An awkward silence

It was an innocent question, a simple question, asking about the welfare of a mutual friend. However… the friend in question had died 12 years ago. The person to whom the question had been asked didn’t say anything for a really long time. At least to me it seemed like a really long time. He was likely taking some moments to consider the kindest way to phrase the answer – one that would minimize the embarrassment of the questioner. I found myself wanting to jump in with a quicker answer, but am thankful that I refrained – because it wasn’t my question to answer, but also because it provided an important lesson for me.

In hindsight, I remember standing there thinking, “Why doesn’t he say something?” Even later I marveled at his deliberation and then it occurred to me that this man often does that… often takes some moments to collect his thoughts before giving an answer. Whoa. Think before you speak. What a novel idea.

Then it dawned on me that I had witnessed an illustration of two kinds of conversational response. My internal reaction was immediate, almost impatient, feeling that somebody needed to get the answer out there a.s.a.p. On the other hand, the response that was eventually given seemed to emerge instead from a philosophy that valued taking the time to give a measured response. Duh. “Slow to listen, slow to speak…” Yah, I’ve heard that somewhere before. And no, I’ve never been very good at it. Could it be that I am uncomfortable with silence in some social settings? Do I feel compelled to fill it in before it can become too awkward?

In this case I think I would have given a fine answer. I am sensitive enough to have been kind and gracious, but I would have tried to do it quickly. This was just an ordinary conversation between old friends – so maybe it didn’t really matter – but in a more volatile situation the speed of the answer might have made a big difference.

So, let this be a lesson to me. How many times have I wished that I had stopped to think before speaking? What will it take to help me change? Maybe one step would be to recognize that a moment of silence is not a terrible thing and that it is not always my job to fill it with words. Maybe I could learn that. Just maybe.

thankful for clean water I am

Got a nasty surprise today. Rough news. Things may get worse before they get better. Already tight finances get even tighter. Current stressors suddenly feel overwhelming. The temptation is strong to panic, to complain, and to feel fearful. I am aware of a painful lump in my throat.

In the midst of it all, up pops my calendar reminder that today is Thankful Thursday. Oh, crap. I'm not feeling very thankful at the moment. But I will do this. I will find something for which to be thankful. As an American, that shouldn't be too hard, but a fearful focus tends to compete with thankfulness. Maybe I'll start small. Okay, here's one. How about air? Pretty basic to life. I have clean fresh air to breathe - and it's free. Besides that I have clean water to drink...

And that's all it took! The thought of clean water got to me. What a blessing it is. Wow. I began to think of all of the people who do not have access to clean water. Nearly one billion of them! And I'm not just talking about good (as in tasty) cold fresh water. We're simply referring to water that is not gross and loaded with all kinds of nasty things that will make them sick. Can you even imagine what it must to like to not have clean water available? Well, yah, I actually can imagine. I can remember being where it's not safe to drink the water. But the people did because that was their only option. I, on the other hand, could climb into a vehicle and go on down the road to where there WAS clean water. I even had money in my wallet so that I could buy some of it. And then I could come back home to America where a thousand faucets spout clean, clear water.

Yep, I'm feeling thankful - for fresh air and clean water. AND I'm thankful for my little Thankful Thursday exercise. I guess I needed that today.

Oh, and that painful lump in my throat... I can still feel it, but with a difference. Earlier it spoke of dread and/or self-pity. Now it feels more like compassion and a mandate. I must not let this moment pass unheeded. What will I do about it? There must be something more that I can do.

And, if anyone else is reading this, is there something more that you can do?

There are amazing wonderful organizations who are expertly doing something about clean water as well as many of the other issues that plague those trapped in poverty. Blood:Water Mission is one of many that focus specifically on clean water. Compassion International and World Vision are two of the most reputable child sponsorship organizations - both using a holistic, community development approach. I can confidently recommend either/both of them because they hold to high standards of efficiency, integrity and fiscal responsibility and they are making an incredible difference in the lives of thousands of children and their families. It has been my great privilege to meet some of them.

Yes, I'm feeling thankful. I am indeed blessed. May I be faithful in using my blessings to bless others!

My inside voice

I wasn't feeling so well that morning. Not really sick, but not up to par. Not at full strength. But I still needed to control the room full of third graders and hopefully to teach them something.

I may have flicked the lights - in those days a common trick to get attention. At any rate, I began in barely more than a whisper to explain to my students that I needed their help in being extra attentive because I wasn't able to speak very loudly.

To my delight, it worked. How cool! They got serious and even lowered their tones to match mine. It worked so well, in fact, that I decided I should remember this tactic.

Last night I read a blog post* by Jon Acuff, entitled "When God goes quiet" at Stuff Christians Like. His point was that even when He is quiet, God is still there. I'm glad that I have seen the truth of that in my own life and it's good to be reminded of it.

The article reminded me of that classroom incident and I realized there are other lessons as well. Jon Acuff's lesson was for me the child, the student, the learner, the follower. But what about the lesson for me the teacher, the mentor, the friend, the writer, the influencer? In the classroom that morning, I learned that sometimes, rarely, at least once in a great while, silence can speak louder than noise - and maybe not so rarely. That being the case, could my soft voice (or my silence) be as effective (or maybe even more effective) than my loud voice? Could my whisper cut through the noise better than a strong, bold statement?

I am to be a truth-teller, but maybe that doesn't always have to be with bold, strong statements. Maybe there should be more whispers of affirmation and encouragement from these lips. Certainly I could be using a soft voice more than I do - a voice that is kind and gentle rather than strong and persuasive. I'm not so confident in my ability to be strong and persuasive anyway.

So how about I practice using my inside voice? Maybe, just maybe, it will cut through the noise and maybe even bring a better kind of control to a loud situation. And quite possibly it will be more able to speak peace to ears that are aching from the surrounding din.

Prayer

"While I certainly agree that God can powerfully use our prayers to accomplish various things, sometimes an almost magical view of prayer seems to be suggested, as if it were some kind of genie’s lamp one can rub and produce result, if we only have enough faith." - Ben Witherington

Judging the judgers

Casey Anthony was acquitted yesterday. By a jury, that is. But not by the masses. Nope. By them, she was judged, convicted AND sentenced to burn in hell. She is not the only one judged by the populous. The jury has also been deemed to be incompetent or corrupted - or something. Of course, some people also blame the prosecution for not doing their job. And what of the media who has chosen to give this trial so much air time? It seems that there is much blame to be thrown around.

I quickly admit that I haven't been following the details of the trial and that I certainly don't know enough about it to judge her or anyone else. However, I HAVE been in a courtroom enough times to know that the view from inside is vastly different than the one outside. I have sat on the jury enough times to know how tough it can be to remain objective. How agonizing to feel one way in your gut, but to not have confirmation by the evidence. To stay true to the law when it comes to reasonable doubt. What a heavy robe is worn by a juror!

I am also well aware that the jury has not heard the same things that we have heard. At least we can only hope that they have not heard all of the media hype. There's a reason why juries are sequestered; otherwise none of us could ever hope for a fair trial.

I found myself reacting to the reactions - to the instant anger, the sadness, the condemnation that was flying across the pages of the internet. How quickly we judge - with the confidence that our opinion, our information, our point-of-view is the correct one. That of course I know what I'm talking about and of course those people who decided differently are stupid or evil or inferior in some way.

In my desire to jump in and react to the reactions and the reactors, part of me wanted to say "Chill out a bit; is it possible that you don't have every detail at your disposal?" But another part was reacting angrily to the anger. I felt my own blood pressure rise a bit.

It was not until after I had distracted myself from the subject and was not so obsessed with it, that I realized that I was angry with the anger of the people who were judging the jury and in so doing I was judging THEM. Yep, I was judging the judgers.

Weird. But that's the way it works, isn't it? My idea is the right one, of course. My information is more correct than anyone else's; therefore my viewpoint is the wisest and best informed. Oh, yah, by the way, I'm not just talking about a court case anymore. I'm talking about life. I/we do it all the time. Why must I always be so quick to try to find a place to pin the blame? I've asked myself that question so many times. Am I not getting any better? Maybe I get better and then have relapses.

Is there an antidote? The only one I think of is to remember what it feels like to be falsely accused and wrongly judged. I know all too well what that feels like, too. So... can I give others the benefit of the doubt that I would like extended to me if I were the one in that chair - the defendant chair or a seat on the jury? Can I be grace-filled and compassionate to my friend who flies off the handle in judging someone else? Hmmm...