Misplaced Apology

I was staring at the paper plate in front of me, trying to recall what I had just had for lunch. Slowly, I was able to piece together memories of beef with broccoli, fried rice, and egg roll. The momentary image gave me some pleasure.

Then I drifted back to the speaker. His opening statement was what sent my mind searching for something to occupy it. This fellow is a frequent contributor to our gatherings. He’s been around a long time – a fact that he often brings up. But he’s a discontented sort. I can’t remember the last time that his comments were in favor of something – other than finding someone else to be in charge up the line of responsibility somewhere.

He has a companion in these strolls. She is less negative, but equally opinionated. When the two of them get started, I do a lot of deep breathing exercises. I would shut them out completely, except for the fact that they do make some good points. Yet, their delivery and demeanor makes it especially hard for me to be objective. Of course, that’s my problem, right?

I’ve really been working on that. I just about had it under control until a new wrinkle appeared in his presentation. The last two or three meetings, he sits quietly while others add to the conversation. Then, at his moment, he slowly begins speaking these words:

“I am sorry for what I’m about to say. I apologize if I seem negative and difficult.”

Those few words seem to ice the air in the meeting room. After all, most of the time what he says is negative and difficult. What could be coming if he thinks there’s a problem with it?

In my view, if you have to apologize for something before you say it, you probably shouldn’t say it.

After all, with just a few more minutes delay or after sleeping on those thoughts for at least a night, isn’t it possible that you could come up with a better way to say it? One that could be more readily accepted by the hearer? You might even decide that you don’t need to share those words. Or perhaps they would be better received by someone else.

As some one who deals with conflict all of the time, I understand that it is necessary for most people to express concerns – to vent their emotions. Even then, I believe that we can all work toward a better communication style. A strategy that magnifies the negative is rarely productive. Look at most of the political communications – particularly in a campaign.

Except in those rare debate competitions rich with rules and filled with judges trained to score the participants on style, effectiveness, and the rules, no one ever wins a debate. Most of us understand that the only effect of a real-life debate is to further entrench each side into their arguments.

Contrast “debate” with “conversation.” I suppose the courteous debater might open with an apology. But the effective conversationalist, always begins with words that build relationship and invite understanding.

So perhaps my colleague is a courteous debater. I am challenged to answer as a conversationalist. An apology offered to excuse future hurt is not one I’m prone to accept.

Of course, that’s my problem, right?

Feedback

“Hey, I’ve got an idea for you!”

“Have you ever thought about . . . ?”

“I don’t understand why you do this like you do. . .”

Sixty-nine students. Six instructors. Two support staff. Five days. Almost 40 hours. Five hundred bottled waters and sodas. Pop-Tarts and granola bars. Countless Power Point slides. A couple of handfuls of role plays. Videos. Fishbowl mediation. Debriefing sessions. Discussions. Hallway conversations. Lunch table talk. Emails at night.

Oh, and a requested evaluation form at the end.

We were blessed a few weeks ago to have our online conflict resolution students with us for Residency Session. We had folks from around the world and from all walks of life – human resource professionals, ministers, teachers, fitness instructors, paralegals, attorneys, insurance executives, police chaplains, customer service representatives, accountants, nurses, higher education administrators, non-profit organization executives. Oh, and our best known local personality, our NBC television news anchor. The group was simply incredible.

They worked together well. They helped each other – for the most part. The measure of the week was in its good spirit.

By the time the closing ceremonies ended, our faculty and staff was exhausted and ready to move on. Yet, we all felt profoundly enriched by getting to be with these marvelous people.

The week after still spun slowly in the afterglow. But there was that insidious evaluation form to review and tabulate. All in all, the feedback was fair and well-balanced. The students recognized some of the same weaknesses we had spotted. They praised the week heavily for the most part.

But we had to ask the question that must be asked – “What could be done to improve the Residency?” The answers ranged widely from choice of breakfast food to too much review material to too little review material to too many role plays to not enough role plays. We received criticism for making the schedule too long and making it too short.

We first reviewed the evaluation form at our staff meeting. Despite the praise, all we could focus on was the minority report. Instead of feeling pleased that our students and our friends were honoring us with their openness, we became initially defensive.

Feedback. We seek feedback. Yet, when we receive feedback we almost always look on our critics with astonishment. As if to say, “Yes, I asked you for your opinion, but I really didn’t expect you to give it to me.”

And now, a few days later, a few of those negative comments still sting. But more and more we have begun to see the beauty of welcoming conversation – even when it points out our deficiencies.

When we bring people to our peace tables and we urge them to be honest with each other, why are we surprised when well-intentioned feedback breeds defensiveness and spurs escalation of the conflict? It’s at those times that we should remind those sitting with us – and ourselves – that honest opinion and well-meaning intent should be treasured as gifts.

Even the best of us tire of feedback occasionally. Challenge yourself and those in conflict who you assist to seek feedback, to listen for meaning, to test for grace, and to respond in kindness. For without feedback, deep relationships will not be fed.

And we all desire and need deep relationships.

Road Trip

It’s a line I borrowed from someone else, but it’s true.

Abilene, Texas is centrally-located — it’s right in the middle of nowhere!

And that’s why I often find myself in the car and moving down the road toward a meeting or a conference or a consultation. Even though we have airline service here, most of the places I need to go are driving destinations. For by the time you show up an hour or so early for your flight, fly to Dallas, then connect to another flight and/or get a rental car, you can just about drive where you’re going.

My general rule is drive if it’s less than seven hours. For Texas destinations, that puts El Paso, Brownsville, and a few eastern boundary cities outside my reach. But, come to think of it, I usually drive to those places, too.

Most of my trips are 3-5 hours, one way. And I’ve been known to make those in a single day, round-trip. Like my trip to San Antonio a few weeks ago for a four hour meeting. Four hours down, four hours there, four hours back. I’ll make a similar trip tomorrow to Austin. The meeting could be as long as six hours. And, I’ll call my son, Justin, just as it ends to see if he can meet me for a visit over coffee or a coke, before I head home. So tomorrow could be 16 hours of road trip action from the time I open the garage door until I put it down.

With cell phone coverage being what it is, there are only rare moments when I will be unavailable. I’ll talk to my office once or twice. And I plan to call the West Coast late in the day to discuss details on a training session that will be scheduled next fall. Of course, there’s also the call to a prospective student that i didn’t work in last Friday. I’ll fit it in between Brownwood and Lampasas tomorrow morning.

Tomorrow’s trip will start off a little easier than the San Antonio trip. Peet’s Coffee should be just opening as I’m making my way out of town. By the time I reach Cross Plains, I will be one with a medium Major Dickinson brew. And about that time, the coffee will be signaling its desire to become separate again.

With travel mercies, I’ll be home at this time tomorrow. Weary from the road. Wondering how far behind I’ll be for missing a day at the office.

Yet, as glamorous as all that sounds, there’s something comfortable about a road trip. A definite place to go, with a purpose for being there, and a home coming to look forward to.

A good portion of life doesn’t always seem that comfortable. Not everything is so definite. And for some folks, coming home doesn’t hold that much promise. But as I think more and more about why I’m here, the more every day seems like a road trip. A lot of territory to be covered, things to do, and a promise of home.

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.

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.

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.

My Own Medicine - Day Three

I had planned to plan for my meeting.

The phone call was made that put things in motion. Eventually, fifteen minutes was set aside for later in the afternoon. Good. I had time to release anger and to plan.

But life happened and I had to attend to this detail and that. When the chime on my phone warned me that the appointment was ten minutes away, I sat down purposefully to prepare. And, at that moment, I saw his car turn into our parking lot. My time for planning and rehearsing was gone and the moment was here!

As I walked toward the lobby to meet him, I realized that something had happened. A quick look back in my memory and I realized that, in answer to earlier prayer, my anger had slipped away about the time I tapped his number into my phone that morning.

Our meeting was to be short. He had another appointment close by. I felt no personal anxiety as I sat across the table from him. We exchanged pleasantries and then I grasped for the one expectation I had managed to solidify.

“I want to honor your time. So let me just say, I’ve asked for this meeting so that I can apologize and ask for your forgiveness.”

His eyes grew wider and his face, already pleasant, became more so. He sat patiently as I explained how I had judged him almost 20 years before. And then, I detailed how I had allowed that judgment to color everything that he did or said since.

He was gracious in his forgiveness. Because of my actions and withdrawal, he had not really been aware of the tension I felt. We talked about things in general. I told him that there were some present matters that I disagreed with him on and we would have opportunities to talk. But I promised that I would never allow my past judgments to interfere with honest discussions.

I teach others about this moment. Yet here I was with this glorious instant unfolding. Now, in this day three, I am committing to continued conversation bolstered by my pledge to discard old and worn judgments. With the self-imposed anger gone, I’ve started to realize that those things that I’m in disagreement with could well have solutions close by.

I may revisit this self-medication topic. For now, please know that I understand that reclaiming a friendship is not accomplished with a three-day injection — even with the best of medicine. Reconciliation is a life-time pursuit.

My Own Medicine - Day Two

Three hours passed. For most of the morning I sat in this man’s kitchen with his wife hovering close by, sometimes sitting, sometimes standing — always wringing her hands.

I had been places like this before. This man was angry at another man. And their conflict had poured over on to the little church they attended. And now, my host for the morning was pressing an ultimatum on the other members of his congregation. “They can support me or they can get out!” were the approximate words he had used at prayer meeting last week.

So, we sat for three hours and I allowed the angry man to pour out his story. As is common in these conflicts, hearing one side of the story tends to make you think that the person in the room with you is right. But experience tells you that judgment must be withheld until the other side of the story spills out.

That tale was poured over me that afternoon. But it didn’t take three hours. No, within about 5 minutes I learned that the angry man had all of his facts straight. “I did everything he is saying. But I did it 25 years ago. And I’ve apologized for the things I did wrong and the leaders from the church looked into the other things and publicly announced that I acted properly. But I’ve apologized privately to him for those things.”

In a few more interviews, I found that the events in controversy were more than two decades old. Sitting again with the angry man, I asked him if, indeed, apologies had been given — years ago.

“Yes,” he said. “But it doesn’t change anything. He was in the wrong and I don’t want him in my church.”

We had a church-wide meeting on the next Wednesday night. As is often the case, it wasn’t pretty, for a while. People had an opportunity to express themselves. I began to think that we were going to get to a pretty good place, when the man who was at the center of the controversy rose and walked over to where the angry man was sitting. Extending his hand, he said, “I’m obviously not doing something right. I want to ask your forgiveness. Would you please grant me that and shake my hand?”

The forty people in the small fellowship hall drew a collective breath and you could feel the oxygen levels drop. Every one seemed to remember at once the angry man’s vow to never accept this apology or shake this man’s hand.

Suddenly, the angry man’s wife stood and pulled her husband to his feet. Others around her stood with them as she gently pushed her husband’s arm forward. Hands met in that space between the men, though nothing was said.

As the contact ended, the church members in attendance broke into song — “Blest Be the Tie That Binds.” People were hugging and crying. Their hearts were lifted as they perceived the conflict to be over.

They didn’t see what I saw from the front of the room. As soon as the song began, the angry man gave a scary look to his wife, grabbed his hat and left the room. The conflict lived. The angry man remained angry. Six months later, a new church was founded in the community made up of the few who wanted the man’s anger to be their central theme.

I made one more trip to that church and to that community. I visited the angry man and I asked him why he couldn’t let the anger go.

“You know, I’ve thought about it. But I’ve lived with these feelings for 25 years and now I can’t imagine waking up without them.”

The angry man died a few years later and he was still angry.

As I pray about my personal conflict, I’m discovering that anger has become too familiar to my daily life. I’m planning to sit down with the object of my anger in the next few days. I don’t know what the outcome will be. But I’m thinking, if I can just release my anger, there would be a lot more room for good things.

To make that release, I have to look at the way that anger works in these long-term conflicts. Most of the time anger is the reaction to some deeper fear. And usually the deepest fears are over the loss of relationships.

Day two, find a time to meet. And instead of waiting until the moment of contact, begin releasing anger now.

Type When Frustrated

For reasons I won’t detail here, I am terribly frustrated.

Frustration is an interesting concept. It’s a horrible state to be in because, at least momentarily, a person decides that conditions around them are unalterable. “There’s nothing I can do,” I say, “Nothing to be said, no one to turn to, no answer in sight.”

Hence, frustration.

I thought about calling a couple of you folks tonight. But it’s getting late — and I’m not sure that I have a right to be frustrated. And in all likelihood, you would tell me that everything will be all right. You’d offer consoling words, perhaps a prayer, and you’d tell me that you were sorry that I’m frustrated. All in all, great responses and appropriate behavior on your part.

But honestly, it doesn’t help me. You see, I don’t want to be frustrated. Nor do I really want to be comforted in my frustration. I want to be angry and justified in my anger. I want things to be different. I want other people to act differently.

But I’m frustrated because the only person I can cause to be different is me. Remember I said that frustration results from the belief that things are unalterable. Maybe that’s not entirely accurate. Maybe frustration arises when the only thing that can change is me — and I don’t want to.

So I type. And, I suppose because you’re hoping that I’m eventually going to make a point here, you read. Funny, now we’re both frustrated.

Sorry. That “misery loves company” thing was working on me.

I think where I was going with all of this was that, in times like these, we often just need to let loose with some words. And it just seems right when the words land someplace.

Thanks for letting my words land at your place. Frustration is lifting. Fingers are tiring. My world . . . is . . .at peace . . . again.