"Read the instructions" -- Learning lessons the hard way

I am just now recovering from a two-week injury to my hands. Let me tell you about it and the lesson I learned.

You see, I make a living with my fingers, typing the day away creating corporate communications – a magazine, an electronic newsletter, a blog and other written material.

I value my digits – all of them. "I need to protect them."

To relieve stress, I love to work around the home. I recently tackled a stone project. When my hired help didn’t show on the first day, I figured I would save the money and do the work myself. "How hard can it be?"

I mixed the bags of Quikrete with water poured from an old tin can in a wide plastic tub I had. Soon, I began  placing the stones, one at a time, scooping wet mortar on the backs of the rocks so they would stick to the backing. "Easy."

The mortar was kind of like mud, so I got to relive my inner boy, playing with dirt again. It was soft and pliable. The rocks were smooth. After an hour or so, I noticed how parched my hands began to look – puckered up like I had been in the bath too long. So I slid gloves on and continued work. "It will be okay."

At the end of the day, I pulled my gloves off and instantly I knew something was wrong in rock paradise. Both of my thumbs and 6 of the remaining fingertips were rubbed raw. I had  burned the flesh right off and the red glowing stubs were suddenly alive. "I'm in trouble here." 


It has been a couple of weeks of agony as the sensitive tips have been banged, poked and irritated as I try to live a normal life.

While recovering, I (finally) decided to read the instructions on the side of the bag.



 "When working with fresh concrete, care should be taken to avoid skin irritation or chemical burns...abrasive to bare skin...alkaline in nature...caustic...harmful...Waterproof gloves should be worn."

That explains a lot. "If only I would have read them," I wistfully thought as I look down at my fingers wrapped in gauze and bandages. A little research on the would have echoed the warnings. There is even a YouTube video.

For days now, I have been reminded that not only I didn’t follow the directions, but I didn’t even bother to read them. And I have paid dearly.

This is a pattern in my life. I didn’t always follow the instructions to not exasperate my children, to love my wife as Christ loved the church, to flee s_xual immorality, or to cling to the truth. Not only didn't I follow the instructions, I didn't even seek them out. 


Stubborn. Prideful. Full of my own self-knowledge, I have been burned and felt the pain of disobedience...

“Read the Directions” When will I ever learn?

Care to comment ? Click here.

A pair of gloves - How hard can that be?

Turbulence - It's coming!

“This is your captain in the flight deck and we’ve just reached our cruising altitude of 37,000 feet. We have some rough air up ahead so I’m going to keep the fasten seat belt light on until we get through this little bit of turbulence.”

I check my seat belt and it’s fastened – not pulled in too tight, though. I look left and right, eyeing my fellow passengers, looking to spot the white-knuckled rookie travelers as we approach the coming bumpy air. But everyone looks ahead, stone faced and nonchalant, as if they fly through the rough stuff all the time.

I mimic that same look. "No Big Deal."

The first bump hits. "Not too bad."

Then a second bump, a third, and then a fourth – they’re coming together faster. The plane hits some kind of air pocket and dips a few hundred feet and I feel weightless. We’re being tossed around like a cheap toy, shimmying and buckling with each hard bounce.

"Okay, now it’s no fun."

I start praying to God in a stream-of-consciousness-please-save-me-forgive-me-for-my-sins-take-care-of-my-family-don't-let-me-suffer-kind of style.

And then just like that, it stops. Smooth air.

I know that turbulence is in my future, somewhere out there in the "friendly skies." It will come when everything seems fine. No matter how well I prepare, it will make me woozy and sick, disoriented and even a little crazy. I'll lose my faith. I'll be full of fear because I'm powerless and subject to the unknown.

In today’s chaotic times, we face turbulence like we’ve never seen in our lifetimes and most of us recognize that this uncertainty will continue into the future. So, now, more than ever, we need to reach out for God’s steady grip and limitless love for He will not forsake us.

And just like that, we'll realize that it's smooth flying again. He's got it under control.

Still, I'm asking myself. How can I prepare? You can share you thoughts here.

Blame me

Blame the President. Blame Congress. Blame the oil companies. Blame the banks. Blame the rich. Blame the Democrats. Blame the Republicans. Blame Wall Street. Blame Hollywood.

And this national blame game spills over into our personal lives. We blame coworkers for not producing. We blame spouses for not communicating. We blame the other guy for causing the accident.

Rarely do we hear the words, “Blame me.” 

There’s a tendency to look at everyone else’s work and find fault.

I had a High School English teacher who was at the same time an unforgiving task-master and a skilled motivator. She often would admonish us while we took our exams to “keep our eyes on our own paper.”

I'm not sure if it's because she was worried about us cheating or if it was just an effort to get us to focus on our own work. Probably a little of both.

There was one classmate who spent nearly half his class time with his chin lifted high so he could sneak a peek from the desk of the Class Whiz’s paper.

What’s the point? God wants us to focus our energy on what's in front of us and to not worry about others. Personal responsibility is a foundational principle to our nation and a key to living a well-rounded life.

What do you think about personal responsibility? Comment here.

"So whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin."

James 4:17

Wrapped in bacon: Companies hide the good news

(This is also today's featured post over at the High Calling)

Our black lab, Obi, was a great dog, but adventurous. Every squirrel needed to be chased, every hole in the ground held a mystery, and every fence needed to be jumped.

One of those fences was just a little too tall and he opened up a festering wound on his front side. Two pills a day for five days and the infection would be gone, the vet told us.

The problem was giving him the pill. Obi would hold it in his throat, and then unceremoniously deposit it on the rug a few minutes later.

So we decided to wrap the pill up in a piece of bacon, which was his favorite taste of all time. It worked. He gulped down the swine-wrapped pill and after a few days and a pound of bacon, the infection was healed.

Sneaking in the gospel
Our little trick with Starbuck reminds me of how some companies with Christian-based values are trying to sneak the gospel message in with their products.

Take Forever 21.  The fast-growing company offers low-cost, “fast-fashion” clothing and an unspoken cool. Go to any mall where they have a presence and you’ll see their bright yellow bags hanging on the arms of teenage girls. But what you might also notice discreetly printed on the bottom of those bags is the Christian’s favorite bible verse of promise and hope: “John 3:16.”  No text. Just the reference.

Most teenage girls will never notice the verse as they slip the skimpy clothes out of the box and onto their frames.

According to the company, the inscription is “a demonstration of the owners' faith."

The owners of the privately-held company, Don and Jin Sook Chang, are committed Christians. The couple emigrated from Korea in 1981 and built an empire using hard work, thrift and a sense for fashion. They now have sales of $1.7 billion, with 450 stores around the world, including a 90,000 square foot mega-store on Times Square. And many of their goods are actually manufactured in the U.S.

You would think it is difficult to be an outspoken Christian in the midst of the unseemly garment world, with the constantly swirling charges of sweat shops, rip-off designs and questionable teen fashion trends.

But I’m mostly intrigued with those bags. Does that scripture reference really make a difference? It’s clever – even Jesus-like - because customers have to discover it. It’s not in anyone’s face.

Other approaches to taking a stand

There are other well-known Christian-run companies that express faith in various ways. California Burger chain In-N-Out prints the John 3:16 reference on drink cups, Nahum 1:7 on the burger bags, Rev. 3.20 on the fry bags. Cool. But really. Does it do any good?

How about this approach by Sierra Trading Post, a large mail-order company that outfits outdoor enthusiasts? They print a bold mission statement inside every one of their millions of catalogs. “Our business ethics must be consistent with the faith of the owners in Jesus Christ and His teachings. We invite you to write our founder and president, Keith Richardson, if what we do does not match what we believe.”

Richardson admits, “This lean amount of space is not intended to proselytize or offend. Practically speaking, no one would change their faith-views based upon two sentences. On the contrary, the purpose is to hold me accountable for upholding Jesus' injunction to treat others the way I want to be treated. It is also my way of thanking God for the blessing of Sierra Trading Post.”

I like it.

There are other retailers who send a clear Christian message. Stroll past a Chick-Fil-A on a Sunday and you know their stand, because they aren't open then. Interstate Batteries is currently running television commercials about finding love and changing the world.  Our own Howard Butt, Jr. (founder of The High Calling) is an owner of the privately-held H.E.B  grocery chain, and his faith is expressed through funding of the Foundations for Laity Renewal, Laity Lodge, The High Calling, summer camps for youth, and other charities.

It seems that each of these believers has a different approach, from hiding the pill in the bacon-burger, like In-N-Out, to good deeds, like Mr. Butt, to just laying it all out, like Sierra Trading Post.

I’m not sure if there is a best way to talk about faith as a business owner. Sadly, many choose silence.

What do you think? Care to comment?

All the lonely playgrounds

We have our share of problems in society. 

A burgeoning debt that threatens to swamp our financial well being. A moral decay that has devastated the family structure. An aging society that will tax our resources. 

But the need to Play might just be most important thing missing from our world. 

I drove past the park just past Alameda Avenue. It’s a gorgeous piece of property with a top notch playground. Every community has more than one, just like this, financed by tax monies and cared for by municipal authorities. The grass is carefully groomed. The equipment new and completely safe. The grounds free of trash.  

The swings float silently in the breeze. The slides gleam in the afternoon sun. The horses on the springs smile at the barren grounds.  

The playground is empty.

Photo via Flikr, Latent Photos

So maybe the kids are elsewhere? 

I drive down up Flora and up 3rd street, looking for the children. But it’s like one of those old movies where aliens took children away to live in a distant planet.  

Children’s bikes hang in the garages in sad repose. Balls are stacked in the corner, deflated by constant rejection. 

Has the Sunday afternoon lawn football game been replaced by Madden 2011? Has the hide and seek over at Billy’s been replaced by hours in the den, with faces aglow from flickering images? Has throwing rocks in the creek with your buds been supplanted by Facebook friending?  

Where, oh Play have you gone? And if you are forever disappeared, what will replace you?


Feel free to comment here.

Running toward the mushroom cloud

The news from Japan looks grim. Towns are in complete rubble. 10,000’s are lost and likely dead. Nuclear power plants are imploding from within.

I was inspired to read the story of the Fukushima 50, the men and women who stayed inside the nuclear complex trying to contain the disaster. One said, "I'm not afraid to die. It's my job."

Here in the U.S., how are we reacting? Some are sending money and boarding airplanes to help. But most are thinking about their own survival. There’s a run on potassium-iodide tablets, the drug that fights radiation poisoning of the thyroid gland. The shelves in California and Oregon have been stripped bare of the drug as the fear factor kicks in.

The mere idea of radiation floating in the atmosphere, generated from a leak thousands of miles away apparently has many Americans in lemming-like revulsion. I expect tin-foil to be placed on windows and lead blankets on beds to be the next wave.

I hurt for the people of Japan and realize that such a disaster could very easily occur on our shores, in my backyard. How would we respond?

We can make a prediction when we look at how we react when lives around us blow up.

When there’s a sickness or a divorce, an accident or a sin exposed, do we rush for the tablets to save ourselves? Do we hide in our homes, afraid of the exposure? Or do we run into the mushroom-cloud to save what can be saved?

Personal tragedy.

National tragedy.

Human nature.

Can we change?

See the High Calling, "Japan: Together we Stand" for suggestions on what you can do.

Care to comment?

Good Grief. God Grief.

I had lunch yesterday with a young man today who is hurting. You could see it in his eyes and hear it in what he didn't say. Two days ago, he lost a buddy who died in his sleep, just 28 years young.

My friend lost his job. Dismissed with little more than a small severance, after years of loyal service, he lost his dignity, along with his paycheck.

And then there’s a writer buddy who has is facing end-of-life issues -- with both parents.

The woman who called the house last night, her finances in a rubble. She may lose her apartment.

A man at work who was left by a spouse, a life now in shambles. 

My mother has pain that just won’t go away. She lost her husband of 63 years and now her own body has been robbed by time. She hurts.

I personally have lost and the daily agony is real. I think they are hurting, too.

Look at the news surrounding Japan and there is so much loss, it's numbing.

One by one, I go through the roll call of my friends, family and coworkers. And there’s a common thread of loss and grief. And if they aren’t saying, they’re hiding.

If you have had loss. If you are grieving. You are not alone. Just look around.

Today at church, the preacher read the words of Jeremiah 8 and it hit me. God grieves too.

See the sense of loss in His words.

• “Why then have these people turned away?" 
• "When people fall down, do they not get up?" 
• "When someone turns away, do they not return?" 
• "None of them repent of their wickedness"
• "Each pursues their own course" 
• "Since my people are crushed, I am crushed;  I mourn"

This reminds me of all the prodigal sons are out there, breaking their daddy's hearts. Even as we grieve for what have lost, so God grieves for what he Has lost. The relationship with His own creation.


He understands. God grieves. We are not alone.

You can comment here.
We join the Graceful blog in the series, "Hear it on Sunday, Live it on Monday."

Trying to forget

It happened to me the other day. I read some of my old performance appraisals and one in particular jumped out. It was from a boss that I clashed with. For nearly a year it was a constant battle of the wills and I was the one that lost because of pride.  My work performance crashed – often spectacularly. I was immature and foolish and it’s all right there in the report, in black and white.

"Shadows of the Past,"
From Garry61 via Flikr

Reading it was a reminder of a time in my life when I failed. I didn’t live up to expectations. I didn’t conduct myself with honor.

As I look at my current work, I see unfinished projects and all the excuses that surround them. Although I’ve grown and am now a much better employee, I still hear the same echo of failure. If I look over my shoulder, it’s not hard to see the past chasing me.  And if I let it, it will find a way to mess with the present.

In my personal life, the shadows of yesterday are long, casting from the falling sun on the horizon. And there are those who are quick to remind me of my past, carefully retelling the chronicles just in case I get close to moving on. Instead of dancing in the dawn of grace, it's a full-out run to escape. 

Sherri-Dawn Annett at Tall Tales talks about that nagging creep of the days gone by, the memories chasing her."It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” she writes. “This disease runs deep.” She could have ended her article on this note and we would all agree. But she proceeds with full vigor.

“But hope runs deep, too,” she writes. “Hope is a constant – always nearby, ready to catch my glance. It’s living proof that there is more.” Read The Chase.

"Even God cannot change the past" -- Agathon

You can comment here if you wish.

"Daddy, stay home and play"

(I as honored to have this post highlighted today over at the High Calling. Please join the conversation over there.)

I pulled the tie to my neck. It was cinched just like my dad had taught me. He called it the four-in-hand. I just called it "good." I took another look at myself in the full-length mirror. No lint on my shoulder. Shoes polished. Hair combed back.

Although I had been in the new position for just a few weeks, it still had that new job smell to it. There was a certain satisfaction to that sensation that I had arrived. I had studied for years. I took the competency test. I did my time in the trenches, working away at lesser joys, perfecting my craft.

Finally.

I was now knee-deep in the heady world of deadlines, reports and accountability. There was a vision statement, a mission statement, and the diverse needs of a pyramid of bosses that I had to consider every day. And slowly, they were beginning to trust me. I worked hard, stayed late and showed up early. I wanted to make sure that any substandard skills were compensated with overachievement.

Image by Rick (Hibb08). Used with permission via Flickr.

My family was supportive and proud, but honestly, the boys were too young to know the whole impact. Their world was a simple one of throwing balls, chasing grasshoppers, and playing in the field, interrupted only by a midday grilled cheese and chocolate milk replenishment. Then it was back to bikes, throwing rocks in the creek, and finding new ways to bother the girls down the street. 

I pulled my coat on, ready to head out the door. Kisses all around, keys in my hand, I paused briefly to gaze down on my son, just out of his pull-ups, feeling big in his own right. He had micro-machines placed in row, circling a city built out of LEGOs. There were Army men, standing guard over the roadways. And trouble loomed on the scene. A large stuffed bear was just a couple of feet away, hiding behind the couch, ready to crash the town like a creature from a Japanese horror film.

This set was a talkie, as my son filled the air with nonstop sound effects. Gunfire, shouts, engines and the occasional growl from Creature Teddy. Joshua paused the sound track to look up at me.

"Daddy," big eyes pleading. "Stay home and play."

I stammered, unable to make a good excuse. While it was true that Mom would be there, and his brother, too, something cut to my heart. I believed I needed to be at work early, hoping to beat my boss to work to make that good impression. Over the years, the Protestant work ethic passed on from my father was good for my employer, but wasn’t always so good for the family life.

"Please!" he begged, wriggling over and reaching up, offering his favorite car to me.

I couldn’t resist. I dropped the keys in my coat pocket and then slipped it off, hanging it on the doorknob. I loosened that perfect tie, letting it dangle. I knelt to the floor and took up the flank.

"We need to stop the bear," I said.

He agreed, head bobbing, and said, "You and me, saving the world."


You can comment here. And over at the High Calling, there's a conversation about how work interferes with family here.

More or less? How Can I Fit It All In?

It seems that my life is often dominated by the broken promises of "More."

I have promised to write more letters, visit more friends, smile at more children. I have purposed in my heart to give more money away and to spend more time at home. Yet most, if not all of these desires are waylaid by the tyranny of the urgent. The important things in life are supplanted by the urgent things. The pressing demands of time and energy and resources draw away from the things that should get my attention.

This is a clarion call to filter out urgent projects, deadlines, and phone messages. They must be put in proper perspective with what really matters in this life. Sometimes the important things are quite small and seemingly insignificant. Because Jean-Claude Killy, the world-famous skier, was three-tenths of a second faster than his closest competitor, he earned $3 million instead of having to settle for being a $10,000-a-year ski instructor.

Some might think that busyness is a sign of godliness. I contend that busyness is a sin unless it is involved in the important things of this life and eternity. Like it or not, endurance is a hallmark of the faith.

1 Cor. 13 tells us this: “And now abideth faith, hope, love.” This verse forces some questions in my mind. What really lasts? Which of our efforts will have impact beyond this empty world? Why do we spend so much time and invest so much in that which does not last? What the world calls important — money, power, and pleasure Christianity calls a sham.

Rather than a constant spin cycle, our lives should be lived with focus and perseverance.

Perhaps today I will live not with more, but with less.
Care to comment? How are you doing with "more"?

What if sloth were a virtue, instead of a vice?

I am frustrated at all the things I can't get done.

Editing projects.

Retiling the kitchen floor.

Changing the oil in the car.
Fixing the squeaky door to the bathroom.
The stack of books that I need to read.
The breakfast date I can't seem to fill.

Does your list grow longer instead of shorter? J.C. Schaap, who blogs at Stuff in the Basement, is annoyed at his inability to get everything done at work and home. 

"Industry is like piety, in a way--you can never quite do enough or be enough,” he writes. “There's always more work lurking right around the corner, always more that could be done. We could all be better Christians, harder workers, more passionate, more productive.”

But deep down, J.C. secretly longs for “a healthy shot of sloth.” Read the entertaining Lament here.

Don't you wish sloth was a virtue instead of a vice?

You can comment here, if you have the energy :)

Why write? Does it matter?

I just want to make a difference. And so do you. In every walk of life, we want to know that our efforts aren't in vain.

If a sculpture leaves his best work on a tree stump in the deep woods, will anyone see it?
If a writer leaves a piece of paper in a library will anybody read it?
If a painter paints his masterpieces, only to turn the canvas over to cover a drafty windy, what good is it?

Like other bloggers – and there are millions of us really – we churn out words. Me? I’ve got 600 posts with hundreds of thousands of words. There is a joy and agony in the faithful snipping of every phrase, every syllable, every comma.

But I have to ask. Is it worth it?

Writing is kind of like golf. I’ll hit 100 balls and maybe two will be really, really good. I’ll think about those two deep in the night and that’s what keeps me coming back to the greens.

Out of 100 works, one or if I’m really on, two will really impact me and maybe others. It’s what keeps me tapping in the early morning instead of sleeping my thoughts away.

I often wonder if I have lost my edge? Have the personal pains I’ve endured over the years made me stronger, or have they weakened me, chisling away at my soul. Sometimes, I don’t know.

So I try to capture spiritual beauty in the world around me and write about it, hoping to apply it to my own life and maybe you’ll get something out of it too. I share snippets of insight, not that they are superior, but writing them out helps. When I hurt, I share it and people unsubscribe. When I am joyous, people yawn.

Why fret if no one cares?

There are artists who never show a painting. There are preachers who pour their lives into the sermons to rooms full of people who just want to leave as soon as possible. The empty altar the only thing he sees. There are missionaries who preach to a whole generation and still nothing. There are moms who slave over their homes and at the end of the day all the get is grief.

So, do we give up?


On the rare occasion I look at traffic sources for this blog and it's eye-opening. “Naked worker” leads more than a few readers to this blog. I have no idea why. And “Dog the Bounty Hunter” gets hits every day. And then there are people looking for David Rupert,  IRA terrorist and double-agent who land here, too.

Here’s a question that I should ask every day. Will I still write, even though no one reads? Is that Audience of One enough?

Whatever your passion is, what keeps you pressing on? You can share your thoughts here.