When the World Seems Like a Terrible Place

I recall sitting with a woman a few years ago whose only son had unexpectedly died. I had sat in the same place a couple of years before when her husband had passed away. Of course, the loss of her son was opening the old wound, not yet nearly healed, caused by her husband’s death.

With tear-filled eyes and pursed lips she lamented, “Oh, how terrible life can be! Isn’t this world a terrible place?”

What could I say? On the one hand, I believe that the world can be a wonderful and enchanting place. There are times of fun and joy and happiness. 

On the other hand, and especially for her right then, the world was indeed a terrible place. Family she dearly loved were ripped from her life. She faced the prospect of countless days filled with heartache and endless nights of loneliness. Such grief cannot be dismissed with a quick, “Oh, it will be all right. You’ll be fine.” Or, “Don’t worry, he’s in a better place.” Regardless of whether or not these statements hold any truth, to minimize her feelings of loss at that moment would have done her a great disservice. More than anything, she needed someone to understand her pain and confusion.

“I know, this is really difficult,” I finally said, taking her hand. “I’m sorry.”

She eventually did get through both losses. It was far from easy and took plenty of time, but with help from her friends and hope from her faith she was able put her life back together. She was able to laugh and sing again.

When the world seems like a terrible place, I think it is good to remember a few things. Such as not to blame yourself for something that may not be your fault. The death of a family member is a good example. “If only I had seen what was going on.” “If only I had been there.” “If only I had encouraged him more to go see a doctor or a counselor.” If onlys assume you have power in somebody’s life that you simply don’t have. There are some things which are beyond your control. 

And don’t beat yourself up because you think you ought to feel better. You’ll heal in your own time and there’s no sense in “feeling bad about feeling bad.”

It also helps to remember that  you will get through this thing, even if you don’t think so at the time. One widowed woman remarked to me six months after her spouse’s death, “I used to have more bad days than good days. Now I have more good days.” She added that she believed she would never get over her loss, but she said, “I know I can get through it.”

And remember that you are not isolated. There may be nothing more helpful than reaching out to others when you hurt. It is also important to draw on your spiritual resources. In very many ways, you are not alone.

Pain and suffering, from time to time, will inevitably take up residence in your life as unwelcome guests. You can’t ignore their presence. They’ll break stuff and mess everything up and, when they finally leave, you will have to put it all back together the best you can. But leave a space for joy to move back in. Joy may have left, but it’s not far away.

And when it moves back in, your world will be a much better place.

-- Steve Goodier

Image:flickr.com/Joe Penna

Have You Lost the Dead Part Yet?

I am discovering that many people want, above all else, to live life fully. Or at least to get more out of life. But sometimes the past gets in the way. Unhealed hurts and unnecessary guilt too often suck the life out of people.

Here is a great visual. A schoolteacher tells about when he entered his room a few minutes early and noticed a mealworm laboriously crawling along the floor. It had somehow been injured. The back part of the worm was dead and dried up, but still attached to the front, living part by just a thin thread.

As the teacher studied the strange sight of a poor worm pulling its dead half across the floor, a little girl ran in and noticed it there. Picking it up, she said, “Oh, Oscar, when are you going to lose that dead part so you can really live?”

She could be asking that question to any of us. For you, too, may be dragging around something that you should have left behind long ago. Maybe anger over a past incident. Or some long-ago hurt of betrayal. Maybe you’re dragging around feelings of guilt brought about by poor decisions you’ve lived with for so long you hardly know how to feel without them. 

What an important question for each of us - when are you going to lose that dead part so you can really live? When are you going to let the past BE the past? All the memories of the past that steal your peace today should not be allowed in the present. If you’ve been dragging around something that is dead, it’s time to choose life.  

Let the child's question be your question: “When are you going to lose the dead part so you can really live?” Answering that question today may be the most important thing you have done in a long time.


-- Steve Goodier

Look Upon Them As Wounded

After vaccinating a young boy with an injection in the arm, a doctor wanted to stick on a bandage. “Please put it on the other arm,” the boy pleaded.

“Why do that?” the doctor asked. “This will let everyone know you have been vaccinated and they won’t hit your sore arm.”

“Please put it on my other arm! Please!” the boy begged. “You don’t know the kids at my school.”

But the boy did. And wasn’t about to let them at his arm.

Adults, too, are pretty good at hiding pain. Not usually physical pain, but the kind of pain that’s harder to see. They like to appear as if they are in control; they can handle whatever life throws them; they’re on top of it. And, too often, they end up going it alone. No one understands. No one is there to help.

Susan Muto, in her book Blessings That Make Us Be, tells a story of a great ruler who needed a second-in-command to help manage his kingdom. When he finally selected the right person, he took him outside onto a balcony of the palace where they could gaze over all the lands under his jurisdiction. His assistant asked the king, “Master, what must I remember most of all if I am to carry out your wishes?”

“My son,” the king replied, “there is only one directive to follow − and that is to look upon the people as wounded.”

The wise king knew that everyone is in pain in some way. Wounds may not show, but they are there. 

Discover where people hurt and you can reach them. Learn where the invisible bandages are and you’ll know how to help them. How to heal them. 

Look upon them as wounded − and you’ll know what to do.

-- Steve Goodier

Image: flickr.com/Andrey Zhukov

Grow Antennae

A story, which may appropriately belong to the files of “urban legends,” tells about a Philadelphia legal firm that sent flowers to an associate in Baltimore upon the opening of its new offices. Through some mix-up, the ribbon that bedecked the floral piece read, “Deepest Sympathy.”

When the florist was informed of her mistake, she let out a cry of alarm. “Good grief! Then the flowers that went to the funeral said, “Congratulations on Your New Location”!

It is difficult enough to offer comfort without mixing up the sentiment. So difficult, in fact, that many people simply don’t know what to say to someone who has just unburdened grief or emotional pain. Not unlike the new clergyman who, when a distressed young woman confided that she was pregnant, blurted out, “Are you sure it’s yours?”

Too often, we want to help, but find that our attempts to offer comfort, solace or hope fall short of the mark. But there is something we CAN say to those who hurt that can be helpful and comforting.

One man, whose grandson died accidentally, found genuine comfort when he shared his pain with friends shortly after the tragedy. Of all the well-meaning words of support, two statements helped to sustain and comfort him through the grief more than the rest. They were: “Thank you for sharing your pain,” and “I grieve with you.” After hearing those words, he no longer felt alone in his suffering. He felt as if his friends embraced his grief. He felt better.

“Thank you for sharing your pain” is an honest acknowledgment of another’s suffering. It also expresses an appreciation for the effort it takes a wounded soul to open her emotional wounds to others.

“I grieve with you” is an expression of empathy. It is a way of saying that I am willing to share some of your pain, even for a time.

We can’t fix it. We shouldn't try to offer advice. And we may never know how someone feels who is hurting in a way we have never experienced. But we can give some comfort.

I think James Angell, former president of the University of Michigan, got it right when he was asked the secret of his success. “The secret of success?” he replied. “Grow antennae, not horns.”

-- Steve Goodier

Image by Phil Hilfiker

The Rocking Chair Test

How are you at making decisions?

Years ago, a city family bought an American cattle ranch and moved to the wide-open country. After a month, friends visited the family in their ranch house. “What did you decide to name your ranch?” they inquired.

“Well,” the husband replied, “I wanted to call it the Flying W and my wife wanted to name it the Suzy Q, but one of our sons liked the Bar J and the other preferred the Lazy Y. So we compromised and call it the Flying W/Suzy Q/Bar J/Lazy Y.”

“I see,” said the visitor. “And where are your cattle?”

“None of them survived the branding,” said the rancher.

Frightening things happen when we can't make a decision. And I don't always make good decisions myself. That's especially true when I act on impulse. I will snatch something off the shelf of a store that I really don't want. Or I don't take the time to research an item I need before purchasing one I just happen to like. I will eat something from the fridge when I'm more bored than hungry and regret the calories later. You get what I mean. I don't always use my head. I can be like a “$40 million dollar airport with a $20 control tower,” as they say.

Impulsive behavior aside, sometimes even thoughtful decision-making is still not easy. No clear choice is evident. We may want black and white but see only fifty shades of gray and no option looks all that good. "I've made up my mind, but I made it up both ways," baseball great Casey Stengel famously quipped.

What do you do when you're decidedly undecided? Or when you're struggling with a decision and you've made your mind up both ways?

When I'm stuck, I sometimes step back and take the Rocking Chair Test. It can get me through the impasse to a point where I'm making better decisions. This is how it works.

Imagine yourself near the end of your life. You are relaxing in a rocking chair reflecting on the decision you presently want to make. As the older, wiser you thinks about the outcome of your choice, ask yourself three simple questions.

1. Did it cause harm?
2. Did it bring about good?
3. How did it shape the person I became?

The Rocking Chair Test helps you to take a long view of your options. After imagining your answers to those questions, you should know better which way to go.

Try asking yourself those three questions. You may be amazed at how quickly you make better decisions.

And the cattle will appreciate your decisiveness.

– Steve Goodier

My Favorite Computer Key

Image courtesy of Alvimann

Do you know what my favorite key is on my computer? It's the DELETE key. All kinds of problems go away when I press DELETE. I use it all the time. Junk e-mail? DELETE. Misspellings? DELETE. Unwieldy sentences and confusing paragraphs? DELETE. DELETE. I sometimes wish my life had a DELETE key. One click on the key and I wipe out a mistake. Maybe another click and I could start the day all over again.

And being one who blunders in grand fashion, I have empathy for others who wish they could go back and start over. Like the couple that phoned a neighbor to extend birthday greetings. As the phone was answered they belted out the song "Happy Birthday."  But when they finished their off-key rendition, they were informed that they had dialed the wrong number. After listening to their embarrassed apologies, the recipient said, "Don't let it bother you. You folks need all the practice you can get."

According to Tara Kelly Walworth (Reader's Digest), she and her new husband had an afternoon they may have wanted to take back. They arrived exhausted at their honeymoon destination in Daytona Beach, Florida (USA) and decided to refresh themselves in the motel pool. She figured she'd lost a few pounds leading up to the wedding when she discovered her skimpy, new bikini fit too loosely. Every time she dived into the pool she seemed to lose either the top or bottom. But since they had the pool to themselves, they just laughed and retrieved the pieces.

They later dressed for dinner and decided to eat in the motel restaurant. Waiting for a table in the lounge, they noticed a huge, empty, glistening fish tank above the bar. "Why is such a beautiful fish tank empty?" her husband asked the bartender.

The man grinned broadly and said, "That's not a fish tank. It's the swimming pool."

I think it was New York City Mayor Fiorello Laguardia who once said, “I rarely make a mistake. But when I do, it's a beaut!”
   
Have you ever wanted to take back an embarrassing moment? Or more importantly, how often have you regretted a hasty decision that ended with disastrous consequences?  Or an unfair and angry outburst that caused unnecessary hurt? Some of my worst mistakes were not the embarrassing moments (later on they make the best stories), but pain I caused other people and poor decisions that did damage I could never repair. 

The problem is, some mistakes really can't be corrected. Some hurts just can't be undone. As they say, it's like trying to put toothpaste back in the tube. Sometimes the best we can do is to make amends. And no DELETE key can erase the past so we can do it over – do it better.

The past is what it is – past. And that, too, is good to remember. It is past. Over. Finished. There is no taking it back, yet no purpose is served in reliving and rehashing old memories. It is gone. My best self says to me, “Let it be a teacher.” So I try to learn from its harsh lessons as well as its joys. Then (and this is important), my best self adds, “Now just leave it. Leave it where it belongs – in the past.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson put it this way: “Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day.”

Yes, tomorrow is a new day. Full of hope and promise and new beginnings. And that is something I might forget if life had a DELETE key.

-- Steve Goodier

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Celebrating My Scars

Image courtesy of andyk

Po Bronson, in his book Why Do I Love These People? (Random House, 2005), tells a true story about a scarred and stately elm tree. The tree was planted in the first half of the 20th Century on a farm near Beulah, Michigan (USA). It grew to be magnificent. Today the elm spans some 60 feet across its lush, green crown. Its trunk measures about 12 feet in circumference. And a vivid scar encircles the tree.

In the 1950s the family that owned the farm kept a bull chained to the elm. The bull paced round and round the tree. The heavy iron chain scraped a trench in the bark about three feet off the ground. The trench deepened over the years threatening to kill the tree. But though damaged so severely, the tree strangely did not die.

After some years the family sold the farm and took their bull. They cut the chain, leaving the loop embedded in the trunk and one link hanging down. The elm continued to grow and bark slowly covered parts of the rusting chain that strangled it. The deep gash around the trunk became an ugly scar.

Then one year agricultural catastrophe struck Michigan -- in the form of Dutch Elm Disease. A path of death spread across vast areas of countryside. Most elm trees in the vicinity of the farm became infected and died. But that one noble elm remained untouched.

Amazingly, it had survived two hardships. It was not killed by the bull's chain years earlier, and this time it out-lasted the deadly fungus. Year after year it thrived. Nobody could understand why it was still standing in a vast area where most every other elm tree was gone.

Plant pathologists from Michigan State University came out to study the tree. They looked closely at the chain necklace buried deep in the scar. These experts reported that the chain itself actually saved the elm's life. They reasoned that the tree absorbed so much iron from the chain left to rust around its trunk that it became immune to the fungus. What certainly could have killed the tree actually made it stronger and more resilient.

As Ernest Hemingway said, “The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places.” The same chain that severely wounded the tree saved its life in the end.

The story of this tree reminds me that the very things that have hurt me, physically as well as emotionally, have also helped me more than I may ever know. Many of them left scars – some of the scars are visible and some not. But these days I am learning to accept my scars – even to celebrate them.

Why not? My scars remind me that I did indeed survive my deepest wounds. That in itself is an accomplishment. And they bring to mind something else, too. They remind me that the damage life has inflicted on me has, in many places, left me stronger and more resilient. What hurt me in the past has actually made me better equipped to face the present.

Yes, I have scars. I have decided to look on them as things of beauty. And I will celebrate them.

-- Steve Goodier

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The Best Revenge

When you've been wronged, what do you do with your anger? Do you resist the urge to get even? 

One person jokingly says she never goes to bed angry. Instead, she stays awake and plots her revenge.

As one story goes, a group of occupational soldiers hired a local boy to run errands for them. The soldiers liked to relieve stress by playing practical jokes on the young boy. They would hide his belongings, put gum in his shoes, or send him on silly errands.

The boy handled the joking quite well. He never seemed upset by it. After a while, the soldiers decided that they had bothered the child enough. They approached him to apologize and to tell him that they would no longer play any jokes on him.

The boy replied in stilted English, “You stop making joke on me, I stop spitting in your soup.”

He had his revenge. But for most of us, revenge turns out to be more bitter than sweet. Unsatisfying at best. It “has no more quenching effect on emotions than salt water has on thirst,” one writer says. And it’s true. The desire to inflict hurt and pain remains long after one has given in to the urge to get even. Bitter emotions are more often quenched by love and understanding than by fighting back.

Over 400 years ago, the English poet George Herbert said, “Living well is the best revenge.” Good advice – especially when tempted to get even.

-- Steve Goodier

Image: flickr.com/SamahR