Being Chuck

It’s amazing that a word of so few letters carries more weight than just about any other word in the English language. I can certainly think of situations where other words are more significant, but in general (and at a lot of very specific times) the word “no” is the single most painful word in the English language.

“No” is usually preceded by a request or an offer made from one person (or organization) to another. It is the offer of relationship, whether in service or simply friendship or partnership of some sort. It (the offer) is an extension of the offerer, and is thus a plea of “accept me.” Which explains (perhaps in an over-simplified manner) why the word “no” is so excrutiating the majority of the time. The cry of “accept me” is met with “you’re not good enough” or “I’m not that interested in what you have to offer.” And so, the rejection is deeply personal, despite our best efforts to pretend otherwise.

This is of course (as all things are), weighted by things like personality and passion.

Some people handle “no” much better than others. Some people don’t always take it personally. But I truly believe that everyone, on some level, is affected negatively by rejection because on some level it is personal.

We are personal. We are persons. We are not robots. And although some women would argue about some men, no one can completely compartmentalize their lives. Everything, somewhere inside, is personal.

It can be seen in the workplace, in school, in a team, or in just about any environment. One member of a group, let’s call him Jack, offers an idea… a solution to a problem. And another member, let’s call her Jill dislikes that idea, dimisses it for a better one, or simply rejects it. The majority of the time Jill doesn’t have any ill will toward Jack. She’s not out to get him, and she doesn’t delight in causing him pain or trouble. But Jack feels personally rejected by Jill because she wasn’t on board with something that came from Jack’s thoughts and work. Jack’s day (or week) could be, might be ruined as a result of this rejection, and he now has feelings of ill will toward Jill.

When you say it like that it almost seems petty and stupid and extreme.

But it’s not, it’s simply human, and it happens all the time.

And that (between Jack and Jill at work, or at school) is on a “non-personal” level. Let alone the idea of one person asking another for a job or a relationship.

So we fear rejection. We hope and pray against it. We base our value (most of the time, if not all of it) on what other people think about us or on some measure of success (which if you really think about it is still what other people think about us). And so rejection, no matter how hard we try to compartmentalize, no matter how often we say “I don’t care what other people think,” still hurts because it is personal.

That’s why I always think it’s funny (not funny-ha-ha, but funny-ironic) when we say “It’s not personal, but…”

It’s funny because it is personal. Anytime you have to start with that phrase or one like it, it’s because you have to reject someone. You have to reject their offer of relationship (of some sort). And usually the relationship they are requesting has to do with their livelihood, their passion, or their love.

And those things are personal.

So what do we do? Is this a problem without a solution? Am I stuck going through life facing rejection, and feeling devalued and devastated each time I hear “no?”

Because God knows, I have heard “no” a lot more than “yes.”

In reality, I haven’t, but most of us feel that way. I tend to exaggerate, every now and again, for effect. (Notice the blatant exaggeration there at my use of exaggeration.) In reality I have lived quite the charmed life (as have most Americans) but that’s another story for another day…

But there is a solution.

If we truly understand who we are in relation to Christ. Rejection is easier to handle. If we understood that our value comes from Christ, rejection would hold much less sway in our lives.

Each time I am rejected, I feel a twinge of pain because it is personal. But when I understand that my value, my gifts, my abilities, and everything that goes along with them are based in Christ, based in the fact that he loves me and chose to serve my punishment on my behalf, rejection cannot devalue me anymore.

I am still human, so it still hurts. I will still feel less valuable each time I am rejected. But with perspective I can move past it and realize that rejection (and the person rejecting me) has no real sway over my life.

“No” doesn’t remove my value. It doesn’t mean the road has ended. It simply implies that where I thought the road was straight, there turned out to be a curve.

Each year around this time, my wife and I get really excited.

Tara is one of the most rabid college basketball fans I have ever seen (especially during the tournament), and we always end up watching games we have no stake in (no real rooting interest). And somehow, I always find myself rooting for the underdogs. I always seem to pick the team (as my rooting interest) who has much less of a chance to win.

There are occasional lapses in this behavior, but they usually occur as a result of a rooting interest of some sort. I will root for Duke (sort an anti-UK thing), and I will root for WVU (Bob Huggins was the coach at UC for a long time).

But the majority of the time, I end up rooting for the underdog. And I’m fairly certain I’m not the only one.

So this morning, as I was listening to the talking heads on sports radio jabber on about who can and can’t win, I began to wonder why that is…

What in our brains and hearts beckons us to cheer for the team that is the lesser of the two playing? Why do we watch movies and cheer for the “average girl” who gets the guy from the “supermodel?” Why do we consistently root for David instead of Goliath?

I mean, if we’re honest the other team/girl/giant guy has everything we want to be. Power, strength, beauty, grace, talent… they are excellent in almost every perceivable way. We want to be them. All of the things we wish about ourselves are manifested in them.

Yet for some reason we pick the down-trodden, the smaller, the weaker, the average… but why?

…

Really, the answer is quite simple.

We need to believe we can win.

We need to believe that despite our inadequacies, despite our flaws, despite our weakness and despite, at times, feeling utterly worthless, that we have the chance to achieve all our goals and dreams. We need to believe we can win.

If I don’t believe victory is possible, I have no hope. I have nothing to dream for, nothing to strive for. But if that underdog can do it, then maybe I can too. It’s the hope of a chance that drives us.

I identify with the underdog. I’m in terrible shape. I am weak, inconsistent, powerless, and utterly hopeless.

So the underdog is a representation of how we generally view ourselves. We know our flaws, and if we’re honest, when we do succeed, it’s generally in spite of our weakness more often than it is because of our greatness.

But there is another reason we innately root for the underdog…

A long time ago, the Jews were awaiting a “Goliath” king. Someone who was strong, powerful, graceful, elegant, well-spoken, well-liked, and generally king-like. But they got a baby, born to a poor man, in the humblest of circumstances. And that baby, that son of a carpenter grew into a leader in spite of his poor social status. But he was an underdog as a leader. He didn’t command a throne, or even talk like any leader people had ever seen. He was a “common” man (miracles aside) who associated with common, underdog-type men.

Then, when it seemed like he would do the “sane” thing, and finally ascend to greatness in the way we had all planned, he lowered himself again. And died. No one can beat death. No one can win against the ultimate punishment and humiliation he endured.

But the underdog prevailed once more.

Jesus Christ died for our sins, and rose from the dead, to conquer everything that holds us down. And the funny part is that most of the time when we talk about it, we leave out the most important part of that process.

We speak of Jesus dying for our sins (He did, and that is monumentally important), but we leave off the fact (not intentionally) that He rose from the dead. That’s why we can have hope. Christ won. He beat death, he “slew the giant,” and in doing so he created an avenue, a way, for us to win. Had he just died for our sins, it would have been a touching sacrifice, but we still would have no way to conquer death. That would be it. Death would win, and remain undefeated.

But He did. And we can.

I root for the underdog because the underdog is me. There is no way I should be able to win. There is nothing I can do inside my own power that will be enough to achieve victory. But I don’t have to do it on my own. The path has been cleared.

Let it be known that I am not by and large a fan of presidents or presidential elections. I am however, a fan of this country and ideas like due process and democracy.

So on this day (Presidents’ Day), I feel it appropriate to call out a few of my fellow Christ followers. If I step on your toes… you’ll live, but hear me out.

I am not a fan of President Obama. Never was. But at some point we need to be big boys and girls and start supporting the “team we play for.”

And for those who never played team sports (it’s not a perfect analogy), here’s a general synopsis of how to do that:

Playing on a team means that sometimes the things you want take a back seat to the team (even if you don’t think it’s in the team’s best interests). When the leader(s) of the team is(are) chosen by the team, he/she is the leader. End of discussion. And when said leader(s) makes decisions, those things have been decided. That doesn’t mean we don’t work to fix them if we believe they are wrong, but it does mean that we have to find a constructive way to do that (to lessen dissension and division within the team).

And you are part of this “team.” This country is a democracy (not in the purest sense of the word, but it works for most people’s purposes), and that means we vote. Which means sometimes you won’t get your way, but you don’t cease to be part of the team just because we’re not moving in the direction you think we should on the issue du jour.

(By the way, this is in reference to taking pot shots from afar on Facebook, blogs, and the like without any real action or attempt to solve said problem. I am probably guilty of this myself at some point… so I’m talking to myself as much as anyone else.)

But Chuck, I can say what I want… we have freedom of speech.

Yup. We do. And you can.

However, for some reason, “freedom of speech” is a difficult concept for some to completely understand. Freedom of speech simply (perhaps a little oversimplified) means that you are free to say anything you like without fear of governmental repression. But it doesn’t provide you freedom from consequences of that careless speech.

Here’s an example:

Don Imus, radio shock jock, invoked freedom of speech on his radio show and said some degrading and potentially racist things about a women’s college basketball team. He has the freedom to say whatever he wants, but he also has to accept the fallout of saying those things in a public forum. It created quite a mess for all parties involved. You can read more here.

My point is that if you’re not willing to do the leg work to help solve a problem, don’t stand around and gripe. I have always told people that gripe about all things governmental, “If you don’t vote, your opinion doesn’t matter.” The only concession I will make here (and I make it mildly) is for those who are unable to vote. But that is a rare concession at best.

Either jump in and find a way to help fix what needs fixing, or shut up. If you vote, then you have some right to gripe, but I doubt that voting is the only thing you can do to invoke change.

And sometimes, even if you are helping to fix it, learn to know when to shut up anyway (or at least learn how to speak to other people in a way that is conducive to dialog and not insulting).

That is perhaps one of the greatest problems of Christ followers face. We don’t understand how to enter a dialog with someone who doesn’t believe the same things we do without completely alienating said person within two arguments or less.

Discussion, dialog, debate, argument… whatever you choose to call it, learn to do it without insulting people’s intelligence, and we’ll all probably end up a little better off.

We are told that all authority (including the government) was established by God. Check out Romans 13 again. It’s pretty clear about how we are to respond to authority.

Work what needs to be fixed. If you have to talk about it, do so in a constructive way.

Talk is cheap. Everybody speaks, not everybody acts.

Note: This goes for any time period, whoever is president. So if you are a fan of President Obama, subtract four years and work through this then.

I’ve called my immediate family, and Tara called hers. So the rest of you will find out this way or by word of mouth.

The bank I work at was declared failed by the FDIC and was bought out (or assumed) by another bank. This is a very, very good thing for the bank and its employees, but apparently not for me.

I was told tonight that the assuming bank will not be retaining me as an employee. So as of now, the job hunt begins. We will see where God leads. He has a plan, and that plan has never left us out in the cold before. In fact, it has always been far better than what we could’ve pictured.

So while this sucks tremendously, I’m sure something is on the way.

It is what it is. No worries (kind of…).

We appreciate your prayers and love.

On March 21, 2005, Riley Noelle Stroup, our first child, was born in the normal morning hours.

When I say normal morning hours, I mean that time when most people are not only awake, but functioning at a reasonable capacity.

However, to arrive at the hospital and have Riley at “normal morning hours,” it was necessary for us to awaken at not normal morning hours, but that is neither here nor there… I digress.

Riley was born, and shortly thereafter we knew for a fact that she had Down Syndrome. This wasn’t a terrible shock to either of us for a couple of reasons***, but it wasn’t “run-of-the-mill” type news either.

***1. Tara grew up with a cousin that has Down Syndrome, and I went to school with a girl named Sarah who also had Down Syndrome. We had a limited understanding of what was and what would be.

***2. I had felt since high school that I would have a child with Down Syndrome or something similar, and told Tara so before we were engaged.

This didn’t alter our feelings about our daughter. She was here and healthy, and that was enough for us.

As time went on, Riley’s delay (the amount of time she tends to be behind her peers in learning/skills) has always been slight, but it is there and more noticeable at times. She spoke and walked a little later than most of her friends, and some of her motor skills aren’t as developed, but we have been tremendously blessed that she is interested in progress (and also are blessed by having people around us who encouraged us to keep pushing her). Riley is never coddled or treated any differently than her brother.

We always kind of had a running bet (no pun intended) as to who would actually run first. Lincoln is about two and a half years behind Riley. She took a long time to jump, and just as long to actually run, so we were always curious if Lincoln would run first. We always kind of wondered at what point Lincoln would begin to pass Riley in some respects. [Side note: Riley ran first, but he is currently almost as fast.]

…

It’s funny. You can know something is going to happen, you can even know approximately when, but it still catches you off guard.

Today, Tara was at a women’s event at church, and I had the kids. So we ran a few errands and then stopped for lunch at “Burger-Fries!” [Translation: McDonald's]

Daddy forgot to bring their cups, so we used the juice boxes. But that means I had to hold the juice box each time they drank. I mean, seriously… who designed juice boxes?

Hey let’s make a cardboard box to hold juice and a little hole for the straw!

A good idea, but any kid who holds one and doesn’t have the gentlest of grasps, immediately ends up with juice everywhere. But again, I digress.

So the kids have to ask me each time they was a drink.

Lincoln (who by the way, isn’t two yet) looks at me and says, “I want a drink.” Clear as a bell. [No, I don't know why bells are the definition of audible clarity.]

And I replied, “Um, how are you supposed to ask?”

And Lincoln retorted, “I want a drink, please.”

Now, anyone who has children close in age can tell you, when one gets something, it’s difficult at best to give anything to one and not the other. So, of course, Riley needed a drink too.

“I want drink!”

So again, I replied, “How are you supposed to ask?”

And she retorted in kind, “Drink please.”

It’s small, and most wouldn’t have even noticed, but I did. I asked her to say the whole phrase and repeated it for her. But “drink please” was it. This was the first time I noticed a marked difference. Lincoln has already begun to pass Riley.

…

It’s not easy for me. (Selfish, I know…)

I knew Lincoln would catch and pass Riley in most respects, but I still wasn’t ready.

I almost feel silly even bringing it up, but I wanted to process it… so I write. I guess I just didn’t expect it so soon.

When you have a child with Down Syndrome, you get used to the pace. It’s leisurely. Things happen when they happen. We encourage and push, but she does things in her own time. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

But when we had Lincoln, holy crap! The pace seemed ridiculously quick. There were times when Tara and I would look at each other in amazement, “Oh, he’s doing that already?”

I’m amazed though, at the timing of things.

I’m fairly sure God knew I wouldn’t be able to handle having a Down Syndrome child second. It’s not easy having one first.

That’s not a pity statement. It is what it is.

I’m not really sure where I expected this post to go, but I learn so much from my kids everyday. It funny how God uses the people around us (including our families) to teach us. I more clearly everyday how much He loves me through the way I love my own kids.

I sat this morning in church with my jaw clenched as tightly as my teeth would permit in a desperate (yet completely futile) attempt to stop the little creeks of tears from flowing from the outsides of my eyes.

I don’t know why that part of my eyes always leaks first, but it does.

I don’t think crying makes a man weak. In fact, I would argue quite the opposite, but I really don’t like to cry. So there I sat, jaw clenched, eyes welling, trying to focus on something other than the fact that my Friend is leaving.

I did the same tonight when they left our house.

And the worst part (not really worst, but you’ll get the idea in a second) is that while I am extremely saddened by their leaving, I am also really, really excited that they’re getting to do what they feel like they were made to do. Being human really is quite confusing at times.

I hate goodbye.

This was J and Kelly’s last Sunday at church. They leave for Tampa tomorrow. From Tampa they’ll fly to Chicago, and from Chicago on to Istanbul, Turkey.

I hate Turkey. (Not the delicious bird mind you… the country.)

………

I have never really had a lot of Friends in life. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always had lots of people that I could call friends, but I keep very few Friends.

The people you trust with everything. The people you know you could call and borrow money from if they have it. The people you would call if your car broke down in the middle of no where. The people you trust with things you’re not even sure you can tell your spouse.

That’s what I mean when I say Friends.

J was/is that to me. But the “is” is changing. He’s moving to Turkey (just in case you missed that from above).

And that is part of the reason I don’t keep many Friends. Life changes and people move on. It’s just a fact of life. And you use that word… goodbye.

We try to use euphemisms in its place:

“Be safe!”

“Be good!”

Take care!”

“Later!”

“See ya soon!”

But the harsh reality is that all these words mean goodbye. Whether it’s for now, or for longer, they all mean the same thing.

And that sucks.

But instead of spending time seeing how whiny I can be, let’s try something different…

If you don’t have someone in your life (same sex, same general life position) that you can lean on, you’re an idiot.

That kind of person is the one you can bounce crazy ideas off of, and they’ll tell you straight to your face whether it’s crazy or crazy enough to work. That kind of person is one who will tell you when you’re treating other people poorly, or when you need to figure some things out before you wreck your life.

I can’t tell you how many times J and I had “come to Jesus” meetings. He was never afraid to put me in my place when it was needed. And never once did I doubt his intentions when he came to me with a problem. He and Brian Truschinger (usually together) used to sit me down and let me know when I was being an idiot. They always did it in a way that was loving and recognized their own faults, and that was always (eventually) received well.

I used to joke with J and Brian that if I ever started a church (or got hired to run one) that I would be calling them to come sit in my office to keep me in check. That would be their entire job… sit in my office and just make sure I’m not an idiot all the time. That’s what they’re going to do.

They don’t really have any choice in the matter… I’m bigger than both of them together.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that J has had an enormous amount of influence in my life. And almost all of it (if not all) has been for the better (much, much better). Thank you, J.

And if you don’t have one of those, you are an idiot. Go get a J.

I don’t know why this was prompted by these pictures and not anything else before this. Maybe it’s because I didn’t get to be there. I only got to see pictures.

Becky, I’m still sorry and sad I was stupid enough to miss your high school graduation, and now I’m sad I missed Ben’s college graduation.

It’s weird to look at pictures of my younger brother graduating and being ordained. In the same way it was weird to watch my younger sister graduate college. In the same way it’s weird to see Becky’s white coat, it’s weird to see pictures of Ben’s ordination.

(Sorry Jenny, you will have an opportunity to be thought of in a weird way too. It just hasn’t happened yet.)

We’re getting older and becoming adults, learning to be responsible (kind of).

It’s not always fun “growing up,” but it’s pretty cool.

I guess I’m trying to say:

I’m proud of you, Becky.

I’m proud of you, Ben.

I’m proud of you, Jenny.

I’m not sure I’ve said that to any of you before. But I definitely am, and I definitely should have.

Okay, so have you ever had one of those moments where you feel like God is trying to subtly tell you something. Not that you’ve gone majorly astray, but more along the lines of, “Maybe you should reexamine your thoughts on this subject…”

Today, more appropriately this morning, has been one of those days for me.

There are a few things I read fairly often. And the two blogs I’m about to reference both addressed this topic on May 5. I read them both this morning.

Both posts have to do with (my wording) “American Entitlement.” This idea: I have a right to complain. I have a right to fight for things that I want. I have a right… etc.

This is also something I posted about back in August, but apparently I need to revisit.

Thanks Ben and Josiah (you can click their names to check out their posts) for writing these.

I’m stealing their posts (and apparently one of my old ones) to make it look like I posted today.

I could be wrong (wouldn’t be the first time, nor will it be the last), but very few people, if any at all, are prepared for the finality that the death of a loved one seems to bring.

My grandfather, Charles Russell, died when I was in 8th grade. To me, it was sudden, unexpected, and heart breaking. I’m sure it was for a lot of people.  But more than anyone else, it was hard for my grandmother, Catherine Russell. Life changed drastically for her. A lifelong friend, her husband, her confidant was gone. But that thin little woman, whose size belied her incredible strength, lived on.

But after a few years age, and maybe a little loneliness, began to take their toll. Dementia set in.

Things that were once so familiar gradually became foreign. Friends and family became different people. Some of them were other friends or family. Some were strangers. Life changed once more.

And for some I would imagine (at least it was so for me), Grandma wasn’t really Grandma anymore. She was still my grandmother. I loved her and missed her when we weren’t there, but she wasn’t Grandma anymore.

So when this day came, I expected it would be a little easier to swallow, because she hadn’t been Grandma for so long.

I was wrong.

My mom called me today. Grandma passed away.

I am so sad. I miss her. I haven’t seen her in so long, and now I won’t. At least not for quite some time.

That pseudo finality I spoke of earlier doesn’t feel so “pseudo” right now. The death of someone close (or even sometimes someone not-so-close) causes pain and seems to remind us of that feeling of finality.

There is pain from want (“I will miss them”).

There is pain from regret (“I wonder if they knew…” or “I wish I had…”).

But there is also pain from the realization of mortality.

My first thought today when I heard from my mom was, “There’s the end of an era. This brings a close to a chapter in history.”

That’s how we think as finite beings. Everything has an end. Nothing lives on forever, not in this world anyway.

But we’re wrong.

The legacy Grandpa and Grandma left behind will live on forever. And nothing can end that.

There are thousands upon thousands of people whose lives have been forever altered by the fact that they “happened” to cross paths with Charles and Catherine Russell. And there are thousands upon thousands upon thousands more whose lives have been forever altered by the ripple effect of those encounters.

If I sought to write about those people, even if I only chose a few, this would become a long read indeed. But that isn’t my goal.

My goal is this:

I want people to know that despite the fact that Grandpa died years ago and despite the fact that Grandma died (and hasn’t been Grandma for a while), nothing can change the fact that they have changed the world. Their devotion to Christ, His church, and each other has had a profound effect on our world.

Whether by being completely committed to showing others the love of Jesus, or by having sons and daughters who have done the same, or by growing and equipping other people they met along the way, they have been agents of change.

It is not the end of an era. It’s not even really the end of a life.

This is only the beginning.

This morning, Tim Couch gave some new perspective to a familiar passage of scripture. He would tell you he got the info from somewhere else, and that it’s not his, but he put the sermon together. The credit for this post goes to him…

Anyway, go back and reread John 21:15-18. The story of Jesus restoring Peter. We (the church) tend to focus on the fact that Jesus asked Peter three times (in relation to the three denials by Peter of Jesus), but I’m not sure that’s the point.

Jesus asked Peter, “Do you love me?”

But our language is lacking when it comes to certain words… LOVE being one. When Jesus asked this question the word he used (in the Greek) is agapao (root = agape). But when Peter answers each time, he uses the word phileo. Both mean love, but they are different kinds.

Here are a couple of definitions:

Agape = to be fond of, to love dearly; to love, to be full of good-will, to have a preference for, regard the welfare of: . . . to take pleasure in the thing, prize it above other things, be unwilling to abandon it or do without it; a spontaneous feeling which impels to self-giving, the weak sense to be satisfied, to receive, to greet, to honor, or more inwardly, to seek after; to have love for someone or something, based on sincere appreciation and high regard.

Phileo = friendship, to be friendly to one; phileo more nearly represents tender affection; To love; to be friendly to one, to treat somebody as one of one’s own people; to have love or affection for someone or something based on association; love, have affection for, like.

If you haven’t already had the “AHA!” moment, it’s okay. I will continue.

So, the difference is similar to this:

agape = real love… “I would die for you.” It is a strong, intense, and deep bond.

phileo = “I love you man.” It’s a simple friendship. A bond of commonality.

So Jesus basically asks Peter (I’m paraphrasing here), “Peter, do you love me more than life itself? Would you go to the ends of the earth and die for me?”

And Peter’s response is, “Come on Jesus, we’re buds. You know how I feel.”

Total cop out.

So Jesus asks again, “Peter, do you love me more than life itself? Would you go to the ends of the earth and die for me?”

And Peter responds a second time, “Jesus, man, you know how I feel. We’re tight!”

At this point, most of us would get angry or fed up.

I know I would. If I asked someone who said they had my back, someone I was close to a question like that, and their response was similar to Peter’s, I’d be finding a new friend. That’s completely lame.

But I’m definitely not Jesus.

Jesus asks Peter again, but this time in a simpler way. “Peter, we’re brothers, we’re tight, right?”

And Peter replies, “Yeah man, we’re tight.”

And this is just one of those things that make Jesus so unbelievable. He was asking for everything Peter had. All of it. Every last bit.

But Peter wasn’t ready, even though previously he had said he was. So Jesus, instead of finding someone else “on which He could build His church,” met Peter where he was.

He asked Peter to step across the line. But Peter wasn’t ready, so Jesus met Him on the other side.

I always had trouble with this story. Jesus asking Peter three times. “Oops, that just happens to be the number of times you denied me isn’t it?” [include Dr. Evil pinky finger to mouth gesture here]

It always seemed a little harsh to me. (By the way, Jesus, if He chose to do that, had every right to.) But I don’t think that was the point.

So what is the point?

Restoration. Redemption.

A simple way to let a friend know that even though he couldn’t hack it, he wouldn’t be cut off.

Do I have grace like that?

If you are currently unfamiliar with the phrase “stay the course,” you can check it out here. But I would imagine that you already have some idea what it means. However, if you don’t you could probably figure it out with a little effort, but most likely you’ll take the course of action that most do and simply click the link.

Hard work may pay off later, but laziness pays off now.

Stay the course…

I’ve used phrase a lot lately.

It interests me though, that this simple three word phrase (were I to actually follow it) could change my life.

There are innumerable times I’ve set a plan in motion to change something (be it about myself, a situation, or otherwise), only to give in when the going got tough (or when I got bored).

Hard work may pay off later, but laziness pays off now.

And laziness feels good now. But that’s pretty much the only time it feels good.

See, rarely is a problem actually a problem because I didn’t know what to do (or was simply unaware of a solution). Usually the problem is a problem because I chose to leave the plan of action that would bring about a solution. And that was most likely because I got tired of waiting for results. I was impatient, or tired, or scared, or something else… so I gave in.

But were I to “stay the course,” the benefits would far outweigh the immediate results I received from that instant gratification.

Example:

Problem = I would really like to get in shape…

Solution = Run, Workout…

Action = Eat ice cream… Yummy!

But therein lies the problem. The problem isn’t really the problem. The problem is the action I choose to take. If for just a few consecutive days I were to actually make an attempt at exercise, it might become a habit. And if exercise became a habit, I might actually be able to solve my problem. But…

Hard work may pay off later, but laziness pays off now.

I could go on, list more examples, but I’m fairly certain you get the idea.

Laziness may pay off now, and hard work may be hard (that’s why it’s called “hard” work), but two years, two days, or two minutes down the road laziness totally sucks.

Stay the course.

Ever heard of Murphy’s Law?

[Please note: This is a rhetorical question. I am assuming you have. However, if you have not, please feel free to check out Murphy's Law here.]

I don’t quite believe that Murphy’s Law (not all the time anyway), but this one (below) is proven.

Stroup’s Law:

When travelling alone, the size of the persons one is seated with is directly proportional to the size of the one.

Once again, this time on my return flight from Kansas City, MO (which was ridiculously cold by the way… the city, not the flight), I boarded the plane seeking out my seat. 21C. As I looked down the plane beyond the seemingly endless line of bodies attempting to stuff their oversized “carry-on” baggage into the undersized overhead compartment, I could see a man. He was sitting by himself, but he took up about one and a half airline seats.

[Please note: That is not an indictment or slam of said man. I, myself, take up more than my grossly oversized (yes, sarcasm) airline seat.]

And I immediately thought to myself:

Well, there’s row 21…

And of course, I was correct.

So I sat down and said, “Let’s pray this seat just happens to be open.”

He laughed.

…

As more and more people boarded the plane, I tried to avoid eye contact for fear of magically wishing/unwishing some other large person into the middle seat in our “three-person” row. But I couldn’t help myself.

As I raised my eyes through the river of people… I saw him. Another man, equally as large as the one currently on my left, looked at his boarding pass, then down the aisle at us, and rolled his eyes.

How does this happen? Does the airline have some weird IP mapper that also flags the weight and height of the person purchasing tickets? Is it some cruel joke by skinny little airline workers bent on shaming people who are bigger than them? Did they get picked on in high school or something?

…

It’s not very often that I spend time around one person who is of considerably more size than I. But it usually happens on planes.

So there we were. I’m sure it was quite the humorous sight. Three large men (of which I definitely weighed the least, and wasn’t the tallest) crammed into a space worthy of two smaller or even average-sized men.

And of course, the flight was packed full. There were no open seats for any of us to move to… to alleviate the amazing pressure caused when a great amount of mass is compressed into a container not built to hold it.

It may not be Murphy’s Law (the plane didn’t crash… it could have been worse), but Stroup’s Law was definitely in full effect once again.

I don’t want to sound like a total nerd/old man/word snob (even though I’m probably going to anyway), but can we not get away from the ridiculous im/texting abbreviations please?

I completely understand their usefulness and convenience, but I believe for most of us that time (the period of life in which these abbreviations are a normal part of textual conversation) has passed. With the advent of QWERTY phones, the “necessity” of such abbreviations has pretty much run its course. You don’t need to type “BTW” anymore. You now possess the ability to actually type out “by the way” without clicking 22999074433092999 (or something of the sort).

And if you type “BTW” or “LOL” on a computer, well, it’s just plain ridiculous.

How did we become so lazy that we would rather type “LOL” or “ROFL” than “ha ha?” It’s one or two extra characters/keystrokes…

“But Chuck, I need to let people know when I’m just kidding with them, and that’s so hard when I’m typing…”

Listen, I know that email and messaging are severely limited when it comes to expressing emotion and tone, but can’t we be more creative than “LOL/ROFL/OMG?”

Maybe I’m a word snob, but are we not capable of finding actual words to help express our tone? Isn’t there any way we can distinguish between things that are slightly humorous and things that are actually hilarious?

…

Maybe not.

Perhaps, I’m doomed to reading emails that include “LOL” and “BTW” from co-workers (who BTW are fifteen years my senior) for the rest of my natural life, but I certainly hope not.

[Please note the blatant contradictory use of an abbreviation as situational irony.]

Seriously, emails with abbreviations, it happens. A lot. At work. From real live adults. It did again today.

And while I’m on “LOL”

Are you really? [read with sarcastic grin] Did my overwhelming hilariousness actually cause you to laugh out loud? Or better yet, did you really end up rolling on the floor laughing?

I highly doubt it… for two reasons:

1. I’m not that funny.
2. You’re probably not really that expressive. (But the sad state of our inability to express real emotion as a culture will have to be saved for another day.)

If I’m being totally transparent, I use abbreviations here and there. “FYI” is one I use all the time. So perhaps I’m as guilty as anyone. However, I definitely see a difference between “FYI” and “LOL,” but then again, I would…

…

Is it possible that someday people will use words again? Could it be that one morning I will awake to the sun shining and emails with words that are spelled out, correctly? Or am I dreaming the impossible dream?

If you really want to ROFL [yummy irony], go back and reread this while imagining you can hear Andy Rooney (of 60 Minutes fame) reading it to you. When I reread it out loud, I felt like he was standing over my shoulder nodding/whining his approval.