Category: life lessons

Assembling IKEA furniture is very similar to doing an easy crossword puzzle. It’s not really difficult but it takes longer than you thought think it should, and there is a sense of slightly embarrassing satisfaction when the puzzle is complete.

Lately I’ve been in the market for an airbrush. They are totally old school, but I’m thinking of getting one. It’s funny how nearly every used airbrush is described as being used just once or twice. Assuming the sellers are telling the truth, it seems the majority of airbrushes are purchased, used once, and then set aside to collect dust—very similar to nearly all exercise equipment and most guitars. If course if I get one, that will never happen. Hopefully.

Sixteen miles in the sultry, magnolia-fragrant breeze, with The Book Thief in my ears and smile on my face. A heavy little box turtle needed some help crossing the path, and a speedy garter snake insisted on doing it alone. Wild blackberries were worth the stop. I’ll bring something next time to carry them, and gloves. Drifting neon sparks tempted me to stop again in the shadows of dark leafy caverns, but I was enjoying the ride and the light was falling. I can hear my girls laughing upstairs. It’s good to be home.

This thought has been on my mind for a while. I know I am painting atheists with a broad brush, as I haven’t met all of them, but I have known a fair number. Those of my acquaintance have tended to be very proud of their lack of belief, and conversely, they considered anyone who didn’t share their lack of belief to be an idiot. It’s as though they declared themselves winners of a contest that they, for their lack of belief, should admit doesn’t matter. In trying to find an analogy, I imagine two men standing before a firing squad, arguing over who could beat the other in a foot race. A few minutes later they are dead and their pride is gone with them. If all flesh is grass, and soon to wither and die, what good does it do to boast? Perhaps pride is the security blanket of the unbelieving intellectual the way that religion is supposed to be the opiate of the masses.

It goes without saying that pride isn’t found only in atheists. I have often found it strange when intelligent people look down those are not as intelligent, or when those who are tall or physically strong make fun of those who are small and weak. So much of what we have is a gift, regardless of who or what we think the source is.

When reading comments of political or religious discussions, I commonly see people referred to as “sheep” or “sheeple”. Sheeple don’t think for themselves. They blindly follow others, and they never discern the truth on their own. Well, at least that is what the label implies. If you cling too tightly to the beliefs of a party, or a faith or an ideal, and if you publicly declare it, you will likely find yourself labeled a sheep by someone. It is supposed to make you feel foolish for belonging to a group of like-minded individuals.

It is the nature of sheep to follow. It makes them easy to herd. George Orwell used them in Animal Farm to symbolize weak-minded followers who continually bleat mantras given them by the pigs. Yes, they have a reputation for being stupid. But, if we use Orwell’s novel to learn about sheep, we might assume that sheep will follow anyone and do anything they are told. Not so commonly known is their suspicious nature. Real sheep aren’t willing to follow just anyone. They follow trusted voices. Jesus knew the nature of sheep.

John 10:5, 14
5 And a stranger will they not follow, but will flee from him: for they know not the voice of strangers.

14 I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, and am known of mine.

My grandfather had sheep. As a child I would walk around his corrals and outbuildings, exploring the sights and sounds. The sheep would watch me with great curiosity from the other side of their fence, but they never let me get close enough to touch them. If I drew closer, they would back away, keeping a constant buffer of space between us. My grandfather was different. He was trusted. He could walk up to them and feed them from his hand. Real sheep may not be the brightest of the animals on the farm, but they don’t trust strangers. They trust the good shepherd.

There is a stigma attached to the label of “sheep”. And, if we look at sheep the way George Orwell did, there might be a reason for feeling shame. On the other hand, if we see sheep the way Jesus did, we should be glad to wear this label. If we know and trust the Good Shepherd, and if we are known of Him, where is the stigma in that?

The flood of graduation announcements from the children of friends and relatives has had me reflecting on my own high school graduation and the thoughts I had back then. We thought we knew so much. We all talked about what we planned to do in the near future with college, and what we planned to accomplish after that. 30 years have passed, but the time seems much shorter.

I didn’t expect to be “old” so soon. I also thought I would feel older with age. My mental age lags far behind what my birth certificate tells me. I feel somewhere between 25 and 35, so the thought of turning 50 in a few years doesn’t compute.

I read an interesting article yesterday about the differences been a fixed mindset and a growth mindset. It underscored some things that took me years to discover—that improvement is possible if you swallow some pride and give a strong effort while you suffer through the learning curve.

Talent will only take you so far. After that, if you aren’t willing to put in the effort, you could find yourself eclipsed by others who have less natural ability but a stronger work ethic.