Honoring Tiny Achievements

Along with back to blogging, I’ve renewed listening to podcast episodes. If I were so inclined, I’d post on a regular basis responses to these episodes. But rather than burden myself with that task, I most often choose to point you to them. But not this time. This episode is too rich. Here’s the first of three responses to a timely episode of Everything Happens.

In Kate‘s conversation with Parker Palmer entitled Standing in the Gap, he shares a twist on journaling worth exploring. Rather than narrow it down, here’s the portion of the transcript for you to hear Parker’s description:

I was talking with this therapist who said, what I want you to do in the midst of this despair you have about being nothing and nobody and of no use, a worm, I want you to start keeping a journal. And I just, you know, drew whatever energy I could and did the fair imitation of a depressed blow up which isn’t a real blow up because you just don’t have the energy for a real blow up. But I said, are you out of your mind? I can’t write a sentence. I can’t read a page. I get lost in the very act of trying to articulate a thought or absorb it sort from the outside. He said, well, I’m not talking about a lengthy discursive journal. I’m talking about a journal of tiny achievements. And I said, what does that mean? And he said, well, for example, you told me that you were finally able to get up at 10:30 this morning, having spent most of the night and morning just in a darkened bedroom hiding under the covers. He says, write that down in the journal. You also you also told me that today you were able to get out on your bike, which is your preferred mode of exercise, because you don’t have to talk to anybody when you’re on a bike. And in this state, you’re incapable of even a simple conversation with a neighbor. You were able to ride your bike for ten minutes. Write it down. Tomorrow, start a new page with a new date. What you’re going to find, if you are faithful to this simple, this journal of tiny achievements, you’re going to find that you’re getting up a little earlier from time to time. You’re going to find that you’re riding your bike a little longer from time to time. The day’s going to come when things are going to start feeling a little more normal from time to time. The pattern of depression is sawtooth. It’s sometimes better, sometimes worse, day in and day out. Now, I was a guy for whom an achievement was writing a new book, selling 100,000 copies, getting great reviews, being invited to give talks and workshops all over the country. That’s how I spent 40 plus years of my life. These didn’t seem like achievements at all. But I today, to this day, in good mental health and in times when things are a little dark, I have recalibrated my sense of what an achievement is, and I embrace myself over much smaller achievements. And at age 85, when I probably don’t have another book in me and I don’t have a lot of post-COVID travel in me, this is probably as important as it was to honor my tiny achievements as it was when I was in deep depression. It’s a tool. And for me, it worked.

Parker has journeyed through several bouts of clinical depression. This suggestion from his therapist has turned into a life-changing, long-lasting practice. He called it a tool. That it is.

I’d also call it a blessing. Why? My last conversation with my spiritual director resulted in my awareness of needing to revive a gratitude exercise I’d abandoned. It’s a tool that helps keep me focused on the best things. It’s grounding. That’s a blessing. I imagine acknowledging tiny achievements also a blessing. Often times, my statements of gratitude seem tiny as well. But boy do they offer recalibration. Seriously, sometimes it’s good to just be grateful for toothpaste and soap. Tiny things usher in humility.

Thank you, Parker Palmer, for encouraging me to not only be grateful for tiny things, but to also honor tiny achievements.

So here we go from the first half of my Sunday:

  • Stopping to get gas before the light came on
  • Retrieving a shopping cart out of the Winn Dixie parking lot bushes so the buggy guy had one less to corral
  • Saving over 30% on groceries (A big shoutout to the inventor of BOGOs…huge achievement)
  • Out of bed after the first alarm…no snooze button today
  • Posting for a second day in a row
  • Not giving in to the temptation to respond to divisive Facebook posts

I encourage you to utilize Parker’s tool before the end of the day. May you find value and peace in your honoring.

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

Take All the Time You Need

Unintentionally, it’s been a month since my last post. Pre-Milton. Pre-election. Gulf Coast residents have had a month.

I came back to Bradenton October 13th. For me, not much had changed. A few inconveniences. For my community, layers upon layers of change. Some visible. Some yet to be unearthed.

I’ve been struck by this image on my cul-de-sac.

It typifies how it feels to navigate response and recovery. Like the vegetation on the right, those in the line of work to lead response stand tall and strong, seemingly untouched by the winds of change. Those on the left, completely different. At least visibly.

They’re still here, but not the same. They’re bent but not broken. Their roots are exposed. They are vulnerable. They are in need. Recovery is a hope, but can feel untouchable. They lean in the direction of the tall and strong.

My neighbor who lives in the condo behind the leaning vegetation didn’t evacuate. She now leans also. She endured the long, uncertain, and terrifying night. She’s bent but not broken. The exposure of her roots is uncomfortable and has left her scurrying in the fog.

The night of October 9th, many may have felt like Jacob in Genesis 32. That night in Peniel changed him-he even got a new name. He said when it was all over, “I have seen God face to face, and I am still alive.” He left with a limp. He also left processing a life-altering encounter.

Disasters come in our lives. They limp us. We’re tempted to focus on the changes in our world to the point that we don’t stop long enough to notice and tend to the changes to our minds, emotions, spirits, and bodies.

It’s okay to pause. It’s okay to gaze. It’s okay to tend.

Take all the time you need.

This Is Us & Phil Wickham

Like many Florida Gulf Coast residents, I left home yesterday. If you took the time to pause when you locked the door, an extraordinary number of thoughts slammed your mind, body, and soul. These thoughts, built on a mix of emotions, will rise to the surface sooner or later, so it’s good to welcome them now, within reason.

Earlier I wrote this phrase in a message, “Not sure what comes next.” I wasn’t expecting the hit to my chest, the jolt to my brain that came with those words. So I paused to sit with them rather than stuffed them.

Two things followed.

One, I was reminded of a This Is Us scene where Randall and Beth played a game they called Worse Case Scenario. In this clip, Randall shares it with their three girls.

Two, I opened my 2024 playlist based on the word courage. This Phil Wickham song is at the top of the list.

Even in the worse case scenario, the Lord is my Shepherd. His goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life. I don’t have to fear; I know He is with me. The table is prepared; the right direction is ahead. All is well is my soul.

Deeper, Stronger Love

About this time last Saturday, I was sitting in the stands of Washington-Grizzly Stadium on the campus of the University of Montana in Missoula waiting for the Zootown Challenge 5k to start. Not too sure how the race would go due to fighting off altitude sickness the last 18 hours, I was anxious to get moving.

When they separated the competitors based on expected pace, I ended up standing by this guy, one of several competitors wearing the same shirt.

I asked, “Tell me about the shirt so many of you are wearing. Are you part of a team?”

“No,” he smiled. “We’re just all here to remember my brother, the guy on our shirts. He died last year. He ran this race the first two years it was put on, so we’re all here to honor him.”

“That’s really amazing. There are a lot of you. How many are there?”

“54. And he’s laughing right now. This is something I never do.”

We chuckled at that thought and ended the short chat with encouragement. Basically, no matter what, we’re going to get this done. The line started moving, and we eventually separated. I passed him once on the course with a nod to keep moving.

Nothing was said about how his brother died. A year later, that wasn’t important to share in a random conversation with a stranger. What was most clear was the brother left behind loved his lost brother and was doing things now because of what he saw and remembers. I’m guessing being in that stadium and running the course was a way for him to say, “I haven’t forgotten you. Odd to say, but I love you probably now more than ever.”

This was fresh in my mind as I had just read these words from Henri Nouwen’s book Life of the Beloved:

I am called to trust that life is a preparation for death as a final act of giving…If love is, indeed, stronger than death, then death has the potential to deepen and strengthen the bonds of love. It was only after Jesus had left his disciples that they were able to grasp what he truly meant to them. But isn’t that true for all who die in love? (Chapter 8, “Given”)

May your loves deepen and strengthen.

A Stroke on the Canvas

Last year I made a traveling decision. Whenever I could, visit art centers and galleries wherever I travel. I’m glad I did.

Reason #1: The beauty created and vulnerably shared by artisans deserves encouragement.

Reason #2: The many mediums available for artistic expression deserve appreciation.

Reason #3: Supporting artists with donations or purchases empowers them to continue producing works of beauty inspiring awe and wellness. You might say I’m making a stroke on the community art canvas. It’s something we all can do that doesn’t require legit talent.

Today I visited The Valley Art Center in Clarkston, Washington. Besides enjoying the displays, I was honored to speak with artist and board member Robin Harvey. She was a wealth of information and shed light on unique approaches the center has that were new to me.

I’d like to give a shout out to these other artists whose works I admired:

If you are in the Clarkston/Lewiston area, you won’t regret stopping by The Valley Art Center.

HINT: Before or after lunch is a good time as there are excellent restaurant options within walking distance.

Photo by Andrian Valeanu on Unsplash

Six Steps to Writing Your Laments

I’m guessing if the majority of us were asked if we had anything to lament over we’d have more than one answer.

  • A relationship
  • Religion
  • Politics
  • Finances
  • Physical aches

I’m guessing if the majority of us were asked if we had a proper approach to lamenting we’d struggle to lay it out. Thankfully, Krispin Mayfield has offered some help.

In his book Attached to God, he gives six steps to writing a lament. Why? When we express our most difficult emotions to God, we draw closer to him. Intimacy with God is found in a balance of praise and lament.

In the tradition of the Psalms, here are Mayfield’s six steps:

  1. Tell God something you wish were different in your own life or the world, such as a health condition, difficult relationship, life stress, poverty, or racism.
  2. Tell God what you feel when you think about this issue; additionally, write down any emotions you might feel considering God’s inaction regarding this issue.
  3. Tell about a time in your own life or someone else’s where God intervened.
  4. Ask God to step in and address this suffering.
  5. Tell God you’re confident that your prayer is heard.
  6. Praise or recognize one of God’s attributes or characteristics, based on your past or present experience.

Sharing some of your uncomfortable emotions with God might feel strange. But you can unlock the basement when you’re assured that both God and your faith tradition can hold the parts of your experience. When you are sad, scared, or angry, your emotions aren’t signs of a lack of faith, but rather evidence that you are exactly where you need to be-at home with a God who is waiting to hear your emotions and give you the reassurance you need. (chapter 8, “From Shutdown to Engaged”)

Photo by Joshua Earle on Unsplash

Running from Joppa

Jonah 1:3 CEV
Instead, Jonah ran from the Lord. He went to the seaport of Joppa and found a ship that was going to Spain. So he paid his fare, then got on the ship and sailed away to escape.

Most 4:30AM runs don’t make me think of Old Testament prophets. This morning, I might as well have been boarding a boat bound for Spain.

Never mind the fact that a gradual heavier rain fell over the five miles. The connection was a familiar spirit that I’ve encountered many times over my 56 years. I’ve come to identify it as the Jonah Syndrome (JS). See if these three words sound symptomatic: frustrated, angry, and resentful.

The more I chatted and listened to myself, the more I realized I wasn’t the only one in the conversation. If I’m being honest, I told God I felt pretty justified in these emotions. He didn’t disagree; but he didn’t give freedom to let them be an excuse for any actions for the day.

That’s when I turned. Instead of getting cozy on the boat kidding myself that the approaching storm had nothing to do with me, I found myself running from Joppa, visualizing the rain symbolically washing away the potential actions produced by JS. The request became, “Replace these symptoms with patience, love, and purpose.”

Here’s what I know about Joppa-you have a choice: keep running to escape or reverse course. Thankfully, God welcomes pacing anyone running from Joppa.

Photo by Justin Aikin on Unsplash

Lunch was Joyful

I had a four-hour drive yesterday. Lots of podcast listening.

One episode shared this quote about joy from an author new to me.

Joy is the experience of being with someone who is glad to be with you. –James Wilder

It resonated with me because of my lunch encounter Thursday. I used the word joy to describe it, believe it or not.

I left the office around 1:30 not sure where lunch would find me. Turning left on Bee Ridge, it hit me. I wasn’t in a hurry, and I felt a little celebratory. I knew where to go.

Focaccia Sandwich and Bakery!

From the minute I walked in until I left, my heart was full. Besides the fact that Nick makes great food (the sandwich in the photo was the best yet), the shop exudes life. And joy is a perfect descriptor.

So why do I say Wilder’s quote applies to Nick, the owner?

Reason #1: Nick remembers everyone’s name. He makes you feel like he made that sandwich just for you. And when I say made, I mean the recipe, the presentation, the ingredients-the whole process. He wants his food to bring you joy. He’s glad you are there.

Reason #2: Nick works with joy. I’ve yet to see him have any look on his face but a mixture of pleasure, contentment, and happiness. His shop is just eight months old and has every sign of being around a long time. People want to be around joy.

I say thanks to Nick and all those in my life who bring joy. Who are those people in your life? Return the joy. Let them know you are grateful.

Hurrying Is Human

To begin his podcast episode entitled “Quiet Compounding,” Morgan Housel shared this quote by Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu: “Nature is not in a hurry, yet everything is accomplished.” Housel then added these thoughts:

So think about giant sequoias, and advanced organisms, and towering mountain ranges. Nature builds the most jaw-dropping features of the universe, and it does so silently without trying to get attention-where growth is almost never visible right now but is staggering over long periods of time

Because his podcast is about money and finances, you can imagine where he goes from there for the next six minutes (click here to listen). When I heard this, my mind went down the personal growth lane. For that matter, life in general.

Of all the thoughts available to chase, mine went toward the gift this visual offers. Along with our striving for vocational success or relationship health or spiritual depth often comes a dump truck load of impatience. The vision demands speed, the approval starts the countdown, and the comparison creates competition.

Culture loves demands, countdowns, and competition. The countercultural eternity in our hearts draws us to pause, reflect, and look up.

May we grow in our trust that what God is after in every part of our lives will be accomplished at the right time. Rushing is futile. Hurrying is human.

Photo by Patrick Mayor on Unsplash

A Generosity Story: How a Single Mom Benefitted from the Sale of an Office Building

Starting Point: The Zenith building in downtown Sarasota sells for $24 Million in January.

Generosity Step #1: The Zenith decides to give away thousands of dollar’s worth of furniture and equipment in the 12-story building to area nonprofits. Two of our staff make a visit and claim tables and chairs valued at $8,000.

Generosity Step #2: Sunshine Movers, who donates their time/truck/employees to assist nonprofits, picks up the donated furniture from The Zenith and delivers it to our administration office.

Generosity Step #3: Rather than discard the gently used furniture in our counseling offices The Zenith donations replaced, we look for another nonprofit to donate them to. Six days later we respond to a Facebook post sharing the need for furniture for an apartment for a single mom and her child.

Generosity Step #4: Two staff members of Hope City Church that partners with our Center offer their time and trucks to deliver the furniture to the nonprofit. Tonight, this apartment now has a couch, loveseat, and five accessory chairs.

It took several decisions made by several people to keep the generosity going long enough that a mother and her daughter feel more at home, feel comfort, feel cared for, feel loved, and feel seen.

Generosity starts with one decision. It also ends with one decision. Let’s keep making the right one.