Dear Friend…
A Book of Advice
By
Michaelbrent Collings
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2010 by Michaelbrent Collings
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author. For information send request to L@whoisbillyjones.com.
website: www.whoisbillyjones.com
email: L@whoisbillyjones.com
cover image © 2010 used under license from Shutterstock.com
DEDICATION
To...
Ryan,
Dane, Ilia, Chad, Kevin, Shandrea, Heather,
Jennifer, Jedd,
Mindy, Ellison, Dyring, Nate, Asay,
Matt, and (the other) Chad,
who got me through . . .
and to Laura, FTAAE.
CONTENTS:
DEAR FRIEND…
IT’S ALWAYS BEST TO PUT DOWN THE LAPTOP
HAPPINESS IS A RUSTY FORK
GIVE KIDS (AND OTHERS) THE OPPORTUNITY TO EAT THEIR OWN SKITTLES…AND I BET THEY’LL ALWAYS SHARE THEM
A KICK IN THE KNEE FROM YOUR WORST ENEMY CAN SAVE YOUR LIFE
AND ANOTHER THING…WE ALL SUFFER FROM JUDGMENTAL MYOPIA
THE BEST WAY TO HELP IS BY TAKING ME OUT FOR A MILKSHAKE
LIFE SUCKS NOW, BUT THINK WHAT A GOOD STORY IT WILL MAKE LATER
WHEN YOU’RE GOING TO DIE, THE NICEST THING YOU HAVE IS MEMORIES
JUST REMEMBER, EVERYONE’S LIFE IS THE HARDEST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO THEM
SOMETIMES YOU JUST GOTTA SAY TINKLE
CRITICISM IS ALWAYS TRUE…ISN’T IT?
THE LONE GUNSLINGER
FIND YOURSELF DOING THINGS
HUMILITY IS SAYING THANK YOU
TAKE CONTROL
TAKE YOUR OWN ADVICE
SOMETIMES WE JUST CAN’T BE LOVED
THANK YOU, DEAR FRIEND
DEAR FRIEND…
☺☺☺
Right now, as of the very moment I’m typing this, I’m a pretty happy fellow.
I’m actually smiling – yes, smiling – as I work on this. Part of the reason I’m happy right now is that I’m writing this chapter last, so I’ve got the warm glow that comes with finishing something.
But more than that, I am smiling because, overall, life is good. Life is a good thing to have some of. There are hard times, and easy times, and good times and bad times. All of it together is that thing we call life, and I’m enjoying mine.
It sometimes feels strange to say those words. After all, look at all the “harsh realities” that surround us every day. Over ninety percent of the cash in the world is controlled by less than one percent of the population. Broken homes abound. People die in vicious and largely unfair wars every day.
And yes, life is still good. I think it is good for me, and I further believe that it can be good for anyone.
In large measure, I can’t take any real credit for my personal enjoyment of life. Rather, it’s mostly a product of the good people whom I have had the pleasure to meet. As a result of these relationships, I have had the great privilege and blessing of hearing some very good advice. Maybe I’ve even been able to give some good advice from time to time. But even that advice consisted mostly of me quoting someone else’s words: the wisdom of someone who had shown me how to do something or be something better than before.
So it’s a good thing that I’ve talked to a lot of people. I’ve lived a life that to me seems very short (whose life really seems like it’s been that long to them?), but in that life I’ve done a number of different things that have brought me into contact with many good and wise individuals. I’ve worked as a missionary and in other ecclesiastical positions, worked in the entertainment industry, in several law firms, and done a number of other things that allowed me to come into contact with huge numbers of men and women.
Some of them were people who just passed through my life, some were people who were able to help me when I needed help, and some needed help from me. So I’m thankful for each and every one of my jobs that has allowed me to meet those great individuals.
But of all my jobs, my favorite one has always been that of friend.
That’s how I’m going to imagine you, if it’s all right: as a friend who is reading, not a book, but a very long letter from me to you. Or rather, a series of letters. I’ve written this as though I had gotten a letter from you, asking for some advice. Most of these lessons I’ve learned have been gifts to me from the wise people who passed through my life. Sometimes the people didn’t even know they were giving such a gift. Sometimes he or she just entered my space and their very presence was a living, breathing lesson in life.
And sometimes the people who gave me these gifts did so intentionally, coming to me at a time I was down or unhappy and leaving a bit of their own life experience to cheer me up.
And look! It worked.
So here we are, you and I, and what I’m hoping is to do the same for you. We’ve never met, and perhaps we never will. But if it’s all right, I’m going to picture you in my head, all the same. A good friend of mine. Maybe going through some hard times. Maybe going through some good times and wanting some advice on how to keep the good times coming strong. Either way, though, I am going to picture you as a good friend with open eyes: the kind of person I like to talk to.
So thank you for this gift. I am going to have to thank you, you see, because no matter how much you might get out of these letters, please know that I am getting just as much back from you. Even though we’ve never met, just knowing you’re out there, that you are interested in my words…well, that makes me feel wonderful.
So, dear friend, thank you. I hope you enjoy my letters. Know that I enjoyed writing them, and know that I appreciate you deeply.
IT’S ALWAYS BEST TO PUT DOWN THE LAPTOP
☺☺☺
Dear Friend,
I understand you are feeling oh-so-overwhelmed right now in the many different aspects of your life, because of the many different things that you have to contend with: it’s hard being a tight-rope artist. Harder still when people keep putting weights on your back, adding to your burden, telling you how to walk the wire.
So what do we do to get out of that mess and away from that feeling? I didn’t really know myself, until a friend of mine taught me a great lesson about being busy.
John is always busy, always working hard, always accepting more and more responsibility. (By the way, "John" is not his real name, and in fact if I ever throw out a name to you in these letters, you can pretty much take it for given that it’s a fake one.)
And yet, somehow, he always manages to smile.
One night I was visiting with him, chatting during one of his rare work breaks. After talking, I was about to leave when his wife came in and invited me to stay for dinner. I said I would, and offered to help her while John went back to work.
I could see him from the kitchen, typing away on a laptop. It was ten p.m. and he was still at work.
Then a marvelous thing happened: his oldest son came from the back of the house, wanting to talk about a dream he had, and John closed his laptop. Instantly. There was no thought or vacillation: his son wanted to talk about the dream, so John was there to talk to him.
They chatted, and then my friend gave his son a kiss and sent him off to bed.
John, an attorney, was preparing a case that he would be arguing in court the next day. Now, if any of you know anything about lawyers, you know that the night before a case is actually going to court, they tend to get…well…imagine a hermit with a machine gun. They don’t want company. They don’t want visitors. They don’t want interruptions of any kind.
So I was shocked to realize that: (a) John had taken the time to visit with me, and (b) he had also taken time to chat with his son about a dream.
Neither of these might seem like a big deal to you. And the wonderful thing was, they didn’t seem like a big deal to him, either.
This friend of mine is one of the busiest people I know. In addition to his law practice, he is also a writer of some repute, and also helps his wife part-time in her business. That in addition to spending time with his family.
How did he do it? And how in the world does he keep doing it? I had often asked him how he managed to successfully juggle so many time-consuming responsibilities, apparently without much effort.
Here, I had just seen my answer.
He was certainly busy, but he also knew something important: we are always busy. Busy is a state of life, and when we stop being busy, generally it’s accompanied by a lack of breathing.
So he didn’t yell at me to go away; he didn’t tell his kid to go back to sleep without thinking about it. Most of us (me, included, probably) would have done that, but he didn’t.
What perspective!
Would five minutes to talk to me, and another ten or fifteen to his child, take much out of his preparation time? No.
But how many of us, faced with that same situation, would have told visitors to go away, and would have focused on feelings of being crushed by our own deadlines (many of which are self-imposed)? Too often, when rushing about to “get things done,” we forget the reasons behind our work. We work to live, but so often we forget that our work is supposed to support our lifestyle, not become our lifestyle.
John worked as hard as he did because he wanted to provide: for himself, for his family, for his friends. So when he got a call for help from his son, he responded. He remembered the reason he wanted to do well at trial: to be able to continue working, to provide for his family. But what would it be worth if he provided money for his son’s upbringing, but at the cost of providing a father?
John knew what so many of us learn and then forget: life is about living. Whatever your views on where we end up, there is very little changing the fact that we are here now. And being here now has a certain pattern. Being busy is a part of it, an integral facet of a life not over-burdened, but beautiful. Sacrificing one’s life and relationships for the sake of working on a series of “crises” that will really never go away is not the answer to anything.
It is in those special moments where we put down the pen or push away the keyboard to spend a few moments with those we love that we will find the time we are “missing.” When I feel rushed, like I have too much to do and too little time to do it in, what do I do? Spend time with my wife. My family. My loved ones. Because when I can’t “find” the time to do what I need, it usually means I’m looking for it in the wrong place.
HAPPINESS IS A RUSTY FORK
☺☺☺
Dear Friend,
Yes, I know exactly what you’re talking about. Sometimes it just seems so hard to get ahead. Working and working and working away, like life is a non-stop time clock, day to day, with some sicko jabbing us with a pitchfork and telling us to work harder, because we’re still not there yet. We still haven’t made it to where we want to be.
But whenever I get down on where I am, I remember something that happened to me years ago, while working as a missionary in South America.
I was visiting a small family in the jungle. They lived in a one-room hut: made of split wood, no floor, windows open to the weather all the time, drinking their water out of a very murky well.
I had been told at one point that I could tell the quality of the well-water I would be drinking by looking at how “deep” the water was. If the well tapped a deep source, the water would be clearer, tastier, and healthier. Of course, deeper wells were much more expensive. So the deeper the water, the richer the people. The poorer they were, the closer to the surface was their well.
That being said, you might understand how poor these folks were when I tell you that the water in their well started six inches above ground level…it was actually crawling out of the ground. You think you’ve seen poor? Don’t you believe it.
I was there to talk to the parents. We set up a couple of rickety chairs outside, sitting in the sun so that these two good people could watch their children play while we discussed some things.
The children were beautiful, but they were also…well…the polite word is probably “energetic.” What Grampa would call “hooligans and whippersnappers.”
One of them in particular, Josefina, was making it very hard to talk, scrambling up and down her parents’ laps, squirming, squealing every time a bug flew by (not a rare occurrence in that part of the world). Finally her mother put her on the ground and said, “Go and get your toy.” Josefina squealed again, then came back, proudly bearing a rusted and discolored old fork.
Coming as I do from a North-American society, where toys have age ratings and my parents watch my siblings and I with almost preternatural intensity, this jarred my sensibilities.
She could hurt herself.
She could get tetanus.
Or poke her eye out.
Or maybe even break her neck!
It was like all of my mother’s worst buzz-words come to life.
But this wasn’t my child, and this wasn’t the United States. This was South America, and a particularly poor part of the continent at that. So I didn’t do anything beyond watch Josefina out of the corner of my eye, ready to rush over and administer first aid when she poked her eye out and was instantly seized by a tetanus attack and fell and broke her neck.
Well, obviously that didn’t happen.
Something else did, though. Josefina hunkered down on the ground and began drawing in the dirt. And she was more thrilled than any kid I’ve ever seen.
We, for the most part, live in a pretty spoiled world. A world of Power Puff girls, Playstations, GI Joes, and by my count over 14,000 different kinds of Barbie dolls.
So where did this kid get off playing with a rusty fork…and enjoying it? What was wrong with her? Why wasn’t she complaining? Why didn’t she throw her fork at her mommy and refuse to play with such a low-brow, cheap thing?
Now, dear Friend, lest you think I’m still really talking about kids, I’d like to point out that our world of Nintendos and video libraries with hundreds of DVDs are not creations that came about because of children. They are the bivouac of we the adults. It’s nice that the kids like them, too, but an awful lot of us play with far more toys as adults than we ever did as kids.
What did I learn from this little girl? Watching her, I reflected on the many times in my life when I felt that I had been somehow wronged because I didn’t have “the best.” The best car, the best job, the best TV, the best whatever. And so I lost precious times that I might have enjoyed life if I weren’t so interested in keeping up with the Joneses.
So much of our lives we are blessed with tremendous things: family, friends, our very lives. Every breath is a moment and an action to cherish.
I have to admit I’m human, and there are still times when I’m driving along and see someone with a nicer car than I do (not a rare occurrence…I live in Los Angeles, and here almost everyone has a nicer car than I do) and wish that I had a nicer car. But then I try to pull back, think how lucky I am to have as much as I do – I have my own “rusty fork” to play with. I pat the dashboard of my car, think what a nice car it is, and enjoy my ride. Heck, when I’m really on the ball, I can even think what a treat it is to see that other person’s nice car: an aesthetic treat that I got for free. And suddenly it’s no longer a case of “I wish I had more,” but instead becomes, “Wow, I’ve got tons.”
“Count your blessings” is a motto my mom harped at me until I wanted to claw my eyes out when I was a kid.
Boy, am I glad she did.
GIVE KIDS (AND OTHERS) THE OPPORTUNITY TO EAT THEIR OWN SKITTLES…AND I BET THEY’LL ALWAYS SHARE THEM
☺☺☺
Dear Friend,
A nice memory popped into my head. A good lesson I learned once from a group of children. I just had to get to my computer as fast as I could, so I could type it up and share it with you. Hope you enjoy my reminiscences (and thanks, as always, for putting up with my ramblings…it means a lot to me!).
My Sunday School class.
I was once asked to teach a Sunday School class. But wait! There’s more!
Normally, this assignment would be no big deal: I love children and I love teaching them. But this particular Sunday School class presented a problem. When I was asked to teach it, the person who extended the assignment informed me that this class was full of kids who could be called “problem” children. Three teachers had already quit the job that year, apparently pushed over the edge by maniacal 8-year-olds.
I accepted the assignment, but was a bit nervous, wondering if I could get these kids to listen long enough to learn. Discipline was obviously the key problem in this situation. How could I reward or punish them in such a way that they would a) want to behave and b) still want to listen to anything I said?
The bean jar was the obvious answer.
My parents rarely gave me an allowance growing up, but occasionally we did do the bean jar. They’d give each of us kids a jar, and from time to time when we did a good deed, they’d give us a bean or two to put in it. When the jar was full, we could cash in our beans for something special. Nothing big: we didn’t have much money. But it was always something nice. A trip to the community pool with dad, a walk to the supermarket for a pack of gum (until I dropped some on my Mom’s best Sunday dress…the end of my childhood gum days). That sort of thing. It was great.
And I decided to do the same with my Sunday School kids. Only you know me: I couldn’t just do it the way everyone else did it. I had to add a bit of a “twist.”
So the next Sunday, I unfurled my Skittles jar. It was completely covered, taped shut with just a little bit of a notch cut out of the top. I explained to the kids that when they did well – brought their scriptures, gave a good answer, were reverent – they would get some Skittles. That was the first twist: Skittles are much more fun than beans.
The next twist was that they could either eat the Skittles themselves – after all, they earned them – or contribute them to the Skittles jar. When it was full – and I emphasized that it had to be full, and full was when I absolutely could not squeeze a single Skittle through the slit in the jar – then we would do something fun.
And I might point out that this was a big jar. It wasn’t going to fill up in a week or even a month. It might take all year.
“What if we don’t fill it all the way up?” was the kids’ first question.
“Tough,” was my response. “I know that you can fill it all the way up. But if it doesn’t get filled, then I take the Skittles at the end of the year and eat them all myself.” There was a little grumbling about this, but I pointed out that whether they made it or not they would be no worse off than they already were, and if they worked they might really come out ahead.
Their next responses were about what anyone would expect: what was the fun reward going to be? And what kind of stuff could they do to earn Skittles?
I told them that I wasn’t going to tell them the fun thing. I promised they’d like it, but they were going to have to take it on faith. And I also told them I wasn’t going to tell them exactly what they could do to earn Skittles.
See, when my parents did the bean jar, it struck me (then and in retrospect) as kind of a rip-off: either it was capricious, with some things getting rewarded sometimes and not others; or when it wasn’t capricious, it was not a great training ground for life, which definitely was capricious in its reward system (how many people do you know who got where they were because of a “lucky break”?).
So I thought I’d do things right. I told my kids that I was going to give out Skittles, but that the give-outs would be at my discretion. I could give one kid 20 Skittles for tying his shoes right, and not give any to the kid that was most reverent that day.
I honestly didn’t know if the Skittles jar was going to work. I thought, at best, I’d keep it around for a few weeks and then discontinue it when they lost sight of the possibility of the future reward and just started eating all the Skittles every time.
Boy, was I wrong. First of all, every single Skittle I gave out went in the jar. I expected some to go in the jar, but at best thought that sooner or later someone would eat a Skittle or two before dropping the rest in the community pot.
It didn’t happen.
I even encouraged the kids to eat the Skittles from time to time. But to no avail. Once I asked a kid why he didn’t want to eat the Skittles I had given him for bringing his Scriptures. He looked at me like my mom had lived near a nuclear reactor while pregnant with me and said, “Of course I want to eat them. But if I eat them then we might not get to go to the fun thing when the jar’s full. And then it would be my fault, huh.” And he dropped the Skittles in the jar.
They filled the jar. Twice, in fact. The first time I took them all to play Laser Tag at a nearby Tag arena. You haven’t lived until you’ve faced a dozen sugar-jumped kids in a smoky room, waving their ray guns and screaming and running after you like some kind of futuristic pygmy horde. But that wasn’t the big payoff.
The big payoff (at least for me) was realizing that making people do the right thing – the thing that will mean a reward for everyone, and not just for themselves – is almost impossible. But if you provide them the means for getting a personal reward, and also provide them the opportunity to sacrifice that reward for the good of others, then miracles happen.
Since then, I’ve always tried to conduct myself in accordance with that rule. Whenever I have had to work with others in a supervisory capacity – whether in business or Church work or anything else – I try to be up front. I explain that I hope they will give their best. I tell them I appreciate any help, but also explain that I’m human and won’t always see or reward their good work. But I tell them I’ll try. I explain that if they do their best, and get the results we’re looking for, they’ll get a reward (a raise, or a promotion, or whatever it may be).
But even more, if they want to work hard, they have the opportunity to help everyone else, too. I offer them the opportunity to help their coworkers. And with very rare exceptions, people that are asked to help out always do. Try and make them help out, though, and you’ve never heard such whining!
I was glad to do the Skittles jar with my Sunday School kids. They got some fun activities out of it (and also got to divide up and eat all the Skittles when the jar was full). But I was the big winner, learning as I did that people really want to do good. If you give them the opportunity to choose to do good, rather than trying to make them do good, they want that more than anything.
Even more than Skittles.
A KICK IN THE KNEE FROM YOUR
WORST ENEMY CAN SAVE YOUR LIFE
☺☺☺
Dear Friend,
I was re-reading the letter I wrote you last, about the Sunday School class, and I remembered something else I learned from them. Or maybe it was something they learned from me. I’m not really sure…I guess the most likely probability is we learned it from each other.
Kind of like how you and I are learning from each other right now. I know, we’ve never stood face to face, but I picture you whenever I’m writing these letters, and just thinking of you makes me realize more about myself. So we’re walking this road together, no doubt about it, and I’m just grateful to have you as a traveling companion.
But I digress.
What I wanted to say was something about my Sunday School class.
One day, while teaching a lesson about doing good for each other, I suddenly realized something. Something important. Something interesting. Something that I thought we all knew, but didn’t know at the same time. (Don’t worry about that last sentence, it’ll make sense eventually.)
I broke away from my lesson plan for a moment, and said, “Hey, guys, I have a question.” They were all ears. Questions often meant Skittles. “Let’s say there’s a guy who you know hates you. And he runs over one day while you’re in the playground, kicks you as hard as he can in the knee, and then runs away screaming at the top of his lungs. Why do you think he would do that?”
The answers were about what I had expected:
“Because he hates you.”
“Because he’s nuts.”
“Because he’s a dork.” (Yes, it was Sunday School, but sometimes kids forget and use words that maybe we wouldn’t use in that situation ourselves.)
“Because his medication levels were low.” (That from a kid suffering from some of the worst ADD I’ve ever seen.)
I nodded sagely. Kids love it when you’re sage.
Then I made The Point: “What if none of those were right?”
They looked at me blankly. This happened often when I made The Point. It usually meant I hadn’t explained myself clearly. I continued, explaining that their answers were good ones, in that they were the kind of answers most people would give.
But that was one of the problems. So often when something “bad” happens, particularly when someone else is the person who causes the “bad” thing, most of us choose to see it as a personal affront: a purposeful action meant to harm us. We, for a very small moment, perhaps, take upon ourselves the omniscience of God and assume we know what the other person was thinking.
In effect, we make up a story. And we purposefully make up a story that will make us mad. A story where the evil villain (the other guy) does a horrible thing to the righteous hero (us). Why do we do this?
Why not make up a good story?
I re-told my little hypothetical story about the kicking and screaming guy, then asked my kids to give me a couple of good reasons why that could have happened. This time, the answers were a bit better. My favorite was the following, told in single-breath-run-on-sentence fashion by a cute kid with tousled hair and thick glasses.
“Maybe he was actually on his way to say he was sorry for being such a rotten guy and then when he was almost there he saw that you had a big bumble bee on your leg and then he remembered that you were allergic to bees, so he decided to kick it off of you, even though he was allergic to bees, too, so he did, and the bee got off you and you were safe but then it stung him instead so he ran away to die because he didn’t want you to see him crying.”
I nodded at this one, gave the kid 10 Skittles for his story (they went in the jar, not a one of them in his mouth), and challenged my kids to make up good stories for the next week, then report back next Sunday.
Next Sunday was quite the revelation. Every single one of them had actually tried to make up good stories. The results were varied in expression, but all of them boiled down to what one kid (the ADD one) said:
“I got mad less.”
Since then, I’ve done my best to make up good stories about other people. Whenever someone does something to me that I absolutely hate – or even that bugs me a little – I try to think up a reason that they might have done that. One that, if I were in their place, would have caused me to do the same thing. Or even better, one that doesn’t just give them an excuse for doing it, but actually makes them a better person in my eyes.
Now, I’m not completely naïve. I know that in some cases, people do sincerely bad things to one another. But I also think that the majority of the time, the injuries that are caused us are caused by people, not doing wickedly, but just trying to get something good for themselves, or at worst just not being as sensitive as they could be.
Oddly enough, several of my kids kept doing this. To this day we talk and they’ll tell me some story they made up about someone who did something to them. Some of them are hysterically funny (another bonus to doing this – you get to laugh more). But the kids that have done it are happier than they were.
I try to do it, too, as I said. I’m not as original about the answers as my kids can be, but I try. Someone cut me off in traffic? Obviously they had a dying relative in the car and were rushing to the hospital to save a life. Someone cut in front of the movie line? Maybe they heard that one of the tickets is boobie-trapped, and the fifteenth person in line is going to get blown up. They just saved my life!
Yeah, these are silly – maybe even foolish. But they make my life better, because they make me assume the best about other people. When you get right down to it, none of us knows 100% of what’s going on in anyone’s head. Not even our spouses’ or our best friends’, much less our enemies’. So we’re all just making up stories to make sense of the world. And as long as we’re making up stories, why not make up some good ones now and again?
They might be inaccurate. They might be silly. They might even be out and out dumb. But, like I say, being silly is part of the fun of it.
Besides, which is more foolish, really: laughing at a silly story I tell myself, or getting angry about a mean-spirited one?
AND ANOTHER THING…
WE ALL SUFFER FROM JUDGMENTAL MYOPIA
☺☺☺
Dear Friend,
I just realized that I left out some important information in my last letter. Sorry. I’m only human. Make up a good story about me. Something like “He ate too many paint chips as a kid…he does the best he can” would be nice.
I was talking to another friend of mine the other day (we’ll call him Boris) and he pointed out that one of our mutual acquaintances (let’s call her Natasha) does NOT like me at all. I was rather surprised to hear that, I must admit. I’ve always liked Natasha, and it came as a shock to hear that she doesn’t like me.
I asked him why she didn’t like me, thinking I might have done something to offend her. Apparently I did. Boris said that Natasha thought I was rude because I didn’t say hi to her once.
My first reaction was “Give me a break!”
My next reaction, the one I want to talk about here, was to feel a bit perturbed. Words like, “After all the good things I’ve done for and in the presence of Natasha, she is going to judge me on the one little thing I did wrong around her?” ran through my head.
What was wrong with her? What kind of person could literally allow one tiny incident to completely warp her opinion of another person.
Well…a human kind of person.
We all tend to suffer from something I call judgmental myopia. That is to say, even if we tell a story about someone that happens to be completely true…it will only be true as far as it goes. For example, say that someone cuts you off in the freeway and you tell the following story: “He did that because he is a rude driver.” Now, we already know that I think it would be best to tell a different story. But even if you don’t, and what you have said is correct, it is only correct as far as it goes.
All of us are the sum of thousands and thousands of traits and characteristics. And the fact is, most of us do most of the things in our lives mostly right most of the time.
That means, of course, that most of us also make mistakes in part of our lives at least part of the time. You might be snappish sometimes. Aunt Mabel might be forgetful. I might forget to say “Please” occasionally.
But is it a good idea to focus so completely on that small flaw in another person that we don’t see the sum of all their good qualities? Granted, that is the nature of the way many of us are raised: you don’t notice the three tires that work as much as you do the one that blows out on the freeway during rush hour (and if you find yourself in that situation, I can guarantee you that you’ll have many opportunities to make up good stories about all those folks holding up a finger to let you know you’re “Number One” as you cut across three lanes of traffic going twelve miles an hour).
But that’s really too bad, isn’t it? Seems that focusing on the wrongs to the exclusion of the rights is a recipe for high blood pressure. Sure, we want to be aware of the things that go badly, so that we can fix them and make our lives better. But we want to be more aware of all the things that are going well.
It is said that Abe Lincoln was one of the most reviled men of his generation. Most of the Confederacy and the Union hated him. Not only that, but his very Cabinet and closest advisors had a pretty clear habit of stabbing him in the back and selling him out. And this while he was in the middle of what was arguably the most crucial point in U.S. history.
Whenever someone did an ill deed to him do you know what Abe would do in response? Nothing. Occasionally he would write a letter to the wrongdoer, explaining exactly how he had harmed him.
Then he would burn the letter unsent. And if anyone spoke ill of that person, Abe would defend him or her to the utmost.
I can’t help but think that this philosophy is part of the reason for the great man’s success. He was able to face insurmountable odds and come out on top, steering the nation to a better place along the way. Because he had the will to succeed that is an inevitable accompaniment to finding the best in a situation or a person.
It seems that so many of us spend our lives in an attitude of demand. We ask for things from those around us, we expect certain things of life, and then we complain when we are disappointed in our requests or expectations. But I know that I, at least, am much happier when I spend more time in an attitude of gratitude: not asking for more, but being grateful for what I have. This is especially true of my relationships.
When I spend my time thinking about the many good things done by those who surround me, I have a brighter outlook on life in general. I am grateful for them. I feel better about myself. I have hope that people in general are good.
On the other hand, when I find myself caught up in a person’s flaws, I find myself not only judging that person, but also judging myself and all those around me in terms that are equally harsh and equally unfair.
Now, in response to this, I have heard people say something to the effect of: “Yes, I know I am a bit judgmental…but is it a bad thing to demand perfection?” (In fact, I am one of the people whom I have heard saying this.)
And, to be honest, they have a bit of a point. It is a good thing to seek after the best, and to be associated with the most wonderful and talented individuals in the world is certainly a blessing. But even then, those people are imperfect and are bound to fail us.
A story comes to mind:
A woman with two sons fell very ill. Knowing that she was dying, her sons wanted to make her last days better and more pleasant. So they both left her for a short time to gather things of beauty: things that they could put beside her bed to make her last moments as fine and wonderful as they could. Knowing that above all, she loved flowers, that was what they searched for.
After a few hours, both sons returned. One had found a single, perfect rose. It was absolutely flawless, and he placed it at her bedside.
The second son then showed what he had gathered: flowers of every shape, size, and description. He literally blanketed his dear mother in them. All of them had some flaw, some problem. This one had a discoloration on a petal. That one had dirt on the roots. One had a thorn. Another had brown leaves.
The first son was appalled at his brother’s offering. “How could you do that to our dear mother?” he asked. “How could you settle for less than the best?”
The second son was about to reply, but at that moment their mother took one last breath, smiled at both of them, and passed away.
The second son then looked at his brother. “True,” he said, “all my flowers were flawed. But they were all beautiful in spite of their flaws. And accepting the flaws along with the beauty allowed me to cover her in life during her final moments.”
So it is with us. We each have only a few moments to find the things we are looking for. We can spend those moments only accepting the best, and being disgusted with even things that are beautiful that may have tiny flaws. This is an attitude that many of us have. We are saddened at the single mistakes that some make. We are angered the one time someone lets us down, forgetting in that moment the countless times that that person has been at our side when most we needed him or her.
But, my friend, I would counsel you (if you would permit me…I know you don’t have to listen to a word of this, so thanks again for giving me some of your precious time), and also counsel myself to concentrate on the good things in the people around us. I get so angry sometimes, when I forget to do this or that for someone, and they rail and rant as though it is my habit to let them down, rather than to do all I can to aid them.
And then, in the same day, I might have the same reaction to someone who forgets to do this or that for me.
We are all human. Not perfect, just human, with all the wonderful nature that goes along with that. And I say “wonderful nature” because I truly believe that almost everyone out there is a mostly good person. In fact, I more than believe it, I know it.
But don’t take my word for it. Go out and look for yourself. Watch the mistakes that people make, if you wish.
But promise me – better yet, promise yourself – that after looking for the mistakes you will be at least as vigilant in seeking out the positive attributes. At the end of the day, see which one has been shown more often.
I think, if you do, you will find not only that people are better than you thought they were, but that you yourself are much better than you had previously dreamed of being.
YOU WANT TO GIVE ME ADVICE? THEN GIVE ME A MILKSHAKE
☺☺☺
Dear Friend,
It’s pretty likely that you have a person or two in your life who just won’t listen to you. Friend, roommate, spouse, child, relative. It doesn’t really matter who it is. There are always a few people who resist our help. It’s so funny: here you are completely ready to help the person out, and he or she basically sticks fingers in ears and walks out of the room every time.
I know how that feels. In fact, I know how it feels to be in your position and to be in theirs. Reminds me of a really good lesson I learned from someone once.
I was young at the time. I think I was around thirteen or fourteen. You know how it is to be that age: everyone wants to tell you what to do and nobody wants to hear that you already know how to do what they’re telling you. Never mind that usually when we’re that age we completely overestimate our abilities in a lot of ways. At the time, I was just so sick of everyone’s advice. Couldn’t they see I already knew everything?
In spite of my overwhelming bank of knowledge, though, I felt strangely unhappy a lot of the time. It was a frustrating time for me, discovering every day that I had new responsibilities, learning exactly what I had to do in every situation…and then somehow getting it wrong.
I felt strangely alone at the time, in spite of the people clamoring to give me helpful advice. And then one day my church minister came up to me. He said he thought I looked down and wondered if he could talk to me.
Great, I thought, more helpful advice from a person who doesn’t have a clue.
But at the same time I knew that he was the type who wouldn’t leave me alone until he got his “quality time” quota in with me. So better take it now and get it over with, right?
We scheduled a meeting for the middle of the week. The time came and my mom dropped me off in front of his house. He came out the front door, putting on a jacket. I figured that some kind of an emergency had arisen with someone in the congregation, and that we’d have to reschedule. And in spite of the fact that I didn’t even want to be there, the fact that he was about to tell me he couldn’t meet with me was annoying.
But he didn’t say that at all. Instead, he told me he thought that, rather than talk in his office, it would be better if we went to a restaurant for some dinner and talked there.
Fine with me. I figured that at least this way his mouth would be full some of the time and maybe the actual lecture time would be shorter. And when he told me he’d buy some dinner for me as well, it sealed the deal.
We drove down to a nearby restaurant/deli. He got a turkey sandwich, I got a burger and fries. He urged me to get more food, but I wasn’t that hungry.
“How about a milkshake?” he asked.
Sure, I could do that.
The milkshake came out first, and I started to drink it. He didn’t seem to be in too much of a hurry to talk, so finally I said, “So what did you want to tell me?”
He smiled and said. “Not much. Just wanted to hear about your life. Don’t get to talk to you much…you seem pretty busy.”
“You can say that again.”
I started talking.
Dinner came.
Dinner went.
Same with dessert.
The check sat unnoticed on the table as we talked for over two hours. And he listened the whole time. Nodding, saying nothing more than the simple words, “Gee, that sounds tough,” and “Wow…I know how that feels…” in a sympathetic, reassuring tone.
We finally left the restaurant in his car, and he took me back to his place, me still talking the whole time. Finally, I ran out of things to say. I thanked him, said goodnight, and left feeling much better about life. I felt I had gained a friend.
A few weeks later, he approached me again. “Wondered if I could talk to you for a bit,” he said. I said sure.
In his office, we chatted for a few more hours. He gave me a little bit of advice about some things he had noticed. He didn’t exactly call it “advice,” though. What he said was, “I wondered if I could make an observation. It’s totally your life, and no need to listen to me if you don’t want to, but I’ve been worried about you since we spoke over dinner. Seems you’ve got a lot on your mind, and I was thinking about it and maybe saw some things that might help.”
And I was all ears.
He taught me an amazing lesson in those two meetings. And it wasn’t contained in the words he spoke. Those were great and helpful, too, but the lesson he taught me was more in the way he spoke the words.
So often we know people we genuinely love. And we see they’re unhappy about something. Unhappiness is a hard feeling to deal with in a lot of ways. It clouds our thinking and makes us irrational a lot of the time. Little tiny crises that we could shrug off when “things are going well” become major catastrophes and insurmountable obstacles when “everything is going wrong.”
But because we are observing our loved one, we think we can see much more clearly than they can. After all, they’re unhappy and we’re “objective observers.” So we dispense our wonderful advice…and then are supremely shocked when our friend doesn’t take it.
But really, why should they? If we just jump right into “advice mode” they’re not going to listen because before they can listen they have to trust.
That was what my minister taught me. He spent several hours (and a bit of his own pocket money) taking me out for dinner. And he wasn’t giving me advice, he was showing me he was my friend. That way, when he actually did tell me some things, I was completely ready to listen. He had shown me that he loved me. He had shown me he understood my situation. Both are necessary attributes in a teacher (which is all anyone is when they’re giving advice, really).
He showed me he loved me by spending the time. He showed me he loved me by listening more than he spoke. Most of all he showed me he loved me by being genuinely interested in hearing about my life, more than in hearing precious pearls of advice ringing from his own lips.
He showed me he understood by nodding when I spoke. He showed me he understood by saying, “I understand” and saying a short sentence about how he had been in just that situation once himself.
With those two halves of a complete whole, he became my teacher and adviser. Because I would only listen to someone who understood my problems inside out and loved me enough to give advice that would actually help me out of them.
So, if you don’t mind, my friend, I would perhaps suggest that you do the same. I really believe that all of us can make a major difference in our friends’ lives. Often we really can see things better or more clearly than they can. But all the advice in the world is worthless if the person we are giving it to is unwilling to take it from us.
Advice is (or should be) a gift. It is a piece of love. It is our way of saying, “Your pain is my pain. Let me help you feel better.”
But because it is a gift, it must be freely given and freely received to be at its most effective. Anything other than this comes to be a little tiny dictatorship: “You must listen to me, for your own good, and you have no say in the matter.”
Dictators are notoriously unsuccessful at making people believe what they say.
I know that my minister hadn’t thought all this through. He was just a kind man who inherently knew what to do to help me listen to him and believe.
I try to be like him. That’s why I’ve written you all these letters, in fact, and will continue to write more, if you wish: because I care about you. I hurt knowing that you are hurt. And I have been in many of these situations myself. You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to, but no matter what, I hope you know I love you.
LIFE STINKS NOW, BUT THINK
WHAT A GOOD STORY IT WILL MAKE LATER
☺☺☺
Dear Friend,
Another hard day, huh? And this one was worse than most, I understand. Sometimes it just seems like life is going to be horrible forever, doesn’t it?
Yeah, I’ve had days like that myself. Some really bad things have happened in my life. Some of them I still dream about from time to time, they were so bad.
So, speaking as one who’s been there with you, can I give a bit of advice? Think of this whenever you get in real trouble: “Life stinks now, but think what a good story it will make later on.”
Let me explain:
While I was working as a missionary in South America, I suffered from what could only be described as “severe culture shock” for a while.
Not too long.
Only about a year.
During that year, the first six months I cried just about every day. I stuck it out, because sometimes you have to go through the bad to accomplish something worthwhile. But no denying it was hard and I was at the end of a very frayed rope a lot of the time. Eventually I was able to get used to life in a different place. I got used to the food, the buses, the dirt, the dust, getting sick every week or so, and a host of other things.
But it was tough. It was a battle, and every single day I had to struggle to wake up, put on my clothes, and get out there to do the job. Luckily I was blessed with some very good friends and support that helped me to get through this difficult time. But even with that help, there were times I felt like just chucking it all and going back stateside, settling down with a Root Beer and a 100-pack of Taco Bell tacos, and trying to remember what it was like to not be sweating 24/7.
After I got through that stage, I started to do a little better, and eventually was put in charge of training groups of other missionaries, getting them ready to do their jobs, working with them, helping them solve their problems. It was a rewarding position to be in, but it also made my heart ache sometimes. Particularly when I saw the struggles the new folks had, trying to get used to such a radically different environment and a work schedule that put everyone on the edge of total exhaustion.
One day, I was talking to a new guy. I’d been down there for almost two years, and he was just off the plane from the U.S. His shirt was bright white; mine had been stained red by the airborne dust of the area. His pants were pleated slacks; mine were dirty purple canvas pants, patched at both knees. He had fair skin; mine was brown and scarred from months in a tropical sun. He was a slightly chubby kid; I was gaunt from walking miles every day through jungle paths and from working so hard I was just too tired to eat.
We were night and day, and his first reaction was to gawk at me and ask why I didn’t look “like a missionary.”
I smiled and sat down with him for a few minutes, telling him about some of the things that had happened to me, some of the reasons behind my appearance. I even showed him a picture of the way I had looked when I arrived to prove that at one time I had been a fairly good looking young man (sadly, even after my return to the United States, it seems that I had left that part of my life behind me…ah, well…).
We laughed a bit about some of the adventures I had been through, but as we talked, his laughter started to be tinged by nervousness. He started to sound suspiciously like a person thinking “What have I gotten myself into?”
That was hardly the way I wanted him to feel…after all, I personally believed that the job was a rewarding one, in spite of its challenges. But neither could I put my arm around his shoulder and truthfully say, “Don’t worry, nothing bad is going to happen to you!”
I looked at him for a minute, then said, “You know, I think you’re worried that this might be a bit of a wild ride. And you might be right. But whenever something tough happens, just think what a great story it’s going to make when it’s over.”
I have no idea where that little bit of wisdom came from, but it turned out to be one of the smarter things I have said in my life.
About a month later I was walking home after a long hard day, and this same chubby kid was sitting on my doorstep. He was less chubby now, and his shirt had already started changing color. But beyond that, the thing I noticed most was his expression. He needed to talk to someone, so he had come to find me. That was okay, it was my job, but usually when people showed up at my door late at night it wasn’t to tell good news. So I was worried.
Sure enough, he asked if he could talk, and before I had even said yes, he blurted out, “Someone tried to run me over with a car today.”
I didn’t know what to say. Stuff like that happened sometimes: there were some folks in the area who didn’t think of us as missionaries, but as Americans, and were more than willing to knock off one of the “oppressors” if they got the chance. I had had similar run-ins myself, and they were never pleasant.