Please stop telling people, "You can be anything you want to be"

Not everyone can to everything, so do your thing and do it with excellence!  

I hear parents say, “My child can be anything they want to be” and motivation speakers encourage the suckers...sorry that slipped out...guests in the auditorium who shelled out hard earned money, with, “YOU can be anything you want to be.”  Well, maybe, but I would suggest that just because they can do it, doesn’t mean they should do it.  

President Obama and Bob the Builder say the same thing over and over and over again.  “Yes we can!”  Sure we can, but should we?  Just because President Obama can do it, does mean he should.  Just because Bob the Builder can do it, doesn’t mean her should.  

I have attended innumerable conferences and workshops courtesy of my employer, and while many are helpful and worth the expense, many are not.  I have learned that these speakers are paid, often, $3000 to $5000 for a one or two day conference.  That’s some serious money!  Are they worth it?  Maybe some.  Do you think their family told them that they could be anything they wanted to be?  

Maybe instead we should be encouraging our children and others to “Be the best that you are meant to be.”  Jeremiah 29:11, “For I know the plans I have for you...”  We have a purpose and it would seem that it was not “I don’t need any plans for you, you be anything you want to be.”

If you are meant to be a motivational speaker, then be the best you can be at it, and give your listeners some tangible substance to learn from.

If you are meant to serve coffee and lend a listening ear at the local coffee shop, listen well, know your customers, call them by name and make the best cup of coffee.

If you are meant to enter the world of politics, good luck.  I don’t know how anyone can be their best there with so many competing demands from special interest groups.

What ever you are meant to be, do it well.  Not everyone can do everything, so do your thing and do it with excellence.  Be true to yourself, and others, because everyone has a story.

My time in jail

I spend my free time on most Monday evenings at a jail, showing videos and talking with the inmates about hope and their future.  If you haven’t been in a jail before, it is a different world with it’s own set of rules, it’s own culture and a definite hierarchy.  Most guys have an image to either create, or keep up and it is something to watch this occur before your eyes.

This week, I spent time with nine inmates and we talked about the hypocrisy of the church, specifically the people that make up the church.  There was discussion about how church goers stare and wonder about new people.  Sometimes with a critical eye, other times in curiousity.  There was a consensus that it’s the people in a church that make them uncomfortable, not necessarily the concept of Christianity.

So I asked the guys, what would happen if I wandered into the places and groups that you hang out in?  The response was the same as the one they receive in church; Why is he here, what does he want, who does he think he is.  My favourite response, “Get his money.”  That might be church too if you haven’t yet learned the concept of tithe and offering.

So we face the problem of a church looking very much like the world; or the world looking like the church?  It was clear talking to the guys that transparency is expected, but not so much given.  I would suggest this is from a risk of being vulnerable.  It’s scary to be transparent.

This is where Galatians 6: 1-3 comes back into play.  The NIV says “Brothers, if someone is caught in a sin, you who are spiritual should restore him gently. But watch yourself, or you also may be tempted. Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ. If anyone thinks he is something when he is nothing, he deceives himself.”  

The Message says it this way, “Live creatively, friends. If someone falls into sin, forgivingly restore him, saving your critical comments for yourself. You might be needing forgiveness before the day's out. Stoop down and reach out to those who are oppressed. Share their burdens, and so complete Christ's law. If you think you are too good for that, you are badly deceived.”

Are we doing this?  Are we coming along side each other to lift each other up and help them through their tough times or are we being critical of others and condemning them for their mistakes?  We would do well to learn to lift others up rather than condemn them to secrecy.

Everyone has a story.  Listen to them.  Come alongside them and walk with them through to the end.

Bearing one another's burdens

I have been stuck on a portion of scripture over the past week or so.  When I was at the jail a couple of weeks ago Galatians 6 was quoted as we spoke of helping one another in life.  Bearing one another’s burdens.  I have heard it before, but something stirred in my heart.

I met a man a few months ago who, by most accounts, seemed relatively unremarkable.   He lives in rural Ontario in and simple older white sided farm house with slightly crooked floors from the years of heaving frost.  This simple man, Jack, is quite tall and as thin as a rail.  But he is a hard worker, daily bent with physical labour in the outdoor extremes.

Some years back, he met a woman who had two children of her own from a past relationship that had ended.  Her two children, at the time, were just early in their school years, maybe 5 and 7 years old.  These two girls were best friends as siblings and faced the ups and downs of their parent’s relationship and eventual demise.  As the years passed, Jack and Sylvia had a daughter together, but ended their relationship after Sylvia met man over the internet.

The girls, then in their early teens, briefly moved with their mother as she began yet another relationship with her new boyfriend.  This, however, was short lived and both girls, Karly and Kate, moved back with Jack, who opened his home up to them, as he had many years before.

Today, Karly and Kate continue to live with Jack and his own daughter, Kristyn.  Jack knows his role; he isn’t their father, but he is their main support - emotionally and financially.  He voices his opinion, but knows his boundaries.  He does this while raising his own daughter part time and working full time.  This is a man who is bearing another’s burdens.  You wouldn’t know it though.  He doesn’t talk much about it.  This is his family.

I have other thoughts on this particular portion of scripture that I will be sure to write about another time.

Everyone has a story.  What’s yours?  Tell me about it at rowleywriter@gmail.com.

Are you living in a Facebook world?

I admit it.  I openly mock my family and friends about their ongoing love and fascination with Farmville.  There is a shred of curiousity that peaks as I wonder what the draw is.  How can my son sit in the living room for hours and tend to his crops and livestock when he doesn’t even tidy his room?  My wife informs me that she needs to get on the computer to harvest her crops.  Really?

That’s just one piece of it, and I could almost handle this, but then it gets bumped up a notch to where I can no longer sit idly by.  I have a voice and it’s time to use it!  But first, time for a shower.

Ok, I’m back.  My wife went on my laptop while I was away.  As she handed it back to me she said..and I quote...”Here you go.  I’m all done my farming.”

Farmville is likely a fun game.  Enough people play it on Facebook.  Let me illustrate what my beef is.  I log onto Facebook and this is a sampling of my Top News:

Jordan just harvested their chicken coop and found some Treasured Golden Mystery Eggs, and wants to thank their friends for feeding the chickens!

Dennielle was working on their farm when they found a lonely Gray Horse! This Gray Horse is rarin' to find a good home where she can help with the work.

Russell is constructing a French farmhouse to decorate their farm and is over half-way finished! Russell can tell they'll have some left-over materials and wants to share them with you!

Then there are the postings that show my friends in need of wood and nails to complete the barn building projects on the farm.  When is the last time you actually went to the neighbour’s house and asked to borrow a tool?  When is the last time you actually went to offer supplies to a neighbour who was working in their yard?

Even better question; Do you know your neighbour’s names?  We are blessed to know our neighbours and we have helped each other with various tasks.  Imagine a world where we all lived like we do in Farmville.  We would see a need at a neighbour’s home and we would answer the need without request.  We would join in with our neighbours as they built a new shed in the yard, just because we want to help.  It really could work and it did for many generations, just ask your grandparents, or if you are lucky enough to still have them, ask your great-grandparents.

But today, sadly, this is rarely the case.  I know why though, and it’s a sad testament to our value system.  In Farmville, players are rewarded for their kindness. In reality, we are selfish and if there isn’t anything in it for us then we won’t likely go out of our own way to lend a hand. There is an overwhelming lack of intrinsic desire for what is right and good.  Can you cite the ‘golden rule’?  Treat others as you yourself want to treated...or as is more accurate, Love thy neighbour as thy self.

Remember this, someday, you might be in need.  You don’t want to be alone.  So step up, talk to your neighbour, give them a hand, have them over for a barbecue and get to know them, bless them.  Everyone has a story.

The Walmart Pirate

Something strange just happened to me.  Earlier on I spoke of meeting new people and hearing their stories, and I almost did that just a few minutes ago when I saw what I thought was a man dressed as a pirate in the Walmart I was in.  

Initially, I caught a few casual glances; seeing his long Aussie jacket, a black hat, thick hair like a wig, and I was pretty sure I even saw an eye patch.  We made eye contact and I gave him the nod.  You know the nod, that casual acknowledgment between two people.  As I waited in line as the store was closing, the pirate’s line seemed to move quicker than mine, so I decided this my opening.  Over I went.

As I stood behind the pirate, I considered how to break into conversation.  Maybe something like “Arrrgh matey.  What brings you to the fine store such as this?”  or maybe, “What brings a pirate to Walmart?”  Then I noticed that he had a child with him.  He was no more than seven years old.  He looked like any other seven year old, except that he wore a leather vest that made him look like a sheriff from the wild west.

The pirate briefly turned toward me as he spoke to the cashier.  He didn’t have an eye patch, it was his hair covering part of his face.  He spoke with a spanish accent too.  I realized that his hair wasn’t a wig after all, it was all real.  His Aussie jacket had traces of horse hair on it.  I soon knew this was no pirate at all!  This was a Mexican cowboy!

I hadn’t figured on how to strike up conversation with a pirate and now I had to think fast.  I had no clue where to go now.  Worked out well though.  I didn’t get the chance to put my foot in my mouth.  The Mexican cowboy and his sheriff sidekick paid for their purchase and left the store.  Presumably to saddle up and ride off into the west.

Everyone has a story.  I wish I would have had the words to get his.

What does your story tell?

I had lunch yesterday with two former bikers.  One from The Wild Ones M/C and the other from the Queensmen M/C, both who have turned their backs on their old ways and are committed to living a Christ-like life.  Ace Clarke and Terry Lacey.

As we sat together for a couple of hours the pair swapped stories of their past escapades, they had partied together back in the day as well.  While they spoke of launching rockets and their first bikes, something occured to me; they weren't glorifying the old days.  Instead, they were talking about the fond memories of relationships and fun times they had together with their brothers in the clubs.  They spoke fondly of old friends and the characters they've met along the way.  Both spoke of the number of club members who have chosen to become followers of God, not their club patch; a number that closes in on 30!

One problem I have with some people who share their testimonies, those who have turned their life over to following God and living a Christian life, is that there seems to be a glorification of the old lifestyle.  The difficulty lies here: a life under God needs to be better than any other lifestyle.  When someone shares a testimony, it should be glorifying to God, not a fond walk down memory lane where those listeners are left wondering about the person's commitment.  The old days should not be glorified. 

Back to the former Wild One and Queensmen.  These two men clearly love God and the new life more than the old times as patch members.  Of course there were good times to have been had, we've all had them, but a life under God is better than any other.

Everyone has a story.  What does your story tell?

Nine Simple Rules...just for fun

Okay, this one is simple.  After spending a day out and about with my wife there are a few things I had noticed.  I don’t expect everyone to be the same, but I remember having social standards and it wasn’t that long ago.  Ready, just for fun, here it goes...

Nine Simple Lifestyle Rules

1. Pull up your pants

2. Wear a belt if your pants are loose

3. The brim of the hat goes to the front

4. Never give your child a mohawk

5. Never give yourself a mohawk

6. Don’t carry your ‘man purse’ when your wife or girlfriend is waiting in the car

7. Learn new words - swearing every couple of words shows your limited vocabulary

8. Stand up straight

9. Don’t litter

That’s it folks.  These aren’t difficult, but I know that people are judgmental...or maybe they just have different expectations.

Ultimately, respect yourself and others.  The image your portray is the one that people will judge you on and it’s tough to shake an image or opinion.  It doesn’t mean it’s right, it’s just reality.

Everyone has a story, even the guy with the crooked hat covering his mohawk while his pants fall down since he doesn’t own a belt while walking slouched over with his kid who shares the mohawk look and drops his Tim Hortons cup as he searches his man purse for a smoke and drops an F-bomb when he discovers he’s out of smokes.

The Journey into Depression

Do you ever sit alone at night and wonder why the world doesn’t know you are alive?

Do you wonder if they would even care if they knew you were alive?

If only people really cared.

Do you put all the blame for your stress and anxiety on your job?

If only you could find a new job.

Do you find yourself becoming sick more often with all sorts of new diagnosis?

Maybe a few ‘sick days’ will help.

Do you experience only sadness and anger?

I know there used to be happiness.

Do you want to be isolated from the world?

Are you alone in a crowd?

Get help now.  

I went through depression last year.  When it came to a head, it was April 2009 and I couldn’t cope any more.  I was doing everything for everyone, I was active in work and community.  I held positions of authority in certain places.  I looked good to the public eye.  Inside though, I was crashing, and crashing hard.  Two emotions ran my life; sadness and anger.  I could hold it together for social gatherings, but they exhausted me and it wasn’t sincere.

I knew I needed to talk to a counsellor, so off I went to “talk about my problems.”  Within the first session, the counsellor tells me I have all the signs of depression.  I cry.  I go to my doctor, who agrees and writes me a prescription for anti-depressants.

I work in social services and I am a guy.  Guys don’t get depressed right?  I work with people who struggle with depression and take medication.  Now I am one.

I was told to be off work, which, if it was only up to the employer would have been fine.  Unfortunately, we have a third party carrier - SHEPELL FGI - that ‘manages’ all claims beyond ten days.  What should have been a time for healing and restoration became a time of further frustration and increased anger.  Anyone who has been through depression knows what happens to you.  

I was told after an initial claim denial (for time off work with pay) and two appeals that “just because you are depressed, why can’t you do your job?  Are you a risk to co-workers and clients?  Are you suicidal?”  Wow.  I try to get help before I am actively suicidal, but that isn’t enough.  I need to verbally cross that line.  I need to present as a risk to self and others.  Some caring system this is.  SHEPELL FGI did not care.  For them, it’s just about money.

It wasn’t until I completely broke down in my office on the phone with Rita from SHEPELL FGI that I was able to get anywhere.  I needed to be pushed almost to the edge of despair.  This was after SHEPELL FGI received a letter from my counsellor and two or three doctor’s notes supporting a leave of absence from work.  It was their doctor’s who had never met me or spoken to me that made their decision to send me back to work and deny any claim.  Rita finally noted from my break down on the phone that I was not in the condition to work and she was granting my leave.

Looking back, I see that I used activity to fill my void and try to find joy that furthered the symptoms of depression.  This journey of depression began long before my leave from work began.  It was probably a few years in the making, but I ignored all the signs by choice.  

When I accepted the diagnosis, and began medication, I steadily increased from a low dose, to the highest therapeutic dose that the doctor was comfortable recommending.  Combined with all other medications, I was up to seven medications a day.

In addition to trying to be a good dad and husband, I was involved in school, union, committees, politics, youth ministry, music ministry, board work, motorcycle ministry and missions work.  All noble, and all things that I enjoyed, all things that I was good at, but not what I needed.  I needed to have my own identity, instead of identifying myself with the activities that I was involved in.  When I began to give up these things, slowly and with reason, and began to speak more openly about my experience, my hurts, my past mistakes and opened myself up to receive wise counsel, I began to heal.

Going back to work after nearly three months off was not easy.  I faced a degree of anxiety, and continue to from time to time, but it isn’t the job.  Instead it’s my response to the job, and my choices in life.  I am now down to the low dose of anti-depressants once again.  I will be off them about one year after I began taking them.

Medication is not the answer.  Counselling is not the answer.  Time off work is not the answer.  Put them together and add a support network of friends and family and you can overcome depression.

If you are a guy, you truly are not alone.  I have found many other men who have faced depression as well, though most suffered alone.

If you find yourself on the same trip to the pit of depression that I took, get help now.  It could literally save your life.

Everyone has a story.  Make sure you tell someone yours.  Don’t go through it alone.

Our Mask and Shield

My wife and I spent last evening with friends at a concert by Canadian musician Steve Bell.  It was an opportunity to just take in such incredible talent in a comfortable atmosphere.  What struck me though, was the grace by which Steve played.  He has such talent that it would be plausible for him to be arrogant about his abilities.  Quite contrary in fact.

This man presented as humble and sincere in his work.  There was a connection that he made with people that it was evident he enjoyed his work, his art.

Steve is more than a musician though.  He has a unique take on people.  Steve explained that his father was a Chaplain at a jail in Drumheller, Alberta and that as a child, Steve’s father would bring him into chapel on Sundays, where most of his exposure to church took place.  Today that would be simply unacceptable and most likely not even considered.

But Steve embraced the experience.  As he shares stories from his own experiences, there isn’t a shred of indignation.  He exudes a genuine care and compassion for people.  It’s a simple and honest emotion, but open for judgement by those who fail to understand the basic human needs that each of us have.

It got me to thinking.  Maybe the people with the least to lose are the most likely to be transparent.  Maybe people who present with such a facade may actually be some of the most vulnerable of our society.  The mask becomes their shield, their protection.

Once in jail, there really isn’t much point to lying or trying to convince people that you are a saint.  Clearly, you aren’t.  Neither am I though.  Don’t misunderstand, the guys in jail did some awful things, but take it away and they are just people like you and I.  They may even have ended up in a better place amongst society’s elite, if someone had come along side them and showed grace at a critical time, rather than being critical when grace could have changed their world.  

Every man and women who finds themselves in jail has trail that lead them to the life they chose.  If you ever have the chance, sit and listen to inmates when they talk.  They all have a story to tell about their journey and they mistakes.  Maybe you could be the one person that cares enough to stop and listen. 

Everyone has a story.

Who lives in your world?

I started talking with random people last year.  Going through my own depression, I found myself soon taking medication that caused me to have a reduction in fear and anxiety, while other times finding myself leveled by anxiety and concern over being in public.

For those days when I was feeling fearless, I engaged the opportunity to meet new people when the opportunity presented itself.  That’s how I met the Bubble Guy, the Lonely Biker and the Man on the Porch.  It was during these times that I discovered that everyone has a story and if we stop long enough to talk to people, they will share their story.  

By showing a sincere interest in the lives of others, I have been blessed to meet with pro football players, a retired university professor who taught philosophy and travelled the world, a devoted single lady who served in the mission field but found love in her seventies and recently married, UFC fighters with a home town connection, shop owners who once had nothing, a lovely woman who had a frontal lobotomy many decades ago, former outlaw bikers who found God, prisoners looking for hope and other father’s who silently struggled with depression.

It was during these times that I gained perspective on my own life; what I value, what I need, what needed to be purged from my life.  I learned that I need accountability in my life to help me stay on track.  I learned who I can trust.  What surprised me most though, was how much I enjoy writing.

People matter.  Everyone needs someone.  Someone to listen to them, and care.  Seniors have some of the most amazing stories to share, instead we shut them out as irrelevant with nothing to offer.

I want to share the stories of real people in the world.  People whom I have been blessed to know.

Everybody has a story.

Share your story.  Email me at rowleywriter@gmail.com