Diligence

I like to think that I’ve been a hard worker all my life. 

But deep down I know that I could have worked harder.  I’m not talking about more hours.  My guilt load is already pretty heavy with the thoughts of all of the things I’ve missed with family and friends because “I had work to do.”

Working harder is not working smarter or longer or more intensely.  Working harder is simply doing the right things when they need to be done.  Sometimes that does mean that you go back to work after dinner.  Yet, often it means that you take that phone call when you really don’t have time — that you allow God to interrupt you through people imposing their lives on you.

I’m not confident that I know how to discern what should be done and when it should happen.  I think God gives us full credit just for showing up everyday.

Flap Tucked In

Attention to detail isn’t everything . . . but it is something more than just anything.

For almost 38 years, the love of my life has been training me.  Probably not in the way you think.  She hasn’t brainwashed me.  She hasn’t nagged me into submission.  She hasn’t presented me with ultimatums.  Or bribed me.  Or threatened me.

Just slowly, surely, she’s pointed me to things she likes — and things she doesn’t.  And when I’ve forgotten, she reminds me.  Lovingly.  Kindly.

What have I been trained to do?

When I try to make a list, there’s not much I can recall.  Our lives together have become so entwined that I have trouble seeing where she ends and I begin.  That’s a great feeling.

An even finer feeling is when I find myself doing something that I know I wouldn’t do had it not been for her and knowing that I will probaly always do it because of her.

Tonight, as I wrote a note in her Valentine, I thought of all of the holidays we’ve shared and the many notes and cards.  When I finished penning my thoughts, I slipped the card in the envelope.  And as I have done for years, I folded the flap over and tucked the edge in.

We don’t seal cards we give to each other.  I don’t know why.

I wrote the date on the flap.  I hid the card for tomorrow and look forward to receiving my envelope in the morning.  My card will be hidden in an envelope with the flap tucked in.  I don’t know why.

But knowing it will be that way gives me great peace.

Senseless

After yesterday’s post, I was drawn to think about questions of rationale about the killing of children.  With two 4-year olds dead in the past few weeks, and both within a few miles of where I live and work, my head was spinning with the injustice of life.

Then, in this morning’s obituaries, I saw Bear’s picture.  Another 4-year old.  But unlike Janie and Ella, Bear had moved from this temporal life to an eternal one from an apparently non-violent cause.  The story detailing his short, but busy, life was remarkable.  His family noticeably thanked people who had been part of his life — particularly the speech therapists who had helped him communicate with this world.

I think that’s the tragedy of the loss of life at a young age.  These small packages of God-given promise have much to tell us.  Janie and Ella didn’t have time to say much.  Bear didn’t either.  But all three have spoken volumes through the loss that their families and friends feel.

Senseless.  That’s a word we use to describe these unfathomable events.  We used the word in context of “it makes no sense.”  Yet, it is often the “senseless” that awakens our senses to what is around us.

Were the deaths of three 4-year olds in West Texas senseless?  Only if the rest of us fail to allow their loss to touch us.

There Has to be a Better Way

The average life span in my fair city has been dropping in recent weeks.  Two little girls, both four years old, have met with violent ends to their earthly lives.

The first to leave us was a casualty of a drive-by shooting.  A stray bullet took her life while she was sleeping.  The three suspects in the case are remorseful.  Their purpose in spraying lead into the residence was to send a message to the little girl’s uncles.

The second to die also died in her bed.  Not a lot of details, but police have named the girl’s half-brother as a suspect.  No motive has been shared.

In one case, an insignificant rationale for the act.  In the other, the same.  When does the taking of innocent life ever bring with it a significant rationale?

There has to be a better way. 

Those who have committed these crimes should and must be dealt with.  But what about the untold crimes that led them to the moment in time where they made choices turned deadly?

That’s the question we should be asking as a community.  We must join together to bring hope to young and old alike.  Hope for answers to tough questions.  Hope for a better way of living.  Hope for peaceful solutions to life’s most complex puzzles.

True community fosters hope.  There is a better way.

Re-Direction

I’m blessed to have people around me who “re-direct” me.  No matter how fractured my days become or how self-absorbed I am, these fine individuals push me back toward the center of the target.

I can’t say that I always enjoy the push.  In fact, sometimes — maybe most of the times — I resent it a little.

But with a little time, I bask in the warm feeling of appreciation for those who care enough about me or the things we share a common interest in to re-direct me.

As I’ve worked with people in conflict, I think this concept of “re-direction” has a special significance.  On many occasions, I have helped parties find common ground and move to mutually beneficial solutions, only to find them sliding back into discord a few days later.  Unfortunately, I’m back at home by that time and often a plane ride away.  No one is there to re-direct.

I think that’s where we’re missing things these days.  Those moments of “re-direction” are really the essence of community.  Most of us lack that sort of community.  We miss the days when loving people will take us where we need to be.

I’m thankful for those who do that in my life.

Careful! Words have meanings.

I am constantly astounded the way that plain, ordinary, everyday words can be misunderstood.  Then I remember things like stream of conciousness and context. And then there’s the “I just wasn’t thinking” defense.

 My first glance at the morning news was drawn to the plight of Senator Joe Biden.  In an article already on the internet and to be published tomorrow, Senator Biden began his work of discrediting the other Democratic hopefuls for President in 2008.  His primary criticisms hover around Iraq and his disdain for the strategies of those who have announced their interest in the Oval Office.

His own ideas about the future of Iraq are unique — involving the separation of people with various beliefs from each other.  Under his plan, the Sunnis, the Shiites, and the Kurds would all be sent to their respective corners of the country.  Never mind that some of those groups don’t really want to go to the corners he has picked out for them.  For some reason, Senator Biden believes that the best approach to peacemaking is building barriers between those who think differently.

Ironically, the senator is a leader in a country where we allow individuals to have opinions and promote different ideas.  And segregation is frowned on.  So, Senator Biden, feel free to share your plans from our very midst.

But the morning news wasn’t focused on the senator’s ideas about Iraq.  No, indeed.  Instead, the concern was over the words he chose to describe one of his opponents, Barack Obama.  According to the New York Observer, Senator Biden said, “I mean, you got the first mainstream African-American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy.  I mean, that’s a storybook, man.”

Hard to tell exactly what he meant, storybook or otherwise.  All of those descriptive words could be classified as complimentary or, at worst, neutral.  And that’s what the senator insists they are. 

On the other hand, his statements could be taken as a little racist — okay, a lot racist.  Particularly in the context of the promotion of his plan to separate people based on race and belief.

I really hope that Senator Biden has simply fallen to the wrong choice of words.  The truth is, politics, as we have come to know it, has become a battleground where being different is essential.  And equally important is the need to show that the differences of others denote their inferiority.

When you look at it that way, perhaps politics is the pinnacle of prejudice.  Or perhaps not.  After all, words and the actions they provoke can be viewed from many angles.

The first impression should be a distinct one . . .

For a number of years, I have shared little insights. Some people have even been heard to say that about me.  They say things like, “He shares little insight.” 

Over 200 of those little insights are out there.  A number of them are residing on the web, some are resting peacefully on my computer.  The first fifty or so made it into print — thanks to my good friend, Jim.

I was never sure how many people actually read my Distinct Impressions.  I suppose blogging was my next step.  We’ll try it a couple of days and see where it goes.

Words have been my life.  Since I was young, I have read words, listened to words, spelled words, invented words, and searched for ways to arrange words to bring delight.  Occasionally, I delight someone else.  More often than not, I delight myself.  Not because anything I’ve written is delightful.  But simply because I’ve been privileged to use the words.  I understand there are places in the world you can’t do that.

In the days to come, I’ll do my best to use words to delight anyone who reads.  If you choose, share some words with me.  I’ll be delighted.