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.

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.

The Question Marks by Juror 77

“Out of town?” the pleasant female voice repeated. “Oh, if you’re going to be out of town, just write that on the summons and mail it back to us.”

I followed that direction not knowing that my travel plans would change and that my conscience would require that I show up unexpected. The courthouse personnel were surprised — but pleasantly it seemed. I filled out the card reserved for those who had lost their summons and filed into the room.

This was a “special” panel of prospective jurors. We were called to be considered for only one case. And that only meant one thing. This was going to be a tough case. We were ushered into the jury room, given preliminary instructions and asked to return for jury selection in three days.

The next Thursday morning, the bailiff labored through the list of names and moved us into our assigned seats. I was to be known as Juror 77. The prosecutor went through his round of questions and nothing I responded to required that I be identified to the court reporter and further questioned.

That changed somewhat when the defense counsel took over. On three separate occasions he called on me. “Mr. Cope, number 77.”

First he was concerned because I was a lawyer. Wasn’t it true that I knew other lawyers who made their living as prosecutors? And wouldn’t that make it impossible for me to be fair and impartial to the defense? I answered “no.” He hesitated. “I’ve got to tell you,” he said flatly, “I’ve got a BIG question mark by your name. I’ll be watching you.”

My fellow rowmates seemed to lean away from me a little at that announcement. I wanted to tell them it was okay and I was not disturbed by that. But the judge was watching and I surfaced a feeling not felt since I was caught talking in class in fourth grade. I stayed quiet.

In the next round of questioning, he went row by row and asked each juror if they knew anyone else on the panel. By the time he got to the last row, I was the clear leader in terms of recognition. When he got to me, he asked, “Mr. Cope, juror number 77, is there anybody here whom you know who hasn’t already spoken up?” In fact there was one more. When I pointed that out, counselor for the defense turned to the whole group and announced, “Can you see the problems that can come up if you have a bunch of buddies on the same jury? How can anyone act independently? Mr. Cope, are you telling me that you don’t see a problem with that?”

My quick answer of “no, sir” wasn’t a comfort. He hesitated again. Then looked around the room at the rest of the jurors. I thought a heard my neighbor’s chair scrape slowly on the carpet as he moved sideward. The attorney looked at me and wagged his head from side to side. Big, exaggerated marks flowed from his pen to his pad.

He didn’t become any warmer to me later when I identified one of the expert witnesses as a friend from church. “Mr. Cope, number 77. Based on your earlier responses, let me guess. You wouldn’t give your friend the benefit of the doubt if he testified in this case?”

“My friend is a noted psychologist. He is obviously an expert witness in this case because he has earned that designation through his reputation. When I was in law school, I was taught that we were to hire expert witnesses because they should be given the benefit of the doubt. Isn’t that the point? And if your expert seems wiser or better prepared wouldn’t I transfer that benefit of the doubt to him?”

It was such a great response. But the words were still glued to those cartoon-thought-balloons that circled my head. I started to unleash them. But I could see Mr. Defense already sliding another question mark by my name.

“I would listen to all of the evidence and make a decision based on my best judgment as a juror in this case.”

A couple of hours later, I was released from the selection process. The question marks never mattered. Twelve suitable jurors were readily found from the rows ahead of me.

Walking out, another jury candidate slowed to exit with me. “Did it bother you when that lawyer kept putting question marks by your name?”

“No,” I asserted, “because I answered honestly and never questioned myself. Those question marks were his problems, not mine.”

As I drove home, I thought about that statement and I wondered . . .

Doubtless

It happens frequently — even in a small, part-time law office like mine. People come to see me with a financial problem and in the course of our discussions they ask, “I suppose I could just not pay that debt. I mean, what could they do?”

Then I take them through the litany of things “they” could do. And after we talk about loss of vehicles and tax liens and lawsuits, the typical response is, “Well, that’s not so bad.”

Usually at that point I pause, ever so slightly. And almost every time, the individual adds, “I just don’t feel right about it, though.”

That’s a wonderful moment. In that instant, you see a person regain respect for self and connect to their values. When that resurgence begins to build is the moment I explain how I feel about legal measures to reduce or eliminate debt. “The government, through our creditor and bankruptcy laws, has made protection available for those who truly need it — and frankly, that’s not many of us.”

Then I take my clients back through the things they can do. Like adjusting their lifestyles and, thus, their spending habits, and selling things they don’t need. As momentum grows, most of these people begin to see some possibilities. They see the long road ahead and accept the responsibility of digging out. As is often said, you don’t usually get into debt in a hurry — therefore, you don’t get out in a hurry either.

That’s the way that most of life’s troubles are. We move so fast sometimes that we take a few steps down a path that seems a little strange. And rather than check our bearings, we move further. Over time we become comfortable with where we are.

And then something stops us. A consequence attaches to us and things grind to a halt. This new and peculiar environment disorients us. We tell ourselves, “It’s okay to act differently here.”

But most of us know better. Despite the pull, that small voice tells us what is right for us.

You may not have strong spiritual beliefs. But I believe that the small voice is a clear channel to the one who divided right from wrong when it came into this world. The same one who gives us things we can do to get back to where we need to be. The same one who extends grace when we’ve done all that we can do.

Regardless of the struggle you face, or how far you will have to travel to make things right, small steps are available. And as a believer, I’m convinced that God views us more in the light of where we’re heading than in a snapshot of where we are at any given moment.

The Will to Win

I’ve been reading the comments on my preacher’s blog for about the last 15 minutes. The topic is war and whether war is a business that followers of Christ should be about. Or something like that.

When I waded into the various postings of those who felt they had something to say, I saw what I always see when people draw together for hand-to-hand combat. Fear. Anxiety. A desire to control those closest to us. A real need to overpower others.

Not all of the comments were like that. But as the list unfolded through scroll-down after scroll-down of questions, replies, and retorts, the ugly nature of human interaction emerged.

A few of the commentators were avowed pacifists. Some others hinted at their law-and-order tack.

Ironic, isn’t it that — at least for purposes of the blog discussion — people on both sides of the question were unabashedly aggressive and mean-spirited?

I applaud those who talk for the sake of conversation — both in blogs and in real life. I celebrate those who can express themselves well. And by well, I mean those who can make a point or a counterpoint without attacking the person on the other side of the table. A free exchange of ideas.

I have a growing intolerance of those on both sides of any issue who believe that being cynical and destructive in a blog discussion or a television interview or around a coffee table is any less disgusting than the “real world violence” they decry or justify.

Conversation must continue. But, the will to win must cease being our motivation for having the conversation.

Let’s talk. I have a will to understand what you think and what you feel. For I’m afraid if I have the will to win, I will never hear you.

Top News

When I travel, I like to watch the local news a little while just to get a feel for the local life. Most of my view of Toronto this past couple of days has been cloaked by darkness and rain.

So I’ve seen stories on hikes in train fares and a local stabbing that left one Torontonian dead. Then there was the local newswoman on location being taught to milk a goat. (The difference there is that in Abilene the newswomen would have already known how to milk a goat. Okay, I’m stretching it. Probably a cow and maybe a goat.)

What’s been unique, really, is hearing world news from a perspective other than the United States. I’ve heard very little about what the White House did today. Fishing for Buffalo stations, I’ve discovered that NBC News has determined there is global warming. That follows groundbreaking work by CNN a couple of weeks ago.

I’m being sarcastic, of course. I mean I’m pleased that the top news organizations are shedding light on this very serious problem. I’m just shaking my head at all of the “official” — and often political — statements that have been made throughout my life that everything was as it should be. No, we were told, there’s no reason to change the way that we do things. No reason to curtail our extravagant ways.

Well this post isn’t about global warming, really. No, it’s more about what occupies our attention. The Buffalo station just reported the top 5 news stories for today. The top 2 were sports stories. Two seemed to have local merit. Number five? The Hollywood writers strike. Indeed, the late night talk shows are teetering on the edge of extinction.

I get caught up in what other people tell me is important. I’m thinking perhaps I should spend some concentrated effort on discovering what the top news in my world truly is.

Convenience by Any Other Name

If you’re old enough, you’ll remember that Kleenex brand tissues became the article of choice because of its unique dispensing capability. That’s right! Kleenex was Kleenex because of an innovation that caused each individual tissue to pop-up one at a time.

We have all become complacent in our expectations of product performance. Lately, I’ve noticed that on occasion — usually twice in the life of a box of tissues — the pop-up fails. And these failures come at time-sensitive moments.

The first is at the opening of the package. A sneeze is imminent. You have just discovered the previous box empty and you’ve been digging under the sink or in the cabinet for the back-up. New box in hand, you strip off the tab and slide your fingers through the narrow opening. But instead of the edge of a single sheet, you grasp only large clumps of tissue paper. Wanting to do things right, you continue to discern that one Kleenex — the one that will lead the others to the light.

The sneeze is not so patient. And as the forces of nature bear down on your sinuses, you grab desperately and pull. Thirty-two tissues now await your bidding. And now you’re faced with a moral decision: Do I try to replace the errant Kleenexes? Or do I leave them in a sullen pile for the next user to deal with?

The second failure in each box of Kleenex is more of a random occurrence. Because of improper stacking or a separation of tissues as they were placed in the box, the pop-up sequence fails. The result is somewhat the same as what occurs at the opening of the package. (See description above.)

My true concern with all of this is not with the fact that a large corporation is plotting to frustrate my life. Or even that some of their employees may be sabotaging products knowing that it would evoke great anxiety in people like me.

No, I’m more concerned that I’m frustrated and worried over the orderly departure of tissues from a box. When all around us, the world creaks and groans with injustice and poverty and despair, my emotion is focused on structures of cardboard stuffed with soft paper. When my indignation ought to be centered on how people treat other people, my anger is aimed at things that have almost no value.

In working with people in conflict, I can see I’m not alone. Too often we concentrate on the peripheral problems when the greatest opportunity for reconciliation looms in welcome. Do me a favor, if it looks like I’m thinking about Kleenex, remind me there are more wondrous things to occupy my thoughts and actions.

Senseless

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

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

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

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

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