When I was little I often thought about what kind of old person I'd be. I saw a huge difference in the personalities of older people around me. You had the people who grew old gracefully and ones who went into silver haired life kicking and screaming. You have the kind old man in church who smiled at us kids as we walked past his yard. You had the wise woman who comforted us with wisdom from her age. On the other hand you had the grumpy old man who constantly complained about his pains and the reckless youth around him. Then you had the woman who bemoaned her vanishing youthful looks somehow never imagining that she would reach this stage in life (despite all of nature pointing to it's inevitability).
If it's true what Shakespeare said, that all world's a stage and the men and women the players in it, then there are clearly people who are better at being old than others. I remember thinking this as child; I was determined that when I get old I would be more like the kindly Mr. Miyagi (The Karate Kid) and less like Mr. Wilson (Dennis the Menace). It didn't take long for me to realize that no one consciously decides to become the bitter old man. I was determined to figure out the secret, not to eternal youth but to growing into a nice old person.
So I don't know what that secret is, other than realizing that growing old is a natural part of life and accepting each new stage of life helps keep the “bitter” at bay. Generally speaking just being aware helps a lot. You're not going to live forever. You're not going to be doing the stuff you did twenty years ago and that's okay. Try something new, try being the wise and prudent one instead of the foolish and rash one. It's actually fun, in a “I can't believe they think I know what I'm talking about” way.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
A Rock, Some Sand, and Wisdom
When I was about six years-old I was going to church at the building across the street from my house. I really loved growing up in that house, I lived on Hope Street which I thought was a really cool name for a street to live on. I also thought the house was cool because it was directly across the street from the church we attended. It meant that on weekdays we could use the church parking lot to ride our bicycles around in and not be considered too far from home. In the Summer someone always found a way to get inside the church so we could use the indoor basketball court. But at age six the most important thing about living across the street from church was that we would walk to church every Sunday. It was like clockwork every week.
This one particular time I went to church my Mom had just purchased a suit for me. It was my first suit and I felt very important as a six year-old wearing a suit to church, like a bishop or one of the missionaries. My Mother had told me that I looked very handsome in it and my child heart felt on top of the world. Nothing could ruin my day.
I remember sitting in my Sunday School class. My teacher was Mrs. McGovern, my neighbor who was a nice older woman. She was nice in the distant older person who doesn't really talk to children playing in the yard next to hers during the week way. She wasn't like other older people who get very excited when they see small children and want to hug them and tell them stories. She was nice to me in the class, I imagined it was because I was her favorite since I was her neighbor. Before class started she complimented me on my new suit, I felt inches taller, and she asked if I would help her in an object lesson.
An object lesson was something I was very familiar with as a six year-old, it meant that something special was going to happen in class. I agreed to help her. As class started Mrs. McGovern brought out two containers, they both looked like plant pots with little dishes attached to the bottom. In one pot there was a flat rock, in the other pot there was some sand packed into a square block. She placed them both on the table so we could all see them. Then she took out some building blocks and built two simple houses, one on top of the rock and and one on top of the pile of sand.
She asked me and another boy in the group to come to the front of the class. She said that the house on the sand was my house and the house on the rock was the other boy's house. She asked the class who was the wise man and who was the foolish man for building their house on a rock or on the sand. At my age I honestly didn't know, but I really hoped I was the wise man, I mean I had the suit and everything for it. Mrs. McGovern gave us each a little watering can and asked the me and the other boy to go out of the classroom and fill them from the drinking fountain at the end of the hall.
The walk back to the classroom with my full watering can was nerve racking. I did my best not to spill a single drop even though I was livid with anticipation. When we got back to the classroom our teacher asked us to wait outside until she ask us to. The waiting didn't help me, I could hear the teacher speaking and then the children sang a little song. I heard the music but I couldn't make out the words. Finally after what seemed like an eternity my neighbor asked us to come inside the classroom with our little watering cans. Ms. McGovern asked the other boy to come up first while I stood and watched. The children began to sing a song:
Our teacher motioned for the other boy to pour his watering can over the little block structure on the rock. He poured as the children sang further:
The house was wet but unphased. My grey-haired neighbor motioned for me to come to the front of the class. I walked up, my small hands tightly gripping the cold water vessel. The children's song continued:
I poured the water over the house and its foundation of compacted sand.
Oh, the rain came down
And the floods came up
The sand seemed to melt away under the stream of water and the feeble house of blocks collapsed. Now normally I would have cheered at the sight of wanton destruction like any normal six year-old boy, but the implications of this demonstration struck me hard. I wasn't even listening as the last verse was sung:
I was the foolish man. My little mind reeled at the thought of it. Not only did I have poor judgement in real estate and hired a shabby contractor for my house, but I had also apparently not built my life on a foundation of Christ. How was that possible? Especially when I was so smartly dressed.
Needless to say I've thought about that object lesson throughout my life. It didn't take long for me to understand that a foolish man would never realize that he was in fact foolish. Just like the Pharisees never realized they were crucifying the Messiah. Just like the sinner thinks he can hide his sins from God and the world. Just like you and me.
I like to think that I'm wise but often I find myself driving pylons into sandy beaches in my life and thinking, "this will hold." Thankfully I like to think of Mrs McGovern's lesson whenever I think a little too highly of myself, or dress a little too sharply, and I wonder if I'm being the wise man or the foolish man. Taking just that moment to think has made a huge difference in my life, and often it's helped me from building on a sandy foundation.
This one particular time I went to church my Mom had just purchased a suit for me. It was my first suit and I felt very important as a six year-old wearing a suit to church, like a bishop or one of the missionaries. My Mother had told me that I looked very handsome in it and my child heart felt on top of the world. Nothing could ruin my day.
I remember sitting in my Sunday School class. My teacher was Mrs. McGovern, my neighbor who was a nice older woman. She was nice in the distant older person who doesn't really talk to children playing in the yard next to hers during the week way. She wasn't like other older people who get very excited when they see small children and want to hug them and tell them stories. She was nice to me in the class, I imagined it was because I was her favorite since I was her neighbor. Before class started she complimented me on my new suit, I felt inches taller, and she asked if I would help her in an object lesson.
An object lesson was something I was very familiar with as a six year-old, it meant that something special was going to happen in class. I agreed to help her. As class started Mrs. McGovern brought out two containers, they both looked like plant pots with little dishes attached to the bottom. In one pot there was a flat rock, in the other pot there was some sand packed into a square block. She placed them both on the table so we could all see them. Then she took out some building blocks and built two simple houses, one on top of the rock and and one on top of the pile of sand.
She asked me and another boy in the group to come to the front of the class. She said that the house on the sand was my house and the house on the rock was the other boy's house. She asked the class who was the wise man and who was the foolish man for building their house on a rock or on the sand. At my age I honestly didn't know, but I really hoped I was the wise man, I mean I had the suit and everything for it. Mrs. McGovern gave us each a little watering can and asked the me and the other boy to go out of the classroom and fill them from the drinking fountain at the end of the hall.
The walk back to the classroom with my full watering can was nerve racking. I did my best not to spill a single drop even though I was livid with anticipation. When we got back to the classroom our teacher asked us to wait outside until she ask us to. The waiting didn't help me, I could hear the teacher speaking and then the children sang a little song. I heard the music but I couldn't make out the words. Finally after what seemed like an eternity my neighbor asked us to come inside the classroom with our little watering cans. Ms. McGovern asked the other boy to come up first while I stood and watched. The children began to sing a song:
The wise man built his house upon the rock
The wise man built his house upon the rock
The wise man built his house upon the rock
The wise man built his house upon the rock
And the rain came tumbling down
Our teacher motioned for the other boy to pour his watering can over the little block structure on the rock. He poured as the children sang further:
Oh, the rain came down
And the floods came up
And the floods came up
The rain came down
And the floods came up
The rain came down
And the floods came up
And the wise man's house stood firm.
The house was wet but unphased. My grey-haired neighbor motioned for me to come to the front of the class. I walked up, my small hands tightly gripping the cold water vessel. The children's song continued:
The foolish man built his house upon the sand
The foolish man built his house upon the sand
The foolish man built his house upon the sand
And the rain came tumbling down
I poured the water over the house and its foundation of compacted sand.
Oh, the rain came down
And the floods came up
The rain came down
And the floods came up
The rain came down
And the floods came up
And the foolish man's house went "splat!"
The sand seemed to melt away under the stream of water and the feeble house of blocks collapsed. Now normally I would have cheered at the sight of wanton destruction like any normal six year-old boy, but the implications of this demonstration struck me hard. I wasn't even listening as the last verse was sung:
So, build your house on the Lord Jesus Christ
Build your house on the Lord Jesus Christ
Build your house on the Lord Jesus Christ
Build your house on the Lord Jesus Christ
And the blessings will come down
Oh, the blessings come down
As your prayers go up
The blessings come down
As your prayers go up
The blessings come down
As your prayer go up
So build your house on the Lord Jesus Christ.
I was the foolish man. My little mind reeled at the thought of it. Not only did I have poor judgement in real estate and hired a shabby contractor for my house, but I had also apparently not built my life on a foundation of Christ. How was that possible? Especially when I was so smartly dressed.
Needless to say I've thought about that object lesson throughout my life. It didn't take long for me to understand that a foolish man would never realize that he was in fact foolish. Just like the Pharisees never realized they were crucifying the Messiah. Just like the sinner thinks he can hide his sins from God and the world. Just like you and me.
I like to think that I'm wise but often I find myself driving pylons into sandy beaches in my life and thinking, "this will hold." Thankfully I like to think of Mrs McGovern's lesson whenever I think a little too highly of myself, or dress a little too sharply, and I wonder if I'm being the wise man or the foolish man. Taking just that moment to think has made a huge difference in my life, and often it's helped me from building on a sandy foundation.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Label Makers
I recently read a book called My Life as a Guinea Pig by A.J. Jacobs. One of the observations he made in his marriage was the negative effect of labels. He mentioned that it seems like you do something clumsy a couple times and suddenly you're known as the 'clumsy one'. Once you have that label you're always the 'clumsy one', and then you start to live up to that label. I mean why be more careful if people don't expect you to be careful? That same principle could be applied to other things. In marriages you often see the 'responsible one', the 'one that's good with money', the 'one who's always late', the 'one that disciplines the kids'.
The danger of labels is that we can start to believe the labels others have put on us or the labels we put on others. It seems so obvious to me when I hear people talk about their parents in a negative light. Usually it's because their parents have labeled them in a way that they don't apprecate. “You're so forgetful”, “you never finish what you start”, “you're not good with confrontation”, all of which could be totally true but how does that make the labeled person feel about themselves?
I know that it's important to be aware of and recognize our faults; that way we can begin the process of changing and improving ourselves. But when it comes to long term things, things that we've been aware of for years, things we've struggled a lifetime to overcome, a label ceases to be a reminder of improvement and simply becomes our identity. If we label our family members and friends, let them be good labels because a negative label only shows our lack of confidence in their ability to change. And if they don't have our confidence then can we even consider ourselves a true friend or family member?
The danger of labels is that we can start to believe the labels others have put on us or the labels we put on others. It seems so obvious to me when I hear people talk about their parents in a negative light. Usually it's because their parents have labeled them in a way that they don't apprecate. “You're so forgetful”, “you never finish what you start”, “you're not good with confrontation”, all of which could be totally true but how does that make the labeled person feel about themselves?
I know that it's important to be aware of and recognize our faults; that way we can begin the process of changing and improving ourselves. But when it comes to long term things, things that we've been aware of for years, things we've struggled a lifetime to overcome, a label ceases to be a reminder of improvement and simply becomes our identity. If we label our family members and friends, let them be good labels because a negative label only shows our lack of confidence in their ability to change. And if they don't have our confidence then can we even consider ourselves a true friend or family member?
Monday, December 7, 2009
On Humor
Cultivating a sense of humor never really seemed like a priority for me growing up, either you were one of the funny ones or you weren't. You weren't funny you stood in the back corner and laughed at the comedy stylings of Bill Cosby, Yakov Smirnoff and the class clown. And yet now that I have children I'm far more concerned about how vital a sense of humor is for people. I imagine that humor is a kind of litmus test of well adjustment.
I'm told there's a correlation between a sense of humor and mental health. I believe it; the times I've felt depressed I haven't had a funny bone in my body, and yet when I'm laughing my heart is light and happy. I don't need a scientific study to tell me that laughter and making other people laugh is a recipe for a healthy cocktail of chemicals in the brain.
Dental healthcare underwent a huge change. Less than sixty years ago, all a dentist used to do was drill cavities, pour fillings and make false teeth. Now dentistry is all about preventative medicine. Dentists today train patients on how to take care of their teeth, do cleanings and rarely drill a cavity. The evolution of dentistry from disease treatment to preventative medicine is a remarkable achievement for mankind.
Science and medicine are making a lot of progress in other areas of health. Especially now that healthcare has become such a social hot topic, preventative medicine is becoming an increasingly important option for healthcare. More doctors are talking about wholistic approaches to healthcare, regularly giving patients advice on exercise and diet. It's only a matter of time before a wave of preventative medicine sweeps mental healthcare. When that happens what kind of advice will doctors give us about preventing depression. I don't know, but I can imagine that it'll include a shot of laughter and a prescription to make someone else laugh.
As I get older I struggle to keep my wit sharp. Despite that, I find myself pointing out funny things around me more than I used to when I was younger. I try to make those around me laugh, not to get attention or make light of a situation but because I feel it's important to keep a healthy atmosphere around me. There's something healthy about a good sense of humor and the spirit it brings to those around me. I don't know where a sense of humor falls on Maslow's heirarchy of needs but I think it should be closer to the foundation than to the top.
So here's to a good joke, and here's to making people happy through laughter.
You can turn painful situations around through laughter. If you can find humor in anything, even poverty, you can survive it. -Bill Cosby
I'm told there's a correlation between a sense of humor and mental health. I believe it; the times I've felt depressed I haven't had a funny bone in my body, and yet when I'm laughing my heart is light and happy. I don't need a scientific study to tell me that laughter and making other people laugh is a recipe for a healthy cocktail of chemicals in the brain.
Dental healthcare underwent a huge change. Less than sixty years ago, all a dentist used to do was drill cavities, pour fillings and make false teeth. Now dentistry is all about preventative medicine. Dentists today train patients on how to take care of their teeth, do cleanings and rarely drill a cavity. The evolution of dentistry from disease treatment to preventative medicine is a remarkable achievement for mankind.
Science and medicine are making a lot of progress in other areas of health. Especially now that healthcare has become such a social hot topic, preventative medicine is becoming an increasingly important option for healthcare. More doctors are talking about wholistic approaches to healthcare, regularly giving patients advice on exercise and diet. It's only a matter of time before a wave of preventative medicine sweeps mental healthcare. When that happens what kind of advice will doctors give us about preventing depression. I don't know, but I can imagine that it'll include a shot of laughter and a prescription to make someone else laugh.
As I get older I struggle to keep my wit sharp. Despite that, I find myself pointing out funny things around me more than I used to when I was younger. I try to make those around me laugh, not to get attention or make light of a situation but because I feel it's important to keep a healthy atmosphere around me. There's something healthy about a good sense of humor and the spirit it brings to those around me. I don't know where a sense of humor falls on Maslow's heirarchy of needs but I think it should be closer to the foundation than to the top.
So here's to a good joke, and here's to making people happy through laughter.
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