Crossing Over

“The first step toward change is awareness. The second step is acceptance. ~Nathaniel Branden, a Los Angeles, California-based Canadian psychotherapist and writer (b 1930)

Billy stood nervously at the edge of the road, staring; first one direction, then the other. His hands were fisted and his body tense. Swallowing hard and licking his lips, he tried to generate some moisture in his otherwise dry mouth.

Suddenly a car whistled by at an alarming speed. Billy took a quick step back to avoid bits of flying gravel and dirt, quickly closing his eyes against the swirl of dust. The car disappeared into the distance.

Silence reasserted itself.  Billy resumed his vigil, carefully watching for cars on McMurray Road.

Earlier, he and his sister Bonnie had walked the tenth of a mile down their long gravel driveway. The large family mailbox, which served both their house and the house of their grandparents, was placed strategically on the opposite side of the two-lane asphalt country road.

Once a day, during the summer, Bonnie would take him by the hand and they would journey down the driveway and back to retrieve the mail. The scary part for Billy was crossing the road.

For some time, Billy had pleaded with his sister to allow him to cross the road by himself and fetch the mail. Billy kept furtively looking in both directions, clenching and flexing his fists. 

Bonnie had carefully instructed him to look both ways and to walk, not run, across the expanse from the driveway to the mailbox.

It was the moment of truth.

Suddenly, he bolted, scampering across the vacant road to the other side, his sister’s voice yelling, “Walk… I said walk!” ringing in his ears.

Reaching the other side, Billy was filled with exhilaration. He turned to face his sister, raising his hands in triumph as if he had just won a 100-meter dash.

Bonnie stood on the other side, her hands on her hips, irritated by the instructions he had ignored. “Get the mail!” she yelled finally.

Billy pulled the mailbox door down and retrieved the letters and packets inside. Securing the door again, he stood facing his sister with an armload of mail.

“Now what?” he asked.

“Now you have to cross back.”

It is a general misconception that the Hebrew people wandered in the Sinai Desert for 40 years in search of the Promised Land. Actually, they discovered the Promised Land fairly quickly.

Moses sent out 12 “Spies” (scouts), one from each tribe. Only two, Joshua and Caleb, returned with accurate, optimistic assessments. The other ten spread false reports and created discontent (grumbling) amongst the Hebrew people.

So God decided to be done with his grumbling “chosen people.” But Moses convinces God to relent. Instead God strikes down the 10 unreliable scouts and “sentences” the unhappy Israelites to wander the desert for 40 years until the current generation dies. Instead of crossing the Jordan River into the Promised Land, they receive the punishment they prophesied for themselves: wandering in the desert until they die.

How often do we stand at the edge of our own “Jordan River” looking at our own “Promised Land” and fail to cross over? How often is our failure, not the result of real obstacles, but because of imagined fears?

Billy approaches his “crossing” with a certain amount of fear and hesitancy. Yet, he is not alone. He has the support of his big sister who is standing there next to him. Just as it is a short trip to cross the road, it is a short trip to cross our personal rivers and yet we hesitate even though God stands next to us.

God offers us a wonderful life, but we often live in fear and trepidation. We stand there staring at God’s promise of a better life, but afraid of what might happen to us or what people might think of us. As a result, we wander in a secular desert, unhappy and unfulfilled.

Be happy! Cross the Jordan! You’ll be glad you did.

Dear God: Give me the courage to cross over, knowing that you are there waiting.

“Faith is taking the first step even when you can't see the whole staircase.” ~ Martin Luther King, Jr., American clergyman, activist, and leader in the African-American Civil Rights Movement (1929 – 1968)

©2013 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 Deacon James E. Carper, Director of Marketing and Development at Holy Name of Jesus School in south/central Los Angeles. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2013 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 “© 2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message. Questions or comments may be directed to Jim Carper by return e-mail or at the contact information found below.

Nodding On

“No act of kindness, however small, is ever wasted.” ~ Aesop, ancient Greek storyteller (620-564 BC)

He was hard to miss, even though I was staring across four lanes of traffic. I had noticed the front door open. It was a strange house with orange trim, shutters and doors. Then he appeared.

His head seemed hairless, but his eyebrows were dark. The draping garment he wore was the same orange color as the house trim and there were sandals on his feet.

I was standing on the doorstep of the Kappa Alpha Psi fraternity house at 1846 Crenshaw Boulevard in Los Angeles, just north of Washington Boulevard. This alumni chapter had offered the use of their facilities for a retreat for our graduating eighth grade class. The Principal and I were greeting students as they arrived.

Across the four lanes which comprised Crenshaw Boulevard was the Vijaya Dharma Buddhist Vihara. The man in orange was most certainly a Buddhist monk and, by the way he comported himself and perused the grounds, I guessed he was probably the “Head Monk.”

I watched with distracted interest as a Hispanic gardener worked feverishly with a gas-powered trimmer along the frontage of the property. The monk stood quietly nearby until the gardener noticed him. With small abbreviated gestures and movements of his head the Monk seemed to instruct the gardener as to what he wanted done. The gardener responded with his own animated nod.

The Monk started to turn back toward the house when he paused. Whether he felt the weight of my eyes upon him or just casually glanced across the street, I will never know.

Regardless, our eyes met for only an instant. Instinctively I brought my heels together, straightened my posture, steepled my fingers beneath my chin, and nodded, closing my eyes. When my head was again upright and my eyes open, I paused.

A brief smile seemed to glimmer across the face of the Monk. He too steepled his fingers, and nodded in my direction. We looked at one another across the busy morning traffic for another instant. Then the connection was broken.

The Monk turned and walked slowly back toward the house with the orange trim. He seemed to be contemplating every flower and shrub as he went. Finally he disappeared into the orange door from which he had first appeared.

We are a country which revels in grandiose dreams, grand ideas and magnanimous gestures. It’s hard not to look with admiration upon the great speech, the heroic attempt, the unbelievable turnaround or the incredibly generous donation.

It is easy to forget that our lives are made up of hundreds of momentary encounters and small gestures. From the person next to us at a stop light, to the barista who hands us our coffee concoction, to those we pass on the street, we are constantly interacting with one another. I would suggest, that based upon sheer volume, these constant interactions have more impact upon the world than do the few grand ones.

Most of us have experienced a kind act or gesture which seemed to buoy us up the rest of the day. Likewise most of have experienced a rude remark or unkind gesture which seemed to eat away at our peace of mind, sometimes for a very long period of time.

As good stewards, we realize that we are responsible not only for how we use our time talent and treasure. We know that we are also responsible for others, even when it comes to their mental and emotional well-being.

It is not just about making a few grand gestures in our lives. It is also how we invest our time in thousands of seemingly insignificant gestures -- even a simple smile and nod of the head.

Dear God: Remind me that you call me to make a difference every time I encounter another.

“Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.” ~ Felice Leonardo "Leo" Buscaglia Ph.D., American author and motivational speaker (1924-1928)

©2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.