The Long Road.....And the Deluded Camp Counselor

The burden was just too much....

It started out as a simple Bible Study at a summer camp.  The children were not listening.  Even my thought-provoking and open-ended questions seemed to have no effect.  They were BORED, and not the least hesitant to show it.  These were the same children who, an hour before, were hooting and hollering at breakfast.  You could not calm them down.  Now, blank faces, empty stares, not a peep.

Looking around, I saw the large cross that was at the campfire site.  It was made out of 6-8" logs, tied and bolted together to form a cross some 8 feet high and 4 foot across.  It was made to be removable, used for processions, etc.  An idea started forming.  (Now keep in mind that many of my ideas are just not very good or wise ones....you'll see what I mean later in the story!)

A cross; talking about the walk toward Golgotha.  Add them together and I finally had something I could try.

So, I summed up the stuff I was talking about, went over and picked up this cross and hoisted it on my shoulder.  I remember thinking that this thing was a bit heavy, and a bit uncomfortable.  (I mean, I can carry the cross just like everyone else, just don't make it too difficult God!)

I started walking with this thing of logs on my shoulders.  My intention was to only walk to the edge of the field (some 350 yards) and then stop and talk with them about it.  No so!   I got to the edge of the field, and the kids were goofing off and just being kids.  So...here I go a bit further carrying this thing.

Before I knew it, I was at the entrance to the camp.   This was the stopping point, right?  I was sweating and getting mighty uncomfortable.  The logs were sawing a groove in my shoulder at this point.   Yet, I looked at the kids and saw that they thought this was great fun, watching their camp counselor carrying this thing around.  They just didn't get the point.  (Actually, it was I that wasn't getting the point, as you will see.)

Out the entrance of the camp, onto hard road-top.  I thought that the many bumps and dips in the field were bad, but the road gave a continuous vibration through the logs.  This was worse than the occational nudge or dip.  This was like being massaged with a splintered tree, but not so comfortable.  I had to start switching shoulders fairly frequently.   My legs told my brain that in no uncertain terms, this punishment would have to stop soon.  My arms were not too far behind.

So here the intrepid (stupid) camp counselor and his motley bunch of campers (oh ya, a pastor was there with us too.) were going up and down on a road that led further and further away from the camp. 

I knew there was a cemetary where we would sometimes bring the kids to do Bible Study, but that sucker was a good 1 1/2 miles on this hilly and unforgiving road.  Surely, one of the kids would get it, and say, with humilty and a deep appreciation for the moment, "No Steve, let me take that cross from you and carry it for a while!"   Ha!  No such thing.  I was determined that I would rather kill myself slowly than tell them that they should offer to take the cross from me.  (Yes, I was deluded.)

After about 1/2 mile, up a hill and down one, my arms and legs were very sore.   However, the pain of the cross on my shoulder far surpassed these small pains.  When I switched shoulders, I would touch the place where the log was and almost expected to see blood seep through my t-shirt.   It was raw.  It was hurting.  (Come on Guys, someone take this cross from me, or tell me to stop!)

Another 1/2 mile and my eyes could no longer focus correctly.  Everything was kind of blurred.  My nose was not constantly running.  Lines of snot were forming down my face, and a persistent need to sniffle accompanied me.

I had to start focusing on each step at that point.  When you are walking there is a transfer of balance between one foot and the other.  Usually it is automatic.  However, each time I took pressure off my back foot, I felt a tinge of uncertainty, of lack of balance, and the real possibility of falling with this heavy cross on top of me.  Soon, nothing existed outside of me, except for the motion, balance, feeling of each step being placed in front of the other.

Very quickly, the sight of my own feet blurred too.  Now, I had to go by feel alone.  I couldn't focus on the road.  I didn't know if I was stepping on road, on gravel, on whatever.  I tried to raise my head up, and found my shoulder muscles had locked with my head in the down position.  My mind was disengaged though.  I didn't think anything about it at this point.  Just an observation.  "Gosh, I can't move my head up.  Isn't that interesting?"

The last hill before the cemetery came up.  Twinges and what felt like electric shocks went through my shoulders and arm now.  Things in my skeleton felt like they were shifting in ways that they were not meant to shift.  Even my hearing started playing tricks on me now.  Sounds would be clear, then suddenly sound like they were underwater or distant, then clear up again.  There was also an edge of blackness at the very corner of my vision, streaked with afterimages and exploding phosphors. 

I have a fairly good memory, but the next part I had to piece together from the pastor and some of the campers.  I really don't have a memory until I woke up later....

Apparently,  this procession arrived at the cemetery, or right outside of it, before I collapsed.  The pastor told me later that there was a groan, and I went down.  Then, a couple of the campers took the cross off of me (though they could have done this long before I collapsed!) and I was partially dragged into the cemetary and put on a concrete bench.

I remember finding myself on that bench.   I was crying.  It couldn't be helped.  There was just a great sense of relief that I didn't have to carry that ******* cross anymore.   Things like words, and making sense with them, weren't available to me yet.  Luckily, the pastor jumped in and started talking about the walk to Gogotha, what Jesus went through, etc.  I didn't catch most of it.  I was still trying to find meaning in concepts like breathing, sitting, seeing and hearing again.  I know at some point that I gave my 2 cents worth into the conversation, but I have not idea what I said.

Somehow, word got back to camp that I was doing this stupid thing, and one of the maintenance trucks pulled in and I got a ride back to the camp, the cross in the back of the truck. 

The aftermath:

The kids didn't get the point.   I didn't get the point that the kids wouldn't get the point.  Subtlety is lost on Junior High kids.  Wisdom is lost on a (this) camp counselor.

After laying down in the staff cabin for about two hours, the director called me into his office.  He asked me to explain the reasoning behind carrying a cross, out of the camp, to the cemetary, taking more time in Bible Study that the campers had (they were very late for lunch), and putting a counselor (me) out of commission for an afternoon (which had to be covered by other staff!)

I thought about it, and tried to explain my reasoning, only then realizing that that reasoning was faulty.  He had good points, and I had no points.  After telling me to never, ever, ever do that again, or else...I was let go to sleep some more before dinner.

The next day, the kids paid more attention during Bible Study.  It was nothing that I did to change that.  I knew later that the pastor asked them to pay more attention and to be more involved.

The pastor did thank me for a wonderful week (though I have no idea if that extra twinkle in his eyes was because he had witnessed a grown man make a fool of himself to make a stupid point in Bible Study, or not.

The moral is:  don't carry a cross just to make a point!

A Spiritual Adjustment

I have gone to a chiropractor for years.

You know what happens.  You lay down, and the doctor starts applying pressure in the strangest places.  You hear and feel internal adjustments happening.  Pops, cracks, joints moving, the breaking sound of the chiropractic table, giving way.  You know something is happening, but are a little worried that these sounds sound more dire than healthy.  At the end, you stand up straight and feel a bit taller, a bit more inline than when you came in.

Another rule of thumb is that the longer you wait between adjustments, the more pops, clicks, cracks, and bangs seem to happen.  More pressure is required to adjust; more techniques to align the spine are used, just because we skipped a couple of appointments!

What about spiritual adjustments?

I know that I have had several that the cracks and pops were loud and painful.  In readjusting my spirit, the more out of alignment I am, the greater the time, effort, and change is required to get inline again.

The first thing is that, like the chiropractor, God has to get me to lay down, to stop, to hold still.  Now God can do anything, but I have to be at the point that I actually am still, quiet, at rest, at peace.  This is the tricky part.  Yet, when I am in this state, alignment can begin.

Much like at the doctor's office, I am told or shown that my parts don't quiet work together correctly.  One thing is stronger, longer, shorter than the other and they just are not getting along.  This is sometimes a shock. 

"Really, my left leg is longer than my right?  No one told me!" 
"My lower spine is not supported!" 

Yet, when these facts are presented to me about my spiritual life, they hold no less astonishment, denial, repression, nor ignorance on my part.

"My ego is how big?"
"I want to be comfortable more than I want to be happy?"
"I try to please people more than I try to be loving to them?  No, that's not me!!!"

Then come the adjustments.

Trust me; deflating the ego is always a painful process.  It involves a re-adjustment of how I see myself, and how I wish to be in relation to my family, friends, church, community, nation and world. 

Living life to the fullest also is quite a process.  I know that my living takes place on the razor's edge of discomfort.  Being uncomfortable means that things need to change.  Yet, I love comfort.  I like not changing.  So, sometimes pressure needs to be applied to shift how I approach life.  The crack and pain in the neck is sometimes the only way to be able to turn my head and go in a different direction.

What is really nice is that if I go through these adjustments often, it only takes a tap, a small shift, a brief push to get me back into alignment.  Sometimes, a word, a smile, a story, a movie is enough for my spirit to align with God again.

I guess my whole life is really a quest to become better adjusted.

What Is A Christian Mystic?

What Is A Christian Mystic?

So, what is a mystic? A mystic, quite simply, is a lover of God who pursues the beloved actively and deeply. 

In fact, a mystic is a person who feels the presence of the Mystery to the core and when that presence is not felt feels as keen and painful a loss as a lover whose mate is somewhere across the world.

To travel in the world of the Christian mystic, one must discard concepts such as ego, pride and spiritual materialism in favor of adopting a sense of humility and hopeful expectation. 

It is to begin a great and stirring adventure that moves the soul from this life to the next. To quote Ursula King,

"The story of the Christian mystics is one of an all-consuming, passionate love affair between human beings and God. It speaks of the yearning, a burning desire for the contemplation and presence of the divine below area mystics seek participation in divine life, communion and union with God. This yearning is candle by the fire of divine love itself, which moves the mystics in their search and leads him, often arduous journeys, to discover and proclaimed the all-encompassing love of God for humankind."

One of the hallmarks of a mystic is her or his ability to inspire and transform others by their very lives, deeds and words. In reality, the Christian Mystic is simply returning to the very essence of the Christian experience at its earliest stage.

Jesus spent his life pointing beyond himself toward the loving presence which he called "Abba", which doesn't mean Father as the strict, judgmental figure of the past, but as a loving term, the nearest of which we have in English is "Daddy" or "Poppa" as a term of closeness and endearment.

Indeed, Jesus' message that the Presence was not out there somewhere, giving some sort of cosmic report card on his subjects. That Presence, according to Jesus, is here, now, available to all without restriction or need of intermediary. It is a realization and a teaching, revolutionary, that reaches across time. Not only did he spend his life demonstrating that, it was this very teaching that cost him his life. 

With all this in mind, what is the most basic understanding of what it is to be a Christian Mystic?

For that, we can search in a variety of places. First, in the tradition of the teachings of Jesus can be found within the changes and interpolations of the New Testament. Secondly, within the great body of spiritual writings by such figures as St. John of the Cross, Meister Eckhart, Theresa of Avila, Thomas A Kempis, George Fox and others from Protestant and Catholic and Orthodox backgrounds. Third, there are contemporary Christians from a variety of denominations and backgrounds to explore. Finally, and above all things, there is the personal experience, guided by the authentic words of Jesus and the writings of those who followed.

All of these sources exist as road maps, guide posts, ways to check ourselves as we make the journey of the Christian mystic. We should be thankful that others have blazed a trail before us, a the journey is based upon our own yearnings coupled with the mysterious grace of God.

For now, it is enough to understand that a "Christian" mystic is a person who finds the teachings, life and event of Jesus of Nazareth to present, for them, the clearest way to grow into a spiritual relationship with God. This is certainly not to make a claim that God's Presence is based on nationalism or accident of birth in this world in this or that region. Put simply, God speaks to the "many flocks" Jesus spoke of in a language and a way they can understand. 

What a Christian Mystic is suggesting is that in the midst different cultures and approaches, the symbols within our particular culture provides the tools necessary they find to make this journey. The Dalai Lama, when asked about converting from this religion to that, states clearly it is in one's best interest to remain within the familiar territory of their own upbringing, culture and understanding.

Briefly, it would be misleading to simply assume that the Christ Path is easy. To embrace the mystic tradition within Christianity as a Christian is to invite misunderstanding, abuse, and, to a great extent, persecution. Yet, no journey is without difficulty and, in this case, one has the encouragement of Paul, who stated, "Not I, but Christ who lives in me."

Ponder, then, these basic starting points:

What you see is not all there is to life.

There is that which is uncreated, which pervades everything, but remains outside the reach of human knowledge and understanding. This can be called "The Myster."

The intellect can entertain the concept of God, but not grasp God.

God cannot be reached by logic or captured by thought. Instead, one can only approach by love steeped in humble expectation of God's grace.

The Christian mystic is not known by his or her words, but by deeds and actions.

The qualities that mark the Christian mystic include devotion, being humble and without spiritual pride, refraining from judgment of his or her brother or sister and trusting that God speaks to the heart of each person in a way of God's choosing.

A Christian mystic is transformed and transforming.

According to the great mystics of Christianity, the transformation is a continual, ongoing process, an unfolding of the soul. It is not accomplished in one step, as in "being saved" after which a person can sit back and pronounce judgments on others. One's "work" has only just begun. It continues in humble service to those in need, in constant prayer and in the realization of God's Presence..

A Christian mystic seeks an experiential closeness to that Presence. A check-list of beliefs is certainly not enough to know God..

-Brian Robertson

Listen to People's Stories

They are attentive...They look into your eyes...you are the only focus of their time....they wait patiently....no judging...no prejudices against you....just accepting and receptive to what you have to say!

People so need to tell the stories within them.   There is a fundamental need to feel like we are important enough for others to listen to us.  We have hopes and dreams, comedies and dramas and tragedies all inside that we need to share with others.  

Why do we share our stories?  What good does it do us?

Sharing our stories tells other people about where we came from and where we are going.

My grandfather used to spend hours talking about his life during The Depression.  He held so many jobs, including handy-man, roller-skate rink manager, coal miner, gold prospector, construction worker, brick-layer, that it is hard to recall all of them.

In the telling of these stories I learned about perseverance, and endurance.  I learned about the hope he had, the motivation to survive, to earn money, even during the worst of times.  From these stories, he showed me what kind of life he had and how he faced it.  I could see that he would face future challenges just like he had faced the ones in the past.


Sharing our stories tells ourselves who we are and who we may be in the future.

When I get to tell my stories to people, I listen back and find that I discover things about myself that I never knew before.  The stories of summer camp; being a camper, a staff and finally program director, are ones that revealed that when I focus on other people, that is when my gifts and talents, my patience and love are the strongest.  Looking at my future, I know that being of some service to others is where I will rediscover myself.

Sometimes our stories reveal to us areas where we need to grow.  We can share our stories of failure or tragedy and learn from them.  Then in the future, we can choose to do something else, to take another path.  Thus, we learn wisdom from our own stories.


Sharing our stories allows other people to feel comfortable sharing their stories with us.

It is a strange thing that what we put out we get back.  If we are open and honest with others; sharing with them our stories, then they are much more likely to be open and honest with us.   Not always, but often.  

There are times when I meet someone so very open that my only response to them is to be more open.   They are taking a risk in sharing who they are with me.  I begin to feel more comfortable sharing that with them.

Sharing our stories creates bonds.

There is an effort underway, sponsored by the Smithsonian Institute, to capture all the stories of the soldiers still alive from the World Wars, Korea and Vietnam.  Many of these people who have shared and helped to fill this audible archive, have left for contemporary soldiers, a reminder and a source of those that have gone before.  There are many stories of soldiers listening to these older stories, and finding solace in them.  What they have gone through or what they are going through, others have experienced similar lives. 

The whole point of the Oral Tradition for passing down cultural and historical information is that it creates a bond from the old to the young, from what was to what is; and keeps traditions, beliefs, and values alive.

Sharing our stories heals.

We are not passing down information only when we tell stories.   We are often caught back up in the emotion, the thinking, the spirit of the moment that story occurred.  Sometimes, we can get to a point of having a cathartic moment; a clearing of our emotional landscape.  Other times, our emotion sparks similar emotions in others. 

Stories of cancer survivors can inspire because they communicate one simple thing:  Hope.  

Stories of the underdogs, finally triumphing, can inspire others to persevere.  These stories share the power of redemption.  We can all identify with the underdog and be inspired that anything is possible.

Stories of love have inspired us to love even greater.  Whenever we hear of the power of love, the lengths to which people have gone to share it, the self-sacrifice, the glory, the chaos, everything, we see something for which to strive, to participate in, to show forth to others.

Take time to listen to people's stories.   Make it a priority!

Masks - Hiding Behind Them

What is it about the masks we wear, the defenses we put up, that makes it so difficult to get to know anybody.  How do these things get in place?  Do we take some unknown class  to learn how to choose and use these things?

I would like to give a couple of examples of the masks that I know that I wear sometimes. 

The Mask of "I've Got It All Together" or "I'm in Control!"

It's so easy to put this mask on, and then forget you are wearing it. We want to look to the outside world as if everything is fine, we've got it all handled, no problems, thank you very much.
This one weighs alot, and is very heavy to carry around. Even worse, it makes it very hard to ask for help, which leads to the next mask.............

The Mask of "I Don't Need Anyone"

There is a pervasive notion that to be a "Rugged Individualist" is to be strong, successful, respected.  While this concept is very American, it is so impossible to do. It's good to stand on your own two feet, pull yourself up by your own bootstraps, but, when taken to an extreme, it can be very isolating. While being independent is a worthy goal, we all need someone to lean on. The curious thing is, most people really like to help when asked.

The Mask of Perfectionism

Another very seductive mask because it makes us look so good. Too bad it's not only false, it's also not attainable. So many people strive for perfection as a way to feel good about themselves. A good move here is to trade in perfectionism for excellence, which is attainable, and a whole lot more fun.

The Mask of Busy-ness

Somehow, busy-ness has become associated with importance. If we are always busy, then we must be important. Unfortunately, busy-ness binds us to many things that might be good and worthwhile, while we miss the things that are the very best.

The Mask of Knowing It All

This mask is typically accompanied by a burning desire to beat people over the head with their important knowledge. The really sad thing is these folks tend to be very unteachable, and therefore never actually learn anything.

The Mask of "I've always got to make a good impression!"

While similar to the I've Got It All Together mask, it differs in at least one important way. It's much more exhausting. It's hard to put down the worry about what everyone else thinks, and the need to control the impression you make on each and every person.

The goal of most masks is protection. In many cases it is not needed.  However, sometimes, residual fears of acceptance cause these masks to remain on far longer than they should.

Taking off these masks involves risk.

 

It is easy for us to accept criticism if it is the mask and not ourselves that received it.  We can rationalize, then, that "They don't know me.  If they did, they would not have done that, or said that!"

 

The mask provides psychological distance from another person or situation.  Our mind filters our reactions through whichever mask we are wearing.  When we have the motivation to show fear, the mask changes it to anger, or patience, or even laughter.   While these transitional emotions are sometimes very healthy to have, the habit of continually using them means that we loose track of what we are truly and actually feeling.

 

No Masks means:

 

1.  The will to experience and show emotions as they happen to us. 

2.  The desire to let go of the desire that we must always impress others

3.  The release of the need to have things under control

4.  The motivation to experience the world, people, and situations for what they are, not what they can do for us nor to us.

I am going to include this poem about masks in this blog.  It sums up so much more than I can do.

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

THE MASK I WEAR

Don't be fooled by me.
Don't be fooled by the face I wear
  for I wear a mask. I wear a thousand masks-
     masks that I'm afraid to take off
  and none of them are me.
Pretending is an art that's second nature with me
But don't be fooled, for God's sake, don't be fooled.
I give you the impression that I'm secure
That all is sunny and unruffled with me
  within as well as without,
     that confidence is my name
       and coolness my game,
         that the water's calm
       and I'm in command,
    and that I need no one.
But don't believe me. Please!

My surface may be smooth but my surface is my mask,
My ever-varying and ever-concealing mask.
Beneath lies no smugness, no complacence.
Beneath dwells the real me in confusion, in fear, in aloneness.
But I hide this.
  I don't want anybody to know it.
    I panic at the thought of my weaknesses
       and fear exposing them.
That's why I frantically create my masks to hide behind.
They're nonchalant, sophisticated facades to help me pretend,
  To shield me from the glance that knows.
But such a glance is precisely my salvation,
  my only salvation,
    and I know it.

That is, if it's followed by acceptance,
  and if it's followed by love.
It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself
  from my own self-built prison walls.

I dislike hiding, honestly
I dislike the superficial game I'm playing,
  the superficial phony game.
I'd really like to be genuine and me.
  But I need your help, your hand to hold
    Even though my masks would tell you otherwise
      That glance from you is the only thing that assures me
        of what I can't assure myself,
          that I'm really worth something.

But I don't tell you this.
  I don't dare.
   I'm afraid to.
I'm afraid you'll think less of me, that you'll laugh
  and your laugh would kill me.
I'm afraid that deep-down I'm nothing, that I'm just no good
  and you will see this and reject me.

So I play my game, my desperate, pretending game
  With a facade of assurance without
    And a trembling child within.
So begins the parade of masks,
  The glittering but empty parade of masks,
    and my life becomes a front.
I idly chatter to you in suave tones of surface talk.
I tell you everything that's nothing
  and nothing of what's everything,
     of what's crying within me.
So when I'm going through my routine
  do not be fooled by what I'm saying
    Please listen carefully and try to hear
      what I'm not saying
Hear what I'd like to say
  but what I can not say.

It will not be easy for you,
  long felt inadequacies make my defenses strong.
    The nearer you approach me
       the blinder I may strike back.
Despite what books say of men, I am irrational;
  I fight against the very thing that I cry out for.
    you wonder who I am
      you shouldn't
        for I am everyman
        and everywoman
           who wears a mask.
Don't be fooled by me.
At least not by the face I wear.

 

-Author unknown

A Story of Dignity

A Story of Dignity
----------------------

I pulled up to the ol' Walmart gas pumps this morning, and the place was packed.  When, finally, I got to the pumps, there was someone else waiting for me to finish.

I looked at this older SUV van waiting and saw that the passenger was trying to get out.  He was an older gentleman, with graying hair, and piercing eyes.  Something about him just told me that he used to be a man of power, respect, substance.  Like a remembered air of authority and command.

He had a lot of difficulty getting out of this SUV..  His movements were slow and strained.  All the while, the driver watched him but did not offer to help; she just watched him with respect in her eyes.  I think she was his daughter, but perhaps not.  Her eyes followed him, his every movement, like she would react if he started to fall, but he did not.

The cane came out; first one leg and then another touched the ground.  He teetered a little but got his balance back.  Then he started moving for a pump that was just opening.  The SUV pulled into it, and the man took out his card, swiped it, balanced his body on the left with his cane and none-to-steady left leg, removed the gas cap, and picked up the pump and put it in the vehicle.   The woman in the driver seat never took her eyes from him.

I finished and drove off, but that incident stayed in my mind.  It was a demonstration of a proud man who, while limited by his age and his body, still gets out and pays and pumps his own gas.  I know it took an effort.  You could see it in his face, in his breathing.  But he did it anyway.

It made me think that not everyone would allow the time and patience for someone to do what they still were capable of doing; even pumping gas.  It is not just the elderly that seem to be bypassed in this "immediate" life but any of those that are slower, not as skilled, not as coordinated as the "normal" us.

When I went with my dad out to Soup and Salads, there was an elderly man who was the busboy.  I watched him at first, because I had never seen someone his age being a busboy.  Yet, while I watched, he not only cleaned off the tables, but went further and moved all the shakers, condiments, etc off the table and cleaned under them. and took time out to wipe off the benches and chairs.  I saw another busboy (busgirl) who just cleared and wiped.  She did it quicker, much quicker, but not a tenth the job he did.  I was actually proud of this Soup and Salad for hiring him.  They may have thought they were taking a chance on him, but I hope they know and appreciate the honor, the pride he takes in everything he does for them.

I am glad I was reminded of the value of people, at any age, who have pride in what they do.

Reconnecting and Reconciling

I have heard some stories from those that have deep and abiding regrets about their life.   It is rarely about the money they could have had, the job, the house, the car.  In most cases, it is about the relationship they lost, or the friendship from which they walked away.  In some way, it is about a connection that was broken.

They all speak of doing it over, rebuilding that burned bridge, reconnecting; in other words, they are talking about redemption and reconciliation.  What could have been done; what should have been done; what can still be done.

As we get older, we tend to see our lives in terms of the relationships we have or do not have, rather than those more material things we may strive for in our younger years.

Often, the mid-life crisis is one of identity, of goals not yet accomplished, of value in life.   There can also be another type of mid-life or end-life crisis; one which is a crisis of relationships.

So how do we reconnect?

If we are estranged, then we need to look at why.  

Is it the force of habit that has prevented reconciliation with another?  Is it pride?  Has our ego been bruised by another?  Do we feel justified in never talking with them until they talk with us?  Are there deeper issues that cause us to view that relationship as toxic, untouchable? 

Sometimes a truly toxic relationship may be left alone; but until you really look at it, really examine the reasons, that feeling of needing to reconnect will not go away.

What do we expect from the reconnection?

Is it an apology?  (look back at the pride question.)  Is it understanding or forgiveness from the other for what you have done, or not done? 

Don't expect an Oprah moment.  It may happen, but it is better to take baby steps; small and realistic goals.   For example, just opening up a conversation can be a goal.   For some relationships, this is a major step.   Get your feet in the door; open the lines of communication.

It takes two to tango.

The other person has their own goals, expectations, and reasons for even letting you talk to them (if they do.)  Realize that all those things play into the initial meeting and the process of reconcilliation.  Be aware, always, that you are involved in a dynamic, two-sided relationship.  

But be the first one to dance!

If it comes to a deadlock when we try to reconnect, be the first one to back down.  Be prepared to take the moral high road.  Be patient.  Put your pride on hold.  You can save face or practice some grace.

Treat each other as you are today; not how you remember them.

It may be all too easy to fall into old habits - which may be the ones that lead to your estrangement in the first place.  Just because you may have had history, doesn't mean that that history needs to dictate how each person will respond to the other today.

Reconnection and Reconciliation is a process, not a one stop shop.

Getting a conversation started is a great place to begin.  As with all relationship, we need to look at what happened; how close or far away you came to your and their expectations.  Is it possible to continue the conversation again?  Sometimes it is not.  However, if the door is still open, move forward!


Reconnection and reconciliation is worth whatever hardship and time you may put into it.  Rebuilding bridges is never time wasted!

Verse to the Soldier

Verse to the Soldier
----------------------------

Get up now;  Chorus for Odysseus;
A brave journey he has taken;
But not a Noman; rather an everyman.

Dying and living; he knows not which.
Stalks of wheat; harvested to the ground,
The chaff, collected by carrion birds,

Yet in reply, to choose forward; to march
In angry riposte to sinew and bone;
Stone in the face of a reaper unknown.

Yet resignation; for this is what he lives;
A peacemaker in the guide of Mars;
To stumble and strive; chaos in the fore

In form, standing against the dark;
taking strength when brothers surround;
With borrowed fortitude, he goes

Get up now;  Chorus for these fellows;
Who take point in shadows stretching;
So we, in the light, celebrate the everyman.




-Steven Lee

Geeks and the Church.

We all want to be accepted.   We want people to look at us and see something valuable, not as if we are from another planet.

Yet, not all of us are socially adept.  Sometime, the timing, the cadence of our voices, the content of our talk make others feel uncomfortable, or just plain confused as to how to respond.  It used to be that these people were considered geeks, dweebs, nerds, and other more injurious labels.  Now, there are a lot of us.  In fact, the number is growing all the time.

We are all socially awkward.  We all have moments when we have no idea how to respond to other people.  There are more and more situations where we feel alienated or disconnected from others.  Sometimes, we all feel like we are oddballs.

So what do you do if you know that you are socially awkward?   Join a church.

Churches are great because they usually give a little more slack to people who are different.  A few always spend just a little more time getting to know someone who is different.  Sometimes, this is all that makes the difference.  Sometimes, all us geeks and oddballs just want a second and third time to make a first impression.  Strangely enough, a lot of us oddballs are welcomed into a church for the long-term.  It is great when a social institution and a spiritual institution encourages people to be accepting enough to get over the Geek Bump.

The Geek Bump is the time it takes for others to realize that the geek is a person too.  We all have periods of time before another accepts us as "normal enough to talk to," but the geek usually has a much longer period of time before that happens.  The church gives time for others to get over that Geek Bump.

Why should churches be going after us Geeks?

There is no one more loyal than the dog who was lost and is now found.  A geek who feels accepted will feel protective, loving, inspired, and dedicated to the group who has accepted them.   They will work harder, do more, and add to the overall richness of that church.

Geeks know technology and love showing it off.   If you want to have a ministry Twittering, get a geek.  You want a virtual classroom for Sunday School, get a geek.  If you want your church computers to be up and running all the time, get a geek.  If you want to explore the Video Conferencing so churches across the world can join in service and ministry, get a geek.

Lastly; a geek is more likely to be accepting of others, and add the the outreach of the Church.  I am not saying that Geeks are the only great compassionate or accepting people.   However, anyone that adds to the atmosphere that attracts the different, the misfits, the fringe, the geeks, the oddballs is a good thing.

Acceptance attracts acceptance.

Accept a geek in church today.

Grady - The Adventures on the Road

He said his name was Grady.

An older man in his 50's, with a long, matted beard and bloodshot eyes.  His face bore the mark of many years; long grooves at the corner of his mouth, wind dried skin in deep wrinkles.  His teeth were worn down, like he had been chewing on some bit of gristle for the last 40 years.  His voice was gravelly; smoke deepened rasp.

He entered my car on the way to Austin.   Said he had to get to 12th street by noon.  From where we were, it was a good hour to go to get there.

He talked about his life on the road.  He had been hitching most of his life.   There were stories about when he was shot and almost bled to death in Arizona.  Another time, he used to beat up drivers and take their money when they let him off.

Should I have felt some fear?

Eventually, he told me about his father who used to beat him when he was young.  He was a preacher's kid.  And his dad would "beat the sin" from his son.  What words of anger and rage came out when he spoke about his dad. 

There was a guitar in my back seat, with a large, golden cross painted on it.  Did Grady see the guitar?  Was there a 2 + 2 that had already made some unspeakable 4 in his mind?  Did it spell trouble.

Grady talked about his one companion, his knife.   He had carried it from the time he was just a boy.  He said that it had protected his life more than once.  Never did he pull it out, but the leather sheath was there at his belt, with a metal handle sticking out.

The road flowed past, faster than it should have.  His history has melted the miles, and focused the attention.  12th street was already in front of us. 

He left with my 40 dollars in his pocket.   Not some payoff for safe passage, but because he was who he was, and taught a little of that to me.

Dreams and the Not Yet Experienced

Have you ever had a dream where you experience something that is totally new, totally unique, something never experienced in your life?

How does your imagination come up with such things if they are truly new and unique?
In the words of a wise man, "I don't know!  But it's cool!"

There was a dream in which I entered a cathedral; which had as its composition, not stone and wood, but gears, pulleys, and crystal.   The vaulted, hexagonal ceilings, arched up, with canvas and twine and steel ropes, braided into the curving walls, with a six point brass pulley at the apex of the ceiling.   Each door was constructed of gears meshing together in a rectangular arrangement, with the teeth blurring the lines between the door and walls.  The floor was of polished discs of metal, spinning together, but when my foot was placed upon them, they stilled, and started up again when I removed them.

Where the altar was supposed to be was a clear crystal box, ten feet on a side.  Several crystal plates were spaced inside, with patterns etched in each plate, and all were moving back and forth.  As the plates moved, patterns would line up and opening appear.  When this happened, water would rush out of the crystal box and cover the floor of the cathedral with a sparkling sheen.

Up at the highest point of the cathedral was a machine like a golden clockwork from a pendulum-driven, grandfather clock.  Each gear was glowing gold, moving around a central hub; changing shape from a diamond outline of 11 gears to a star configuration and back again.   The light coming in from the sky, struck the gears and illuminated the walls and ceiling with ever-changing configurations of light.

What was amazing is that the whole thing was forever moving.  Ropes would stretch as gears would turn.  Water would come in and then drain away.  Geometries of light and shadow were forever changing.

What kind of dream is this to be having?

There was so much going on, such intricacies and perfect timing in the clockworks, that I knew in the dream that this must be real; for my mind could never conceive of and visualize such a perfection of machinery.  Or perhaps, I could?

Why Me God? And other Impossible Questions.

I am not about to get into the whole "Why do bad things happen to good people" conversation.   Philosophers, theologians, scientists and holy men and women have spent enough time on this.  This blog is about why we ask those questions in our darkest times to begin with.

It actually doesn't matter what situation you are in when you get to that point that you start yelling at the sky, "Why Me!!!!"    It could be a flat tire, a late meeting, a lost child in a supermarket, a sick relative, a broken washing machine, or anything that may bring us to the point of overwhelming frustration, or even, calm questioning, "Why Me?"

It may be systematic eroding of our patience, tolerance, endurance, or even faith; that something feels like it is eating away at us, taking away from the richness and value of our life.   It may be a sudden, explosive event that makes us feel like our foundation has been stripped out from underneath us.    

The conclusion is the same:  we feel fractured!

For this moment, or for a long time, the connections, the assurances, the beliefs we once had are thrown into question.  Is it any surprise that we try to find an answer?

I thought everything was going so well?   What happened?


I was just at the point that I was getting my head above water.  Now this!!!


What the Hell!   This is so unfair!

It is strange that when I look at my own life, that I am asking these questions as if ANY answer would satisfy me in these times.   I am looking with my head for answers that are really being asked in my heart.

When I cry out to heaven, I am really crying out for the assurance that these connections I once felt, are still there.  

My head says, Why Me?   My heart says, "I need to be understood!", "I need to feel connected to others in my life again.", "I need to feel loved and appreciated again.", "I need to feel that I still matter to someone else."

Is that why we complain, or like to complain to others?   Do we just want that reassurance that someone is listening?   I know that I sometimes search for sympathy.   However, in those more severe times, I am not searching for sympathy, but love.

Feeling fractured is really the feeling that, during this time of distress, I doubt that I am loved.  

It is irrational, I know.  Why in the world would what is happening have any effect on whether I am loved or not?  Yet, those doubts arise as my discomfort and disharmony and distress increase.

Sometimes then, it is not the answers to the big questions that we really desire.   

It is the loving touch on the shoulder, 
the kind eyes seen turned to us, 
the soft spoken word of support,
the grasped hand of friendship,
the hug of a loved one.

These are the answers to the impossible questions.

When Someone Asks Us to Pray for Them

What do I do when a friend of mine asks for me to pray for them?   These kind of things I do not take lightly.   Yet, for what am I asking for this other person?

This is a complex question.   I want results for this other person.   I really do.   I would like to put in my order with God and have the desires of this other person come into being.   Right?

In fact, in this case it is really easy.  The desire for my friend would make her life with her family easier.   It would provide a base and place from which to love and support her family.  Why is this not something that God would immediately say "Yes" in answer?

Is it my place to intercede on her behalf with God?  Do I really believe in a God who will not answer such a prayer?  Do I believe in a God who will answer all such prayers?  Is the specific result that she wants, the result that will provide for the most spiritual growth and fulfillment?   All of these questions are so far beyond my wisdom.  

So when I promise to pray for someone, what am I promising?

I promise that:

I will take time out to be intentional; to be quiet; to be still

There is a time that needs to be set aside from all of those distractions of life.   A time where my intention is to, once again, be aware of the presence of God.  

My thoughts and feelings and words will be focused on the greater good for the other person.

In this sense, the greater good is that which promotes love for, to, and around the object of prayer.   This has nothing to do with the actual prayer request.   It could be anything at all.   In any prayer, I place that person or that situation or object in the center of  field of love, connectedness, peace, and joy.   It is like submerging them in a field of God's love and power.

I will thank God for all the great things about whom or what I am praying.

The feelings of gratitude, appreciation and thankfulness will open up the door to my heart, and in this I will be able to see the object of my prayer as a part of life; of feeling connected to all, of being connected to the person or thing the prayer is about.   As I pray for them, or it, I pray for myself.   As I desire to help them, I am helping myself.

I will focus on the feelings that this answered prayer will have for the other person.

Ultimately, I want the object of my prayer to be happy, or to be part of that happiness for another.   Again, regardless of the outcome of circumstances, of the prayer, the point is for those results to be part of the experience of being happy, being fulfilled, being at peace.

If the prayer request is for another to get a job, then I will focus on the feelings that they will experience that a new job brings; the freedom, the joy, the relief, the celebration.   In the end, what comes up is not as important as how we or the other person feels about it.

It may sound like a lot of things are going on when I pray for someone else, but not really.   It all happens so effortlessly when you love the people or the object of your prayer.

I promise.

A Look at Mother's Day

ORIGIN OF MOTHER'S DAY

The second Sunday in May has been set aside in honor of motherhood. Many churches have special services in which they honor Mothers of the congregation. They usually present the oldest Mom, youngest Mom, and Mom with the most children a corsage.

There is a custom of wearing a carnation on Mother's Day. A colored carnation means that the person's Mother is living. A white carnation indicates that a person's mom is dead.

Years ago, England observed what they called Mothering Sunday. It came in Mid-Lent.

The first suggestion for a day set aside to honor Mothers was made by Julia Ward Howe. She suggested that it be observed on June 2, as a day dedicated to peace.

Julia was born in 1819 in New York to a prominent family. She was an American writer, lecturer, and reformer. She was known as one of the most famous women of her time. She wrote "The Battle Hymn of the Republic", which was inspired when she visited military camps in Washington, D.C., during the Civil War in 1861. It became the major war song of the Union forces.

Julia became interested in the women's movement. She became the first president of the New England Woman Sufferage Association.

Three years after Frank Hering of Indiana launched his campagin for observance of Mother's Day in 1904, Anna Jarvis began a campaign to a nationwide obervance of Mother's Day. She chose the second Sunday in May. She also began the custom of wearing the carnation.

Jarvis' own Mother was honored on the first service at Andrews Methodist Episcopal Church in Grafton,West Virginia, on May 10, 1908. Later, at the general assembly in 1912, a delegate from Andrews Church introduced a resolution recognizing Jarvis as the founder of Mother's Day, and suggested that Mother's Day be observed on the second Sunday in May.

President Woodrow Wilson signed a joint resolution in Congress on May 9, 1914, recommending that the federal government observe Mother's day. The next year, the president was authorized to proclaim an annual holiday.


WORLD WIDE SPREAD OF MOTHERS DAY

Over 40 countries observe Mother’s Day. Here is the history of the spread of Mother's Day throughout the rest of the world:

Argentina

Though most of South America observes Mother's Day—Día de la madre—in May, Argentina celebrates on the second Sunday in October. Due to the country’s geographical station in the southern hemisphere, it could be argued that this choice of a date for the holiday more accurately coincides with the traditional springtime seasonality of the Motherhood festivities.

It is customary to honor Argentinean Mothers with dinners, poems and special gestures of attention. Children write letters in school or make cards and crafts to take home. Husbands cook and clean and look after the family, allowing the mother to relax and enjoy the day. Moms are almost certain to receive flowers, cards, candy, jewelry or an unexpected surprise.

One example of an Argentinean Mother’s Day surprise party involves young children gathering their mothers together, encircling them in a room or hallway and reading them poetry. After the reading, a door at the end of the hall is opened to let in all the children’s grandmothers who have remained in hiding up till then. Jubilation ensues.

France

Inspired by American soldiers in World War I, France celebrated other's Day first in 1918. The Minister of the Interior created the official day in 1920, declaring December 19 La Fete de Meres, Mothers’ Day. The focus then was on the re-population of France following the high rate of attrition from the Great War (aka WWI). Mothers with four or five children were awarded a bronze medal. For six or seven the mother would receive a silver medal, and eight or more offspring garnered the gold. This tradition was abandoned when a more modern version of Mother's Day came from the Vichy government, which on May 25, 1945, instituted the National Day of Mothers. Today a common gift is a cake shaped to resemble a bouquet of flowers, along with candies, flowers, cards and perfumes.

India

A westernized version of Mother's Day is officially observed on May 10 in India, though cities and cultural centers tend to celebrate it more than the smaller settlements. On this day mothers receive flowers, a prepared meal, cards or a phone call.

Yet apart from the modern version of Mother’s Day, Hindus have long celebrated a 10 day festival in October called Durga Puja. As the ancient Greeks honored their earth goddess, the Hindu holiday praises their divine mother, Durga. This ancient festival has evolved into one of the biggest events in India. Families spend weeks preparing food and gifts for friends and cleaning and decorating their houses for parties. Businesses and companies now capitalize and plan their own special promotions for the event, much the same way American businesses have tapped into the market potential of Mother's Day.

Japan

The Japanese call Mother's Day haha no hi. In 1913, Japanese Christians were already celebrating it, based on the American practice. It grew steadily in popularity and in the 1930's it was especially prevalent. That changed during WWII when the practice was banned along with all other western customs.

After the war, however, the tradition was taken up again to help comfort to the Mothers who had lost children in the war. By 1949, the celebration of Mother's Day had again spread throughout the country. The Japanese began holding an art contest for children. The children would enter drawings of their Mothers, and the winning drawings would tour through Japan and other countries in an art exhibit celebrating Mothers and peace. This contest was held every four years.

Today the Japanese celebrate Mother's Day on the second Sunday of May. A family may prepare and enjoy traditional dishes that their mothers taught them to cook. The Japanese give their Mothers flowers (especially red carnations), scarves, handkerchiefs and handbags.

Mexico

On May 10th the Mexicans celebrate the Día de las madres. In 1922 a journalist, Rafael Alducín wrote an article advocating the celebration of Mother's Day in all of Mexico. Though the practice had already spread to parts of Mexico, Alducín’s article led to widespread observance of the holiday, and May 10 is the universal day of celebration in Mexico. In the morning the mother is usually treated to a song sung by her family, or a serenade by a hired band. A family breakfast or brunch is also customary. Any family trouble or enmity is laid aside and all gather to honor the matriarch.

Mexicans typically exchange flowers and chocolates. Cards are very popular, and apparently May 10 is the largest day for card sending in Mexico. Phone calls are also customary if the child cannot make it to see their mother.

United Kingdom

Like the rest of Europe, England and Ireland observed the mid-Lent holiday and honored and decorated their “Mother Church,” the church where they were baptized. The church eventually extended the observation to honor all mothers. The English called this Mothering Sunday and, in the 1700's they observed it by taking a break from the fasting and penitence of Lent and having a family feast. Children would make a rare journey home from their apprenticeships and jobs to spend the day with their mother and family. Mothering Sunday fell out of practice in the early 1900's. After WWII, however, the islanders once again picked up the tradition, inspired largely by the United States. Today the UK’s Mother’s Day continues in much the same way as the old tradition, with cards and dinners in honor of Mom.

In addition, cakes and flowers—especially violets—are given to Mom on Mother’s Day in the United Kingdom. It is customary to serve Simnel Cake, a glazed fruitcake inspired by a folk tale about a married couple, Simon and Nell. So the story goes, this pair could not decide bake or broil a cake. So in the end they did both. Thus Simnel Cake was born.

Yugoslavia

Tied to a three day series of holidays, the Mother's Day cycle in Yugoslavia begins with Children's Day or “Dechiyi Dan” three days before Christmas. The following Sunday is Mother's Day or “Materitse”, and the Sunday after that is Father's Day or “Ochichi.”

On Children's Day the children are tied up and not released until they promise to be good. On Mother's day the mother is bound. To earn her freedom she must give the family treats and candy. The father gets tied the next Sunday but must promise more lavish gifts, clothing or shoes, and these items are usually the family's Christmas gifts.

The typical gifts exchanged include candy, sweets, clothing, shoes, coats—and promises of good behavior.


Other Countries & Regions Celebrating Mother's Day

    * Asia - Many Asian countries that celebrate Mother’s Day tend to draw heavily from the United States’ tradition.
    * Australia - The Australian Mother’s Day is similar to that of the United States, in which families visit each other and dinners. In addition to flowers, cards, jewelry and chocolates, it is customary for Australians to exchange perfume and teas on Mother’s Day.
    * Bahrain - In Bahrain Mother's Day is called Ruz-e Madar and it coincides with the first day of spring, observed as March 21, as are the Mother’s Day celebrations in Lebanon and the United Arab Emirates.
    * Belgium - In the Dutch-speaking parts of Belgium the day is called Moederdag.
    * Canada - Canada was one of the first nation’s to pick up the US version of Mother’s Day, making it a national holiday in 1909, one year later the United States did. The customs largely reflect those of its southern neighbor, although in Canada there seems to be an added emphasis on doing chores for the Mother and cooking her supper.
    * China - While China’s Mother’s Day distinguishes itself little from the United States’, it is interesting to note that most Chinese names begin with a character signifying Mother in honor of ones maternal heritage, helping explain the cultural compatibility of such a holiday, despite it’s having been imported from the West.
    * Denmark - In Denmark dining out to lunch is a popular Mother’s Day pastime. The day is called Mors Dag.
    * Ethiopia - Mother's Day in Ethiopia occurs in mid-fall when the rainy season ends. Called “Antrosht,” Ethiopians celebrate by making their way home when the weather clears for a large family meal and a three day long celebration. For the feast the children bring ingredients for a traditional hash recipe. The ingredients are divided along gender lines, with girls bringing butter, cheese, vegetables and spices while the boys bring a bull or lamb. The mother prepares the hash and hands it out to the family. After the meal a celebration takes place. The mothers and daughters ritually anoint themselves with butter on their faces and chests. They dance while the men sing songs in honor of family and heroes. This cycle of feasting and celebration lasts two or three days.
    * Finland - In Finland Mother’s Day is called aidipayiva. In the morning the family arises and takes a walk, picking the new flowers which bloom this time of year and making a bouquet for the mother. A particular flower called the valkovuokko is favored. This is a small white pungent flower. Back home Mom presented with a decorated bouquet, while also being served breakfast in bed.
    * Hong Kong - Hong Kong’s holiday, called mu quin jie, is notable for its custom to pay honor to the parent of the Mother if she is deceased.
    * Italy - The Italians celebrate La Festa della Mamma with a big feast and a cake made in the shape of a heart. Typically Italian schoolchildren will make something to bring home to their Mothers, and the family will take care of the chores for the day.
    * Norway - The Norwegian Morsdag takes place on February’s second Sunday.
    * Pakistan (and Saudi Arabia) - The May 10 celebration of Motherhood in Saudi Arabia and Pakistan is called Yaum ul-umm. It is inspired by and modeled after the western tradition of Mother's Day in which all mothers are honored and given gifts. Celebrations and feasts are customary.
    * Saudi Arabia - see Pakistan
    * Serbia - Also occurring two weeks before Christmas, the Serbian Mother’s Day tradition is quite similar to the Yugoslavian one. The Sunday prior to Mother’s Day is commemorated by a ritual in which parents tie up their young ones until they promise to behave themselves. Retribution comes a week later when children bind their mother until she offers them candy and other treats. But it doesn’t end on Mother’s Day. The following Sunday it’s the father’s turn to be tied up until he promises some pricey gifts.
    * Singapore - Singapore’s Mother’s Day places a heavy emphasis on marketing a wide variety of gifts including spa packages, vacuums, hampers, jewelry and other more traditional presents such as flowers.
    * South Africa - South Africa celebrates Mother’s Day on the first Sunday in May.
    * Sweden - Sweden’s Mother’s Day, which takes place on the last Sunday in May, has a strong charitable focus: the Swedish Red Cross sells small plastic flowers leading up to the holiday, and the proceeds raised are given to poor mothers and their children.
    * Thailand - Perhaps the most unique Asian Mother's Day holiday takes place in Thailand. The celebration coincides with the birthday of their beloved queen, Sirikit Kitayakara, who has reigned since 1950. Her birthday, and therefore Mother's Day, takes place on August 12.
    * Turkey - Mother’s Day in Turkey is heavily influenced by the traditions from the United States.

We also have a page dedicated to detailing when Mother's Day is held in different regions.

Modern Celebration

When the United States congress approved Mother’s Day in 1914, they designated it for the second Sunday in May, and required that the President proclaim the Holiday every year shortly prior to its commencement. A recent example of a presidential Mother’s Day proclamation can be seen here. While the president proclaims the event, some mothers who lost a child use it to protest against war.

Typically a family in the United States will devote Mother’s Day to activities in honor of Mom, whether playing games, going out to dinner, taking the weekend off or going on a walk in the park. Flowers are popular, dating back to the original celebration where Anna Jarvis handed out carnations to the church-goers. It is also common to give Mother cards and chocolate candies on her special day.

In the United States Mother's Day continues to be highly commercialized.

    * The National Retail Foundation predicts Mother's Day is a $14 Billion industry, offering demographic spend breakdowns.
    * Google Trends shows a sharp spike in search traffic for Mother's Day on Mother's Day in the US and UK and the month leading up to it.
    * Florists see their highest sales in May.
    * US restaurants claim that it is the busiest day of the year.
    * Long distance telephone calls also peak on this day.
    * The US Postal Service experiences increased volume during the surrounding days.
    * According to Hallmark, 96% of American consumers take part in shopping on Mother's Day, while retailers report it as the second highest gift giving day of the year behind Christmas.

Emotional Intelligence - What do I know? - Repost

I am continually amazed by how much I do not know about stuff.   I am ignorant; sometimes not even with the blissful ignorance people talk about; but rather, the more "disconnected from life, the earth, and everyone" ignorance.

This brings me to the point of this blog:  Emotional Intelligence.

According to Psychology Today, Emotional Intelligence is the ability to perceive, control, and evaluate emotions.  It is the subset of social intelligence that involves the ability to monitor one's own and others' feelings and emotions, to discriminate among them and to use this information to guide one's thinking and actions.

There are four different factors of emotional intelligence:

1.  the perception of emotion,
2.  the ability to reason using emotions,
3.  the ability to understand emotion,
4.  and the ability to manage emotions.

I can talk about E.I. (Emotional Intelligence) as a definition, and go through all the parts, but it really is like a bio-researcher talking about love.

So....here is something a little different; how to fail an E.I. questionnaire.

The Perception of Emotion 

-----------------------------
"She's not that into you!  She was not smiling at you...that was her baring her teeth"
- Being one of the guys that takes a girl being nice to them as an invitation to ask them out on a date.
Emotional Intelligence - Low;  Verdict - Failed!

"Just give them some space!  Otherwise, you might not like what she will say!"
Not realizing that sometimes people just don't want to talk out their emotions, they want to be alone.
Emotional Intelligence - Low;  Verdict - Failed!


The ability to reason using emotions
-----------------------------------
"I don't want to go with you because shopping really makes me feel bored, and like I am wasting those hours of my life on nothing at all!"
Emotional Intelligence - Low;  Verdict - Failed!

"If you could just understand that when you spend time with your friends, your intelligence goes down."
Emotional Intelligence - Low;  Verdict - Failed!


The ability to understand emotion
----------------------------------- 
"But you just cried 10 minutes ago!  This is the last time we are getting a chick-flick!"
Emotional Intelligence - Low;  Verdict - Failed!

"How can you be jealous over a girl that doesn't even wear a bra!"
Emotional Intelligence - Low;  Verdict - Failed!


The ability to manage emotions.
-----------------------------------
"What do you mean?  I had to punch something.  I will fix the hole in the wall this weekend!"
Emotional Intelligence - Low;  Verdict - Failed!

"So, I didn't realize he was a cop until after I gave him the finger!"
Emotional Intelligence - Low;  Verdict - Failed!


These are some ways to make fun of all the times that we men have not shown that high a level of emotional intelligence.   I am one of them.   I admit it.


Why are men particularly guilty of having a low emotional intelligence?

Let me say, that in writing this blog, I researched some things about emotions and the sexes.  It seems that men experience emotions as deeply as women.   Though men compartmentalize and intellectualize more, women are affected more directly, more quickly than men.  

The male mind is hard-wired differently.  Women, in PET and dynamic contrast studies of the blood flow in the brain, show a much quicker transition of activity level between the logical, reasoning and emotional centers of the brain; namely the left and right hemispheres.  Men show a much slower transitioning of activity.

This may explain why, in 125 studies in various cultures, boys and men were consistently less accurate at interpreting unspoken messages in gestures, facial expressions and tone of voice. Men also react less intensely to emotions, and forget them faster. In an experiment at Stanford University, photographs of upsetting or traumatic images triggered greater activity in more regions of female brains. Three weeks later the women remembered more detail about the pictures than the men.

Men do experience strong emotions.  In fact, during traumatic emotional events, such as divorce or the loss of a loved one, those raw emotions cannot be compartmentalized or intellectualized.   Once those floodgates are open, they are rarely if ever closed.  In these situations, developing emotional intelligence is not only preferable, but necessary for the man to have a better chance of future, positive, and nurturing emotional relationships.

So what can we Men as a species do to increase our Emotional Intelligence?

All I can say is that it takes an effort, a choice to step back and think of how my reactions, my words, can affect the emotions of those around me.   When I do take this pause, and I do think about the emotional content of the situation, I do show more emotional intelligence.

Just ask yourself:

Am I understanding the emotional context of this situation?
What I am about to say; does it take into account the feelings of the other person?
What am I feeling now, and how does it affect what I am about to say and do?
Are my emotional needs being expressed in a way that does not infringe on other's emotional needs.

All of these steps require that men allow themselves to feel and express their emotions first.
There are some tips from Reader's Digest in the Oct 2005 issue that may be of help to both men and the women in their life.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Images from this article

ComstockComplete

What lurks behind a man's silent, stoic mask? Vulnerability.

javascript:void(0);

Emotions live in the background of a man's life and the foreground of a woman's

Guys, Try These:

• Develop a creative outlet. Hobbies like painting or playing a musical instrument can tap into a man's soul. Remember that much of the world's greatest art, music and literature was created by the allegedly emotionally challenged sex.
  
• Release stress and anger through exercise. "When you get to the breaking point where you just want to put your head through a wall, taking a ten-minute time-out isn't enough to calm down," says Westover, who in moments of extreme emotion finds a place to drop to the floor and do push-ups.
  
• Try expressing "a little" emotion. "Start with feelings you can control, find a sympathetic ear and use the term 'a little,'" suggests Coleman. Saying you feel "a little" sad or "a little" scared feels safer than a full declaration of vulnerability.
  
• Lean into the discomfort. "Rather than avoiding a feeling that you're not sure how to handle, move toward it," says psychologist Travis Bradberry, PhD, co-author of The Emotional Intelligence Quick Book. "Learning to handle emotions takes time and practice because you need to retrain your brain, but it does get easier." 

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

Capturing Moments in Time and Memory

Capturing moments in time and memory is something we all do from time to time.

"I will remember this moment.   I will!"   I have said to myself.   There are times that were so good, or so peaceful, or so moving that I wanted to indelibly impress them on my memory so that I could remember them later.  It is amazing how many of these memories that have been stored away. 

I would like to share a few of such moments in this blog.   They may prompt you to take some mental "snapshots" yourself.

Snapshot
---------
It was sometime in the summer of my 2nd grade year, and my family had guests over.   There was a wonderful little girl a year older than me, and a year younger than my brother.   I remember my brother and I trying to impress this girl.  She sat on the couch, and he and I would perform dance moves, songs, handstands, somersaults, anything to impress her.   Then my mom called my brother into the kitchen for some reason, and this girl and I finally had time to talk.  I needed to remember this feeling.   I had a huge crush on this girl; it happening over the course of an hour.   I finally had time without competing over her with my brother.  By the time he came back, she and I were sitting together on the couch.  This was a time I did not want to forget.

Snapshot
---------
My uncle took me up in his plane, sometime when I was 5.  I do not remember much, but there was a moment.   He told me to take the stick when we were up in the sky.  He said to not move it and keep it in the center.   I did, but did not believe that he let go in the front.  When he put up his arms, I knew that for that time I had control, I was flying the plane. 

Snapshot
---------
T-ball was the bane of my existence.  I would always hit the ball directly to the 1st base player.  I got more OUTs than anyone else in the team.   Yet, one day, I hit the ball and it did not go to 1st base.  It went beyond the pitcher and out into the field.  I ran two bases, but we won the game because the other bases were loaded.  Before I knew it, I was hoisted to the shoulders of my team, and marched around the field. 

Snapshot
---------
My friend was talking about suicide.  I spent hours talking with him.   When he went home, I did not know what the outcome would be the next day.  I hoped for the best, but was too young and too uninformed that I should have told someone else about my fears.  It was the longest night.   The next day, I talked with him, and he sounded better; not much, but better.  I felt such a sense of relief.   I vowed I would remember that time.  He is now married and has two children and he is happy.

Snapshot
---------
People around me saw angels.   It was a camp out, and these junior high kids saw angels.   All of us just completed a game where we said what we liked about the people around us.   There was such a sense of peace and love among the group.   Just then, people started stirring and asking who those two people were (pointing to the edge of the fire).  I did not see anything; but they even had different description of who these two were.   About three of us did not see anything at all; I was one of them.   Though in that setting, I believed totally that others were seeing the angels.  It was a moment that I needed to put away, to save, to cherish.

Hear Me! See Me! Understand Me!

There have been times in my life that I have felt misunderstood, ignored, or treated like I just didn't exist.  All of this really boils down to the need to feel accepted by others.

So this blog is really some of those moments where I needed to feel accepted when I felt ignored or misunderstood, and how, each time, as I came to accept myself more, I was more accepted by others.

When I was in Kindergarten, I had a really bad speech problem.   I could not pronounce "R"s to save my life.   When I tried to talk with others, they simple could not understand what I was saying.   I got so frustrated.   My family has told me that I would throw fits and cry a lot because I could not be understood.   My parents started me in speech therapy to correct my "R"s.

I remember that my teacher was so very patient.   I remember repeating certain phrases, words, sounds thousands of times.   I know that I got so angry sometimes, so frustrated, yet she calmly worked with me.   For some time, we worked together and my speech got better.   I cried over it less, was understood more, and started feeling like part of the conversations, play and fun in school.   I got to like my own voice, to accept that I could work on my speech and have people understand my words.  I learned a little of the patience with other people in understanding me that my speech therapist had with me.

The other major time that I felt cut off, ignored was when I was going through Chemotherapy in High School.  I lost my hair, all of it, and even my eyebrows.    I remember my 16th birthday, when some of my friends were invited to my house, and they moved the bed out into the living room so that I could participate in the party while still laying down.   My friends, the close ones, tried their best, but I could feel that because I looked like I did, and that they all knew that I had Cancer, that there were reservations.   Some did not know how to react.  Most, even though they may have not been aware of it, distanced themselves a bit.   I did not blame them.   I would not know how to react back then either.   However, in High School, people really backed off.   I would walk through the halls and actually see people move away a little to either side of the hall.  Not much; a couple of inches or a foot, but they moved.   I could see that everyone saw me, but they acted as if they did not.   Not too many spontaneous conversations with strangers happened that year.  

What helped me, during this time, was the time I spend during the summer at camp.   In that intentional Christian community, I found acceptance and love.   It did not matter how I looked, how I acted, there were too many occasions where I found that others liked me and I liked them.   That did more for my self-acceptance than anything else did in all my High School years.   What it also did, was bolster me for the months when I went to school and experienced this distancing from others.   I started to act like I did in camp, and did not wait for others to begin to accept, welcome or understand me, but went to others and listened, spent time, and tried to hear them and understand them.  Instead of waiting to be seen, I chose to see others around me, for the individuals that they were.

What I truly noticed is that all people want to be seen, understood, heard; but most of all accepted. 

I am struck, constantly, by the Prayer of Saint Francis, and the particular line in bold:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace;

where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon:

where there is doubt, faith ;

where there is despair, hope

where there is darkness, light

where there is sadness, joy

O divine Master,

grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;

to be understood, as to understand;

to be loved, as to love;

for it is in giving that we receive,

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

Amen.