“Competition is a sin.” ~John D. Rockefeller, American industrialist and philanthropist (1839-1937)
Ten year old Megan was born with one leg shorter than the other. Damage to her peroneal nerve had resulted in a condition commonly referred to as “drop foot” which further exacerbated her already awkward gate. None of it mattered when she was in the water, however. Monday through Friday her Mom brought her to the YMCA for swim team practice.
Megan loved to swim. In the water, she was just like everyone else and, often, she was even better. Competitive swimming was her favorite thing to do. People didn’t stare at her like they stared at her on land.
Megan’s condition was not without remedy, but the surgery to restore her leg was extreme. A section of her leg would need to be amputated, as well as cutting and reconnecting her Achilles tendon. There were two specialists capable of performing the surgery; one in Minnesota and one in Germany.
Tests were run, the arrangements were made and finally the family drove from Southern California to Minnesota for Megan’s surgery. It was the beginning of summer and the beginning of the summer swim season. For Megan, it would be a summer spent in a hospital bed not in the pool.
Leaving her swim team friends and the pool behind was hard. Being in the hospital so far away was even harder. It would have been difficult enough if the surgery had gone well, but there were complications requiring additional surgeries. In the end, Megan underwent five separate procedures, further extending her recovery and her time away from her friends at the Y.
With remarkable intuition and sensitivity her swim team friends quickly grasped the emotional toll this must have been taking on their friend. In addition to a plethora of cards and pictures, twenty of Megan’s teammates came together to create a phone tree.
Daily, a team member would call or text Megan. Even more remarkable, the teammates held each other accountable by following up with the designated callers, making sure Megan was contacted daily.
Finally, her ordeal over, Megan returned home. She still required therapy and strength training to rehabilitate her leg.
She greeted her first day of swim practice with trepidation. The water had always been her sanctuary. Now, she wasn’t so sure and the new leg was still giving her trouble. The team had already celebrated Megan’s return with a welcome home party so this was going to be a “business as usual” practice.
Megan pulled on her cap, slid into the water and promptly froze. Fear gripped her, her leg throbbed; the pain seemed worst than she remembered. She hesitated, wondering whether she would ever be able to swim again.
Quickly, instinctually, her teammates sensed her panic. Several of them grabbed pull buoys from the rack. “Hey Coach!” someone yelled. “Can we do a “PULL” workout today?” A pull workout required no kicking as the swimmers “pull” themselves through the water using only their arms.
Two of Megan’s teammates floated up next to her. “C’mon Megan,” one of them whispered. “We’ll pull with you.” Megan, nodded, took a deep breath, dipped her head and pushed off the wall, heading down the lane with her friends.
First and foremost, we are stewards of one another. It is a concept with which many of us struggle and yet a group of 10 year olds not only grasped it, but embraced it. In our competitive world we often hold a “survival of the fittest” point of view. Television sportscasters recite injury lists indicating who might have the advantage in “today’s game.”
The fall of a competitor at work is viewed as a chance to move ahead, rather than an opportunity to be of service to another. Weakness is not tolerated. Many of our business planning models call for us to identify weaknesses and mitigate or eliminate them.
Stewardship calls us to hold a different view and to take a different approach. We are called to stand with the weak, the injured, and the hesitant, rather than exploit them or celebrate their misfortune.
Megan’s teammates (a group of 10- and 11-year-old girls from a local YMCA) understood that it was more important to help another be better than it was to be the best. After all, if the world is to be a better place, we all must pull together.
Dear God, remind me constantly that others heal better with me than without me.
“Competition is such a virtue, and everybody's so busy competing, they have no time for compassion.” ~Major Robert Odell Owens, New York Politician (b 1936)
© 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, September 30, 2011
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Free to Forgive
“Without forgiveness life is governed by... an endless cycle of resentment and retaliation.” ~Roberto Assagioli, Italian psychiatrist (1888-1974)
No one really knew who started it. All anyone knew for sure was it started during the blizzard of ’78. Even in ’78, Herb and Pete had been next door neighbors for what seemed like a long time. The heavy snows that year made it increasingly difficult to keep the walks clear and the driveways open, especially with nothing more than a broom and snow shovel.
One particularly bad morning, Herb and Pete had spent hours clearing their respective driveways. Neighbors swear it was a passing snowplow that undid the two men’s hard work that day, but each accused the other of shoveling his driveway shut.
The advent of snow blowers escalated the feud. They both wielded their mechanized snow-removal devices like weapons, quickly destroying the work of the other. A well-meaning neighbor, in an effort to make peace, tried to intercede. Both men gave the self-appointed peacemaker the same five word answer: “Mind your own damn business.”
After years of increasingly angry exchanges, they lapsed into silence and stopped talking with one another. They could get away with it because everyone knew better than to try to address the issue with either of them.
Herb, the older of the two, now in his late eighties, had grown bent and arthritic. Manual labor, such as shoveling snow, had become too hard for him. It was as much as he could do to walk, let alone drag out the snow blower, get it going, then clear the walks and driveway. His limited income prevented him from even paying one of the neighborhood youngsters to do it for him. Still, every weekday morning, he would walk to the corner store for the daily paper.
One morning he came back from his walk to find his driveway cleaned and his walkways swept. All winter long the pattern was repeated. Every time there was a snowfall, Herb would return from his walk to find the snow had been cleared away.
Pete had noticed the plight of his old adversary, and whenever it snowed, he would wait for Herb to leave for his walk, and then quickly clear the snow from his property. Strangely, no words ever passed between the two of them. Instead, once a week, during his visit to the corner store Herb would purchase a bag of peanut butter-filled pretzels; Pete’s favorite. Every Friday, without a word, he would leave them in Pete’s mailbox.
So it went, until one day Herb collapsed on his way home. He was rushed to the hospital, but the end had finally come. Pete came to the hospital to make amends with his old enemy, but talk was unnecessary. They had made up long ago.
One of Jesus’ parables relates the story of a man who is forgiven a great sum of money by the King (God). Immediately thereafter he encounters a fellow servant who owes him a much smaller sum of money. He physically accosts the man and has him thrown in jail. Hearing about the incident the King recalls the first man, chastises him for his lack of forgiveness, then turns him over to the torturers.
The Unforgiving Servant locked away his fellow servant in a physical prison. We are capable of doing something metaphorically similar to those with whom we disagree. Like Herb and Pete, we often incarcerate one another emotionally.
This incarceration doesn’t take place behind steel bars and concrete walls, but it can be just as effective. Instead we withhold our love and acceptance, we express our contempt and sometimes, we shun others and cut off all communication with them. There are people who don’t even remember what initiated the feuds in their lives; all that matters to them is they not be the one who gives in.
The satisfaction we might feel initially from “shunning” another is often short-lived. It can be quickly replaced by feelings of guilt, remorse, angst and even fear. These emotions pick at us, worry us and generally disrupt our day.
Just as the unforgiving servant is turned over to the torturers, we relinquish ourselves to the tortures of these disruptive emotions because of our unwillingness to forgive another. As faithful stewards we know our time is much better spent forgiving others than holding them hostage with our emotions.
And actions speak louder than words. Herb and Pete were reconciled exclusively through actions and not words. So, if the right words don’t come easily, save the apologies, skip the arguments and do the kind and forgiving thing. You and the one you forgive will both be free.
Dear God: May I never lock someone away in the prison of my contempt.
“To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.” ~Lewis B. Smedes, "Forgiveness - The Power to Change the Past," Christianity Today, 7 January 1983
© 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.
No one really knew who started it. All anyone knew for sure was it started during the blizzard of ’78. Even in ’78, Herb and Pete had been next door neighbors for what seemed like a long time. The heavy snows that year made it increasingly difficult to keep the walks clear and the driveways open, especially with nothing more than a broom and snow shovel.
One particularly bad morning, Herb and Pete had spent hours clearing their respective driveways. Neighbors swear it was a passing snowplow that undid the two men’s hard work that day, but each accused the other of shoveling his driveway shut.
The advent of snow blowers escalated the feud. They both wielded their mechanized snow-removal devices like weapons, quickly destroying the work of the other. A well-meaning neighbor, in an effort to make peace, tried to intercede. Both men gave the self-appointed peacemaker the same five word answer: “Mind your own damn business.”
After years of increasingly angry exchanges, they lapsed into silence and stopped talking with one another. They could get away with it because everyone knew better than to try to address the issue with either of them.
Herb, the older of the two, now in his late eighties, had grown bent and arthritic. Manual labor, such as shoveling snow, had become too hard for him. It was as much as he could do to walk, let alone drag out the snow blower, get it going, then clear the walks and driveway. His limited income prevented him from even paying one of the neighborhood youngsters to do it for him. Still, every weekday morning, he would walk to the corner store for the daily paper.
One morning he came back from his walk to find his driveway cleaned and his walkways swept. All winter long the pattern was repeated. Every time there was a snowfall, Herb would return from his walk to find the snow had been cleared away.
Pete had noticed the plight of his old adversary, and whenever it snowed, he would wait for Herb to leave for his walk, and then quickly clear the snow from his property. Strangely, no words ever passed between the two of them. Instead, once a week, during his visit to the corner store Herb would purchase a bag of peanut butter-filled pretzels; Pete’s favorite. Every Friday, without a word, he would leave them in Pete’s mailbox.
So it went, until one day Herb collapsed on his way home. He was rushed to the hospital, but the end had finally come. Pete came to the hospital to make amends with his old enemy, but talk was unnecessary. They had made up long ago.
One of Jesus’ parables relates the story of a man who is forgiven a great sum of money by the King (God). Immediately thereafter he encounters a fellow servant who owes him a much smaller sum of money. He physically accosts the man and has him thrown in jail. Hearing about the incident the King recalls the first man, chastises him for his lack of forgiveness, then turns him over to the torturers.
The Unforgiving Servant locked away his fellow servant in a physical prison. We are capable of doing something metaphorically similar to those with whom we disagree. Like Herb and Pete, we often incarcerate one another emotionally.
This incarceration doesn’t take place behind steel bars and concrete walls, but it can be just as effective. Instead we withhold our love and acceptance, we express our contempt and sometimes, we shun others and cut off all communication with them. There are people who don’t even remember what initiated the feuds in their lives; all that matters to them is they not be the one who gives in.
The satisfaction we might feel initially from “shunning” another is often short-lived. It can be quickly replaced by feelings of guilt, remorse, angst and even fear. These emotions pick at us, worry us and generally disrupt our day.
Just as the unforgiving servant is turned over to the torturers, we relinquish ourselves to the tortures of these disruptive emotions because of our unwillingness to forgive another. As faithful stewards we know our time is much better spent forgiving others than holding them hostage with our emotions.
And actions speak louder than words. Herb and Pete were reconciled exclusively through actions and not words. So, if the right words don’t come easily, save the apologies, skip the arguments and do the kind and forgiving thing. You and the one you forgive will both be free.
Dear God: May I never lock someone away in the prison of my contempt.
“To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.” ~Lewis B. Smedes, "Forgiveness - The Power to Change the Past," Christianity Today, 7 January 1983
© 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.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Finding Calcutta
"You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition. What you'll discover will be wonderful. What you'll discover is yourself." ~Alan Alda, American actor, director, screenwriter, and author (b 1936)
My brother Kirk had a banana Popsicle. He was sitting on our old green glider going gently back and forth, a pale yellow ring forming around his lips. The Popsicle had two sticks so it could be separated into two Popsicles. I had been circling trying to figure out the best approach.
Finally, I tried the direct one: “Hey Kirk, how ‘bout giving me half of your Popsicle.” “NO,” he replied, looking straight ahead. “You can share it; it’ll split right in half.” “NO,” he repeated. “I’ll let you ride my bike.” “NO, I have my own bike,” he smirked, shifting his gaze only slightly.
For the next five minutes I pleaded, threatened, cajoled and begged, but to no avail. Finally, I realized my brother wasn’t coveting his Popsicle so much as he was enjoying saying “NO” to me. “What kind of a brother are you anyway,” I yelped in desperation. “The kind who knows where the Popsicles are,” he responded smugly. “Why don’t you go get your own Popsicle?”
I let the screen door slam in defiance as I headed into the house. Rummaging through the top of our old Frigidaire I came upon a Dreamsicle (my brother’s favorite) tucked all the way in the back.
Triumphantly I returned to the glider, plopped down next to Kirk, and began dramatically unwrapping the frozen delight. “Hey, where’d you get that?” Kirk asked. “Same place you got that,” I responded, pointing at what was left of the banana Popsicle.
“I’ll let you share the rest of my Popsicle if you give me a bite of the Dreamsicle,” Kirk offered in his most conciliatory tone. Pausing for effect I turned my head to meet my brother’s gaze. “Why don’t you go get your own Dreamsicle;” I said parroting his earlier remark. A moment later I sunk my teeth into the coveted ice cream treat.
There is an oft repeated story, credited to Erma Bombeck, about a very successful woman. No longer finding satisfaction in her career or the money it brought her; she decided, in a moment of clarity, to write Mother Teresa of Calcutta. She sought Mother Teresa’s advice on what she could do to change her life and volunteered to come to Calcutta to help. Time passed, so much so it appeared no reply would come; till one day a battered letter arrived with a Calcutta postmark.
She opened it, and inside, on a single sheet of plain paper, she found a one-sentence reply: "Thank you for your offer, but find your own Calcutta." Though some of us might react to the seeming abruptness of the response it bears tremendous wisdom.
The exchange between my brother and me was all about what we wanted and couldn’t have. We perceived the answer to our happiness as something which seemed to be satisfying someone else. This goes deeper than envy. It is an engrained belief that if something makes someone else happy it will make us happy as well. There is an entire industry built upon this concept… It is called advertising.
Mother Teresa’s response goes deeper than simply responding to what makes us happy. It is a challenge which begins with the word “FIND.” Finding something requires more of us than responding to the first thing which gets our attention. If we are to find anything of value we are called to plan, to seek, to consider, to discern; and sometimes to even start over.
The second key to the statement is “YOUR OWN.” The successful woman thought someone else’s path would provide her with the satisfaction she sought. In reality, we are all uniquely gifted. Each one of our personal “Calcutta’s” will be different.
Much of this is conditioned by where our gifts lie and where they do not. Part of the process is not only looking outward, but looking inward as well. Often, the answer to what is “OUR OWN CALCUTTA” is not a matter of what we need, but what needs us.
Finally, Calcutta is a long way away. Our Calcutta will likely be a long way away for us as well. This means we need to start now. It also means, like the journey of a thousand steps, it will take many small steps to get us there. Life is not a movie. There are few cathartic moments and no music crescendos when they do come. More often than not, one day we will suddenly realize, “This was my Calcutta.”
Dear God: Remind me that I may need to become lost to find myself.
“I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be.” ~Douglas Adams, English writer and dramatist, (1952-2001)
© 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.
My brother Kirk had a banana Popsicle. He was sitting on our old green glider going gently back and forth, a pale yellow ring forming around his lips. The Popsicle had two sticks so it could be separated into two Popsicles. I had been circling trying to figure out the best approach.
Finally, I tried the direct one: “Hey Kirk, how ‘bout giving me half of your Popsicle.” “NO,” he replied, looking straight ahead. “You can share it; it’ll split right in half.” “NO,” he repeated. “I’ll let you ride my bike.” “NO, I have my own bike,” he smirked, shifting his gaze only slightly.
For the next five minutes I pleaded, threatened, cajoled and begged, but to no avail. Finally, I realized my brother wasn’t coveting his Popsicle so much as he was enjoying saying “NO” to me. “What kind of a brother are you anyway,” I yelped in desperation. “The kind who knows where the Popsicles are,” he responded smugly. “Why don’t you go get your own Popsicle?”
I let the screen door slam in defiance as I headed into the house. Rummaging through the top of our old Frigidaire I came upon a Dreamsicle (my brother’s favorite) tucked all the way in the back.
Triumphantly I returned to the glider, plopped down next to Kirk, and began dramatically unwrapping the frozen delight. “Hey, where’d you get that?” Kirk asked. “Same place you got that,” I responded, pointing at what was left of the banana Popsicle.
“I’ll let you share the rest of my Popsicle if you give me a bite of the Dreamsicle,” Kirk offered in his most conciliatory tone. Pausing for effect I turned my head to meet my brother’s gaze. “Why don’t you go get your own Dreamsicle;” I said parroting his earlier remark. A moment later I sunk my teeth into the coveted ice cream treat.
There is an oft repeated story, credited to Erma Bombeck, about a very successful woman. No longer finding satisfaction in her career or the money it brought her; she decided, in a moment of clarity, to write Mother Teresa of Calcutta. She sought Mother Teresa’s advice on what she could do to change her life and volunteered to come to Calcutta to help. Time passed, so much so it appeared no reply would come; till one day a battered letter arrived with a Calcutta postmark.
She opened it, and inside, on a single sheet of plain paper, she found a one-sentence reply: "Thank you for your offer, but find your own Calcutta." Though some of us might react to the seeming abruptness of the response it bears tremendous wisdom.
The exchange between my brother and me was all about what we wanted and couldn’t have. We perceived the answer to our happiness as something which seemed to be satisfying someone else. This goes deeper than envy. It is an engrained belief that if something makes someone else happy it will make us happy as well. There is an entire industry built upon this concept… It is called advertising.
Mother Teresa’s response goes deeper than simply responding to what makes us happy. It is a challenge which begins with the word “FIND.” Finding something requires more of us than responding to the first thing which gets our attention. If we are to find anything of value we are called to plan, to seek, to consider, to discern; and sometimes to even start over.
The second key to the statement is “YOUR OWN.” The successful woman thought someone else’s path would provide her with the satisfaction she sought. In reality, we are all uniquely gifted. Each one of our personal “Calcutta’s” will be different.
Much of this is conditioned by where our gifts lie and where they do not. Part of the process is not only looking outward, but looking inward as well. Often, the answer to what is “OUR OWN CALCUTTA” is not a matter of what we need, but what needs us.
Finally, Calcutta is a long way away. Our Calcutta will likely be a long way away for us as well. This means we need to start now. It also means, like the journey of a thousand steps, it will take many small steps to get us there. Life is not a movie. There are few cathartic moments and no music crescendos when they do come. More often than not, one day we will suddenly realize, “This was my Calcutta.”
Dear God: Remind me that I may need to become lost to find myself.
“I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be.” ~Douglas Adams, English writer and dramatist, (1952-2001)
© 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.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Don't Duck Life
“If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.” ~ Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Albanian Catholic Nun, Founder of the Missionaries of Charity, Nobel Peace Prize recipient (1910-1997)
My right arm was tucked in tight against my right side, elbow at my belt line and gloved fist firmly against my cheek. I rested my chin almost on my chest and hunched my shoulders in, protecting my vital organs. Arturo, one of the instructors, laughingly called this the cockroach position.
Dean, a 4th degree Black belt, gracefully stepped to my right, hooking with his left trying to come inside my guard. Pivoting away, the blow still glanced off my sparring helmet. Keeping my left side toward him, I tried to present him with the narrowest silhouette and therefore the smallest possible target; but to no avail. He had been landing his jab on the forehead of my sparring helmet almost at will.
Several times during the sparring session, I had attempted a spinning heel kick which Dean had, each time, effortlessly avoided. Judging he was in range I tried the maneuver again. This time, however, I purposefully allowed the kick to miss, planted my foot and followed through with a spinning back fist. The result was a resounding and satisfying “thunk” as I connected with Dean’s helmeted head. Quickly I moved out of range, congratulating myself.
My satisfaction was short-lived however. Turning to face Dean again, I noticed a change. His eyes narrowed, his jaw set, I knew he was no longer toying with me, he was stalking me. In a moment of, what can only be described as desperation, I chose to attack. Errantly, I came straight forward, rather than at an angle, as I had been taught. Immediately diagnosing my strategy, Dean made a quick crossing step and executed a perfect step-over side kick.
As quickly as I had come forward, I was now traveling backward. The low angle of the kick and its flawless execution had literally launched me. I landed flat on my back on the canvas. The little oxygen left in my lungs went out of me and I lay there like a beached grouper gasping for air.
A moment later, Dean was standing over me looking down, not triumphantly, but with concern. Pulling off his glove, he popped out his mouthpiece. “Sorry man, reflex action. You OK?” he asked. “Not sure,” I croaked. Slowly I started to roll onto my side. A ribbon of pain shot through my ribcage. Dean knelt next to me and carefully explored the place where his kick had landed with his hand. “Your rib’s pushed in,” he remarked. “Let me fix it.”
Standing behind me, Dean reached under my arms and grasped my wrists. In one swift motion he brought me to my feet. Releasing my wrists, he laced his fingers behind my neck, placed me into a full nelson, and leaned back, arching me backwards as he went. In an instant there came a popping sound. A blinding burst of pain shot through my body as the damaged rib shifted back into place.
My wife was not fond of the fact that I took kick-boxing classes. To keep peace, we had made a pact; since I had chosen a hobby which virtually assured physical injury, I had agreed not to complain about them¬ – ever.
The next day, without her knowing, I went for x-rays.
It is easy to view life as a competitive sport. Getting ahead means besting the other people around us, whether at work, in the parking lot, and sometimes even at church or at home. We herald our triumphs and bind up our wounds, only to return to the fray again the next day.
Operating in a competitive world means protecting oneself; never giving ourselves away or exposing ourselves to perceived harm. Our natural inclination, when we come under what we perceive as an attack, is to “circle the wagons.” This is particularly true when it is our beliefs which are being threatened.
All the techniques I learned in kick-boxing seem to apply. Expose as little of yourself as possible displaying only the narrowest silhouette. Distance is your greatest ally and if you must get close to someone, do so only briefly. Wherever possible, engage your opponent only on your own terms. Keep your fists closed, your head down and your arms tucked in to protect yourself. In other words, employ the cockroach position.
As Christians, Jesus provides us with a very different perspective. Our prevalent image of Christ is naked, nailed to a cross, arms spread wide, fully exposed, unable to protect himself. Jesus lived his life full out, with incredible openness and frankness. This “openness” is freedom at its best and purest.
Conversely, the efforts we take to protect ourselves, to avoid mistakes, to be successful, to avoid embarrassment, to always be right, also restrict us. In fact, protective, closed approaches confine, constrain and limit us. Like Christ, we are called to live our lives openly and freely. Trying to protect what we are and to restrict who we are, only magnifies our personal issues; it doesn’t resolve them.
Life is not a boxing ring. It is a wide-open vista of possibilities. If you don’t let down your guard, you will never encounter them.
Dear God, help me this day to live my life openly.
“In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.” ~ Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Albanian Catholic Nun, Founder of the Missionaries of Charity, Nobel Peace Prize recipient (1910-1997)
© 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
My right arm was tucked in tight against my right side, elbow at my belt line and gloved fist firmly against my cheek. I rested my chin almost on my chest and hunched my shoulders in, protecting my vital organs. Arturo, one of the instructors, laughingly called this the cockroach position.
Dean, a 4th degree Black belt, gracefully stepped to my right, hooking with his left trying to come inside my guard. Pivoting away, the blow still glanced off my sparring helmet. Keeping my left side toward him, I tried to present him with the narrowest silhouette and therefore the smallest possible target; but to no avail. He had been landing his jab on the forehead of my sparring helmet almost at will.
Several times during the sparring session, I had attempted a spinning heel kick which Dean had, each time, effortlessly avoided. Judging he was in range I tried the maneuver again. This time, however, I purposefully allowed the kick to miss, planted my foot and followed through with a spinning back fist. The result was a resounding and satisfying “thunk” as I connected with Dean’s helmeted head. Quickly I moved out of range, congratulating myself.
My satisfaction was short-lived however. Turning to face Dean again, I noticed a change. His eyes narrowed, his jaw set, I knew he was no longer toying with me, he was stalking me. In a moment of, what can only be described as desperation, I chose to attack. Errantly, I came straight forward, rather than at an angle, as I had been taught. Immediately diagnosing my strategy, Dean made a quick crossing step and executed a perfect step-over side kick.
As quickly as I had come forward, I was now traveling backward. The low angle of the kick and its flawless execution had literally launched me. I landed flat on my back on the canvas. The little oxygen left in my lungs went out of me and I lay there like a beached grouper gasping for air.
A moment later, Dean was standing over me looking down, not triumphantly, but with concern. Pulling off his glove, he popped out his mouthpiece. “Sorry man, reflex action. You OK?” he asked. “Not sure,” I croaked. Slowly I started to roll onto my side. A ribbon of pain shot through my ribcage. Dean knelt next to me and carefully explored the place where his kick had landed with his hand. “Your rib’s pushed in,” he remarked. “Let me fix it.”
Standing behind me, Dean reached under my arms and grasped my wrists. In one swift motion he brought me to my feet. Releasing my wrists, he laced his fingers behind my neck, placed me into a full nelson, and leaned back, arching me backwards as he went. In an instant there came a popping sound. A blinding burst of pain shot through my body as the damaged rib shifted back into place.
My wife was not fond of the fact that I took kick-boxing classes. To keep peace, we had made a pact; since I had chosen a hobby which virtually assured physical injury, I had agreed not to complain about them¬ – ever.
The next day, without her knowing, I went for x-rays.
It is easy to view life as a competitive sport. Getting ahead means besting the other people around us, whether at work, in the parking lot, and sometimes even at church or at home. We herald our triumphs and bind up our wounds, only to return to the fray again the next day.
Operating in a competitive world means protecting oneself; never giving ourselves away or exposing ourselves to perceived harm. Our natural inclination, when we come under what we perceive as an attack, is to “circle the wagons.” This is particularly true when it is our beliefs which are being threatened.
All the techniques I learned in kick-boxing seem to apply. Expose as little of yourself as possible displaying only the narrowest silhouette. Distance is your greatest ally and if you must get close to someone, do so only briefly. Wherever possible, engage your opponent only on your own terms. Keep your fists closed, your head down and your arms tucked in to protect yourself. In other words, employ the cockroach position.
As Christians, Jesus provides us with a very different perspective. Our prevalent image of Christ is naked, nailed to a cross, arms spread wide, fully exposed, unable to protect himself. Jesus lived his life full out, with incredible openness and frankness. This “openness” is freedom at its best and purest.
Conversely, the efforts we take to protect ourselves, to avoid mistakes, to be successful, to avoid embarrassment, to always be right, also restrict us. In fact, protective, closed approaches confine, constrain and limit us. Like Christ, we are called to live our lives openly and freely. Trying to protect what we are and to restrict who we are, only magnifies our personal issues; it doesn’t resolve them.
Life is not a boxing ring. It is a wide-open vista of possibilities. If you don’t let down your guard, you will never encounter them.
Dear God, help me this day to live my life openly.
“In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.” ~ Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Albanian Catholic Nun, Founder of the Missionaries of Charity, Nobel Peace Prize recipient (1910-1997)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
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