Can’t is a big word

Part 1.

I can’t do it. We can’t get those people to agree. I can’t see a way through this wilderness.

There are hundreds of books, probably thousands, on this subject, and there’s nothing new under the sun — the one that first clicked for me is more than a century old — “The aphorism, ‘As a man thinkethin his heart, so is he,’ not only embraces the whole of a man’s being, but is so comprehensive so as to reach out to every condition and circumstance in his life,” James Allen wrote in 1903.

As A Man Thinketh is a short book, barely a book at all by modern standards. When I decided to publish a volume to do my part to spread its influence, I put two other books together with it so my Little Volume of Secrets could reach more than 100 pages. Allen’s book accounts for only the first 31 pages.

But the thought can be condensed even further, into a sentence — Henry Ford is said to have said, “Whether you think you can or you think you can’t, you’re right.”

“Can’t” is a big word. If you’re convinced a thing is impossible, it doesn’t matter how hard you try, you’ll struggle to get past that belief.

“Can” is a big word, too. A very popular book touted the power of positive thinking, and many others have followed. Of course, the thought is just the beginning; overlooked by a lot of people who believe in a positive attitude is that nothing is easy. How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, man, practice. Your dream is going to take a lot of work.

But don’t cripple yourself with that big word, can’t. There’s a long metaphorical road ahead of you, so don’t give yourself a limp or break your metaphorical leg by saying you can’t do it.

The old children’s book The Little Engine That Could is about a steam engine who chants, “I think I can, I think I can,” as he tries to climb a hill. That attitude gets him over the crest, but he still had to make the effort.

So start working on that attitude.

I can do it. We can get those people to agree. I can see a way through this wilderness.

The path is there. It may be arduous, but it is only impassible if you’re convinced it is. Take that first step of a thousand miles, and start on your way toward believing.

And if you’re having trouble believing in yourself, I have an even older book to recommend in the second half of this musing.

Absolutely unique, like everyone else

“Who do you think you are?”

I have a feeling that every human has, at one time or another — perhaps several times this week — looked in the mirror aghast and said, “Who do you think you are?” It often springs to mind when one begins to take seriously a big dream an audacious ambition; you figure that’s a thought that’s out of your league, meant to be handled at a higher pay grade.

Sometimes, sadly, the question is voiced by someone else — “Who do you think you are?” as in, you’re not good enough or deserving enough.

Who do I think I am, to call myself to your attention every morning with my ideas and my musings and my songs, as if I were some special voice in the wilderness, as if what I have to say is so profound that I can’t just post it on Facebook, I have to set up a website and make my name a domain like I’m a Big-Hairy-Deal-dot-com?

Who does that? What kind of arrogant doofus goes to all that trouble? Who do I think I am?

I am nobody special — or, to put it in words attributed to Margaret Mead — “Always remember that you are absolutely unique, just like everyone else.” The first half of that quote is very uplifting; the second half brings us down to earth.

But maybe it shouldn’t, because that means everyone else we meet, all day and every day, is absolutely unique, someone the likes of whom has never been seen before and will never again exist in this world when they are gone. That is humbling and exciting — each of these humans is a one-of-a-kind example of humanity in all its infinite variety, and they gave ME the time of day.

It’s also humbling and exciting because it says that I am equally and absolutely unique — “just like” everyone else, not better than, not less than, but just like everyone else. None of the absolutely unique humans I meet are better than me. And none of the absolutely unique humans I meet are less than me.

Of course, I know people who can bake macarons or through footballs, or build roads or paint portraits better than I can ever hope to achieve, and maybe I have a unique set of skills that I can pull off better than others — but the plain fact is that each of us is an absolutely unique individual worthy of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

And each of us is also unworthy in our own unique ways. Whatever glory we have experienced falls short, and in our heart of hearts we know it. A writer so good that his words have been preserved for almost two millennia once wrote, “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners — of whom I am the worst.” He looked inside himself, asked “Who do I think I am?” and concluded that he was probably the worst sinner in the world, and he was grateful that Christ would save even him.

That’s the ultimate answer to “Who do I think I am?” I am a horrible sinner who doesn’t deserve any of the blessings this life has brought me. That realization keeps me humble and compels to live by the example that ancient writer followed — to love God and to love my neighbors, knowing that the word neighbors is defined so as to include those I might consider to be my enemies, if it weren’t for the fact that they are absolutely unique, just like everyone else, and therefore worthy of love.

Who do you think you are?

Reasons for hope

Senators calling for a military coup — politicians not bothering to hide when they’re lying — a world turned upside down.

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Against such things there is no law. Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the sinful nature with its passions and desires.” (Galatians 6:22-24)

Where shall I find love, joy, peace and the rest? Certainly not by surfing the political TV channels. Can I go into a cocoon of joy, peace, patience, kindness and the rest? Won’t I be swallowed whole when the forces of hate and violence overcome us?

Perhaps, maybe even probably.

In the meantime, those of us who love God and love our neighbors might provide an oasis from the storms. Those who choose not to participate in the madness may be destroyed by the gleefully mad participants, but at least we do so lovingly, gently, and confident that the madness is not destined to last forever.

That almost sounds glum and defeatist, but it’s the exact opposite. I would rather live my life seeking reasons to love and live in peace than to chase down every dark influence skulking in gutters and sewers.

I have no reason to hate and every reason to love. Those who sow the fruit of the Spirit will feed more souls than those who sow discord and hate.

I’m not perfect. Some days I’m discouraged and fail to hide my melancholy in this space. But I’m pleased to discover it’s easier to find reasons to hope than to despair. I hear them in the honking of geese as they gather for their migration. I see them in the tapestry of a sunset over the water. I feel them in the crisp morning air and smell them in the aroma of fallen leaves. I taste them in the sweetness of an apple plucked from a local orchard.

Most of all I find reasons to hope in the friends and everyday people I encounter all the time, who are more likely to show kindness, patience and gentleness toward me despite all the efforts to divide us.

When I’m tempted to get swept into the maelstrom of suspicion and hatred, I only need to stop for a quiet moment to find the joy. It’s waiting for you, too, in the quiet. Stop, taste and see.

Back from the brink

A friend posted a video the other day with Glenn Beck saying he agreed with Joe Rogan that the U.S. is approaching Step 7 on a nine-step continuum that leads inevitably to a civil war — “unless we decide we’re not going to do this anymore.”

Somewhere along the line “this” involves thinking of our political opponents as evil, living in separate versions of reality where the same public events are described by our chosen reporters in completely different ways, accepting political violence as a solution, and so forth.

Beck concluded in part that church leaders are cowards because they have not entered the fray to try to stop the decline. I don’t know that I agree with Beck on that score, but I do agree that faith plays a role in diffusing the conflict, because I believe in a faith where the two greatest commandments — yes, here I go again — are to Love God and Love Your Neighbors, with the word Neighbors defined in a way that includes your perceived enemies.

It would be impossible to end up at war if one of our top priorities is to love our fellow humans, all of them. I am not going to commit or condone violence against anyone I love, and if I love God I defy him by doing anything less than loving.

And so I can see Beck’s point in the sense that if our church leaders are not reminding us that those people on the other side of the aisle are neighbors whom we are commanded to love, they are falling short of the mark.

“Yeah, but those people over there …” you might begin to reply.

To which my Lord and Savior said I should forgive them, even if they continue to assail me seventy times seven times.

That’s how it’s possible to give a war where nobody comes.

I love you. I forgive you. Let’s be neighbors.

The joy of an unstructured day

Holy cow, I’m coming up next week on six months of being an old retired guy. It doesn’t seem that long, and at the same time it feels like life has always been this way.

I’m still learning not to dawdle my days away. It seems I needed the discipline of the daily schedule. On the other hand, it’s nice to feel free to dawdle now and then.

So these are “the sunset years” a k a “The declining years.” What a rude description. I’m not especially interested in heading out to pasture. Sure, this earthly vessel has seen better days, but I’m not done making my share of noise or music.

I do keep thinking I might benefit from scheduling stuff for particular times of the day for, say, practicing guitar or finally seriously writing some fiction, but I enjoy the freedom to stop and say, “That’s it! This carpet needs vacuuming,” or “Don’t I have a 78 rpm copy of ‘If I knew You Were Coming I’d’ve Baked a Cake’?” or indulging some other sudden impulse. It’s a second childhood that way — after decades of structure, I’m rediscovering the joy of an unstructured day. (Did I just name this post?)

Not much gets done in an especially efficient way, but it’s surprising how much gets done and what it is that gets done. It’s the old saying, “Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans.”

Or is all this simply a rationalization for my adult-onset ADHD?

It’s a wonderful life with so much to see and experience, it’s hard to decide which way to go next, so I spend a lot of time turning this way and that.

And what am I going to do after I get this post ready for posting? I’ll let you know.

It’s all in the making

They say it will feel like November this weekend, if November is a windy chill. I could hear the bay rolling yesterday, here on the other side of the trees, and the wind chimes played a cacophonous melody.

My original subtitle for this blog was “Fragments of thought and bursts of creativity,” and all these years later I am still pulling fragments and bursts out of my mind and sending them out into the world.

Why do creators create? What makes us run to our parents, present them with our art, and cry, “I made this!”

The answer is as simple as “we are made in the Creator’s image.” Every sunrise, every burst of fall color, every impossibly blue sky, is the Lord showing us beauty and crying, “I made this!” As the psalmist said, the heavens declare the glory of God.

And so we paint, we manipulate clay, we garden and landscape, we arrange words and music in as pleasing a manner as we can, all because we are made in the image of the Creator and, as such, in our own small ways, we create.

Renewal and revival

Of course posting my thoughts about this week’s political events started a fight. That seems to be the point of politics — fighting.

I surrender. No one will change their mind based on anything I say or write anyway. I’m going to do what I’ve said I wanted to do over and over again: I’m going to turn off the news. It’s all lies and jests anyway, and a person hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest. Yes, I just quoted a folk song; there’s more truth in a bit of music than in the daily wrestling match among fighters who purport to run our lives.

I’m not interested in fighting. Never have been. Violence is for cowards.

Every so often I break my vow to stay away from politics and write about love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. I always regret the lapse. My words are misunderstood, assumptions are made about things I didn’t say, and it’s all just sad. Today I renew my vow.

Dark forces are afoot, and they like it when we are angry with each other and find reasons to hate. No more. There is too much beauty in this world to dwell in darkness.

I can’t promise never to breach the subject again. After all, I am a loathsome sinner like everyone else.

But I will try to remember that here, I aim to bring encouraging words to a discouraging world. The battle is a daily one, and actually, I fall into the trap when I think of it as a battle.

It’s a surrender. When one surrenders to the Holy Spirit, the result is the fruits of the Spirit, which I listed above.

Let’s get on with seeking love, joy, peace, and the rest. It’s healthier all around.