Although the idea of making introductions is to get, retain and recall at future dates the names of those whom you have met, sometimes reconciling the name to the face is an art form which escapes me.
I am reduced to the typical Southern greeting of 'How's your mamma 'n them?' or 'Glad you see you again!'
Niether is impolite, they just aren't personal.
I think I have succeeded in remembering the names of a few of the new people I have been introduced to only to see them in an entirely different setting and their name totally escapes me because they are 'out of uniform', so to speak.
Most of my social introductions these days come at church when I am not wearing faded sweatpants with paint adorning the legs and seat and when those to whom I am introduced are likewise wearing something other than 'house casual'.
Perhaps that in and of itself is enough to excuse the slack jawed deer in the headlights look that comes over me as I struggle to say funny or neutral things like 'Well, lookie here, they let just anybody shop here, don't they?" or, in the case of people with small children, "Oh my goodness! Look how much he/she has grown!"
Although they are not surefire winners, they beat the heck out of 'I have no clue who you are or where I met you." People seem to be taken aback by that sort of candor.
Online, there are gentle reminders to whom you are speaking. Visual tags or avatars remind us of at least the online persona. Sometimes, brave souls call themselves by the names their Momma gave them. And truly kind people post a picture of themselves, or an unreasonable facsimile of the same.
Maybe we should require name tags in life. My son, Thomas, wears one every day right now as part of his missionary service. Part identifier and part introduction, the tag is a visible reminder for those to whom he comes in contact and a reminder to himself as he tries to master a new language within this culture of preaching the gospel which he has embraced.
I wonder if our behavior might change if everyone we saw knew who we were right away?
In the movie 'Minority Report', the main character has had an eye implant that renders him recognizable as someone else due to retinal scanning. Stores, marquees, everything - literally - as he passes by cues up based on the retinal scan that tells everything about him, or the person through who's eyes he now sees the world.
There are sometimes that NOT being known is a good thing. Ask any major celebrity how much their privacy is really worth to them. They know that being seen keeps the money rolling in, but there are times that even the most gregarious needs 'alone time'.
When I have had to dash out to get medicine in the middle of the night at the 24 hour drug store, or pick up something at the local Walmart, I don't generally take the time to primp. But inevitably, I run into someone who knows me and they have a slightly pained expression on their face as we exchange pleasantries over a package of aloe enriched baby wipes. It is not until later when I am back home that I realize I am wearing a painting t-shirt with a prominent hole in the front and paint stains adorning the bottom where I've wiped my fine point brushes off between colors. Oh my goodness!!
Suddenly, I know exactly what they must have been thinking. I remember you! And now a picture I'd rather not have out there is seared into their mind. Not the one from Sunday when I looked like a million bucks, but rather the one from tonight where I resemble a panhandler looking for a few bucks.
And people wonder why I want to be a hermit!
The only good thing that can come of this is to pretend blithely that it wasn't me but my evil twin who assaulted their ocular senses. Kind and polite people who were raised right allow this ruse to continue unabated. Because deep down, they know they have experienced that same thing at least one time.
Unkind people smile that evil, knowing smile that leaves me a bit uncomfortable. They are holding this in reserve for 'when they need it'.
Maybe that's why I have a hard time remembering people's names. I want to view them in that almost sacred light of when we were introduced so politely and everyone had on decent clothes.
I don't want to sully my remembrance with seeing them as regular flawed people like I am. I think better of them than that.
January 12, 2008
January 9, 2008
Running out of words
For a majority of my life, I have been 'encouraged' to shut up.
Not that it was done unkindly, most of the time, but I was reminded frequently that I didn't always have to say something and that while I was talking I didn't always say anything worth listening to by the patient or wearied ears of others.
The gift of gab is one of the cruelest double edged swords that exists. From the time a child comes into the world, we dream of the day that they will say something. For those that are deprived of this ability, the world seems strangely silent as they cannot articulate even their most basic needs and we are left to guess at what is going on 'inside' of them. But the ability to speak regardless of language also means by default that we must learn when NOT to speak in order to keep ourselves within the boundaries that are imposed by a polite society.
Recently, I have begun to mull over my options when it involves speaking or, in fact, communication in any form. I believe I have grown tired of myself.
Owing to the fact that I am not sure how to proceed, I am trying to keep my mouth shut unless it is required for me to speak. For some people, this causes confusion. Others rejoice that for once in my life I am not assaulting their ears with my voice.
Those who are confused join me in a measure in my own confusion. I still love and care for them very much, I just don't know what I can contribute to their lives that would be worth the listening. And I have come to understand that my very presence is indeed a bore to many of the people in my life.
So, unless I have to talk on the phone, I don't. And I am trying to let some relationships grow or go, dependant upon whether or not there is anything reciprocated while my mouth is shut. Sometimes, they have outgrown me or perhaps I was never as much a part of their life, thought processes and daily habits as they were for me.
And I am learning that particular discovery can be okay. It used to hurt to think that I wasn't important to other people. Now, I have come to realize that life occured long before I arrived and will continue unabated long after I have gone. It's almost a reassuring thought.
Is there a possibility I will recede so far into my own little world that I will simply disappear? I don't know. That might be an interesting thing. I could become an observer in my own lifetime instead of the active force behind it's activity. How would my perceptions change about my contributions to those whom I think I am helping with my contact?
Maybe now is truly the time to find out. There could very well be an entire world out there that would benefit from my absence. My silence could offer a more timid soul the room they need to speak without fear of being overshadowed by a larger voice. My quiet may bring peace to a troubled soul who is running from the cacaphony of the larger world.
just something to consider today. . .
Not that it was done unkindly, most of the time, but I was reminded frequently that I didn't always have to say something and that while I was talking I didn't always say anything worth listening to by the patient or wearied ears of others.
The gift of gab is one of the cruelest double edged swords that exists. From the time a child comes into the world, we dream of the day that they will say something. For those that are deprived of this ability, the world seems strangely silent as they cannot articulate even their most basic needs and we are left to guess at what is going on 'inside' of them. But the ability to speak regardless of language also means by default that we must learn when NOT to speak in order to keep ourselves within the boundaries that are imposed by a polite society.
Recently, I have begun to mull over my options when it involves speaking or, in fact, communication in any form. I believe I have grown tired of myself.
Owing to the fact that I am not sure how to proceed, I am trying to keep my mouth shut unless it is required for me to speak. For some people, this causes confusion. Others rejoice that for once in my life I am not assaulting their ears with my voice.
Those who are confused join me in a measure in my own confusion. I still love and care for them very much, I just don't know what I can contribute to their lives that would be worth the listening. And I have come to understand that my very presence is indeed a bore to many of the people in my life.
So, unless I have to talk on the phone, I don't. And I am trying to let some relationships grow or go, dependant upon whether or not there is anything reciprocated while my mouth is shut. Sometimes, they have outgrown me or perhaps I was never as much a part of their life, thought processes and daily habits as they were for me.
And I am learning that particular discovery can be okay. It used to hurt to think that I wasn't important to other people. Now, I have come to realize that life occured long before I arrived and will continue unabated long after I have gone. It's almost a reassuring thought.
Is there a possibility I will recede so far into my own little world that I will simply disappear? I don't know. That might be an interesting thing. I could become an observer in my own lifetime instead of the active force behind it's activity. How would my perceptions change about my contributions to those whom I think I am helping with my contact?
Maybe now is truly the time to find out. There could very well be an entire world out there that would benefit from my absence. My silence could offer a more timid soul the room they need to speak without fear of being overshadowed by a larger voice. My quiet may bring peace to a troubled soul who is running from the cacaphony of the larger world.
just something to consider today. . .
January 7, 2008
All Night Long
When you are up all night for no good reason and can hear your heart beating so loudly it sounds as if drums are playing in the room, you know it's going to be a long one.
I try to get up every Monday morning no later than 3 am so that I can answer the emails my son sends from Germany. Time differential being what it is, if I am up at that hour, we can chat back and forth for a few minutes about how the work is going and how much he is loving his mission.
Since he has had a nasty cold since Christmas, we have been worried for him and praying about him and his needs. The usual 3 a.m. time for emails arrived (which is 10 a.m. where Thomas is).
No emails.
I waited and dozed with one ear alert for the "you've got mail" ding. Nothing. Then pings for ads, political causes, pharmaceuticals that NO ONE needs and solicitations for real estate. I deleted them angrily.
10 mintues passed, then 20.
Then thirty.
Then an hour had gone by and still NO MAIL FROM THOMAS!!!
Noooooooooo! This can't be!
By this time, my minds eye pictured him prostrate in the bed with fever and chills or laying cold and with chattering teeth.
I began to pray. That isn't a simplistic thing for a mother. To pray for your child's welfare is a direct line to Father that is part of that bargain we make for taking on the responsibility to raise one of HIS children in this life.
Following my Amen, a warm and gentle quiet descended. Feeling calmer and most definately still concerned, the thought pressed upon me 'He is busy. Just wait . . ."
By the time it was 5 a.m. here, the gentle ding that heralded the arrival of an email roused me from my stupor. This time the ping wasn't an ad for generic medicine at low cost or a chance to get an unsecured credit card from Nigeria.
This time, the ping was him. Woo hoo!!
And, just like the calm voice of the Spirit had told me in my panic stricken and faithless worry, Thomas WAS busy. Doing what he was called and set apart to do. Gathering in the sheep from the wilderness and bringing them back to the fold.
I didn't go back to sleep but I certainly felt more peaceful and rested. Who can doubt that God hears the prayers of a desperate mother worried for her grown son who is in the employ of the Almighty?
I try to get up every Monday morning no later than 3 am so that I can answer the emails my son sends from Germany. Time differential being what it is, if I am up at that hour, we can chat back and forth for a few minutes about how the work is going and how much he is loving his mission.
Since he has had a nasty cold since Christmas, we have been worried for him and praying about him and his needs. The usual 3 a.m. time for emails arrived (which is 10 a.m. where Thomas is).
No emails.
I waited and dozed with one ear alert for the "you've got mail" ding. Nothing. Then pings for ads, political causes, pharmaceuticals that NO ONE needs and solicitations for real estate. I deleted them angrily.
10 mintues passed, then 20.
Then thirty.
Then an hour had gone by and still NO MAIL FROM THOMAS!!!
Noooooooooo! This can't be!
By this time, my minds eye pictured him prostrate in the bed with fever and chills or laying cold and with chattering teeth.
I began to pray. That isn't a simplistic thing for a mother. To pray for your child's welfare is a direct line to Father that is part of that bargain we make for taking on the responsibility to raise one of HIS children in this life.
Following my Amen, a warm and gentle quiet descended. Feeling calmer and most definately still concerned, the thought pressed upon me 'He is busy. Just wait . . ."
By the time it was 5 a.m. here, the gentle ding that heralded the arrival of an email roused me from my stupor. This time the ping wasn't an ad for generic medicine at low cost or a chance to get an unsecured credit card from Nigeria.
This time, the ping was him. Woo hoo!!
And, just like the calm voice of the Spirit had told me in my panic stricken and faithless worry, Thomas WAS busy. Doing what he was called and set apart to do. Gathering in the sheep from the wilderness and bringing them back to the fold.
I didn't go back to sleep but I certainly felt more peaceful and rested. Who can doubt that God hears the prayers of a desperate mother worried for her grown son who is in the employ of the Almighty?
January 6, 2008
Blessings observed
To talk of blessings is to open a wonderful box of treasure that everyone can share. Each of us has been granted blessings that we are cognizant of receiving and those which we haven't yet perceived.
Today, I have absolutely been the recipient of blessing beyond measure which I petitioned to receive but perhaps do not totally deserve.
Sometimes, when I teach, I know it is 'all me'. You might know the feeling. You do the song and dance to prepare and just read from your notes. Everone goes home feeling nice but that's about all that can be said.
But then - there are those times - when the spirit infuses the preparation so prayerfully undertaken that there is no doubt to me at all that the presentation may have come out of my mouth but the message was ALL from a higher realm.
How thankful I am that I can recognize, for at least this moment, the Hand of God moving through my life and also through the lesson I was asked to prepare!
Father is always mindful, of this I am sure.
Today, I have absolutely been the recipient of blessing beyond measure which I petitioned to receive but perhaps do not totally deserve.
Sometimes, when I teach, I know it is 'all me'. You might know the feeling. You do the song and dance to prepare and just read from your notes. Everone goes home feeling nice but that's about all that can be said.
But then - there are those times - when the spirit infuses the preparation so prayerfully undertaken that there is no doubt to me at all that the presentation may have come out of my mouth but the message was ALL from a higher realm.
How thankful I am that I can recognize, for at least this moment, the Hand of God moving through my life and also through the lesson I was asked to prepare!
Father is always mindful, of this I am sure.
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