Preachers used to tell this story about a guy who prayed for help after his boat capsized out at sea. Apparently the story goes that a man was treading water when passers by offered a life preserver, a raft and even a ladder from a coast guard chopper among other forms of rescue. Nevertheless the man rejected the assistance exclaiming, “I’m waiting on God to save me but thanks anyway. He’ll come through for me.” I used to love when the preachers told that story thinking, even as a young man, “Really? This dummy is too dense,” only to realize later that I have a lot of fantasy in my theology. There’s a lot of mysterious-ness that wards off the help that would rescue.
And I wonder if you’d be able to provide an anecdote that affirms this truth in your life? I used to pray for ways to be involved with sports as a mentor and poof, a coaching position opened and was offered to me. It was a head coaching position but I hemmed and hawed about how coaching would take time away from refining my character development business. (Sometimes it’s like I really am high.) Then after about a year of being a head coach I decided to hone in the services my business offers so I said, “I’d like to concentrate on mentoring.” Soon after that statement, I found myself back in a classroom teaching a reading intervention course, Language Arts and A.V.I.D., a college-bound course for secondary students in the United States that focuses on drawing on individual determination to help kids get to university.
The prayers, most fervent, are often in the breathy utterances. They are heart fueled and felt and they stream forward through the conscious mind and the open mouth. They’re powerful beyond measure and the God who hears those prayers propels you into the thing you’ve been wanting to do. The rub is the vehicle, the package, the casing, the housing, the apparatus… You saw it worked out in a different place, a different way. Drowning is terribly unnecessary so much of the time and yet we choose it because the story the preacher told was just so “fable”ous.
It could be that we inhale far more than what we need to breathe. In 1999, I spent two weeks in Manila trying to land a job in the Philippine Basketball Association (PBA). I rode around town in “Jeepneys” – these undersized transporters that looked like the offspring of a city bus and psychedelic taxi. The ride was anything but comfortable and I was the 6’5″ object of many stares. I got asked a lot of questions by the locals because they love hoop in the Philippines and they knew exactly why a tall black guy was spending time in their city.
At the end of a day’s errands in metropolitan Manila, you realize pretty quickly that you’ve breathed more than oxygen. Emissions restrictions aren’t the same in the south Pacific as they are here in EcoCali. I blew my nose and found it full of ash and what appeared to be soot. The ride in the Jeepney had yielded more than a cultural crash course. I had inhaled more exhaust and chemicals in one afternoon than I had probably in all my years of Los Angeles gridlock. But this public service announcement has more to do with the day-to-day, metaphorical breathing we do.
I’ve been praying lately to see what seeds I plant, what things I inhale that set the stage for failure. Perhaps this is the start of a week where you pay close attention to what you ingest while doing the activities that can’t be avoided. Breathing is not negotiable but what accompanies the oxygen can be.
Ten years later I still remember that it was a Tuesday morning. I remember that I was watching it all in real time on one of those old tube televisions. I didn’t have a flat screen. But on 9-12-11 I stand before kids who range in age from 11-13 and they genuinely don’t remember what is so vivid to me. Suddenly I’m like the contemporaries of Dr. King on April 4, 1968, the enamored American admirers of the Kennedy administration on November 22, 1963 or the generation of my grandparents who knew the visceral nausea of December 7, 1941. I’m that guy trying desperately to communicate the ghastly reality of an event that is purely historical to the unaffected under age 25.
As objective as I am, I couldn’t shake this burden I felt to try and give kids a chance to ask questions, to feel, to offer their own insights. So I did. And I was amped on the notion. Shoot, they’re lucky we don’t have school on Sundays because I could’ve rambled for hours or at least listened to them for equally as long. Such an incalculable deluge of emotion for me arises each year this time, probably more so now that my sister is a New York resident. I’m big on context, seeing the backdrop and foreground of a lifetime. What events shape your life? How do you ever allow the images of people jumping from 80 story windows, or the freakish scenario of a commercial aircraft loaded with jet fuel being thrust into a stationary structure and not coming out of the other side? Best believe I’ll never forget. That was never the issue. It’s about 9-12 and how you live with 9-11 etched. What perspective does something like this yield, knowing that worldwide atrocities have shaped and unraveled lives? All I know is that I can’t wait to visit the footprints at ground zero and pay my own respects. For real…I feel linked to the millions throughout history who wanted me to witness the “real life” in context.
Pick up your mobile phone after having it on silent or vibrate all day. You see the words on the screen and are thrown into panic so you view the names and/or number(s) of the desperate people who have tried multiple times to contact you. They called and sent texts because you were taking too long to respond. The missed call is genius marketing because just the words alone ensure the device never leaves you again.
We don’t like to miss things, not shots, not targets, not significant others. Why miss when I can make? And so it goes with the places we find ourselves. You’re in one job, on one team enjoying your station in life when someone says, “Man, you should’ve been a lawyer.” I get that a lot and it’d be funny if it was funny. It’s worth a contemplative chuckle and those kinds of statements from other people always are. The thought of missing a calling takes you to the same place you momentarily visit upon reaching for the phone. Did I really miss it? Why did I miss it? Can I retrieve it? Can I call it back? Will it answer if I call?
The missed call is potentially consuming and brings a sense of urgency that can be useful or distracting. Bottom line is that calls get missed because of failure to listen. There is a frenetic noise that can ruin our ability to acutely listen. Missed calls are a regular occurrence and the more we fail to listen, the more oblivious we become to what really matters. Soon, I’d be willing to guess, missed calls become dropped calls. But that’s an entry for tomorrow. Peace today in your listening.
I recently went back into the classroom as a Language Arts teacher. Upon arrival I looked around my new digs and discovered a sign that read:
“Failure is the path of least persistence.”
The first time I read it, I thought it said least resistance and I submit that the quote would be equally significant with either word.
Persistence is synonymous with relentlessness. It’s a word that denotes aggression, offensive-mindedness, the desire to impose will. Resistance is defensive and reminds me of a garrison or fortification. So whether you consistently push toward something or repel those things that would invade your life you determine your own failure. Persistence and resistance are based on your core beliefs, the convictions that are presented in your conscious mind when you make major decisions.
I started this blog to be a persistent presence for Godly character and it turned into a brand, which turned into a book, which turned into some other stuff. The point is, I know nothing is more important to me than wrestling with uncomfortable truth so I make it my daily effort to remind myself and you that truth demands submission so we can live the way God intended. And persistence is a labor because it requires you to remain visionary. Your fire can’t wane because the thrill and novelty of your endeavor has faded. Persistence is becoming intrigued with the depth of your vision understanding that it is infinite. Persistence also requires tenacity and bravery. Those who refuse to relent understand the vital nature of their deepest convictions. For instance, character (to me) is a non-negotiable element that preserves this world. So I go to the wall for it in the presence of people who defend their right to be wrong.
Resistance means allowing no intruders, no distractions, no saboteurs. It means that despite coming in the guise of help, pleasure and recess you will stick to the proverbial guns that ward off false things which can destroy you. Resistance means, “If it [the intruder] will cause me to fail at my mission, my most true mission, my most selfless undertaking of making the world what it should be, then I will resist it.” The resistance prevents failure simultaneous with persistence. And I’m confident we were meant to possess these two characteristics. There is a blessedness that comes from a proper obedience to do what’s true and resist what is false (James 1:23-24). To neglect this obedience is failure in and of itself. Observe yourself carefully in the mirror in the morning and upon leaving home, don’t forget the truth or hypocrisy you saw in the reflection.
What time do you get up in the morning? Days have blur to them as I go to bed thinking about what needs to be done tomorrow. And consequently, a day that should feel new feels part of a never ending extension of yesterday. There is a difference between starting fresh and rehearsing the miscues of a day you’ll never get back.
When I recently listened to an interview of the always colorful Ron Artest, power forward for the Los Angeles Lakers, he was asked repeatedly about the lockout and last year’s playoff letdown against the World Champion Dallas Mavericks. While keenly aware of the complexities of his industry’s work stoppage that has sent many of his counterparts overseas seeking employment in foreign leagues, he focused on right now. Ron Artest is relatively articulate and more lucid than people credit. But he just wants to play…today. And as for his name change to Meta World Peace, he said himself that you shouldn’t let the smooth taste fool you. “We’re goin’ hard next year,” says Artest.
I’ll be the first to esteem the value of your day yesterday. It’s a proper context, a book end on the front end to help you posture yourself and not kid yourself about what needs to be done. But make no mistake that today is a brand new 86,400 seconds and you’re not even promised all of ’em so be here and not there. Be present as today presents its challenges and opportunities. If you were a professional athlete would you want last year to define you? Even if you were a champion, it doesn’t mean you are a champion. Compete every day against your fears, arrogance, worries and your long days will get shorter.