Bubblegum for the Brain

The workday is done.  I again sit facing my computer monitor, but instead of answering emails and processing orders, on the screen before me is an array of playing cards.  You know what I’m looking at.  That ever popular “guilty pleasure” for thousands, the Solitaire game, has me in its grip.  I remember when, as a child, I first saw the game played.  I was at my Grandpa’s house, watching the little black and white television set, with its rabbit ear antennas providing the signal so we could view the old western playing on the tiny screen.  It was night time and the cowboys in the bunkhouse were sitting around swapping stories, but the cool tough-guy character sat by himself at a table, flipping the cards one after another and placing them on top of each other.  I don’t remember anything else about the show; I just recall marveling at that game, a game that one person could play by himself.  Now, nearly fifty years later, every computer has a version of the game readily accessible, without even the inconvenience of finding a deck of cards or shuffling between games.  I wonder how many hours have been wasted by folks in our country alone, playing the game over and over.  My own investment of time has certainly been significant.

I find myself playing the game almost nightly.  I would like to have a credible explanation so I could claim a higher ground.  Alas!  It is a merely a way of passing time, nothing more, nothing less.  You may now resort to feeling superior to me.  I wouldn’t even blame you if a quiet “tsk, tsk” escaped from your lips as you realize the depth of my indolence.  I already feel your corporate indignation and disgust being directed at me.  In my defense, I will tell you that the game-playing does, frequently, have a positive result.  One thing I have noticed as I digitally manipulate the black queen to lie atop the red king, with another red jack being sought to continue the sequence, is that while I play this game my brain is cleared of the chaff of the day.  The stress and the uncooperative customer is forgotten, as my brain seems to go into neutral and takes a much needed break from the burden of everyday life.

I actually view the solitaire game as a kind of “mental bubblegum”, a mindless activity for the mind, if you will.  And often, as I play, an idea for something to write about in that day’s blog will spring up.  As the eight of spades is laid atop the nine of diamonds, in preparation for the blushing card with seven hearts from the draw stack, the flesh of the idea is being applied to the skeleton of a thought that was discovered just moments before.  You see, I find it difficult to sit quietly, doing nothing at all, while I hatch brilliant (and not-so-brilliant) compositions to offer to you in these frequent posts.  I am a product of my upbringing, in which sitting and staring off into space was considered lazy and was just as good a way to have a broom (or shovel) thrust into your hand as any.  “Idle hands are the devil’s workplace.”  Even though I feel a little guilty about it, as least the cards flipping in front of my eyes don’t scream out my laziness nearly as much as just sitting and thinking.  I actually did learn something new, earlier tonight, as I played the time-wasting digital game.

The game I play keeps score by adding “money” to my imaginary bank as I win (or deducting it when I lose).  I had been winning a few games, with the bank showing almost seven hundred dollars.  With no goal in mind, I kept playing until I started losing.  Six hundred was left behind and then five hundred.  All of the sudden, I had a goal.  I would quit when I dropped down to two hundred dollars in that bank.  It is, by now, an all too familiar mindset and for awhile, I didn’t think any more about it.  But the nature of playing being what it is for me, my brain began to skitter around the goal I had set for myself.  The goal?  Since when is losing to a certain point a goal?  When I was winning, I had no goal.  I just kept playing.  Now that my fortunes had changed, I suddenly had a target to hit.  Lose until I reached the chosen threshold.  How is that an acceptable goal?

As the cards continued to fall, mostly into the discard pile, I remembered.  We humans set a lot more contingency plans than we do positive goals.  We plan for failure.  We expect to lose.  Again, it is a mindset which is ingrained in us.  Perhaps parents, or teachers, or friends unwittingly pawned off their sense of lowered expectations to us.  I know some of you had family members who did so blatantly, passing on the cruelty heaped on them by their upbringing.  My situation was the former, with more than one influential person in my life who expected poor results for themselves, guaranteeing that the young minds they influenced would adopt the same mindset.  A lifetime of fighting against those thought patterns has resulted in numerous battles won, but there is no ultimate victory yet.  The moment of clarity while playing the computer game tonight exposes the ground yet to be taken.

How about it?  Do you plan for what will happen when you succeed?  Or do you, like I, work hard to get your contingency plan in place, determining what you will do when defeat inevitably drags you down?  I will admit that I have always had a certain amount of antagonism toward the “think positive” crowd.  I am enough of a realist to understand that failure is a possibility and that it won’t be avoided by clearing my mind of any trace of negative thoughts.  Still, I remember the story I was taught in Sunday School, of the widow that the prophet Elisha helped.  Now there’s a man who planned for success!  When there seemed to be no hope, he instructed the good lady and her son to go to the neighbors and borrow all the pots they could get.  He had a single pot of oil and was going to pour it’s contents out into what they brought.  I’m confident they weren’t thinking positive thoughts.  But, grumbling and doubting, expecting failure, they still took the steps to succeed.  The story of the unfailing jar of oil has stuck in my head all these years.

So, I think I’m going to plan for success.  I will reach out to assist in hopeless causes.  I’ll keep buying merchandise to sell in my store; I’ll have shipping cartons on hand to send out the products which customers order.  I’m going to work on making my contingency plans for what happens when things go well, not the opposite.  I know there will be bumps along the way, maybe even a pit or two that we drop into, but I’m fairly confident that the road leads up, not down.  Time will tell.  How about you?  You coming?

It may seem like foolishness to you, since you now know that I fritter away my time playing computer games, but we may all be surprised.  Well…I’m going to play Solitaire for a few minutes more now.  Who knows what bright ideas may come next?

“‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ says the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm; plans to give you hope, and a future.”
(Jeremiah 29:11)

“A positive attitude may not solve all your problems, but it will annoy enough people to make it worth the effort.”
(Herm Albright~German artist and philosopher~1876-1944)

Was Nat Right?

(Since I first wrote this and even published it for a few hours last week, I’ve talked with a few wise friends, so my compass is starting to point the way a little better, but I can certainly use your help, too.  I’d be grateful if you will put in your two cents’ worth, if you can spare it.)

“Smile, though your heart is aching. Smile even though it’s breaking. When there are clouds in the sky you’ll get by…”

This is not one of my normal narrative/moral-to-the-story posts tonight.  I have some questions.  If you’re expecting to read a ways down the page and then have the author spout some Solomonesque wisdom illuminating the correct path, you’ll be disappointed.  You’ll not read, “Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter.”  Because, I’ve got nothing on this one

The Lovely Lady and I sat this evening and in between the silences, we talked.  She learned something new about me.  “You mean, you don’t laugh at your own jokes?”  The question came almost incredulously.  I never thought about it before.  Most days, I seek out a pun or a word play joke and post it on my FaceBook page; amusing a few and probably annoying many more.  I have missed a day or two, not because I haven’t been in the mood, nor because I’m sad, but because I don’t always have time.  On those days when I am down, the days when I am saddened by either personal bad news or the troubles of someone near to me, I still post the jokes.  I’ve never really taken the time to analyze the merits or the integrity of doing such a thing.

The wise words, which did come from Solomon, have always caught my fancy:  “A merry heart does good, just like medicine.”  So, the jokes have become a part of my routine.  When I first started posting them, it was to offset the serious and sometimes argumentative posts that many of my friends share.  I just thought that we need to lighten up a bit and enjoy life…Let me rephrase that.  I just thought that you need to lighten up a bit and enjoy life.  Okay, so there may be a little hypocrisy in the “do as I say, not as I do” mindset.  I may need to work on that a bit. Or, a lot.

I have never made it a dogma, but I guess that I have always basically agreed with Nat King Cole, when he crooned the lines printed above, “Smile, though your heart is aching…”  I never intended to mislead, never meant to lie, but the jokes may have led you to believe that I am a lighthearted person, skipping through life as though the rough spots affect me not one iota.  That is certainly not the case.  In fact, recently, it seems to be just the opposite.  It’s even possible that I brood more than most over those spots.  Until I started this blog over a year and a half ago, I rarely shared my moods with anyone but the Lovely Lady.

So, now I need to know…is it dishonest to tell jokes when you’re feeling blue yourself?  Is it better to answer the question, “How are you today?” with, “I’m doing fine,” or with, “Not so good.  Let me tell you about it.”?  Should I “…light up my face with gladness, hide every trace of sadness.”; or do I unload what’s really in my heart?

I don’t want to burden you by asking you to answer all of those questions.  I do, however, desire your input, so if you would like to help me, you may use the comment box below, or make a comment under the posting for this blog on FaceBook.  Give me a one word answer or unload the whole wagon-load; I’ll love it either way.  If you want to just give a one-word answer, tell me “Smile” or “Unload” to indicate what you do when the sun’s not shining quite as brightly on you as you could wish.  If you can’t say it in one word (and I’m guessing there are more of you than I know), you may fill the spaces with verbosity, as I often do…or maybe you can give me the benefit of your wisdom in private sometime.

Boy!  I hope I haven’t disappointed you, haven’t destroyed your illusion of a guy who’s got it all together.  I do want to have all the answers, but this one still makes me scratch my head and wonder.  

So, now that that’s done…What’s the longest word in the English language?  Smiles!  Why?  Because, there’s a mile between the first and the last letters…

“Don’t Worry.  Be happy.”
(Bobby McFerrin~Singer/Songwriter)

“Do not lie to one another, since you have taken off your old self with its practices.”
(Colossians 3:9)

Enough Already!

“Be careful what you ask for.  You just might get it.”  Over and over again, I’ve heard the old saw and wished that I could take a shot at it.  When I was a child, teachers punctuated the warning against greed by relating the myth of Midas, who wanted more gold than any man could possibly utilize in a lifetime.  The resulting blessing/curse of the “Midas touch”, which turned everything he came into contact with (including his daughter) into gold, was a cautionary tale against our natural desire to acquire immense wealth.  Nobody bought it.  The story was, after all, only a myth, a false tale calculated to elicit a desired effect.  We weren’t going to be manipulated that easily.

If you know me well, you know that immense wealth is not my goal, nor my vice.  I have been blessed to understand that money is merely a tool, to be used to reach a goal.  Wealth is useful only as it helps to hit the target, to achieve the objective.  I do, too obviously, have a number of other vices, of sins, that trip me up, so don’t get the wrong idea about me.  I checked the mirror a few moments ago and I still don’t see any halo, any aura emanating from my person.  However, I do have to admit that one of my fairly constant requests to the Giver of all Good Gifts has been that I would be able to influence a good number of people in my everyday life.  Recently, I am thinking that it might be wise to limit my enthusiasm in making that request.  I definitely find myself recalling, more often these days, the phrase with which I started this conversation.  Be careful what you ask for…

I’ve always wondered, since childhood, why Jesus calmed the sea to save His disciples, but on another occasion, He also filled their boat with so many fish that it began to sink.  Is it possible to have too many blessings?  Can our ship of life sink from the weight of the results of our prayers?  Evidently, it may be a distinct possibility.  In this instance, the Apostle Peter found it out when his Teacher removed his frustration with a night spent in fruitless endeavor.  “We fished all night and caught nothing.”  I’m guessing that he was imagining the net coming up one last time with two or three good sized fish, so he and his buddies could eat for a day.  But, the next thing he knew…Boom!  Nets were breaking, the little boat was capsizing from the weight of the catch, and it was necessary to beg for help from a nearby craft!  Be careful what you ask for…

What does that have to do with me?  Over the last few weeks, I’ve found myself a little overwhelmed personally.  Oh, it’s not a bad kind of being overwhelmed; I just feel that there is a lot more on my plate than I can comfortably sink my teeth into.  Recognizing that my area of ministry is where I work as well, I would have to say that the opportunities to minister have snowballed and I’m not sure I’m up to the task.  The ship isn’t going down yet, but it is listing a bit.  I am also finding that as with most fish nets, there are a lot of captured items in the mix which don’t belong.  Even so, they weigh the boat down as well.  You know, the fisherman wants a certain breed of fish, but there are turtles, and dolphins, and even a shark or two trapped there too.  In the right context, all those things (well…maybe not the sharks) have value.  But here, they distract and take up valuable space on the boat.  (The sharks, especially bear keeping an eye on.)  I’m doing my best to concentrate on the essentials, but the peripherals, which can seem urgent at times, keep infringing.

Some of the peripherals are even a little shiny, and they tempt us in other ways to take our eyes off the real catch.  I’m still struggling with that.  Setting priorities is hard to do when there are so many attractive things that draw us away from the essential.  I’m learning that the pretty distractions need to be culled out, just like the unwanted catch in the nets.  Yeah, another one of those long-term projects that I’ll probably still be working on when I’m eighty.  Hopefully, some progress will have been made by then. 

I’m guessing that I’m not the only one on this boat, am I?  I hear it everyday…“overwhelmed”…”more than I can cope with”“swamped”…the list goes on.  Many of you already have a full boat.  But here’s the best part of the story…They got help from their friends.  We are not in this alone.  The boat is not a one-man craft, nor are we on the sea with no one near by.   I love the reminder.  We have each other to turn to, when the job becomes too much for one person.  This is not only true in the physical realm, but in the spiritual and emotional as well.  Aid is near at hand!

I don’t know about you, but I find it hard to ask for help.  It is a trait ingrained in me from childhood.  It turns out that our society has helped with that also, the silent, self-sufficient superstar being the hero of most of the great tales of our culture.  It is weakness to call for help, a signal of failure, the white flag of surrender.  As I age, that is (slowly) changing and I am recognizing the lie of self-sufficiency.  The great gift of companionship is, of all gifts, one of the sweetest.  Slow learner though I may be, I am starting to be able to take advantage of the gift.

I pray that progress will be made before the craft is completely swamped.  Truly, as we share in the burden, we take part in the harvest.

“Come on, Mr. Frodo.  I can’t carry it for you, but I can carry you!”
(Samwise Gamgee in “The Lord Of The Rings” by JRR Tolkien~English writer~1892-1973)

“However many blessings we expect from God, His infinite liberality will always exceed all our wishes and our thoughts.”
(John Calvin~French Theologian~1509-1564)

Finally Home

“I want to go home.”  You’ve all heard the words.  You’ve probably said them, years ago.  Everyday, around the world, children say them to parents, to strangers, to doctors, and to policemen.  There’s something comforting about home; it’s a place where we can relax and know that we are safe.  When a child, any child, says the words, we understand and sympathize.  But the person in front of me wasn’t a child, by any standard of measure.

Miss Peggy was over ninety years old.  She had been on her own in the world for many years; a spinster lady who gave her life to her God.  She lived alone, but had influenced thousands of children with the Bible classes she taught for fifty years in Oklahoma and Arkansas.  Now, here she was, old and nearly blind, hard of hearing. and dependent on friends who came daily to help her through the long, dim days.  She sat in her comfortable chair and said the words.  “Paul, I want to go home.”  I knew what she was talking about, but really didn’t comprehend it then.  All I said was, “You are home.  This is your house.  You have your things here.”  She brushed the words aside.  “No!”  She was defiant.  “I want to go to my real home!”  I found myself casting around for the right words, but none came.  Later, as I left, I thought to myself, “Why would anyone want to die?  I want to live!”  

I can still remember when I talked with her some weeks later about one of her friends, slightly younger than she, who had passed away.  She looked through me with her almost sightless eyes and said, almost angrily, “It wasn’t her turn!  Why does she get to go and I have to stay?”  If she hadn’t been so serious, I would have laughed.  I had a vision of schooldays, with a line of kids waiting to get ice cream after lunch.  “No fair!  She cut the line!  It’s not her turn, it’s mine!”  The vision faded and Miss Peggy, her head tipped a little to the side, still gazed past me and said again, wistfully, “I want to go home.”

The dear lady has been home for many years now, and I still think about her words.  Funny…I’m starting to understand her a little better.  Life here is good.  I enjoy my family immensely; I love every single occasion on which we meet.  I love my church; love my work; love the town in which I live.  But, I’m starting to realize, just a little, that there is something not quite right.  I recall the times when as a child, home was a place of shelter and comfort from a scary world, and that’s all I needed.  I reminisce about early days of marriage to the Lovely Lady and remember the satisfaction of being at home with her and later, with our children.  Home was enough; nothing else was necessary to satisfy.  It has been so for many years.  Something tells me that it won’t stay that way forever.

I saw today that the Encyclopaedia Britannica is not going to be offered in print again.  After 244 years in print, from now on, the reference library is only going to be available online.  The reality of the information age in which we live is that we want instant and up-to-the-minute facts, not outdated words on a page printed a couple of years ago.  The publisher is admitting that the beautiful sets of books which found a home on the bookshelves and in the libraries for so many years, will now have a new home, albeit a nebulous one, in cyberspace.  I couldn’t help but think as I heard the news, that we certainly live in a transitory world.  Always have, always will.  In the business arena, we’re constantly warned to be agile and light on our feet.  If we get slow and languorous, we’ll not only be out of a home, we’ll be out of existence.  All things change.  The same might be said of our entire lives.  A Greek philosopher, who lived five hundred years before Jesus, put it this way,  “Nothing endures but change.”  His words still resonate today.

I’m not sure why we don’t (or won’t) see the truth of it while we’re still young.  Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be, but I remember vividly, wondering why the old men in church were so anxious for the Second Coming, and why they sang that old song that said, “This world is not my home.”  I wanted to live!  This world was too my home!  Now, a few years have passed and I have more than a sneaking suspicion that they were onto something.  Somehow, as I move along, I feel a growing certainty that I’m not made to be comfortable here.  There is something, somewhere, that is better and I want to point the prow of my ship in that direction.

The will to live is strong in us.  Our Creator made it so.  I’m not telling you that I’m going to start sighing and wringing my hands about a better place.  This is the place that I’m intended to be right now and I am content with that.  But I’m not going to get too comfortable  here.  I think I’ll stay light on my feet and ready to move.

After all, my treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the Blue…

 “…they are eager for a better land, a heavenly one…He has now prepared a city for them.”
(Hebrews 11:16)

“I am prepared to go anywhere, provided it be forward.”
(David Livingstone~Scottish missionary~1813-1874)

Peace in the Storm

These days, I’m trying to walk the thin line between personal rights and being hospitable, that verge that separates personal space from the people who need me (and who I need).  Oddly enough, I’ve found that as the years have piled on, two divergent attitudes have developed inside me.  I have an inordinately strong desire to be left alone in whichever place I choose to settle, free from outside entanglements.  At the same time, I find myself more emotionally attached to family and friends, with reminders of family interactions or old pictures that elicit fond memories being enough to bring tears at times.  How can these two very strong, and presumably opposing mindsets, coexist inside one person?

Once more, I’m reminded that most of life is like that.  We want to do one thing and find ourselves doing the other.  Paul the Apostle had the problem, although arguably in an area which is a bit more weighty than my shallow issue.  He said, “Those things I want to do, I don’t do.  Those things I hate, I find myself doing.”  Like Paul, all our lives, we struggle to do the right thing.  The difficulty in my current dilemma is that it’s not about right and wrong, just about two different things that both seem really important.

I remember a conversation with my father years ago.  Some of his friends were angry to find out that he often turned off the phone at home, making it impossible to reach him.  His response?  “I put that phone in for my convenience, not theirs.  I can certainly turn it off anytime I want.”  Now, I don’t want you to think my Dad is an insensitive jerk, because he is definitely not that.  At eighty-plus years old, he still pastors a church and unselfishly keeps a daily schedule that puts me to shame, rising long before the sun to study, so that he can be available to anyone who needs him later in the morning, afternoon, and evening.  I have to laugh at the shift in habits however, because his phone is never turned off now.  When he leaves his office, he is careful to forward all his calls to his cell phone, never out of touch with those who need to find their pastor.

Recently, I’ve been thinking of that conversation frequently.  I also am never away from contact, either by phone, or email, or text.  I even keep a card in the Rolodex at the store so I can give the correct answer to the question, “How do I contact you?”  Cell, business, home, toll-free, and fax numbers all are near at hand, with the devices functioning continuously.  Daily, all around me, phones ring, buzz, and play popular tunes, with customers holding up a hand to stop our conversation and turning their attention to the people in their life with whom they cannot break contact.  While I’m describing products, texts are being sent back and forth, my sales pitch only a small part of the information flow these folks are experiencing simultaneously.

Is it any wonder I want to yell, “Stop the merry-go-round!  I want off!” frequently?  The cause of my need for solitude is the incessant barrage of communication, the constant stimulation of my brain with no let-up.  The need for separation from the “madding crowd” becomes absolute.  We are not made for constant activity and conversation, not suited for the frenzied pace that modern life demands.

Balance is good.  We need people, both family and friends; we need time away.  I’ve always loved that the Bible tells us to be still.  There are also plenty of instructions in there for actions, but we need time to detox as well.  The poisons of frenzy and urgency need to be cleansed away with the clear, cool water of re-creation; the spirit being refreshed and put back together.  Just as we have ministry to perform, we have the need to be ministered to.  But, not for too long.  If being still becomes a way of life, the balance gets off that direction too and we’re of little use to those who need us.

I’m going to work at heeding the two dichotomies, being there for the people who need me, but swerving out of the fast lane frequently to the side roads where I can putter along.  Both are amazingly rewarding when the proportion is right.

Who knows?  I may even start turning off the phones once in awhile, too!

Leave your message at the beep…

  

“You who seek an end of love, love will yield to business: be busy, and you will be safe.”
(Ovid~Ancient Roman poet)

“And He awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace!  Be still!”  And the wind ceased and there was a great calm.
(Mark 4:39 ESV)

(Yet another encore performance…originally posted 1-13-11)

Through

We finished up the rehearsal and prepared to go home.  As one of the other guys and I talked over some logistical details, the young man came over to stand beside me.  “I wonder if we could think about doing a few things differently,”  he suggested.  The voice inside me screamed,  “You think you can tell me anything, kid?”, but what came out was, “What do you have in mind?”  A few well-reasoned suggestions later, he left to go back to his university campus; back to his classes and theories, and his youthful certainties of how things work.  I drove home, wondering if I am getting too old, too set in my ways, and too behind the times, to continue exercising my perceived gifts. I spent the rest of the day in a dark mood, or “brown study” as Arthur Conan Doyle would have put it in the Sherlock Holmes stories.
I use the term “brown study” because I don’t want you to think that I was just in a bad mood (although I was that).  Even though I am given to such mood swings, the one redeeming feature of the lows is that I actually tend, nowadays, to consider the cause and potential cure for the malaise in which I find myself.  In some ways, the progression from disappointment to resolution actually is positive, leaving me with a sense of purpose and a determination to improve.  Of course, sometimes the process leaves me thinking that I am not up to the task, but that comes into the discussion a little later.
On this occasion, I found myself looking at the suggestions the young man had made, first getting past my objections, then considering the benefits of the actions he outlined.  Some of the theoretical ideas won’t work in the real world in which I function, so they can be put aside.  But it is not advisable at any time to throw the baby out with the bath water, so I am still working through the ideas which we can use.  One thing that I have learned (and have had underscored in experiences of the last few weeks) is that I must listen to communicate.  This is an opportunity for me to do just that.  I’ll just have to keep working my way though that minefield.  
I know this is a little boring (or maybe extremely so), but I hope you’ll stick with me for a few moments longer.  After spending a good deal of the evening in thought, I went to bed, still not necessarily looking forward to actually leading the group today.  Then last night, we moved our clocks forward in anticipation of the change to Daylight Saving Time.  An hour lost!  Ah well, it was just one more straw on the camel’s back.  No need for worry.  The morning would be bright and all this would be behind me.
 I’d like to tell you that today was a picnic, with everything falling into place.  That would be untruthful.  To start the ball rolling, as the clock buzzed stridently this morning, I rolled over to see the sky pouring rain.  Grumbling, I got out of bed, only to be hit with a dizzy spell, the first one in over a year.  I held on for dear life to a nearby chest of drawers until it passed.  Practice and the Worship Service are a blur.  I do remember that the people in the church participated and were moved to worship; a bright spot in an otherwise dark day for me.  The headache which trailed behind the dizziness was overpowering, but still there were miles to go.  News that a relative has been diagnosed with cancer came right before the Lovely Lady’s mom had to be brought in from the car in the pouring rain, an umbrella held over her while I got soaked holding it.  Dinner for thirteen, with all the bedlam that accompanies it, and still the cleanup would follow.  As the Lovely Lady left to take her mom home, I thought seriously about dropping out right then.  The stack of dishes, with the remnants of dinner stuck to every piece, was more than I could face.  “Message to God:  I quit!  You’ll have to take this work and finish it without me.”  Then the truth hit me.
It was almost like a light coming on.  The problem is, I’ve seen this light before.  It burns dimly, like most of the truths we experience in daily life.  No brilliant light, turning the “darkness to dawning and the dawning to noonday bright”, as the old hymn describes.  This is just an everyday, ordinary truth that guides us through the darkness we stumble in.  The realization that the job of cleaning up the dinner mess would only be completed when the work is done is obvious to most of us.  But to a basically lazy person like me, it’s not the answer I crave.  I always want the easy way out. But the truth is universal.  Placing one foot in front of the other, one tired step at a time, we go through.  And, not coincidentally, this is not a punishment.  It’s a blessing, teaching us perseverance, helping us to grow up, making us stronger for the next event we have to face.  I don’t mean to be a pessimist, but you need to be aware that all of our lives on this planet will be spent going through.  Not over, not around, but through.  
So what does getting the dishes cleaned have to do with leading worship?  Funny you should ask.  I’ve been thinking a lot recently about quitting the job of leading worship.  “I don’t have the time.”  “It’s outside my comfort zone.”  “Others are more qualified.”  All the excuses are true.  But, for right now and at this place in my life, just like the after-dinner cleanup, this is what has been put in front of me.  I’m going through.  I’ll listen, I’ll grow, I’ll even do things in ways I’ve never done them before.  My hair may be gray before I’m finished.  I may even pull out a bit of it.  But the feet are moving and the resolve is set.
How about you?  Do you have a mountain in front of you that you wish would disappear?  Or, just a path leading into the unexplored wilds where you’ve never ventured before?  Take it from a perpetual procrastinator.  It doesn’t go away if you wait long enough.  Try putting one foot in front of you.  That didn’t hurt much, did it?  Try it again.
Now, you’ve got the idea.  Through.  It’s not only the method by which we complete the tasks in front of us, it’s also the word we use to exult when we have finished.  
Through!  
“…let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up.  And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us.”
(Hebrews 12:1 NLT)
“Heights by great men reached and kept 
Were not obtained by sudden flight.
But, while their companions slept,
They were toiling upward in the night.”
(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow~American poet~1807-1882)

Un Abrazo

Yesterday’s post told you to keep your hands to yourself.  I was thinking about that all day and realized that I didn’t want to leave you with the idea that I don’t think we need each other.  If today’s post leaves you feeling that I’m sending mixed signals, I’m really not.  Yesterday’s discussion showed that personal responsibility is necessary to insure that we function on a moral level.  Today, I’m thinking a little more about the emotional level.  

 The Spanish title above?  Oh!  I just think that “hug” sounds more manly in that language…

Appropriate touching is allowed here…

“I need a hug.”  The Facebook post was terse and stark in its naked honesty.  Below the post, the lonesome girl’s “friends” had made various comments informing the young lady that they were “there for her” and reassuring her that she was cared for.  A couple of them even made cute little stick pictures with various symbols on their computer keyboards, intended I’m sure, to look like hugs.  It is possible that the young lady felt better after the exchange of remarks and fake hugs, but I did not…Until I noticed a final reply, under all the other desultory entries.  “I’ll be there in a minute.”  Help, at last, was actually on the way.

There is nothing in the world that can replace a genuine, physical hug.  I don’t understand it.  The manly part of me wants it not to be true.  But, the act of putting your arms around someone else to greet, or console, or show affection, has no known substitute.  The touch of one human who cares about another is a powerful, and somehow mysterious, force.  Nothing really changes; the issues have not been faced and altered; not a single thing has been reversed, but suddenly the forces arrayed against us seem somehow less formidable. 

Human touch.  What is it about one person making physical contact with another that communicates so many things?  We touch the face of one who mourns, in sympathy.  Babies’ cheeks are squeezed by countless admirers.  Winners are slapped on the back. High fives and knuckle bumps suffice to celebrate a myriad of small successes.  And, of course, there is the ubiquitous handshake.  Friends greet each other with it; businessmen seal transactions; why, even opponents “shake hands and come out fighting”.  A universal sign of respect and honesty, the execution of the handshake varies from culture to culture; high art in the gang cultures, a mere slap on the hand in sporting events.  Some cultures tend to simply slide the hands together without squeezing, while such a handshake would be regarded in the rural areas of the United States as “fishlike” and as such, suspect from the get-go.  Regardless of the differences, the one thing that ties them all together, that makes the act significant, is the fact that one human physically touches another.   Respect, concern, joy, honesty…all are represented in the touch of one person to the other. 

Still, I’m realizing more and more, as I move past the years when I thought it embarrassing to be involved in one, a hug is hard to beat.  I think it might be because there are so many people from whom I want and need hugs that are no longer around to give them.  Some are just separated from me by miles, others by a more permanent barrier.  Loved ones and friends who have passed on are no longer able to encourage, to commiserate, to demonstrate love, with an embrace.  There is an empty feeling inside me as I realize that my arms will never go around these people again on this side of heaven.  There is also some regret that I didn’t let down my guard more often to hug and be hugged when they were here.  The older I get, the more my foolish masculine pride is left behind as I embrace old friends and family members.  Sure, sometimes to mask the beginnings of a hug, we reach out with the hand to be shaken first, before drawing the other one close to embrace while maintaining the grip on the hand.  I guess somehow, it give us a kind of “plausible deniability”. “Yeah.  We were just shaking hands.  No, it wasn’t a hug.  I just kinda put my arm on his shoulder too.”   No one believes it, but if it helps to get past the macho mindset that we’ve developed in this country, it’ll have to do.  I hope you won’t fall for the silly deniability argument, either.  It really is a hug.  And, that’s okay.

We need each other.  Our Creator made us to thrive in concord with other humans.  For some reason, He also designed us to function more efficiently when we have physical signals of affection, and respect, and support.

I kind of like that.  At least, I’m learning to.

“Greet one another with a holy kiss.”
(2 Corinthians 13:12)

“I will not play tug o’ war. I’d rather play hug o’ war. Where everyone hugs instead of tugs, Where everyone giggles and rolls on the rug, Where everyone kisses, and everyone grins, and everyone cuddles, and everyone wins.”
(Shel Silverstein~American children’s author)

MYOB

How well I remember the angry exchanges from the back seat:  “He’s touching me!”  “You did it first.”  “Did not!”  “Did too!”  “Did not!”  “Did too!”  Another voice, this time from the front seat, interjects itself into the back and forth inanity.  “Both of you, get back on your side of the car and keep your hands to yourself!”   Immediately, all is quiet, until a few moments later when you hear a plaintive voice from the back seat again, “He’s looking at me!”

Any of you who grew up with brothers or sisters close to your age remember those days.  Someone was always getting into your space; always making you uncomfortable and breaking up the relative peacefulness of your life.  There was no telling when one or another of the siblings was going to push the boundaries, either real or imaginary, just to see if they could add a little acreage to their own territory, all the sweeter for them if they could take it from your little corner of the world.  I’m still amazed that we grew up without hating each other, and in fact, actually loving and respecting each other.  But maturity also brings with it a different, and just as confusing, set of problems.  The funny thing is, this set of problems has a striking similarity to those of childhood…

One evening, close to 20 years ago, I got a call from an elderly friend, a widowed lady, whose middle-aged son was visiting her.  His marriage was in trouble and he had left home for a little thinking time.    His mom asked me if I would “counsel” him.  I’m not sure why she picked me, but she must have been under the mistaken impression that I had some store of wisdom that could help his marriage.  I agreed to spend some time with him, but it would be simply as a friend, not as a marriage counselor.  In getting acquainted with him, he mentioned that he would like it if we could talk some about the Bible.  I knew a bit more about that subject than marriage counseling, so I agreed that we would do a Bible study and suggested that when we got together the next time, he should bring a passage about which he had a question.

As we sat down at the table, he hit me with it immediately.  Ephesians 5:22 was the verse.  In it, the writer says, “Wives be submissive to your husbands…”  No sooner had I read it out loud than he burst out,  “That’s my problem!  She won’t submit and let me be the head of our home!  That’s why we can’t get along! How can I make her do that?”  Well, that stumped me for a few seconds.  The obvious answer was that he couldn’t!  That’s why he was here in Arkansas and she was in California!  But, that’s not what he needed to hear.  So of course, the next thing I told him was, “Get back on your side of the car and keep your hands to yourself!”

Okay, what I really did was to ask him a question.  “Does that statement give instructions to someone specific?”  “Well, yes,” came the reluctant answer.  “It tells wives how to act.”  “Well, unless you’re a wife, it’s obviously of no interest to you.  Move on.”  So down we went to the verses below that.  He read verse 25.  “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church.  He even died for it…”  He looked at me as if I had punched him.  It wasn’t necessary to ask if he got the point.  It was pretty clear that he did! 

It seems that most things are like those letters I get with the directive printed on them, “To be opened by addressee only, under penalty of law.”  If my name is not on the letter, I don’t mess with it.  Just so, in my daily life, when the instructions are targeted at me, I should do my best to follow them.  Otherwise, I need to leave them alone.   I really can’t make anybody else live the way they’re supposed to, so it’s unproductive to try.  That’s not my job! And, it does more damage to relationships than any benefit that I’ll ever achieve.  I’ve also finally begun to realize that if I follow the instructions I’m given, somehow it becomes a whole lot easier for the people I’m with to do their own part.  But as far as obedience goes, I’m only responsible for me. 

“Get back on your side of the car, and keep your hands to yourself!”  Turns out, Dad’s instruction for feuding siblings was also great advice for most adult relationships, too.  If we take care of ourselves, we won’t be getting  into spaces that don’t belong to us.

I’m still not sure if he ever figured out how to take care of the “He’s looking at me” problem.

“Child…I am telling you your story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own.”
(Aslan, in “The Horse & His Boy” by C.S. Lewis)

 “MYOB.”
(common anagram used in text-messaging for “Mind your own business”)

Originally published October 19, 2010

Inside Voices

“Inside voice, sweetheart.”  The gentle reminder from her mom motivates a reiteration of the phrase just uttered by the tyke at ear-shattering volume, this time at a level commensurate with our ability to understand what has been said.  The little one is one-fourth of a quartet of rambunctious kids who love rowdy action and nearly constant conversation.  Her problem is that she doesn’t have the strength to instill her will with physical prowess, as do some of them.  The Good Lord has blessed her, however, with strong lungs and a voice that can be heard above the normal din.  She has learned to use her talent.  Now her parents are laboring together to help her work on controlling it.  It is a lesson we could all stand to learn.

I am, right now, in what might be called a time of epiphany; a season of discovery and eye-opening revelations.  They shouldn’t be so astounding; these are lessons I have studied before.  I am simply seeing an exhibition of how communication should have been working throughout my life, and might have been, had I been paying attention.  At my age, I now gather new ideas a slice at a time, rather than seeing the whole pie, and I’m sure I should remember more, but a helpful seminar at the local university just one week ago (thanks to SIFE at JBU) has started the gears to turning once again.  It is slow work and more grease is needed.  I did learn this one thing though;  Communication is not about talking as much as it is about listening.  From a business perspective, I want to sell a product (that’s talking).  But, if I want to reach the socially connected denizen of this culture, I will have to listen first to find out what they are interested in and to see if what I have to offer is relevant to them.  It’s a radical concept to this old-timer.

What I am discovering, as I wander through this epiphanal landscape, oohing and aahing over each new vista that opens up, is that the precept of listening to communicate did not originate in the field of sales, nor is it a new principle in any way.  It has always been true.  It’s just that bumbling oafs, such as myself, have traditionally assumed that superior intellect and higher volume will always silence the opposition.  The concept of superior intellect is present in my own mind only, you understand.  The higher volume component?  That one is universally accepted as one of my modi operandi (yeah, I had to look it up too, to be sure of the plural form).  I, like the aforementioned little princess, understand that superior firepower will almost always silence the battlefield.  The problem with my method is that silence doesn’t mean I’ve convinced anyone.  It just means that they’re not engaged in the conversation anymore.

The whole process has led me to think about this social media phenomenon a bit further.  I am astounded and dismayed by the growing rift I see between people with divergent opinions.  I am also concerned by how quickly a firestorm can get started and can grow out of control.  It seems that the same media which spawns viral information that can grow into concern and action (e.g. the current KONY 2012 campaign, viewed by almost four million people in two weeks), can also pit friend against friend as the volume is raised to a fever pitch in arguments about political or social issues (the recent Rush Limbaugh debacle springs to mind).  If we do not understand the power of our words and the strength of our reactions, we risk, not merely ostracizing our close friends and acquaintances, but, engendering larger disasters which may be waiting to occur.  Many hail the success of social media in ending the reign of terror in the Middle Eastern region in recent months.  I’m not sure that the media didn’t actually short circuit the time-honored process of negotiation and compromise, instead trading the peaceful (but slower) transition to a stable solution for a violent and unstable speedy conclusion, which promises to beget more conflict without a genuine resolution for the foreseeable future.  I don’t insist on that reading of the process, but am fearful that it may be so.

This wasn’t intended to be a political diatribe, but as you know, I do follow the rabbit into whichever hole it disappears, frequently.  My brain is still spinning with the truths which have quite possibly been evident for many years to most of you.  As I’ve said before (ad nauseum), I am a slow learner.  You may have to wait for me a moment or two while I catch up.  I resolve to listen more.  I will attempt to talk less.  The grey matter will, no doubt, continue to sift through the rubble and hopefully, the action that ensues will be rational and constructive.  Time will tell. 

Some of you may have noticed that there are not always comments made at the bottom of these posts.  I try to listen intently to the ones I receive in other media, as well as to you who have approached me in person.  Still, I do want to hear from you any time you are inclined to contribute.  To me, your voice is (and always will be) a vital part of the conversation.

The comment box awaits. Please, use your inside voice…

“Speak softly and carry a big stick. You will go far.”
(West African proverb~popularized by Theodore Roosevelt~26th President of the U.S.A.~1858-1919)

“A gentle answer turns away wrath.  But, harsh words stir up anger.”
(Proverbs 15:1)

Marketing 101: No Empty Wagons!

I love times like today, when a customer gets out and walks around his car in the parking lot outside my front door.  The anticipation of what will be pulled out of the back seat or the trunk is always a little exciting.  As I stand behind the counter and envision the treasure which will soon make its way into the music store, I remember my younger, more foolish days, when I would spend whole weekends searching through junk stores and pawnshops for those hidden treasures.  The enjoyment was what I described often as the thrill of the chase.  One never knew if the quest would prove fruitless.  It often did.  When that happened, the disappointment would overcome me and I would vow never to waste another weekend in such a foolish pursuit.  Invariably though, a few weeks later, the fever would overtake me again and off I would go to the jungles of Kansas City, or Dallas, or maybe even Memphis to stalk the prey once more.

I seldom go on the hunts anymore.  I no longer feel the call of the wild, since I actually acquired the best trophy I will probably ever bag several years ago (you may read about it here if you wish).  The thrill of the chase is now greatly diminished.  I’ve become more of a trapper than a hunter as I’ve gotten older and wiser.  It seems that the prey I seek actually will come to me anyway, if the trap is baited with an attractive enough prize.  The tantalizing aroma of cold, hard cash is what seems to work best, although I will admit that a fair number of the prizes I’ve taken have come with simply the offer of an in-kind trade; one of my favorite types of bait.  The latest trophy is carried into the store and left in my hands with the most painless of exchanges; a straight across swap.  Although, a cash sale is good, sometimes the swap, which achieves two things, is better.  First: our stock rotates, giving the impression that we sell more merchandise than we do; and second: frequently, the instrument which has been traded in may be sold for more money than the one which we relinquished in the transaction.  The customer has what he or she wanted and we are able to make a profit and live to hunt another day.  A win-win situation by any calculation.

Today, as I waited expectantly, the young man brought in a prize, a valuable, older guitar with a hand-carved top and beautiful abalone inlay all the way up the fingerboard.  I wanted the guitar, that much is certain.  As a businessman, however, I have to take certain precautions, and I decided that I should pass on this instrument.  He was disappointed, but may be able to take steps which will make a future deal possible.  As we talked, he inquired about what I would do with the guitar, should I ever acquire it.  I said casually that I might just stow it in the back room of the store to bring out at a future date.  Immediately, he brightened as an idea took hold of him.  “Do you have lots of guitars back there?  Can I go back and look at them?”  I laughed, and then had to disillusion him about the imagined treasure-trove of stored instruments in the back room.  The only instruments back there are the ones I don’t want to have in the sales area of the store because they are either too cheaply made or too badly damaged to ever repair.  They are only good to be hung on walls or stripped down for salvage.  The disappointed young man carried his guitar out of the store.  Even now, I can feel the twist it was on my emotions to let the prize slip through my hands.  Another day, I may have the chance to win that particular trophy.

Later, I considered the verbal exchange, and I was struck with a dichotomy.  As a business owner, I know that I have to have my wares on display, available for the public to see and to hold.  If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to sustain the business.  My father-in-law, who was my teacher and mentor for many years, always told me, “You can’t sell from an empty wagon.”  In our day and age, that saying doesn’t make as much sense as it did to him.  Many years ago, during the depression, he walked along with his elderly father, born during the Civil War, as he sold from a horse-drawn wagon.  The products, made by the Rawleigh company, had to be in stock for them to make any sales.  When you were sold out of items, you went home.  No one would buy on the promise of a future delivery.  They wanted to make the purchase and have the product in their hand as they walked back into their houses.  Today, almost a century later, I find that most customers prefer to walk out with the item they walked in to buy.  Special orders are sometimes made, but the vast majority of people want the gratification of being able to take their purchase home with them today.  You still can’t sell from an empty wagon.  You see, a special room in the back, with hidden items, simply doesn’t make sense from the standpoint of making sales.

With that said, here is the dichotomy.  I always wanted the shops I frequented on those hunting expeditions to have merchandise which no one else had been able to view.  Hidden merchandise could be a bargain and it might even be a trophy of epic proportions.  Interesting, isn’t it?  I wanted to be the best that I could be at marketing, but I wanted to buy from people who didn’t understand the basic principles of business.  It worked out well for me back then, but over the years, the market has changed and so have I.  So for now, I stay in my little store and put out the bait necessary to bring the prizes to me.  It frees me up to do a better job at other aspects of my work.

The world says, “If you’ve got it, flaunt it!”  While it is not their intention, they’re just espousing a Biblical principal.  Jesus said it this way, “A city that is set on the side of a hill cannot be hidden.  Neither do men put a candle under a basket.  No, they put it on a lamp stand and it gives light to all within its reach.”  Just like the merchandise in my store, our gifts are made to be displayed.  They are given to impact the world, not to be hidden.  Every time I hear the words “hidden gifts”, I cringe.  It is unprofitable at best, and maybe even a little selfish to keep gifts to ourselves.  Buried talents never multiply, never benefit even the talented, much less, fellow travelers.  Shine!  Like stars in the heavens, light up the night around you.

So, no valuable guitars hidden in the back room, no trophies hanging on the wall with “Do Not Touch” signs.  Some things are made to be out in the open and accessible.  I kind of like it that way.

While I’m thinking about it, if you’ve got a genuine Stradivarius violin hidden under the bed at home, maybe you could bring it by sometime.  I’ve got the perfect wall on which it can hang for awhile.

“This little light of mine, 
I’m going to let it shine.
Hide it under a bushel?  No!
I’m going to let it shine!
Let it shine, let it shine.”
(“This Little Light of Mine”~Children’s song~Harry Dixon Loes~1895-1965)

“Take your candle, and go light your world.”
(“Go Light Your World”~Chris Rice~American songwriter)