Lent is a season of preparation and waiting. If we are faithful to the purpose, we spend 40 days challenging our faith and preparing ourselves for the grief of Good Friday, followed by the joy of the resurrection on Easter Sunday.
This week, the theme of our Lenten journey at my church is “Too Entertained.” Celebrities, video games, movies, television, cell phones, computers – we are inundated with the culture of our times instead of the Jesus culture for all time. We think nothing of missing a Sunday service but wouldn’t dream of missing The Big Game or the latest celebrity gossip. Charlie Sheen is sacrificing his life for drugs and fame and we can’t get enough of it, while we shun Good Friday where Jesus sacrificed his life for our salvation. Too Entertained, indeed.
Technology is a wonderful thing. It has made life easier and safer, and given us extra hours in which to pursue activities purely for pleasure. God does not ask us to give up all earthly pleasures. On the contrary, God gave Adam his helpmate to make his life more pleasurable. Jesus turned water into wine at a wedding party. Time and time again the Bible refers to Jesus spending time with the people who were most important to him.
But when the pursuit of pleasure overtakes everything, it is a detriment to what is real and important in our lives. We have all seen teens walking around the mall, each one frantically tapping away on their cell phone while in the company of their friends, together, but alone, each in their own little electronic reality. They appear mesmerized by the screen they are holding in their hand, to the neglect of the people who are right there in front of their faces. It is sad, I think, that they have lost sight of the flesh and blood friends they are with for the illusion of what isn’t there.
Much like a teenager wrapped up in their cyberlife, I think many of us have substituted entertainment for time with God. I find it oddly disturbing that people can tell me all about the lives of the cast of characters on American Idol, but don’t know the last time they cracked the cover of their Bible or said a meaningful prayer that wasn’t a list of demands. We live next door to people and don’t know their names, but feel like we know total strangers because they are on television. We are distant, removed from the nitty gritty realities of life, instead of focusing on God and his place in our lives.
As I have thought this week about my own personal entertainments, the superficial pleasures available in our modern culture which I put before my faith, it was not hard to come up with any number of ways where I have focused on the profane realm instead of the sacred plane. I realized that for me, being too entertained is not about any particular thing. The problem won’t be solved by eliminating cell phones, or internet, or television, or movies or athletic events or award programs or board games, although that may temporarily remind us that we are focused on a higher goal.
Being Too Entertained is about putting other pursuits ahead of the love of our Lord, and the search for His presence and will in our lives. Dying on a cross is not entertaining, unless you count “The Passion of the Christ.” It is harsh. It is cruel. It makes us uncomfortable to think of Jesus hanging there with nails through his wrists and his feet, his life ebbing away with the blood running from his body, the final words he heard the mocking jeers of a crowd more focused on the entertainment of watching a man die than on the salvation of their own souls. In the act of sacrificing himself for us, that love which passes all understanding built the path to true joy and happiness, both in this life, and in the one to come.
The next time you have a conflict between church and another activity, remember that Jesus died, not to entertain you in an over-budget movie, but to save your soul. He was real, he was human, he felt our pain, and he took it with him into his battle with Satan for our souls. If we faithfully seek that path, eternal joy and satisfaction will be ours.
The world can keep its cheap entertainment. Give me Jesus, and my joy will be for all eternity.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Silent partners....
When my children were young, I harbored the hope that they would be close in adulthood, best friends, even. I dreamed of a world in which they would be happy to turn to each other for love and support, even if I weren't there to encourage it. I imagined them calling each other, visiting each other, interacting entirely independently of my assistance, true friends of the heart.
Turning dreams into reality is a little harder than it looks on the average sitcom.
I started laying the foundation for this Utopian existence before Thing 2 was even born, talking to The Eldest about The Baby, trying to make her real in his head even before he saw her. I knew that if he could bond with her at the beginning, that was a big step in the right direction, and I worked hard to foster that.
Then came the birth. Several weeks early with a fair share of drama, and Adam displaced by the unexpected arrival. That was my first signal that this whole thing was not going to go quite as planned.
By the time The Baby could be taken out in public, she was put on display for Show and Tell. I felt proud. I was already seeing my dream come to fruition - I was A Successful Parent - he was so proud of her, he wanted her to come as his exhibit for all his friends.
Basking in the rosy glow of my early success, it did not occur to me that his desire to show her off might have more to do with the fact that he considered her some sort of odd alien specimen than a thrilling addition to his world. [What can I say? I was still working with a hormone overload and not in my right mind.]
Fast forward a few years, and the shiny new thing is suddenly an annoying toddler who puts everything, and I do mean EVERYTHING, in her mouth, and who honestly believes that if she wants it, it's hers. The bloom was off the rose, but I kept reminding the older child how great it would be when they were older. I ignored the skeptical looks he would shoot my way, and clung fast to my vision. I am nothing if not tenacious.
Add a few more years of up close and personal experience, and the wheels came off the wagon altogether.
In our family, we have never used physical force to make our point. Instead, we verbally barrage the subject of our disaffection until they are so overwhelmed with the desire to make it stop capitulation is the only recourse. My children learned at the feet of the Master [me] and started putting that technique to good use early on.
At age three, my lovely little girl, sweet and innocent, one day came running down the stairs, mad as a disturbed hornet over some slight that had occurred between her and her older antagonist, who had bounded down the same stairs just moments before her with a feigned attitude of coy innocence.
Obviously, something was up, and we waited with interest for the other shoe to drop.
As she looked over the railing, the words started tumbling out, "Adam, you are so stu..." She saw parental interference on the horizon, since we were sitting there watching this little drama play out, and changed her word to, "...pendous." No one was fooled. Although, in truth, we did laugh, and it's become a classic family story.
That was the warning shot across the bough of the family ship.
To be fair, my children did get along pretty well most of the time. In fact, they were closer than most siblings, probably, and the true fighting was not a regular occurrence in our household. But occasionally, we would skid into a period where they simply could not be in the same location without lashing out at each other.
The flash point of their mutual existence occurred every morning at 7 a.m., when the youngest child would practice piano, while the oldest child was trying to get a couple more minutes of sleep. [We are still dealing with the fallout of that bitter experience.] It would start every day with a blast, and we would go downhill from there.
I would tolerate their guerrilla warfare for as long as I could, then I would be forced to step in. The simple question, "Do we need to have A Talk?" could usually stave off the inevitable for weeks, if not months. But eventually, the simmer would come to a boil, and the process would be set in motion.
It always started with me yelling at them [by which I mean, I spoke more quietly than usual, we are not yellers in our family, and through gritted teeth,] "Okay, that's ENOUGH. GO TO YOUR ROOMS."
This was the beginning of a little game I like to call keep-away, where I would separate them, at which point, the one thing they craved more than anything else was to be together. I would hear them upstairs, quietly closing their doors, knowing that they would go through the adjoining bathroom and before long, they would end up in one room or the other. Together. Probably plotting against me.
After awhile, I would ask if they were ready to come out. They would delay as long as possible, but eventually, they would have to eat, if nothing else. So out they would come, each through their own door, pretending they hadn't already been in conference the entire time.
If they had worked things out between themselves, it would be a quick and easy resolution, and we would all go on our merry way.
Occasionally, though, they would still be angry with each other. Then it was time to pull out the big guns in my parental arsenal, The Apology, followed by The Talk. You have no idea the power of those words, until you put them into action yourself.
I have always taught my children that you apologize, even if you don't really, really mean it, because it's the only way to move forward. Eventually you will be sorry anyway, so you might as well apologize up front, and then it's out of the way.
My children, not surprisingly, have never really agreed with this strategy. [I can't wait until they have children of their own. I will bring popcorn and cheer for the kids.] Sometimes they would even throw caution totally to the wind and argue about the insincerity of it all. Eventually they realized that the more they argued, the longer they would be sitting there. Thus, they would ultimately find themselves apologizing, whether they meant it or not.
You don't just say a terse "I'm sorry," however, at least not if you belong to me. You are required to identify what, exactly, it is that you did wrong, and to apologize specifically for that action.
Neither are you allowed to issue disclaimers such as, "I'm sorry IF...," or "I'm sorry BUT...." That is not actually an apology, and it's not accepted.
After the apology, we go one step further. The other person is required to formally accept the apology, even if that isn't meant, either. I believe my line in the production was usually, "If an apology has been offered, you are required to accept it at face value." This is another step which frequently resulted in resentful argument, as they debated the merits of the apology, and howled out their disapproval of the insincerity of it all.
The lesson I was trying to teach them is that, in the end, the apology is offered, not for the person you have wronged, but for the sake of your own soul. Even if you don't mean it at the moment it is said, you are still forced to identify your wrongdoing, and ultimately, you will realize that you were wrong and will own it.
Forgiveness works the same way. You are not really forgiving them for their sake - they will go on just fine without it, if necessary - but by holding onto the resentment, you are hurting yourself.
My attitude was that you might as well just get it over with, because eventually you will be sorry and forgive, anyway. My way, it's already taken care of, and you can just move on. You will have to talk to them if you want their point of view. Trust me, if you know my kids, they have a point of view. And they will be happy to share it with you. Just ask them.
Having dispensed with the formalities, we would then proceed to the next step, which was Mom [me] lecturing on the importance of each to the other. I would wax poetic about the relationship they could have when I wasn't here with them any more. I would draw verbal portraits of the special love they would feel, each for the other, and how much it would mean to them somewhere down the line when they didn't hate each other any more. I could go on for hours, if necessary, and usually gauged my endpoint by the speed with which their eyes glazed over.
They quickly learned that by keeping quiet, they could shorten the process considerably. So dead silence would ensue in a silent collaboration until they could get away from the living room chair where they were planted, and peace would reign once more.
The road has been long, but I think we are approaching the fulfillment of the fantasy, and I find that my vision is, indeed, coming to pass. My children have a deep and thoughtful love for each other, in spite of their many differences, and they crave the kind of interaction they can only find with one another. I don't know whether those hours of sitting in the living room, each in his/her own chair, listening to someone older and wiser pontificating about the importance of their relationship actually made a difference or not. But I know that I will never regret trying.
The outcome is life changing, not for me, but for them. They are a gift to each other, and I don't regret a moment of the fantasy I hatched for them, however far away it may have appeared at times to the protagonists of the piece. They will write their own story now, and I think it will be a captivating tale.
Parenting is a crap shoot. But there is no better feeling than when you get a win.
Turning dreams into reality is a little harder than it looks on the average sitcom.
I started laying the foundation for this Utopian existence before Thing 2 was even born, talking to The Eldest about The Baby, trying to make her real in his head even before he saw her. I knew that if he could bond with her at the beginning, that was a big step in the right direction, and I worked hard to foster that.
Then came the birth. Several weeks early with a fair share of drama, and Adam displaced by the unexpected arrival. That was my first signal that this whole thing was not going to go quite as planned.
By the time The Baby could be taken out in public, she was put on display for Show and Tell. I felt proud. I was already seeing my dream come to fruition - I was A Successful Parent - he was so proud of her, he wanted her to come as his exhibit for all his friends.
Basking in the rosy glow of my early success, it did not occur to me that his desire to show her off might have more to do with the fact that he considered her some sort of odd alien specimen than a thrilling addition to his world. [What can I say? I was still working with a hormone overload and not in my right mind.]
Fast forward a few years, and the shiny new thing is suddenly an annoying toddler who puts everything, and I do mean EVERYTHING, in her mouth, and who honestly believes that if she wants it, it's hers. The bloom was off the rose, but I kept reminding the older child how great it would be when they were older. I ignored the skeptical looks he would shoot my way, and clung fast to my vision. I am nothing if not tenacious.
Add a few more years of up close and personal experience, and the wheels came off the wagon altogether.
In our family, we have never used physical force to make our point. Instead, we verbally barrage the subject of our disaffection until they are so overwhelmed with the desire to make it stop capitulation is the only recourse. My children learned at the feet of the Master [me] and started putting that technique to good use early on.
At age three, my lovely little girl, sweet and innocent, one day came running down the stairs, mad as a disturbed hornet over some slight that had occurred between her and her older antagonist, who had bounded down the same stairs just moments before her with a feigned attitude of coy innocence.
Obviously, something was up, and we waited with interest for the other shoe to drop.
As she looked over the railing, the words started tumbling out, "Adam, you are so stu..." She saw parental interference on the horizon, since we were sitting there watching this little drama play out, and changed her word to, "...pendous." No one was fooled. Although, in truth, we did laugh, and it's become a classic family story.
That was the warning shot across the bough of the family ship.
To be fair, my children did get along pretty well most of the time. In fact, they were closer than most siblings, probably, and the true fighting was not a regular occurrence in our household. But occasionally, we would skid into a period where they simply could not be in the same location without lashing out at each other.
The flash point of their mutual existence occurred every morning at 7 a.m., when the youngest child would practice piano, while the oldest child was trying to get a couple more minutes of sleep. [We are still dealing with the fallout of that bitter experience.] It would start every day with a blast, and we would go downhill from there.
I would tolerate their guerrilla warfare for as long as I could, then I would be forced to step in. The simple question, "Do we need to have A Talk?" could usually stave off the inevitable for weeks, if not months. But eventually, the simmer would come to a boil, and the process would be set in motion.
It always started with me yelling at them [by which I mean, I spoke more quietly than usual, we are not yellers in our family, and through gritted teeth,] "Okay, that's ENOUGH. GO TO YOUR ROOMS."
This was the beginning of a little game I like to call keep-away, where I would separate them, at which point, the one thing they craved more than anything else was to be together. I would hear them upstairs, quietly closing their doors, knowing that they would go through the adjoining bathroom and before long, they would end up in one room or the other. Together. Probably plotting against me.
After awhile, I would ask if they were ready to come out. They would delay as long as possible, but eventually, they would have to eat, if nothing else. So out they would come, each through their own door, pretending they hadn't already been in conference the entire time.
If they had worked things out between themselves, it would be a quick and easy resolution, and we would all go on our merry way.
Occasionally, though, they would still be angry with each other. Then it was time to pull out the big guns in my parental arsenal, The Apology, followed by The Talk. You have no idea the power of those words, until you put them into action yourself.
I have always taught my children that you apologize, even if you don't really, really mean it, because it's the only way to move forward. Eventually you will be sorry anyway, so you might as well apologize up front, and then it's out of the way.
My children, not surprisingly, have never really agreed with this strategy. [I can't wait until they have children of their own. I will bring popcorn and cheer for the kids.] Sometimes they would even throw caution totally to the wind and argue about the insincerity of it all. Eventually they realized that the more they argued, the longer they would be sitting there. Thus, they would ultimately find themselves apologizing, whether they meant it or not.
You don't just say a terse "I'm sorry," however, at least not if you belong to me. You are required to identify what, exactly, it is that you did wrong, and to apologize specifically for that action.
Neither are you allowed to issue disclaimers such as, "I'm sorry IF...," or "I'm sorry BUT...." That is not actually an apology, and it's not accepted.
After the apology, we go one step further. The other person is required to formally accept the apology, even if that isn't meant, either. I believe my line in the production was usually, "If an apology has been offered, you are required to accept it at face value." This is another step which frequently resulted in resentful argument, as they debated the merits of the apology, and howled out their disapproval of the insincerity of it all.
The lesson I was trying to teach them is that, in the end, the apology is offered, not for the person you have wronged, but for the sake of your own soul. Even if you don't mean it at the moment it is said, you are still forced to identify your wrongdoing, and ultimately, you will realize that you were wrong and will own it.
Forgiveness works the same way. You are not really forgiving them for their sake - they will go on just fine without it, if necessary - but by holding onto the resentment, you are hurting yourself.
My attitude was that you might as well just get it over with, because eventually you will be sorry and forgive, anyway. My way, it's already taken care of, and you can just move on. You will have to talk to them if you want their point of view. Trust me, if you know my kids, they have a point of view. And they will be happy to share it with you. Just ask them.
Having dispensed with the formalities, we would then proceed to the next step, which was Mom [me] lecturing on the importance of each to the other. I would wax poetic about the relationship they could have when I wasn't here with them any more. I would draw verbal portraits of the special love they would feel, each for the other, and how much it would mean to them somewhere down the line when they didn't hate each other any more. I could go on for hours, if necessary, and usually gauged my endpoint by the speed with which their eyes glazed over.
They quickly learned that by keeping quiet, they could shorten the process considerably. So dead silence would ensue in a silent collaboration until they could get away from the living room chair where they were planted, and peace would reign once more.
The road has been long, but I think we are approaching the fulfillment of the fantasy, and I find that my vision is, indeed, coming to pass. My children have a deep and thoughtful love for each other, in spite of their many differences, and they crave the kind of interaction they can only find with one another. I don't know whether those hours of sitting in the living room, each in his/her own chair, listening to someone older and wiser pontificating about the importance of their relationship actually made a difference or not. But I know that I will never regret trying.
The outcome is life changing, not for me, but for them. They are a gift to each other, and I don't regret a moment of the fantasy I hatched for them, however far away it may have appeared at times to the protagonists of the piece. They will write their own story now, and I think it will be a captivating tale.
Parenting is a crap shoot. But there is no better feeling than when you get a win.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Easter hats in springtime....
When I was little, spring was a time to rejoice. I have always hated winter, snow and cold are anathema to me, and I would look forward to spring with anticipation of the scents and sights that would fill me with joyful celebration. Budding leaves on the trees, flowers peeking their stems above ground, grass greening up - all are signs that the earth is coming full circle once again, and the time of renewal is upon us.
But for me, there is nothing more spring fever inducing than an Easter hat on a little girl's head. It is a sight I associate with everything I love about the spring, all rolled into one charming little display of hope.
When I was little, getting a new dress for Easter was An Event. It was so exciting, to be able to cast off the old winter outfits and don the new apparel that my mother would have sewn for me with her loving care. The dresses were always fresh and springy looking, floral prints or checks in pastel pinks and blues and yellows. I looked forward to getting new shoes, shiny white patent leather or perhaps even leather sandals to wear through the too short summer season.
The coup de grace, of course, was the Easter hat I would put upon my head. They were generally made of white straw, and would have ribbons streaming down the back to blow about in the gentle breeze as we went to and from church. I felt grown up in my Easter hat, special, different, because it wasn't something we did every day.
I don't know if there is anything similar for boys, but Easter hats have a draw all their own for most little girls. You can't explain it, you just have to feel it, that yearning for a beacon on your head that bears the good news that winter is leaving and summer is nearly upon us.
One time when my daughter was small, she must have been about three or so, we were at the store, and suddenly her eyes lit up with the wonder of something beyond special. She had seen The Easter Hat, with white ribbons, and she had to have it.
This was a ridiculous desire on her part, because she utterly refused to wear anything on her head, even in the dead of winter. Getting a hat tied under her chin was an ongoing battle, and she lost more mittens than most people have in a lifetime because she refused to keep them on her hands. Obviously, I was not going to indulge a whim for something she would never wear, and I declined to make the purchase.
Upon hearing no, her little nose turned red, as it always did when she cried, and her eyes welled up and silently overflowed with tears. Her little heart broken, she looked at me in wounded expectation that I would fix the problem by changing my mind. (There was, unfortunately, a fair amount of precedent for her faith in that outcome, since those watery eyes and that little nose were pretty hard to resist.)
We left the store with the hat firmly planted on her head, skewed a little sideways to allow for the price tag hanging down next to her face. It was part of the hat, she would not allow me to remove the tag. Proudly she wore that hat out to the car. (Fortunately, she did not realize the people snickering as she passed were laughing at her, not with her. Not that she would have cared.)
She climbed into her car seat in great satisfaction, not because she had gotten her way so much as because she was thrilled to be decked out in her new hat. Two minutes later the stress of the day caught up with her and she was asleep, hat still on her head, and tag still hanging in front of her face. It was a sight that filled me with an overwhelming love for her, and a wish that I could make all her dreams come true so easily.
I enjoy going to church on Easter Sunday and seeing all the little girls in their new Easter finery. They strut around the narthex with their parents, proudly showing off their new duds, frilly little dresses and shiny shoes topped off with a hat that makes them irresistible.
There are a lot of reasons to love having a little girl, but I would be lying if I didn't say one of them was dressing her up like a live doll in fancy clothes. Too bad it only lasts until she has an opinion of her own about how she wants to look. Which, in our case, started at birth, so that fun was short lived!
We celebrated her birthday a couple of weeks ago by indulging in that time honored mother-daughter activity, clothes shopping, as she spent her birthday money on much needed items. It is fun to shop with her, she has her own sense of style, and she is still not shy about wearing things her own way.
Sometimes, when I see a little girl in her Easter hat, I think about how lucky I am to have my own little girl in my life. She is now a grown up 19, forging ahead in her life as she always has, following her own path. I can't solve her problems with a new Easter hat any more; she has to find her own way now, and usually without my help.
But whenever I see a little girl in a her brand new Easter finery, I can't help but think about that moment when I could solve all of life's problems with a new hat, tag and all.
Happy birthday, precious daughter. Here's wishing you many more Easter hat moments to come....
But for me, there is nothing more spring fever inducing than an Easter hat on a little girl's head. It is a sight I associate with everything I love about the spring, all rolled into one charming little display of hope.
When I was little, getting a new dress for Easter was An Event. It was so exciting, to be able to cast off the old winter outfits and don the new apparel that my mother would have sewn for me with her loving care. The dresses were always fresh and springy looking, floral prints or checks in pastel pinks and blues and yellows. I looked forward to getting new shoes, shiny white patent leather or perhaps even leather sandals to wear through the too short summer season.
The coup de grace, of course, was the Easter hat I would put upon my head. They were generally made of white straw, and would have ribbons streaming down the back to blow about in the gentle breeze as we went to and from church. I felt grown up in my Easter hat, special, different, because it wasn't something we did every day.
I don't know if there is anything similar for boys, but Easter hats have a draw all their own for most little girls. You can't explain it, you just have to feel it, that yearning for a beacon on your head that bears the good news that winter is leaving and summer is nearly upon us.
One time when my daughter was small, she must have been about three or so, we were at the store, and suddenly her eyes lit up with the wonder of something beyond special. She had seen The Easter Hat, with white ribbons, and she had to have it.
This was a ridiculous desire on her part, because she utterly refused to wear anything on her head, even in the dead of winter. Getting a hat tied under her chin was an ongoing battle, and she lost more mittens than most people have in a lifetime because she refused to keep them on her hands. Obviously, I was not going to indulge a whim for something she would never wear, and I declined to make the purchase.
Upon hearing no, her little nose turned red, as it always did when she cried, and her eyes welled up and silently overflowed with tears. Her little heart broken, she looked at me in wounded expectation that I would fix the problem by changing my mind. (There was, unfortunately, a fair amount of precedent for her faith in that outcome, since those watery eyes and that little nose were pretty hard to resist.)
We left the store with the hat firmly planted on her head, skewed a little sideways to allow for the price tag hanging down next to her face. It was part of the hat, she would not allow me to remove the tag. Proudly she wore that hat out to the car. (Fortunately, she did not realize the people snickering as she passed were laughing at her, not with her. Not that she would have cared.)
She climbed into her car seat in great satisfaction, not because she had gotten her way so much as because she was thrilled to be decked out in her new hat. Two minutes later the stress of the day caught up with her and she was asleep, hat still on her head, and tag still hanging in front of her face. It was a sight that filled me with an overwhelming love for her, and a wish that I could make all her dreams come true so easily.
I enjoy going to church on Easter Sunday and seeing all the little girls in their new Easter finery. They strut around the narthex with their parents, proudly showing off their new duds, frilly little dresses and shiny shoes topped off with a hat that makes them irresistible.
There are a lot of reasons to love having a little girl, but I would be lying if I didn't say one of them was dressing her up like a live doll in fancy clothes. Too bad it only lasts until she has an opinion of her own about how she wants to look. Which, in our case, started at birth, so that fun was short lived!
We celebrated her birthday a couple of weeks ago by indulging in that time honored mother-daughter activity, clothes shopping, as she spent her birthday money on much needed items. It is fun to shop with her, she has her own sense of style, and she is still not shy about wearing things her own way.
Sometimes, when I see a little girl in her Easter hat, I think about how lucky I am to have my own little girl in my life. She is now a grown up 19, forging ahead in her life as she always has, following her own path. I can't solve her problems with a new Easter hat any more; she has to find her own way now, and usually without my help.
But whenever I see a little girl in a her brand new Easter finery, I can't help but think about that moment when I could solve all of life's problems with a new hat, tag and all.
Happy birthday, precious daughter. Here's wishing you many more Easter hat moments to come....
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Calm in chaos.....
It seems insincere to write a blog post about something as catastrophic as the situation in Japan, and at first I ignored it on that basis. I am a mere blogger thousands of miles away - what could I possibly add to the discussion? But like everyone, I am wounded for their loss of life and property. It seems even more insincere at this point not to mention this horrendous tragedy, as though it doesn't matter. Thus, in my own insignificant way, I send my support to those who are suffering as best I can, with my thoughts and prayers.
Crisis reveals character, both of individuals, and of nations. Japan is in a crisis of epic proportions, but I am not surprised to see their national character emerging as calm, measured, and confident. If this crisis were occurring across most of the earth, we would be seeing rioting, looting, shootings, and other violent acts threatening to add to the chaos of the disaster itself. Japan is giving the world an awe inspiring display of national self-control, and it's an example that is both impressive and needed.
If a country in the midst of one of the greatest disasters in recorded history can peacefully pull itself together for the greater good, then surely we, as a species, should be able to find compromise on lesser crises without resorting to threats and violence.
I am wondering, if this were happening in the United States, would we be rising to the occasion this way? Recent history says no. Rioting, looting, shootings and fear accompany every disaster. Every natural occurrence seems to be an excuse to rage out of control, taking whatever we can get, whether it is right or not. Anarchy has become so rampant in disaster settings it is now perceived as normal and inevitable; out of the ordinary when it doesn't occur.
I think the world needs to take a lesson from the Japanese today. Their extraordinary response, even in the uncertainty, and their focus on solutions, has given us all a vision of another alternative. Recriminations will surely come, but it will be an ideological bloodbath, not a real one.
My heart and prayers go out to the people of Japan, and I sorrow for those who have lost everything, especially loved ones. I pray that their national character will continue to remain stoic and calm. They are showing the rest of the world the possiblities, and it gives me great hope.
I pray for my children that somehow, they will live in a world like that.
Crisis reveals character, both of individuals, and of nations. Japan is in a crisis of epic proportions, but I am not surprised to see their national character emerging as calm, measured, and confident. If this crisis were occurring across most of the earth, we would be seeing rioting, looting, shootings, and other violent acts threatening to add to the chaos of the disaster itself. Japan is giving the world an awe inspiring display of national self-control, and it's an example that is both impressive and needed.
If a country in the midst of one of the greatest disasters in recorded history can peacefully pull itself together for the greater good, then surely we, as a species, should be able to find compromise on lesser crises without resorting to threats and violence.
I am wondering, if this were happening in the United States, would we be rising to the occasion this way? Recent history says no. Rioting, looting, shootings and fear accompany every disaster. Every natural occurrence seems to be an excuse to rage out of control, taking whatever we can get, whether it is right or not. Anarchy has become so rampant in disaster settings it is now perceived as normal and inevitable; out of the ordinary when it doesn't occur.
I think the world needs to take a lesson from the Japanese today. Their extraordinary response, even in the uncertainty, and their focus on solutions, has given us all a vision of another alternative. Recriminations will surely come, but it will be an ideological bloodbath, not a real one.
My heart and prayers go out to the people of Japan, and I sorrow for those who have lost everything, especially loved ones. I pray that their national character will continue to remain stoic and calm. They are showing the rest of the world the possiblities, and it gives me great hope.
I pray for my children that somehow, they will live in a world like that.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Dog's life...
Humans are a perverse species. One of our common, and more entertaining, characteristics is the whimsical way we make decisions.
Dogs? They do whatever they feel like at the moment, and usually with total abandon. They don't think about why they want to do it. They simply partake in life and let the chips fall where they may.
There is something to be said for a dog's life. There must be, because so many people seem to make decisions the same way.
I am not a dog. I think about things. Examine all sides. Consider the pros and cons. Worry about the consequences. Then, when I have carefully considered every single possible result, I reassess, just in case I might have missed something in the first go round. Finally, when I am absolutely sure of what I want to do, I move cautiously forward. And that is just over what to have for dinner.
I am not saying I am a worrier. I am cautious, thoughtful, considered. I don't like surprises. I want to know exactly where everything stands ahead of time, so that I can have my response prepared.
This is probably not the ideal personality for someone who works in sales. As I said before, people are perverse, and they make all kinds of nonsensical decisions for the most random reasons, or sometimes no apparent reason at all. They will make huge decisions on a whim, only to change their minds shortly thereafter. It is baffling to me. I am obviously not dog material. [I know, I know, I'm an owl.]
Most people also appear to me to be unrealistically optimistic about their own lives. You see a lot of this unwarranted confidence in my line of work, and I am always perplexed by it.
I sell insurance, thus I work with people who are preparing for the possibility of catastrophe in their lives. You would imagine people would take that very seriously, considering all the pros and cons involved, and making the most cautious of determinations regarding their long term prospects.
You would be wrong.
I spend time every week talking to people who have had multiple accidents, only to hear them tell me they want the least amount of auto coverage possible. Talk about positive thinking.
People who would think nothing of spending $50 on a meal out will ask to reduce coverage on their home by tens of thousands of dollars to save that $50 annually. I usually tell them that $50 is going to look like the worst investment they ever made if their house burns to the ground, but it is downright fascinating how many people tell me that won't happen, and want me to do it anyway.
Hope springs eternal, I guess.
Applied on a broader basis, that groundless optimism seems to apply to all aspects of life. We continue to overeat, even if we have health problems stemming from obesity, because we refuse to accept that it would cause a problem for us. We continue to be couch potatoes, despite clear evidence that exercising is good for our health, because we don't believe that our hearts will eventually clog up. We build houses on fault lines, we put cabins on sandy oceanfront property, we buy yachts in Missouri.
In decisions large and small, humans behave in unpredictable ways. We have invested a bazillion dollars into anti-terrorism measures in response to a threat that has killed a few thousand people over a period of many years, but we get in the car without a thought and drive all over creation at an exponentially higher risk that has killed hundreds of thousands in the same time frame. We buy lottery tickets, but aren't afraid of getting hit by lightening, which is more likely than hitting the jackpot. We are up in arms over restaurant inspections for trivial transgressions, then lick the batter bowl clean when we make a cake.
Humans are a mass of amusing contradictions. They are unpredictable and often irrational, but always entertaining. They are never so interesting, however, as when they don't realize they are being observed.
I had a random conversation this week with someone who made me think about that. He has a regular opportunity to speak to large groups of people, and commented on what he saw on one particular occasion. It made me laugh, because I had never thought before about how the watchers are, indeed, the watched, whether we know it or not.
While we sit in a mass of people listening to someone speak, we shift, we fidget, we think we are surreptitiously looking at our phone or our watch. We sit up, we slide down, we look around. Personally, I spend time looking at the ceiling, noticing how many light bulbs need replacement, and at other people, wondering what is going on in their heads. We feel anonymous, because we are part of a group, and we are observing the person up in front.
But in fact, as I know from performing solos over the years and from having been a teacher, the reverse is also true. When you are the one at the podium, you see what is going on in the audience, and you are aware of the activity that is occurring. You hear the coughing and see the nose picking. You hear the shuffling of papers. You are aware of the people coming and going. You notice if you are holding the crowd or losing them. You can observe when everyone starts looking at their watch, or if they are whispering amongst themselves. You realize it when someone falls asleep, especially if they start snoring and attracting the attention of those around them! [That leads to other entertaining behavior, as people naturally try to disassociate themselves from the perceived offender.]
It's a unique vantage point, because for all that you are together in a public place, most people are unaware that they are being observed, and they are simply themselves. It lends itself to humor quite often, even when someone is seriously paying attention, because most of us have goofy habits that are pretty funny, if we look at them from the proper perspective.
When confronted with the overwhelming situations that life throws our way, I find a lot humor in the minutiae of the everyday. If we are going to behave in ways that don't make sense, we should at least be able to laugh at ourselves for it. Although we have more worries and cares, there is nothing wrong with taking on a little of the dog's life.
Just don't chase any cars.
Dogs? They do whatever they feel like at the moment, and usually with total abandon. They don't think about why they want to do it. They simply partake in life and let the chips fall where they may.
There is something to be said for a dog's life. There must be, because so many people seem to make decisions the same way.
I am not a dog. I think about things. Examine all sides. Consider the pros and cons. Worry about the consequences. Then, when I have carefully considered every single possible result, I reassess, just in case I might have missed something in the first go round. Finally, when I am absolutely sure of what I want to do, I move cautiously forward. And that is just over what to have for dinner.
I am not saying I am a worrier. I am cautious, thoughtful, considered. I don't like surprises. I want to know exactly where everything stands ahead of time, so that I can have my response prepared.
This is probably not the ideal personality for someone who works in sales. As I said before, people are perverse, and they make all kinds of nonsensical decisions for the most random reasons, or sometimes no apparent reason at all. They will make huge decisions on a whim, only to change their minds shortly thereafter. It is baffling to me. I am obviously not dog material. [I know, I know, I'm an owl.]
Most people also appear to me to be unrealistically optimistic about their own lives. You see a lot of this unwarranted confidence in my line of work, and I am always perplexed by it.
I sell insurance, thus I work with people who are preparing for the possibility of catastrophe in their lives. You would imagine people would take that very seriously, considering all the pros and cons involved, and making the most cautious of determinations regarding their long term prospects.
You would be wrong.
I spend time every week talking to people who have had multiple accidents, only to hear them tell me they want the least amount of auto coverage possible. Talk about positive thinking.
People who would think nothing of spending $50 on a meal out will ask to reduce coverage on their home by tens of thousands of dollars to save that $50 annually. I usually tell them that $50 is going to look like the worst investment they ever made if their house burns to the ground, but it is downright fascinating how many people tell me that won't happen, and want me to do it anyway.
Hope springs eternal, I guess.
Applied on a broader basis, that groundless optimism seems to apply to all aspects of life. We continue to overeat, even if we have health problems stemming from obesity, because we refuse to accept that it would cause a problem for us. We continue to be couch potatoes, despite clear evidence that exercising is good for our health, because we don't believe that our hearts will eventually clog up. We build houses on fault lines, we put cabins on sandy oceanfront property, we buy yachts in Missouri.
In decisions large and small, humans behave in unpredictable ways. We have invested a bazillion dollars into anti-terrorism measures in response to a threat that has killed a few thousand people over a period of many years, but we get in the car without a thought and drive all over creation at an exponentially higher risk that has killed hundreds of thousands in the same time frame. We buy lottery tickets, but aren't afraid of getting hit by lightening, which is more likely than hitting the jackpot. We are up in arms over restaurant inspections for trivial transgressions, then lick the batter bowl clean when we make a cake.
Humans are a mass of amusing contradictions. They are unpredictable and often irrational, but always entertaining. They are never so interesting, however, as when they don't realize they are being observed.
I had a random conversation this week with someone who made me think about that. He has a regular opportunity to speak to large groups of people, and commented on what he saw on one particular occasion. It made me laugh, because I had never thought before about how the watchers are, indeed, the watched, whether we know it or not.
While we sit in a mass of people listening to someone speak, we shift, we fidget, we think we are surreptitiously looking at our phone or our watch. We sit up, we slide down, we look around. Personally, I spend time looking at the ceiling, noticing how many light bulbs need replacement, and at other people, wondering what is going on in their heads. We feel anonymous, because we are part of a group, and we are observing the person up in front.
But in fact, as I know from performing solos over the years and from having been a teacher, the reverse is also true. When you are the one at the podium, you see what is going on in the audience, and you are aware of the activity that is occurring. You hear the coughing and see the nose picking. You hear the shuffling of papers. You are aware of the people coming and going. You notice if you are holding the crowd or losing them. You can observe when everyone starts looking at their watch, or if they are whispering amongst themselves. You realize it when someone falls asleep, especially if they start snoring and attracting the attention of those around them! [That leads to other entertaining behavior, as people naturally try to disassociate themselves from the perceived offender.]
It's a unique vantage point, because for all that you are together in a public place, most people are unaware that they are being observed, and they are simply themselves. It lends itself to humor quite often, even when someone is seriously paying attention, because most of us have goofy habits that are pretty funny, if we look at them from the proper perspective.
When confronted with the overwhelming situations that life throws our way, I find a lot humor in the minutiae of the everyday. If we are going to behave in ways that don't make sense, we should at least be able to laugh at ourselves for it. Although we have more worries and cares, there is nothing wrong with taking on a little of the dog's life.
Just don't chase any cars.
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