Things That Really Matter
February 16, 2009
Only a few things in life really matter,
and those few things that do matter, matter
immeasurably. Kent Kilbourne
You can change or stay the same; there are
no rules to this thing. We can make the best
or the worst of it. I hope you make the best
of it. And I hope you see things that startle
you. I hope you feel things you never felt
before. I hope you meet people with a
different point of view. I hope you live a
life you're proud of. If you find that you're
not, I hope you have the strength to start
all over again. Benjamin Button (Movie
voice over-letter to his daughter)
Glenn Adsit and his family spent years as
missionaries in China. During the Communist
regime change, they were under house arrest.
One day a few Chinese soldiers came to
their house, and said, "You can return to
America."
The Adsit's were celebrating, when the soldiers told them, "You can take only two hundred pounds with you."
Well, they had been in China for years. Two hundred pounds? They found the scales and started the family arguments. Each-wife, husband and the two children-had an opinion. Must have this vase. Well, this is my new typewriter. What about my books? What about my collection? And they weighed everything, took each item off the scales, weighed and re-weighed until finally, right on the dot, they had two hundred pounds.
The soldier asked, "Ready to go?"
"Yes."
"Did you weigh everything?"
"Yes."
"You weighed the kids?"
"No, we didn't."
"Weigh the kids."
And in a moment, the special vase, the new typewriter, the collections, all of it, became trash.
Just stuff.
This is not an easy story. And using it to nurse regret is a waste of time. Even so, it's still a necessary question for us today: "Did you weigh the kids?"
Did you weigh the things that really matter? I have read a lot of articles, sermons, books about the few things that matter, and the lists and opinions vary. So I cannot presume to make that list for you.
But here is what I can tell you for certain:
One, we are all pushed and prodded and pressured and obligated and easily out of balance. And we attach value to stuff that in the end, weighs us down.
And two, we can't know what really matters, unless we slooooow down. Only then can we see. Only then can we pay attention.
I remember a conversation I had with my son Zach.
"You know Dad," Zach is talking with his mouth full of cereal, "I think my life has been pretty full."
"Really?" I say to my 9 1/2-year-old son.
"Yeah. I mean, think about it. I have actually held a Serval Cat. In my lap. I have touched a real NASCAR racecar. I have been on an Aircraft Carrier. I have ridden in a real Ferrari. I have touched the actual Spruce Goose. And I have been within one foot of a Crossbill, and he didn't even move. Not bad."
No, son, not bad. Even better that you see it that way.
At the bookstore, a magazine caption caught my attention, "Life Aspiration to be a Millionaire." I shake my head, mystified. Not because I don't daydream about having a few million set aside (especially now the way things are), but it's all about the measures we have by which we gauge the progress in our lives. And our perspective about success is not too subtle.
It's all about size.
What are you worth?
What did you accomplish?
How much bigger (in value or bank account or faith for that matter) are you than the next guy?
As a result, we put each moment through its paces, evaluating it, judging it for significance and worth. We want to know if it measures up, and then, and only then will we embrace it, and make it a part of our lives. It is not surprising that many of us live lives based upon comparison, and in the end, shame or regret.
"We teach children how to measure, how to weigh," Rabbi Heschel reminds us. "We fail to teach them how to revere, how to sense wonder and awe. The sense of the sublime, the sign of the inward greatness of the human soul and something which is potentially given to all men, is now a rare gift."
Okay, so I'm at a pub in the airport. I have an hour before my flight departs. My papers are spread out. It is Sunday, I have preached three services, and I am trying to write this Sabbath Moment. (Yes, of course it is last minute. Deadlines and chaos motivate me. I have a book idea on Sabbath for ADHD Procrastinators.)
I have just reread the story about weighing the kids. And what I want to know, is how to practice this--you know, giving weight to those things that really matter--today? (Did you know that to honor means "to weigh heavy?" In other words, to give value, or to literally embrace the sacred in this moment.)
"Sitting at a bar, eating and working and answering your cell phone," the bar tender is saying to me (while I'm doing my best to ignore him and think of something meaningful to write). "Either you're dedicated or slightly crazy."
"Crazy comes close," I tell him, "But you know how it goes. I have stuff to do, and too little time to do it. I have deadlines and I'm on my way home."
"Say no more," he says. "This beer's on me. But only if you put your papers away, and just enjoy it."
"Thanks," I tell him, "but I've got to finish this, so I face my family in a good mood."
"Ok," he says. "Just don't forget the flowers."
"Thanks," I tell him. I write his inspiration on the back of a bar napkin, double his tip and head for my plane.
As long as success is measured by keeping score (weighing or honoring the wrong stuff), we lose track of most everything that makes us human and therefore, glad to be alive:
--small gestures of kindness
--acts of inclusion or community to someone left out, or someone on the fringes --extending a hand of healing or acceptance to someone who hurts
--reveling in the gifts of the senses
--resting in a moment of gratitude
--sharing laughter, a smile, camaraderie or joy
--finding a friend, a family member, or someone important to you. And not forgetting the flowers.
(The Adsit story is adapted from Fred Craddock's book Craddock Stories.)
Making people feel important is not just good politics, it's become big business. For a six- figure sum, Paris Hilton will show up at your party so everyone will know just how cool you really are. Some rap artists now travel with their own television crews so people will see the cameras grinding away and say, "Wow, that must be someone important." I don't know much but I think I've stumbled on a much better way. My grandchildren call me Bo-Bo, and the other day, one of them, a four-year-old, looked up at me and said, "Bo-Bo, I really need your help on something." In my entire life, I never felt more important than I did at that moment. Bob Schieffer (CBS News Anchor)
The Adsit's were celebrating, when the soldiers told them, "You can take only two hundred pounds with you."
Well, they had been in China for years. Two hundred pounds? They found the scales and started the family arguments. Each-wife, husband and the two children-had an opinion. Must have this vase. Well, this is my new typewriter. What about my books? What about my collection? And they weighed everything, took each item off the scales, weighed and re-weighed until finally, right on the dot, they had two hundred pounds.
The soldier asked, "Ready to go?"
"Yes."
"Did you weigh everything?"
"Yes."
"You weighed the kids?"
"No, we didn't."
"Weigh the kids."
And in a moment, the special vase, the new typewriter, the collections, all of it, became trash.
Just stuff.
This is not an easy story. And using it to nurse regret is a waste of time. Even so, it's still a necessary question for us today: "Did you weigh the kids?"
Did you weigh the things that really matter? I have read a lot of articles, sermons, books about the few things that matter, and the lists and opinions vary. So I cannot presume to make that list for you.
But here is what I can tell you for certain:
One, we are all pushed and prodded and pressured and obligated and easily out of balance. And we attach value to stuff that in the end, weighs us down.
And two, we can't know what really matters, unless we slooooow down. Only then can we see. Only then can we pay attention.
I remember a conversation I had with my son Zach.
"You know Dad," Zach is talking with his mouth full of cereal, "I think my life has been pretty full."
"Really?" I say to my 9 1/2-year-old son.
"Yeah. I mean, think about it. I have actually held a Serval Cat. In my lap. I have touched a real NASCAR racecar. I have been on an Aircraft Carrier. I have ridden in a real Ferrari. I have touched the actual Spruce Goose. And I have been within one foot of a Crossbill, and he didn't even move. Not bad."
No, son, not bad. Even better that you see it that way.
At the bookstore, a magazine caption caught my attention, "Life Aspiration to be a Millionaire." I shake my head, mystified. Not because I don't daydream about having a few million set aside (especially now the way things are), but it's all about the measures we have by which we gauge the progress in our lives. And our perspective about success is not too subtle.
It's all about size.
What are you worth?
What did you accomplish?
How much bigger (in value or bank account or faith for that matter) are you than the next guy?
As a result, we put each moment through its paces, evaluating it, judging it for significance and worth. We want to know if it measures up, and then, and only then will we embrace it, and make it a part of our lives. It is not surprising that many of us live lives based upon comparison, and in the end, shame or regret.
"We teach children how to measure, how to weigh," Rabbi Heschel reminds us. "We fail to teach them how to revere, how to sense wonder and awe. The sense of the sublime, the sign of the inward greatness of the human soul and something which is potentially given to all men, is now a rare gift."
Okay, so I'm at a pub in the airport. I have an hour before my flight departs. My papers are spread out. It is Sunday, I have preached three services, and I am trying to write this Sabbath Moment. (Yes, of course it is last minute. Deadlines and chaos motivate me. I have a book idea on Sabbath for ADHD Procrastinators.)
I have just reread the story about weighing the kids. And what I want to know, is how to practice this--you know, giving weight to those things that really matter--today? (Did you know that to honor means "to weigh heavy?" In other words, to give value, or to literally embrace the sacred in this moment.)
"Sitting at a bar, eating and working and answering your cell phone," the bar tender is saying to me (while I'm doing my best to ignore him and think of something meaningful to write). "Either you're dedicated or slightly crazy."
"Crazy comes close," I tell him, "But you know how it goes. I have stuff to do, and too little time to do it. I have deadlines and I'm on my way home."
"Say no more," he says. "This beer's on me. But only if you put your papers away, and just enjoy it."
"Thanks," I tell him, "but I've got to finish this, so I face my family in a good mood."
"Ok," he says. "Just don't forget the flowers."
"Thanks," I tell him. I write his inspiration on the back of a bar napkin, double his tip and head for my plane.
As long as success is measured by keeping score (weighing or honoring the wrong stuff), we lose track of most everything that makes us human and therefore, glad to be alive:
--small gestures of kindness
--acts of inclusion or community to someone left out, or someone on the fringes --extending a hand of healing or acceptance to someone who hurts
--reveling in the gifts of the senses
--resting in a moment of gratitude
--sharing laughter, a smile, camaraderie or joy
--finding a friend, a family member, or someone important to you. And not forgetting the flowers.
(The Adsit story is adapted from Fred Craddock's book Craddock Stories.)
Making people feel important is not just good politics, it's become big business. For a six- figure sum, Paris Hilton will show up at your party so everyone will know just how cool you really are. Some rap artists now travel with their own television crews so people will see the cameras grinding away and say, "Wow, that must be someone important." I don't know much but I think I've stumbled on a much better way. My grandchildren call me Bo-Bo, and the other day, one of them, a four-year-old, looked up at me and said, "Bo-Bo, I really need your help on something." In my entire life, I never felt more important than I did at that moment. Bob Schieffer (CBS News Anchor)
Poems / Prayers
A video to inspire and encourage you.
www.theinterviewwithgod
To laugh often and much, to win the respect of the intelligent and the affection of children, to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends, to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others, to leave the world a bit better, to redeem a social condition, to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded. Ralph Waldo Emerson
Normal day,
let me be aware of the treasure you are.
Let me learn from you, love you,
bless you before you depart.
Let me not pass you by
in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow.
Let me hold you while I may,
for it may not always be so.
One day I shall dig my nails into the earth,
or bury my face into the pillow,
or stretch myself taut,
or raise my hands to the sky and want,
more than all the world,
your return.
Mary Jean Iron
Lord, behold our family here assembled.
We thank Thee for this place in which
we dwell; for the love that unites us; for
the peace accorded us this day;
for the hope with which we expect the morrow;
for the health, the work, the food, and the bright
skies that make our lives delightful; for
our friends in all parts of the earth
Give us courage, gaiety, and the quiet mind.
Spare to us our friends, soften to us our enemies.
Bless us, if it may be, in all our innocent endeavors.
If it may not be, give us the strength to encounter that which is to come,
May we be brave in peril, constant in tribulation, temperate in wrath,
and in all changes of fortune and down to the gates of death,
loyal and loving to one another.
Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)
Peace,
Terry Hershey
