Lately, I’ve been a wee bit obsessed with finding a new old train for this year’s Christmas tree. I’ve got in my head the vision of having a vintage yet functional electric train choo-choo-ing its way around and around and through the gifts under the tree this year.
As a child, I had a trainset that was given to me from a friend of my parents. A man named Merrill that I have zero recollection of. I remember his name only because its written (presumably in his own handwriting) in faded black marker on the box that contains all the train pieces that I currently have in our closet. By the way, when I open that box, it smells like my childhood. (Isn’t it weird how smells connect us to memories? What smells triggers memories for you?)
Anyway, of all the pieces of track I’ve had in my possession, one of my favorite pieces is the rerailer track. If you’ve ever seen a model train running, you may not have even ever noticed it among the other pieces. It’s typically disguised in a railroad crossing. It’s a critical piece of any set, and it’s what I want to talk to you about briefly today.
We’re likely all familar with the term “derailed”. It’s an ominous word that almost always indicates something has gone wrong. A project gets derailed, a relationship gets derailed, a business deal gets derailed, or in any other way, forward motion hits derailment and things are severely hindered.
Is there any derailment in your life right now? What has gone awry? What isn’t sitting as squarely as you’d like? What remains not just undone but unhealthy? When a model train derails, its obvious. It’s noisy. It’s bumpy. Likewise, when I ask you “Is there any derailment in your life?” you don’t have to guess. You know. It’s noisy. It’s bumpy. It’s obvious.
The bigger question then is where is your rerailer? What does (will) it take to get those wheels back on track? What resets your mind, your attention, your priorities, your heart on what’s healthiest, most important, and most effective in the mission of your life and who you are?
Come back another time for my personal list of rerailers, the things that always get me mind and heart back to where they should be. But for now, what works for you? Use the comment section below, send me an email, or shoot me a text.
It was the final frame of the 2012 U.S. Open Bowling Championship in my childhood home state of New Jersey. Bowling legend Pete Weber was poised to clinch his 5th championship title, and a strike here would crown him bowling king once again, by a one-pin margin. Weber slipped three of his fingers into the holes of his perfectly weighted, balanced, and shined bowling ball. All during the championship, and as he made his approach on this historic frame that would decide the outcome of the tournament, Pete Weber had in his mind (and ears) a young heckler (unidentified to this day) who jeered at him. Unphased, Pete Weber maintained his steely focus on the 10 pins at the end of that finely oiled lane; pins that were doing their own heckling of Pete Weber.
Moments later, Pete Weber celebrated a perfect strike and, in exuberant celebration, gave the sporting world one of the greatest, most bizarre, most perfect-fitting exclamations of victory ever to be uttered:
“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? I AM!”
It’s a messy, awkward, nonsensical declaration that somehow fit the personality of Pete Weber and the alpha-male moment perfectly. But still…it was just…odd.
I appreciate how AI took this statement of Weber’s and straightens things out with a more logical explanation:
“Who do you think you are?” Implies that the person believes they are bigger than what they are. It elicits the thought of a powerful person. “I am” confirms that I am, in fact, who you think you are.
What’s the moral to this story, and why am I telling you about it? It’s because it’s the perfect reminder that people are messy. If you’re going to interact with other people, you’re going to get mess on your hands. It’s not a matter of if, but when. And when is always either “now” or “very very soon.”
I remember the moment in my life when I realized that people are messy. I don’t think I’ve ever shared this story with anyone. Somehow, this morning it slipped back into my consciousness, and with it, a trickling of some childhood emotions.
In elementary school (sixth grade, I think, which in those days was still elementary school), I had a really good classmate and friend named Jeff. We played trumpets together in the elementary school band, and we just got along really well. We were always joking around, laughing, and making the best of our school day. Jeff had become a good, positive, pleasant, and fun part of my school day as a young boy. We didn’t do much together outside of our school day, but when we were there together, it was always a good time.
Then one day I happened to see Jeff at a small shopping plaza–the Acme shopping plaza, I believe–in the little town of North Cape May, New Jersey, where I grew up. When I saw Jeff in that context, he wasn’t the Jeff I knew from school. He wasn’t smiling or even friendly. In fact, he was aggressive. He seemed angry. And in a matter of moments, became violent. I recall him pushing me, as if to invoke some kind of fighting response from me. I had no training either in self-defense or even about what to do in such a situation. He kept pushing me as I kept trying to get away from him.
This is part of the front of that old Acme shopping plaza, now vacant.
My young mind was racing, confused, and frightened at what was happening to me in that moment, in broad daylight on the cement walkway that ran along the front of that shopping plaza. What had I done wrong? Nothing I could think of. Why was Jeff acting this way? I had no earthly idea. I simply wanted to get away from this person, whom until that moment I had considered a good friend.
I understood in that moment for the first time, that people aren’t always easy to understand. That people aren’t always going to do what you expect or think they should. That, in short, people are messy.
My time in ministry for over three decades now has only served to support this truth. I know that anytime we’re interacting with others, we can count on it statistically that a mess is going to emerge. There’ll be some miscommunication, some misunderstanding, or even some perceived hurtful thing that happens or gets said. If you don’t believe me or agree, you’ve likely never had a conversation with anyone at any time about anything. For those of you who have, you’re nodding your head in agreement.
One of the most critical components of mess management, however, begins with the first two letters of “mess”: me. I should never have as my default setting the idea that when a mess arises, it certainly can’t be because of me. A healthy stance to take when interacting with any mess is to ask questions like, “What part do I have in this?” or even “What have I done–even inadvertently–that has contributed to the mess at hand?” Simply put: “What ownership do I need to take when it comes to the current mess?”
Here’s what that kind of honest vulnerability will do:
It will make you humble and approachable, two qualities that do what nothing else can.
It will disarm and diffuse the tendency for blame-laying over responsibility-taking.
It will level the field in terms of anyone involved, allowing everyone to work together.
It focuses energy on solutions rather than causes. (Not that fact-finding isn’t important.)
It creates malleability instead of rigidity. Being malleable is a key ingredient to resolving messes.
So the next time you encounter a mess, don’t do anything before you remember the “me” in the mess.
Before shoving someone down a cement walkway, take stock of where the “me” in the mess is. When you do, reach out to me and tell me what transpired and what you learned from it.
Case in point: This morning, I have on my mind a situation that just happened this past weekend. I had an understanding of something that I thought was clearly planned and settled, and yet someone else had a different version of reality. At a certain point, those two perceptions of reality–mine and theirs–collided and made a small mess. Thankfully, it was easily rectified and we moved forward, but I had to do the work of mentally reviewing the situation, and thinking intentionally about my part in what had transpired.
I was tempted to dig in my heels, doubling down on my version of what was supposed to happen, but when faced with a different version, I chose instead to believe the best in the other person and give way to a different route. Then in quick hindsight, revisit the situation to see what can be learned and strengthened in me and my leadership. I hope this brief example can help put skin on the concept of effective mess management.
I was sitting in the passenger seat while my wife took a turn driving on our trek to Ohio just a few days ago. We were headed there to celebrate with our son-in-law as he graduated from firefighter academy. As we drove, I looked out my passenger door window at the beautiful snow that was falling. It was the perfect kind of snow at this moment; it was falling steadily but making no difference to the condition of the roads. All it was doing was blanketing the surrounding world in white.
But traveling at highway speeds, the snow was falling sideways. When you’re moving 70 to 80 miles an hour in a vehicle while the snow falls, that snow doesn’t fall straight down. It falls sideways.
Or so it seems.
As I, with a little effort, looked and could see past the nearest snowfall, I could see the snow in the distance. I could see the snow that was far enough away from our car that it was actually simply falling. Not sideways. Just beautifully straight down, as snow does.
Then a thought occurred to me. Let me tell you about it.
As we flew down that highway, I could’ve sworn the snow was falling sideways. But it wasn’t. It’s that our speed made it seem that way. When I could get my eyes past what seemed to be my immediate reality and onto the true reality, I could see that I had a choice to make. Hang on, this is where it gets practical… I hope.
You and I often cannot control the speed at which life happens. But this doesn’t mean we can’t control anything. I don’t believe in victims. That’s not to say that I don’t think people are victimized by others, I just mean that I don’t believe that anyone is truly a complete victim to that person or situation. We all always have power that must be spoken to the speed at which our lives are moving.
In simpler terms, we cannot control life’s speed, but we can control our perspective and our focus, even as life seems to whiz by. And we must.
I’ve heard many people over the years lament about how chaotically frenzied their lives had become. And while I don’t doubt for a second that life really can feel like it’s spinning out of control, I do doubt that we can ever claim total innocence in that. Typically, you have a hand–a strong hand–at just how fast the snow seems to be falling sideways in your life.
Because there does exist a snowfall that is far more peaceful. You may not have the choice right now to stand in it practically, but you most certainly can stand in it mentally and by engaging a different perspective than the hurried world around you.
So the next time you’re driving, and snow is falling, and you’re tempted to pretend you’re Han Solo piloting the Millenium Falcon through warp speed (iykyk), remember that while it might appear that the speed of life is uncontrollable, the speed of your heart and mind most assuredly are. The focus of your priorities is fully yours to control. The degree to which you fret over life’s details is firmly within your grasp alone. Just look beyond the immediate sideways snow and realize that just in the near distance, inviting you there, is a snowfall that is quiet, tranquil, and available.
P.S. Just a quick shoutout to all first responders out there. We had a wonderful time celebrating our son-in-law’s graduation. Just yesterday, he completed his first shift as a professional firefighter. We couldn’t be more proud of him, and we’re so grateful to all who serve our communities with selflessness.
It’s human nature, I’d suppose, to become more introspective as you get older. An infant/toddler is completely unaware of most everything except what’s in their hand or mouth. A teenager is consumed by the influencing input of the world around them and finding their place in all of it. A young(er) adult is looking for meaning and purpose not so much because of some innate understanding but because the message has been that there’s a purpose to be found. And the old(er) adult has more in the rearview than through the windshield, so they spend more time taking stock of what it all has meant and the ways it has shaped them.
This is over-generalized, I’m sure, but the truth is in there, nonetheless.
Within the past several weeks, I’ve witnessed the passing of someone very young, at the very start of their adult life, and someone at the very end of their long, rich, and storied life. Solomon tells us in Ecclesiastes that we should spend more time at funerals than at parties, because everyone dies, so the living should take it to heart. (Ecc. 7:2)
In other words, it’s more important to know that time is limited than it is to know what time it is. Thinking about how much time is left is futile and wasteful. Being mindful that time is a mere construct in which we gather stories and experiences and impact those we intersect with–that’s the better route.
So how? How do we?
While the passage of time affords most people the ability to zoom out, look back, and take stock there has got to be a shortcut to offer to those who statistically have more ahead than behind. And that’s what I’m after in writing these words.
First, I suggest to you that the metrics the world uses to measure worth are diabolically unhealthy. The heart of it is getting. Get the look. Get the girl. Get the guy. Get the job. Get the money. Get the gains. Get the grade. Get the client. Get the followers. Get the story. Get the experience. Get the house. Get the car. Get the spouse. Get the kids. Get the lake home. Get the stock options. Get the comfort. Get the bigger piece of the pie. Get first.
It’s no wonder we’re exhausted, stressed, cutthroat, suspicious of others, and overworked to name a few.
So, how DO we be? Someone once said it’s no accident that we’re called human beings, not human doings. We are hardwired for relational existence, and when that aspect is absent, dysfunctional, or in any way out of whack, so are we.
What if it were possible to early on introduce the discipline of relational pulse-checking as a way of calibrating one’s compass? This most certainly could happen accidentally, but could we teach the skill of gauging relational health and making adjustments to those findings in a way that is akin to aligning the steering on one’s car?
Could the young brain steering that young life engage in such a disciplinary exercise? Let’s suppose it could.
What might happen is this…
A person could be relieved of finding that life has mostly passed them by before they notice and try to compensate for opportunities that were lost while they were distracted by lesser pursuits.
A person could embrace an entirely different metric than pop culture embraces. They could be released from the “Get” metric. I’d bet that nothing but good can come from such a release.
A person could experience a far deeper wealth of purpose-infused relational living. That person could walk life’s path not seeing others as obstacles but as opportunities for growth and service.
Structure and strategy in order to accomplish personal goals are noble and good and right. But I’d suggest that structure and strategy in order to attain a life that is better focused on relational depth, experiences that enrich others’ lives, and that is centered on giving over getting is the far better path.
This is an unfinished blog post. It’s barely the beginning of a germinated thought. So please add to it. Share with me–regardless of your age–your thoughts on how we gauge things like worth, direction, relationships, and how to know if our lives are where we desire them to be or not.
jerrythinks. 