perseverance

The Story of My Life

~ Paul Phillips ~ 2 Comments

There’s not enough!  The story of my life.

blanket-1245171_640The red-headed lady who raised me was disgusted.  A new baby was due soon to a young couple in our church and she was on a deadline to finish the little crocheted blanket.

The baby shower had come and gone without a gift to offer, but she remained confident the project would be completed before the little tyke’s arrival.

Stymied!

Just inches short of the intended size, she had run out of the variegated yarn she loved to use on such projects.  There was no way she had time to order more.  Alas, the child might actually come into this world without the blanket.  From her perspective, it would be a disaster.

“The story of my life!”  She repeated the plaintive phrase.

She threw up her hands in disgust and, sticking the crochet needle through the loosely-knit material, tossed the blanket into the wicker basket beside her chair.

She was done, it seemed.

Giving up.

Ah!  But we knew better.  It was only a matter of time.

She sat, moping, in the easy chair.

Any time now…

There it was.

The index finger on her right hand went to her mouth.  She tapped her lips, muttering.

“I wonder. . .”

The change was abrupt when it came.  Her left hand plunged into the basket and pulled the good-for-nothing blanket back onto her lap.  She began to yank on the single tendril of yarn hanging out of the edge at the place she had ceased her labor only moments before.

Like a mad-woman, she worked—ripping out the stitches she had put in laboriously in the hours preceding.  We wondered if she had gone mad.  The thought didn’t last long.

She soon stopped and examined the blanket to see where she was.  Then, more slowly than at first, she continued to pull at the yarn.  There was a sizable pile at her feet when she finally stopped.

Talking to herself, she said,  “That should do it.  I hope this works.”

Grabbing a full skein of contrasting colored yarn from the shelf beside her, she began to work once more.  The stitch pattern was different than the main body of the blanket, but she was no longer making the blanket.  This was a border.  Before it was done, it would be two inches wide around all four sides of the little blanket.

A two-inch border of ingenuity and flexibility.

The finished blanket was beautiful—a perfect wrapping for the tiny baby who would arrive that week.  And, every time she saw the baby in its carrier, swaddled in the little blanket, the red-headed lady would stop and admire him.

I wonder if anyone else noticed that she always took hold of the border of the little guy’s blanket and rubbed it between her fingers.  Perhaps they thought the smile on her face was because of the baby.

I wonder.
                             

I will always be sad to remember her initial reaction.

She seemed to truly believe that unhappy events were her personal due in life.  Like her mother before her, Mom wasn’t much of an optimist.

Frequently, she used phrases like the story of my life and par for the course, as if she thought it was simply what she had coming to her.

And, that makes me sad.

What doesn’t make me sad is the realization that she never let that expectation stop her from both starting, and seeing projects through to completion, even when interrupted by the frequent checks that momentarily discouraged her.

Like a dog worrying a particularly tough bone, her surrender was nearly always short-lived.  Even if it took hours of concentration and exploration of alternatives, she would eventually crack the problem open to savor the sweet taste of success.
                             

Funny.  We all experience the momentary setbacks.  The disappointment of plans gone awry is common to every one of us.

Every one of us.  Our Savior promised us trouble in this world. (John 16:33)

It’s not personal.

Maybe, it’s time to get past the par for the course thinking and get on with finishing the blanket.

Or whatever task God has put in front of us.

We’ll take pride in the result.  Even if it’s not what we envisioned to begin with.

We tackle our problems head-on and finish the job.

And, that is the story of our lives.

 

 

 

A bend in the road is not the end of the road.  Unless you fail to make the turn.
(Helen Keller ~ Deaf & blind American author/lecturer ~ 1880-1968)

 

In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart!  I have overcome the world.
(John 16:33 ~ NIV)

 

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.
(Psalm 23:6a ~ KJV)

 

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2016. All Rights Reserved.

Two Forward, One Back

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The last time he came through my door, he was pushing a walker.  Slowly.  His leg was in a plaster cast and walking was painful.

Today, he wielded a cane.  There was no cast, so I could see the scar running the length of his calf muscle.  He was moving better than the last time I had seen him and I told him so.  His reaction was almost instantaneous.

“Whoa!  Don’t let this cane fool you!  It’s been nothing but two steps forward and one back.  I wouldn’t call that better.”

I admit it.  It wasn’t the kindest thing I could have done.  I’m not always tactful in making my point.

I simply stuck my right hand out in front of my face and lifted the fingers, one at a time.  First one, then two.  I shook them a little, then put one of them back down.  The index finger still stuck out and I waved it around, half playfully.

He got the point.

Making a nearly-grumpy comment about it not being me dealing with the pain, he laughed and headed outside after finishing his transaction, leaving me to contemplate the condition of all humankind.

Two forward.  One back.

It’s still progress.  I did the math.  

One plus one minus one equals one.  One is more than zero, right?

Just to be sure, I even made a little diagram in my head.

The little stick-man is standing on Point A.  He takes two steps, to Point C.  He turns around and takes one step back in the direction he came, to Point B.

He started on Point A and is now standing on Point B.  That’s what we would call going in the right direction.  Positive movement.

Can anyone tell me why it feels so much like being a loser, then?

I always wondered about that.  The red-headed lady who raised me used to spit out the words, as if they left a bitter taste on her tongue.

Well there you go.  Two steps forward and one back!  Again.

I was an almost-bright kid.  Loved number problems.  

If John has one apple and Mary gives him two more, but he has to give one to the playground bully, how many apples did he lose?

Be careful how you answer that question.  You might be surprised at how many people get it wrong.

From a safe distance, the answer is obviously none.  He actually gained an apple from where he started.  From a safe distance, that’s the answer.

Ah.  But what if you had held all of those three apples in your hand?  What if you had been the victim of that muscle-bound thug?

He stole my apple!  Thief!  I had three; now I have only two.

How quickly we claim ownership!  How soon our hearts become fixed upon the thing in our hand.

And the Teacher told them not to hold tightly to the treasure in this transient place where thieves steal,and where bugs eat and rust corrodes.  (Matthew 6:19-20)

But, what of my injured friend?  All he is doing is working toward a goal.  That’s a worthy purpose, is it not?  Surely, that is what we should all be doing?

twostepsIt is.  But, just as in all of life, if we begin to count the steps (either forward or back), we lose sight of the goal and also of how far we’ve come.

It matters not what the goal is—sobriety, fitness, a promotion at work—when we have a setback.  We think of it as a loss, regardless of how far we have come in our pursuit of the prize.

How easy it is to take our eyes from the goal when we experience a defeat.  

Earlier, as I drew in my head the chart of the little man advancing, my mind’s eye was drawn to the action many of us take in our two steps, one step dance.

We face the goal for our two steps forward, but turn back to take the one step back.  Suddenly, all we can see is the proximity of total defeat, the looming shadow of complete failure.  

What if I’m done?  I only made it two steps before.  Maybe I can’t do it again. 

What if all is lost?

Ah, but what if it isn’t? 

You know something?  No one ever achieved his goals by walking backwards.  No one.

Turn around.

The goal is out there.  Up ahead.

There is nothing behind us we’re headed for.  Nothing.

Up ahead—it’s all up ahead.

And the Teacher told them they would have troubles as long as they were in the world.  

Not to worry though.  I have overcome the world. (John 16:33)

He’s got this.  He’s already done the math.  He’s already lost the apple to the playground bully.  And still, He finished—victorious.

Keep moving forward.

Yeah, two steps forward and one back will still get you exactly where you need to go.

In time.

 

 

 

Hold everything in your hands lightly, otherwise it hurts when God pries your fingers open.
(Corrie Ten Boom ~ Dutch Holocaust survivor ~ 1892-1983)

 

We are kept from our goals, not by obstacles, but by a clear path to a lesser goal.
(Robert Brault ~ American writer)

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2015. All Rights Reserved. 

Not Far Now

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

The message from my fitness program caught my eye as I clicked it off after my run tonight.

“Paul ran 3.99 miles.”

I set out from home tonight with a goal of running four miles.  I failed to meet that goal by one one-hundredth of a mile!  Only fifty-three feet.

I failed.

It’s not a moral failing.  The four-mile goal was an arbitrary distance, set by an ambitious energetic man, unburdened by the weight of fatigue.  It hadn’t come down as an edict from Heaven, with grim repercussions to follow, should the course not be completed.

My decision to stop short was not a calculated one.  The last two blocks of my run were spent alternating between gasping for breath, holding my side, and muttering a plea for the voice on my fitness program to announce the four miles already.  The need for air and relief from discomfort won out over the desire to meet my arbitrary goal.

Still, I failed.  

Tonight, from my comfortable office chair, rested and hydrated, I look at those numbers in the statistics.  They mock me.  

3.99 miles.  Not 4 miles.  Not 4.1.  Three point nine-nine.

At the speed I was running tonight, it would only have taken six more seconds to reach the goal.  Six seconds!

I’ll get over my disappointment with myself.  I hope I can do better.  That said, this is not the first time I’ve quit before reaching a goal.  One would think a fellow would have learned his lesson.

My mind (and heart) has moved on to other things, even as I consider your disappointment in me, just now learning I’m a quitter.  You’ll simply have to get used to the feeling.  I have.

Tonight though, I’m wondering about how many people have spent a lifetime working toward a goal, only to give up within a stone’s throw of their objective.  Tired and disheartened, uncertain of how much further their destination will be, their attention is stolen away by the attractions along the road.

Comfort could be theirs.  They’ve never cared before, the reality of their mission imprinted indelibly in their hearts.  But now?  Now they’re tired—tired and lonely.  Everyone around them is inside and warm, safe from the perils of the quest.  

I know folks like this.  Many glance at the roadside attractions and recognize them for what they are—nothing but bait in a trap.  Focusing on their goal and the prize awaiting them, they turn away and go the extra distance, shunning the alternative.  Be it fifty feet or fifty years, they will finish the course laid out before them.

But some—some no longer have their attention centered on the right thing.  Somewhere, over the years, the focus has moved from the Author and shifted to the runner.  

Look at me!  I’m giving up everything to participate in this race.  I’ve trained; I’ve sacrificed; I’ve put all I have into running.  

And, they have.  A lifetime of doing what is required of the athlete.  A lifetime.  But the focus is lost, the goal becomes fuzzy.  The spirit begins to hope for other things, other prizes.

The race is lost.  The runner is defeated—a failure.

So close.  So close, but so far.

Rabbits_and_MoonYears ago, I read a book called Watership Down.  I thought it would be about adventures and battles at sea, but it turned out to be about rabbits.  Rabbits.  I went ahead and read it.  I read it again.  And again.  You might want to do it someday yourself.  It is a story of trial and triumph—a story of perseverance, and of finding home.  

One of the long-eared creatures, Hazel, who has become the leader of the ragtag band of rabbits, is leading them to a place most aren’t sure even exists.  Throughout the nightmarish journey, he keeps repeating the words not far now again and again.  For hours he guides them through the dark, not sure himself of just where the goal will be found, but certain in his heart that the place for which they’re bound is very real.

When they reach their goal, they are ecstatic, admitting that even they weren’t absolutely certain the place to which he was leading them would be there.  

They had followed anyway, trusting their leader, even when they weren’t sure of the destination.

How about it?  Is the path growing dim, the road harder to make out?   Do you have a catch in your side?  Are you gasping for breath yet?  

Sure, there’s a comfortable stop just over there—a place where others are relaxing and enjoying the evening.  We could rest here.

But we haven’t reached our goal yet.  That’s up ahead still.

Let’s keep going. 

Not far now.  

 

 

 

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.
(Hebrews 12:1-3 ~ NIV)

 

 

 

I was so tired and confused, I actually began to wonder whether you knew where you were going.  I could hear you in the heather saying ‘Not far now,” and it was annoying me. I thought you were making it up.  I should have known better.  Frithrah!  You’re what I call a real Chief Rabbit!
(from Watership Down by Richard Adams ~ English novelist)

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2015. All Rights Reserved.