I served as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Ghana from 1982 to 1985, first as a teacher then as a supervisor on a rural development project. After my service, I stayed on for another year as a contractor. Looking back, I’m not sure why I joined or what I expected when I did. I do know that I never expected to get depressed.
One afternoon, near the end of my first year, I stood outside my bungalow, looking into my empty, fifty gallon drum wishing it were filled with water. Dust had coated its lining for the last six months now, since the start of the dry season. Thirsty, tired and probably a little smelly because I hadn’t bathed in a couple of days, I wished hard, concentrating with all my might, summoning every drop of psychic energy. “Water appear!” my thoughts shouted. Of course, no water appeared. I had no psychic ability.
In my bungalow I had one gallon of water left, what remained of five gallons I managed to scavenge a few days earlier when I happened across a broken water pipe near one of the government buildings in town. On this morning I pedaled my bicycle back there and, to my disappointment, they had fixed it. I thought I could make my little stash of H2O last at least two more days.
“Don’t worry. The rain will come soon,” one of my students promised me before he left for summer break. But I had reason for doubt. The history of Africa is full of accounts of droughts lasting a decade or more. But there was a reason for hope. For the past three weeks it had been getting gradually more humid. Humidity means rain, right?
Along with the rising humidity came rising temperatures. At mid-day they reached 130⁰ and never dropped below 110⁰ even at night. That made moving around uncomfortable. Actually, it made everything uncomfortable. My bungalow had ceiling fans but there hadn’t been electricity since the temperatures started to climb. Most power was diverted to run the air conditioners of the hospital and government buildings. Out of session schools didn’t have enough importance to warrant the expenditure of precious fuel. So the fans didn’t turn. Nor did the lights come on.
No lights, no fans, high heat and humidity meant no letter writing or reading; my favorite things to do to relax. Sweat ran down my arms in rivulets to ruin any paper I tried to write on and the kerosene lantern was too hot to sit close to.
And sleeping was impossible. Heat and mosquitoes, I learned, are a recipe for insomnia.
I looked up from my dusty drum to the clear blue sky. Not a single cloud, not even those high wispy ones. Then my thoughts plunged. There’d be no rain today and probably not tomorrow. I’d have to spend another sleepless night slapping mosquitoes. I’d have to go out again looking for water but it would be no use. All I’d get is hotter and thirstier. The negative thoughts kept coming, like rocks rolling down hill, building momentum and speed, until I was cursing Ghana, my students and the Peace Corps.
Then I heard a rumbling. At first I thought it was thunder but I pushed that thought down, worried I get my hopes up for nothing. Then I heard it again but this time louder. Yes, it was thunder, I decided. But how long would it take to get to me? Would it get to me? What if it turns and misses me? It wasn’t until the storm actually hit that I relaxed.
The cold rain drenched me and flooded me with relief. Everything about it felt good. The cold, the pelting rain drops and the shivers. It was the most beautiful storm I ever experienced.
Within minutes my drum was overflowing. I fetched my cup and dipped it in. All my discomfort, the heat, the sweat, the thirst, and the depression was gone with one long drink. Except the mosquitoes, they were about to get worse, but one can’t have everything, can they?
Standing there and relishing every sensation and I realized I had experienced a miracle. The beauty and wonder of it soon overwhelmed me and I started to cry. When I think back to that moment, I knew I had encountered God. I don’t know how I knew, but I was as certain of it as I was the relief I felt. I thanked him, over and over.
During the nearly five years I lived in Africa, I had many experiences like that. Some like the relief I felt during the storm were profound. Some tested my fortitude and almost broke me. They moved me and since I’ve been home, I miss them. When I really think about it, I miss them because it was during those times that I was close to God, more so than I had ever been. God, I learned, expresses his love for us through nature and when we are exposed to it, He is easy to see.
To me the most amazing thing about those experiences is that God didn’t have to make them beautiful. He gave us so many things to help us survive; the fight or flight response, hunger and anger but why did he give us the ability to recognize beauty or to feel the awe and wonder of a storm? Why do we recognize a rose as beautiful? How does that help us? There’s no survival value in it. What are they for but for our enjoyment? They are gifts. It’s as simple as that.
Some people I’ve met think storms are a nuisance. For pleasure they play games on an electronic device or watch TV. Storms are things that knock out electronic devices and not something inspires belief in God. That’s too bad.
A man knocked on my door and asked if he could have our dryer lint. Being surprised and curious, I invited him in and over a cup of coffee asked why. What follows is his answer.
“After Steve Jobs died, I applied for his job. I figured, what the heck, I could do it. I mean, he was the owner, right? The money must be good and besides, how hard could it be to tell people what to do? I’m good at that. So I went over to fill out a job application. But when I got there everybody I talked to laughed at me like I was a knucklehead or something.
“Anyway, I needed money so I took this other job even though it paid a lot less. The nut that hired me had this thing about dryer lint. Don’t know why, but when he talked about it, he got all excited and started to cry. He said people just threw it out and he couldn’t stand to see it going to waste. Crazy, right? As I said, I needed the money, so I went around to all the laundromats scraping the stuff from the dryer screens (good thing I’m not allergic) and I went door to door in the neighborhoods begging for it. People looked at me like I was crazy. A lot laughed. One lady screamed like I was Frankenstein himself. Three or four slammed their doors in my face. It didn’t take long before I got angry and discouraged. I kept thinking that Steve Jobs never had to put up with that. By the end of my first week, I made up my mind to quit. I was taking a lot of crap, and for what? A bunch of fuzz?
“I did manage to collect a couple of garbage bags full and went back to my boss. I told him how I really felt about the job and that it was a huge waste of time.
“He didn’t say anything at first. He just nodded like he agreed with everything I said. But after a few moments, he asked me not to quit. He said dryer lint is a nuisance to most people and he used to feel that way, too. But one day he noticed that his granddaughter’s teddy bear was torn and had lost most of it’s stuffing. That’s when he got the idea to fill fix it with dryer lint. He took me into his garage and it was filled with stuffed animals of all sorts. That’s what he was doing with the lint. He made these cute toys to give away to poor kids at Christmas. Boy, was I humbled.
“Then he told me some stuff about wasting time. He told me how some guy named Einstein discovered that time wasn’t constant. That it changed depending on one’s point of view. He said that the same principle applied to the stuff we do every day. If we think our job is a waste of time, it will be. But if we think our job is important, we will turn it into time well spent. That Einstein guy is pretty smart.”
“Man Up!” The manly voice came from the TV. On the screen, young males sat around a camp fire drinking beer. The story told had a moral: The only way to redeem one’s manhood is to drink a certain kind of beer.
Hmmm, another profound, thought provoking commercial. It made me think, though. Its seductive humor and catchy phrase stayed in my head to the point that I asked myself, “Am I a man?” Of course I am, I reasoned. But then the same question came back. I pushed it away again but still it came back like a yo-yo on steroids. I couldn’t get it out of my head! Man, that was a good commercial!
I obsessed on it for a few hours. I compared my own life experiences with those young men frolicking around the camp fire. I searched my memories for all the places I’ve been, my career, my family, my faith, all the things I’ve striven for; fifty six years of trying and failing, trying and succeeding, everything I could remember that would prove that I was a man. At last, exhausted, I finally felt I could reassure myself that, yes indeed, I am. Then it hit me; one thing I didn’t even think of until that moment. I don’t drink! Oh, no! I’m not a man after all! Woe is me! I am doomed to be unmanly for the rest of my life. What a sissy!
In a state of panic, I went to my best counselor and friend, God. I prayed for a half hour, pouring out my fears to him. When I finished he reassured me and said, “Knuckle head! Stop believing everything you hear on TV. By the way, you need to read your Bible more.”
Seriously, it’s absurd to say, even jokingly, that drinking makes a man. To do so is a serious insult to any man that tries to live their life with virtue and according to the principles of faith. And, honestly, every man should be insulted by it. However, I know there are people who will defend those ads, arguing, and possibly ridiculing me as they do, that those commercials are jokes. Don’t I have a sense of humor? What’s wrong with a little fun after all?
But, the truth is that the ad companies aren’t joking. I don’t mean to say that they truly believe that beer can make a man anymore than I do. However, they are betting that the phrase “Man up!” and the images of ‘men’ having fun all in a funny, memorable way, will stick in our brains like cooked spaghetti to the kitchen wall. They are using a principle we learned in Catalyst: Think something enough and it will become words. Say it enough and it will become an action. Act on it enough and it will become a habit. And, just to remind you, the habit of drinking is called alcoholism. Everyone would agree there’s nothing funny about that.
No matter what the subject or issue, my childhood friend took the opposite stand. I wanted chocolate, he chose vanilla. I wanted to watch ‘Lost in Space’, he wanted to watch ‘Batman’. One time I changed to my choice to ‘Batman’ to see what would happen and he chose ‘Lost In Space’. No surprise there. He did it with everyone. He was determined to oppose anything and everybody. And if he didn’t get his way he’d throw a tantrum; and complete full blown typhoon, with household items flying around the room in wide circles. As a result he always got his way.
My grandmother called people like that contrary. And, he was determined. There is a psychological condition called oppositional defiant disorder that may he may have had. I’m not sure, though, I wasn’t friends with him very long.
Anyway, this weeks Catalyst class is on determination, a vital element in the formula for change. For this article, however, I want to point out that determination has nothing to do with contrariness or oppositional defiant disorder. If fact vital determination is NOT any of these things:
Waiting all night in line at Best Buy to be the first to get the new game system.
Making one more bet, to win back all that money that was supposed to pay the rent this month.
Being perfect in getting the last word in whenever you fight with your spouse.
Staying up all night working to get that fake ID just right.
Staying with that guy who just cut you off on I55 so you can give him a certain hand signal even if you do get a speeding ticket.
Fill in the blank: At all costs, I must have a better _______________ than that neighbor of mine.
bike
Wife
Car
Grill
All of the above
Sneaking around your ex-girlfriends apartment at three in the morning to find out who she’s with tonight.
So, come to the class on Saturday and see what determination really is. It might save a few friendships. We’ll be in the youth room at ICF, 9146 Lincoln Avenue, Brookfield, IL 60513, at 3:00 PM.
One of the most ridiculous things a parent can say to a child is “Do as I say, not as I do.” It’s usually said when the child says something that implies the parent is a hypocrite, like “why am I grounded for smoking one cigarette when you smoke two packs a day!” (Feel free to make the child’s complaint about any habit. For example, “How come I’m grounded for drinking one can of beer when you drink a whole case a day?)
In practice the advice is absurd. Nobody listens to it. In fact it might have the opposite effect. Is there anyone reading this, who after hearing it, felt inspired felt enough to walk away from a boyfriend or girlfriend to because they offered you a cigarette? If you are like most of us you didn’t.
But if you did, good. Because, despite the hypocrisy, we should have listened. It’s good advice.
I’m not condoning it or implying that it’s OK to drink, smoke, do drugs or sleep around as long as you tell your kids not to. What I’m saying is that we were given good advice and fair warning.
When a parent says, “Do what I say…” what they are really saying is, “I’m addicted to this thing (whatever it is). It’s killing me and I feel powerless to stop. There’s no hope for me. Oh, and by the way, don’t end up like me.”
My step father said it to me when I was a teenager. He smoked and drank. He’d wake up in the morning and cough for a full fifteen minutes ejecting nasty looking mucus wads. His liver was swollen causing him to look much fatter than he was. The whites of his eyes turned yellow from the liver damage. Consequently, he died from complications of both habits, at a relatively young age. He gave me that advice for many reasons, some of them I’ll never know or understand, but I believe one was because he was warning me.
That’s the most terrible thing about drugs, alcohol and cigarettes. The addict knows, even if unconsciously, that what they are doing is wrong. They know they are slowly being killed. They watch the addiction feed on their spirits, but the worst thing of all is that they believe they can’t do anything about it.
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