Month: June 2014

The One We’re Looking For

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

It happens every week or so.  A customer asks to look at an item and we’re sold out.

Sold out?  There was one there yesterday.

There were six there last week.

I have to admit it is one of the tasks I dislike the most.  Stock orders.  Inventory must be checked.  Catalogs must be searched–perhaps online, perhaps in a print version.  Either way, when that is done, the order must be communicated with the supplier by whichever method works the best.

Every time I complete a stock order, I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Well, that’s over!”

It’s not.

In a couple of days, the boxes arrive.  Items must be unpacked.  Invoices must be verified.  Prices must be attached to each item.  The merchandise must be placed on display.

“Well, that’s over.”

It’s not.

In another day or three, a customer asks to look at an item and we’re sold out.

How is this possible?  We achieved our goal.  We placed the order.  We even processed the incoming merchandise.  We’re done, right?

I wonder if I’m missing something.  Perhaps the goal wasn’t just to complete the order.  Perhaps the goal wasn’t even just to get it on the shelf.  I have a sneaking suspicion the goal isn’t even just to have customers come get what they need.

Am I missing something?
__________

Perhaps a shift in scope might help.

Hey!

That’s exactly what we need here!

A shift in scope.

Scope is the extent of the area we are viewing in any particular subject matter.  I just need to see a bigger picture.  Instead of seeing each activity in my business as disconnected, I have to know they are all connected.  All of them–every single one–lead to a bigger goal, a larger thing to be accomplished.

I wonder if you’re ready for me to really stretch the parameters of the view with this next statement.

It has to be said.

There is nothing that you or I will do today which will achieve the ultimate goal for which we are striving.

Not one thing.

We have to widen our scope.
__________

The Lovely Lady and I were relaxing after our individual evening exercise sessions.  We had the television set tuned into some banal comedy.  An ad for one of those online universities came on and I listened with astonishment as a college student made an absurd statement.

“The most important thing I’ll ever do in my life is walk across that stage.”   She made the statement emphatically and proudly.

She was wrong.

Can I make an admission that may surprise many of my readers?

I did not go to college.  There.  I’ve said it.

I don’t say it with pride or with chagrin.  It is simply a fact.  I’ve thought about going to college many times, but have opted not to do so.  Why?

Walking across a stage and getting a diploma is not the most important thing I could do.  If it would enable me to achieve my life goals–if getting that diploma would put me any closer to doing what I’ve been placed here to do–I would do whatever it took to get that diploma.

Not to have a diploma to hang on the wall.

Not to brag to anyone that I have a degree.

Not to pat myself on the back and say that I did it.

The only reason in the world to get that diploma is to use it to move closer to the ultimate aim in life.  Don’t get me wrong.  I am not putting down a college education.  I would never suggest to a young person that they not get as much instruction as they need to move forward.  But, if the degree doesn’t help with that, doesn’t in some sense propel them toward their goals, it is useless and a waste of time.
__________

It’s time for me to move on.  I’m attempting to break the news to you gently, but I’ve got to get to it or we’ll be here all day.

Here’s the truth about these minor, picayune subjects we’re wrestling with tonight, and in fact, which we wrestle with every day.

We’re thinking too small if any of our goals–any of them–don’t lead directly to another, bigger goal, which leads to another, bigger goal, which in turn…

Well, you get the picture.

Too often in life, we make the mistake of thinking the next step is the one we’re looking for.

I can’t count the times when friends have said, “One more class session and then I’ll be done forever,” as if that is the end of that.

It’s not.

Which, incidentally, is the way life is supposed to be.  One step at a time, we put one foot in front of the other.  We walk through childhood on the way to maturity.  We walk through school on the way to a vocation, or ministry.  We walk through a lifetime of labor which leads to more labor, which leads to more labor.  We retire from one aspect of life, the work, to move on to another, the nurturing and caring for each other in our old age.

But, at no time, do we get to say, “I’m done forever.”

I remember putting the ceiling and walls up in the den of our house a few years ago.  It was a struggle to deal with those twelve by four foot pieces of sheet rock.  The heavy sections of drywall were bulky and awkward.  It was all the two of us could handle, and then some.  We had covered the ceiling, and then gone around all four walls, holding the sheet rock with one hand and a power driver in the other.  The job was exhausting.

Then, as we went to the stack one more time, my brother-in-law, who was the brains of the outfit said triumphantly, “Here’s the one we’ve been looking for all along!”

I had heard the gag before, but went along just to hear the words.  “What do you mean, the one we’ve been looking for?”

He said the words, more with relief than pride.  “The last one.  We’re done.”

Funny thing.  He was wrong.  We still had to tape the corners and edges.  We still had to put mortar or mud in them.  We had to sand them and then mud them again.  We had to do that several times to the ceiling, since it would be so readily visible.  The walls and ceiling both had to be primed and painted, and then painted again.

Then, the job of construction done, the real work began.  We use the room constantly.  It hosts family, and friends.  It is the playroom for our grandchildren and sometimes, their little friends.  It has to be cleaned and kept up.  Pictures are hung and moved.  Light fixtures have been attached (and removed).

We’re not done with the room.  We never will be.

We never intended to be.  There was always a larger scope than just hanging sheet rock.
__________

From the day of our birth, until the day we die, we are taught, and we work, and we love, and we teach.  The cycle goes on and on, not ending with us, but continuing with our children and those we influence in this life.

Generation after generation, we never find the one we are looking for, the last one.

There is no such thing as the last thing to be done.

Until one day, when our life here is completed.

I have a theory about what happens after we die too, but you may not wish to hear it.

Perhaps, just the widening of the scope for this life has been enough for one session.

Funny, we say that folks enter into their rest when they die.  Maybe that’s right.

But, I’m still not sure that God is going to let us waste all the time we’ve prepared for walking across that particular stage.  There may still be more.

One day, I’ll find out.

Until then, there is certainly more to be done here.

Time to get moving again.

“The master said, ‘Well done, my good and faithful servant.  You have been faithful in handling this small amount, so now I will give you many more responsibilities.  Let’s celebrate together!'”
(Matthew 25:23 ~ NLT)

“Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp,
Or what’s a heaven for?”
(Men and Women and Other Poems ~ by Robert Browning ~ English poet ~ 1812-1889)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2014. All Rights Reserved. 

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Still In The Struggle

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Beautiful, isn’t it?

Whether you’re an art lover or not, the scene evokes emotions–sometimes peaceful, often of awe, and at times, even of wonder.  The artist, clearly a master at his craft, has captured the reflected light on the surface of the water, as well as the powerful motion of the breaking waves; in fact, every detail lends itself to an unassailable sense of the grandeur of the sea.

The beautiful oil painting resides in our den near the fireplace.  Seldom do I enter the room without at least a glance of appreciation.  Often, I turn on the little track lights that wash it from above with an ambient light which magnifies the effect of the cloud-covered sun as it lowers to the far horizon. Then, backing away from the wall upon which it hangs, I simply stand and take in the view, reveling in the glory that is creation and thanking the One who placed us here in His world.

Once in awhile, though–only once in awhile–as I stand there, I find myself considering the ugliness of the human heart while I also contemplate the amazing beauty which emanates from the same heart.  It seems a strange thing to do, does it not, to think about ugly things while looking at great beauty?

Perhaps, you’ll let me tell you a story.  No, it’s not the made up kind of story; it’s completely true, as far as I can tell.  I warn you though; it is not a happy tale.
__________

Our hero or villain–whichever–enters the story in about 1918, toward the end of World War I.  The Count had made his way by rail from Des Moines, Iowa down to Kansas City, Missouri, but found himself short of funds to get home again.  Stranded and without cash, he worked his way north to the little town of Excelsior Springs, a locale that suited his personality and lifestyle just perfectly.

In his late twenties, he was a sophisticated and debonair artist, lately emigrated from Hungary, and the young ladies in this tourist town of healing springs nearly fell at his feet.

Their fathers?  Not so much.

The artist boasted of his expertise and training at the finest art schools in Paris and Italy, and the little projects he turned out for the locals gave testimony of considerable talent.

When it became clear that the teenage daughter of the local banker had been seeing entirely too much of the arrogant young dandy, the wealthy man fabricated a plan.  Knowing that the Count desired to go home, he made a deal with him.

The bank would pay him twelve-hundred dollars to paint two large murals in their building downtown.  In return, he promised to leave town and go home.  The artist honored his word, finishing the stunning murals and boarding the next train north, leaving a tearful banker’s daughter behind, along with a number of other disappointed young ladies.

For twenty years, the Count lived in different places, always wandering, always leaving behind his conquests, the young ladies, whom he had wooed and won with his foreign accent and his cocky self-confidence.  And, he kept finding his way back to his home in Iowa with money earned from paintings which he was able to sell to well-to-do folks along the way.  He never stuck to any position, and never showed a bit of remorse about the lives he left ruined behind him.

Do you get the idea that this man was not a model of moral purity and goodness?

It got worse.

In the late 1930s, he finally found one young lady, half his age, with whom he decided he could tie the knot.  Her parents, disliking him intensely, demanded that she break off the relationship.  Instead, she and the Count eloped and escaped south to Texas.

Four years later, she was dead.  She could stand neither her marriage to him, nor her life, so she ended both by hanging herself.

The police report said that she was still alive when her husband found her, but he didn’t take her down, instead going to the neighbors to ask for help.  When they got there, the only thing they could do was to assist in taking down her lifeless body. Her family came and took the body back to Iowa, refusing to allow the Count to attend her funeral (he had no money with which to travel anyway).

Three months later, the Count, traveling under an assumed name, made his way, in the twilight of evening, to the cemetery where his wife was buried.  Standing over her grave, he took a bottle of poison from his pocket and putting it to his mouth, swallowed the entire contents. He was dead when they found him in the morning.
__________

There are some who would call this a romantic tale.  Today, they might even make a movie about his life.  But, from this distant perspective, one can only assume that he was riddled with the guilt of his past and couldn’t face the darkness of continuing life like that.

Romantic?  Hardly.

So, I stand sometimes and gaze at the amazing painting on my wall, completed by the Count himself in 1926, and I consider the dichotomy.

Evil lives in the heart of man.

Great beauty dwells there also.

Both make their way out, without fail, into the light of day.

I’m reminded of that old story, oft repeated, about the old Native American man who was talking to the young braves in his tribe, encouraging them to exercise self-discipline in their own lives.  He told about two dogs that were always fighting inside of him, one evil and one good.

One of the young men asked the question that was on each brave’s mind.  “Which one will win, old man?”

The wise old man sat silent for a moment before answering, as if recalling a lifetime of the inner battle.  When he spoke, it was almost as if he spoke to himself.  “The one which I feed; that one will win.”

There is more to be said–much more.  Words about grace, and new life, and beauty from ashes.  I could write for hours on this subject and not even begin to deplete the store of wisdom.

I’ll pass.

You certainly don’t need another sermon from the likes of me.

Those two dogs live inside of me, too.

“A religious life is a struggle, and not a hymn.”
(Madame De Stael ~ French author ~ 1766-1817)

“Therefore, do not let sin reign in your mortal body so that you obey its desires.”
(Romans 6:12 ~ NET Bible)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2014. All Rights Reserved.