There was a time when I would show up to church and it seemed Divinely influenced that the songs we sang “spoke” to me and whatever I was feeling at the time. Oddly enough, I think it was that same phase in my life that the church was preaching, “Church is not about speaking to you, or what you get out of it.” Still, I think God knew what I needed.
That phase stopped when I joined the band – I think mostly because I was forewarned about what we were singing. You can’t be Divinely surprised and spoken to when you’ve been contemplating the songs for three days.
Well back to my original statement about being careful. See, another danger is to worship the songs. I think there may have been a time in my life that I did this. I may still do it and be making excuses. But I think that there really is something to my dilemma here (not having a good worship service to attend).
Loving music has made me a bit of a critic. I say I like all kinds of music, but I realized that I’ve been exposed to a very limited variety – namely, professional music. I have a trained musical ear, and off-key notes stand out to me like modern art in a cathedral. Also, as an accountant, I don’t really like change. It takes three times to get to like a song. Finally, once I get to like the song, I don’t really like people messing with it.
So when I’m in church, I really want more than anything to have my focus be on God and worshipping him and bringing Him glory. I know God’s not that critical. And maybe I should pray about this problem. But when the music’s off key, or the song’s being sung too slow, or I don’t even know the song, it’s harder for me to think about praising God. Instead, I’m thinking, “Two keys lower ought to do the trick.”
But when the opposite’s the case, when everything comes together to create a beautiful worship service, I can close my eyes, not even looking at the screen, and just sing out for God. My mind stays focused on God’s glories and wonders, not anticipating the next song and whether it will be better. I feel like I’m raising my voice with a choir of angels. I imagine the millions of Christians who have come before me feeling just as passionate about God’s wonders.
So I suppose that’s why it’s so important for me to have a good worship service. Selfish, yes. But it’s also sad to realize that, at this point, I can’t see myself ever feeling as close to God in a worship service as I’ve had the opportunity to be the last few years.
I’d like to add one more thing. While I’m talking about UCC. Some of my greatest spiritual mentors were at that church. They taught me so much. Some of them were on the staff. Others were members. Still – the passion at the church caught me and reeled me in. I wanted to do things for God. I wanted to grow closer to him, not to get into heaven, but to really grow close to Him. I learned the meaning of the cross and the blood, and how powerful hymns can really be.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
A Song of Pondering
As I sit in the airport again, I think about the last few days. Yesterday I had planned to write a blurb about love. You know – the subject of about 1/3 of my girl-talk. I’m kind of embarrassed to admit, I’ve been watching Sex and the City recently. I think I’m attracted to the show because of the lifestyle the main character leads. And by that I don’t mean promiscuous. She’s a writer, so she’s – free. And her friends seem to not have regular 9 – 5 jobs either. While the series does mention her job quite a bit, it also shows a very carefree woman who may as well be unemployed by the strange hours she keeps.
Well, watching the show is interesting because it confirms everything I was raised to hold true. As free as her life is, she is not necessarily happy. She’s searching. For love, I think. She goes from guy to guy, sometimes staying with one quite a while, and the whole time all she’s after is sex. And after that – there’s no commitment. A Christian friend once compared lifestyles like this to being married and divorced – a lot. And I think it’s a good comparison. Other analogies refer to ‘giving little pieces of yourself away.’ Even though she’s afraid to admit it, I think she wants a lasting love – security, marriage. But who would marry her when they can have what they see as the same level of relationship without the commitment? Come to think of it, why are guys afraid of commitment like that? Or, I suppose, what are they hoping to get out of not committing? Freedom to walk away, I know. So that means that any woman who lives with a man she’s not married is essentially setting herself up for eventual “divorce” without the legal fees.
See, I hadn’t meant to rant about that. In fact, that wasn’t what my discourse on love was going to be about, but I suppose I should support my rambling fingers’ desires to display other topics. I’ve been listening to music on my Ipod, which seems to be against me. Somehow, even though it pulled songs from my “top rated” list, it seems to want to play songs that I’m only semi in the mood for. Where’s that David Crowder song I like?
The other day at work I listened to “Hosanna” by Hillsong about 30 times in a row. I’m not kidding you. It was so comforting! It reminded me of the happiest place I’ve ever been – UCC. It reminded me of summer, of worship, of being with friends and people. But it also contained some words in the bridge that I found myself contemplating.
“Break my heart for what breaks yours.”
I got to thinking about what breaks my heart and what breaks God’s heart. Essentially, anything that breaks my heart breaks God’s as well. But it doesn’t work the same way backwards. It should, though, shouldn’t it?
I think of things that break my heart that may not quite get to me as much if I weren’t a Christian. Perhaps the most significant thing that breaks God’s heart (and mine) would be a non-believer. An atheist would not be heart-broken about another atheist. But I can see God looking on both of them and yearning, literally aching, for them to come to Him. And I can see myself feeling the same way. Acting on that ache, I suppose, is a little harder.
Any injustice breaks God’s heart. So it should break mine, too. The problem is: sometimes I am the cause of God’s heartbreak. I don’t live up to the name of Christian very well, do I? I suppose it’s a big burden to bear – “acting” like a good Christian in front of others. When I’m reading my Jesus or Prayer books in public, I can hardly be rude, can I?
But I shouldn’t really want to be rude…
And the more I think about it, I suppose my initial thought may not be true. Or is it? Rather than argue with myself, I better just lay my thoughts out there. Things that break my heart can be selfish. I’m not saying that when I don’t get my way in little things, that my heart breaks. But some things that break my heart may be things I have to endure. They may be part of God’s plan, or God’s way of teaching me something. Of course, the very most obvious evidence of this phenomenon is the ever popular “romantic” heart break.
Another song I’m loving recently is “The Broken Road” or “God Bless the Broken Road” or something. I think I want to sing it at my wedding. A friend confronted me with it when I said that, she said, “Your road hasn’t been broken.” But I beg to differ. I think it would apply to almost anyone who finally finds their one true love – unless you find that person on the first shot.
The phrase, “Every long lost dream led me to where you are. Others who broke my heart, they were just Northern Stars.” What poetry! I may not be a broken person, but I’ve experienced broken dreams. In fact, the hardest hit I ever took made me feel certain that something would come out of it. That it was my destiny. Perhaps it still is. And northern stars? What a positive way to look at people who rejected you! Maybe I haven’t got all the way to “broken heart” yet, since I still refuse to be in love. Or have been in love. But I’ve experienced the pain of going months and months and years and years without any positive affirmation. That’s heartbreaking, isn’t it?
But my point is, just because my heart is or was breaking, doesn’t mean God’s is. Or does it? God may have a plan for me and my broken dreams, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel my pain as I go through it, right? The analogy of God as a father is used a lot, and I think it holds true here. Parents who discipline their children feel the very pain they are inflicting. They endure it because they love the children.
I suppose I wonder what kind of life God leads on a day to day basis. So powerful. So loving. So good. So perfect. And yet, his heart must be breaking constantly! From every child of his who experiences any sort of a heartbreak, and from whose who have not yet turned to him and accepted his love. Perhaps that’s why Jesus’ analogies are always so severe. He’s always talking about feasts and celebrations and all the angels rejoicing. I have no doubt that’s how it actually is. I mean, if God’s heart is constantly in a state of brokenness over us, then how much more wonderful when he gets the chance to take a break from the pain to rejoice over a lost sheep who is found.
I don’t know if I even have a point. Maybe it’s just that I need to be more aware of what breaks God’s heart – especially when it’s me causing the heartbreak.
And I wish my iPod would play that song again…
Well, watching the show is interesting because it confirms everything I was raised to hold true. As free as her life is, she is not necessarily happy. She’s searching. For love, I think. She goes from guy to guy, sometimes staying with one quite a while, and the whole time all she’s after is sex. And after that – there’s no commitment. A Christian friend once compared lifestyles like this to being married and divorced – a lot. And I think it’s a good comparison. Other analogies refer to ‘giving little pieces of yourself away.’ Even though she’s afraid to admit it, I think she wants a lasting love – security, marriage. But who would marry her when they can have what they see as the same level of relationship without the commitment? Come to think of it, why are guys afraid of commitment like that? Or, I suppose, what are they hoping to get out of not committing? Freedom to walk away, I know. So that means that any woman who lives with a man she’s not married is essentially setting herself up for eventual “divorce” without the legal fees.
See, I hadn’t meant to rant about that. In fact, that wasn’t what my discourse on love was going to be about, but I suppose I should support my rambling fingers’ desires to display other topics. I’ve been listening to music on my Ipod, which seems to be against me. Somehow, even though it pulled songs from my “top rated” list, it seems to want to play songs that I’m only semi in the mood for. Where’s that David Crowder song I like?
The other day at work I listened to “Hosanna” by Hillsong about 30 times in a row. I’m not kidding you. It was so comforting! It reminded me of the happiest place I’ve ever been – UCC. It reminded me of summer, of worship, of being with friends and people. But it also contained some words in the bridge that I found myself contemplating.
“Break my heart for what breaks yours.”
I got to thinking about what breaks my heart and what breaks God’s heart. Essentially, anything that breaks my heart breaks God’s as well. But it doesn’t work the same way backwards. It should, though, shouldn’t it?
I think of things that break my heart that may not quite get to me as much if I weren’t a Christian. Perhaps the most significant thing that breaks God’s heart (and mine) would be a non-believer. An atheist would not be heart-broken about another atheist. But I can see God looking on both of them and yearning, literally aching, for them to come to Him. And I can see myself feeling the same way. Acting on that ache, I suppose, is a little harder.
Any injustice breaks God’s heart. So it should break mine, too. The problem is: sometimes I am the cause of God’s heartbreak. I don’t live up to the name of Christian very well, do I? I suppose it’s a big burden to bear – “acting” like a good Christian in front of others. When I’m reading my Jesus or Prayer books in public, I can hardly be rude, can I?
But I shouldn’t really want to be rude…
And the more I think about it, I suppose my initial thought may not be true. Or is it? Rather than argue with myself, I better just lay my thoughts out there. Things that break my heart can be selfish. I’m not saying that when I don’t get my way in little things, that my heart breaks. But some things that break my heart may be things I have to endure. They may be part of God’s plan, or God’s way of teaching me something. Of course, the very most obvious evidence of this phenomenon is the ever popular “romantic” heart break.
Another song I’m loving recently is “The Broken Road” or “God Bless the Broken Road” or something. I think I want to sing it at my wedding. A friend confronted me with it when I said that, she said, “Your road hasn’t been broken.” But I beg to differ. I think it would apply to almost anyone who finally finds their one true love – unless you find that person on the first shot.
The phrase, “Every long lost dream led me to where you are. Others who broke my heart, they were just Northern Stars.” What poetry! I may not be a broken person, but I’ve experienced broken dreams. In fact, the hardest hit I ever took made me feel certain that something would come out of it. That it was my destiny. Perhaps it still is. And northern stars? What a positive way to look at people who rejected you! Maybe I haven’t got all the way to “broken heart” yet, since I still refuse to be in love. Or have been in love. But I’ve experienced the pain of going months and months and years and years without any positive affirmation. That’s heartbreaking, isn’t it?
But my point is, just because my heart is or was breaking, doesn’t mean God’s is. Or does it? God may have a plan for me and my broken dreams, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel my pain as I go through it, right? The analogy of God as a father is used a lot, and I think it holds true here. Parents who discipline their children feel the very pain they are inflicting. They endure it because they love the children.
I suppose I wonder what kind of life God leads on a day to day basis. So powerful. So loving. So good. So perfect. And yet, his heart must be breaking constantly! From every child of his who experiences any sort of a heartbreak, and from whose who have not yet turned to him and accepted his love. Perhaps that’s why Jesus’ analogies are always so severe. He’s always talking about feasts and celebrations and all the angels rejoicing. I have no doubt that’s how it actually is. I mean, if God’s heart is constantly in a state of brokenness over us, then how much more wonderful when he gets the chance to take a break from the pain to rejoice over a lost sheep who is found.
I don’t know if I even have a point. Maybe it’s just that I need to be more aware of what breaks God’s heart – especially when it’s me causing the heartbreak.
And I wish my iPod would play that song again…
Monday, February 11, 2008
The Small Comforts
So I've been thinking recently about some of the best feelings of the world.
Taking my shoes off. After a long day on or off my feet, there's nothing more freeing than taking my shoes off and letting my feet breath. Walking around on the carpet and feeling the softness below my feet.
There's another beautiful feeling associated with my feet. I can't really explain this one. Sometimes I sleep in my socks, because my feet are cold when I go to bed. Sometime in the night, my feet get hot, and I pull the socks off and throw them out from under the covers. When that happens, it's the most glorious feeling! I suppose it's because my feet, that had been cooped up, now get to feel the soft coolness of the sheets.
There's a new comfort that I've been introduced to recently, due to all my hotel visits. I am notorious for taking the hottest showers in the world. I suppose I keep the water just at the edge of burn level, and I stay in until my own skin radiates with heat. As a kid, I kept the bathroom door closed, and the fan off.
(This was due to a run in with an eight legged creature. I jumped in the shower and heard a faint "plip." When I emerged, there was the biggest spider ever! I'm so sure I heard him fall to the floor from the fan in the ceiling. Now, my sister says he came from the vent, from outside. But I was convinced that running the fan had somehow encouraged him to leave his happy home inside of it and venture into my world. OH! The horrors! I haven't run the fan since, and the wallpaper's starting to peel from the many saunas I've created)
Anyway, because of that, I was used to always being warm. Now, in drafty hotels, I step out of the shower into COLD AIR! Brrrr! And immediately I grab the towel. OH how cozy is that towel! It doesn't even have to be a "gourmet" towel from the Hilton. Just being there is enough. I suppose it's the same as if I had been dancing in the rain and came inside to dry off.
Ah! That's another comforting feeling! Dancing in the rain and getting cold! When you come inside, you put on dry socks or dry clothes. And it's wonderful! But it's even more wonderful if you take a hot shower. You go from the cold rain to the hot rain! What an extreme difference! From pneumonia to "squeaky clean" and ready for bed.
And now I'm getting nostalgic for Manhattan again...and rainstorms.
Ah well...
Taking my shoes off. After a long day on or off my feet, there's nothing more freeing than taking my shoes off and letting my feet breath. Walking around on the carpet and feeling the softness below my feet.
There's another beautiful feeling associated with my feet. I can't really explain this one. Sometimes I sleep in my socks, because my feet are cold when I go to bed. Sometime in the night, my feet get hot, and I pull the socks off and throw them out from under the covers. When that happens, it's the most glorious feeling! I suppose it's because my feet, that had been cooped up, now get to feel the soft coolness of the sheets.
There's a new comfort that I've been introduced to recently, due to all my hotel visits. I am notorious for taking the hottest showers in the world. I suppose I keep the water just at the edge of burn level, and I stay in until my own skin radiates with heat. As a kid, I kept the bathroom door closed, and the fan off.
(This was due to a run in with an eight legged creature. I jumped in the shower and heard a faint "plip." When I emerged, there was the biggest spider ever! I'm so sure I heard him fall to the floor from the fan in the ceiling. Now, my sister says he came from the vent, from outside. But I was convinced that running the fan had somehow encouraged him to leave his happy home inside of it and venture into my world. OH! The horrors! I haven't run the fan since, and the wallpaper's starting to peel from the many saunas I've created)
Anyway, because of that, I was used to always being warm. Now, in drafty hotels, I step out of the shower into COLD AIR! Brrrr! And immediately I grab the towel. OH how cozy is that towel! It doesn't even have to be a "gourmet" towel from the Hilton. Just being there is enough. I suppose it's the same as if I had been dancing in the rain and came inside to dry off.
Ah! That's another comforting feeling! Dancing in the rain and getting cold! When you come inside, you put on dry socks or dry clothes. And it's wonderful! But it's even more wonderful if you take a hot shower. You go from the cold rain to the hot rain! What an extreme difference! From pneumonia to "squeaky clean" and ready for bed.
And now I'm getting nostalgic for Manhattan again...and rainstorms.
Ah well...
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Despair
I'm sitting on an airplane listening to "In Chrsit Alone," my favorite hymn, and a lot more meaningful given my recent completion of Philip Yancey's, "The Jesus I Never Knew."
I'm not sure where I'm going with this tonight. Thoughts of God and love and worship and musical ADD have been in my head all night.
I found a way to be a more patient traveller. Take a book with "JESUS" printed in big letters across it. Between fears of being seen as the "rude Christian," and the guilt trip within the pages, I sit quietly and patiently. One day, perhaps, I can get the effect without the actual book.
Maybe I should work out a few of my spiritual feelings. It's so much easier with a real pen and paper, and my wonderings and doubts always seem to come to a happy ending that way.
The cold bothers me. I've often been annoyed at myself as a human - when I'm hungry or cold, all I can think about is fixing the problem. I get grumpy like a two-year-old when I'm tired.
It was actually a Christian play that introduced me to the concept - "cold is the absence of heat." We had fires long before we had airconditioners, because it's easier to make heat than take it away. Well, when I'm struck with the bitter cold of winter, I'm also struck with bitter emotions.
Much like my thought process with spiders, I wonder why God even invented winter. Or why did he give us bodies that were so sensitive to the cold?
I've been terribly amazed at cultures that choose to live in the northern areas. Especially those cultures that migrated north years ago - when technology was inaccessibile, and the world wasn't crowding them out.
This winter has brought something new. Being in Chicago and Michigan, I've experienced botha longer winter, and a winter without the thaws of my usual "mild" Kansas winters. (I've also been forced to bundle up inside a lot more).
Last winter seemed perfect. And yet, as I remember standing over the heating vent for warmth in our leaky house, I remember feeling even then the feeling I feel now. I feel it every year. Despair.
It's like God abandoned the world to freeze. Has our planet been knocked further away from the sun? If God is light, if he's all that is good and pleasing, then where is he now?
As blasphemous as these thoughts are, they arent' just mine. Winter always sees an increase in cases of depression and suicide. We need the sun - it provides essential vitamins and lightens our moods. So, once again, is God trying to depress us?
I was thinking over, "Indescribable," another of my favorites (probably due to the amazing violin interlude compliments of Ben Worchester). "Who imagined the sun and gave source to its light?" The song asks. I have often been in awe of the sun. Trying not to corss the fine line, I don't wonder why ancient cultures worshipped it. But I try to give all the credit to its Creator instead. He made so many other things, after all. But I like the word, "imagined."
The sun is such a unique idea. Remember summer heat? Sunburns? All that comes from a fiery ball billions of miles away. And, of course, there are trillions of stars so powerful.
If you've ever watched a sunrise, you'd be in awe. But more amazing is the pre-dawn light that creeps around the corner ahead of it. It's that powerful.
So why can't it reach Chicago in February? The next line, "Yet conceals it to bring us the coolness of night," tels me little, although I think the key word is "yet." So God conceals the sun, too. For us.
Now I think I've hit on it. God created a day of rest each week, and even years of rest. A friend once told me that "God wants us to rest." And I see evidence of this.
We're doing a good job of it. We work less than ever before (although still more than the rest of the Western world). But God gave us built-in breaks - night. Every niht he hides the sun, and we return home to be with our families. To sleep.
I suppose winter's the same way. When your crops don't grow, you hide away in your warm houses. Bears have the right idea.
The problem is, then, our culture. And technology. I have to brave the hopeless cold every day because I am not a farmer. Accountants are actually busiest in winter. Now for me, this means I'm free when the weather's wram to take vacations and enjoy long evenings. So maybe I shoudl see winter as a blessing. God's trying to get us to slow down a bit and recover from "harvest."
I'm just blessed to be in heated environments looking forward to time off in April. that's not hopeless. That is hope.
I'm not sure where I'm going with this tonight. Thoughts of God and love and worship and musical ADD have been in my head all night.
I found a way to be a more patient traveller. Take a book with "JESUS" printed in big letters across it. Between fears of being seen as the "rude Christian," and the guilt trip within the pages, I sit quietly and patiently. One day, perhaps, I can get the effect without the actual book.
Maybe I should work out a few of my spiritual feelings. It's so much easier with a real pen and paper, and my wonderings and doubts always seem to come to a happy ending that way.
The cold bothers me. I've often been annoyed at myself as a human - when I'm hungry or cold, all I can think about is fixing the problem. I get grumpy like a two-year-old when I'm tired.
It was actually a Christian play that introduced me to the concept - "cold is the absence of heat." We had fires long before we had airconditioners, because it's easier to make heat than take it away. Well, when I'm struck with the bitter cold of winter, I'm also struck with bitter emotions.
Much like my thought process with spiders, I wonder why God even invented winter. Or why did he give us bodies that were so sensitive to the cold?
I've been terribly amazed at cultures that choose to live in the northern areas. Especially those cultures that migrated north years ago - when technology was inaccessibile, and the world wasn't crowding them out.
This winter has brought something new. Being in Chicago and Michigan, I've experienced botha longer winter, and a winter without the thaws of my usual "mild" Kansas winters. (I've also been forced to bundle up inside a lot more).
Last winter seemed perfect. And yet, as I remember standing over the heating vent for warmth in our leaky house, I remember feeling even then the feeling I feel now. I feel it every year. Despair.
It's like God abandoned the world to freeze. Has our planet been knocked further away from the sun? If God is light, if he's all that is good and pleasing, then where is he now?
As blasphemous as these thoughts are, they arent' just mine. Winter always sees an increase in cases of depression and suicide. We need the sun - it provides essential vitamins and lightens our moods. So, once again, is God trying to depress us?
I was thinking over, "Indescribable," another of my favorites (probably due to the amazing violin interlude compliments of Ben Worchester). "Who imagined the sun and gave source to its light?" The song asks. I have often been in awe of the sun. Trying not to corss the fine line, I don't wonder why ancient cultures worshipped it. But I try to give all the credit to its Creator instead. He made so many other things, after all. But I like the word, "imagined."
The sun is such a unique idea. Remember summer heat? Sunburns? All that comes from a fiery ball billions of miles away. And, of course, there are trillions of stars so powerful.
If you've ever watched a sunrise, you'd be in awe. But more amazing is the pre-dawn light that creeps around the corner ahead of it. It's that powerful.
So why can't it reach Chicago in February? The next line, "Yet conceals it to bring us the coolness of night," tels me little, although I think the key word is "yet." So God conceals the sun, too. For us.
Now I think I've hit on it. God created a day of rest each week, and even years of rest. A friend once told me that "God wants us to rest." And I see evidence of this.
We're doing a good job of it. We work less than ever before (although still more than the rest of the Western world). But God gave us built-in breaks - night. Every niht he hides the sun, and we return home to be with our families. To sleep.
I suppose winter's the same way. When your crops don't grow, you hide away in your warm houses. Bears have the right idea.
The problem is, then, our culture. And technology. I have to brave the hopeless cold every day because I am not a farmer. Accountants are actually busiest in winter. Now for me, this means I'm free when the weather's wram to take vacations and enjoy long evenings. So maybe I shoudl see winter as a blessing. God's trying to get us to slow down a bit and recover from "harvest."
I'm just blessed to be in heated environments looking forward to time off in April. that's not hopeless. That is hope.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
A Touching Story
My roommate, Carrie, is a speech pathology major. As such, many of her college classes focused on dealing with developing children and autism, as people who fall in these categories may need help with their speech. I was always blessed by the random wisdom she bestowed upon us all. One particular evening, we were watching High School Musical, and Carrie began a little discourse, "Girls, there's good touch and bad touch. If another girl wants to hold your hand the first day you meet her, that's bad touch."
Now, while Carrie may have enjoyed being silly, I think the world needs to hear what she has to say about touching. Now, I'm not sure why physical contact can be so powerful. Having read the five love languages, I suppose it holds as much general power as any of those languages. Just like mean words can sting, a touch at the wrong time can really turn people off.
That's why I am so surprised to find a general disregard for personal space these days. Here's a situation I come across a lot: a not so crowded movie theater. Someone sits in the chair next to me. Now, I have been given permission by those who know etiquette to move, in order to increase my comfort zone. But personally, I feel there's no need for such bold behavior. We all want good seats, but is it really going to ruin the movie to scoot just one more chair over from the center?
And then there's the touching of strangers. This happened at a restaurant I was at recently - the waitress started patting my friend on the shoulder. I could tell she was uncomfortable, and so was I. My other friends stuck up for her, saying she was trying to be comforting. But the fact was - she was a stranger.
In America today, there's really no polite reason to go up and touch someone, or even be too close to someone, you don't know. The exception would be if you are a foreigner unfamiliar with the larger American bubble. Because that's what it is. Culturally, Americans have a bigger bubble. I want to say it's right because I like it. Truthfully, we've been raised that way. We have space, and we use it. As kids, we don't touch much - probably because our parents were afraid of spreading germs. There's also the "bad touch" education that many of us actually get.
Frankly, I think invading someone's personal space is as rude as some people say talking on a cell phone in public is, or breaking plans at the last minute without an appology.
On the other hand, there is good touch. Really good touch. I like to call it "Vitamin K," and I think that's not right. I know we get vitamins from the sun, and from being happy, and from being with people. I don't know which ones those are. However, I know that I miss and crave that good touch.
I used to crawl all over my family as a kid, snuggling with them, wrestling with my sister. I had a dog to pet. Now, though, I rarely get any physical contact. Yes, it takes a lot more to break through my bubble than some people. Even friends I've known a long time give me the heebie jeebies if they go in for a hug.
On the other hand, those lucky, extremely close people, who break into my bubble do so much good when they give me a hug, pat on the back, or whatever it is. I look forward to seeing a little girl at church because she gives me a hug, and I'm not afraid of her. Sometimes you need a hug! And for those on the edge of breaking through the bubble - taking the initiative makes a difference. I'm sure if there was someone I wasn't comfortable hugging, but who hugged me, I might grab on and take hold for dear life.
It's just one of those things. I miss being with people and touching people. Not in a "bad" way. But I need my Vitamin K, just like I need Vitamin C to keep from getting sick.
Now, while Carrie may have enjoyed being silly, I think the world needs to hear what she has to say about touching. Now, I'm not sure why physical contact can be so powerful. Having read the five love languages, I suppose it holds as much general power as any of those languages. Just like mean words can sting, a touch at the wrong time can really turn people off.
That's why I am so surprised to find a general disregard for personal space these days. Here's a situation I come across a lot: a not so crowded movie theater. Someone sits in the chair next to me. Now, I have been given permission by those who know etiquette to move, in order to increase my comfort zone. But personally, I feel there's no need for such bold behavior. We all want good seats, but is it really going to ruin the movie to scoot just one more chair over from the center?
And then there's the touching of strangers. This happened at a restaurant I was at recently - the waitress started patting my friend on the shoulder. I could tell she was uncomfortable, and so was I. My other friends stuck up for her, saying she was trying to be comforting. But the fact was - she was a stranger.
In America today, there's really no polite reason to go up and touch someone, or even be too close to someone, you don't know. The exception would be if you are a foreigner unfamiliar with the larger American bubble. Because that's what it is. Culturally, Americans have a bigger bubble. I want to say it's right because I like it. Truthfully, we've been raised that way. We have space, and we use it. As kids, we don't touch much - probably because our parents were afraid of spreading germs. There's also the "bad touch" education that many of us actually get.
Frankly, I think invading someone's personal space is as rude as some people say talking on a cell phone in public is, or breaking plans at the last minute without an appology.
On the other hand, there is good touch. Really good touch. I like to call it "Vitamin K," and I think that's not right. I know we get vitamins from the sun, and from being happy, and from being with people. I don't know which ones those are. However, I know that I miss and crave that good touch.
I used to crawl all over my family as a kid, snuggling with them, wrestling with my sister. I had a dog to pet. Now, though, I rarely get any physical contact. Yes, it takes a lot more to break through my bubble than some people. Even friends I've known a long time give me the heebie jeebies if they go in for a hug.
On the other hand, those lucky, extremely close people, who break into my bubble do so much good when they give me a hug, pat on the back, or whatever it is. I look forward to seeing a little girl at church because she gives me a hug, and I'm not afraid of her. Sometimes you need a hug! And for those on the edge of breaking through the bubble - taking the initiative makes a difference. I'm sure if there was someone I wasn't comfortable hugging, but who hugged me, I might grab on and take hold for dear life.
It's just one of those things. I miss being with people and touching people. Not in a "bad" way. But I need my Vitamin K, just like I need Vitamin C to keep from getting sick.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
The Joys of Air Travel
So maybe I'm ranting, but as a full-time (apparently) business traveller, I'm seeing some problems with air travel. I might add that these problems never irked me as the casual traveller. I mean, if a flight was delayed on vacation, I'd just enjoy thinking about the vacation a little longer. Explore the airport. Now that I fly every week, these issues become much more irksome. (Could also be the increased crabbiness due to being alone, per my previous post).
Despite fears of terrorism and rising costs, it doesn't seem that air travel numbers have decreased. In fact, in a fast-paced economy, time is money, and Starbucks addicted yuppies want to get where they're going as fast as possible.
But air travel is not fast - or not efficient anyway. Well over 75% of flights are delayed or over-booked. As a business major and private pilot, I try to keep a practical, open-mind. But as a traveller who is affected, I get frustrated.
Weather. No one can help that, and when it comes, everyone's hit - plane or car.
Mechanical Failures. Dangerous. No, you'd never catch me complaining that a flight was delayed because the captain thought the plane was unsafe to fly.
Come to think of it, I suppose some of the other random delays are results of mechanical work down the line. However, I would think that the airlines coudl find a spare plane - to keep at major airports. Perhaps airlines could bump passengers to other carriers with earlier flights when there is a delay. (I suppose this behavior is not unprecedented, but it does bear a great resemblance to practices that casued the telecommunications scandals of the 2000's).
Perhaps my greatest problem, however, is the lack of service. I'm an accountant. I understand cost control. The market is competitive, and airlines seek to sell-out flights and cut costs. Thus the end of the in-flight meal and snack. Luckily, pop's about the cheapest thing in the world.
But the service is gone! I may sound like an old man here, but hear me out. Airports are a high-stress area. There's security, crowds, and, of course, delays. Well - it makes perfect sense that people are crabby. What I don't understand is that the customer service people are crabby back.
I worked in "customer service," for years. And we were taught to smile and brightly greet each customer. When things went wrong, we did our best to help them - still smiling - even as they exploded. Sure, we'd laugh at them behind their backs. I'm sorry, but the customer is usually wrong.
Perhaps the airlines don't have good training programs. Maybe their people are incredibly over-worked. But they all have the "don't talk to me" attitude. Getting your needs met is less important than scheduling lunches and catching up with friends. If you have an issue to deal with, you are merely annoying them. Stewardesses are rarely the chipper people they used to be. Instead, rather than assisting people, they act as though confused passengers are deliberately trying to be difficult. That is, unless you are in first class. In fact, the only cheery people at an airport are security!
But there's one more customer service failing. When there is a delay - and there usually is - there's very little communication to the passengers. There's nothing more aggravating than to watch the minutes tick by, never knowing why you're being delayed. I think this is essential because it could do so much! Remember I said I understand weatehr and mechanical delays? Knowing it's not the airline's fault does so much to placate me.
And yes, the reverse would be knowing it's a silly reason we're delayed, with the result being me getting angrier. But as long as I don't know, I assume one thing only: Incompetence. The airlines cannot manage to get their acts together enough to make it on time.
Despite fears of terrorism and rising costs, it doesn't seem that air travel numbers have decreased. In fact, in a fast-paced economy, time is money, and Starbucks addicted yuppies want to get where they're going as fast as possible.
But air travel is not fast - or not efficient anyway. Well over 75% of flights are delayed or over-booked. As a business major and private pilot, I try to keep a practical, open-mind. But as a traveller who is affected, I get frustrated.
Weather. No one can help that, and when it comes, everyone's hit - plane or car.
Mechanical Failures. Dangerous. No, you'd never catch me complaining that a flight was delayed because the captain thought the plane was unsafe to fly.
Come to think of it, I suppose some of the other random delays are results of mechanical work down the line. However, I would think that the airlines coudl find a spare plane - to keep at major airports. Perhaps airlines could bump passengers to other carriers with earlier flights when there is a delay. (I suppose this behavior is not unprecedented, but it does bear a great resemblance to practices that casued the telecommunications scandals of the 2000's).
Perhaps my greatest problem, however, is the lack of service. I'm an accountant. I understand cost control. The market is competitive, and airlines seek to sell-out flights and cut costs. Thus the end of the in-flight meal and snack. Luckily, pop's about the cheapest thing in the world.
But the service is gone! I may sound like an old man here, but hear me out. Airports are a high-stress area. There's security, crowds, and, of course, delays. Well - it makes perfect sense that people are crabby. What I don't understand is that the customer service people are crabby back.
I worked in "customer service," for years. And we were taught to smile and brightly greet each customer. When things went wrong, we did our best to help them - still smiling - even as they exploded. Sure, we'd laugh at them behind their backs. I'm sorry, but the customer is usually wrong.
Perhaps the airlines don't have good training programs. Maybe their people are incredibly over-worked. But they all have the "don't talk to me" attitude. Getting your needs met is less important than scheduling lunches and catching up with friends. If you have an issue to deal with, you are merely annoying them. Stewardesses are rarely the chipper people they used to be. Instead, rather than assisting people, they act as though confused passengers are deliberately trying to be difficult. That is, unless you are in first class. In fact, the only cheery people at an airport are security!
But there's one more customer service failing. When there is a delay - and there usually is - there's very little communication to the passengers. There's nothing more aggravating than to watch the minutes tick by, never knowing why you're being delayed. I think this is essential because it could do so much! Remember I said I understand weatehr and mechanical delays? Knowing it's not the airline's fault does so much to placate me.
And yes, the reverse would be knowing it's a silly reason we're delayed, with the result being me getting angrier. But as long as I don't know, I assume one thing only: Incompetence. The airlines cannot manage to get their acts together enough to make it on time.
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