Carvings

“The greatest use of life is to spend it for something that will outlast it.”

Attributed to William James

Down the road, in the shadow of Mount Rushmore, there’s another statue being carved in a mountain. This one's in memory of Crazy Horse, an inspirational figure in Native American history whose memorial speaks not only of his life but the rich tradition in which it was lived. Both through the figure being carved and the museum and school at its feet, people will be reminded of many valuable lessons, one of the most important in the building of the memorial itself.

Begun in 1948, artist Korczak Ziolkowski was asked to depict Crazy Horse and all the culture he represented.  The design is enormous in scale and shows Crazy Horse sitting upon a stallion with his arm and finger pointing to the hills that belong to his people who are buried there. When completed, it will be equal to the more famous carving up the road, but in its construction there is a lesson not to be missed.

The man who began the work is dead. His wife, who carried on his work, recently died. In fact, everyone working on the statue today will not live to see its completion, but that’s what makes their work so inspirational.

The artist began knowing he would never see the finished project. Seeing it completed was not the point. The project was. In the same way, carvers continue to carve, teachers continue to teach, fundraisers continue to solicit, and volunteers continue to offer their time and talent. It is their legacy. Their names will not be remembered, and yet they show up each morning. They all are involved in something that will outlast themselves.

I couldn’t help but think of my own life (and yours) and ask whether we are working in the same way?

Is what we are doing with our lives going to outlast it?

Is our focus about us, or something greater?

Do the purposes of our lives point to us or someone or something greater?

Is our purpose to have our names written somewhere?

What are we carving, and why?

https://crazyhorsememorial.org

Moving The Chair

With an afternoon all to herself, each of her children and husband otherwise occupied, she headed to the back patio to enjoy the warmth of the sun. Carefully positioning the chair for maximum exposure, she took her place, closed her eyes, and basked in the warmth of the sun. Before long, she also fell asleep, and, while asleep, the sun moved, causing a shadow to creep across the patio. When she awakened, she found herself no longer in the sun but completely in the shadow.  Instead of moving her chair, she got up and returned to the house.

That describes the way many of us live our lives. We’re given moments when all seems right with the world. The warmth of life basks upon us like rays of sun, and we close our eyes and give thanks for being alive. Unfortunately, such moments don't last. Like the woman on the patio, we often fall asleep as the sun moves, and, eventually, we will find ourselves in shadow rather than sun. That is, unless we have the sense and discipline to get up and move the chair.

It’s often said that the only constant is change. In our individual lives, relationships, businesses, and our spiritual lives the sun is always moving. The challenge is to be aware of the shadow and move our chair as it creeps toward us. When our knee begins to hurt, we go see a doctor. When a small issue between a partner begins to grow, we discuss it or seek professional help. When sales dwindle and the competition innovates, we gather our team and dream about what could be, just like we did when the company first started. And when we feel ourselves drifting away from God, relying more and more on our own efforts, we return to reading scripture, joining a spiritual group or becoming involved in a faith community to awaken ourselves.

These are simplistic examples of moving the chair, I know, but they point to a valuable truth about living an awakened life: move the chair! Yes, it’s easier to stay asleep, but eventually we will find ourselves in the shadow and wonder how it happened.

Important lessons in unlikely packages.

She was wearing Tory Burch sandals with newly painted toenails, but above her left ankle was a cumbersome black device wrapped around her leg. In an instant I recognized the unsightly adornment as a court-appointed tracking device. I’d never seen one before, but the bright footwear and dark anklet was too rich a contrast to ignore.

What struck me first was her willingness to let it show. She could have worn long pants, but, instead, left the device for all to see. I also reflected on the captivity the device represented. Because of it, there were places she was required to go and others where she was forbidden. When she spoke, I learned yet another important lesson. Expecting a long saga about her misfortunes, she spoke of deep gratitude. Struggling to get the words out, she told us that she was allowed to see her granddaughter for the first time in a year later that afternoon.

Looking back, I can’t remember the topic of the meeting, but I'll never forget the lessons of the day.

I have spent a lifetime trying to hide my imperfections. So insecure about the opinions of others, I have worn many costumes and masks like long pants shrouding all the things of which I am embarrassed. How I wish I had the courage of the woman sitting across from me.

I have no court appointed anklet, but I, too, am held captive by many things. My thoughts and behaviors bind me as much as any device. Because of them, there are places I need to go (like the meeting I was attending) and other places I cannot. Her visible captivity only reminded me of my own.

Her words of gratitude, despite her circumstances, also served as an inspiration.  She could have focused on what was wrapped around her leg, but instead thought of her granddaughter wrapped around her heart. Too often, I look down at the little things instead of out at the big.

The lessons of life, the ones we really need to learn, are sometimes disguised in unlikely packages. That morning, what I needed to learn was not in a book or a well-designed meeting, but in a woman with a devise attached to her leg.