“It is not titles that honor men, but men that honor titles.” ~Niccolo Machiavelli, Italian historian, philosopher, humanist and writer (1469-1527)
Teresa stared intently at the self-stick paper name badge. It had taken a few moments for her to fully grasp the reality of the words printed on it. Because of the venue she had purposely worn her dressiest black suit and her best off-white silk blouse. Now, it seemed curiously appropriate.
Finally she beckoned me over. Holding the name badge out to me, she pointed with her right index finger and spoke only a single word: “Look.” Slipping my glasses from the breast pocket of my dress coat, I put them on and peered carefully at the badge. There, on a crème white background, in precise Garamond script were three words, each on its own line: “Sister Teresa Carper.”
We looked at each other then again at the badge and began to chuckle. The young lady behind the reception table appeared at first confused, then concerned. “Is there a problem?” she asked. “Teresa is my wife,” I replied with a smile. “It would be difficult for her to be a nun under those circumstances.”
“Oh my,” she exclaimed, I thought she was your sister.” “Then why doesn’t my name badge say ‘Brother Jim Carper’?” I responded with a smirk. My lame joke fell flat.
“I’ll fix it” she said simply, reaching for the badge. “No, leave it,” Teresa answered, with a twinkle in her eye. Off we went to Evening Prayer in the chapel.
The Annual Distinguished Alumni Dinner at St. John’s Seminary is a wonderful event and we truly enjoyed Evening Prayer, a tour of the chapel, the reception, and ultimately dinner. Teresa and I became separated during the reception, but we caught up to one another at our assigned table.
Teresa bore the warm welcoming smile I have come to know well, but there was a glimmer of something else behind it I thought. We sat with the wonderful friends who had invited us and one of our favorite people, Sister Mary Elizabeth.
Afterwards, heading home on old Route 118 through Camarillo, Teresa spoke up. “I think I’m going to enter a religious order,” she said suddenly. “Really?” I answered with interest. “And how did you arrive at that conclusion?”
“I don’t know if it was the black suit or the name tag or a combination of both, but while I was at the reception, the hosts went out of their way to be helpful. They brought me a glass of wine and offered to bring me a plate of hors d'oeuvres. They couldn’t seem to do enough for me. As Sister Teresa, I got treated much better than when I’m with you,” she paused with a sideways glance.
“Several people asked me what religious order I belonged to,” she continued. “What did you tell them?” I asked. “I had to tell them I wasn’t a nun.” “And?” I asked. “They seemed confused or disappointed somehow.” She paused again.
“I showed Sister Mary Elizabeth my name tag at dinner and told her I needed to find an Order to join.” “What did she say?” I asked carefully. “She said hers was a good one! And they are recruiting.” We laughed the rest of the way home…
Life teaches us to respect titles. As children we are instructed to address adults as Mr. Mrs. or Miss. We are taught to “respect our elders.” If a member of the law enforcement community tells us to do something, we do it without questioning, often responding “Yes, officer”.
Respect for titles, and their corresponding positions, is often appropriate and sometimes necessary. In modern society, this has gone beyond honoring our elders and respecting community leaders, however. Today we often revere power, wealth, position, success – and even that precious “15 minutes of fame.” This reverence can affect how we relate with and treat one another.
Those who dedicate their lives to serving God and the world, like Sister Mary Elizabeth, deserve our respect; but one has to consider why the addition of six letters to a name badge would make a difference in the way someone is treated.
Our treatment at the hands of another should not be conditioned by our station in life or the title which accompanies our name. Honoring commitment, wisdom and longevity is one thing; but power, prestige and position are quite another.
As Christian Stewards, we are called to love and respect all people simply because, like us, they are unique creations of a loving God. From the homeless person on the street to the leader of a global power, God loves us all the same – equally. We too are called to respect and love one another fully – equally.
This love and respect comes more easily when we remember that we all bear the same significant title: “Child of God.” And we all deserve the respect that title confers.
Dear God: Remind me, that the name of each person I meet today ends with: “a Child of God.”
“I hope I shall possess firmness and virtue enough to maintain what I consider the most enviable of all titles, the character of an honest man.” ~George Washington, first President of the United States of America (1732-1799)
© 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.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Friday, September 30, 2011
Pull Together
“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.
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.
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.
“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, August 26, 2011
Gratitude is Plate Full
“Not what we say about our blessings, but how we use them, is the true measure of our thanksgiving.” ~W.T. Purkiser, preacher, scholar and author (1910-1992)
Margie Kibelbeck carefully positioned the perogies in the Corningware container. They had to be placed just right, then covered with wax paper, so they didn’t stick together. The container, which had made its way around the neighborhood more than once, wasn’t hers. It belonged to her friend, Stella Rodzianko.
They had known each other since childhood. Their families had lived across the street from one another since the Depression. The dish had been so well-used the blue poppies on the side had begun to wear away. It had been the vehicle for everything from brownies to golumpkie (Polish stuffed cabbage rolls).
This time it had arrived at her house, a week or so earlier, filled with chocolate chip cookies. Margie had been surprised by unexpected guests from out of town. And just when she was wondering what she could put out for them, Stella arrived unexpectedly with the cookies. Coffee and cookies had been enough to satisfy her guests. “A friend is the one who comes in when the whole world has gone out,” she thought to herself as she placed the last row of perogies on the wax paper.
There had been times during the “Big Depression” that the only food there was to eat was given by a neighbor. She often thought this was where the tradition of “never return an empty dish” had come from. During the Depression, people shared what they could with one another. There were no social services back then; unless someone took pity on you, you could starve.
She remembered a time when she was a little girl. It was the end of the month and there was nothing left in the cupboard. Mrs. Del Vecchio had dropped off a plate of rigatoni, using the excuse that she had accidentally made too much. After dinner Margie’s mother had carefully washed the plate while saying what sounded like a prayer. Once clean and ready to be returned, they had nothing to put in the dish.
So, instead, Margie’s Mom took out a small sheet of tablet paper. Seated at the kitchen table, with fountain pen in hand, she carefully wrote “Blessed are they who care for their neighbors.” Then she taped the note to the inside of the plate and instructed Margie and her brother to return it. “Make sure you say thank you,” she told them.
Mrs. Del Vecchio answered the door to find the two children standing there holding out the plate. Taking the plate, she read the note, then dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “Tell your Mama this is the best thing I ever got back in my plate,” she had said.
Returning from her thoughts, Margie put the glass lid on the Corningware and headed out the door. Hopefully Stella had the coffee pot on and one of her famous nut rolls in the oven.
Stewardship within a community, be it a neighborhood or a parish, is made up of many small acts of kindness. Note the emphasis on the word “acts” or “action.” I grew up with the “never return an empty plate” tradition, but over the years I have heard it continually maligned.
The arguments are always the same. If you gave someone food because they didn’t have any, how can you expect them to return the dish with food in it? Some will say they use disposable containers so there is no need to return anything. Others will say they simply return a clean plate. Sometimes you are just lucky to get the plate back at all!
Margie’s Mom answered the question: “What do you give back?” There is always something to give back. She was grateful, but there needed to be something more. Gratitude is not only a feeling; it seems to require a response from us, as well. In fact, gratitude is responsive, interactive, relational and even spiritual.
When we feel grateful, how do we respond? Recognizing that something good has happened in our lives, do we try to make something good happen in someone else’s? What do we do with the gifts we receive from God? Do we feel grateful and, in turn, act upon them? Are we returning those gifts with increase or are we simply returning to God an empty container?
Our gifts give us the impetus to respond with gratitude, and gratitude is a call to action. Never return an empty plate.
Dear God: Teach me to never return an empty plate.
“As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them.” ~John Fitzgerald Kennedy, 35th President of the United States (1917-1963)
© 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.
Margie Kibelbeck carefully positioned the perogies in the Corningware container. They had to be placed just right, then covered with wax paper, so they didn’t stick together. The container, which had made its way around the neighborhood more than once, wasn’t hers. It belonged to her friend, Stella Rodzianko.
They had known each other since childhood. Their families had lived across the street from one another since the Depression. The dish had been so well-used the blue poppies on the side had begun to wear away. It had been the vehicle for everything from brownies to golumpkie (Polish stuffed cabbage rolls).
This time it had arrived at her house, a week or so earlier, filled with chocolate chip cookies. Margie had been surprised by unexpected guests from out of town. And just when she was wondering what she could put out for them, Stella arrived unexpectedly with the cookies. Coffee and cookies had been enough to satisfy her guests. “A friend is the one who comes in when the whole world has gone out,” she thought to herself as she placed the last row of perogies on the wax paper.
There had been times during the “Big Depression” that the only food there was to eat was given by a neighbor. She often thought this was where the tradition of “never return an empty dish” had come from. During the Depression, people shared what they could with one another. There were no social services back then; unless someone took pity on you, you could starve.
She remembered a time when she was a little girl. It was the end of the month and there was nothing left in the cupboard. Mrs. Del Vecchio had dropped off a plate of rigatoni, using the excuse that she had accidentally made too much. After dinner Margie’s mother had carefully washed the plate while saying what sounded like a prayer. Once clean and ready to be returned, they had nothing to put in the dish.
So, instead, Margie’s Mom took out a small sheet of tablet paper. Seated at the kitchen table, with fountain pen in hand, she carefully wrote “Blessed are they who care for their neighbors.” Then she taped the note to the inside of the plate and instructed Margie and her brother to return it. “Make sure you say thank you,” she told them.
Mrs. Del Vecchio answered the door to find the two children standing there holding out the plate. Taking the plate, she read the note, then dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “Tell your Mama this is the best thing I ever got back in my plate,” she had said.
Returning from her thoughts, Margie put the glass lid on the Corningware and headed out the door. Hopefully Stella had the coffee pot on and one of her famous nut rolls in the oven.
Stewardship within a community, be it a neighborhood or a parish, is made up of many small acts of kindness. Note the emphasis on the word “acts” or “action.” I grew up with the “never return an empty plate” tradition, but over the years I have heard it continually maligned.
The arguments are always the same. If you gave someone food because they didn’t have any, how can you expect them to return the dish with food in it? Some will say they use disposable containers so there is no need to return anything. Others will say they simply return a clean plate. Sometimes you are just lucky to get the plate back at all!
Margie’s Mom answered the question: “What do you give back?” There is always something to give back. She was grateful, but there needed to be something more. Gratitude is not only a feeling; it seems to require a response from us, as well. In fact, gratitude is responsive, interactive, relational and even spiritual.
When we feel grateful, how do we respond? Recognizing that something good has happened in our lives, do we try to make something good happen in someone else’s? What do we do with the gifts we receive from God? Do we feel grateful and, in turn, act upon them? Are we returning those gifts with increase or are we simply returning to God an empty container?
Our gifts give us the impetus to respond with gratitude, and gratitude is a call to action. Never return an empty plate.
Dear God: Teach me to never return an empty plate.
“As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them.” ~John Fitzgerald Kennedy, 35th President of the United States (1917-1963)
© 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, August 19, 2011
Puzzled
“Often our life is like putting a puzzle together without the lid to the box.” ~Deacon Brian Clements, Catholic Deacon and counselor, Archdiocese of Los Angeles
We sat at a folding card table in the middle of our living room. It had a padded green vinyl top and gun metal gray legs. Next to me sat my sister Bonnie and directly across from me my sister Linda. Spread across the table was the 1,000-plus puzzle pieces of an octagonal shaped jigsaw puzzle. The puzzle box lid was strategically placed where we all could see it, for easy reference. The lid depicted three white cats on a dark blue field.
At first we thought this would be a “piece of cake” compared to the multi-colored landscape or waterscape paintings of sunsets and the like we had worked on before. Our miscalculation was that large patches of similar colors provided few hints as to how the thing fit together. As was our custom, we started by sorting the pieces by color. Next we assembled the frame or outside edge of puzzle. Having completed those two steps we were now faced with the gaping void in the middle.
My strategy was to find puzzle pieces with the bits of dark blue and white which made up the boundary where the cats’ image met the background. And for a time, it seemed to be working. Then I came to an impasse. Two pieces, which appeared to be part of a paw, had fit together seamlessly.
Holding them over the puzzle I carefully moved them about over the surface comparing the color contrasts to portions of the already assembled puzzle. Occasionally I would attempt to fit them into a spot, with no luck. Fruitlessly, I searched for the location of the two pieces. Finding none, I set them aside and began fitting in other parts of the puzzle.
After a time, I returned to the pair of pieces and resumed the search for a fit. Frustrated by the process, they were set aside once more. Another round of matching blues to blues and whites to whites till a third time I picked up the two connected pieces determined, this time, to find their location. I became so frustrated I attempted to fit them into spots that I had previously tried, thinking somehow things had changed or that I must have missed something. Finally, defeated, I sighed with exasperation.
Bonnie had been patiently assembling a different portion of the puzzle. She looked up when she heard my sigh of frustration. “What’s wrong Jimmie?” she asked. “These two stupid paw pieces won’t fit anywhere,” I whined. “Let’s see,” she said, taking them carefully into her hands.
Calmly she surveyed the partially assembled puzzle, the box lid and the puzzle pieces in her hand, slowly turning them this way and that. Finally, her eyes brightened. “They’re not part of the paws, they’re part of the ears,” she said triumphantly, slipping them easily into position near the top of the puzzle.
My former Spiritual Director was fond of saying, “God’s plan B is always better than my plan A.” My question was, “How do you know when you are working God’s plan and not your own?” “You just know,” he replied.
There are times in my life I have felt like a windup toy in a corner, reversing direction every time I bumped into a wall, only to turn and bump into another. Chasing success up a blind alley always leaves us at a dead end. “We spend our lives climbing ladders only to find there is nothing up there” (Thomas Merton).
Why does this happen? Often, like my two puzzle pieces, we mistake ears for paws. We decide what we are, what we want to be and what gifts we think we possess. Having determined what we think will make us feel successful; we proceed based upon those assumptions. In other words, we decide we are paws, even though we are really ears.
However, what we deem successful and what God intends for us are sometimes divergent paths. We head off in a promising direction only to find ourselves frustrated because things don’t fit where we think they should. More importantly, we don’t fit where we think we should.
How do we know when we are working God’s plan? It is not unlike my sister and the puzzle. First, we must trust that God has a plan for us. We are a part of His plan; part of a much bigger picture. In other words, like a puzzle piece, we have to trust that we fit into the plan. This is one of the reasons staunch individualism is so dangerous. It denies our potential contribution to the greater whole; the greater good.
Second, we cannot rush the result. Our life takes time. Our life unfolds before us; it is not created by us. Much as we would like it to be results-oriented, it is not (at least not our own results). If we do manage to manufacture the results we want, either they will not be satisfying, or they will dissipate quickly. Ever wonder why, when we get something we thought we really wanted, we still feel empty and unsatisfied?
Third, we have to do the footwork. Life is not about waiting around for God to give us insight. It is very much about OJT (on the job training). Bonnie took the time to look at the pieces in different ways; she viewed the entire puzzle (in its incompleteness), not just the section she was working on.
Next, she looked at the box lid to see what the image should be, not what she wanted it to be. When she finally made an attempt, the result came easily. It was not the result I was looking for, but the result which was supposed to happen within the context of “the bigger picture.”
There will be times in our lives when life seems unfair or out of sync. The job we thought was perfect for us goes to someone else. Our relationships seem contentious for no apparent reason. Things we thought would make us happy just don’t. But there is a “sweet spot” in our lives. How do we know when our life is headed in the right direction? When you are working God’s plan, you just know.
Dear God: Just point me in the right direction today…please.
“Life consists, not in holding good cards, but in playing those you hold well.” ~ Josh Billings, nom de plume of Henry Wheeler Shaw, American humorist and lecturer (1818-1885)
© 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.
We sat at a folding card table in the middle of our living room. It had a padded green vinyl top and gun metal gray legs. Next to me sat my sister Bonnie and directly across from me my sister Linda. Spread across the table was the 1,000-plus puzzle pieces of an octagonal shaped jigsaw puzzle. The puzzle box lid was strategically placed where we all could see it, for easy reference. The lid depicted three white cats on a dark blue field.
At first we thought this would be a “piece of cake” compared to the multi-colored landscape or waterscape paintings of sunsets and the like we had worked on before. Our miscalculation was that large patches of similar colors provided few hints as to how the thing fit together. As was our custom, we started by sorting the pieces by color. Next we assembled the frame or outside edge of puzzle. Having completed those two steps we were now faced with the gaping void in the middle.
My strategy was to find puzzle pieces with the bits of dark blue and white which made up the boundary where the cats’ image met the background. And for a time, it seemed to be working. Then I came to an impasse. Two pieces, which appeared to be part of a paw, had fit together seamlessly.
Holding them over the puzzle I carefully moved them about over the surface comparing the color contrasts to portions of the already assembled puzzle. Occasionally I would attempt to fit them into a spot, with no luck. Fruitlessly, I searched for the location of the two pieces. Finding none, I set them aside and began fitting in other parts of the puzzle.
After a time, I returned to the pair of pieces and resumed the search for a fit. Frustrated by the process, they were set aside once more. Another round of matching blues to blues and whites to whites till a third time I picked up the two connected pieces determined, this time, to find their location. I became so frustrated I attempted to fit them into spots that I had previously tried, thinking somehow things had changed or that I must have missed something. Finally, defeated, I sighed with exasperation.
Bonnie had been patiently assembling a different portion of the puzzle. She looked up when she heard my sigh of frustration. “What’s wrong Jimmie?” she asked. “These two stupid paw pieces won’t fit anywhere,” I whined. “Let’s see,” she said, taking them carefully into her hands.
Calmly she surveyed the partially assembled puzzle, the box lid and the puzzle pieces in her hand, slowly turning them this way and that. Finally, her eyes brightened. “They’re not part of the paws, they’re part of the ears,” she said triumphantly, slipping them easily into position near the top of the puzzle.
My former Spiritual Director was fond of saying, “God’s plan B is always better than my plan A.” My question was, “How do you know when you are working God’s plan and not your own?” “You just know,” he replied.
There are times in my life I have felt like a windup toy in a corner, reversing direction every time I bumped into a wall, only to turn and bump into another. Chasing success up a blind alley always leaves us at a dead end. “We spend our lives climbing ladders only to find there is nothing up there” (Thomas Merton).
Why does this happen? Often, like my two puzzle pieces, we mistake ears for paws. We decide what we are, what we want to be and what gifts we think we possess. Having determined what we think will make us feel successful; we proceed based upon those assumptions. In other words, we decide we are paws, even though we are really ears.
However, what we deem successful and what God intends for us are sometimes divergent paths. We head off in a promising direction only to find ourselves frustrated because things don’t fit where we think they should. More importantly, we don’t fit where we think we should.
How do we know when we are working God’s plan? It is not unlike my sister and the puzzle. First, we must trust that God has a plan for us. We are a part of His plan; part of a much bigger picture. In other words, like a puzzle piece, we have to trust that we fit into the plan. This is one of the reasons staunch individualism is so dangerous. It denies our potential contribution to the greater whole; the greater good.
Second, we cannot rush the result. Our life takes time. Our life unfolds before us; it is not created by us. Much as we would like it to be results-oriented, it is not (at least not our own results). If we do manage to manufacture the results we want, either they will not be satisfying, or they will dissipate quickly. Ever wonder why, when we get something we thought we really wanted, we still feel empty and unsatisfied?
Third, we have to do the footwork. Life is not about waiting around for God to give us insight. It is very much about OJT (on the job training). Bonnie took the time to look at the pieces in different ways; she viewed the entire puzzle (in its incompleteness), not just the section she was working on.
Next, she looked at the box lid to see what the image should be, not what she wanted it to be. When she finally made an attempt, the result came easily. It was not the result I was looking for, but the result which was supposed to happen within the context of “the bigger picture.”
There will be times in our lives when life seems unfair or out of sync. The job we thought was perfect for us goes to someone else. Our relationships seem contentious for no apparent reason. Things we thought would make us happy just don’t. But there is a “sweet spot” in our lives. How do we know when our life is headed in the right direction? When you are working God’s plan, you just know.
Dear God: Just point me in the right direction today…please.
“Life consists, not in holding good cards, but in playing those you hold well.” ~ Josh Billings, nom de plume of Henry Wheeler Shaw, American humorist and lecturer (1818-1885)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
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