Value in Faith, Part 2

I’ve been accused of not listening.  Actually, I’ve been convicted of the charge.

And my “not listening” is not confined to what the weatherman just said about the forecast or the announcement blared out over the plane intercom.  Nor is it limited to those vital moments in a television show or football game when I really need (in theory) not to be disturbed with outside information.  No, it’s been pointed out to me that my most grievous period of inattention comes in the midst of those times when I appear to be willingly engaged in conversation.

I, for one, find it ironic that this is a problem for me.  After all, I teach people how to have difficult conversations.  And, on most occasions, I am very successful in listening to others and conveying my interest in what they have to say.

After further thought, it dawned on me that I am most guilty of this behavior in my “everyday” conversations.  I’m not arrogant about it nor selective.  No, I see these times of exchange as a necessary moment to dispense MY information.

An additional irony emerges as I consider that my inattention transmits my disregard for the other even though these “everyday” people are family and friends who I dearly love.

This is a problem, I thought.  And being a problem-solver by nature, I came to the notion that I should list my special “everyday” people and give my best effort to listening to every word they say.  I was about 5 people down on the list, when I recognized that I “talk” to God everyday.  And thus, my second clarifying statement on faith emerged:

To realize the value I place on faith, I will spend more time in prayer in order to listen to God.

More time praying with the intended result of hearing more from Him.

For a doer and a talker, this is a big step for me.   Yet, I tried it just this morning.   Sat down.  Pulled my chair close.  Breathed deeply.  And heard God.

No booming voice came out of a thundercloud.  No stone tablets were pushed across the table.   No . . . only silence and calm.  And thoughts and ideas that seem clear now — and some that will become clear some day.  My God whispers.  He has nothing to prove.

And when I can stop and listen for that whisper, I come to know Him.   My faith can’t help but grow.

[This is one in a number of notes about my personal journey to identify and enhance my values.  It's personal.  It may not address where you are and may not align with your value system.  You may not agree with me at all.  That's all right.  If I'm missing something or you've got some thoughts that would be helpful, please do.  Thanks for reading.]

Value in Faith, Part 1

“Isn’t that God’s job?”

I forget who said it. But I do recall that I had just finished a rather detailed explanation about what I was going to do to handle a truly difficult matter.  The speaker then very kindly shared her thoughts about how God takes care of things.  “You can help,” she said. “You just need to wait on God for a while.”

I searched for an appropriate response.  I felt the need to explain that a quick response was necessary — there was no time to lose.  As I looked across the table, I realized that waiting on God was not a skill I had mastered.

I have an odd faith.  I have always believed in God.  I simply have no question about His presence and His power.  However, as I began to look at my personal values and His place in my life, I realized that, if faith was truly one of my core values, I would need to change to allow God to shape me through that faith.

As with each value I’m choosing to own, I fashioned realization statements for faith.  The first is simply this:

To realize the value I place on faith, I will acknowledge my complete dependence on God.

It seems simple.  As I look through all of my realization statements, I’m thinking that it’s the most difficult to attain.  It’s a daily, moment-by-moment, discipline made more difficult by God’s desire that we become as He is.  I want the supreme commander position, when God is really offering the better part — the unfathomable ability to love.

I do believe that God is control.  And to behave in accordance with that belief, I must ask for a source of power that bypasses my understanding of power from an earthly perspective.

God, grant me the ability to love as you love.  And forgive me when I forget to love.

[This is one in a number of notes about my personal journey to identify and enhance my values.  It's personal.  It may not address where you are and may not align with your value system.  You may not agree with me at all.  That's all right.  If I'm missing something or you've got some thoughts that would be helpful, please do.  Thanks for reading.]

Value Added

“Value added.”

Technically, the phrase is used to describe the difference between the cost of producing something and the amount a willing buyer would pay.  In other words, there is a value beyond such things as cost of materials and the time invested in production.

In marketing, “value added” sounds more like “bonus.”  You buy laundry detergent to get your clothes clean.  Infusing a pleasant scent in the soap – and your clothes – is an added value.

I probably spend too much time looking for bonuses and conveniences.  What really matters are those basic values that are consistent and sustaining — the things that are at our very core.

As this year begins to wind down, I paused to look back.  The last twelve months has been devastating for many of us — personal struggles, loss of loved ones, a horrible economy, disappointments.  However, the year had a lot of “value added” that accompanied the low points.

In a few weeks, I’ll be leading a workshop on New Year’s resolutions.  I was eager to take that assignment.  At least, I was eager until I realized that it had been years since I had personally resolved to do anything with any true measure of accountability.  So, in the last few weeks, I’ve been walking slowly through my own experience, reading the thoughts of others, and exploring.

My first step has been to identify and clarify what my personal values are – at least at this moment in time.  Personal values don’t change radically.  However, my study has led to the thought that erosion of these values is inevitable without active pursuit.

So dear reader, I thought I would enlist you to hold me accountable.  I’ve identified seven values and I’ve spent some time preparing clarifying statements to encourage me to “act as I believe.”  You are free to question anything you read or to point out a disconnect between my words and my actions.  I hope to share these ideas regularly for awhile.  And I would be honored to hear about your values.  In fact, I will be blessed and challenged.

In my upcoming posts, I will share with you my thoughts on the following values:

• Faith
• Family
• Integrity
• Peace
• Friends
• Gratitude
• Fitness

Those topics aren’t listed in order of importance.  In fact, I’m learning that in regard to core values, the loss or diminution of any one of them causes me to labor to maintain the rest.

Thanks in advance for indulging me.

Welcoming the Stranger

I had the house to myself.  The football game was a plausible excuse to be doing nothing.  The sun had just pulled below the western horizon and the Christmas lights had responded on cue from the timer whirring on the front porch.

I heard a car door shut in front of the house and moments later the door bell rang.  The visit surprised me.  We have only a few drop-in-unannounced visitors — and it was a little early in the season for friends to be on holiday baking delivery runs.

As I swung the door open, I saw a young woman.  She was probably a college student, although my ability to gauge ages has diminished with each passing year.  When my eyes met hers, she smiled broadly.  “Hi!” I offered.  “Hi! she responded as she moved past me into the front hallway.

“Who is this?” I thought.  She was now in our living room.  The lights from the Christmas tree offered a silhouette, but I still wasn’t able to identify her.  She looked vaguely familiar, but, as with age discernment, my powers of recognition are fading as well.  Perhaps she is a co-worker of Nancy’s down at the store, I reasoned.  Maybe Nancy knows she is coming by and she’ll be home any minute.

About that time, the young woman turned with a puzzled look on her face.  At the edges of that look, fear was beginning to paint a more solemn mask.  I decided I should blatantly reveal my confusion over the purpose of her visit.

“And who was it you came to see?” I asked.  Her eyes showed mixed feelings — relief that I was aware of a problem and apprehension over what was to come.

“Professor Morris,” she said.

“Oh, the Morrises live next door — both of them professors,” I stated.  “You missed them by one house.”

She must have known I was wondering why she so willingly crossed the threshold of a home where a stranger opened the door.  “I am so sorry,” she said.  “When I talked to Professor Morris, she said it would be okay to come over — and that her parents might be visiting.  I thought you must be her dad!”

With that explanation and a half-dozen more apologies from her, I ushered her out and assured her that her visit had not been an intrusion.  As I made my way back to my recliner, I chuckled.  She thought I was Heidi’s father!  How preposterous!

As I watched my team continue to make mistakes that would eventually cost them the game, I felt my spirits sink, as well.  From this day forward, I would be known as an old man — someone old enough to be mistaken as the father of a college professor.  For half an hour, I sat and wondered where my life had gone and questioned whether or not I had met my purpose for existence.

Nancy came in a little later.  Reluctantly, I told her of the encounter.  I bravely spun the story as a funny one.  She didn’t laugh.  She just looked at me.  “Well, you are old enough to be Heidi’s father, after all.”

The truth of that stung a bit.  It was true, of course.  My earlier consideration of life and purpose and meaning surfaced again.  What was it all about?

A little later, while penning a letter to my son, I realized — my life and my purpose and all of its meaning were wrapped up in that special moment when I opened the door.  For that moment, all that mattered was welcoming the stranger.  This wasn’t a dramatic episode.  No, in fact, it was only one of those benign opportunities we have to gently grace another person.  Kindness, even with confusion, fills in the gaps and answers the questions that haunt us.  And a pleasant meeting is merely practice for those more difficult times.

Not all of our encounters with strangers will be as comfortable and safe as mine was last night.  Yet, every such moment presents a very real opportunity to realize our potential and to embrace the essence of a higher power.

A rather trivial trip to the front door was all God needed to remind me that my well-being is woven in intricate patterns in the lives of those around me — even the strangers.

Waiting at Tables

For some time now, Nancy and I have frequented a little pizza place here in Abilene.  I know everyone’s tastes differ when it comes to pizza.  Some like New York style, some Chicago, and some Roma, I suppose.  I’m not sure what style this small establishment claims, but I’d say it’s my style.  Sure, I like the variety of pies my friend, Jonathan, dishes out from his Domino’s, too.  But this is my favorite restaurant pizza.

We also like the people who work in this place.  We’ve been impressed with every server who has come our way.  Dining there is a relaxing enjoyable time.

Last Sunday lunch began in a way that could have challenged my 5-star review.  We ordered soft drinks — in paper cups, please.  The server shook her head and told us that the soft drink dispenser was on the blink.  In fact, it was spewing carbonated water on the dining room floor as we spoke.  Sure enough, I looked past her to see two other employees busily mopping, trying to stem the flow.

I ordered tea and Nancy asked for water.  She was determined to hold out hope for that Dr Pepper.  The server apologized, took our pizza and salad order.  Actually, it was Nancy’s salad order — I don’t waste time on greens and such when pizza is close by.  As I stirred my tea and Nancy looked forlornly into her water, I started to apologize.  After all, it had fallen my lot to pick the restaurant today.

About that time, the owner came in the back door.  He grabbed a flashlight and dove under the cabinet.  The fizzy water continued to pour.  He came out once for tools and I suppose for air and then went back in — all the way in.  Within minutes, the machine was repaired, the moppers won their battle against the tide, and soft drinks began flowing.

When our order came, Nancy’s half-salad was extra big, Dr Peppers were before us, and the pizza was the best I have ever had.  Our server was wonderful, too.  So, when she brought the check, I gave her a 35% tip.  She wouldn’t be able to retire on it, but I felt really good about doing it.

I paid with a debit card.  The following day I was checking my account and I noticed that the charge for the meal was posted, but that the tip — my generous tip — was not there.  I glanced up and down the listed transactions thinking perhaps it was handled separately.  Nothing.

All of my good feelings began to dissipate.  Not only had my good deed misfired, but now I felt branded.  How could I face the good pizza people again?  How did getting stiffed on a tip make that server feel?

We all know how it feels, don’t we?  We measure these things in terms of the respect we absorb — or the absence of it.  Nothing destroys relationships more than the absence of respect.

Notice today who is waiting at your table.  Show them some respect.  In fact, go out of your way to honor someone who serves you in any way, small or large.  As for me, I’m thinking I may go back for pizza today — or, if Nancy’s reading, for the salad.  And I’ll be taking two extra big tips . . . in cash.

Pushing for Peace

I’ve been thinking about peace a lot lately.  Personal peace.  Relational peace. Political peace.  World peace.

So it wouldn’t be surprising that I stopped what I was doing to watch a short news clip this morning that featured an “anti-war mom” out with a megaphone in front of a military installation.  I had the sound down during the first part of the story so I couldn’t hear what she was saying.  Apparently though, the real news value wasn’t her protest.

An old gentleman, a sergeant who served many years ago, walked up in the remnants of his dress uniform and began talking with her.  Perhaps he was yelling at her, I couldn’t tell.  In seconds, the demonstrator turned her megaphone directly at him.  When he came very close, she put the instrument directly in his face and, for whatever reason, bumped him with it.

Appearing startled, the man pushed the megaphone away from his face and kept talking.  Other protesters jumped in.  The news person reported that military police had to step in to stop the “shoving” match.

My perception is that no one truly emerged as a victor in that episode.  Sarge was jostled around, even though the news footage didn’t show him ever raise his hands from his side except to push the megaphone away from his face.  The peace folks did quite a bit of shoving.  I find that almost comical — except it isn’t really funny.  True, I didn’t hear what the older gentleman was saying.  And he was quite bold in pushing his way to the epicenter of the demonstration.  Perhaps he was disrespectful.  Perhaps these women felt threatened by him.  I really don’t know all the details.  But I know what it looked like.

Whatever was happening, the whole episode was embarrassing for those of us in the peace business.

And by the way, we’re all in the “peace business.”

From our military personnel in harm’s way to the mother who believes that her calling is to attract attention to armed action she has deemed wrong, every single one of us has been called to peace.  As with most important things, we are called to different roles, however.

We need less shouting and more quiet talking.  We need less pushing to the middle of someone’s space and a more ordered presence close by — available to talk and even to serve those with whom we disagree.  We need fewer megaphones and more cups of cold water.  In short, we need more respect.

And we don’t just need respect out on the picket lines.  What happened to cause these protesters to gather?  What conversations were neglected?  What questiones went unanswered?  And, perhaps, what answers went unheard?

So, you’re a peacemaker.  I want to invite you to push for peace today.  Not with physical force and ugly words.  Push past boundaries you’ve never crossed.  Offer comfort to someone in need.  Be kind.  You’ll be energizing a force far more powerful than any shove you can muster.

 

Escaping Orbit

As I gaze out the window of my oft-times harried life, it seems to me that I often see the same landscapes.  Over and over again.  And planted in those larger scenes are the faces I’ve seen before with voices echoing the same messages I’ve heard before.

Face pressed against the window pane of my existence, I marvel, perhaps even delight, in seeing the replay of my most frustrating moments.  I see the anger and injustice that I perceive grows from others.  And I, almost unknowingly, reach over to hit the rewind button.  I feel justified in my own anger and malice toward those who do things to complicate my life.

I now realize that when I act this way, I have chosen to orbit the challenges and problems.  For whatever reason, I have chosen to keep them close.  I have chosen my misery.

“Chosen” is a convicting word.  Some who are in a similar circumstance may wince a bit at its use.  Why, we all ask, would we choose to do what is painful?

I believe we choose to act this way because, deep down, we think we have the power to make a difference . . . to bring about change.  Actually, we do have some capacity for that.  Yet, when we target change to happen in others, we lock into a circular path that leads nowhere.  In doing so, we orbit.  We spin around.  We turn the problems over and over again in our hands like some sort of a puzzle.  While in the force of that recurring nightmare and our attempts to stabilize everything about us, we rarely find the key to unlock the puzzle’s secret.

The problem with orbiting is that over time our energy begins to wane and we begin a spiral down into the problem itself.  We want to own the situation and manipulate it.  Without fail, that sort of fixation allows gravity to pull us into the central mass of negativity and pain.

I’m discovering (but have not mastered) the concept of letting go.  By releasing those things I truly have no control over, I am freed to go on with my life without the constant reruns of my bitterness, helplessness, and hopelessness.  Indeed, I am freed to navigate to where I need to be and want to be — almost at will.  Or, if I’m not totally successful in releasing, I gain the blessing of a wider orbit, one that includes greater experiences and relationships.

The key is in deciding what I am truly responsible for and what is outside my realm.  I am responsible for me.  I am responsible for how I interact with others.  I am responsible for my relationship with One who is greater than me.  And while that is a tremendous set of responsibilities, it’s a burden that each one of us is totally capable of bearing.

Let go.  Share heavy things with others.  Escape your orbit around the negative things that can capture your heart, mind, and soul.

Open Mind, Dark Pit

I’m studying this week.  Not my usual book readings and journaling. I’m studying in an “immersion” week.  Intensive sessions.  Homework at night. A diversity of classmates.

The subject matter is fascinating.  Theories from the sciences reinforce things we believed but never really knew.  Emerging research adds to the weight.  This particular line of thinking has been articulated in some form or fashion for half a century.  Its handlers continue to gently unfold it.  Showing too much, too soon would be too troublesome they say.

My professor is a man of God.  He has very much reconciled the concepts to his personal journey.  In fact, much about the teaching seems to lift us to a place where every one of us walks a closer walk with God.

Yet, the projections of where this takes us is frightening.  According to the theory, humans are emerging into a state of being where we will end our belief in God.  We can already point to the myriad of ways that mankind has pulled away from the Creator.  This one is akin to those.  It seems that we, as a people, will think our way past God.  Our intellect will be so great, that we will leave Him and all “other superstitions” behind.

I take solace in the fact that mere mortals have tried to muscle around God before.  And we never quite get there.  True, less people go to church than once did.  The reason we are told is that church is for the unenlightened and the less developed.  As the world touches on enlightenment and development, however, the problems and the solutions seem no less dark or attainable.

I’m uncomfortable studying such things.  But I know that God does give us everything for our good.  Often the view from the edge of the cliff is the most beautiful and revealing.  It’s danger is evident.

The greatest danger, however, is not climbing the mountains and not staring down into that dark pit.  For without the pit, we cannot grasp the wonder of the mountaintop.

I’ll continue to study and think – and perhaps gain a little of that enlightenment.  As I look down into that pit and try to penetrate that darkness, I think I’ll just slip my hand in God’s.  Just in case.

What if we weren’t wrong . . .

I’m spending time with a group of individuals who are asking questions.  Not the demanding, investigative-type of questions.  More of the shades of wonder-type questions.

I’ve been in other groups (though not for very long) that have asked questions, too.  Invariably, their questions center on the mistakes of the past.  “Why didn’t we see that we were so wrong?”  I’ve stood by in horror as these people, acting in typical mob fashion, have castigated their predecessors — and occasionally themselves.

The constant messages ring out . . .

“We have arrived . . . We have attained a level of wisdom never before seen  . . . We have been lifted from our previous stupor of ignorance . . . We are begotten of fools and ignorant people.”

But what if, in those not too distant moments when we or others believed or thought or felt differently, we weren’t wrong?  What if we or our parents or previous administrations were right for the moment?  What if our state of being was a result of the best we could do or think or feel at that time?

The group I’m now in asks questions that have no room for blame.  Only capacity for gain.  What should we be doing?  Where should we be going? How is the best way to get there?  Who could come with us?  When should we take our next step?

The conversation that follows moves quickly.  By not having to tread and retread the slick pavement of fault, we gain traction in things of importance.  We move more rapidly towards making a difference.

Wait, you say.  What if you or your predecessors were wrong?  What then?  What if you were wrong. . .

Then, I have to believe that a power greater than us will influence the current decision.  I’m convinced that life is not marked by right answers, only best answers for the moment.  And, if that’s true, we can stop worrying about being wrong and invest instead in doing what we hope and pray is best.

Wisdom, in the final setting, is not about being right.  Wisdom is being open to what is right.

On drawing lines

“I’ve just about had enough.”

A phrase most often coupled by parents with “Don’t make me come back there.”

Some how, some way, we all want to set boundaries on what we can live with.  And often, we want to back that up with some promise of force or other action if any one is so bold as to cross that line.  After all, don’t people need to know that invading boundaries invokes consequences?

I’m a boundary-loving person — but not big on consequences.  That’s not to say that I don’t impose consequences.  I’m just not thrilled about it.

Yet, consequences are a natural . . . well, uh . . . consequence of life.  Any action I take or word I speak holds tremendous potential for ripples.  And when the boundaries are the right ones, then the attendant, well-reasoned consequences serve a noble purpose — even if the consequences are difficult.

But what happens if my “line in the sand” is misplaced?

Perhaps because of my distaste for imposing consequences, I’m fairly even-handed in dealing them out.  My difficulty, it seems, comes in staking out the wrong boundaries or sometimes the right boundaries for the wrong reasons.  That’s not to say that the lines I draw aren’t close to the right vicinity.  However, if I can’t explain why they’re there, do I dare defend them?

William Ury in his book, The Power of a Positive No, addresses this problem with his concept of packaging a “No” as three answers.  The first answer is a “Yes!” to yourself and your own values.  The second is a firm “No.” to the person or persons making demands or asking you to shift your boundaries.  The final answer is a “Yes?” that can spur further conversation.

Even though I violated all sorts of writing styles in including them, the punctuation on those answers is important.  The exclamation point on the first “Yes!” shows the enthusiasm and positive energy we should feel in recognizing where our own interests are.  The period on the “No.” makes it a calm, flat statement.  A negative answer is often delivered with anxiety and in a way that provokes argument or, even worse, ends all conversation.  A healthy, well-meaning “No” leaves room for continued dialog.  The question mark on the final “Yes?” invites others into a discussion of what could be.  In other words, “Yes?” says, “Your position or request is outside of my current boundaries.  Could we talk about our common interests and see if there is some place we could agree?  Who knows?  Perhaps our boundaries could use adjustment.”

I’m not sure that my “first yes” in all situations bears that exclamation point.  I doubt whether I’ve always invested in discovering and testing those personal boundaries. Since it’s the first piece of a positive “no,” my work is cut out for me.

I’ll be taking drawing lessons in the near future.  Who would have thought that sketching an exclamation point could present such a challenge?