I experienced a rite of passage yesterday. When all was said, done, tested, and paid for, we went for dinner at Cracker Barrel because I needed comfort food. When Mitch went through this, I’m ashamed to say I made fun of him. Now that it’s my turn, I humbly implored mercy, and he showed enough good character to repay me with kindness.
And not only Mitch but everyone else. At Cracker Barrel, I had to ask the waitress to read the Children’s Menu to me so I could make sure my son wasn’t ordering extra stuff that didn’t come with his meal. My daughter is a big mac ‘n cheese fan, so I pointed to the thumbnail size picture of what appeared to be a plateful of orange grubs, since the caption was obviously typed in a 3-point font.
After months of putting my prescription reading glasses on, off, on, off, straining for my eyes to refocus again and again on objects near and far, I’m finally willing to make the plunge, step over the line, belly up to the bar and take a swing at the ball – if, that is, I can see it coming. (Is that a golf ball they’re pitching?)
Ten years ago, I would have gone to great lengths to avoid asking anyone for help, even if it had been needed. But time softens one’s resignations to life’s harsh realities, so it was with only mild trepidation that I ordered my first pair of bifocals yesterday.
But during the next seven business days, if you see me groping or squinting or feeling my way, have a heart. If you’re still in your 20’s, I promise to be nice to you someday. When it’s your turn.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
And Then Nothing Happened
Checking my voicemails this morning, I heard the following message from a frustrated and bewildered caller, spoken not to me, but to a family member in the background:
Like many of you, I long ago deleted what I thought were culturally outdated instructions in my voicemail:
Corporate voicemails still say that, and now I know why. Very few personal voicemails do, and if they do, others mock them for stating the obvious, much like we mock the instructions to not drink the battery acid, or a warning that the Superman pajamas do not actually enable the child to fly. As my Gen Y co-worker and I discussed this morning, it is absolutely incomprehensible to us that someone would hear the “beep” and not understand what to do next.
Yet this is not the first such voicemail I have received. The previous one was mercifully anonymous as the caller chatted to a family member about the meetings they were attending and the food being served, while expressing frustration that I had not answered my phone.
As someone whose title, education and identity are all emblazoned with the word “communications,” it clearly behooves me to update, or retro-date my voice message for maximum effectiveness. The rest of you will just have to sit through the redundancy.
But as someone who truly cares about helping people, I am nearly as frustrated as they are when this happens – I wish I could reach through the phone line and reassure them that I am listening, that I do care about solving their problem. In fact, nine times out of ten, I could easily have answered their question and alleviated their concern within minutes, had they just understood how the system works to get their message through.
Suddenly I get this mental image of God checking His voicemails and hearing the following, spoken not to Him but about Him to a friend:
I can almost begin to comprehend what must be His frustration. I can imagine a teardrop fall on a nail-pierced hand.
“Well, I heard her say who she was, and that she looked forward to helping me – and then nothing happened.”
Like many of you, I long ago deleted what I thought were culturally outdated instructions in my voicemail:
“At the sound of the beep, please leave your name and number and I will gladly return your call.”
Corporate voicemails still say that, and now I know why. Very few personal voicemails do, and if they do, others mock them for stating the obvious, much like we mock the instructions to not drink the battery acid, or a warning that the Superman pajamas do not actually enable the child to fly. As my Gen Y co-worker and I discussed this morning, it is absolutely incomprehensible to us that someone would hear the “beep” and not understand what to do next.
Yet this is not the first such voicemail I have received. The previous one was mercifully anonymous as the caller chatted to a family member about the meetings they were attending and the food being served, while expressing frustration that I had not answered my phone.
As someone whose title, education and identity are all emblazoned with the word “communications,” it clearly behooves me to update, or retro-date my voice message for maximum effectiveness. The rest of you will just have to sit through the redundancy.
But as someone who truly cares about helping people, I am nearly as frustrated as they are when this happens – I wish I could reach through the phone line and reassure them that I am listening, that I do care about solving their problem. In fact, nine times out of ten, I could easily have answered their question and alleviated their concern within minutes, had they just understood how the system works to get their message through.
Suddenly I get this mental image of God checking His voicemails and hearing the following, spoken not to Him but about Him to a friend:
“I’ve prayed and prayed about this but God doesn’t answer. I’m still (broke/sick/single/miserable) so I guess it must be God’s will for me to stay that way. I guess God doesn’t care about my problem.”
I can almost begin to comprehend what must be His frustration. I can imagine a teardrop fall on a nail-pierced hand.
Friday, September 08, 2006
My Cousin Jud
I know I've been blogless for weeks on end but here's an oh-so-linkable post from someone many of you would enjoy. For Dr. Dolittle & other missionary parents - be thankful YOUR kids TELL you about all that stuff they do when you're not around!!
At least . . . let's hope they're telling you . . .
They say everybody's got a crazy family and here's one of mine:
With love from CO to GA - and OK, CA, HI, WA and everywhere else I've got family, please meet
My Cousin Jud
At least . . . let's hope they're telling you . . .
They say everybody's got a crazy family and here's one of mine:
With love from CO to GA - and OK, CA, HI, WA and everywhere else I've got family, please meet
My Cousin Jud
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