A Matter Of Faith

There is a story about a woman watching a butterfly struggle out of a cocoon. 

She decided to help it by opening up the cocoon herself, making it easier for the butterfly to break free.  The problem was that the butterfly failed to develop sufficient strength in its wings and legs, so it died.  The woman only tried to help, to ease the struggle of the butterfly, but in the end, the butterfly died.  The butterfly needed the struggle in order to live.  It was in that very struggle that made that butterfly strong enough to survive.

Paraphrasing a statement from the Bible: “. . . if you had Faith the size of a mustard seed, you could move a mountain.” 

Hmmm . . . I’m thinking a front-end loader at the least.

When I was little, my brother’s and my bedroom was at one end of the hallway and my parents’ bedroom at the other.  I remember many, many times peeking into their room and seeing my dad on his knees at the side of the bed.  Eyes shut.  Hands folded.  Silent.  And every night.  I was no more than six or seven years old, but that image was burned into my memory and has stayed with me for over fifty years.

I know my conversations with my dad revealed to me that he was a man of great Faith.  Faith in God.  Faith in humanity.  Faith in his family.  Faith in himself.  Don’t know if that qualifies as a mustard seed or a front-end loader or perhaps a steam shovel, but I believe he had Faith.

There is another story from the Bible that I like.  It’s the story of the sick woman who felt that if she was near enough to the shadow of Jesus, and if His shadow passed over her, she would be healed.

Wow!  That’s what I call a steam shovel!  Now that’s Faith!  Can’t say I have that much Faith.  Can’t say that I have that big of Faith.

There have been many times in my life when my Faith has been shaken.  Tested.  Times in my life when I really questioned my own Faith in God.  In humanity.  In myself.

Haven’t we all? I don’t think I’m unique in this regard, but I could be wrong.

“. . . though I walk through the valley of death, I will fear no evil . . .”

Because?

Certainly not because I’m overly tough.  Certainly not because I’m overly brave.  And honestly, I don’t know how to drive a front-end loader.

Like the butterfly, we struggle.  Each of us.  Sometimes we share that struggle with others.  Sometimes we are silent and go on about our business, our lives as if there is no struggle.  But we do struggle.  Not necessarily all the time.  Not necessarily continuously.  But there are times when . . .

And I contend that in those struggles, we develop Faith.  Weak and small at first.  Tentative.  A wisp of a seedling.  And sometimes we lose Faith as quickly as it comes.  Gone.  No trace of it having existed at all.  We start over once again.  An opportunity presents itself where we, our Faith, takes gentle root.

There are other times, the wisp of a seedling is planted in firm, rich soil.  There are caretakers making sure that wisp is safe, protected.  Taking care that when damaged, it is repaired.  And our Faith grows.  Strong and true and straight.

I wrote in a post that Storms pass.  Night brings day.  Rain stops and gives way to a Rainbow. 

Through our own struggle, we develop the wings to fly and the legs to stand.  In our own struggle, we develop our own Faith.  Whether it is a mustard seed or a front-end loader, it doesn’t matter.  Because Faith can, and will, grow.  And when it does, it is a thing of beauty- for ourselves and for others.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

The River

I grew up in the country and a river ran right next to my backyard.  My brothers built a raft using four empty oil drums and some old wooden planks.  Like Tom Sawyer, they used a pole to push and guide it with and against the current, and from one shore across to the other.  Being younger, I never had the opportunity to be the ‘Captain’ of the raft.  No, that was for the older ones.

My little brother and I sailed little boats made of pieces of wood rescued from the trash bin in my dad’s workshop.  We’d run the shore following along as far as we could as the current took the boat on its journey. 

Our boats, and we, were at the mercy of the river’s current, sometimes swift, sometimes slow.  But ever moving.  Ever moving.

The Navajo believe that water, rivers, are the life-blood of Mother Earth.  For the traditional Navajo, each time he or she crosses a river, a ceremony involving maze carried in a ceremonial pouch is performed at water’s edge in the river’s, or Mother Earth’s, honor.  So strong is their belief in the importance of water!

Standing on the shore, watching The River run, even dipping your hand in its cool current helps you realize that you never touch that same drop of water again.  Once it passes, it’s gone.  Forever. Can’t get it back.  And, what you don’t touch passes and is gone forever.

Garth Brooks sang a song titled, The River, and in it is a lyric: “. . . Too many times we stand aside and let the waters slip away; ‘Til we put off ‘til tomorrow, Has now become today . . .”

On one hand, that lyric speaks of missed opportunities, of procrastination, of not taking advantage of a given moment. 

Wasteful, that is. 

Lots of lost opportunities, lost moments in our lives. 

With ourselves.  With others.  With our families.  With our loved ones.

But what is so very hopeful to me is that The River keeps running.  The River keeps flowing, keeps moving, so other opportunities present themselves to us. 

I wrote a post titled “Morning” that talked about the opportunity to begin again, to start over, to make right and begin new.  The River is a reminder that while opportunities pass by, other opportunities present themselves to us.  Perhaps we shouldn’t “. . . stand aside and let the waters slip away. . .” but if they do, know that there will be other, perhaps equally important opportunities that will come our way. 

Take hold of them.  Chase the current, run the shoreline, and seize the opportunity that presents itself to us.  We owe that to others and to ourselves.  Something to think about . . .  

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

The Prize

Remember way back when, once upon a time . . .

 As kids we’d dive into a box of Cracker Jacks to get The Prize?  It wasn’t much, but we’d put our sometimes grimy fingers into the caramel corn and peanuts (never enough peanuts, right?) and dig around and at last, we’d touch upon it, pull it out to see what it was? Eating the snack seemed like a second thought to The Prize, right?

I don’t know that we ever kept it.  It didn’t last.  We didn’t necessarily save it.  I think the hunt for The Prize was the big deal.

There were prizes in cereal boxes too.  I remember my mom getting really angry at us for opening up the box, sometimes destroying the box altogether, and rooting around until we found it, usually stuffed at the bottom.  My brothers and I would race to the cereal cupboard to get to the cereal first.  After all, first come, first . . . 

Sometimes, we’d have to send away for The Prize.  That wasn’t as much fun, because we knew what we were getting.  And, we had to wait for it.  Waiting was sometimes a killer.  Remember little Ralph and his Decoder Ring?  The anticipation, his excitement?

How things have changed.

McDonald’s Happy Meals gave us a choice: this toy or that toy.  Not as much fun because we knew what we were getting.  Maybe not the color, but we still knew.  The anticipation was gone.  The Prize was secondary to the French Fries.  I mean, is there anything quite as good as French Fries?

And then, we got older.

At some point, we didn’t care about The Prize at the bottom of the box.  Perhaps we thought The Prize was silly.  Worthless.  Junk.  Kid’s stuff.

We changed.  We grew up.  Got older, perhaps wiser.

The Prize never changed.  We did.  The Prize still sits at the bottom of the box, buried under the caramel corn and peanuts.  It’s still hidden deep in the cereal box amongst the Frosted Flakes.

We changed.  The Prize didn’t.

Each of us has a Prize we seek.  What is a Prize to one is junk to another, worthless.

Wouldn’t it be fun to have that innocence once again?  That excitement, that joy, that anticipation ?  Not for what’s in Cracker Jacks or in a box of Captain Crunch.  But in the joy and the anticipation of . . . well, anything?  Anything at all? 

When was the last time you were truly excited, hopeful, joyful?  When was the last time you shared that excitement with someone?  Anyone?  When was the last time you gave someone else the gift of excitement . . . of joy?

It doesn’t have to be a special occasion.  It doesn’t have to be ‘deserved’.  It can be just ‘because’.

Maybe today, just today, to celebrate that gift, go get yourself some Cracker Jacks and dig around in the box for The Prize.  You may experience a gift of your own.  A reminder of way back when, once upon a time.  And then share it.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

The Thing About Trust

Many years ago, I went out to dinner with my brother and his family.  His youngest, now married, was in a high chair.  She said her food was too hot and pushed it towards my brother.  Dutifully, he took it and blew on it to cool it off.  When he felt it was sufficiently cool enough, he pushed it back in front of his daughter, who picked up a spoon and began to eat it without testing the temperature herself.

Trust.

As a first year teacher, I gave my students an assignment and walked around the classroom helping this student or that student.  I worked my way towards the back of the room and overheard two students talking.  One said, “I don’t get this.”  The other student looked over at his paper and said, “Ask Joe.  He’ll help you with it.”

Trust.

My first year as a head coach, we played for a state consolation championship.  It was close: a one or two point margin.  In my quiet, subtle manner, I got on the ref who graciously gave me a technical foul- with a smile, as I recall.  The other team put their best player on the line who missed both.  They tried to inbound the ball, but we intercepted and we scored.  In fact, we scored the next six in a row and we won.  After the game, my senior captain, Tony, came to me and said, “Nice game, Coach.  That technical foul?  Brilliant!  It fired us up!”  Um . . . okay.  Not what I had intended.  I actually thought I had lost the game for us.  Actually relieved that we had won it despite my stupidity.

Trust.

Kids are fearless.  It doesn’t matter if they are fearless in and of themselves or if they are fearless with respect to others.  They do things that we, adults, cringe at.  We did things that, looking back, we cringe at and hope no one ever repeats or finds out about.

The Thing About Trust is that it is earned, not commanded.  Sort of like respect in that regard.  Once that trust has been damaged, it is hard to earn back.  Once we’ve been burned, it is hard to give that trust back to the one who burned us.  We might forgive.  But, honestly, do we really ever forget?

Trust is sort of like a mustache.

I had one once or twice in my lifetime.  It takes a long time for it to look good.  In my case, it could be argued whether or not I ever looked good with a mustache.  But while it takes a long time to grow in, trim and take care of, it only takes two or three minutes to shave it off.  A week or two or more to grow.  Two or three minutes to shave it off.

Trust is like that.

It needs to be taken care of.  Respected.  A precious commodity.  Treated as if it were gold.  Because the reality is, Trust is more valuable than gold.

Trust is a belief between two people that we’ll take care of each other.  That we’ve got each other’s back.  Once that Trust is damaged and broken, do we ever feel that way again?  It takes a long, long time for Trust to develop again . . . if it ever does.  Don’t ever treat it lightly or take it for granted.  Once gone, it’s gone!

The Thing About Trust is a genuine care and concern for another.  The Thing About Trust is a belief that I’ll be safe with you and you can be safe with me.  All of me and all of you:  my ideas, my strengths, my weaknesses, my vulnerabilities.  All of me.  All of you. 

The Thing About Trust is that it matters!  Treat it as such.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!