Stains on the Carpet

I spend many morning in a room with people who spill coffee. Unfortunately, I bought a plain beige rug for the room, which stains easily. With repeated cleaning efforts, it’s appearance has remained decent, but a few days ago another cup spilled and, even after being wiped up, left a dark stain. This morning, I noticed someone had dragged the coffee table over to hide the stain and I couldn’t help but use it as an icon pointing to a truth about how many of us live our lives.

I do not want to claim perpetual uniqueness, because I know we all spill coffee and leave marks in our lives which we are desperate to hide, but, as I sat there looking at the mark under the table, I thought of the many mistakes I’ve made in my life. As my thinking started to spiral into a lament over my countless mistakes, I realized I was sitting in a room full of people who are willing to talk about such things. When possible, we’ve tried to clean up our messes, but some leave permanent marks. Dragging a coffee table over is an understandable response, just as is switching jobs after a meltdown, or finding a new romantic interest before your heart has healed from your last. Coffee tables come is all shapes and sizes, but they only hide, and don’t remove, marks.

There are those I'll call “the pointers,” who see the marks and make sure others do as well. “Hey, look!” they cry or whisper, hoping that focusing on someone else’s stains will distract from their own. And, if we’re honest, some of the worst pointers are ourselves, always making sure to show people our imperfections before they find them out themselves.

The fact is, coffee spills and marks are left. Maybe if we accept that and give up the charade of perfect appearances, we can compare spots, laugh about them, in time, and give thanks we’re not alone. I looked up from my meditative gaze to see my friends from AA gathered around me and realized that was exactly what we were doing.

Enjoy The Ride

The invitation came out of nowhere, and was completely undeserved. A friend called to see if I would like to join him on his private plane to fly and play one of North Carolina’s premier golf courses. “Hell yes!” was all I could come up with, and it led to a day beyond my wildest dreams.

Arriving ten minutes before departing was gift enough, but not standing in security lines, nor waiting for my group number to board, made it a dream come true. The shuttle from the golf club waiting on the tarmac made me shake my head in disbelief. I had long hoped to play this particular course, and, despite my inability to set the course record, I felt like a pro. On the return flight, as my companions celebrated the day with cocktails, I looked out the window and tried to make sense of all that just happened.

I am better at giving than receiving. I am sure much of that is due to control issues as much as a generous spirit, but I also get uncomfortable when I'm in someone’s debt. I always look for a way to make things “even,” but, on this particular day, even was impossible. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and just enjoyed the ride.

I wonder if such a feeling is what people mean when they speak of God’s grace. Being loved despite all we've done and left undone, despite the ways we miss the mark, is a gift we don’t deserve, and can often feel comes out of nowhere. Like the day I was given, the feelings of gratitude for a gift beyond our wildest dreams are overwhelming, and there’s simply no way to pay God back or make things even. I suppose the best way to show our gratitude is to just close our eyes, take a deep breath, and enjoy the ride.

A Lenten Golf Lesson

I am not a good golfer, but I love to play the game. The environment inspires me, and the game entertains and fascinates me. While playing, I’m shown many lessons that extend far beyond the course itself. One such lesson came years ago on a course in Florida, but I was too young and distracted to learn it.

I’m not sure what hole it was, but the tee was separated from the fairway by water. The distance my ball had to travel was not all that far, but the water made it intimidatingly far. The reeds and plants taunting me as they swayed in the breeze, as if to say “Hey, notice me,” only made the challenge more daunting. Each time I walked onto the tee, I thought not about the fairway beyond, but the water in front. It was as if I was waving my arms in concert with the reeds.

One day, I placed my ball on the tee, took a deep breath, and tried not to think about the water, swung, and watched as my ball swerved right into the water. After a few cleansing breaths, mixed with some fruitful declarations, I tried again. The result was the same. Determined to get past the water, I tried a third time only to hear the splash within seconds. After the fourth unsuccessful attempt, my laughing friends could take no more, and we moved on.

What I didn’t understand then was the power of thought. By trying to NOT think about the water, it was all I thought about. Instead of seeing my ball flying to the expansive fairway beyond, I focused on the water, somehow believing my ball could walk on water, rather than over it.

In Lent, many of us focus on what we DON’T want to do, or the person we DON’T want to be, but, like that day on the tee, we focus on the very thing we seek to avoid and, like a magnet, our thoughts pull us toward it.

I’m sure I represent the extreme in mental weakness, but the lesson of focusing one what we DO want to do, and who we DO want to be may help others as well. In fact, I think such a shift in focus could be a game changer.