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Knowledge and Experience

There is a difference in the knowledge of reading about something, and the knowledge of experiencing something.

It’s the difference between the knowing in our heads and knowing from the heart. 

If you’ve been to the Grand Canyon, you know with your whole being the expanse of it all. There are no words to describe it. The grand scale of its depth is beyond what any wikipedia entry could ever help you to know if you’ve never been there. Yes, you can look at a picture, study the stats, and recount the history of how it came to be. But that will never get close to the experience one gets by standing on the South Rim.

This reminds me of the powerful scene in the movie Good Will Hunting when Sean confronts Will that not all things in life can be read in a book. 



What we know with our heads sometimes keeps us from believing with our hearts. We think we know something because we read about it or watched a Ted talk about it. We are inundated with pictures, data, and the expanse of words that tell us about things in life. Yet we’re impoverished in actually experiencing these same things. Things like adventure, love, taking a risk, forgiveness, healing, or sacrifice.

What might we find out about ourselves, or others, if we moved away from the comfort of knowing, to the comfort of experience? 

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No Trouble At All

Some time ago a friend asked me to help him sort through some technology issues with his phone and computer. My first career, and past hobby, was in technology so it came as no surprise that he’d asked for my help. After we’d finished the project, he said thank you and for the third time in that setting apologized for inconveniencing me. “Don’t be sorry, it was no trouble at all,” was my response.

I was a bit surprised by how quickly these words came out of my mouth. One of my pet peeves is when people apologize for things that need no apology. It wasn’t true. I’d taken time out of my day to help him with an issue that didn’t concern me. The truth was, it was an inconvenience. But it was an inconvenience that I was willing to give because I care about my friend. I wanted to help him. That’s what friends are for, right?

After realizing this wasn’t the truth, which wasn’t more than a couple of moments later, I corrected myself.

“Actually,” I said, “it was an inconvenience.” I paused to let those words linger for a moment and continued. “Saying otherwise isn’t truth, nor is it honoring to you and our friendship for me to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. Me giving you some of me, my time and energy, is one way I’m able to show you that I value our friendship.”

This led to a completely different conversation about self-worth, value, and why it’s difficult to accept love/care from others. It was an amazing conversation that never would have occurred had we both remained “nice” towards each other, exchanging the normal platitudes and pleasantries of a proper friendship. I don’t want proper friendships, I want deep ones.

Our conversation highlights a challenge in relationships: Telling the truth about the small things in life is hard. “It’s no big deal…” is such a simple, polite, and well meaning statement that all of us have made to another person. Too often saying something isn’t a big deal sabotages giving the gift of sacrificial love.

Telling someone “you’re not bothering me,” or “It’s no trouble at all” communicates that the request they are making is easy for you to accomplish. Spoken in regards to a task or to-do list, perhaps “no trouble at all” has some truth to it (especially if the request of you is something you’re gifted at doing). The limitation of this statement is that we deny showing the other person their importance in our lives.

We’re selfish people by nature. We want what we want, when we want it. As we mature, it takes discipline and proaction to act contrary to this natural tendency. So when someone asks something of us, we have to sacrifice our selfish desires for the benefit of the other—this is love. It may be minor in the sacrifice, such as helping a friend with a technology problem, but it is still a sacrifice. In order for trust and relationships to grow, we need to know that someone is willing to sacrifice themselves on our behalf. Without this understanding and experience, and we’re left to wonder if the other really sacrifices anything for us.

Letting someone know that we’re willingly choosing to sacrifice, be inconvenienced, and not hold it over their heads deepens relational intimacy. Little things piled together makes a big thing. Be proactive in your relationship to intentionally build a big thing of trust by celebrating the little things.

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Sacrifice What’s Easy

A millionaire who gives away $100 does not experience the same sacrifice as a factory worker who gives the same amount. It’s easy for someone wealthy to give away a few bucks, it’s not that significant of a cost to them. 

There is not much sacrifice when we give what is easy to give. Sacrifice is the surrender of myself for the sake of someone else. This how we know someone loves and cares about us. 

Gary Chapmans concept of The Five Love Languages is a great example of how this might show up in a relationship. For instance, one of my love languages is words of affirmation. It is relatively easy for me to show others that I love or care about them with words of affirmation. This comes naturally to me. 

My wife’s love language is acts of service. Words of affirmation might be the last one on her list. Acts of service is probably the last one on my list. If I only choose to love her out of what comes naturally to me, I am going to miss opportunities to love her. 

A great rule of thumb on this principle for Marriage: Work on growing your capacity to do what isn’t easy. This could be how you engage in conflict, your habits in talking and listening (Men speak about 10,000 words per day, Women speak around 25,000), or how you express love.

What do you need to sacrifice today?

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Parenting is Not About Safety

Ask any parent, and if they are honest, they will agree: Parenting is impossibly hard. As my 4 year old was running away from me one night, screaming at me as he ran, I realized why these relationships are so hard: My personal desire to be safe and comfortable is threatened by my kids.

I’ve invited and co-created these little humans into the world. I’ve fed them, hugged them, disciplined them, and have done my best to love them. Ultimately, though, what I have given them is a part of me. They walk and run around this world with my heart draped over their shoulders…without any clue as to what they are carrying.

The reality of being unsafe with them comes alive in moments of panic. When my 9-month old is choking on something he’s found under the dining room table, I become aware that his life contains a part of me that I’ll never have back. If he goes away, so does his portion of my heart. It’s why a child’s scream of terror or pain makes me move with the speed of a superhuman. When my son falls off the the top bunk bed at night, I’m in his room quicker than his tears. When they hurt, I hurt.

My heart is with them, and that does not make me feel safe. They will do as they please. They have the same free-will as I do,  and I really don’t like them for that. In fact, I often resent them for being human. Sometimes, I wish they were robots, doing as I say, playing nice, and behaving on behalf of what’s right. I want them to be safe, so I can be safe.

But really, safety is just an illusion. Our cars have airbags, but at 75 mph on an interstate, compressed air isn’t going to keep me safe. An airplane has seat belts, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m in a rocket with wings going 500 miles per hour 30,000 feet above the ground. I lock my house at night, but a deadbolt is not going to keep a tornado at bay, nor the rising waters of a flood.

Much of life is building and creating supports that give us the illusion of feeling safe. Kids don’t factor into that illusion. This realization is clearly understood by most parents. Kids are humans, and they’re going to do what they think is best, or whatever pleases them. There’s nothing I can do to really be in control of them. This reality coupled with the gift of my heart to them creates a mess. If I want to be safe, I must control them; if I am okay not being safe, I must find a way to cope with inevitable pain. This is a sobering truth for every parent.

It’s sobering, because I know that I often try to control them. I try to get them to stop smacking their food, stop eating pizza on the couch, and stop fighting as they brush their teeth. When I realize that I can’t control them, I get jealous (Hey, if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, right?). I’m jealous that they get to be the kids and I have to be the grown-up.

I think life as an adult is lived within the infamous 80-20 rule: Eighty percent is doing things we have to do, and 20 percent is doing things we want to do. That equation is the opposite for kids. To be an adult, we cannot play 80 percent of the time like our kids. And this is a big problem for most of us adults. We don’t want to do the 80% work that life requires. We want easy, and 80% work is not easy. The result … numbed-out adults.

Kids aren’t numb (depressed), rather they feel and express. Kids’ expressiveness in life challenges adult depression and adult self-absorption. Adults want to go to sleep, figuratively, and when a kid wakes them, we adults feel a rage of being roused from the comfy sleepy world of depressed self-absorption. Getting angry at a kid for being curious, playful, and expressive is like getting mad at water for being wet, shapeless, and messy.This is why parenting is so hard: As a parent, I can’t keep my kids from being kids and I can’t always keep them safe, which means I will suffer and hurt when they do.  Our children invite us to see the world through untamed eyes. It’s both wonderful and frightful. Parenting is about helping kids become adults tomorrow while holding onto the hope, wonder, curiosity, and awe they live with today.