Month: May 2015

Several years ago I sat in the stands after traveling the four plus hours to a baseball tournament for one of my sons. During our fourth or fifth game of the extended weekend, I remember one parent wanting to vent with me; she was irate her son had to sit out that game. I got it. I understood. I also desired to listen well, wanting to encourage her, and do nothing to diminish her perceived plight. Her situation was hard for her.

Note: up to that point — game four or five — my son had only played one inning… one inning of one game.

After traveling that far for that many days, I would have appreciated my son playing more. Granted, he’s a pitcher, and sometimes pitchers — especially in relief — play more sporadically, dependent on how a specific game evolves. His one inning was a good one — and that made me thankful. I haven’t always, however — and am still not always — good at being thankful for “one innings,” so-to-speak.

I will admit, no less, that I am consistently struck by the number of times so many of us (myself included) miss out on the beauty of those one innings because we’re so focused on some other aspect of our circumstances that’s frustrating or hurtful; we become so emboldened by the perceived plight within our circumstances — an irritation or inconvenience, a heartache or hurt, a passion or personal desire — that we become blinded to any plight of another; we’re actually unable to see what’s happening to another, because our own emotion and/or passion often blinds us. It’s thus also a seemingly subconscious way of making life, unfortunately, “all about me.” Sometimes, I believe, because we are so anxious or irate, we assume another’s plight couldn’t be harder.

As referenced in Tuesday’s post, I remember well the month my infant son was in the cardiac ICU ward. Those days were hard — sweet in some ways, but awful, actually, in others. My heart hurt, and while my faith never wavered, the reality was still scary and sobering. And yet, when I’d walk the halls, awash in my own concern, I remember moments when I’d notice the manifest fears in the faces of those who paced the same hallways… downcast… swollen eyes… persons who obviously hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks, months, maybe years. Then I’d see the children… some facing overwhelming, mind-boggling, physical and emotional challenges. It’s totally gut-wrenching seeing a child in pain.

I learned then that it’s keenly vital to look at the faces of another. If we don’t, we will never fully consider their plight… we will never weigh the challenges of their reality… and we will then far too easily make life “all about me.”

Take a brief glance at the most current, current events — from the Baltimore unrest to the terror attack in Texas to the “Clinton cash” to “Deflategate,” etc. In each there are many who are only able to see their own perspective or plight. As I shared on the baseball diamond, I get it. I understand. My point is not to diminish that person’s plight; my point is that sometimes we are so focused on our own valid passions and challenges, that we can no longer see any belonging to another.

After an hour at the weekend baseball tournament, the other parent seemed to calm down significantly. She seemed a little less stressed that her son was not playing. I felt, too, I was able to listen well and steer her to find some positives in the situation. We focused on how well her son had played in the days prior — without marginalizing her current concern.

I also chose not to remind her of my son’s lack of playing time. It wasn’t necessary. I didn’t want to miss the beauty of one inning.

Respectfully…

AR

My youngest son was born missing a wall in his heart. Before the wall could be fixed, he became critically ill, as at five months old, he contacted a severe respiratory virus that threatened his life. We found ourselves spending most of March of 2002 in the cardiac ICU ward at Children’s Hospital in Cincinnati. It was a sobering, challenging, gut-wrenching time.

While my family and I will forever be thankful for those who walked beside us then — the guests, gifts, helping hands and prayers across the globe — there were also many moments spent alone — often quietly only with our son, who was unable to respond.

Food was not permitted in the ICU wing, so one of those lonely Sunday evenings I remember strolling into the visitors’ lounge, attempting to pick at some semblance of dinner, even though my heart was totally elsewhere. I wasn’t actually alone in the lounge that night; already visiting were five very large, probably 250 lb. plus African-American men.

The five were talking amidst one another, in a fairly lively manner, with ESPN tuned into on the corner television. I sat alone at the table, picking at my food. They made no effort to speak to me — nor me to them.

With the top of the hour came the sports network’s lead story: an NBA coach had made a racially inflammatory comment; his comment was directed toward the hiring of African-American coaches.

The waiting room went silent.

Together we watched the in depth reports — sitting still even as ESPN moved to the next story. All lively conversation from my fellow lounge visitors had quickly come to a halt. Here I sat… me the only Caucasian in the room… seemingly half each man’s size… amidst a group which was understandably, obviously disturbed by what they had just heard.

I realized then that often we are only good at communicating with those who look like us. We often only attempt to communicate when we’re fairly certain the other person is likeminded — and that likeminded calculation is typically driven by an instant assessment of outward appearance; our communication is often based on outward appearance. And even though our outward appearances were strikingly different that day, I knew I needed to speak to those men.

“You know why that guy says things like that?” And with those brief words acutely cutting the silence, I could tell I stunned each of the five, as I had their immediate attention; they stared straight at me — silent — undoubtedly unsure what was about to next come out of my mouth.

I looked them square in the eye. I paused. And then I boldly said, “Because his team ain’t winning. When teams aren’t winning, people say stupid things.”

“Amen!” went the room, and instantaneously the liveliness returned, as did the chorus of smiles and extended amens, as we now all chatted together. We talked about professional basketball. We talked about Shaq and Kobe and Michael’s return from retirement. If my memory serves me correctly, we even went on to discuss the upcoming NFL draft. But then, a most beautiful thing happened…

After 10 or so minutes of discussing current sporting events, we moved on to the more significant. We began to share why each of us was sitting in that waiting room. The reality was that we were in the ICU ward because someone we loved — a child, no less — was critically ill.

I realized that when I had first walked into that room, there was no attempt by any of us to discern the heart of the other; we were distracted by our own passions. No one was mean or disrespectful; we just made no attempt to sincerely communicate. Most likely we had made a few judgments about each other based on outward appearance. When then faced with the racial disrespect, those subtle judgments began swirling in our minds — even in our silence.

If we are going to communicate in a healthy way, friends, we must refrain from such external judgment — judgment which too often hails from every ethnic, income, intellect, political, and demographic group. Judgment will always obstruct the most important communication… whether that happens in Baltimore, Maryland or the hospital waiting room.

I was able to eat a little bit more of my dinner that night. I left shortly thereafter with high fives, hugs, and a shared commitment to pray for one another’s loved ones. I was thankful to talk about what was most important.

Respectfully…

AR

Last week we again witnessed society’s growing sensitivity to name calling and identification. We watched the unrest in Baltimore. In reaction to the deep disturbance, both Pres. Obama and Mayor Stephanie Rawlings-Blake utilized the word “thug” to describe the protestors who were violent. After a negative reaction by some to the use of that word, the Mayor apologized, tweeting, “I wanted to clarify my comments on ‘thugs.’ When you speak out of frustration and anger, one can say things in a way that you don’t mean.”

The President, however, doubled-down on his words, with White House Press Sec. Josh Earnest reiterating after the outrage, “Whether it’s arson or the looting of a liquor store, those were thuggish acts.”

The definition of “thug” is as follows: “a cruel or vicious ruffian, robber, or murderer.” A “ruffian” (personally, I kind of like that word) equates to “a tough, lawless person; roughneck; bully.”

Not all protestors were violent; in fact, from the Intramuralist’s limited perspective, I believe the clear minority of protestors to be violent. Those who were violent, however, were cruel, vicious, and lawless. By definition they acted like “thugs.”

I realize that such identification carries with it a negative connotation. There’s a negative association with the word that makes many of us uncomfortable; we don’t like it; it speaks to something less than the ideal — something possibly negative. Obviously, if the violent protestors can be defined as vicious and lawless, that then diminishes the validity of their passion and point. No one wants their point or passion diminished.

The violent protestors and their defenders, no less, are merely practicing what much of society seems to have already, subtly accepted. We continue to avoid certain names or identifications — intentionally avoiding any implications or distinctions within the definition. We even go so far as to substitute other words, acting as if the identifications are equally accurate — and thus, equally good and true.

A further example is found in today’s seemingly, increasingly sensitive approach to identification found within organized religion. Many of us are uncomfortable with specific name calling, identification, or descriptions. Perhaps it’s why the White House has avoided the word “Islamic” or “Muslim” when describing the radical, violent terrorists. The majority of Muslims are not terrorists, but the current groups plaguing the world are Islamic; they don’t want any negative association tied to the religion.

We seem to have similar trouble discussing Christianity. We used to be more comfortable identifying a person who has placed their hope and faith in Jesus Christ as a “Christian.” Now, though, we often utilize the word “spiritual” instead for entire people groups — groups which sometimes have nothing to do with Jesus. We seem uncomfortable identifying any faith that might be perceived as lesser — as anything that may diminish the validity of the potential wisdom or truth.

I thus appreciated the words this week of The Daily Beast’s Barrett Holmes Pitner, who wrote that use of the word “thug” is “a way to diminish and thus disregard black life instead of respectfully exploring the experiences of black Americans.” I agree with the diminishing. The use of the word “thug” diminishes much; it diminishes the point the protestors are attempting to make. The reality is also true that if any person acts in such a vicious and lawless manner, their point will be diminished.

The problem with our words — and the associated identification, friends — isn’t the use of the words; it’s the intentional avoidance… and the avoidance due to what may or may not actually be true.

Respectfully… always…

AR