“We must build a new world, a far better world – one in which the eternal dignity of man is respected.” ~ Harry S. Truman, 33rd President of the United States (1884-1972)
The new member reception was in full swing. I was in the rectory pantry retrieving a fresh bottle of wine when the back door bell erupted with a bbbbbbbrrring sound. Glancing through the doorway into the kitchen Arlene, the rectory chef, was busily serving the Priests dinner. The door was an arm's length away. I reached for the knob with a perfunctory, “I’ll get it!” Pushing it open I expected to find a reception guest standing there, having mistaken the kitchen door for the main entrance to the rectory.
Instead, I came face to face with a little, old woman. Dressed in a knit sweater and baggy pink slacks she stared at me for a moment apparently collecting her thoughts. “Is there a priest here?” she asked. A question meant to validate this was a rectory rather than summon the clergy. “Can I help you instead?” She stared at me again. After a hesitation she launched into a convoluted story. In short, food was to have been distributed in the park across the street. She had waited all day, but nobody came.
“I’m sorry to hear that…” but before I could finish, “Do you have any bread?” She asked abruptly. “Wait right here.” I said with a smile and headed off to the food tables at the reception located in the dining room. Returning with a plate full of hors d'oeuvres I handed them over. She inspected them carefully. Finding them to her liking she repeated the same story about the food distribution over again…word for word.
Then, having made her point, she headed down the stairs, waving and saying “thank you” with out turning to look at me. The old woman disappeared down the driveway and into the dark. I grabbed the bottle of wine and headed back to the dining room.
An hour or so later I was again in the pantry placing empty wine bottles in the recycling bin. Déjà Vu! The door bell came to life with the same bbbbbbbrrring sound. “She can’t have come back?” I thought, reaching for the knob, but instead of the old woman, a man stood at the door. His ruddy skin, dark from exposure, scraggly beard, limp soiled clothes, seemingly covered with a light film of coco dust and hungry, desperate eyes left no doubt he was homeless. His arms were wrapped around his shoulders and he was shivering.
“Hi, how can I help you?” I asked. “Do you have a blanket I can use?” he replied. Turning to Arlene who was busily cleaning up the in the kitchen I asked if we had any old blankets. “Just a minute,” she responded. “You get the blanket, I’ll get the food,” I called after her heading back to the dining room.
I returned first. “Would you like some food,” I asked the man. “Sure” he responded hesitantly.
Arlene’s voice turned me around. “This is all we have.” In her arms was a bed pillow in a plain, white, pillow case and a quilted bed cover. “They will have to do.” I smiled. Taking them from her I handed them out the door to the man expecting nothing more than a “thank you”. “I can’t take these,” he yelped in shock stepping backward. “These are from your bed.” “That’s OK,” I assured him. “These are extras.” “Can I give you something for them?” He stammered, still staring at the bedding, though he obviously had nothing to give. “My name’s Jim; you can pray for me. I can always use prayers,” was all I could think of.
He looked up from his bedding and food his face brightening. Taking a step or two back he stared into the heavens and launched into a series of prayers; some I recognized and some which were obviously improvised. By the time he had finished he had asked for the intercessions of God, Jesus, Mary, Moses, the Holy Ghost, the Trinity and a few Saints I had never heard of.
Finally, he finished and brought his eyes earthward. “Thank you.” I said sincerely. He nodded and headed down the driveway. Just before he reached the side walk and turned out of sight, he spoke over his shoulder: “Don’t worry Jeff, I’ll pray for you,” he shouted and disappeared.
I smiled to myself for a moment. Then turned and headed back into the rectory, secure in the belief God would know I was Jeff.
Whether we hear them or not, the poor are always knocking at the back door of our lives. No one would argue we need to provide them with life’s basic necessities. Whether it is food for an old woman or a blanket for a homeless man satisfying bodily needs are important and necessary.
It doesn’t stop there however. Mother Teresa was renowned for many things, but she would often ask those in need to pray for her. Even to the point of asking hard core convicts at San Quentin to pray for her. Some of whom she converted.
As faithful stewards, we are called, not only to be our brother’s or sister’s keeper (keeping them fed, keeping them clothed, keeping them warm) but we are also called to care for their spirits. One of the ways we do this is by helping restore their dignity.
When I gave the homeless man the bed cover and pillow his bodily needs were served, but in turn I caused him distress. He was troubled by what I gave him, because he had nothing to give in return. Inadvertently, I had made him feel unworthy.
When, however, I asked for something in return; when I entrusted him with praying for my soul it gave him meaning and purpose. In that moment, the bedding became a symbol of something good, something earned, rather than something undeserved; another reminder of being unworthy.
This not only applies to the needy, the homeless or the incarcerated. It applies to everyone with whom we interact during the course of our daily lives. We are not called to demean others or obligate them. Rather we are called to value them, to see them as God’s creation; as something good. In short, we are called to treat them with the dignity they deserve.
Dear God: Remind me daily to treat your creation with dignity.
“There is no art in turning a goddess into a witch, a virgin into a whore, but the opposite operation, to give dignity to what has been scorned, to make the degraded desirable, that calls for art or for character.” ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, German playwright, poet, novelist and dramatist. (1749-1832)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Friday, January 21, 2011
Holy Ground
“Ritual is necessary for us to know anything.” ~ Ken Kesey, American author, best known for “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” (1935-2001)
I was nestled uncomfortably between Roberto and Javier. Both wore lace up sneakers and dark pants with elastic waistbands (signs of special privilege in their world). Roberto, whose girlfriend’s name was tattooed on his chin, compulsively smoothed his flat shoelaces with his thumbs placing them at a precise 30 degree angle.
Glancing side to side at each of them I pondered how different were the worlds from whence we had come. I am a baby boomer with a Masters Degree, born into a conservative, white, east-coast, Presbyterian, nuclear family. As the middle child and the oldest son of five, we were not well to do, but I never knew real hunger, poverty or danger. My wife and I married in our twenties after a formal courtship. Our daughter was born two years after our wedding. If you looked up “middle class” in the dictionary, you would see my picture.
Javier’s and Roberto’s stories are much different than mine. They are first generation Hispanic and grew up on the mean streets of Los Angeles. Both survived their gang initiation. Neither have parents to speak of; before arriving at the facility Javier lived with his grandmother, and Roberto with his older half sister. Though still in his teens, Roberto has a two year old daughter. Neither finished High School and both learned to fight, steal and survive before they were twelve.
Both were at the detention camp, where we now sat, for parole violations meaning this was not their first time. Their pants and shoes were signs of good behavior for which they received special privileges (others wore shoes with Velcro straps or slip-ons). Shoelaces can be used to harm others, and one’s self, so being permitted to have them was a sign of trust.
“Nothing in common” I thought. What was a 50ish middle class guy like me going to say to these two? How would I be able to relate to these two “boys” who were, for all intents and purposes, streetwise kids, old and jaded before their time?
And then…Mass started.
Rituals are a feature of almost all known human societies. Whether it is as simple as brushing our teeth every night, just before we go to bed, or as grand as high Mass at St. Peter’s Basilica ritual is a necessary part of our lives. Rituals introduce us to the community (i.e. baptism, Brit Milah or bris) or act as rites of passage (i.e. confirmation, Bar Mitzvah, gang initiation, or even ordination). They also escort us out of this life (i.e. wakes, sitting Shiva, Los Dios de los Muertos).
Though it exists in all aspects of our lives, the word “ritual” seems foreign and obscure to most of us. Shrouded in mystery and incense we see it as part of another world or time. And yet, ritual has a very practical side. In a world of uncertainty it provides us constancy and comfort. Life is sometimes scary, because it is always unpredictable. From the psychologists’ point of view ritual is a form of repetitive behavior systematically used to suppress or prevent anxiety. But most importantly, ritual helps us to know what to do in those times when we do not.
I can prepare for work in the early morning because I have a “ritual:” doing certain things in a certain order often without thinking. Funeral rituals help us to get through the particularly difficult times in our lives when loved ones die. Rituals sustain us and give us hand holds in an otherwise uncertain world. Colors, symbols and certain actions take on significance.
But, imagine for a moment you are Javier or Roberto living with nothing to “ground” you in life. Never knowing what will happen to you or how to respond when it does; never having the constancy of a family or a sense of safety or security. Is it any wonder the young people in their position are so easily enticed into joining a gang? The certainty and identity a gang provides, harsh as it may be, is more attractive than the uncertainty of the lives they were living before. They know what to expect, how to behave, what colors to wear and even what marks (tattoos) to place on their bodies. It suppresses the anxiety in their lives.
So where did I find a place in which I could relate to Roberto and Javier; in the ritual of Mass. It was the only common ground we had. It was an opportunity to enter each other’s world safely. Rather than a gang tattoo we identified ourselves by the sign of the cross. Rather than an intricate handshake as a greeting, we hugged one another at the sign of peace. And when it came time to receive the Eucharist we approached Christ as equals, receiving the same infinite measure of love which is Christ’s promise.
In the end the only common ground, was holy ground.
Dear God: May I meet others today on holy ground.
“To pray together, in whatever tongue or ritual, is the most tender brotherhood of hope and sympathy that man can contract in this life.” ~ Madame de Staël, French-Speaking Swiss author (1766-1817)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” is a reflection on being a Christian Steward in a secular and sometimes harsh world. This reflection is written by James E. Carper, Stewardship Coordinator for Saint Monica Catholic Community in Santa Monica, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
I was nestled uncomfortably between Roberto and Javier. Both wore lace up sneakers and dark pants with elastic waistbands (signs of special privilege in their world). Roberto, whose girlfriend’s name was tattooed on his chin, compulsively smoothed his flat shoelaces with his thumbs placing them at a precise 30 degree angle.
Glancing side to side at each of them I pondered how different were the worlds from whence we had come. I am a baby boomer with a Masters Degree, born into a conservative, white, east-coast, Presbyterian, nuclear family. As the middle child and the oldest son of five, we were not well to do, but I never knew real hunger, poverty or danger. My wife and I married in our twenties after a formal courtship. Our daughter was born two years after our wedding. If you looked up “middle class” in the dictionary, you would see my picture.
Javier’s and Roberto’s stories are much different than mine. They are first generation Hispanic and grew up on the mean streets of Los Angeles. Both survived their gang initiation. Neither have parents to speak of; before arriving at the facility Javier lived with his grandmother, and Roberto with his older half sister. Though still in his teens, Roberto has a two year old daughter. Neither finished High School and both learned to fight, steal and survive before they were twelve.
Both were at the detention camp, where we now sat, for parole violations meaning this was not their first time. Their pants and shoes were signs of good behavior for which they received special privileges (others wore shoes with Velcro straps or slip-ons). Shoelaces can be used to harm others, and one’s self, so being permitted to have them was a sign of trust.
“Nothing in common” I thought. What was a 50ish middle class guy like me going to say to these two? How would I be able to relate to these two “boys” who were, for all intents and purposes, streetwise kids, old and jaded before their time?
And then…Mass started.
Rituals are a feature of almost all known human societies. Whether it is as simple as brushing our teeth every night, just before we go to bed, or as grand as high Mass at St. Peter’s Basilica ritual is a necessary part of our lives. Rituals introduce us to the community (i.e. baptism, Brit Milah or bris) or act as rites of passage (i.e. confirmation, Bar Mitzvah, gang initiation, or even ordination). They also escort us out of this life (i.e. wakes, sitting Shiva, Los Dios de los Muertos).
Though it exists in all aspects of our lives, the word “ritual” seems foreign and obscure to most of us. Shrouded in mystery and incense we see it as part of another world or time. And yet, ritual has a very practical side. In a world of uncertainty it provides us constancy and comfort. Life is sometimes scary, because it is always unpredictable. From the psychologists’ point of view ritual is a form of repetitive behavior systematically used to suppress or prevent anxiety. But most importantly, ritual helps us to know what to do in those times when we do not.
I can prepare for work in the early morning because I have a “ritual:” doing certain things in a certain order often without thinking. Funeral rituals help us to get through the particularly difficult times in our lives when loved ones die. Rituals sustain us and give us hand holds in an otherwise uncertain world. Colors, symbols and certain actions take on significance.
But, imagine for a moment you are Javier or Roberto living with nothing to “ground” you in life. Never knowing what will happen to you or how to respond when it does; never having the constancy of a family or a sense of safety or security. Is it any wonder the young people in their position are so easily enticed into joining a gang? The certainty and identity a gang provides, harsh as it may be, is more attractive than the uncertainty of the lives they were living before. They know what to expect, how to behave, what colors to wear and even what marks (tattoos) to place on their bodies. It suppresses the anxiety in their lives.
So where did I find a place in which I could relate to Roberto and Javier; in the ritual of Mass. It was the only common ground we had. It was an opportunity to enter each other’s world safely. Rather than a gang tattoo we identified ourselves by the sign of the cross. Rather than an intricate handshake as a greeting, we hugged one another at the sign of peace. And when it came time to receive the Eucharist we approached Christ as equals, receiving the same infinite measure of love which is Christ’s promise.
In the end the only common ground, was holy ground.
Dear God: May I meet others today on holy ground.
“To pray together, in whatever tongue or ritual, is the most tender brotherhood of hope and sympathy that man can contract in this life.” ~ Madame de Staël, French-Speaking Swiss author (1766-1817)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” is a reflection on being a Christian Steward in a secular and sometimes harsh world. This reflection is written by James E. Carper, Stewardship Coordinator for Saint Monica Catholic Community in Santa Monica, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Grace Under Fire
“Grace isn’t a little prayer you chant before receiving a meal. It’s a way to live.” ~ attributed to Jacqueline Winspear, English author
The computer keys made a clacking sound as I clattered away on the key board. I use a modified two index finger method as I never learned the more eloquent touch typing approach. The two finger method was much more satisfying anyway because I was frustrated…really frustrated.
The center of an office cat fight is never pleasant. People flexing there political muscles in the relative safety of cyber space. As usual there had been plenty of finger pointing and butt covering served up from the safe distance of offices and cubicles; like firing artillery into the enemy lines. Tragically, in today’s work environment there often are no “lines”, making everyone and anyone a target. As long as “me” comes out on top the impact on “you” doesn’t matter much.
Now it was my turn. I like to call my method the “paper cut and lemon juice” approach; inflicting maximum discomfort without the appearance of having caused any. This particular writing style requires a delicate touch; one wants to sound concerned without appearing patronizing or condescending; pointing out tragic mistakes in the spirit of helpfulness. Once mastered it is a particularly effective method as it allows one to stand honorably above the rest while squashing the competition like roaches and perhaps even being promoted for doing so.
Stopping my clatter for a moment I scanned the screen rubbing my chapped hands together, my lips moving as I read the document out loud to myself; making sure the tone was just right. A word correction here and some punctuation there; a strategically placed underline there and a little bit of bolding here; then it was ready to go. My finger hovered over the send key which would propel my electronic missile off into cyberspace creating havoc as it went.
Then…I paused.
Years of experience reminded me: though I had gleefully approached my task up to this point; once I hit that key my glee would turn to guilt and my enthusiasm to worry. I returned to my draft and for another ten minutes fiddled with what I had written. But, regardless of what I did, it still came out wrong.
Finally, I decided I would rather be happy than right. I clicked the X in the upper right corner of the screen. The “Do you want to save changes?” box appeared. I clicked “No”. The screen went clear and refreshed.
I retrieved the original string of offensive emails and tapped the mouse as the cursor hovered over “Reply to all”. I typed the following: “Is there anything I can do to help remedy this situation?” A moment later, with a sigh of relief, it was sent.
When we are frustrated, resentful, unsettled, or upset, no matter the reason, the cause is usually within us. We must look inward not outward to resolve our issues. It is not the event, which stirs us up and clouds our vision. Rather it debris of our life which we carry with us which obscures our view. Faith was once described as a state of being in which no one can steal your peace.
And yet, our feelings are hurt, our ego bruised or we feel disrespected and we want others to “feel our pain”. Or perhaps more accurately, since we feel pain, they should too.
Perhaps surprising to some, it is stewardship which can provide an answer to our daily angst and frustration. Many of us see stewardship as a way for the church to get something out of us (more money, more volunteer time, etc.) without realizing it is intended to make us better, happier, more alive. In this regard, the restorative power of stewardship is often overlooked.
When I locked myself in email jail to do battle I had convinced myself I was defending a principle. What I was really defending was a need to be right, a need to be validated, a need for my ego to be protected.
Stewardship teaches us to be grateful for everything. When we live our lives knowing we are showered with God’s grace, pettiness dims in comparison and defense is unnecessary.
When I am truly grateful for all that I have: a job, people with which to interact, a desk, a computer on which I can communicate with the world (and write unkind things things without the fear of the police breaking down my door), it corrects my otherwise lopsided perspective. What I thought needed to be defended really didn’t.
Once I have identified what is askew with in me I can see the world anew. It is hard to engage in office politics when you are saying to yourself “I am truly blessed and forever grateful.” Gratitude is the key to a happy life.
Dear God: Make me forever grateful.
“Can you see the holiness in those things you take for granted–a paved road or a washing machine? If you concentrate on finding what is good in every situation, you will discover that your life will suddenly be filled with gratitude, a feeling that nurtures the soul.” ~ Rabbi Harold Kushner, prominent American rabbi and author (b 1935)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
The computer keys made a clacking sound as I clattered away on the key board. I use a modified two index finger method as I never learned the more eloquent touch typing approach. The two finger method was much more satisfying anyway because I was frustrated…really frustrated.
The center of an office cat fight is never pleasant. People flexing there political muscles in the relative safety of cyber space. As usual there had been plenty of finger pointing and butt covering served up from the safe distance of offices and cubicles; like firing artillery into the enemy lines. Tragically, in today’s work environment there often are no “lines”, making everyone and anyone a target. As long as “me” comes out on top the impact on “you” doesn’t matter much.
Now it was my turn. I like to call my method the “paper cut and lemon juice” approach; inflicting maximum discomfort without the appearance of having caused any. This particular writing style requires a delicate touch; one wants to sound concerned without appearing patronizing or condescending; pointing out tragic mistakes in the spirit of helpfulness. Once mastered it is a particularly effective method as it allows one to stand honorably above the rest while squashing the competition like roaches and perhaps even being promoted for doing so.
Stopping my clatter for a moment I scanned the screen rubbing my chapped hands together, my lips moving as I read the document out loud to myself; making sure the tone was just right. A word correction here and some punctuation there; a strategically placed underline there and a little bit of bolding here; then it was ready to go. My finger hovered over the send key which would propel my electronic missile off into cyberspace creating havoc as it went.
Then…I paused.
Years of experience reminded me: though I had gleefully approached my task up to this point; once I hit that key my glee would turn to guilt and my enthusiasm to worry. I returned to my draft and for another ten minutes fiddled with what I had written. But, regardless of what I did, it still came out wrong.
Finally, I decided I would rather be happy than right. I clicked the X in the upper right corner of the screen. The “Do you want to save changes?” box appeared. I clicked “No”. The screen went clear and refreshed.
I retrieved the original string of offensive emails and tapped the mouse as the cursor hovered over “Reply to all”. I typed the following: “Is there anything I can do to help remedy this situation?” A moment later, with a sigh of relief, it was sent.
When we are frustrated, resentful, unsettled, or upset, no matter the reason, the cause is usually within us. We must look inward not outward to resolve our issues. It is not the event, which stirs us up and clouds our vision. Rather it debris of our life which we carry with us which obscures our view. Faith was once described as a state of being in which no one can steal your peace.
And yet, our feelings are hurt, our ego bruised or we feel disrespected and we want others to “feel our pain”. Or perhaps more accurately, since we feel pain, they should too.
Perhaps surprising to some, it is stewardship which can provide an answer to our daily angst and frustration. Many of us see stewardship as a way for the church to get something out of us (more money, more volunteer time, etc.) without realizing it is intended to make us better, happier, more alive. In this regard, the restorative power of stewardship is often overlooked.
When I locked myself in email jail to do battle I had convinced myself I was defending a principle. What I was really defending was a need to be right, a need to be validated, a need for my ego to be protected.
Stewardship teaches us to be grateful for everything. When we live our lives knowing we are showered with God’s grace, pettiness dims in comparison and defense is unnecessary.
When I am truly grateful for all that I have: a job, people with which to interact, a desk, a computer on which I can communicate with the world (and write unkind things things without the fear of the police breaking down my door), it corrects my otherwise lopsided perspective. What I thought needed to be defended really didn’t.
Once I have identified what is askew with in me I can see the world anew. It is hard to engage in office politics when you are saying to yourself “I am truly blessed and forever grateful.” Gratitude is the key to a happy life.
Dear God: Make me forever grateful.
“Can you see the holiness in those things you take for granted–a paved road or a washing machine? If you concentrate on finding what is good in every situation, you will discover that your life will suddenly be filled with gratitude, a feeling that nurtures the soul.” ~ Rabbi Harold Kushner, prominent American rabbi and author (b 1935)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Close Encounters
“A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.” ~Lao Tzu, Chinese philosopher, founder of Taoism (600 BC -531 BC)
It had been pouring rain off and on for three days. All our plans for that Sunday had been washed away with the winter rains. We had arranged a special birthday experience for our daughter, Angela, combining brunch at a local restaurant of her choosing, a trip to visit her Grandmother in the convalescent home and a gratis “hair-do” by her favorite beautician. We had a long history with this particular beautician. Joanne had styled Angela’s hair since high school including proms, formals, graduations and even her wedding. For all intents and purposes she was family.
Our best laid plans were no match for the intervals of torrential downpours. Angela’s drive up the 405 from Redondo Beach, hampered by weather and traffic accidents, had taken twice as long as usual. Undoubtedly, the trip back, in the twilight of early winter darkness, would take as long if not longer.
Our plan had been to finish brunch in time to visit her Grandmother during her noon meal. When that didn’t work out Angela headed straight to her Grandmother’s care facility and then to the beautician, blood sugar plummeting due to lack of food.
When Angela arrived at the Hair Style Salon she had put in an emergency call to her mom (Teresa) for food. Still the best take out in town; Teresa packed lunches for the three of us. Then we drove to the salon so we could visit with our daughter during her hairstyling.
I rested in a black swiveling reception chair still dressed in my long, dark brown trench coat. Teresa and Angela sat opposite me in similar padded chairs. Angela’s head was covered with the stuff beauticians put on people’s hair. Sometimes the less you know the better.
So there we sat; munching away on our ham and cheese sandwiches on sprout bread with brown mustard. The meal was rounded out with sliced apples, small bags of cashews, cheese sticks and bottled water. With only one other customer in sight we had the run of the place and had requisitioned an alcove at the back of the shop.
We caught up on family gossip, shared stories, discussed recipes, confirmed holiday plans and generally enjoyed each other’s company. Somewhere along the way we realized the context of our visit didn’t matter; it was each other’s company we enjoyed the most.
Hair rinsed and ready for the scissors we moved to a different part of the salon. It was Joanne’s turn to catch us up on her life and our lives’ frame of reference widened accordingly. There was someone new in Joanne’s life and she shared her joy with us.
As she was finishing up (both the hair-do and the update) we paid the bill (our gift) and said goodbye to our daughter. “This turned out to be a really nice birthday,” she said, giving us each a hug.
After extracting a promise from her to call us when she got home we headed out the door into the rain. An old Woody Allen adage came to mind as we trotted through the parking lot to our car: “If you want to make God smile…tell him your plans.”
It is an irony that life often irritates us by interfering with our plans. Yet it is life which is most important. True stewardship is not how well we plan our time, but how well we live our time. It is not about the execution of our plans, but the experiencing of our life. Crafting our life is not the same as living our life. Life can only be experienced through human encounter, through interacting with the world even when those interactions are not exactly what had in mind for ourselves.
Unfortunately we often allow our happiness to be defined by the flawless execution of our plans. We become frustrated when things don’t work out as we intend. Potentially pleasant human encounters become disappointments over poor execution: the lost reservation, the delayed schedule, the late guest or family member, all pull us away from the simple joy of human interaction. The warmth of sharing our stories, our joys and sometimes even our hurts is dissipated by our need to control. Life was meant to be lived; not managed to death.
If we are to be truly happy in life we need to enjoy the journey, not fret about how well we followed our itinerary. Rest assured God has a different one in mind.
Dear God: Remind me to stop, look and listen.
“We plan our lives according to a dream that came to us in our childhood, and we find that life alters our plans. And yet, at the end, from a rare height, we also see that our dream was our fate. It’s just that providence had other ideas as to how we would get there. Destiny plans a different route, or turns the dream around, as if it were a riddle, and fulfills the dream in ways we couldn’t have expected.” ~Ben Okri, Nigerian author (b1959)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
It had been pouring rain off and on for three days. All our plans for that Sunday had been washed away with the winter rains. We had arranged a special birthday experience for our daughter, Angela, combining brunch at a local restaurant of her choosing, a trip to visit her Grandmother in the convalescent home and a gratis “hair-do” by her favorite beautician. We had a long history with this particular beautician. Joanne had styled Angela’s hair since high school including proms, formals, graduations and even her wedding. For all intents and purposes she was family.
Our best laid plans were no match for the intervals of torrential downpours. Angela’s drive up the 405 from Redondo Beach, hampered by weather and traffic accidents, had taken twice as long as usual. Undoubtedly, the trip back, in the twilight of early winter darkness, would take as long if not longer.
Our plan had been to finish brunch in time to visit her Grandmother during her noon meal. When that didn’t work out Angela headed straight to her Grandmother’s care facility and then to the beautician, blood sugar plummeting due to lack of food.
When Angela arrived at the Hair Style Salon she had put in an emergency call to her mom (Teresa) for food. Still the best take out in town; Teresa packed lunches for the three of us. Then we drove to the salon so we could visit with our daughter during her hairstyling.
I rested in a black swiveling reception chair still dressed in my long, dark brown trench coat. Teresa and Angela sat opposite me in similar padded chairs. Angela’s head was covered with the stuff beauticians put on people’s hair. Sometimes the less you know the better.
So there we sat; munching away on our ham and cheese sandwiches on sprout bread with brown mustard. The meal was rounded out with sliced apples, small bags of cashews, cheese sticks and bottled water. With only one other customer in sight we had the run of the place and had requisitioned an alcove at the back of the shop.
We caught up on family gossip, shared stories, discussed recipes, confirmed holiday plans and generally enjoyed each other’s company. Somewhere along the way we realized the context of our visit didn’t matter; it was each other’s company we enjoyed the most.
Hair rinsed and ready for the scissors we moved to a different part of the salon. It was Joanne’s turn to catch us up on her life and our lives’ frame of reference widened accordingly. There was someone new in Joanne’s life and she shared her joy with us.
As she was finishing up (both the hair-do and the update) we paid the bill (our gift) and said goodbye to our daughter. “This turned out to be a really nice birthday,” she said, giving us each a hug.
After extracting a promise from her to call us when she got home we headed out the door into the rain. An old Woody Allen adage came to mind as we trotted through the parking lot to our car: “If you want to make God smile…tell him your plans.”
It is an irony that life often irritates us by interfering with our plans. Yet it is life which is most important. True stewardship is not how well we plan our time, but how well we live our time. It is not about the execution of our plans, but the experiencing of our life. Crafting our life is not the same as living our life. Life can only be experienced through human encounter, through interacting with the world even when those interactions are not exactly what had in mind for ourselves.
Unfortunately we often allow our happiness to be defined by the flawless execution of our plans. We become frustrated when things don’t work out as we intend. Potentially pleasant human encounters become disappointments over poor execution: the lost reservation, the delayed schedule, the late guest or family member, all pull us away from the simple joy of human interaction. The warmth of sharing our stories, our joys and sometimes even our hurts is dissipated by our need to control. Life was meant to be lived; not managed to death.
If we are to be truly happy in life we need to enjoy the journey, not fret about how well we followed our itinerary. Rest assured God has a different one in mind.
Dear God: Remind me to stop, look and listen.
“We plan our lives according to a dream that came to us in our childhood, and we find that life alters our plans. And yet, at the end, from a rare height, we also see that our dream was our fate. It’s just that providence had other ideas as to how we would get there. Destiny plans a different route, or turns the dream around, as if it were a riddle, and fulfills the dream in ways we couldn’t have expected.” ~Ben Okri, Nigerian author (b1959)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
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