Wedding Lessons

On my calendar was an event that loomed so large it occupied my thoughts for months. It was both an exciting event and one that filled me with dread, or as they say in AA, “impending doom.” Gathered there would be dear friends and others I’d not seen in years. Given all that had happened in my life, there were bound to be people glad to see me and others who were not. I had no choice but to board the plane and be as present as I could, and it has led me to want to share how I made it through.

Step one: Put one step in front of the other. I’ve heard others say, “Feel the pain/dread and do it anyway.” Every bone in my body wanted to turn and run away, and yet that was not an option, so I had to keep walking forward. I needed to take deep breaths and be present as best I could through whatever might come.

Step two: Modify my focus. When thinking only of myself, the anxious waters rose above my nose leaving me unable to breath, but when I thought of others, they receded. “It’s not about you; it’s about them,” was my mantra and that reminder transformed the experience. There were times I started drifting back toward a self-centered way of looking at things, but remembering to focus on others made all the difference.

Step three: Remember, my worth is not found in others. A wise soul once said, “There’s an audience of one.” By that, he meant God, whose opinion is the only one that ultimately matters. We live in a world where we often fall victim of living for the approval of others. That works well for those who live impressive lives, but it is hell (literally) for those of us who have not. People see things (and people) not as they are but as THEY are, and we do not have the ability to control what others see, think, do, or say. Everyone has wounds and those wounds influence the way they see the world and those around them. To remember that everyone has their stuff, whether they’re willing to admit it or not, can bring fresh air for one’s soul at life’s most challenging moments. Like so many things, it’s easier to say than do, but with practice it can lead to a freedom beyond compare. Suddenly rolled eyes, snarly smiles, and overt dismissiveness lose their power.

As you can imagine, there were wonderful surprises during that special event, and other moments and people who challenged me at my core. In the aftermath, I can only look at my part and own what I did well and what I could have done better, but it’s clear that the entire weekend – the good and difficult – was a microcosm of this thing called “life.” Most of my days are not as dramatic as the ones that have just occurred (thank God), but these taught me important lessons.

Maybe they’ll help you, too.

Not about the buildings

It isn’t about the building. For the longest time, I thought it was. Like an early human scratching a drawing on a cave wall, I wanted to leave some sign that I’d passed this way. With some very special people, I was a part of designing and building a chapel that now sits prominently at the center of a school campus, but it wasn’t until my recent visit that I realized the building was never the point.

It was a bright, clear morning, and I arrived early for the annual Founders’ Day service. I hoped to wander through the space alone before the students and guests arrived but was surprised to see two old students of mine already there. One, the guest speaker, was in the pulpit practicing his sermon, the other, a dear friend of his, offering insights and suggestions. We greeted one another like long-lost friends and soon I was also listening and instructing like I used to.

As people began arriving, I took my seat in the back and was surrounded by retired teachers with whom I once worked. “It’s like the band’s getting back together,” someone joked, and my heart took a deep breath as I remembered how sacred our time had been.

A dear parent from my days at the school arrived and sat beside me with her daughter who now had a child at the school. They’d recently lost their husband/father, and I shared an idea I got during his funeral - the kind of idea that made me squirm like a child on Christmas morning. It was a way to remember him forever, and she loved it as much as I hoped she would. We sat by the aisle so they could beam as their handsome son/grandson made his triumphant entrance. It was as bitter and sweet as life gets. I was so glad they were here to see it; I was so sad he was not.

The organ began and we sang in a way that made the students turn around and take notice. The sermon was delivered with poise and brilliance as he spoke from his heart of his days at the school and how they had shaped the man he’d become. I don’t remember much else about the service because I was sitting back taking in the beauty - not of the building but all that was going on inside it.

“I guess that’s the point,” I said to myself. “I guess it always was.”

I left the service recalling all the other ways I’d forgotten that important lesson along the way. I thought about the houses I focused on and not the conversations at the dining room table, the parties and not the nights reading before bed, the titles and not the work, the life goals and not the daily moments.

I doubt I’m unique, but I now see I’ve had it all wrong: It’s not so much what we build or achieve in our lives, but what happens within them that matters.

Lesson on the side of the road

On a recent drive through a sleepy South Carolina town, I noticed someone sitting on the side of the road. Probably waiting for someone to pick him up, I thought, only to drive by and see his hand raised and his middle finger extended. It was not directed at me anymore than the cars ahead and behind me. It was meant for all of us and the sight haunted me ever since.

What would make him do such a thing? Had something recently happened, or was it his response to his overwhelming despair? In the midst of such divisive times, was this his form of expressing himself?

As sad and foolish as I thought the scene was, I also understood his frustration, anger, and despair. While I’ve not sat by the roadside making such a gesture, in my heart I’ve chosen battle lines with those who do not think, believe, or vote the way I do. In the safety of my car, I could admit I was not all that different from the man I passed.

But as I continued on my way, I moved from specific issues that might have troubled him to the fact that, deep down, he must not feel like he matters, that the world doesn’t care, or that he is no longer seen (if he ever was). Suddenly, my reflections moved from my head to my heart. I no longer thought of the man as a stranger on the side of the road, but a human being not unlike myself.

We all need some sense that we matter. We all need to be seen … by somebody! Without such connections, we become lonely, lost, and without hope. In such darkness, we get angry and take on such a disinterested world, like the man did, or, worse, we give up completely.

I confess that my initial reaction to the man was a desire to lift my own finger, but I didn’t. Instead, I spent the next two hours thinking about him and wished I had pulled over, sat beside him, and asked what led him to do such a thing. I’m not sure I was brave enough to ask. I’m not sure he was willing to answer. It’s easier to lift a finger or keep driving, which seems to be the problem this world has right now.