Are you “one of those people who …”?

I lived in schools for about fifty-two years.

K-12, four years of college, and thirty-five years as a teacher—52 of my first 58 years, interrupted by brief stints to build houses (which I enjoyed) and rehab from my injury (which I enjoyed a lot less). Toss in some nights and summers doing a Master’s degree, and it all adds up to a lot of time in schools.

When you live in schools, you learn about labels. Geek. Nerd. Jock. Goth. Skater. Gangster. School’s all about labels. The only worse fate than being labeled and stuck in a group is NOT being labeled and stuck in a group.

Jocks and gangsters get to walk down the middle of the hallway, crowds parting before them in a confused mixture of adoration, disdain, and fear. Geeks and nerds slink along the walls.

In college I took a class called “Adolescent Psychology.” The professor’s opening line: They’re all crazy!

We learned that kids group themselves as a way of separating from parents and developing an identity, that’s it’s normal for them to try out different costumes and roles. Colored hair, odd clothing, mimicked behaviors—it’s all just part of growing up and figuring out who they are. One of the many paradoxes of adolescence involves the need to discover one’s individuality by identifying lock-step with a group.

And we learned that it’s a phase, that eventually we grow out of our need to define ourselves by the group(s) to which we belong.

That professor was mostly right. They ARE all crazy, which explains my love for them as co-conspirators. They do try on identities like costumes, which makes them fun as long as you don’t take it too seriously. There’s something refreshing about a young lady with pink spiked hair and holes in her jeans intently solving an equation, especially when she shows up after Christmas break with beautifully curled hair and a flowered skirt.

The adolescent labeling process makes developmental sense, bringing humor and pathos to a difficult, confusing stage of life. But I always felt less comfortable when adults insisted on placing kids in much less temporary categories.

During my career I taught classrooms filled with “gifted” students and others identified as “special needs.” I often wondered whether Christian parents believed some kids weren’t gifted by God, or whether ANY parents thought their kids weren’t special.

In the same room I’d find kids who were creative and artistic, lazy and driven to achieve, lethargic and hyper-active. Some were inquisitive, some wanted to read everything in sight, and some were fascinated by technology. Some struggled to focus as they worried about issues at home.

And of course it’s obvious which group I just described, right?

I think the professor missed an important point. I don’t see much evidence that we grow out of our adolescent need to define ourselves with labels. When you live in a wheelchair you get really sensitized to labels. People slap them on my forehead (which has plenty of room) like bumper stickers. But you don’t need paralysis to see the harmful effects of labels.

Last time I discussed labels as averages. Today I’m thinking about labels as excuses.

Labels excuse laziness. No need to actually invest in getting to know the person and really understand his perspective. Just slap on a label, toss him in the right bucket, and you “know” all you need to know about him.

Labels excuse marginalization. She’s one of “them” and “they” just can’t do certain things. Of course we’ll be nice to her, but we can’t expect her to really participate. We’ll make a spot on the edges where she can watch without getting in the way.

Labels excuse unacceptable behavior. If you attach the “enemy” label to someone, you don’t have to treat them with respect. So it’s suddenly okay to demonize and shout at the person with different political views. There’s nothing wrong with gossiping and spreading rumors about “bad” people, right?

Labels excuse divisiveness. Why would we support that “evangelical” church down the street? And that one over there that doesn’t condemn our notion of “unbiblical” behavior, or the one around the corner that’s “right wing?” Just label them and the walls magically appear.

Of course, labels don’t really excuse any of these, but they certainly provide convenient excuses. When I hear adults using labels in such hurtful ways, I wonder how much we’ve really progressed since eighth grade.

I can chuckle when a kid with baggy pants will only associate with other kids that have the same brand of baggy pants. They’re learning, and next year they’ll all have short hair and khakis.

It’s a lot harder to find the humor when adults use a label based on behavior, belief, appearance, or perceived ability to justify including or excluding an individual.

And if you’re tempted to think it’s really not that important, that labels are just words, that “sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never hurt me” I’d offer an alternative view.

Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can break my heart.

Broken bones are easily treated; no surgical procedure exists that can mend a broken heart.

Do you see examples of labels as excuses?

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If I Got Jesus, Do I Really Need All These People?

Reflecting Jesus

Note: This is part three of a conversation about excuses. Read part 1 or part 2 if you wish. This article was uncomfortable for me to write. I fear that it may be uncomfortable for you to read.

I recently discovered a unique, innovative ministry in Toronto, Canada called The Abilities Church. I copied a few items from their web site:

• Jesus said that we must receive him as little children. The pure gospel is manifested through the weak and simple and not the strong, smart, or sophisticated.
• The Abilities Church is a place where everyone is included and no one is excluded.
• The Abilities Church is a place where everyone belongs and is accepted equally.

Does anyone else have the same questions that echoed through my mind as I read their mission?

Why should a church with these values be unique?

How could these statements NOT be at the core of a church that claims to follow Jesus? 

I’ll begin with a personal disclaimer—this isn’t about me. My church is about as accessible as it gets. Easy entry, no thick carpets, elevator, and no exclusive pews with defined disability areas—I sit wherever I choose by simply moving a chair. (If you don’t think pews with limited cutouts are exclusive, ask yourself how you’d feel if you had to sit in a certain area because you have grey hair or children or blue eyes.)

Of course I sit in exactly the same spot each week, but that’s a personal issue.

I’ve spoken on a couple of occasions from the main platform, which I reached easily via a lift. If I could carry a tune anywhere other than a bucket I could even join the choir. Short of providing my own personal indoor parking space, my church is as accessible and welcoming as possible.

But I know that’s not the situation everywhere. Some buildings are marginally accessible, and some contain barriers that exclude folks with disabilities or relegate them to obvious second-class status.

My friend Mark Stephenson works on disability issues for his denomination. Check out his blog for some great insights about physical accessibility.

Last time I proposed this diagram as a way of understanding excuses and reasons. Today I want to use it to examine the issue of accessibility.

TASK: Make the church truly physically accessible.

Do I really WANT to do it?

We know we’re supposed to say YES, but I’m not certain that’s universally true.

Some people don’t want to sacrifice the pews, thick carpeting, and other traditional architecture. They believe ramps detract from the building’s appearance. They don’t care if the only spot for wheelchairs is in the back or the aisles. They don’t want the discomfort that they feel around people who appear different.

We may not like those attitudes, but at least they’re honest. If you don’t want to change, admit it and accept responsibility for your choice.

For the sake of this article, let’s assume that we actually desire an accessible building.

Am I ABLE to do it?

This answer is unquestionably YES. The standards are clear, the knowledge and technology exists. Obviously it’s more difficult with some buildings than others, but accommodations are possible. No church lacks the ability to create seamless, universal, barrier-free accessibility.

But what about the cost? Well, that brings us to the final question.

Am I WILLING to do it?

Making existing buildings accessible can be expensive, and many congregations dismiss the idea simply because there’s no room in the budget. That’s why this question is essential.

Budgets are not a reason. They’re an excuse.

Nearly every congregation provides significant financial support to missionaries and mission organizations. They’re setting priorities, deciding that missions are more important than other possible activities.

What if a congregation decided that ministering to the disabled in their own community was a priority? What if they decided that providing opportunities for fellowship and participation in ministry was an essential function of the church? What if they decided that welcoming those with physical challenges wasn’t optional?

Such a congregation would face the difficult task of re-aligning financial commitments to align with ministry priorities. They may decide that they’re not willing to sacrifice current programs.

But do you see the difference? They’re no longer using the budget as an excuse. They’re not claiming that they can’t do it. They’re accepting responsibility for their choices by acknowledging the REASON their building isn’t accessible.

How many churches have honestly stated that they’re not willing to re-align their priorities, that accessibility isn’t as important as other budget items? I’d guess there aren’t very many.

How many have claimed it’s not possible because it’s too expensive? That’s an excuse that seeks to deflect responsibility for their difficult choices.

I am not …

advocating that churches ought to stop supporting missionaries. I am not claiming that ministering to persons with disabilities should be a greater priority than bringing Jesus’ message to other countries that need it desperately. Needs are great; budgets are strained, and church leaders must make difficult choices.

I am …

asking whether the person down the street who’s lost and isolated and wonders where God went is, by default or tradition, less important than anyone else. I am asking why that person’s need for fellowship and a place to discover and deploy his gifts is so readily dismissed as financially impossible.

REASONS AND EXCUSES

When asked about budget concerns in light of a struggling economy, a wise pastor recently said, “God’s economy is not the world’s economy.”

I think he was reminding us not to make excuses, suggesting that just maybe God’s big enough to provide what’s needed to do the ministry He puts in our hearts.

I think he was encouraging us to find the courage to accept responsibility for our choices instead of making excuses.

What’s your take?

An Inclusion Ministry is not a personal vision of some people but a biblical mandate for the whole church.  It should not be a secondary ministry but the main ministry of the church.  According to Jesus, “the least among us are the greatest in God’s Kingdom”.  Jesus commanded us to invite and bring people with disabilities to our social gatherings. People with disabilities should be first in the church and not last. (The Abilities Church)

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My Advice For Satan

Excuses, Reasons, And Lies

I’d Really Like To (Excuses Part 1)

**This article is a re-post from January 12, 2009. I’m re-visiting the archives while my wife and I enjoy a few days of vacation.

Do you think of yourself as a fairly average person?

One interesting aspect of working with young adolescents involves observing their efforts to discover and define their identity. It’s a fascinating, often painful, and frequently humorous developmental challenge for each individual.

One early step in the process involves separating from their parents’ identity. We’ve all endured and watched this effort, and chuckled as we realize the contradictions involved. That’s because the first step in defining their individual identity almost always involves trying to be exactly like everyone else.

Their efforts to become “unique” result in a need to dress, act, and talk just like their friends. Ideally, as the process continues, they eventually move beyond this imitation stage and develop their own mature sense of individuality.

However, I suspect that many of us never escape completely the need to conform. I’m acutely aware of this tendency whenever I focus on my loss of “normal life.”

In this sense, normal means average. I somehow seek to be like everyone else, and any differences cause a perception that I’m weird, strange, or abnormal.

Intellectually, I know better. I recognize the folly of the adolescent search for uniqueness in conformity. I understand that average is a myth, that each person is an individual with unique strengths and weaknesses. I believe that every circumstance contains challenges and blessings.

But when grief and loss wrap icy fingers around my throat and I struggle simply to breathe, despair often overwhelms logic. When a wheelchair dominates my view, I lose sight of all that remains as I focus only on what’s been lost. When illness pervades my world, it’s easy to forget that illness isn’t all there is. It’s easy to feel trapped, isolated, and desperate.

At those times, all I see are my differences from “everyone else” and from “what used to be.” Everyone else is happy, healthy, and secure. I used to be strong and independent.

Everyone else is “normal.” I used to be “normal.” And now I’m abnormal, and I’ll always be abnormal.

Normal life is an illusion, average is a trap, and life never really was as perfect as I recall. When I recognize this painful reality, I escape the prison of normal.

Circumstances change. Each life is unique. Joy and sorrow coexist in all things. I grieve the losses, celebrate the joys, and adjust to situations. Then I can do my best with what remains.

Question: What’s a joy that you’ve overlooked in a search for conformity?

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What really makes you feel satisfied?

I’ve been blessed with some amazing speaking gigs recently. I enjoy speaking to just about any audience that’s willing to listen, but I guess there will always be a soft spot in this old teacher’s heart for kids. Not sure if it’s their enthusiasm or innocent honesty or that I really view them as co-conspirators against an adult world I’ve never fully joined.

I thought I’d share a few photos and comments from a couple of recent events, one with middle school kids and one with some four-to-ten-year old little guys and gals.

This is Dr. Diane Dike, who graciously invited me to join her at Maranatha Christian School in Denver. If you look closely you’ll see her service dog, Gracie, on her lap. Gracie is a nine-pound dog with a ninety-pound attitude who takes great care of Diane. Their story is truly amazing. I encourage you visit Second Chance with Saving Grace to read about how they got together and the incredible work they’re doing to share their message of hope and encouragement.

At Lincoln Middle School in Fort Collins I used this slide to explain the embarrassing feeling that everyone was staring at me because I’m different. Of course it’s an illusion—people don’t really stare at bald guys! (Note the riveted attention of the guy in the background. I’m sure he’s using his phone to take notes.)

I really want to believe these kids couldn’t wait to speak personally to me. However, as with most of my appearances, it’s pretty obvious who’s the true center of attention.

Kids have such incredible empathy. Right after this picture was snapped, a little girl walked up to me with tears streaming down her face. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I asked.

Through her sobs she replied, “I’m so sad you have to be in a wheelchair. Can I hug your dog?”

Sometimes Monte lets people express in ways that might otherwise be impossible.

It’s always interesting to answer questions and find out what kids are thinking. These little ones had a difficult time understanding why a broken neck would cause my hands to have limited use. I get it—I had a hard time understanding that at first.

Kids try hard to identify with the feeling of being limited, but it’s hard for them to imagine. Here I used a slide with a cartoon classroom to help them feel the fear of entering my own room after the injury. Terrifying!

I wasn’t sure the younger kids would understand this slide illustrating the 8000/2000 principle. But after I explained I asked whether God wanted them to pay attention to the 8000 or the 2000 and they shouted, “The 8000.” I hope it made sense to them.

�
This slide shows two kinds of disability. The wheelchair represents my physical injury, paralyzed from the chest down. Then I asked the kids where their attitude lives, and they pointed to heads and hearts. So a bad attitude means you’re paralyzed from the chest up.

Which disability is more limiting? The kids got it.

As I looked at this sea of curious faces, I couldn’t help thinking of Jesus’ words:

“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” [Matthew 19:14]

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Forgiveness isn’t …

Why am I here?

Whenever I talk to a group, I usually begin with some version of that question. Yesterday I visited a group of middle school students. Their answers reinforced my conviction that I always learn more from kids than they learn from me.

Kids are less inhibited than adults, which is mostly a good thing. So when I asked ”Why do you think I’m here?” it didn’t take long for someone to suggest it might be because I’m in a wheelchair. I was pleased that nobody suggested lack of hair as a reason.

I agreed that the wheelchair was at least part of the reason I’d been invited. I told them the story of my injury and the struggle to re-learn the simplest tasks.

We talked about despair and hopelessness. I shared my months of certainty that life no longer had any meaning or purpose.

Then I said, “So maybe the reason I’m here is because I got out of bed this morning.”

They asked how I got past the hopelessness, so I told them about the people in the story of Relentless Grace. I explained that these folks refused to let me drive them away and toss my life in the dumpster.

We talked about the difficulty of helping friends who repay kindness with anger. I asked them to think of someone they knew who might be feeling lost and challenged them to stay with that person even if it was hard.

Then one little guy raised his hand. “So the reason you’re here today is because a bunch of people didn’t quit on you when you were being a jerk.”

I would have hugged him, but middle school boys don’t like being hugged in front of their friends.

As I drove home I pondered the simple power of his observation.

Why am I here today?

– Because I’m in a wheelchair.

– Because I got out of bed this morning.

– Because a bunch of people didn’t quit on me when I was being a jerk.

I’m here today because God loved me and sent His Son for me when I didn’t deserve it.

That’s why we’re all here today.

If you haven’t had the opportunity to complete my little survey about the site, please click on this link. The responses are helping me make some choices sbout future direction. I appreciate the feedback.

What’s the hardest thing you’ve had to do?

Have you ever wished you could gracefully get out of a situation? That’s how I felt when I arrived at my last speaking engagement.

The small church invited me to their men’s group, the sort of experience I usually anticipate and enjoy. I love the opportunity to connect and share in an intimate setting.

But that night I wanted to escape. The elevator was broken; ten imposing steps stood between me and the meeting room.

The man who invited me apologized profusely. He’d contacted me earlier to explain the situation and offer the opportunity to re-schedule. I replied that if they were willing to help me, we’d go ahead as planned.

Now, facing those ten steps, I regretted my false bravado.

I hate being carried; I especially hate being carried in public by strangers. I can’t adequately describe the horrible feeling of helplessness that arises when I’m hauled like a piece of baggage.

People stare—I know they’re only concerned for my welfare, that they don’t mean to be rude. And the guys carrying me—why do they get to be strong and helpful? Why do I have to experience this degrading dependence?

But it was too late now, so I leaned back and allowed four strangers to lift what felt like a useless, lifeless body up those ten steps.

As I tried to calm my heart and prepare for my presentation, I thought about this incident in Jesus’ early ministry.

A few days later, when Jesus again entered Capernaum, the people heard that he had come home. So many gathered that there was no room left, not even outside the door, and he preached the word to them. Some men came, bringing to him a paralytic, carried by four of them. Since they could not get him to Jesus because of the crowd, they made an opening in the roof above Jesus and, after digging through it, lowered the mat the paralyzed man was lying on. [Mark 2:1-4]

I know exactly how that man felt—friends carting him around, creating a spectacle, calling even more attention to his pitiful plight.

What right did this guy and his buddies have to demand access? Why couldn’t he just accept his place on the edges? He was making everyone uncomfortable, interrupting their dinner as well as Jesus’ teaching.

And they destroyed the roof! I can only imagine the disruption, the mess, the mixture of pity and outrage.

So I began by referencing this story, thanking the men who helped me, and joking that at least they didn’t have to create a makeshift skylight in the church ceiling. Everyone chuckled

My prepared remarks went well, and then it was time for discussion and questions.

What’s the hardest thing you’ve had to do?

I could have answered safely, offered an example of some trivial physical accomplishment. But that’s not what he was asking and this gathering wasn’t about being safe. So I answered honestly “The hardest thing I’ve had to do … was to let you carry me up the stairs.”

Men are supposed to be strong, independent, self-sufficient. We stand tall. We don’t watch things happen, we MAKE things happen.

That not how life feels in a wheelchair.

In a wheelchair you ask for help with simple tasks that everyone else takes for granted. The item you need at the grocery store is always just out of reach. The single step into a friend’s house is an insurmountable obstacle.

In a wheelchair you quite literally allow others to wash your feet—along with other, much more personal, acts of service.

In a wheelchair you learn that humble, humility, and humiliating all originate from the same root word.

I’m not thankful for being in a wheelchair, but I can be thankful in a wheelchair. I am not grateful for my injury, but I am grateful for the lessons it’s taught me. One of those lessons is the humility to allow others to help.

In a wheelchair, you get carried by strangers. It’s the hardest thing I’ve had to do.

What’s the hardest thing you’ve had to do?

Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus … [Philippians 2:5(a)]

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What About The Third Line?

If you think you’re too small to have an impact, try going to bed with a mosquito in the room. Anita Roddick

Do you ever wonder if what you do matters?

When you send words into cyberspace every day, it’s an important question. It’s easy to wonder if those words make any difference, if anyone would care if they didn’t show up.

I’m not thinking about numbers and success and making money. You can measure that stuff easily. But does it really change anything?

I’m thinking that we often don’t recognize the significance of our actions. Maybe the most important things we do pass unnoticed.

I wonder if the most significant stuff happens while we’re busy doing what we think is important stuff. Here’s an example.

An Accidental Connection

I regularly follow Chris Brogan’s blog. Chris writes about social media and business, except that he really writes about how to be authentically human in an increasingly impersonal world.

A while back, he was talking about blogs that impact his thinking and he mentioned Jon Swanson’s blog, 300 words a day. He tossed in, as an aside, that even though he’s not a Christian he always reads Jon’s stuff.

Chris was writing about blogs and the right way to publicize and promote and build a community. The specific comment about 300 words and Christianity wasn’t his point at all.

But his throwaway comment made me curious. I checked out 300 words a day and immediately got hooked. I began reading and commenting, and then was honored when Jon asked me to write a guest post on February 12. Pretty cool connection, right?

Then yesterday I received an email. Jon was working on a post about Jesus’ encounter with a paralyzed man in the first part of John 5. He wanted to know if I could give him some insight on this interaction from the paralyzed man’s perspective.

So we exchanged a couple of messages, and I ended up writing another guest post called do you want to get well? that’ll appear today (3/11/10). You can check out my thoughts if you wish, but that’s not my point.

Look at the impact of a single off-the-cuff remark. Chris Brogan doesn’t know me, but he unintentionally created a meaningful, challenging relationship. He’ll make no money from it, and likely never even know it happened. But he enriched my life, helped me grow as a writer, and challenged me to examine my faith at a deeper level.

I suspect it also happens the other way. I wonder how many times I say or do something that discourages someone else. I’m not even aware of the impact, no opportunity to apologize or explain. I didn’t intend this outcome.

Today I’m thinking that everything we do or say has the potential to matter in ways we can’t predict and may never appreciate. While I’m focused on what I think is important, I need to be aware of what might be truly significant to someone.

Have you ever been encouraged, or discouraged, by the unintentional act of another?

A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives. Jackie Robinson

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A Reflection Of God

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I’m Sorry

God has given you one face, and you make yourself another.  Shakespeare 

Are you different?

As a wheelchair user, I’m probably hypersensitive to differences. Even after twenty-two years of rolling around, I still feel uncomfortably conspicuous.

My inability to stand up makes me stand out—or at least that’s how it seems to me.

Distinctions are interesting. They spark debate, generate controversy, and attract attention. Life would be bland and boring without the diversity that makes each of us unique and truly one-of-a-kind.

My specific “difference” certainly creates interest. Most places, I’m the only person with wheels and a goofy-looking dog. I receive plenty of attention. In a world where so many folks feel nearly invisible, I have too much of what those folks desperately crave. So what’s the problem?

I think it’s an abundance of eyes.

But in fact God has arranged the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be. If they were all one part, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, but one body. [1 Corinthians 12:18-20]

I want to be an eye—or a hand or an ear or anything other than what I am.

Thinking in these terms tells me a lot about me. I’m perfectly content to tell others they ought to celebrate differences. It’s easy to ask others to embrace difficult roles. “They” should be grateful for thankless, behind-the-scenes chores. After all, that’s the way God arranged things.

That’s all wonderful … as long as I get the part I want. I like the eyes. I want to be an eye. So do a lot of others.

THE RESULT …

… is an abundance of eyes. Eyes everywhere, along with pride, jealousy, and a false and destructive sense of entitlement.

And since most of us weren’t intended to be eyes, we’re not all that good at it.

Doesn’t matter. I like the eyes. I admire the eyes. The eyes get to do really important stuff. Everyone loves the eyes. If only I were an eye, I’d be happy.

I WANNA BE AN EYE!

And suddenly I’m that kid in the supermarket, throwing a tantrum as though I can embarrass God into giving me what I want. It’s not fair! I know my rights, and I have a right to be an eye!

Sound familiar?

I don’t believe God caused my accident or intended my injury, but that doesn’t really matter. I absolutely believe that God works for good in all circumstances. I believe He’s guiding and leading me to the place I’ll be most useful, where my unique gifts are needed, where I’ll be truly content.

And despite my childish thoughts, I do believe He just might know more than I do. He just might have a better sense of where I fit and what’s really best for me.

I need to remember that I’m not Him. I need to trust Him. I need to seek the discernment to understand the difference between “my rights” and “what’s right.”

I need the courage to do what’s right. I need to waste less energy wishing I could be an eye, and invest that energy where I am.

I need a lot of things. One of the things I don’t need is to be an un-needed eye.

Do you ever struggle with wishing you could play a different part?

it takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.  e.e. cummings

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What’s Your Label?

We cannot all do great things, but we can do small things with great love. Mother Teresa

Are you grateful?

One of the amazing benefits of this work is meeting and connecting with truly remarkable people. Recently I’ve encountered some especially inspirational folks who’ve blessed and enriched my circle. I want to tell you about them, but I’m struggling for an appropriate description.

LABELS

See, I’m not really a fan of labels.

Disabled? I prefer to think that we all have our strengths and weaknesses. Navigating life requires us to leverage the strengths and compensate for the weaknesses.

Normal? I have no idea what that even means. One thought might be that “normal” means operating as the designer intended. In that light, Jesus was the only normal person that’s ever lived. The rest of us are severely flawed.

Special needs? So who are the folks who don’t have special needs? Personally, I’ve never met one.

CIRCLES

I find it more useful to think in terms of circles rather than labels. We’re all part of many circles.

We choose some of them—friends, colleagues, churches—because we share common goals, values, or interests.

Others are sort of by default—family, neighbors, co-workers. In those circles, you don’t have much choice. You take what you get, though I guess you can move, change jobs, or run away from home.

Some circles—well, I’d rather not be a member, but I get no choice. One example would be the circle of people with paralyzing spinal cord injuries. Even though I’ve met a lot of wonderful people and learned a great deal within that circle, I wouldn’t have chosen it.

And then there are people who willingly step into circles that most would never approach.

A REMARKABLE CIRCLE

The folks who’ve captured my attention recently demonstrate love and commitment that inspires and humbles. Perhaps I can best describe this circle by telling you what they are doing.

• They’re parents of children who struggle with life-altering physical, emotional, or mental illness or injury.
• They’re friends who’ve chosen to adopt teenagers scarred by a lifetime of physical and emotional abuse.
• They’re caretakers for adult friends or relatives.
• They’re folks who are selflessly helping and caring for people who need them.

That’s a circle most of us wouldn’t choose to enter, one that many flee at the first opportunity. It’s not a fun circle. Its unique rewards carry a high physical and emotional price tag.

You don’t usually get much attention for choosing that circle. Its members give much more than they get. They serve in difficult and often thankless circumstances.

SURPRISE

What’s most striking about this circle is that it’s not characterized by discouragement and hopelessness. The people I encounter exhibit an improbable sense of passion. In situations that would plunge me into an endless sea of complaint, these folks display a contentment of which I can only dream.

I’m not being Pollyanna. These people experience their share of struggle, weariness, and despair. But despite the challenges, they stick with it. I guess that’s what impresses me most. They must be tempted to give up at times, but they don’t. They stay on the path.

I don’t do that very well. I too frequently seek the easy way, avoiding unpleasant challenges whenever possible.

The people in this amazing circle are the substance of the story of Relentless Grace.

For ten years following my injury, when I was busy being angry and nasty and defiantly unlovable, people kept showing up. They refused to give up on me. No matter how hard I pushed them away, they stuck with it.

To me, these people were Jesus in t-shirts and blue jeans. And that’s how I see all of you in this incredible circle I’m trying to describe.

You’re taking seriously the call to be Jesus in t-shirts and blue jeans for some of those who need Him most. I am truly honored to know you. Thanks for being part of my circle.

Who do you know who’s in this circle or a similar one? How can you thank them today?

I don’t know what your destiny will be, but one thing I do know: the only ones among you who will be really happy are those who have sought and found how to serve. Albert Schweitzer

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First they ignore you, then they ridicule you, then they fight you, then you win. Gandhi

Do you ever look at something really familiar and see something you’ve never seen before?

I admire Gandhi; this is one of my favorite quotes. I get his point, but a closer look causes me to wonder: who’s “they”?

A teacher friend once accepted a non-classroom position as a central office administrator. He used to joke about how he’d instantly become part of “they,” as in “they need to do something about …”

We started calling him The Man From They. We even bought him a t-shirt with THEY printed on the front.

It was a fun little running chuckle that exposed our tendency to draw lines dividing the world into “them” and “us.” Simply by changing offices, my buddy switched sides and became part of an amorphous, undefined they.

DISTINCTIONS

In a sense, I suppose this sort of distinction is inevitable. Any time you form a circle, some folks choose to enter and some don’t. Us is whichever group I’m in, the other is them.

I’m not into being Pollyanna and pretending that divisions and groups are nonexistent or irrelevant. We’re not all one big, happy family. But there are some dangers in viewing people and events strictly through the lens of we and they.

I invite you to think about an important personal circle—religious faith, political affiliation, nationality, ethnicity, disability, cause—and think about how that particular circle influences your perceptions of they.

They are a convenient target. When someone isn’t part of us, it’s easier to discount their rights, discriminate in some fashion, or simply have a bit of innocent fun at their expense. Cruel jokes are a little more acceptable, inadvertent offenses a bit more excusable.

They are often defined by an overly-simplistic label. We are a collection of rational, free-thinking individuals who happen to share common (positive) values and goals. They are robotic ideologues marching with single-minded devotion, dedicated fanatically to irrational (destructive) causes.

They are blind to their leaders’ true purposes. They follow a manipulative, dangerous demagogue, while we listen to reasoned guidance from well-intentioned, visionary leaders.

They are easy to dismiss or dehumanize. You tend to notice folks from your own circle, but you can look right through one of them. At the other extreme, you stare because they are a curiosity.

They are easy to blame. Whatever went wrong, it can’t be our fault. And since they don’t share our values, convictions, and altruistic motives, it’s a small step to making almost anything their fault. They always want more than their fair share. They only care about themselves. They are too easily offended.

They frequently get cast in the role of enemy. They didn’t choose our circle, and we’re only seeking good stuff. With a little prodding, it becomes all too “obvious” that those who don’t choose our circle are a threat. From that perspective it’s too easy to impugn motives and intentions and conclude that they are dangerous.

LIES

I think we become consumed by differences until we’re blinded to commonalities.

One sure way to solidify our circle is to create a common adversary. Controversy and conflict attract attention, sell products, and advance causes.

The most effective, insidious lies often contain a significant element of truth. It’s pretty easy—and tempting—to intertwine lies and truths until they’re practically indistinguishable.

It’s also tempting to focus on the parts you like, especially when they’re repeated again and again in a loud voice.

Sometimes they are an enemy intent on harming us. Something about them is different, or we’d all be in the same circle. Some of them are selfish or mean-spirited. 

The problems happen with a subtle shift from some to all.

Once upon a time a group of students said, “Teacher, it is impossible for you to ever really understand us, for our world is so different.”

The teacher replied, “Once there were two villages which occupied the same land at different times; a Pueblo Indian village and the Los Alamos Atomic Research Village. The people who lived in one village were sometimes hungry and thirsty, strived for power, loved, hated, got tired, and felt others did not understand them. And, of course, it is obvious which village I describe.  Jan Rye Kinghorn

They shoot horses, don’t they? Horace McCoy

Who’s “they” in your circle?

Did you enjoy this article? I encourage you to leave a comment, visit my website, and/or send me an email at rich@richdixon.net.

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