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.

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?

That Makes Two of Us

The flight out of Abilene was delayed by more than two hours. A 2 p.m. connection in Dallas was now set for 6:45 p.m. and the day of travel that had seemed fairly tame was emerging as a monster.

I had gate-checked my carry-on bag for the short hop from Abilene to DFW. With my new schedule I had several hours before my flight to Virginia, so I dutifully allowed those with immediate connections to deplane and grab their gate-checked items before me.

I retrieved my carry-on and as I turned to head up the jetway, I was blocked by a little girl. She was waiting for her dad, who was gathering a number of items. The four-year-old smiled up at me and asked, “Mister, are you in a big hurry?”

“As a matter of fact, I am not,” I smiled.

Her serious look turned to a big grin and she said, “I’m not either!”

I chuckled a bit and walked slowly to the terminal. Rethinking that bit of conversation, I was reminded over and over that afternoon that this few hours was a blessing, of sorts. For once, I had plenty of time to do everything I needed to do.

A few hours later, I was delighted to see the little girl and her family board the same flight and thought it incredible that they were seated right behind me.

“So,” I asked, “did you have plenty of time to see the airport?”

“All the time in the world,” she answered. “How about you?”

“Plenty.”

When stress is high, blessings sometimes come in unexpected ways. Who would have thought that a five-hour delay in reaching my destination would have been one of them? And what are the chances that I would find someone who shared my view of that?

Blessings do come in difficult times. I hope someone blocks your path and points them out to you.

Finger Indicator

Researchers at the University of Cambridge have discovered that I am a better financial trader than others. The fact that I’m not a financial trader notwithstanding, I am quite pleased with these results.

No kidding! In a recent study, these scientists have compared the ratio of length of a person’s ring finger versus that of their index finger. Those of us who had longer ring fingers were anywhere from five to ten times more successful as financial traders.

It’s getting a little late in life, but I’m thinking about a career change. Not that I want a new career. It’s just that I’ve been told all of my life that my lack of height has been a barrier to my success — particularly in matters of leadership. Tall people are leaders. Short people are followers, plodders, and generally unexciting.

But now, seemingly, I can be both follower, plodder, and unexciting while still being immensely successful — and possibly wealthy if I follow my own trading advice. That’s a powerful draw as I reach the closing years of my professional life.

Seriously, why is it that these quirky study results catch our attention? Is it because there is some scientific evidence that we might have some advantage over others? (By the way, the people with longer index fingers are generally superior engineers, mathematicians, and computer scientists. So, I’m not better than everybody. In fact, if I were a financial trader, I’m pretty much at the mercy of engineers, mathematicians, and computer scientists to be able to technically accomplish my work. Who has the upper hand, er, finger, now?)

These kinds of news stories catch our eyes because we long for a way to be different from others — particularly if society views that difference as a positive thing. Yet, many of us who follow a higher calling are already different. But it’s a difference most of the world has difficulty understanding. If I can be a servant leader, isn’t that a better way? I’m pretty sure that doesn’t require great stature or many of the other markers of success — even a long ring finger.

For the record, I don’t put much stock in this latest revelation on my prowess as a financial trader. After all, scientists have already stated that folks like me with elongated ring fingers are generally more gifted in soccer and basketball than others. Evidently a long digit does not substitute for height and speed.

For now, I’ll just fold my hands and forego further finger examinations. I have too much work to do just being me.

Faith

This has been a difficult year in many ways. I didn’t write a Christmas letter to slip in with the cards that Nancy faithfully selects, writes personal notes in, and stays up all hours to hand address. Come to think about it, I didn’t write a Christmas letter last year either. Twelve months ago, it was a mixture of fatigue, laziness, and a lack of time that drained the creative juices and stopped the project.

This year was just too difficult. In one of the Christmas cards to a dear, but distant friend, I wrote that this had been a year of blessings with a heavy dose of tragedy and a sprinkling of comedy. After further thought, I realized that was a pretty good summary statement. And it’s a statement that works not only for us, but for so many others around us.

For whatever reason, I have been fixated on how different things are becoming for us. And, in so doing, I think I’ve lost the broader view of what life is. Life is something different every day. Death is day after day with no change.

I have to admit I’m weary of some of the different that’s coming our way. Yet, I remind myself of what I learned from my good friend, Preacher Eddie. He was telling the story of Jesus calming the storm with that powerful order — “Peace, be still!”

As Preacher Eddie preached on, he asked us to consider the point of that story. I have to admit that I centered on the power of God, the Creator, and the awesome might of His mere words. And, as Eddie reminded, that is part of the story.

What I missed was what happened next. Jesus turned to his disciples and basically said, “So, what were you worried about? Did you forget that I’m right here in the boat with you?”

So, even though I can’t bring myself to writing a Christmas letter this year, I want you to know that the whole story of Christmas is this:

Jesus is in the boat. Whatever the change that comes, whatever the tragedy, God is next to us. Spreading blessings, sprinkling comedy.

Isn’t life great? When the waves grow a little threatening and wind howls around us, Nancy and I just turn to each other and say, “Remember, Jesus is in the boat.”

Merry Christmas. . .

Change has come to America . . .

With those words, President-Elect Barack Obama challenged a nation.

He acknowledged that change wouldn’t happen in a day or a year or perhaps even within a single presidential term. Finally, the election is over. It is my hope that reasonable men and women will leave their extreme positions that are intended to create distance and “market recognition.” Now is the time to come together. I just pray that we will.

I don’t agree with all of the plans that the new president has made. I didn’t agree with all of the plans that Senator McCain had either. My comfort throughout the election has come simply from the knowledge that God is in control of everything and that, with this wondrous assurance, my post-election plan would simply be to encourage others to pursue peace.

Peace, of course, doesn’t happen in a vacuum devoid of conflict. Conflict is its constant companion. It flickers around the edges of even the most serene moments. Conflict flares from the fuel of the slightest disagreement.

Yet, it is true that we can pursue, enjoy, and embrace peace in the epicenter of conflict.

I’m not certain of what “change” has come to America. I think we would be better served by our calculated efforts to realize the potential of the hope that has always been here and in every nation history has known.

President-Elect Obama, in keeping with my post-election plan, I want to encourage you to pursue peace. Not at all costs and not with eyes shut to reality. But pursue peace responsibly and through understanding of not only the issues, but of the interests of all people. May God bless you.

Masks

“What monster is this we’ve created?”

I find myself somewhat apprehensive about the coming hours. As polls begin to close on the eastern seaboard, the news media and prognosticators and the pundits will begin to mount their mound of predictions. And we will wait for what will seem like a span of time longer than even the presidential campaign to get the official results. Undoubtedly, those reports will come after accusations of wrong-doing and malfeasance and other election ugliness.

Yesterday, Senator Obama promised his audience that “change will begin occurring tomorrow.” Of course, in truth, change happens daily. But the change he talks about really won’t begin as the votes come in today. The serious change he has promised will come over long negotiations and perhaps bitter struggle over the next 4 years. He promises unity, but the potential for polarization looms pretty large.

And, Senator McCain told his followers that “the ‘Mac’ is back!” Obviously, that’s a literary reference to the Phoenix-like qualities of this Arizona statesman and a rallying cry that victory, even in the face of less than favored status in the polls, is close. Or possibly just a tie-in to an old fast-food commercial. He promises change as well. Yet, any shifts in policy he pursues will meet similar protracted battles and angry outcries.

Strange, this mandatory pursuit of change in politics. People want change, right? Yet we struggle in our personal lives to minimize change. And we minimize change because of our fear of what change may bring. “What we have, no matter how bad, could ever be as bad as what could be.”

So we’ll wake up tomorrow with a new leader. And if it’s my candidate or yours, we’ll all face the news with a little bit of dread. Because, in the game of politics, we require our players to wear masks. Unlike in civilized sports where masks are meant to prevent disfiguration and maiming of the participants, the face-piece in politics is designed to alter communication and block true meaning. And in such design crouches the potential of disfiguring and maiming us, the electorate. And that’s what we fear.

For none of us can be sure of the true nature of the one who will move into the White House in January. Two hundred years of free election have taught us to peer suspiciously behind the masks.

It’s too late now — maybe centuries too late. I just wish that once, the candidates would take off their masks and talk to each other as individuals who really want to bring about good for all people. Not a debate, but a conversation.

But the two-headed, masked monster is one of our creation. And one that is destined to frighten us until the game is changed. Oops, there’s that word again.

Happy No Matter What

“So, what if the impending tests from the Large Hadron Collider prove my theories to be wrong?” asked theoretical physicist Garrett Lisi. “Then I will simply lean on the non-professional pieces of my life. The only way to be happy is to live a balanced life.”

Lisi’s statement is pretty monumental. Although I used quotes above, I didn’t capture his exact words. But I think I covered his thoughts. They came at the end of a 15 minute presentation of his theories of the existence of comprehensive “E8″ structure. With beautiful graphics and well-chosen words, he guided the scientifically-inadequate of us through a wonderful explanation of what he believes will appear when that big apparatus under the Swiss and France border accelerates minuscule particles into a head-on collision. The ten-story “camera” will record what happens. And in a fraction of a section, years of thought and mathematical calculations will be verified or trashed. Or, more likely, remain unproven and trigger years more of ponderance and supposition.

Yet Garrett Lisi says that his reaction even to the worst of results will be simply to go back to the two other things in his life that occupy his time — his girlfriend and surfing. And it’s not that he plans to abandon physics. It’s just that he sees the value of placing bits of his sanity in various baskets.

In recent months, I have experienced setbacks of sorts. Nothing cataclysmic, but certainly events that have shaken me. No one of these was enough to send me to my knees. But collectively, their burden took a toll. And suddenly I was looking in the mirror at someone who was clueless about what to do next. For a person like me, one who prides himself in being in control, it was a frightening sight.

So, for several days, I peered from a single basket and was tired and hopeless. “What else can go wrong?” I railed against the rafters. Anxiety increased. And just about the time I was ready to give in to full-time mourning, I looked around and saw some other baskets scattered around me.

It was when I began to peek in them, that I realized how blessed I was. As the covers came off, I saw the friendly faces of friends and family. In some, the neighborly waves of complete strangers gave me great pleasure.

I then saw that God is in control of my baskets. From time to time, some are upset and become empty. I’m left with the difficult task of picking up pieces and returning them to the basket. And sometimes, when a particular basket not only topples over but rolls away from me in a cosmic wind, I realize that’s not my basket to fill.

In fact, as I take a closer look at all of “my” baskets, I learn that I have filled none of them on my own. They’re not even “my” baskets!

Do you remember the story of Jesus feeding more than 5,000 people with a little boy’s borrowed lunch? Everyone was fed to satisfaction from five loaves and two fishes. That’s amazing. But the true miracle was that there were twelve baskets of leftovers collected that day.

I think it’s possible that all of my baskets are filled with God’s leftovers — and, yet, everything there is infinitely more wonderful than anything I could create or collect or borrow.

And so, I’m beginning to see that I can always be happy — no matter what. For, if one of my baskets is kicked over, God has filled others.

Sometimes You Just Know Better

As I pressed “End Call” on my iPhone I just couldn’t hold back any longer.

And so, I laughed. Loud and hard and long. And as I thought about what others would think about my mirth in a time like this, I laughed even louder and harder and, yes, longer.

Soaked to the skin and standing ankle-deep in water, my only function — other than laughing — was to try to divert as much of the stream of water bursting through the hole above the bathtub down and into the tub where it could drain away safely. I was having some success, although I could tell by the way the water level was rising outside the tub that the cascade was finding another path.

My son, Jeremy, was on his way to assist as a result of my phone call. He arrived minutes later. Before he could ask me the natural questions that arise at times like this, I was already into the story.

It seems that the bath faucet handle had been broken in the guest bathroom. Since we had gone through this with a handle in the back bedroom shower, I had already decided that no plumber would be called on this day. Too expensive. I sauntered off to a nationwide home improvement center, confronted a plumbing “expert” with my problem and the broken pieces, and was pointed to the small package of parts that I would need.

My last question to this person wearing an apron or a vest or something that just shouldn’t be worn unless cooking was, “Now, I need to turn the water off to the house before I replace this, right?”

“No, no,” he said. “You’re just replacing an extension stem. Just pull the old one out and slip this one in. You’ll be all set.”

“You’re sure?” I queried. “I would think that you would turn off the water anytime you’re working on a faucet.”

“Positive. Just call me if you have a question.”

Armed with his name and the store’s number, I headed home. I had taken off work for the day to carve away at a rather large to-do list. Since this small repair wasn’t even on the list, my plan was to handle it early and quickly and then move on.

Standing in the bathtub in question, I pulled the trim off the faucet and attempted to pull the stem off in the easy manner described by the expert. No luck. It was easy to see that the stem was housed in a chrome socket that needed to be unscrewed. Memories of Three Stooges’ movies filled my brain. Immediately, I pulled out my phone and called my expert.

A couple of minutes later, assured by him that we weren’t “going deep enough” to worry about turning off the water, I was slowly turning the socket with my channel-lock pliers. I remember thinking, “This just doesn’t seem right.” About that moment, the chrome socket, the broken stem, and some other important plumbing pieces shot past by my head at a speed just slightly shy of the speed of light. That parade of parts was followed quickly by a surge of water not seen in our part of dry, West Texas since the Columbus Day Flood of the early ’80s.

My immediate response was . . . “Wow!” Then . . . “Oh, no!” Then a dash to the front yard to turn off the water. Then . . . “Oh, no! I didn’t bring a wrench to turn off the water!” Then quick ingress to the house toward the garage to get a wrench. In midpath, I noticed that water was going everywhere. That’s when I decided to try to divert the water while I called for help.

And so, I stood and laughed as water exited the wall at high velocity and I realized that my attempt at diversion was, at best, only a slight distraction for the water. And I laughed harder. There was nothing else to do for the moment.

You know the feeling though, don’t you? You find yourself in the middle of a growing debacle — one that could have been easily prevented. And you knew better than to do what you did. But some well-meaning person (or perhaps criminally deranged and negligent person, as in my case) gives you different advice. Advice that just doesn’t sound right, doesn’t fit. And now it becomes apparent that it doesn’t work.

Laughter is rarely the response we have in those circumstances. Saying “I knew better” over and over again doesn’t make things feel any better. And then, there’s the aftermath of clean-up and assessing the damage caused because we knew better but didn’t honor the feeling.

I accomplished nothing on my to-do list this day. Instead, I soaked up water and learned the finer eccentricities of my wet-dry vacuum which, until this afternoon, had known only dry work. I also received a lesson in faucets from the plumber who came a few hours later. Seems I would have done fine — if only I’d turned the water off.

The biggest problem, of course, wasn’t the water. It was the pressure of the water — there was just a lot of it in a short amount of time.

Often times, when we deal with others we don’t agree with, it’s not the disagreement that holds the greatest potential for damage. The emotion and the pressure are the dangerous elements — not the substance of the conversation.

Just as I learned in my plumbing lesson, sometimes it is better to create a little space and relieve the pressure. It doesn’t guarantee that the problem will be fixed. But it certainly allows for a more relaxed discussion.

In those difficult moments, honor your feelings and do the right thing. Take time to honor the relationship and relieve the emotional pressure. Despite the advice of talk show hosts and politicians, it’s more important to do the right thing than it is to be right. After all, you know better.