Erase Those Tapes!

There are times we get caught up in repetition.  Sometimes it’s a good thing.  Running.  Exercise.  Taking a vitamin.  Saying, “I love you!” to those who are meaningful in our lives.  All good things and worthy of repetition.

There are other times when the cycle of repetition needs to be broken.  “I’m not good enough.”  “I’m fat.”  “I can’t do it.”  “I’m not good-looking.”  “I’ll never be . . .” and on and on and . . .

We all have those things we say to ourselves.  It seems we push play and repeat.  And, we do it without thinking.  It becomes so easy.  Too easy.

Even worse, we’re reminded every day, multiple times a day, again and again until the message is drummed into us and we adopt that message as our own.

Sad, really.

We need this hairstyle.  That car.  Whiter teeth.  Hair too thin?  Need a closer shave?  Gaining too much weight?  This color, that color.  Take a cruise!  Go on vacation.

Yes, why don’t we go on vacation . . . from the endless repetition of those tapes. 

Maybe, Erase Those Tapes!

In the immortal and very wise words of Christopher Robin to Winnie The Pooh: “You're braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think.”

Now, that’s a tape worth repeating.  Push that play button and go on and repeat it over and over and over again.

I think we all need a Christopher Robin in our lives.  (Probably a Winnie The Pooh, too.)  We need someone in our life that points out that we are good enough.  That we’re okay.  That while there is always room for improvement, you know, we are pretty darn good just the way we are.

I had a friend, a colleague and workmate in California who I had overheard telling another coworker, “That’s okay!  You’re his ten!”  She was right back then, and she is right even now.

You see, we’re so much harder on ourselves than perhaps others are.  We beat ourselves up over mistakes.  It doesn’t matter if the mistake is small or big.  We beat ourselves up until we’re bruised and bloody.  But the reality is, each of us . . . every one of us . . . is somebody’s ten.

Yes, each of us.  A ten.

Maybe it’s time to Erase Those Tapes once and for all.  For our own good.  For the good of those around us.  Maybe it’s time for us to be the Christopher Robin to those around us, especially children.  Maybe it’s time to help them Erase Those Tapes before the tapes become too repetitious and before they become all too easy to push play and repeat.  We owe it to ourselves.  We owe it to each other.  We owe it to our children.  We really do.  Honest!  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

The Lesson From Rafiki

Being the father of one son and two daughters, I’ve watched my share of Disney movies.  Still do, actually.  One of my all-time favorites was one of the older ones, Dumbo.  I’ve watched that one over and over, like I did with Mary Poppins and several others. 

Wil never had one favorite.  He sort of liked them all, especially the comedies because he loves to laugh.  Emily’s favorite is Mulan.  It fits her.  It’s the story of a girl hero in a man’s world, with a love story woven in.  My little romantic.  (I think you can see my smile and hear my sigh, can’t you?)  Hannah’s favorite is The Little Mermaid.   It fits Hannah because it’s a story of a girl who follows her heart and pursues her dreams, trying desperately not to disappoint her dad.  (Yeah, another smile and another sigh!)

But there is yet another, Lion King, I’d like to write about.  Specifically, The Lesson From Rafiki. 

I was reminded of it earlier this week when we had an assembly for the kids at my school.  The presenter mentioned it to the kids and a light bulb went on in my head.  It reminded me of one of the themes I’ve presented often in my posts.

Remember the scene when Simba, the young son of Mufasa, was feeling sorry for himself?  Rafiki bopped him on the head with his staff.  Simba said, “Ouch! What was that for?”  Rafiki mumbles, “Don’t worry about it.  It’s in the past.”  Simba complains, “Well, the past hurt.”  Rafiki answers, “You have two choices.  You can learn from it or run from it.”

The Lesson From Rafiki . . . learn from your past or run from it.

Yes, sometimes the past hurts.  One’s past can hurt a great deal.  I don’t want to minimize that because I’ve worked with kids and adults whose lives were anything but painful, ugly and grotesque. 

I get that because I’ve seen it.  To some degree, I’ve felt it.  

But sometimes, though, "remembering" the past can be distorted.  Sometimes "remembering" the past can be much worse than what it actually was.  Sometimes "remembering" the past, well, colors it to our way of thinking and what we actually "remember" about our past is actually rather fictional.

Recently, I wrote a post titled No Excuses!  In it, I wrote about two young men who rose above their pasts.  They rose above the pain and the life they were born into.  They made a choice and that choice wasn’t to let the past ruin their future.

You know, we all make mistakes.  We’ve all made mistakes.  Some big, some small.  We’ve tripped and we’ve stumbled.  And for the most part, we’ve picked ourselves up, dusted ourselves off, and we’ve moved on. 

That’s one choice.

One can spend so much time living in the past . . . and blaming the past . . . that one forgets to live in the present.  We play ‘ain’t it awful!’  We point fingers, and generally, never at ourselves.  Because we spend so much time wallowing in our past misery, an unbiased, objective observer might wonder if we enjoy it so much that we don’t ever want to leave it.

Hmmm . . .

And if we are that controlled by the past, if we dwell in the past, and if we don’t live in the present, we have no future.  None.

That’s the other choice.

The Lesson From Rafiki . . . learn from your past or run from it.  And I believe that if we run from our past, we end up actually never leaving it.  We actually end up living in the past instead of running from it.

So really, when you think about it, it’s not much of a choice.  Actually, no choice at all.  Something to think about . . . 

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

A Mosaic

The church I grew up in as a kid still sits on the corner of Eighth and Hickory in the bigger town that grew up and around the small town I remember. 

Renovations over the years, but essentially the same.  Enormous.  Castle-like.  Gray stone.  Tall steeple.  Almost, but not quite foreboding.   Still has the feel of something out of the Middle Ages.  One would almost expect knights with shields and swords and spears or crossbows manning the turrets.  Didn’t have a moat though.  That would have been pretty cool.

The inside was my favorite part of the church.  Smelled faintly of incense.  Pews of dark wood.  Kneelers allegedly padded.  Not so much for the very young or the elderly, though.  At least it didn’t feel that way back then.  Not so much now either.

Loved the little votive candles.  Flame dancing within dark red glass.  Peaceful.  Hypnotizing.

Love the stained glass windows.  There were four huge windows.  When the sun would hit them just right, rays of red and green and blue and yellow reflected down on us.  Sacred.  Awe inspiring.

I wondered how painstakingly long it would take to fashion the small parts of the colored glass to fit the story, the picture.  Each one assembled just right to shape the figures, to create the scene. The mind of the artist . . . incomprehensible to me.  Not having that talent.  None whatsoever.  Only the talent to marvel at the beauty, to enjoy, and to marvel at the talent of the artist, the mind of the artist.

Each piece, each part fitting perfectly.  One as important as the next.  One no more important than the other.  Created in the mind of the artist, in the artist’s eye for each of us to enjoy.

And . . . each of us, you and I, are parts and pieces of stained glass . . . A Mosaic.  A Mosaic called Life.

Each of us, each other, you and I, as important to the whole as . . . well, the next one of us.  Doesn’t matter who, yet each who matters.  Each of us playing a part . . . a role in this Mosaic.

Our role . . . our part in the stained glass of life . . . A Mosaic . . . of life.  No part bigger.  No part smaller.  One as important as the next.  Created in the Artist’s eye for each of us . . . for each of

us . . . to enjoy.  To be a part of.  To be a member of.  Something to think about . . .

 Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

A Note Of Love

I had mentioned in a previous post (Clutter) that I’m a ‘pack rat’. 

I hang onto things that mean something to me.  I guess you could say I’m a romantic, that I’m nostalgic.  I don’t think you’d be wrong with that characterization.  Seems like I passed that onto my youngest, Emily.  We both have our ‘treasures’.

Recently, I was rummaging through a drawer in my nightstand where I keep “my things”.  My wife, Kim, would call it Clutter, but I call it Treasures . . . pieces of my life that I can’t bear to part with.  This drawer is jammed to the brim, almost (but not quite) to the point that I have trouble opening and closing it.

I can’t remember what I was looking for, but I came across some cards and notes Kim had given me a long time ago.  Almost twenty-one years ago.  Whatever I was looking for was soon forgotten.  Gone.  As I said, I can’t even remember what it was I was looking for.

You see, when Kim was the Head Softball Coach at the school in California where we met, before each game, she would write a note to each of her players.  Something to inspire.  She’d include a piece of candy.  Each game.  Every game.  Each kid.  Every kid.

Our wedding was in July of 1992.  I had to drive from California to Wisconsin because I had a number of things I had to bring back.  Kim flew home to help her mom with the preparations while I drove.  I stopped the first night somewhere in Southern Utah and checked into a hotel.  As I unpacked this or that, maybe as I got ready for bed, I opened up my suitcase and came across a stack of cards labeled Joe Day One, Joe Day Two, and so on, until Joe Wedding Day.

Each card had a note from her.  Something simple . . . something meaningful. 

A Note Of Love.

Kim has carried that tradition well past her softball team . . . well past that wedding trip.  When Emily went off to Y camp one summer, she had a card from Kim for each day.  When we traveled by car back to Wisconsin to visit family and friends, each of our kids had a card a day.  I’ve often thought that over the years, we should have bought stock in Hallmark!

A Note Of Love.

It isn’t the card, necessarily.  To me, it wasn’t even the sentiment written on the card. 

What was important to me was the time Kim took to write the note.  What was important to me was the thought she put into the note.

Got me thinking . . .

How often have we expressed, even in a little way, how much someone means to us?  A gesture.  A smile.  A touch.  How many opportunities have been missed, have been lost, because we might have thought it was ‘a dumb idea’ perhaps ‘we might get ridiculed or scoffed at’, because our gesture ‘might be rejected’?  How many opportunities were missed because we were waiting for the ‘right time’, when actually any time would have been the ‘right time’?  An opportunity missed is an opportunity lost. 

We’ve missed and lost too many already, you and I.  Don’t lose any more.  There are those around us, who we bump into daily, that need a gentle reminder that they are loved, that they are thought about, that they are needed, that they mean something to us.  There are those around us who really do need A Note Of Love.  They really do.  Really.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

What Is Strength?

In April 2003, Aron Rolston, an avid climber, wanted to explore a remote area in the Utah desert.  While climbing, a huge boulder fell on him and pinned his forearm and hand to the rock wall.  For five days, Rolston was trapped.  He had a bottle of water and hardly any food.  He couldn’t move the boulder.  He couldn’t chip away the boulder.  He was stuck.

He made a decision. 

He cut off his arm in order to free himself.  That decision might have cost him his arm, but it saved his life.  He stated, “That was the moment I stepped out of my grave and into my life.  I don’t regret losing my arm.  It showed me what was important in my life, what I’m capable of.”

What Is Strength?

Viktor Frankl wrote a fascinating book titled Man’s Search For Meaning.  In it, he talks about the prisoners in Nazi prison camps.  He was fascinated that in the midst of horror, of deprivation, of dehumanization, there were prisoners who survived even though they were weak and ill.  There were those who didn’t survive even though by all appearances, they were strong and fit (as one could be in that situation).  Frankl couldn’t understand how some prisoners survived when by all appearances and circumstances, they shouldn’t have.  He couldn’t understand how some prisoners died when by all appearances and circumstances, they should have.

What Is Strength?

In previous posts, I’ve written about perseverance, which to me is almost synonymous with strength.  I’ve written about love, about hope, which to me, if expressed, takes a certain amount of courage.  And, if you have courage, you have strength.

Strength is taking one more step when you don’t have the courage, the stamina to move.  It is taking one more step when you don’t have a clear path to follow.  It is moving forward, perhaps even retreating, rather than standing still and cowering.

Strength is telling the truth when it is so very easy to lie.  Strength is defending someone in the face of strangers, in the face of foes, in the face of friends, when that someone is being unjustifiably accused and wronged. 

Strength is believing when sometimes it appears that there isn’t seemingly anything to believe in.  Some call that faith.  Strength is reaching out a hand to support, to lift up, to comfort when you don’t know if you will be rejected or your hand slapped away.

Strength is admitting to yourself that you are wrong.  Strength is after admitting to yourself that you are wrong, making it up to those around you who were affected by that wrongness.  Strength is after admitting to others you were wrong, accepting the ridicule of foe and friend with dignity, with compassion, and perhaps, with silence. 

Strength is helping others find hope in impossible situations and circumstances.  And Strength is offering, and accepting love from those who are perhaps, unlovable.

What Is Strength?

Strength is something we need a lot more of.  In ourselves.  In each other.   Something to think 

about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

The Gift Of Service

When I was growing up, my dad volunteered to help with various activities and events in our town.  The church picnic.  Fixing this or that.  Collecting clothes or canned goods.  Giving a ride to the nuns to go grocery shopping.

Many times . . . actually most of the time . . . my brothers and I would be dragged along to help.  I say dragged, because that’s what it felt like.  I mean, we have to give up a Saturday?  Really?

One big project my dad had worked on was starting Big Brothers, Big Sisters.  I didn’t understand the purpose at the time.  I didn’t understand the benefits at the time.  I didn’t even understand the reason behind it.  After all, I had three brothers and six sisters.  Heck, I’d give one up if someone needed one.  Okay, not really.  But I couldn’t fathom anyone needing a Big Brother or a Big Sister.  As I said, I just didn’t understand the concept.  Too young, I guess.

I went to a co-ed boarding school during my high school years.  Part of the “deal” with going there was that we had to “give back” to the school community.  It might mean doing dishes once a week.  Helping Brother Fabian (no, not that Fabian!) clean classrooms or raking leaves.  The idea was to give back.

Being a typical high school kid, I kinda, sorta got the idea.  It was a big school.  Everyone pitches in, helps out.  Okay, I got that.  Sorta, kinda. 

I’ve written about one of my heroes, Mother Theresa, before.  I even used one of my favorite stories from her in one of my previous posts.  The story goes like this.  A man questioned her as to why she worked so tirelessly with the poor.  He commented something to the effect that “what you’re doing is just a Drop In The Ocean.”  She smiled and said, “And without that one drop, the ocean would be less.”

“. . . the ocean would be less.”

I think we become less by not giving.  By not giving back.  I think by just taking, we become small and insignificant.  We dry up.  Become bitter.  Greedy.  Uncaring.  Unfeeling.  Selfish.

Got me thinking . . .

When we speak of The Gift Of Service, who is it that receives The Gift?

Certainly, by helping with Special Olympics, those kids benefit.  Mowing an elderly person’s lawn.  Shoveling their sidewalk or driveway after a snow storm.  By collecting and delivering clothes and food for the less fortunate, they benefit greatly.  A child and family get to eat.  The effects are immediate.  Smiles.  Hugs.  Many a ‘thank you’ given out.   

But what about the giver?

I believe there is a change in attitude, in thinking, in personality, in soul.  I believe the heart changes.  I believe vision and hearing changes.  One becomes less “self-interested” and more “other-interested”.  

And if one individual is changed, our world is then changed.  Our world becomes better.  To paraphrase Mother Theresa, that one drop helps build the ocean.  That is the real Gift Of Service.  You and I . . . we . . . become better.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!