Sometimes You've Got to be Stubborn

There are not a lot of words that are positive sounding synonyms for "uncompromising." Some that come to mind include stubborn, rigid, inflexible, hardheaded, dogmatic, and strong-willed. Strong-willed must be the most positive out of the bunch; it's the one my mother uses to put rose-colored glasses on the behavior of my youngest child.

My point with this little lesson in lexicon is that this quality is not one that we embrace in our culture. It is far better to meet in the middle, or be open-minded, or find common ground. In general I tend to agree. Gridlock from hard-liners in Washington has paralyzed the country, and it generally isn't a great quality in a business environment either. Marriages and other relationships are often made or broken based on the ability to be malleable. A good goal is a balanced lifestyle. 

However, it seems that the one topic in our culture that it is most unforgivable to take an uncompromising, stubborn, close-minded approach is in religion. To do so it to commit the sin of all sins in our culture: intolerance. And it is here where I think it is essential to hold firm and find it deadly to compromise.

This idea shows up in the novel Satanic Verses, a book that I wrote about earlier this month. It has much to say on this topic that really resonated with me, despite the fact that the book's focus is on Islam. For instance:

• At one point in the text, for the sake of peace the leader of a nation attempts to make a deal with a rebellious group that is pushing an entirely different religious agenda. One character responds with these words: ‘You miss the point,’ she says softly, coming closer to him, bringing her face very close to his. ‘If you are for Allah, I am for Al-Lat. And she doesn’t believe your God when he recognizes her. Her opposition to him is implacable, irrevocable, engulfing. The war between us cannot end in truce.’
• "For truth is extreme, it is so and not thus, it is him and not her, a partisan matter, not a spectator sport. It is, in brief, heated."
• Any new idea . . is asked two questions. This first is asked when it’s weak: WHAT KIND OF AN IDEA ARE YOU? Are you the kind that compromises, does deals, accommodates itself to society, aims to find a niche, to survive; or are you the cussed, bloody-minded, ramrod-backed type of damnfool notion that would rather break than sway withe breeze? - The kind that will almost certainly, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, be smashed to bits; but, the hundredth time, will change the world.

Whether you're on the same page as me theologically or not, if we're talking about something as precious and as important as faith, compromise must not be made. Learning should. Questioning should. Improvement in understanding should. But compromise? Never. For as the quote above says, truth is extreme. And if you don't think that you have the truth, why do you have it?

A friend of mine who isn't on the same page theologically but does enjoy good conversation, debate, and questioning recently sent me a CNN article about a hot-button religious issue. I'm leaving the article and the topic out of this post - I don't want there to be confusion about my topic and purpose here. My major problem with the article, though, is that there were two sides - and both claimed Biblical support. However, one side used actual biblical text; the other argued that biblical understanding must be adjusted as culture changes.

Christians - there can be no compromise with the shifting sands of culture. And for worshipers of culture, there can be no compromise with Christianity. Why make the attempt? Instead, stand strong, inflexible, and stubborn, growing but never offering the truth you hold dear as part of the bargain for being known as tolerant.

Independently Lonely

The Atlantic recently ran an interesting cover story entitled "Is Facebook Making us Lonely?" The article did a pretty good job of not simply throwing Facebook under the bus as an easy target; instead, it concludes that it makes lonely people lonelier and social people more social. The article is worth your time if you get a chance, but my focus in this post isn't necessarily on Facebook itself. Instead, a particular line jumped out at me from the article: "The problem, then, is that we invite loneliness, even though it makes us miserable."

That can't be right, can it? Inviting loneliness with our actions? Surely we would know if we were in fact taking actions towards loneliness. A closer look at my own actions, as well as those of our society, however, support the statement.

The article indicates that our culture here in America is particularly guilty in our quest for independence. We grow up believing that the worst possible adulthood would result in being "stuck" in the same town in which we grew up. We want financial independence, so we work ourselves to death trying to obtain it. We work endlessly on our homes, only we're too busy improving them to ever invite others over to enjoy it. We end up married to a job, miles away from friends and family, shut up in a home we're never satisfied with, watching TV alone so we can tweet alone what we are doing . . . alone. Whenever we can eliminate real people from the equation, we embrace it: self-checkout at the grocery store, self-serve at the pump, self-teaching with online high schools, online banking and shopping and entertainment. We are Americans, the rulers of self-reliance. And we're shocked that we feel lonely.

Many of my decisions over the past couple of years have worked directly against relationship building as well. In a quest for financial gain, professional protection, and more ashamedly, pride, I've been passing away the nights and weekends with a graduate degree. It's been a long, solitary journey. I've enjoyed much of the learning, but it's been learning away from friends, away from family, and away from society. While working towards creating future options, I sacrificed present people. It's been a costly couple of years.

Some people would rather be alone. Enjoying one's own company is not a crime. Being a recluse netted Emily Dickinson fame and fortune (though well after her death). In fact, the inability to be alone and be unplugged is a different problem entirely. To those of you who are happily alone - kudos.

But for people like me, it's time to live on purpose. Most of us desire relationships but are wired to chase independence. Without making conscious changes on purpose, this cycle will never change. I've begun making a few of those changes - my wife and I have set up a regularly scheduled dinner with close friends. I didn't write a blog and work out on Thursday night because having a beer with a couple of friends was more important. More changes are to come in July when I take complete possession of my schedule once again.

I know what I want, and it isn't to live life alone. I'm just not funny enough to stand myself for too long.

Monroe Multipliers

Contrary to popular sentiment, there are more reasons to be a school teacher than June, July, and August. True enough, those are three great reasons, ones that I intend to hold onto with a death grip until I retire. The other major reason that I enjoy the job is the possibility of becoming a multiplier. The definition of a multiplier is one who is able to multiply their influence: not only do they influence the people with whom they come into contact each day, they can potentially influence the future individuals that the original influencee will eventually influence, thereby multiplying their influence. Follow all of that?

I ran into two of the best multipliers this weekend while back in my hometown. The person most responsible for my beginnings as an English teacher is my old high school English teacher, Jackie Grier. Her most endearing quality fell in that she saw fit to not be daily impressed by my wit and clever antics, a practice I thought would be a general certainty. She criticized and demanded and preached; she brought personality and passion to ancient literature; and she wasn't afraid to pressure and guilt students into getting out of their comfort zones. She must have missed all those classes in college that teach about nurturing the souls of those darling students and creating a safe and loving environment for them to naturally develop. Any day I got too comfortable, she knocked my ass humbly back into my seat.

While I always knew I would teach, coaching wasn't something I really thought much about until I was coached  by Brian Hazelton for high school football. Originally I didn't go out for football because of a love for it; frankly, I was scared of the social ramifications if I didn't. While there, though, I developed a love for it; and more importantly, I learned about the type of influence I could have and wanted to have as a coach. From Coach Hazelton I learned how to talk to kids. Talk to them like they are men who are trusted, and they will behave like ones. Tell it like it is, don't fill air with ridiculous motivational cliches that no one believes, and always ask more. And be available. For anything. I remember knowing that I could ask that man anything and still expect a straight, honest answer, even if it was one I didn't want to hear. I also remember walking away from conversations with him always wanting to be just a little bit better.

I had several great teachers and coaches; I'm not one with jaded memories of authority figures who just didn't see what I had to offer. These I write about tonight because I look at what I am professionally now, and I know that more than most others, it is their traits that I've multiplied now as an English teacher and coach.

The multiplying continues. One of my former players who later also was a volunteer assistant coach for me is out interviewing now for teaching and coaching positions. A former student is currently at UNI, preparing to enter the ranks of English teaching. I don't know if I can attribute any of what they have and will become to what they saw from me in our time together. But I can hope. It is that hope, along with the hope of June, July, and August, that keeps me going ten years in.

Why I'm Glad Mom Didn't Like Rap Music

Tonight while reading my 4-year old's Bible story book to her before bed, one of the narratives was about the verse that demands that parents "train up a child in the way he should go." The book's authors quite wisely encouraged the young readers to watch their parents in order to learn from them. The book asked, "When you watch your parents, what do you learn?" I rolled the dice and decided to make Elise answer the question: "What do you learn from watching Dad?" Her answers were somewhat predictable - she said she learns how to mow the lawn, brush the dog, and do grad work. I hope the list is longer by the time she's 18, but it'll do for now. (She left out spitting for distance, so I know we've got to better establish that goal this summer.)

I wrote a post about this a couple of months back, suggesting that the biggest challenge for me and other parents is to avoid the trap of giving up our lives for our kids in an act of false sacrifice. Instead, we should live well, as an example of what we want for them. Actions speak louder than words.

As I've thought about this, especially this month, I've tried to think about what habits or mannerisms I've taken from my parents. They did raise up a child in the way he should go: they demanded my best educationally, spiritually, and morally. I owe much of who I am and what I know to their instruction. But that is the obvious answer. I wondered what little behaviors I took up, somewhat unconsciously. One from my mother stands out.

Almost every Sunday morning in my youth, in the kitchen my mother quietly played hymns on the radio. I didn't think much about them; they were just there. I remember hoping I never got to the point in my life in which the best musical option would be church hymns. While I certainly wasn't sitting there waiting for Mom to be rapping out to Sir Mix a Lot (though I would have cheered that), I thought at the very least those old Eagles albums she had would be more stimulating than hundred year old organ music.

I watched, I judged, I grew older, and now. . . I've picked up the habit. On Sunday morning before church, my laptop plays a collection of hymns, and I try to keep it in a central location not only for my own enjoyment, but for my girls as well. I recognize now the value of those old hymns to my life; and I realize that in the modern church, if the girls don't hear them at home, they just might not hear them. I want them to be familiar with them so that when they forget them for ten years and stumble back upon them, they, like me will smile and remember and appreciate the poetry of those verses.

I doubt our Sunday morning ritual would exist if I hadn't watched my mother do that for so many years. I certainly didn't think then that it would have any impact on me; and when I started doing it, I didn't even remember that Mom used to. I don't know if she was trying to set an example or not; frankly, it doesn't matter. I, like all children, was watching. While most of us dreaded becoming our parents some day, in my case it's a pretty good way to go.

**Readers - if so moved, post on the comment section unique habits you picked up from your mother. I'd love to see what's been "passed down" to many of you.

Why I Avoid (and When I Shouldn't)

Last week was one of tragedy in my world, though I won't be more specific than that in an effort to not appear as if I'm sensationalizing events for my own writing benefits. (Disclaimer: What happened affected many people in many ways, and I am writing only about my experience. I write this to reflect and process my experience, not to indicate how anyone can or should feel/act/react.)

I'm an avoider. Ultimately I think I'm scared of emotional pain, so I avoid it as much as possible. I attempt to focus on those areas of my life that I feel I have control over, although my belief in a God sovereign over all means little actually falls into this category. Emotional pain is not something that can be controlled - it's a response to events outside one's control. Because I fear that, I avoid it.

I avoid by staying busy. Hard work (or at least busy work) produces predictable results. I might get tired and stressed, but those are predictable responses. I don't fear them because I know them. Aimless television, while not offering terrific rewards, also provides predictable distraction. When I fill my time with the predictable, I don't have to fear the pain of unexpected emotion.

Some avoiding is good and natural. Sometimes the only way to keep going is to make yourself so busy that you don't have time to feel. A recent book I read for grad school, Nation by Terry Pratchett, has some great language describing this. In it a young man realizes he has come upon the destruction of his entire home community, including his parents and everyone he knows. He is alone, at great loss, and in need of survival. Two passages in particular stand out to me:

• The dreaming Mau let his body do the thinking: You lift like this, you pull like this. You cut the papervine like that, and you don’t scream, because you are a hand and a body and a knife, and they don’t even shed a tear. You are inside a thick gray skin that can feel nothing.
• Or maybe I have no soul at all, maybe the darkness inside is my dead soul. . . he sat with his arms around himself, waiting for the trembling to stop. He had to fill his mind with everyday things - that was it. That would keep him safe.

I fell into this rhythm last week in order to escape. My safest moments were when I was alone typing a research paper. Alone doing nothing meant time to think. With other people meant time to mourn. So I tried to stay busy, stay distracted, and not deal with the pain.

Whether this is healthy or good, I don't know; and it really doesn't matter. It's how I successfully still do my job as father and teacher, and it's probably not going to change. However, what I've realized is that the results of getting busy and doing the predictable isn't limited only to times of tragedy. This same escape of uncontrolled emotion occurs whether one is in difficult times or not.

What I'm trying to say is that I realize I've probably missed many good emotions, which are just as unpredictable and uncontrollable, when I've had my head buried in day-to-day work. This is safer, for sure. But it's not a live of adventure. It's not a life of joy. And really, it's not a life of love.


Anyone else out there, like me, avoiding? In good times and in bad? Be careful how you spend those hours - missing the pain on purpose might also mean missing the good stuff.