“There is no doubt that in revealing the fundamental fragility of the human condition, the disabled person becomes an expression of the tragedy of pain. In this world of ours that approves hedonism as is charmed by ephemeral and deceptive beauty, the difficulties of the disabled are often perceived as a shame or provocation are their problem as burdens to be removed or resolved as quickly as possible. Disabled people are instead icons of the crucified Son. They reveal the mysterious beauty of the One who emptied himself obedient unto death. Show they us over and above all appearances that the ultimate foundation of human existence is Jesus Christ.” – John Paul II
The Value of Time
We shall never have more time. We have, and have always had, all the time there is. No object is served in waiting until next week or even until tomorrow. Keep going day in and day out. Concentrate on something useful. Having decided to achieve a task, achieve it at all costs. -Arnold Bennett.
Despite the finite nature of time, and the mortal constraints we face because of our humanity, there is still immense value to time. Our life is largely spent on the past, or in the future, but rarely in the present. I think this is so because the present is a land of monotony, somewhat boring, laborious, and arena of preparation. There’s not much sexiness in spending time preparing, yet it’s what waits for us in the here and now.
There are two ways to look at the past and future, and both have to deal with time travel. The first is characterized by Uncle Rico in the movie, Napolean Dynamite. He’s stuck in the glory years of his past football accomplishments, and cannot move into the future because he’s already accomplished his life goal: To be a football star. The future holds nothing for him, so traveling back in time is seen as the only way to live.
The second way to look at the past and future is to be ashamed, angry, or sad about what’s happened in the past, and want the future to hold something different. This is the land of fantasy andthe make believe. It’s a big reason why facebook is so popular: We can project a fragmented version, the best foot forward, of ourselves for the “world” to see, love, and admire. It’s why you don’t see profile pictures of suffering, grief, loss, heartache, and sadness. Partially this is true because those emotions are almost impossible to capture in an image, nor would most want to.
We judge ourselves (and others) based on what we have done, and what we will do. It’s impossible to be equally committed to judgement and engaging in the present at the same time. You’re either in yesterday and tomorrow, or today. Choose you which day whom you will serve.
Autobiography in Five Short Chapters
Autobiography in Five Short Chapters
Chapter 1
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost … I am helpless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.
Chapter 2
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place.
But it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.
Chapter 3
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in … it’s a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.
Chapter 4
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.
Chapter 5
I walk down another street.
~ Portia Nelson ~
Book Excerpt: The Great Divorce
Editors note: I read this book in college, but have recently been reminded of one particular story that seems apropos for modern day life. CS Lewis wrote this book describing the differences between Heaven and Hell. It’s a story of people visiting both places, and as they near Heaven they appear as ghosts. The below excerpt is a poignant example of how difficult it is to let go of things in our life, especially the harmful things. In short, we cannot live fully if we resist the pain associated with change.
—–
I saw coming towards us a Ghost who carried something on his shoulder. Like all the Ghosts, he was unsubstantial, but they differed from one another as smokes differ. Some had been whitish; this one was dark and oily. What sat on his shoulder was a little red lizard, and it was twitching its tail like a whip and whispering things in his ear. As we caught sight of him he turned his head to the reptile with a snarl of impatience. “Shut up, I tell you!” he said. It wagged its tail and continued to whisper to him. He ceased snarling, and presently began to smile. Then be turned and started to limp westward, away from the mountains.
“Off so soon?” said a voice.
The speaker was more or less human in shape but larger than a man, and so bright that I could hardly look at him. His presence smote on my eyes and on my body too (for there was heat coming from him as well as light) like the morning sun at the beginning of a tyrannous summer day.
“Yes. I’m off,” said the Ghost. “Thanks for all your hospitality. But it’s no good, you see. I told this little chap,” (here he indicated the lizard), “that he’d have to be quiet if he came -which he insisted on doing. Of course his stuff won’t do here: I realise that. But he won’t stop. I shall just have to go home.”
‘Would you like me to make him quiet?” said the flaming Spirit—an angel, as I now understood.
“Of course I would,” said the Ghost.
“Then I will kill him,” said the Angel, taking a step forward.
“Oh—ah—look out! You’re burning me. Keep away,” said the Ghost, retreating.
“Don’t you want him killed?”
“You didn’t say anything about killing him at first. I hardly meant to bother you with anything so drastic as that.”
“It’s the only way,” said the Angel, whose burning hands were now very close to the lizard. “Shall I kill it?”
“Well, that’s a further question. I’m quite open to consider it, but it’s a new point, isn’t it? I mean, for the moment I was only thinking about silencing it because up here—well, it’s so damned embarrassing.”
“May I kill it?”
“Well, there’s time to discuss that later.”
“There is no time. May I kill it?”
“Please, I never meant to be such a nuisance. Please—really—don’t bother. Look! It’s gone to sleep of its own accord. I’m sure it’ll be all right now. Thanks ever so much.”
“May I kill it?”
“Honestly, I don’t think there’s the slightest necessity for that. I’m sure I shall be able to keep it in order now. I think the gradual process would be far better than killing it.”
“The gradual process is of no use at all.”
“Don’t you think so? Well, I’ll think over what you’ve said very carefully. I honestly will. In fact I’d let you kill it now, but as a matter of fact I’m not feeling frightfully well today. It would be silly to do it now. I’d need to be in good health for the operation. Some other day, perhaps.”
“There is no other day. All days are present now.”
“Get back! You’re burning me. How can I tell you to kill it? You’d kill me if you did.”
“It is not so.”
“Why, you’re hurting me now.”
“I never said it wouldn’t hurt you. I said it wouldn’t kill you.”
“Oh, I know. You think I’m a coward. But it isn’t that. Really it isn’t. I say! Let me run back by tonight’s bus and get an opinion from my own doctor. I’ll come again the first moment I can.”
“This moment contains all moments.”
“Why are you torturing me? You are jeering at me. How can I let you tear me to pieces? If you wanted to help me, why didn’t you kill the damned thing without asking me—before I knew? It would be all over by now if you had.”
“I cannot kill it against your will. It is impossible. Have I your permission?”
The Angel’s hands were almost closed on the Lizard, but not quite. Then the Lizard began chattering to the Ghost so loud that even I could hear what it was saying.
“Be careful,” it said. “He can do what he says. He can kill me. One fatal word from you and he will! Then you’ll be without me for ever and ever. It’s not natural. How could you live? You’d be only a sort of ghost, not a real man as you are now. He doesn’t understand. He’s only a cold, bloodless abstract thing. It may be natural for him, but it isn’t for us. Yes, yes. I know there are no real pleasures now, only dreams. But aren’t they better than nothing? And I’ll be so good. I admit I’ve sometimes gone too far in the past, but I promise I won’t do it again. I’ll give you nothing but really nice dreams—all sweet and fresh and almost innocent. You might say, quite innocent …”
“Have I your permission?” said the Angel to the Ghost.
“I know it will kill me.”
“It won’t. But supposing it did?”
“You’re right. It would be better to be dead than to live with this creature.”
“Then I may?”
“Damn and blast you! Go on can’t you? Get it over. Do what you like,” bellowed the Ghost: but ended, whimpering, “God help me. God help me.”
Next moment the Ghost gave a scream of agony such as I never heard on Earth. The Burning One closed his crimson grip on the reptile: twisted it, while it bit and writhed, and then flung it, broken backed, on the turf.
“Ow! That’s done for me,” gasped the Ghost, reeling backwards.
For a moment I could make out nothing distinctly. Then I saw, between me and the nearest bush, unmistakably solid but growing every moment solider, the upper arm and the shoulder of a man. Then, brighter still and stronger, the legs and hands. The neck and golden head materialised while I watched, and if my attention had not wavered I should have seen the actual completing of a man—an immense man, naked, not much smaller than the Angel. What distracted me was the fact that at the same moment something seemed to be happening to the Lizard. At first I thought the operation had failed. So far from dying, the creature was still struggling and even growing bigger as it struggled. And as it grew it changed. Its hinder parts grew rounder. The tail, still flickering, became a tail of hair that flickered between huge and glossy buttocks. Suddenly I started back, rubbing my eyes. What stood before me was the greatest stallion I have ever seen, silvery white but with mane and tail of gold. It was smooth and shining, rippled with swells of flesh and muscle, whinneying and stamping with its hoofs. At each stamp the land shook and the trees dindled.
The new-made man turned and clapped the new horse’s neck. It nosed his bright body. Horse and master breathed each into the other’s nostrils. The man turned from it, flung himself at the feet of the Burning One, and embraced them. When he rose I thought his face shone with tears, but it may have been only the liquid love and brightness (one cannot distinguish them in that country) which flowed from him. I had not long to think about it. In joyous haste the young man leaped upon the horse’s back. Turning in his seat he waved a farewell, then nudged the stallion with his heels. They were off before I well knew what was happening. There was riding if you like! I came out as quickly as I could from among the bushes to follow them with my eyes; but already they were only like a shooting star far off on the green plain, and soon among the foothills of the mountains. Then, still like a star, I saw them winding up, scaling what seemed impossible steeps, and quicker every moment, till near the dim brow of the landscape, so high that I must strain my neck to see them, they vanished, bright themselves, into the rose-brightness of that everlasting morning…
“Do ye understand all this, my Son?” said my Teacher.
“I don’t know about all, Sir,” said I. “Am I right in thinking that the lizard really did turn into a Horse?”
“Aye. But it was killed first. Ye’ll not forget that part of the story?”
“I’ll try not to, Sir. But does it mean that everything—everything—that is in us can go to the Mountains?”
“Nothing, even the best and noblest, can go on as it now is. Nothing, not even what is lowest and most bestial, will not be raised again if it submits to death. It is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body. Flesh and blood cannot come to the Mountains. Not because they are too rank, but because they are too weak. What is a Lizard compared to a stallion? Lust is a poor, weak, whimpering, whispering thing compared with that richness and energy of desire which will arise when lust has been killed.”
— Quoted from The Great Divorce (1946), New York: The Macmillan Company, pp. 98-106.
What to do with criticism
If evil be spoken of you and it be true, correct yourself, if it be a lie, laugh at it. ~ Epictetus
No one likes criticism. But often times, criticism contains truth.
Could you get upset at the delivery of the critical comment? Sure. But you’d be missing the point. Unless you’re relating to someone incapable of relationships, which would need criticism in and of itself, then their offering of critical feedback presents a learning opportunity.
Will you judge the deliverer, or listen to the content? Don’t miss the opportunity for growth because something stings. Because usually if something stings, healing is needed.
Stay Here And Feed Your People
One of my favorite podcasts is The Moth, a story-telling organization that hosts “story nights” around the country. Audience members, similar to the Price is Right, are the stars of the show. They get on stage and tell a story, sometimes in reference to a theme of the evening, and they do this without notes. It’s often exciting, usually moving, and always beautiful. Stories make the world go round, and The Moth offers an intimate glimpse into some of these stories.
Last fall, The Moth hosted a “Grand Slam” event that brought 10 storytellers to the stage, and they competed against each other for the title of Grand Slam Winner. This event was in Chicago and was hosted by the Peter Sagal of the NPR show, “Wait, Wait, Don’t tell Me.” (Wait Wait is another one of my favorite podcasts.)
Towards the end of the show, Sagal was sharing a story of his own. He had a friend, Morgan, who helped to put on a develop plays in the local theater. During this time in her life, Morgan began asking questions about her own significance and place in this world. Consequently, she became a huge fan of Mother Teresa. When Mother Teresa came to town Morgan found her at her hotel and to meet her.
Morgan expressed her admiration and respect, and said she wanted to join her in Calcutta doing work in the orphanages. Morgan said, “The work you do is wonderful and important, I want to come with you to Calcutta.”
Mother Teresa replied, “No. You don’t do this work because you think it’s wonderful. You do this work because you so love the poor people of Calcutta that you can’t be away from them. That’s when you come and do this work.”
“What do you do?” Mother Teresa asked.
“What I do isn’t important,” Morgan said. “I work at a theater and I help put on plays. What use is that?”
“There are so many different kinds of famine in this world,” Mother Teresa said. “In my country, there is a famine of the body. In this country, there is a famine of the spirit. Stay here and feed your people.”
Who are ‘your people’?
First Half Reading
One of my goals this year is to read more books. Of the dozen-plus books I’ve read so far, here are four that I suggest everyone read:
Beautiful Boy: A Father’s Journey Through His Son’s Addiction
A dad reflects on his son’s addiction to drugs (meth). As a parent, this is a terrifying read as I consider what is out there for my kids to face. But it’s a good kind of terrifying. It has forced me to face this possibility and begin conversations with my kids about addictions. Conversations won’t keep kids off of drugs, but my hope is that our relationships will give them what they need through the tumultuous years of adolescence and young adulthood.
Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption
I’m sure you’ve heard of this book, or story, and rightfully so. It’s one of the best stories that I’ve ever read. It’s a story of survival, pain, suffering, tragedy, and the will of the human spirit. All stories have loss, and all stories have redemption. The story of Zamperini has loss and redemption over and over again. Read this book and ask yourself: “Where is the parallel in my story?”
The Anatomy of Peace: Resolving the Heart of Conflict
Written in a conversational format, characters discuss the nature of how war and peace interact, where does peace come from, and how do we engage it with the people around us. It’s got some powerful illustrations that help to bring the read to see that we often focus on what’s wrong with other people, but ignore the majority of what they do right. Furthermore, we often treat others more so as objects than as people and that we expect them to fully trust us even if we don’t fully trust them. This is a great book for anyone who is in any form of leadership (parents, business, marriage, church volunteers, etc — essentially anyone who deals with people in any organized fashion).
The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles
Probably my favorite book so far of 2012. The first half of this book, if you let it, will call you out and challenge every part of your fear. Resistance is the main culprit to our boredom and lack of pursuit to what we want to create in life. It carries a number of little nuggets that can apply to anyone. This is a book that I will read again, and again.
Excuses, The Human Condition, and Truth
“You shall know the truth and the truth shall make you odd.” ― Flannery O’ Connor
On my way in to the office this morning, I heard a report from the Sandusky sex-abuse trail that a psychologist has deemed Jerry Sandusky as having a personality disorder. I believe they are referring to the “Histrionic Personality Disorder” which they seemingly suggest is the reason he has such a high need to be appreciated (admired?) which caused his “inappropriate actions.”
Personality disorders are real, there is no disputing that fact. What I find offensive is the notion that having a disorder like this is the real culprit behind these egregious and evil acts of violence towards countless young boys. This excuse is an abusive use of non-scientific theory intended to lessen the consequences of Sandusky’s actions. There is so much grey area in the realm of personality disorders that if the need to be appreciated is the evidence for such a disorder, then every one of us should be sent to a hospital.
I don’t know if he is guilty or not. I don’t know what happened in the showers, in the bedrooms, or in the car with those boys. But I do know that now is not the time for Sandusky to pull out his personality disorder as the “get out of jail free” card it seems to be intended for. Evidently the defense believes if you have a personality disorder, you’re not accountable for abusing young boys. This is offensive to me, and I hope to you.
The human condition is broken. We all do stupid, inappropriate, and sometimes harmful actions towards ourselves and others. Sandusky is no different in his condition. He’s just like you and me. He’s a wounded man who let the pain of his condition and life dictate his actions towards others. However, if we’re willing to put down our swords and stones, we can learn something from him.
If you leave your wounds alone, they will resurface and wound others. Hurt people, hurt people.
It’s our responsibility to consider what stories we have lived and experienced as a way to keep ourselves from reenacting our stories with other people.
If you mess up, own it. Take responsibility for your actions. It’s not “if” you’ll screw up, it’s “when.” There is too much energy spent hiding the truth and skirting responsibility. Truth is a powerful motivator. If we tell the truth, judgement from ourselves and others is not too far away. Relationships might be lost, financial ruin could happen, and reputations might be tarnished. These are the risks of telling the truth.
What’s to be gained? Being known, trust in others, healing of our deep and dark wounds, and forgiveness of ourselves and others. When we hide what we have done and left undone, we prevent others from being able to give grace, mercy, and kindness. Yes, we risk being chastised and hurt, but if that’s the best those around you have to offer, perhaps those relationships aren’t the best.
It’s a simple formula that we will all spend the rest of our lives trying to cheat the system:
Know the truth.
Tell the truth.
Trust in the process.
Sometimes the Simple Solutions are the Hardest
If you wish to be a writer, write. ~ Epictetus
For many years, I’ve written as a hobby. This generally means that I’d write when I was inspired, and only when I was inspired. One problem with this mentality is that I’ve missed out on many opportunities in the past because I didn’t know exactly what or how I wanted to say something. So instead of sitting down with a pen and paper (or usually a computer), I’d work on what I’d want to say in my head hoping to get it just right. Rarely did that produce something on paper. I wanted it to be perfect, or at the very least “good enough” that it’d garner rave reviews or feedback. The big lesson here is perfectionism will kill an artist, a writer.
Sometimes, the simplest solutions are the most difficult to see and take. In the case of writing, it doesn’t take hours of time or space to hammer out a few words. But that’s what I was trying to attain. This reminds me of what my dad used to say to me as a kid when I’d be in charge of unloading the dishes from the dishwasher. I’d try to do it as quickly as possible and in as few trips to the cabinets as possible. This led to me carrying 10-15 dishes precariously stacked on top of one another. His admonition to me: Don’t be lazy. Take your time, and do it without breaking things.
Learning from that over the years has allowed me to come up with hundreds of 10-20 word thoughts that one day might turn into a fuller, more meaningful article or blog post. I don’t do this every day, but I write something on most days. Once I open up the valve of content, I’m amazed at what else shows up. Just in the process of writing these 400+ words, I’ve thought of 2 other topics that I want to write about. My next step: Write about them.
Creating begets creating. This is the application for everyone. There is usually something that has been named in the form of a wish, but practical steps haven’t been taken to make that wish a reality.
“I want to start my own business”
“I want to start a family, have kids”
“I want to create art, paint, etc”
“I want to read more”
“I want to ________”
All of these wants are big ideas, and can be overwhelming to know where to start. The first step is likely the one that you’re avoiding, which is also the most difficult step. The longer you wait to take that step, the more overwhelming and difficult it becomes.
Here are a few books that are great at exploring more some of what I’ve introduced here:
Eat That Frog!: 21 Great Ways to Stop Procrastinating and Get More Done in Less Time
Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life
The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles
48 Days to the Work You Love: Preparing for the New Normal
I Can Only Speak for Me
You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should’ve behaved better. – Anne Lamott
So… it’s pretty easy to talk about other people. To see their faults, cracks, damages, and also their giftings, goodness, and success in life. It’s much harder to see our own. (Which is why I think everyone ought to get married and/or have kids. Marriage and Parenting makes it really difficult to ignore the reflection of yourself. But that’s another topic for another day.)
It’s hard to talk and write about the stories you have that have been influenced by others without giving too much credit to the other person. What has happened to you, has happened to you. And you’re the only one who can tell the story of what has happened to you.
You can’t speak for the other person, about their motives or assumptions. It’s not your job to protect others from the impact they or someone else has had on you. Your only responsibility is to speak about your experience.
Not theirs. Yours.
“How will you respond to what’s happened?” is really the only question that matters. Because the last thing you want to do, is to respond like this:
