The gorgeous, new guitar that had left the store was neither, when I saw it again a few weeks later.  My perfunctory look at the soft case gave the “Cliff’s Notes” version of the full narrative that would be told when the torn, useless zipper was pulled apart.  The black cloth was pock-marked with holes that had white tracks leading to and from them, indicating that moving rocks had played a part in the plot of this story.  As the case was opened, a glance at the owner’s forlorn visage steeled me for the horror to come.  The fragments tumbled out en masse, leaving only the battered remains of the neck and top in the case.  I have to admit, I had expected a damaged instrument, but I was not prepared for the shattered, splintered mound of debris that gave scant evidence of the once beautiful instrument which had left my shop only weeks before.

Almost tearfully, the story unfolded.  Ready to load the guitar in the car, but finding the trunk locked, the owner leaned the instrument carefully against the back bumper, moving to the front of the car to hit the trunk release.  An unexpected interruption came and the errand to pop the trunk was forgotten.  Scant minutes later, backing out and hearing a strange sound for several feet brought the horrified recollection of thought, but too late!  A careless moment and a phone call at the wrong time…these had contributed to the early demise of a guitar that normally would have an expected useful life of 20 or more years.  It was gone in the blink of an eye.  And, as sad as the experience is, I guarantee you, this guitar owner will one day find a way to laugh about the disaster.  Will they ever quit regretting it?  Probably not, but they’ll get over it.  It was a sad moment, but the guitar could be replaced and music would flow again, as well as some jokes and good-natured kidding to go along with it.

That is probably not so, for the owner of another guitar I was handed a number of years ago.  The man had decided to sell the instrument and was seeking a fair offer.   I looked at the beautiful, antique Gibson electric guitar and thought, “What a beauty!”  In top condition, it was worth about $3000 in today’s dollars.  I was excited that I would have a chance to purchase it and make a profit upon resale.  But, as I turned the guitar over to examine the reverse side, my heart sank.  The back of the guitar told a completely different story than did the front.  It was mutilated, with a large, square hole cut, not broken, in the center of the wood surface.  What (or who) could have done such a horrible thing to this superb work of art?

It’s not my vice, so I have no personal experience, but apparently, too much liquor makes you do stupid things.  The sad story was recounted to me by the now, very sober man.  He had been the guitarist for a local band which played every weekend in one of the nightclubs.  As happened frequently in those days, there was very little actual pay for musicians, so the bar owner compensated the band with free beers while they played.  Of course, as a result, the quality of the music suffered progressively through the evening, but the bar patrons didn’t take any notice, since most of them had also deteriorated in like manner.  On the night of the incident, the guitarist noticed an intermittent problem with the signal from the guitar to the amp and eventually it failed completely.  Access to the pickups was difficult without the right tools, and not having much time to effect repairs, he did the only thing his inebriated brain could conceive. He reached into his pocket, took out the greatest tool ever invented and…opened his jackknife and cut a small hole through the wood back.  It wasn’t enough room for his hand, so he cut it bigger.  Still not enough…well, you get the picture.  As the story unfolded, I stood with my mouth agape, listening in disbelief that, even in that mental state, anyone could be so witless.

I purchased the guitar, but for a price that was a fraction of what it should have brought.  I’m also sorry to say, that, like the appraisers on the Antiques Roadshow, I made a point of telling him what it would have brought prior to his senseless mutilation of a fine, vintage instrument.  My guess is there will never be a day when this gentleman laughs about his loss.  For some reason, stupidity doesn’t seem to become funny over time, it just seems more stupid.

We all get absent-minded once in awhile, sometimes with disastrous results.  That’s not the same thing as stupidity.   In the words of one wag, “Ignorance is curable, but stupidity is terminal.”

I’m still hoping for a cure for whichever one it is that I’ve got.  While there’s life, there’s hope…

“Life is tough.  It’s tougher when you’re stupid.”
John Wayne

“Stupid is as stupid does.”
(Forrest Gump)

Originally posted as “Mama Says, Stupid Is As Stupid Does” on October 7, 2010

“Don’t sweat the small stuff!”  I’ve said it a hundred times to people around me.  The layaway payment is a few days late?  “Don’t sweat it!”  The shipping address for that order doesn’t match the Post Office database?  “Don’t sweat it!”  The young man on the other side of the counter doesn’t have quite enough cash to pay for his purchase?  “Don’t sweat it!”  Again and again, I encourage folks to let it go and not worry.  There are more important things in the world to think about.  Frequently, the folks with whom I am dealing are reluctant to let it go, uncertain about allowing a stranger to foot the bill and suspicious that there will eventually be a price to be paid, somehow.

One of my favorite writers is Robert Fulghum.  I find that theologically, I am as far from him as anyone I read, but this man does understand life.  How else do you explain the title, “Everything I Need to Know, I Learned in Kindergarten”?  So when I read this quote a few years ago, it stuck in my head and made me think.  “Life is lumpy.”  Well, yeah.  But what does that mean?  I get that it’s not all smooth sailing, that there are ups and downs in life, but what does he mean, “lumpy”?  Thankfully, he finishes the thought…“A lump in the oatmeal, a lump in the throat, and a lump in the breast are not the same kind of lump.  One needs to learn the difference.”  I wish I’d said that!  Admit it!  You’d think I was a brilliant philosopher if I had, wouldn’t you?  But, I didn’t.  That doesn’t make it any less to the point.

Why is it that we agonize over such minutiae as a misspelled word in the church bulletin, but turn our eyes away from the homeless person standing in the foyer as we leave the church?  Why do we become incensed about an overcooked steak and castigate our waitress mercilessly, never caring that she is worn out with concern for a wayward child who is in trouble with drugs?  It’s not always others that we aim our venom at, either.  Many of us internalize our anger and distress, blaming ourselves for sloppiness, for tardiness, for forgetfulness.  Before we know it, our worry and apprehension has gotten the better of us and all of life looks dark, with no hope of ever getting better.  Day by day, we tie ourselves up into knots over unimportant details, which have no lasting value of any kind. 

Mr. Fulghum recommends perspective to bring focus.  Sometimes, lifting our eyes from our immediate problem to view the big picture will bring clarity.  Sometimes, we just need a friend to give us a kick in the pants.  But always, we need to make the important issues important, and the minor issues minor.  Otherwise our mindset, our moods, our outlook on life will be skewed and we ourselves are the losers.

Today, it rained.  A lot.  I have a couple of black dogs that live in my backyard.  They have a shed to which they may retreat in inclement weather.  They’re not intelligent beings.  As they wandered out in the pouring rain, I fretted and got myself into a dark mood worrying about them.  I also knew, in a tiny spot in the back of my mind, that a friend of mine was going through some tests in the hospital to determine the cause of a heart arrhythmia, an irregular heartbeat.  I wasn’t in a black mood about him, just about the dogs out in the rain (of their own volition).  Late this afternoon, an email came, reminding me that he will be having a procedure to make repairs to his heart tomorrow.  The light flashed in my brain!  Important things need to be made important.  Minor things should stay in their place.

I have one more comparison, if you’ll allow it.  I have complained repeatedly about needing a break from work.  The load has been significant.  I’m not as young as I once was.  And, I find that I’m getting better at griping about it than most.  As I talked with one of my regulars today about my perceived problem, I was in fine form, commenting about being trapped with no way of escape.  I don’t care if it is job security, I’d like a little less, thank you!  The customer finally shoehorned a few of his own words between those in my diatribe.  I started listening and discovered that he had to quit his part-time job because of the pain it brought on from a very real injury.  Now, a couple of years later, he is fighting to keep a pension which barely allows him a subsistence.  If he goes back to work, he not only risks injury again, but he will lose the pension altogether.  He is not sure he is even going to be allowed to keep the pittance he draws every month as it is.  Again, the moment of clarity comes.  Again, I am chagrined.

Life is indeed, lumpy.  I have my share of lumps to deal with.  Some of them have been significant; some have not.  I am continuing to learn that inconvenience is not the same as emergency; that nuisance is not the same as tragedy.  Now, if I can just keep my eyes open and focused.  Sometimes, like the reminder on the rear view mirror of the car which reads, “Objects in mirror are closer than they appear”, the things I can see with my eyes are neither exactly as big, nor as small as they may seem to be.  Perspective needs to be kept at all times.  The class is still in session.  I’ve failed a few of the preliminary tests.  I’m hoping that I’ll do better on the latter ones.

I’ll leave you with one more piece of wisdom from Mr. Fulghum’s book that I mentioned earlier:  “…remember the Dick and Jane books and the first word you learned – the biggest word of all – LOOK.” 

I’m keeping my eyes open.  You?

“You blind guides!  You strain out a gnat, but swallow a camel.”
(Matthew 23:24 NIV)

“Clarity affords focus.”
(Thomas J Leonard~American life-coach and teacher~1955-2003)

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)

(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)

“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)

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)

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