Heavenly Bamboo

Not bamboo at all, it seems. Although the sturdy bush hails from Asia, it thrives under the official name of Nandina Domestica. And tonight was my night to bring it under control.

Earlier in the spring, we brought in a professional to clean out the flower beds and bring the flora of the back yard into some semblance of regulation play. The worker was fantastic. He trimmed and raked and brought order to the wilder regions of our eastern territory. But we noticed soon after he was gone, the bushes — particularly the Nandina — grew with a vengeance. Up, out and across the bare expanses separating them, the bushes spread and flourished.

I attacked them with my old electric hedge trimmer. And while the carnage was great, I could tell that the war wasn’t over. Fairly extensive collateral damage was sustained during the fracas. Yet another extension cord was badly nicked from — shall I say — “friendly fire?”

That engagement led to the purchase of a new cordless hedge trimmer. This one with 22 inches of cutting capability. As soon as I had it home and charged, I waded into the jungles that had become our backyard beds. Trimmings flew. I stepped back about thirty minutes later feeling pleased that I had brought things back to what I consider to be normal.

That was two weeks ago. Last night, as I was mowing, I noticed that the Nandina had resurged. It’s no wonder they call this “Hitler Bamboo” and “Nandina Megalomania.” Some bushes had grown as much as a foot in all directions.

So, with my new trimmer at the ready, I plunged in again tonight. As I swung that reciprocating sword around and through the bushes I had visions of Edward Scissorhands. My shadow played against the back fence and, with the trimmer out before me, I saw more of a figure from a well-played game of Guitar Hero.

Back and forth and over and through. Carefully dodging the little teeth as they swung by my jeans, I expertly worked my way through the dense forest. And once again, I triumphed. Clippings collected in the big rolling trashcan, I headed back toward the garage satisfied. But a small voice floated across the lawn behind me.

“We’ll be back.” My confident stride lessened a little. I knew they would be back. Along with the bermuda grass that grows with great gusto in the same beds, even though it struggles not four feet away in the lawn under the tree. And the weeds and the red oak that sprouts from the acorns that drop.

Nandina, like most hardy and persistent things, will come back. And, its growth seems to be hastened when it is given a little attention. It’s not unlike anger, jealousy, and discrimination. When pushed down and cut away, these sinful behaviors find new ways to surface. The only way to get ready of those little pests is to eliminate them completely AND replace them with something else.

That’s the ultimate answer to Nandina conquest. Root them out, systematically. Plant something else in their place.

Yet, I find I like the hardy bushes. They have a nice color and beautiful berries. Socially redeeming qualities, perhaps? So they’re not coming down. And, I have to become content with their less attractive behaviors. That’s the price I must pay, I suppose.

I do wonder if moments of anger, jealousy, and discrimination continue to flourish in my life for much the same reason. Perhaps I just like them a little too much. And I’ve become accustomed to the price.

Where in the world is …?

So, I was able to pull together all of my material to teach the introductory letter on the book of James last night. Since I’ve taught the series before, it was simply a matter of reworking outlines and reconnecting thoughts. The folks who showed up were gracious and kind. In short, I came home last night looking forward to the remaining weeks.

I think a part of my good feeling had to do with my expectation that I will have time to continue my study and preparation. Things have been so busy the last two years, I feel like I’ve been away from some important things. But now, things have lulled a bit. Yes, I know that another storm is coming in mid-summer. Now. Now things are smooth and calm.

I’ll be returning to my regular schedule of work-related travel soon — working with individuals, businesses, nonprofit organizations and churches in conflict. I look forward to the work, although being away from home is hard. And the travel itself can be very taxing.

My wife, Nancy, is a big fan of the Today Show. That’s an accurate statement. Although you could narrow the field a bit and say that she’s a big fan of Matt Lauer. Hardly a week goes by when she doesn’t tell me about something Matt said or somebody Matt interviewed. The last few days she’s been telling me where Matt is. This is “Where in the world is Matt Lauer?” week.

So far, the way I understand it, he’s been to Argentina, the Netherlands, Laos, and today he’s in Istanbul. Because of his extensive travel, Matt claims that he has no time to shave. So added to the travel log today was Nancy’s comment that Matt’s beard looks pretty scraggly.

As I was about to leave for work, Matt was telling his adoring audience about his rough travel schedule. Since last Friday, he’s spent 53 hours in the hour speeding to all of these exotic locations. And, he gave out a key bit of information. He said, “After the show, we’ll do a little sightseeing and then get back on ‘our’ plane and head to our next location.”

Aha! That’s how he does it. A private plane. Because I know that if I were sent out on a similar business trip, this would be the listing of locations for “Where in the world is Joey Cope?”

Day 1: Stuck in Abilene because of bad weather in Dallas forcing flight cancellations.
Day 2: In Dallas, but on standby waiting to get on planes because of the problem with yesterday’s cancellations.
Day 3: Now in Cleveland, Ohio, because of rerouting due to problems at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport of an undisclosed nature.
Day 4: In Dallas, waiting on a connecting flight to the original undisclosed location.
Day 5: Because of bad weather at the original undisclosed location and at Dallas, stuck on a plane on the tarmac in Abilene. And because this is not the regular airline that serves Abilene, FAA regulations forbids passengers to deplane — even if you live here and your car is only a couple of thousand feet away accumulating parking fees.
Day 6: Even though I’m supposed to be back home in Abilene now, I’m in Dallas standing at a car rental counter. No flights back to Abilene until the FAA okays the maintenance reports for my airline.

No, all of that hasn’t happened to me in one trip. I’m just saying that if I was to undertake a globe-trotting jaunt like Matt Lauer, this is what it would look like.

Next year, I would like to see Matt make his swing across the continents on commercial flights. That would be a real adventure.

As we talked about James last night, I think that we see that life is really more like a trip around the world in coach class than it is by private jet. Things happen. Some good things are a part of the mix. Yet, disappointments abound. Yet, if you’re ever going to make the journey, you just keep showing up. Oddly, if we place faith in a being greater than we are, we primarily remember the good things.

So, if anyone asks you “Where in the world are you?”, just tell them, I’m right here where God can find me. And I’ll get where I’m going on His good time.

Distracted, perhaps in a good way

I often have good intentions. Notwithstanding what has been paved with good intentions, I believe that thinking and planning and working toward good things is, in itself, a good thing.

Yet there is something to be said for actually accomplishing something. And, on occasion, I’ve been known to get a project all the way to completion. Not today, it seems, but on occasion.

Tomorrow night at church I will be teaching the first of five lessons on the book of James. I’ve been focusing on this study for almost two years — particularly in the ways that James approached conflict and its causes. I’ve learned a lot about this letter and I’ve taught this material in a number of settings. One of my big fears is that some of the good folks who have been in previous classes will come to the class. It’s not that I don’t want them there. I’m just thinking that it will be really awkward when they realize that they’ve been through all of this with me before and they’re wishing they had chosen one of the other classes.

I have learned more about the message of James since the last time I taught. In fact, I have some very fresh insights that I’ve been exploring. And I had good intentions of reconstructing all of my outlines to include them.

Things happen, however, and I found myself thinking during lunch today about how I would have this evening, at last, to retread the first lesson. As my email inbox bulged this afternoon with various and sundry requests from students and faculty, I struggled to keep up.

The biggest distraction was a late afternoon meeting. It was the second day that I was summoned to a late afternoon meeting of great import. Yesterday’s was informative and, I thought, fairly positive. Today’s was less so. Mainly because it was a follow-up meeting to yesterday’s and because there was little more that could be said. Don’t get me wrong. The meeting content was very important, but I was distracted by my experience because my fellow meeting-goers seemed, for the most part, really discouraged.

My initial reaction was to be frustrated with those around me. Then as I left the meeting I began wondering what, if anything, I could do to improve their demeanor and make things easier. Hence my distraction.

And I was pretty heavy into these thoughts of making things better when it struck me — maybe the idea that I could help my friends was being presumptuous.

And with the thought that my help was probably not what was needed, my distraction melted and I was left staring at the book of James. But it’s getting late. My demeanor is waning.

And tomorrow will be a better day. Do you think God sends distractions when he knows that our later efforts will be better? Or is that just one of the most innovative justifications of procrastination that you have ever heard?

Tomorrow night. James, the first chapter. Be there. I’ll be ready.

Kate says

The weekly email from the American Bar Association popped up with news for the week. I usually find something of interest, but last week’s didn’t have much. I did see where a law firm had banned phones and other communication devices from firm meetings. Thought I’d take a look.

The story was short and to the point. A law firm had established rules regarding the use of cell phones and portable email devices in meetings. Seems that the lawyers had grown tired of having that type of interruption. That was it. The story was over. I thought there must be more, so I paged down below the advertisements.

I don’t suppose that I had done that before. But I discovered that there was a comment feature at the bottom of the page. I wasn’t really curious but for some unknown reason I started reading.

First comment commended the law firm. Second comment commended the law firm and went further, condemning anyone who talks on a cell phone in public. Third commenter told the second commenter to lighten up. That line of thought went back and forth for awhile.

And then someone noticed that the headline said “Firm Bans Blackberrys,” or something like that. So, of course, a heated debated arose over whether the plural of Blackberry is Blackberrys or Blackberries. Soon, commenters were blending the plurality issue with whether cell phones and emails by phone are from the devil — and possibly whether other commenters were demonic.

This is the tragedy of online news and blogs. In the cloak of anonymity, people act nasty to other people. Yes, it happens face to face, too. But people really think it’s okay and even admirable if they can make derogatory remarks about other people on the internet. It is true that some individuals are respectful and articulate. But many are not.

That’s why I was blessed by what Kate said, way down in the list of comments. Her words?

I have never taken the time to read comments responding to a posted article. Hilarious–thanks for the entertainment! I particularly love when one individual criticizes another, all the while making blatant typos, whether spelling, punctuation, or grammar. Another favorite: the witty remarks. Thanks for the laughs.

In her kind way, Kate assumed the best. That people were simply going out of their way to entertain her and other readers. And don’t you love the gentle way she pointed out that perhaps people should pay attention to what they type?

Seems to me that many of the earlier comments could have been made in Kate’s style. The same information would have been imparted. And we would have all been spared the nastiness. Who knows? Perhaps I’ve missed the point. Maybe online comments should only be viewed as entertainment.

Oh, and if you are wondering, the plural of Blackberry is “Blackberry Mobile Devices” according to one of the commentators who bothered to go and ask the company. Not much entertainment value in that, but the process is certainly refreshing.

Irony Upon Irony

We discussed a little two-fold irony this morning. You would benefit from knowing the two bases of this wonderment.

First, when my son, Justin, and his wife, Alex, visit us, I always insist that they park their car in our driveway. Things seem to be quiet these days, but several years ago, there were problems all around town with vandals randomly driving a neighborhood and shooting out car windows. Happily, police believe that they’ve apprehended this band of hoodlums. Still, I think it’s a good idea for all cars to be parked away from the street.

Second, I recently bought a vehicle with a back-up camera. When I slide the transmission into reverse, I get the beep-beep-beep of a large truck and a video image jumps to life on my dashboard. While the owner’s manual urges you to check your backward progress via conventional techniques like rear view mirrors and just by turning around, the cameras are seen as a great deterrent to potential accidents when objects or even people have crept into your path.

You know where this is going, don’t you?

This morning, heading out to the bank, I left Nancy, Justin, and Alex inside finishing breakfast. I put my car in gear and ever so slowly began to ease out of the garage. I noticed Justin’s car and even noted that he had done a good job of pulling it far forward and away from the garage. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, I continued to back out. Somewhere in that journey, I noticed my lawn and the lawn of my neighbor and thought, “I really need to mow my lawn.”

It was about that time that my car suddenly quit moving and I could see my son’s car rocking wildly behind me. I got out. Luckily there was no additional damage to either car.

Oh, I did say “additional.” Seems this is the second time I’ve done this. I know that lessons are supposed to be learned from things like this. I suppose I was going for extra credit.

At some point in your life, you just have to give up and let irony rain down on you. For it seems that most irony is a product of our own inattention to what happens around us.

Man Stuff

The paragraph in the church bulletin promised nothing beyond pancakes and wild hog sausage. No mention of special activities except that it would be a morning for the men of the congregation.

There was much more. I went to see who would show up at a men’s breakfast. Obviously, men - although we did have one woman come with her uncle. And being the open fellowship we are, she was made welcome and stayed for not only pancakes and wild hog sausage, but bacon and orange juice and milk and coffee that smacked slightly of that indistinct odor of blue jeans worn out in the wilderness.

A program was in the offing. An introduction and singing and an introduction of the speaker and the speaker and a prayer. The leader of the music portion was right when he said that men worshiping in song was glorious. Okay, maybe he didn’t say glorious. But there is something strangely moving when deep voices sing and sing loudly.

Looking around the room, there weren’t a lot of young men except for the teens that showed up with their fathers. Mainly forties and above and I wondered where the younger guys were. Probably at home with young moms and small children who look forward to that one morning of the week when dad is home and not in a hurry to be somewhere else.

But the rest of us were there. Thirty or forty strong, with our fill of pancakes and breakfast meats and still wondering why, exactly, the coffee tasted like it did.

During one part of the program, we were given a list of questions and were encouraged to use a few of them with someone we wanted to get to know.

One of the questions was “What would you like to be doing the moment Jesus comes again?” Before the group leader could move beyond that one, a voice from the side of the room spoke up, “I know where Terry wants to be.”

And as Terry, the group leader, paused, his friend turned to the rest of us and continued, “He wants to be baptizing his son!”

Incredible answer. In the instant when all heaven breaks loose, Terry was focused on making a relationship whole — restoring his own flesh and blood to God. The activity in the room slowed as the full meaning spread over us. And then, expressions of agreement and approval.

This was man stuff. The sharing of a simple but everlastingly important hope. You could sense every one in the room moving deeper as we saw and prayed for those special elements that distinguish just men from God’s men.

Doubtless

It happens frequently — even in a small, part-time law office like mine. People come to see me with a financial problem and in the course of our discussions they ask, “I suppose I could just not pay that debt. I mean, what could they do?”

Then I take them through the litany of things “they” could do. And after we talk about loss of vehicles and tax liens and lawsuits, the typical response is, “Well, that’s not so bad.”

Usually at that point I pause, ever so slightly. And almost every time, the individual adds, “I just don’t feel right about it, though.”

That’s a wonderful moment. In that instant, you see a person regain respect for self and connect to their values. When that resurgence begins to build is the moment I explain how I feel about legal measures to reduce or eliminate debt. “The government, through our creditor and bankruptcy laws, has made protection available for those who truly need it — and frankly, that’s not many of us.”

Then I take my clients back through the things they can do. Like adjusting their lifestyles and, thus, their spending habits, and selling things they don’t need. As momentum grows, most of these people begin to see some possibilities. They see the long road ahead and accept the responsibility of digging out. As is often said, you don’t usually get into debt in a hurry — therefore, you don’t get out in a hurry either.

That’s the way that most of life’s troubles are. We move so fast sometimes that we take a few steps down a path that seems a little strange. And rather than check our bearings, we move further. Over time we become comfortable with where we are.

And then something stops us. A consequence attaches to us and things grind to a halt. This new and peculiar environment disorients us. We tell ourselves, “It’s okay to act differently here.”

But most of us know better. Despite the pull, that small voice tells us what is right for us.

You may not have strong spiritual beliefs. But I believe that the small voice is a clear channel to the one who divided right from wrong when it came into this world. The same one who gives us things we can do to get back to where we need to be. The same one who extends grace when we’ve done all that we can do.

Regardless of the struggle you face, or how far you will have to travel to make things right, small steps are available. And as a believer, I’m convinced that God views us more in the light of where we’re heading than in a snapshot of where we are at any given moment.

Standing Room Only

Growing up in West Texas, I had a pretty well-developed system for knowing who my friends were. Friends were the guys — and occasionally the girls — you spent time with. Looking back, I’m not sure that the great majority of that time was very productive. But, even today, it seems like quality time. We played ball and pretended we were people we would never be. We shared dreams and schemes and, on occasion, the blame for schemes gone bad. In simplest terms, we were there for each other.

Eventually, of course, I found my best friend, Nancy. And I’ve poured most of my friend energy into that relationship. I’m not certain that she would say that all of that effort on my part has had happy results — or even that there has been all that much investment at times. Thankfully, our love and friendship has grown because of her enormous capacity for others.

I know that similar cues that determine friendship exist in today’s relationships. Perhaps the activities are less strenuous. And now the dreams shared are sometimes those lying broken around us. The happy times are no less happy, though. However, with the pressure of life as an adult, there seems to be less quality time for friends.

Or so I thought. A friend of mine recently went through a period of crisis. I was one of a number of folks who went to his side. Part of our function was to simply be there and absorb the moment with him. If you’ve ministered to people who are sick or who are grieving the death of someone close, you’ve probably heard this activity described as “sitting with” the suffering person.

Years ago, I was mentored in “sitting” by a long-time minister at our church, Brother Horace. A good brother at the congregation had died suddenly. I was dropping off some things at the church office that day as Brother Horace was making his way to visit the family of the deceased. “Why don’t you come with me?” he asked.

I was in my early twenties and, other than family, I had never gone to visit a bereaved family. Reluctantly, I said yes. But in the car on the way to their home, I became nervous. “Brother Horace,” I questioned, “What will I do when I get there? What will I say?”

“Simple. Say what seems right. And if you have nothing to say, just sit. Through the years, I’ve never had any one recall what I had to say, but almost every one remembered I was there. Being there is the key.”

And so it is with friendship. In my friend’s crisis, I came to realize that there was no place for me to “sit.” Those spots were taken by individuals who had been there more often. No, my place was just inside the door. Standing just a bit to the side.

I just happened to run into this friend downtown, recently. And even though my perception was that my involvement was very slight, he was effusive in his greeting. He thanked me over and over for what I had done.

The expression on my face must have been one of puzzlement. He paused as I stuttered, “I really wasn’t that much help.”

He moved closer and whispered, “But you were there!”

Friendship and love can grow in even the shallowest soil. And so I’m called back to Brother Horace’s sage advice. Say what seems right. And if you have nothing to say, just sit. And to that wisdom, I add this corollary. When there is no place to sit, just stand.

Leading a Double Life

It’s been going on for a while now. Little bits of news flowing through the ether. A glimpse of something here. A telling piece of evidence there. I wonder how long it will be before I’m found out.

Of course, that’s the beauty of it all. I won’t be found out. Because the “Joey Cope” whose answer to the Facebook question, “What are you doing right now?” is “Joey Cope is loving life!” isn’t really me.

No, it’s a young, active Joey Cope who attends university in another state. I suppose he searched Facebook using our name and found me. Then he invited me to be one of his friends. So, I have been — sort of.

I mean, I’ve been here or there or wherever you are in cyberspace. I haven’t written on the other Joey’s wall (that’s like leaving a note on his apartment door). I haven’t emailed him or invited him to be a part of a Facebook group.

But I’ve enjoyed the thrill of reading on my Facebook that Joey Cope has done this or that or something else — even though I knew it wasn’t me. And it was fun to see that someone with my name was young, active, and, from all appearances on Facebook, a very devoted follower of Jesus.

Perhaps I’m leading multiple lives as I see others around me, of all ages, behave in young, active, and very Christ-like ways while I watch with wonder.

I’m thinking a younger (acting), more active, and more Christ-like Joey Cope — the one who lives in my house — might be a life truly worth doubling.

My Own Medicine - Day Five

I love to hear someone say, “Suddenly, it all became clear to me.”

It’s not that I think it doesn’t happen that way. No, it’s just not been my experience that everything becomes clear all at once. Of course, I’m slower than most people. That may be the reason that my flashes of insight are often muted — just glimpses of a reality exposed in the flicker of a distant spark of lightning.

Earlier this week, when I sat down to put things right with a long-time friend, I started to notice the great peace and freedom that was rolling over me. Amazing how my time was freed to think about ways to move on the difficulties that had kept the two of us apart — or at least me apart.

So yesterday I was basking in this peace and freedom and it hits me — there are other areas where I don’t feel so good. And, at that moment, I began to take inventory of those things that worry me and distract me.

I thought the list would be much longer. Not really any relationship issues on this list — except for a group project I had been avoiding. Everything else involves taking some very simple steps toward freedom and peace.

I started this morning by completing some boring paperwork for my law office. Free of that and I’m moving on. Several small projects around the house await me. More freedom in the afternoon.

Larger tasks are involved as well — but all start with small steps. And each step brings freedom and peace.

Small steps. All that’s required in reconciling relationships or ending bondage to whatever plagues you are small, small steps.