Making Space

As my company approaches its fifteenth anniversary this fall, we’ve been spending a little time cleaning and organizing around the office. We’ve been in the same location since the day we opened our doors, and after fifteen years, it doesn’t take much for things to accumulate.

Last week I opened a drawer and found something I hadn’t thought about in years—my old Rolodex.

I’ve probably owned that thing for close to thirty years, and it has spent most of the last fifteen sitting quietly in that drawer. It was hard not to laugh. There was a time when that little collection of index cards represented my entire professional network. If you lost it, you lost your contacts.

Today, every one of those names I still need is in my iPhone.

In another drawer, I found a couple of floppy disks from the early 2000s. It’s almost funny to think that we once carried those around to back up important files. At the time, they seemed indispensable. Today, I don’t even own a computer that could read them.

Those went in the trash.

Then I found my original headshot from when I began my financial services career in early 2003. Looking at that picture made me smile. I was thirty-five years old, starting a new career, and taking myself just a little too seriously. My wife insisted that one come home instead of ending up in the trash.

As I looked through those old reminders, I realized they all had something in common. They had served their purpose.

The Rolodex helped me build relationships.

The floppy disks protected work that mattered at the time.

That headshot represented a young advisor eager to prove himself.

None of those things were bad. In fact, they were important chapters of my life. But they belonged to a different season.

It made me wonder how often we hold on to things simply because they’ve always been there. Sometimes it’s physical clutter. Other times it’s old habits, outdated expectations, disappointments, fears, or even old versions of ourselves. We carry them around without realizing how much space they’re taking up.

Clearing out those drawers wasn’t really about making room in the office. It was about making room in my mind.

There is something freeing about acknowledging that you’ve changed. The person I was twenty years ago got me to where I am today, and I’m grateful for him. But I don’t need to keep living like him.

The older I get, the more I appreciate simplicity. I don’t need to save everything. I don’t need to preserve every version of myself. Some things deserve a place in my memories, not in my desk drawer.

So here’s a question worth asking:

What are you still holding on to that has already served its purpose?

Maybe it’s something sitting on a shelf. Maybe it’s a regret, a fear, or a story you’ve been telling yourself for years.

Whatever it is, perhaps today is a good day to let it go. You might discover that what you gain by creating space is far greater than what you lose by cleaning it out.

I haven’t written about this because I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t  really, but I think I need to do this for me.  Two years ago today, I almost died. A couple of times actually. My heart stopped, caused, perhaps ironically, by medication I was taking to regulate my heart rhythm.

Our oldest daughter graduated from college earlier in the day. We went out to eat and then stopped in a store to buy her a new Apple watch as a graduation present. As we stood in front of the store saying goodbye to her and her husband, I turned to head to the car and knew something was off but had no time to react. The next thing I knew, I could hear my wife screaming my name and I opened my eyes to see that I was face down in a parking lot.

My kids saw it happen. My wife thought I was gone. I had no idea what had happened. I got to take my first ever ambulance ride and ended up in a nearby hospital, where my heart stopped again. So, they decided that I was not going anywhere. And during the night, my heart stopped again, this time for fourteen seconds. That doesn’t seem long, until you realize that was 15-20 beats my heart missed.

I ended up spending two nights in ICU and two more in the cardiac care unit. The doctors discussed a pacemaker, but then looked at my meds and identified what they thought the cause was. But to get me off the drug, they had to fix the heart problem it was treating.

This was the scariest weekend I have ever gone through, especially the first night. Once I went down, I didn’t get to talk to my kids at all. My daughter and son-in-law got the younger girls away so that they couldn’t see what was happening. I think that was the hardest part of the first night. They came and put a defibrillator on my me and moved me to the ICU. I was alone and didn’t know if I would see my wife and kids again.

Obviously, it all worked out and I am still here. Despite my church background, you are not likely to hear me say that God was really looking out for me that day or anything like that. Truth be told, God is a bigger mystery to me than that these days and that sounds like too easy of an answer.

But, as a friend told me shortly after this…This was going to happen, and it happened at the best time and place it could have. And she was right. We were in the city and the incident happened five minutes from a good heart hospital. It could have happened while I was out walking by myself or driving down the highway (which I would have been doing in about five more minutes!).

A few days after I got out of the hospital, I sat by the pool and wrote about eight pages in my journal about the incident and some messy aftermath. It was a little hard to read because it was really raw. And I have teared up a few times writing this.

Not as much has changed for me as I hoped in those early days following my surgery, but I think some things did. I hope I am a little more chill, a little more aware, a little more kind. I know that I notice beauty around me more. I think I am more patient and a little slower to get angry. I hope I am more loving and present with those closest to me. And I try to be grateful every day. At the end of the day, and the end of our lives, I think these things truly matter.

So be kind, be grateful, be aware. Life is a gift. Make the most of it.

I usually struggle with choosing a discipline, or a denial, or a practice for Lent, and this year has been no different. The usual list of things went through my mind, and while I know that some of them would be good for me, none of them were inspiring me. And if they don’t inspire me, I am going to struggle with keeping up with it.

So, I kept thinking and finally decided that this year for Lent, I am giving up complaining. That might seem strange, but then I pretty odd so no problem there. And I don’t think I complain a lot, but I have become aware of it more lately.

Our town is growing quite a bit and that means construction and traffic, and those things can certainly bring out the negative. I mean it sometimes takes fifteen minutes to get somewhere, and that does result in some grumbles. And our traffic lights are terrible, so you know?!

And the resolution people are still coming to the gym halfway through February and crowding it up and using the weights and machines I want. Our regular 6 AM crowd has a lot to say about that, and much of it is not so positive. We want to be able to do what we always do, and these new people should respect that, even if they don’t know us or what we do. We were there first.

There are more examples, but I will leave it at these two.

What I want to focus on is the positives when I can. Or at least camp out at neutral without making the leap to whining and griping.

The truth of my life is that I really don’t have much to complain about. And the things that we tend to go so negative about are mostly just inconveniences. They make things take a little longer or require us to alter our routine. And we don’t like it and so we complain and judge and ask for a little cheese to go with our whine.

What if we shifted our focus and tried to think of things in a different way? Our town is growing, and traffic is backed up…but we are getting new stores and restaurants, and new people are moving here who are potential clients for my business.

And sure, my workouts may be altered by there being more people in the gym, but why should more people wanting to be healthy be a bad thing?

To be clear, there is a difference between honest critique and complaining. We need to be willing to be honest about things that are not right, but we also need to be aware of the times that we are operating out of a sense of privilege and entitlement more than a desire for things to be right.

So, for the next few weeks, I am going to work hard at not complaining. The things that have brought that out in me are not likely to change during that time; but my new outlook might at least make them look different.

And when I encounter a complainer, I am going to work at not joining in and also at changing the trajectory of the conversation if possible.

I can be almost certain that I will not be completely successful in my complaint-free Lent, so the other part of this is to give myself grace when I do stray into negativity.

The reality is that there is almost always something to be grateful for, and it is much easier to recognize when we are focused on seeing that side of things.

Peace.

On Thursday, I will have my fourth surgery in a year. It started with a heart procedure last May, followed by two relatively minor elbow surgeries and will conclude with a more involved operation on my elbow which will have me on very limited duty for a while.

As I have been dealing with all of this, I have been thinking a lot about getting older. The last twelve months have been, without question, the hardest time for me physically in my life. I have told folks that I feel like I aged way more than one year in that time. And coming on the heels of the pandemic, it is no wonder that I feel so beaten up.

One of the struggles has been coming to terms with the things that I cannot, or at least should not, keep doing. I have been into fitness for a long time and have always liked being really strong in the weight room. I guess it had become a part of my identity (and also why I keep having elbow surgeries, but…). However, I am not that guy anymore, and that has been difficult to accept.

But I also believe that our bodies and minds believe what we tell them, and so I am trying to really watch what I say to myself. I try to catch myself when I want to say that I feel old or broken down or whatever. And sometimes, it even works.

As I face this surgery and think about the one last year that saved me, I am also trying to figure out how to be me in a new way. I am trying to focus on what I can and want to do more than what I cannot.

For instance, I recently made the decision to turn over lawn care at our house to someone else. Our yard is large, and it takes me about four hours to get it all done the way I like it. And by the end of that time, I will be too tired to do other things I want to do. So, I made the call, hired someone, and turned my attention elsewhere to some other things that I would rather spend my time on.

The way I see it (on the good days anyway) is that I get to decide how I am going to feel and who I am going to be. I will just do that with one good arm for a little while. And if you see me talking to myself, don’t worry, it’s probably just a pep talk.

The first Sunday of Lent always has us reading about the temptations of Jesus in the wilderness. If you have been in churches that follow the lectionary, this is a familiar story, and a familiar part of the rhythm of the year. I always found that to be an interesting passage to preach when I was a pastor, for there was usually some new twist to consider, some new angle from which to view the story.

And this year, though I have not been a pastor for several years, the story challenged me in a new and needed way. One of my daily disciplines for the last couple of years has been to read the daily devotional passage from the Center for Action and Contemplation (led by Father Richard Rohr). In today’s reading, he refers to the temptation narrative in the gospel of Matthew and he points out that the first two temptations are for Jesus to doubt his divine identity. “If you are the Son of God, you can do…” That is a key moment, when Jesus has to decide who to believe about who he is.

But here is the broader truth about that temptation. We all face that same temptation almost daily. We may feel like it is coming from the evil one who makes us wonder if God could really love us, if we could really be children of God. Even if you are not religious, you probably hear the same voice in your head and your heart, saying something like, “If you really were a good person, you wouldn’t be doing….whatever thing you sometimes think you shouldn’t be doing.”

And if we pay too much attention, and give too much power, to that voice, we will start to believe it, and we will start to act out of that belief. If we listen to the doubts enough, we will see no reason not to give in to them.

But…if we can stand up to that voice, if we can speak truth back to it, we can reclaim our power, our identity as beloved children of the divine, as worthy creatures and citizens of the universe.

I write out of much experience. I know this voice well. I know this challenge well. And some days I find the grace and the power to push back against it and claim my identity and my strength. Other days, maybe not so much.

So, during this Lenten season, while I am working on some needed changes in my own life, I am trying hard to listen for a different voice, for an encouraging spirit, a trustworthy companion on the journey who reminds me not of what I cannot do, but of who I am and how much value and strength I have.

I don’t think that we ever fully silence our inner critical voice, and perhaps we don’t need to since it might cause us to do some needed inner work from time to time. But we don’t have to give that voice top billing in our minds, and we don’t have to believe everything it says. On the good days, we know that what they are saying is not who we are anyway.

So listen each day for the voice of God, or of the universe, or of your own soul, who reminds you that you have value just because you  are here and that you are strong and kind and worthy. That is the voice that can change our days, and our lives, so we would do well to believe it when we hear it.

Peace.

The start of a new year is a good time to evaluate what has been and look ahead at what might be. I don’t make resolutions, I set goals…and then I make a spreadsheet to track my progress.  But life can throw a wrench into the goals and plans, and spreadsheets.

Last year, I had a pretty extensive (and looking back quite unrealistic) list of goals for the year. Then I had heart surgery in May and it messed up most of them. Life happens that way, but, hey, I am still here to set new goals for 2023, so that is a win!

Over the last couple of years, I have been reading lots from the Stoic philosophers, and one theme that hits me heard is about how much time we spend worrying about and trying to change things that are out of our control, or not our responsibility. If we focus on what is in our control, which is ultimately how we treat ourselves and others and how we respond to life, we will be much better off.

I have also spent a good bit of time reading Buddhist teachings (I am an eclectic guy) and continue to wrestle with the idea that we suffer because we want things to be different than they are and lots of things are not ours to fix. If we can learn to control our responses and accept life as it comes, we may well find ourselves living a much more peaceful life.

Now, none of that is to say that we don’t try to better ourselves. Most of us can make better decisions about our health. Most of us can be more disciplined than we are. Most of us can do a better job of seeing the value of others and helping them to see it too.

But here is the thing about goal setting and self-improvement…it can easily overwhelm us if we aren’t realistic about our expectations and kind to ourselves when we fail.

Think about that one thing that you really want to change this year. Maybe you want to eat healthier. Maybe you want to stop drinking. Maybe you want to exercise. Perhaps you need to get your finances under control.

If you say, I am going to work out every day, you will fail because life! But if you put a plan in place and find a partner and set small goals, you will likely see progress before long.

If you want to eat more healthy, don’t say I am never eating fried foods again (c’mon you’re only human after all). Rather say “Today I am going to eat healthy.” And strive to meet that goal each day.

If you want to stop drinking, a realistic goal is don’t drink today. And strive for that goal over and over.

Take control of the things you can control. And be kind to yourself in the process. Life can be hard on us, so we should probably take it a little easier on ourselves and each other.

May you have a good year, one day at a time!

This is something that has been on my mind for a few weeks, and I decided it was time to share it. I have been thinking about how we tend to view everything as relative and make everything at least a comparison, if not an outright contest. I am thinking about this primarily in terms of struggles and grief. But we often do it when someone experiences a win as well.

You know what I am talking about. You have done it and so have I. A friend is describing something they are going through, and rather than simply sitting with them and holding space for them and their pain, we tell a story about something we faced, and it was certainly more difficult.

Or we so helpfully point out to them that there is always somebody who has it harder than them. Well, yeah…but also, so what?

Trials are faced by all of us, and we certainly need to be able to talk about them. In fact, it is by facing things together that we can grow closer and stronger.

But when we feel we have to one-up someone, or try to downplay their difficulties, we minimize their pain, and their humanity. So, the next time a friend is sharing their pain, just let them know you are with them and sit with them in their pain. Sure, someone you know has it worse, but that doesn’t make your friend’s pain any less real.

I am convinced that the most compassionate thing we can do for a hurting brother or sister is walk with them and hold them as they hold their pain. Or if you cannot be with them in it, be waiting for them on the other side so that when they emerge from the dark they see a friendly face. We need friends and companions on this journey more than we need scorekeepers.

Just something I have been thinking about for a little while.

Peace.

We just got back from five days in Cancun (without our children) where the hardest decision we had to make was which restaurant to pick for dinner. Life has been so stressful over the past couple of years with the pandemic and all the uncertainty and upheaval that accompanied it. And with Emily hard at work on her dissertation, we needed a break.

Emily and I are very intentional about getting time away for just the two of us. We recognize the need for it and make a priority. I tell people that we come back to our kids as better parents, but the reality is we come back as simply better people. We travel well together and enjoy exploring and finding new places. But we also value time with nothing that has to be done. Most of the time, we were not totally sure what day it was! We came back home tanned and rested and, sort of, ready to jump back into the busyness of our lives.

I think one of the best parts of the trip was getting to play in the waves every day. The water in Cancun is beautiful, but the last several times we have gone, the seaweed has been so bad that we didn’t get to enjoy the ocean. This time, we were able to spend lots of time in the water.

On the second day, I realized that it was the water that was restoring and healing, calming my busy mind and spirit. I looked around at all the other people in the water around us and noticed that everyone was smiling, and the sound of laughter was as loud as the crashing of the waves, and I realized that it is impossible to not be happy playing in the waves at the beach. If you don’t believe me, go to a beach and try it out. I guarantee you will smile and laugh. If you can’t go to a beach, try playing with kids in a pool…you will smile and laugh there too. Or, if it ever rains enough around here to make some, go jump in puddle.

I have been thinking about water a lot of the last several days and how it worked it’s magic on us in Mexico. We know how important water is to life. It hydrates us and cleanses us. It makes things grow and flourish. It restores us and renews us. But it is also wild and hard to control. I think that was what made the waves so much fun. The loudest laughter came after getting smacked by a wave that we didn’t see coming.

Water, for all the good, can also be dangerous. The same river that nourishes a valley can overflow and destroy homes and crops. The waves that we ride and swim in can turn on us.

So, here is the question…Will we let the risk keep us from experiencing the renewal? Will we let the chance that something bad might happen keep us from enjoying the almost certain positive outcomes?

We are conditioned to look for safety and to avoid danger. We want predictable and avoid what we cannot control. And in doing so, we may just be missing out on the very healing that our bodies and our souls need so desperately.

Here is the reality…Safe things don’t change things.

So, step out into the wild, let the waves wash over you, take the risk, and you may see yourself come out a little stronger, healthier, and more at peace. At the very least, you may find your smile again, and that is no small thing.

“[There] are those who prefer certainty to truth, those in church who put the purity of dogma ahead of the integrity of love. And what a distortion of the gospel it is to have limited sympathies and unlimited certainties, when the very reverse, to have limited certainties but unlimited sympathies, is not only more tolerant but far more Christian.” William Sloane Coffin

I have been a fan of Rev. Coffin’s writings and his perspective for many years, but I had never read these words until today. And they resonate with me so deeply because it seems to fit so well with my own journey.

I grew up in a religious setting that valued certainty and purity over welcoming and love. Oh, I am sure they would not fully agree with that assessment, but that makes it no less true. Yet, as I got older and met more people and experienced more things, I found that this certainty that I once thought I had was getting harder to hold onto. I think that may be the thing about certainty; it is inherently slippery.

Growing less certain is a necessary part of maturing, in my opinion, because it means that we are learning to question and to push back against the things that no longer seem to work or fit. But the lessening of certainty needs to be replaced with something else. And that is with more love.

As we grow less certain about the limits of divine love, we can grow more open about the unlimited nature of divine grace.

As we grow less certain about the hard lines and categories we once believed in, we can grow more loving toward those who look and think and believe differently than us.

As we grow less certain about the “narrow way,” we can learn to enjoy the vastness of the divine welcome.

And what the world needs more of right now is not more certainty, but more love.

What the world needs is not more restrictive categories, but more open communication.

More yes and less nos.

More “come on in” and less “you don’t belong here.”

After all, Jesus did say that the way that people will know that you follow him is by how well you love.

So may we be willing to be less certain, but may we never be content with loving less.

Peace.

Happy New Year! As this year starts, I have lots of goals and plans for 2022 and one of the goals is to blog at least three times a month. You don’t have to read it, but I am still going to post it!

Lots of folks choose a word for the year that defines and clarifies their focus. I think that is a great practice, but I have decided to do it a little differently, at least for now. I am going to start each month with a word for the month that will set my focus for the weeks ahead. And the at the end of the year, I think it will be interesting to look back and see how the path unfolded throughout the months.

My word for January is “CHOOSE.” I think that we, or at least I, forget just how much power we have to choose in our lives. But the key is to do the work, to take the time, to discern and understand the parts over which we have control and the external things that will not change, no matter how much we wish it or scream at it.

As this new year starts, that is going to be my focus. I want to be keenly aware of the areas where my choices can make a difference and then work to make good choices (and I want to make sure to be forgiving when I don’t).

After two years of, let’s be honest, hell, we all want to see something different, something better. I don’t know what 2022 is going to bring, but I am making the choice, and will endeavor to make this choice every day, to make it a good year, as far as it depends on me.

This means that there are some decisions that I need to make with regards to my own health and wellness that will require a fairly stark level of honesty with myself. But the audit must be done, and the changes are necessary if I want to be/do better. This is in my control.

The world is an angry, divided place. People are operating out of fear and hatred in ways that I cannot remember ever seeing before. And much of that is beyond my power to do anything about it. But what I can do is this…remember that we are all human and therefore connected and I can choose to meet people out of that understanding; I can seek to meet people with compassion and empathy, rather than anger and sarcasm; and I can focus on lifting up rather than tearing down. Will this change the world? Not really, but it might change mine. And this is in my control

But the other part of this is that I need to be aware of the things that are not in my power to change and release the power of these things over me. For instance, it is supposed to get really cold over the next couple of days, and I am not excited about that. But I also can do nothing about except prepare for it. I choose to not let something like this derail my attitude, since I cannot do anything about it anyway. This, too, is in my control.

In other words, I am choosing to say that, as far as it depends on me, 2022 is going to be a good year, a year of growth and of healing, of wellness and wholeness, and hopefully of joy and love. Peace.