What’s the right thing to do?

I suspect we’ve all asked ourselves that question—many times. Life has a way of dropping non-black-and-white problems in my lap, and for some reason I seem to have misplaced the directions.

Last week I talked a little about using games as a metaphor for life (Right Or Not Right?). Today I’d like to share a couple of stories. Both events are real. I’ve altered names and details.

Story #1

A friend (I’ll call him Greg) coaches cross-country at a large high school. A few years ago his team ran in the state meet. My friend and his team were elated when the scores were tallied and they were proclaimed State Champions!

As the athletes celebrated, Greg looked over the results sheet. He felt pretty certain that one of his runners had been accidentally misplaced.

Coaches and athletes work a lifetime to earn a state championship. No one else noticed the mistake. The judges, the other coaches—they all should have been more diligent.

Neither Greg nor his runners broke any rules. Greg wasn’t a race official—scoring wasn’t his job. The officials compiled scores and handed out trophies.

Story #2

“Kristopher” was doing his part to support the economy on Cyber Monday. On a popular shopping site he discovered a “mistake price” on an item. A misplaced decimal point transformed a $900 item into a $9 bargain!

Kristopher didn’t post the wrong price—he wasn’t even looking for it. $9 is the official listed price. One click would save $891. He’s not breaking any laws; he’s only buying an item at the price posted on the company’s web site.

What should he do with this unexpected gold mine? Should he buy the one item he needs at the big discount, or grab several to maximize the savings? Why not email his friends so they can jump in before the company discovers the error?

Any of these choices would be legal, clever, and smart. The mistake’s not his fault. The company should be more careful and diligent, right?

# # # # #

All Greg has to do is keep quiet and his team will be State Champions. All Kristopher has to do is click a button to profit from a loophole and legally save a lot of money.

Why shouldn’t each guy use the rules to his advantage?

Pretending that life works like a game deludes me into harming myself and others while hiding behind the pretense that I’m just “following the rules.” It’s an illusion that allows me to justify and rationalize, using false assumptions about rules and rights to mask deceit, deception, and dishonesty.

Life isn’t a game. A game is an artificial environment created and governed by its rules. No rules—no game. Life’s not that simple.

In a game …

• The goal is to win—within the rules.
• The rules are clear, unambiguous, and universally accepted by the participants.
• The rules define right and not-right.
• Winning through deception—within the rules—is encouraged and rewarded.
• Discovering and exploiting loopholes is clever strategy.
• Breaking a rule and escaping detection is cheating.

In life…

• Each individual defines success and establishes goals.
• There are few clear, universally-accepted rules.
• Right and not-right can’t be codified.
• Winning through deception—as long as it’s legal—is _____ (crafty, shrewd, …)?
• Discovering and exploiting loopholes is _____ (creative, innovative, …)?
• Breaking a rule and escaping detection is _____ (clever, lucky, …)?

In a game I’m expected to take advantage of others’ errors and devise clever ways to use the rules to my advantage. It’s the other guy’s responsibility to be diligent.

A game is by nature based on scarcity. I win only if others lose. Alliances must advance my chances of winning.

In my view, life was never designed to operate like a game.

Life lived well …

• is about what’s right rather than my rights.
• trusts in abundance instead of fearing scarcity.
• values sacrifice and service above personal gain.
• rests on eternal principles, not short-term results.
• centers on relationship and agape, not manipulation or exploitation of advantage.

I don’t want the job of morality cop for others. I’ve made plenty of bad choices and cut more than my share of corners. I’ve justified and gotten by with plenty of not-right behavior. Painful experience convinces me that complying with technicalities (or not-getting-caught) don’t substitute for doing what’s right.

So how did the stories end?

As his kids accepted the trophy in jubilation, Greg asked the officials to take another look. That’s the only reason they discovered the mistake.

Greg gathered his runners and explained the circumstances. Joy turned to confusion and then tears. Greg’s team found the rightful winners and handed over the cherished trophy.

From my perspective, he did the only right thing. He understood that life’s not a game. Greg’s a hero.

Kristopher sent an email and urged his friends to grab the deal before the company caught its error. I clicked on the link, and stared at the opportunity to save $891.

It’s a big company—they won’t miss the money. If I don’t buy it, someone else will. I’ll use the extra money for good. And besides, that company never gave me a break.

I was tempted, and I’m sad about that. It’s a great reminder not to judge the speck in the other person’s eye.

Tomorrow I’m going to look at two common approaches to rules and try to understand a third, and much better, option.

What are your thoughts about this notion of approaching life like a game?

Please leave a comment.

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Right Or Not Right?

Eyes On The Prize

Who’s In First?

Is it possible that Abundance is a self-created cycle?

The steps in this picture take the marchers perpetually uphill or downhill. Same steps—it’s all about which direction they choose to walk. I have a feeling the same sort of dynamic works for abundance and scarcity.

Last time (Teaching Me) I talked about learning to think in scarcity terms. I think it works something like the path in this diagram.

The path brings me to a POD (Point Of Decision) between abundance and scarcity. The first time I choose scarcity I begin to create a faint new path in that direction. The next time I encounter the POD I’m probably more likely to take the familiar path.

Each time I choose scarcity the path becomes more familiar and well-worn, increasing the likelihood that I’ll choose that path. Eventually it’s nearly impossible to perceive any other option. Even though the “Abundance” sign remains, it appears that there’s really only one possible path.

Can I break this self-defeating cycle? I think so. I think the process is pretty simple, but it’s not easy.

Breaking the cycle means stepping into unfamiliar, uncharted territory. I picture the path in a deep woods—one path obviously leads somewhere, and that’s comforting. Choosing abundance means wandering off where there’s no path. I might get lost, fall off a cliff, or be attacked by wild animals. At least the other path is safe, right?

But I know the familiar path takes me to an undesirable destination, so I have to choose. I can continue on the path to frustration, or take the risk of the untried direction.

Choosing the new path requires faith and courage. But the risk creates a new path. Each approach to the POD is an opportunity to mark the new direction a bit more clearly. And as I avoid the old path it will gradually disappear.

We can start over, change old habits, and make healthier choices. We can choose new directions.

I believe that why Jesus came to Earth. He saw us choosing scarcity. He saw the pain and sadness. He came to show us a better way. He walked the path of abundance and promised that He’d be with us if we’d follow in His steps.

I’d like to tell that teenage “me” to step out, take the risk, and choose abundance. How about you?

Do you hesitate to choose abundance? What’s one small decision you can make, right now, to begin following a new path?

Consider sharing your new direction by  leaving a comment  as a first step in making the change.

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Teaching Me

Abundance

How To Stop Bullying

When we are young or immature, right theology makes us feel superior, but when we are older and more mature, a study of theology makes us feel inferior and unworthy, undeserved, and grateful. Don Miller

Do you ever think about the life-changing lessons you learned as a kid?

I’m not talking about words and facts from parents and teachers because they mostly fade away. Words don’t really convey the important lessons.

I always felt sort of sorry for my dad. I didn’t understand it until later, but even as a kid I had this nagging sense that there was something sad about him.

Dad was smart—not educated, but really smart. He was a high school football star and state champion sprinter. He returned from Germany after WWII and worked his way into a successful career with a lot of responsibility. I think everyone liked him; if he spent much time in a small town he knew enough people to run for mayor and win.

He apparently had a full, successful life. So why did I find my dad’s life so sad?

He was afraid. I don’t think he ever took a step backward from anyone in his life, but Dad lived in fear.

Somewhere in my past there’s a teenage kid who learned to be afraid and to react to fear with anger.

Dad never thought he was good enough. In his eyes, other people were smarter, more educated, more capable, and more worthy. He believed strongly in his own inferiority, and he believed that’s what others perceived.

He feared showing any weakness or vulnerability and hid behind a “good guy” façade that kept everyone at arm’s length. His many friends mostly didn’t know him. Those who managed to see behind the mask never dared to get closer.

I learned to fear the temper that erupted without warning when his fragile pretense of confidence was threatened. I learned that acceptance could only be earned through accomplishment, that appearance mattered more than substance, and that self-concept was totally dependent on others’ perceptions.

That kid learned well. Everything he learned might be summarized in a single word: he learned an attitude of scarcity.

There was never enough. Achievement, acceptance, self-worth—you name it, there was never enough. Life was about working and striving for a goal I couldn’t reach and pretending everything was great. Above all it was about deception, making sure nobody saw the real me. Anyone who really knew me would surely reject me.

That kid worked very hard to appear superior because he knew he was inferior.

I wish I could talk to that teenager.

I’d tell him that scarcity was a lie, that everything he fought so hard to attain was already his in unlimited abundance.

I’d tell that kid about the outrageous things Jesus said. I want you to have a full, abundant life. Take courage. Don’t be afraid. Come to me and I will give you rest. You don’t have to earn self-worth—you are worth my life.

I don’t think he’d believe me, at least not right away. Those early lessons were pretty deeply ingrained. You don’t just shrug when everything you learned from your dad suddenly turns inside-out and upside-down. You do everything possible to pound a new round peg into an old square hole.

I suspect he’d resist and intellectualize and rationalize. He’d turn Christianity into another place to achieve, so he’d learn a lot about the Bible and theology. Even after he took in the head knowledge, he’d guard his heart because that’s what he’d learned. He’d run away. The facts wouldn’t change his behavior much.

I wish I could tell him to relax a little, let it go, and quit running. I’d tell him that all the stuff he’s so worried about doesn’t matter very much, that things usually work out, and that he can’t control most important things anyway.

I’d also tell him that running is useless, that he can’t get to a place where God can’t find him, and that God won’t give up on him. I’d tell him to stop trying to prove he isn’t worthy because he can’t mess up badly enough to drive God away.

I’d tell him to stop pretending to be thankful for what he earned and instead to be grateful for the abundance he doesn’t deserve.

He didn’t know about abundant love and forgiveness. He didn’t know about Relentless Grace. I wish I could help him understand—it would save both of us a lot of grief.

What would you like to tell a teenage “you”?

P.S.—I’d also tell that kid to be more careful installing Christmas lights. But since he thought he was invincible, I don’t imagine he’d pay much attention. Spinal cord injuries and paralysis happen to other people. **Sigh**

Please leave a comment.

This is our contribution to the One Word Blog Carnival hosted by Bridget Chumbley. I hope you’ll visit the carnival and check out the other attractions.

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Become Like Children

Abundance or Scarcity?

The Perfect Title

Happy Monday. Around here we’ve got our first snow on the ground—time to get the winter tires on the wheelchair. This edition of word-of-the-week has me thinking about…

ABUNDANCE

Abundance is an attitude, and it doesn’t come easily or naturally to me.

I grew up in a home of scarcity. Our scarcity wasn’t material—it was much worse. We seemed to live beneath a cloud of undefined fear that there would never quite be enough.

I’m trying to learn that an attitude of true abundance doesn’t rest in the security of a warm house or a nice car. It’s got little to do with a bank account. It isn’t even about family and friends.

I am certainly thankful for the people and things with which I’ve been richly blessed. I’m also thinking that they have little to do with a sincere abundance mentality.

Jesus said He came to bring a full, abundant life [John 10:10]. I’m pretty sure He referred to something beyond what I think about when Thanksgiving rolls around. I’m thankful for many blessings, but somehow I suspect those aren’t the markers of abundance for which Jesus sacrificed so much.

Does this notion make any sense? Do you understand abundance that isn’t about what we have or don’t have?

I’m thinking and perhaps writing about abundance this week. Together, perhaps we can get at what it means to really live a full, abundant life.

What marks an attitude of abundance? How is this different from “being thankful”?

I wish us all a week of abundance. By Friday, maybe I’ll understand better what that means.

“None of us can identify with what you’ve been through.”

I hear that a lot when I speak to groups. The speaker implies that my experience is so uniquely horrific that most folks simply can’t relate. But it goes a step further—somehow, my loss is “worse” than anything most other folks have experienced.

I don’t agree.

When I’m feeling a little sarcastic I’m tempted to reply, “I hear what you’re saying, and I appreciate your concern. But being bald isn’t really as bad as you think.”

I know—it’s a really terrible joke. But doesn’t the corny humor conceal a grain of truth?

None of us can truly identify with another’s experience. If you have a full, luxurious head of hair, you certainly can’t appreciate having most of your scalp involuntarily exposed to the weather. If you can walk and run and jump, you don’t truly understand what it’s like to suddenly lose those abilities forever.

But I cannot fully comprehend the nightmare of abuse or the horror of a child’s death. I don’t understand what it’s like to be in prison. There’s something unique about each loss that makes it, on one level, incomprehensible to anyone else.

My question isn’t about the uniqueness—it’s about the comparing. I guess I get concerned when people compare their pain—or their happiness—to someone else’s.

Some people go even further. “Hearing your story makes me feel guilty about my petty troubles.”

So if I understand it correctly, your pain suddenly disappeared because I showed up with a sadder story? And if someone with terminal cancer enters the room, I guess I’m no longer entitled to my sense of loss?

This preposterous obsession with comparison stems from the culture’s pervasive attitude of scarcity. We act like there’s a limited supply of esteem or self-worth or love. Contentment and happiness become objects of competition; it you want more you have to take them from someone else.

I think it’s this attitude of scarcity that compels us to compare pain and loss. If happiness is defined relative to others, then misery must be that way as well.

It’s a lie.

The simple truth is that one person’s pain has nothing to do with another’s. As a friend of mine says, “Everyone’s worst is their worst.”

I believe God wants me to operate from an attitude of abundance. In John 10:10 Jesus says, “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” The KJV translation says, “I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.”

Scarcity and comparing are rooted in insecurity. We strive for more in a futile attempt to fill the void of “not enough.” It’s an endless death spiral of guilt and resentment that divides us into “haves” and “have-nots,” “fortunate” and “less fortunate.” It’s a world of “my car’s better than yours” and “your pain’s worse than mine.”

Abundance and fullness offer freedom. When contentment and peace are freely available to all, I can experience compassion without pity and celebration without resentment or guilt.

Pain, loss, and grief are perhaps the most universally human experiences, and what unites is far more powerful than what divides. We devalue this common understanding when we insist on comparing, categorizing, and judging our triumphs and tragedies.

We’d do better to seek understanding that allows us to support each other with unconditional love. You may not know what it’s like to be paralyzed, but you know exactly what it’s like to grieve and ask why God allowed such pain.

That’s an attitude of abundance that fosters growth, wisdom, and transparent relationships.

I do not believe my struggle is any “worse” or “better” than yours—except maybe for the bald part.

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First, a bit of news: I’m excited to announce the impending release of a new free e-book titled STICKS AND STONES: Finding freedom in the face of criticism. We’re putting the finishing touches on it, and I hope it’ll be ready within a few days. Keep checking back for updates. Now–to more important stuff …

I learned that it is the weak who are cruel, and that gentleness is to be expected only from the strong. Leo Rosten

This month’s character trait from CharacterFirst! is GENTLENESS: Showing consideration and personal concern for others.

 Have you ever wondered why we seem so fearful of the perception of gentleness?

SCARCITY

Our culture worships those who succeed, but we’re stuck with a scarcity model of success. Success means winning, and that means everyone else has to lose.

This model allows only three options:

• Play and win—you’re a winner
• Play and lose–you’re a loser.
• Refuse to play—you’re a coward, but you pretend the game isn’t important.

Winners are celebrities. Losers are, well, losers. And cowards are worse than losers. There’s not much room for gentleness within a scarcity model.

Winners are tough. They intimidate and control through anger and power. Winners fight and impose their will on losers; they shout, fight, and do whatever it takes.

And winners must insure that everyone knows they’re winners. It’s not enough to be rich or beautiful or smart; you have to publicize your success. You have to make sure the losers know their place.

In the scarcity model, gentle is for sissies. Gentle implies vulnerable, weak, and incapable. Gentle means you can’t stand up for yourself and you get pushed around. Gentle is for the cowards, those who fear the battle.

ABUNDANCE

Despite the preponderance of cultural metaphors, life isn’t a football season in which there’s a single champion. Success isn’t scarce; it’s abundant.

In an abundance model, you don’t need to crush the opposition. There’s plenty of opportunity, and my success doesn’t mean someone else’s failure. There are lots of chances to help each other. The list of options changes.

• Succeed to the level dictated by your talent, creativity, ingenuity, and hard work.
• Build relationships and use your talent, creativity, ingenuity, and hard work to help others succeed—and invite them to do the same for you.

This isn’t a forced-choice situation, either. In fact, it’s likely that those who employ both strategies do best.

An abundance mentality encourages the development of authentic strength and toughness AND gentleness. Each achievement enhances your sense of personal power and self-confidence, so there’s less need to impress others with false bravado. As you build your own inner security, you’re also creating strong relationships that automatically foster mutual consideration and concern.

TOUGH AND GENTLE?

Some would claim that abundance is an impossible utopian fantasy, that competition is inevitable, and that to compete successfully you cannot show mercy to the opposition. Competition requires a certain ruthlessness that automatically precludes gentleness.

I’ve learned that this version of toughness is really a mask, an imitation of authentic strength. Bullies are cruel because they’re fundamentally insecure, and those who flaunt success are compensating for inner fear and loneliness. Only the weak feel the need to continually demonstrate their strength.

Shouting, profanity, and angry rhetoric conceal uncertainty and lack of knowledge or ability. They’re a cheap method of attracting attention. Confident, strong people don’t need manufactured attention, because others naturally gravitate to them.  They don’t need to intimidate, and they don’t need others to validate their accomplishments.

Gentleness is not weakness. Gentleness requires courage, self-assurance, and inner security. I hope you and I find the strength to be truly gentle with ourselves and others.

Gentleness shouldn’t be confused with weakness: cowards are submissive because they lack the resources to be anything else. True gentleness is a quality of the strong, those who could assert themselves but choose not to do so.

Tomorrow we’ll talk about Jesus as a model of gentle toughness and strength.

Anything else? Do you ever struggle to find the strength to be gentle?

Did you enjoy this article? Please leave a comment, visit my website, and/or send me an email at rich@richdixon.net.

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