Choking on Greed

One day last week, my oldest son, Michael, managed to choke on a fairly substantial mouthful of spaghetti.

Sitting across the table from him, I could see his face turn red, the sudden desperation in his eyes, the automatic draw of his hands towards his throat.  I was just about to motion to my husband sitting beside him to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre when nature won out and my son rushed to the garbage can and eliminated the offending wad.

After the crisis was past, and the laugh of relief verging on tears had, I did my motherly duty and admonished him not to put so much food in his mouth.  As all mothers know, after a crisis is usually the best time to admonish ones' children, just in case they didn't learn the lesson through experience.

The next day when my son came home from school, he informed me that he had told his teacher that he had almost died the night before from choking on spaghetti.  I asked what his teacher had said.

 Upon noting that my son had survived the ordeal, his teacher had commented, “Well, that's not something you want on your epitaph:  Here lies Michael who died by choking on a spaghetti.”

 Michael, slightly affronted by the mistaken notion that he choked on a single spaghetti and to impress on his teacher the magnitude and seriousness of the situation, informed his teacher that it wasn't just one spaghetti he had choked on but a whole forkful.

 “Oh,” Mr. R. had replied.  “That's even worse:  Here lies greedy Michael who died by choking on a ball of spaghetti!”

And after the crisis and the laughter have faded, there still stands greed, in all its many forms, causing death, sucking the life out of relationships, squeezing joy and satisfaction out of the room, stuffing too much of a good thing into our mouths.

Greed, a subset of fear. 

What if there won't be enough to go around?  What if I don't get my share?  What if he takes what should be mine?  What if I'm not the best?  What if I'm not good enough or important enough?  What if I'm not enough?

Such are the paths of all who go after ill-gotten gain;

it takes away the life of those who get it.

Prov. 1:19 

The greedy bring ruin to their households,

but the one who hates bribes will live.

Prov. 15:27

There is, of course, an antidote to fear and greed.  And where greed requires us to pursue, the antidote requires us to receive.  Somehow, it just seems more “natural” to do the former, somehow even more honourable – at least we're doing something.  Receiving seems suspect, like we're somehow not pulling our weight, like more should be required. 

But there it is:

God is love....There is no fear in love. 

But perfect love drives out fear....

1 John 4:16b, 18a

Let us eat slower, relishing what we have with greater gratitude.  Our hunger will be satisfied.

Scum

Recently, we were at a family gathering where my boys learned a new card game from their older second cousins. Well, not a new game exactly since it's the same card game I learned to play in high school, but new to them and with a different name. The game, called Scum, is fairly simple with the basic premise that a person always needs to play a card that is at least one better or higher than the card the previous person played. The goal is to collect as many cards as possible and you do that by being the last person able to play a higher card. Here's the catch: a two, which is usually the lowest card, or the rare annoying joker, will trump the highest card and get to keep the stack of cards.

 

I was thinking about that game yesterday when it felt like that game played out in reality, with words instead of cards. I had been given many “cards” of compliments and encouragement about a particular thing, stacking up the deck. Then yesterday, one person muttered a discouraging, derogatory comment under his breath, but with the intention to be heard, and it felt to me like that joker with his low “two” trumped the whole stack. His one nasty comment, which was probably true for him, felt like a personal affront and wiped out the truth of all the previous positive comments.

So while I sit here and lick my wounds for a bit, the deeper, more wise side of me can also appreciate this experience as a good reminder to guard what comes out of my own mouth. To be encouraging, to be honest, to offer criticism in a helpful way rather than in biting comments muttered under my breath, to keep in mind the unfortunate weight of a “low card.”

A soothing tongue is a tree of life,

but a perverse tongue crushes the spirit.

Proverbs 15:4

The tongue has the power of life and death,

and those who love it will eat its fruit.

Proverbs 18:21

Gracious words are a honeycomb,

sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.

Proverbs 16:24

Getting Started on Getting Changed

It's Saturday morning, late. We all had a chance to sleep in. Fresh saskatoon muffins for breakfast. Sun streaming in the window.

My husband announces that in this upcoming week, his one week in between jobs, he is planning to work on putting up trim in our upstairs. We did some major renovations upstairs awhile back and now he has a few days to work on those final details that seem like they shouldn't take long but generally take as long as the whole rest of the project.

The question was whose bedroom he should tackle first. He asked the kids if anyone wanted their room to be done first or if we should pick straws to see who would go first. My middle son, who half the time is jumping up from the table anyway, jumped up from the table and shouted, “Me, me! I do! Do my room first!”

Well, my husband continued, whoever's room was going to be first would have to clean up their room today – clean and get their furniture ready to move out of their room, that clean.

“Oh,” said my son, without a moment's hesitation, “then let's pick straws.”

He promptly went and selected a purple straw and cut it up into varying lengths and a draw was made. The long straw was drawn by his older brother meaning his room was going to be first and the other kids subsequently in their proper birth order. And then my middle son was upset. “But I wanted to go first. I said I wanted to go first.” He was not very pleased with his older brother.

The whole scenario was rather humorous to the onlooker, not so much for my son.

I only wish I couldn't relate so well. Some of the time, I am seriously confused about what I really want in my life. Is this what I really want or is this something I think I should want, or worse, what I think that others think that I should want? Other times, I know what I want, but am so daunted by what is involved to make that thing happen, or I am scared by the change that will be inflicted on my life, that I back away from the very thing I want, finding it easier to stay in the disarray that I'm familiar with. And then I end up resenting another person who has taken the course I wish I could take.

Maybe I can take some comfort in a similar parallel to my son's experience. His room will get trimmed out, he'll get a closet door, it will all happen, and he will have a little extra time to make the necessary adjustments. I do believe that good comes out of everything in life and at a time when we're prepared for it, if we're paying attention. So maybe my son and I should go collect some boxes and a broom and get started.

In their hearts humans plan their course,

but the Lord establishes their steps.

Proverbs 16:9

 

The Biscuits Still Turn Out

One of the courses I teach is Grade 8 Home Ec. When the class involves a Food Lab, the students are put into groups of three or four and given a role in order to produce some sort of food.

By this time in the school year, I know the students reasonably well so when I put them into groups recently, I gave particular students particular roles in order to give them practice where they most needed it.

The assignment was baking “Rich Tea Biscuits.” I gave the role of chef to Sam* because he needed practice in reading and following a recipe. He would notoriously begin reading the recipe, or at least listen as we went over it, then get to the kitchen and start mixing things together without consulting the recipe again. This method of cooking had already resulted in some playdough-like colored and textured blueberry muffins and some rather salty pancakes.

Also in his group, I assigned Marie* as host. She has considerable experience in the kitchen and didn't have trouble putting things together. She likes to do things right and I thought maybe her presence in the group would keep Sam on track with the recipe, would keep him from madly rushing ahead towards the goal.

It didn't quite work that way. Sam went ahead and added the milk to the flour mixture before he cut in the butter. Using a pastry cutter under these circumstances is harder than you may imagine. Remarkably, though, he managed to incorporate the butter into the dough.

Somehow in the process, the cook in their group, whose job it is to collect the ingredients, had neglected to add an ingredient or had added the wrong amount. Marie's sense of needing to follow directions kicked in. She grabbed the measuring cup and headed to where the ingredients were set out, bent on remedying the sorry situation. With a junior high sense of drama and a self-aware twinkle in her eye, she muttered in a stage whisper, “This is why I always work alone.” You could practically hear the eye-roll! Boys!

I had to laugh. I'm with her. I like to work alone too, and follow directions and do things correctly. I don't rush madly ahead without bothering to consult a plan or considering the consequences. But as I pondered this groups' experience and the members' past track record, I realized that no matter who was wearing the chef's hat, nothing completely inedible has ever been produced. Marie's cooking may be more appetizing, but Sam's food has all been eaten too. The biscuits still turned out.

While I can't give Sam full marks for following a recipe, I do have to admire his enthusiasm and his not sitting around, wringing his hands till he know every final detail of a thing before he jumps into action. I could learn something from him.

In our society, we are often pressured to be something other than we are. The quiet ones are encouraged to “speak up,” leaders are told to follow, people who prefer to work alone are put into groups, people who are enthusiastic are told to tone it down, creative individuals are instructed to follow directions, direction followers are pressured to think “outside the box.” Society thrives on cookie-cutter people; they're easier to manage. While only ever doing things the way we feel most comfortable with can stunt our growth, always feeling we need to be other than what we are can diminish zest for life and appreciation for the way we were made and fails to make the most of each unique gift. There needs to be room in our world for the Sams who forge ahead, who jump into action, who blaze their own trail and there needs to be room for the Maries who follow directions and execute a plan in all its details, who work better alone. As Ralph Waldo Emerson says, “To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest achievement.” Even greater than having the biscuits turn out!

I praise you because I am

fearfully and wonderfully made;

your works are wonderful,

I know that full well.

Psalm 139:14

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

A New Beginning

I came across this astute observations on one of my favorite blogs the other day: “...while starting is hard, starting over is often much harder.”

Regardless, I will start again.

Yesterday, on the radio program “Writers and Company,” in response to a question on what his biggest extravagance was, Chris Hadfield, the astronaut and author, replied that he had 12 guitars. “It's easier to buy a guitar than to play one,” is what he said. That's what I've been doing with writing. I've been buying and reading books on writing, but haven't actually written something for awhile.

So I'm going to put down my book and pick up my pen, figuratively speaking anyway, and start again.

New Year's seems like a fitting time to start anything, new and new for the second time. Lingering vestiges of Christmas have been cleaned up and the year stretches out like a blank canvas, awaiting paint, happy splashes of yellow and blue, perhaps a stripe of black, and various shades of green.

Last year at this time, as I stood on the brink of 2013, my vision of what the year would hold turned out to be very different than the reality. I had plans and dreams and aspirations that got rearranged one month into the year. A person can plan and arrange (which generally I like to do), but life doesn't necessarily adhere to those plans. What continued to give me comfort and assurance and strength to carry on when I felt like I didn't have a clue was the knowledge that God was walking with me every step of the way and that when I took moments to calm my mind in God's presence, there was always help available to me. That is one lesson I want to carry with me into the new year. I'm also less eager to make specific plans for the future and more willing to meet the future as it comes to me.

However, I do have a few aspirations this year. Not resolutions, exactly, just ideas I'd like to practise a bit.

The first one is to have less stuff, but better stuff. I like things, so I bring them home. And then it often doesn't take long before the stuff I liked becomes clutter and then a nuisance and then a burden, or trash. I end up throwing things out or sending them to the thrift store or relegating them to the attic because I've brought home things that don't have lasting power. I'd like to follow William Morris' axiom, “If you want a golden rule that will fit everything, this is it: Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.” The only problem there is that sometimes my definition of beauty changes, or my expectations of usefulness are too low. I want to cultivate greater discretion in the things I haul home.

The second thing is that I am going to endeavor to both acknowledge and accept my natural rhythms. I am an early riser – always have been, but for some reason I often feel “less than” because of it. Boring and diligent people get up early in the morning; interesting and engaging people stay up late. But now, after all these years, I am going to acknowledge that I am a boring and diligent person and I wake up early in the morning. Staying up late does not, in fact, make me an interesting and engaging person; it makes me a tired and groggy and perhaps even grumpy person. And so, in an effort to accept the way that I am, I am no longer going to feel guilty for waking up early, and am instead going to use those blissful, quiet moments or minutes or hours to accomplish some of the things I am not going to accomplish late in the evening. (Of course, as soon as I decided that, I was overwhelmed with the urge to sleep in every morning....)

Which leads to my final aspiration. My hope is to again get into a routine of posting to my blog once a week. Writing my blog helps me to stay present in my own life, to pay attention to the gift that each day is, to process and absorb lessons I gain from experience. These are things that I value highly, but so easily lose in the routine of regular days.

So here's to 2014. May we be people who are prepared for what lies in store for us.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord,

“plans to prosper you and not to harm you,

plans to give you hope and a future.

Then you will call on me and come and pray to me

and I will listen to you.

You will seek me and find me

when you seek me with all your heart.”

Jeremiah 29:11-13

When We End Up in the Ditch (or other unfortunate places)

We were in Winnipeg last night at a gathering of friends – some friends from our current life and some from a previous life. There was lots of catching up, lots of laughs, lots of good food. It was a good time.

During the course of the conversation, a story was told of farm hand who had tipped his loaded harvest-hauling truck into a deep ditch. The worker had managed to crawl out of the truck unharmed and walked back to the farm, but didn't tell anyone about his mishap until the end of the day.

Another person commented that that probably wasn't a mistake that worker was liable to make twice. And then he went on to tell another similar story, but in this one, the worker who had dumped the truck had asked his boss if he was going to fire him.

“Fire you? Are you kidding? I just spent $30 000 on your education! Do you think I'm going to fire you now and let someone else benefit from that education? Not a chance!”

That sounds to me like the grace of God.

We (the royal “we”, meaning I) mess up royally and God chalks it up to education, not an opportunity to cut us off from his love. That is wild, humbling grace. Not only that, we don't even have to show up in front of the boss by our dirty, messy selves. We have an advocate who will speak on our behalf.

We might even become better drivers of our lives with grace-filled second chances like this.  And hopefully more gracious to our fellow truck-drivers when they end up in awkward circumstances.

And not only that, but we also glory in tribulations,

knowing that tribulation produces perseverance;

and perseverance, character; and character, hope.

Now hope does not disappoint,

because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts

by the Holy Spirit who was given to us.

Romans 5:3 – 5 (NKJV)

But if anyone does sin,

we have an advocate with the Father – Jesus Christ, the Righteous One.

1 John 2:2 (NIV)

other unfortunate places

Feeding the Soul

I went for a little hike on Sunday. By myself. No one else wanted to come along.

The pleasant days of autumn are numbered and I haven't been taking advantage of them as I would like, but Sunday was the day to get outside. I wanted to go hiking in the hills. Where we live is completely flat and no matter which way I walk down the road, I am always in sight of the neighbours. While we have fine neighbours, when I go walking I like to feel like I'm the only person in the world.

So, I set out to find a small road in the hills that I could walk along and feel like I was alone. There's a little lake not far from where we live, maybe 3 miles away, that I figured would be a suitable destination. The only problem is I can only find that lake when I'm not looking for it. I cannot for the life of me choose the right road to take to get there. I always go too far down one road because the turn-off to get to the lake happens sooner (I think) than I think it ought to which leads me to another fork in the road where I inevitably choose the left, doubt myself, turn around and go back and choose the right, which still turns out to be the wrong choice because I'm on the wrong road anyway.

Needless to say, I didn't make it to the lake. However, as I was driving down the wrong road, I came across what appeared to be an interesting field road. I parked my vehicle, grabbed my camera and started walking.

It was perfect. It was a windy, twisty road that went up hills and down valleys, around corners and through muskegs. There was not a house in sight. The air was filled with the fragrances of autumn: distant smoke from stubble fires, fallen brown oak leaves, cool moist air of a pond, the pungent scent of rotting berries and the last vestiges of prairie grasses. I could only hear my footsteps and the occasional gurgling of water.

It was a walk that fed my soul.

Recently, it has seemed that I have as hard a time “finding time” to feed my soul as I do finding Jackson's Lake. Of course, they say that you always find time for the things that are important to you.

Perhaps I need to set aside my expectations that I'll make it to the lake, or to that silent retreat weekend, or whatever, and instead keep my eyes open for the interesting side roads that pop up along the way, for smaller, less glamorous but more frequent, ways to feel my soul. Because really, there are not many more important things than that.

What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world

yet forfeit their soul?

Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul?

Matthew 16:26