On security

On one of many arduous treks to Presque Isle, Maine, I learned something about reality: It looks different depending on whose seat you're occupying.  We were on our way North on Interstate 95 when it started to rain.  Not just any rain, but the freezing drizzle that all residents of the frozen north come to know intimately over the winter months.  So, we're somewhere between Bangor and Houlton which means we're in the middle of nowhere.  I can sense that Kelly is getting a little tense.  She always gets tense when we're traveling in this kind of weather.

Now, I'm traveling the speed limit.  Honestly.  There are no other cars on the road.  None.  Not on my side going North and none going South, either.  I know that Mrs. O. would like me to slow down, but knowing that makes me defensive.  She hasn't said anything.  Not a word.  She's not gripping the dashboard or biting her fingernails, but I know.  It makes me feel like she doesn't trust me.  If she really trusted me, she would know that I will keep us safe, right?

Then another thought hits me.  She's afraid.  That doesn't sound like an epiphany, but it was. Previously, I was interpreting her fear to mean that she didn't trust me.  That was not my observation, but my conclusion.   I had observed that Mrs. O. was afraid and concluded that she didn't trust me.  That must be the source of her fear.  After all, there was nothing to be afraid of...unless she doesn't trust me.  If I back up and question my conclusion, then we're back to the facts: she's afraid.

I remember as a pre-schooler being afraid of the rattlesnakes that I knew were under the bed at night...only at night of course.  They were never around during the day.  I remember as an adult being afraid and it doesn't much matter of what.  The fear is real every time.  Even when the thing I fear is not real, the fear itself is.  Totally real.  Even when I am aware the the object of my fear is not real.  The fear is still real.

So, I decide to respond by slowing down.  What is 'safe' after all?  It's the speed at which I feel no fear.  Mrs. O. noticed that I was slowing down, and she knew why.  The conversation that followed was one of the best.  I had no idea that doing something so simple would mean so much or communicate so much security.

Note to self...slow down.

Arlo and Janis

Read Between the Tears

Our pediatrician doesn’t know this, but he taught me something that has proven to be critical to my communication with Mrs. O.  He taught me to hear what she is feeling.  We had spoken to him only days after our son was born.  Little E. wasn’t breast-feeding well and Mrs. O. was at the end of her rope.  He examined our son, and gave us his recommendations.  Then, as we were leaving, he looked Mrs. O. in the eye and said, “You’re a wonderful mother.”  She started sobbing.  I could have kissed Dr. V!  I knew that was exactly what she needed to hear.  She was feeling like a failure.  She didn’t need more tips and techniques.  She didn’t need nutritional supplements.  She didn’t need medication.  He gave her what no one, including me, had the insight to give.  

I remember the day I ‘got it.’  It was in the middle of potty-training and we were having some very stressful days.  Since it was our first child, we were having to learn by doing and it didn’t always go smoothly.

I came home after work and Mrs. O. was telling me about the day’s potty-training adventures.  Our son, whom we knew to be capable of performing according to our expectations, just wasn’t feeling it.  He could be a ‘big boy’ when he wanted to be, but today he didn’t.  Mrs. O. was lamenting the magnitude of her stress.  She could sense that it was affecting our son, making him even less inclined to comply with her requests.  That, in turn, added to her stress and the whole thing snowballed from there.  She included descriptions of what she said to him, what he did and said and so on.

So, before I got it, my first inclination was to go over all the things she shouldn’t have said, and begin to come up with alternatives.  Thank God, I didn’t do that!  I had tried that kind of thing before and it just didn’t work.  I decided that she probably didn’t need me to tell her all the things she shouldn’t have said...she already knew that even though she hadn’t said it explicitly.  Mrs. O. was feeling like a failure.

After a brief pause, I started to tell her that I thought she was a great mom.  I told her that she was doing everything right.  If she wanted to talk to little E. about her frustrations to reassure him that would be a great thing and none of this was going to cause any lasting hurt on his part.  She started to tear up, and she started telling me all the things she shouldn’t have said...all that stuff that I was inclined to tell her up front.  She didn’t need me to tell her what she was doing wrong.  She needed me to tell her that she wasn’t a failure.  She didn’t need me to hear the facts of the day, she needed me to hear how she felt about the facts.  

Note to self: keep doing that.

On leadership

Mrs. O. and I were talking the other day...I was actually talking and she was listening.  She gets really excited when I talk, but that’s another story.  She had commented on my lack of frustration that my laundry was a little behind, so I was explaining my theory: It’s all my job anyway.  I think it boils down to my definition of leadership.

The traditional view of husbandly leadership--at least the one I grew up believing--takes more the role of the tie-breaker.  The man gets 51% of the vote.  When we can’t agree on a particular issue, HE makes the final decision.  That’s what wearing the pants is all about, right?  Well, here began my quandary.  I couldn’t find any biblical example of Christ that supported such a view of leadership.  What I did find was something entirely different: washing feet.

Jesus washed his disciples feet.  The lowliest of tasks.  Now, if anyone had any reason to say, “that’s not my job” it would be Him.  He didn’t say that.  What did he say?  In my own words: I am your Lord and teacher.  I have covered everything from the most kingly of duties down to the most menial.  There is no task that is below you--you are not greater than I am.

It’s simple.  Logical.  Maybe that’s why I like it so much.

I concluded that it is my responsibility.  Basically, everything is ultimately my job if I am the leader.  Laundry, dishes, mowing the lawn, training the kids...everything.  I can’t do it all myself, and I don’t have to.  Mrs. O. is here to help, but it helps to view it as though she is taking jobs off my list.  If I take the ‘it’s not my job’ approach, then I’m either going to blame her or feel guilty for anything left undone.  But, I can throw out the expectation and the guilt goes with it.  

Now, the attitudes shift.  I end up being grateful for the things Mrs. O. does, and she thinks I’m being so gracious if I’m not stressed by the fact that she has ‘fallen behind’ on one of the jobs that she usually does.  

Why would that stress me out?  It was my job in the first place.