How should you offer unsolicited advice? You shouldn’t.

This morning I rode a bike trail that includes an underpass and a particularly steep ramp. It’s one of my favorite routes, but for me that ramp is a killer. No matter how hard I try I can never get quite enough momentum to crank to the crest. I always stall just before reaching the top, so I have to just hold myself steady, make sure I don’t roll backward, and inch my way the final three or four feet.

So this morning I was maintaining my stalled position and creeping forward when a guy rolled past. He called over his shoulder, “You should shift to a lower gear before climbing a hill.”

Wow. If only I’d known…

I confess—my thoughts at that moment weren’t something like, “Hosanna, the Lord hath provided. Praise God for sending such a wise and generous man.”

I wondered if he really thought I didn’t know about shifting gears. If he’d taken a moment to understand the situation he’d have seen that I was indeed in the lowest possible gear. I would have assured him that I had tried a number of strategies, but my lack of dexterity and strength hasn’t allowed me to conquer this particular challenge yet.

But he didn’t bother to even slow down. He simply tossed out what felt like a dismissive, condescending nugget of drive-by advice. I wonder what he intended, what he was thinking—or if he was thinking.

Did he imagine that his pearl of information would help me reach the top of the ramp? Not likely, since you can’t change gears while stopped on a steep incline.

Was he concerned for my immediate safety? If so, perhaps he might have slowed down to ask if I needed help.

Some advice is a shortcut that demonstrates a lack of genuine concern. Providing helpful feedback requires time and patience and the commitment to engage in authentic relationship. It’s much quicker to provide a quick “If I were you”—even though you’re not—and then move on.

Sometimes advice generates a false sense of superiority. Since I’m clearly not as smart as you, I’ll never be able to figure this out on my own. The only way for me to avoid a mistake is for you to tell me what I should do.

Advice is often a simple quest for short-term results. I don’t really care whether you learn principles that might enhance your ultimate independence or problem-solving capability. I just want the answer or the sale or the immediate gratification. We’ll worry about that other stuff later.

When I speak to groups of kids about disability issues, they’re often concerned about how to help without offending. “What should I do if I see someone who appears to need help?”

My answer is to ask if there’s something you can do to help. This doesn’t guarantee that the person won’t be offended, because some folks look for excuses to be offended. Whenever someone asks me that question, I smile and thank them for asking. Usually I’m fine, but occasionally I do need a little help and I always appreciate the concern.

So if you see an old bald guy stalled near the top of a ramp, don’t tell him what he should have done. He’s probably self-conscious enough already.

But don’t just ignore him, either. This might be the day his shoulders are a little fatigued, and maybe he’s about to lose his grip and crash. He might appreciate a little push, or he might thank you and tell you he’ll be okay.

Either way, you’ll know you offered with a heart of service and love.

Are you ever tempted to offer unwanted advice to kids, spouse, or friends? What’s a better response?

It’s not my place to solve your problems. My job is to love you while you solve your problems. Cec Murphy

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Results Syndrome

Reflecting Jesus

Things You Didn’t Do

What does love look like? It has the hands to help others. It has the feet to hasten to the poor and needy. It has eyes to see misery and want. It has the ears to hear the sighs and sorrows of men. That is what love looks like. Saint Augustine

“I hate feeling like I’m someone else’s project!”

I’d just finished sharing part of my story with the group. I expressed my gratitude for the people who wove the story of Relentless Grace and my belief that God sent this small circle of folks who refused to let me quit on life.

This guy (I’ll call him Don) limped toward me, shook my hand, and thanked me for my willingness to be vulnerable. Don explained his own physical challenges and said he understood my reluctance to accept help (The Hardest Thing).

He related some uncomfortable incidents in which well-meaning people tried to help but he felt like he was their “project.”

Don described feeling like he represented a task to accomplish, an item on their checklist. We chuckled as he compared himself to a household job like a broken pipe that needed repair. He said that some people acted like they had to “fix” him so they could move on to the next entry on the to-do list.

“Does it always feel like that when others help?” He shook his head. “So what’s the difference? What’s missing when accepting help makes you feel like a project?”

“I’m not sure,” he replied. “I just know that it feels like they’ve decided I’m broken and I need to be fixed.”

After a few minutes of discussion, I proposed this summary: “I wonder if that means that they care more about helping you than they care about you. I wonder if it’s about relationship.”

I have a good friend named Jim who really gets this. Jim loves to do things for people, but even more than that he loves the people. When he does you a favor, you feel like he’s the one being served. He just has a knack for doing a project and never making you feel like a project.

Jim helps others because he loves Jesus—he’s my image of “Jesus in blue jeans.” But those he helps never feel like they’re part of some organized ministry. He sees a need and meets it without losing sight of the person behind the need.

As I think back on the story of Relentless Grace, I see people who cared about me, not about what was wrong with me. Their help wasn’t a project—it was an expression of love.

I wonder about my own efforts to help others. Do I unintentionally treat them like a project? Do I take the time to care for the person, to listen, to genuinely value relationship?

Do my actions reflect gratitude for the opportunity to serve?

Does this distinction between “caring about helping” and “caring about people” make sense? How has either notion played out in your experience?

Speaking of help: I’ve been doing the newsletter/blog in various forms for a couple of years, and it’s time to take a step (or in my case a “roll”) back, do a little assessment, and maybe make a few changes.

I’d appreciate your HELP with some feedback. This link will take you to a short survey. Thanks in advance for taking a few moments to give me a little information and offer any comments or suggestions.

I suspect we’re all pretty good at feeling sorry for ourselves. Then we meet someone like this.

Go ahead–be inspired, smile, and cry a little. And then have a great day!

If you can’t see the video, click here.

Yesterday I asked How Do You Help An Injured Porcupine? Today I’m thinking of a different question:

Why bother?

Ever cuddle a puppy? They curl up in your lap and lick your face. Everything about a puppy is somehow warm and soft and fuzzy.

Cuddling a puppy is fun and rewarding. Puppies do cute stuff—even their mischief elicits smiles. They appreciate and respond to kindness. They trust. If you get angry they forgive.

Even non-dog-lovers have a soft spot for puppies. If hurting people were like puppies, helping them would be easy. Folks would line up for the opportunity.

Now imagine cuddling a wounded porcupine. I’ve never tried, but I suspect it might not be the same sort of cozy experience. I’d speculate that most people would do just about anything to avoid close proximity to a porcupine.

Ever notice that those who are hurting the most are also the most defensive and difficult to help? They isolate themselves behind self-constructed barriers. They’re easy to dismiss and avoid because everything about them says “LEAVE ME ALONE.”

And if you persist and reach past the shell, they bristle. Razor-sharp quills stand ready to repel any approach. Your intent is irrelevant—some sort of physical, emotional, or spiritual injury conditions them to perceive everyone as a threat. Like a porcupine, their entire existence seems focused on isolation and defense.

Most of the time, the nasty, menacing appearance is sufficient. Why bother trying to help a wounded creature who does everything imaginable to intimidate and frighten?

Occasionally, compassion overcomes discomfort. You ignore the warnings and take the risk of stepping beyond your comfort zone. And how does the ungrateful creature respond?

He lashes out. He bites, or scratches, or launches a barrage of harmful quills. You immediately retreat, convinced that any contact will only result in further personal injury.

If the stupid animal wants to be left alone to suffer, that’s his choice. Why risk further harm to help someone who responds to kindness with anger?

Why bother?

After my injury, I spent more than a decade behaving like a wounded porcupine. Friends and family finally succumbed to nastiness and left me alone.

Fortunately, a small group of folks refused to walk away. They endured the painful quills of anger and responded to ungrateful biting and scratching with patience, compassion and love. Those people saved my life. That’s the story of Relentless Grace.

JESUS IN JEANS AND A T-SHIRT

I spent ten years complaining that Jesus didn’t show up when I needed Him the most. I expected flowing white robes, angels, and trumpets, so I missed Him. He was right there, dressed in a nurse’s scrubs, a therapist’s white coat, and a friend’s blue jeans.

They weren’t “spiritual.” They didn’t spout scripture or offer comforting platitudes. They just showed up and refused to leave.

They stepped past the barriers, ignored the defenses and barbs, and cuddled a wounded porcupine.

It’s easy to help someone who’s appreciative and cuddly, who responds appropriately to our kindness and makes us feel good. But most hurting folks aren’t like that. As my friend Jeff Lucas says, “Hurt people hurt people.”

So … why bother?

Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross! [Philippians 2:5-8]

Hurting people, and a hurting world, scream at Jesus to leave us alone. I think if I were Him I might think “Why bother?”

Instead, He adopted an attitude of humility and service. He ignored the pain and the rejection. He sacrificed everything to cuddle a world full of nasty, ungrateful, wounded porcupines.

That’s the attitude to which we’re called.

That’s the answer to “Why bother?”

Who are the wounded porcupines in your life? How do you get past their defenses?

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Why Take The Risk?

How do you respond when your life gets interrupted by—well—life?

This isn’t the article I planned for this morning. I’d already written something insightful and thought-provoking—a certain masterpiece (at least in my mind). All it required was a few finishing touches and it would have been here to greet even the earliest risers.

And then—life happened.

I’ll spare you most of the humiliating details. Create your own mental image if your wish from an overview involving a shower, equipment failure, and a short fall to the floor in a somewhat “compromised” position. I was hopelessly wedged into a spot I don’t even know how to describe.

No matter what we tried, Becky and I were never going to extricate me—at one point I think I visualized a crane and the “jaws of life” device used to free auto crash victims.

Good news—a fire station and some very kind and understanding rescue professionals were only a phone call and a few short blocks away.

Bad news—two of the “firemen” who arrived were fire “persons,” which only matters when you recall that I was appropriately attired for a shower.

They actually managed to stifle the chuckles when they beheld what had to be an amusing spectacle. I did hear a muttered “How in the world …?” but I was sort of wondering the same thing.

After a minor bit of creative demolition, they managed to pry me from my embarrassing predicament. They hoisted me into my wheelchair, surveyed the damage, and discovered no injury aside from my severely bruised dignity.

NO HARM—NO FOUL?

A brief detour from my carefully planned itinerary. A relatively minor incident, quickly resolved with kindness and care. No long-term damage, no lasting injury.

No big deal, right?

Well, not quite. While I was justifiably embarrassed by the circumstances, I’m far more disappointed by my personal reactions.

Was I thankful that I wasn’t injured? Was I grateful that Becky called for help? Did I appreciate the prompt response and the gentle care of my rescuers?

Those are my responses now. But in the moment, I defaulted to old patterns of anger, frustration, and bitterness. Those folks—especially my wife—must have felt like they were trying to assist an injured porcupine. The more they tried to help, the more I lashed out in resentment.

I don’t understand why I responded in such a hurtful manner. This accident was nobody’s fault, but I needed a target for my frustration. Unfortunately, I chose those closest to me, those who only wanted to help.

Sadly, this probably won’t be the last occasion on which I vent my anger in the wrong direction. Old habits die hard, especially in times of stress.

But that’s no excuse. Anyone can respond with love when things are all roses and sunshine. I want to develop and nurture the inner strength and courage to choose calmness in the midst of the storm.

I seek the attitude of the One I claim to follow, who hung on a cross and said, “Father, forgive them …”

I’m not there yet, and I apparently have a long distance to travel. Fortunately, I don’t need to journey alone.

What’s your secret to responding better in difficult circumstances?

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I felt lost, and I desperately wanted God to show up. Instead, people appeared and gradually helped me toward the light. Only later did I realize that was how God shows up.

How can you help someone who needs you?

I’ve been working on a presentation for folks who are working in difficult areas of ministries. Since I’m a wheelchair user, I’m supposed to offer a seated perspective of things people have done that have been helpful and some that haven’t.

Here’s my list so far. Hopefully you’ll help me with something I’ve missed.

Show up. I seem to always need help at inconvenient times, and I’m grateful for friends who show up even when they’d rather be somewhere else. There’s a difference between Signing Up And Showing Up.

It’s easy to say, “Call me if there’s anything I can do.” It’s hard to ask for help. The real heroes are the folks who show up.

Don’t label. Labels isolate. When you label someone, you hide their individuality behind a category. The person in front of you isn’t a category—she’s a uniquely gifted, precious child of God. Here are some additional thoughts: God’s Version Of Special

I’ve been asked whether I prefer to be called “disabled,” “physically challenged,” or “mobility impaired.” Personally I prefer “Rich.”

Stay away from clichés and inspirational platitudes. “The only disability in life is a bad attitude.” Really? When you’ve just discovered you’re permanently paralyzed, that feels like a slap in the face.

Clichés can be like labels—they make us feel better without really having to do anything.

Change what you can change. World peace may be a bit too much to tackle, but some issues aren’t that complicated. A family living in their car doesn’t need a lecture on the benefits of facing adversity—they need shelter. A hungry child doesn’t need a gardening lesson—he needs a meal.

When snow keeps me from leaving my driveway, I understand that the weather’s beyond my control. I’m grateful for folks who show up with a thermos of hot chocolate and a snow shovel.

Accept what you can’t change. Life isn’t fair. Some circumstances stink, and that just the way it is. Complaining, lamenting, and worrying only make it worse.

Be creative. I’m quick to decide a particular task or situation is hopeless or impossible. I’m astounded by the creativity people demonstrate in helping me discover how to do things that seemed beyond my capabilities.

Be realistically optimistic. I’ve explained The 8000/2000 Principle as my way of avoiding pessimism. It’s amazing what can be accomplished when we focus on possibilities rather than obstacles.

Have a healthy sense of humor. When we’re struggling, everything becomes an earth-shattering crisis. It helps to keep some perspective and chuckle at life’s absurdities.

It’s never okay to laugh at someone’s misfortune. But we all find ourselves in silly circumstances, and it’s good to avoid taking things too seriously.

Choose hope. Most of all, I’m grateful for friends who helped me believe, and believed for me when I was so immersed in darkness that light seemed impossible.

I’m not talking about empty wishes—I hope someone gives me a bag full of money, but I’m not counting on it. I’m talking about hope that’s an expectation rooted in faith that Jesus always walks with me.

Love. Agape is the self-sacrificial concern for others that makes it all work. Someone once said she felt frustrated because she didn’t know how to help, and it felt like all she could do was love me.

That’s plenty.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. [1 Corinthians 13:13]

What would you add?

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Agape

How will They Know Us?

Last week I spoke with a group of high school students at a wonderful event called Abilities Day. One of the great questions they asked was, “How should we approach someone who appears to need help so we don’t offend them?”

This question encompasses a range of issues, but one thing I suggested was to consider the difference between helping and serving.

“Helping” implies something about the powerful assisting the weak. I’m bigger, stronger, or smarter, and I’m willing to help you. If you’re the person being “helped” you are implicitly inferior. While that may be objectively true, an attitude of superiority perpetuates a feeling of helplessness in others. It’s as though I’m broken, and you as the expert are willing to fix me.

On the other hand, service implies humility. It’s more of a willingness to partner with another person, to travel beside him on his path. Perhaps it’s a sense that service offers who I am rather than what I can do.

When the kids appeared puzzled, I suggested that service involves a relationship, taking time to care for more than just an immediate need. Perhaps when offering to perform a task, the servant also stops to chat for a moment. While it takes more time, this extra step communicates a sense of equality that touches and enriches both people.

It may seem to be a small distinction, but the attitude behind the difference is profound.

Relentless Grace is a story of service, of people who went far beyond helping. The characters set aside their own needs and extended themselves into a difficult situation. They helped with specific tasks, but the true difference they made flowed from the lasting relationships they fostered. Actions mattered, but friendships changed the course of a lfe.

Jesus said, “If anyone wants to be first, he must be the very last, the servant of all.” (Mark 9)

How have you experienced the difference between help and service?

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