World Views as They Pertain to Me Problems, You Problems and We Problems

(and a distinction between Free Will and Freedom...might as well throw in Free Market, Capitalism and Compassion)

I used to be a big believer in developing a world view and sticking to it without wavering. I’m probably more relaxed in my stance now, but not without contemplation. I guess a bit of a turn off first occurred when I noticed how self centered my world view could be, as it pertained to me and pretty much only others that held similar beliefs. Now I’m more inclined to embrace a world view that works for all of us, or at least more of us. There seems to be so much polarity now and in my mind it’s a battle between opposing world views. Yet, here we are..we the people. United. One nation. I’m not even talking about global issues. Just getting along on the national level...with our so called “world” view differences. But I digress. 

I’ve been turned off recently by a certain individual and a certain institution that describes world view issues in terms of me problems and you problems. Now, the guy is intelligent and articulate, but I think he paints a very narrow and non comprehensive picture. Regardless of his intelligence and articulation, I don’t subscribe to his version of a world view. Yes, it’s good to know my responsibility level in issues. What’s my issue vs what’s your issue. But figuring out what I had to do with creating your problem is key. 

For instance, if I pollute a water supply, that’s a me problem, you problem and we problem. However, if I get my water somewhere else, leaving you with contaminated water...while telling you it’s no longer a me problem but now a you problem, we’ll, that’s callous and immoral. 

We are very hesitant to embrace we problems. If I take care of me, by nature I’m not as inclined to help others...not as much, anyway. However, while I believe in personal responsibility and accountability I also believe in helping others. It’s just not as easy to do. I have to change my mindset. And it’s very easy to look at an issue and claim I had nothing to do with creating that issue. Dirty water? Air pollution? You don’t see any factories in my backyard...not my problem. Though we are all consumers that contribute to the ecological footprint on some level. Everything we buy had to be produced somewhere, and honestly, I’m a consumer and inherently a contributor to the fallout of mass production. All consumers are part of a we problem that we all contributed to if not created. 

But this is really not intended to be about consumerism and the environment. That’s just an example. It might sound funny to insert the word “systemic” while talking about consumerism, but isn’t there validity to the totality in which all of us affect all of us when it comes to consumerism? No, we don’t all play equal parts. But we all play. And, we all pay the consequences. 

In other social issues we all play at least some part...unless you live on an island in total isolation. But it’s very difficult for us to own up to our part, or even buying into the We Problem concept. But to me it’s like traffic. In a traffic jam there can in some instances be a specific cause and fault assignment. At other times it’s a matter of too many of us on the road at the same time, not just one or two people’s fault. But we’re all stuck in traffic if we’re trying to get somewhere. While I’m impatient with the guy in front of me, it’s not solely his fault. The guy behind me is impatient with me. But it’s not solely my fault. And I’m not even worried about the guy behind me...until he honks his horn.. See, it’s not so much that we’re stuck in traffic. We are traffic. It’s a we problem, even when it’s created by a stalled vehicle miles in front. I didn’t cause that stall. Ok, I was the stall one time when the electrical components of my car just stopped working on the interstate in the middle of rush hour. So yes, that one time I was the guy the traffic reporter called out for the problem area on the evening commute. Ok, and one other time when someone changed lanes and totaled my car. Not my fault, but it became a me problem in a flash which turned into a we problem for all those other commuters. A longer term problem for me. And a different level problem for the driver that caused the accident. But we were all in traffic together..for an extended period of time. 

Such is life. We’re all in it together. We all contribute little or much to the mess of good or the mess of bad we find ourselves in. We all have a footprint literally and figuratively. Sometimes it’s a footprint of influence. If someone could scan an infra red type of image that captured our influence imprint...would our foot be kicking someone down? Or rushing to help someone up? Something I have to think about regularly. I know both types of images could be captured at various times in my life when it comes to influence. 

Ok, so what does any of this have to do with freedom? We value freedom in this country. I love freedom. I think that’s something we have in common as Americans. We love freedom. But honestly, I’m not always thrilled with how others express their free will. Free will conjures up some pretty disturbing events. Free will flies planes into buildings. Free will loots and vandalizes. Free will outside the parameters of freedoms established by our constitution and our established governing powers, well that’s pandemonium. No one is above that. One’s free will may act outside those parameters, but in a good and right justice system, that pandemonium doesn’t last. And the great thing about our country is that no one ..no one is above that. No one. And that’s the country I want to live in. 

I want a country where I’m free to live my world view. And others are free to live theirs. And we both adhere to the outlined freedoms established in our country. And the equity issue applies to all of us. No one above. No one below. That’s not communism. That’s not socialism. I want our system of government to work equally for all of us. That’s equal opportunity and equal justice for all. I want that for all. Who wouldn’t?

Free market? Yes. Capitalism? Yes. Do we need structure and regulation? Yes, if they don’t adhere to equal opportunity. But here’s something that cannot be regulated and enforced. Compassion. How do you measure compassion of an employer? How do you measure compassion of a government? How do you measure your own compassion as it relates to your fellow man? That’s a difficult call. We can’t force compassion. But I’m thinking we could use more of it. Can’t really regulate it. When it comes to giving compassion on an individual level we can give it grudgingly or willingly. I get to make that choice. That’s a me problem. And I get to exercise my free will in that determination. 

Forgiving Your Former Self

I used to think people were crazy when I heard them say, “if I had it to do over again, I’d do everything exactly the same way”. Given that option today, I’d at least have a long pause to think about it. But you know what? I’m good with where I’m at now on every level. No, I’m not saying things are perfect, but I’m at peace with things ...for the most part. I’ve come to grips with my former self, including decisions made earlier in life, and consequences that followed.

Sure, I still have plenty of flaws. I still get irritated. And with today’s uncertainties, who isn’t irritated from time to time? But the big picture? I’m at peace with my big picture, flaws and all. 

No, this is not a proclamation of the right way to live life. I don’t have a recommended path that everyone should follow. I’m not writing a book on how to live life. My path was bumpy and maybe not even a path at times. And I’m certainly not at a final destination. I’m still trekking. But my trekking is at least somewhat more peaceful because I honestly believe I’ve made peace to some extent with my past...with all its bumps, bruises, poor choices, and maybe occasionally some good ones. 

Really...can anyone claim to be where they are because they always made the right choices at every key moment in life? I’m not sure I’d trust anyone making that claim. I certainly wouldn’t be able to identify with them. 

If life is a journey with difficult passages, I’d want to walk next to someone who understands the bumps. Someone with scraped knees. Maybe a finger with a swollen knuckle that prevents it from being straight. Maybe a pause in their attempt to stand straight after a rest. Maybe a hitch in their giddy up. But after they get upright, they extend that hand to help others get up and back on their path. 

Remember, all scars have stories behind them, big or small. And those stories make more sense when exchanged during a journey. Even if the journey is only for a small stretch of the entire path. 

No, my path hasn’t been the straight and narrow. And nobody knows exactly the course I’ve taken. I’ve surely forgotten parts of it myself. But I’m not there anymore. I’m here now. For a while. What’s behind is either learned from or forgotten. But it’s ground I’ve covered to get here. And I’m moving on, because I’m not done yet. Moving on with a slight pause in my giddy up...a finger that doesn’t quite work right..a slight tilt to my posture..a need to rest every so often...but still moving down a path. A path not suited for the younger me. But a path suited for a well seasoned sojourner. I’ve lived my whole life to be where I am now. So, here I am. 

And if I had to do it all over again... I’m still not saying how I’d answer that question. But I’m glad to be where I am today. How ‘bout you?

All You Need Is Love

I remember that song/lyric being the source of many discussions by people mostly pointing out how wrong it was...and the long haired “hippies” singing it. Being the age I am, I first heard that song when I was a lad, and I liked it...because love sounded like a good thing to have. What kid wouldn’t gravitate towards that. But I was soon indoctrinated with the idea that truth was supreme. I was told that love without truth was only based on some emotional feeling, and not really love. Not the lasting kind, anyway. 

Well, I never really got into too many of those discussions. I was pretty much on the receiving end of them, from professors, pastors and Sunday School teachers. But I also remembered other phrases I had heard; “...the greatest of these is love”, or other verses and even chapters of the Bible filled with concepts of love never failing, speaking the truth ..in love, and words not backed by love being compared to indiscernible noise. Even the greatest commandment centered around love for God and love for others. 

As a youngster I really didn’t question too much though, not outwardly. And that trend continued throughout much of my formal education. I had “come to Jesus” basically in a gun to the head kind of way. You know, believe or be damned...or else. Sure, the love concept was sprinkled in, kind of after the fact. But in my religious circles, truth reigned supreme. Love..I never really understood it. And I think I was not alone, or maybe I’d have heard a lot more about it. 

I remember questioning the love factor, at least in my mind. But any time it came up the same message seemed to win out...if you had to pick one...truth or love...pick truth. You can’t be wrong if you’re right, kind of thing. 

Well, I don’t like having to pick between those two. And I won’t pick between those two. I’m an “I want it all” kind of guy. But, I’m leaning towards love, since “the greatest of these is love”. But I’ll claim it’s just a leaning at this point. I still want both truth and love. And I still plan to pursue both. 

So, other things I’ve observed over the years is that some that claim to hold up “the” truth get very annoyed when someone else claims to speak in terms of “their” truth. “The truth” trumps “my truth” they teach, and things can get ugly in a hurry if anyone disagrees. Lots of discussion..sometimes nastiness, name calling, maybe even hatefulness...all in the name of proclaiming truth. The only thing that seems to be missing in these discussions...is love. 

Now, I’ve been around enough to know that there are countless groups claiming to be protectors of “the” truth, and they’re all different. But they don’t speak for me. I have to figure out what truth looks like for myself. Sure, I can get input from others. I’d be a fool not to. But I’d also be a fool to blindly follow someone else’s version of “the” truth, because, simply put, it might just be “their” truth.

Yes, I’ll bow my knee to divine truth. But how that plays out in my mind, honestly, is a work in progress, and really nobody else’s business. I have to grow and seek and struggle and mature, and even change my mind once in a while. Sometimes I’m the one that gets most in the way of my own progress of learning truth. 

For instance, when I hold on to a perceived truth, and am unwilling to grow, well... I stagnate. That’s not growth or maturity. 

Or, if I have a concept down pretty well in terms of truthfulness (well contemplated and balanced, based on study and experience of my own and others), but I am lacking in the love department, guess what...I’m just noise when I speak it. And that noise sometimes has a tendency to just get louder and louder ...and even destructive at times. See, truth without love tends to tear down, not build up. Truth without love doesn’t unite. It creates divisions and even villains and the attempts to tear them down in the name of righteous indignation...to further one’s own cause.

Well, without love that too is noise. And destructive. Plain and simple. 

See, there are times when I don’t even care who is “right” when love is nowhere near part of the discussion. We’ve probably all seen situations like this played out, sadly. I’m not saying truth doesn’t matter. It does. But truth without love, when it turns into a weapon to destroy someone else..is not really truth anymore. Not in its purest form. That kind of loveless truth doesn’t set anyone free. 

If you think you have a firm grip on truth, great, make sure you have the love. And if in your truthfulness others think you’re a jerk...well, they may be wrong... or, maybe all you need is love. Maybe that’s the missing component. Just add love to your truth. Maybe that’s all you need. 

He Didn’t Need No Stinkin’ Handrail

It’s not that he didn’t ever use hand rails. But I best remember the times he didn’t. Oh man, I’d be nervous trying to position myself just so...just in case I needed to help brace him for a fall. Joe didn’t care though...he was going to go where he was going to go ...regardless of how I positioned myself. And he did. Countless times, much to my chagrin. 

Moebius syndrome is a rare neurological condition that accompanied Joe since birth. His case affected more than his facial muscles and nerves. Joe’s feet were also affected...resulting in what appeared to onlookers as a difficulty to safely stay upright. But for the life of me...I can’t say it hindered him significantly. Well, I mean, it had to hinder him though, right? Right?? 

However, his work history is robust. He was married to his bride for 56 years. They produced the most beautiful daughter imaginable. He was living out his retirement years active in his church. I mean...am I missing what was missing?? Because I’m not really coming up with anything. In a very real sense, he had it all. A man of abundant fruit. 

I wonder if he kinda felt free racing in front of protective arms trying to prevent potential falls. It must have been a lifelong conundrum.  I was fairly late to the scene, only within the last several years, so of course I felt a sense of protective urgency whenever I was around him. But I now wonder how much Joe really needed it. Oh, sure...I’ve seen him fall. I can’t remember how many times. Most times he got up quickly. No fuss. Other times he needed help. Again..no fuss from him. He likely tired of any fuss anyone offered. Rolled right off him, best I can tell. And for the time I knew him, I never saw him with a handicapped license plate.

I remember asking Doris how she and Joe met. She paused, while the twinkle in her eye glimmered a bit. She said...”it was in school. He was called Joe the Trouble Maker”. At first I couldn’t believe her. But that was one of the first times I met with them...and I didn’t know any better. After chasing after him trying to protect him a few times, I found Doris’ story much easier to believe. 

You see, in Joe’s world...handrails weren’t for him...they were for me, and others, so we would somehow feel better, I guess. But honestly, I think he lived his life just fine without them. He certainly won’t need handrails in the next life. And I’m guessing he probably won’t need wings either. 

I love you Joe, and I miss you already. 

My Grocery List

In regards to changing food labels...all I have to do is change my grocery list. That’s it. There is no rewriting of history. Nobody is hiding history from me. That’s not where I go for history. History is not being rewritten. What’s changing is the way some food lines are marketed. A conscientious effort is being made to change how a people group has been negatively portrayed over the years. Nobody asked me. I didn’t have to attend meetings or follow up with interviews or surveys. I just have to change my grocery list. I can do that. Easy. And I’m glad to do it. Man, easiest thing I can do to help spread positive change. 

People ask...what can we do when we’re not even aware of how racial profiling is perpetuated? How about change your grocery list? This one is easy. And if you feel like you’re losing a part of your history or heritage when a product name gets changed...there are plenty of libraries, museums, historical sites, documentaries...Ted Talks, for crying out loud. We don’t need to get our heritage from a food label. Just like we don’t need Starbucks to celebrate Christmas. This is not about me and what I’m losing or having taken from me. It’s not about me one bit. 

This one is easy folks. Statues and monuments..those are more difficult discussions...but discussions that need to be had so we can preserve history in the proper context. The time is now. If we don’t open our minds now for healthy discussion and change, we’ll miss out. It will happen after we’re gone. And people will wonder why our generation didn’t change. 

Freeze!!

One summer during high school a friend and his parents graciously took me on vacation. It was a great week away in the Land of 10,000 Lakes. Camping. Fishing. Golfing. Swimming. Sailing. And my favorite..cookouts. It was about as carefree as I’d experienced in my young life. Also...I was treated like a golden child. Other people’s parents can do that, I guess. They spoiled me. I knew it. My friend knew it, but he didn’t seem to mind. I sensed he even enjoyed it. He was good like that. And I soaked up every minute of it. 

One night, while we were in a hotel on Lake Superior I decided to go for a walk along the beach. I think I just wanted some alone time (even back then), so I asked if I could go by myself...and was permitted. There was still about an hour of daylight, so I had no concerns.

After 30 or so minutes I noticed that if I veered off the beach slightly...and across some railroad tracks, I could be in town after just a couple blocks. I was cautious even back then and looked around for any signs of potential danger. Finding none, I started across the railroad tracks. 

I didn’t make it across the tracks though.  As soon as I stepped off the beach and towards the tracks a couple of police cars pulled up with their lights and sirens and closed in on me. Cops jumped out of the cars. More cops came out from behind rocks. They yelled at me to “freeze”!! No guns were drawn. I was not cuffed. I was not wrestled to the ground. I was simply placed in the back of a squad car while they tried to figure out who I was. I didn’t have any ID on me, so it took a few minutes, but I was released. 

I was told I matched the description of a suspect, and walked right into a stake out. I was stopped because I looked like someone else. 

Was I mistreated? Absolutely not. I thought I was actually treated very politely and respectfully. Sure I was a scruffy long haired kid...it was the 70’s.  But being white, I really didn’t have anything to worry about. I just had a little bit of a story to tell when I got back to the hotel. 

We need it to be this way for other innocent people...for all innocent people. Regardless of who they look like.

The Racist Bone

I always cringe a bit when I hear someone say “I don’t have a racist bone in my body”. I’m thinking that anyone who has done the deep dive into self analysis on that subject would realize that line is terribly non-convincing as an opener, and just isn’t true. 

A couple of years ago I had a garage sale as I was preparing to sell my house and relocate. Nothing brings out the neighbors like a garage sale. So I anticipated seeing and talking to folks I had relatively few conversations with during the 15 years I had lived there. 

One particular guy, after a few pleasantries just muttered “I sure hope it stays white” while looking at my house. My house was beige, but I knew that’s not what he was referring to. My “glare” filter must not have been working, as I’m sure I shot a loud look his way. Seeing that, his follow up was “oh I’m not prejudice or anything”...as if that would clear him of any suspicion. 

Well...it didn’t. Not in my mind. Unsurprisingly, perhaps, I had my suspicions during the 15 years we had been neighbors, but I had never called him out on anything. I had never heard anything as blatant come out of his mouth as garage sale day though. 

And honestly, I’m not sure what part upset me the most...the “I’m not prejudiced” or the “or anything”. The former was a specific denial. The latter, a broad global denial. And honestly, it all reminded me of the statement “I don’t have a racist bone in my body”.

You know, when I hear people say stuff like that, it’s fairly predictable what follows next. They’ll start listing friends they know or work with, or worse yet TV shows or movies featuring black actors they enjoy. But that doesn’t address the racist bone at all. And I believe the racist bone exists in all of us to some extent. 

If it exists in all of us, that doesn’t mean it exists in us all to the same degree. For instance, we all lie, but some of us to a greater extent than others. And if you balk at the idea that we all lie, consider how honest we are when somebody asks a simple question like “hey...how you doing today”. Are we ever completely truthful in that situation? Probably not, or people would quit asking (...lightbulb comes on...)

Thing is, nobody wants to admit to being a liar...even on the smallest scale. We admire integrity, and want others to count on our word. I get that. But when was the last time you heard someone boast they always tell the truth, and then act indignant if that is ever called into question. Ok...don’t think too hard on that one because someone will pop into mind and likely stir up negative emotions, as it just did with me. 

So, what is the racist bone we all have? And what does it look like to make positive strides to minimize its effect on our thought processes? Don’t we all have to learn and unlearn some things regarding racial issues? I think so. 

First, I think it’s healthy to acknowledge racial awarenesses exist, and we don’t initially fully understand them the first time we’re exposed to them. Consequently, we’re innocently ignorant and perhaps curious. But then we start to learn things ...sometimes things we later need to unlearn. Have we at any time watched the news and waited for the announcement of the race of a person, or a name, or a picture...something to get an idea of who was behind the atrocity just reported? Have we been in an airport and seen people different from us, speaking a different language than us, and perhaps we experience a little uneasiness... at least at first. Maybe after many exposures and experiences those uncertainties lessen over time. And that’s part of the maturing process... our personal individual maturing process. Nobody can learn that or experience that for us. We have to do it ourselves. 

We still have racial issues in our country...clear as can be. Those issues could be next door. Those issues could be inside of me, waiting for me to own them and make real progress. I might have to even change how I think or speak. Or I could just recite that I don’t have a racist bone in my body, and be done with it. But it will surface later. Perhaps at somebody else’s garage sale.

Why I Don’t Trust Most Billionaires

First, let me confess I’ve never met a billionaire, so I have very little to go on, in terms of their nature...absolutely nothing based on personal interaction.  But I have tried to grasp the concept of how much a billion is. I still am not able to fully understand the enormity of that amount.  But what I do understand makes me skeptical of those that are billionaires...because of what I believe about human nature. Billionaires really are in a class beyond my experience and even my imagination, honestly.

The easiest way for me to break down the enormity of a billion is to scale it down to something a bit more understandable. If we’re not careful, we might think a billion is kind of similar to a million...maybe because the words rhyme...and a billion follows a million...so really, how different could they be?  But that is a huge mistake to think of it so simply. However, most of us have at least some concept of how much a million is. So we’ll start there as a reference point. 

Just for fun, or really for context, divide one million by your annual salary. That will tell you how many years you’d have to work to earn a million dollars... not to acquire a million dollars...but just to earn that amount. For reference I’ll use $65,000 as an annual income. A person earning $65,000 annually would need 16 years to earn a million dollars. So, for that person to accumulate a million dollars over a  lifetime, they’d have to do some serious investing, or have other funds available. 

I think most people reading this can identify with a $65,000 annual income, maybe a combined annual income of $130,000. We either remember when we made that amount, or we hope to get there soon, or we know people in that income range. What I’m trying to say is, that’s a fairly reasonable working man’s wage, and identifiable for most of us. Even still...getting to a million is not an easy task. 

Probably the biggest investment most of us makes financially is our home. Again, for the sake of simplicity and an amount I think most of us can identify with, I’ll use a value of $200,000 as an average home value in the US.  We might not be there yet, or maybe it would be a step back for some of us. But again, I believe it’s at least identifiable for most of us. 

So, a couple of numbers for reference points: $65k ($130k if both work), and $200k. 

Now, simply put...a billion is a thousand millions. And that’s a big difference. That means...if it takes us a lifetime to acquire a million dollars, through saving and investing, it would take a thousand of us to get to a billion.

So, to scale things down, let’s pretend a single dollar bill represents a million dollars. Imagine a “million dollar” dollar bill. A billionaire would have a thousand such dollar bills... a thousand of those million dollar dollar bills. You and I? Not even close. That $65k annual income would be 6.5 cents compared to just one of those dollars. That $200k home...20 cents. Many of us work 30 years trying to accomplish home ownership. A drop in the bucket compared to the thousand bills a billionaire holds. 

And if someone has multiple billions then that’s multiple stacks of a thousand one dollar bills. Someone worth 10 billion...10 stacks of a thousand dollar bills. And most of us operate in the realm of 6 or 7 cents per year by comparison. 

I’m not trying to paint a picture of what’s right or what’s wrong...simply what is. 

Of course I love to conjecture when it comes to human nature, especially in regards to human worth. Are we really all equal in God’s eyes? I say yes. Are we all equal in each others’ eyes. I say...most probably not. 

People with the multiple stacks of a thousand dollar bills aren’t going to be very concerned about you as an individual. Unless they have a humanitarian streak in their nature, their interest in us will be but a human capital interest...not so you can get your 6.5 cents...but so they can get another stack of bills. That’s how they got there...by dealing to acquire more, not by being benevolent. Their stakes are higher, and as such, they play by different rules than most of us ever imagine. 

So, I admit, these thoughts go through my mind when I hear discussions on who is essential or who is expendable or even sacrificial. I’m not saying wealth is evil. But I’m suggesting that human nature, much like an appetite, can be bent on acquiring more and more, with less and less regard for the individuals that helped get them there.

So, the first link shows an individual wealth tracker over the last 20 years. I couldn’t look away. I love those trackers. 

And something I tend to trust less than people ...corporations ...especially if corporations receive huge bailouts and still lay-off their employees. The 2nd link shows a value tracker of the world’s most valuable companies.

Wealthiest People in the World Tracker
Most Valuable Companies in the World Tracker

Why I Ate Dumpster Food

I knowingly ate dumpster food 1.5 times. I’m not proud of it. I’m not ashamed of it. It is what it is. So I’ll give the details up front. The first time I knowingly ate dumpster food I was already halfway through the meal before it was revealed to me where the food came from (thus the .5). It was not a prank. There was no hidden camera to capture my response. I was with a family that had a common practice of dumpster diving dining. And I pretty much stumbled into what turned into a two year deal with dumpster food being available and offered to me on a regular basis. 

I know this doesn’t make sense, so let me set the table, so to speak. 

After high school I made what might seem like a rash decision to change my college plans. Instead of studying architecture at a university in my home state, I instead went to a Bible college and prepared to teach math in Christian schools. All I was equipped to do when I finished was teach in Christian schools. I know...kind of limiting in terms of earnings potential...this I know very well now. But then... I was all about serving God, and waiting on Him to provide. You could say I had a lot to learn, and you’d be right. No argument here from me now. Let’s just say I had a lot of lessons crammed into my 20’s on this very subject. 

So...upon graduating college I took a teaching position in an inner city Christian school. The school advertised itself as having a 98% minority population. Turns out, I was the only white person in my classroom every day I taught there. 

If you think public school teachers aren’t paid much, it may not be a surprise that Christian school teachers were paid even less. And in the days I took this position, the school I chose was the lowest paying Christian school in the metro area. I knew this because I was canvassing all the schools for openings. Not surprisingly, my new place of employment started all their teachers with a two year contract...perhaps to make sure they could retain them at least two years. 

So,..as you may conclude..my table was pretty bare from the start. I heard about a retired couple who was renting out space in their home just off Independence Ave not far from downtown KC. They said they offered a discount to people in ministry, so I certainly qualified and arranged for a meeting with my prospective landlords. When that meeting came about, lunch was provided. And that’s the way Mrs Johnston (not their real name) described the food..halfway through the meal. I had learned that her husband was retired and spent his retirement recycling cardboard and using that money to support missionaries. Back in those days one could collect a little cash rummaging and recycling, and I respected that he busied himself and was so generous. I continued to eat while listening to this unique tale. Sure, I noticed the brown outline around some of the salad...the toughness of the meat... some residue on some of the salad dressing bottles...but I didn’t want to complain or come across unappreciative. And keep in mind...this was still during the first half of the meal. I was not yet aware of the whole story. So I just put some of the peculiarities out of mind and continued to listen to how God provided for the missionaries in this way...through Mr Johnston’s dedication to recycling. I found I could only nod in approval...chew, and swallow, sip my iced tea..repeat. . But then Mrs Johnston mentioned that the cardboard was not the only way God provided. She continued by saying that in fact...everything we were having for lunch had been provided in that same way...through Mr Johnston’s dumpster runs...including the whole turkey. 

Gulp. 

Now...I’ve never had my life pass before my eyes, but I’ve heard of others who have. I can say though, that in an instant my entire lunch passed before my very eyes...the brown lettuce..the lids of the jars..the consistency of the turkey...all of it, like a flash. 

I’m guessing I consciously decided to start chewing again. I was only halfway through the meal...and all things considered, I really needed this place to stay. It was my only prospect in an affordable price range. And I was sure I could avoid ever so politely any future offers of free dumpster food. So I cleaned my plate like my momma taught me, and we went on to discuss terms of my living there. There... now you know the .5 part.

Things were pretty simple back then. Rent was more affordable than anything else I’d come across.  I agreed I had to stay in ministry during my stay there, or I’d be asked to leave. Ok. Also, since they had a constant flow of dumpster food they needed all the fridge space they could find. So, the fridge in our apartment would be partially used for dumpster food. We could have any of it that we wanted, we just had to clear it with the landlords first. I agreed to that as well. 

Well...I thought that would be no problem, but it proved to be more difficult than I originally thought. One of the “perks” of working at the school was that I could eat a free school lunch during the week. So, I didn’t have to worry about that meal. But evenings and weekends would sometimes prove to be a little hard on my income. 

So one weekend, I was standing in the kitchen with the freezer door open...eyeballing the frozen dumpster pizza bread...searching for expiration dates, broken packaging, or anything else that might give it away in terms of ...was it ok or not ok to eat. Expiration date...passed. Who are we kidding. All this stuff was expired. Plastic wrap seemed to be intact, but the label appeared to be sun bleached. K...pass on that one. I scrummaged around until I found one with a normal looking label...normal for dumpster food, that is. And took it out of the freezer, heated it up and ate it. I was hungry. And yes...I remembered I was supposed to clear it with the landlords first. I just didn’t want to. I didn’t want to admit to the fact that I was hungry and their dumpster pizza bread looked better than my meager rations that my budget would allow. 

And yes...I heard about it later and was reprimanded and reminded of the agreement. So...that was the other time I knowingly ate dumpster food. 1.5 times in total. Long story. But there you have it. 

Ok wait...that’s more. As thankful as I was for those school lunches they always seemed a little on the small side...portioned for school kids. But I purposed to be polite. Each time I returned my lunch tray to the kitchen workers I would thank them. I just thought that was a good thing to do. Probably a thankless job, I thought. And I wanted to be polite. 

So one day, as was my habit, I was returning my tray to the lunch lady when I noticed Mr Johnston’s truck pulling around behind the  school. I politely asked the gal if she knew if that was Mr Johnston’s truck. She smiled widely and exclaimed..”oh yes, that’s Mr Johnston. He’s the kindest man. He drops off food every week. We wouldn’t be able to have a lunch program without his donations.”

Yes...I continued to eat the free lunches. I don’t know how to do the math on it...so it’s not really 1.5 times. Hard to say what the number turned out to be. And no, I did not tell anyone what I suspected. I guessed they probably knew as much as I did anyway. And yes, I fulfilled my two year contract at the school...and yes... was then asked to leave the Johnston’s apartment. So I did. Pretty much that simple...I moved on to my next chapter ...figure out how to get state certified so I could make the big bucks in the public schools. Hah!!! That story is for another time. 

I Wonder

I wonder how things will change this year; how mindsets might change. 

I wonder who all we’ll acknowledge as essential workers. 

I wonder about our food supply staying safe and available. 

I wonder if some undocumented workers will be considered essential workers. 

I wonder if we’ll look at classes of people, not as potential murderers and rapists, but more so as potentially essential.

I pray about the things I wonder about. 

I wonder if undocumented workers pray too. 

I wonder what they pray about. 

I wonder if some of them might be the answer to our prayers. 

I wonder if pride is our greatest sickness. 

I wonder if humility is the cure. 

I wonder. 

Know Thyself

One of the writing projects I’ve been putting off for well over a year now has to do with the idea of knowing oneself, and how that affects personal relationships. I’d personalize and rephrase an old saying by stating it this way: “the examined life is worth living and sharing with others”.

The timing now seems to be rather fitting. The idea is...we are beings that long for connection, even intimacy on a deep level... knowing and being known by another person. I believe that is at the base of some of our most compelling desires. For some maybe that desire is stronger than for others. But I believe it resides in all of us to some extent. And really, how can we expect someone to know us when we don’t even know ourselves?

Here we find ourselves in isolation. At least I hope those reading this are practicing social distancing. Many of us, if not alone, are in contact with one...maybe two or three other people. Small circles. Ready or not we’ll be in a position to know and be known by our partner or others we’re with. Things will come up. Triggers will trip. Reactions and responses will occur. Questions will be asked. Like, maybe “where did that come from?”. Sometimes “I don’t know” might not cut it. And if we don’t know, how can we expect someone else to know for us? And do we really want someone else diagnosing our behavior without our input?

I don’t know about you, but if my partner is going to be diagnosing me I’d probably rather have some input than just leave them to their own conclusions... if the relationship is important to me, anyway. 

So that’s why I think knowing oneself is important. And, if it hasn’t happened by now, it’s about time. It’s not selfish to know yourself. It’s not self absorption. It’s self knowledge. And it’s actually a gift you can give your loved ones...your intimate one. Really, it’s a gift of yourself. 

Sure, that can sound like a positive, and really, it all is. But sometimes it may start off down a negative path. For instance, let’s say while you’re on a walk with your partner you come upon something sudden or unexpected physically, conversationally, or emotionally ..and it triggers an undesirable behavior. You know it. Your partner knows it. And you’re looking at each other silently asking the same question, “what was that about?”. If you don’t know, you probably won’t ask the question out loud. But your partner might, if it’s important enough. They’ll want to know. Knowing is at the root of intimacy. A healthy relationship involves growing knowledge of each other. 

If you do know what triggered you, you’ll be able to discuss it and move forward if you’re in a safe place emotionally with your partner to do so. If you don’t know, well, no time like the present to do some soul searching. And if you don’t have a safe environment, well, I feel for you. These must be extremely difficult times. 

I believe the concept of self control is rooted in self knowledge. How can you control yourself if you don’t know yourself? Or maybe we overdo it with with control intercessions. Here’s a silly example. For some reason ice cream is fairly safe around me. I like it. I’ll eat it. But I’m pretty controlled with ice cream. Other desserts, not so much. I can wipe out banana bread without warning. But for some reason a carton of ice cream can last. I don’t need to implement a “no desserts” policy. But banana bread might warrant its own set of rules. I know that about myself. So, if there’s banana bread around, I’ll tell my loved ones to take what they want before I devour the rest. Well...that’s if I’m self controlled. If I’m not self controlled they may not even realize banana bread was ever in the house. 

But my point is...self knowledge helps in getting along with others. It also helps when it comes to apologizing..which again, helps in getting along with others. I believe apologies in a long term relationship include some kind of action plan or resolution. Not just an “oops...I did it again...” 

So...let’s say I made some banana bread disappear without alerting others. And I get called on it...again. And I’m asked...”what is with you and banana bread???”.

Well...it could go a number of ways, depending on how important it is to others. And how important others are to me. I could just say that all banana bread in the house is mine, but that’s not likely acceptable. Now if you think this is silly, I can tell on myself some more. I once bought a Costco snack I knew others would want...but I’d also want mostly for myself. So I bought two... One was a “decoy” that I shared openly..the other was my hidden stash. Silly. Conniving. Deceitful. Maybe not so silly. Depends on the issue. 

You know, honesty and open communication about this kind of stuff is not easy, and depending on the issue..can result in really hurtful exchanges. That’s why we need to know ourselves, so we can control ourselves for the benefit of getting along with others. Maybe the solution is to have your own bag of snacks..that nobody else touches. Or maybe it’s open communication about fairness, allowing for others’ preferences to matter equally. And working on it together, even after failures. 

Here’s another thing I’ve learned about myself. If I’ve been triggered by something, I need a cool down period. If I have 20 minutes to cool down on my own, that can potentially save damage done in the heat of the moment. And people close to me not only know that, they honor or respect it. And that is for the benefit of all. And I honor and respect other people’s space in that context as well. You have to if it’s meaningful to you to get along long term. 

Another practicality to knowing yourself is to prevent yourself from being taken advantage of, or even enabled...basically allowing yourself to be controlled by someone else in an unhealthy manner. If you know yourself well enough to know where your weaknesses are, then you are more likely to self coach yourself through manipulative situations. It’s not someone else’s job to control you. Know yourself, and take control of yourself. 

I heard a guest on a talk show recently encourage social distancing, but not emotional distancing. That made me pause. Yes, we’re in close quarters with a very small number of people, but I think we all have learned to be distant at times, even with others nearby...sometimes as a way to protect ourselves. But maybe it’s time to take a risk. Maybe it’s time to be more vulnerable. More trusting. And to make it a safe place for others to be that way as well. And if we’re dealing with isolation alone, learn to get along with yourself. Cut yourself some slack. But also allow yourself to doubt. To question. To explore. To change. To grow. Maybe even to play. Who knows, we may all come out of this better individually and better as a whole. Let’s hope so. 

A Personal Plea for Intentional Kindness

Things you might be better off not hearing:

1. “You should be fine.”
2. “He’s going to really screw him up.”

I have a soft spot in my heart for educators and people in general really, who are involved in the betterment of mental health for young people (counselors, teachers, coaches, youth group leaders, parents...). We’ve come a long way. We have a long way to go. But we have come a long way.

I heard that first line above (you should be fine) upon returning to school after my father’s funeral. The principal stopped me in the hall...to check up on me, I suppose. I can’t conclude that he knew what he was doing, or what I was going through. He concluded by saying “you didn’t really know your dad, so you should be fine”...and with that... walked away. 

I was 11.

I didn’t have the wherewithal to be able to process what was going on in my life. And I certainly did not know how to process those words. The school, as good as it was in so many ways, didn’t have the resources for situations like I had gone through. Even so...that guy failed miserably. He did not belong in education, in my opinion,  and fortunately was replaced before the next school year. 

But there’s a darker side to my story. One that won’t be fully disclosed here, because it can be depressing if dwelt upon. But my primary emotion after my dad’s passing was not grief. It was relief. Yes, he had been mostly absent from my life, but not completely absent. After he passed away there were certain things I would never have to experience again. So, while losing a father is difficult, my situation had its own set of complexities. And I was ill equipped to handle them. 

So, while I won’t go into detail, I will acknowledge the 2nd statement (he’s going to really screw him up) was said by an onlooker after my father did something to me in public as opposed to other private occurrences. It was witnessed by onlookers this time (no..it wasn’t a spanking).  And that’s when I overheard an older gentleman utter those words. After the incident I was sitting... sulking...confused by what I had experienced, only slightly aware of others’ reaction to it. Again..I had no idea how to process the events or the words...and others who could have helped were not readily available to me at the time. That just wasn’t the focus in those days. 

Maybe I can take solace that today I’m somewhere between fine and really screwed up. (Disclaimer...if you know me, you know me saying something like this IS fine...AND perhaps at least partially screwed up. Alright, I have a weird sense of humor, which often helps. What I’m saying is...this is not a call for help. Not a “pity me” statement. I hope it doesn’t come across that way.  I’m not admitting some crisis in progress. This part is just an acknowledgement, a little bit tongue in cheek, that I made it out ok.) But life can be hard at times. And sometimes recovery is a longer journey than we wish...and longer than others might wish for us...and perhaps longer than other’s patience may allow us. 

But most of all, this is a call to be kind, and intentional in our kindness. Kindness goes further than we can imagine. Intentional kindness, even further. 

So yes...we hear talks... we see posts...encouraging us to be kind, because no one knows what others have gone through. This resonates with me because it is part of my story.  I don’t want it to be. I’ve daydreamed of having a different story. And I’m still not comfortable with some of my history. But I can tell you from experience what ill-advised words and actions can do to a young heart. There’s not a quick easy fix. And some of us get a late start before we face those beasts head on. We’re all a work in progress. 

So I respect and support the efforts of those involved in promoting positive mental health, on any level. I’m proud to know, and be friends with so many who are involved in the betterment of others’ mental health...of any age group. If that’s you... thank you. I sincerely mean it.

We’ve all seen the statements: “Kindness is free” or “It doesn’t cost a thing to be kind”. How true. I’m just hoping kindness becomes a little more readily available...in bodily form. We need more of that. 

Thank you for reading. 

The False Narrative Very Few of Us Actually Believe

I saw this clip a couple of years ago where fans had the opportunity to vent their frustrations towards a giant poster of a player they felt betrayed them by signing with another team. The people in the clip said some pretty harsh things about the player...to the poster. But what they didn’t know was he was behind the poster listening to everything ...then came out from behind to greet them.

And greet them he did. And boy were they surprised. And their tone changed immediately.  We could dwell on the hypocrisy ...but what’s the fun of that? Seriously. That doesn’t get us anywhere. What I see is that there’s this false sense of security (bravado) we as humans shield ourselves with when we think we’re protected by either anonymity or distance. Thing is...I don’t believe we truly believe much of what we say when we’re spewing or venting. And most of us, when confronted with the opportunity, find a way to be respectful...because that’s what good humans do. 

So, here’s what I think is more true than the false narrative:

1. We really don’t believe some of the disrespectful things we say about others. 
2. Spewing doesn’t really make us feel better or make the situation better. 
3. We’re nicer than we might let on. 
4. Others spewing disrespectful thoughts about us or our beliefs...might not actually fully believe it...and might actually be nicer to us in person, given the chance. 

Maybe...just maybe..there’s a false narrative that has picked up an energy all it’s own. But it’s more false than true. And... maybe I’m not as bad as someone makes me out to be. And deep down ...maybe they’re not as bad as they seem when they spew. Just maybe.

Jimmy Fallon Robinson Cano vid