An unusual tribute was paid to Abraham Lincoln by Carl Sandburg. The poet wrote, "Not often in the story of mankind does a man arrive on earth who is both steel and velvet, who is as hard as rock and soft as drifting fog, who holds in his heart and mind the paradox of terrible storm and peace unspeakable and perfect."
Lincoln demonstrated then and now how a person can possess both a will of iron and a heart of tenderness. Nothing deterred the president during the American Civil War from his "noble" cause, and few persons have ever endured more criticism and detractors than Lincoln. Yet he was no more a man of steel than one of velvet.
When General Robert E. Lee surrendered his army, contrary to the advice of some of his generals, Lincoln sent an unexpected message to the enemy commander. "Tell your men they may keep their horses; they'll need them for plowing," said the president. Then this: "Tell your men they may keep their rifles; they'll need them for hunting." When Lee read those words he wept.
For each of us there is a time for toughness and a time for tenderness. A time for resolve and a time for compassion. An iron will is not the same as an iron spirit. Another courageous American, Martin Luther King, Jr. some hundred years later encouraged us to exhibit tough minds and soft hearts... not the other way around.
I know that mental toughness, particularly an iron resolve and determination, will often be needed if I am to get where I want to go. But I also know that a soft heart – compassion and love – will make the journey worth it.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Never Too Late
Katharine Hepburn once said, "Life is hard. After all, it kills you." And it can kill you early if you don't figure out how to change. Let me explain.
The expression “turning over a new leaf” refers to turning pages of a book. Just as the plot of a novel changes from page to page, people, too, can change their lives. Indeed they have to if they are to live well.
I enjoy reading about ancient cultures. And it occurs to me that most of the old civilizations are gone. Some have left little behind except ruins and rubble. What happened? Where are the people, their music and ideas? Why are they nothing more today than a collection of stones visited by tourists and curious historians?
The answer, of course, is not the same the world over. But Arnold Toynbee, in his work The Study of History (1987), says that the great lesson of history is this: civilizations that changed when confronted with challenges thrived. Those that did not change died. In other words, when life got hard, it killed off those who didn't make needed changes. The key to survival is often about “change.”
And what about us? What about you and me? It’s good to accept ourselves as we are, but when an unhealthy attitude or a destructive behavior gets in the way, when we wish we could change something about ourselves, we had better change. People who embrace change thrive; those who resist it die.
If you have been waiting for a sign to make that needed change, this may be it. I am convinced that it is never too late to be the person you might have been. It's never too late to be happy. It's never too late to do something different or to do something better. It's never too late to change a habit. It's never too late to live.
Begin making that necessary change today. Then tomorrow, and every tomorrow thereafter, can truly be different.
The expression “turning over a new leaf” refers to turning pages of a book. Just as the plot of a novel changes from page to page, people, too, can change their lives. Indeed they have to if they are to live well.
I enjoy reading about ancient cultures. And it occurs to me that most of the old civilizations are gone. Some have left little behind except ruins and rubble. What happened? Where are the people, their music and ideas? Why are they nothing more today than a collection of stones visited by tourists and curious historians?
The answer, of course, is not the same the world over. But Arnold Toynbee, in his work The Study of History (1987), says that the great lesson of history is this: civilizations that changed when confronted with challenges thrived. Those that did not change died. In other words, when life got hard, it killed off those who didn't make needed changes. The key to survival is often about “change.”
And what about us? What about you and me? It’s good to accept ourselves as we are, but when an unhealthy attitude or a destructive behavior gets in the way, when we wish we could change something about ourselves, we had better change. People who embrace change thrive; those who resist it die.
If you have been waiting for a sign to make that needed change, this may be it. I am convinced that it is never too late to be the person you might have been. It's never too late to be happy. It's never too late to do something different or to do something better. It's never too late to change a habit. It's never too late to live.
Begin making that necessary change today. Then tomorrow, and every tomorrow thereafter, can truly be different.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
The Gift
A story about an old Bendix washing machine helped one man get through the valley of loss. *
His parents acquired the washer when John Claypool was a small boy. It happened during World War II. His family owned no washing machine and, since gasoline was rationed, they could ill afford trips to the laundry several miles away. Keeping clothes clean became a problem for young John's household.
A family friend was drafted into the service, and his wife prepared to go with him. John's family offered to store their furniture while they were away. To the family's surprise, the friends suggested they use their Bendix while they were gone. "It would be better for it to be running," they said, "than sitting up rusting." So this is how they acquired the washer.
Young John helped with the washing, and across the years he developed an affection for the old, green Bendix. But eventually the war ended. Their friends returned. In the meantime he had forgotten how the machine came to be in their basement in the first place. When the friends came to take it away, John grew terribly upset -- and let his feelings be known.
His wise mother sat him down and said, "Wait a minute, Son. You must remember, that machine never belonged to us in the first place. That we ever got to use it at all was a gift. So, instead of being mad at it being taken away, let's use this occasion to be grateful that we had it at all."
The lesson proved invaluable. Years later, John watched his eight-year-old daughter die a slow and painful death of leukemia. Though he struggled for months with her death, John could not really begin healing from the loss until he remembered the old Bendix.
"I am here to testify," he said, "that this is the only way down the mountain of loss...when I remember that Laura Lou was a gift, pure and simple, something I neither earned nor deserved nor had a right to. And when I remember that the appropriate response to a gift, even when it is taken away, is gratitude, then I am better able to try and thank God that I was ever given her in the
first place."
His daughter was given to him to love and nurture. She never belonged to him, but he had the awesome privilege of sharing her life for a while. When he realized that simple fact, everything changed. He could now begin healing from the tragedy of her loss by focusing instead on the wonder of her life. He started to see Laura Lou as a marvelous gift that he was fortunate enough to enjoy for a time. He felt grateful. He found strength and healing. He finally knew he could get through the valley of loss.
We all experience loss -- loss of people, loss of jobs, loss of relationships, loss of independence, loss of esteem, loss of things. What if you view that which is lost as a gift you were given for a time? Perhaps that simple choice of trying to reframe your loss will change sad memories into thankful ones. And perhaps it will get you unstuck and back on the road to healing and wholeness.
* Story from TRACKS OF A FELLOW STRUGGLER, by John Claypool (Insight Press Inc., 1995).
His parents acquired the washer when John Claypool was a small boy. It happened during World War II. His family owned no washing machine and, since gasoline was rationed, they could ill afford trips to the laundry several miles away. Keeping clothes clean became a problem for young John's household.
A family friend was drafted into the service, and his wife prepared to go with him. John's family offered to store their furniture while they were away. To the family's surprise, the friends suggested they use their Bendix while they were gone. "It would be better for it to be running," they said, "than sitting up rusting." So this is how they acquired the washer.
Young John helped with the washing, and across the years he developed an affection for the old, green Bendix. But eventually the war ended. Their friends returned. In the meantime he had forgotten how the machine came to be in their basement in the first place. When the friends came to take it away, John grew terribly upset -- and let his feelings be known.
His wise mother sat him down and said, "Wait a minute, Son. You must remember, that machine never belonged to us in the first place. That we ever got to use it at all was a gift. So, instead of being mad at it being taken away, let's use this occasion to be grateful that we had it at all."
The lesson proved invaluable. Years later, John watched his eight-year-old daughter die a slow and painful death of leukemia. Though he struggled for months with her death, John could not really begin healing from the loss until he remembered the old Bendix.
"I am here to testify," he said, "that this is the only way down the mountain of loss...when I remember that Laura Lou was a gift, pure and simple, something I neither earned nor deserved nor had a right to. And when I remember that the appropriate response to a gift, even when it is taken away, is gratitude, then I am better able to try and thank God that I was ever given her in the
first place."
His daughter was given to him to love and nurture. She never belonged to him, but he had the awesome privilege of sharing her life for a while. When he realized that simple fact, everything changed. He could now begin healing from the tragedy of her loss by focusing instead on the wonder of her life. He started to see Laura Lou as a marvelous gift that he was fortunate enough to enjoy for a time. He felt grateful. He found strength and healing. He finally knew he could get through the valley of loss.
We all experience loss -- loss of people, loss of jobs, loss of relationships, loss of independence, loss of esteem, loss of things. What if you view that which is lost as a gift you were given for a time? Perhaps that simple choice of trying to reframe your loss will change sad memories into thankful ones. And perhaps it will get you unstuck and back on the road to healing and wholeness.
* Story from TRACKS OF A FELLOW STRUGGLER, by John Claypool (Insight Press Inc., 1995).
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