Loving
Caring
Thoughtful
Intelligent
Understanding
Independent
Generous
Prepared
Successful
Savvy
Well-dressed
Resourceful
Adored
And a bit mysterious
Now where is my red suit, my snowmobile and my helicopter?
And why was there no black grand piano in any of the scenes?
She was single. At an adult time in life when most would assume and presume to be married. Or is that true? Many of her friends were also alone. Grown children. Estranged spouses. Sometimes more than one. In some cases, a deceased spouse. A lifetime of anticipated marriage and a dream of growing old together had certainly taken an unexpected and unwelcome turn for each of them.
Once in awhile, she and her single friends might discuss loneliness – the dream of actually finding a soul mate. Often, they iterated the good; how really nice it was to be single and independent, to arrange life without regard to the strong opinion of another. Some joined singles groups online or in person in an active bid to find a partner. One or two friends were openly desperate, chasing a string of lovers. Others quietly waited and pined.
Secure in her singleness, outwardly content, with a measure of independence, she still found herself one day in deep longing and yearning.
She was out walking (although it could have been any legitimate hobby or activity beloved by an individual; knitting, painting, golfing, yoga). Minding her own business. Steadily moving forward. Putting one foot in front of the other. She was suddenly overcome by longing and yearning. Articulating the feeling, she said, “I would give anything to be loved!” She sighed and coddled the pangs of longing for a few moments.
“Really?” asked her brain. “Have you not done this before with less than satisfactory result? Would you repeat the past? Hold on to someone who didn’t want to stay? Help someone who didn’t want your help?”
Love is not a thing you can barter and get a guaranteed return. Love cannot be enforced. It is ineffective to say, “Look how much I gave up for you! Now you are obligated to love me unconditionally.”
There is such a thing as strong, healthy self-respecting, other-respecting self- sacrificial love. There are things you give up, willingly out of your love for others. For family you love. You self-sacrifice willingly your goods, your desires, even your life to directly love someone else. But, when you give, or give up, in a bid to get that other person to love you because you so desperately need love, that is unhealthy.
So. What would you give for love? Would you give up your writing? Your music? Your goals? Your successes? For a time, yes, to care for a dearly loved one. But for life? For the whims of others?
“Love,” said wise counsel, “is not 50 / 50. It is 100% / 100%. You bring 100% of who you are into a relationship. But if you give up all you are, you no longer have 100% to give. You have nothing to give.”
She reconsidered the ancient parable of the 7 foolish and 7 wise virgins. Be wise. Be always prepared. She got that part loud and clear. For decades she was perplexed by the fact that the wise virgins did not share with the foolish – did not give up their provisions self sacrificially. And Jesus, who was telling the story, thought that was okay? Yes.
Why? Because to split their oil would, a few miles down the road, cast everyone into darkness and make all 14 of them the loser. How much better for the seven wise to hold their torches high, full of oil, and spread light on everyone – even the seven foolish. In this way the wise, the prepared multiplied their effectiveness and shared light with everyone.
“So. Be it known,” she said, “I will not again sacrifice who I am and who I am designed to be in a bid to get someone to love me enough. I will bring my 100% and shed all my light on the relationship until my oil is spent and my light extinguished.”
It was only my left leg that got wet. These things happen when you miss a cairn.
Like all necessary road signs in life, cairns are beneficial for keeping you from losing your way.
Two miles in the trail led up a wash. I hadn’t seen a cairn for several feet, maybe 50 yards, when I came to the pothole. I looked back, retraced my steps a bit. Nothing. Turning back around I assessed the options. The backside of the pothole ended in a 3 foot rise. The type of rolled-edge ledge that would make a pretty little waterfall when it rains in the desert. It hasn’t rained for a while. Yet here was a 5ft by 7ft puddle about 18inches deep. Some 20 feet beyond, I could clearly see the trail continue. To the left of the pothole rose a crumbling dirt wall and then a narrow half-tunnel ledge you could crouch and then belly-crawl. To the right the gray slick rock side of the pothole continued to rise steeply.
It looked like there were narrow toe-holds just above the water level. Finger holds were also available above my shoulders. Obviously, someone with longer legs than I charted this trail. This might be a good time to change to my sandals and just wade on through, I thought to myself. I reached to the side of my backpack. My hand touched YakTrax on the right. On the left, my compressed down jacket hung from a carabiner. I had prepared well for this hike, expecting all kinds of weather and packing accordingly. It is November. Ice, I had anticipated; a swimming hole, I had not. My Teva sandals were in the car, where I left them when I changed to my closed-in trail shoes at the trailhead. I chose the path to the right and commenced toe-holds and fingernails. Two steps. Three steps. And then. My toe slipped and my left leg plunged to the knee in water and sand. No way out but to wade. Leaning against the wall, I rolled up my right pant leg and undid the lace of my right shoe. Removing my right shoe and sock and holding them at arms length, I took two strides through the pool and climbed out on the dry waterfall. There I removed the sodden shoe and sock from my left foot and rung them out. Thank heavens for wool socks and shoes that already had holes in them. Also, turns out my hiking pants shed water. What doesn’t roll off quickly evaporates. You might be amazed to learn that I had an extra pair of socks in my pack and chose not to change to them. They were cotton. Carried in preparation for sand, but not water. I pressed on. I lunched in the shadow of Druid Arch.
I found the preferred path around the water hole on my return trip two hours later.
Yes. Cairns are like the road signs of life. Take time to read them. If you miss several, you will be entirely lost. If you miss one or two, you merely have more of an uphill battle, a few more challenges. You might even get wet. If you fall in a pothole, get out as quickly as you can. Keep moving. Carry an extra pair of wool socks. May all your adventures have great outcomes!
“Am I qualified for this job?” she asked as she read through the requirements. Yes. Abundantly so. Every last detail. The education. The experience. The demeanor. The personality. The work ethic. The mission. The dress code.
It seems like a lot of work, she thought. I am accustomed to work. I do not want to be idle. I like to rise to the occasion. I am analytical. I am resourceful. I can put the right people and the right programs in the right places.
Do I want this job? Perhaps that is a better question.
Enough to pursue it wholeheartedly?
Remember, we are not called to do everything we are qualified to do.
Perhaps the purpose in writing a résumé is not so much the goal of receiving a job offer. Perhaps the purpose is to remind yourself who you are, where you have been, and just what you are capable of. Don’t just get by, aim high.
What are you really worth?
Yesterday was my day off, so I escaped the Utah backcountry and headed for the comparative metropolis of Cortez, Colorado.
There is no Target in Cortez, but I planned to do some shopping anyway. Some of my friends may be aghast that I mention shopping at Target, but that’s the way it is. I’ve never been adept at boycotting. I shop at Wal Mart when my limited paycheck determines I need something cheap for cheap. I eat at Chik -Fil -A when I fancy a chicken sandwich. I continue to shop at Target for some items I value.
I will admit to thinking twice about using the restroom at Target these days. But, in truth I really don’t like to use public restrooms in general. I have long been under the impression you could just go in whichever restroom you identified with. If you were wearing a skirt, you went to the women’s restroom. If you were wearing pants, well, do you need to sit down?
After arriving in Cortez – 105 miles as the car drives – and negotiating the somewhat confusing road construction signs -I stopped into the Cortez Welcome Center. Newly remodeled with Kiva décor, the bookstore operated by MVA (Mesa Verde Association) was nicely appointed.
“Where are you headed?” asked the welcome center representative.
“I’m just wandering, today, “ I replied.
Turns out wandering was an understatement.
I enjoyed the well-stocked gift shop. Chatted with the MVA bookstore staff. Something fell in my road weary eye and irritated a contact. Blinking and in pain, I asked for the restroom which I had not yet located. She pointed, directed me right around the adobe plastered curve in the hall. No doors. Open. Outfitted in cheery coral and white. I wandered right in, past the baby-changing table and to the sink, eye smarting, blinking all the way. The sink was brand new. Sparkling clean. I washed off my contact and replaced it. Not good. Still gritty. Now my face was wet and the lens would not pop back out. I reached for a paper towel. Motion operated hand dryer. I stepped toward the stall for tissue paper. Beyond the coral dividers, out of my good eye, I saw….urinals! What? Oh. Maybe they are outfitting all restrooms with urinals these days. This is Colorado. Maybe you can use whichever restroom you want. Hurriedly, I backed around the corner and took the right berm of the hallway which emptied into… teal stall dividers. Baby-changing table. No urinals.
Today I will wander some more – with a map. I’ll take a pretty normal back-country hike where I can squat behind any tree I choose. Yesterday I was a trend-setter. I identified with coral.
I do have some new contacts waiting for me when I get back to civilization. But what to do about perceiving coral as pink and teal as blue? Which color do you identify with?
She sat on the banks of the muddy San Juan, in the shadow of a bighorn sculpture and watched the river roll away lazily to the Southwest. It made her long for the beach. That is where the river was headed, after all – to join the mighty Colorado at Lake Powell and finally empty into the Pacific Ocean.
But she knew something the river did not yet know; it would never make it to the ocean. It was headed for the beach, but along the way destined to recreate, irrigate, hydrate, relax and refresh millions of people. Somewhere, 50 miles or so short of the Gulf of California, the river would trickle to a stop.
So she pondered this truncation, this travesty, this unavoidable change of plans people foisted on the river and she asked herself, “How are you doing on your own bucket list? Are you headed for the beach? And whether you ever make it to the beach, will you restore and refresh and recreate and relax? How much of you will be absorbed and diverted into the schemes and needs of others? How much of the landscape of your life will you beautify along the way?”
Live. Love. Laugh. Learn. You do not know if your end will be part of a cataclysmic flood or simply trickle away.
In the late seventies I worked in the women’s sportswear department of a locally well-known and respected retail store. Our biggest sales day of the year was the Saturday preceding Mother’s Day. Everyone has a mother – 100% of the population – and most take time to remember and honor her at least once a year through gifts or our presence.
Christmas Eve runs a close second in record retail, but Christmas shopping is often fraught with chaos; noisy crowds, toys that screech, having to find something for everyone when not everyone has needs and some of the things on Santa’s list have not even been invented yet.
Part of the joy of shopping for Mother’s Day is there is only one person to shop for. Most mothers receive well and are not too picky. They are quite practiced at receiving dandelions, broken robin’s eggshells and refrigerator pictures. I have only one mother and it is a joy to try and find just the right thing to delight her. Gifts are part of my love language and I love to give. Turns out however, that delighting her is no easy task. She’s a little concerned about the cost of things and the value of my time and she does have her style standards. Nevertheless, I ploughed through two shopping trips this year.
The offerings were especially good with regard to color and fabric and cut. I found several things that suited her needs to a T. I even went back for more. As she revolved in a new skirt and blouse, dad and I complimented her. “It’s very nice,” she said, “I got a gift in the mail from your brother today too. But we are going to have to put a stop to this gift giving.” “Why?” I asked. “Why would we stop now just when we are old enough to afford to give?”
Happy Mother’s Day to you and yours! May we never stop giving and receiving. May we always have the joy of finding just the right thing for a special person.
She lives in an abandoned house and spends her days away, searching for jobs, and her nights shivering under extra comforters because there is no warmth in an abandoned house. Another person sleeps there too, and is employed. But still, whether the occupants are at home or at work the house is abandoned, for you see, something that would make that house a home is missing. No one fills the role of keeper of the house. There are two who huddle there. It would seem they could come up with an understanding of how to make that house a safe haven or even a comfortable temporary harbor. But plans are most successful when everyone concerned is on board. A team of one becomes exhausted without reciprocity from the other.
Meanwhile, in the same state, two other unrelated and unattached people occupy a large house. They both work and they both travel frequently. The house is often empty of people – but never abandoned. Both people are housekeepers. Broken things get fixed. Needs of the house are addressed as a means of meeting the needs of people. Both principal occupants are agreed that a stitch in time saves nine and that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Both the principal occupants understand the value of beauty and cleanliness in making a house a place of refuge, renewal and restoration for all who lodge there. The house is a place of welcome for all who pass through, whether for tea, dinner, or a temporary bed.
All four of the persons living in the two households share a philosophy in common: people are more important than things. All four verbally champion: “Use things, love people.” (The polar opposite, of course, is to use people and love things.) Yet, in an attempt to emphasize loving, some ignore or neglect material things. Notice how the two in the second household operate: Needs of the house are addressed as a means of meeting the needs of people. How much more effective and efficient it is to use things to love people!
She was just 18-and-a-half and not a drop of alcohol had ever touched her lips. This was partly because of temperance promises made as a youngster and partly because she lived at home until she turned 18. During those first 18 years of life, her parents kept pretty strict tabs on her activities. Not legal. Not allowed. Not according to their standard? Not allowed. This was her first Christmas away from home. She was now a full-fledged adult, married five months previous.
Along with her teenaged husband, she was living in Germany, land of cautionary beer. Her husband was on the fast track for sampling everything adulthood had to offer. The young woman was doing her best to cling to the strict religious rules with which she was raised. There were times they clashed. Christmas Eve was a narrow escape.
The young couple was invited downstairs, from a tiny attic apartment to the living quarters of the landlord, to share in the festivities. Sparklers on a Christmas Tree. A full spread of breads and cold cuts served at the family table. An exchange of gifts around the tree. And then, a cut glass decanter passed round with tiny crystal cordial glasses.
A quiet soul and not given to making scenes, the young woman endeavored to pass. But the 19-year-old son of the host noticed. “Why do you not drink?” he asked with some suspicion, re-offering the decanter. The new husband, who could make a scene when the principle warranted it, knit his brows and glared at his teenage bride. The meaning was clear, “You are embarrassing me!” Meekly, she took the cup. Not out of blind submission or intimidation, but in respect to her hosts. In her quietness, she had been reading earlier that day. And what she read, loud and clear was: “ [When you are invited to a feast] eat or drink whatever is put before you without raising questions of conscience.” Obedience to a higher ideal.
An hour later she became violently ill. But it was not due to a fastidious reaction of conscience. Nor was it caused entirely by the abundance and variety of bread and salami urged on the couple by hospitable Germans. The illness continued four months. In late July, she brought forth her firstborn son. And they named him something rather Irish sounding that meant handsome by birth. To the young woman, he was the most handsome baby she had ever seen. But he was only the teeniest tiniest bit Irish and not a bit German.
I would like to say she never gave a second thought to rules about what she ate and drank ever again, but that is not the truth. The truth is, she still had a lot of growing and learning to do and she had only just begun to think for herself.
It sounds quaint, almost Shakespearean, this paraphrase from the Bible; “now abideth faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love (1 Corinthians 13:13).”
Does a lack of love disrupt our progress toward success or full self-actualization? Must we have love to fully succeed? Whether giving love or receiving love, love is a powerful reference. In fact, love is the best reference. To be loved imputes worth. Here’s a story…
A love reference at the office
For starters, the woman was totally unaware. Totally unaware when she bustled into a room that other conversations and relationships were in progress. Devoid of intuition regarding the body language of others; the expression of excuse me, I need to pass conveyed by gentle touch to the shoulder or elbow in lieu of interrupting; she startled and showed mild offence when her coworkers spoke in a decibel loud enough to be heard by her dull ears. Fact is, she was virtually un-interruptible when deep in conversation. She had favorite subjects, lifelong interests. She was so passionate about those topics, she could talk on for hours without pause or any concern for other business that was transacted or might need to be transacted around her. If that wasn’t irritation enough to an intuitive others-sensitive soul, the woman couldn’t give straight and concise information. Just let someone ask a question and the woman would wind up and deliver the answer to the question she had hoped to hear or thought she heard. Yes, she had her own agenda and it was very important business.
All these attributes grated on her coworkers. Needless to say, it did not help on the occasions she mistakenly picked up the wrong purse, gloves, or hat of an officemate and headed home at closing time leaving the more attentive persons miffed, unmuffed or stranded.
Then one day her man stopped by the office to trade keys or cars or something mundane from the everyday lives of married people. The younger, unmarried career folks were curious. What would this husband be like? This male portion of a marriage that had survived more than a couple decades. Was he crazy from living with a wife the coworkers found difficult?
No. He was not crazy.
He was respectful. He was not embarrassed. He did not put her down or try to manage her or keep her on track. Beyond that, with just a few well-spoken sentences, he let the office workers know he appreciated and admired her for her hard work over the years. He genuinely adored her. His loyalty was equal that of Sancho Panza singing, “I like her. I really like her.”
And then a rather remarkable thing happened. His opinion of her increased her value to those who worked with her. They saw her from a new perspective. Worthy. Valuable over the long haul.
Never underestimate the power of a good reference. Never underestimate the value of genuine love and like. Perhaps that is why we all unceasingly desire and pursue a good love relationship. Not because we aren’t strong or brave or intelligent enough to do it on our own. Not because we are dependent on a man or a woman. But because we all need worth. A love reference gives us worth.