My Attitude Could Whip Your…A

My Attitude Could Whip Your…

“The greatest discovery of any generation is that a human being can alter his life by altering his attitude.” –Williams James
 

I spent 8 years in higher education, 15 years beyond that as a pastor for a mainline denomination. I've studied human psychology, pastor counseling and theology. It took a man with no more than a high school education and a background in construction to teach me something real about people, about me.

I was having a bad day and it wasn't even 8:00 am. I’d had an argument with my wife. My children were not behaving the way I wanted them to, and my work schedule for the day was so packed that I knew I wouldn’t be able to get all of it done. My brain hurt, my back hurt and I pretty much hated everything and everybody at that moment.

My boss at the time took note of my bad attitude and asked me to come into his office. I did. He listened to my story and then paused before saying, “You have two choices this morning. You can stay pissed and have a sorry day, or you can do something about your attitude.” He reached in the desk drawer and handed me a card that resembled one of those “do not disturb” door hangers. On the front and back were a series of sayings, positive affirmations. He told me to take it and if I wanted to change my attitude to read the sayings out load on the way to my first appointment for that day. My attitude wasn’t very receptive. I thought of all the psychological cliques that I knew. I thought about how what I was going through was much bigger than a few clever and witty sayings. I thought of a hundred reasons why his suggestion was stupid. I didn’t challenge him. I took the card and headed for the truck. As I walked out of his office he said one more thing, “I bet you’re too chicken to try it.”

I smiled and for some reason warmed up to the idea of proving him wrong. On the way to my first appointment, I read them out load:

“I will win. Why? I’ll tell you why – because I have faith courage and enthusiasm.” 
“Today I will meet the right people in the right place at the right time for the betterment of all.” 
“I see opportunity in every challenge.”
“When I fail, I only look at what I did right.”

“I’ll never take advice from someone more messed up than I am.”

The readings continued, and so did a change in my attitude. There is great power in the words we speak to ourselves. By the time I was done I did feel better and begin to think on the things I could do to be effective and successful that day. I have never forgotten that lesson.

What we believe, about ourselves and our world is directly related to the words we say to ourselves and others.

9-11 #Poetry - Eagles Weep

Eagles weep the dust of fury
            Glory hangs in a breeze filled sky
Trumpets howl forth silence
            Empty eyes gaze on debris and cry

Paradox rains upon sweltering souls
            Discordant melodies find no harmonic tone
Sleeping giants fail to wake
           Dreams of horror in daylight come

Restrained talons seek to rip
            Flesh and bone. Retribution wails
Bridled shouts from viper lips           
             Broken tongues speechless, still

Such foreign chaos, grief born questions
            Here rests doubt, fear rooting
Anger to pain beget rage
            Tearing fabric, destroying the shoot

A blast through heart’s cage
            Cries, screams and eternal rage
Why! Demands our soul
            Why? Defiant voices entreat

Into this realm of despair
            Touching sinew of exposed hope
Lifting corpse-like remains
            Our Hope stands, lifted hands

In a speechless voice the whisper comes
            Gentle words rock our perilous stance
Words carefully spoken, deeply heard
            Faith, Hope, Love the memory calls

Again, glorious birds will find their songs
            Heavy banners will lift in a gentle breeze
Clarion call of brass sounds, proclaims
            Life has come and still remains

-Kim E Williams
September 12, 2001

Skipped

--- taps screen -- humm. looks like i missed August...

Critical Conversation...oh, and #Coffee

This week I had a visit with a good friend of 5 years now. We met innocently enough at a local coffee house and talked over hot coffee and warm pastries. 

Ardmore Coffee, Winston-Salem,NC

We spent about 2 hours together and I left with a bitter –sweet awareness.

The Sweet – We listened and talked to each other. We asked questions to better understand perspectives. We recalled life experiences and things we had read or seen to add depth and breadth to the conversation. We wondered together. We laughed, debated and share silence. I left feeling grateful for the time and stimulated in my thinking and creativity. Not once did we look at our phones or open a laptop or tablet.

The Bitter - I don’t have lingering, flesh-to-flesh, conversations nearly enough. I know I am busy at work and at home. I know the trend is for 140 character interactions, slinging videos and swapping texts, - trite verbal exchanges (and I’m very good at those – #justsaying), but I know it’s not enough. 

Have we somehow developed into a culture where conversation has been replaced with brief proclamations and affirmations? Has the art of reflective inquiry (was there ever such an art?) become too complicated, too time consuming, too hard?  I think one of the reasons that I love sharing coffee with others – just about anyone – is that it slows things down and creates a moment for conversation. It is hard to be in a hurry when you are trying to drink very HOT liquids!

My life needs more time for coffee and conversation, more space for debating, wondering with others. What about you? Care to join me for a cup of Joe? 

Clear Perspective - For The Birds

While watching the finches on our feeder I learned something about perspective...

The large bay window in our living room overlooks our front lawn; a large magnolia and maple tree drape the scene and arborvitae and rhododendron  break up the green carpet of the lawn. A thin pole stands outside the window holding a finch feeder. Regularly finches and other small varieties of birds visit, flitting from rest to flight. One of my favorite morning moments is settling in on the living room sofa with a steaming mug of coffee and watching the birds have breakfast. The view is private, simple and I feel an intimacy as I spy on their world, so thinly divided from mine by a pane of glass.

Today I noticed the blinds that hung, turned open, but still present - slicing my line of sight. The glass refracted the beams of light through hazed glass. Really, the lens through which I watch these birds isn't clear at all. I'd never noticed it before.

We look past things. We grow accustomed to the smeared glasses on our face, or the spotted windshield of our car, and the dirty window pane and the blinds. Now that I've noticed. I know and it bothers me. I'm already planning to dust and raise the blinds and clean the glass inside and out in order to see it the birds, the outside better.

Which causes me to wonder...what else in my day-to-day perceptions might have lost some clarity and could use a bit of polish and shine?

Happy Birthday, Son

As today marks, by calendar date and tradition, the 25th anniversary of my son's birth and the occasion for gratitude, reflection and celebration, such that these moments bring, I find myself reflecting with fatherly thoughts and gentle emotions upon the man that has sprung, powerfully and dramatically, into life and work from the child that is my son. Many have been the thoughts and numerous the feelings, yet one piece of verse keeps echoing through my head. You will, no doubt, know of the work for it is old and well read among those of us who care to read such things. 

I dedicate this post and this classic piece of poetic truth to my son. Happy birthday. You are a man - being and becoming. I'm proud of you.

If—
BY RUDYARD KIPLING
(‘Brother Square-Toes’—Rewards and Fairies)

If you can keep your head when all about you   
    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
    But make allowance for their doubting too;   
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   
    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
    And treat those two impostors just the same;   
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
    And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
    To serve your turn long after they are gone,   
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   
    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
    If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   
    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

A Story... Unicorns and Crosses... #MondayBlogs

At the risk of blasphemy… 

They say it was a spear that pierced his side that dark day, but we know different, we who slide to and fro through the shadows of humanity's denials. We are the substance of fantastical tales, of angels, demons, leprechauns, sprites and of fairy twists and turns. Ours is the story of how the divine is called to watch the human journey, to document their story and on rare occasion we are needed to brush that story back on course - not a defined course, but on at least a path of momentary preservation from a perilous extinction. That day we were simply watching another pinnacle of human cruelty acted out with a hill, a cross and the delicate flesh of God - the brush was about to take place, but not by us this time, by something much larger. 

The guard held the spear in his hand and other than a passing evaluation of the particular smoothness of the spear's tip, had no idea. He was following the simply instructions of his superior, "Grab that spear and thrust it into the Jew's side. I have no intent on waiting here all night for him to die. I have places to be." He was also following the direction of God.

We all know, though it may surprise you to hear, dear mortal, that Unicorns carry the very power of life in their veins. It is said and is true that unicorn tears can heal the flesh. It is said and is true that unicorns can ride on the breath of life and travel between heaven and earth in the beat of a monarch's wing. However, what is not said, never spoken about is the resurrection power of the fallen unicorn's horn. 

When a unicorn dies, which isn't very often, the life of the divine beast bursts into its horn, spiraling upward, and deep into the ivory tip where it is driven by the spinning of life's essence, infinitely packed and powerful and then bursts into the heavens to be reabsorbed by the Divine. This moment is known as Cretaten.  What only I know is that, if by some precisely timed tragic and horrendous event, the horn is cut from the unicorn before the Cretatan is complete, the divine is captured in the horn. That horn would be of infinite value, and if it ever accidentally found itself somewhere, say perhaps fashioned into the tip of a common spear, it would be an unnatural weapon that would be more likely to transform life anew than kill. Such things could never happen, we would never allow it. However, it might be allowed to happen, even be planned, if a resurrection miracle was what was needed.

But, you didn't hear it from me.

Coffee Table Stories

There was a time when coffee tables held the central place in our living rooms. Upon them rested the symbols of our lives. Scattered in plain sight, the magazines, books, and knick-knacks of our interest quietly broad cast the message of who we were. You could tell a lot about us by our coffee table top.

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My childhood memories conjure up a coffee table made of 1970’s metal tube legs and glass. The top was a framed glass panel, revealing what appeared to be a star-burst pattern of small, rectangular tiles. The ‘tiles’ were actually a plastic sheet, molded and dyed to the pattern. We kept National Geographic magazine’s 3 or 4 most recent issues fanned out on the table. A center piece of plastic fern in a gold wooden dish was always slightly askew from the bumps and table top activity of us kids. If no guests were around, you would have seen the current homework project tossed into the mix. It wasn’t uncommon to find green toy soldiers tucked into the fern or climbing down the metal gold legs.  If company was expected, the soldiers and homework were always replaced by Better Homes and Gardens and a sculptured ceramic ash tray. Ours was a coffee table that told the story of a modest family, intrigued by learning and with aspirations of being normal. My grandmother’s coffee table wasn’t the same.

My grandmother’s living room (and it was her living room, even though my grandfather was allow in to sit in his chair and watch the nightly news) sported a large round cypress coffee table. Always on the top of it was a bowl of artificial fruit and an ash tray and candy combination dish. The ask try was never used and the candy was off limits except to guests. You were not allowed to lean on, write on, put anything on top of or run near the table. Once a year, at Christmas, the center piece was moved and replace by a bowl full or gold and white ornaments. The table told a story of constant order, measured hospitality and fragile balance. 

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From what I can remember, the coffee tables of old served as statements – sometimes intended, often unconscious – of who we were. I don’t see as many coffee tables in living rooms today and lately have wondered if we might have found something else to take their place. When I look around I see a number of coffee table tops: Facebook, Pinterest, blogs, websites…. On these spaces we can broadcast much easier our likes, wants, feelings and interests. Posting a photo on Facebook, an emotive 140 characters on Twitter or a personal story on a blog all give us a means to set the table for others to see. So, today I’m wondering – what do my digital coffee tables tell about me? What do you see in the things spread before you on your friends and families spaces? How do you present yourself when you know friends are coming by your digital place?

Random thought: Is there a coffee table app? A virtual table with digital objects we cold display to tell our momentary mood or story? Should there be?

Do You Linger...?

Linger On It

Where do you linger? There are those tastes that just grab us by the tongue and scream delight and indulgence. Do you linger with them, allowing the full force of their impact upon that moment? 

Then there are those sounds, the songs that we love to hear – every note, rhythm, and lyric as they dance into our mind and resonate within our body. Do you linger in them, playing them over again to light on each resonance and twisted phonetic? 

What about those people whose physical beauty, simply passing by grabs your core? Do you allow yourself to linger in the impression as it launches into your libido and churns ancient and primal sensations, eliminating all thought for a moment? Do you linger there?

What of laughter? When it sneaks up on you and you find your world invaded by a twist of fate or thought, a comical jolt of unexpected amusement.  Do you linger in the wake of a real gut level laugh, leaving you exhausted and spurting tears in spasms of delight?

Do you linger on the good moments of life? I think you could…

Dark Thoughts On Lost Ones...

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The darkness doesn't usually come upon us all at once. It drips, it creeps into our lives in small ways – not starting out with any of the bold and deadly sins -sloth, wrath, envy , lust, pride, greed, gluttony (surely there are more than 7 of them) – but rather subtlety arriving…like self-care turning to self obsession, fatigue that gives way to sloth, failure stumbling us into our pride - mixed with any of these with a little grief or the waning of aging or raging hormones...and soon we find the moments of darkness, the occasions when we are disheartened, decide to linger, then stay and we are awash in the whole of it, the gray that drapes us like a leaden blanket laden with the weight of our small self in a raging world all too willing to ignore and chide us now for lagging behind and then, then the worst thing happens – the darkness, the empty hole starts to feel…comfortable, real and necessary. We believe that for all the effort and energy we have spent – this is the ultimate destination and we surrender to the truth that there really isn’t anything better but transient, demanding and flirtatious hope – a mad muse that Pucks among us taking joy from our ardent pursuit -and we choose to concede to the loss of hope and settle into the finding of the dark. It is then that, void of a miracle, we are lost.