Form and Function

Taken on the far side of the ball field behind Husband's schoolThere are two windmills behind husband's school. The prettier one, above, was built as a decorative piece on the edge of a new housing development with lots of little postage-stamp houses. I'm not sure if it turns in a breeze. If it does, it doesn't do anything with that energy. No pumping of water, no production of electricity. It's just there to give a homestead-ish good feeling to the people living nearby. It lends to the image of good country life, and that's all.

On the other hand, a new windmill that looks much like this stands tall right behind the elementary school. In a stiff breeze you can hear it hum; it's the sound of energy being turned into electricity which is delivered into the power grid. Inside the school lobby are two monitors donated by the local electric association which will report wind speed, energy produced, and other data to the 310+ little scholars passing by each day.

And I could deliver up the analogies, but I'll leave them to my readers.

Celebration

One of the social graces I somehow missed picking up in life is that of Celebration. Celebrators make this world a happier place, a place where others feel welcomed, noticed and valued.

I have friends who are so good at celebrating others, I just sit back in awe of them. They never go to visit a friend or relative but that they take something along: a loaf of bread, a few little flowers in a vase, a jar of homemade strawberry jam, a cross-stitched something-or-other. When you go to visit them, you leave with some little token of their celebration of you and how important you are to them.

It is a beautiful thing in life, celebrating people. It's something I'd like to do better at, something I work at remembering to do, and still too often forget in the pell-mell rush of life.

A couple of weeks ago my colleagues and I were sitting around the Round Table, and I mentioned that one of our faculty had decided not to take an invitation to head up a program at another university. Our students love him, and I can't imagine his department without him, so I was greatly relieved. Another one of our budget managers who oversees a budget that just won't mind its boundaries had knocked himself out this year to bring in his unpredictable area budget $44,000 to the good. Amazing!

"Send them baskets of candy!" said one of my colleagues. She's a Celebrator, the kind who actually manages to live with chocolate all over her office, as if a party were continually peeking around the corner.

Baskets of candy--well, what a great idea! I hadn't thought of that, but I know a good idea when I hear one. Give me a good idea, and I'll get 'er done. My assistant sallied forth with great delight to prepare a basket of candy bars for each of these men, and I wrote the thank you notes.

It's always a good idea to pause and take time to celebrate the victories and joys in life. After all, in "this old sinful world," as my mom refers to it, those victories and joys don't come along so often. I'd like to take time this year to notice them and rejoice.

Memo re: Impossible Command

Gracie (May 2009), who has nothing to do with this postDisclaimer for people who read things very literally: This is meant to be a creative post, based on discussion in a Bible study I was in last week, led by a respected theologian. It is not intended to be sacrilegious in any way. Thanks.

To: God
From: Common-Sense Christian
Re: Your impossible command

This memo is in response to that thing you said: "This is my command: Love each other." (see John 15:17). Although Your command is really, really old, it seems to be still in effect, and I hope it's not inappropriate to mention that it is fraught with problems. This memo is intended to respectfully ask You to reconsider.

The first problem is the assumption You have made that, just because love is commanded, it will happen. This does not follow common sense. Someone can tell me to love football until they are blue in the face; I will not develop any affinity for the game of football. Common sense says that the same logic would apply to a command to love.

Remember Scotty Berg (a pseudonym; this is, after all, a public memo), that mean old bully in my school? He called me a "fatty bum bum" in front of the other kids and made me cry, and he made fun of my poem that the teacher made me read in front of class, and he always told me in the hallway that he hated my guts. It doesn't matter how often anyone says "I command you to love each other," it won't result in my loving Scotty Berg. It's impossible.

The second problem with Your command is that some people are beyond being loved, and it makes no sense to ask us to love them. For example, there's Mr. Johnson (a pseudonym; this is, after all, a public memo), the church elder who molested my friend Julia. You can't seriously mean that I'm supposed to love Mr. Johnson! I sure as anything don't want Mr. Johnson loving me, either. And I really, really can't believe you would say that to Julia about Mr. Johnson: "This is my command: love each other." It turns my stomach!

Which leads me to the third problem with Your command (and really truly, I want to try to keep your commands, so help me out here). We probably need some definitions clarified. Like, what do You mean by "love"? And what do You mean by "each other"?

Clearing up any fuzziness in your commands would be much appreciated. If love means "be polite and don't scratch their eyes out," then I'm good with it. But if it means "place a great value on that person, enough that you'd willingly die for their sake," then nuh-uh, I think You're asking the impossible again. And if "each other" means I am to love someone else if they love me back and treat me like Your child, then I'm all good with Your command, ready to go. But if it means I actually have to care about someone who is grinding me into fine dust under his feet, then You and I are in turbulent waters again with this whole "command" thing.

Maybe it would have been wiser to "suggest" rather than "command;" perhaps You should consider making that little edit to Your command. You might get a bit better compliance from people down here.

So please reconsider. I'm having a hard time with this one. When I put the names of a few unlovely people in my application scenario, it makes my head want to explode. Did you really, really mean to say, "this is my command: love each other"? Please clarify.

Let the Strong Say "I am Weak"

Saint Mary Lake, Glacier National ParkIt's a song we've sung at church:

Let the weak say, 'I am strong,'
Let the poor say, 'I am rich,'
Let the blind say, 'I can see,'
It's what the Lord has done in me.

I am convinced that there are people who, before they ever sing that song, need to learn another version first. The lines of Version Two would go thus:

Let the strong say, 'I am weak,'
Let the rich say, 'I am poor,'
Let the sighted say, 'I can't see,'
It's what the Lord has done in me.

You see, there are some of us who need to experience the brokenness, the impoverishment, and the sense of stumbling through utter darkness before we are ready to sing the other song, the "Song of Moses and the Lamb."

We pay a fair amount of attention to those who suffer in this world. But the older I get, the more I become convinced that the really impoverished ones are those who are not broken, who have reasonably perfect families, to whom talent and leadership skills and financial security and ease of social skills and open doors of personal and career opportunities come easily.

It is these people who are prone to be critical and judgmental, who approach life and fellow humans glibly, who walk in the attitude of pride and self-righteousness. It is these people who learn precious little to deepen their life's journey, who do not experience the rewards that follow the sharp pain of being humbled. It is these people who connect with others at a surface level, but don't experience that precious bond that can bind human beings who share hardship and inadequacy. They don't feel the welling up of love for the obnoxious, caring for those who are hurtful, looking past the ugliness to the pained heart of the bully, or cutting slack for those who give it their best shot but fall vastly short of the high standard.

How do I know? It's painful to admit it, but I've been there. Probably still am, on and off.

Having said that, I would hasten to add that it is not brokenness alone that deepens our journey, but the way in which we respond to it. Some respond by becoming more brittle and depressed, by digging in their heels and hanging on to their shreds of rights and rightness, and by holding others away from them in a variety of ways rather than seeking to develop connection.

Unless and until we can experience ourselves as completely broken, completely unable to assert our own rightness, completely in need of a Savior and finally ready to truly love ("Putting a great value on the object we're focusing on;" definition from the venerable Dr. Littke in our Bible study last week), to truly love anyone who crosses through our sphere of attention, we need to keep singing version number two. Of that I am convicted.

A Thing for Sculptures, Part 2

I mentioned a couple of months ago that Husband and I have a thing for sculptures; that is, we love to interact with public art such as this marvelously romantical piece down by the waterfront in Olympia, Washington state.

Typically, as with this chap at the Wedgwood factory in Great Britain, we really don't care who watches us be silly as we're posing for snapshots depicting the scenes we imagine. Just to set the record straight, I don't believe we have a shred of evidence that the skilled founder of this factory possessed any violent tendencies whatsoever.

Mimicry is not beyond us. In fact, my "twin" in Zaanse Schans, Netherlands didn't seem to mind at all. And I wasn't too worried about the townsfolk being offended. Dutch people have, in my opinion, a most enjoyable national trait in their sense of humor. Of course, I might be a tad bit biased, considering my father and my maternal great grandparents all came from the Netherlands.

Speaking of my father, perhaps I inherited this weakness for interacting with the local statuesque hoi-polloi. This Hawaiian buddha didn't seem to mind high-fiving my dad.

He even obliged by serenely picking a few lice off husband's head. Or perhaps he was removing a few grey hairs, just as our school secretary did to me the first time I spotted a grey hair. Just a hint: Ask permission before you remove such things from a friend's head. They might actually have been delighted to discover it, and not wish to part ways with a grey hair rightfully earned.

The indiginous Hawaiian deities were not nearly as serene as the imported Buddha, by the way. They didn't scare us. We grimaced right back at 'em. Grrr.

Back in Europe this Estonian composer, Gustav Ernesaks, seemed about as thoughtful as a buddha, looking out over the outdoor concert field where his people sang their way to freedom. Husband snuggled in for a good story ... which Ernesaks kept to himself. However, we later heard and saw it as we watched The Singing Revolution. Inspiring!

There was no singing in the town of Bath, England, nor any bathing now that I think of it. But Husband did hear the tour guide mention the town crier. After closely studying the photo (on the post to his left), he rejoiced the Bathians' hearts, I'm sure, by presenting a living history re-enactment right there in the town square. Rather heartwarming, wot?

Mike & the Peer Pressure

One of my summer students, a church school teacher named Mr. Shelton, shared this story with me in an assignment and gave me permission to pass it on:

Mike was in my one-teacher school from fourth to eighth grade. Many times he was subject to peer pressure, and caved in. I spoke frequently about this during his seventh and eighth grade years, and how the problem would be worse in high school, especially in public school where he was headed.

By graduation, Mike had memorized my 4-step plan for success. 1. Keep up your daily devotions. 2. Keep high scholastic standards. 3. Make friends with those of your own gender, without forming cliques. 4. Make friends of the opposite gender.

During his high school years, as I came in contact with Mike, I would tongue-in-cheek say something like, "Mike, how is the peer pressure? You on drugs yet?"

He would always give the same answer: "Mr. Shelton, I AM the peer pressure!"

Today Mike lives in Georgia, where he is a faithful churchgoer with a great family.

I loved that! "Mr. Shelton, I AM the peer pressure!"

Priorities, Persons, Plans and Pursuits

An acquaintance once happened to mention to me that he'd asked each of his teen/young adult children--not in the hearing of the others, and at various times--what they thought their mom's top three priorities were. As he related it to me, the kids said they didn't recall hearing her say, but they each separately guessed the priorities would go thus: 1) mom's work, 2) God, and 3) family.

Ouch. Dad had reason to tell me the story that way, as his family had been through rough waters. Nevertheless, the story holds its own simply on strength of the anecdote.

Children can tell what their parents' priorities are. Regardless of whether the priorities are stated outright or not, or whether they're the outworking of a sense of mission/vision, a deep personal need, or of a more self-serving character, children are pretty much dead-on at figuring out precisely in what order their parents organize their top values. Children see these priorities in the honest light of how much time is allocated to the parent's priorities, level of expressed enthusiasm and caring, and depth of involvement.

How we get so mixed up, I do not know. I spent some of my growing up years around kids whose dads traveled so much that the kids hardly knew them, kids who knew without a doubt that their parent's sense of calling took priority over any of their needs. For a number of my growing up years, I accepted those priorities as healthy, simply because they were in the subculture around me. Since then I've observed parents who do the same with their long work hours, leaving them little in the way of reserves or interest for parenting. I've long since ceased to see these priorities or ways of living as being acceptable for families with children.

One of the most insidious forms of idolatry mentioned repeatedly in the books of the biblical prophets and kings was the worship of Molech, where children were sacrificed on the outstretched hands of the idol. In some ways, I think Molech still exists...for entire families. While I'm personally committed to the "God first" ideal, I have a nearly impossible time believing that God intends us to formulate our calling or work for Him--however we wish to describe that--into such a mode that our children are forced to suffer, seemingly at His hands because of our tendency to view our work as sacred work.

Let me be more specific in using one example, although others exist: I see this happening all the time in Christian organizations. Be it the children of missionaries, the children of pastors, the children of traveling administrators, or simply the children of people who become addicted to their work at the expense of their families, this is one of the viruses in the organism. It leaves children not only resentful of their parents, but resentful of the religion/institution/agency that would seem to turn their parents away from them. Remember this: the parents may have had the opportunity to choose to answer the call, but their children usually had that choice made for them, without their participation in it.

I believe that people who have children in the growing-up years should consider this very carefully in terms of the long-term emotional health of their families and children. If they are not careful, they and their children could pay tuition for a very long time for a lesson hard learned, too late.

When Husband and I got married, he wrote into our vows his promise that he would "not put any person, plan or pursuit" before me. While I can think of a hundred ways in which I've not been perfect in practicing what I preach, I think I'll say it anyway: When setting and living out our life's priorities, we would do well to make that same commitment to our whole families.

Running Quickly Toward the Giant

Schindler's "David und Goliath"It was long, long ago. The story goes that young David had been sent to deliver some food to his brothers who were at the battle front, camped across a valley from the Philistines. As he arrived, he heard Goliath mocking the ragtag army of Israel. Not only that, he was mocking their God.

David burst out in indignation, asking who was going to go take this man out. "Who is this uncircumcised Philistine," David protested, "that he should defy the armies of the living God?" David was, according to the Biblical record, a "handsome, ruddy" youth, but nevertheless, he was still a kid ... a kid expressing Really Big Ideas to grownups who had allowed fear to overtake them.

Called upon to repeat his challenge before the king, who had heard of this kid spewing bravado, it didn't take David long to offer to kill Goliath himself. Unthinkable! He was just a youth with a seemingly big mouth and faith too big for his britches. After trying on Saul's armor and discarding it in disgust (it was too limiting), David elected to approach Goliath with just his sling and his little shepherd's bag.

Goliath spotted David approaching, and couldn't believe his eyes. Once again he began hurling insults--insults and threats against David, delivered in the abusive language of bullies: David must think he was a dog. David was stupid. Goliath would deliver his flesh to the birds of the air and the wild animals. And so on.

Here comes the amazing part, the part I've been mulling over. Turning Goliath's insults back on him, David hollered his challenge to Goliath across the wadi, ending with the assertion that "the battle is the Lord's" as he "ran quickly toward the battle line to meet the Philistine."

What on earth was David thinking? The king, the army, and his brothers were all back at the Israelite camp where they'd been cowering in fear of this giant. They had every reason to be fearful. They had every reason to draw back while they tried to cook up some solution to the threat looming over them.

Instead, this ruddy kid runs out there to meet the gigantic threat. Doesn't just face it, doesn't just walk toward it, but runs. With all the speed he has. And he takes out the only ammunition he has, something he is gifted at using ... and gets the job done.

What giant is facing you? What would it mean to run quickly toward the battle line with that giant? And what do you have in your possession, something that has already proven to be your strength, that you can use to win the battle? It's something to consider; we all have our giants and we each have at least some tool in our hand.

David ran quickly toward the battle line to meet him. 1 Sam. 17:48

Punchbowl Falls

I'm still so busy living life that I've not been writing much. Never fear, blog fodder is piling up and posts are percolating in this head of mine.

In the meantime, here's a quick take on Punchbowl Falls. My cousin and her family are here from Rotterdam, and we took them on a hike up Eagle Creek last Sunday, just off the Columbia River gorge. I used to look at a photograph of this falls on a poster on my dorm room wall when I was in high school in Singapore. It's always a treat to hike in (it's only a 2-mile walk) and see the real thing.

I pause for a moment this morning to be grateful for legs that hike, eyes that see, ears that are still able to hear, and my family to love.

Book Review: A Failure of Nerve

None of the books I've read this summer have provided quite as new a perspective, have provoked as much continuing thought, and have rung quite as true to my experience as A Failure of Nerve: Leadership in the Age of the Quick Fix by Edwin H. Friedman.

Friedman uses his prior work on multi-generational family dynamics as a springboard to addressing his perception that our current society has become stuck in an unhealthy relational dynamic. Specifically, he looks at leadership as an emotional process, describing the dynamics that sabotage or paralyze leaders (be it in families, churches, educational institutions, or the civic arena) and providing some guidance for becoming "unstuck."

In seeking a historical example of a leader who broke free of a "stuck" society, Friedman refers to Christopher Columbus and the quest that brought him to the Americas--a place that his society could not even have imagined. Similarly, Friedman says, our society and time in history are ready for leaders who can differentiate from the thinking of these times, who can see new vistas and who are willing to risk sailing into waters where others have been too fearful to go. Or too tunnel-visioned to even perceive.

Friedman identifies four specific dynamics that are causing problems for leadership in America (and while this applies to leaders of families and churches as fully as to organizations, I'm going to focus on organizations for purposes of this review):

• The weakest or most dependent members of the organization set the agendas, "leveraging power to the recalcitrant, the passive-aggressive, and the most anxious members of an institution, rather than toward the energetic, the visionary, the imaginative, and the motivated."
• Individuated leadership has been devalued to the point that leaders tend to seek consultation elsewhere (consultants, endless searches of data and research on research) rather than developing "their own capacity to be decisive."
• Decision makers have denied the realities of emotional processes in their organizations as contributors to decision-making, instead becoming obsessed with information-seeking and gathering endless data in hopes that it will make their decisions for them.
• People misunderstand "the relational nature of destructive processes" in organizations. Thus leaders assume that if they behave as reasonable, caring, insightful, ethical role models who seek consensus, they can actually keep toxic forces in check. This leaves their organizations vulnerable to the invasiveness of people who don't regulate themselves.
  

Friedman describes what he terms the "well-differentiated leader" as someone who is "less likely to become lost in the anxious emotional processes swirling about." A well-differentiated leader can maintain connections with others, yet be separate, thus able to "maintain a modifying, non-anxious, and sometimes challenging presence." It's someone who can take a stand and hold their ground even if others might be displeased with that stand.

Once the leader is differentiated, interacting in non-anxious ways, staying connected and making their best decisions and standing by them even in face of criticism, Friedman claims, the entire organization will begin to act in healthier ways. The leader functions as an "immune response," forcing those who are more invasive and chaotic (Friedman likens those individuals to unregulated organisms--cancer, for example) to change and become part of the coherence of the organization again.

Unfortunately, Friedman died before he could finish this book. There's plenty here to chew on and digest, and I didn't perceive any gaping holes in the exposition of the book, but there are parts of the writing that likely would have seemed a bit more polished had he been able to completely finish the manuscript.

This is, I think, a "must read" for any leader's library. I found myself wanting to sit down and listen to Friedman, and participate in a Q&A session with him. Here's my recommendation: read it, underline it, write notes in the margins, and put stars and exclamation marks by the points that gather people's names on them as you read Friedman's descriptions. The vocabulary will continue to float through your head over time, you'll talk to others about it, and I suspect you'll even find yourself making decisions about your leadership approach based on what you've read. It's one of those books that sticks with you.