Finishing the Job

The Lovely Lady isn’t talking to me.  

No, it’s not for the reason you might suspect.  She’s not upset—not with me anyway.

I am frustrated.  I have been for weeks.  Tasks which have been set before me have been tackled with purpose and intent.  As uncomfortable as I am with those tasks, I want to complete them.

Wanting to is not the same as doing.

Trying is not the same as succeeding.

For a variety of reasons, I have been forced to move from several of the tasks to other ones before the first jobs were completed.  It doesn’t set well in my spirit.

Today, I spent a few hours measuring and visualizing a solution while considering a task I never wanted to begin in the first place.  

What I really mean is I stood in one place and, staring at the impossible mess, racked my brain to come up with a way out of the predicament I find myself in.  Dinnertime interrupted the aggravation—which only made me more aggravated.

I came home, having accomplished not a single task.  Not one.

I said she’s not talking to me.  She just knows I need a little space.  I’m not much for consoling platitudes.  They only frustrate me more.  She knows that.

She knows me.

I like that she knows me. 

Later this evening, I needed to retrieve something I had left at the site of my earlier frustration, so I told her I would be right back, explaining what I was doing.  

It would take a little longer than that.

As I walked in the door, the frustration of the day landed on me again like an unbearable weight on my chest.  It was hard for me to breathe for a moment.  But, as I walked back where the item I needed was stored, I noticed another task I had left undone days ago.

A thought hit me.  Why not just finish that little project?  I had been putting it off for days, feeling guilty every time I walked past, but never stopping to complete the work.

Tonight, I picked up the necessary tools and I finished one task.  Just one.

I walked out of there with my head held high.  When I got home, the Lovely Lady talked to me.

She talked to me.

I like that she knows me.

I read her part of a poem, one I remember from my childhood days.  You’ve likely heard it before.  A single verse from Longfellow’s The Village Blacksmith:

Toiling,—rejoicing,—sorrowing,
   Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begun,
   Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
   Has earned a night’s repose.

My voice cracked as I read the words.  It does that.  More and more, these days.

It was only a small thing I completed.  

No.  It was a very small thing.  

It doesn’t matter.  I needed to feel the success of completion—of working at something that mattered, and finishing it.

I have often felt that way about life itself—about living my faith.  I need to do something that matters.  More than that, I need to complete the job.

Perhaps I won’t finish it today, as Mr. Longfellow’s blacksmith did.  But still, the goal is not to start a plethora of tasks.  The goal is to finish what’s been begun, be it one enterprise or a dozen.

I want to be able to say with the Apostle who wrote so many letters, that I have fought a good fight and have completed the race.  (2 Timothy 4:7)

It will only be true through perseverance.  It will only be true if the race is run in His strength and not my own.  

I lose interest when the going gets hard.  Zeal turns to disappointment; the heat of good intentions cools until there is barely a spark of dedication.

But, He knows me.

My frustrations, my sadness, my disappointments, He knows all of them.  And, in all of them, He never wavers in His faithfulness.  

I waver.  I gripe.  I lash out.

There is no limit to His persistent love. Click To Tweet

But, there is no limit to His persistent love.  His mercies have no end.  Really.  In His faithfulness, His mercies are renewed every morning.  (Lamentations 3:22, 23)

Every morning.

Just when I need them to face the new day, with its frustrations and its challenges.  Mercies.

I like that He knows me.

I’ve got more tasks to complete.  

I think I’ll see what I can finish today.

I might even start something new.

 

My therapist told me the way to achieve true inner peace is to finish what I start.  So far today, I have finished two bags of M&Ms and a chocolate cake.  I feel better already.
(Dave Barry ~ American author/humorist)

 

Work willingly at whatever you do, as though you were working for the Lord rather than for people.  Remember that the Lord will give you an inheritance as your reward, and that the Master you are serving is Christ.
(Colossians 3:23,24 ~ NLT ~ Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation.  All rights reserved.) 

 

 

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2017. All Rights Reserved.

Never Satisfied

I wish I knew how it happened.  Maybe I’m just too competitive.  Someday, I’ll learn.

Nearing the end of a bicycle ride today, I noticed an athletically-built young man on his bike some distance ahead of me.  Going the same direction as I, but with the interval between us lessening steadily, it appeared I would be ahead of him fairly soon.

He rounded a curve in the road and glanced back to see me a couple hundred feet behind.  Immediately, he stood up on his pedals and began to pump away, swinging the bike wildly from side to side with his muscular grip on the handlebars. 

It was hard to misinterpret his intent.  There was no way this old man was going to pass him!

Oh, man!  Challenge accepted!

I didn’t stand up.  I didn’t throw the bicycle from side to side.  I simply spun the pedals faster, exerting myself where I had been on autopilot a moment before.  As I reached a higher speed, I flipped the right-hand brake lever (also the shifter) to the side and the derailleur on the back wheel dropped the chain over one sprocket, sending more of my expended energy to the wheel propelling the lightweight machine of metal and rubber.

Within a quarter mile, I had overtaken the young man and, acting the part of the gracious winner (merely acting, mind you), greeted him in passing, only to hear his backdoor criticism of my feat.

“That’s an awesome bike, man!”

I sputtered out a comment about it being a great day for a ride and pedaled on past.  He turned a corner moments later and was lost from the view of my little rearview mirror.

I pedaled on at the same speed for awhile, but slowed gradually as the short, odd interaction took over my mind.

He’s not wrong.

It is a wonderful bicycle.  

It’s a lot more bicycle than a rider like myself deserves.  It was offered to me for a very reasonable price by an old friend just over a year ago.  Since the Lord had recently blessed me with an extra sum of money earned playing my horn, I had the wherewithal to afford it and I purchased it.

I understand how nice the bike is.  That’s not my problem.

The thing is, the bicycle didn’t overtake the fellow on the road today.

I did.

Lest you think I’m getting a size or two too large for my lycra shorts, let me assure you I understand very clearly my limitations as a cyclist.

I’m not that good a rider.

But, here is what I know, mostly from long periods of time spent doing just the opposite:  If one rides regularly, one develops the ability to ride faster and farther.

You have to ride your bike.

A month ago, the young athlete would have pulled away from me easily, showing up this old man on his awesome bike.

That beautiful bicycle sitting in the storage barn could never have passed anyone by itself.  And, ridden by a cyclist on the road for his first outing in a year, the result would certainly have been a losing effort.
                             

As often happens, while my mind was still chewing on the remnants of this earlier event, a seemingly unrelated activity later in the day gave me something new to contemplate.

I was glancing at my smartphone, and decided it was past time to clear out the notes reminding me I need to pick up eight-penny finishing nails (the 8d nails are in the pine window jamb already), or that I couldn’t forget to buy a new battery for my truck’s key fob (I did that six months ago). There were lots more, but most are just as mundane—and outdated—as these, so I won’t bore you with a recitation of them all.

One note caught my attention as I flipped past though, so I quickly scrolled back up to it.  It was a little blurb I wrote months ago, thinking about who-knows-what? at the time.

Be content with what you have, but never with where you are.

Somehow tonight, the words jumped off the screen at me.  I’ll delete those other notes later.  This is important stuff!

The apostle who once was called Saul made the statement.  Well, he actually made two different statements, but both are rolled up in this one.

Thanking his friends for sending a gift to him, the letter-writing apostle hastened to let them know he had no problem functioning with whatever God provided.  I have learned, in whatever condition I find myself—with that, to be content. (Philippians 4:11)

Earlier in the same letter, he had encouraged them to keep moving—leaving the past and its accomplishments behind—to the goal, never staying in the same place. (Philippians 3:12-14)

The two statements stand, seemingly in opposition to each other.  When combined though, they form a principle with the capability of radically changing the way we live our lives.

Be content. 

Never be satisfied.

It messes with the brain a bit, doesn’t it?

Be content with what you have, but never with where you are.

Never.

I have a very nice French horn which sits in its case on my floor.  Well sure, I have the horn, but why didn’t our Creator make me a prodigy so I could play it effortlessly and flawlessly (and even earn money for more nice cycling equipment)?

I wonder.  I have the horn.  Perhaps, I could practice and then possibly, I might someday be able to play it adequately.

Some may wish they could execute beautiful counted cross stitch projects, having needle and thread already in their possession, but lacking the ability and the training to immediately achieve their dream.  I wonder if such a person might start by sewing buttons on shirtsleeves and then see what comes next.

If I gaze longingly out toward the storage barn, remembering the awesome bicycle out there, but wishing for the strength and understanding to operate such a conveyance, I’ll never have more than that bicycle—sitting idle in storage.

It takes time and dedication to be able to use His gifts properly.  

And somehow, when we commit ourselves to moving forward, He seems to give better gifts with which to make the journey.

Be content with what you have, but never with where you are. Click To Tweet

It’s time to take what He’s blessed us with and move in the direction He points us.

Towards Him.

Closer to home.

It is an awesome bike.

Time to get in the race.

 

 

 

Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.
(On the Road ~ Jack Kerouac ~ American novelist ~1922-1969)

 

 

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2017. All Rights Reserved.

The Marketplace

There are times when you just know.  Beyond a shadow of doubt, you know:  This is why you are here.

This moment.  This person.

The Lovely Lady had first crack at her today.  The lady, like many others we see this time of year, is struggling with acquiring a musical instrument for her aspiring band member.  No money.  No knowledge of what constitutes a good instrument, nor how to tell if it is in good condition.  No one she can trust to be honest with her.

She does have a clarinet in her hands as she enters the music store.  She also has a discouraged look on her face.  I never heard the full story of how she came by the clarinet, but I do know she wants us to make it play correctly for her sixth grader.  She is not optimistic.

“I’m sure it needs a repad.  Can you do that for me?”

The Lovely Lady opens the case and looks over the horn, expecting the worst.  Since I am busy with another customer, I leave her to handle things by herself.  It is obvious she is a little confused, and I expect a call for help momentarily.  What I hear is her suggesting the lady is mistaken.

“Well, a repad is quite expensive, but I’m not sure that’s what you need.  Let’s wait for the expert.”  (She always says that, but it’s not really a good description of my abilities.)

As soon as I can break free, I head for the counter where the diminutive lady is waiting, still with an unhappy visage.  I’m prepared to point out the problem areas and make an estimate for the nervous mom.  Taking the individual pieces of the horn in my hand one after another, I look for something to point to.  Nothing.

That can’t be right.  This lady came in expecting big problems.  Surely I can find something.  

I look again.  Testing the sealing ability of the pads, I find no sign of any leaks anywhere on the instrument.  The corks are fine.  A little dingy, but completely intact.  There is absolutely nothing wrong with the clarinet.  

I have a dilemma.

The lady came in expecting to leave the instrument with us for repair.  She assumes there will be a sizable charge due when the repair is finished.

I’m in business to make a profit.  How hard can this be?

“Oh yes, Ma’am.  We really do need to replace quite a few pads here.  And, the corks—they’ll need to be changed also.  It won’t cost as much as a repad, but still, it will take a good bit to get this horn into shape for your daughter.”

So easy.  She would never know.  It’s what she expects anyway.  

The decision is made without hesitation.  It is who I am—who we are.  Now.

“No Ma’am.  The horn is in excellent condition.  What?  Oh no.  No charge.”

You would hardly have recognized the woman who walked out that door as the same lady who had come in moments earlier.  A smile shone across her face, the like of which hadn’t likely been seen there recently.

I felt good.  I felt bad.

It was almost the same feeling I had a day or two ago, when a girl and her mom had come in to purchase a small item.  The lady spoke no English.  None at all.  Her daughter translated every word for her as the transaction was made.

The two were still in the store when a regular customer of mine walked nearby shaking his head.  His eyes shot daggers at the two, as he spoke the words to me.

“I hate that!  Why don’t they learn our language?”

Do you know how easy it would have been for me to simply nod my head?  Just a nod.  No words would have been necessary.  

But, this also is why I am here.

I explained to him my admiration for folks who leave their land in search of a better life for their families.  Struggling to be at home in a strange place, they walk out of their door into a battleground every day.  I will not participate in the hatred of another human being.  

I say the words kindly to him, but he rolls his eyes in disgust as he walks out.

I may have lost a customer.  I hope not,  but I would do it again.

I felt bad.  I felt good.

This is why I’m here.  It’s why you’re where you are.  

To do the right thing.  Even when we’d rather do the easy thing.

To show a life that is different because of what God has done in us.  

It is how He works in this world—how He has always worked.

I don’t necessarily want this to be why I’m here.  Sometimes, I wonder why God won’t leave me alone to make a comfortable living like any other red-blooded American.  If that means taking advantage of folks who have their wallets in their hands, so be it.  If I have to walk on a few people to gain the approval of others, why not?

And then I remember a God who told His Chosen People that their scales were to be honest, their weights to be accurate, their measurements to be correct.

Thousands of years ago, He made it clear.  

The world has one standard: Every man for himself.  All is fair in love and war.

God has another standard, a standard which has never changed:  Love your neighbor as yourself.  Period.

The standard applies in our family life; it applies to our friendships; it applies in our churches.  And, no less than any other place, it applies in the marketplace.

opensignPerhaps, more.

The marketplace is where who we really are is on display for all to see.  It’s where our integrity comes out of the dark of night, and into the light of day.

It’s where our talk of following a Savior is proven, or else belied, by our walk.

Can I let you in on a secret?  I have kept my mouth shut too many times.  I have found myself letting folks spend more than they should on things they didn’t need.  

I don’t write about the two interactions above to draw attention to my stellar accomplishments, but rather to draw attention to who we need to be—who we must be in our marketplace.

We all fail in our determination to walk in integrity—I, as often as anyone I know.  

But.  Grace.

Grace is a wonderful thing; its beauty is in its resilience.  Failures become victories.  Timidity becomes boldness.

Selfishness becomes love.

The Teacher spent a good bit of His time in the marketplace.  

Doing good. Showing love.

Our turn.

 

 

I simply argue that the cross be raised again at the centre of the market place as well as on the steeple of the Church.
I am recovering the claim that Jesus was not crucified in a cathedral between two candles; but on a cross between two thieves; on a town garbage heap; at the crossroad of politics so cosmopolitan that they had to write His title in Hebrew and in Latin and in Greek… And at the kind of place where cynics talk smut, and thieves curse and soldiers gamble.
Because that is where He died, and that is what He died about. And that is where Christ’s men ought to be and what church people ought to be about.
(George Macleod ~ Scottish minister/theologian ~ 1895-1991)

 

 

 

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