PROMISE YOURSELF

   

I read something this past week that I thought was very profound. It comes from The Optimist Creed which is included in a book by Christian Larsen published in 1912. The book is entitled Your Forces and How to Use Them. The creed begins with “Promise Yourself” and then lists 12 affirmations, but one in particular stood out for me. It goes: [Promise yourself:] “To give so much time to the improvement of yourself that you have no time to criticize others.”

            That’s huge because it sounds nearly impossible. And it sounds nearly impossible because criticizing others is a favorite pastime, along with being a defense mechanism. I remember hearing William Sloane Coffin once say that we are fond of putting other people down in order to raise ourselves up. I think he’s absolutely right! Yet it is a practice that is almost second nature to us in the type of society in which we live.

            Our society gives more respect to cynicism and negativity than it does to anything that smacks of the positive and of hope.  Sadly, the negative influences on us are strong and constant from every direction—TV, radio, newspapers and magazines, etc.  They are considered to be the more “intelligent” points of view, whereas the positive is mostly regarded as Pollyannaish and naive.

            The fact is that it is much easier and much less painful to look at the faults of other people than it is to take an honest look at ourselves and what we need to do to improve. In doing so, we feel much more powerful and righteous, but it doesn’t really help anybody, including ourselves.

            Anyway, that’s all I have to say about that other than the fact that here are a few other affirmations from that same source.  Promise yourself:

·        To be so strong so that nothing can disturb your peace of mind.

·        To talk health, happiness, and prosperity to every person you meet.

·        To make all your friends feel there is something in them.

·        To be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear, and too happy to permit the presence of trouble.

Where I've Been, In Case You Were Wondering

     For those of you who may have thought I dropped off of the face of the earth, not true. I've been very busy this summer "recreating my life."  Ah, now, what does that mean? Well, for me it means that in this retirement status of mine (actually semi-retirement), I have reached a place in which I feel that it's time to change it up. I've been doing a lot of thinking with regards to how to do that and am gradually making it happen.
     Chris and I haven't done much in the way of taking a vacation this summer--though we did go to Maine for a few days in June. We also have gone to the beach a few times and will do so some more. We go to Island Beach State Park. It's a bit of a drive but it's worth it, in part because we and whoever is in the car with us get in free with my senior adult pass. But also we love the beach there itself--well kept and good facilities.
     As for me in recreating my life, several things have happened that were the impetus for it. I won't go into the intimate details thereof, but suffice it to say that they led to deep personal reflection. One of those areas had to do with my health and well-being. I've radically changed the way I eat. I grew up in a meat and potatoes household and continued to eat that way through most of my life. Fried foods,a regular diet of red meat, lots of dairy (most especially ice cream and butter) plus a whole host of other culinary delights have been an integral part of my menu. But I found some new culinary delights though not entirely giving up the others.
     In addition, I've also given up wine and any other form of alcoholic drink--not because of some moral judgment against it, because I still think it's fine for those who choose it. It's just that one day Chris and I were discussing medications I took for Atrial Fibrillation, and all of a sudden I blurted out that my reasons for taking them were simply "I want to live."
     I can't explain it, but maybe some of you will understand that saying that triggered something in me.  People can advise you a million times with their thoughts of what they think you should do. That's really not a very effective method for change. But when you suddenly come to a place of personal awakening, it's a very powerful moment. 
     Because I changed the way I was eating, I have reversed my heart disease and no longer take medications, I've lost weight, and I have an increased amount of energy. One of the big things that helped was that I joined the Wellness Club at Whole Foods where Chris works. They have all kinds of classes to attend that are both fun and informative. In addition to mostly following their plan, I added a daily walk of two to three miles on the towpath by the canal.
     Other things have changed for me and about me as well, all for the better I hope. Anyway, I'm back at the blogging ranch again and I promise that other posts will not be so long and not as self-involved.  This was just intended to connect with any of you who may have wondered whatever happened to me.
     Thanks for listening!  Peace!

Just Arrived!

We were down to one chicken--Henrietta--a feisty, healthy Rhode Island Red. Since the passing of her sister a few weeks ago, she's been hanging out with us, aligning her self-image with the importance of the other two pets--Faye, our dog and Spiffy, our cat. She's attempted a couple of times to enter the house, but we draw the line at that, not wanting to gain a reputation as the contemporary version of "Ma and Pa Kettle."

I do feel that it's important that you know that those who have died of our original six chickens with which we arrived on the farm 3 years ago, have died of natural causes and not as a result of the need for a roast chicken dinner. Truthfully, we regard them more as pets than as livestock.
However, we really love the fresh eggs. Henrietta is still providing them for us, mostly at the rate of one-a-day.

This past Tuesday morning, I announced to Chris that I was going to "pick up chicks," which got very little response from her, other than, "I'd go with you, but I have too much to do around here this morning."

Anyway, I went to one of my favorite places, Rosedale Mills, and purchased ten little baby chicks (just in case you were wondering) of the "Red Star" variety. When they grow up, they'll produce nice large brown eggs. Right now, they are snuggled safely together in a box in the chicken coop. Henrietta doesn't seem very interested in them, which is curious, but Faye is fascinated. And so far, Spiffy doesn't know they exist or is playing it cool, perhaps hopefully waiting for us to get careless in our care of them.

There's no real deep spiritual message to be drawn from this story other than the fact that life is surely filled with delightful simple wonders for all who have eyes to see. And you're welcome to come by and see for yourselves that really good things come in small packages.

Self-Image

I attended a writer's workshop up in the Berkshires a few weeks ago. I spent five days at Kripalu, a retreat center just outside of Stockbridge, MA, getting inspired to write that great American novel that so far has eluded me since retiring in 2009. Actually, I'm not a novelist--I discovered that--but I am a writer. Someone specifically told me that as I was walking the labyrinth one morning before our session for the day had begun.

I went to class that day feeling like I really belonged there and that, when I returned home, my writing life would begin in earnest. And it has. Oh, I don't mean that you can expect to find me on the New York Times best-seller list or to see one of my books on display in Barnes and Noble. If either of that happens, I would certainly have no objection. However, one of the things that I discovered at the workshop is that being a writer takes many forms from simply keeping up a personal journal to the writing of that great American novel I mentioned earlier, and that it's all legitimate. In other words, if someone asks me from now on what I do, I can honestly say, "I'm a writer," and leave it at that.

That, of course, is a bit misleading. If I gave that answer to someone who asked me that, in their minds they might think of me much more highly than they ought to think. Yet, I do write a sermon every week; I do keep a journal; and I am working on a book, which may or may not eventually materialize. The point is, though, that it matters what we think of ourselves as to what we actually make of our lives.

I learned that to some degree when I retired. Identifying yourself as a retiree can lead you to minimize your existence to sitting around watching a lot of TV or just sitting around. I didn't do either of those things, but I did start to wonder if I should somehow be giving up anything that resembled work-like responsibilities. In my case, I actually became semi-retired rather than fully retired, taking on a part-time appointment to a small church. I think that that was a smart move.

But whether we're talking about identifying yourself as retired or as someone who's not very creative or as someone who is not very healthy, what you think of yourself pretty much determines how your life will be. "Retired" may not be a good choice of words; "not very creative" may not be a good way to discover new things you can do; "not healthy" may be a mindset that is responsible for never feeling well. All of those kinds of self-images are very limiting to our personal well-being.

Oh, that reminds me: remember at the beginning I said that I was not a novelist? Today I begin to change my self-image because last night I had a dream about having written the great American novel. You might be able to find a copy of it in Barnes and Noble by next year. Just sort of kidding, but who knows what any of us are capable of if we just think more highly of ourselves than we might otherwise be inclined to do.

Life Changing Moments

Experiences vary in the impact they have on our outlook toward life. Recently, Chris and I had one that dramatically influenced us emotionally and spiritually.

On Saturday morning, February 11, we were on our way to Cranbury to pick up our nephew and take him to his hockey game. It had been snowing lightly, but certainly did not seem to be dangerous driving conditions. As we came up a slight incline on Washington Crossing Road, we hit a patch of ice and the car started to swerve. I tried to regain control, but nothing I did helped.

The car spun so that we were facing the opposite direction and slid sideways, heading toward a telephone pole at about 45 miles an hour. These were surreal moments in which events were both instantaneous and in slow motion at the same time. We were totally helpless in doing anything about our impending collision with the pole, which would have struck on Chris's side first. We were convinced that this was it for both of us and said goodbye, and gave in to our ultimate destiny.

We were within inches of impact when suddenly our car flipped over and spun around again, coming to a stop on the shoulder of the road, leaving us hanging upside down, suspended by our seatbelts. We checked in with each other: "You okay?" "Yeah, I'm okay. You okay?" "Yeah."
Below us was glass everywhere from a shattered windshield and broken passenger side window (Chris broke it with her elbow on which she had recently had surgery), but we were unharmed, me still wearing my glasses as if nothing had happened.

The next car that happened by was that of an EMT who was on his way to pick up bagels. He stopped and helped us out of the car, as we exited dazed and amazed at the same time.

We have replayed that event a hundred times over in our minds and hearts. How did all of that happen and why did we survive and what does it mean? This much I can tell you: The emotional trauma has somewhat dissipated, but we are still sorting things out and don't hesitate to give thanks every day. It truthfully has made us reevaluate our lives, adding a new intention for living more fully. What that means, I suppose we will discover in time. There is one more emotion that remains a bit on the mystical side of things which is perhaps best described as surrender--surrendering to the flow of life's own rhythm.

Suffice it to say that it's a shame that it takes trauma to make us appreciate being alive.

The Art of Going to Bethlehem

One of my fondest memories of Christmas when I was a boy was lying on the floor, leaning on my elbows, in front of the train platform under the tree. I watched endlessly as my Lionel electric trains circled the little village that was dusted with artificial snow. The lights in the houses went on and off automatically because my father set them up with a timer. It was like being transported to an idyllic world in which everything was just the way it was supposed to be.

Though on the one hand, it seemingly had little to do with a holy child being born, on the other hand it had a lot to do with it. What I mean is that the most important thing about the story of Jesus' birth is the feeling that it is divinvely intended to generate--a feeling of joy, love, peace, hope, and promise. In other words, whatever brings those feelings to any one of us in this season is like going to Bethlehem and looking into a manger and celebrating with the fullness of wonder.

A rainy October day out on the farm. I'm sitting at the desk by the kitchen window looking out over the golden hayfield with a faint view of Baldpate Mountain in the distance. I'm thinking about the seasonal transformation that's occurring right before our eyes and the way in which a new season seems to bring an element of hope to those who are longing for change. I realize that we probably all have our favorite time of year and are often sorry to see it fade away as the world moves us along through the years of our lives.

This time of year especially brings the poetry of Robert Frost to mind for me. In my perhaps lack of literary sophistication, I prefer poems that speak about ordinary life in subtly grand ways. That's why the works of Billy Collins, two time U.S. Poet Laureate, are also at the top of my list. Collins writes about everyday objects and scenarios in a manner that delightfully captures an almost mystical essence of things we simply take for granted or don't even notice.

Many years ago I was invited to perform some music at a poetry reading that featured the works of local amateur poets. I was astounded by the maudlin tone of the evening. Every poem was either about death, suffering, or general human misery. Apparently the idea was that only that kind of outlook on life was worth considering and had any meaning. It seemed as if each poet was trying to outdo the others by rendering even more grotesque images of life.

In the meantime, between readings, I was performing folk songs and the music of John Denver. I was beginning to feel very shallow and almost embarrassed to be joyfully singing about the other side of life. Then all of a sudden I had what the Japanese call a "satori"--an instant awakening. I suddenly saw that it was my job to try and help lift people out of the poetic doldrums. Each time it was my turn, I sang even more joyfully and heartily.

Some of the poets looked a bit disturbed for me interrupting their gruesome images of the human condition, but I kept right on anyway. Honestly, we were a poor match. I regret having felt in any sense competitive. The persons who had arranged the evening had heard me perform before and decided that I'd be a fit ingredient to an artsy event.

The point is that, as far as I'm concerned, while I recognize that life does, in fact, contain a sizable element of misery for many people, to focus on that alone as if it were the whole of life, is not just a depressing outlook, but is counterproductive to making the world a better place. One of the responsibilities of those who would change the world for the better--shift it into a new season--is to become aware of even the simple joys of life. Those are found right with the everyday world in which you and I live. Perhaps that sounds trivial, but I believe that with my whole heart.

If possible, find time to sit quietly and read some poetry during this season of transformation. Or put on some music that has a poetry all its own and sit quietly and meditatively, listening to every nuance of artistry. Or write your own poem as you look out the window or as you take a walk. But by all means, be thankful for the delightful elements of everyday life that make being here a wonder.