what they can see of my many slips in life is pretty desperate for entertainment.
And so, in moments when shame and humiliation flood my soul and make me look for a hole to crawl into, I try to instead fix my focus on life on the other side of that moment, to remember that such moments inevitably pass by and the only casualty is my pride, which always manages to recover and come back around to trip me up again. With this in mind, I can even consider the idea of throwing my stubborn pride to the lions when it's the only thing standing between me and more effective living. What freedom there is in realizing that humiliation has yet to prove fatal.
My earliest memory of shame happens to also be perhaps my earliest memory of being in church. My memories don't go back far into my preschool years and in this case I am old enough to know at least some of the words of the song being sung. As I sing along with enthusiasm, I am suddenly aware that the song is a "special," not a congregational, that I am the only one in the congregation singing. Oh, the shame! I bury my face in my mother's lap and sob. I don't want anyone there to see me ever again. I just want to escape somehow. And amidst many, many moments that slip past me during that time of my life, it's that moment of shame and embarrassment that imprints itself in my mind and persists for these many years. Still, I survived the moment and went on to sing with gusto again.
I've grown up a little since that time. Now when I accidentally sing when I should be silent (in whatever form that takes), it is generally only mildly embarrassing to me. I make a mental note to find a way to avoid doing it again and move on. Usually. Sometimes I hide for a while, still waiting to die of embarrassment. But death consistently fails to rescue me and I eventually return to the game.
Someone has suggested that we wouldn't be nearly so concerned about what people think of us if we realized how little they do. It's a helpful thought, although it's offset in my mind by the realization of how many formative moments in my life have come from people who had no clue how powerful their words were and knocked me down without noticing. I don't want to be that kind of person. Still, it helps in times of shame to realize that most of the people I think are staring at me are actually too preoccupied with their own stuff to focus in on my embarrassment. There are a few perks to living in a world populated by self-centered humans. Even those heaping scorn on my head or pointing out my flaws will eventually get bored and move on. It's not as though I'm not even more broken than they know. One of life's many underrated blessings is the fact that no one gets to observe every stupid thing we do. The odd person who has nothing better to do than enjoy what they can see of my many slips in life is pretty desperate for entertainment.
And so, in moments when shame and humiliation flood my soul and make me look for a hole to crawl into, I try to instead fix my focus on life on the other side of that moment, to remember that such moments inevitably pass by and the only casualty is my pride, which always manages to recover and come back around to trip me up again. With this in mind, I can even consider the idea of throwing my stubborn pride to the lions when it's the only thing standing between me and more effective living. What freedom there is in realizing that humiliation has yet to prove fatal.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
#4 Broken Bread, Poured-Out Wine
The fourth entry in my list of Ten Things to Remember is food sitting on the four-sided, four-legged breakfast table I sit at on my three-point (“h”-shaped) chair wearing my two-legged pants that I put on after pushing the one button on my old-fashioned alarm clock.
These words, of course, find their roots in the Last Supper and echo through time and space during the celebration of the Eucharist. "Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you." and "This cup is the new testament in my blood: this do ye, as oft as ye drink it, in remembrance of me" (1 Corinthians 15:24-25, KJV) However, they come to my list of things to remember via an intermediate source – Oswald Chambers as memorialized by his wife in My Utmost for His Highest. Nine times in the 365 entries of this classic devotional, the reader is called to give his or her own life as broken bread and poured-out wine.
C. S. Lewis writes in Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer about hanging “festoons” on the familiar phrases of the Lord’s Prayer during Church of England liturgy, contemplating various aspects of each line. This is sort of what I do with broken bread and poured-out wine. Beginning with the nouns, I think about bread and see it as a solid presence. Being bread in the world is simply getting out there and being present, showing up. When I think of wine and its symbolism for blood, I see it as representing life. Wine is the sparkle of life that accompanies the simple presence of bread.
Picking up the adjectives, adds new dimensions. The idea of being broken takes a lot of pressure off my days. I tend toward perfectionism. I want to get life right, keep my promises, fulfill the expectations others have for me, meet standards of excellence. But I fall short. There are more expectations than I can possibly meet. I can’t always keep my promises, and even my best efforts often leave people disappointed and irritated. Besides, there are sad situations I can’t fix; there is needed help I can’t give. I am broken, less than perfect. I not only am unable to be all things to all people, I don’t even get out of the gate in that regard.
And so I go into the world broken yet present. Broken bread is still bread. And brokenness is the best I have to offer. Rather than drawing back from life for fear of being exposed and rejected as broken, I push myself to offer my presence to others even in my broken state. When I am knocked flat and fear I am irreparably broken, it helps to remember that I was already broken and live in a broken world where there is value simply in being a solid, dependable, nourishing presence.
Poured-out wine adds a dimension of being dissipated. Bread is a solid. It stays in one place. Wine is liquid. When poured out on the ground it flows and is gone. It’s one thing to be broken but solid. It’s another to pour out my life energy into others and watch it flow away and be irretrievably gone. When I am knocked flat and it seems life it draining out of me, it helps to see such a state as one to which I have been called. Jesus told us we find life by losing it. When I choose to live as poured-out wine, it takes the panic out of realizing that I am being drained of my life energy.
As I remember this phrase, I pray daily that God will give me to my world as broken bread (a flawed but solid presence) and poured-out wine (life freely and irretrievably given away).
These words, of course, find their roots in the Last Supper and echo through time and space during the celebration of the Eucharist. "Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you." and "This cup is the new testament in my blood: this do ye, as oft as ye drink it, in remembrance of me" (1 Corinthians 15:24-25, KJV) However, they come to my list of things to remember via an intermediate source – Oswald Chambers as memorialized by his wife in My Utmost for His Highest. Nine times in the 365 entries of this classic devotional, the reader is called to give his or her own life as broken bread and poured-out wine.
C. S. Lewis writes in Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer about hanging “festoons” on the familiar phrases of the Lord’s Prayer during Church of England liturgy, contemplating various aspects of each line. This is sort of what I do with broken bread and poured-out wine. Beginning with the nouns, I think about bread and see it as a solid presence. Being bread in the world is simply getting out there and being present, showing up. When I think of wine and its symbolism for blood, I see it as representing life. Wine is the sparkle of life that accompanies the simple presence of bread.
Picking up the adjectives, adds new dimensions. The idea of being broken takes a lot of pressure off my days. I tend toward perfectionism. I want to get life right, keep my promises, fulfill the expectations others have for me, meet standards of excellence. But I fall short. There are more expectations than I can possibly meet. I can’t always keep my promises, and even my best efforts often leave people disappointed and irritated. Besides, there are sad situations I can’t fix; there is needed help I can’t give. I am broken, less than perfect. I not only am unable to be all things to all people, I don’t even get out of the gate in that regard.
And so I go into the world broken yet present. Broken bread is still bread. And brokenness is the best I have to offer. Rather than drawing back from life for fear of being exposed and rejected as broken, I push myself to offer my presence to others even in my broken state. When I am knocked flat and fear I am irreparably broken, it helps to remember that I was already broken and live in a broken world where there is value simply in being a solid, dependable, nourishing presence.
Poured-out wine adds a dimension of being dissipated. Bread is a solid. It stays in one place. Wine is liquid. When poured out on the ground it flows and is gone. It’s one thing to be broken but solid. It’s another to pour out my life energy into others and watch it flow away and be irretrievably gone. When I am knocked flat and it seems life it draining out of me, it helps to see such a state as one to which I have been called. Jesus told us we find life by losing it. When I choose to live as poured-out wine, it takes the panic out of realizing that I am being drained of my life energy.
As I remember this phrase, I pray daily that God will give me to my world as broken bread (a flawed but solid presence) and poured-out wine (life freely and irretrievably given away).
Sunday, December 04, 2011
#3 I am not out of resources yet.
This is the third item on my "Things to Remember" list. The third "hook" for remembering the list is the (three-legged?) chair you sit on at the four-legged breakfast table after pushing the one button on your old-fashioned alarm clock and putting on your two-legged pants.
For this particular list I can't sit on the chair because it's loaded down with stuff, reminding me that I'm not out of resources yet.
It's actually a different image that lies behind this reminder: a memory, a snapshot of a moment in time. I am slaving away in the kitchen, my least favorite room in the house, while my husband and children are in the living room. There may be guests in there with them. I am a most unhappy Martha (see John 10:38-41) working my fingers to the bone washing dishes and feeling sorry for myself while my imaginary sister Mary is sitting in the other room listening to Jesus' stories. (Why does everyone assume Martha liked kitchen work? Maybe she was simply the responsible one thinking, “SOMEbody has to be busy in the kitchen. This work isn't going to do itself!”) I'm exhausted by all the labor.
Really? I asked myself that day. Am I truly overworked? Would I be so exhausted if I weren't alone? Is this about me being overworked or is envy pulling me down?
The truth is, I'm not overworked in that memory. I had plenty of energy left. A little work in a modern kitchen isn't going to do me in. It really was a case of envy because I was working while others were not. I have never in my life experienced complete and total exhaustion, any more than I have ever truly been “starving to death,” and it's disrespectful to those who are driven to the absolute end of their resources to say I am when I'm not.
Well ... there was that one bout with mononucleosis at age 20. I was pretty much wiped out for a week or two. But even then I wasn't unable to move at all. I had to severely curtail my total energy expenditure, but there was always enough energy to stumble through one more task if absolutely necessary.
This reminder starts with physical resources but doesn't end there. Sometimes the threat of exhaustion comes in other areas. The “I can't do this anymore” cry in my heart can be a response to any number of aggravating circumstances. Still, the same questions apply. Really? There are absolutely no resources left? Not even for one more time? Five if the situation is guaranteed to change after that? Ten if someone offers some encouragement and support? The answer has never been, “Yes, I am absolutely and completely exhausted. I cannot take even one more step.” Maybe for some people in some situations, it is. It has yet to be true for me. Every time I hit this item on my list I have to acknowledge its truth to myself.
There is another dimension to this reminder. Thus far, I have focused on personal resources, inner strength to endure one more moment. If I look around, there are any number of alternatives to relying on my own strength. Resources abound! I can recruit help. I can walk away and leave the work for another day or another crew. I can apply some mental energy to finding a quicker and easier way to get done what needs to be done. I can incorporate the ideas of others into my own processes. I can reassess the need. (Is that what Jesus encouraged Martha to do?) I can pray for an extra boost.
Someday I may hit a wall, a dead end from which there is no escape, no rescue. But this far along the journey I have yet to encounter that wall. I always have options. I may feel like I'm running on fumes and about to keel over, but when I look more closely I can say with conviction, I am not out of resources yet! Most of the time I'm not even breathing hard.
For this particular list I can't sit on the chair because it's loaded down with stuff, reminding me that I'm not out of resources yet.
It's actually a different image that lies behind this reminder: a memory, a snapshot of a moment in time. I am slaving away in the kitchen, my least favorite room in the house, while my husband and children are in the living room. There may be guests in there with them. I am a most unhappy Martha (see John 10:38-41) working my fingers to the bone washing dishes and feeling sorry for myself while my imaginary sister Mary is sitting in the other room listening to Jesus' stories. (Why does everyone assume Martha liked kitchen work? Maybe she was simply the responsible one thinking, “SOMEbody has to be busy in the kitchen. This work isn't going to do itself!”) I'm exhausted by all the labor.
Really? I asked myself that day. Am I truly overworked? Would I be so exhausted if I weren't alone? Is this about me being overworked or is envy pulling me down?
The truth is, I'm not overworked in that memory. I had plenty of energy left. A little work in a modern kitchen isn't going to do me in. It really was a case of envy because I was working while others were not. I have never in my life experienced complete and total exhaustion, any more than I have ever truly been “starving to death,” and it's disrespectful to those who are driven to the absolute end of their resources to say I am when I'm not.
Well ... there was that one bout with mononucleosis at age 20. I was pretty much wiped out for a week or two. But even then I wasn't unable to move at all. I had to severely curtail my total energy expenditure, but there was always enough energy to stumble through one more task if absolutely necessary.
This reminder starts with physical resources but doesn't end there. Sometimes the threat of exhaustion comes in other areas. The “I can't do this anymore” cry in my heart can be a response to any number of aggravating circumstances. Still, the same questions apply. Really? There are absolutely no resources left? Not even for one more time? Five if the situation is guaranteed to change after that? Ten if someone offers some encouragement and support? The answer has never been, “Yes, I am absolutely and completely exhausted. I cannot take even one more step.” Maybe for some people in some situations, it is. It has yet to be true for me. Every time I hit this item on my list I have to acknowledge its truth to myself.
There is another dimension to this reminder. Thus far, I have focused on personal resources, inner strength to endure one more moment. If I look around, there are any number of alternatives to relying on my own strength. Resources abound! I can recruit help. I can walk away and leave the work for another day or another crew. I can apply some mental energy to finding a quicker and easier way to get done what needs to be done. I can incorporate the ideas of others into my own processes. I can reassess the need. (Is that what Jesus encouraged Martha to do?) I can pray for an extra boost.
Someday I may hit a wall, a dead end from which there is no escape, no rescue. But this far along the journey I have yet to encounter that wall. I always have options. I may feel like I'm running on fumes and about to keel over, but when I look more closely I can say with conviction, I am not out of resources yet! Most of the time I'm not even breathing hard.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
#2 My Friendship Is not Merit-Based
This is the second on my list of "Ten Things to Remember" in times of personal distress. By the way, the book I read had a list of "hooks" to memorize as an aid to memorizing other things. The first item on the list was the alarm clock (an old-fashioned type with one button on top and perhaps set for one o'clock) that wakes us up first thing in the morning. I don't need that aid to remember God's love for me as the top item on my list. It's simply a given.
The second item is the pants with their two legs that we put on when we get up. I do use this one, moving from the pants to a teen book series called The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants about four friends and one pair of pants.
And now on with the commentary.
You probably don't want me for a best friend. I am an introvert, which in this case means I enjoy my own company. I shop alone, go places alone, love to stay home alone. I once had a friend who called me to chat when she got a minute to herself. Really? You are home alone and you pick up the telephone just to chat? I was amazed by the idea. The friendship I offer is more of an out-of-sight-out-of-mind sort of thing.
When someone knocks me down, it's tempting to withhold even my weak version of friendship from them. However, as a follower of Jesus Christ, I need to remember his observation in Matthew 5 that anyone can love those who love them back. It's loving those who despise us that is the challenge and brings the greatest reward.
What this means is that I try to offer a friendly smile, pleasant conversation, and genuine goodwill to anyone and everyone whether or not they deserve it. The creepy passive-aggressive library patron. The social butterfly who has plenty of friends and doesn't even notice me. The sour-faced clerk at the store. The rambunctious child. The guy who left his wife, my friend, for a bottle-blond bimbo. The blond bimbo. (And, yes, I'll learn her name and quit calling her names in my head.) And, sigh ... the person who owes me an apology. After all, it's not as though my friendship is such a precious commodity that I have to reserve it for those who have earned it. Nor will withholding it from those who don't deserve it make the world a better place. Although it seems obvious that the way to correct people who are in the wrong is to turn a cold shoulder their way, I don't actually see that approach to be very effective. People seem far more responsive to those who like them. And so I attempt to nurture grace in my living and keep reminding myself that my friendship is a gift, not something to be earned.
The second item is the pants with their two legs that we put on when we get up. I do use this one, moving from the pants to a teen book series called The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants about four friends and one pair of pants.
And now on with the commentary.
You probably don't want me for a best friend. I am an introvert, which in this case means I enjoy my own company. I shop alone, go places alone, love to stay home alone. I once had a friend who called me to chat when she got a minute to herself. Really? You are home alone and you pick up the telephone just to chat? I was amazed by the idea. The friendship I offer is more of an out-of-sight-out-of-mind sort of thing.
When someone knocks me down, it's tempting to withhold even my weak version of friendship from them. However, as a follower of Jesus Christ, I need to remember his observation in Matthew 5 that anyone can love those who love them back. It's loving those who despise us that is the challenge and brings the greatest reward.
What this means is that I try to offer a friendly smile, pleasant conversation, and genuine goodwill to anyone and everyone whether or not they deserve it. The creepy passive-aggressive library patron. The social butterfly who has plenty of friends and doesn't even notice me. The sour-faced clerk at the store. The rambunctious child. The guy who left his wife, my friend, for a bottle-blond bimbo. The blond bimbo. (And, yes, I'll learn her name and quit calling her names in my head.) And, sigh ... the person who owes me an apology. After all, it's not as though my friendship is such a precious commodity that I have to reserve it for those who have earned it. Nor will withholding it from those who don't deserve it make the world a better place. Although it seems obvious that the way to correct people who are in the wrong is to turn a cold shoulder their way, I don't actually see that approach to be very effective. People seem far more responsive to those who like them. And so I attempt to nurture grace in my living and keep reminding myself that my friendship is a gift, not something to be earned.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Thing to Remember #1 -- God Loves Me
I promised to flesh out my Ten Things to Remember list. Thing #1 seems as good a place to start as any.
1. God loves me.
This is first on the list not because it is the most helpful but because I'm sure it ought to be most helpful. After all, the love of God toward someone like me is downright astounding.
In reality, in times of distress I tend to pass right over this item and move on to something more uplifting. There are a few reasons for this:
When I was a child, I was convinced that God wouldn't love me if there were a choice, but it would look rather odd to have John 3:16 read, "For God so loved the world (except one particularly unattractive little girl named Marsha) that he gave ..." I was pretty sure God had no love for me as an individual but simply didn't find me worthy to single out as an exception. I have since learned to accept God's love for me as an individual but not enough for my assurance to stand up well against the blows of people who obviously don't see anything lovable about me. No, this thing to remember alone is not going to be able to pull me up out of the doldrums. It will take more.
Still, it's a good place to start on my road back to emotional equilibrium when the storms of life knock me down. It reminds me that I have been convinced in the past that I am not despicable in the eyes of God and I might want to think twice before accepting such an assessment now without question.
1. God loves me.
This is first on the list not because it is the most helpful but because I'm sure it ought to be most helpful. After all, the love of God toward someone like me is downright astounding.
In reality, in times of distress I tend to pass right over this item and move on to something more uplifting. There are a few reasons for this:
a. Of course God loves me. God loves all seven billion inhabitants of this earth, including the person or persons responsible for my distress. It's hard to feel special when you're simply one beloved child among seven billion, especially when it's so obvious that at least a few of my fellow inhabitants of earth have some major character flaws that make loving them quite difficult.
b. The Bible may tell me God loves me, but when there are louder voices -- both inside and outside my head -- suggesting I am despicable, it's difficult to put much conviction behind any self-talk about God's love for me.
c. At least as many times as I have heard about God's love for me, I have also heard about God's wrath toward the disobedient and unfaithful. It's hard to associate unfailing love toward all with a God who will commit most of the population (the "unsaved") to eternal torment in hell.
When I was a child, I was convinced that God wouldn't love me if there were a choice, but it would look rather odd to have John 3:16 read, "For God so loved the world (except one particularly unattractive little girl named Marsha) that he gave ..." I was pretty sure God had no love for me as an individual but simply didn't find me worthy to single out as an exception. I have since learned to accept God's love for me as an individual but not enough for my assurance to stand up well against the blows of people who obviously don't see anything lovable about me. No, this thing to remember alone is not going to be able to pull me up out of the doldrums. It will take more.
Still, it's a good place to start on my road back to emotional equilibrium when the storms of life knock me down. It reminds me that I have been convinced in the past that I am not despicable in the eyes of God and I might want to think twice before accepting such an assessment now without question.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Ten Things to Remember
Several years ago I read an old book from the library about remembering names and faces. I was hoping for help with my face recognition problem, but got instead mostly a system for remembering lists of items. I had fun memorizing a few lists and then mostly forgot it. Except for one list I developed at the time. I call it simply "Ten Things to Remember". In this post, I will share the list. In the near future on this blog I hope to do some commentary on the "ten things", some of which may be incomprehensible in this version.
Here they are:
1. God loves me.
2. My friendship is not merit-based.
3. I'm not out of resources yet.
4. Broken bread, poured-out wine.
5. Humiliation has yet to prove fatal.
6. Someday I will dance.
7. Life is reflective; choose your source.
8. What goes around comes around.
9. The words are not the message.
10. Suffering produces character.
I wish I could remember to "count to ten" in every tense situation and review this list while doing so. I don't always remember, but it's a blessing when I do. Some lines more than others, depending on the situation.
So there's the list. Follow the links where available for commentary.
Here they are:
1. God loves me.
2. My friendship is not merit-based.
3. I'm not out of resources yet.
4. Broken bread, poured-out wine.
5. Humiliation has yet to prove fatal.
6. Someday I will dance.
7. Life is reflective; choose your source.
8. What goes around comes around.
9. The words are not the message.
10. Suffering produces character.
I wish I could remember to "count to ten" in every tense situation and review this list while doing so. I don't always remember, but it's a blessing when I do. Some lines more than others, depending on the situation.
So there's the list. Follow the links where available for commentary.
Thursday, September 01, 2011
MS and Michael J. Fox
Last week I read Lucky Man by Michael J. Fox. Early in the book he states that if someone offered to spare him from the diagnosis of Early Onset Parkinson's Disease and give him back the ten years between the diagnosis and writing about it, he would tell them to "take a hike". Parkinson's Disease (PD) rescued him from a life of alcohol abuse and the licentiousness that comes with a Hollywood celebrity status.
The message of Lucky Man was what I anticipated based on the title. I chose to read it because I hope to embrace MS as a blessing rather than a curse.
I know many people who respond to every setback in life by calling in the prayer warriors to rescue them from Satan's schemes to hinder them by eliminating the problem. Where would Michael J. Fox be today if someone had "rescued" him from PD?
I lost a good friend a couple of years ago to colon cancer. He didn't exit this life willingly. At his request, prayer warriors from around the world prayed for his healing, for continued life and ministry on this earth. Their petitions were not granted and the world is a poorer place for having lost a fine example of Christian love in action. I have yet to see the blessing in that loss.
And yet ... I have learned from it. I learned that we cannot back God into a corner and force Him to give in to our wishes by rounding up enough good people to throw their fervent prayers into the mix. I have never seen a more impressive example of united prayer, both in quantity of people praying and past effectiveness of the prayers of those praying. This was the "dream team" of prayer warriors. Still, the cancer won and my friend's earthly ministry of love came to an end.
There are those who would help me round up my own minor league dream team of prayer warriors to fight back against the encroachment of MS in my life. Some are already rallying the troops. My pastor would gladly anoint my head with oil and lead in prayer for my healing if I agreed to it. But is that what I want? I certainly wouldn't choose to become personally acquainted with MS but now that it has taken up residence in my life do I want to forcefully evict it? What if it is my ticket out of some of my own lifestyle mischoices? What if it is a blessing in disguise? Do I want to pour my energy into waging what could ultimately be a futile war against it without giving it a chance to bless me?
I know the answers to my questions are obvious to many. They count any misfortune as an agent of Satan to be forcefully driven away through the power of prayer. I'm not so sure. I will soon be starting a disease modifying therapy (DMT) drug to try to keep MS under control for as much and as long as possible by ordinary means, but I'm not quite willing to count it as an enemy of my soul and take up spiritual arms against it. It's a physical problem. For now, I think I'll respond by physical means and wait and see how it fits into my life spiritually.
Back when my daughter was playing high school tennis, we were often reminded that losing against a better player provides more learning opportunity than winning against a lesser foe does. I would gladly walk away from this game if I could, but since life has put me in the court against this formidable opponent, I think I'll play the balls that come my way and try to improve my game rather than spending large amounts of time and spiritual energy trying to escape over the fence.
The message of Lucky Man was what I anticipated based on the title. I chose to read it because I hope to embrace MS as a blessing rather than a curse.
I know many people who respond to every setback in life by calling in the prayer warriors to rescue them from Satan's schemes to hinder them by eliminating the problem. Where would Michael J. Fox be today if someone had "rescued" him from PD?
I lost a good friend a couple of years ago to colon cancer. He didn't exit this life willingly. At his request, prayer warriors from around the world prayed for his healing, for continued life and ministry on this earth. Their petitions were not granted and the world is a poorer place for having lost a fine example of Christian love in action. I have yet to see the blessing in that loss.
And yet ... I have learned from it. I learned that we cannot back God into a corner and force Him to give in to our wishes by rounding up enough good people to throw their fervent prayers into the mix. I have never seen a more impressive example of united prayer, both in quantity of people praying and past effectiveness of the prayers of those praying. This was the "dream team" of prayer warriors. Still, the cancer won and my friend's earthly ministry of love came to an end.
There are those who would help me round up my own minor league dream team of prayer warriors to fight back against the encroachment of MS in my life. Some are already rallying the troops. My pastor would gladly anoint my head with oil and lead in prayer for my healing if I agreed to it. But is that what I want? I certainly wouldn't choose to become personally acquainted with MS but now that it has taken up residence in my life do I want to forcefully evict it? What if it is my ticket out of some of my own lifestyle mischoices? What if it is a blessing in disguise? Do I want to pour my energy into waging what could ultimately be a futile war against it without giving it a chance to bless me?
I know the answers to my questions are obvious to many. They count any misfortune as an agent of Satan to be forcefully driven away through the power of prayer. I'm not so sure. I will soon be starting a disease modifying therapy (DMT) drug to try to keep MS under control for as much and as long as possible by ordinary means, but I'm not quite willing to count it as an enemy of my soul and take up spiritual arms against it. It's a physical problem. For now, I think I'll respond by physical means and wait and see how it fits into my life spiritually.
Back when my daughter was playing high school tennis, we were often reminded that losing against a better player provides more learning opportunity than winning against a lesser foe does. I would gladly walk away from this game if I could, but since life has put me in the court against this formidable opponent, I think I'll play the balls that come my way and try to improve my game rather than spending large amounts of time and spiritual energy trying to escape over the fence.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
The Value of Space
A couple of dozen periodicals make their way into my home on a regular basis, ranging from fifty times a year for Time to four times a year for the excellent Notre Dame Magazine -- tracing back to when we had a Notre Dame student living here. There is good reading in those pages. A few come unsolicited, but we pay good money for most of them.
There is also good reading on the internet as well as many more books on my reading list than I can read. And my life is full of duty and responsibility. Time for reading is limited and the magazines often get pushed aside unread. Or I read them and find value in them and feel as though I should preserve them. This leads to piles of back issues cluttering the house.
Over the past 31 years of living at this address, I have come to realize that clutter-free space has value in and of itself. Now I face the question of the value of magazine back issues versus the value of reclaiming the space they occupy. The obvious answer is that the space should win. After all, new magazines arrive every week. Keeping back issues doesn't make sense from a household ecology point of view. The only way to avoid being overwhelmed by material goods is for the amount of stuff going out to equal the amount of stuff coming in.
Still, it's hard to give them up. What if I have missed a wonderful article on braiding garlic in Organic Gardening or will someday want to refer back to that article by Eugene Peterson in Christianity Today? Do I still have the issue where the Notre Dame Magazine presented such a balanced discussion of illegal immigration?
What all this adds up to is the personal insight that I could easily become a "hoarder". You know, one of those people who are gradually buried alive by all the stuff they can't bear to discard. Someone who, when retirement and solitary living frees up their hours, spends their time clipping articles and organizing them into extensive files for their children to discard after they are gone.
Okay, the magazines have to go. Yes, there will be a sense of history lost for a while. I'll need to nurture my appreciation for the beautiful uncluttered space they leave behind and convince myself it is truly of greater value than the printed words I discard.
At least I have never subscribed to National Geographic. That magazine must be collected more than any other. (My evidence for that is the multiple offers we have had at the library from people hoping to regain space in their homes by offering the library the wonderful opportunity of becoming custodian of their collections.)
Still, it's hard to give up all those beautiful words. Who knows when Organic Gardening will publish another article on braiding garlic? If I ever manage to grow garlic and find myself interested in braiding it will I be able to figure out how to do it? Sure, I could just go here and find out in much less time than digging through the files, but I'm just old-fashioned enough for the paper file approach to tug at me and slow my steps as I carry old magazines to the recycling bins. Only sucking it up and nurturing an appreciation for clean lines and uncluttered space will enable me to do it.
Back to cleaning. There's a wedding on the near horizon that will bring us house guests and should provide some incentive for sprucing up the place. Maybe I can even persuade myself to give up the magazines.
There is also good reading on the internet as well as many more books on my reading list than I can read. And my life is full of duty and responsibility. Time for reading is limited and the magazines often get pushed aside unread. Or I read them and find value in them and feel as though I should preserve them. This leads to piles of back issues cluttering the house.
Over the past 31 years of living at this address, I have come to realize that clutter-free space has value in and of itself. Now I face the question of the value of magazine back issues versus the value of reclaiming the space they occupy. The obvious answer is that the space should win. After all, new magazines arrive every week. Keeping back issues doesn't make sense from a household ecology point of view. The only way to avoid being overwhelmed by material goods is for the amount of stuff going out to equal the amount of stuff coming in.
Still, it's hard to give them up. What if I have missed a wonderful article on braiding garlic in Organic Gardening or will someday want to refer back to that article by Eugene Peterson in Christianity Today? Do I still have the issue where the Notre Dame Magazine presented such a balanced discussion of illegal immigration?
What all this adds up to is the personal insight that I could easily become a "hoarder". You know, one of those people who are gradually buried alive by all the stuff they can't bear to discard. Someone who, when retirement and solitary living frees up their hours, spends their time clipping articles and organizing them into extensive files for their children to discard after they are gone.
Okay, the magazines have to go. Yes, there will be a sense of history lost for a while. I'll need to nurture my appreciation for the beautiful uncluttered space they leave behind and convince myself it is truly of greater value than the printed words I discard.
At least I have never subscribed to National Geographic. That magazine must be collected more than any other. (My evidence for that is the multiple offers we have had at the library from people hoping to regain space in their homes by offering the library the wonderful opportunity of becoming custodian of their collections.)
Still, it's hard to give up all those beautiful words. Who knows when Organic Gardening will publish another article on braiding garlic? If I ever manage to grow garlic and find myself interested in braiding it will I be able to figure out how to do it? Sure, I could just go here and find out in much less time than digging through the files, but I'm just old-fashioned enough for the paper file approach to tug at me and slow my steps as I carry old magazines to the recycling bins. Only sucking it up and nurturing an appreciation for clean lines and uncluttered space will enable me to do it.
Back to cleaning. There's a wedding on the near horizon that will bring us house guests and should provide some incentive for sprucing up the place. Maybe I can even persuade myself to give up the magazines.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Identity
I started playing the piano at age 5. In third grade the music teacher had me play a Bach Two-Part Invention and explained to the class that they were seeing something unusual. I was surprised by her words. Sure, I didn't know anyone else my age who could play what I could play, but just figured I didn't know what my classmates did outside the classroom.
By high school, music was what made me special, my identity. Then, in my 20s, I moved into an environment where my musical ability was more of a relational liability than an asset. Rather than force the issue, I reluctantly moved on to other interests. Music was no longer a part of who I was. I was an engineer for a few years, then a full-time mother, and later a librarian.
In 2004 I was diagnosed with breast cancer. After the initial shock of hearing the "C" word wore off, I decided I would not join the ranks of people for whom "cancer survivor" is part of their identity. I am not a "cancer survivor" any more than I am a "chicken pox survivor". Cancer is simply one part of my medical history. I had a lumpectomy and five weeks of radiation treatment but treated it as just a small bump in my life.
Now it is 2011. In February, I heard the "C" word again. This time my left kidney was the site of cancer. No relationship to the first cancer. Again, surgery took care of the problem, this time without further treatment, and I declined to allow cancer to define me.
On a Friday evening in mid-June, I noticed I was unsteady on my feet. The next day I developed double vision. That led to a new diagnosis tracing back to a case of optic neuritis I had in 1996. The optic neuritis was a sclerosis. The latest MRIs show that I now have more than one sclerosis. In fact, I have multiple sclerosis. MS.
Now it is time to consider my identity once again. There will be no surgery to put MS behind me. It is a lifetime companion. At the moment, I have no more symptoms than before the problems that cropped up for a few days in June and were resolved with the help of steroids. Shall I become an active participant in the MS community or shall I ignore this unwelcome companion as much as possible? What place do I want to give it in my life during this time when it's still invisible to others?
It has been a while since I have grappled with "who am I?" questions. It will be interesting to see how much of my focus MS manages to grab as it becomes a constant companion. I guess if it starts to take over my life I'll at least have a focus for my blog after all this time.
By high school, music was what made me special, my identity. Then, in my 20s, I moved into an environment where my musical ability was more of a relational liability than an asset. Rather than force the issue, I reluctantly moved on to other interests. Music was no longer a part of who I was. I was an engineer for a few years, then a full-time mother, and later a librarian.
In 2004 I was diagnosed with breast cancer. After the initial shock of hearing the "C" word wore off, I decided I would not join the ranks of people for whom "cancer survivor" is part of their identity. I am not a "cancer survivor" any more than I am a "chicken pox survivor". Cancer is simply one part of my medical history. I had a lumpectomy and five weeks of radiation treatment but treated it as just a small bump in my life.
Now it is 2011. In February, I heard the "C" word again. This time my left kidney was the site of cancer. No relationship to the first cancer. Again, surgery took care of the problem, this time without further treatment, and I declined to allow cancer to define me.
On a Friday evening in mid-June, I noticed I was unsteady on my feet. The next day I developed double vision. That led to a new diagnosis tracing back to a case of optic neuritis I had in 1996. The optic neuritis was a sclerosis. The latest MRIs show that I now have more than one sclerosis. In fact, I have multiple sclerosis. MS.
Now it is time to consider my identity once again. There will be no surgery to put MS behind me. It is a lifetime companion. At the moment, I have no more symptoms than before the problems that cropped up for a few days in June and were resolved with the help of steroids. Shall I become an active participant in the MS community or shall I ignore this unwelcome companion as much as possible? What place do I want to give it in my life during this time when it's still invisible to others?
It has been a while since I have grappled with "who am I?" questions. It will be interesting to see how much of my focus MS manages to grab as it becomes a constant companion. I guess if it starts to take over my life I'll at least have a focus for my blog after all this time.
Friday, April 29, 2011
A Hard Love
This is last week's "Five Minute Friday" assignment from here. In my first attempt, I learned that I am a hopeless editor at the keyboard. The instructions say, just write, don't edit. I'm not sure anyone would understand what I type without editing, let alone enjoy it. I type faster than my thoughts can gel and have to go back and fix things. However, I do much writing with pen and paper which doesn't lend itself to editing. I decided to try that approach. The next step of publishing those inky words has taken a little longer. But here we go:
START
He needs money. Again. He always needs money. He has no job. What he has is a temper that interferes with steady employment. I think I understand the source of the temper. Life has never given him a fair shake. I wish I could fix it for him. I love him. I want better things for him. But charity isn't the answer. I've helped him out financially in the past, until every encounter started revolving around money and I said I wouldn't give him any more.
Now he's here again with his live-in girlfriend. Her dogs were turned in to the town by her mother as part of a fight between them. Unneutered dogs. $100 needed for registration to get them back. Can I please, pretty please, pay the $100 so they can have registered, unneutered dogs in their impoverished home? They can pay me back next month when her disability check comes in.
Love is hard.
STOP
START
He needs money. Again. He always needs money. He has no job. What he has is a temper that interferes with steady employment. I think I understand the source of the temper. Life has never given him a fair shake. I wish I could fix it for him. I love him. I want better things for him. But charity isn't the answer. I've helped him out financially in the past, until every encounter started revolving around money and I said I wouldn't give him any more.Now he's here again with his live-in girlfriend. Her dogs were turned in to the town by her mother as part of a fight between them. Unneutered dogs. $100 needed for registration to get them back. Can I please, pretty please, pay the $100 so they can have registered, unneutered dogs in their impoverished home? They can pay me back next month when her disability check comes in.
Love is hard.
STOP
Sunday, April 17, 2011
On writing -- again
The days are full. I consider the idea of writing here much more than I actually do it. It seems that when the ideas come there is no time. When I finally grab some time, the ideas are gone. If I write them down as they come they grow stale. The things I pondered yesterday seem uninteresting to me today. How can I return to yesterday's mindset?
I think I have a lot to learn about writing.
I think I have a lot to learn about writing.
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