Tattered And Torn

My wife, Kim, and I have moved many times in the twenty-one years we’ve been married.  From one city to another city, from one state to another state, even across the country.  We’ve even lugged the same boxes, unopened and still taped up, from one place to another only to be stored away “for another day and another time”.  Drives Kim crazy and I have to admit, I’m getting there too.  Although in my case, I don’t have far to go to be officially ‘crazy’, some might say.

Kim and I have a favorite photograph of the two of us.  It was taken in Baja, Mexico on the steps of a building where the bus would drop us off and then pick us up after our shopping and site-seeing.  We were younger then.  We were engaged, not married.  I even had hair then, all brown.  Kim, well, she looked then as she looks now.  Not much changed.

It’s our favorite photograph.  It sits in a frame in my office and as I write this, I peek over and look at it, causing me to smile.  I notice that it is creased.  I notice that it has a mark, a blemish.  It no longer looks as it once did.  Perhaps in one of the moves.  Packed, not quite as securely, as safely as it should have been.  While it still evokes fond memories, it isn’t quite as pleasing to look at as it once was.

Tattered And Torn.

And the thing about the photo, it will never really be the same.  We can try to fix the tear.  We can try to mend the crease.  But the photo will never be quite the same.  The photo, changed.  Damaged.  No, never quite the same.

Sometimes, this happens to kids . . . to us.  We can become Tattered And Torn.

Remember the first day of school?  Not talking about the first day of school as a tenth grader, or as a junior in high school, or as a fourth grader.  I’m talking about the first-first day of school, the first day ever!

Kids are so excited.  New backpacks.  A new pair of shoes.  Maybe a new outfit, slacks or a sweater or a jacket.  A new lunch box.  The brand new, unused Crayons with the really, really sharp points.  The Number 2 Pencils that had yet to be sharpened.  Kids so excited that they can’t necessarily sleep the night before.  So very excited.

And as time goes on, the newness wears off.  No more excitement.  Just another, well, school year.

Sad when kids become Tattered And Torn.

An unkind word from a kid in the hallway.  A kid eating lunch by himself.  Even three kids sitting at the same table, yet eating lunch by themselves.  An unkind word from a teacher, perhaps an unknowing word.  Perhaps a sarcastic comment meant to be funny, yet for one reason or another, hurts, stings, especially if other kids laugh, not so much at the comment but at the kid it was directed to. 

Kids become Tattered And Torn.  Happened, and happens, to me more than once.  More than once in a while.

And like the photograph that sits in my office, that kid is never quite the same.  There are creases.  There are blemishes.  Holes.  Edges ripped off.  There are tears. 

(Interesting how the same spelling of Tear has two separate, different meanings).

Happens to us too, no matter how old we are.  Some gossip heard and spread here or there.  Perhaps partial truths, even lies, told about us behind backs or worse, in front of us.  Excluded and uninvited.  A mistake made and then held against us for a time . . . forever.  Never given a chance again.  Never allowed to make up for it. 

Perhaps if we think first, judge . . . never?  Ever?  Perhaps if we accept, if we give, if we care, if we love, maybe then there will be no more Tatters And Tears.  We won’t have to worry about kids . . . about us . . . ever being Tattered And Torn.  Ever.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

, but

In high school, I was involved in forensics and debate.  Pretty good at it, but I don’t like it anymore because while the arguments from both sides are interesting and well-thought out, there is generally a winner and a loser.  I’d rather discuss, talk, converse.  Mostly, listen.  Observe.

Something, for a long time, never felt right about the word ‘but’.  Couldn’t put my finger on it. 

It wasn’t until I had a very wise professor, a mentor, in one of my counseling graduate classes explained what I intuitively knew or at least suspected: the word ‘but’ negates everything that was previously stated in that sentence.

Hmmm . . .

Yes, really.  If you think about it, ‘but’ is the great minimizer, the great detractor, the great put-you-in-your-place word.  It smacks of insincerity.

, but . . .

How about the following:

“I really like what you said, but . . .”

“Great song, but . . .”

“I really loved your manuscript, but . . .”

“You’ve done a really wonderful, fabulous job, but . . .”

“You’re a really good-looking person, but . . .”

“Great interview, but . . .”

“Great smile, nice hair, wonderful personality, but . . .”

, but . . .

No matter what precedes ‘but’, it is immediately diminished.  It is lessened.  Minimized.  And in the words of my former professor, negated.

What follows ‘but’ is generally a put-down, or at the very least a let-down, even if the speaker or writer softens it as much as possible.  Every inch of my . . . of your . . . being prepares for the ultimate.

I suppose not every ‘but’ can be avoided. That one great qualifier is ingrained, embedded in our speech patterns, our writing.  We use it a lot.  Notice who uses it, how it’s used, when it’s used.

I think it is human nature to look for any and all negatives that come our way.  We become so attuned to it that we might receive ten compliments, without the ‘but’ that when we do receive a negative or one ‘but’, that’s all we focus on.  Sad.  Really sad.

Perhaps we can do better, you and me.  We can, I think, be more aware of using that one, tiny little word.  We can be more thoughtful with our use, our approach, to words.  Especially that word.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

For Others, Beyond Self

Aaron Rodgers is a star quarterback for the Green Bay Packers.  He’s also the goat of jokes on State Farm commercials.  He’s a Super Bowl winner and a league MVP.  But Aaron Rodgers is more than that.  He has a little program titled “It’s Aaron” which is a Web series that has Rodgers surprising individuals who have been helped by nonprofit organizations.

I watched a six minute clip that had Rodgers meeting Kelly.  She is 13-years-old and a Packers fan.  She also suffers from spina bifida.  Rodgers, who plays a little guitar, joins Kelly, who loves to sing, and they recorded a song.

If you care to watch it, you can view this six minute clip. It’s worth it.  Really.  Click the link at: http://msn.foxsports.com/nfl/story/packers-qb-aaron-rodgers-shows-he-can-play-guitar-for-a-good-cause-110713

Isaac Theil is a 65-year-old who, as he does most every day, took the train to Brooklyn.  On this particular trip, he allowed a boy to use his shoulder as a pillow.   Theil didn’t move.  He didn’t complain.  He didn’t try to wake the boy.  He didn’t get up and move to a different seat.  No, he just sat there and allowed the boy to sleep.  When asked by another rider if Theil wanted him to wake the boy, Theil responded, “He must have had a long day, let him sleep. We've all been there, right?”

The little story is located at: http://now.msn.com/isaac-theil-subway-rider-lets-stranger-nap-on-his-shoulder-in-viral-picture

Two men.  Different from each other.  One famous for his prowess on the football field.  One famous for . . .  well, I really don’t know, other than this particular story.

Not necessarily anything in common.

Well, not much in common, except one thing:  they care.  They care about someone other than themselves.  They care about others.

For Others, Beyond Self

Rodgers sets aside his status, his stardom, to show kindness to others, especially kids.  Theil, well, he was just being himself.

We’ve heard stories about cars going through a Starbucks drive-through and one car purchases the coffee for the car behind, starting a pay-it-forward chain.  We’ve heard about customers paying for meals of other customers without their knowing it.  We’ve heard about clothing drives and canned food drives and collections of money for others.  There are stories of kids in need for Christmas and strangers purchasing a gift to give.  There are Toys For Tots Campaigns.  Soon, we’ll hear the ringing of bells outside department and grocery stores as folks throw coins or dollar bills into red buckets.

For Others, Beyond Self

It feels pretty good to give.  To give freely.  To give without the expectation of getting in return.  Of causing a smile.  Causing joy.  Causing a brief moment of happiness in someone’s life other than our own.  Selfless.  Honorable.  A real gift.  A gift of caring, of concern, of compassion.  A gift of love.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Final Applause

There is a story of an older gentleman, a carpenter and builder, who had a reputation for being a craftsman.  Honest.  Sincere.  Never cut corners.

He announced his retirement and the company owner persuaded him to build one more house, instructing him to do his very best work, to not cut corners, to make it his best house yet.

As the older gentleman planned and mapped the construction, it occurred to him that while many of the younger carpenters and builders padded expense accounts, used cheaper wood and brick, electrical and plumbing even though they charged for the more expensive types, he had never done so.  He had never done that.  The older gentleman decided that he, just this once, could do this too.  Pocket some extra money.  No one would know.  No one would suspect.

So he did.

Cheaper wood.  Less expensive brick.  Electrical and plumbing to code, but not even close to his standards.  The house, while it looked nice, was, well, cheap.

At the finish, the owner and several of the management met the older gentleman at the house for the final inspection.  Before they entered, the owner handed him the keys and said, “We appreciate all you’ve done.  You’ve helped built this company to where it is today, just because of your honesty, your integrity, and your craftsmanship and reputation.  So it is with honor, that I present you with this house as a thank you from us to you.  You deserve it.” And they applauded.  A Final Applause.

Hmmm . . .

Not sure what the older gentleman did.  Not sure how he felt.  Honesty.  Integrity.  Craftsmanship.  Reputation.

Several thoughts come to mind . . .

He cheated himself and no one else.  He had built himself, created for himself, a reputation built on honesty, integrity, and craftsmanship.  You could say that now, he had built his house and now he will live in it.

I attended the service for my deceased nephew, Jared.  It was a beautiful, meaningful, service.  A tribute to a life well-lived, even though he had barely twenty-one years on this earth, in the lives of those whom he loved and those who loved him. 

Several spoke about his honesty, his integrity.  They mentioned that if any of those whom he considered friends picked on or was critical of or was ‘lording it over’ any others, those friends simply weren’t his friends any longer.  He was unpretentious.  Easygoing.  Positive, looking for the good in everyone and, expecting good to be shown and extended to others.

He began each day, every day in the same way: playing “Play That Funky Music White Boy” because as he reasoned, “You can’t start the day with that song and have a bad day!”  Not a bad way to begin a day, any day, every day.

The pastor likened Jared’s life to a symphony, a concert, or a movie.  At the end of a symphony, a concert, or a well-done movie, people applaud.  They might stand up in an ovation.  That’s how Jared’s service ended: with an ovation and applause for a life well-lived.

A Final Applause.

The older gentleman who had lived his life and who had built his reputation with honesty, integrity, and craftsmanship, faltered at the end, living in the house he had built.  Jared lived his life with passion and kindness, with honesty and integrity.  For one, a house that was shabbily built.  Built not up to his standards.  Corners cut.  Cheaply made.  Jared, he built his house, his life, with honesty and integrity, with passion and concern for others.  He lived his life to the full.  For himself, for others.  A choice, I guess.  For each of us.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

The World Through A Window

When my older brothers and sisters left the house for college or after marriage, my mom and dad were left with my little brother and me.  My dad had always wanted a camper, so he purchased a Winnebago and off we went.  Glacier National Park.  Yellowstone.  Texas.

I remember somewhere in Montana, Dad wanting to visit a ghost town.  It was off the beaten path . . . literally.  Gravel road.  Big rocks of gravel.  We never made it.  Never saw the ghost town. 

Three, yes, three blown tires later, Mom and Dad and my little brother got a ride into town to get the tires repaired.  Don’t know if I was elected or if I volunteered, but I stayed back with the trailer on the side of the road and waited.  Kind-hearted folks stopped and offered me a soda, a cookie or two, lemonade.  Not to accept anything from a stranger I was taught, so I thanked them and waited.  And watched.  And listened.  Noticed a thing or two.  Didn’t mind it, really.  Not at all.  Eventually Mom and Dad and my little brother came back and off we went again.

We’d travel miles upon miles and as I sat in the back seat, usually behind my mom, I’d stare out at The World Through A Window.  I was amazed at how it changed.  Rugged, gray mountains.  Farm land dotted with cows or horses or sometimes, goats.  Prairies of wheat fields.  Or prairies of nothing.  Sometimes lush with the green of trees, of grass.  Sometimes brown with sand.  Hilly or flat.  It changed.

I’d listen to the various regional accents.  Southern or Western twang.  The nasal and elongated o’s of the Midwest.  How words changed and sometimes the meanings along with the words.  I loved it.

I didn’t sleep when we traveled, afraid I’d miss too much.  I hated driving at night because I couldn’t see, couldn’t watch.

It really was watching The World Through A Window.

As I got older, and as Kim and I had our own children, we’d travel.  I think memories were, and are, made from those trips.  Good memories.  Lasting memories.

But . . .

I think it is one thing to watch The World Through A Window, one thing to listen, and notice, and be observant of The World Through A Window, and quite another to actually live . . . really live In The World.  To fully experience it.  To take part in it.  To be a part of it.  To give and to accept . . . to be a member of The World in which we live.

To watch, to observe and to notice The World is only living half of one’s life.  I believe one must do more.  I believe one must be fully, and completely, invested in The World.  Experience The World.  To be embrace both the joy and the sorrow, because without sorrow, we won’t know the joy.  To embrace both the success and the disappointment, because without the disappointment, we won’t know the success.  To embrace both the triumph and the failure, because without experiencing failure, we will never know triumph.

We must do much more than watch The World Through A Window.  Much more.  We must go outside that window and live, truly live, in The World.  All of it.  All of it.  Yes, really, all of it.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

The Gift Of The Shepherd

Living in Wyoming for three years, I had the opportunity to work on a ranch.  I also almost singlehandedly destroyed that ranch, but that is another story for another time.

The family, friends of mine, owned a lot of land and a lot of cattle.  We’re talking miles upon miles.  Sort of like the Ponderosa in the old television series.  No Adam, or Hoss, or Little Joe, or Hop Sing on this ranch though.  Just two hard-working sons and a father and mother who loved them very much.

They explained to me that sometimes, they would find cattle missing.  Big area of land.  Way out where no one was watching.  Can’t be everywhere at once.  I think in the olden days, they would call that ‘cattle rustling’.

I guess a shepherd would have helped, though you don’t normally find a shepherd working with cattle.  Sheep, yes.  Cows, no.

A shepherd lives a fairly solitary life.  The shepherd’s dog might be his only companion.  Well, a dog and the herd of sheep, of course. 

Sheep are skittish creatures.  They generally stay in a pack.  Easy prey for wolves and coyotes, maybe an occasional rustler.  Yet, sheep know the scent and voice of the shepherd.  The shepherd protects and cares for the sheep, allowing no harm to come to them.  No wolf.  No coyote.  No rustler. 

Remember the Bible story, the parable of the Good Shepherd?  One of my all-time favorites.

It spoke of how The Shepherd would watch over and protect the sheep.  When one went missing, The Shepherd would leave the others behind and search until the missing sheep was found.  The Shepherd would then bring the lamb back to the rest of the flock. 

I always wondered about the wisdom, the strategy, of leaving ninety-nine sheep behind just to find one stray.  What would happen to the ninety-nine if a wolf or coyote or rustler happened by?  Instead of losing one sheep, The Shepherd might have lost many more.  Doesn’t seem so wise to me.  Can’t see the wisdom in it.

Got me thinking . . .

What would it be like if I . . . if you . . . were that one lost sheep?  Lost.  Scared.  Alone.  Lonely.  Happens from time to time, doesn’t it?  Sometimes more than we think.  Sometimes more than we want.  Sometimes for longer than we want.

Comforting to know that a shepherd would look for me . . . for you . . . should we ever find ourselves in that situation, that circumstance.  We wouldn’t question the wisdom of leaving the ninety-nine if you or I were that one lost sheep, would we?  No, I don’t think so.  We’d be thankful.  Relieved.

Maybe that’s The Gift Of The Shepherd.

To know that there will be someone . . . somewhere . . . who will look for us, search for us, until we’re found.  Until we’re safe.  And then bring us back home.

And . . .

Perhaps we can be The Gift Of The Shepherd to others.  To watch over.  To guard.  To guide.  And, I think this is really important, to seek out, to search for, when someone close to us . . . or perhaps not so close to us . . . is lost or scared or alone or lonely.  Each of us can be The Gift to one another.  For one another.  That would be quite The Gift, wouldn’t it?  Wouldn’t that be something?  At least, it would be something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Inconvenienced By Tragedy

You know, when you plan a trip to the zoo or park and it rains?  How the weather doesn’t cooperate with you or your plans?  Maybe the car doesn’t start, or someone gets sick.  You end up having to change those plans, or postpone them, or . . .

I had planned on writing a much different post today.  Much different.  Lighter.  Happier.  As I said, different.

This morning as I was getting ready for the day and my phone rang.  I recognized the caller by the name and number on caller ID.  My sister, Judy, who I consider to be the Matriarch of our family, was the caller.

I don’t like early morning phone calls.  I received one when my sister Joanne was suddenly taken ill and became hospitalized for a long, long time before she passed away.  One month and a day after that morning phone call, I received yet another morning phone call.  My sister, Donna, passed away.  You might understand why I don’t care for early morning phone calls.

I ran through a list of possible reasons for the phone call.  I ran through a list of possible names that might be the topic of the phone call. 

Loved ones.  Truly loved.

My family of ten brothers and sisters, a bit diminished in number now, are close.  There is a bond that neither time nor distance can change.  A bond that is strong no matter what.  We’ve seen and have been touched and have felt tragedy. 

My Grand-Nephew, Jared, died in a car crash last evening.  Twenty-one years old.  Was to have graduated in December as an engineer.  Had been offered a full-ride to grad school.  Brilliant.  Playful.  Quick wit. 

It had snowed.  Slushy and icy.  Lost control and hit a guard rail.  But alive.  A Good Samaritan stopped to see if he was okay.  I can imagine Jared being shaken up.  Nervous.  Worried.  But he was okay.  However a third car lost control and hit Jared and the Good Samaritan.  They died.  Gone in the blink of an eye.  Alive one minute.  And in the next . . .

A future full of promise.  A future full of hope.  A lifetime to live.  To laugh.  To love.  To . . .

So my day changed.  The day for my niece, my sister, for my family changed.  Their lives have been changed.  Devastated.  Altered, never to be the same. 

Inconvenienced By Tragedy.

Left us, all of us, wondering why?  Why Jared?  Why?  Left us wondering what was, is, the sense of it all?  Left us saddened.  Hurt.  Bewildered.  Angry.  Confused.  Perhaps numb because it hasn’t sunk in yet. 

For me, tears will come later.  It hasn’t sunk in.  Heck, it might never sink in.  I just know that October will be different, changed, from now on.  I know that Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year’s will be different, changed, from now on.  I know that my niece and her husband, my sister and their family . . . our family . . . will have a hole that won’t . . . can’t . . . be filled.  Not with time.  Not with anyone else.  No, never.

Inconvenienced By Tragedy.

I know that there are those of you who have suffered similarly.  I know that there are those of you who are suffering even now as you read this.  I know that there are those of you . . .

Wish I had something important to say.  Wish I had some nugget, some truth to impart. 

Folks, I got nothin’.  Nothin’ at all.  Not a thing.

Those of you who read my blog probably have come to know that I have a deeply rooted faith.  That won’t change.  My faith will not, cannot, be Inconvenienced By Tragedy.  I know to some that sounds simplistic.  I know to some that sounds illogical, perhaps ignorant.  Tough!  I know I might not have an answer for my niece, my sister, my brothers, my family.  I know, like them, I will question ‘Why?’ and will come up empty.  Don’t know.  Won’t know. 

I know that eventually there will be laughter.  I know that eventually there will be moments to celebrate.  Moments of joy and hope and inspiration.  I also know that there will be other tragedies.  Moments to wonder.  To sit in silence and feel the pain and the emptiness that tragedy brings.

So if nothing else comes from this post, perhaps it will cause you to hug your children and loved ones a bit tighter.  Perhaps it will cause you to call and reach out to those who are important and special and loved and let them know just how you feel.  Please do so, because it can all change in one moment, one breath, one eye blink, one heartbeat.  It can all change.  All of it.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Live, and Make A Difference!