Sunday, April 21, 2013
The Dance
Hope
and
Reality
Unlikely partners in the dance -
until
you
hear
the
music...
the haunting strains of
Unexpected.
Reality leads,
Hope submits
leaning against the strength of her partner,
anticipating the moves
that seem choreographed
while in Reality's arms...
ordered,
premeditated,
not
Unexpected.
~ ~~
The music keeps playing.
Reality tires.
The tempo changes.
"No, this is not what I thought,"
Hope reads in Reality's eyes.
It is not
Familiar.
Strengthened by Reality's faltering,
Hope assumes the lead
with a confidence that warms Reality.
Reality relaxes
and leans into Hope's softness,
l unable to anticipate her moves
because they are
daring,
creative,
not
Routine.
~ ~ ~
The music changes
yet the dancers scarcely notice.
Reality is refreshed
as he gazes into Hope's radiance.
Hope blushes
at Reality's steady approval.
And they both become strong,
they both yield
to each other...
...to the music.
Observers savor their delight -
two unlikely partners
dancing
as
One.
Unlikely,
until
you
hear
the
music...
A glorious rendition of
Trust.
~~ ~
Lord, teach me to hear the music of Trust,
its melody is so faint
against the booming resonance of
Unexpected.
Teach me,
so that there might be joy in the dance -
that it might be wondrous to behold.
~ ~ ~
Penned by Mary Whited
dedicated to
Karen and Susan
whose dance with the reality of cancer
has been wondrous to behold
1994
Copyright (C) 2013
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Mile Markers
I didn't know it then but the yelling over the next few hours would leave me voiceless for several days. We arrived in small groups and spilled out of vans to take our positions in the unexpectedly bitter cold of a Florida winter. The damp January air jabbed icy fingers around us in the stillness shortly after dawn. We huddled quietly as we scanned the horizon for the first of the other group to crest the hill. Surely they would not be expecting us to be waiting in this lonely place so far from where they had begun.
What happened that morning would add much information and confirmation to what I was already practicing regarding the power of encouragement. A decade later I still marvel at what I saw that day.
The event was the Walt Disney World Marathon and we were being compensated generously with admission tickets for our participation that morning. The race was just over twenty-six miles and we were positioned where the runners had most of the race behind them and only three or four miles left to the finish line. Our job was to cheer them on to complete the race, no matter where they ranked among the runners. Though the incline we observed was a hill, it could hardly be called a heartbreak hill except this point in the race was when the body would be protesting loudest at the demands made on it and begging to quit.
The first arrivals glided swiftly by alone or in pairs, their conditioned bodies barely breaking a sweat as they slid by effortlessly in a regulated cadence to finish in the top group. Then it was quiet again until clusters of runners glided by, raising their arms in response to our cheering. Hands were clapped vigorouly to create warmth and to energize the runners for the last leg of a challenging race.
The runners came in all colors, shapes, sizes, ages, physiques and preparedness. They came from all over the country, their hometown or states proudly proclaimed on their t-shirts. Many tops bore the name of the runner. Other jerseys were the same color and style on friends who had traveled to the race together. Still traveling together, they dribbled at various pacings down the hill towards us.
Without exception, we were rewarded with a smile when we called out their name or cheered, "You're almost there Minnesota!" Even those who were walking down the hill picked up the pace to a light shuffle with a spring in their step as they got within eyeshot then earshot of our cheerleaders. We stayed for several hours, shuffling ourselves as it remained cold, not letting anyone who had made it that far go unnoticed.
We left reluctantly, knowing we had made a difference and wondering how many finished who might not have just because Disney had the wisdom to place some fresh enthusiasm at a critical place in the course. No one who wanted to finish would feel invisible.
It didn't matter that we didn't really know Abigail when we shouted that she was doing great. She was tired and had been at this for a while. She knew she was too far behind to be a prize winner but nevertheless, she had prepared, traveled, sacrificed to be there and she wanted to finish, to finish well. What she heard the most was that someone knew she was still in the race and she was still running, though slower than others. That and the encouragement that it wasn't much longer until she would see the finish line.
Life has often been compared to a marathon race. Nearing sixty, this close to the finish line, my favorite race to run in doesn't look like the race I signed up for at the beginning. What happened at heartbreak hill? So many I was running with have dropped out of the race or just gotten off course and walked onto some other course where they didn't feel invisible. At the critical point, was there no one there who knew their name or where they were from? Did no one see that they had run the race to that point well? Where were the cheerleaders encouraging them to finish?
You can be a runner AND a cheerleader! As a runner, are you letting yourself be known, who you are and how you got there? Are you counting the cost, pacing, and training to cross the finish line of a long race? As a cheerleader, are placing yourself at a crucial point for those in the race, looking for some way to meaningfully connect, and keeping them on a course to finish? Are you willing to be inconvenienced, helping a stranger, and cheering until you lose your voice?
In what race are you running? Who might you help cross the finish line?
What happened that morning would add much information and confirmation to what I was already practicing regarding the power of encouragement. A decade later I still marvel at what I saw that day.
The event was the Walt Disney World Marathon and we were being compensated generously with admission tickets for our participation that morning. The race was just over twenty-six miles and we were positioned where the runners had most of the race behind them and only three or four miles left to the finish line. Our job was to cheer them on to complete the race, no matter where they ranked among the runners. Though the incline we observed was a hill, it could hardly be called a heartbreak hill except this point in the race was when the body would be protesting loudest at the demands made on it and begging to quit.
The first arrivals glided swiftly by alone or in pairs, their conditioned bodies barely breaking a sweat as they slid by effortlessly in a regulated cadence to finish in the top group. Then it was quiet again until clusters of runners glided by, raising their arms in response to our cheering. Hands were clapped vigorouly to create warmth and to energize the runners for the last leg of a challenging race.
The runners came in all colors, shapes, sizes, ages, physiques and preparedness. They came from all over the country, their hometown or states proudly proclaimed on their t-shirts. Many tops bore the name of the runner. Other jerseys were the same color and style on friends who had traveled to the race together. Still traveling together, they dribbled at various pacings down the hill towards us.
Without exception, we were rewarded with a smile when we called out their name or cheered, "You're almost there Minnesota!" Even those who were walking down the hill picked up the pace to a light shuffle with a spring in their step as they got within eyeshot then earshot of our cheerleaders. We stayed for several hours, shuffling ourselves as it remained cold, not letting anyone who had made it that far go unnoticed.
We left reluctantly, knowing we had made a difference and wondering how many finished who might not have just because Disney had the wisdom to place some fresh enthusiasm at a critical place in the course. No one who wanted to finish would feel invisible.
It didn't matter that we didn't really know Abigail when we shouted that she was doing great. She was tired and had been at this for a while. She knew she was too far behind to be a prize winner but nevertheless, she had prepared, traveled, sacrificed to be there and she wanted to finish, to finish well. What she heard the most was that someone knew she was still in the race and she was still running, though slower than others. That and the encouragement that it wasn't much longer until she would see the finish line.
Life has often been compared to a marathon race. Nearing sixty, this close to the finish line, my favorite race to run in doesn't look like the race I signed up for at the beginning. What happened at heartbreak hill? So many I was running with have dropped out of the race or just gotten off course and walked onto some other course where they didn't feel invisible. At the critical point, was there no one there who knew their name or where they were from? Did no one see that they had run the race to that point well? Where were the cheerleaders encouraging them to finish?
You can be a runner AND a cheerleader! As a runner, are you letting yourself be known, who you are and how you got there? Are you counting the cost, pacing, and training to cross the finish line of a long race? As a cheerleader, are placing yourself at a crucial point for those in the race, looking for some way to meaningfully connect, and keeping them on a course to finish? Are you willing to be inconvenienced, helping a stranger, and cheering until you lose your voice?
In what race are you running? Who might you help cross the finish line?
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Loss of Appetite
The linens have been laundered, the props have been put away, the leftovers enjoyed while the Easter tulips spread wide into a poppy-like appearance. Another memorable Lenten season is past, filled with precious memories and lessons still being learned about what happened that week to Jesus and His disciples.
Many have returned to Facebook, sweets, chocolate, texting, reading, or some other favored or favorite item that was given up for forty days as a token of devotion to Jesus during His most difficult of times. Others have modified their dependence on those Lent gifts and decided that since they truly have been lent to them, they are gifts that can be returned to the Giver, a loan no longer necessary after their fast from them.
These are voluntary givings up. We don't give up something that is bad for us or others as a sacrifice. Rather, we give up something that we value, treasure, esteem, something that is necessary for our quality of life.
But what if the thing you've given up is necessary? Such was the case for my dear friend Karen many years ago as she was in the last year of her seven year battle with breast cancer.
She had been a friend since high school and was a bridesmaid in our wedding. Returning to Orlando after her college years, our friendship resumed in the intermittent way that friendships do when your lives are on different paths. Still we loved one another. When a call went out to friends to Karen-sit a morning or afternoon a week so her roommate could continue working and have regular help with her care, I eagerly made arrangements to be there on Thursday afternoons.
Our four daughters were older and the majority of their schoolwork was accomplished in the morning. Independent studies were assigned for the afternoons as I traveled across town to be with Karen. She was under hospice care, so there was a sense of urgency that these were moments to be caught now, time was running out. Several other friends were regulars in her home, two of them nurses, so we had each other to bounce questions off later as we were a quiet presence in the home.
Weak but still able, we were not to hover or tire her with long conversations. Our main job was to be available - to save the walk to the kitchen for something to drink or a lunch to prepare, to field phone calls and visitors, to record changes or visits from nurses. Her hospital bed was set up in their large living room with a beautiful view through an expansive window of the large urban pond across the street. As I quietly watched, often while reading a book or magazine, I learned a lot about living from Karen as she knew she was dying.
From the beginning Karen had decided to fight back and win. "My doctor said only five percent of people who have what I have now make it. Someone has to be that five percent - it may as well be me!" For over five years she had fought the good fight, endured the cures, and often seemed to be winning. Her life would return to a state of normalacy as she continued to endear herself to those who had the privilege of knowing her at work, church, and in the community.
I don't remember now what changed that brought her home full time but we knew she had too many people who loved her for her to be cared for by the loving strangers of hospice. Her family was nearby and her mother was also a frequent Karen-sitter during the eighteen months she was in hospice care. Karen's dear friend Blair, who shared their home, could return to work full time as a healthy handful of friends stepped in to share the responsibilities that Blair had carried mainly for long enough.
Thursday afternoons I would arrive around one o'clock and stay until Blair returned from work. Once in my home I would prepare a quick meal for our large family. After a couple months, I noticed Karen wasn't eating much. Mercifully, it wasn't because of the vomiting side effect of chemo, the chemo had been stopped. Instead, it was because she had lost her appetite. Her will to eat was gone. There was plenty of food in the house. Her mother was a wonderful cook and kept the refrigerator filled with a tasty assortment of home cooked delicacies to be reheated. Already thin, this reluctance to eat was a serious dilemma. What should we do? We could not give in.
The answer came unexpectedly, a solution to a different problem that helped with hers. Could I please prepare a large meal for my family in Karen and Blair's kitchen with enough for them to enjoy a just prepared supper themselves? Of course! What a great solution to my hurried evenings once I got home and what a delight for Blair to have her dinner menu announced by the aromas that greeted her at the door as she arrived home. What we couldn't have anticipated was the effect this simple decision would have on Karen.
"What are you fixing?" she called into the kitchen on that first cooking day. "It smells wonderful!"
A pumpkin pie cooled on the counter as the smell of roasting chickens mingled with its cinnamon and spices scent.. The chopping and preparing of vegetables and fruit added its cadence to the rattling of dishes and pans in the kitchen, a noisy music that had been missing from this lovely home as the convenience of carried in and take away helped make time for more pressing needs.
She beamed as I carried a filled dinner tray for her to enjoy while I packed the rest of the meal for the trip home. Blair was thrilled with a homemade meal prepared in her kitchen and with the fact that Karen had eaten heartily for the first time in weeks. The orchestration of a meal within earshot and the anticipation created by the fragrance of something tasty being cooked made the difference.
I think of this often as I have pondered over the years the dilemma of evangelism that actually works. Too often Christians have separated the reality of what Jesus has done and is doing from the noisy work of concocting the ' meal' that they serve. It's hard to get a whiff of the aroma of something that has been reheated for two minutes in a microwave, no matter how skillfully it has been prepared.
The Christians I know who are most effective at loving people who then are willing to hear them out in matters of faith are the ones who let others in on the process of God's working in their lives. Sometimes there is a lot of cleanup work to be done after all the buying, measuring, cooking, baking, cutting, chopping, cleaning, necessary to make a feast that you look forward to eating. But the aromas released by the process whet the appetites of those who have forgotten to eat what is good for them. The stack of dirty dishes on the counter is merely evidence of the work done to create something memorable.
Will you allow God to let you be the fragrance released to cause someone to hunger after Him? Will you let them see the process that created the almost emptied dishes stacked after a memorable meal? Or will they continue to wonder what the recipe involves for that dish you reheat so quickly and serve?
Many have returned to Facebook, sweets, chocolate, texting, reading, or some other favored or favorite item that was given up for forty days as a token of devotion to Jesus during His most difficult of times. Others have modified their dependence on those Lent gifts and decided that since they truly have been lent to them, they are gifts that can be returned to the Giver, a loan no longer necessary after their fast from them.
These are voluntary givings up. We don't give up something that is bad for us or others as a sacrifice. Rather, we give up something that we value, treasure, esteem, something that is necessary for our quality of life.
But what if the thing you've given up is necessary? Such was the case for my dear friend Karen many years ago as she was in the last year of her seven year battle with breast cancer.
She had been a friend since high school and was a bridesmaid in our wedding. Returning to Orlando after her college years, our friendship resumed in the intermittent way that friendships do when your lives are on different paths. Still we loved one another. When a call went out to friends to Karen-sit a morning or afternoon a week so her roommate could continue working and have regular help with her care, I eagerly made arrangements to be there on Thursday afternoons.
Our four daughters were older and the majority of their schoolwork was accomplished in the morning. Independent studies were assigned for the afternoons as I traveled across town to be with Karen. She was under hospice care, so there was a sense of urgency that these were moments to be caught now, time was running out. Several other friends were regulars in her home, two of them nurses, so we had each other to bounce questions off later as we were a quiet presence in the home.
Weak but still able, we were not to hover or tire her with long conversations. Our main job was to be available - to save the walk to the kitchen for something to drink or a lunch to prepare, to field phone calls and visitors, to record changes or visits from nurses. Her hospital bed was set up in their large living room with a beautiful view through an expansive window of the large urban pond across the street. As I quietly watched, often while reading a book or magazine, I learned a lot about living from Karen as she knew she was dying.
From the beginning Karen had decided to fight back and win. "My doctor said only five percent of people who have what I have now make it. Someone has to be that five percent - it may as well be me!" For over five years she had fought the good fight, endured the cures, and often seemed to be winning. Her life would return to a state of normalacy as she continued to endear herself to those who had the privilege of knowing her at work, church, and in the community.
I don't remember now what changed that brought her home full time but we knew she had too many people who loved her for her to be cared for by the loving strangers of hospice. Her family was nearby and her mother was also a frequent Karen-sitter during the eighteen months she was in hospice care. Karen's dear friend Blair, who shared their home, could return to work full time as a healthy handful of friends stepped in to share the responsibilities that Blair had carried mainly for long enough.
Thursday afternoons I would arrive around one o'clock and stay until Blair returned from work. Once in my home I would prepare a quick meal for our large family. After a couple months, I noticed Karen wasn't eating much. Mercifully, it wasn't because of the vomiting side effect of chemo, the chemo had been stopped. Instead, it was because she had lost her appetite. Her will to eat was gone. There was plenty of food in the house. Her mother was a wonderful cook and kept the refrigerator filled with a tasty assortment of home cooked delicacies to be reheated. Already thin, this reluctance to eat was a serious dilemma. What should we do? We could not give in.
The answer came unexpectedly, a solution to a different problem that helped with hers. Could I please prepare a large meal for my family in Karen and Blair's kitchen with enough for them to enjoy a just prepared supper themselves? Of course! What a great solution to my hurried evenings once I got home and what a delight for Blair to have her dinner menu announced by the aromas that greeted her at the door as she arrived home. What we couldn't have anticipated was the effect this simple decision would have on Karen.
"What are you fixing?" she called into the kitchen on that first cooking day. "It smells wonderful!"
A pumpkin pie cooled on the counter as the smell of roasting chickens mingled with its cinnamon and spices scent.. The chopping and preparing of vegetables and fruit added its cadence to the rattling of dishes and pans in the kitchen, a noisy music that had been missing from this lovely home as the convenience of carried in and take away helped make time for more pressing needs.
She beamed as I carried a filled dinner tray for her to enjoy while I packed the rest of the meal for the trip home. Blair was thrilled with a homemade meal prepared in her kitchen and with the fact that Karen had eaten heartily for the first time in weeks. The orchestration of a meal within earshot and the anticipation created by the fragrance of something tasty being cooked made the difference.
I think of this often as I have pondered over the years the dilemma of evangelism that actually works. Too often Christians have separated the reality of what Jesus has done and is doing from the noisy work of concocting the ' meal' that they serve. It's hard to get a whiff of the aroma of something that has been reheated for two minutes in a microwave, no matter how skillfully it has been prepared.
The Christians I know who are most effective at loving people who then are willing to hear them out in matters of faith are the ones who let others in on the process of God's working in their lives. Sometimes there is a lot of cleanup work to be done after all the buying, measuring, cooking, baking, cutting, chopping, cleaning, necessary to make a feast that you look forward to eating. But the aromas released by the process whet the appetites of those who have forgotten to eat what is good for them. The stack of dirty dishes on the counter is merely evidence of the work done to create something memorable.
Will you allow God to let you be the fragrance released to cause someone to hunger after Him? Will you let them see the process that created the almost emptied dishes stacked after a memorable meal? Or will they continue to wonder what the recipe involves for that dish you reheat so quickly and serve?
Friday, January 27, 2012
Baby Faces
I can still feel the warm weight of him snuggled down against my chest. Sound asleep, our youngest grandboy was cuddled, rested and relaxed for his second nap on me in as many days. There is nothing quite like having a baby in the family. Even our older grandchildren relish a baby and know that the baby days are short lived.
Though delightful, every parent remembers that those early days are demanding. Babies don't always know what they want but they know that you have it. Since they don't use words you understand yet, communication is tricky. They cry when wet, hungry, hot, cold, frightened, lonely, or just because they can. At first the cries for each of those very different things sound very much alike.Therefore, you study them and hold them close, speaking softly in reassuring tones.
If you are the mother, you might nurse them and continue to sustain and nourish them. You swaddle them tightly and keep them warmer than you'd like because they like it. They keep you up and get you up. Sleep is a gift that you catch hold of when and if you can. Keeping them clean is a priority and as you change diapers or bathe them you observe every change of skin tone or rash. For them you are their protector, their mobility, their parental unit. And you do it all willingly, if not always gladly, because you love them and they are yours: part of you, part of your spouse; part of the past, part of the future.
It is a love sacrificial and unconditional, a commitment without end. Are there rewards?
Absolutely! Wondrously they love you back. You are their favorite person. They develop a radar regarding your prescence. No one makes their face light up like you. Everything is new and wonderful or new and not so wonderful and you are the one they tell everything to. Breathe deeply and enjoy the sweet fragrance of a new baby's skin. Linger as you enjoy that big drop of milk on the quivering lip of a sleeping babe, belly full, totally relaxed and trusting in your sheltering arms, peaceful again. All is well with the world when all is well with their world.
When they hurt, you are always sympathetic. You will go to extraordinary lengths to keep them happy and safe, reluctant to give up even if you have tried everything in the book and it doesn't work. You are committed. There is no going back, only forward. Together. Until death do us part.
The apostle Paul tells us in his letters to the Thessalonians that this is how he cared for the new believers - gently, like a nursing mother loves her children. He wasn't there very long, nevertheless, his letter drips with longing to go back to that nurturing environment again. Because they were loved in such a focused, intentional, complete way, the Thessalonian church was very different from the other churches."We loved you so much that we were delighted to share with you not only the gospel of God but our lives as well, because you had become so dear to us." (1 Thes 2:8 NIV)
Later Paul boasts about their perseverance and faith in all the persecutions and trials they endured. They stood firm and were a model to others of love and faith. All because Paul loved them with the intensity of an infant for a short while before he left them to practice what he preached? It seems so.
Sadly, I have discipled a very few with that kind of consuming intensity. Might that be a missing link in teaching new believers to become believers who will shake up the world? Or at least to make it wonder? It is a question worth asking. What will I do about it?
Though delightful, every parent remembers that those early days are demanding. Babies don't always know what they want but they know that you have it. Since they don't use words you understand yet, communication is tricky. They cry when wet, hungry, hot, cold, frightened, lonely, or just because they can. At first the cries for each of those very different things sound very much alike.Therefore, you study them and hold them close, speaking softly in reassuring tones.
If you are the mother, you might nurse them and continue to sustain and nourish them. You swaddle them tightly and keep them warmer than you'd like because they like it. They keep you up and get you up. Sleep is a gift that you catch hold of when and if you can. Keeping them clean is a priority and as you change diapers or bathe them you observe every change of skin tone or rash. For them you are their protector, their mobility, their parental unit. And you do it all willingly, if not always gladly, because you love them and they are yours: part of you, part of your spouse; part of the past, part of the future.
It is a love sacrificial and unconditional, a commitment without end. Are there rewards?
Absolutely! Wondrously they love you back. You are their favorite person. They develop a radar regarding your prescence. No one makes their face light up like you. Everything is new and wonderful or new and not so wonderful and you are the one they tell everything to. Breathe deeply and enjoy the sweet fragrance of a new baby's skin. Linger as you enjoy that big drop of milk on the quivering lip of a sleeping babe, belly full, totally relaxed and trusting in your sheltering arms, peaceful again. All is well with the world when all is well with their world.
When they hurt, you are always sympathetic. You will go to extraordinary lengths to keep them happy and safe, reluctant to give up even if you have tried everything in the book and it doesn't work. You are committed. There is no going back, only forward. Together. Until death do us part.
The apostle Paul tells us in his letters to the Thessalonians that this is how he cared for the new believers - gently, like a nursing mother loves her children. He wasn't there very long, nevertheless, his letter drips with longing to go back to that nurturing environment again. Because they were loved in such a focused, intentional, complete way, the Thessalonian church was very different from the other churches."We loved you so much that we were delighted to share with you not only the gospel of God but our lives as well, because you had become so dear to us." (1 Thes 2:8 NIV)
Later Paul boasts about their perseverance and faith in all the persecutions and trials they endured. They stood firm and were a model to others of love and faith. All because Paul loved them with the intensity of an infant for a short while before he left them to practice what he preached? It seems so.
Sadly, I have discipled a very few with that kind of consuming intensity. Might that be a missing link in teaching new believers to become believers who will shake up the world? Or at least to make it wonder? It is a question worth asking. What will I do about it?
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Designer Choices
With 35,000 original miles and mint condition appearance, the nine year old Oldsmobile seemed like a steal for only $4,500.00. Owned by a widow who kept it garaged and drove it only to the post office, bank and church, I almost didn't check further about how good a purchase it would be. I was astonished to find out that there are problems with a car that has been used too little, even more surprised that the Kelly Blue Book value on the car was $800.00 less.
Got me wondering about the Christian life and about how so many Christians want their road to be the safe one predictably to the same places, by the same route, escaping to the 'garage' to keep everyone and everything else out that might damage. However, like the car, we were designed for more: road trips to California, dings in parking lots, cruising along interstate highways, fender benders, starlit skies with the windows down, straining up winding mountain roads, occassionally running out of gas, maintenance necessary - not just protection.
I wonder which set of problems is worse, those created by the safe way or the highway? How does the Designer feel about it?
As we begin a new year, don't you really want to know how it feels to catch up with someone in the passing lane?
Got me wondering about the Christian life and about how so many Christians want their road to be the safe one predictably to the same places, by the same route, escaping to the 'garage' to keep everyone and everything else out that might damage. However, like the car, we were designed for more: road trips to California, dings in parking lots, cruising along interstate highways, fender benders, starlit skies with the windows down, straining up winding mountain roads, occassionally running out of gas, maintenance necessary - not just protection.
I wonder which set of problems is worse, those created by the safe way or the highway? How does the Designer feel about it?
As we begin a new year, don't you really want to know how it feels to catch up with someone in the passing lane?
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Audience of Some
Do you remember when Susan Boyle's first performance went viral on the Internet? Awkward smiles and stifled giggles turned to utter amazement as the cameras panned the audience who first enjoyed her remarkable voice from a plain package. Her transformation before their approval was like watching a time lapse metamorphosis as she responded to their unexpected delight and encouragement. Cheers and tears marked the launch of a talented voice being noticed in a big way for the first time.
It took much self-control to resist buying a copy of her first CD as soon as it was issued. Requested as a Christmas gift, I knew someone in my loving family would be eager to buy it for their hard to buy for mother. Her voice accompanied me in the kitchen as I prepared Christmas dinner for our large and growing family. Her selection of music and her obvious talent were a joy to hear but I felt disappointed in the recording of the song that she sang in that first public performance. Why? What was missing?
After much listening, I decided that the difference in the first performance is that you could actually hear Susan responding to the audience responding to her! I knew it had been a visible change but didn't realize the transformation was something that could be heard until I listened to another recording for comparison.
Does this acknowledging others for something that they do or are when they feel invisible or unnoticed transfer into other areas of life? Absolutely! Consider these recent examples from intentional noticing on our drive home from our autumn vacation.
Even though it was late even for a late lunch, Lulu's in Sylva, NC was still crowded and we felt fortunate to be seated without a long wait. Our server was friendly, explaining in detail the lunch specials, getting drinks, clearing a nearby table, seating others, navigating the narrow paths between closely placed tables filled with happy diners. She'd been doing this for hours and I would catch sight of her out of the corner of my eye darting from table to table making sure everyone was taken care of. "You are amazing! You do everything! I hope they appreciate having you work for them!" I interjected as she returned with our beautifully presented meals.
"I think they do!" she responded, smoothing her shirt and standing a little straighter. I continued to watch her way for the next several minutes to see if the unexpected compliment affected her in any way. Indeed, it did. She was more animated and energized as she described the lengthy ingredient list in the lunch specials to the table across from us. There was a sparkle about her as she served another table and made short conversation.
After visiting a favorite gallery and antique store (which is really like a museum) down the street, we decided to check out the library's new setting in the former courthouse. We had been technology-free during most of the week away but needed a map to navigate another small town stop on our way home. The library in Sylva sets atop an enormous hill giving a long distance view of the rest of downtown and nearby neighborhoods. We asked to use their computers, explaining we were from out of town. A driver's license was all that was required to secure a password to access the information we needed. The forty-something clerk was serene and helpful and bundled up in winter clothes the way people who get lots of winter seem to dress at the first sign of cooler weather. "What a beautiful necklace! Was it a birthday present?" She explained that is was, a gift handmade by a dear friend, and her best friend's playful bantering in the giving of the gift.
As we were leaving, I turned around and went back to thank her for being so kind and helping us get to use their computers. "It was so nice to meet you, " she replied with a heartfeltness that let me know we could be friends if we lived there.
Simple words, Simple gestures. Simple slowing down and paying attention to someone else. Being the audience. Letting someone know that what they do and how they do it matters. Letting someone know they matter, even if you'll never see them again. Maybe, especially because you know you will never see them again.
You are the audience to some. Do they hear you cheering?
It took much self-control to resist buying a copy of her first CD as soon as it was issued. Requested as a Christmas gift, I knew someone in my loving family would be eager to buy it for their hard to buy for mother. Her voice accompanied me in the kitchen as I prepared Christmas dinner for our large and growing family. Her selection of music and her obvious talent were a joy to hear but I felt disappointed in the recording of the song that she sang in that first public performance. Why? What was missing?
After much listening, I decided that the difference in the first performance is that you could actually hear Susan responding to the audience responding to her! I knew it had been a visible change but didn't realize the transformation was something that could be heard until I listened to another recording for comparison.
Does this acknowledging others for something that they do or are when they feel invisible or unnoticed transfer into other areas of life? Absolutely! Consider these recent examples from intentional noticing on our drive home from our autumn vacation.
Even though it was late even for a late lunch, Lulu's in Sylva, NC was still crowded and we felt fortunate to be seated without a long wait. Our server was friendly, explaining in detail the lunch specials, getting drinks, clearing a nearby table, seating others, navigating the narrow paths between closely placed tables filled with happy diners. She'd been doing this for hours and I would catch sight of her out of the corner of my eye darting from table to table making sure everyone was taken care of. "You are amazing! You do everything! I hope they appreciate having you work for them!" I interjected as she returned with our beautifully presented meals.
"I think they do!" she responded, smoothing her shirt and standing a little straighter. I continued to watch her way for the next several minutes to see if the unexpected compliment affected her in any way. Indeed, it did. She was more animated and energized as she described the lengthy ingredient list in the lunch specials to the table across from us. There was a sparkle about her as she served another table and made short conversation.
After visiting a favorite gallery and antique store (which is really like a museum) down the street, we decided to check out the library's new setting in the former courthouse. We had been technology-free during most of the week away but needed a map to navigate another small town stop on our way home. The library in Sylva sets atop an enormous hill giving a long distance view of the rest of downtown and nearby neighborhoods. We asked to use their computers, explaining we were from out of town. A driver's license was all that was required to secure a password to access the information we needed. The forty-something clerk was serene and helpful and bundled up in winter clothes the way people who get lots of winter seem to dress at the first sign of cooler weather. "What a beautiful necklace! Was it a birthday present?" She explained that is was, a gift handmade by a dear friend, and her best friend's playful bantering in the giving of the gift.
As we were leaving, I turned around and went back to thank her for being so kind and helping us get to use their computers. "It was so nice to meet you, " she replied with a heartfeltness that let me know we could be friends if we lived there.
Simple words, Simple gestures. Simple slowing down and paying attention to someone else. Being the audience. Letting someone know that what they do and how they do it matters. Letting someone know they matter, even if you'll never see them again. Maybe, especially because you know you will never see them again.
You are the audience to some. Do they hear you cheering?
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