“The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another.”
― J.M. Barrie
If life is our diary as Mr. Barrie suggests, then we can choose to fill the pages with the fictional dreams we intended to create, or, share with others a life of non-fiction we made bound by our true intention.
My sincere apologies if this sounds like an either or proposition.
We all live in our heads at times, wishing and dreaming for what is yet to be. Desire and commitment can be key influencers in this process. Depicting the wanted end to a schematic that can be amended in all fashions depending on the day, the outcome of the prior or the latest attraction of distraction. I have travelled this same road over and over. Seems to always lead me back to where I started, but now with far less time to get to where it is that I ultimately want to be.
Fiction broadens the view somewhat, but needs to be genuinely partnered to its non-fiction sibling.
There has to be a path extending beyond the mind incorporating word and deed – and others important to us – so that work can be truly engaged and progress honestly made. That may be what Mr. Barrie is alluding to.
We intend one thing, but come up short on the intention needed to finish the story. As such, the chapters never quite mesh. Our diary becomes a run-on.
The fiction we see is not allowed to become the non-fiction we do. Remaining in the ether, it never assumes the mass of reality.
Though it may not be what we intended, we must somehow find our way to live with intention.
Maybe I share the same boat with some of you. Pulling an oar of low or no self esteem. Little or no awareness of self worth or value. Throw in a modicum of shame to go along with it. Maintaining an unhealthy reliance on others to determine these for me, because after all, they know better than I. Right?
So when you go about things like that, life turns out pretty much circular if you can picture it. Until someone chooses to climb aboard, take up the one on the other side, and row along with you for a bit. New waters. Different view of the horizon. Testing endurance. Working together towards a shared vision. As one. Blessed to say the occupancy on my vessel has grown of late.
You probably can guess what patriarchal pun is destined to follow that last sentence.
To me, compliments take on a different form. They aren’t so much made up of just words. They go far deeper than that. I view them as intention. A truly authentic giving of one into another, residing in trust, compassion and honesty. Putting another’s value and worth on display through thought, word and deed. An intentional proclamation of what another truly means to those about them.
Sorry, getting a little windy out here.
So last night, at our pizza gathering for the basketball season, a young man literally ran across the gym and just about bent me in half with a jumping bear hug. I work with him twice a week as it is and we make things happen together. But he hugged me yesterday like he hadn’t seen me for years. Just because. No words were involved, but that was a compliment I will not soon forget.
Years ago, a pillar of youth sports in our community thought I should hop on board and help steer the football program for the families here. His faith in me and who he saw from afar complimented the person I was desperately searching to find. His compliment changed my life. And to this day, I remain a coach.
A young man asked that I might come to speak to his team in the hopes that they would figure out how to grow closer together in intention, trust, faith and fellowship. I am still giddy about that night and how I still feel about becoming a part of them.
And when she can, my best friend and partner employs her gift of creation to make the best recipes that are good for me for all of the right reasons. Just because.
Others around me just reach out because they have a spot open on their boat. And the circular journey they are on may be a perpetual revisitation to the shores of Depair, Worthlessness, Emptiness and Isolation. A trip I took. Places I know all too well. Destinations they do not deserve if I can help it.
Had I been able to see compliments in this fashion before, I would have taken them more to heart.
Having teammates that wanted me to be their captain, twice.
A business owner picking me out of the blue, literally off the street to represent his company.
A fellowship asking me to help lead.
Being able to have you read my thoughts.
And of late, finally hearing His voice tell me I am worthy and calling me to come aboard.
A compliment isn’t so much “hey, did you lose weight?” Or, “you look good in that car.”
I am coming to realize that they consist of very few or absolutely no words. They are gifts another gives you because you are truly worth it in their heart, mind and soul. They value the genuine connection that exists so they share themselves with you. They see who you truly are, even if you are blind to that view.
They want you in their boat. Or are more than happy to come aboard yours and pick up the one next to you.
Who ever thought wanting to row with another was such a fulfilling compliment.
I veered off this path for whatever reason some years back. If you are not present, you cannot appreciate where you are and what what you are becoming. Shiny things can appear and once they begin to catch on and command your attention, they multiply. Hiding honesty about a past and inhibiting the truth yet to be. My focus is much better. I am seeing things for what they are.
These past twenty seven days have been illuminating to say the least. Things are different. The written and spoken word have new meaning and depth. Cannot say I have the answers, but man do things make some semblance of sense. Finally. Just keep that clock ticking so I can experience more.
Please.
So, there was the story in John this week about His encounter with a man, blind since birth. I read many of the reflections shared about it and the significance and meaning of His gift. It found a home in my thoughts that have since grown to become some rare and perpetual insight for this old man.
We are all of the earth. And once it is our time, to that we shall return.
But in the interim, by no means is our vision meant to be held solely to those worldly matters. Dirt for lack of a better term. I cannot speak to the man who came into being on this earth blind. But it struck me that He made a hyrdating compress consisting of dirt and His holy water and applied it directly to his afflicted vision. He wished him to be held souly to what He saw in and for him.
Those that pranced about in their costumes and “Holy” garb monitored His actions closely. Taking account of his sabbath violations and untoward behavior. Actually tending to those that needed it most no matter the penalties that would be accrued towards and against Him. Strange how they too were blind to what was really happening. Pride, position, status and most of all – ego – blend themselves into a compress of blindness all their own. Distorting sight to an appreciation of only those things to be had here. Of this earth.
So the man of no known origins, once gifted his heavenly mud pack, was then sent to Siloam. To bathe and allow the waters to cleanse him. Baptismal in nature? A washing away of the sins of this world, emphatically covering his eyes, so that he could finally possess sight? Not just things of this world. But actually “see” what life can be here and now, using a loving mold of His making.
To bad those adorned in the dirt of this world refused to take heed of the same exact offering. Too offensive a suggestion to remove the attire of earthly desires so they too could actually see. Chances are, many if not all of them were too blind since birth. If I can be honest, that seems to have been my challenge as well. So caught up with ego and what is made only here that I was never able to see what is given so that I may last forever. Grace that will shepard us far beyond the dirt from whence we came.
He applied it to my eyes long ago. I just never consented to listening so that I would consent to wash it away. Didn’t think I needed to. Afterall, I was in charge. Plus, it would have violated my personal sabbath rules and regimen. My pharisee-ical nature would never have allowed that.
Consent isn’t so much the correct word. It means I have control. Talk about misnomers.
Acceptance is far more like it.
Since I let go, He removed the dirt. An ongoing baptism if you will.
My stoic nature being what it is, one would think by appearance alone, all I do is complain. Perhaps there is an element of truth to that revelation. Take it as you wish, I think this is how I complain.
First, no offense intended by using some of the following statements and inherent descriptions. They pretty much say it like it is about this guy and how I see things.
I am another version of OCD.
Obsessive/cleaning/coordinating/combining/correcting/clarifying/composing/confronting/considering/congratulating/disorder. Maybe I missed a few. Oh, completing. If I think of more, I will circle back. But I digress….
I like things to be in order. Not always mine. Just in order so that we have time to live. In establishing a pattern, things flow, they happen and there are little or no distractions created to take one off their game. So dishes get done, washer filled and unfilled, dirty clothes in laundry room waiting their turn, recyling routine, beds made. You know a sense of order. Not perfection, that ain’t possible. Just intention. So I can bore you all with this prompt today. Aren’t you glad.
So where the complaining comes in is pretty much internal. I live the flow around here, and when I see something that could go better or makes more sense based on how we live, then I just adjust accordingly. Don’t tell them to do it. Just do it myself and let things happen. No one comes home to discover the laundry room now in the living room to improve efficiency and recycling bins in the kitchen. (Yet) Just looking at the big picture and smoothing out rough edges.
Sort of how I coach too.
I understand the objectives, see the big picture and figure out ways to gain growth, improvement, achievement and excellence. Not in a complaining, hen pecking, diminishing and scolding manner. Rather, gaining trust, understand what it is I see in you, let me show you how to get there. Then, just play. Practice is for practice; coaching them up, fine tuning, instilling self discipline, repetition, trust. Games are games. Times to be encouraged, reminded to stick with the fundamentals, stay together and have fun.
Applies to my current vocation as well. Job development for those with diverse abilities is just like coaching football in my estimation. No pads to speak of, except maybe to protect one from beating themselves up. But hey, we all do that, don’t we? Work the fundamentals, practice, observe and let them play. Some of the interviews I have witnessed were way better than a come from behind game on the field.
So, from a strictly definition oriented standpoint, I really do not have anything to complain about.
Not a thing.
Could I be more patient, understanding and listen better? Heck yeah.
Could I smile more than twice a year? Yup.
Stop the internal fussing? Wait, who’s fussing?
Let things be? I will get back to you on that.
In the end, I get to be my OCD self, as currently described above. Live a life around those that get it. And still be loved.
Longevity ebbs and flows in my family. I remember my grandpa driving at 97, before he thought Uber was a better mode of transport. Well, maybe not Uber, but “Uncle”. Then there is my younger brother that just passed two years ago.
So it is what it is.
As far as I am concerned, for the purposes of today’s assignment, it comes down to being fully intentional about making the most of what you have been gifted.
Experience tells me that allocating the precious resources granted for this moment towards resentment, regret and retribution of the past is not what it is cracked up to be. Then, if you embark in advance of the here and now predicated on the approach of, “…that didn’t work, so I will cut this corner and use that short cut this time sround”, you pretty much added to an already sorrowful past.
The past is what it was. The future is what it may be. The present is just that, a present like Mr. Keane said a few days ago. That being said, I have no clue as to what living a long life is to me. If I can make the most out of every hour of every day going forward, then that will elongate my stay here.
When it comes time to give my notice, my only desire is that I can rest in peace knowing I gave it my everything. We are all gifted this position here on earth. Toiling in the dirt and debris of the past or buzzing about in the ether of the future would make me a worm or a fly. Nothing against them, but I like to think my focus needs to be on living life, not looking for feces.
So perhaps my longevity ends up somewhere between my grandpa and my brother. So be it.
...my temporary assignment. 