Prayer Prompt

Sanding My Ego

Years ago I visited San Diego for the first time. Loved it. Loved every part of it.

Flying home to New York, I noticed the sound-alike relationship between San Diego and sandy ego.

As I've been working (hard) for the past few years on taming my ego, the homophone took a slight shift to Sand the Ego.

Sand the ego to reduce its size, weight, importance, significance, problems caused, and all that (and more). Sanding my ego at least down to smaller size...cause I see getting it down to Absolute Zero as a life-long task that's maybe longer than this lifetime.

Anyway. I'm pleased by my efforts. Want to share a few with you so that you can offer me more ways to sand my ego. And, hey, I'm OK with any grade ego sandpaper you'll offer me: fine to coarse.

The Rock
I kicked the rock. The rock didn't move. I fell. I skinned my hand. (Want to know more?)

My hand has healed and I run past that rock a couple of times a week. First few passes, I gave the rock a gentle kick: gentle enough not to trip me, firm enough I felt in time the asphalt would let go of the rock.

I was grateful when I realized my ego's what wanted the rock moved. I could rationalize kicking the rock, but it was just my ego still doing battle with a small stone, still seeking revenge.

Maybe I'll never say "Hi!" to the rock, but neither will I kick it anymore.

Wee Me
The first Sunday I made the announcements in church, I really puffed up. Were I a peacock, my tail would have knocked people down. Navy blue suit. Favorite striped shirt. Smart executive tie. Gettin' to be on the platform! Yeah!

Then I walked to the podium. I smiled at the singers behind me. I turned and looked at the 200 people filling the sanctuary.

POP! I literally heard my ego burst. I heard the words, "They're just announcements. Not burning tablets!" I was doing a simple service for everyone there. But, was feeling proud of my realization a (f)act of ego?

Breathe Blessings
Walking Alex (dog). Watching clouds. Waiting to hear first bird of the morning.

Each of these I punctuate with conscious breaths. The stillness of the morning gives me time and space to attend my breathing: inhale...exhale...inhale...exhale.

And coupling what I do/see/hear with the grace-full-y simple act of breathing reminds me of all the blessings I (we) enjoy. Such gifts as those--and the infinitely more gifts we receive--put my egotivation to shame.

And make it a little easier for me to sand away some more of that ego.

Please share with me your sandpaper.

Thank You for the Pat on the Back!

I woke up this morning grateful for a wonderful new kudo!

David Zinger, mentioned, quoted, and posted here several times in the past, writes Slacker Manager (blog) along with Phil Gerbyshak.

David has just paid me the supreme honor of inducting me into the Order of the Golden Slacker. And you can read about it ... here.

David says these are the attributes of a Golden Slacker...

1. infuse work with passion and purpose
2. focus on smarter not harder work
3. ensure that work is effective and efficient
4. leverage learning for results
5. commit to both personal and professional development
6. draw out the strengths of others and themselves
7. transform “me thinking” to “we thinking”  
8. weave results and relationships into good management
9. delegate for results and development
10. engage in lifelong learning in diverse and multiple ways
11. value giving and serving ahead of taking and being served
12. willingly admit when they don’t know something
13. use all available resources
14. laugh as leaders - taking work seriously and themselves lightly

and so I am truly honored.

But I wonder about the Golden part. Anything to do with being (almost) over 60?

Thanks, David!

It Really Does Not Matter Where. Or When.

Since becoming a prayer chaplain at my church, I have loved discovering not to confine praying to a proper time or proper place.

I've loved learning that any time I pray is prime time. And any place I pray is right here, with full play on right.

I so remember growing up to the tune of bedtime prayers. Child mind locked in that prayers happened either right before I went (or was supposed to go) to sleep or in church on Sunday. And no other time.

No, the pure-meal blessing never seemed like a prayer to me. It seemed more like a somewhat weird  requirement that we say thank you before we knew we really liked the food. And the invocations before high school football games I thought was to warm up the PA system.

And all that's changed. How sweet the changes.

I love speaking directly to God when I say my morning thank you's. That's often when I'm dog-walking. I believe God appreciates multi-tasking and loves us both even if a "Let's go, Alex" comes between my thanks for successes and thanks for loves.

Sitting on my balcony after the sun sets and the sky is still orange-pink and turning to dark blue, outstanding peace comes when I pray for those who crossed my path and those who crossed my mind during the day.

Stopping at an intersection and swapping smiles with the homeless man or woman on the roadside, sometimes I offer a bottle of water or a tee shirt. I always offer, "May you know you have God's blessing."

And now that I've taken some 65,000 meals, my advance warning system makes me pretty confident I'll enjoy what I'm about to eat. So the blessing really is a prayer; it's both of thanks and of joy.

I even get the chance to pray with and for other people. In person. Over the phone.

When prayer was freed from the "Bedtime Only" confines I'd created, my days became longer, fuller, richer.

And falling asleep is much easier. It follows prayers that have much more meaning.

Photo Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/portland_mike/2193768623/

You Can't Pay Too Much Attention...

to a child, that is.

I was blessed by the chance to take a friend's little girls swimming this past Sunday.

Yes, they almost wore me out. I had only one more let me jump off your shoulders in me, maybe.

But as I watched them (closely) and noticed the 30+ other kids clamoring in and around the pool, it occurred to me that we cannot give any child too much attention. No matter how much observation, recognition, praise, congratulation or adoration the child wants, it's never too much.

Listening to them. Looking at them. Applauding whatever they do. Laughing with them. Oohing and aahing with them. All is only for the good: as in for their good and for our good, too.

It fuels self-worth. It stimulates observation. It teaches respect is an action. It brings us closer. All of us.

OK. Easy for a guy to say who's never raised a child, done very little baby sitting, and who likes a fair amount of attention himself. Myself.

But I don't have to be a parent to know it's true. I'm thinking about who and what we become when we grow up. I'm thinking about how lucky I was to get tons of attention from my parents, even after they divorced. And I'm thinking about those kids in the pool Sunday. I'm betting they'll be incrementally better (better off, better adapted, better behaved, better people?) for every time they knew someone was watching them. Willingly.

 Most often said and usually loudest Sunday afternoon was some variation of Watch me!

Whether to watch the cannon-balling, swimming underwater, flailing the freestyle stroke, or diving to the bottom to retrieve the quarter, the need for audience was paramount.

And why would/should/could any of us not give the attention? Willingly.