“By compassion we make others’ misery our own, and so, by relieving them, we relieve ourselves also.” ~Thomas Browne, Sr., Revolutionary War soldier, and Superintendent of the Southern Indian Department (1750-1825)
She was a big woman; wrapped in a navy blue sweater, with a lime green bandana, flecked with red, engulfing her head.
“Look at me!” “I am strong.” “I am not sick.” “I want to live!” “And I am so very grateful for the food you give me.” “It helps keep my body well.”
Only minutes before, we had entered like rock stars processing down the center aisle of the packed, tented shelter. The audience greeted us with applause, cheers and smiles. Now, we were seated on dark green plastic chairs listening to the testimonies of the participants. Some of us were interspersed with the group, others sat facing them, but we were all brothers and sisters as one. We had come to feed and to be fed.
Once a month victims of HIV/AIDS and their families, the lepers of modern times, come to Holy Cross Catholic Church situated physically and emotionally in the heart of Dandora, Kenya, just outside Nairobi. Dandora is located literally at the city dump where 400 tons of refuse are deposited daily. Hogs root in the garbage while carrion birds circle overhead. Acrid smoke, produced by the heat of natural composting, rises from smoldering piles. Scavengers, of the human variety, pick through trash in an attempt to eek out a living from the discards of the more prosperous of society.
St Monica Catholic Church, through a ministry known as “Veronica’s Place” donates about $16,000 a year to feed those in Dandora who suffer with HIV/AIDS. Once a month they come to the parish to receive a small ration of corn meal, rice and a bit of oil. In this setting it is easy to imagine the prophet Elijah requesting a small cake made of oil and flour from an old widow.
Western stereotypes of AIDS sufferers are obliterated here. Many with whom we chatted were mothers with small children who gratefully identified the members of their families who were not HIV positive. Some were so weak their ability to accomplish the short walk back to their homes was in question. Even a decent bag to carry their food stuffs would have been a luxury for most. And yet they gave testimony to their gratitude for what they had received, little as it was by our standards.
Many of us exercise our bodies: at the fitness center, on the jogging trail or by participating in various sports activities. Some of us exercise our minds through a variety of academic endeavors, learning a foreign language, solving puzzles or reading. Some of us even work at improving our “Karma” through spiritual exercises, yoga, tai chi, or meditation. But how many of us exercise our hearts; not in the physical sense, but in a loving sense?
Muscles grow through a process of tearing down and rebuilding. Mental capacity grows by confronting our minds with new ideas, new obstacles, new challenges, but how do we grow and stretch our hearts. How do we expand our capacity to love? We do so by acts of compassion which require us to encounter the marginalized of our world…to challenge our hearts just as we challenge our bodies and our minds
Christian stewardship teaches us everything is a gift from God, to be received gratefully and returned to God with increase. We enter into this process by becoming conduits of God’s gifts and in so doing we enter, what Fr. Robert Barron refers to as, the “loop of grace”. When we enter this loop, through sharing our gifts of time, talent and treasure, we find the more we give the more we receive. This occurs in part because gifts are not intended to be possessed, but rather to be given freely.
The poor, the destitute, the underprivileged, the marginalized, the lepers of society, viewed in this context, as potential recipients of our gifts, are no longer burdens to be shouldered, but opportunities to serve; invitations to enter the loop of grace, to practice compassion and to stretch our hearts, giving us an even greater capacity to love.
To those of us predisposed to exercise a steep hill can be viewed, not as an obstacle, but as an opportunity for a quick work out. A book can be something which collects dust or it can be a gateway to a new perspective or idea.
On that day, in that place, it would have been easy to despair; to be like the disciples telling Jesus, “We don’t have enough to feed these people,” but instead our hearts were stretched and our capacity for compassion expanded. Without disruption we entered the loop of grace and our lives were forever changed.
Dear God: help me each day to seek ways to stretch my heart; increasing my capacity for love.
“If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion.” Dali Lama, Head of the Dge-lugs-pa order of Tibetan Buddhists, 1989 Nobel Peace Prize winner (b 1935)
© 2010 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”© 2010 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 ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
Preparations
“You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday.” ~Psalm 91: 5, 6
The metal folding chair on which I sat was incredibly uncomfortable. It was one of only seven in the cramped narrow waiting room. In the only other occupied seat sat an anxious Asian gentleman. The wall was covered with a colorful photo montage style poster replete with pictures of lions, zebras, giraffes and grinning tribesmen in ceremonial garb. One was bent forward greeting the child of a European tourist whose back was to the viewer. “Visit Kenya” the poster read. For some reason, I had thought the Consulate of Kenya in LA would be bigger.
The service window was located at the far end of the waiting area. A movie theater style glass partition, with a beveled hole, through which to converse, and an arched slot at counter height, through which paperwork could be passed, separated “guests” from the office workers. In a few minutes, with any luck, two passports, with Kenyan Visas affixed inside, would pass through that slot into my waiting hands.
Procuring a travel visa takes time, effort and expense. Forms need to be completed on line and hard copies signed and submitted. Additional passport pictures are required and the Consulate only takes certified checks or money orders which requires an extra trip to the bank. Expedited service is also an additional charge. I had paid the extra fee so I could return in several hours rather than several days to retrieve my passports… and so I sat.
As I waited my mind rummaged through a random list of the preparations we had made thus far. You can tell a lot about a country by what you have to do to go there. The plethora of inoculations we had endured (Hep A, Hep B, Yellow Fever, Typhoid, Polio boosters, Tetanus boosters and even H1N1) was a clear indication of the level of health of the society. Malaria pills were prescribed as well. One out of four people in Kenya are infected with the disease. Mosquito repellent for body and clothes are also a must.
If inoculations are an indicator of the physical health of a society, currency will give you the vital signs of the economy. Exchanging currency into British Pounds or Euros is a bit like playing the stock market, but in third world countries it’s more like playing monopoly. A Kenya Shilling is worth less than 2 cents; a buck gets you 79 Shillings. In other words 34,000 Kenya Shillings are worth less than $500.00 US, indicating a weak economy and in turn a very poor country.
“Excuse me. Mistuh Cahpah?” The softly accented voice roused me out of my mental ramblings. There was a well appointed gentleman standing behind the glass; his crisp, white shirt, complete with gold cuff links, shone against his dark skin. As I stepped to the window he opened each of the two passports displaying the visa inside, assuring me all was in order. The visas were hand printed in “papyrus” script. I thanked him, shook his hand and happily headed for the elevator lobby, passports and receipt in hand.
If we plan on traveling there are preparations which need to be made. Some preparations are imposed upon us such as passports, visas, proper identification, etc. Other preparations are matters of comfort: the appropriate clothes and shoes, money to pay for necessities and frivolities, shelter (from tents to five star hotels), etc. Then there are those preparations which are for our health, well being and safety. Whether it be inoculations, insect repellent, being alert to dangerous areas or just having a pair of good walking shoes, safety is important. We ready ourselves physically, but we usually pay little attention to our spiritual preparedness. As we travel through life the one preparation most of us neglect is inviting God along in the form of the Holy Spirit.
God gave me a gentle reminder of this last week. I posted a light hearted comment on my Facebook page. It read “Teresa and I head for Dandora, Kenya to do missionary work for 2 weeks. Got the inoculations, got the visas, got the bug repellent...what am I forgetting???” I received many equally light hearted “shares” but one response, posted by a friend from South Africa, got my attention. “Read Psalm 91 every day,” she wrote.
South Africa has endured very troubled times over the last 30 to 40 years, but particularly in the 80's and 90's. In fact, in 1995 and 1998 South Africa led the world in reported murders. Life was not only uncertain, it was just plain dangerous; people murdered, homes, banks and businesses robbed, cars hijacked and their drivers and passengers slaughtered. At the same time however, there was an upsurge in prayer as the Holy Spirit moved through the country. All religions, Christian and non-Christian alike, prayed for peace; for an end to the death and destruction. Many began claiming protection under Psalm 91. Homes and businesses erected signs which read “Protected by Psalm 91” instead of “Protected by Brink’s Security”. Amazingly, none of those who claimed the protection of Psalm 91 were targeted.
As Christian Stewards we know prayer is an important part of our lives. As we make our preparations, whether it be for the coming day, a business meeting or a trip half way round the world, an important part of those preparations should be prayer and Psalm 91 is a good place to start.
Dear God: send your Holy Spirit to protect me today; to give me guidance and direction.
"Because they love me, says the LORD, I will rescue them; I will protect them, for they acknowledge my name. They will call upon me, and I will answer them; I will be with them in trouble, I will deliver them and honor them.” ~Psalm 91: 14, 15
© 2010 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”© 2010 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 ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
The metal folding chair on which I sat was incredibly uncomfortable. It was one of only seven in the cramped narrow waiting room. In the only other occupied seat sat an anxious Asian gentleman. The wall was covered with a colorful photo montage style poster replete with pictures of lions, zebras, giraffes and grinning tribesmen in ceremonial garb. One was bent forward greeting the child of a European tourist whose back was to the viewer. “Visit Kenya” the poster read. For some reason, I had thought the Consulate of Kenya in LA would be bigger.
The service window was located at the far end of the waiting area. A movie theater style glass partition, with a beveled hole, through which to converse, and an arched slot at counter height, through which paperwork could be passed, separated “guests” from the office workers. In a few minutes, with any luck, two passports, with Kenyan Visas affixed inside, would pass through that slot into my waiting hands.
Procuring a travel visa takes time, effort and expense. Forms need to be completed on line and hard copies signed and submitted. Additional passport pictures are required and the Consulate only takes certified checks or money orders which requires an extra trip to the bank. Expedited service is also an additional charge. I had paid the extra fee so I could return in several hours rather than several days to retrieve my passports… and so I sat.
As I waited my mind rummaged through a random list of the preparations we had made thus far. You can tell a lot about a country by what you have to do to go there. The plethora of inoculations we had endured (Hep A, Hep B, Yellow Fever, Typhoid, Polio boosters, Tetanus boosters and even H1N1) was a clear indication of the level of health of the society. Malaria pills were prescribed as well. One out of four people in Kenya are infected with the disease. Mosquito repellent for body and clothes are also a must.
If inoculations are an indicator of the physical health of a society, currency will give you the vital signs of the economy. Exchanging currency into British Pounds or Euros is a bit like playing the stock market, but in third world countries it’s more like playing monopoly. A Kenya Shilling is worth less than 2 cents; a buck gets you 79 Shillings. In other words 34,000 Kenya Shillings are worth less than $500.00 US, indicating a weak economy and in turn a very poor country.
“Excuse me. Mistuh Cahpah?” The softly accented voice roused me out of my mental ramblings. There was a well appointed gentleman standing behind the glass; his crisp, white shirt, complete with gold cuff links, shone against his dark skin. As I stepped to the window he opened each of the two passports displaying the visa inside, assuring me all was in order. The visas were hand printed in “papyrus” script. I thanked him, shook his hand and happily headed for the elevator lobby, passports and receipt in hand.
If we plan on traveling there are preparations which need to be made. Some preparations are imposed upon us such as passports, visas, proper identification, etc. Other preparations are matters of comfort: the appropriate clothes and shoes, money to pay for necessities and frivolities, shelter (from tents to five star hotels), etc. Then there are those preparations which are for our health, well being and safety. Whether it be inoculations, insect repellent, being alert to dangerous areas or just having a pair of good walking shoes, safety is important. We ready ourselves physically, but we usually pay little attention to our spiritual preparedness. As we travel through life the one preparation most of us neglect is inviting God along in the form of the Holy Spirit.
God gave me a gentle reminder of this last week. I posted a light hearted comment on my Facebook page. It read “Teresa and I head for Dandora, Kenya to do missionary work for 2 weeks. Got the inoculations, got the visas, got the bug repellent...what am I forgetting???” I received many equally light hearted “shares” but one response, posted by a friend from South Africa, got my attention. “Read Psalm 91 every day,” she wrote.
South Africa has endured very troubled times over the last 30 to 40 years, but particularly in the 80's and 90's. In fact, in 1995 and 1998 South Africa led the world in reported murders. Life was not only uncertain, it was just plain dangerous; people murdered, homes, banks and businesses robbed, cars hijacked and their drivers and passengers slaughtered. At the same time however, there was an upsurge in prayer as the Holy Spirit moved through the country. All religions, Christian and non-Christian alike, prayed for peace; for an end to the death and destruction. Many began claiming protection under Psalm 91. Homes and businesses erected signs which read “Protected by Psalm 91” instead of “Protected by Brink’s Security”. Amazingly, none of those who claimed the protection of Psalm 91 were targeted.
As Christian Stewards we know prayer is an important part of our lives. As we make our preparations, whether it be for the coming day, a business meeting or a trip half way round the world, an important part of those preparations should be prayer and Psalm 91 is a good place to start.
Dear God: send your Holy Spirit to protect me today; to give me guidance and direction.
"Because they love me, says the LORD, I will rescue them; I will protect them, for they acknowledge my name. They will call upon me, and I will answer them; I will be with them in trouble, I will deliver them and honor them.” ~Psalm 91: 14, 15
© 2010 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”© 2010 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 ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, July 2, 2010
The Perfect Man
“Were I to await perfection, my book would never be finished.” ~Chinese Proverb
“On your left!”
Diane was flying down the bikeway on a junk run. She had done her regular work out in the early morning hours. Now she was just packing on some extra miles for good measure. It was a gift to be alive. She was, after all, a cancer survivor. It hadn’t been that long ago she was lying in a hospital bed. A well meaning nurse had told her, “Even though you’re terminally ill the good news is you’ll have time to travel if you want.” A little time to travel was a blessing? She didn’t want to travel! Diane wanted to live! Her Dad had told her, “You don’t get out of this life alive, Diane,” but he was in his 80’s for God’s sake.
Now, in full remission, she was training for a 100-mile bike race. She had been praying as she pedaled. “Dear God, send the perfect man for me.” It wasn’t her “first rodeo” so to speak, but now she had her life back. There should be someone with which to share it. “Dear God, send the perfect man for me,” she repeated like a mantra.
Suddenly she realized she was coming up on a skater; fast, too fast. “On your left!” she yelled out. Instinctively the skater swerved to his left directly into her path. “The other left!” Diane screamed as she skidded to avoid him. This time he went right and she slid left. Catastrophe avoided they made apologies to one another.
His name was Kirk and, as it turned out, they shared a lot of interests. A date was made and others followed. Then came the engagement and the wedding planning began. Diane’s cancer had left her unable to bear children, so they started adoption paperwork as well. In the blank marked “Preferred Race” they wrote “HUMAN”.
Then, amidst the flurry of preparations, came the diagnosis: Kirk had terminal leukemia; a few months perhaps. In her moments of despair Diane asked God a simple question: “Why?” The answer came quickly. Kirk was the “perfect man for her.” He was a man she loved deeply and cared for. He in turn, loved her. More importantly he needed someone to walk “the path” with him. A path she too had walked once before. A path she knew all too well. They were in fact, “the perfect couple”.
The wedding date was moved up and the preparations accelerated. The wedding was held at the local Lutheran church presided over by Kirk’s step-father. There had not been time to arrange the Catholic wedding for which Diane had hoped, but it didn’t matter. Like Diane and Kirk the two congregations came together as one. They returned from their honeymoon and shortly thereafter Kirk died. His legacy? Their adopted son, Steven; a blonde haired, blue eyed picture of his dad.
Diane’s prayer had been answered two-fold.
Our version of perfect is very different from God’s version of perfect. Our version of perfection typically means flawless, untainted, unblemished, and perhaps even pure. We think in terms of the “perfect job”, the “perfect car”, or the “perfect body.” Our version of perfection is literally overrated and yet we are more than willing to use any means possible to attain versions of this so-called “perfection”. Sadly, the pursuit of human perfection can be a road to false satisfaction and ultimately disappointment.
On the other hand, God’s version of perfection is one of “rightness.” Therefore, like Diane, if one prays for perfection what one will receive is not a flawless remedy, but the perfect answer to our prayers. Case in point, God’s response to Diane’s prayer was not a flawless human being and yet she and Kirk could not have been better suited for one another.
We expect God’s responses to be convenient, uncomplicated and appealing from a human point of view. God, however, doesn’t seem to operate this way. When we come to realize God’s answers to our prayers are not what we perceive as flawless, simplistic resolutions, it helps us to understand why God’s gifts don’t always seem like gifts. We live in an imperfect world; imperfection of our own making. It therefore stands to reason the remedies for our hardships will also seem imperfect at first. They are rarely what we expected.
This confusion over perfection versus rightness is not a new issue. For several thousand years perfection, or what we might call holiness, has been equated with moral purity. In an effort to be perfected (holy) we feel compelled to execute life, faith, morals, etc. flawlessly. Such an approach is doomed to disappointment.
In point of fact, to be holy means to “rise above” these things. “To rise above” does not mean to become superior to others. Rather it is an ability to move to a place above the noise and confusion of life and, from this vantage point, see its gifts and blessings…just as Diane came to see Kirk and the path they walked together as a gift.
Dear God, give me your perfect answers to my imperfect prayers.
“People throw away what they could have, by insisting on perfection, which they cannot have, and looking for it where they will never find it.” ~Edith Schaeffer, Christian author and co-founder of L’Abri (b 1914)
© 2010 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”© 2010 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 ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
“On your left!”
Diane was flying down the bikeway on a junk run. She had done her regular work out in the early morning hours. Now she was just packing on some extra miles for good measure. It was a gift to be alive. She was, after all, a cancer survivor. It hadn’t been that long ago she was lying in a hospital bed. A well meaning nurse had told her, “Even though you’re terminally ill the good news is you’ll have time to travel if you want.” A little time to travel was a blessing? She didn’t want to travel! Diane wanted to live! Her Dad had told her, “You don’t get out of this life alive, Diane,” but he was in his 80’s for God’s sake.
Now, in full remission, she was training for a 100-mile bike race. She had been praying as she pedaled. “Dear God, send the perfect man for me.” It wasn’t her “first rodeo” so to speak, but now she had her life back. There should be someone with which to share it. “Dear God, send the perfect man for me,” she repeated like a mantra.
Suddenly she realized she was coming up on a skater; fast, too fast. “On your left!” she yelled out. Instinctively the skater swerved to his left directly into her path. “The other left!” Diane screamed as she skidded to avoid him. This time he went right and she slid left. Catastrophe avoided they made apologies to one another.
His name was Kirk and, as it turned out, they shared a lot of interests. A date was made and others followed. Then came the engagement and the wedding planning began. Diane’s cancer had left her unable to bear children, so they started adoption paperwork as well. In the blank marked “Preferred Race” they wrote “HUMAN”.
Then, amidst the flurry of preparations, came the diagnosis: Kirk had terminal leukemia; a few months perhaps. In her moments of despair Diane asked God a simple question: “Why?” The answer came quickly. Kirk was the “perfect man for her.” He was a man she loved deeply and cared for. He in turn, loved her. More importantly he needed someone to walk “the path” with him. A path she too had walked once before. A path she knew all too well. They were in fact, “the perfect couple”.
The wedding date was moved up and the preparations accelerated. The wedding was held at the local Lutheran church presided over by Kirk’s step-father. There had not been time to arrange the Catholic wedding for which Diane had hoped, but it didn’t matter. Like Diane and Kirk the two congregations came together as one. They returned from their honeymoon and shortly thereafter Kirk died. His legacy? Their adopted son, Steven; a blonde haired, blue eyed picture of his dad.
Diane’s prayer had been answered two-fold.
Our version of perfect is very different from God’s version of perfect. Our version of perfection typically means flawless, untainted, unblemished, and perhaps even pure. We think in terms of the “perfect job”, the “perfect car”, or the “perfect body.” Our version of perfection is literally overrated and yet we are more than willing to use any means possible to attain versions of this so-called “perfection”. Sadly, the pursuit of human perfection can be a road to false satisfaction and ultimately disappointment.
On the other hand, God’s version of perfection is one of “rightness.” Therefore, like Diane, if one prays for perfection what one will receive is not a flawless remedy, but the perfect answer to our prayers. Case in point, God’s response to Diane’s prayer was not a flawless human being and yet she and Kirk could not have been better suited for one another.
We expect God’s responses to be convenient, uncomplicated and appealing from a human point of view. God, however, doesn’t seem to operate this way. When we come to realize God’s answers to our prayers are not what we perceive as flawless, simplistic resolutions, it helps us to understand why God’s gifts don’t always seem like gifts. We live in an imperfect world; imperfection of our own making. It therefore stands to reason the remedies for our hardships will also seem imperfect at first. They are rarely what we expected.
This confusion over perfection versus rightness is not a new issue. For several thousand years perfection, or what we might call holiness, has been equated with moral purity. In an effort to be perfected (holy) we feel compelled to execute life, faith, morals, etc. flawlessly. Such an approach is doomed to disappointment.
In point of fact, to be holy means to “rise above” these things. “To rise above” does not mean to become superior to others. Rather it is an ability to move to a place above the noise and confusion of life and, from this vantage point, see its gifts and blessings…just as Diane came to see Kirk and the path they walked together as a gift.
Dear God, give me your perfect answers to my imperfect prayers.
“People throw away what they could have, by insisting on perfection, which they cannot have, and looking for it where they will never find it.” ~Edith Schaeffer, Christian author and co-founder of L’Abri (b 1914)
© 2010 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”© 2010 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 ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Explanation Fixation
“Only real love waits while we journey through grief.” Excerpt from The Winter Vault by Anne Michaels, Canadian poet and novelist (b 1958)
The four of them stood on the curb talking with their friend seated in his truck, the darkness gathering around them. The after prom party at their neighbor’s had been so packed with people they had chosen to wait out front till the crowd thinned. The music and the noise from the party masked the low rumble of the approaching black SUV and the electronic hum as the darkened passenger’s side window slid down. Erick heard four hard popping sounds and felt a puff of air pass his right temple. Then the screams started. Erick turned toward the sound and caught sight of one of his friends, blood pouring down his face. A bullet had creased his skull literally scoring a trail across the top of his head. Blood flowed profusely from the ugly scalp wound.
Realizing the wound was superficial; Erick felt a momentary sense of relief as he glanced around trying to locate his other two friends. Where was Mikey? Then he saw him. Michael McGuire lay on his back, a pool of blood gathering on the pavement underneath his head. Erick knelt next to him, but he was unresponsive. A cell phone flipped open, 9-1-1, but when the operator answered she put them on hold. Frustrated the boys loaded Mikey and their wounded chum into their friend’s truck and headed for the hospital. The ambulance would arrive on the scene 28 minutes later.
Erick cradled Mikey in his arms during the ride. At one point he sensed something more than blood draining from him. It was a kind of warm energy passing out of him. In that moment, he sensed Michael’s spirit leave him. They arrived at the hospital. Mikey was placed on a gurney and rushed to the emergency care unit, Erick still at his side. An ER nurse stopped him at the double doors to the unit with a traffic cop-like “palm out” sign and a grim half smile.
Stricken and stunned Mikey’s family arrived at the hospital. Friends gathered; wept together, prayed together, waited together. When it came, the news was bad. The bullet had severed the brain stem. He was on life support. There was nothing to be down. The painful decision was made to disconnect Michael from the machines which were keeping him alive. But then, a discussion ensued; a difficult discussion; a prayerful discussion. The family asked the doctor to meet with them. The life support would not be disconnected immediately. The family, with the support and encouragement of close friends, had elected to donate Michael’s organs.
He remained on life support for two more days while the transplant team was assembled and vital organs removed. His liver was divided between two babies. His heart, lungs and kidneys would extend the lives of five others. There would be life after death. Finally, five days after his clinical death Michael McGuire was disconnected from life support and his body sent to the morgue where a forensic pathologist would remove the bullet still lodged in his brain stem; evidence of his murder.
We live in a world which demands explanation. We approach life with a “News at 11” kind of mentality. All must be revealed. The truth will out. Whether it be from the broadcast media, on the internet or shouted from tabloid headlines in the check out line we assume somewhere within our digitized, media spun world all will be explained; the real truth will come out, whether it be a grave political gaff, the marital infidelity of a celebrity or an environmental disaster.
When we encounter the death of a good young man however, there is no explanation and we go wanting. The what, where, when and how are very specific, but we can find no satisfactory WHY. In our search for “the truth” however, we don’t need factual explanations, we need prayerful contemplation. In the rush of emotional pain it is easy to confuse the senseless, with the meaningless. Often we hear the media describe loss of life as “senseless and meaningless.” There are many deaths which make no sense, which are beyond explanation, but no death is meaningless.
Michael’s death was senseless, even tragic, but the circumstances surrounding it bear tremendous meaning. Whether it was Erick’s sense of his spirit leaving him as he cradled him in his arms, to the many who kept vigil through the night, to the family’s decision to donate Michael’s organs; all of these acts possess a special meaning and deserve our attention and contemplation.
As stewards it is meaning which makes a difference and hence we search for it. We contemplate the events in our lives harvesting the gifts of meaning. Facts are superficial, cold, sterile and vary by the commentator and in each telling of the tale. Meaning is deeply personal and ultimately enriching. Explanations are quick fixes. Meaning takes time to manifest itself; to come to fruition. Afterwards, we move forward in life with a deeper sense of awareness.
The death of a loved one can never be adequately explained. It can only be faced, felt, experienced, survived and contemplated. Death is scary, inexplicable, fearful and, even when it is expected, unexpected. And yet, there is no greater evidence of life than death.
Dear God: Guide me to search daily for meaning in my life.
“The great challenge in living your wounds through instead of thinking them through is this: it is better to cry than to worry. It is better to feel your wounds more deeply than to understand them. Better to let them enter into your silence than to talk about them. The choice is whether you are taking your wounds to your head or to your heart.” Excerpt from The Inner Voice of Love by Henri Nouwen, Dutch-born Catholic priest and writer (1932-1996)
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 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 ”© 2010 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.
The four of them stood on the curb talking with their friend seated in his truck, the darkness gathering around them. The after prom party at their neighbor’s had been so packed with people they had chosen to wait out front till the crowd thinned. The music and the noise from the party masked the low rumble of the approaching black SUV and the electronic hum as the darkened passenger’s side window slid down. Erick heard four hard popping sounds and felt a puff of air pass his right temple. Then the screams started. Erick turned toward the sound and caught sight of one of his friends, blood pouring down his face. A bullet had creased his skull literally scoring a trail across the top of his head. Blood flowed profusely from the ugly scalp wound.
Realizing the wound was superficial; Erick felt a momentary sense of relief as he glanced around trying to locate his other two friends. Where was Mikey? Then he saw him. Michael McGuire lay on his back, a pool of blood gathering on the pavement underneath his head. Erick knelt next to him, but he was unresponsive. A cell phone flipped open, 9-1-1, but when the operator answered she put them on hold. Frustrated the boys loaded Mikey and their wounded chum into their friend’s truck and headed for the hospital. The ambulance would arrive on the scene 28 minutes later.
Erick cradled Mikey in his arms during the ride. At one point he sensed something more than blood draining from him. It was a kind of warm energy passing out of him. In that moment, he sensed Michael’s spirit leave him. They arrived at the hospital. Mikey was placed on a gurney and rushed to the emergency care unit, Erick still at his side. An ER nurse stopped him at the double doors to the unit with a traffic cop-like “palm out” sign and a grim half smile.
Stricken and stunned Mikey’s family arrived at the hospital. Friends gathered; wept together, prayed together, waited together. When it came, the news was bad. The bullet had severed the brain stem. He was on life support. There was nothing to be down. The painful decision was made to disconnect Michael from the machines which were keeping him alive. But then, a discussion ensued; a difficult discussion; a prayerful discussion. The family asked the doctor to meet with them. The life support would not be disconnected immediately. The family, with the support and encouragement of close friends, had elected to donate Michael’s organs.
He remained on life support for two more days while the transplant team was assembled and vital organs removed. His liver was divided between two babies. His heart, lungs and kidneys would extend the lives of five others. There would be life after death. Finally, five days after his clinical death Michael McGuire was disconnected from life support and his body sent to the morgue where a forensic pathologist would remove the bullet still lodged in his brain stem; evidence of his murder.
We live in a world which demands explanation. We approach life with a “News at 11” kind of mentality. All must be revealed. The truth will out. Whether it be from the broadcast media, on the internet or shouted from tabloid headlines in the check out line we assume somewhere within our digitized, media spun world all will be explained; the real truth will come out, whether it be a grave political gaff, the marital infidelity of a celebrity or an environmental disaster.
When we encounter the death of a good young man however, there is no explanation and we go wanting. The what, where, when and how are very specific, but we can find no satisfactory WHY. In our search for “the truth” however, we don’t need factual explanations, we need prayerful contemplation. In the rush of emotional pain it is easy to confuse the senseless, with the meaningless. Often we hear the media describe loss of life as “senseless and meaningless.” There are many deaths which make no sense, which are beyond explanation, but no death is meaningless.
Michael’s death was senseless, even tragic, but the circumstances surrounding it bear tremendous meaning. Whether it was Erick’s sense of his spirit leaving him as he cradled him in his arms, to the many who kept vigil through the night, to the family’s decision to donate Michael’s organs; all of these acts possess a special meaning and deserve our attention and contemplation.
As stewards it is meaning which makes a difference and hence we search for it. We contemplate the events in our lives harvesting the gifts of meaning. Facts are superficial, cold, sterile and vary by the commentator and in each telling of the tale. Meaning is deeply personal and ultimately enriching. Explanations are quick fixes. Meaning takes time to manifest itself; to come to fruition. Afterwards, we move forward in life with a deeper sense of awareness.
The death of a loved one can never be adequately explained. It can only be faced, felt, experienced, survived and contemplated. Death is scary, inexplicable, fearful and, even when it is expected, unexpected. And yet, there is no greater evidence of life than death.
Dear God: Guide me to search daily for meaning in my life.
“The great challenge in living your wounds through instead of thinking them through is this: it is better to cry than to worry. It is better to feel your wounds more deeply than to understand them. Better to let them enter into your silence than to talk about them. The choice is whether you are taking your wounds to your head or to your heart.” Excerpt from The Inner Voice of Love by Henri Nouwen, Dutch-born Catholic priest and writer (1932-1996)
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 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 ”© 2010 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.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Blinded
“Most human beings have an almost infinite capacity for taking things for granted.” ~Aldous Huxley, English writer, humanist, pacifist (1894-1963)
I sat in the late afternoon shade of our patio staring at the oleander in the corner of our back yard. Though it was dead and void of greenery it was captivating. The intricacy, texture, complexity and even the relatively dull colors had captured me. Teresa waited patiently for me to return my attention to the conversation we had been having over our evening meal. Between the anesthetic fog, and the results of the surgery, I had been distracted most of the day; staring at things for prolonged periods.
At 7:30 that morning I had been wheeled into a small surgical theater. Draped, drugged and at the mercy of the gowned specialists swirling around me in a precise ballet of preparation. They had marked an ‘R’ over my right eye so the doctor knew which one to repair. I giggled to myself wondering if they had marked my shoes in a similar fashion.
“Are you comfortable” the lady with the shower cap asked. “Uh huh” I managed to respond. In what seemed like moments I heard a disembodied voice, “It looks good” and something like drapery was pulled from around my face. The room I had entered feet first I was now exiting head first. Another shower cap & gown bedecked person was helping me sit up and offering me water or coffee. No contest there: “Coffee please.” I needed to wake up.
During my brief period of “twilight sleep” the surgeon had used a laser to make a tiny incision in my right eye. My existing lens, replete with a large ripe cataract, was obliterated using ultrasonic vibrations then vacuumed away. A new artificial lens was slipped into place through the same incision and seated where the old one had been. The result? I now had 20/20 vision, uncorrected (which in and of itself is an oxymoron).
After several years of dimming sight and gradually increasing difficulty with everything requiring my vision I now saw the world anew; literally through a different set of eyes. And so I stared at the oleander, at everything; reconnecting with what I had missed.
“You never know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone” (Bob Dylan’s “Big Yellow Taxi”). We often take things, like our sight or our health, for granted, simply because they are always there. It is, therefore, scarcity, not abundance which makes us aware of and grateful for the many gifts we are given each day. When the gifts we receive from God become expected however, we no longer perceive them as gifts and in turn cease to be grateful for them.
Most of us wake each morning expecting to have a roof over our heads, food on the table, fresh water on tap, a job to go to and a car to get us there. As our wealth and possessions grow so do our expectations and our gratitude, in turn, diminishes. Have you ever said to someone, “I need a new car” or “a new television” or “a new laptop”? But do we really “need” it or is it our expectations talking? We can easily become a kind of possession junky, requiring more and more stuff to satiate our self.
Some years ago Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis made a very generous financial gift to a charity. When she presented the check she remarked offhandedly, “I wish I could give you more, but I’m not that rich.” Jackie Onassis? “Not that rich???” Yet, in her frame of reference, she was not that rich simple because her expectations of what were necessities were so high. Expectations become entitlements and blind us to God’s gifts.
This, in some ways, explains why the poor sometimes seem to be more grateful than the rich. Logically more gifts should generate more gratitude, but it actually operates in the reverse: the more scarcity the greater the gratitude.
One way to prevent being anesthetized by our possessions is to do “charity work”. This does not mean writing more checks, rather it means donating more time, volunteering. Volunteerism is a simple way of reconnecting ourselves with scarcity; with need. It is a way for us to experience poverty, illness, homelessness, unemployment, aging, even death on a first hand basis and often without risk. It gives us the opportunity to see reality through the eyes of another. It resets our expectations to more reasonable levels and allows us to be grateful again.
Though I had experienced blindness, thanks to modern technology I was never really in danger of being blind, and yet I have a renewed joy in being sighted. It is common for people who do a lot of volunteer work to remark, “I get more out of it than I put into it.” This comes, not only from the joy of helping others, but from the recognition of the many gifts we have and a renewed gratitude for having received them. If we are to avoid being blinded by our many gifts we must look through the eyes of those who are deprived of them.
Dear God, remind me constantly to be grateful for everything which I have.
“We often take for granted the very things that most deserve our gratitude.” ~Cynthia Ozick, American short story writer, novelist, essayist (b1928)
© 2010 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”© 2010 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 ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
I sat in the late afternoon shade of our patio staring at the oleander in the corner of our back yard. Though it was dead and void of greenery it was captivating. The intricacy, texture, complexity and even the relatively dull colors had captured me. Teresa waited patiently for me to return my attention to the conversation we had been having over our evening meal. Between the anesthetic fog, and the results of the surgery, I had been distracted most of the day; staring at things for prolonged periods.
At 7:30 that morning I had been wheeled into a small surgical theater. Draped, drugged and at the mercy of the gowned specialists swirling around me in a precise ballet of preparation. They had marked an ‘R’ over my right eye so the doctor knew which one to repair. I giggled to myself wondering if they had marked my shoes in a similar fashion.
“Are you comfortable” the lady with the shower cap asked. “Uh huh” I managed to respond. In what seemed like moments I heard a disembodied voice, “It looks good” and something like drapery was pulled from around my face. The room I had entered feet first I was now exiting head first. Another shower cap & gown bedecked person was helping me sit up and offering me water or coffee. No contest there: “Coffee please.” I needed to wake up.
During my brief period of “twilight sleep” the surgeon had used a laser to make a tiny incision in my right eye. My existing lens, replete with a large ripe cataract, was obliterated using ultrasonic vibrations then vacuumed away. A new artificial lens was slipped into place through the same incision and seated where the old one had been. The result? I now had 20/20 vision, uncorrected (which in and of itself is an oxymoron).
After several years of dimming sight and gradually increasing difficulty with everything requiring my vision I now saw the world anew; literally through a different set of eyes. And so I stared at the oleander, at everything; reconnecting with what I had missed.
“You never know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone” (Bob Dylan’s “Big Yellow Taxi”). We often take things, like our sight or our health, for granted, simply because they are always there. It is, therefore, scarcity, not abundance which makes us aware of and grateful for the many gifts we are given each day. When the gifts we receive from God become expected however, we no longer perceive them as gifts and in turn cease to be grateful for them.
Most of us wake each morning expecting to have a roof over our heads, food on the table, fresh water on tap, a job to go to and a car to get us there. As our wealth and possessions grow so do our expectations and our gratitude, in turn, diminishes. Have you ever said to someone, “I need a new car” or “a new television” or “a new laptop”? But do we really “need” it or is it our expectations talking? We can easily become a kind of possession junky, requiring more and more stuff to satiate our self.
Some years ago Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis made a very generous financial gift to a charity. When she presented the check she remarked offhandedly, “I wish I could give you more, but I’m not that rich.” Jackie Onassis? “Not that rich???” Yet, in her frame of reference, she was not that rich simple because her expectations of what were necessities were so high. Expectations become entitlements and blind us to God’s gifts.
This, in some ways, explains why the poor sometimes seem to be more grateful than the rich. Logically more gifts should generate more gratitude, but it actually operates in the reverse: the more scarcity the greater the gratitude.
One way to prevent being anesthetized by our possessions is to do “charity work”. This does not mean writing more checks, rather it means donating more time, volunteering. Volunteerism is a simple way of reconnecting ourselves with scarcity; with need. It is a way for us to experience poverty, illness, homelessness, unemployment, aging, even death on a first hand basis and often without risk. It gives us the opportunity to see reality through the eyes of another. It resets our expectations to more reasonable levels and allows us to be grateful again.
Though I had experienced blindness, thanks to modern technology I was never really in danger of being blind, and yet I have a renewed joy in being sighted. It is common for people who do a lot of volunteer work to remark, “I get more out of it than I put into it.” This comes, not only from the joy of helping others, but from the recognition of the many gifts we have and a renewed gratitude for having received them. If we are to avoid being blinded by our many gifts we must look through the eyes of those who are deprived of them.
Dear God, remind me constantly to be grateful for everything which I have.
“We often take for granted the very things that most deserve our gratitude.” ~Cynthia Ozick, American short story writer, novelist, essayist (b1928)
© 2010 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”© 2010 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 ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Wake Up!
“Live in the present and make it so beautiful it will be worth remembering.” ~source unknown
The atmosphere was filled with energy and old memories…some good…some not so good. Even though the place had been renovated since the last time I had been there it felt the same...the same substantive, speckled terrazzo floor beneath my feet…the same cold wash from the banks of fluorescent lights…the same long glass display cases full of trophies. There I stood, at the intersection of two hallways, in the nerve center of the High School from which I had graduated nearly four decades before. I had returned to share in a Memorial Day weekend of reunions, retirements and reminiscing.
It had been a weekend I had approached with anticipation, but now I wasn’t so sure. Some of the old angst and awkwardness was starting to creep back in. Only moments before I had clumsily extricated myself from a conversation in which I unsuccessfully tried to bluff my way around admitting I didn’t recognize someone. The attempt had been, needless to say, a disaster and left me feeling unsure of myself.
Now engaged in a more comfortable conversation with another “alumnus,” who was sharing a humorous story about one of our classmates, I was regaining some of my composure. The punch line to the story was truly funny and we shared a good laugh together. In the momentary pause between the cessation of the laughter and the resumption of the conversation came a voice from behind me. “Jim? Jim Carper?” I turned and came face to face with someone I had not seen for thirty eight years. Debbie looked at me for only an instant. “Jim, I knew that was you.” “I recognized you by your laugh!”
Amongst the famous and the infamous, Barbara Walters once interviewed television actor, James Garner. Her final question of the interview was, “How do you want to be remembered?” Without hesitation he responded, “With a smile.”
How will our voice be remembered? Will it be strident with aggression? Will it be muted with neglect or self absorption? Will it be remembered because the only pronouns we used were me, myself and I? Or, perhaps our voice will never be remembered because our possessions left so strong an impression our personae disappeared in the glare.
We leave a wake in the world, just as surly as a Chris-Craft gliding through a busy harbor or a stone cast into the mirror-like surface of a pond; we leave ripples, wakes and waves in the world. This lingering resonance is the consequence of living our lives. Short of complete seclusion none of us can pass through life without consequence…without leaving our mark, temporary though it may be. Even choosing to do nothing has its affect. Our wake is unavoidable and we are stewards of those reverberations. This wake of ours can gently rock others, caress them, comfort them. Or, it can be dissonant; disturbing others, jostling them; capsizing their lives.
Surprisingly, to be stewards of our own wake, to leave the best possible resonance in the world, we must do so by caring for the present; the here and now. After all, our wake, what we leave behind, is simply the reverberations of our present actions …of what breaks upon our bow today as we forge ahead through life.
What will the resonance of today’s actions look like when later we glance over our shoulder? Will our life be a nurturing resonance, like water lapping on the shore or will it break across the lives of others like a wave swamping a helpless boat. Whatever it is, it will be determined by the decisions we make and the actions we take right here, right now.
Dear God, if people only remember me by one thing, let it be the resonance of my laughter.
“Looking back you realize a very special person passed briefly through your life – and it was you. It is not too late to find that person again.” ~Robert Brault, identified as software writer and poet.
© 2010 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”© 2010 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 ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
The atmosphere was filled with energy and old memories…some good…some not so good. Even though the place had been renovated since the last time I had been there it felt the same...the same substantive, speckled terrazzo floor beneath my feet…the same cold wash from the banks of fluorescent lights…the same long glass display cases full of trophies. There I stood, at the intersection of two hallways, in the nerve center of the High School from which I had graduated nearly four decades before. I had returned to share in a Memorial Day weekend of reunions, retirements and reminiscing.
It had been a weekend I had approached with anticipation, but now I wasn’t so sure. Some of the old angst and awkwardness was starting to creep back in. Only moments before I had clumsily extricated myself from a conversation in which I unsuccessfully tried to bluff my way around admitting I didn’t recognize someone. The attempt had been, needless to say, a disaster and left me feeling unsure of myself.
Now engaged in a more comfortable conversation with another “alumnus,” who was sharing a humorous story about one of our classmates, I was regaining some of my composure. The punch line to the story was truly funny and we shared a good laugh together. In the momentary pause between the cessation of the laughter and the resumption of the conversation came a voice from behind me. “Jim? Jim Carper?” I turned and came face to face with someone I had not seen for thirty eight years. Debbie looked at me for only an instant. “Jim, I knew that was you.” “I recognized you by your laugh!”
Amongst the famous and the infamous, Barbara Walters once interviewed television actor, James Garner. Her final question of the interview was, “How do you want to be remembered?” Without hesitation he responded, “With a smile.”
How will our voice be remembered? Will it be strident with aggression? Will it be muted with neglect or self absorption? Will it be remembered because the only pronouns we used were me, myself and I? Or, perhaps our voice will never be remembered because our possessions left so strong an impression our personae disappeared in the glare.
We leave a wake in the world, just as surly as a Chris-Craft gliding through a busy harbor or a stone cast into the mirror-like surface of a pond; we leave ripples, wakes and waves in the world. This lingering resonance is the consequence of living our lives. Short of complete seclusion none of us can pass through life without consequence…without leaving our mark, temporary though it may be. Even choosing to do nothing has its affect. Our wake is unavoidable and we are stewards of those reverberations. This wake of ours can gently rock others, caress them, comfort them. Or, it can be dissonant; disturbing others, jostling them; capsizing their lives.
Surprisingly, to be stewards of our own wake, to leave the best possible resonance in the world, we must do so by caring for the present; the here and now. After all, our wake, what we leave behind, is simply the reverberations of our present actions …of what breaks upon our bow today as we forge ahead through life.
What will the resonance of today’s actions look like when later we glance over our shoulder? Will our life be a nurturing resonance, like water lapping on the shore or will it break across the lives of others like a wave swamping a helpless boat. Whatever it is, it will be determined by the decisions we make and the actions we take right here, right now.
Dear God, if people only remember me by one thing, let it be the resonance of my laughter.
“Looking back you realize a very special person passed briefly through your life – and it was you. It is not too late to find that person again.” ~Robert Brault, identified as software writer and poet.
© 2010 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”© 2010 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 ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, June 4, 2010
The Sharpest Tool?
“No one can whistle a symphony. It takes an orchestra to play it.” ~ H.E. Luccock, Homiletics professor, Yale Divinity School and author (1885-1960)
Ryan invited his friends over to “talk shop”. They were all gamers. "Game speak" was their language and they loved talking the techno talk. Ryan, Marshal, Efran and Chad were deeply engrossed in discussion about “Marston”, the seemingly ambivalent, former outlaw hero of “Red Dead Redemption,” when Ryan’s father wandered into the kitchen. He quietly opened the refrigerator door, extracted the ice tea pitcher and poured himself a glass. Leaning against the granite counter top, Ryan’s dad sipped his tea, casually listening to the animated discussion.
Chad, who had been holding forth on a particular point, with which no one was agreeing, suddenly turned to the father; “What do you think of ‘Red Dead Redemption’ Mr. Carper?” he asked suddenly. Ryan’s dad put his glass down and considered the question for a moment. “I really don’t understand what you’re talking about,” he responded finally. “But then again, I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed either,” he concluded, taking another sip of tea. Chad thought for a moment. “It really doesn’t matter if you’re the sharpest tool in the shed,” replied Chad…“As long as you’re the hammer!”
A well stocked tool box holds many tools for many purposes: measuring, cutting, squaring, marking, attaching, and even clamping (holding things together). It would be nearly impossible to build a structure with only one tool. Likewise it is impossible to build a world with people who all share the same skill (gift) or skill set (set of gifts). We are all occupants of God’s tool box, each gifted with our own set of unique skills, each of us with a purpose in this world; a purpose which is blended with the purposes of others.
Unfortunately, being “gifted” has come to be confused with being superior: possessing skills or skill levels greater than those of others, particularly in the areas of intelligence and sports. A well meaning elementary school psychologist once remarked she was very sorry our our child wasn’t gifted. Rather our child was “highly socialized with an above average vocabulary.” “Aren’t those gifts too?” my wife asked innocently.
Every one of us is uniquely gifted and, as such we are all necessary to this world. Yet, we seek affiliation rather than cooperation. When we build organizations, when we create committees, even when we choose our friends we seek “belonging” by gravitating to those who share similar skills or interests. When choosing friends this simply guarantees we will never be challenged and life will be very “same old, same old,” but with organizations it can be a road to ruin.
If a committee is made up of “planners” nothing will ever be implemented. If it is comprised of creative types, great ideas will be proposed, but no plan of action will ever be determined. A committee of implementers will be constantly implementing, but with no plan of attack and without the likelihood of ever finishing. Unfortunately, such a situation will often feel very comfortable because everyone is happily doing what they like to do.
God gifted us all differently and uniquely for a reason. We are part of a much bigger plan and so are those around us. It may seem somewhat counter intuitive, but we can accomplish much more when we work with those who are gifted differently, who share different perspectives, than those whose gifts are similar to ours. A tool box filled with saws, or heaped with hammers, or comprised totally of tape measures is useless in the long run. Yet we tend to build our lives and our organizations around a desire for affiliation, rather than a need for diversity.
Either we have to be like everyone else or everyone else has to be like us. Not only is this approach ineffective, it is down right dull. Harmony comes from many different tones, not the same tone. God gifted us all differently with the intention of us working together, compensating for one another and, in so doing, building a better world. It matters not if we are a hammer, a saw or even a “square”.
Dear God: Remind me daily that “none of us is as smart as all of us” (Ken Blanchard).
“Synergy is the highest activity of life; it creates new untapped alternatives; it values and exploits the mental, emotional, and psychological differences between people.” ~Stephen Covey, author, speaker, professor, consultant (b1932)
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 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 ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Ryan invited his friends over to “talk shop”. They were all gamers. "Game speak" was their language and they loved talking the techno talk. Ryan, Marshal, Efran and Chad were deeply engrossed in discussion about “Marston”, the seemingly ambivalent, former outlaw hero of “Red Dead Redemption,” when Ryan’s father wandered into the kitchen. He quietly opened the refrigerator door, extracted the ice tea pitcher and poured himself a glass. Leaning against the granite counter top, Ryan’s dad sipped his tea, casually listening to the animated discussion.
Chad, who had been holding forth on a particular point, with which no one was agreeing, suddenly turned to the father; “What do you think of ‘Red Dead Redemption’ Mr. Carper?” he asked suddenly. Ryan’s dad put his glass down and considered the question for a moment. “I really don’t understand what you’re talking about,” he responded finally. “But then again, I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed either,” he concluded, taking another sip of tea. Chad thought for a moment. “It really doesn’t matter if you’re the sharpest tool in the shed,” replied Chad…“As long as you’re the hammer!”
A well stocked tool box holds many tools for many purposes: measuring, cutting, squaring, marking, attaching, and even clamping (holding things together). It would be nearly impossible to build a structure with only one tool. Likewise it is impossible to build a world with people who all share the same skill (gift) or skill set (set of gifts). We are all occupants of God’s tool box, each gifted with our own set of unique skills, each of us with a purpose in this world; a purpose which is blended with the purposes of others.
Unfortunately, being “gifted” has come to be confused with being superior: possessing skills or skill levels greater than those of others, particularly in the areas of intelligence and sports. A well meaning elementary school psychologist once remarked she was very sorry our our child wasn’t gifted. Rather our child was “highly socialized with an above average vocabulary.” “Aren’t those gifts too?” my wife asked innocently.
Every one of us is uniquely gifted and, as such we are all necessary to this world. Yet, we seek affiliation rather than cooperation. When we build organizations, when we create committees, even when we choose our friends we seek “belonging” by gravitating to those who share similar skills or interests. When choosing friends this simply guarantees we will never be challenged and life will be very “same old, same old,” but with organizations it can be a road to ruin.
If a committee is made up of “planners” nothing will ever be implemented. If it is comprised of creative types, great ideas will be proposed, but no plan of action will ever be determined. A committee of implementers will be constantly implementing, but with no plan of attack and without the likelihood of ever finishing. Unfortunately, such a situation will often feel very comfortable because everyone is happily doing what they like to do.
God gifted us all differently and uniquely for a reason. We are part of a much bigger plan and so are those around us. It may seem somewhat counter intuitive, but we can accomplish much more when we work with those who are gifted differently, who share different perspectives, than those whose gifts are similar to ours. A tool box filled with saws, or heaped with hammers, or comprised totally of tape measures is useless in the long run. Yet we tend to build our lives and our organizations around a desire for affiliation, rather than a need for diversity.
Either we have to be like everyone else or everyone else has to be like us. Not only is this approach ineffective, it is down right dull. Harmony comes from many different tones, not the same tone. God gifted us all differently with the intention of us working together, compensating for one another and, in so doing, building a better world. It matters not if we are a hammer, a saw or even a “square”.
Dear God: Remind me daily that “none of us is as smart as all of us” (Ken Blanchard).
“Synergy is the highest activity of life; it creates new untapped alternatives; it values and exploits the mental, emotional, and psychological differences between people.” ~Stephen Covey, author, speaker, professor, consultant (b1932)
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 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 ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)