Accessible Success

We’ve all had them; those uncomfortable situations when there is some misunderstanding and there seems to be no graceful way to recover. We’ve crossed some social boundary and may not even know exactly what happened. Add a characteristic that makes you different in some way from those around you and the opportunities for misunderstanding multiply. It’s important for us to remember in those moments that we’re not the only one who’s in an uncomfortable situation. More often than I would like, I wish I could go back and handle it better.

One day, I decided to walk to the Starbuck’s a mile from my house. I had just come off of an all-night software installation at work and wanted to stay awake and not get off-schedule. Maybe that is my excuse. The place was crowded. The line stretched around the back of the room, and I couldn’t find the end of it. That was my first interaction with the lady. I didn’t know her. She didn’t fit the image one might have of a typical barista at Starbuck’s, but because she approached me while I was near the front counter trying to get my bearings, I thought she worked there. I let her help me find the end of the line.

After I placed my order, I moved to the general area where pickups would be made and waited. There did not appear to be any place to sit, and I was content to put off that quest until after I had coffee and breakfast in hand. They called the breakfast items out and I went up to get them. Again, the helpful lady appeared and assisted me in finding the items I ordered. There were so many people I can only hope that I didn’t actually pick up items meant for someone who was ahead of me.

I kept waiting for the coffee order. I kept waiting for the coffee order. I kept waiting for the coffee order. Finally, Ms. helpful lady appeared again and asked me what I ordered. Still thinking she worked there, I told her, and then I kept waiting for the coffee order. When she approached me again, it finally became apparent to me that she was just another customer trying to be helpful. At this point I should have taken control of the situation, but she was trying to be helpful and rather than add to the awkwardness of the whole thing further I just let her go back up and ask on my behalf.

I eventually got my coffee, but then it got worse. There were no open tables. I didn’t know this for sure, but I knew that if there were they would not be easy to find, so I let the woman guide me to a chair. It was not at an empty table. The woman already seated there told us someone was coming to join her. At this point I am trying to bow out gracefully, but Ms. helpful isn’t done yet. The table where she was trying to seat me was the high table meant to accommodate wheelchairs. The empty chair being spoken for, she grabbed one from another table, moved it to the occupied table, and insisted that since it was meant for handicapped people I could sit there.

This is where I messed up. Some people seem to be uneducable, but I should have at least tried. She did mean well. Instead, I bolted. I hit the front door and found myself a table outside. No one benefited from that exchange. Ms. Helpful was probably offended and confused. One can only guess what the young lady at the table thought about the whole thing.

I tell this story for two reasons. I hope it serves as an instructional aid for those who really want to be helpful but need a little guidance as to how to do it best. Put yourself in the other person’s place. Don’t assume you know what they need. Ask them. In this woman’s defense, she did ask at a couple of points during our interaction. Where she really went wrong was at the end. She was going to get me a chair regardless of what I or anyone else affected thought about it. The awkwardness of the situation for me didn’t occur to her.

There is also a lesson for those of us on the receiving end here. It’s easy to get offended by the presumption and disrespect we sometimes get from people, but these are often teachable moments. Instead of being offended, be delighted that they mean well and help them to do better the next time they meet someone who seems to have a need. Make a new friend and also help those whom they will meet after you.

If you have read the book, you may have noticed some of the Bible quotes look a little different than what you see in most translations. In particular, where you probably have “The LORD” in your Bible, this one says “Yahweh.” There’s some history around how that came to be, but for the sake of brevity I will leave that for another time. Suffice it to say for now that the use of God’s personal name, Yahweh, Given to Moses in Exodus 3:14-15, is a more accurate translation. There are several passages throughout the Old Testament that make a lot more sense when God’s name appears where it should.

Generally, in order to avoid confusion for those who may not know this and to avoid offending those who feel that we should take more care in the use of the holy name, I have chosen of late to continue the conventional use of God or the Lord when I write. However, at times I think it is preferable to be specific. The appellation, God, does not necessarily draw to mind the Christian God that in times past would have been understood.

God has been defined in many ways, often in conflict with the Judeo-Christian understanding of who and what He is. My Hindu friend once mentioned to me that as part of a ceremony he prayed to God. I did not ask him which god, but I have very little doubt that Yahweh was not that god. So, when I talk or write about the one true God, I like to use His name. I want to leave no doubt as to Who I am referencing. Glory to His name alone!

I like dogs. I believe God uniquely created them to meet our needs just as he created everything else on this earth. I am amazed by the diversity of things they have been bread and trained to do. I have had pictures and statues of them everywhere. I certainly do not wish to give offense to anyone who loves these amazing animals. Please know this as you continue reading.

One day I came across a video that really got to me. I’ve never quite been able to understand having a deep emotional attachment to an animal, yet watching a video of a complete stranger whose dog was shot right in front of him about did me in. The screaming of the dog and the crying of the man replayed my memory like a very bad dream. I think maybe the Lord let me see that so that I would react with more compassion toward people who are close to their animals. I don’t know if it changes my opinion of how things should be, but it certainly changed my attitude toward the way things are.

When I was growing up, we had dogs at different times, but due to changing circumstances we never seemed to be able to keep one. Like many children, we wanted to have a dog, but usually didn’t do a very good job of caring for it when we got one. I suppose I loved them, but I would characterize it as the kind of affection a child might have for a favorite toy. Yet probably due to the books and television shows that depicted dogs larger than life, I always had an idealized picture of what a dog might be. I wanted the myth more than I wanted the reality. How many animals end up in shelters to be put down for much the same reason?

Even so, I never came to think of dogs as other than animals. The idea of loving a dog or any animal in the same way that we love other people is hard for me to understand. No dog can take the place of a human being. It is incomprehensible to me that anyone would put the needs of a pet over the needs of a family member or any human being for that matter. A pet may be considered a family member only in the broadest of terms. It may be loved and cared for by the family but should never be considered as an equal.

People say their dogs love them unconditionally. I don’t know if a dog is capable of love. I don’t suppose that anyone can be certain of such things. Certainly, there are verifiable accounts to be found of dogs doing things that sure look like love to us. I will share one here.  I do not claim to know where the line should be drawn between instinctive and emotive behavior. After all, I will concede that much of my understanding of animal behavior comes from the same people who believe that we are nothing more than sophisticated apes. Despite such preposterous pretenders as the Pet Psychic of past television fame, none of us really know what they are feeling or thinking. As I think it through, it’s not unreasonable to suppose that some level of emotional attachment exists, just as a young child who cannot intellectualize what he feels still loves his mother and father. He may continue to love them even if he comes to understand that they do not love him.

I think that what happens between pets and people is often an unhealthy replacement for missing human relationships. Because the creature does appear to offer unconditional love and lacks the capacity to hurt us in the way that another human can, we find it to be a safe way to meet our need. However, it does not meet the need. There is no suitable replacement in the animal kingdom for the human relationships that God designed us to have. As childlike as a dog may be in many ways, it cannot ever be a child. It may perform actions that you interpret as love, but it can never tell you that it loves you in words. It has no real concept of words or the conscious and coherent thoughts which produce them. It does not simply lack the means to speak. It lacks the concept of speech. It can neither substitute for a child nor a real friend. It can only be what it was created to be, a dog. When the unequal relationship between human and dog impairs or supplants the God-given relationship between human and human, something is tragically wrong.

Unhealthy relationships with animals can even destroy human connections. I recognized the potential for this in my own life before it had a chance to become a problem. It was 1997 and I had just moved to Dallas. I was living alone in an apartment, and I had been thinking about getting a dog for some time. This was the first place I lived on my own where it was permitted. I learned that a local shelter brought adoptable dogs to the pet store a reasonable walking distance from my apartment. I went up to look, but something didn’t feel right. The first week I didn’t bring one home. I had that feeling in the pit of my stomach that usually meant God was telling me “no.” That’s not the answer I wanted to hear, so I rationalized it and went back the second week.

Thus began a mighty tough week. I brought home a chihuahua dubbed Mickey by the shelter, but thinking every big-eared chihuahua in the country is probably called Mickey, I changed his name to Mighty. The name kept the mouse theme, and I thought it was a great appellation for a little tiny chihuahua. He wasn’t the sort of dog I imagined having. I’ve never really liked them. Most of them I’ve ever known were noisy and neurotic. Mighty was friendly and mostly quiet.

With the vet checkup, food, and supplies plus the pet deposit I dropped $500 on that free dog before the day was out, but I had everything I thought we would need. I still remember the feeling I had sitting in the chair next to the TV with Mighty on my lap. I had a friend. I had something to love. I imagined the beginning of a fulfilling companionship that would last for years and keep me from being alone. We played with the squeaky ball and rolled around on the floor, and I had what I wanted.

I knew better. Even then I knew what I was trying to do. I needed a friend. That little dog could never really be the friend I needed. As you might guess, the next few days brought home the reality of owning a dog, particularly a house dog. Due in part to the emotional instability I was experiencing at the time, I soon realized I couldn’t handle it. I wish now I had been able to hang on. The no-kill shelter took him back and I suspect he found a good home, but I’ll never know. I did learn my lesson though. God wanted me to leave room for real relationships in my life and not to substitute anything less.

Eventually I took in another one. When I moved to where I live now I not-so-subtly hinted that I would like to have Savanna, a chow/collie mix that had originally belonged to my sister and was with my parents at the time. I wasn’t sure how attached they were to her, so I didn’t want to come right out and ask. I had always liked her. She was sweet as they come (provided you didn’t walk on four legs) and smart. She was an outside dog, though well behaved in the house. She preferred to be outside and wanted me to be outside with her.

By then I was in a very different place in my life. She didn’t come with the same expectations. I enjoyed having her around. I always felt guilty though. Dogs may just be animals, but when we take them for our own, we have a responsibility to meet their needs too. It’s even written in the Bible. Proverbs 10:12 says in part “A righteous man has regard for the life of his animal…” My life was just too busy. I worked downtown, often had church functions, and spent most of the remainder of my time in front of the computer at home. Most of the time my interaction with Savanna was to go out and fill her food and water bowls. Like the clichéd guilty parent, I bought her toys hoping she would occupy herself with them, but it’s hard to play fetch with yourself. So, when my sister moved back to a place where she could have a dog and was considering one for her kids, I told her she should take Savanna back. I did miss her when she left. Every time I walked past the back door where she would stand begging me to come out and play, I felt a little pang of sadness.

I believe it was best, at least with the information I had at the time. God made dogs to be social creatures. They need lots of interaction with people and with their own kind. If you want a well-behaved dog around people, the former needs to be foremost. I would not have willingly taken on another unless circumstances changed such that I had a need for the dog or the desire to spend the time necessary to treat it right.

But I did. Her name was Tia. She came with the wife. I was actually happy to have her in the beginning. She was the perfect dog for me; someone else’s responsibility yet available to me when I felt like interacting with it. At first, I walked her, tried to play with her and establish a bond. The relationship quickly soured. Linda and I had very different ideas about what was acceptable behavior and about a dog’s place in the household. Tia had been a companion and source of comfort to Linda for many years, and neither seemed very willing to make adjustments for me. That isn’t entirely true, but it was hard for me to see it.

Though not able to really understand Linda’s feelings about the dog, I recognized that nothing I could do would change them. I knew that trying to force my preferences on her would only keep Tia between us even after she was no longer with us. I didn’t hate the dog. She had some behavioral issues, but she was just a dog. She could not have any concept of the emotional tumult surrounding her, much less have any responsibility for it. She simply acted like a dog.

I think the Lord was dealing with me on what I really needed to do. As an act of love for my wife, I needed to make a best effort to love the dog. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The best I could manage was to treat Tia with kindness and not take my pain and frustration out on her.

God is gracious. Despite my reluctance to do what I needed to do, He moved Linda to take the first step. She agreed to a change I wanted from the beginning. That issue was the greatest obstacle to me being able to accept Tia and believe that I was really the most important to Linda. We had a major training breakthrough and my whole attitude changed. I loved my wife more than ever, and I tried to learn to love the dog too.

I can’t say I ever really got there, but there was a positive development in 2013, not long before we lost her.  Linda has multiple sclerosis.  In January of that year, she experienced a major attack and was hospitalized for several weeks.  We had a dog door. It was common for Tia to go in and out several times as she roamed the house, but when I would come home from the hospital and sit down at my desk, I began to notice she was doing it more frequently.  I’d hear the slap of the flap as she went out and came back in, then the jingle of her tags as she paced up and down the hall.  It finally occurred to me what was going on.  She was searching for Linda.  When we’re both gone, we almost always come back together.  But something was wrong.  I was there but Linda wasn’t.  Did Tia love Linda?  I suppose that only God knows for sure, but I’m certainly not going to say she didn’t.  I did feel a little closer to Tia after that experience.

A few months later, we lost her.  Partially deaf and blind and under the influence of medication that the vet had given her so they could work on her ears, she wandered into the pool and drowned.  Thinking that she was asleep on the sofa, neither of us knew what had happened until it was far too late.  Naturally it was much harder on Linda than me.  I listened and let her grieve in her own time and way.

Will there be another dog in our lives?  Probably not.  We considered the idea for a while, but there are too many practical reasons why we shouldn’t.  My attitude has softened, but I still think it best to focus my emotional energy on human relationships.  I have a hard enough time doing that to accept any substitute.  But I have no doubt that God gave us the dog and knew what He was doing, so who knows?  I’m much less quick to judge now, and I am willing to accept that some time in the future there may be room in my heart for a furry friend.

Some years ago, a near tragedy in the family of a pastor friend of mine started me wondering if preachers’ kids really deserve their reputation.  I first did a quick search to see if I could find any hard data on the behavioral and psychological health of the children of ministers versus other children.  I hoped I might find some kind of clinical study, though I suspect that if I had found it the bias would have been extreme. 

I found some blogs and forum posts by preachers’ kids.  I wasn’t that impressed.  I read their stories of how they felt pressure to be especially good and how it made life harder for them among their friends.  Some of them used that as an excuse for their rebellious behavior.  I don’t doubt that those pressures and feelings exist.  I don’t remember feeling particularly put upon because I was a preachers’ kid, but my siblings may see things differently.  My final impression was of a bunch of psychobabble that allowed them to justify in their own minds the way they felt or what they did.

I found a couple of ministries devoted to preachers’ kids.  They didn’t move me either.  They seemed designed to affirm the kids’ feelings, treating them as if they really had a hard life.  We do face some atypical challenges.  There is a higher expectation of us.  So what?  High expectations are good!  Did we sometimes get neglected in favor of church or ministry activities?  Maybe, but how is that different than children of working parents in any profession?  I’ll grant that few if any other professions so involve the family in the work.  This isn’t just any job though.  It is work that all Christians are called to in one way or another.

I didn’t find what I was looking for, so I’ll offer my own opinion.  Someone wrote that preachers’ kids have a reputation for being really bad or really good.  I suppose I would concur, but I am not sure the reputation is deserved in either case.  More often we hear about the really bad.  I think that is because there is a higher expectation of a minister’s children.  When they don’t meet that expectation, it sticks out.  I remain unconvinced that preachers’ kids are any worse than others.  In fact, I suspect that in terms of behavior, morality, and responsibility, they beat the averages.  I didn’t say they were better or even good.  We may have had better training, but we all must confront the sinful nature that defines us until we are redeemed by His blood.  “There is none righteous, not even one.”  We, like everyone else, must make a choice whether we will serve Jesus or serve ourselves, thereby serving Satan and receiving Satan’s punishment.  “As for me and my house, we will serve Yahweh.”

I am thankful that I was raised by a preacher.  I thank God regularly for the strong foundation upon which I base my life today.  My father taught me to love Jesus, love people, and live with integrity.  He taught me to pray, to feed on God’s Word, and to do what God tells me.  I’m proud to be a preacher’s kid, and I wish everyone else had the same blessing.

I am somewhat amused by our fascination with things that are “natural.”  In particular we apply this label to things we ingest, but it’s also seen on everything from soap to clothing.  I don’t think I’ve seen a natural car yet…Oh wait…I think we call those horses.  As I recall from my reading, they dirtied up a city like no car ever could.

Now don’t get me wrong.  There is nothing superior to God’s creation.  I have to believe that God gave us everything we need on this earth to solve any problem we may encounter.  Most of it probably grows “naturally.”  That is essentially what we mean by the term natural.  It required no transformation by the hand of man to make it what it is.

But how much of what we call natural can really fit that description?  Unless you went out into the jungle and pulled it out of the ground yourself, it has been through manmade processes.  Natural is a meaningless word.  Man has never really created anything.  We only take that which God created and arrange it in new ways to form something that would not come to be without our intervention.  There is nothing that is not natural since all of its components came from nature at some time.  The distinction of organic versus inorganic is more meaningful, but still human intervention brings the desired organic elements together.

The thing I find laughable is the assumption that just because it is natural or organic it is good for you.  There are all kinds of natural things that we all know are not good for us, yet we snatch up items on the supermarket shelf that say organic or natural with the idea that they are going to be better for us without questioning what makes them organic or natural.  Cases of e coli infection are higher with organic foods because they are grown using dung for fertilizer.  Want some potatoes?

I’m not saying we don’t corrupt or misuse what God has provided.  WE do, and we don’t need to look to chemical factories to find examples.  Last time I checked, Marijuana, the opium poppy, and coca all grew naturally.  We should be prudent in choosing what we consume, but we should not buy into the lie that anything man touches becomes bad.  Man used his God given ability to make life better.  Enjoy all of God’s creation, even the stuff we rearranged.