the yellow box

I do really stupid things.

It may not be the revelation to everyone else that it is to me, but every time that I do something stupid, really stupid, it shocks me.

My latest and greatest example? Here it goes…

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I knew going into it that it wasn’t going to be my average Wednesday. It started out normal. Getting up, getting ready for work – nothing out of the ordinary. Work itself wasn’t much different either. I did, however, work thru lunch so that I could leave early. I tell you this only to point out that I did not eat much during the day and therefore everything that follows could be the result of low blood sugar. Really, it could have been. And did I mention that it was a bright, sunny, warm day? ‘Cause low blood sugar and warm weather can be a heady mix.

Anyway, skipping ahead, I arrive at the church. It was the last official youth group of the school year and we took the students to Bullwinkle’s (“a family fun center”). There are all sorts of things to do there – the free ones for us on this specific day being: miniature golf, bumper boats, go-carts and the batting cages.

I don’t do the whole baseball thing or the softball thing, for that matter. I do have some coordination (I did letter in tennis in high school) and it should run in the genes (my dad was a minor league pitcher), but somehow the idea of a bat hitting a ball never really clicked with me. So why I ever stepped into that cage, I’m just not sure.

My friend, Bill, was leaving the cage as I entered and, as a fairly cautious man, he handed me a helmet warning me of head lice and reassuring me that if there were any, they weren’t from him. As softballs are shooting towards us at an alarming speed, lice from some unknown kid had been the last thing on my mind. Now though, not only am I apprehensive about not being able to hit the ball or being hit by the ball, I’m worried about what was in the helmet before my head was.

I pick up a bat and slowly approach the yellow box. I’m sure that the yellow outline on the ground near the pretend home plate has some name that any baseball aficionado would know…but we, just for the sake of simplicity, will call it the yellow box. I step into the yellow box and hold the bat up above my shoulder, like I’ve seen them do on TV.

Okay, I’m ready. The first ball comes and I swing. I actually make contact with the ball. The ball doesn’t go far, in fact it may have just dropped straight down from the bat, but I still managed to hit it.

I’m feeling pretty good now. I’ve hit a ball and Bill, who was in the cage with me, hasn’t made fun of me or told me to correct something I’m doing…I’m thinking this baseball thing may not be so bad.

Bill decides to take some photos. I mean it is a perfect photo op, right? Here I am in an awkward fitting baseball helmet that is infested with lice (did I mention that it had a very flattering face guard on it?), pretending that I know what I’m doing, and concentrating very hard on hitting or at least not being hit by the baseball. Perfect.

He takes a couple of photos of me and then decides to take some of Brock in the cage next to me. He goes to the other side of my cage and asks me not to swing for a few balls. I’m assuming he doesn’t want me to knock him on the head with the bat. But, really, I’m almost as good as a professional batter at this point and know that I wouldn’t him.

Luckily, trusting this feeling is not the really stupid thing I did that day.

I’m standing there, watching the balls fly past. I’m letting my thoughts just drift as a stand there patiently waiting, when suddenly one of my drifting thoughts wonders if I could manage to stop one of the pitches with my foot. The foot that is clad in only a teva sandal.

Did I mention that I was obviously suffering from low blood sugar, if not starvation, by this point and maybe even heat stroke?

That drifting thought held quite a bit of power. Before the rest of the collective thoughts could rally enough nerve to stop it from happening, my right foot was lifted into the air. Like I said before, baseball should be in my blood, and apparently the only factor that was keeping me from going pro is that fact that they require you to use a bat instead of your foot to play the game.

I hit the ball.

Or, a bit more realistically, the ball hit me. Like any good player, I shook it off. The boys, thank goodness, didn’t seem to notice my feat of genius (no pun intended). So I stayed and hit a couple of more and then decided it was time for something else.

All in all the evening was still really fun. I have a really cool bruise to show off and a great excuse to wear comfortable sandals to work the next few days.

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What I just can’t get past is that one stray thought. Even as I was doing it, I knew what I was doing was stupid and that it would end up hurting me. And I still did it.

Lesson I learned? I should probably stick with kickball.

joyfully,
sugar3

delusions of adequacy

I’m an accountant. This is the point where your eyes get a little wider and you shake your head saying to me, “Wow, accounting…that’s not something I could ever do.” Its okay, I hear it all the time. Usually followed by some witty remark about a pocket protector, abacus, or beans. And almost always a question in regards to whether I’m good at math.

I figure I might as well debunk the misconception while I still have your attention.

Accounting is not math intensive.

My eight year old cousins could probably do it. I know, it’s a shock, isn’t it. Crazy how one sentence can change your perspective on everything you thought you knew. Anyway…

I received a promotion this year. With the promotion came the privilege of attending somewhere in the neighborhood of sixty-seven meetings a day. Let me tell you about one particular meeting.

………

They called it leadership training. There was a facilitator there who was going to use some fancy ‘management tools’ to help us become better leaders while facing the changes that were taking place in the company. It was an all day meeting involving every manager in my region. I was not looking forward to it.

To my absolute surprise some of it was actually interesting and even better yet, helpful. There had been a lot of tension between a few people in my office and it was making the atmosphere muggy for everyone. This meeting cleared the air.

The facilitator had my co-workers bring to the table their frustrations and work out the issues while all of us sat there. There was some anger, some tears, but everything was talked out, the issues resolved. The meeting was coming to a close and the facilitator was making one last closing statement. I can’t remember the exact phrasing, but it was something close to:

“We just need to remember to approach one another in love.”

What! Did he really just say that? The man who had just finished using every leadership tool that ever existed in management textbooks, just told us to love one another? To approach, confront, rebuke one another in love?

I’m sure I held my composure, well, I hope I held my composure. But in my head, my jaw dropped, why eyes grew wide and the room spun around a bit. When things stopped spinning they looked a bit different.

It’s crazy how one sentence can change your perspective on everything you thought you knew.

I thought I knew who I was. And I was pretty sure I knew how I treated people. But, while in some circumstances I do approach folks with love and although I would have previously have told you that I approached everyone that way – at work, I certainly didn’t.

I thought I knew my coworkers. Looking around that conference table though, I saw familiar faces, but completely new people.

………

I remember when I first got hired.

I was stoked to be in the workforce. While I knew that I wasn’t going to have the chance to affect the lives of people like a social worker, teacher, or pastor might, I was still ready to affect the people around me. I headed out my first day of work knowing that I could shine like a star in the universe and offer life to my coworkers.

But as I looked at the people in that meeting with me, I knew that somewhere along the way my perception of them had changed. My eagerness to love them, to see their faults and their strengths and love them for both, had been lost.

I no longer shined like a star. I was stuck to at least my knees in nasty black mire that was holding me down and I didn’t even realize that I was still sinking. I was only managing to fool myself.

………

What is it about that gooey mud that is so appealing? Why is it so easy to stomp around in?

Maybe it’s just me that spends so much time living in comfortable misconceptions. I’m kind of hoping it’s not.

Fortunately, I’ve been told that I can shine.

joyfully,
sugar3