Alan! Alan! oops... Steve! Steve!

Screengrab of a confused gopher

Some years ago, the BBC put together a compilation of animal voice overs – that were quite amusing. One of them, involving a gopher, has popped up recently a few times in my contacts.
This gopher is standing on his hind legs, presumably trying to get the attention of another critter; after several outbursts of “Alan! Alan! Alan!” there’s a presumed thought of “that’s not Alan, that’s Steve!” before the critter again cries out, this time “Steve! Steve! Steve!”

While amusing, there’s also a bit of a point to be gleaned from this poor gopher.
Mistakes happen.
And correcting ourselves is okay.

The reality is that none of us gets through things perfectly; we all make mistakes. Whether it’s posting something on social media in the wrong place, typos, dialing a wrong number, calling someone by the wrong name… it happens.

What happens next is important. For when we are wrong, we should want to be given the chance to apologise, and to try and do things better moving forward.

Apologies are hard; they require us to focus on what we’ve done (not the other person’s reaction), to not try to explain ourselves away (the word “but” doesn’t belong in an apology!), to not diminish the other person’s hurt, to legitimately try to change behaviour (so as not to repeat the offense), etc.

Admitting our mistakes also presumes grace. Just as the comedic gopher meant no harm to his friend, if Gopher Steve had been cranky, there could be a rift in the rodent friendship. Yet the one who makes the mistake hopes for a chance to do better – to get it right in the immediate, and be more intentional in the future – about their own actions, and to be more considerate of others.

We also hope, when we do make mistakes, that others will respond to our gaffs with grace and forgiveness; usually our genuine mistakes are just mistakes, with no harm intended. Thus, it gives us the chance to practice some flexibility and extend some grace when others make mistakes towards us.

Not all mistakes are as small as a wrong name, nor are all mistakes easily repaired. But with the intention to do unto others as we would have them do unto us, one hopes to have healthy connections as we move through life together.

 

I Want To be Good

My dog wants to behave.

And she tries… really, really hard!

At least, until she gets distracted. Usually by another dog, or a bouncing hare, or the friendly neighbours… and then: she forgets her training, her intention, her desire to be good. The chase drive just takes over her little puppy brain.

At times, usually when she can calculate that she is too far away anyway, I see her resume control over her emotions. But generally, my leash-carrying arm gets tugged a little enthusiastically as she is keen to make herself a new racing friend.

I wonder how often we, as humans, get distracted away from our desire to be good, to do that right thing. When the influences in the world surprise us away from that narrow path, and lead us into that well-cited temptation. Does the morning coffee aroma guide my thoughts away from the daily office? Is the ringing phone derailing the sermon prep? Is the grumbling tummy minimising my patience when speaking with extra-grace-required people? Do the adorable (and a-dork-able) antics of the dogs override my intention to send those follow-up emails?

Yes. Of course. Because life is like that: a collection of good intentions that mostly happen – and sometimes don’t.

But, like my dog, I think it is important that we keep trying: every day, every encounter, every opportunity. For it’s never the wrong time to do the right thing. And, God willing, I get it right more often than not; and, God willing, I'll get better the more I try.

A Life of Luxury

I’ve had a few conversations this week where the word “luxury” came up.

It was not in the traditional understanding: we were not discussing fancy cars, state-of-the-art technology, excessive jewelry, etc.

One person had mentioned that they grew up in comfortable surroundings, and had not realised that those were actually luxurious. Emotionally, there was a family that loved her, education, safety… physically, they did not suffer – there was food on the table, a roof overhead, annual vacations…

The definition of luxury is a state of great comfort or extravagant living.

Yet, we often consider this in a very privileged way; another conversation this week addressed our reality of luxurious living.

* About 1/3 of the world does not have access to safe drinking water, and half the world’s population experiences water scarcity at least half of the year.
* 1 in 10 people experience hunger; 1 in 6 experience food insecurity.
* Over 250 million children (mostly girls) do not have access to basic education.
* Nearly 10% of the world’s population does not have access to electricity.
* Half the world’s population lacks access to essential health care services.

… the list goes on, affecting people close to home as well as farther away. Even those with access to goods and services may not be able to afford them.

And so those of us who can, and do: we are living in luxury. We have become so accustomed to it that we don’t always see it.

And this is where our faith challenges us to open our eyes: to express gratitude for every privilege and luxury that we have: indoor plumbing, reliable transportation, church pot luck meals (a parable of abundance if there ever was one!)

…and faith. We lavish in the luxury of faith. We are offered extreme spiritual comfort; we are promised spiritual wholeness in extravagant ways.

And these luxuries are unending, and we have opportunity to share them. We know the benefits of faith, and the privilege to teach and invite others to the luxury of a faith community. We may take our spiritual formation for granted, for we have never questioned it: but I invite us to see it as a luxury: a gift, ever-giving from the unending source of love; that supports us, inspires us, and encourages us.

..and empowers us to ensure that all may receive this luxury.

I Could Do That!

Screengrabs from a video by Amaury Guichon, chocolate artist

One of the things I do sometimes (when my brain is reeling too fast) is to watch short videos of dessert artists. By this I mean the cake decorators or chocolate sculptors (or the like), who use common items in ways that are truly impressive.

Of course, my brain takes me to the unlikely place where I actually think: “I Could Do That!”

And, maybe I could: if I were to spend the time in training and practice that these folks have, and invest in the tools and implements that they have, and build up the businesses that they have, and then plan/edit/coordinate the videos the way that do.

I could do that!

The reality is: I’m not going to. I appreciate the 60-second montages of these creative endeavours, but I doubt I would have the long-term interest and desire and commitment to the craft.
And that’s okay!

Instead, I know I spend my time and energy in ways that are fulfilling to me: ways that may have minimal interest to others.

Our society has an abundance of ‘content creators’ who share the edited successes they have. We seldom see the journey to get there; the failures, the trials, the journey of getting there. And if we’re not careful, we can get swept up in the notion that everything is easy, and immediate. We know that to be an inaccurate view of the world, which can lead to unrealistic expectations on ourselves.

And so I remind myself that when I think “I Could Do That!” to hear it with a giggle, and a realistic re-assessment. The journey to getting things right is practice, the discernment to things we’re called to involves trial and error. God blessed us all with unique skills and abilities and interests, and if we try to fit into someone else’s mould of ‘success’ we will deny our own pathway.

We are fearfully and wonderfully made, the psalmist reminds us knit together by God as unique individuals: so too our interests and abilities will reflect the unlimited glory of God. What a pleasure to discover our own gifts to be shared with the world, demonstrating a strong faith to which others might declare “I could do that!”