Happiness

If you want to be great, raise your expectations

If you want to be happy, lower your expectations

Lois, Come Home

It's been two weeks. Seems like about ½ a year. Many insects don't even live that long.  But time really drags.

So much happens in that span of time. Just not to me. Or maybe what is happening just pales in comparison to what isn't happening. No soft, understanding touch. No sitting and watching her work on something, become frustrated and scrunch up her face or experience success and beam.

She left me. Again. This time for a younger man. Actually, two other men – a younger man and a really younger man. And a lady. For the last two weeks she has spent her time going shopping, going out to eat, going to the park, pushing around toy trucks and cars on the floor, watching videos called Dora and Wiggles, playing golf (in the house,) and making a variety of food stuff. Pretty much what she did when she left me last time for two really younger men, a young lady, and a not quite as young (but still younger) lady and man.

My heart is thankful she can and does take the time to build the memories that are being created. It perpetuates what I know of the Browns, both past an current. And it will perpetuate itself in various ways with the Browns' and Fernandes' of the future.

But it is now time to put my heart back together again. As Monday draws closer, I become more anxious. I know she'll remember me. (It hasn't really been THAT long.) I hope she remembers how I like to hold her close. And walk holding her hand. And watch her smile.

Until then, I'll have MY memories.

An Old Friend

I ran into an old friend a couple of months ago.  It wasn't really by accident.  I had been looking for something that was missing. I knew it had been there at a time in the past but had not been around for a while.  Did I mention it was an invisible friend? 

We were close during my teen years.  My friend helped me sort things out, become aware of the world around me, made me slow down enough to recognize priorities.  After running several miles on the beach my friend would persuade me to sit and watch the waves for an hour.  I could be transfixed by the persistence of the water coming back to the shore time and time again.  And the colors!  My friend would encourage me to take the long way home so I could drive through the overhanging forests of the Old Pali Road.  Slowly.  That helped me see the calming effect of beauty.  And what is another 10 minutes?  We would sit at the end of the runway and watch 747's take off over me.  How do they do that?  They were huge but graceful.

But as with too many people I know, I outgrew my friend.  Serious school, a job, family, all worked on my mind to crowd out my friend.  I didn't have time.  Priorities changed to meet expectations - other people's, not mine.  I saw how much a waste of time my friend was.  I compressed activity to meet goals quicker.  Accomplish... be efficient... busy. The pressure to be "there" grew.  No time.

Running into Solitude recently was a such a surprise.  I had forgotten them altogether.  

Living Life On Purpose

It is easy to be trapped into thinking we are victims. We can't help it. Someone made me. I had to. For me it is sometimes just because it is there (as in food.)

There are long lists of good things to do. And because they are good, I should do them. Someone wants me to take out trash or take them somewhere so I "should."  I "need" get up and go to work in the morning even though I was up late last night.  I "have" to go to the store (may seem a bit of a stretch here but just the use of the word is a downer.) The negative applies as well.  Things I shouldn't do or have to stop doing (there are those donuts again.)


I think the problem is often semantics.  "Have to" and "should" and "need" are not really the proper things to say.  I don't really think I'm not in control of the decision, but the subliminal message is "I don't have a choice."  That sets attitude which leads to a martyr complex.  Then even good things are a burden.


"The Lord loves a cheerful giver."  There must be a reason why God has chosen not to exact gifts, obedience, and worship.  Choice will be the reason much of His creation will not be with Him for eternity as He has indicated He would like. 

I value results when I feel I had a hand in delivering them.  On the other hand, when I feel coerced or prodded solely by guilt or shame, I can't really feel pleased even when the correct result is obtained.  It wasn't my choice.

Instead I am finding a lot of peace in the idea of choosing what I will do with my life.  I have started changing my self talk and being more aware of my speech.  I now choose to do or not do things.  That doesn't mean I always WANT to do what I choose to do.  But now when I choose to do something I didn't WANT to do, I have taken ownership.  It was, in the end, my choice.  And I'm better with that.

Out of the mouth the heart speaks.  Words do have meaning.  I much rather Live Life on Purpose.

May Every Day

And so we move toward the autumn of our time together.
Spring came unexpectedly with promise of the blossoms of a new life.
Summer ripened, filled with growing fruit.

We watch together as turning leaves are memories of the new, the full, and now maturity.

I don't fear the autumn. There is the harvest ahead. All that went into our lives is now coming together.

But it isn't over. In the spring we didn't know beyond our dreams what the summer would bring.

With autumn approaching, I think back remembering the joy and pleasure you have brought me. And I look forward. Because when I'm with you, I have dreams of what will be around the corner. When I'm with you, it is May Every Day.

Nice Book

As an ADD subscriber I find it difficult to finish books that aren't spellbinding, can't put them down, such as Tom Clancy or Robert Ludlam put out. Often I read them all the way through but it may be chapters at a time over a long period. And it often involves rereading. But there are a number of books that have directed me in my thinking. Those by Tom Peters, David Allen, John McArthur, Robert Schuler, Dave Ramsey, and others.

One book that really set me thinking, partly because it confirmed some thoughts and because it provided others, is The Secret Message of Jesus by Brian Mclaren. Read it for yourself to see what he really thought.

Christianity is a mix of some 30,000 denominations, cults, groups, congregations, fellowships, and organizations. From figures I have read, about 1/2 of the membership is Roman or Orthodox Catholic. The rest are Protestant. There are varying degrees of agreement on issues. Even what should be "basic" is disputed. But anyone calling themselves "Christian" sees Jesus of Nazareth as a central character - most considering him of divine origin - and his teachings as life guiding all the way through to salvation.

In determining the message of Jesus one should look at what he said and did. The more he said or did it, the more weight one would have to place on how important he thought it was. And yet much of the fighting and disagreement we see among his followers relates to issues he dealt with seldom or not at all.

I'll spoil the surprise ending. The message of Christ is not really secret, just well distorted. It is actually quite plain. People just have a knack for hiding the obvious in plain sight and then forgetting where it is.

The Gift

Today I was given a special gift. It started yesterday. I received a transferred call from another department who wanted me to help the caller. A lady had a friend (60 years old) who she felt needed to be seen by a doctor but he didn't want to come since he did not have any money. His legs were swollen, his toes were blue, his legs were in constant pain, he was having difficulty breathing, and he just didn't care if he lived or died. His father didn't know what to do with him. My thought was to transfer to another department so they could help them find a doctor. But then she said the magic words. "I just don't think God would want him to be like this." As much as I think about Jesus's words and "the least of these my brethren," I don't seem to do much. This was, like, plopped in my lap.

At the hospital we have a financial assistance program which is income based. The Sisters want us to collect from those who can pay and to give services to those who can't pay. I shared that option with her. While I was very busy, part of my job is to take care of this. So I listened and tried to get her to understand I could not make her friend come to the hospital. But if he did come, my staff would make sure he had information on how to help him pay the bill.

An hour later I had visitors. The friend and his father had come in and had my name and number. Great. What can I do about this? They were very confused about what to do. I had mixed feelings as I had to get back to work, but I couldn't pass it off. "I don't think God would want him to be like this." So I had to change my attitude. And it really was part of my job.

I found a wheelchair for the son and pushed him sloooowwwwly (father was very slow in walking, but at least he could walk) down to the emergency room. "Alex will help you see a doctor and give you some information to fill out for financial assistance. You have my number so feel free to call me if you need something."

Now to today. The Gift. As I walked through the halls I saw the father coming out of the elevator. I walked up to him and asked how his son was doing. He teared up. He said he is doing very well now. He grabbed my hand and looked me in the eye and said "Thank you. The doctor said if we had not come up here within a day or so he would have died." It turns out they gave the son medication that got 16 pounds of fluid out of his body. He could now move around easily. The father held on to me halfway down the hall.

I was stunned. I know my work is important. Or they wouldn't pay me to be here. I know I help the hospital collect the money due it which keeps the staff paid. But I've always wanted to feel that personal success. Now here it was. I may have actually saved a life without going to medical school.

The Gift was for me. I now want to see one success translate to more.

Update

Yesterday I received a voicemail from the friend. She was thankful that there was an organization like us in our city that "didn't feel too proud to help someone in need." She felt we were angels and wanted permission to use my name when she writes to President Obama. Well, I just feel very pleased to have been in the right place at the right time and was prompted to do the right thing.

What Do You Do?

It is one of the first questions we ask a person we meet for the first time. Someone about whom we know absolutely nothing, except possibly the fact that we both know the person who has just introduced us. Of all the information about which we should be curious, we want to know what they do. Sort of like, if your house was on fire, what one thing would you grab to take out?

Why is this? Discrimination. Legal, of course. We are taking a piece of information and building a picture of who that person is.

The other day while listening to the Kim Komando computer show a caller was asked what she did. Her reply was that she was a movie star. Kim asked, "Really?" The caller answered, "No, but when I give that answer people find me so much more interesting."

Discrimination has been given a bad rap because of how people are treated as a result of the picture the discriminator develops. It's conclusions are used as a basis for unwarranted actions irrespectve of individual differences.

It is often bad, but it can be a help as well. It can raise our antanae to see things of which we would have otherwise been aware. Realizing someone looks hispanic might make a person more sensitive to language barriers or other possible cultural sensitivities.

But back to the original question, "What do you do?" What tends to happen when the response we hear is "movie star" or "I work at the QuickMart." I'm thinking it is easy to build a picture that defines the value of the person that does not enlighten us to the individual. In his book The Godfather Papers, Mario Puzo speaks with some disdain about how his mom's ambition for his life was to be a ticket taker for the railroad. His implied conclusion is that the world is better for the fact that he became a writer instead.

Is this the best way to gather information about a person? What if instead we asked "What are you like?" or "what interests do you have?" OK, it might take some courage to try this. Maybe it would be a bit to close for comfort to someone who doesn't know you and doesn't yet know if they want you to know much about them. But answers might be more representative of the person.

I think I'll try it. I'll let you know if I become enlightened or are punched in the nose. If they hit me, at least I'll know they are not Amish.