Act One
I ran across a friend in a parking lot a couple of nights ago. We're members of the same church but she hasn't attended with any regularity for several years. She struggled as a parent of young children. Seemed to be missing some basic instincts for controlling a toddler. We tried to help her set boundaries and be kind but firm. (And by "we," I mean "we the church." Personally, I have more questions than answers and am not much for taking on the role of mentor.)
Then she was a single mother with troubled children. We tried to help her through the tough times during her divorce.
Then she ran into financial problems. We tried to help her out. It was an opportunity to do more than simply throw money at someone's problems. We could take her under our wing and offer her financial advice. Maybe help her establish a budget and stick to it.
Then she disappeared. Apparently, she didn't appreciate our helpfulness. She told me she lost her home and her car and sank deep into despair during that time. She said she is just now coming out of it. She's doing better. I see her positive self-talk on Facebook -- "Today is a good day and I'm not going to let anything or anyone get me down!" She updated me on her still troubled children. She told me she has no use for people who are phony friends. (I wondered if I fit that definition in her mind, but didn't ask.) People don't know your whole story. They think they could do better in your situation, but they don't really understand it.
As we talked, she hinted at abuse in her early years. It was the first I knew about it, although I'm not surprised. Perhaps the most vulnerable thing she told me is that she has taken up cigarettes. (I already suspected that; it's a small town.) Our church doesn't approve of smoking. Her admission may have been a sort of test. I don't know if I passed. I've already lost much ground with her because I'm the town library director and she has unreturned library items at her house and I once asked her about them. Usually she ducks when she sees me coming, even though I have long given up on ever seeing those items again and have moved on to other challenges. This time I caught her in a situation where she couldn't easily escape. We weren't far into our conversation at all before she brought up the library material. I wish I could remove the library materials from her association with me. I wish I could erase some of the pain in her life, particularly in regard to well-meaning people who crushed her spirit. For this round, however, the best I could do was practice my skills of active listening.
Ah, you say, but I could have said this or done that or steered the conversation here. Maybe you could have done that. What I could do and did do was listen. There have already been plenty of people with things to say to her. Those messages have left her wounded rather than healed. She doesn't need additional hurtful words and I couldn't be sure I could say anything guaranteed to lift her up rather than tear her down further. She offered a hug as we parted and I was glad to return it.
Act Two
Yesterday I mentioned to a couple of people that one of my friends is very generous. This friend is also poor, underemployed, cohabiting with his fiancee, ignorant in certain areas, and has anger management issues which consistently lead to other problems. Studies have shown that poor people are often more generous than those better off. My friend is a good example of that phenomenon. He is genuinely generous in spirit and had given time and effort to help a project involving my two companions succeed. When one of them made a face and said, "Yes, I suppose he is, but he sure has other problems," I had to do a little anger management of my own. What ungracious words from one of the least generous, most self-promoting "Christian" people I know toward someone who showed up to help without promise of reward. I waited a couple of beats before responding. She was no longer listening by the time I quietly said, "Don't we all."
Act Three
This morning, I asked in a group setting if there was any good news concerning an unemployed person not present. The response was negative. The further comments were more negative. He says he's trying to find work but our reporter doubts he is trying very hard. Someone else jumped in and talked about the need for persistence when looking for work. I tried to suggest that being terminated from a job and having multiple job applications rejected can bring on debilitating discouragement. In response, I was peppered with more advice about the value of persistence. An anecdote was offered by someone who can testify to the value of persistence. Not a single person in the group expressed empathy for the unemployed person dealing with discouragement. I regretted having asked about him. Being completely unsuccessful at stirring up any empathy for him after several attempts, I finally gave up and changed the subject.
Lesson Learned
There's one more thing in every person's story about which we have no clue. We don't know what it's like to struggle with the particular problems of the particular children my friend is trying to raise as a single mother, particularly with the history of abuse she carries. We don't know what it's like to carry the particular pain my unemployed friend carries. We don't have their personality and history. We think we could and would do better if we were in their shoes. But we have never been and will never be in their shoes. We will always be in ours, with our personality, our background, our personal baggage, not theirs.
Stop being negative about the negative people. It's a reminder I need to review often. I'm glad for the example of a generous spirit my poor, underemployed, ignorant, "sinner" friend shows me. I would do well to emulate it.
The biggest question this makes me ask is, Why do I have to look outside the church to find such an example? And why is it so difficult to stir up empathy for others among Christians?
Sunday, June 02, 2013
Thursday, May 30, 2013
On being outstanding
This morning I read a couple of glowing accolades from a recent memorial service. They spoke highly of the dearly departed who was an outstanding person in multiple ways. When I ran across this heretofore unpublished blog entry, I thought it might be a good time to post it.
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Last evening following the rehearsal for a wedding I'm playing for this afternoon, someone asked me two questions as one: "Do you give piano lessons and do you do any recording?"
I understood the first part. The answer is no. I've tried. Giving piano lessons is not in my skill set.
I didn't understand the second part. What type of recording? I sometimes make amateur accompaniment tracks for people wanting to practice a song or audition for something. I've never done anything that goes beyond a mic on the piano attached to whatever device is used for such recordings in a given era. There's a reason for that. I'm not that good. I started my piano career far ahead of my peers. I learned my first Bach 2-part invention in early elementary school. When my piano teacher moved away, I continued with independent study -- playing for hours a day out of any music I could find. However, I developed my skills "a mile wide and an inch deep." I can dabble in most types of music from reading "moderately advanced" printed notation to chording along with the latest popular worship song. The problem is that I never perfect anything. I just dabble here and there. I'm "moderately advanced" in a few areas, but not outstanding in any.
My last post was a five-minute special. I cheated on it. It was supposed to be done without editing. It turns out "without editing" is not an option for me. My backspace key gets a lot of compulsive use as I type. That's why I have so little to show for my five minutes. But even with compulsive editing, my writing is not outstanding. Sometimes people tell me it is above average. I have no reason to discount their assessment, but I'm pretty sure it's not outstanding.
I wonder what percentage of the world's population is outstanding in some area. How many can measure up to Robin Williams for ad lib comedy? How many writers of satire can stand in the same class as Samuel Clemens, a.k.a., Mark Twain? How many cellists have skills on par with Yo Yo Ma?
I'm sure there are many people who are outstanding in various areas and yet not famous, people who do what they do in outstanding ways who have never had their skills recognized beyond a limited sphere of time and space. Even in this day of viral YouTube videos which give anyone a potential spot on stage if they can do something people enjoy watching.
There was a time I longed to join the outstanding crowd, to be at the top of the pack. Now I realize I'm not willing to pay the price. I would rather be part of a team, working together to produce something adequate for the need. Doing my part, carrying my part of the load, but not standing out as above and beyond the rest of the team.
It turns out the person questioning me has a band. They need a keyboard player. But my life is full of lesser things that add up to more when taken all together. At some point I made the choice to give up being outstanding. I think I'm all right with that choice. Even though it means I will likely never make a list of top bloggers of America.
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Last evening following the rehearsal for a wedding I'm playing for this afternoon, someone asked me two questions as one: "Do you give piano lessons and do you do any recording?"
I understood the first part. The answer is no. I've tried. Giving piano lessons is not in my skill set.
I didn't understand the second part. What type of recording? I sometimes make amateur accompaniment tracks for people wanting to practice a song or audition for something. I've never done anything that goes beyond a mic on the piano attached to whatever device is used for such recordings in a given era. There's a reason for that. I'm not that good. I started my piano career far ahead of my peers. I learned my first Bach 2-part invention in early elementary school. When my piano teacher moved away, I continued with independent study -- playing for hours a day out of any music I could find. However, I developed my skills "a mile wide and an inch deep." I can dabble in most types of music from reading "moderately advanced" printed notation to chording along with the latest popular worship song. The problem is that I never perfect anything. I just dabble here and there. I'm "moderately advanced" in a few areas, but not outstanding in any.
My last post was a five-minute special. I cheated on it. It was supposed to be done without editing. It turns out "without editing" is not an option for me. My backspace key gets a lot of compulsive use as I type. That's why I have so little to show for my five minutes. But even with compulsive editing, my writing is not outstanding. Sometimes people tell me it is above average. I have no reason to discount their assessment, but I'm pretty sure it's not outstanding.
I wonder what percentage of the world's population is outstanding in some area. How many can measure up to Robin Williams for ad lib comedy? How many writers of satire can stand in the same class as Samuel Clemens, a.k.a., Mark Twain? How many cellists have skills on par with Yo Yo Ma?
I'm sure there are many people who are outstanding in various areas and yet not famous, people who do what they do in outstanding ways who have never had their skills recognized beyond a limited sphere of time and space. Even in this day of viral YouTube videos which give anyone a potential spot on stage if they can do something people enjoy watching.
There was a time I longed to join the outstanding crowd, to be at the top of the pack. Now I realize I'm not willing to pay the price. I would rather be part of a team, working together to produce something adequate for the need. Doing my part, carrying my part of the load, but not standing out as above and beyond the rest of the team.
It turns out the person questioning me has a band. They need a keyboard player. But my life is full of lesser things that add up to more when taken all together. At some point I made the choice to give up being outstanding. I think I'm all right with that choice. Even though it means I will likely never make a list of top bloggers of America.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
The Parable of the Great Banquet -- Luke 14:15-24
DIY Photo: Today's photo is of a maze. Since it's a do-it-yourself photo, you may select whatever type of maze pleases you. Maybe one from a pencil game book. Or maybe one for mice. Or one made of shrubbery and intended for meditation. Or a midwest fall "corn maze". Or a game with a marble to roll around. So many possibilities, why should I choose for you? As always, thank you for handling this part of the blog on your own.
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Sometimes I think myself into a maze -- twists and turns and dead ends impeding my process. I worry I won't be able to find my way out the other side. That happened this week.
The setting was a small group Bible study. We were looking at Jesus' parable of the great banquet in Luke 14. Someone noted that poor and crippled and blind and lame people were seen as sinners in those days. Their infirmities were evidence that God was punishing them. The message of the parable is that God invites sinners to be saved and enter His kingdom.
The difference between that view and the one emerging in my own mind was too subtle to explain well to the group. Maybe I can get a better grasp on it here.
When the original invited guests were too preoccupied to attend the banquet, the master looked around for other guests. The ones who agreed to attend were the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame. They were well-pleased to accept the invitation. "Sure, we would love to come! When and where?"
As my friend noted, Jesus' listeners would have seen these people as sinners, rebels against the Master of the Banquet. The difference between us has to do with the truth behind that perception.
In my friend's view, the listeners saw the invitation going out to rebels who then set aside their rebellion and accepted the invitation. They repented of the sin evidenced by their "punishment" and entered the hall, even while still broken by that punishment. It's a message of grace and redemption. Former rebels have been wooed back into relationship with the Master of the Banquet. They still bear the results of their former rebellion, but they are now welcome at the banquet.
In contrast, subtle as it is, I deem it important to note that Jesus' listeners were mistaken in their assessment. Being poor, crippled, blind, or lame is not a sign someone is a rebel. However, those infirmities label them as rebels in the view of Jesus' listeners. The point of the parable is that we are often wrong about which people are likely guests at the banquet. People we're certain are not Christians and will never be given admission to heaven apart from repenting of their sins and beginning a new life that looks more like ours may actually be in a better position to attend the banquet than we are. While we are too busy doing worthwhile things to show up, the broken people around us may be closer to the heart of God than we are.
I think I'm moving away from the former interpretation and toward the latter because of my interactions with poor people. I often find them to be more generous, more accepting, less self-focused, less judgmental than my middle-class church friends. In many ways, they have much to teach me about kingdom living, even though they seldom darken the door of a church and have never studied Luke 14. They haven't claimed their kingdom citizenship yet, but they aren't in rebellion, just a bit unsure if they can come up with the entrance fee. When the invitation arrives, their response will be, "Sure, we'll come. When and where?"
Recently, I have seen the stark contrast between the worst of professing Christians looking out for their own interests and the best of unchurched "sinners" stepping aside rather than demanding their rights. When I look at the parable of the great banquet, I see the gates of the kingdom swinging open to the latter group. And I hope to find my way in with them.
What do you think?
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Sometimes I think myself into a maze -- twists and turns and dead ends impeding my process. I worry I won't be able to find my way out the other side. That happened this week.
The setting was a small group Bible study. We were looking at Jesus' parable of the great banquet in Luke 14. Someone noted that poor and crippled and blind and lame people were seen as sinners in those days. Their infirmities were evidence that God was punishing them. The message of the parable is that God invites sinners to be saved and enter His kingdom.
The difference between that view and the one emerging in my own mind was too subtle to explain well to the group. Maybe I can get a better grasp on it here.
When the original invited guests were too preoccupied to attend the banquet, the master looked around for other guests. The ones who agreed to attend were the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame. They were well-pleased to accept the invitation. "Sure, we would love to come! When and where?"
As my friend noted, Jesus' listeners would have seen these people as sinners, rebels against the Master of the Banquet. The difference between us has to do with the truth behind that perception.
In my friend's view, the listeners saw the invitation going out to rebels who then set aside their rebellion and accepted the invitation. They repented of the sin evidenced by their "punishment" and entered the hall, even while still broken by that punishment. It's a message of grace and redemption. Former rebels have been wooed back into relationship with the Master of the Banquet. They still bear the results of their former rebellion, but they are now welcome at the banquet.
In contrast, subtle as it is, I deem it important to note that Jesus' listeners were mistaken in their assessment. Being poor, crippled, blind, or lame is not a sign someone is a rebel. However, those infirmities label them as rebels in the view of Jesus' listeners. The point of the parable is that we are often wrong about which people are likely guests at the banquet. People we're certain are not Christians and will never be given admission to heaven apart from repenting of their sins and beginning a new life that looks more like ours may actually be in a better position to attend the banquet than we are. While we are too busy doing worthwhile things to show up, the broken people around us may be closer to the heart of God than we are.
I think I'm moving away from the former interpretation and toward the latter because of my interactions with poor people. I often find them to be more generous, more accepting, less self-focused, less judgmental than my middle-class church friends. In many ways, they have much to teach me about kingdom living, even though they seldom darken the door of a church and have never studied Luke 14. They haven't claimed their kingdom citizenship yet, but they aren't in rebellion, just a bit unsure if they can come up with the entrance fee. When the invitation arrives, their response will be, "Sure, we'll come. When and where?"
Recently, I have seen the stark contrast between the worst of professing Christians looking out for their own interests and the best of unchurched "sinners" stepping aside rather than demanding their rights. When I look at the parable of the great banquet, I see the gates of the kingdom swinging open to the latter group. And I hope to find my way in with them.
What do you think?
Thursday, May 23, 2013
I like my own writing
Today's DIY photo: spiral notebook with a hand holding a pen poised over fresh white lined paper. (Got it? I do appreciate your contribution in this area, dear reader.)
I was chatting with my daughter this morning, the one who blogs over here. We were talking about blogs and research papers and writing and I commented that I enjoy returning to what I've written in the past. Even when I don't remember writing it and can't fill in any gaps that didn't make it from mind swirls into words, I still enjoy reading it. Is that a good thing? Would I like it even better if I invested in some schooling on the art of writing and allowed an instructor to hone my skills? What does it say about the development of my skills if I can go back eons in time to the beginning of this blog -- AKA eight years -- and find pleasure in reviewing my own words from that less mature time of life.
I once read a book that had been republished a decade or two or three after it was written. In the introduction, the author said the publisher had offered him a chance to revise and update it. He read it through and decided he liked it as it was, that other than using fewer commas he wouldn't change a thing. And he didn't. Even the excessive commas were left in. As I read it I understood why the publisher had given him a chance to revise it and thought he would have been ahead of the game to take that chance.
I am reminded of that book when I find such pleasure in words written by my own hand in times past. Apparently, I'm not making much progress with my writing skills.
Here's an example of my early blogging -- on writing. I did do one tiny edit. I have gradually noticed an overuse of "that" in my writing and deleted one instance. Any suggestions as to further edits? It's nice that blogger posts are forever editable.
I was chatting with my daughter this morning, the one who blogs over here. We were talking about blogs and research papers and writing and I commented that I enjoy returning to what I've written in the past. Even when I don't remember writing it and can't fill in any gaps that didn't make it from mind swirls into words, I still enjoy reading it. Is that a good thing? Would I like it even better if I invested in some schooling on the art of writing and allowed an instructor to hone my skills? What does it say about the development of my skills if I can go back eons in time to the beginning of this blog -- AKA eight years -- and find pleasure in reviewing my own words from that less mature time of life.
I once read a book that had been republished a decade or two or three after it was written. In the introduction, the author said the publisher had offered him a chance to revise and update it. He read it through and decided he liked it as it was, that other than using fewer commas he wouldn't change a thing. And he didn't. Even the excessive commas were left in. As I read it I understood why the publisher had given him a chance to revise it and thought he would have been ahead of the game to take that chance.
I am reminded of that book when I find such pleasure in words written by my own hand in times past. Apparently, I'm not making much progress with my writing skills.
Here's an example of my early blogging -- on writing. I did do one tiny edit. I have gradually noticed an overuse of "that" in my writing and deleted one instance. Any suggestions as to further edits? It's nice that blogger posts are forever editable.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
The Queue
When I think about the idea of blogging regularly (daily or weekly), I see a need for planning -- having posts "on deck" in various stages of preparation; having a plan, a schedule; working ahead.
Or maybe I simply need to sit and type for a few minutes on a regular basis and allow some of the thoughts swirling in my head to make their way out. It would be easier, however, if those thoughts never involved the private lives of other people. Do I simply eliminate any references to the people who shape my days? Do I blur their faces in my verbal photos of them?
Insert photo here. (One thing I need to do is enroll you, the reader, to do your own photography. It will save me so much time. I am too lazy/busy/preoccupied to find photos to accompany my thoughts the way the best bloggers do. The photos I need already exist in your head, anyway. You just need to pull them up. You can help me out right now by reviewing a video from your memory banks of an interview with an unidentified person whose face is blurred and whose voice is electronically disguised. See how that's even better than the photo I would have included? Thanks for playing along today.)
My daughter has resurrected her blog here. Seeing her actively writing is inspiring to me. Maybe I'll start ... Well, we'll see. Maybe it will be another four months before my next post. I wonder what the minimum frequency is for being an active blogger.
Related post: The Problem with Blogs
Or maybe I simply need to sit and type for a few minutes on a regular basis and allow some of the thoughts swirling in my head to make their way out. It would be easier, however, if those thoughts never involved the private lives of other people. Do I simply eliminate any references to the people who shape my days? Do I blur their faces in my verbal photos of them?
Insert photo here. (One thing I need to do is enroll you, the reader, to do your own photography. It will save me so much time. I am too lazy/busy/preoccupied to find photos to accompany my thoughts the way the best bloggers do. The photos I need already exist in your head, anyway. You just need to pull them up. You can help me out right now by reviewing a video from your memory banks of an interview with an unidentified person whose face is blurred and whose voice is electronically disguised. See how that's even better than the photo I would have included? Thanks for playing along today.)
My daughter has resurrected her blog here. Seeing her actively writing is inspiring to me. Maybe I'll start ... Well, we'll see. Maybe it will be another four months before my next post. I wonder what the minimum frequency is for being an active blogger.
Related post: The Problem with Blogs
Monday, January 14, 2013
Heretic? Or no?
This morning I read in Christianity Today (the print edition) about "insider Christians" -- people who embrace Jesus Christ as savior without leaving the culture of their native religion. One of the things that sent one believer back to his roots was Christians who told him that Allah, the creator-God he had worshiped for a lifetime, was not the same as the Christian God.
How many times have I been told that Allah is not the God we Christians worship. This has puzzled me greatly. Islam is a monotheistic religion, right? One God, creator of all. That is the God I, too, worship as a Christian. How much arrogance does it take to claim that my "one God creator of all" is real and worthy of worship and yours is not?
The man referenced in the article initially left his Muslim roots behind and embraced Christianity. He attended a Bible college and studied the history and culture of Christianity. Then he went back to his people and stepped back into the Muslim culture in order to spread the good news of "Isa-Masih" -- Jesus Messiah. He is Christian by faith -- a Christ-follower -- and Muslim by culture and official religion.
Many people will say this is impossible, an oxymoron. To accept the possibility leaves me outside of orthodoxy by the standards of almost everyone I know. And yet here it is on the pages of Christianity Today as at least an idea worth noting.
Am I a heretic or simply being led in new directions by the Spirit ahead of the crowd?
Every day I spend time in the Christian Bible absorbing the teachings found therein. Most of my "heresy" traces back to those pages and applies both faith and reason to what I find therein.
What has become known as the "Wesleyan quadrilateral" bases belief on Scripture, Tradition, Reason, and Experience. My friends tend to rank them in that order, giving the voice of the Church more credence than that of reason or the whisper of the Spirit within our hearts. There's safety there. After all, if our hearts lead us in a different direction from what the church is taking, there's good reason to exercise great caution. People have done outrageous things in response to what rages in their hearts. However, in my 6th decade as a dedicated follower of Christ, I am discovering that many changes in the church have lagged behind but eventually ended up where my heart has led me long before.
I think I'm ready to trust my heart as molded by much exposure to Scripture and in open receptiveness to the voice of the Holy Spirit.
Which makes me a heretic in a few areas. I won't bother to list them here. It might be plenty radical for some to simply affirm that "there is only one God and his name (in Arabic) is Allah."
Also, in my 6th decade, I am discovering that serving Christ in my world doesn't require the blessing of the Church. Which makes me a bit more bold than I have been in the past in risking the loss of that blessing.
I'm still not ready to say these things and link them to Facebook. But I might take a baby step of linking them to Google +
How many times have I been told that Allah is not the God we Christians worship. This has puzzled me greatly. Islam is a monotheistic religion, right? One God, creator of all. That is the God I, too, worship as a Christian. How much arrogance does it take to claim that my "one God creator of all" is real and worthy of worship and yours is not?
The man referenced in the article initially left his Muslim roots behind and embraced Christianity. He attended a Bible college and studied the history and culture of Christianity. Then he went back to his people and stepped back into the Muslim culture in order to spread the good news of "Isa-Masih" -- Jesus Messiah. He is Christian by faith -- a Christ-follower -- and Muslim by culture and official religion.
Many people will say this is impossible, an oxymoron. To accept the possibility leaves me outside of orthodoxy by the standards of almost everyone I know. And yet here it is on the pages of Christianity Today as at least an idea worth noting.
Am I a heretic or simply being led in new directions by the Spirit ahead of the crowd?
Every day I spend time in the Christian Bible absorbing the teachings found therein. Most of my "heresy" traces back to those pages and applies both faith and reason to what I find therein.
What has become known as the "Wesleyan quadrilateral" bases belief on Scripture, Tradition, Reason, and Experience. My friends tend to rank them in that order, giving the voice of the Church more credence than that of reason or the whisper of the Spirit within our hearts. There's safety there. After all, if our hearts lead us in a different direction from what the church is taking, there's good reason to exercise great caution. People have done outrageous things in response to what rages in their hearts. However, in my 6th decade as a dedicated follower of Christ, I am discovering that many changes in the church have lagged behind but eventually ended up where my heart has led me long before.
I think I'm ready to trust my heart as molded by much exposure to Scripture and in open receptiveness to the voice of the Holy Spirit.
Which makes me a heretic in a few areas. I won't bother to list them here. It might be plenty radical for some to simply affirm that "there is only one God and his name (in Arabic) is Allah."
Also, in my 6th decade, I am discovering that serving Christ in my world doesn't require the blessing of the Church. Which makes me a bit more bold than I have been in the past in risking the loss of that blessing.
I'm still not ready to say these things and link them to Facebook. But I might take a baby step of linking them to Google +
Tuesday, December 04, 2012
Know Thyself
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!
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!
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.
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