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?

“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.

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.

Sometimes, opportunity presents itself dramatically. It rears its majestic head and invites us to take hold. We relish the experience. We have no doubts and we move forward with confidence.

But most times, opportunity peeks out at us, wide-eyed and tentative, from just around the corner. And even when it steps out for a few seconds and signals its promise, it may suddenly duck down and run for cover.

And, when that happens, a lot of us shrug and think, “Well, that opportunity wasn’t meant to be.” We continue where we were. Perhaps just as well off, but never really knowing what the opportunity might have meant to our lives.

I’ve got an opportunity around the corner. I’ve exchanged a few greetings and it’s seemed pretty shy. Today, I’m walking around the corner to meet it.

I don’t think that we have the time to greet every opportunity that comes our way. Yet, I would hope that all of us would pause long enough to meet some and explore the possibilities.

She stood quietly to the side as others gathered around with their questions or personal stories or parting greetings. As the others left the room and I turned, her eyes clouded and she carefully chose her words.

“I understand that I have an obligation to make peace with others. But what if,” she faltered a bit, “the others won’t allow me a place at the table?”

I had heard the question before from at least a dozen people. And at least a dozen other times, I listened carefully and asked questions to see if I could catch a glimpse of an understanding of why there was no room for the questioner at the peace table.

There are various reasons that arise. Most common are those that surround relationships that move too fast. Words are said that aren’t heard. Or meanings are heard that weren’t intended. In those cases, the prescription for the problem revolves around the idea of slowing down.

With this woman, I explored that possibility. “No,” she said. “You don’t understand. I’ve tried that. And we did have some conversations. But now they say they’re tired of talking. More specifically, they are tired of talking to me.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m no longer welcome. I’ve seen their peace table and there’s no chair for me.”

I asked more questions. As she told her story and as her passion for the conflict grew, I could almost see the scene. She stood at the door and watched as they pulled away the one empty chair and announced that her place was gone.

“Why do you think they did that?” I asked.

At first, she said she didn’t know. But as I drew her story out, she suddenly straightened and stopped breathing. When she finally opened her mouth, her tears started again and she gasped for air.

“They don’t want to talk to me any more because I told them I didn’t believe anything they said. I refused to listen to anything I didn’t agree with,” she stopped for a breath. “I lost my place at the table because I wouldn’t hear their story.”

We talked a while longer and her emotions overcame her. “What have I done? How will I ever regain my place?”

I never have any specific direction to give at this point. Instead, we talked about things she shared in common with them. Perhaps, I suggested, there is something there that would cause them to invite her back.

“But what if there isn’t? What will I do?”

“Then you must set a new table with places for them,” I replied. “And you must explain that the table is meant for them and their story.”

“Do you think they’ll come to my table?”

I really don’t know how to answer that question. What I do know is that each of us needs to have a peace table set and waiting. In all likelihood, it will be filled with a few guests we expect and many more we don’t.

Is your table set?

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.

Not bamboo at all, it seems. Although the sturdy bush hails from Asia, it thrives under the official name of Nandina Domestica. And tonight was my night to bring it under control.

Earlier in the spring, we brought in a professional to clean out the flower beds and bring the flora of the back yard into some semblance of regulation play. The worker was fantastic. He trimmed and raked and brought order to the wilder regions of our eastern territory. But we noticed soon after he was gone, the bushes — particularly the Nandina — grew with a vengeance. Up, out and across the bare expanses separating them, the bushes spread and flourished.

I attacked them with my old electric hedge trimmer. And while the carnage was great, I could tell that the war wasn’t over. Fairly extensive collateral damage was sustained during the fracas. Yet another extension cord was badly nicked from — shall I say — “friendly fire?”

That engagement led to the purchase of a new cordless hedge trimmer. This one with 22 inches of cutting capability. As soon as I had it home and charged, I waded into the jungles that had become our backyard beds. Trimmings flew. I stepped back about thirty minutes later feeling pleased that I had brought things back to what I consider to be normal.

That was two weeks ago. Last night, as I was mowing, I noticed that the Nandina had resurged. It’s no wonder they call this “Hitler Bamboo” and “Nandina Megalomania.” Some bushes had grown as much as a foot in all directions.

So, with my new trimmer at the ready, I plunged in again tonight. As I swung that reciprocating sword around and through the bushes I had visions of Edward Scissorhands. My shadow played against the back fence and, with the trimmer out before me, I saw more of a figure from a well-played game of Guitar Hero.

Back and forth and over and through. Carefully dodging the little teeth as they swung by my jeans, I expertly worked my way through the dense forest. And once again, I triumphed. Clippings collected in the big rolling trashcan, I headed back toward the garage satisfied. But a small voice floated across the lawn behind me.

“We’ll be back.” My confident stride lessened a little. I knew they would be back. Along with the bermuda grass that grows with great gusto in the same beds, even though it struggles not four feet away in the lawn under the tree. And the weeds and the red oak that sprouts from the acorns that drop.

Nandina, like most hardy and persistent things, will come back. And, its growth seems to be hastened when it is given a little attention. It’s not unlike anger, jealousy, and discrimination. When pushed down and cut away, these sinful behaviors find new ways to surface. The only way to get ready of those little pests is to eliminate them completely AND replace them with something else.

That’s the ultimate answer to Nandina conquest. Root them out, systematically. Plant something else in their place.

Yet, I find I like the hardy bushes. They have a nice color and beautiful berries. Socially redeeming qualities, perhaps? So they’re not coming down. And, I have to become content with their less attractive behaviors. That’s the price I must pay, I suppose.

I do wonder if moments of anger, jealousy, and discrimination continue to flourish in my life for much the same reason. Perhaps I just like them a little too much. And I’ve become accustomed to the price.

So, I was able to pull together all of my material to teach the introductory letter on the book of James last night. Since I’ve taught the series before, it was simply a matter of reworking outlines and reconnecting thoughts. The folks who showed up were gracious and kind. In short, I came home last night looking forward to the remaining weeks.

I think a part of my good feeling had to do with my expectation that I will have time to continue my study and preparation. Things have been so busy the last two years, I feel like I’ve been away from some important things. But now, things have lulled a bit. Yes, I know that another storm is coming in mid-summer. Now. Now things are smooth and calm.

I’ll be returning to my regular schedule of work-related travel soon — working with individuals, businesses, nonprofit organizations and churches in conflict. I look forward to the work, although being away from home is hard. And the travel itself can be very taxing.

My wife, Nancy, is a big fan of the Today Show. That’s an accurate statement. Although you could narrow the field a bit and say that she’s a big fan of Matt Lauer. Hardly a week goes by when she doesn’t tell me about something Matt said or somebody Matt interviewed. The last few days she’s been telling me where Matt is. This is “Where in the world is Matt Lauer?” week.

So far, the way I understand it, he’s been to Argentina, the Netherlands, Laos, and today he’s in Istanbul. Because of his extensive travel, Matt claims that he has no time to shave. So added to the travel log today was Nancy’s comment that Matt’s beard looks pretty scraggly.

As I was about to leave for work, Matt was telling his adoring audience about his rough travel schedule. Since last Friday, he’s spent 53 hours in the air speeding to all of these exotic locations. And, he gave out a key bit of information. He said, “After the show, we’ll do a little sightseeing and then get back on ‘our’ plane and head to our next location.”

Aha! That’s how he does it. A private plane. Because I know that if I were sent out on a similar business trip, this would be the listing of locations for “Where in the world is Joey Cope?”

Day 1: Stuck in Abilene because of bad weather in Dallas forcing flight cancellations.
Day 2: In Dallas, but on standby waiting to get on planes because of the problem with yesterday’s cancellations.
Day 3: Now in Cleveland, Ohio, because of rerouting due to problems at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport of an undisclosed nature.
Day 4: In Dallas, waiting on a connecting flight to the original undisclosed location.
Day 5: Because of bad weather at the original undisclosed location and at Dallas, stuck on a plane on the tarmac in Abilene. And because this is not the regular airline that serves Abilene, FAA regulations forbids passengers to deplane — even if you live here and your car is only a couple of thousand feet away accumulating parking fees.
Day 6: Even though I’m supposed to be back home in Abilene now, I’m in Dallas standing at a car rental counter. No flights back to Abilene until the FAA okays the maintenance reports for my airline.

No, all of that hasn’t happened to me in one trip. I’m just saying that if I was to undertake a globe-trotting jaunt like Matt Lauer, this is what it would look like.

Next year, I would like to see Matt make his swing across the continents on commercial flights. That would be a real adventure.

As we talked about James last night, I think that we see that life is really more like a trip around the world in coach class than it is by private jet. Things happen. Some good things are a part of the mix. Yet, disappointments abound. Yet, if you’re ever going to make the journey, you just keep showing up. Oddly, if we place faith in a being greater than we are, we primarily remember the good things.

So, if anyone asks you “Where in the world are you?”, just tell them, I’m right here where God can find me. And I’ll get where I’m going on His good time.

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.

The weekly email from the American Bar Association popped up with news for the week. I usually find something of interest, but last week’s didn’t have much. I did see where a law firm had banned phones and other communication devices from firm meetings. Thought I’d take a look.

The story was short and to the point. A law firm had established rules regarding the use of cell phones and portable email devices in meetings. Seems that the lawyers had grown tired of having that type of interruption. That was it. The story was over. I thought there must be more, so I paged down below the advertisements.

I don’t suppose that I had done that before. But I discovered that there was a comment feature at the bottom of the page. I wasn’t really curious but for some unknown reason I started reading.

First comment commended the law firm. Second comment commended the law firm and went further, condemning anyone who talks on a cell phone in public. Third commenter told the second commenter to lighten up. That line of thought went back and forth for awhile.

And then someone noticed that the headline said “Firm Bans Blackberrys,” or something like that. So, of course, a heated debated arose over whether the plural of Blackberry is Blackberrys or Blackberries. Soon, commenters were blending the plurality issue with whether cell phones and emails by phone are from the devil — and possibly whether other commenters were demonic.

This is the tragedy of online news and blogs. In the cloak of anonymity, people act nasty to other people. Yes, it happens face to face, too. But people really think it’s okay and even admirable if they can make derogatory remarks about other people on the internet. It is true that some individuals are respectful and articulate. But many are not.

That’s why I was blessed by what Kate said, way down in the list of comments. Her words?

I have never taken the time to read comments responding to a posted article. Hilarious–thanks for the entertainment! I particularly love when one individual criticizes another, all the while making blatant typos, whether spelling, punctuation, or grammar. Another favorite: the witty remarks. Thanks for the laughs.

In her kind way, Kate assumed the best. That people were simply going out of their way to entertain her and other readers. And don’t you love the gentle way she pointed out that perhaps people should pay attention to what they type?

Seems to me that many of the earlier comments could have been made in Kate’s style. The same information would have been imparted. And we would have all been spared the nastiness. Who knows? Perhaps I’ve missed the point. Maybe online comments should only be viewed as entertainment.

Oh, and if you are wondering, the plural of Blackberry is “Blackberry Mobile Devices” according to one of the commentators who bothered to go and ask the company. Not much entertainment value in that, but the process is certainly refreshing.