Welcome to another Monday. I hope your weekend was as beautiful as ours—perfect Fall Colorado weather. Today’s word-of-the-week is …

SERVICE

This weekend I was privileged to be the keynote speaker for the 90^th anniversary celebration of the Loveland, Colorado Lion’s Club. I was especially impacted by the organization’s simple, profound motto:

WE SERVE.

For ninety years this group has embraced humanity’s highest calling—service to others. One of their first projects in 1920 involved caring for veterans of the Civil War, and over time they’ve addressed the evolving needs of their community with a variety of creative projects and programs.

The evening was particularly poignant because Saturday also marked the ninth anniversary of the 9-11 attacks. As I began speaking, I was struck by a powerful sense that their celebration was a perfect commemoration of September 11.

An event designed to promote fear and hate instead inspired countless acts of heroism, courage, and service. First responders ran toward the danger. Civilians risked personal harm to assist those in need.

That’s the servant mentality, sacrificing personal comfort, convenience, and even safety to help others. Servants find joy in the laughter of children and the knowledge that they’ve helped to create cherished memories.

The 9-11 terrorists caused significant grief and pain, but they failed in their primary mission. They believed a cowardly act of destruction would scatter and divide, but they only strengthened the resolve of people like those with whom I shared Saturday evening.

For these folks, WE SERVE is much more than a two-word mission statement. Men and women who operate with that spirit of love and sacrifice will always overcome hatred and fear.

I shared Saturday evening with messengers of light. Their celebration of community service encouraged and inspired, and reminded me of a basic principle:

In a confrontation between darkness and light, light always wins.

One problem with a weekend retreat in the mountains is … it ends.

At some point you have to pack up your stuff, climb into the car, and head back to the real world. The challenge is to bring something back, to make sure the sense of renewal doesn’t fade before the garage door opens at home.

One image I brought home from my weekend is a memory of a man I didn’t know very well. His name was Doug—he was instrumental in building the men’s ministry at my church, sowing the seeds that sprouted into an amazing weekend. Doug would have been there, but he was killed in a motorcycle accident a few months ago.

Several guys talked about Doug—his booming laugh, long hair, and huge heart for kids and other men. They shared stories of how he always showed up when someone was feeling lost or alone, how he knew when to quote a scripture, when to cry, and when to laugh and reassure.

One of Doug’s friends wore a t-shirt created for the memorial service. It sported his treasured Harley logo on the front, and the back proclaimed:

EVERYONE DIES. NOT EVERYONE TRULY LIVES.

Therefore Jesus said again, “I tell you the truth, I am the gate for the sheep. All who ever came before me were thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate; whoever enters through me will be saved. He will come in and go out, and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full. [John 10:7-10]

Doug lived the full, abundant life for which Jesus lived, died, and lived again. He loved, he laughed, he served, and he didn’t waste the time God gave him.

His spirit was with us throughout the weekend. Even though I barely knew him, his presence brought a sense of peace and comfort.

I like the idea of a t-shirt for my own memorial. I wonder what it would say.

What would you like your t-shirt to say?

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Yesterday I wrote about The Hardest Thing I’ve had to do since my injury. One especially insightful commenter (Thanks Jen!) reminded me that humility is a two-way street.

Submission

In John 13, Jesus washes the disciples’ feet. It’s a well-known story, a frequently referenced model for Christ’s attitude of humble service to others. But there’s another side to the story.

Foot-washing requires a foot to wash.

In the story, Peter initially refuses to allow his friend and teacher to perform such a menial, degrading task. Jesus replies that submission isn’t optional—it’s an essential element in the interaction.

I don’t think that’s an accident. You can’t force someone to receive an expression of intimacy. If it’s a true act of humble service, the one whose feet are washed must submit.

Accepting, allowing another to be blessed by serving, is itself an act of humility and love.

Jesus clearly shows that accepting and receiving are integral to authentic relationship. We demonstrate true humility by serving and by allowing others to serve.

The hardest part

We tend to celebrate the “humble servant,” but personally I think I mess it up. Most of the time, I serve because it makes me feel good. I retain control; I get to feel strong and wise and a tiny bit superior. My actions may benefit others, but my own motives usually aren’t quite so pure.

That’s why I resist asking for and accepting help. I don’t want to relinquish control, to admit that I can’t do it myself. And of course I usually do this badly as well; I let ‘em help if I must, but I make sure they know I don’t like it. My reluctant, grudging attitude robs others of joy.

It’s complicated, because Jesus is always about what’s in my heart. I serve, expecting to receive satisfaction in return. I receive, retaining a remnant of control through my un-generous spirit.

I know He sees the spiritual holes in my heart—thankfully, grace fills the voids.

Digging Deeper

As well as being an object lesson about worldly humility and service, Jesus’ tangible act of foot-washing symbolizes forgiveness. Jesus is clearly teaching us that we must forgive others as He has forgiven us.

But I think He’s also saying that we must be willing to accept forgiveness. And when you’ve messed up as much as I have, that’s much easier said than done.

That’s what new beginnings are all about.

We forgive, as best we can, even when it doesn’t feel good. We forgive as an expression of love and service, because it’s the attitude of the One we follow.

And we accept forgiveness. We don’t try to repay, because we can’t. We don’t try to justify, because we can’t. We accept a gift we don’t deserve as an expression of love and service.

It wasn’t easy for Jesus to humble Himself. It wasn’t easy for Peter to accept. Both required courage. They still do.

But that’s the model.

 Where do you have the most difficulty serving or being served?

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What’s the hardest thing you’ve had to do?

Have you ever wished you could gracefully get out of a situation? That’s how I felt when I arrived at my last speaking engagement.

The small church invited me to their men’s group, the sort of experience I usually anticipate and enjoy. I love the opportunity to connect and share in an intimate setting.

But that night I wanted to escape. The elevator was broken; ten imposing steps stood between me and the meeting room.

The man who invited me apologized profusely. He’d contacted me earlier to explain the situation and offer the opportunity to re-schedule. I replied that if they were willing to help me, we’d go ahead as planned.

Now, facing those ten steps, I regretted my false bravado.

I hate being carried; I especially hate being carried in public by strangers. I can’t adequately describe the horrible feeling of helplessness that arises when I’m hauled like a piece of baggage.

People stare—I know they’re only concerned for my welfare, that they don’t mean to be rude. And the guys carrying me—why do they get to be strong and helpful? Why do I have to experience this degrading dependence?

But it was too late now, so I leaned back and allowed four strangers to lift what felt like a useless, lifeless body up those ten steps.

As I tried to calm my heart and prepare for my presentation, I thought about this incident in Jesus’ early ministry.

A few days later, when Jesus again entered Capernaum, the people heard that he had come home. So many gathered that there was no room left, not even outside the door, and he preached the word to them. Some men came, bringing to him a paralytic, carried by four of them. Since they could not get him to Jesus because of the crowd, they made an opening in the roof above Jesus and, after digging through it, lowered the mat the paralyzed man was lying on. [Mark 2:1-4]

I know exactly how that man felt—friends carting him around, creating a spectacle, calling even more attention to his pitiful plight.

What right did this guy and his buddies have to demand access? Why couldn’t he just accept his place on the edges? He was making everyone uncomfortable, interrupting their dinner as well as Jesus’ teaching.

And they destroyed the roof! I can only imagine the disruption, the mess, the mixture of pity and outrage.

So I began by referencing this story, thanking the men who helped me, and joking that at least they didn’t have to create a makeshift skylight in the church ceiling. Everyone chuckled

My prepared remarks went well, and then it was time for discussion and questions.

What’s the hardest thing you’ve had to do?

I could have answered safely, offered an example of some trivial physical accomplishment. But that’s not what he was asking and this gathering wasn’t about being safe. So I answered honestly “The hardest thing I’ve had to do … was to let you carry me up the stairs.”

Men are supposed to be strong, independent, self-sufficient. We stand tall. We don’t watch things happen, we MAKE things happen.

That not how life feels in a wheelchair.

In a wheelchair you ask for help with simple tasks that everyone else takes for granted. The item you need at the grocery store is always just out of reach. The single step into a friend’s house is an insurmountable obstacle.

In a wheelchair you quite literally allow others to wash your feet—along with other, much more personal, acts of service.

In a wheelchair you learn that humble, humility, and humiliating all originate from the same root word.

I’m not thankful for being in a wheelchair, but I can be thankful in a wheelchair. I am not grateful for my injury, but I am grateful for the lessons it’s taught me. One of those lessons is the humility to allow others to help.

In a wheelchair, you get carried by strangers. It’s the hardest thing I’ve had to do.

What’s the hardest thing you’ve had to do?

Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus … [Philippians 2:5(a)]

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It’s Monday, and at Bouncing Back that means it’s time for the Word of the Week.

ENCOURAGE

This is a follow-up from last week’s word, courage: the willingness to act for right regardless of risk.

One of the most important aspects of courage is encourage. To me, that means you give courage to others.

So encourage means helping others discover and develop the willingness to act for right, regardless of risk. It’s an act of service that helps others extend their limits.

When you encourage someone, you help them climb the ladder and move closer to their full potential.

Who will you encourage this week?

The people who are lifting the world onward and upward are those who encourage more than they criticize. Elizabeth Harrison

This is also Word-of-Mouth Day, when I gently encourage (or, from your perspective, pester) you to help spread the word about Bouncing Back.

Facebook Fan Page. This is a great new way for Facebook users to spread the word to their friends. Just click the link, become a fan, and recommend the page to your friends. 

Forward the link to someone who might be interested.

Subscribe below to receive blog updates via email.

Link to a post on Twitter or Facebook.

Sign up for my free semi-regular newsletter.

Thanks for all of your help and support. Word of mouth is the BEST word of all.

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 The ultimate measure of a person is not where one stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where one stands in times of challenge and controversy. Martin Luther King 

Have you ever thought you were too weak to help?

It’s easy to imagine someone who’s better qualified, tempting to believe that your personal failures render you useless. We all want to conceal our dirty laundry, but followers of Christ must remember that we’re called to serve where we are and to offer ourselves in that service. We’re all gifted so we can offer those gifts in service to others.

I prefer to think in terms of ”serving” rather than “helping”. For me, service better conveys Jesus’ attitude. He didn’t assist from a position of superiority. Instead, He chose to step into the position of servant. He modeled service based on humility and calls us to follow Him.

If you’ve ever believed you are too damaged, too weak, or too broken to contribute, here are some questions to consider.

If God can’t use broken people, who will He use?

Let’s face it—God works through His people, and we’re all damaged goods. Acknowledging brokenness is a necessary step in following Jesus because it gets you on the path to service. We need to understand that everyone on that path is messed up.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. [Matthew 5:3]

In the first of The Beatitudes, Jesus blesses the “poor in spirit,” those who recognize their dependence on God. Then He hands us the keys to His kingdom.

Why hide your light?

Jesus didn’t talk so much to the stars of the religious community, those who had all the answers and stood apart from those in need. He spoke instead to the poor in spirit and the meek, the broken people who had no status or authority.

“You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven. [Matthew 5:14-16]

He gave you a light. Don’t hide it.

If you’re stuck in a hole, wouldn’t you want to meet someone who’s been there and knows the way out?

We’ve all experienced struggle and grief. Bad stuff happens, life isn’t fair, and we’ve all lived with consequences of unfortunate choices. Our hope lies in God’s promise that He won’t waste our pain.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. [Romans 8:28] 

God creates beauty from the junk in our lives. Let’s offer it to Him, and to His people, in service and love—because He first loved us.

People often ask, “Who am I to …?” A better question might be, “Who are you NOT to …?”

It’s uncomfortable to publically acknowledge personal failure. In an image-conscious culture, we work hard to hide imperfections and mistakes.

We need to be clear about why we’re sharing. I shouldn’t dump on someone who’s already hurting just to make myself feel better. I must be careful about telling someone “I know how you feel,” because I probably don’t.

Nobody has made more of a mess in their life than I did. No one has squandered God’s blessings more carelessly. I am absolutely not qualified or worthy.

Relentless Grace isn’t my story, it’s God’s story. Who am I NOT to share the hope that comes from knowing that God will never give up on any of us? That’s a light that needs to be displayed for all to see.

If you’ve messed up, welcome to the human race. There’s no shame in failure and a great deal of anxiety in hiding it. Don’t be afraid to offer the gift of your experience. To someone else, it may be priceless.

What difficult experience can you offer to someone who needs it?

Sometimes the greatest heroes aren’t the strongest or the most talented. Sometimes the greatest heroes are the people who simply show up.

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The virtues of men are of more consequence to society than their abilities, and for this reason, the heart should be cultivated with more diligence than the head. Noah Webster

What’s your idea of friendship? I recently heard a speaker talk about loving people with no strings attached.

His reference prompted me to examine my own relationships. How frequently am I a friend because I expect something in return? Even if it’s just acknowledgement, a pat on the back, a thank-you—do I tie my friendship to conditions?

This online community, our circle, is a good place to begin. I share here because I’m passionate about it. I’m not trying to make money or become famous (though I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to either of those outcomes!). I write Bouncing Back because I want to connect with like-minded folks who want to explore issues of life and faith.

So, do I expect anything in return? Have I attached strings, spoken or implied, to participation in the circle?

I like it when readers respond. I enjoy receiving comments and emails, and it’s gratifying when you take time to recommend something to others via a re-tweet or a Facebook post. The whole point is connection and two-way communication; that’s what makes the circle organic and fulfilling.

But do I expect those responses? Is it an implied condition of full participation in the circle?

I feel good when readers comment on the e-books and pass them along to others. I get a rush from interacting with audiences at speaking engagements. And, yes, I appreciate people buying, reading, and talking about Relentless Grace. If I didn’t want people to read and engage with this stuff, there wouldn’t be much point to writing it.

But am I disappointed when those things don’t happen? Am I sending my ideas out into the universe and subtly expecting some sort of return on my investment?

I hope not. I want my friendships, here and elsewhere, to flow from service without strings. I hope I’m asking, “How can I help?” without wondering, “What am I going to get in return?”

Knowing Rich as well as I do, I know my approach isn’t that pure. A thin line separates enjoying feedback and expecting it, and I’m sure I inadvertently cross that line too frequently.

Unconditional love is tough; perfectly unconditional love is probably beyond my capability. But the notion of agape is central to living a life of purpose and substance.

I need to constantly look for and eliminate those seemingly insignificant strings.

The greatest use of a life is to spend it for something that will outlast it.

What are the strings you unconsciously tie to your relationships?

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 One of the basic causes for all the trouble in the world today is that people talk too much and think too little. They act impulsively without thinking. I always try to think before I talk.  Margaret Chase Smith

Do you ever do dumb stuff?

I’m a self-taught expert in SPEAKING WITHOUT THINKING. Related skills include REACTING IMPULSIVELY, ARGUING NEEDLESSLY, and HITTING “SEND” TOO QUICKLY. Is this sounding familiar to anyone?

I don’t require any special circumstances to apply these gifts. I just bumble along, doing whatever I’m doing, and—WHAM! I run smack into a conflict I didn’t intend or anticipate.

THE TRAP

This one began innocently enough. I read an interesting article on a blog I’ve been following for a while. The writing prompted an idea to further the conversation, so I added a comment. Simple enough, right? A few minutes later the author responded. His comment surprised me. I thought he was looking at the topic a bit narrowly, and I saw the opportunity for a bit of debate. I quickly formulated a clever, penetrating response.

That’s usually my first clue that I’m heading into trouble, though I rarely heed the warning signs. I enjoy “discussing” (arguing about) ideas, but I tend to get too involved and take the exchange too personally. That’s bad enough, but I also forget that others don’t approach discussions on the same level of intensity.

So, deploying all of the carefully crafted skills listed above, I fired back my witty reply. Do you see where this is headed?

I didn’t intend offense, but I also didn’t consider the impact of my words. Next thing I know the author’s telling me I’m “antagonistic” and refusing to post further discussion. And at least one other commenter agreed that my contribution wasn’t appropriate or helpful to the discussion.

I was, as the kids say, BUSTED!

LESSONS LEARNED (AGAIN)

Words matter. I could have communicated my thoughts more effectively, and kindly, without diluting my meaning. Especially in the online world, intent isn’t sufficient. We have to consider how our words will be received.

Being right isn’t the most important thing. I believe I had a good idea, but it wasn’t all that important in the grand scheme of things. Some hills may be worth dying for, but this wasn’t one of them. Life contains enough conflict on its own. I’d rather lose a debate than a friend.

Relationships matter. In a virtual world it’s easy to forget that you’re communicating with real people that have their own feelings and priorities. It’s awfully easy to type words you’d never say personally into the perceived anonymity of cyberspace.

People aren’t disposable. In both “real” and virtual interactions, it’s not okay to just toss folks carelessly aside. In the final analysis, I sincerely believe that life is about relationships, and they should be nurtured with care.

It’s not about me. Simple enough.

Trust is hard to earn, easy to lose, and nearly impossible to regain once it’s lost. I don’t want to over-dramatize. No verbal or actual punches were exchanged. The author and I subsequently exchanged emails, and I think we’re good. But this isn’t how I want to represent myself.

The entire interaction wasn’t nearly as significant to him as it was to me. I was a minor annoyance, like a mosquito he brushed aside so he could focus on important stuff. I had little impact on his day while I destroyed my own with fussing and fuming.

What I’d do differently

Build relationship first. This guy hardly knows me. We’ve communicated a couple of times, but he contacts hundreds of folks each week. I feel like I know him, but I haven’t invested the time to connect with him. I’m certain he would have reacted differently if my comments had come from a trusted friend.

Serve. You create trust and relationship through service. I jumped onto this guy’s platform and demanded the virtual microphone, and he rightly wondered why he should comply. That’s just not how it works.

You show commitment by serving, not because you expect reciprocation but because it’s the right path. Sometimes you have to actively seek ways to help someone else, and your service may pass un-noticed. But the noticing isn’t the point. I believe that, in the big picture, service is what makes it all work even when we can’t see exactly how.

Drip, drip, drip. Relationships take time. “I want it all, and I want it now” may be good song lyrics, but it’s not the way to connect. People want to know you’re committed for the long term. You fill the bucket of relationship one drop at a time.

IT AIN’T EASY

I write and talk a lot about relationships. That’s not because I’m good at them, it’s because I believe they’re the essence of a substantial life and I still have a lot to learn. Richard Bach once said, “You teach best what you most need to learn.” If that’s true, I qualify for a tenured professorship.

We make it up as we go because, honestly, it’s the only way to make it up. Thankfully, there’s forgiveness, grace, and new beginnings. That’s God’s way, and I’m glad because it’s our only source of hope.

Sincere forgiveness isn’t colored with expectations that the other person apologize or change. Don’t worry whether or not they finally understand you. Love them and release them. Life feeds back truth to people in its own way and time—just like it does for you and me. Sara Paddison

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Act as if what you do makes a difference.  It does. William James

I’ve been thinking about Greg Mortenson’s powerful story, Three Cups of Tea. I want to expand on what I wrote (How To Change The World) earlier this week.

Something he said to a group of college students surprised me a bit. He challenged them to do something to help others and change the world rather than just making a buck. I think I understand the heart of his message, but I also think his challenge could easily be misinterpreted.

We’re all called to different places in life. Some, like Greg, climb mountains, write books, and build schools in Pakistan. Some, like Chris Guillebeau, live a life of intentional nonconformity and encourage others who seek a similar path. That’s great. They’re helping others, they’re making a difference, and they’re happy. That’s about as good as it gets.

But—do you have to travel to dangerous, exotic lands to change the world? I don’t think you do.

There’s nothing wrong with making a buck, whether it’s your own company or you work for someone else. It’s okay to come home every night, take care of your family, and spend time in the garden if that’s what makes you happy. You can serve God by being invested in your kids and your spouse.

The world needs missionaries and entrepreneurs. Thank goodness for those who take risks, tackle new adventures, and push at the frontiers.

But the world also needs plumbers and executive assistants who do their jobs with passion and joy. The world needs committed moms and dads who are there for the day-to-day moments. Those folks don’t always get noticed, but they change the world in their own way.

“Making a buck” isn’t the problem. The real issue is what you do with that buck. If your only goal is to accumulate more and more, then I believe you’ll live a relatively empty, shallow life. If you strive only for security, care only for yourself, and serve only your own interests, then you’re wasting the life God entrusted to you.

On the other hand, if you’re helping others and serving wherever you happen to be, I believe you’re doing what you’re meant to do.

Does this make sense? What would you add?

Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot,
nothing is going to get better.  It’s not. Dr. Seuss

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Never wrestle in the mud with a pig. You’ll both get dirty, and the pig likes it.

I think there’s a big difference between feedback and criticism.

Earlier this week I wrote about Criticism vs. Feedback. Since feedback can be useful and criticism can’t always be ignored, I thought it might be worthwhile to examine how we respond to feedback and criticism.

Criticism isn’t helpful, and generally I believe that the best response is to dismiss it. When you pay attention to something, you tend to get more of it. Since a critic’s primary motive is to find fault, blame, or complain, there’s not much reason to reward it.

I don’t acknowledge so-called “constructive criticism” because criticism, as I’m thinking about the term, is inherently destructive. However, sometimes it can’t be avoided. Bosses, colleagues, and other associates may be critical; it’s not always possible, and it’s certainly not easy, to ignore their opinions.

DEFINING TERMS

Feedback and criticism may sound similar, so it’s important to differentiate them. Even when identical words are employed, the heart beneath those words and their impact on the listener are substantially different.

Feedback is educational, intended to help me grow by offering an outside view of my behavior. Criticism focuses on fault finding and blaming. Instead of entering a process to improve it, the critic stands outside the process and throws stones.

Feedback comes from service and humility. Criticism is essentially a passive-aggressive form of bragging that aims to demean and diminish me. The critic seeks attention by casting himself as the expert.

So here are some thoughts about responding to feedback and criticism.

INTERACTION

I want feedback to be interactive, because it’s a conversation in the context of a relationship. I want to ask clarifying questions and determine specifics that help me replicate positive results and improve less desirable outcomes.

Criticism is generally one-way, so it’s sometimes best received in writing. This allows for some emotional distance and prevents an endless, on-and-on barrage.

Written criticism has another advantage—it’s easy to wad up the page and deposit it appropriately in the circular file (or hit DELETE).

INTROSPECTION

Feedback encourages self-examination, an essential aspect of living life on-purpose. Personally, I want to be accountable, so I want feedback. I want people in my circle who reinforce positive behavior, but I also want them to help me see into my blind spots and tell me when I’m getting off course. Feedback, whether congratulation or correction, may be difficult to receive, but it’s an essential part of living life on purpose.

Since I generally wish to dismiss criticism, it’s difficult to learn much from it. However, I need to be open and realize that criticism may contain some nuggets of truth. If I’m confident within my own skin, I can sift through the junk and seek areas that might require attention.

ACTION

For me, living on-purpose involves a desire to learn and grow. When I perceive an area where I’ve missed the mark, I need to acknowledge it and seek ways to improve. I may need to apologize, seek information, or ask for help.

If a critic tells me I failed, that’s not a call-to-action. If I can discern a specific area in which I can do better, I need to address it. Otherwise, there’s that round file and the DELETE key.

EMOTION

I think it’s appropriate to allow emotion in a feedback environment. Genuine joy and sorrow fit within a relationship. Of course this must be tempered by the setting, but authentic feedback involves an emotional investment from the giver, so it’s difficult to deny an emotional response from the receiver.

Criticism is designed to provoke negative emotions so it’s best, though certainly not easy, to avoid an emotional reaction. I’m reminded of another of my favorite admonitions:

Never argue with an idiot. Observers may not be able to tell the difference.

The only thing that results from arguing, crying, or becoming angry with a critic is additional criticism, because the emotion gives the critic the attention he craves. Scripture advises: “Don’t have anything to do with foolish and stupid arguments, because you know they produce quarrels.” [2 Tim 2:23]

Those are some of my thoughts. What’s your take?

How do you respond to feedback and criticism? What would you like to do better?

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