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?

Sometimes the cookie has to crumble . . .

Way back in my grade school years, my family took a glorious trip to Fort Worth. It was something school-related, involving my brother Carl’s extracurricular activities. But it was a glorious trip for me because I was allowed to miss school.

Adding to the excitement was our good fortune to stay with friends of my parents who lived in Fort Worth. Their youngest daughter was one year older and I thought of her as more of a cousin. We had great times together.

On this particular trip, I remember sitting in the middle of their living room floor playing some board game. My friend’s mom was baking cookies. Normally, smelling those cookies would be true bliss for me. Unfortunately, I developed a tremendous, sickening headache. And the smell of those cookies became forever attached to memories of the pain I was feeling.

Now, I’m not sure what kind of cookies were being baked. For whatever reason, I have associated macadamia nut cookies with that ugly experience. So through the years, I have avoided macadamia nut cookies. A few years ago, in a moment of adult rationality and at the urging of others who claimed that the macadamia nut cookie was at the height of pastry evolution, I tried one. The morsel was barely in my mouth before the nightmare of memories returned. I was back in that living room, smelling those cookies . . . head throbbing, nauseated, miserable.

Earlier this year, in an effort to be healthy, I purchased a can of mixed nuts “specifically formulated” to provide high protein and great satisfaction. I grabbed the can off the shelf, seeing the almonds and the cashews. After I got to my office, however, I noticed that the third entree was the much-touted macadamia.

I avoided those little round pieces for quite a while. Inevitably, I grabbed one by mistake. It wasn’t heaven on earth, but it was pretty close to paradise. For the first time, I understood what all the macadamiaphiles had been preaching. What a glorious taste sensation! And to think that all of these years I was robbed of that because of some relatively insignificant baked dough surrounding this little jewel.

I’ve noticed that a lot of people are like macadamia nut cookies. I see the lumpy stuff that surrounds them and that often hides what is inside. And I avoid those people. Sadly, sometimes I even vilify them.

Yet, in a special moment, I’m given the opportunity to see them “outside the cookie.” And I discover the true value of them as people.

If you struggle from time to time with your feeling toward others like I do, you might want to think about brushing past the cookie to get to what’s truly inside.

If the shoe fits . . .

Last night, a new acquaintance began telling me about his recent experience buying sandles. He walked into a store last week, found a pair that he liked, and then asked the clerk to bring him a size 10-and-a-half and a size 11. He explained that his shoe size was 11 but that his experience with sandles was that they are often a little bigger than the size professes.

The clerk returned with two pair — sizes 10 and 11. “We don’t have half-sizes,” he reported. My new friend tried on the 10 “just because it was there” and was amazed when it fit perfectly. Curious, when the clerk left to ring up his purchase, he grabbed the contraption that gauges feet and found, indeed, his foot measured a size 10.

“I have a closet full of size 11 shoes,” he told me, “and now I’ve discovered that I’ve been buying the wrong size — most of my life!”

While I found the story interesting, I didn’t have a clue of his rationale for telling it. Until he added, “I’ve learned a lot through this experience. It seems that I’m quite capable of limping through life with the assistance of things that don’t really work. Now, I’m on the lookout for things that fit me and giving things a chance that I’ve refused to even consider. The future seems much brighter now.”

Openness to doing things differently — thinking, talking, listening — does tend to brighten up the future. Try on a different size shoe today. Particularly if its well-worn by someone else. You might discover some new possibilities.

Diving for Pearls

Recent life experience is taking me places. All sorts of places. Frankly, if you had told me two months ago about the journey I was about to take, I would have canceled my ticket.

Now that I’m down the road a bit, I have a different view. I have been enriched by the things I’ve seen, the emotions I’ve felt, and the words I’ve heard. All of those good things sprout from a central source — the people I’ve met.

Two months ago, I would have avoided most of these individuals. Nothing personal. I just thought I had no need to know them and no real curiosity about who they might be, where they might live, or how much we might have in common.

Last week, sitting in a crowded room with total strangers, I begin to see how their lives threaded through mine. My eyes were opened.

Amazing things happen when we begin to see the value of someone else, regardless their circumstance.

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.

A Moment of Christmas

We were expecting things to be different this year. Changes in the family have made us wary of almost every occasion.

So it was with no small amount of dread that I awaited the traditional opening of gifts. Certainly, I thought, things just won’t be the same. For one thing, it was coming a day late. And then there was the element of missing people. A few would not be with us. And then there was the fact that the economic downturn would be an obstacle for all that gathered.

But the magic moment of Christmas emerged. The gifts, some modest and some more extravagant, were a side note to the beautiful thoughts and love poured into their selection. After this long-awaited festival of sharing, I chided myself on my earlier anxiety. After all, wasn’t the greatest present in the world delivered in a small family gathering in a stable during tough economic times and horrific political and social stress?

So, while I was still thinking that perhaps Christmas would be unrecognizable this year, I received the greatest present of them all. The moment of Christmas began to sink in.

“Emmanuel” does mean “God with us.” And He is.

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.