My Ruined Fall Photos

I live on a street where, when the leaves change in the fall, they seem lit from within like they're going up in flames. "You just have to see the one in my backyard," my neighbor says.  I stand with my neighbor and observe this tree.

I take several other pictures of gorgeous autumn leaves so red and purple that you can't even believe it.  But when I upload the photos, a blurry smudge obscures every shot.  Whatever it is, it's actually on the lens. 

You can't take beautiful photos with a dirty lens.  I think about this very simple and obvious lesson:  I want to cleanse my heart and mind so I can observe with clarity the beauty about me.

I ask myself what ruins my outlook, and it's usually that I'm self-focused rather than God-focused. I wipe the lens with the cloth and return to the task. 

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Journal:  What often ruins your focus? 


 






 

 

The Most Selfish Little Girl

I wake up this morning to the sound of my daughters screaming about who gets what toy.  They have little stockpiles of toys in the living room for an imaginary game, and they both want the same doll to add to their pile.

How dare they! They have so much, and instead of being generous, they insist on more, more, more.   I call them into the bedroom for a grand lecture on greed, but as I look into their faces, I realize I am looking into a mirror of my own selfish heart.  How am I different from these girls?

I'm that little girl demanding more. 

I'm overcome with compassion as I realize the depth of the cultural myth--the deeply spiritual myth--we all adopt.  I believe in the poisonous narrative of greed.  I believe that if I had more wealth, more productivity, more time, more anything, I would have the good life.

It's a lie that's killing us.  

"Girls," I insist with tears in my eyes, "I want you to put something to the test.  I want you to practice generosity and see how it feels.  You will never be satisfied with stuff.  Your heart will only be truly happy when you live generously.  Besides, it all belongs to God."

I even read the scriptures aloud where I learn the wisdom of Proverbs 11:  "A generous person will prosper; whoever refreshes others will be refreshed" or the truth of 1 Timothy 6 that we are to put "no hope in wealth" but to "hope in God who richly provides all things for our enjoyment."  The writer continues by saying, "Command them to do good, to be rich in good deeds, and to be generous and willing to share. In this way they will lay up treasure for themselves as a firm foundation for the coming age, so that they may take hold of the life that is truly life."

I want to be rich in good deeds.  I want to have a generous heart that wants to share.  There's a life out there that's "truly life," and I fear that my heart's desire to accumulate more robs me of that true life.

Later in church, the pastor announces his message is on greed (isn't that funny?), and meanwhile, my daughter works the registration table to greet families and give out name tags.   As I watch her serving others, I see that carefree smile--those bright, refreshed eyes--of somebody giving to others. 

The day goes on: toys, food, games, and the stuff of childhood.  All day, I wonder about the path to happiness. 

I ask my daughter when she was happiest today.  She replies, "at the registration table."


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Journal:  Is it true that when I refresh others, I am refreshed myself?

A Way to Stop Fighting

We woke up to screaming.  All week, we've been listening to our daughters work out their conflicts.  Lately, they've been fighting over everything:  Whose turn? Whose portion? Whose toy? 

In church this morning, I asked another mother how she handles sibling fighting.  Her answer surprised me.

She said to teach my children that they aren't special.

Is this mother American?  Has she been in a coma?  Aren't I supposed to be training my children to believe in their absolute specialness?  Aren't I supposed to be telling my little girls how wonderful, how amazing, how special, special, special they are?  Of course they deserve that turn, that portion, that toy.  I've trained them to expect nothing less. 

I think I've been raising narcissists.  Something's gotta change. 

That mom told me to ask one sister if her other sister were any less special than she. 

So I did.  Without that sense of "I'm uniquely special," it was hard to justify who deserved that turn, that portion, that toy.

Who is more special?  Me or you?  

As I'm worshiping God in church this morning, I think about what causes so much distress in my own heart.  So many of my own internal and external conflicts arise out of a sense of entitlement.  I'm so special, God, so don't I deserve this thing?  I'm so special, God, aren't you going to do this wonderful thing in my life?  It's my turn, God.  It's time for my portion. 

The problem isn't that I'm not special.  I am.   The problem is that you are too--just as much--and I don't see it.  If I did, I wouldn't fight for my personal story, my turn, my portion, and my toy.  I'd see you as equally deserving of every opportunity and every bit of joy.

It was a sobering thought for someone like me--a recovering narcissist of sorts.  I looked around the sanctuary at hundreds of folks on their own spiritual journey.  Might I give up my turn, my portion, and my toy for them?  Might I reengage with people, recognizing a profound sense of how special they are?

Selfishness might stem from an exaggerated sense of my own specialness.


Are others special enough (as special as I am?) that I might defer to them, sacrifice for them, and lose my place in line?  Living with flair means admitting (though it's painful!) that I am not more special.  That's one way I can love others better, even when they get the biggest portion and the best toy.