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.

Positively Notorious

In a recent continuing legal education conference, I sat listening to a lecture that would impact my area of practice very little. I no longer work in the court room on a regular basis and the topic of cross-examination really held little interest for me.

Yet, I sat dutifully and listened. The presenter, a seasoned trial lawyer, was what I expected him to be. Smooth. Great communicator. An accomplished story teller. So, even though I told myself that I had little motivation for listening, I couldn’t help myself. Thinking of preparation and strategy in working with a witness, I found myself recapturing the excitement of law school and my few years as a commercial litigator. In practice, most of my work with witnesses were in depositions. But it was an exciting part of my job.

I also found myself thinking of great attorneys I’ve known and remembering things that I had learned from them. One particular person rose to the top of those memories. I couldn’t help but think about my association with him. I realized that I had never really seen him in the court room or in deposition. I did share office space with him — sort of. He flew into Abilene every Thursday night and occupied the office next to mine on Fridays (when he wasn’t in trial). Yet, I knew he was a great lawyer — by reputation and by the way he handled himself in daily life.

He was greatly feared by large insurance companies, railroads, and other major businesses — and their lawyers. Not because of his domineering style in the courtroom, but because of his intellect and the fact that he had a knack of getting everyone in a room to listen and, to some degree, like him.

I was startled from my memories as the presenter in this particular course summed up his points by telling the story of a famous cross-examination in the famous case of Exxon v. Lloyd’s of London. As he set the scene, I thought, “How interesting! The lawyer in the case was Don Bowen, my hero and friend.”

Suddenly, I became anxious. What if, I thought, Don’s performance in the cross-examination was an example of bad technique? Our presenter had just revealed one of Abraham Lincoln’s blunders on cross. Would Don be similarly maligned?

As the story unfolded, the audience was swept into a wonderful dialog of how a kind, yet brilliant lawyer, gently led an opposing party through testimony that persuaded the jury.

Don Bowen passed away several years ago. I’m sure there were times he made mistakes. I’m aware of some of his personal failings that occurred long before I came to know him. I remember a few times when he disagreed with me on some things. I don’t remember the details of those times, though. The details are blurred by the way he treated me. With respect.

Outstanding experience. To hear a stranger talk about a common friend. And to hear the same theme in his description of a man that I would use. That a person can be strong and commanding while treating those around him with respect.

We should all be so positively notorious.

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.

Standing Room Only

Growing up in West Texas, I had a pretty well-developed system for knowing who my friends were. Friends were the guys — and occasionally the girls — you spent time with. Looking back, I’m not sure that the great majority of that time was very productive. But, even today, it seems like quality time. We played ball and pretended we were people we would never be. We shared dreams and schemes and, on occasion, the blame for schemes gone bad. In simplest terms, we were there for each other.

Eventually, of course, I found my best friend, Nancy. And I’ve poured most of my friend energy into that relationship. I’m not certain that she would say that all of that effort on my part has had happy results — or even that there has been all that much investment at times. Thankfully, our love and friendship has grown because of her enormous capacity for others.

I know that similar cues that determine friendship exist in today’s relationships. Perhaps the activities are less strenuous. And now the dreams shared are sometimes those lying broken around us. The happy times are no less happy, though. However, with the pressure of life as an adult, there seems to be less quality time for friends.

Or so I thought. A friend of mine recently went through a period of crisis. I was one of a number of folks who went to his side. Part of our function was to simply be there and absorb the moment with him. If you’ve ministered to people who are sick or who are grieving the death of someone close, you’ve probably heard this activity described as “sitting with” the suffering person.

Years ago, I was mentored in “sitting” by a long-time minister at our church, Brother Horace. A good brother at the congregation had died suddenly. I was dropping off some things at the church office that day as Brother Horace was making his way to visit the family of the deceased. “Why don’t you come with me?” he asked.

I was in my early twenties and, other than family, I had never gone to visit a bereaved family. Reluctantly, I said yes. But in the car on the way to their home, I became nervous. “Brother Horace,” I questioned, “What will I do when I get there? What will I say?”

“Simple. Say what seems right. And if you have nothing to say, just sit. Through the years, I’ve never had any one recall what I had to say, but almost every one remembered I was there. Being there is the key.”

And so it is with friendship. In my friend’s crisis, I came to realize that there was no place for me to “sit.” Those spots were taken by individuals who had been there more often. No, my place was just inside the door. Standing just a bit to the side.

I just happened to run into this friend downtown, recently. And even though my perception was that my involvement was very slight, he was effusive in his greeting. He thanked me over and over for what I had done.

The expression on my face must have been one of puzzlement. He paused as I stuttered, “I really wasn’t that much help.”

He moved closer and whispered, “But you were there!”

Friendship and love can grow in even the shallowest soil. And so I’m called back to Brother Horace’s sage advice. Say what seems right. And if you have nothing to say, just sit. And to that wisdom, I add this corollary. When there is no place to sit, just stand.

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 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.

Expected Turns

As I’ve contemplated the closing moments of this year, I’ve tried to imagine what this past 12 months would have been like without friends and family. All in all, it wasn’t such a bad year. Yet how miserable it would have been without people who care around me.

Today I heard a couple of unrelated stories about people who have had to face adversity and who felt they had no one to turn to. What a terrifying existence!

I hope that you will be someone who others can and will turn to. And that you will discover those to whom you can turn. No matter who you are, you truly need hope around every turn.

Take some expected turns in this new year.

Christmas Party Place

We had a great Christmas party for the office last night. Great home-made food. Pleasant conversation. And we were blessed by being at Patsy and Jerry’s place. A veritable Christmas wonderland.

I don’t know how many get-togethers are hosted by these two every year. Or how many total people have crossed their threshold. Or how many burgers have been flipped on the backyard grill. Or how many linens have been changed to accommodate overnight guests — many who just call to see if there’s “room at the inn.”

Last night, while Patsy and Jerry were giving tours and telling stories about Santa collections and special photographs, I was clearing a few plates from the table when I literally was stopped in my tracks.

In a side chair was a little embroidered pillow with the inscription, “May your house always be too small to hold all of your friends.”

In this expansive residence, I was awed in thinking how small this place was in relation to the number of Patsy and Jerry’s friends. And I was warmed by the thought that I was one.

Traditional Thanksgiving Blog

For many years, I would make a list just a few days before Thanksgiving. It was my call list — five people who I was especially thankful for. A few rules. No one could be on the list more than once every five years. No immediate family. (Theoretically I tell these people nice things on at least a semi-annual basis.)

On Thanksgiving morning, I would make the calls. I thought for a while they were really touched. Then I realized that they were just trying to figure out why anyone in their right mind would be interrupting someone else’s Thanksgiving.

So, the calls stopped.

I still make the list. I can’t help it.

I have so many people to be thankful for. If I live to be 80, I’ll have 135 more opportunities. Of course, some will be repeats — with the 5 year rule and all.

But think about what would happen if I could truly convey to 135 people their true value to me. I would be blessed.

Scrutiny

I’m traveling with eight others from work. Toronto is brisk. I have no idea how cold it is because I haven’t taken time to figure out my centrigrade to fahrenheit calculator.

As we hustled through customs last night, six of us were waved through with little notice. But two of our number were pulled aside for additional questioning. We think that one was diverted because he was carrying some items from work that he had declared on his entry form.

The other guy was flagged because he was traveling with the first.

The rest of us met our transport service and were whisked away to our hotel. The third car and our project leader stayed behind to wait for the detainees. When we all met for dinner, everyone was in good spirits. We all understand the need for border security and the inconveniences that sometimes occur.

Yet, as I was thinking back about the occurrence, it reminds me that we are often under scrutiny not because of who we are — but because of who we’re with or who we look like.

I seem to believe my relationships depend only on who I am. That’s ironic since I know full well that the opinions of those who matter, look to who my model is and who I serve. And even if that additional scrutiny is inconvenient, it is truly a blessing.