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Educator of the Year

February 12, 2010 by bjcorbin

“Ladies and Gentleman, it is my profound pleasure to introduce to you the man that you’ve named the National Educator of the Year for 2004, Mr. Lester Sherman”. I stood back from the podium, as a thunderous ovation rose from the crowded ballroom floor and I watched in amazement as my old friend made his way to the platform. This was one of those moments in life that you never see coming; a moment too surreal to be imagined. After all, who would think that a powerful group like the National Education Association (NEA) would be acknowledging the work of a man who spent his entire career in education toiling at a secondary school in the ghetto’s of Baltimore. He looked so out of place in this room and with these people, but I knew that if anyone deserved this award it was Mr. Sherman and I also knew that whatever he’d have to say would be memorable. When he reached the platform, he gave me a long and very sincere hug before he turned to address the audience, who were still on their feet and clapping enthusiastically. He seemed a little embarrassed by all the fuss, but not at all nervous, as he began to speak.

“Thank you very much for your kind welcome and thank you professor for your generous introduction. I can tell that you must have taken some “Creative Writing” classes somewhere along the way, as that synopsis of my career in education sounded far more grand than I remember it actually being. I am certainly honored to be here tonight and humbled to have been chosen for this prestigious award. I must admit to you that I am somewhat baffled as to what exactly qualifies me for such an honor; but I’ve learned that if I question an unexpected blessing, it steals the joy of it; so I will set aside my confusion and simply be grateful for this special recognition. One thing that I am pretty sure of is that this award is not the result of any one thing that I’ve done, but the culmination of over forty years in education. As I’ve thought back on those years and recalled the many amazing people that I’ve encountered along the way, there were three very special people who stood above the rest and who I wish to acknowledge tonight. Their influence on me has been most profound; and since this gathering is a celebration of “Educators”, it seems fitting to recognize those whose lives have taught me so much. The first of those special people is my beautiful wife Jeanette. We have been married for over thirty-five years, we’ve raised two beautiful children together and we spent over twenty-five years working together in the school system. She’s taught me just about everything that I know about giving and sharing and patience and love. She has been my fiercest advocate and at times my toughest critic. She is everything that I am not and I’ve come to rely on her strength and wisdom just to make it through the day. I am forever grateful to God for blessing me with this amazing woman to share my life with and I can’t imagine who I would have become without her.”

The attendee’s once again rose up, giving Mrs Sherman an enthusiastic ovation, as the people at her table pushed her to her feet. This clearly pleased Mr. Sherman, who smiled broadly. As the applause subsided, he continued on.

“The second person whose life so profoundly impacted mine was that of my mother [Mrs. Mary (Wilson) Sherman]. Though she went on to be with the Lord a couple of years ago, there is not a day that goes by that I am not touched by her influence. Though she was born into a difficult circumstance and endured many painful things, she refused to feel sorry for herself or to use that as an excuse; and as my sister and I grew up, she refused to allow us to do that either. My mother understood that the cost of blaming someone else for the condition of your life was the power for you to change it. As a young person I didn’t appreciate her view of this; I felt like I had a right to feel sorry for myself; but with the benefit of forty years experience at an inner city school, I can now see that it is a trap that few kids from the ghetto avoid and that even fewer emerge from. Though my father abandoned us before I was old enough to know him, my mother was unwilling to accept what people assumed was her fate. She often worked more than one job, while attending nursing school and raising two kids by herself. If she ever complained, she never let me hear it; and though it took some years, she eventually did become a nurse. When she got a job at the hospital, we were able to move out of the projects and into a little apartment near where she worked. It wasn’t a whole lot bigger or nicer than the place we’d moved out of, but it was the beginning of a new and better life for us. A few years later she married the associate Pastor from our church and we were finally able to move into a house of our own. As I look back I realize that my mother’s life taught me that no one can respect you, if you don’t respect yourself; that your circumstances won’t change until you are willing to be changed within your circumstances and that anything of lasting value can only be attained through perseverance. Her unwavering faith in the goodness of God and her confidence in His destiny for me, have been beacons of hope throughout my journey; and her legacy is one that I pray will be passed down through my children’s children.”

 The attendee’s once again broke into a loud, sustained applause, as Mr. Sherman seemed overwhelmed with emotion at the memory of his late mother. He pulled a handkerchief from inside his jacket pocket, dabbing his face and clearing his throat before continuing.

“Last, but certainly not least, is a lady who more than any other person shaped the way I think about education and maybe more rightly, about life itself. Her name was Thelma Watson and she was the first Principal that I taught under when I arrived at PS 236, some forty odd years ago. To my shame, I will admit that I didn’t really want to be there. I felt as though I had escaped life in the ghetto and I had no desire to go back. Though I liked to brag of my beginnings on the ‘mean streets’, I also wanted people to know that I was an educated black man, who had risen above his past. In truth, I perceived this assignment to my old neighborhood school as just another example of how the white school administration wanted to keep a young black teacher from ever really succeeding. And though I never spoke any of that out at the time, Thelma Watson had no trouble in reading me like a book. Anytime she sensed my bitterness or frustration rising up, she’d say, ‘Lets check our attitude Mr. Sherman’, which always managed to make me feel self-conscious. I remember thinking that she couldn’t possibly understand, because PS 236 was exactly where she wanted to be. In my cynical young mind, she was one of those idealists’s, who was trying to save the world; while I counted myself a realist, who understood that some things would never change. I saw this ghetto school as little more than a stepping stone to bigger and better things, while she viewed it as her destiny. I had hoped to just bide my time until I got a better offer, but about half way through my first year, Mrs Watson made it her mission to change my mind. I wish I had the time to share with you all of the wisdom that she imparted to me in those years and to tell you of the many unorthodox ways she used to make her points, but for the sake of time I will share just one story, which I hope will give you a sense of this amazing women.”

The audience seemed captivated by Mr. Sherman’s words, as they sat quietly while he took a sip of water and continued on.

“One day, late in my first year, Mrs Watson stopped me in the hall and told me to come to her office during my off period, which was always right after lunch. Though I was mildly annoyed by this intrusion on what I considered to be ‘my time’, I told her that I’d be there. When I arrived, I was surprised to find that she had a young student in her office and that she wanted me to come in anyway. I knew the boy’s name was Marcus, but he was too young to be in one of my classes, so I didn’t know anything else about him. Mrs Watson asked Marcus to find something in her office that made him think of when he was ‘little’. I remember chuckling at the absurdity of the inference that Marcus wasn’t ‘little’ any more, but Mrs Watson better understood the mind of a child and so Marcus immediately popped up and headed for the toy box in the corner. He quickly emerged with a plastic locomotive, which he set on the Principal’s desk. When she asked him why he’d picked that, he said that his momma always read him the story, ‘The Little Engine That Could’ when ‘he was a baby’. She then asked him to pick something from the office that made him think of where he lives now and to my surprise, he went over and picked up the vase of flowers from Mrs Watson’s windowsill. When she asked about it, he told her that he picked them because they smelled good and that they reminded him of his momma and sisters, who always smelled good too. Finally, Mrs Watson asked him to pick something that showed what he wanted to be when he grew up. Again Marcus rummaged through the toy box, eventually producing a medieval knight on a horse. When asked, he explained that he wanted to grow up to be the bravest knight in all the land. After sending Marcus back to class, another child, who looked about the same age, was brought in. I didn’t recognize him, but Mrs Watson introduced him as Cory. She then repeated the same process with him that she had with Marcus. Cory picked a toy mouse as the object that reminded him of being ‘little’ and he proceeded to tell us of the time his hand had accidentally gotten caught in a mouse trap. He picked a toy gun as the item that reminded him of where he lived, because he said he would often hear guns go off at night; and finally he picked a little Indian figure, shooting a bow and arrow, saying that it reminded him of his hero Robin Hood, who stole from the rich to give to the poor. After some pleasantries, she sent Cory back to class and then turned the conversation toward me by asking what I’d derived from all that. I tried to come up with something intelligible, but honestly I was completely stumped, so I simply shrugged. She went on to explain that these two boys were actually cousins, whose mothers were twin sisters and that they were both being raised in the same tenement building. She also said that these questions were meant to demonstrate how the children viewed their past, present and future; adding that she’d felt that they had done just that. I remember thinking that it was crazy to believe that you could derive all that from kids randomly pulling toys out of a toy box and as usual Mrs Watson didn’t seem to need for me to say it to know how I felt. She went on to argue, ‘If it is truly the environment that these kids are growing up in that is destroying their future, then why do these two boys, who are the same age and live on the same street and come from the same DNA, view their worlds so differently? Why does Marcus remember being encouraged and loved, while Cory remembers being hurt; why does Marcus think of the sweet smell of home, while Cory senses the danger all around him; why does Marcus still believe that he can be a Prince, while Cory believes that the best he can do is to steal from the Prince?’ The normally composed Mrs Watson had turned into a wild-eyed preacher on me and to be honest, I was having a hard time swallowing her message. Again, she read my reaction and added, ‘this is just like you and me Mr. Sherman, we both come to this same school everyday, we deal with many of the same people and we have many of the same challenges; but the way I choose to view it gives me a sense of purpose and fulfillment, while the way you choose to view it causes you to be frustrated and bitter.’ I found her pointed assessment of me to be highly offensive, though even then I recognized the truth of what she was saying. It was all more than I could take in at that moment and she seemed to understand that too. Through gritted teeth, I managed to ask to go back to my classroom and as I walked down the hall, I promised myself that I was going to quit. Somehow, by the grace of God, I made it through the rest of that day and as I left the parking lot that evening, I once again vowed to myself not to come back; but Mrs Watson had succeeded in sowing the seeds of change within me and probably for the first time in my life, I was forced to take a good hard look at myself. All that night, I couldn’t shake the image of those two little boys and I had to admit that I had a lot more in common with Cory than I did with Marcus. I didn’t like that and I found myself wanting it to change. I still wasn’t sure that I could accept that her little test was even valid, but something about it was absolutely compelling to me. I dragged myself to the school that next day, not because I wanted to be there, but because for the first time, I felt like there was something for me to learn there. Mrs Watson wisely gave me a lot of time and space, allowing the wheels of my own mind to turn; and I began to listen, to watch, and ultimately to learn. And the more I did this, the more I grasped the wisdom of what she was teaching me.”

Mr. Sherman once again dabbed his face and sipped his water before continuing.

“I began to realize that I’d gotten into teaching for the wrong reasons; that I really just wanted people to recognize me as an educated black man and not to see me as some Negro from the ghetto. Unwittingly, I had passed judgment on my old neighborhood and on the people who lived there, including the very children I was supposed to be helping. To be quite honest, I didn’t believe that a kid like Marcus stood any real chance of becoming a Prince and there was a part of me that wanted to warn him against having such lofty aspirations. But Thelma Watson believed; she truly felt that there was nothing that these kids couldn’t accomplish and I realized that if I couldn’t come around to that way of thinking, I had no business staying at the school. The last thing that these kids needed was yet another voice telling them that they had no future or encouraging them to view themselves of helpless victims of a corrupt system. As I watched Thelma deal with these children, I could see that she had become a source of inspiration and hope for them and I found myself wanting to be like that too. She not only believed that these kids could do it, she expected that they would do it and she had no problem in letting them know when they were falling short of their potential. She wasn’t willing to make excuses for them and she wouldn’t accept excuses from them or anyone else. It took some time to sink in with me, but slowly my mind was changed. As the years went by, I began to see that what people said and believed about these kids wasn’t nearly as important as what they said and believed about themselves. As I reflected on my own life, I realized that it had been my mother’s faith that a better life was attainable for us and her willingness to pay the price, which had actually changed the course of our lives; and I began to yearn for that in the lives of these kids. I stopped being focused on the rampant racism that was especially prevalent in that day and I quit ranting about the blatant corruption of the system, because constantly pointing those things out made them seem insurmountable. I came to believe that hope was such a powerful thing that racism and corruption couldn’t withstand it; and I soon found that such a belief was contagious. Now don’t misunderstand, that didn’t mean that everyone suddenly grabbed a hold of this idea or that every kid magically succeeded. To be honest, for every one success story, there have probably been thirty who never made it; but because of the profound influence of Mrs Thelma Watson, I came to believe that it was worth whatever that one might cost.”

The audience once again rose to their feet in thunderous applause, which seemed to linger for even longer than before. I knew Mr Sherman well enough to know that he’d want to wrap things up quickly, so I wasn’t surprised that as soon as the ovation started to wane, he quickly resumed speaking.

“My dear colleagues, I will confess to you that I never once tried to duplicate Mrs Watson’s little demonstration with Marcus and Cory; and I’d be the first to admit that this methodology was something less than definitive; but I would also have to testify to the fact that there was something to all that. You see, I got to watch these two young men grow up and I got to see their lives bear out what Mrs Watson had said that day. As a matter of fact, it was Thelma that I stood with at Cory’s funeral; just weeks after his nineteenth birthday and within a few days of him being shot to death during a Liquor Store robbery. On Thursday afternoon we wept bitter tears at our inability to reach Cory, but on Friday morning we returned to work at PS 236, with an even greater sense of urgency to press on. I wish that I could tell you that Cory was the only one we lost, but I couldn’t begin to number the one’s who didn’t make it. I have cried many tears in the last forty years, but not all of them have been in sorrow. You see, every once in a while, a little one grabs a hold of hope and runs with it. It’s a beautiful thing to watch and it renews your spirit to keep up the fight. Marcus was one of those children. Despite all of the obstacles and all of his supposed disadvantages, he just kept getting stronger and stronger. Just a few short years removed from Cory’s funeral, I once again stood with Thelma, as Marcus received the first of his college degrees. On that day, our tears were filled with joy, as we marveled at the power of hope. It wasn’t long after that wonderful experience that my dear friend and mentor, Thelma Watson retired; handing the reins of PS 236 over to me. Though she’d had many opportunities to go elsewhere during her career, she chose to end it where it began; just as I will do at the end of this school year. Some might view that as tragic, but I’d submit that there is no better place to be than in the place you feel called to. Thelma knew that she was created with a purpose and with all that was within her she tried to fulfill that purpose. I will tell you that there is no more meaningful life than that. Thanks to her influence, and that of my wonderful family and friends, I will depart your ranks with that same fulfillment. I again want to thank you for this wonderful recognition and as a fellow educator, I want to challenge you to truly invest yourselves in the opportunities that you’re given. Never forget that educating means far more than simply passing on information and that without hope, there is no bright future for the emerging generations. Finally, I want to thank my dear friend and colleague, Professor Lindsey for coming all the way from Virginia, just to introduce me tonight.” With this, Mr Sherman motioned for me to come to him.

As I quickly made my way to his side, he put his arm around my shoulder and said, “If you read your program, you probably already know that Dr. Lindsey is a professor at Hampton University and the head of their History department; but in my heart he will always just be a little bright-eyed boy named Marcus.

” With loud cheers and whistles, the attendees again rose to their feet and the room seemed to shake with their applause. As Mr. Sherman and I stood together, looking out over this unlikely scene, I too found myself amazed by the power of hope.

Posted in Social / Political, Stories | Leave a Comment »

Beauty, Talent, Fame & Fortune

February 12, 2010 by bjcorbin

There are probably few people in the Western Hemisphere this morning who haven’t heard of yesterday’s passing of Michael Jackson and Farah Fawcett; and while neither one had been at the forefront of the cultural consciousness for awhile, both left an indelible mark on pop culture history. 

At the peak of her popularity, Farah Fawcett was largely viewed as the standard by which physical beauty was judged.  Though her resume of achievements was relatively minor, her image was world renown and in many ways her popularity was similar to that of Marilyn Monroe’s.  Throughout her career Farah seemed to struggle to be viewed as more than just a pretty face and to some degree she achieved that with a couple of TV movies that revealed a greater depth to her acting ability; but in the end, it was her iconic beauty that created a lasting legacy.

By contrast, Michael Jackson’s resume of achievements was extensive and his talent was undeniable.  At his peak, he was arguably the best known human being on the planet and the devotion of his fans bordered on religious.  A tremendously gifted entertainer and a famously generous ambassador of goodwill, it seemed that everything he touched turned to gold.  That was until he allegedly touched a little boy inappropriately.  Even those allegations didn’t seem to dampen his popularity initially, but looking back, it was the beginning of the end for Michael’s unprecedented string of success.  As his personal life came under greater scrutiny, he began to seem less magical and more bizarre.

As a man who grew up in the midst of their popularity, I will confess that at times I envied them and wished that my own life was more like theirs.  I had always wanted to be one of the beautiful people, to be talented and popular and rich!  I once believed that would be the ultimate life and that people like them had it made.  They were the epitome of beauty, talent, fame & fortune; and what could be better than that?  But today, it’s hard for me to view them that way.  Despite all that they had and experienced, both of them appeared to be tormented souls, who seemed to be searching for something that they never quite grasped.  Neither one ever seemed to reach the place of being comfortable in their own skin.  At this point in my life I wouldn’t dream of trading the life that I’ve known for the life that they lived.  Yesterday, as these to cultural icon’s passed away; I doubt that their enduring legacy was particularly meaningful to them.  I wonder if either of them wrestled with the notion of whether anyone had truly loved them for who they were, apart from their accomplishments and image.  Though I am not immune to the sense of sadness that accompanies the passing of every human being, I wonder if the greater tragedy isn’t the life they never got a chance to live.  I pray that they can now rest in peace.

Posted in Entertainment/Music/Sports, Opinions, Social / Political | 3 Comments »

Setting Sail

February 12, 2010 by bjcorbin

The sky is a deep blue and cloudless; the wind is warm and steady; the rocky shore is barely visible on the horizon and the only sound is the water being channeled by the bow. The whiteness of the sail is blinding as the sun reflects off of it and there is not a wrinkle visible within it, as it stretches to contain every bit of wind. The faces of those on deck are filled with elation, as the gusts pull tears from the corners of their eyes. The boat skates effortlessly across the water, disappearing on the horizon.  

A second picture emerges; a stark contrast to the first; the colors are all muted shades of gray, blue and black.  A lone sailor stands at the helm of a sail boat, as it is presses steadily against the swells.  The rain is coming straight down and the horizon has disappeared into a smear of mist from the sky and the sea.  The sail is down and tightly lashed to the boom.  The boat plods through the waves, leaving a barely discernable wake; a testament to its’ scarce progress.

I sense a question, “Pleasure Cruise or Journey?” and I begin to understand these scenes.  As someone who has sailed for pleasure, I understand the exhilaration of catching the wind and skimming across the water.  A skillful sailor will position the boat to make full use of the breeze, keeping the sail full and the keel trimmed.  The second picture is much less familiar, because one who sails for pleasure has no incentive to go through a storm; when clouds appear on the horizon, we simply head back to the pier.  Only someone on a journey would venture to take a sail boat through a storm and within that, I could see a deeper truth.

 These pictures represent the way that we often choose to live.  If we live a life seeking our own fulfillment and happiness, we are like those who sail for pleasure; always looking for something to fill our senses and to exhilarate us.  One who sails for pleasure doesn’t concern themselves with what direction the wind is blowing or where the rudder is pointed, as long as their sail is full; they rarely stray far from the shore and will avoid a storm at all costs.  At the end of the day, success is judged by the strength of the wind and the smoothness of the seas.

For those who are on a journey, it is much different.  It is not so much the sail as it is the rudder and the compass.  Though such a sailor revels in those times when the sail is up and filled with wind, they understand that they must discern the wind and pull the sail down when an unfavorable wind blows.  They also understand that if they hope to reach their destination that they will have to pass through some storms.  In these times they just hold fast to the rudder and keep the ship pointed toward their ultimate goal.  For such a traveler, success is measured by the distance from their final destination.

In these pictures, the wind and the current beneath the sea represent the unseen forces of the spiritual realm; though we can’t see these forces, they powerfully affect us and they work together to create circumstances in our lives.  The waves and the weather are representative of what is seen and its affect on us.  The sail is representative of our thoughts and emotions, while the rudder is representative of our will.  Those who seek to be edified in their mind and emotions will bend their will toward which ever way the wind seems to favor these senses.   The enemy loves this type of sailor, as they are constantly distracted from the issue of destination and as they often will bring others along on their ride.  For those who see this life as a journey, the sail is only useful when the winds are moving the boat toward its destination; when the winds threaten to take the boat off course, the sail is withdrawn and tightly bound, so as not to catch a foul wind.  Even though the ride is not as enjoyable or expedient, maintaining the course is all that is of value.  Such a sailor often finds themselves alone, because it is a rare breed who is willing to embark on such a journey.  So the question for all of us remains, “Pleasure Cruise or Journey?”

Posted in Word Pictures | Leave a Comment »

In the Still of the Night

February 12, 2010 by bjcorbin

I made one last check through the building before I set the alarm and pulled the back door closed, locking the deadbolt. It seemed much colder than it had just a couple of hours earlier, when I had decided to walk the few short blocks to the Church Board meeting. Of course, maybe it wasn’t the external temperature that had changed as much as how I was feeling internally. On my way to the church, I was still sensing the warm glow of dinner with my beautiful family; but now as I headed home, I was faced with the reality of an increasingly dysfunctional church family and the knowledge that as the Pastor, I would be expected to do something about it.

To be honest, it had been a fairly typical Church Board meeting, which for me was a lot like throwing myself against a brick wall; but somehow my sense of discouragement was even more profound than usual. I understood that there would be a time of transition after I accepted this position, but just eighteen months later, I was beginning to believe that our differences might be irreconcilable. The same members of the Church Board that had assured the congregation that my relative youth (28 yrs old at that time) and inexperience as a Senior Pastor weren’t a problem, were also the one’s who had managed to vote down every substantive change that I suggested. This situation had really drained the joy out of my calling and instead of feeling like I was serving the Lord, I felt like I worked for the Church Board. It wasn’t clear what they’d seen in me during the interview process, but whatever it was, they were clearly disappointed with what they’d gotten in the deal. The weight of that disappointment settled in on me, as I pressed my way through the cold night air toward home. Still months short of my thirtieth birthday, I felt suddenly old and very tired.

As I reached the house, I tried to put on a brave face for my wife Emily, who was always concerned about how I was doing; but thankfully I found that she’d fallen asleep with the kids in our bed. They looked like three little angels, as our little boy Scott (4 yrs) was curled under one arm and our daughter Emma (6 yrs) was snuggled along her other side. This scene managed to warm me for a moment, but that warmth was quickly dispelled by the thought that I was probably disappointing them as well. After all, Emily and I had really prayed before accepting this position and it seemed to be such a great opportunity for our whole family; but now it felt as though I was somehow blowing it for all of us. The more I let that thought hang around, the more out of breath I felt. I quietly hung my coat on the door and shuffled down the hall, to the room I used as an office. There was enough light coming through the window that I didn’t need to turn on the lamp as I made my way over to the chair and collapsed in it. As I sat in that quiet, dark room, my head began to swim in a flood of thoughts and emotions. I could feel despair rising up from within me and as it stuck in my throat, tears began to stream down my face. It all seemed so overwhelming and I felt helpless to turn this tide of emotion. Through my tears, I began to pray, “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus; Help me Lord Jesus! When I am weak, You are strong. Oh Lord, I am so weak right now. Please Lord! Come quickly! Apart from You, I can do nothing; please Lord come!” The weight of my head seemed to pull it back against the chair and with my eyes closed I whispered “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus”, over and over again, until I felt myself slipping into the space that lies between waking and dreaming. As I allowed myself to drift further into that state, I felt the tension begin to evaporate within me, as a profound sense of stillness overtook me. This sudden revelation of peace resonated deeply within me for only a few precious moments, before what seemed to be an audible voice jerked me back. Though I wasn’t quite sure what the voice had said, my eyes shuttered open to identify its source; and to my surprise, the room was now filled with warm light, which I had to squint against. As my vision came into focus, I was startled to find a man sitting in the chair on the opposite side of my desk and as my eyes finally adjusted, I could see that man was Jesus.

“Oh Lord” I gasped, as a sort of panic swept through me, wondering whether I should be standing or maybe bowing down. But in spite of my overwhelming urge to move, I couldn’t seem to get any part of my body to cooperate, as I remained in a dumbfounded heap. He smiled warmly, seemingly understanding my inner turmoil and said, “Peace”, “be still”. At His words I once again felt the tension melt away from within me, though I continued to stare at him in a kind of stunned silence. I began to wonder if this was just my imagination or a dream or maybe even a vision of some sort; and He once again seemed to discern my thoughts.

“What difference does it make?” He asked.

“I guess I just want to know that this is real”, I stammered.

“I am really speaking to you, if that’s what you mean”, He replied.

I wondered for a moment if that was what I meant, and then quickly realized that if He was speaking directly to me, it didn’t really matter what my state of consciousness might be. As quickly as that was resolved in my mind, I found myself wondering why He was coming to me in this very tangible way.

Again, He smiled at me and said, “Our conversation might be more comfortable for you if you’d ask these questions out loud.”

This caused me to smile, because the idea that He was discerning my thoughts was more than a little uncomfortable; though I also understood that just because I verbalized my questions didn’t mean that His ability to know my thoughts would be in any way diminished. Nevertheless, I asked, “Why have you come like this Lord?”

“Because you called on me my son”, He replied.

“But I’ve called on You before and I’ve never encountered You like this Lord”, I said.

His face seemed to grow serious as He said, “Trust me when I tell you that you’ve never called on me like you did tonight. I have never known your heart to be as troubled as it is right now and so I’ve come to you in this special way. Tell me son, what is it that has so vexed your soul?”

I had to think for a moment, as the Lord’s sudden appearance had seemingly chased away the anguish that I’d been in only moments before; but as I shifted my thoughts back toward the situation at the church, those familiar feelings of discouragement once again rose to the surface. I wasn’t really sure where to begin, so I simply said, “I feel as though I’m failing Lord.”

“Failing at what son?” He asked.

“Everything Lord”, I exclaimed. “When we arrived here, I felt sure this is where You were calling us to be and I could clearly see how You might use me in this church and this community; but now I’m not only wondering whether this is the right place, I’m wondering if I was really even supposed to be a Pastor at all. I don’t seem to have any aptitude for it.”

His eyes were filled with compassion and they seemed to look right through me as He said, “Let us begin with this matter of your calling”.

“What do you perceive it to mean when someone has a calling?”

“That You have called them to do something”, I replied.

“And so do you feel that I have called you to do something?” He asked.

“Yes Lord, I do”, I answered.

“Do you remember when you first sensed that I was calling you to be a Pastor?” He went on.

My mind instantly flicked back to that moment, when at 15 years of age, I felt certain that the Lord was calling me to be a Pastor. The memory of it brought tears of joy to my eyes.

“Yes Lord, I remember it clearly.”

“Do you remember me sending others to you, who confirmed this calling?”

Again, my mind was flooded with images of the many people He’d used to confirm this to me. “Yes Lord” I replied.

“So how have you come to doubt that you’ve been called?” He asked.

“It’s the people Lord, they just don’t seem to respond to me”, I said in exasperation.

“But son, calling doesn’t have anything to do with ‘the people’; calling is between you and Me. I call and you respond. Is there any doubt in your mind that this has transpired between us?” He asked firmly.

“No Lord, there is no doubt”, I admitted sheepishly. “But if You’ve called me here, to these people, then why can’t I seem to reach them? Surely You wouldn’t call me to a people who You knew would reject Your message”, I added.

“Son, no servant is greater than their Master. When I came to this earth, the Father sent me to a people who He knew would reject not only the message, but the Messenger. Indeed, narrow is the way and few ever truly find it; yet it is my heart that all would be saved and none would be lost. So the branch is extended to all, even those who will never accept it.”

I felt embarrassed by how obvious His point was and by the fact that I’d somehow lost sight of all that. But even if I now had to admit that I was “called”, I could not shake the sense of frustration at my lack of genuine progress. Before I could say anything, Jesus went on.

“So you mentioned that when you arrived here, you could see how I might use you in this church and in this community. What did you envision that looking like?”

“I guess I saw a growing and vital church; where we would be soul winners, turning the hearts of the people in this community back to You and defending the faith to a culture that is growing increasingly hostile toward your message”, I replied.

Jesus seemed to nod His head as He said, “It is no wonder that you are tired and frustrated, you are trying to do things that I never called you to do. You have no ability to ‘win souls’ or to ‘change hearts’, these are things that only I can accomplish through my Spirit. Where did you get the idea that this was what I was calling you to do?”

Again, feeling somewhat embarrassed and even a little confused, I mumbled, “The Great Commission?”

“The Great Commission, as men have come to call it, doesn’t say anything about winning souls or changing hearts. It speaks of making disciples, which is something entirely different. The best way to make disciples is to be a disciple yourself. If those who claim my name would simply live as they profess to believe, this process would go on with little conscious effort. If ‘Believers’ could be identified by the fruit of my Spirit and by the way that they loved each other, I could add to their number daily, just as I did in the early days of the church. And where did this idea of being a ‘Defender of the Faith’ come from?”

“I guess it is rooted in the idea of apologetics. In seminary we studied numerous classic books by people who’ve come to be known as ‘Defenders of the Faith’. Even Your word says that we always ought to be prepared to give a defense of our faith”, I offered sheepishly.

“The nature of faith is that it cannot be defended; and while I won’t speak of the books that I didn’t write, the scripture says that you should be prepared to give a reason for the ‘hope that you have’. This of course presumes that my children would live in a way which might cause someone to ask such a question. Unless hope becomes visibly manifest in their lives, the source of that supposed hope becomes of little consequence. I would suggest to you that the culture isn’t growing more hostile toward my message of hope and love; they are instead growing more hostile toward a religious system which doesn’t seem to offer them either one. I have called my people to live by faith, not to be defenders of it.”

While I had no trouble understanding or accepting the truth of what the Lord had said, I immediately began to struggle with the implications of it. I found myself wondering if I really knew what it meant to be a Pastor; and though I could tell that He’d discerned my confusion, He waited for me to speak “Lord, since so many of the things I’ve been taught about serving You seem flawed; I’m wondering if I really understand how to answer this calling that You’ve made on my life.”

The Lord again smiled at me compassionately as He began to speak, “When your daughter Emma was born, did you really understand what it meant to be a father?”

“No Lord, I definitely did not”, I replied.

“Yet, on that day you became a father nonetheless. How have you handled fatherhood in the days since then?” He asked.

“You know that answer better than anyone Lord. I have tried to be faithful to the things I know to do and I have prayed fervently for Your guidance, protection and intervention in the areas in which I’m unsure”, I said.

Smiling, the Lord said, “Indeed you have; and do you feel as though your prayers have been answered?”

“Yes Lord I do; I’ve seen your hand move on behalf of my family over and over again.”

“And so you would agree that you have learned about being a good father, by being a father and by asking me to guide you from day to day.”

“Yes Lord, I would agree with that”, I replied.

“And so it is the same with being a Pastor. On the day you recognized your calling you could not have expected to know how to be a Pastor; you simply knew that you’d been called to it. But by taking the days that followed, one at a time, and seeking my guidance, I will teach you all that you need to know. The danger of the training that you received in seminary is that you might emerge believing that you had been fully equipped and that you no longer need to seek my specific guidance. Just as a few parenting classes wouldn’t have been sufficient to transform you into a good father; neither can your pastoral training really provide what you need to be a fruitful pastor. You need only do what you’ve done in raising your family, be faithful to the things you know to do and diligently seek my guidance for everything else. You are my sheep and my sheep know my voice, even if they don’t fully grasp how that works. Trust that I know how to speak in a way that you can receive and that I am working all things to the good. You are not failing, you are learning, and believe it or not, you are growing. If you will come to me when you feel overloaded, I will show you the things that you are carrying that I haven’t put in your hands and I will give you rest. Remember that the ‘work of God’ is simply to ‘believe in the One whom He has sent’ and that all you can do is plant and water the seeds. Leave the matter of ‘increase’ in my hands.”

Listening to His words brought such a sense of peace and an understanding that I’d really lost my perspective about my part in all of this. In truth, I’d just taken my eyes off the one thing I needed to stay focused on and things just spiraled from there. Knowing that I was where I was supposed to be and that the Lord was not disappointed in me, made all the difference. The only lingering doubt was my fear that I might still manage to let Him down somehow. This time, He didn’t wait for me to express it.

He asked, “What do you expect from your little boy (Scott)?”

I pondered this for a moment, but really couldn’t think of anything. “He’s only a little boy Lord, I don’t really expect anything from him”, I finally replied.

“That’s all you are to me. I’m not going to expect anything from you that you’re not capable of; and even if you’d happen to fall, it won’t catch Me off guard. I don’t expect perfection, I’m only asking for sincerity”, He said.

As His words continued to resonate within me, I began to feel like a little boy; one who was under the watchful eye of his loving father. In that moment, my ability to conjure an anxious thought almost seemed to be suspended and I felt somehow renewed and revitalized. As I closed my eyes, I could see my little Scotty, curled up on my lap, with his head against my chest; and I realized that this was actually a representation of me with the Lord. Just as Scotty had done with me so many times before, I could feel myself melting into His loving embrace. The feeling was so tangible that I could almost sense His chest rising and falling against the side of my face and His breath upon the top of my head. Like a spoonful of sugar poured into a hot cup of coffee, I felt as though I would simply dissolve into Him, never again to be separated. I felt weightless and in an atmosphere without friction, as I drifted into the most profound state of rest that I’d ever known.

Hours later, my eyes blinked open long enough to see that the illuminated numbers on the clock in my office read 3:15 a.m. It occurred to me that I should go to bed and normally sleeping in my desk chair would have been too uncomfortable to endure. But my body was so relaxed that I decided not to move. Though I could still sense the profound presence of the Lord, I was a little disappointed to realize that this whole encounter had most likely been a dream. It had all seemed so real to me and I guess I wanted it to be something more than just a dream. But I remembered what the Lord said about “really speaking to me” and so I pushed those feelings of disappointment away and abided in His still discernable embrace. After more hours of profound slumber, I awoke to a room filled with sunlight, the smell of fresh coffee and the pleasant sound of my wife’s voice.

“You must have been really exhausted to have slept in that chair all night’, she said before adding, “I’m guessing that means the Board meeting didn’t go well.”

I sort of bobbed my head in agreement, as I took the cup of coffee from her; though I was still too groggy to really speak. I knew that Emily would want to hear the details of the meeting and I really wanted to tell her about my dream, but before we got a chance to say anything else, a little voice from down the hall called out “momma”. As Emily went to check on that, I looked at the chair on the opposite side of my desk and a sort of dull ache rose in me to see Jesus sitting there again. I knew that He was still with me, but I had so loved seeing Him right there. Again, disappointment tried to creep in and again, I pushed it away.

Just then, my little boy slowly made his way into my office, carrying his stuffed rabbit (Roger) by one ear. His eyes squinted against the sunlight, which was pouring through the windows and he didn’t look as though he was quite ready to be awake. He made his way around my desk and without even really looking at me, he crawled into my lap and laid his head on my chest. I couldn’t help but feel that God was once again speaking to me and as my arms wrapped around little Scotty, I could feel the arms of the Lord wrap around me. I could feel an ocean of love pouring from the Lord to me and from me to my precious little son. It was overwhelming, as tears of joy and gratitude streamed down my face. I was lost in the moment when a voice from the doorway pulled me back.

It was my little girl Emma and she asked, “Why are you crying daddy?”

“Because I’m very happy sweetheart”, I replied, as Emily came back into the room.

“Oh, good” she said, as she bounded back down the hall.

Emily seemed to be studying my face to see whether I was telling Emma the truth, or if I was just saying that for effect. She must have been satisfied that I was being honest, as she said, “I’m glad to hear that honey; I was pretty worried about you last night.”

“Really, what got you so worried?” I asked.

“Well, I woke up a little before midnight and I saw that you weren’t in bed yet. So I decided I’d better check on you. In the hallway I saw that the light was on in your office and I started to come in; but then I heard that you were talking to someone. At first I thought you may be on the phone, but then I heard the other person speaking to you, so I decided not to intrude. I was surprised that you’d have someone over to the house at that hour, but I had a sense that everything was alright; so I figured you’d tell me about it later.”

I felt electricity spiral through my body, as I realized that the Lord was once again confirming the reality of everything that had happened between us last night. I was humbled and amazed by His grace and mercy toward me; and overflowing with gratitude at His great love. As my emotions broke open and I began to openly weep, Emily looked concerned.

“What is it honey; I’ve never seen you like this before”, she said.

“That’s because I’ve never been like this before honey”, I replied. “Sit down in that chair and let me tell you about it.”

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The Casting Call

February 12, 2010 by bjcorbin

There was a young man, who loved the theatre and who aspired to make a name for himself on the world stage. He had toiled in the relative anonymity of the local and regional theatre for several years, where he had distinguished himself as a highly valuable member of the troupe. Beyond his genuine stage presence, he had demonstrated a talent for directing, designing and building sets, and even a knack for promotion. Though he had enjoyed these formative years, he felt ready to take the next step and so he arranged for an interview with the head of a prestigious, international theatre company. Because of this troupe’s prominence within theatre circles, the young man assumed that it would be difficult to obtain permission for such a meeting, but instead he found that his request was granted immediately and without condition. On his way to the interview, as he walked through the hallowed halls of the companies main offices, he pictured his name on the placards that hung immediately adjacent to each office door; and he couldn’t help but feel as though he’d finally arrived. When the receptionist led him into the office of the theatre company’s head man, he was duly impressed by both the office and the distinguished looking older gentleman who arose from behind a massive desk. After some brief introductions and pleasantries, they both sat down to talk.

“Well you certainly have a varied and impressive resume; I’m very interested to hear what has brought you here today.”

“I guess I’d like to begin by telling you what an honor it is to have this opportunity to speak to you. I have always admired your work and you have really been the inspiration for my love of the theatre. I would certainly consider any opportunity to work with you as a dream come true.”

“And is this why you’ve come today; for an opportunity to work with me?”

“Yes Sir, it is. As you can see from my extensive resume, I’ve been involved in many different aspects of the theatre and I’m sure that I could be an asset to your company as well.”

“I have no doubt that such a gifted man could indeed be an asset; but in what capacity is it that you envisioned providing such benefit?”

“Well, I guess if I’m honest, I’ve pictured myself as a sort of leading man; though I understand that I’d have to work my way into that spot.”

“I must commend you for your honesty, but as you probably already know, we have an established leading man, who I would consider to be irreplaceable.”

“I do understand that Sir, but maybe I could be his understudy. You know, just in case he can’t go on for some reason.”

“Well, in all my years, there’s never been a time that he couldn’t ‘go on’ as you put it. Maybe it would be more fruitful for us to consider something else.”

“I thought that might be the case, so as you can see from my resume, I also have a lot of experience as a director.”

“Indeed you do; but I’m sure that as someone who has followed my career, you’re aware of the fact that I personally direct all of our productions.”

“Yes sir, I did know that; but I thought that maybe we might work together; and who knows, one day you may want to hang up your director’s hat and I’d be ready to step right in for you.”

“To be honest with you, I can’t really picture myself ‘hanging up my director’s hat’, so maybe we should consider some other alternative.”

“I certainly understand sir, so maybe I could just start out with some set design. I’ve got a lot of valuable experience as a designer and a builder.”

“I’m sure that in the regional theatre there is much demand for such things, but this company has been established for such a long time that I can truly say that everything has already been designed and built. We simply rely on our stage hands to put things in their proper place. Thus, it seems doubtful that this would be the place for your diverse set of talents.”

Clearly disappointed, the young man continued, “Well, it’s not really my favorite job, but I have had a lot of success in promotions. I really knew how to pack them in back home.”

“I’ve no doubt that is true, but our productions are by special invitation only. Unless someone receives a personal invitation from me, they won’t know to come.”

Exasperated the young man whined, “Is there no place for me here?”

To which the older man brightly replied, “Of course there is a place for you.”

“We are always in need of extras for the stage or help with the lighting or you might even be used as an usher.”

An incredulous look swept over the young mans face as he exclaimed, “An extra!” “Lighting!” “An Usher?” “That is all you would offer a man of my experience?”

While the older man’s eyes remained full of compassion, his voice took on a deeper timber, as he explained, “As a man of the theatre, you should know the importance of how extras flavor a scene and bring it to life. Like salt in food, we may not always notice its presence, but we absolutely miss it when it’s not there. It is much the same with lighting, which is certainly an integral part of creating the tone and context for every scene. These elements are an essential part of pulling people into the story. And as for being an Usher; even when someone chooses to accept my invitation, there still needs to be someone to help them find their seat. While none of these may have been the role you picked for yourself, they are all a vital part of what we’re doing here.”

The young man hung his head in silence for a few moments before quietly saying, “I’m sorry sir, this just isn’t how I envisioned it.”

As he rose to leave, the older man stood to his feet as well, and extended his hand. As they shook hands, their eyes met and the older man said, “That’s a shame, because I was really looking forward to working with you.”

The young man left the building, greatly saddened by all that he had heard.

I felt like the Lord gave me this little story as a parable; where “the theatre” (in the broad context of the word) represents the knowledge of God, while the prestigious, international theatre company (specifically) represents the Kingdom of God and where the young man represents those who the Lord has gifted and called to His service. I sensed Him saying that while all have been given good gifts, and many have been called, few are willing to play the role that He’s cast them in.

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The Formula

February 12, 2010 by bjcorbin

Once upon a time, there was a man named Gideon, who God used to win a great battle.  This experience not only changed Gideon’s life, it helped to change the course of his nation.  Had there been Christian Bookstores in Gideon’s time, he would have undoubtedly written a book about this episode, and he might have called it something like “5 Steps to Victory with God”.  Based on his story, those steps could’ve been something like:

 

  1. Never take an angels word for it, always test God for yourself.
  2. Too many people being involved will rob God of the glory.
  3. God won’t use people who lap up water like a dog.
  4. You don’t need a sword, but always remember to bring an empty jar.
  5. The sound of trumpets & breaking glass will bring down the enemy.

 

Within the context of Gideon’s experience, these steps would seem pretty valid; but just because God worked within that framework, can it then be applied as the model for how God works?  While we may be able to derive some principles from Gideon’s story, it seems unlikely that God intended for this to become the model for seeing His hand move; and while that may be obvious in this example, I’d suggest that our Christian Bookstores are filled with books (& other media) that have been built on much the same premise (i.e. My Experience + God Moved = This is How God Works).

 

While I’m not saying that we shouldn’t study the ways in which God has worked in the past, I am suggesting that there is an element of our nature that wishes to find “the formula” for moving God’s hand, and that it is not necessarily a virtuous thing.  I believe this impulse is rooted in our desire to be “self-sufficient”, as opposed to being dependent on someone else (even a benevolent God).  It is much easier to memorize the formula and to insert our values into the equation, than it is to have an ongoing, dynamic relationship with a God who largely resides in another realm.  Like the children of Israel, we don’t want just a days’ worth of manna, and yet the Lord knows that if He gives us provisions for a full year, He’s not likely to see us again before that provision is gone.

 

As we develop our doctrine for how we think God works, we begin to contrive ideas about what that might look like and these “preconceived notions” often become the stumbling block that keeps us from experiencing the genuine move of God.  Just like the Pharisee’s, who’d spent their entire lives studying the scripture, we search for the true manifestation of God on the earth, only to fail to recognize it when it stands before us, simply because it doesn’t come in the way we’d imagined that it would (i.e. it doesn’t fit into our formula).  Generally these preconceived notions will lead us to disillusionment and eventually to discouragement.

 

It seems as though God delights in sending His blessings in packages that challenge our way of thinking.  Gideon was the least of his family, which was the least of his tribe, which was the least of the tribes of Israel.  Jesse didn’t even bother sending for David when the Prophet came looking for the next King nor did he bother to send him when Israel went up against the Philistines.  What self-respecting Jew would have picked Rehab or Ruth to be in the Messiah’s lineage?  The Gospel’s are littered with stories of Jesus touching “unclean” people, of healing on the Sabbath and in which He used pagans as examples of both great faith (e.g. the Canaanite woman, the Roman Centurion…) and of being a good neighbor (e.g. the Samaritan).  If God were insecure, I’m sure He’d package his blessings in a more marketable format, but considering that it is faith that pleases Him, I suspect that it’s never going to be exactly the way that we’d expect.  Though the Jews recognized that Jesus had unusual power, authority & knowledge, it was ultimately the form in which He chose to come that they could not accept.

 

Within the “Post-Modern” church, I believe that at least part of our problem is rooted in the concept of “Systematic Theology”; which I would characterize as man’s attempt to put God in a context that he can understand.  The problem with that idea is that God is under no obligation to remain within that context.  While it is not wrong to have a systematic approach to teaching God’s truth (as He has revealed it to us), I believe that we veer into presumption when we attempt to apply that approach in defining who He is and how He works.  The “system” itself is comprised of the things that we as men can conceive (i.e. finite) and yet God is beyond what we can conceive (i.e. infinite).  This system generally becomes the proverbial box and despite the popular saying, God refuses to abide in it.  Ultimately it becomes the confines for those who insist on this approach to understanding God.  The scripture clearly states that our knowledge and understanding of God is partial (e.g. that we see through a glass dimly); and I’d submit that no amount of effort on our part will ever be enough to render those words untrue.  I believe that this is why Jesus said that unless we become as little children we will not enter the Kingdom of Heaven (Mat 18:3).  Ultimately God hasn’t called us to understand Him, but to know Him, to love Him and to trust Him.

 

Throughout the Old Testament we see God orchestrate victory for His people through many different means.  We see Him bring Joshua victory through Moses upheld arms; we see the walls of Jericho fall to the shouts of His wandering tribes (Joshua 6); we see the angel of death wipe out 185,000 enemy soldiers in their sleep because of Hezekiah’s prayer (2Kings 18 & 19) and we see the enemy turn on each other as Jehoshaphat leads the people onto the battlefield while praising the Lord (2Chronicles 20).  While these and many other stories may cause us to conclude that there is no formula, it occurs to me that there is a common thread, which is that in each case they trusted and obeyed.  While that sounds simple enough, we must understand that before we can trust, we must first believe and that before we can obey, we must first receive direction from the Lord.  Whenever we see God’s people seek direction from the Lord and then act in obedience to that direction, we see victory.  When we see people who are unwilling to wait for direction & acting based on their previous experience (e.g. Israel marching against the Philistines & losing the Ark of Covenant – 1Samuel 4) we see defeat.

 

Though from God’s perspective I would suspect that “trust and obey” could work as a formula, I doubt that it would be very satisfying to our human nature, as it places us in a position of utter dependence on God.  Certainly Jesus Himself gave us the most explicitly stated formula in all of scripture when He said that He didn’t do “anything” until He saw His Father in heaven do it first.  If we would adopt that kind of relationship with His Holy Spirit, trusting and obeying would be the only formula we’d ever need.

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Shop Talk

February 12, 2010 by bjcorbin

As I closed the door of my locker, and spun the combination lock, I could see the other guys on my shift shuffling into the locker room. They looked about as enthusiastic to be there as I was. The first night of midnight shift was always a killer, mostly because no one sleeps that day, and then they show up at work just about the time their body decides it’s time to go to bed. I had tried to lie down just after dinner that night, but it didn’t seem to help much. Since I was already in my coveralls, I headed toward the break room, figuring I could read the paper until the foreman showed up to give us our job assignments.

 

One of the few benefits of working the late shift was that there were always plenty of newspapers leftover from the guys on dayshift. When I got to the break room, the only other person there was an old timer named Bill. He wasn’t considered an old timer because of his age, which I would guess to be somewhere in his mid-fifties, but because he’d been at the mill for over thirty years.

 

He worked for the Carpenter Shop, like I did, and he was sitting in his usual spot, sipping coffee and reading his Bible. As he peaked over his reading glasses, he said, “There’s fresh coffee over there”. I gave him a quick nod and headed for my cup. Bill and I rarely worked together, as he and another old timer (Henry) normally worked the shop, while I was generally assigned to projects out in the mill. I’d never really made any kind of effort to get to know him despite the fact that he’d always been pretty friendly toward me. While a lot of the old timers treated the younger guys like dirt, or as if they were invisible, that didn’t seem to be Bill’s way.

 

For a long time I rationalized that the reason I didn’t hang around him was because he was older and married… but after my recent conversion to Christianity, I had to admit to myself that it was really all that Bible reading that had kept me at a safe distance. Though I’d never heard him preach at anyone, I couldn’t help but think that, given the opportunity, he would. Needless to say, he’d been the butt of many jokes over the years, but I think that most people secretly respected him.

 

Given all of the changes that were going on in my life at that moment, I would have loved to have sat down and spoken to him about some things, but I was still having a hard time letting any of my co-workers see the change in me; so I sat down and started scanning the sports page instead.

 

I’d only gotten through a couple of lines before I heard a commotion in the hallway, with the sound of loud voices and laughing only slightly muffled by the doors to the break room. Within a few seconds, a group of my boisterous co-workers came bursting through those doors. I could now see that it was a few guys from the Pipe shop and a girl named Tonya, who was a laborer. As usual, Tonya was spewing obscenities of a highly sexual nature and she had her hands all over one of the guys, while the other two guys seemed to be cheering them on.

 

Tonya was notorious at the mill and stories of her midnight shift exploits were legendary. As I watched, I caught a glimpse of Bill out of the corner of my eye and I could see a pained expression on his face. I was suddenly embarrassed when I realized that Bill had witnessed similar scenes, with me falling into Tonya’s web, on many occasions over the last seven years. Something inside of me wanted to tell him that I wasn’t that same guy anymore, but I also had to admit that there was still something inside me that found Tonya’s sexually charged behavior enticing.

 

I’d hoped that the change in me would have been enough to erase those feelings, but instead, it was just enough to make me feel guilty about having them. I had no trouble understanding that getting involved with someone like Tonya was the road to nowhere and I definitely didn’t want to go back to where I’d been with her; but as I watched her seemingly trying to seduce this young man, I found myself feeling a little jealous and left out. She must have noticed me staring, as she broke away from her young prey and started walking toward me.

 

“What’s the matter Danny, do you miss me” she taunted, as she unzipped her coveralls to the waist. “Come on baby, it’ll be just like old times” she said, as she seductively straddled the bench I was sitting on.  I could sense my face turning beet red and I felt suddenly paralyzed as she began to push her body against me, eventually reaching for the zipper of my coveralls. My mouth and throat were so dry that I was sure that I wouldn’t be able to make a sound, but my hand suddenly jerked to life, intercepting hers, as the word “No!” somehow managed to escape my lips. Because our faces were so close together, I could see the surprise and hurt in her eyes; and I realized that the firmness of my grasp and the tone of my voice had somehow caught her off guard.

 

Though our eyes were locked for only a few seconds, I felt like I looked right into her soul and it was heart breaking. While her physical beauty hadn’t diminished much in her forty something years, I could sense the damage inside of her. At the end of that brief moment, she pulled away from me, moving back toward her original target, as she muttered, “your loss”.

 

By now, the break room was beginning to fill with the night crew and I remained motionless; feeling like someone who’d just swerved out of the path of an oncoming eighteen wheeler. I felt sick to my stomach as a picture of my fiancé flashed through my mind; and I wondered if she’d still want to spend her life with me if she knew that I was the kind of man who could fall to a woman like Tonya.

 

I felt ashamed and confused, and I was still very much in my own little world, when a hand on my shoulder managed to pull me back into the moment. When I looked up, I found that the hand belonged to Bill and when our eyes met, he asked, “Are you OK?” I managed to weakly nod my head to indicate that I was, though I wasn’t necessarily convinced of it. Before he could say anything else, the foreman came in and began to give us a shift briefing.

 

At the end of the briefing, the foreman explained that Henry’s wife had called to say that he’d been admitted to the hospital with chest pains earlier that afternoon. He then told us that I’d be working with Bill in the shop until Henry made it back to work. While I’d been looking for a chance to talk with Bill, the incident with Tonya had really dampened my desire to talk to anyone. Bill picked up his Bible and headed for the break room door before he looked around to see if I was coming. I pretended not to notice him waiting for me and after a couple of seconds he went on without me. I realized that though I’d managed to avoid him for the moment, it was probably going to be impossible to avoid him for the entire shift. After grabbing a couple sections of the newspaper, I also headed for the shop.

 

When I got there, Bill was filling the coffee maker with water. As he looked up at me, he said, “I figure we’ll need this tonight”. I once again nodded at him, still not wanting to get involved in any sort of meaningful conversation. After he got the coffee maker going, he came over to the bench I was at and said, “On the first night of ‘mids’, Henry and I normally sort through the scrap box, make shim bundles and clean out the dust filters on all the machines. We’ve learned that it’s not a good night to try to do any kind of precision work.”

 

As our eyes met, I managed to say, “Sounds good”. Bill then moved over to the scrap box, while I started removing the filter housing on one of the belt sanders. I was relieved that Bill didn’t press me to work side by side with him, as the knot in my stomach began to slowly unravel.

After about an hour, I was feeling a little more relaxed and I noticed that Bill was taking a break. He was pouring himself some coffee, so I decided to join him. As I sat down with my coffee, he asked, “You doin’ OK?”

 

I wasn’t really sure if he meant doing OK with cleaning out the machine filters, or doing OK after the thing with Tonya, or just doing OK in general; but I said, “Sure, how are you doing?” He went on to tell me that he was a little worried about Henry and that he’d been praying for him. Unconsciously, I mentioned that I’d been praying for him as well, and I could tell by Bill’s expression that he was surprised. I suddenly realized that I still had the desire to tell Bill about the changes in my life and so I decided to seize the moment.

 

“I’m a little new to this praying thing” I admitted, before adding, “I really didn’t get serious about God until just a few months ago”.

 

“Really” he replied. “What caused that to change for you?”

 

“I suppose that it was my fiancé and her little boy. She’s a good Christian girl and being around them for the last several months has made me see things differently. The closer I’ve gotten to them, the more I’ve wanted my life to change. A couple of months ago, I answered an altar call at her church and I asked the Lord to come into my life.”

 

Bill smiled as he said, “That’s great Danny, so how’s that going for you?”

 

‘Well, I thought it was going pretty good. Of course that was before tonight’s little incident with Tonya. Now I’m not so sure.”

 

Bill looked confused, as he said, “What about the incident with Tonya makes you doubt your decision?”

 

I could once again feel my face turning red with embarrassment, as I admitted, “I guess I just thought that I was over stuff like that; now I’m wondering if I wasn’t just kidding myself about this whole thing.”

 

“I’m a little confused Danny; you told Tonya ‘no’. That seems like a change to me. It sounds as though you feel like you somehow failed that test.”

 

“Yeah, I guess I do feel like I failed. I mean if I’m totally honest; there is a big part of me that really wanted Tonya to keep going tonight. Here I am about to get married to a girl that I really love and I can’t even resist someone like Tonya, who I already know that I don’t want to be with.”

 

“But you did resist her” Bill countered.

 

“Well I guess that’s true, but if my life has really changed, why would I still want to go there with her?” I asked.

 

“So you’re thinking that if this commitment you’ve made to God and to your fiancé is for real, then you shouldn’t feel tempted to sin anymore?” he asked.

 

I knew right away that couldn’t be right, but I had to admit that on some level it must have been the way I was thinking. Still, I couldn’t seem to let go of the idea that I’d failed and so I replied, “I guess not, but if Tonya had done that same thing to you, would you have been tempted?”

 

Bill paused for a moment, as though he was measuring his words carefully. “As a purely flesh and blood man, I absolutely would have been.”

 

“But aren’t we all just flesh and blood?” I stammered.

 

“We weren’t created to be ‘just flesh and blood. We were created in the image of God, who is revealed to us in three persons; Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Like Him, we are made up of three parts, which for us are body, soul and spirit. Our soul is that part of us which is eternal; it is the essence of who we are, and where our mind, will & emotions come from. Our body is that part of us that God gives to fulfill our mission here on earth; and our spirit is the part of us that allows us to stay connected to the spiritual realm, which is the dimension in which He dwells.  Though we tend to think of ourselves as a body that has a soul, we’re really a soul that has as body.  In the end, the soul goes on, and the body is cast aside.”

 

“Our flesh is not unlike that of the other animals here on earth and in those times when we choose to suspend the higher aspects of our design (e.g. our conscience), we can and will live on a purely instinctual level. On that level, it would be nearly impossible not to respond in some way to the invitation that Tonya was offering. But the thing is that God never intended for us to live on a purely instinctual level. He gave us a mind, a will and emotions to keep those more animal instincts in check.”

 

“I’ve seen you fall to Tonya before, so what do you think was different tonight?”

 

“I guess I’d just made up my mind that I wasn’t going to go there?” I said.

 

“You see, you’d made up your ‘mind’ and then you asserted your ‘will’. That didn’t erase the instinct within you to accept her invitation, but it kept that instinct from becoming action. That’s how it’s supposed to work and tonight it did. You may see it as a moral failure that you had the urge to give in to the seduction, but I feel certain that God sees it as a victory that you exercised your will not to give into that urge.”

 

I’d never heard anybody talk like that before, but what he said made a lot of sense, and it seemed to lift a great weight off of my shoulders. Maybe I wasn’t as bent on evil as I’d feared; but this whole topic of sexuality reminded me of one of the few apprehensions I was still battling about my upcoming marriage, which centered on the idea of having sex with the same person for the rest of my life. After all, I’d been having sex since I was a teenager and at almost 31 years of age, I hadn’t been with the same women for more than a year.

 

Though Beth (my fiancée) and I hadn’t slept together, and as much as I looked forward to that experience, I had a hard time imagining that after many years it wouldn’t become rather mundane. I hated that thought, but I had to admit that it seemed inevitable. Since Bill apparently understood some things about all this, I thought maybe he could help me; unfortunately, I couldn’t seem to find the words to ask.

 

Without thinking, I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind.  “I guess I’m just having a hard time figuring out what it is that God thinks about sex. I mean, I’ve always thought of sex as being kind of dirty, and maybe even ‘ungodly’, but He’s the one who invented it, so there’s got to be a way that it’s OK with Him. I really want to get this part of my new life right.”

 

“That’s good Danny, you’re right to want to get that part right; it’s important. I don’t claim to be any sort of expert on the subject, but let me ask you a question.  Is fire a good thing, or bad thing?”

 

“A good thing” I replied.

 

“What about fire on your curtains?” he said.

 

“OK” I admitted, “that’s not good”.

 

“So what about fire in the fireplace?” he added.

 

“That’s a good thing”

 

“What if it’s the 4th of July?” he challenged.

 

“OK, I get it.  Sometimes it’s good and sometimes it’s bad.”

 

“That’s right!  Ultimately it depends on the context.  In the right place and at the right time it is one of the most wonderful gifts mankind has ever known.  In the wrong context, it can be powerfully destructive.  It’s the same way with sex.”

 

“Though I don’t pretend to know God’s thoughts, I’m pretty sure that He doesn’t think of sex apart from love. To Him, sex is simply meant to be a physical expression of love and unity. When we have sex outside that context, we’re totally subverting His design. Another thing that I’m pretty sure of is that sex was meant to engage not only our body, but our soul and spirit, as well.  I don’t suspect that many people experience it that way.”

 

Something in my expression must have given away my surprise at that statement, as Bill seemed energized by my reaction. He continued, “You see, the flesh simply wants to feel good, and so something like what Tonya was offering would undoubtedly be pleasurable on that level. The problem is that we don’t live on that level and our soul yearns to be loved and valued. For our souls, a quickie in the Janitor’s closet can leave you feeling pretty empty emotionally. Sex on that level is really reduced to being more of a bodily function, much like going to the bathroom.”

 

I couldn’t suppress a smirk at Bill’s comparison of a quickie to going to the bathroom, which seemed to make him feel as though he needed to explain that statement. He said, “No really, just like those times you’ve ‘really got to go’, you feel like you might explode if you don’t get there; there’s a great sense of release and relief when you do get there; you wipe yourself when you’re done, and an hour later, you don’t even remember that you went.”

 

His explanation somehow managed to wipe the smile from my face, and while what he’d said seemed almost vulgar, I couldn’t deny that it was absolutely true. A fresh wave of shame rolled over me as I remembered some of my experiences in places like the Janitor’s closet.

 

He went on to say, “The problem is that there is no way to experience sex on a purely physical level. We may suppress our thoughts and emotions in the midst of those experiences, but our souls are there, and they are damaged every time we are joined with another soul, and then pulled apart. You see God really meant it when He said that two would become one flesh and there is a bond that is formed, whether we intend for it or not. For a couple that has resolved to share their lives together, this bond only makes them stronger. But for the person who couples and uncouples repeatedly, there is a ripping of the fabric of their souls. Do you remember when we built that little platform for the CEO to speak from at the company picnic?”

 

“Yeah” I replied.

 

“Then you’ll also remember that we built it with screws instead of nails. Why did we do that?” he asked.

 

“Because we knew that we were going to take it down after the weekend and we wanted to be able to reuse the wood. If we’d have nailed it together, we’d have torn up the boards getting those nails back out” I replied.

 

“That’s exactly right! And having sex with someone you’re not going to stay committed to is just like building that platform with nails. Whether you understand it or not, you’re putting it together as though it’s going to last forever, when you really intend on ripping it apart at the end of the weekend.”

 

I was amazed at how practical that explanation was and how well Bill seemed to understand all of these things. I wondered how I’d never heard anyone talk about stuff like this before, and I wondered where Bill had learned it. I was soaking it all in and he just kept rolling along.

 

“Have you ever seen or maybe even been in a relationship that was clearly not meant to be, yet that you couldn’t seem to get away from?”

 

As I thought of my on again, off again relationship with Tonya (amongst others), I nodded in agreement.

 

“Well, I’d suggest that this is because your souls have been joined together and even if, on an intellectual level, you know that the relationship is no good, that bond keeps pulling you back toward them. I’ve watched many people, who were in horribly abusive relationships, break free from their tormentor, only to willingly go back to them sometime later. People are baffled by that, but I really believe that this soul tie has everything to do with it. I’ll even go out on a limb here and say that I’ll bet that when you looked into Tonya’s eyes tonight, you could feel the turmoil inside of her.”

 

I was blown away that he’d say something like that, and even more amazed that he was exactly right. For every point he seemed to be making, I could think of a sexual experience that in some way validated its truth. While it was certainly helping me to understand why marriage was the context God created for sex, it wasn’t really touching my fears about what sex might be like after marriage. I decided to try to get Bill to talk about that some.

 

“So I think I understand the problem with casual sex and sex outside of marriage, but I don’t really know many married couples that seem to have a great sex life. Surely that’s not God’s plan either it is?” I asked.

 

“You’re right, that’s not God’s design either. Unfortunately, I think that this is a subject that the church has avoided talking about, so even people who call themselves ‘Christian’ often have their ideas about sex shaped by the culture. The culture tends to make everything about ‘me’, while God tends to make everything about someone else. How many times have you heard people talk about their ’needs’? You know, ‘I’m a man and I’ve got needs…’ or ‘my needs aren’t being met’. Again, that kind of attitude simply reduces sex to a bodily function.”

 

“If a husband makes sex all about getting his needs met, he’s likely to make his wife feel like a piece of meat and after a while she won’t want any part of it; and if a wife simply makes her husband feel like she’s ‘doing her wifely duty’, that man is likely to fall to the first woman who shows more than a passing interest in him. Even though the stereotype is that men go for younger and prettier women, from what I’ve seen, they actually go for the ones who seem to be excited about being with them.”

 

“A healthy sex life is the by-product of a healthy relationship, so the focus can’t be on what happens in bed, it has to be on what’s going on in the relationship itself. If you can look at your wife and feel grateful for what she brings to your life, you’ll have taken the first step to a great sex life. If you can express that gratitude to her on a regular basis, you’ve built a great foundation for intimacy.”

 

Bill got up from the bench, walked over to a cabinet by the wall and pulled something from the shelf. When he returned, I could see that it was a beautiful hand-made box, with amazingly intricate inlaid pieces, that were stained in different shades. When he opened the box, I could see that it was a hand-made chess set. The pieces were each hand carved and the board had squares inlaid with alternating wood grain patterns. It was truly one of the most beautiful sets that I’d ever seen and Bill asked me to take the pieces out and to look at them. I found myself being very careful with them and studying each detail. After spending a few minutes appreciating this amazing work, Bill asked me what I thought.

 

“Incredible” I replied.

 

To my surprise he said, “What’s so incredible about a bunch of scrap pieces of wood?”

 

“Scrap! This set is hardly scrap” I answered incredulously.

 

“That’s where all these pieces came from” he said. “Every one of them was once a piece from the scrap box.”

 

“But they’re not scrap anymore, they’re beautiful!” I replied.

 

“You’re right that they are beautiful, but don’t you see that it is because someone saw the potential in them and cultivated it. Someone patiently worked with each piece and poured their love and effort into them. By the way, that someone was Henry. He made this set for his grandson. Relationships are a lot like this set, they all start out as hunks of unfinished wood. What you wind up with in the end depends on how much of yourself you’re willing to invest. Did you notice how you handled these chess pieces? You were almost reverent with them.”

 

“Of course I was, they’re one of a kind” I interrupted.

 

“That’s right!” Bill replied. “And so is your fiancé. She is a one of a kind, she was handmade, and she is even more complex than the beautiful in laid patterns on this box. If you can continue to view her like that, your love will only grow richer over time. If you will spend your life together touching her, and studying the intricacies of her being, just like you did with those chess pieces, you will never struggle in the area of intimacy.”

 

“Can you imagine how heartbroken Henry would be if one day he finds this chess set dumped in the bottom of his grandson’s toy box? I think that must be how God feels when He sees us cast aside one of His children. What destroys most relationships is simply taking each other for granted, and not valuing what we have. Even though most couples vow to ‘love, honor and cherish’, almost none of them ever do.”

 

Bill must have recognized that his words were beginning to overwhelm me, as he stopped and apologized for preaching. I loved what he was saying, but I wondered if I could live up to all of that. He went over and got the coffee pot and refilled both of our cups. When he sat back down, he seemed calmer and a little more down to earth.

 

“My wife and I have been married for thirty-five years and we never slept together before we were married. She was a virgin, but unfortunately I was not. I was drafted into the Army on my eighteenth birthday and was sent off to boot camp right after graduation. I was convinced that I’d probably never make it out of Vietnam alive, so I decided that I was going to experience everything that I could before then. I’m not proud of how I handled myself in those days and it was pretty amazing how much experience I gained in just a couple of years. The things I saw in Vietnam make Tonya and the janitor’s closet seem innocent.”

 

“When I made it back home, my thinking about sex was all wrong and I wondered if I’d ever be right again. When I fell in love with my beautiful girl, I prayed that God would change my mind and show me His way; and for the last thirty-five years, He’s been doing that.”

 

“The first thing that I had to learn was to keep all of my sexual energy pointed toward my wife; for me she’s the only truly ‘sexual’ being on the planet. My relationship with every other woman is either like the one I have with my mother, my sister or my daughter. I don’t let my mind imagine what it might be like to be with someone else and I don’t let myself look at things that create such an image in my mind.”

 

“Even though everyone refers to it as ‘making love’, I doubt that most people ever really do, and that’s ultimately what it’s all about. When I’m with my wife like that, I want her to feel loved. Successful sex for me is when she feels loved, honored and cherished. Believe me, that’s aiming a lot higher than just an orgasm. I don’t make love to her body; I make love to her soul and so sometimes making love is simply holding her instead of having sex, or letting her sleep because she’s exhausted.”

 

“After some years, I realized that my love for her was a pitifully small thing when compared to God’s love for her; so I started praying every time that we’d come together, that God would let her feel His love through me. When that happens, it becomes a body-soul-spirit experience. Believe me, once you’ve made love like that, you’ll understand that God was the one who invented sex and that His way is far better than anything that we could come up with. Once you experience that kind of thing, you realize that it’s the ‘real deal’ and that all that garbage the world peddles as ‘hot sex’ is just a poor substitute. I mean, you’ve probably been with a lot of women by now, has any of that really brought you the happiness that you were looking for?”

 

I nodded, indicating that it hadn’t.

 

“Do you think that someone like Tonya is feeling better about herself and about her life, by having sex with all these guys?”

 

I once again shook my head, agreeing that it probably wasn’t.

 

“And yet, the culture has sold us on the idea that someone like you is giving up the good life, so that you can spend your life with someone that you love?” He added.

 

Of course he was right and I began to think of all the crazy things about sex that I’d believed over the years. Even though I could see what he was saying, it was still hard to imagine that it could be that great after thirty-five years with the same woman. I tried to imagine Beth and I in thirty-five years, but I just couldn’t get a picture of it in my mind. Finally, I managed yet another generic question. “So it’s never gotten old for you?”

 

“Nope” Bill replied instantly. “The longer I’ve been with her, the more reasons I’ve found to love her, and the more history we’ve shared. She’s such a part of me that I can’t imagine life without her. Again, the world says that sex is driven by physical attraction, and maybe even chemistry, but the truth is that those things are only necessary when you’re having sex with someone you don’t love. I can’t see my wife objectively; I love her too much to separate how she looks from how I feel about her. When I look at her, I don’t think about what her fifty-five year old body might look like; I think about the incredible beauty that I’ve found within her heart.”

 

“When we make love, I’m too close to her to even see her body. My eyes are normally closed and when they’re open, they’re looking into her eyes, which are the windows of her soul. There’s nothing that will warm your soul like looking into the eyes of someone who truly loves you. That never gets old. We may not have sex every day, but we find a way to ‘make love’ every chance we get.”

 

Again, I wondered if Bill just wasn’t a better man than me. I knew that I loved Beth, and I was excited about sharing our lives together, but I wondered if I could ever get to the place that he was describing. Even though what he’d said seemed to challenge all my preconceived notions about sex, all of my sexual history seemed to validate that what he was saying must be true. As much as I felt like I had more questions, I couldn’t seem to think of one to ask; and Bill finally said that we ought to get back to work. As amazing as that conversation was, we never did get back to it; not on that night or any other.

 

With the benefit of the twelve years’ experience that I’ve gained since that conversation with Bill, I can now see that night was probably some sort of divine appointment. It was truly a turning point in my way of thinking. I did marry Beth, and we had a couple of beautiful children together. And I can honestly say that I love her even more today than I did back then. Bill was right, I can’t be objective in the way that I look at her, nor do I want to be. I never knew that life could be this meaningful; she is my soul mate. With three young children, we don’t always get to the sex part, but just like Bill said, “we find a way to make love every chance we get”.

Posted in Parenting / Family, Stories | Tagged , , | 9 Comments »

I Never Saw My Father Dunk a Basketball [A Tribute to My Father – Thomas F. Corbin Jr.]

February 12, 2010 by bjcorbin

I never saw my father dunk a basketball

and he never became a CEO

But I saw him live by what he believed

which showed me what was important for my life

I never saw my father hit a home run

and he never held a public office

But I saw him serve his wife, children, church, country…

which showed me that life was about something more than myself

I never saw my father make his first million

and we never lived in a mansion

 But I never knew what it was like to miss a meal

which showed me the difference between wants and needs

My father wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth

and he never won the lottery

But I saw my parents build a life for their family, with little or no help from anyone

which taught me that where you come from is no excuse

I never saw my father’s name in the headlines

and he never made a highlight reel

But I watched him support others and be a team player

which showed me that secure people don’t need the spotlight

I never saw my father lift a weight

and he never made the Olympics

But I saw him be committed & work hard at every endeavor

which showed me that strength has more to do with character than muscle

I never saw my father receive his degree

and he was never deemed a Scholar

But I saw him lead his family through the good and bad times

which showed me that wisdom isn’t what you say, but how you live

I never saw my father paint a picture

and he never wrote a song

But I saw him cry & say “I Love You”

which let me know that it was OK for a man to do that

I never saw my father overpower anyone

and he wasn’t much for intimidation

But I saw him be patient when others struggled

which showed me that exposing others weaknesses, doesn’t make you strong

I never saw my father in the pulpit

and he wasn’t one to quote you scripture

But I saw him pray to God

 which showed me that God was real & that I needed Him too

I never saw my father run a marathon

and he never climbed Mount Everest

But I saw him endure a cruel terminal illness with grace and perseverance

which taught me that you have to keep running until you cross the finish line

My father wasn’t above losing his temper

and I saw him take some missteps along the way

But I heard him say “I’m sorry” & watched him learn from his mistakes

which showed me the way I needed to handle my failures

My parents didn’t have a perfect marriage

and I can’t say that there was never a struggle

But I watched them stay together for 48 years

which taught me that love is like a garden & it requires regular tending

I have often disregarded my father’s advice

and I have many times made disappointing choices

But he never made me feel like a disappointment & loved me anyway

which taught me about the love & forgiveness of a father (& “Our Father”)

As I reflect on my father’s life, I realize that he was never what this world tells you that you “need” to be, but that he was in fact what God made him to be. If my father had been rich or famous, I doubt that I would have learned so much and I know that my life wouldn’t have been better. Reflecting on my fathers life shows me that I shouldn’t waste time worrying about what I’m not and what I don’t have, but to make the most of everything that I’ve been given. At the end of my life, I would be pleased if it could be said of me that, “he was a loving, committed husband, father, brother, son, friend…”; “you could always count on him”; “he loved God and tried to live for Him”; “he served his family, his church, his country…”; “he made a difference in my life”. I guess for me it would just be easier to say, “he was just like his father”. Yes, that would please me.

Posted in Parenting / Family, Tributes | 1 Comment »

5 Popular Parenting Ideas that Can Hurt Our Kids

February 12, 2010 by bjcorbin

While an important part of parenting is caring and providing for our children, another equally vital element is preparing them for life in the adult world. Many times our efforts toward the former can unwittingly undermine our efforts toward the latter.  As I watch an unprecedented number of my contemporaries raising their grandchildren, most often because their own children can’t be bothered with it, I can’t help but think that some of these ideas may have contributed to the problem.  As you read through these it’s easy to see how interrelated they are.

 

  1. “Education is the most important thing.” While I would never argue the importance of a good education, I’ve come to recognize that ultimately there is something of even greater value, and that is work ethic. After dealing with highly educated people, who possess little work ethic, and uneducated people, who are hard workers, I would choose the latter every time. I’ve found that you can teach someone with a good work ethic just about anything, but without that quality, a good education becomes of little worth. Like education, work ethic is something that has to be consciously cultivated throughout a child’s formative years.

 

  1. “Why stand in line when you can drive thru.” Western culture has taken the attribute of “convenience” to absurd new heights, and, more often than not, has sacrificed genuine quality along the way. Few would argue that fast and/or processed foods have much nutritional value, yet we as American’s tend to view them as a worthwhile trade-off for the convenience that comes with them. Unfortunately, we are raising generations of kids with that same “fast food / microwave” mentality to life and relationships.  They increasingly have the expectation that everything should be fast and easy; and they have little patience or perseverance for anything that isn’t.  Unconsciously they are coming to prefer the weightlessness of virtual reality (e.g. Facebook, You-tube, Twitter…) to the friction and gravity of the real world.  These patterns render them unprepared for the adversity that is an inherent part of human existence.

 

  1. “I don’t want my kids to have to struggle like I did.” Undoubtedly, no one likes to struggle and as parents, we hate to see our kids struggle even more. Unfortunately, it is in the midst of the struggle that we tend to develop the character and work ethic that it takes to overcome adversity. Like lifting a barbell with no weights on it, the lack of any real resistance prevents muscles from developing.  A truly successful person isn’t as much defined by their victories as they are by how they handled the adversity they encountered along the way.  As I raise my own children, I’ve come to realize that saving them from every struggle will likely handicap them for life.

 

  1. “You’re the exception to the rule.” As a parent, it is important to let each child know that they are truly unique and special; but often times, in our efforts to convey that, we make them believe that they are the exception to the rule. While that generally does make them feel special, I’ve found that it doesn’t take long for a child to believe that they ought to be the exception to every rule and that “if you really loved them”, you’d find a way to exempt them from all the rules they don’t want to follow. For such a child, life becomes an endless series of rationalizations, negotiations and manipulations with the people who have influence over them (e.g. parents, teachers, coaches…).  Ultimately this pattern tends to carry on into their adult relationships (e.g. with their spouse, with their employer, with their creditors…) as well.

 

  1. Everyone’s a winner. My kids have walls full of trophies (and medals) from all the sports they’ve participated in. One day they asked me where my trophies were and they were genuinely amazed when I explained that, when I was a kid, only the champion’s won a trophy. While as a parent I can appreciate the idea of building self-esteem by giving everyone a trophy at the end of the season, as someone living in the adult world, I can also see the folly of it. That same kid who always had an excuse to miss practice, who never came to games prepared to play, who never really contributed to the team, and who got the same trophy at the end, is generally the guy who does the same thing on the job and expects to get the same paycheck as everyone else.

Posted in Lists, Opinions, Parenting / Family, Social / Political | Tagged , , , , | 3 Comments »

The Council

February 12, 2010 by bjcorbin

Though it was still early, the day seemed to be off to a dreary start; especially for the 1st day in May. Low clouds clung to the mountain peaks and a steady drizzle came down, as it had for the last several days.  The chill in the air, and the dimly lit horizon seemed fitting for the somber gathering of spirits that made up the war council.  It was indeed rare that they would gather together, especially in an earthly location, but it was as the Overlord had commanded.

 

Each warlord eyed the others warily, wondering if one of them might know the reason for this sudden gathering. They were all keenly aware that the master wasn’t one to seek input from his subordinates, or to give them praise, so a weighty sense of dread draped their processional into the abandoned shaft opening.  It wasn’t a very hospitable setting, but as spirits they tended not to pay much attention to aesthetics, and thus it served its purpose.  They arranged themselves as they knew the master would expect, and they braced themselves for the inevitable unpleasantness to come.

 

The Overlord’s entourage arrived with surprisingly little fanfare, and he quickly moved to his station at the head of the council. As the warlords began their customary declarations of worship and submission, the master waved his hand to stop them.  “Enough!  I don’t need any of that right now!” he snarled.  He shot them a brief look of contempt, but he seemed more distracted than angry.  He sat, staring at his hands, as though he were deep in thought.  The warlords sat in complete silence, afraid to arouse his anger.

 

After what seemed to be several minutes, and without raising his eyes from his hands, the Overlord muttered, “It’s over”.

 

Again, the warlords sat in silence, too petrified to ask what he was referring to. Finally, Nardus, who was the oldest of the warlords, spoke.  “What is over, sire?” he asked timidly.

 

At that, the master’s furious eyes rose toward the council as he hissed, “this insidious little game of war you’ve been playing!”

 

Nardus was clearly confused by the statement, but measured his words carefully as he declared, “My lord I can assure you that we have not retreated on any front, and I feel certain that we are on the brink of yet another great advance in the west.”

 

With his words dripping with sarcasm, and a strange half smile on his face, the Overlord replied, “Ah yes, the west. You’ve certainly invested heavily there haven’t you?  Unfortunately Nardus, you’ve just lost your queen in the west, and you’re rapidly backing into checkmate.”

 

Confused, Nardus said, “I don’t understand sire?”

 

With his expression becoming more serious, the master said, “It’s your boy Adolph, he’s dead.”

 

A low hum of murmurs rose from the council at the news, and Nardus failed to conceal his shock. “How did it happen sire?” he asked.

 

“He did it himself. Not surprising really, I mean you can only contain so much insanity in a man before he destroys himself.”

 

Again the room was silent for an uncomfortable amount of time before a young, aggressive warlord named Lymbach spoke up. “There is still the war in the east sire!” He said in an optimistic tone.

 

Again, the Overlord glared at the council, “It’s over you fools! ‘The Allies’ have developed a doomsday weapon and it’s just a matter of time before they use it. Your pawns will fall in the east even faster than they have in the west; and before you know it your ‘World War’ will give way to world peace.”

 

Every member of the council hung their head in shame, knowing better than to utter anything more that might appear to contradict the master’s conclusion.

 

After several more minutes of silence, the Overlord rose to his feet and began to speak. “It is unfortunate that I have allowed you to be called ‘Warlords’, because it is so clear that you have little understanding of how to wage war.  You’re all so eager to make it a show of brute force and that is a war we cannot hope to win.  Don’t you see how attacking from outside one’s borders causes the citizenry to unite and galvanizes their resolve.  It stirs up all sorts of virtuous sensibilities and minimizes their more base instincts.  Instead of taking advantage of their natural depravity, you are cultivating what makes them our adversaries.  Instead of using them as puppets, you are making them into formidable foes.  Enough of this foolishness!  If you want to bring a house down you don’t throw rocks at the windows, you go after the structure that holds it up, and that sort of attack must come from within.”

 

The members of the council were now hanging on his every word, as he continued to pace and speak. “This idea of fighting toe to toe and face to face is much too civilized.  It makes the distinction between what is good and what is evil too apparent to them.  The way you win at war is to get them to the place that no one is really sure who the enemy is, or what the truth is.  That’s when you can get them to fight amongst themselves and where their natural sense of self-righteousness will guide them.  Never allow the battle lines to be clearly drawn.  Once you achieve that kind of ambiguity, you can sell them anything as long as it comes wrapped in a package that keeps them stirred up.”

 

The master paused to look into the faces of the council members, as if to see whether they were grasping his words. Nardus again spoke. “Sire, I can certainly see the wisdom of your words, but how do we move them from the place of their impending victory to this place that you have described?”

 

His question caused the Overlord to smile knowingly as he said, “It is much easier than you’d expect. If there is anything worth taking from history, it is that mankind cannot handle prosperity.  Just as the battle galvanized them, victory will surely make them proud and complacent.  It is fertile ground for their vain imaginations.  You need not dissuade them from their celebration, indeed you ought to encourage them to celebrate excessively.  Encourage them to feel good about themselves, to feel as though the days of sacrifice are over and the days of reward are at hand.  Help divert their dreams of freedom to dreams of prosperity; their covetous nature will make it easy.  Slowly redefine their most sacred tenants; reduce peace to nothing more than the absence of war and peace loving to nothing more than a lack of willingness to fight for what they believe.  Encourage them to view freedom as nothing more than the absence of constraint and to mistake winning for victory.  Inevitably their carnality will carry them along with very little effort on your part.  Give them catchy little phrases like, ‘Make love, not war!’  They will use such ideas to justify the exploration of their lusts and for their unwillingness to reach beyond themselves.  The generations born to such a people will have no concept of the truth or of sacrifice or of the eternal battle between good and evil.  Indeed, the very concept of good and evil will become abstract to them.  Believe me, if we are dutiful and patient, there will come a time when they doubt our very existence.  Without a shot being fired, this new empire will crumble from within, and ultimately be devoured by a people who truly understand what is good and what is evil.”

 

At these words, the entire council broke into cheers and exuberant praise. Moments later, as the Overlord’s entourage departed, every member of the council was awash with a fresh sense of hope for the future.

 

That is what I remember of my first council meeting, and I must admit that as a young demon I was somewhat skeptical about this plan. But in the relatively short period of time that has passed since that spring day in 1945 I have come to see the genius of the Overlord’s tact.  Indeed the young republic of that day did go on to become the most powerful nation on earth, with no foe on the horizon with the capabilities to bring it down.  Even so, the steady erosion of their own national character has weakened them from within, and they have now come to the point that they stand divided and on the brink of collapse.

 

I remember the master talking about attacking the foundation of a structure and it occurs to me that for a nation built upon Judeo-Christian ethics that is exactly what we’ve accomplished. Their Jesus claimed that He was “the way, the truth and the life” and yet in these few short years we’ve convinced them otherwise.  They’ve exchanged the belief that He is the only way for the belief that there are many ways (i.e. pluralism); they’ve exchanged the belief that He is the embodiment of truth for the idea that every man gets to define truth for himself (i.e. humanism) and they’ve come to a place of such low regard for life, that thousands of lives are destroyed each day in the name of personal freedom (i.e. abortion).  It’s not that they’ve stopped believing that there is a God; it’s just that He’s become irrelevant to them.

 

The generations born into this culture tend to have voracious appetites, under-developed consciences, and little sense of obligation toward their fellow man. They tend to believe only in what they can feel or explain, so just as the master prophesied, most cannot even fathom that we demons exist.  I’d love to take the credit for these rapid advances, and to be sure we’ve made our suggestions, but in truth they’ve really done most of it themselves.  Had they even resisted a little bit, we’d have had to take a step back; and I shudder to think of what might happen if they’d ever unleash the whole arsenal of weapons they’ve got at their disposal.  But for now they’re too busy battling each other to bother with us.  For us it’s a lot like watching a beautiful sunset.

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