What I Learned the First Day of School

Some rights reserved by Paradox 56

Today was the first day of public school where I live. It was also the first day that our university students had class. My Twitter feed and Facebook newsfeed were all abuzz this morning about the first day of classes ... pics of back-to-school outfits ... and tales from several friends recounting the first day of kindergarten for their young'uns. And it hit me that despite the fact that in a week my youngest will start his junior year of college, my back-to-school days are pretty much over. It has taken me most of the day to get over that fact and I'm not quite sure I'm there yet.

For the better part of my adult life, my identity has been so wound up with being someone's mom that I have struggled with who I am now that my kids are adults. Yes, of course, I am still their mom ... but gone are the days when my calendar is crowded with who has to be where when. My August was not consumed with finding the right size glue sticks, 15 different spiral notebooks, or khakis with the dress-code-approved pockets. And, however grateful I am not to be dealing with such minutiae, I'm still trying to figure out what sort of minutiae should occupy my time now.

My vocational life as a pastor, a teacher, and a youth minister was consumed, in part, with helping others to realize that they were more than their vocational choices, more than the familial ties that they'd been born with, and even more than the relationship choices they made beyond their immediate families. But, I think that while I was trying to ensure that others were able to find and maintain there own unique identities, I might have forgotten to listen to myself, or, at least to really absorb that those same things were true of me as well. This was brought home to me about a week ago at an adult gathering. When I was asked to introduce myself, the "hi, my name is Pam," was quickly followed by what I figured everyone would consider more important: "I'm <insert kid's name here>'s mom."

It is true, I am their mom ... and nothing has made me happier or more proud in my life. But, it could be that it's time for me to grow up too. Maybe it's time to realize that I am me separate from my kids ... just as they have an identity that is very separate from mine.

Hi, my name is Pam ... 

Taking the Bad with the Good and Loving through It All

Some rights reserved by Avital Pinnick

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." So begins Charles Dickens' classic The Tale of Two Cities. It could also have been the tagline for this week. It was a week in which a flare spontaneously ignited in the trunk of my son's car causing a small fire ... but, it was also the week in which I got cast for a role in The Laramie Project, a play that I desperately wanted to be in. It was a week in which we got some very disappointing news regarding a work situation ... but, it was also the week when both my husband and I had some very enlightening self-discoveries. In other words, like many weeks that all of us have ... it was filled with the good and the bad.

I think that somewhere along the line, many of us learn to think of the good stuff as somehow earned or merited. Conversely, the negative stuff is seen as some sort of punishment or deserved suffering. But that's kind of silly when you think about it because sometimes the bad stuff is what leads the good stuff or makes it possible, at least. And, in other cases, something that seemed like "the good stuff" several weeks ago, turns out to be not so good at all once we've lived into it.

More and more, I think that I am beginning to figure out that our lives are full of "stuff" and whether it is perceived as being "good" or "bad, the "best of times" or "the worst" depends upon context, the people involved, our own feelings and/or disposition at the time, and a host of other variables over which we have little to no control. The one thing I can control, however, is my reaction ... my response to the stuff.

Over the past several weeks, I have tried to be much more intentional about taking time during my day to mentally step back and just breathe (both physically and mentally). Whether it's in 5, 10, or 20 minute snippets ... just taking a break to reflect upon who I am and where I am in my life has helped me to put both the stuff that I perceive as great, the stuff that I perceive as horrid, and all the stuff in between into perspective.

So ... those are my words of wisdom for today: Remember to breathe. It's helpful in the best of times. It's helpful in the worst of times.

Putting Things in a Safe Place

Some rights reserved by michaelstyne

I had one of those mornings last week. You may know the kind. It was one of those mornings where I woke up kind of crabby, not feeling great, a little on edge, and proceeded to treat the people I love the most like crap. Of course the realization that this was occurring did not help because once I realized it was going on, not only did I feel crabby and edgy, but I also hated myself for being crabby, edgy, and a bit of a snit.

Later, when I tried to apologize, I was assured that it was okay and reminded that, after all, if I couldn't be crabby and edgy with the people whom I love and who, presumably love me, where would I be safe in doing it? It's a tricky balancing act, I think. And, I think that part of what was so difficult about the morning for me was that instead of realizing that home is a safe place where all of the not so pleasant parts of me can find a safe haven, I instead wanted to look at the crazy woman who was griping at her son and husband over really petty stuff, as someone other than me. The real me would have been in control of her emotions, the real me would be kind and loving even when feeling stressed out, the real me would have been better than that woman ... so clearly, this was some sort of an impostor standing in my kitchen.

I've thought a lot about the ensuing conversation over the past few days ... about how being at home and with the people we love should provide a haven for us not only when we're at our very best, but also when we are at our very worst. And, I'm thinking that what the love of home and family has actually done for me ... you know, after nearly 50 years of living, because sometimes I am that slow ... is to provide a safe place where I can acknowledge that the evil impostor who sometimes invades my skin ... she's just as much a part of the real me as the bubbly, encouraging, carefree me that I enjoy a whole lot more. I don't think any of us wants evil-me to hang around all the time ... but, I'm thinking that maybe, if my family can love her and provide a safe haven for her ... well, then I just might be able to as well.

Thumper ... Revisited

Some rights reserved by printGarden

Growing up, most of us were taught some version of Thumper's famous line from Bambi: "If you can't say somethin' nice ... don't say nothin' at all." Unfortunately, as we get older, all of us find ways to circumvent Thumper's advice. However, very few people want to be thought of as being "that person" who says unkind things, so we develop all kinds of prefaces in the hopes of somehow excusing what follows: "No offense, but..." "Don't take this the wrong way, but..." "I don't want to sound mean/judgmental/racist/rude, but..." The problem with all of those prefaces, however, is the fact that almost inevitably whatever comes next does the very thing that the speaker wanted to avoid. The words that follow are going to be offensive, will be taken harshly, or will sound mean/judgmental/racist/rude. And no amount of pleading that a disclaimer was given beforehand can change those reactions.

I am not proud of it, but I have used some of those very prefaces myself. I can't, of course, be sure as to why other people use them, but I do know that in my case it was always as a way to give myself some sort of permission to say whatever thing I wanted to say in the first place. The very fact that I included any sort of preface at all, warning the hearer not to be offended or that I didn't want to sound mean, was itself proof of the fact that I knew that what I was about to say violated the "if you can't say something nice" rule.

The fact of the matter is that nice words don't need a preface. People do not accidentally get offended when my words are truly kind and loving. No one is going to accuse me of being rude, judgmental, or racist if what comes out of my mouth is loving and not hateful. When my words have been used to build up, instead of tearing down, I've not ever had someone say that I was being mean.

It's really not that difficult. We've known since kindergarten how to share, how to play nice, and how to use our good words when we interact with others. And, we also learned pretty early on that there are times when we don't always want to share, play nice, or use our good words. It has taken a while, but I think I'm also beginning to learn that part of being a grown up is to share, play nice, and use good words even when I don't particularly want to ... or if I simply can't bring myself to play nice, to at least excuse myself and just keep quiet when I don't have anything nice to say.

So, I'm trying (though not always succeeding) to incorporate some additions to the Thumper rule into my everyday life and ask myself before I speak whether what I am about to say is necessary to the conversation. Am I attempting to offer needed information, build others up, lend encouragement? Could what I am going to say hurt someone else, be taken as a slight, give rise to gossip?

Like I said, I am not always successful, but in trying to remember to ask myself these kinds of questions, I have been humbled to discover all the times where I've been perfectly willing to abandon Thumper's sage words so that I could be "right" or seem to have control over a situation.

The older I get, the more I am struck by the fact that we learn almost all of life's essential lessons when we are very young. Them, it seems that it takes a lifetime to figure out how important those lessons are and to effectively put them into practice.

For now, I am working on taking the words of an animated rabbit to heart, and keeping quiet unless I have something nice to say.

What a difference Thirty-Something Years Makes

Once upon a time I attended Chaparral High School in Las Vegas. The four years that I spent there were some of the most emotionally intense years of my life, a fact which I attribute much more to the reality that 2000 adolescents were crammed into the same space for roughly 7 to 8 hours a day (counting extra-curriculars and whatnot), than to anything peculiar to the place itself. Even "back in the day" prior to cell phones, social networking, or cyber-bullying, there was no drama like high school drama ... nothing so consuming as who had said what about whom ... and nothing quite so exhilarating as being asked to homecoming or prom ... nor so devastating as being dumped by someone you thought was your whole world.

In the years since I was in high school, I've raised my own children and taught quite a few others and I've watched as those same intensities impacted them in various ways, realizing that no amount of my telling them that the roller-coasters of emotions that they were experiencing would be but a blip on their radar screens in the future could convince them that their world wasn't ending. It was something that was so apparent for me in hind-sight, but in their adolescent minds was clearly utter and complete lunacy.

So, what brought about all of this reflection about my own high school days? In part it is due, I'm sure, to the fact that my own 30-year reunion is coming up and former classmates are busy planning, making reservations, and re-connecting. But it was mostly brought about by the fact that my first steady high school boyfriend (we dated for a little over a year) recently contacted me on Facebook. And it was neat, but not in a way I could have ever imagined when we were dating or in the year after we broke up. It was neat because I could genuinely be happy for his successes and the life that he has without having any personally vested interest in it whatsoever. There was nothing about our re-connecting that had anything of "what's in this for me?" or "how does this affect me?" in it ... I could just delight in the fact that someone who had once cared a great deal for me and for whom I still have incredibly fond feelings is doing well and seems to be happy in life.

And, as I looked at pics of his family and saw some of his "life events," it just struck me what a difference thirty-some-odd years have made in how I think not only of him, but of those four years that at the time seemed to be my entire life ... but that now seem so long ago, so far away, and in many ways were just a drop in the bucket of all that I've experienced.

It has been a great "perspective-giver" this ability to look somewhat objectively at that part of my life ... because it has helped me to remember that at any given moment, no matter how happy, sad, angry, exuberant, or whatever I am, the seeming intensity of that instant will one day be but a thread in the much larger tapestry of my whole life.

I've said it before and I'll say it again ... this getting older business is mind-boggling.

We All Have Stories ... Full of Sound and Fury ... That Could Signify Important Things Indeed

 Some rights reserved by Bob AuBuchon

When I taught middle-school, friends and acquaintances would often offer their condolences. But I was one of the rare breed of people, apparently, who actually enjoyed working with middle-school-aged youngsters. One of the things that I longed to share with colleagues who seemed unhappy in their work was the fact that, for the most part, middle-schoolers do not act the way that they do in order to make their parents, teachers, or others mad ... they act the way that they do because it is developmentally appropriate for them to do so. That outlook made all the difference to me, because, in my best moments, even though I sometimes found their behavior unacceptable, I never had to take it personally. I could work to help them move on from behavior that wouldn't suit them in adulthood, without having a personal stake in any of it. The other thing that I quickly learned was that each of my students had a story. Every time that I ran up against a student who I thought was a problem, I quickly learned that the problematic behavior stemmed from some current situation or some past event of which I had up to that point been unaware. And, even though the story behind it didn't excuse the unacceptable behavior, understanding where that behavior was coming from made it much easier for me to respond with compassion and, in many instances, to more effectively help the student to find was of coping that resulted in behavior that was more socially acceptable.

My middle-school teaching days are well behind me now. But I have since learned that it is not just middle-schoolers who have stories behind their behaviors. Everyone has a story to tell. And in almost all cases, a person's behavior, whether we find it pleasant or not, can be tied, at least in part, to that story. When we know someone's story, we are much more willing to make accommodations for behavior that is less than stellar. When we know what another has been through, it makes us more compassionate in our responses. When we understand what someone else has experienced, we are less likely to take words or deeds as a personal affront, instead recognizing that they often arise from circumstances that have absolutely nothing to do with us.

If we recognize that fact when we know the story ... how much of a stretch would it be to simply assume that everyone has a story to tell, even when we do not actually know the particular details? Can we allow others the benefit of the doubt in our interactions with them ... simply because we know that they must have their own story ... even when their own narrative remains hidden from us? Must we exact the intimate details from others in order to respond with kindness, compassion, and understanding, or can it be enough to know that those details exist for them just as they do for us?

What kind of story might we create by recognizing that every person we meet is the protagonist of a tale of sound and fury signifying most everything that is important. What stories would we then be invited to be a part of or could we then create?

Maybe We Really Did Learn Most Everything We Need to Know in Kindergarten ... or Thereabout

The Sweetest Baboo and I just watched Matilda, the movie based on the Roald Dahl book of the same name. It's not that we haven't seen it before ... we used to own the DVD when we still had young 'uns in the house. Nor were there any kids around to give us an excuse to watch it this time. It's just that sometimes you need reassurance that the Miss Honeys of the world prevail and the Trunchbulls in our midst don't end up succeeding. 

"I'm right, you're wrong ... I'm big, you're small ... and there's nothing you can do about it." It's the philosophy of Matilda's dad and of the Trunchbull. Throughout much of the movie it seems to be true too. What can a little kid or a sweet, mild mannered teacher do in the face of that kind of power or that kind of attitude? But by the end of the story, the narrator tells us that "Matilda found to her great surprise that life can be fun ... and she decided to have as much of it as possible. After all, she was a very smart girl."

It's one of those kinds of stories that, as a grown up, I need to be reminded about every so often. The fact of the matter is that I do believe that Miss Honey's way is better than the Trunchbull's and I do think it's better to be like Matilda than to be like her parents Harry or Zinnia. I know that it is better to be loving than hateful, better to be kind than to be mean, and that it is better to suffer at the hands of unjust power than to wield unjust powers over others. But it is one thing to know those notions in my head and quite another to remember them in my day to day dealings with other people when lashing out in anger seems so much handier or it seems like the bullies always get their way while the meek get put in the Trunchbull's chokey.

So, tonight, we watched Matilda. We watched it an laughed at how ridiculous the Trunchbull could be and we rolled our eyes at how horrible Harry and Zinnia were as parents, but most of all we delighted in the fact that a very smart girl who loved to read books and a very kind teacher who recognized the good in every child found out that heroes don't just appear in fairy tales and that real life can have happy endings.

And now, at least for a while, I'll be able to better remember that all of that is true in my grown up world as well.

Love the Sinner - Hate the Sin ... Some Thoughts

 Some rights reserved by qthomasbower

I've heard the phrase from a variety of sources in a variety of venues recently: "Love the sinner; hate the sin." It is the thing that people of faith seem to say when they want to justify their own actions/feelings/thoughts when it comes to other people.

I have never liked the phrase very much. For starters, Jesus never said it ... despite the fact that Christians fling it around as though he did. Not only did he never say it, but he never even came close. When I mention this to folks, it is not unusual for them to bring up the example of the woman caught in adultery whom Jesus told to "go and sin no more." It is true ... he did tell her that, but he told her that at the END of their exchange... after he had sent those who wanted to stone her away ... and after he told her that he didn't condemn her. NOTE: the affirmation of his love for her and the fact that he did not condemn her was not a result of anything she did. He did not say, go and sin no more and then you will be worthy of my love and forgiveness. He simply said, "Neither do I condemn you." Yes, some folks will argue, but then he said to go and sin no more. But, it seems to me that if the transformative love that Jesus extended to the woman was conditional upon whether or not she did or didn't sin any more, we would probably have a second part of the story, but we don't. We don't know what happened next. All we know is that he told her that she wasn't condemned ... despite the fact that she was an adulterer. Much like the prodigal son who was welcomed and embraced by the father even before he could offer up his well-rehearsed apology, the woman has an encounter with a Love that does not seek to condemn.

The second reason that I don't like the phrase about loving the sinner and hating the sin all that much is that I've experienced that kind of love and somehow it has never felt like the love I've experienced when I know that someone really loves me. Instead it feels like a patronizing kind of love that says, "I'm loving you because I'm supposed to, but really there is something about you that is totally unacceptable." And, the bottom line is that it certainly doesn't feel like the all-embracing, totally unconditional love that I experience in my relationship with the Almighty. Why would we even need to say, "I'm loving you, but hating your sin" in order to love someone else. Can't we just love people ... without regard to their (or our own) sin? It seems like we could sure be a lot more loving that way. And, it was what Jesus commanded us to do: "Love one another."

I have a friend who is fond of saying that the one who loves the most wins. The concept isn't original with him, he got it from another friend, but ever since he shared the idea with me, I've been trying to see how true it is. I've actually tried to take this command to "love others" to heart. Now, of course, the reason should be simply that Jesus commanded it, and that is why I think it is important. But, I have to confess that I'm also curious to see what it would look like. What would my life look like if I simply loved ... without regard to who the other person was ... without regard to behavior or status or disposition ... without regard to political, theological, or philosophical underpinnings ... but, just loved because that's what I'm created to do?

I fail at this goal about nine hundred and seventy nine times a day, but my attempts have revealed something that I think is very telling. In those moments when I am successful ... when I simply love ... I don't have either the time or the inclination to worry about hating anything. It is a win-win equation because the other person feels loved and in the act of loving, I too know myself as one who is loved by the Beloved.

It's weird, because it's all a little bit more hippie-esque than I normally tend to be ... but, it is a good kind of weird. So, I've decided to just mentally edit the phrase when it's quoted to me and now every time someone tells me that I should love the sinner, but hate the sin, I simply hear: "Love."

I Gotta Be Me ...

A friend of mine and I were recently discussing the tendency that many of us have to listen to that part of ourselves that tells us all of the ways in which we've messed up, fallen short, or failed, long before we listen to that part of us that comments on all the ways we've gotten it right, done well, or really shined. In the course of the conversation, my friend commented that the reality is that no one else could be him as well as he does it ... and that is an important thing to remember.

His comment struck a chord in me. Though I'm not sure that anyone else would want the job, it is true that I cannot think of a single person who could be me as well as I have done it all these years. And, while maybe there are a few things that I might do differently if I had it all to do over again, all in all, there is a whole lot that I've done pretty well. And, the exciting part is that I get to keep trying to do it even better, hopefully for a long time yet.

It is not a secret among my close friends (maybe even for acquaintances, I don't know), that I can sometimes be overly self-reflective. I am forever going over my choices, actions, and decisions to see where I messed up, how I could have done it better, what I should do differently the next time around. The conversation with my friend has convinced me to give at least equal due to the questions of where I succeeded, what I did well, and how my own brand of being me brought something positive to the equation. 

I am often fond of telling the people whom I love that I wish that they could see themselves through my eyes ... that they could see how delightfully wonderful they are. Usually they begin to argue and start to point out all of the things that my eyes miss. I respond by telling them that they need to cut themselves some slack. My new mission is to see what it might look like if I cut myself that same sort of slack and looked inward with those same eyes. Who knows? I just might end up liking what I see.

For These ... I Give Thanks

Yesterday was Father's Day and all of my social media feeds were filled to overflowing with loving tributes to fathers both living and gone, coupled with photos of preciously held memories. I posted a pic of my husband and me with our kids and son-in-law, I called my dad, and I even texted my brother to wish him a happy day. But the whole day had me thinking about something that I used to say during every children's sermon I gave when I was still in ordained ministry and Mother's or Father's Day would roll around -- we shouldn't need to set aside a special day to tell the people that we love that they are important to us. We should be honoring, remembering, and loving our parents every day. Our spouses should know how wonderful we think they are based on our daily actions and not just because we said so in a Facebook post. Sure, I can Tweet to the world that my kids are awesome, but do I tell them to their faces ... on a regular basis?

Much has been written about the fact that the more seemingly connected we become virtually, the less connected we are able to be in real life. I'm not sure of how true that is, but I do know that loving each other ... day in and day out ... requires effort. And, I also know that it is important.

When I was a kid and Mother's Day or Father's Day would roll around, I would inevitably ask: "What about Kid's Day?" After a few years, I knew the parental response by heart: "Every day is Kid's Day." I would usually argue that it wasn't true, that I didn't get presents every day nor did I get to pick out a special meal every day. But, I also knew that there wasn't a day that went by when I didn't understand myself to be loved, treasured, and valued by my parents. In that sense, my parents were right ... every day really was "my" day.

Some rights reserved by Valerie Reneé

Who in your life may be wondering if they will ever have a "them" day? Is it your kids? An aging aunt or uncle that you haven't seen in a while? Maybe it's your spouse. Or, it could be that friend you've been meaning to call.

What would our world look like if we were intentional about making every day, someone's day? If it's been a while since you told someone that you love how important they are to you ... take the time to make today their day.

Works and Plays Well with Others

When I was in grade school, there was always a space on our report cards for the category, "Works and Plays Well with Others." It was supposed to help parents and educators recognize, I suppose, when there was a kid who didn't know how to share, couldn't play on the playground without hitting, kicking, or biting others, or who exhibited socially unacceptable behavior.

Some rights reserved by marsmet491

The recent story about Sebastien de la Cruz and his singing of the National Anthem to open game three ... and then game four of the NBA Finals was one of those things that made me realize that there should still be marks handed out in the grown-up world for "working and playing well with others."

I do not consider myself a naive person. I know that there are hate-filled people in the world. I get it. But reading the blather that flowed out of the Twitterverse while Sebastien de la Cruz was singing the National Anthem during game three made me wonder what the people who would say such things are like in real life when they do not have the perceived cloak of anonymity that social networking pretends to provide.

Mostly, it just made me sad. It made me ask questions like, "Wait, isn't this 2013 and isn't this the United States of America?" And, "Who says stuff like that about an 11-year-old kid." Again, it's not that I don't know that there are people who are like that ... it's just that I really would like to live in a world were everyone works and plays well with others. And, however, simple or silly or naive it may sound, I just don't understand why anyone would take delight in being mean or hateful or spiteful towards other people ... no matter who they are. I simply do not get it.

Was there a kind of sweet justice when it was revealed that not only was Sebastien born and raised in America but that he is the son of a Navy veteran? Sure. Was it great that he sang again to open game four and received a standing ovation? Of course. But it would have been just as great and a whole lot less painful for him and his family, I am sure, if when he sang the first time it could have been without incident and without bigoted/racist comments.

We got those marks in grade school, people, because there is this idea that it is an important skill set to have, this working and playing well with others. If it was important in first grade, that means it's still important. 1 + 1 still equals 2, the letter "m" still makes the mmmmm sound, and keeping our hands and feet to ourselves and using our nice words still matters.

Losing the Labels

Some rights reserved by HowardLake

Labels can be very helpful. If you are looking for a particular canned good in your pantry, for example, you want a label that will tell you what is inside the can and when it was put there or when it will expire.

When shopping for clothes, labels can help us to make sure that we purchase the right size that is made from the kind of materials that we desire.

Labels can even be helpful when we go out to eat. If we are in the mood for Italian cuisine, we don't want to end up at a place that serves Thai food, or vice versa.

However, when it comes to people, labels are not nearly so helpful because they cannot possibly tells us about what is really inside. All of us are so much more than the labels with which we self-identify or with which others have tagged us. Even the labels that I happily and proudly embrace such as wife, mother, Catholic, or Texan fail to fully define who and what I am ... and depending upon another's interpretation of those labels could fail altogether.

It is even worse when someone else attempts to affix an unwanted or an untrue label based upon their impression of who and what I am. I don't like it and resist it at every turn. But, I also realize that I have been guilty of doing that to others. We all use labels in order to keep others in neat, tidy, identifiable little boxes. The problem is that most of our lives aren't always so neat and tidy, and they often have to be squashed unrecognizably to fit into any sort of box whatsoever.

In addition, all of us are living, growing, vibrant beings. I am certainly not the person that I was 20 years ago ... or 10 ... or 5 ... or, even one, for that matter. Labels that were true 6 months ago, may not be entirely accurate now, or might have to be adapted at the very least. But if someone has affixed a predetermined label on me either based on past behavior, or what they think they know about my religious beliefs, or political ideologies, or child-rearing notions, there is no room for them to learn what I really think and certainly no room for me to reveal who I really am or how my ideas might have developed over the years.

It's a hard thing to do ... to stop relying on labels to define others ... but it is essential if we really want to come to know who and what they are at the very core of their beings ... beyond where the labels will reach.

Sometimes It Really Is the Little Things

I make my coffee the same way every morning. I put the same amount of whole beans into the grinder. I put a squeeze of honey into the bottom of my French press before adding the grounds. I wait the same amount of time after pouring the near-boiling water over the grounds and letting the coffee steep. But every so often, without warning, and without explanation, my morning cup of coffee tastes more delicious than normal. It becomes what I can only describe as a near sacramental experience that makes me incredibly grateful for every created thing and for my place in the midst of it all. I've learned not to try to replicate the incredible taste sensation the next day ... because it simply can't be done. However, weeks or sometimes months later ... again, the perfect cup of coffee makes an appearance in my mug.

Some rights reserved by amanda28192

The same sort of thing happens for me with showers. Sometimes a shower is just glorious. Same water supply ... same shampoo and soap as always ... knobs turned to the same temps that I normally use, but there are some showers that just make me feel renewed and reinvigorated all over. The connection to baptism is not lost on me ... but it is has a much more homey feel to it than something so ritualized and solemn. It's like a walk in the rain without the mud or a swim in a crystal clear lake where there is no danger of leeches. It's hard to explain, but when it happens, I always find myself commenting: "That was the perfect shower."

And then, of course, there is what I refer to a "delicious sleep." As I age, sleep in any form is always to be valued. However, perfect sleep happens when every part of your body is comfortable, you can find the cool side of the pillow and it nestles under your head just perfectly, the room is the right amount of dark and quiet, and the covers are snuggled around you in a comfortable hug. Delicious sleep is usually in that place between absolutely dead-tired sleep and waking up, where you can remember your dreams and sometimes even control them. When you wake up from delicious sleep you feel satisfied, rested, and strangely comfortable with the world.

Some rights reserved by stevendepolo

I can't be sure, of course, but I think that G-d allows these experiences ... these deep moments with coffee, showers, and sleep ... to remind me that all of creation is sacred and all of it bears the fingerprints of the Divine. G-d has a way of working with the simple and ordinary, a manger in the least of the cities of Judah being, perhaps, the most striking instance. Sure I can recognize the Divine in majestic snow-capped mountains or in a glorious sunrise ... but, there it is almost too easy. Those sorts of experiences are full of grandeur and are writ large across the fabric of our lives. We're supposed to, it seems, recognize G-d there.

When it happen at my kitchen table because of a cup of coffee or when I recognize G-d's presence as I am just awaking from sleep, it takes on a much more intimate quality ... as though it were meant especially for me. And when it happens, it does make me much more aware of the multitude of ways in which all of my life is sacramental and the fact that there is an Incarnational quality to the whole of creation.

Sometimes, it really is the little things ... and, for me, anyway, sometimes those things are as seemingly mundane as a cup of coffee, a shower, or a good night's sleep.

This Is My Story

The company that I work for declared this past week to be Communications Awareness Week. Because the majority of our employees work in a virtual environment, it is very important that we all utilize the communication tools that we have available to us in the best and most effective ways possible. To help in achieving that goal, we took a communications quiz that was supposed to help us to understand our own communication styles. The results were supposed to tell you whether you are an assertor, a demonstrator, a contemplator, or a narrator. Following the quiz, we then watched a video that described the various styles, the benefits and possible negatives of each, and which communication tools each style tended to utilize best (i.e., email, Skype, Google+ Hangouts, recorded presentations, one-on-one phone calls, etc.).

My own results were actually not much of a surprise to me. I scored incredibly high in the narrator style. According to the breakdown we were given, narrators tend towards relationship building over other goals and are often emotionally intuitive. Process is usually valued over end results. The part of the analysis that made me chuckle a bit was the types of professions to which narrators tend to be drawn, including teacher, counselor, minister, and human resources. Hmmmm. That would be consistent with someone I know.

The eerie accuracy of the simple 12-question quiz notwithstanding, the activity got me reflecting on the process of narration, of story-telling, and why I find it so incredibly vital. The upshot for me, as a believer, is the fact that G-d is the quintessential story-teller. If we are truly created in G-d's image, then we too, are meant to tell stories. But, like G-d, we are more than just story-tellers, because similar to the Word that G-d speaks, the stories that we tell have power -- the power to create, to make true, to bring reconciliation, to be life-giving.

Some rights reserved by Stephen Rees

As both the characters in and the co-authors of our own stories, we are in the incredible position of simultaneously discovering the plot line as it unfolds, and helping to fashion the next chapter. Will it entail adventure, mystery, comedy, high-stakes drama? Will we be the protagonist or the antagonist of the tale? What truths will we discover and what truths will we reveal to others, if any?

The fact is, regardless of our own individual communication styles, all of us are caught up in this incredible narrative called life. Though the setting, other characters, and maybe even part of the plot might seem to have been set for us ahead of time, we still have a huge role in determining twists in the storyline, subplots, and even surprise endings. We can be the hero or the villain. Our story can be a cliff-hanger, a romance, or even a comic book.

What story will you tell?

Knowing Again ... For the Very First Time

View from the Farrar House at Little Gidding. Some rights reserved by Philocrites

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time. 

So ends the last of T. S. Eliot's Four Quartets, entitled "Little Gidding." It also happens to be my favorite line in the whole series of poems and may very well be my favorite line in all of T. S. Eliot's poetry. I was captivated by the line when I did an intensive study of T. S. Eliot during my junior year of college. Now, nearly 30 years later, I think I am beginning to have an inkling of what Eliot was getting at.

In so many different area of my life I feel as though I am returning to the ideas, opinions, and passions of my youth, but with an understanding that I never could have had when I was in my teens and twenties. More than once over the last couple of years, people who have only known me recently have said things like, "well, after you changed your thoughts about ..." or "when your opinion changed regarding ..." However, the funny thing is that I have found myself explaining that it was not so much a change as a return. But it is not just a returning to things that I thought and cared about back in the day. It is a rediscovery that is new and exhilarating because it is as though I now understand why it was that I cared about such notions in the first place.

The return might be unsettling, I suppose, for those who have only known me through one chapter of my life, but since I've lived with me all these years it feels much more like finally coming home to my real self. In C. S. Lewis' The Chronicles of Narnia there is Narnia, but then there is the really-real Narnia -- the one for which the original Narnia was but a shadow and a proleptic glimpse of the real deal. When our explorations bring us at last to the place we started, with eyes that have matured along the way, it is both a place we have always known and, at the same time, a place we have never really known at all.

After the lines above, the poem concludes with the following:

Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.

I think that I am beginning to hear, or maybe only half-hear, the voice of the hidden waterfall. It doesn't mean that everything is perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but it does mean that there is the slightest hint that once all the exploring is complete, all truly shall be well.

Fixing Things

Some rights reserved by pecooper98362

Most of my best friends tend to be fixers. I myself am a fixer. We want to fix things because we care and because we often have an over-inflated sense of our own abilities to "make things better." I am fairly convinced that I lasted far-longer in ordained ministry than I otherwise should have because of my determination to fix ... situations, relationships, people.

There is a lot to be said for fixers. It usually means that we want to be kind, caring, and compassionate. Unfortunately, it also means that sometimes we get involved in things we shouldn't, get frustrated when we can't fix things, and take on more than what is ours to take one.

It's a hard lesson for fixers to learn: not only can we not fix everything, we can't fix most things.

One of my best friends - a fixer if ever there was one - recently went to stay with his aging parents for a while to help them get things, as he put it, in order. There were definitely things that needed fixing: finding suitable care for his dad, tending to finances that had gone too long ignored, and various odd-jobs around the house. But there was also the reality that some of it ... maybe even a good portion of it ... just simply wasn't going to get done ... at least, not immediately and probably not just by one person ... no matter how caring, kind, and loving that one person might be. It was frustrating for my fixer friend that he couldn't just make it "right" and it was frustrating for me, his fixer friend, that I could't just make it all better for him.

But, in the grand scheme of things, he did something more important than fixing: he was present. And, that, in and of itself, was more important than any fixing that did or did not occur. He was present to his aging father who is facing an uncertain journey towards a most certain inevitability. He was present to his mother whose own inability to be able to fix and control things so that they turn out okay has caused her no small amount of frustration and short-temperedness as well. He gave them what all of us need and crave: love -- not in doing any one or two or a million specific things for them, but simply by being with them.

It is an important lesson for us fixers to learn, that sometimes, probably even most often, we help the most not by doing but simply by being who we are and sharing that with those who are most important in our lives.

Perspective

Newsflash ... the passing of time changes one's perspective.

Photo by Alan Cleaver. Used with permission. Click here for source.

However much I may give intellectual assent to such a proposition, it is still always something of a surprise when it actually happens in real life.

The current case in point? My youngest son is leaving this morning to drive to Wisconsin where he will intern on an organic farm for a month. He is driving. Alone.

Did I do the same sort of thing when I was his age? Of course. Did I give more than a second thought to the possibility of storms, car trouble, getting lost, or whatever? No, not really. Did I scoff at the fact that my parents and my, at the time, future mother-in-law seemed overly worried and somewhat obsessed with all of the things that could possibly go wrong? You betcha.

Ah, but now, the shoe is on the other foot. I am the parent who has been checking the weather every two seconds. I am the one who has looked at the route over and over again. I am the one who has cautioned the boy about safe places to stop and eat. I am the one who is more than a little worried about this two-day journey.

And ... I can at least contact him by cell phone. I don't really know how my parents stood it. And the only consolation I can take is that time will continue to march on and there will come that moment when my kids will "get it." When they will wake up one day and suddenly find that they are beginning to see things from their parents' perspective.

And, hopefully, I will be around to commiserate with them, because, as much as one looks forward to "growing up," when it actually happens, it's not always all that it has cracked up to be.

Friendship Fundamentals -- Viva La Difference!

Last night I had the chance to get together with a friend so that we could, as she put it, solve 50% of the world's problems. We had a wonderful and delightful time talking with each other about everything from blogging to faith to high school experiences to family to ... well, you name it.

When I got home and was basking in the afterglow of an evening spent in engaging, fun, and intellectually stimulating conversation, I was struck by the fact that this friend and I have what I think is the perfect mix of things in common ... so that we have a starting ground for conversation, and differences ... so that our conversations never get boring and we can continue to learn from one another, have our ideas challenged in a kind and non-threatening way, and grow.

I've had occasion to ponder the nature of friendship recently after a couple of "friends" un-friended (that that's even a word is mind-boggling) me on Facebook, without a word, presumably because of a position with which they, apparently, took exception. The gist of that pondering always arrived at the same general conclusion: "I don't expect all of my friends to think like I do ... why should anyone care if I don't think like them?" The experience was bizarre to me, but it also made me very thankful for the friends that I have who, like me, treasure not only the similarities, but the differences between us.

And the difference come in all shapes, forms, and sizes. Ones that are usually considered major, like religion and politics. But maybe even more importantly, some of the more seemingly minor things, like the best way to separate egg yolks from whites, which home remedies work and which are a canards, and, of course, which craft beers are the best (arguably, a topic that may fall into the "major" category).

So, today, I am all about celebrating the differences that make us who we are and the common bonds that unite us together. And, I am giving thanks that my friends and I can hold these two things together in a wonderful paradox that invites conversation, helps us to learn new things, and invites us to step out of our comfort zones when necessary.

Programmed Responses

Because the Brian Andreas quote that serves as the tag line (and hence also provides the title) of this blog includes talk of things being simple, many have assumed that this will be a blog all about trying to achieve simplicity. In part, that is true. However, it has really been the first part of the Andreas quote about learning to tell the truth about what makes me happy that has served as the impetus not only for this blog, but for new ways of thinking as I enter, what I presume will be, the second half of my life.

For those who have never experienced difficulties in telling the truth about what makes them happy, it may seem as though it should be a no-brainer to clearly communicate one's feelings, hopes, and desires. And, they would be right, I suppose ... it should be something that comes instinctively. But, at least for me, that has not always been the case. Whether from nature or nurture, I do not know, but I seem to have programmed responses that circumvent such a truth/happiness mechanism. For example, even when I have convinced myself that if I am asked the following questions I will respond truthfully, when I am actually asked, the following responses seem to automatically spew forth, almost, as it were, involuntarily:

Are you mad? No.
What's wrong? Nothing.
What do you want to do? I don't care.
Did that hurt your feelings? No, of course, not.
Are you okay? Yes.

Sometimes these answers are, in fact, truthful. But, clearly, they cannot be true all the time ... and, yet, they are the answers that naturally come flowing out of my mouth. So, just like the person in Andreas' story ... I am trying to realize the life shift that can occur when I learn to tell the truth about what makes me happy ... or, more precisely, when I learn to answer the kinds of questions listed above truthfully ... when the truthful response becomes as second nature as the programmed responses.

I am eagerly looking forward to the day when I can say in tandem with my blog title and tagline: "I never knew it could be that simple."

Remembering to Breathe

So, in an effort to follow my blog, one of my friends messaged me to let me know that although she had signed up to receive emails of the blog ... there was no way to comment on the blog directly from the email. I told her I'd look into it ... which consisted of me looking at the email she had received and concurring that it did appear that there was, in fact, no way to comment via email. The title of the blog post was, however, highlighted in the email and it turned out that by clicking on the title she was taken directly to my blog and could scroll down to the comments section and comment away to her heart's delight.

She noted to me that sometimes things, like figuring out how to comment on blogs via email, are complicated and that it wasn't just me making it difficult (See New Beginnings). She is right, of course, some things in life don't get simpler just because we wish that they weren't so complicated. That having been said, I also know that I tend to stress over much when those difficulties arise.

So, perhaps I need to clarify my goals when it comes to realizing that ala the title of this blog, "it could be that simple." It's not that I have deluded myself into believing that some aspects of life aren't complicated, because, let's face it ... they are. It's that maybe I don't have to sweat the small stuff. And, even when it's bigger than small ... maybe, just maybe, I can find ways to keep everything in perspective, so that the big stuff doesn't become too overwhelming. One of those perspective-maintaining behaviors has been, for me, remembering to breathe.

Yes, I am aware that breathing is an involuntary action. And, yes, I am also aware that it is not normally something that one has to be reminded about. But I have found that when things start to overwhelm me, I don't breathe -- or, at least, not normally. By reminding myself to breathe, I can take a step back from everything that is going on, focus on my breathing and not on the stressful situation, and regain some balance ... at least to my breathing, if not in reality. If nothing else, I've at least had the chance to take some cleansing breaths, clear my head, and start anew.

It's a start ... this remembering to breathe business. But, I'm finding that when I remember to breathe, things go a whole lot better than when I forget.

New Beginnings

I was recently discussing with my spiritual director why being me was sometimes so difficult. Whatever his response may have lacked in compassion was made up for with insight: "It is only difficult because you make it difficult." As much as I wanted to argue that he just didn't understand all of the complexities involved, there was a part of me that wanted for him to be right ... that longed for it to be as simple as that -- as simple as just making it not be complicated. That conversation, coupled with my timely discovery of Brian Andreas' StoryPeople, thanks to one of my dearest friends, has been the genesis of my effort to make that kind of simplicity instinctive to my every day life.

In addition to the Andreas quote in the tagline of the blog, I had also come across the following:

So, as I start another chapter of my life ... and yet another blog, I invite you to join me on the journey of (re)discovering the fact that life could very well be that simple.

(Any Brian Andreas quotes or pictures are copyrighted material. His prints and other items can be found at http://www.storypeople.com/storypeople/Home.do )