In reading the lesson for Sunday School tomorrow, there is a question in the text that asks simply: "Why do you think King Benjamin emphasized his people's 'nothingness' and unworthiness?"
As I read the background scriptures in Mosiah 3-5, the understanding of just how dependent we are on our Father in Heaven really came to bear in a way that was both tender and somewhat unexpected.
The reason that King Benjamin made that underlined emphasis to his people is the same reason that we have the account of his words for our own day.
Though I cannot speak for other people, I can speak for myself and tattle on me with total impunity. When I do something good or have a successful day, I tend to forget who made it possible - and I'll give you a really big hint - it WASN'T me.
And worse yet, when those who (for reasons best left to their own explanations) show me love and care in both tangible and intangible ways, I am not as grateful and demonstrative of that gratitude as I could and should be.
That is sort of a double slap because it ignores their contribution to my life and well-being and that care of My Father who sent them into my life.
Talk about a rude, selfish, and self-absorbed brat!
I have to wonder why God would even grant me any oxygen.
Perhaps that same lack of understanding existed for the people in King Benjamin's day. They got busy with what they wanted and thought was best and forgot to remember that EVERYTHING they have was granted to them by a loving Father who sent people into their lives to help them through it all.
I was at an LDS girls camp a few years back and one of the brats on campus had a T-shirt that said "It's all about ME!". I can say this kid was a brat because it is true. (Thankfully, she grew up, matured and is a nice young lady now.) Since I also have a penchant for shirts with tacky sayings on them, I recognized what I hoped was humor not a personal lifestyle choice statement.
Back to the ME statement, I was working on a lesson and some back notes for a class I was asked to teach sometime next month. That statement of ME-ness sort of smacked me in the face since the lesson is about service.
Without care for our fellow inhabitants of this planet, there isn't any reason for us to pretend. We can't know our Father and His Son if we don't bother to know their children.
Ouch.
So on those days that bring me to my knees to humbly beg for one more chance in my flawed and painfully selfish life, I ask to have some of Father's understanding that I am NOT all that and a bag of chips and that life truly isn't all about me.
The tender message came back that I am loved and that while I am struggling to find my way there is something that will help.
"It's all about THEE!"
When I put My Father first and remain open for His promptings, I can be forgiven for all that I fall short on and He can help me to overcome the 'natural' tendencies that keep me in hot water instead of drinking from the waters of everlasting life.
King Benjamin wasn't trying to throw a 'guilt trip' on his people hoping for temporary change. He was sharing the message that he had learned the source of TRUE and lasting happiness by finding that he wasn't the only one on the planet and that other people had needs.
We can't ignore the pleading and needs of others and expect to have the Father to continually make our lives all special and wonderful forever with no effort.
Though I know what to do, I know that I fall short. I NEED HIM!!
So how do I reconcile my need of Him with someone else's need of me or of my need for someone else to bless my life with their love and care?
It's a work in progress...
May 10, 2008
May 8, 2008
Punchline
Telling a story or joke with a flair takes real talent.
Occasionally, I succeed in doing so, but most of the time, I get the strangest looks and dead silence.
Which is fine.
Reality dictates that we don't all think the same things are funny.
Take the time that I had volunteered to help a family move into our ward. I rearranged my schedule, got a sitter for my kid and borrowed a big moving truck from my husband's employer at no cost to this poor family other than help on the gas bill to move their furnishings.
We got together and I fired up the big truck and headed to the nearest gas station to fill up for the trip. Turning down a side road to get to my favorite station, life took one of those unexpected turns. Forgetting the railroad overpass was too short for the big rig, I managed to peel back about 4 feet of the box and end the moving trip in one fell swoop.
The lady whom I was trying to help was literally on the ground laughing her head off.
I was in tears because we would have to pay for the damage to the truck and any damage to the overpass.
As if stupidity isn't its own reward, this "kind" lady spared no time at all telling everyone she could find what a complete loser I was and how I had wrecked the truck.
Needless to say, others enjoyed laughing at my error for months to come.
It didn't exactly seal our friendship.
When I was growing up, I was taught that laughing at someone else's misfortune was rude and inappropriate. Now we have entire television shows dedicated to just that premise. We are encouraged not only to laugh at the mistakes, accidents and errors of another, but to videotape them and send them in for the chance to win cash and prizes in front of a live studio audience.
Some of the best moments of humor come from human weaknesses and foibles, but I don't like humor that belittles someone else. The hard part is defining what is something to laugh at and what is something to laugh with them over and what should just be kept quiet.
When someone is injured is never funny, no matter how they got injured. Even redneck stunts gone awry isn't a laughing matter. I've been in too many hospital emergency rooms and worked for doctors cleaning up the mess after those 'funny' stunts.
And, when someone has been publicly humiliated is no laughing matter. Even when other people thing they 'deserved it', I can't help but think of that child of God who has just been made to feel like they were lower than dirt just so someone else can score points in front of people who don't really care about either of them.
My parents had a book of jokes called "G-Rated Jokes and Other Rarities" when I was growing up. It was the singularly funniest book in the house. While there were other funny books and stories in the bookshelf, this one was geared to having a good time and not making other people feel bad in the process.
I guess the issue here is learning that humor isn't a universal concept. There are some things that simply will never be funny to everyone on the planet. The real art in humor is knowing just how much to say and how much to leave out in order to keep feelings from being doormats and to make everyone feel welcome instead of picked on.
I end with what I believe to be a pretty good joke that is of human nature. It won't be universal in appeal. But I think most people can relate to the generic streak of circumstance in it:
Bubba walked into a doctor's office and the receptionist asked him what he had.
Bubba said: "Shingles." So she wrote down his name, address, medical insurance number and told him to have a seat.
Fifteen minutes later a nurse's aide came out and asked Bubba what he had. Bubba said, "Shingles." So she wrote down his height, weight, a complete medical history and told Bubba to wait in the examining room.
A half hour later a nurse came in and asked Bubba what he had. Bubba said, "Shingles." So the nurse gave Bubba a blood test, a blood pressure test, an electrocardiogram, and told Bubba to take off all his clothes and wait for the doctor.
An hour later the doctor came in and found Bubba sitting patiently in the nude and asked Bubba what he had. Bubba said, "Shingles."
The doctor asked, "Where?"
Bubba said, "Outside on the truck. Where do you want me to unload 'em??"
Occasionally, I succeed in doing so, but most of the time, I get the strangest looks and dead silence.
Which is fine.
Reality dictates that we don't all think the same things are funny.
Take the time that I had volunteered to help a family move into our ward. I rearranged my schedule, got a sitter for my kid and borrowed a big moving truck from my husband's employer at no cost to this poor family other than help on the gas bill to move their furnishings.
We got together and I fired up the big truck and headed to the nearest gas station to fill up for the trip. Turning down a side road to get to my favorite station, life took one of those unexpected turns. Forgetting the railroad overpass was too short for the big rig, I managed to peel back about 4 feet of the box and end the moving trip in one fell swoop.
The lady whom I was trying to help was literally on the ground laughing her head off.
I was in tears because we would have to pay for the damage to the truck and any damage to the overpass.
As if stupidity isn't its own reward, this "kind" lady spared no time at all telling everyone she could find what a complete loser I was and how I had wrecked the truck.
Needless to say, others enjoyed laughing at my error for months to come.
It didn't exactly seal our friendship.
When I was growing up, I was taught that laughing at someone else's misfortune was rude and inappropriate. Now we have entire television shows dedicated to just that premise. We are encouraged not only to laugh at the mistakes, accidents and errors of another, but to videotape them and send them in for the chance to win cash and prizes in front of a live studio audience.
Some of the best moments of humor come from human weaknesses and foibles, but I don't like humor that belittles someone else. The hard part is defining what is something to laugh at and what is something to laugh with them over and what should just be kept quiet.
When someone is injured is never funny, no matter how they got injured. Even redneck stunts gone awry isn't a laughing matter. I've been in too many hospital emergency rooms and worked for doctors cleaning up the mess after those 'funny' stunts.
And, when someone has been publicly humiliated is no laughing matter. Even when other people thing they 'deserved it', I can't help but think of that child of God who has just been made to feel like they were lower than dirt just so someone else can score points in front of people who don't really care about either of them.
My parents had a book of jokes called "G-Rated Jokes and Other Rarities" when I was growing up. It was the singularly funniest book in the house. While there were other funny books and stories in the bookshelf, this one was geared to having a good time and not making other people feel bad in the process.
I guess the issue here is learning that humor isn't a universal concept. There are some things that simply will never be funny to everyone on the planet. The real art in humor is knowing just how much to say and how much to leave out in order to keep feelings from being doormats and to make everyone feel welcome instead of picked on.
I end with what I believe to be a pretty good joke that is of human nature. It won't be universal in appeal. But I think most people can relate to the generic streak of circumstance in it:
Bubba walked into a doctor's office and the receptionist asked him what he had.
Bubba said: "Shingles." So she wrote down his name, address, medical insurance number and told him to have a seat.
Fifteen minutes later a nurse's aide came out and asked Bubba what he had. Bubba said, "Shingles." So she wrote down his height, weight, a complete medical history and told Bubba to wait in the examining room.
A half hour later a nurse came in and asked Bubba what he had. Bubba said, "Shingles." So the nurse gave Bubba a blood test, a blood pressure test, an electrocardiogram, and told Bubba to take off all his clothes and wait for the doctor.
An hour later the doctor came in and found Bubba sitting patiently in the nude and asked Bubba what he had. Bubba said, "Shingles."
The doctor asked, "Where?"
Bubba said, "Outside on the truck. Where do you want me to unload 'em??"
May 6, 2008
Validation
{NOTE: this was moved here from a writer's blog, on which I participate from time to time. It was originally written May 1, 2008.}
The last time I took Jared to see his orthopedic surgeon for a follow up on the rods in his back, the kind lady at reception said, "Do you need to be validated?"
Being the bright woman that I am, I knew instinctively that she was speaking of my parking but the inner me sort of wondered how that became a catch-phrase for getting recognition for who and what we are in our personal and public lives.
Back when psychology was all about you making you feel better instead of about having outside sources for that betterment, one of my professors said that the need to have someone else tell us we were good was a manifestation of psychosis.
Even then, I though that was stupid. We all want to hear that we are 'worth something' to others and that we have brought something to the banquet table of life that was appreciated, recognized and enjoyed by the others in attendance, even if only for a moment.
While we can't always get that shout out from the "Amen Corner" about just how magnificent we are, we can always know from our Father in Heaven just where we stand with Him.
In institute class, Brother Searle told us that we had the right AND responsibility to ask Heavenly Father for a report on our standing with Him. And that in asking of Him that information that we would be required to make an accounting of what we had done with the talents and gifts He had given to us to bless our life and the lives of countless others of His Children who share this journey through mortality with us.
I've done that from time to time. Perhaps not nearly enough, because I still do things that aren't up to par and repeat mistakes as if I am too ignorant of the consequences to never repeat them again.What all this comes down to is that we do validate ourselves in some measure, but we NEED to know that someone else truly cares and has seen our efforts - even the feeble ones - that propel us toward our eternal destination.Back to the lady at the reception desk, I thanked her for being good enough to remind me of that free service and accepted the token that would free me from the payment of an exorbitant fee for having used the parking garage.
That token was warm in my hand and later, as I slipped it into my pocket, I began to reflect on the spiritual warmth we feel when we are told that we are on the right track with our Father.
Sometimes that bit of understanding is enough steam to keep our little 'engine that could' running a straight course for days and days.We need to remember that we have a duty to acknowledge the good works of others in our lives instead of justifying our sloth by saying 'they know how I feel about them and what they have done'.
Their little engine of faith needs the fuel to believe and that comes from knowing internally and from the kindness of external reminders that it DOES matter that they have made a difference in the life of someone else in this journey. That kind of validation is really just a reminder that we are all one family under God's all seeing and all knowing sight. Within that comfortable relationship of family, we can help lift the fallen by our own actions and sometimes a word or a smile is sufficent to let them know that they matter as a person and a Child of God.I wish now that I had paid the fee for the parking and kept the validation token as a tangible reminder of those thoughts that roamed through my head and heart.
The last time I took Jared to see his orthopedic surgeon for a follow up on the rods in his back, the kind lady at reception said, "Do you need to be validated?"
Being the bright woman that I am, I knew instinctively that she was speaking of my parking but the inner me sort of wondered how that became a catch-phrase for getting recognition for who and what we are in our personal and public lives.
Back when psychology was all about you making you feel better instead of about having outside sources for that betterment, one of my professors said that the need to have someone else tell us we were good was a manifestation of psychosis.
Even then, I though that was stupid. We all want to hear that we are 'worth something' to others and that we have brought something to the banquet table of life that was appreciated, recognized and enjoyed by the others in attendance, even if only for a moment.
While we can't always get that shout out from the "Amen Corner" about just how magnificent we are, we can always know from our Father in Heaven just where we stand with Him.
In institute class, Brother Searle told us that we had the right AND responsibility to ask Heavenly Father for a report on our standing with Him. And that in asking of Him that information that we would be required to make an accounting of what we had done with the talents and gifts He had given to us to bless our life and the lives of countless others of His Children who share this journey through mortality with us.
I've done that from time to time. Perhaps not nearly enough, because I still do things that aren't up to par and repeat mistakes as if I am too ignorant of the consequences to never repeat them again.What all this comes down to is that we do validate ourselves in some measure, but we NEED to know that someone else truly cares and has seen our efforts - even the feeble ones - that propel us toward our eternal destination.Back to the lady at the reception desk, I thanked her for being good enough to remind me of that free service and accepted the token that would free me from the payment of an exorbitant fee for having used the parking garage.
That token was warm in my hand and later, as I slipped it into my pocket, I began to reflect on the spiritual warmth we feel when we are told that we are on the right track with our Father.
Sometimes that bit of understanding is enough steam to keep our little 'engine that could' running a straight course for days and days.We need to remember that we have a duty to acknowledge the good works of others in our lives instead of justifying our sloth by saying 'they know how I feel about them and what they have done'.
Their little engine of faith needs the fuel to believe and that comes from knowing internally and from the kindness of external reminders that it DOES matter that they have made a difference in the life of someone else in this journey. That kind of validation is really just a reminder that we are all one family under God's all seeing and all knowing sight. Within that comfortable relationship of family, we can help lift the fallen by our own actions and sometimes a word or a smile is sufficent to let them know that they matter as a person and a Child of God.I wish now that I had paid the fee for the parking and kept the validation token as a tangible reminder of those thoughts that roamed through my head and heart.
I need a keeper . . .
It's official.
I am too stupid to keep up in a technological society.
I would have made a good pioneer woman. I can cook over an open fire and I love to camp. I can saddle and ride horses, I am a qualified sharpshooter and have been hunting before and am totally comfortable around livestock. And, in the bonus round, I know how to whip a rope, start a campfire and cook Dutch Oven food.
Rumor has it, I am a pretty handy person when it comes to first aid and with a guitar and harmonica around the campfire when the lights are low. Which means you will have to find someone else to wash the dishes.
But, give me new technology and I make those around me wonder why in the world I have opposable thumbs! Baboons catch on quicker than I do (actual test results may vary depending upon age and decrepity of the baboon).
While sorting out the new cell phone my kind husband bought me, I did everything the little booklet said to. Or at least I attempted to.
There is a certain tacit assumption that the person reading the instructions not only can read between the lines, but understands the hidden voodoo required to be part of the savvy and suave who are able to use technology and not look stupid.
Therein lies the problem.
Although I am reasonably intelligent (I have actual test papers to prove it), I am hopelessly confused when it comes to swapping Sims and taking advantage of all the built in technology that has been thoughtfully engineered to keep me safe when I am lost.
First of all, what the hell IS a Sim card??? Is it the same thing as the "SmartCard"? Or is it the internal memory?
Don't confuse me with multiple names for the SAME DAMN THING in the instructions!!!!
Grrrrrrrrr!!
Then, the assumption by the manufacturers that I have some built in DNA strand that responds to upgrades and auto updates is largely stupidity on their part. And I can truthfully plead COMPLETE and TOTAL ignorance.
I NEVER got the memo.
My poor, sweet, and most assuredly longsuffering husband has to endure my density (Take that any way you need to in order to make it through the day). Patiently he explains things about how to swap Sims and upload data and activate online.
That campfire on the open prairie is looking better and better in the smokey shadows of my mind.
I cannot recall a SINGLE Primary song where the pioneer women were dealing with product information booklets in multiple languages and techno babble. And, I have reliable proof that there is not one single instance in which the pioneer women stooped by the campfire stirring up a pot of stew while texting the girls in the next camp over. Not one.
Eventually, I will achieve an uneasy truce with the newest piece of joy and wonder in the palm of my hand.
Eventually, I will be so comfortable with the new phone that I won't miss the old one.
Eventually, I will sound more secure.
But right now, I think I'll just take a breather and wait until my blood pressure drops to a more normal range.
I am too stupid to keep up in a technological society.
I would have made a good pioneer woman. I can cook over an open fire and I love to camp. I can saddle and ride horses, I am a qualified sharpshooter and have been hunting before and am totally comfortable around livestock. And, in the bonus round, I know how to whip a rope, start a campfire and cook Dutch Oven food.
Rumor has it, I am a pretty handy person when it comes to first aid and with a guitar and harmonica around the campfire when the lights are low. Which means you will have to find someone else to wash the dishes.
But, give me new technology and I make those around me wonder why in the world I have opposable thumbs! Baboons catch on quicker than I do (actual test results may vary depending upon age and decrepity of the baboon).
While sorting out the new cell phone my kind husband bought me, I did everything the little booklet said to. Or at least I attempted to.
There is a certain tacit assumption that the person reading the instructions not only can read between the lines, but understands the hidden voodoo required to be part of the savvy and suave who are able to use technology and not look stupid.
Therein lies the problem.
Although I am reasonably intelligent (I have actual test papers to prove it), I am hopelessly confused when it comes to swapping Sims and taking advantage of all the built in technology that has been thoughtfully engineered to keep me safe when I am lost.
First of all, what the hell IS a Sim card??? Is it the same thing as the "SmartCard"? Or is it the internal memory?
Don't confuse me with multiple names for the SAME DAMN THING in the instructions!!!!
Grrrrrrrrr!!
Then, the assumption by the manufacturers that I have some built in DNA strand that responds to upgrades and auto updates is largely stupidity on their part. And I can truthfully plead COMPLETE and TOTAL ignorance.
I NEVER got the memo.
My poor, sweet, and most assuredly longsuffering husband has to endure my density (Take that any way you need to in order to make it through the day). Patiently he explains things about how to swap Sims and upload data and activate online.
That campfire on the open prairie is looking better and better in the smokey shadows of my mind.
I cannot recall a SINGLE Primary song where the pioneer women were dealing with product information booklets in multiple languages and techno babble. And, I have reliable proof that there is not one single instance in which the pioneer women stooped by the campfire stirring up a pot of stew while texting the girls in the next camp over. Not one.
Eventually, I will achieve an uneasy truce with the newest piece of joy and wonder in the palm of my hand.
Eventually, I will be so comfortable with the new phone that I won't miss the old one.
Eventually, I will sound more secure.
But right now, I think I'll just take a breather and wait until my blood pressure drops to a more normal range.
May 5, 2008
A bit of a sticky wicket
I just would like to shake the hand of the person who invented the adhesive on those peel and press stickers.
I have seldom gone into hand to hand combat so ill prepared.
While shopping for a couple of items late tonight that we ran out of unexpectedly (read this as "it NEVER made it to the shopping list", I swear!), I found some really cute animal and circus stickers in the "el cheapo" section of the stationery department of the local dollar store.
I am not one to look a gift horse in the mouth when the price was so low and I use them to brighten up (or tacky up) letters I send to family and friends, so I brought the little devils home.
Little did I realize the battle of wills that was about to ensue.
Carefully, I began to peel away the surrounding sticky foil so that I could more easily remove the cute little animals and shapes to adorn the scribblings of this particular mad woman.
Demon rum and the prohibitionists wouldn't have posed so great a problem!!
The foil seductively peeled away from the backing sheet and the first couple of animals then, just when I was lulled into a COMPLETELY false sense of security, the nasty *&!$^%*# foil turned into a horror show of sticky, non-removeable Chinese fingertrapping mess.
I believe I have lost a couple of layers of skin trying to peel it off.
The animals on the sticker sheet don't look quite so cute right now. I put them in the bottom drawer and shut the light out on their happy little wicked faces. I think I can hear them laughing in the darkness.
THEY KNEW!!! They knew that the trimming foils were really sabotage.
That's why they were smiling so sweetly. They KNEW that some hapless fool (ME!) would think about how precious they would look on the next letter to Germany and buy them only to fall under the seductive and hypnotic spell.
The rats that constructed them used glue not unlike that on the traps that catch their namesakes in a deathly stillness that prevents all movement.
At last, I feel sorry for them writhing helplessly only to discover every movement makes the matter that much worse. I have lived through the nightmare only to come out battle scarred on the other side.
In a few days, the stickers will look cute again and I will use them. But somehow, I will have my revenge on them.
Ha! I know what I will do to them - I will put them on all of the checks we have to write to pay bills and send them to the heartless and unfeeling bill collectors who are interested only in their pound of flesh and not how precious the envelope looks with the prancing little rodeo horse or the sweet little circus giraffe.
Let's see how happy the stickers are when some 400 pound receiving clerk named Enid rubber stamps them and forever mars their happy smile with purple indelible ink.
I'll bet they won't be laughing then.
Of course, when I check into Bryces or some other qualified facility to deal with the mentally ill like myself, all they will have to do to ensure those government checks for my care keep flowing in is to ask me to remove the trimming foils from packets of stickers. Then the staff can all sit around smiling their OWN knowing smiles. "She'll be busy for hours trying to pick that stuff off of her fingers!"
It's only a matter of time before they join me. They just don't know it - yet.
I have seldom gone into hand to hand combat so ill prepared.
While shopping for a couple of items late tonight that we ran out of unexpectedly (read this as "it NEVER made it to the shopping list", I swear!), I found some really cute animal and circus stickers in the "el cheapo" section of the stationery department of the local dollar store.
I am not one to look a gift horse in the mouth when the price was so low and I use them to brighten up (or tacky up) letters I send to family and friends, so I brought the little devils home.
Little did I realize the battle of wills that was about to ensue.
Carefully, I began to peel away the surrounding sticky foil so that I could more easily remove the cute little animals and shapes to adorn the scribblings of this particular mad woman.
Demon rum and the prohibitionists wouldn't have posed so great a problem!!
The foil seductively peeled away from the backing sheet and the first couple of animals then, just when I was lulled into a COMPLETELY false sense of security, the nasty *&!$^%*# foil turned into a horror show of sticky, non-removeable Chinese fingertrapping mess.
I believe I have lost a couple of layers of skin trying to peel it off.
The animals on the sticker sheet don't look quite so cute right now. I put them in the bottom drawer and shut the light out on their happy little wicked faces. I think I can hear them laughing in the darkness.
THEY KNEW!!! They knew that the trimming foils were really sabotage.
That's why they were smiling so sweetly. They KNEW that some hapless fool (ME!) would think about how precious they would look on the next letter to Germany and buy them only to fall under the seductive and hypnotic spell.
The rats that constructed them used glue not unlike that on the traps that catch their namesakes in a deathly stillness that prevents all movement.
At last, I feel sorry for them writhing helplessly only to discover every movement makes the matter that much worse. I have lived through the nightmare only to come out battle scarred on the other side.
In a few days, the stickers will look cute again and I will use them. But somehow, I will have my revenge on them.
Ha! I know what I will do to them - I will put them on all of the checks we have to write to pay bills and send them to the heartless and unfeeling bill collectors who are interested only in their pound of flesh and not how precious the envelope looks with the prancing little rodeo horse or the sweet little circus giraffe.
Let's see how happy the stickers are when some 400 pound receiving clerk named Enid rubber stamps them and forever mars their happy smile with purple indelible ink.
I'll bet they won't be laughing then.
Of course, when I check into Bryces or some other qualified facility to deal with the mentally ill like myself, all they will have to do to ensure those government checks for my care keep flowing in is to ask me to remove the trimming foils from packets of stickers. Then the staff can all sit around smiling their OWN knowing smiles. "She'll be busy for hours trying to pick that stuff off of her fingers!"
It's only a matter of time before they join me. They just don't know it - yet.
May 4, 2008
Sitting on our thumbs
I totally understand the art of whining being a black belt in the sport myself.
What I do not and will more than likely NEVER understand is doing nothing after the period of whining is over.
I try very hard to be an understanding and sympathetic person to the difficulties of life that people wade through from dawn till dusk on a daily basis. My ears are listening to their problems and circumstances without trying to turn on the inner knob for quick answers and problem solving in their behalf. That's hard.
And without making things be greater than they are in their own natural setting, I diligently attempt to sort out the vagaries of what information is being told me realizing that I am only getting the side of the truth they wish to share.
What is a constant source of frustration is seeing people who DO have the power to alter their destiny and course waiting for external forces to take the helm and chart the course their personal ship of state should take as if that would somehow absolve them of the responsibility for the heading.
I have experienced the darkness of feeling like you had no options. But like I was talking over with my extremely long-suffering husband tonight, I may not be heading in the right direction, but, by God, I am MOVING to do something about my circumstances.
This doesn't mean I don't find my own ship wrecked upon the sandbars and submerged logs of life from time to time and am compelled to bail bilge water from the hold of the ship in order to prevent being scuttled.
But I can't wallow in it. I just feels dirty and unnatural.
I credit my parents for that.
They didn't make it an attractive option to just sit and whine over my life without having a plan once the tears were dried to tackle the problem, however insurmountable it seemed at the time.
However, it seems that we have become so interested in societal wallowing that we have misplaced our personal responsibilities to do our best even when we aren't really making visible progress.
That is the real issue here. Because we can't see just what progress has been made, we tend to negate anything as being 'too minor' to count.
And in doing so, we make our journey forward that much harder.
No one wants to feel like they are going it alone. We need each other. But when that needing turns into desparation that prevents motion without the interference of a committee, it has become enabling and not support.
Though I have my days where I have misplaced both the boots and the bootstraps which I am supposed to pull myself up with when down, I try not to make them the sole feature of my existance. I know people who do create that lost boot scenario. It's like there is never anything they can possibly do for themselves.
While that works some of the time for a little while, it isn't sustainable. Sort of like keeping a garden variety helium balloon forever. Eventually, it shrivels and looses its form to the ravages of time and osmotic pressure.
We suffer the same sort of issues ourselves. If we whine without a purposeful plan of what we can do for ourselves, we loose that inner fullness and certainty of our mission and become emotionally deflated and adrift.
I have nothing against whining.
What I have something against is whining about the same thing, in the same way, all of the dadgum time without being willing to take the bull by the horns and MAKE something different happen.
And when you grab the bull, you sometimes get gored for your trouble. Which is precisely the reason most people shrink from the task.
The comfort of a familiar misery is infintely preferred over the nebulous quality of what if's that may or may not occur. We don't like change.
But, like the quote says, "Sometime, the best helping hand we can give someone is a nice, firm push."
I look in my mirror sometimes to see if I am the one needing the push and then I pray for the courage to recognize it and be humble enough to try something - anything - new in my direction.
It helps.
Life still isn't perfect, but at least I am learning.
As my English teacher from high school used to say to "Get over yourself!"
We are often our own biggest stumbling blocks on the highway to heaven. And we tend to dig our own potholes and then complain about the bumpy ride.
Asking for help is a great thing. But being willing to do the uncomfortable to change our ways is so much harder than it looks on television.
There aren't any magic potions to rub over our crises and make them all better in 30 mintues. Some take a whole lifetime to solve and some just never get solved at all. Because in the final analysis, we have to determine ownership of the crisis at hand and be willing to say, "That isn't mine!"
Our job when people have lost their way is to offer them an hand up and a push toward a new heading. We don't help them or us by making their problems ours.
That job has already been taken by the ONE who is mighty SAVE. Only Jesus Christ can take the weight of another's burdens and carry those burdens for them.
All we can do is share the load by being there when needed and standing back just enough to let them learn to walk independently.
What I do not and will more than likely NEVER understand is doing nothing after the period of whining is over.
I try very hard to be an understanding and sympathetic person to the difficulties of life that people wade through from dawn till dusk on a daily basis. My ears are listening to their problems and circumstances without trying to turn on the inner knob for quick answers and problem solving in their behalf. That's hard.
And without making things be greater than they are in their own natural setting, I diligently attempt to sort out the vagaries of what information is being told me realizing that I am only getting the side of the truth they wish to share.
What is a constant source of frustration is seeing people who DO have the power to alter their destiny and course waiting for external forces to take the helm and chart the course their personal ship of state should take as if that would somehow absolve them of the responsibility for the heading.
I have experienced the darkness of feeling like you had no options. But like I was talking over with my extremely long-suffering husband tonight, I may not be heading in the right direction, but, by God, I am MOVING to do something about my circumstances.
This doesn't mean I don't find my own ship wrecked upon the sandbars and submerged logs of life from time to time and am compelled to bail bilge water from the hold of the ship in order to prevent being scuttled.
But I can't wallow in it. I just feels dirty and unnatural.
I credit my parents for that.
They didn't make it an attractive option to just sit and whine over my life without having a plan once the tears were dried to tackle the problem, however insurmountable it seemed at the time.
However, it seems that we have become so interested in societal wallowing that we have misplaced our personal responsibilities to do our best even when we aren't really making visible progress.
That is the real issue here. Because we can't see just what progress has been made, we tend to negate anything as being 'too minor' to count.
And in doing so, we make our journey forward that much harder.
No one wants to feel like they are going it alone. We need each other. But when that needing turns into desparation that prevents motion without the interference of a committee, it has become enabling and not support.
Though I have my days where I have misplaced both the boots and the bootstraps which I am supposed to pull myself up with when down, I try not to make them the sole feature of my existance. I know people who do create that lost boot scenario. It's like there is never anything they can possibly do for themselves.
While that works some of the time for a little while, it isn't sustainable. Sort of like keeping a garden variety helium balloon forever. Eventually, it shrivels and looses its form to the ravages of time and osmotic pressure.
We suffer the same sort of issues ourselves. If we whine without a purposeful plan of what we can do for ourselves, we loose that inner fullness and certainty of our mission and become emotionally deflated and adrift.
I have nothing against whining.
What I have something against is whining about the same thing, in the same way, all of the dadgum time without being willing to take the bull by the horns and MAKE something different happen.
And when you grab the bull, you sometimes get gored for your trouble. Which is precisely the reason most people shrink from the task.
The comfort of a familiar misery is infintely preferred over the nebulous quality of what if's that may or may not occur. We don't like change.
But, like the quote says, "Sometime, the best helping hand we can give someone is a nice, firm push."
I look in my mirror sometimes to see if I am the one needing the push and then I pray for the courage to recognize it and be humble enough to try something - anything - new in my direction.
It helps.
Life still isn't perfect, but at least I am learning.
As my English teacher from high school used to say to "Get over yourself!"
We are often our own biggest stumbling blocks on the highway to heaven. And we tend to dig our own potholes and then complain about the bumpy ride.
Asking for help is a great thing. But being willing to do the uncomfortable to change our ways is so much harder than it looks on television.
There aren't any magic potions to rub over our crises and make them all better in 30 mintues. Some take a whole lifetime to solve and some just never get solved at all. Because in the final analysis, we have to determine ownership of the crisis at hand and be willing to say, "That isn't mine!"
Our job when people have lost their way is to offer them an hand up and a push toward a new heading. We don't help them or us by making their problems ours.
That job has already been taken by the ONE who is mighty SAVE. Only Jesus Christ can take the weight of another's burdens and carry those burdens for them.
All we can do is share the load by being there when needed and standing back just enough to let them learn to walk independently.
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