“Not to be corny,” she said, “but it felt a little bit like heaven.”
I wanted to say thanks to everybody who attended the Celebration Dinner we had Sunday night at the office. Everybody was there, from our supporters to our workers, people from different walks of life, different social-economic statuses, and different races: many who had never once met each other before instantly becoming friends.
One of my favorite parts of the night—and I may not get this exactly right—was when one of our workers who works for the city clearing out ditches was talking to one of our supporters who is a very successful business man, and our worker announced to everybody there, “I’ve got a great job!” I think all of us felt a little jealous.
We prayed, we ate, we talked about where IES is and where we are going. Everybody has been so supportive. Thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Gillis, who provided the food and drinks. People left, I felt, with a sense of hope, unity, and mission.
“Success is relative,” T.S. Eliot says. “It’s what we can make of the mess we have made of things.” For IES, success has certainly been relative. Relative to our resources as a company, relative to where our workers are and what success looks like for them. And we’ve certainly made a mess of things at times.
But I’d have to say that last night was something more. I’d say we all stumbled through the door upon something rare that we didn’t expect, a moment when all that mess shapes up into something that’s altogether, undeniably, perfect.
Thanks for coming everyone.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Monday, May 2, 2011
Dealing with Discouragement
Over the past month, since we’ve opened the office, I’ve noticed some patterns in myself. I’ve noticed that on some days, when we put out 6 or 7 folks, I’m as high as a kite, wildly optimistic, and making plans to trade IES on the NY Stock Exchange (even though we’re a nonprofit). On other days, when it seems like this will never get off the ground, or if it does who cares, or, my life feels like a big rain cloud, in my lowest points of discouragement I curl up like a child on our couch and say, “God, you jerk. This is your fault.”
I’ve been making efforts to control the highs and lows, so that this roller coaster ride doesn’t make me vomit. I know that what seems bad often turns to good, and vice versa. I know my feelings have very little impact on the present reality; they can’t change anything, and typically they aren’t even indicative of reality. Still, I don’t know how much “control” you can really have. Thoreau says something to the effect that he admires nothing greater than the man who can elevate his own life with just the thoughts of his mind. On the other hand, if you’re sad you’re sad, and I don’t know what you can do about it. Let’s not get too philosophical.
I supposed what’s important, if you’re going to be discouraged, is how you handle that discouragement. My dad tells me that David “encouraged himself in the Lord.” I think that’s right. I can think of nothing else to diffuse my own, earthly thoughts, than to say, none of this will matter in heaven. In fact, I have written on the wall of my office, “The present thoughts have no impact on eternity.” The problem is that my lowest points of discouragement actually inhibit my ability to read, and if I manage to, I think, “That’s a horse load of crap.”
I don’t know how David did it. What you do in the moment seems a lot different than the outside looking in.
A couple of other thoughts have come to me in my discouragement as well, and they have helped, and so now I’m sharing them with you. The first is that my discouragement is based on making God jump through my monkey hoops. I know I need God to make this work, and I know that to make this work God needs to be putting out so many guys by April 15, May 1, June 31, and so on. “Any God that can’t do that isn’t a God at all,” I think to myself. So, when it doesn’t happen, I throw my hands in the air, look at the ridiculous words written on my wall, and say to God, “You clearly don’t exist.”
Us, non works motivated evangelicals, consistently shove it in people’s faces that we have a relationship with God that isn’t based on how many good things we do. Yet, this is the same thing only instead of putting myself on trial I’m putting God on trial. Ultimately, my relationship with God can’t be based on what he does or doesn’t do for me anymore than it can be based on what I do or don’t do for him. This means that I can’t complain, or get discouraged, whether or not God works according to my plan. The relationship only comes from the faith that one way or another it’s for a reason and a purpose and a plan.
The second thing I’ve realized is that it is, ultimately, God’s responsibility. This takes a lot of pressure off. The worst case scenario is that this is just a meaningless search for meaning. Derek moves into a shelter…search for meaning…works day labor…search for meaning…starts a nonprofit…it didn’t work…and the story ends there. I don’t think the story would end there, but in this scenario I find myself awfully paranoid defending myself against what people will think of me, and also—ah!—against what they’ll think of God. And God clearly needs me to defend him. Ultimately, this has to either be God’s plan or a false start. If it’s a false start, just submit—for one reason or another, he didn’t want it to happen. The next try will work out better, or the one after that, or the one after that…If it is his plan, then no matter how many mistakes I make, it’s ultimately his responsibility for people to see the signs on the door and think, “maybe I’ll give them a call.”
Ultimately, everybody has to go through discouragement. There aren’t any good stories that don’t have it. Use your discouragement to be honest with yourself, learn about life, and draw yourself closer to God. Encourage yourself in the Lord. Read these words on the wall, “The present circumstances have no impact on eternity.” That should always make you feel better.
Just kidding.
Learn to deal with discouragement the best you can, and nothing will be able to stand against you.
I’ve been making efforts to control the highs and lows, so that this roller coaster ride doesn’t make me vomit. I know that what seems bad often turns to good, and vice versa. I know my feelings have very little impact on the present reality; they can’t change anything, and typically they aren’t even indicative of reality. Still, I don’t know how much “control” you can really have. Thoreau says something to the effect that he admires nothing greater than the man who can elevate his own life with just the thoughts of his mind. On the other hand, if you’re sad you’re sad, and I don’t know what you can do about it. Let’s not get too philosophical.
I supposed what’s important, if you’re going to be discouraged, is how you handle that discouragement. My dad tells me that David “encouraged himself in the Lord.” I think that’s right. I can think of nothing else to diffuse my own, earthly thoughts, than to say, none of this will matter in heaven. In fact, I have written on the wall of my office, “The present thoughts have no impact on eternity.” The problem is that my lowest points of discouragement actually inhibit my ability to read, and if I manage to, I think, “That’s a horse load of crap.”
I don’t know how David did it. What you do in the moment seems a lot different than the outside looking in.
A couple of other thoughts have come to me in my discouragement as well, and they have helped, and so now I’m sharing them with you. The first is that my discouragement is based on making God jump through my monkey hoops. I know I need God to make this work, and I know that to make this work God needs to be putting out so many guys by April 15, May 1, June 31, and so on. “Any God that can’t do that isn’t a God at all,” I think to myself. So, when it doesn’t happen, I throw my hands in the air, look at the ridiculous words written on my wall, and say to God, “You clearly don’t exist.”
Us, non works motivated evangelicals, consistently shove it in people’s faces that we have a relationship with God that isn’t based on how many good things we do. Yet, this is the same thing only instead of putting myself on trial I’m putting God on trial. Ultimately, my relationship with God can’t be based on what he does or doesn’t do for me anymore than it can be based on what I do or don’t do for him. This means that I can’t complain, or get discouraged, whether or not God works according to my plan. The relationship only comes from the faith that one way or another it’s for a reason and a purpose and a plan.
The second thing I’ve realized is that it is, ultimately, God’s responsibility. This takes a lot of pressure off. The worst case scenario is that this is just a meaningless search for meaning. Derek moves into a shelter…search for meaning…works day labor…search for meaning…starts a nonprofit…it didn’t work…and the story ends there. I don’t think the story would end there, but in this scenario I find myself awfully paranoid defending myself against what people will think of me, and also—ah!—against what they’ll think of God. And God clearly needs me to defend him. Ultimately, this has to either be God’s plan or a false start. If it’s a false start, just submit—for one reason or another, he didn’t want it to happen. The next try will work out better, or the one after that, or the one after that…If it is his plan, then no matter how many mistakes I make, it’s ultimately his responsibility for people to see the signs on the door and think, “maybe I’ll give them a call.”
Ultimately, everybody has to go through discouragement. There aren’t any good stories that don’t have it. Use your discouragement to be honest with yourself, learn about life, and draw yourself closer to God. Encourage yourself in the Lord. Read these words on the wall, “The present circumstances have no impact on eternity.” That should always make you feel better.
Just kidding.
Learn to deal with discouragement the best you can, and nothing will be able to stand against you.
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