Amazing Grace

With all the rhetoric of late across this great nation of ours, I’m amazed at how we’ve transformed ourselves from a voice of grace and dignity to a tone of disrespect and insult.

Grace is defined in numerous ways:

“Simple elegance or refinement of movement”

“The free and unmerited favor of God”

“Disposition to or an act or instance of kindness”

What troubles me is that lately I haven’t seen much grace in alignment with these definitions.  What I see instead is just the opposite.

Antonyms of Grace include:

“Interference”

“Crudeness”

“Flaw”

Recent Facebook posts, tweets, and conversation go something like this:

“Our political system is defective.”

“There are too many obstacles to overcome because of the failure of others.”

“She’s inferior and ignorant.  She doesn’t belong there!”

What if we were to embrace the way we communicate to and about others with grace and dignity vice put-downs and insults?  What if our conversations across social media and face-to-face reflected something similar to the following:

“I may not agree with his stance, but I respect that he’s entitled to his opinion on the matter.”

“I appreciate that despite her struggle to answer the question, she did her best to remain composed during the heated debate.”

“Sure, we have problems, but collectively we have enough compassion for one another to overcome anything!”

Wouldn’t the world be a better place if we took a more graceful approach to our discussions?  Think about the possibilities if as one nation, one world, we chose to embrace differences as opposed to ridiculing what we don’t agree with.

Let’s give grace a try, shall we?

A Common Man

Everyone's Got Their "Stuff"

Recently my character came into question over a decision I made several years ago.  It was the kind of formal accusation that stuck with me for quite a while afterwards.  Not surprisingly, the criticizer didn’t have all their facts straight and made the false assumption that my decision was of malice, and not one of thoughtful consideration.  As surprising as the allegation was I had to be honest with myself and ask the question, “Who have I ever falsely accused without knowing all the details?”

As humans, who are we to question the other’s decisions?  Do we really know the full story, or do we simply trust what we see or hear and somehow feel that our assumptions are accurate?  I’m no different than most, I’m guilty of creating opinions of others without knowing them or their circumstances.  We are all guilty of it, but we must remember that each of us have our own “stuff” that people are going to judge us on.

Take the homeless man that’s standing at the street corner with a sign asking for help.  Be honest, what pops into your mind when you see him?  “He’s too lazy to get a job!”  “He’s only going to use the money I give him to buy his next drink!”  Consider this, though, what if you learned that he recently lost his wife to cancer?  Her medical bills were too much and he lost everything.  He lost his job because his employer wasn’t sympathetic to his absences during her illness.  What about the obese lady in the drive-thru at McDonald's that’s a car ahead of you?  Do you think, “She, of all people, shouldn’t be eating fast food!  No wonder she’s so big!”  Did you know that her daughter was killed in a car accident a year ago? That the two of them use to go to McDonald's every Saturday afternoon to share an ice cream cone and talk about their week?  Did you consider that perhaps her drive-thru trip was her way of staying connected with her daughter?

Everyone has their “stuff.”  We all have things in our past that we regret, feel embarrassed about, are ashamed of, or wish we could take back.  Regardless, it’s our “stuff,” and we must find ways to deal with it.  The next time you make a snap judgment on someone you know nothing about, consider what “stuff” they may be dealing with and give them the benefit of the doubt.  Wouldn’t you ask the same of them?

As for my decision that recently came into question, I wouldn’t have changed a thing.  It’s because of the decision I made all those years ago that I’m in a much better place in my life.  As for the accuser that brought my character into question, I don’t wish them ill will.  I simply refuse to explain myself to them or anyone else that sides with their opinion of me.  I chose to remind myself that each of them have their own “stuff” they’re dealing with and they don’t need me adding to their burden or own guilt.

A Common Man        

A Different Kind of Christmas

This is a different kind of Christmas for me this year.  I can’t help but reflect on all the blessings I have in my life, and care little on what’s waiting for me under the tree to open on Christmas morning.  In fact, I find myself drawn to giving more so than I ever have in the past.

I’m not quite sure where the change has come from, to be honest.  I suppose I could chalk it up to my new position within a church setting.  I could, perhaps, reflect on all the changes my wife and I have encountered this year with a long distant move, becoming empty-nesters, realizing what it’s like to be grandparents, and so on.  I’d like to think, however, that the transition from recipient to giver is based on two factors: maturity and spiritual growth.

I turned 56 this year.  Normally I think of my age as just a number.  This year, however, 56 struck me as a number that now represents the second half of my life.  I no longer see myself as unbreakable.  I can begin to see the graying in my temples.  Staying fit and trim is a far greater challenge than it’s been in the past.  My mind is young, but the rest of my body is failing to cooperate.

Considering my age now, I’ve come to realize that I have everything I need.  Material items are less important to me.  In the past I allowed the rush of Christmas and the ads that came with it to influence my thinking that I needed the latest gadget, coolest running shoes, or newest truck accessory.  Not so much this season.  This Christmas I find that I’m far less attracted to the efforts of the big box stores vying for my attention.

Spiritually, the churning in my soul has pointed me towards giving.  I’m finding tremendous joy in buying for others.  I’m constantly looking for creative ways in which to share my love with those that surround me.  The gifts I seek for Christmas are no longer for me, they’re for those in my life that I wish to show devotion and gratitude.  The gifts I wish to give, go out to those far less fortunate than me; those without homes, clothing, food, or family.

This yearning is a flame that grows stronger as we get closer to Christmas.  There is an urgency within me to make sure I’m taking care of my family, friends, co-workers, and strangers.  In my own mind’s eye, Christmas day is no longer about the packages I see under the tree with my name on them.  No, this Christmas I envision those around me opening their own gifts and delighting in the thought that came with it.

My hope and prayer for all of you this season is one of blessings, good cheer, and fond reflection of this past year.  I pray that this will be a different kind of Christmas for you as well.

A Common Man

The Hope Box

In 2002 I presented a close colleague of mine a small token of my appreciation for our friendship in the form of a jewelry-sized Hope Box.  I placed a note in it and told him that no matter where our careers took us, I hoped that our friendship would never die.

Fast forward to 2016.  The Hope Box was long forgotten by me.  While in his office on a recent visit he placed it in front of me and asked if I remembered giving it to him all those years ago.  I honestly couldn’t recall the moment when I did, but the hand written note inside was definitely penned by me.  Below my note he wrote one of his own.  In so many words, he told me that he was thankful for our friendship and thanked God for all He’s done to keep us close over the years.

Back then, the Hope Box was nothing more to me than a show of gratitude to a man whose friendship I always cherished.  Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that the Hope Box and the note inside would one day symbolize that we would be working together again.

In 2002 I left my teaching job, for a trainer position with the federal government.  My friend was the building principal at the time of my departure.  He and I spoke often over the years, keeping track of our families, our ups and downs, and our shared interests.  Both of our careers progressed – he to California to serve as the superintendent of schools for a large, private Christian school, and me to Washington, DC as an deputy training director, then on to Texas and into the private sector as a process improvement engineer.

In 2012 my friend returned from California, accepting the position of superintendent for the same school we worked together at in 2002.  Over the next four years he and I spoke on several occasions about the possibility of me returning from Texas and coming to work for him again in some capacity or other.  Little did either of us know that in 2016 I would accept a position from the church organization that now partners full time with his school.  As in 2002, he and I will once again be working together side by side.

Throughout the years the Hope Box has come to mean far more than a simple gift and token of appreciation.  The Hope Box was a means that God used to keep my friend and I bonded.  I’d also like to that the It somehow had a part in bringing us back together in a working capacity.  The Hope Box has helped me realize that each of our lives run full circle. 

So, where is your “Hope Box?”  Trust me, I know it’s out there…..

A Common Man

If I'm Being Honest with Myself...

If I’m Being Honest with Myself….

If I’m being honest with myself, I’m probably half the man God wants me to be.  I don’t spend near as much time in the word as I should.  I let my work get in the way of my daily devotion and time with Him.

If I’m being honest with myself, I could have done a much better job as a father.  Too often I put my own interests ahead of theirs.  I spent more time on the baseball and football field then I did in my own backyard.

If I’m being honest with myself, I know that I could be a better husband than I am to a woman that is so deserving.  I fail to communicate at times, and my silence can be seen as a lack of interest or an unwillingness to share.

If I’m being honest with myself, I could certainly be a better brother to my sibling.  I reach out to him only sporadically, and don’t take the time to call him on the phone and ask about how he’s doing.

If I’m being honest with myself, I will forever feel the pain of having a falling out with my dad a few weeks prior to his unexpected death.  I will constantly replay our last conversation in my mind until I pass from this world.

If I’m being honest with myself, most of the time I look away when I’m at a stop light and the homeless man or woman is holding up a sign asking for my help.  I certainly have the means to help them, I just chose to not reach in my pocket and provide them with something that I take for granted.

If I’m being honest with myself, I don’t spend enough time learning more about the world I live in.  Instead, I find myself sheltered in the immediate around me.

If I’m being honest with myself, I could be a better friend to my friends – both near and far.  I chose to stay in touch with them through social media rather than pick up the phone or pen a personal letter.

If I’m being honest with myself, I spend too much time worrying about the small, petty things.  I fail to reflect on all the blessings I do have, and realize that my life isn’t so bad.

If I’m being honest with myself, I tend to not speak out when I see injustice in this world.  I read up on it, but I fail to take personal action and come up with concrete solutions.

If I’m being honest with myself, I know I’ll never be perfect.  I realize that perfection is never fully achievable in this life, but I’d be failing myself, my family, my friends, my neighbors, my colleagues and mankind if I didn’t at least try to be a better person each and every day.

A Common Man     

I Lost My Dad Today

December 15, 2015 will be forever etched in my memory. That's the date my dad passed away. 

I don't fully understand why it takes something like the passing of a parent to make you reflect on what they've done for you, but I can't help but do that at this moment. 

My dad didn't teach me how to fix a car or change out an electrical fixture. He didn't really know the difference between a crescent wrench or a claw hammer. He didn't pass on superior knowledge of world politics or mathematical equations. He didn't show me how to throw a perfect spiral or ways in which to improve my swing, but he did teach me the intangibles of life. 

My dad taught me compassion. He taught me how to love, even when I didn't want to. He taught me to be kind. My dad had no enemies, only friends. My dad knew no strangers. My dad taught me about spiritual relationships. He taught me how to see God in his own imagine. Most importantly, my dad taught me how to accept without reservation. 

The memories of my dad, both the good and the bad, will always be with me. The ones I chose to cherish the most are those of a man who loved unconditionally and cared beyond measure.

You'll be missed, dad. 

A Common Man

I Have a Brother...

I have a brother.  He lives 400 miles west of me.  I don’t get to see him much, nor do we talk that often, but I know he’s there, I know he loves and cares for me, and I know I’d do anything in the world for him.  I’d be by his side if he needed me, I’d defend him if necessary, and I’d take care of his children if something every happened and they need a fatherly figure in their lives.

I have another brother.  He’s an old shipmate of mine.  We served in the Navy together.  We stood the mid watch together.  We shared beers together.  We spent time together when we were in port or at home.  We laughed together, we share a tear together, we watched our children grow up together, and we vowed to be there for one another no matter what.  We promised to look after each other’s family when the other couldn’t.  I love this brother like he’s my own flesh and blood.

I have another brother.  We coached together.  We played ball together.  We cheered for each other’s teams, even when we were on opposite sides of the field.  We’ve watch each other grow throughout the years.  We’ve shared jokes.  We’ve bad-mouthed professional coaches and general managers for making stupid decisions regarding our beloved teams.  I love this brother like he’s my own flesh and blood.

I have another brother.  We pray together.  We meet on Wednesday mornings for a men’s prayer meeting.  We asked about each other’s family.  We talk about accountability as a son, a father, a husband and a brother.  We listen to the pastor’s message together.  We reflect on the Word together.  We slap each other on the back when we’re departing, and we promise to pray for each other throughout the week.  I love this brother like he’s my own flesh and blood.

I have another brother.  We work together.  We greet each other warmly each morning.  We asked how work is going and what we can do to help one another out.  We have meetings together.  We try to solve company problems together.  We rely on each other’s knowledge and business expertise to help us get our tasks accomplished.  We share information with one another.  We seek each other’s advice and trust one another with business matters that should remain within an office confine.  I love this brother like he’s my own flesh and blood.

I have another brother.  I haven’t met him yet, but I consider him a brother nonetheless.  He’s the vet that stands on the street corner with a sign asking for help and blessing me for it.  He’s the stranger on the elevator that looks up from his phone and greets me warmly, wishing me a good day when he reaches his floor.  He’s the criminal that made a horrible mistake and pays for his sins with imprisonment.  He’s the guy in a dead end job who’s working to find the positives.  He’s the man that leaves he’s family every day to earn a wage so he can cloth his children, provide a roof over their head and food on the dinner table.  And he’s the refuge trekking with his family to find safety.  He’s looking for warmth and comfort.  He’s looking for food and shelter.  He’s doing everything within his power to protect his family from the tyranny of religious hatred.  I love this brother like he’s my own flesh and blood…

A Common Man