Another Brick In The Wall

(I suppose to avoid legal entanglements, that title should be changed to "another heavy masonry object secured into the large masonry construct." Yeah, that rolls right off the tongue.)

Since April 9th (my "official" hire date), I now have a day job. Actually, it's an every-other-day job. Or a two-days-in-a-row-off-then-unmercifully-early-Sunday-morning job. Or something like that. Anyway, it's a job. Part-time. Much effort for minimum wage.  

Lest I convey the wrong image, it's also a whole ball of mercy wrapped up in a red shirt and a pair of hopefully comfortable and supportive shoes. (I haven't quite dialed that last bit in yet, but am getting close to figuring out what is needed.) It teaches me stuff, it allows me to get out there and shine some light, and it helps me learn the new things my new body and life can do. 

It's six to eight thousand steps, between one and two miles a day, being on my feet for hours at a time, learning to deal with machines and processes and forms and procedures and time clocks and rules and conduct and uniforms and expected behavior and expected output and a whole lot of other stuff that makes me feel like I just got hit by a bus. 

Steve the Mental Hamster is having a field day. I, on the other hand, have been curled up in a fetal position, sobbing into my pillow, "Dear Father, what have I done?"

Ok, that was a little overdone. And overdramatic. And over easy. Yum. Eggs. 

At this point, I hear a great chorus of witnesses crying out, "Suck it up, wimp boy! Welcome to the REAL world, Mr. Sit-My-Flabby-Hiney-At-Biggby-And-Spend-The-Day-Writing-Meaningless-Prattle-That-Nobody-Ever-Reads-Anyway! Join the rest of us, who actually WORK for a living! Stuff a sock in it, toughen up Buttercup, and get over it! Get to WORK!" 

Don't have to. Today is a day off. Nyah nyah nyah! I are not immature! *phbbbbt!* 

Perhaps I are after all. 

So, one might rightly ask,  why I have I been sounding like a spoiled teenager lately? 

"Dude, I have to be there on time, and I have to like, work all day, and -get this- I have to punch in to like, take a break, and I only get a couple of those, and like, I have to punch out to eat lunch, and then I have to like, punch in a half hour later, and I have to like, punch in no later than two minutes after I'm supposed to be there or else I'm marked down for being late, and like, dude, it's just not fair!"  

I sound like a sixteen year old, not a fifty-something. (And if you know some sixteen year-olds and take much umbrage to that last bit, I do apologize. I too know some fine folks of that age range, any of whom are wiser than me by leaps and bounds. Comedy is sometimes stereotypical. Although, you do have to ask yourself about the seeds of truth that blossom into a witty stereotype. Not a hurtful, hateful stereotype - nobody need ask themselves anything about those, except why the heck do I even know stuff like that? Just the witty, tongue-in-cheek kind. Yeah, those ones.) 

I sound like someone who's never had a job before, or at least not a real job with real requirements and real consequences. 

NEWS FLASH: I haven't. At least, not in this present life. 

"Wha'?" 

Yeah, it was bugging me too. After all, I am a fifty-something. Actually, I'm fifty-two going on fifty-three. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I've earned most if not all of these silver hairs on my head through experience, physical changes or mental adjustments, and they're ok with me.

(They'd be more ok with me if they'd all make up their mind to go one color, and quit mixing it up. I'd vote for all white - I'd love to take my place among the white-haired wise of 1st Cov. Or at least among the white-haired part.)

But this chapter in my life is confusing me. And leaving me a little impatient with myself. And making me wonder just what sort of wussy boy I really am. It's like I've flipped back to high school and don't have many more years than that on my clock. 

That sounds disturbingly familiar. Hold on - let me check the underused, over-hyped, non-award-winning archives of that beloved piece of electronic wasting of space, "The Whistler's Wonderings." Steve, would you spin up the archive wheel, please? 

Please? 

What if I give you a Yummy Chewy Crunchy Tasty Hamster Bite?

Yeah - mental hamsters don't eat. I know that. Work with me here, 'k? Thanks.

("The Whistler's Wonderings" is exclusively powered by the awesome computational ability of the Commodore 64 - the personal computing wave of the future. Hamster-powered mainframe optional.) 

Alright, let's see... Hmmm... I know it's here someplace... 

Ah HAH! I knew this sounded familiar. 

"When coming out of addiction, one sometimes goes back mentally to the place where they entered into addiction, and often must learn or re-learn lessons that they missed while they were addicted." (to paraphrase my counselor, She Who Knows Stuff)

Oh - that one again. Poop. 

I hates that one.  

Perhaps 'hates' is too strong of a word. Perhaps 'strongly dislikes' would be better. Perhaps not. 

Perhaps I'm stalling.  

Yeah, that's it. 

Last time I got to saddle up with this particular lesson, we were thinking I was around toddler age, having to deal with flailing motor control and the demon persistence of the single-digited, insisting that "I CAN DO IT MYSELF!" 

It wasn't pretty. 

We were hoping that I'd moved ahead, perhaps all the way to early college and were beyond some of the drama of my teens.

And again, perhaps I'm stalling. 

Welcome to TeenAgeCal, without the raging hormones and all the joy therein. So, to join me on this little journey, think back to your very first job. Think about the things you had to learn about balancing school, responsibilities at work, and a HUGE social life. About how reasonable expectations seemed like a chain around your ankle, how requirements for dress and behavior were an affront to your individual expression, and finding acceptable corners to cut were your major field of study. 

I know - that's awash in stereotypes, unfair to the teens of this day and age, and certainly not how it was when you were that age. You were a fine, upstanding young employee, maintained a great GPA, were elected to various important positions in student government, involved in sports, the arts, still had time to make award-winning projects in shop class, and spoke not only at your high school commencement, but at your rival school's as well, so profound were your oratorical gifts. 

You are dead to me. Just sayin'. 

But mixed into all my pondering and wondering and whining about my new life circumstance is one little truth that changes and balances it all: 

This IS my first rodeo.

I didn't have a job in high school, except for a short stint at a photography studio my senior year, hardly enough to effect a change in either work ethic or life behavior. (The correct usage of "effect" there courtesy of She Who Must Proof, correcting Cal's many spelling and grammar errors since 1982.)

*ahem* 

Yes?

*actually, since we started dating in the fall of 1981, it would actually be "since September, 1981." It could be August, 1981, but I'll allow a month of leeway here.* 

Thanks, really.

*You're welcome. :-D*

(Those of you who know She Who Must Proof well know that I'm really not stretching things too far to paint that picture... In fact, if you were to ask her, she'd probably 'fess up to it. Go ahead - ask her if when she read the words, "Since 1982," she then started doing the mental computations to make sure that was accurate. Really - go ahead - I'll wait. 

....

.....

......

To quote Master Yoda, "Told you, I did.")

Carrying on...

I didn't have a job in college, because my Mom wanted college to be my only occupation and gave me the support to not have to work - support that I squandered, wasted, and generally used to continue my lazier than thou lifestyle and mindset... 5 years, no degree, no actual career path or aspirations, majoring in performance on an instrument that I really despise the solo literature for, and enough issues to fill a few trucks. 

And I never thanked her enough for her sacrifice, nor did I apologize for wasting it. I have since - but it came, as does so much in our lives, too late.

- Grace is a gift from God. Regret is a tool of Sightblinder. Yes, I do know, apply, and show gratitude for that life-giving lesson. -

I "fell into" work in radio, and kept a toe in it for years, though if I were to apply now, I doubt I'd be hired - I just don't possess a "radio voice." God brought me into it full-time, kept me there just long enough to get onto the edge of the cliff, and kicked me off of it in 2006 to begin the long fall into my ReBirth. 

(And for those of you protesting that crack about not having a "radio voice," I'm just speaking truth as someone who has long experience in the industry. My voice worked for kids' radio, and it works well as an overnight voice on WCSG, but it's not a drive-time, mainstream kind of voice. It's truth, not a slam or self-esteem issue. For the record, it kicks tushy as a storyteller's voice... although one kiddo in Children's Church accuses me of "screaming." Heaven help him if I ever do actually *scream* - his head will probably implode.)

So, no - I've never learned the whole thing of balancing work responsibilities, home responsibilities, social life (fortunately, a fifty-something tends to have less need of a social life than a teen, although Vicki and I are waiting for more of our friends to become empty nesters so we can hang out with them and catch up on life, while watching the slide shows of their grandchildren cycle through on their computers), and creative pursuits. I'm a little ("lot") clueless about the demands that a job, even a part-time one, makes on one's mind and body. And I'm very, very inexperienced at how to walk gracefully from one role to another, one responsibility to another, or from activity (like work or chores) into inactivity without interpreting "inactivity" as "hibernation mode." I don't yet know how to keep 'down time' from becoming 'veg mode.'

I'm learning all those lessons that most of you learned many, many years ago. After all, Tabula Rasa DOES mean "blank slate." Mine is starting to have some stuff written on it, but there's still a LOT of blank space waiting to be filled. And lessons still lurk out there, waiting to be learned. Shouldn't catch me off-guard by now, but like the dumb sheep I am, they do. 

The important thing, which has been slow to come as well, is this: I've learned the necessity, the joy, the wondrous freedom of extending grace to myself. In other words, I know how to "give myself a little slack."

Not to be confused with "letting myself be a slacker," just so's we're clear.

Once I finally realize that this isn't a flaw, a weakness, a place where I'm just being spoiled, stubborn, lazy, or any other manifestation of EvilCal, then I can apply the grace lesson and sit back for the ride. I can go into learning mode, ease up on my personal expectations, and open up the space needed to insert some new programming into life 2.0.

As one of my earlier posts states, "I did it before, I can do it again." Which, by the way, is why there even IS an archive for TW'sW's - It's less of a blog or status update, and more of a reference library for the care and maintenance of Cal's ReBirth.

So, open up the space, apply the grace lesson, and mindfully approach the changes, the challenges and the stresses. Step away from being frustrated, and instead look for accommodation - moving gracefully from step to step, from change to change, from challenge to challenge. Along the way, keep the essentials that must not be lost, pick up the important things that have been dropped, set them all into their proper place and order, and continue to move. See the new things added for what they are - a gift, a provision, an opportunity, an assignment. 

Go where God has made it very, very plain that you are to go, do what God has made it very, very plain that you are to do, and become who God has intended from the beginning you should be. 

After all, He's always gone before you, He always walks beside you, and He always knows the steps ahead of you - He prepared them for you. His timing is perfect, His faithfulness is eternal, and He loves His kids. At no time are you ever out of His reach or His care. 

Nothing catches Him by surprise, yet we delight Him when we reflect His light. He smiles when we praise Him with everything and anything we have and are. And we have the ability and privilege to give Him glory with anything and everything we do.

Alright, I'm putting on my hopefully comfortable and supportive shoes, my black pants and red shirt. I'm aware that I have exactly the number of seconds, minutes, hours, and days that He knows I need to be and do what He has planned for me. I can gracefully move from place to place and from job to pursuit to rest to fun because my Dad made me flexible like that. I can navigate the changes and the stresses because my Father goes ahead, holding up the light, illuminating the path. And I don't have to be afraid, because He's right beside me.

And He loves His kids. Even in their terrible teens.

Cal's Work Manifesto: It's All About Me

So, as a newly employed person, I'm a little giddy. Forgive me. I'm working part-time, I'm working at a local retail location, and, although this risks being redundant, I'm WORKING!

So giddy is me.

All souls jaded and weary in the work world are sighing, muttering "newbie" under their breath, and just waiting for the day that I sob over my keyboard, "I HATE my job! I HATE my life! I HATE reality TV!"

Oh weary and jaded souls, don't hold your breath waiting for that declaration... except for the bit about reality TV, that is. That one's true, and remains one of the most compelling reasons that we use our television only for DVDs, Netflix, and as a 46" monitor for the MacBook. (Which totally rocks, for the record.)

And I know - one can see miles and miles of reality TV on Netflix, so really aren't I being more than a little inconsistent? Yes I am - I never promised to be consistent, just sincere.

And I sincerely mean that.

I've been through new employee orientation, I've spent my first four hours doing on-line training, learning stuff about hazardous chemicals and cleaning up biohazards, about lifting with my knees and not with my back, and about appropriate ways to interact with customers, especially those who perhaps have had an item or two accidentally fall into their personal possession in a, shall we say, "pre-paid" condition.

I've learned about treating my fellow team members with respect, smiling, calling them by name when I can scope out their name tags, and generally annoying the heck out of old jaded souls weary with the daily load of the ol' grindstone.

In short, I spend the day working and having fun at the same time, which is good for the team, great for the customer, and excellent for the company.

I dig it.

I wear a Red Shirt and I cover a lot of ground, to the tune of thousands of steps a day in hopefully sensible footwear. I get to crawl under checkout lanes sometimes and find out just what kind of stuff you, the shopping public, deposit under there.

(You ought to be ashamed, by the way. Or at least a little embarrassed.)

I scan stuff, I fix stuff, I check the prices you pay for stuff, I print or re-print some of the signs that tell you the prices you can expect to pay for stuff, I make sure that you can pay for your newly acquired stuff, and that you get a little piece of paper that tells you what you paid for your new stuff, in case you discover that you don't want your stuff to be your stuff anymore and instead want it to become "our" stuff again.

And though I don't directly work in any department you can walk through, if you ask me a question about the location of stuff you're looking for, I'll stop working on the stuff I'm working on and try to help you find the stuff you're looking for, or at least call someone who knows where that stuff is. Because, after all, I'm wearing a Red Shirt, so you can easily mistake me for someone who actually knows stuff about the stuff you're interested in.

And I really, really do like it.

Now, for those of you waiting for the other shoe to drop, the grind to start grinding, and the butt to starting dragging, I present a little something that I've been thinking through the last day or so, something which gives me a better than average chance to say, "It ain't gonna happen. The shoe shall not drop, the grind shall not grind, and my butt has dropped about as far as it's gonna drop, thanks very much."

Presenting Cal's Work Manifesto:

It's All About Me.

Armed guards are now preparing to divest me of my official Red Shirts, snap my name tag in two, and cast me into the "hole in the wall," to be compacted along with the other trash.

Hold on there, Sarge - lemme 'splain...

My Work Manifesto does not conflict with core values, expectations, or any other things covered either in my employee handbook or any of the courses I've now completed. It isn't about my behavior toward team members, customers, or supervisors. (Truthfully, most if not all of my supervisors could whip my sad hiney with one price scanner tied behind their backs, so I'm not going to be all up in their grills, if you're pickin' up what I'm layin' down.)

(And if you ARE pickin' up what I'm layin' down, could you be givin' it back to me? 'Cause I have NO idea what I'm talkin' about.)

My Work Manifesto is all about internals. It's about the thoughts and attitudes that shape behavior. It's the mindful steps that are the precursor to what happens in any given day.

It's All About Me.

--------------------

Here's an addendum in the "It always seems to work this way so why does it surprise me?" file...

It's now been a week and a half since I wrote everything that precedes the sentence in bold above. And I'll admit - this week and a half has challenged my resolve, questioned my sanity, and kicked my butt six or seven thousand steps at a time. And yes, I do wear a pedometer to work, so that's a fairly accurate number. Sort of.

This is why I write - to observe, sort things through, figure stuff out, and make note of how I intend to go on from here. My beloved always knows when the time has come to send me off to Biggby with my iPad and keyboard, to go sort through the cupboard and shovel out a few loads of Mental Hamster droppings. (None of which I found under a checkout lane, for the record.)

So...

I read these words I wrote within the first two days of my new gig, and I do a system check, looking at the doubts that I've allowed to grow louder, the weariness that I've allowed to cover my eyes, and the overwhelming sense that I have no clue how to do my new job and I'm not making any progress toward learning how.

And I realize that I forgot my manifesto: It's All About Me.

It's not about my feelings of inadequacy; it's not about the thousands of steps through the store; it's not about leg or foot pain, or figuring out the proper shoes to wear; it's not about the workload, the number of tasks or all the procedures and details that go along with them...

It's All About Me.

It's like what I always say when someone is considering the surgery that saved my life (or someone's friend or family member is wishing someone would consider the surgery) - you have to see it as a gift, one of the greatest you could ever be given. Sometimes, the surgery is considered the "last resort," the thing you try when all else has failed, the most drastic measure you can take. You've failed at everything else, so you have no choice left but this.

And if you come to it with that frame of mind, then living your new life will become very, very difficult. All the adaptations and restrictions you'll have to live with the rest of your life will hang like millstones around your neck, and you'll sink under the weight of them. With your head in that place, your heart will follow and seeing the possibilities of your new life will become very difficult.

IF, though, you see this as a wonderful gift, then everything you have to do to live this new life is a part of a great adventure. The restrictions, the maintenance, the (seemingly endless) supplements and such are simply part of the routine, no big deal, just how life is lived.

(For example, as I'm writing this, I just took two vitamin A capsules, a vitamin D tablet, chomped down a multi-vitamin of which I chomp three a day - and I must say, chewable vitamins aren't nearly as tasty as they're made out to be on the ads - and following that all up by chomping two calcium chews, of which I chomp six a day.)

(And, praise Jesu, the chews ARE as tasty as they're made out to be. Yum.)

See the connection? How I walk through my new life, gracefully or resentfully, joyfully or grudgingly, depends on where my head is at.

It's All About Me.

So we take the short walk of a few thousand steps from here to work, and connect the dots...

(My little bitty friend DG thinks I'm addicted to ellipses... I've thought about it a bit... and considered it... and I don't really know what I think about that... Hmmm... but I am ok with connecting the dots...)

*excuse me while I go give Steve the Mental Hamster's wheel a swift kick to see if I can get it back on track...*

*CLANK!*

*that's better...*

If I see my new gig as the last resort, the only thing I can do, putting in my time for minimum wage, or any other view that tries to justify a major attitude and minimum effort, then every day with all the steps and tasks becomes another millstone around my neck, grinding me down into a mundane work existence.

BUT...

If I see my new gig as what it is - a gift, then all the things that go along with it are just part of the great adventure my Father has in store for me. He made it very, very clear that at this time, this is where I'm supposed to be. Regardless of if I'm in school, being taught some new lessons, or if I've been deployed to be His hands and feet in this place, I'm here because He's asked me to be here. He's invited me on the adventure, so now I get to ride along.

When I walk through the door, in my Red Shirt, name tag hanging gracefully from my collar, attired in my black pants and hopefully sensible footwear, I'm in for a lot of hurt. I'm going to be pulled in many directions, some of which involve places that are enough to make Mike Rowe say, "thanks, I'll pass." I'll be asked to do things that I have no clue how to accomplish, people will probably roll their eyes at the newbie (internally, at least), and wish a "real" team member was around to handle their issue.

Yup, I know all this. But just because I "know" it doesn't mean that's how things actually are...

- The hurt comes from a 52-year-old body complete with abused and arthritic legs that carried way too much weight for way too many years.

- The pulling in many directions comes from the nature of my job - I go fix stuff, care for stuff, maintain stuff. The stuff doesn't take a number or make an appointment - it goes woolly when and where it wants to, laughing and living the life of the carefree (to steal part of a line from Dave Barry). When it goes south, I go north to try and shove it east into happily-ever-after land.

- The cluelessness comes from the simple fact that I've been doing this less than two weeks.

- And the attitude of my co-workers comes pretty much from my own head and imagination. Folks are really kind and patient with the newbie, especially if it's obvious that I'm trying to figure it out, albeit at a snail's pace. So were we all when first learning stuff.

See the common thread? Good - so do I.

It's All About Me.

MY attitude. MY perception. MY extension of grace to others. MY acceptance of grace extended to me. MY joy at getting to do all kinds of stuff wrapped up in one job, thus giving the ADD side of me all kinds of happy feelings. MY thanksgiving at having a way to bring some resources into our household.

And MY acceptance of and firm belief in this truth:

Everything we do is (or should be) a way to give glory to God - even when crawling around underneath a checkout lane, finding the layers of ancient civilizations of shoppers who left all sorts of grody things behind.

(Did I mention that you ought to be ashamed? Or at least embarrassed? I did? Alrighty then.)

I don't HAVE to go to work - I GET to go to work.

I don't HAVE to do what my employer says - I GET to give them my best effort and attention.

I don't HAVE to be all smiling and friendly to customers - I GET to do my part to make this day a little brighter and a bit more pleasant for our guests.

I don't HAVE to be civil to my co-workers - I GET to be a positive influence in their lives, to help make their walk a little easier.

I don't HAVE to drag my sagging hiney off to punch a clock, do my job, shuffle through my shift, or watch the time drag by - I GET to go to the store, be there on time, make my work today better than the day before, interact with all kinds of people, care for the resources of my employer, respond to the trust they've placed in me, give my best efforts, make my legs stronger with a few thousand steps...

And shine like a star in the universe, living out the words of truth by the way I do my stuff. No need to talk about the faith that drives me to do it - I shine brightest when I live and move and have my being in Him.

Like I said, it's all about me.

Actually, it's all about me remembering that it's all about Him.

"Thanks for coming to ______ today," says the smiling man in the bright Red Shirt, black pants and hopefully sensible (and comfortable) shoes. "How can I help you?"

After all, It's All About Me.

Livin' La Vida Leviticus

Alright, let's put it right out there... When reading your way through the Bible, there are some parts you just aren't looking forward to. It's ok - you can say it. I did, and no lightning ensued. No chasm opened up, swallowing me, Edward G. Robinson, or any golden cow. Nor did Charlton Heston lob any stone tablets my way.

The word "begat" can instantly make us want to check our email. Major prophets can leave us in a minor fog. Revelation sometimes isn't revealing.

Sorry for that last one. I'm feeling a little punny this morning.

And then there's the Pentateuch - the first five books of the Old Testament. There's action, drama, brave deeds, inexplicable redemption...

And Leviticus. Not to mention Numbers.

Oi vey.

Now as you may know, or as you may not know, since obviously the doings of my little life are scarcely worth a blip on the radar of the grand scheme of all things considered in the world as a whole, um... where was I?

Oh yeah.

I listen to the Daily Audio Bible each day. It keeps me centered in the Word, it makes me mindful of God's place in my day, and at the very least, it keeps me obedient to show up every day. Listening for me works better than trying to navigate and read the word, since I can keep my hands busy (with crochet or loom knitting) which keeps my head engaged.

Except... for... Leviticus. (And, not to mention, Numbers.)

Woof.

Now, for anyone who lives an orthodox faith life that includes following the laws and commands in Leviticus, please don't interpret anything I might say in any way slamming, insulting, disparaging or otherwise casting nastiness on the things written therein. The foundation of my own faith life comes from there, and the whole Bible is God's word to me.

That being said, I repeat:

Woof.

It's taking some major effort to stay engaged. Or to not fast forward to the New Testament reading. I mean, we're in Mark. I can get a handle on Mark. I can engage with Mark. The depth of the wisdom of Jesus eludes my thick head, but still - I can engage with it. But when phrases like "This is the law for he who has a sore or rash of the skin" come up, I want to run screaming from the room.

And don't even get me started about when the word "emission" comes around. *shudder*

Thankfully, Brian Hardin has been taking some level of pity on us, reading from translations that at least give us some modern language to wade through. I can't imagine listening through this in the King James Version.

Not that there's ANYTHING wrong with the KJV. Just to be clear. Really. I mean that. Look - the KJV is one of the translations in my PocketBible App. Look - right there. See?

(did I cover enough of my hiney on that one?)

Today, I think the Lord had mercy upon me, when He prompted Steve the Mental Hamster to spin up a little something that I can wrap the ol' noodle around to help me put some of what I'm listening to in perspective. Thanks Steve - as always, you fling and I'll catch.

There are exceptions to that rule, by the way.

Anyway, what I'm finally getting out of Leviticus is just how much I take God for granted. How much I try to reduce Him or try to pare Him down to fit into my little world. The way I try to take my walk as a follower of Jesus, and turn it into a stroll, a shuffle, a meander, a wander - anything but a walk. To make every day Casual Friday, or spin off a new movement - Casual Christianity. (I'm certain someone already thought of that...) In other words -

To make God into "my Big Buddy upstairs."

And that He should never be. Not in word, not in thought, and certainly not by my deeds. And if there was any doubt about that, a trip through Leviticus will clear it up.

God is holy. His people approach a holy God, and in order to come to Him, they must be clean. Nothing unclean can come to Him, and to try and approach Him thus leads to death. Trying to come to Him directly is impossible - it requires the consecrated priests to go between us and offer the sacrifices. The sacrifices must be without flaws or blemishes, or He will not accept them. His festivals and sacrifices must be observed. His sabbath must be obeyed.

All because He gets great entertainment seeing just how many hoops He can make people jump through just to contact Him, right? To get His kicks seeing just what lengths these flawed human beans will go to so some guilt will be lifted off their backs?

Because He's so detached from all creation that He can't relate to us at all unless we perform all sorts of snitty little things to even have Him notice us at all, let alone hear us or, dare we imagine it, respond to us?

Um, no. Nope. Nada.

Get this into your basic view of everything around you: The world is broken. We are fallen, broken creatures in need of redemption. Sad, but there it is. No matter how much optimism we try and pour into it, regardless of how much we'd "like to teach the world to sing," or how we're encouraged to "coexist," it's like putting a bandaid over an amputation. There's a deeper, severe issue at the root of it - it's all broken.

That's not pessimism, that's not bein' an old poop, and that's not refusing to make lemonade when the world hands me lemons - it's the basic premise that in my little limited world forms the key to trying to understand any of the chaos.

So how does one approach a perfect, holy God when one is a flawed, broken creature in need of redemption?

Livin' La Vida Leviticus.

Now, forward on to my time and my A.D. world... The Lamb of God was sacrificed to redeem this broken creature. And all broken creatures. But is the one sacrifice any less than all the countless ones that went before? Or is it so much greater than everything before or after that the ordinances and rules and forms of Leviticus seem simple in comparison?

And how should I respond to such mercy and grace? If the Hebrews couldn't come near to God without the intervention of the priests, how can I just roll out a hearty "OMG!" with nary a guilty twinge? If the implements of service in the Tabernacle were so holy that they required a whole list of rules to just get them from place to place, how do I act and interact at our church?

Just because God's gift in Jesus is free, we can't ever see it as "cheap."

One final observation, lest the ship get so overbalanced in one direction that we capsize... We live under grace, not the Law. Christ came to grant true and absolute freedom, and I am thankful for that. Believe me, saddlepals, in my second life and new physique, I understand a bit more of overwhelming grace than I ever have.

But the attitude of my heart, and the actions that spring from it, needs to reflect the weight of that mercy and grace. Not to bear it, since I can't; Not to add to it or take away from it, since my puny humanity could never accomplish such a thing; and not to discount or cheapen it by my attitude or behavior. To strive for and hopefully achieve the balance between amazing intimacy with Jesus, and proper awe and reverence for the Father. To worship the Triune God both as a fallen creature in need of redemption, and as an adopted son redeemed by faith in Christ Jesus.

And to remember the lesson of Leviticus - God's gift of life is free, but it is never ever cheap.

Clearing the Mental Plumbing ("Steve, get the PLUNGER!")

A good old-fashioned but new-fangled head clearing - that's the ticket. That's what's required here. The ol' mental plunger, to clear up the cerebral backup. Psychic laxative to unblock the brain...

Um...

...blockage?

Anyway...

That's where I is at today. Right here, right now. The normal flow of thought and feelings, the usual accumulation of crap and waste, the unrecognizable, the unmentionable, the decayed and decomposing, it's all mushed up into a clog and resists all attempts to get things moving along.

Or, maybe this picture will induce less squirming - consider the Neti Pot.

(yeah, like that's gonna reduce the squirm factor...)

The Neti Pot, in case you didn't recognize the name and already ran screaming from the room, is the cute little pot that one fills with warm (but not hot, body temperature is best) water infused with salt (using their specially mixed and prepared salt - trust me, it's better that way)...

And then pour it through your head. In one nostril and out the other. Use about half of it, then repeat on the other side.

Mmmmm. Lasting freshness.

My Beloved won't even remain in the same part of the house if I'm rocking the Neti Pot. And she takes Ezzie with her, lest the dog investigate the goings on.

But the dumb thing works. Really well.

I'm such an addict, I've progressed to the next level. (kind of like moving up from a gateway drug into the hard stuff - from fluffy Starbucks drinks to REAL coffee at Biggby. Sorry - my bias is showing...)

I use the Sinus Rinse, baby. What's the difference? Two words - squeeze bottle.

No, you really don't want to know. Really. But my sinuses are so clean, you could eat off...

(That didn't come off quite as awesomely as I imagined it. Forget you heard that. I blame video games, Hollywood, and reality TV. And politicians. And oil companies. And unemployed web designers.)

(Not the latter, actually. There aren't any unemployed web designers. Not that I've heard of. And of course, I've heard of everything. )

(Ha ha. It is to chuckle. It is to laugh. It is to snort, if you're Niecelet #1 and the timing is right.)

So, the head cleansing seems to be going well thus far, eh? Look at all the sludge I've already shoveled, in only 388 words and climbing.

The reason for this backlog was a major shift in routine for a week. Getting in a little employment for a few days, making for a nice addition to the OlsonEconomy, but totally changing my routine and going from zero to sixty in way too little time for this fifty-three year old dude.

Yet I pulled it off. I got where I was supposed to be, on time, did the work along with the long hours, kept most other things from crashing to the ground, and came out the other end not needing an oxygen tank and physical therapy. I came out just dandy, thanks.

Not to say that some things didn't get neglected - the kitchen suffered. Cooking became "grab what isn't fuzzy or can be consumed with little or no prep and have at it." Ezri was asked to contribute to the general upheaval, and she, in her patient canine way, did. She put up with a shifted schedule, irregular mealtimes and the time change to boot, and still wags her tail mightily when we come home. I love that doggie.

And we survived. One car, one trike, two schedules, and one fast week. And I'm gonna do it again next week, not getting killed in the process.

But the area that needs the most repair is my head - my mental healing and recovery. A crazy week can lead to mental shutdown for me, and that's never good. I lose track of the mindfulness I have to bring to each day, each hour, each moment. The awareness I must maintain to live, not just survive. When my head shuts down, all the progress I've made in the last two years shuts down too.

I don't mean that I revert to EvilCal, pre-weight loss and pre-psychointervention. I don't go ape crazy, diving into despair and decadent dishes in unequal measure. I don't do carb therapy, grabbing whatever snacks and sugars my heart desires. Because honestly, although I did snack on some contraband here and there, I didn't desire unlimited quantities of it, nor did I use it to self-medicate.

(Actually, my #1 craving these days seems to be chicken from Cousin's Tasty Chicken. I blame video games, Hollywood, and reality TV. And I suspect that the gang at Cousin's adds something to the frying oil that creates a chemical dependency - you must have more or you perish. Oh, and the CIA uses that to control your mind. Yup. The truth is out.)

So it seems that in a high pressure week, the things I've tried to convert into habits have taken root and are growing. I stick (mostly) to my new life and avoid my "normal" stress reactions.

Yay me!

But the mental logjam is harder to navigate and eliminate. It takes time - long moments, stress and pressure absent, where my slow, mindful approach to each day allows the things below the surface to come up, be recognized, and be swept away.

I'm tempted to say "normal" people make this sort of shift much easier than I do. They take the changes in stride, accommodating them into the structure of life, and keep everything moving forward in fine shape.

But I suspect that this picture of how "normal" people handle the stresses and changes of a busy life is not accurate. I've never been "normal," so I don't have any first hand information to compare it to, but in thinking about the frail, flawed creatures we are, I would imagine that we all find ways to roll and dodge and move in unusual weeks that are decidedly un-"normal." We each find ways to keep our balance - some good, some not so good, some that others would look at and think, "Man, I had no idea they were so messed up!" And some that work for nobody else but us.

I'd guess that some things get dropped in everyone's high-stress weeks, and that the lives of those we see around us aren't nearly as perfect as we would imagine them to be. Dirty dishes are left, clothes are unhung, underwear resides on the floor, dust gathers, science experiments create themselves in 'fridges, laundry becomes self-ambulatory, and we look around at our less-than-perfect surroundings and wonder how others do this, keep up this pace while their world stays pretty, pristine, perfect...

And "normal."

Mental logjams come up, stresses get shelved because "I just can't deal with this right now," personal time is a joke, and relationships are strained for a bit.

I guess what matters most is what happens when the pressure is released. What we do in "recovery mode" - when we have a moment to catch up on the dishes, set the laundry free from its grimy bonds, throw out the pizza boxes or chicken bones, and get something out of the freezer with a good chance that it'll actually get made into something lovely before it turns into a science experiment.

And to clear the mental logjam. To reconnect the strained relationships. To find the balance again. To listen, to think, to feel and to imagine, instead of just respond, respond, respond.

Maybe the key to moving gracefully in and out of "crunch time" is remembering "recovery time" - that we have to make the time to come back from the edge, and know that if we don't mindfully plan that time, our minds and bodies will find a way to TAKE that time, in appropriate or inappropriate ways.

Sabbath - it's not just for Sunday anymore.

We need to remember that nobody is "normal." We all find our way in and out of action packed weeks in ways that are unique to ourselves. Nobody does it the same, nobody does it perfectly, and most everybody imagines that others do it better than they do. And most of us leave underwear on the floor from time to time.

The key is, after the pressure lifts, pick it back up. Put it in the hamper or the chute. Smile, bless the Lord for the ability to rise to a challenge, and eagerly anticipate that we'll handle the next one a little more gracefully.

And maybe pick up some new underwear, just for emergencies. And a Neti Pot. Trust me - you'll love it.

Thanks Lord, for helping to clear the way. Thanks that every time I step into a busy week, You're already at the week's end, waiting for me. I simply have to look for You when things settle. Help me to gracefully, mindfully shift from busy to calm, from stress to peace, from movement to stillness. And help me to look ahead enough to remember that for every fast-moving week, there needs to be a calm harbor for a rest afterward.

Thanks for the adventure - looking forward to the next one!

Wasted Potential?

Potential. We like that word.

We like to affirm it in children - they have serious potential. We love to see it in a business prospect - those with great potential of lucrative results. We screen our relationships sometimes on it - does this have potential, or is this a dead-end street?

I've been clubbed over the head with potential for many years - told that I have SO much potential, but that I just waste it, I don't apply myself, I don't put in the effort to make something from it.

Somewhere along the way, I started believing it. That I am lazy, have no drive, waste my time on unimportant things and just generally toss all that potential down the biffy on a minute by minute basis. I never get stuff done, I start well but never finish things, I put things off to the last moment, so nothing ever gets my best efforts, and I spend so much time dreaming what I might do that I never actually do anything.

As with most everything I observe, there is both truth and lies mixed up in that mess. But this is not the place to work through 'em, because that's not really what I'm here to think about.

"Wha'?"

You heard me.

What I'm thinking about is the process of moving potential into reality. Regardless of how many self-help books you read, or blogs that tell you that you can totally remake your life and follow your dreams, the bitter truth is that most of us will never crawl out of the ruts we live in, nor are we necessarily supposed to. God has led us to settled lives - families, congregations, friends, careers or jobs, pursuits or education, just starting up and getting going, or winding down and looking toward the finish line - and if we're where He leads us, then we're good, perceived potential realized or not.

But what about all that potential?

My mom was going to write a book and tell the story of her and my dad - how they came together, how things fell apart and the amazing things God did in those years when it was just her and her two sons, as she headed back to college to become a teacher. And how things felt when after many, many years of silence, the man who she'd never stopped loving came back into our lives.

Did I ever tell you that my first real memories of my dad began when I turned 21? Or what it's like to get to know your parent when you're on the doorstep of being a young adult yourself? What it's like to see your dad (who you've just gotten to barely know) turn around and follow Jesus?

Or that I sang at my parent's wedding? And my brother was my dad's best man?

But my mom's potential, of telling all of her story, of writing and speaking more, and of traveling and ministering never came to be. After she retired, she (and my dear aunt) cared for my ailing grandmother. And after grams passed, it wasn't too long until we were the ones caring for my ailing mother, as she fought cancer.

So, do we look back and just see potential wasted, or do we simply see potential diverted in ways no one but God ever expected? Lives were touched, both in her career as a teacher and even in the throes of cancer as she remained a humble, faithful follower of Jesus. Speaking and writing became instead a gracious spirit in the midst of a terrible disease, and showing us all that God remains faithful, even when it looks like one is just marking time, waiting for the end.

Lots of potential - just worked out in unexpected ways.

Speaking of wasted potential...

What if all my potential that others so remarked on all my young years never produced anything?

I never became a band teacher like some expected, or a college professor. I never wrote a symphony, never toured for adoring fans, never found a steady gig in the arts. What others perceived as my potential apparently has never seen the light of day...

"Oh, he showed some possibilities, but he never had the drive to really make it in music. He tried doing magic and stuff - even was a clown if you can believe that! - but never really got anyplace with it, except for wasting a lot of money on equipment. Then he had that long gig in radio, which seemed to be working out, but after he was laid off, he never got another full-time job."

"He tried doing some stuff - recording a couple of CDs, playing some local gigs, messed around with making jewelry (but never had the skills to actually make anything sellable), and just kind of stalled instead of regrouping into a new career. Said they had decided that he wasn't going to go back to full-time work, so he'd be free for 'creative pursuits.' Wow."

"He just faded away - all that potential wasted. Now he hangs on the fringes, doing a little radio, gigging here and there, but nothing really worth mentioning. I hear he had surgery, lost a whole bunch of weight, and looks really good, but he never got his head screwed back on straight, and so even though he's healthier, he doesn't do anything with it."

"Scuttlebutt says he's even had some mental issues, has to take meds, and sees a psychiatrist for treatment. Probably something snapped when he got launched (after all, he'd been there for almost 20 years), and he just lost it. I mean, it's been since 2006, and he still doesn't have a job."

"Mostly he sits at the coffeehouse, writes stuff that nobody reads, and makes stuff out of yarn that nobody wants. Or he sits in his house while his wife is out making a living, doing nothing."

"He has some ideas - recording more CDs, editing more audio books, gigging as a magician or storyteller, or even (if you can imagine this!) writing a book. (Yeah, right. Hope that works out for ya...) Maybe, he says, he'll go back to school, finally finish that degree. Or he's gonna focus on being the "domestic engineer" - keeping house for his wife, that sort of stuff. Or all of the above at the same time! (*chuckle*)"

"He talks about a lot of stuff, but nothing ever comes of it. He talks a great game, but never makes it happen. Lots of chatter, but no action. No drive, no working hard, no pushing ahead - he just sits there, dreaming crap that'll never happen and hoping somebody drops something right in his lap so he doesn't have to find it himself."

"All that potential - what a waste."

The question is, how much of that have I actually heard, how much of that is stuff I imagine has been said, and how much of it is just plain lies?

That's the sort of stuff I need to sort through. And maybe we all need to sort through it, victims of perceived potential, wasted. Maybe potential puts a weight around our necks that we never really ever shrug off. Or maybe potential just provides fertile ground for the enemy to plant regret and get back a bumper crop every time.

After all, there's got to be a reason "Glory Days" remains a popular song. (Besides the Boss' righteous groove, of course.) Or why we all know the phrase, "I coulda been a contender." Somewhere following perceived potential (by loving family and well-meaning friends) and before melancholy introspection on wasted possibilities, something went seriously awry, leaving us with an empty box, a deflated balloon and a sad heart.

If we never realize it, we jump right from "The world's your oyster! Be all you can be! Live your dreams! Nothing's gonna stop us now!" into "Where did the time go? I always wanted to learn to paint or play the piano. I wish I'd spent more time with him or her. I wish I'd known what's really important back then."

Do you see the missing piece?

Potential and possibility are fine, even good. Dreams (as I've previously written WAY too much about) are light for the eyes and breath for the soul.

But the lens that focuses it all is sovereignty.

God's sovereignty - everything ultimately will be as He decides it will be. The steps are already laid out, the pieces are already in place, and the end is already written. Sovereignty can be a powerful tool to kill regret - if things are never out of His control, then there's no point allowing regret to flourish. To do so denies He is the One who decides it all - His vote is the only one that counts.

I'm where I am today because He knows I need to be here today.

I've come along this path because there was no other path that would bring me to this place right here, right now, where I needed to be.

Or to randomly misquote the over-quoted line from "Love Story": Sovereignty is never having to say... "oops."

Do I really believe that? Yup. Just a few days ago, I said thank you to the person who had to give me the news on a cold January morning that my life as I knew it was at an end. I thanked him for laying me off. And I really meant it with my whole heart.

No layoff, no wandering time. No wandering time, no refocus. No refocus, no stepping into Weigh To Wellness. No Weigh To Wellness, no gentle nudge to surgery.

No surgery, no rebirth.

Connect the dots all the way back to when God's wrecking ball made the first swing, and we get a direct path to today, looking back at a path that spells out Romans 8:28. I see it now, through eyes that God has refocused to His reality, and my heart is overwhelmed with His grace.

We are all born with almost unlimited potential, possibilities and dreams - after all, we bear the Image. Of course the road stretches out before us - we are creative because our Father is creative, we feel limitless at times because our Father is limitless, and we can imagine and dream vast landscapes, ideas and visions, because our Father imagined and spun worlds into existence by His word.

Then, He takes the wet clay of our lives, full of potential and possibility, and sculpts a masterpiece. Not one that we imagined for ourselves, not one that others would have predicted based on perceived potential, but the piece He had in mind before the clay was even created. No bits of clay wasted, no motion of His hands marring the piece, and all scars worked so beautifully into His vision that they don't seem to exist at all.

If we're to avoid the deep mud of regret at the end of the road, the journey from potential to completion must lead into His sovereign hands. Along the road, we release the "might have beens," the "if I had onlys," the "I wish I hads," and all the other weights that potential can hang around our necks, to submit to the hands of the Creator, to be molded as He designs.

By the way - accepting and acknowledging His sovereignty doesn't mean being fatalistic... "God's already decided everything, so nothing really matters because He already planned everything so I don't really have to even show up because He already knows what I'm going to do anyway, blah blah blah..." Nor is it an excuse for a sloppy and shoddy life, turning in less than our best efforts, or living with the words "it is what it is" tattooed on our foreheads...

Get this, kids - because I've never gotten it yet. But I'm starting to...

We get to be ACTIVE participants in God's sovereignty! We get to go along for the ride, not sitting in the back seat of the SUV watching a movie and stuffing our faces, but rather on the back of the tandem bike (mine's a trike, but I digress...), pedaling for all we're worth!

We get to show up, to work and dream and love, to plan and try and fail and succeed. We get to make refrigerator art and hand it to our Daddy and tell Him, "see what I made for you!" And then see Him smile and put it on display for all to see. We get to sing Him songs, to do hard work because He made us able to do it, to bless and encourage each other because that's the way it's supposed to work, and to live every day as if He's in control of the whole sheebang.

Because He IS in control of the whole sheebang.

We get to do, to be, to move and live and have our being in Him. Not mice in a maze, following the path and hopefully finding the cheese and not a trap. Not boxcars on a track, going where we're pulled or pushed without any voice of our own. And not lost in the darkness, with no hope or guide. Not fumbling our way along, hoping we don't screw it up. Not trying to precariously balance on the knife edge of God's will, fearing that tiny misstep that will plummet us down to a foreverland of regret because we missed God's best for our lives.

(And yes, I know that last sentence opens a 55 gallon drum of worms about God's will and how we follow it. We're not going to chase that bunny trail today, 'k?)

We get to live, we get to do, to be, to make, to laugh, to love, and to shine. We get to do it all in freedom and joy, knowing that He is in it all, He controls it all, and He loves His kids. Especially when they make Him goofy stuff He can hang on the fridge.

At the end of the day, the only perceived potential that matters is the potential He perceives in us.

And as I said, His is the only vote that counts.