My car is old and the coffee was
bad. But I felt that I just had to hold
on to that cup of coffee. I drive an
older car, not really an antique, but one that is old enough that it was built
before the invention of, or at least the application of, cup holders. There isn’t a single cup holder in my car;
nothing that can even vaguely be used as a cup holder. Usually this is not a problem. But last week I had a breakfast meeting and, after
we finished, I got a cup of coffee to go.
This was bad coffee, not just generally bad, but a kind of uniquely bad
cup of coffee. The kind of coffee that
if brewed to full strength would remind you of the smell of stale cigarette breath. However, this coffee was brewed weak; so, it
was the worst of all worlds.
After I took off from this
meeting and got on the highway I discovered how bad this coffee was. Now I have a problem. I’m not going to litter and throw the cup out
of the car. If I try to pour it out the
window, I could end up having it blow back into the car. Being on a tight schedule, I didn’t want to
take time to pull off the road to pour it out.
I tried to set it on the floor in front of the passenger seat, but I was
afraid that a curve, quick stop, bump, or some other unforeseen event would
spell disaster. I thought about putting
it between my legs, but the cup was a pretty flimsy cup. So, I rode along holding a cup of coffee I
didn’t want and from time to time absent-mindedly sipping bad coffee I didn’t
want to drink. Thankfully, after about half
an hour, I came to a town and was forced to stop, so I tossed the coffee out.
I sometimes feel I must hold on
to things that are a real encumbrance to my emotional, personal, and spiritual wellbeing. I hold on to them because if I hold them then
some how I am in control. If I am in
control, then I can make sure everything is going to be okay.
The feeling of control is like
hold the coffee cup rather than letting it sit on the floor. I feel like being in control is the only way
to prevent disaster. If I have control
everything is going to be okay, right?
Trusting important matters to forces or people that are not under my control
seems too risky. But is it really that
secure? Will my holding the cup prevent
bumps, curves, crazy drivers, (who are distracted by sipping good coffee), from
coming my way? Holding on to the cup or
trying to have control gives an illusion of security, familiarity, and safety. But my being in control is nothing more than
the illusion of security. In fact, my
holding the cup of coffee may reduce my ability to drive and make me inherently
more at risk.
Wanting to be in control is also like
sipping bad coffee, in that I may want something better, but instead I just slowly
drink the same old swill. When I am
trying to control people or circumstances, the possibility for real improvement
in those people or circumstances is limited to my abilities to solve their
problems. I have linked myself to this
miserable reality and as long as I try to stay in control I am bound to it and
have to hold it. If I don’t want the bad
coffee, I just need to do what is necessary to put it down.
So, if I am miserable, I need to
ask myself what am I trying to control and what do I need to put down so I am
less miserable. There is no middle
ground and half choices. I have to let
stuff go or I have to accept the misery of the attachments. Here are a few things I have decided to let
go. Please understand I am on the front
end of a lot of these things, so I am far from complete in this process.
Material possesions. Recently, I have been wondering if I own the
stuff or if the stuff owns me. I started
looking at stuff differently. I tried to
look at stuff as tenants or renters. In
exchange for me providing a place for them to live, they provide me services. If what they provided in terms of service was
un-needed or useless, I had to reconsider their rental agreement.
Me: “So you want to live in my
house for another year? What payments
are you offering?”
High school year book: “Once
every 2 or 3 years, when you take me out, I will remind you of what life was
like when you were 16 years old, the fun, laughter, and clubs, with profound
reminders of rejections, insecurities, and the remarkable stupidity of some of
your decisions.”
I did not renew the lease.
Maybe I lack adequate nostalgia,
but the fact is, that if I had a tenant that offered nothing of value for the
space they want to consume I would break the lease. So, I have been purging of late. Books that were cutting edge in the 1970’s, and
trophies that have been meaningless for a long time. Mementos from events I barely remember and
cared about even less. Even my high
school letter, I sent to the quarter back club and suggested they put it in
their trophy case. BAHAHAHA.
I am still in process, but I
don’t want my stuff to own me.
Ministry tools and concepts. Elmer Towns said and perhaps he was quoting
someone else, “Methods are many.
Principles are few. Methods may
change but principles never do.” In our
years of ministry, we developed our preferred methods, tools, and concepts that
have at one time been very useful and productive. But we can become so attached to these
methods, we sacrifice effective ministry to be faithful and loyal to a certain
way of doing ministry.
I have known godly ministers that
have waned in their effectiveness because they were unable to let certain
methods go. These were not bad pastors,
but they failed to link their diminishing return of the ministry with tools and
concepts that needed to be replaced.
There are certain things I always
loved to do in ministry. But in this
season of life I am spending time asking how effective these things were. If I did them because I loved to do them, but
they were not effective, then they need to be set aside. I need to ask what are the principles that
will never change and can be used in any culture and context and what are hand
tools for the moment. This may include a hard look at the methods
associated with my own fellowship/denomination/tradition. Because I was raised in a certain religious
stream does not mean that religious stream must be exempt from careful
scrutiny. What if I find that the way I
was brought up doing something, is a method and not a principle? What if that method is not optimally
effective; dare I consider breaking with a life long tradition?
Transportation is a principle
buggy whips are a method. I have
determined to sell my buggy whips no matter how skillfully made or how useful
it may have been.
Most importantly, I want to get
rid of my emotional stuff. I can, if I
let myself, list the people who have hurt me and mistreated me and work up a
lot of emotion about it. I can list
wounds, large and small, real and imagined, public and private that date back
for decades. I have a choice to carry
those around. I can sip the bitter swill
of my injuries time and time again. It
is not a pleasant drink, but it is familiar.
I know who all the players are, who is in the right and who is in the
wrong and how I can manipulate the circumstances for my advantage, or at least
have a good pity party. But, honestly,
it isn’t much of a way to live; in fact, it sucks pretty bad. I want to lay down all that garbage. Not in a sense of denial, it never happened, nor
in rationalization, pretending like it is no big deal. It did happen and it was a big deal, but as
long as I sip from that bitter cup I can have nothing else to drink. And I want something better.
Reprise: With enough courage you
can live without a reputation. So here
is where I find myself. I am tired of
being owned by my materialism, I want to be free from ineffective methodology
even if it was the way I was raised, and I want to be free from the wounds, patterns,
and the neurosis that have defined me.
I realize that this kind of
change will not be easy or quick. I also
realize I have a long way to go, further to go than I have come. I realize that these kinds of changes can
ruin a reputation. But to quote Rhett
Butler, “Scarlet, with enough courage you can live without a reputation.”
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