Diving in: courage and caution

I wonder if fish find it as refreshing to jump out of the water as many humans find it to jump in? It must be exhilarating for the water creatures to break free and launch up and out into the light, bright, air every now and then. Wouldn’t you think?

Haven’t talked to too many fish lately, but I’ll bet that leaping out of the water isn’t all about survival and merely trying to get the bugs. It sure looks a lot like play. And it must also make for a refreshing change. Picking up speed at the bottom of the lake, there are likely moments of doubt. But once they come flying out of the water and are hanging in mid air…it has got to feel good on the fins. Real good.

In any case, most people reading this likely tend to think that water feels good – especially on a hot summer day. You know how it is. Driving into the parking lot at the beach, in a car without air conditioning, you can hardly wait to get into the water.

At May 09, 2012
By Nathan
In Career & Life Planning, Meeting Needs
0

Setting up my tiny tent on a sandbar on the edge of a large creek in the Rocky Mountains seemed like a good idea at the time.

Sand was soft, and so this site was very attractive. There were very few annoying rocks to deal with. Pounding in the tent pegs was no problem at all. On top of that, the surface was flat. And it would be peaceful to be surrounded by water and quiet too. The noisy campers over there on the hard, rocky, ground wouldn’t keep me awake after all.

Yes, I had finally found the perfect place to get a good night’s rest. Don dug a hole in order to find soft, level, ground for his tent. Surely this campsite idea was an improvement on that. Or so I thought.

For Robert Pinkston, life is busy but life is good.

For example, he recently flew to Haiti to volunteer in an orphanage, traveled to North Carolina to help his son, Zachary, get set up at university, and moved his wife, Sharon, and three girls to a new temporary home.

At the same time, he is preparing to launch a new collegiate church plant in Quebec at Bishop’s University.

Purpose. Focus. Energy. Direction. People tend to pick up speed when they are moving towards a clear destination – when they are going somewhere that matters.

His household buzzes with activity as he sits down to grab a quick lunch on his front porch in Lennoxville, Quebec. It is a warm summer day. Sure enough, the phone rings. This time it is Hulio, the head soccer coach at the University of Sherbrooke and a friend. As the assistant coach of the team, Robert quickly flips into French and talks about the upcoming game against Carlton University in Ottawa.

Defining your destiny

The Yellow-bellied Sapsucker could have been known as, say, the Red-headed Headbanger or Jackhammer. Just imagine selling your old moped, trading in your scooter, and getting a Harley.

Oh yeah, in a moment – with a stroke of a pen – things could have been different for this poor little bird. Much different. A whole lot better. Exit disrespect and humiliation. Enter attitude and excitement, strength and determination. And either label would have worked; both would have been accurate descriptions. Different focus. Same bird.

Might be a moral to this tree-top story for a few creatures on the ground below.

Yes, as this tale is still mournfully told in the YBS community, some birdie had to stick their big, bright, yellow, belly right out there for everyone to see. There they were, strutting their stuff, standing in front of the naming committee on that fateful day. Plump and preoccupied; focused and fixated on one aspect of their appearance. Of all things. No mention of character or any positive personal qualities, just colour and size. For far too long I am the colour yellow and I have a great big belly! had been playing over and over in their tiny bird brain – really loud.

So much for positive and accurate self-talk. So much for illuminating self-understanding. So much for the future of our feathered friends.

To be sure, this muddled message had shaped their thinking over the years. Some tried to trace it right back to nest. Others blamed it on a few head-first crash landings back in the flight training days. And there was that recent high-speed incident with the window. Either way, this entrenched self-understanding would now – to a large extent – determine their direction and define their destiny. Yes, Name Day turned out to be one sad day in woodpecker world history. As the spotlight shone down, during an awkward moment of silence, things went from bad to worse:

“And what do you like to do in your spare time…Yellow-belly?”

“Soaring high in the sky with the eagles” would have been a good response. If only. “Hanging out with my California Condor friends” could have worked too. “Practicing my Meadowlark imitation” might have been an improvement. “Doing Kingfisher dives” would have caught the attention of the judges. Communicating an association with a few rock stars in the bird community was one obvious option. Standing next to some birdie with perceived stellar status was a standard strategy. The Red-capped Burgereaters did it all the time.

But this too was second-best. It would have been even better, so the YBS historians say, if Mr. or Mrs. or Miss. Yellow-belly would have said something more revealing about themselves. Preferably something about what made them unique – even special – in the larger community of creatures. Something that made them stand out in some way even among other creatures in the sky.

Sucking sap. Was that it? Did that phrase really define their identity? It does now.

And for generations now, young birds in Yellow-belly Sapsucker school have been given the following essay topic: “What our distant relatives should have said.”

Wings are even better, but words can help you fly.

Putting problems in perspective

It is playing even now as I write: that same old CD I have been listening to almost every day now for the past five months. I must have listened to this set of songs close to 150 times. And since you asked, yes, I am still enjoying it and plan on continuing with my lovely listening tradition at least until the end of April. The sad reality is that we will be moving then, and unfortunately this CD came with the house.

Not everyone around is quite as enthusiastic about this degree of repetition. If you happen to be familiar with any unflattering psychological terms (e.g. obsessive-compulsive, etc.) that might describe such excessive behavior, someone I know – not to mention any names – would be happy to hear from you. For after casually suggesting that I might need to buy my own copy now, I discovered that could be grounds for divorce. Some people just have no appreciation for good music. Of course, I am kidding.

Potential roadblocks

Close to thirteen years ago, Jason Lang went for an early morning drive with his father in Tabor, a small town in western Canada. You see, he had recently purchased an older Camaro and was up early on the morning of April 28th learning how to drive a standard. His dad, Dale, gave him a quick driving lesson, and then he was off to high school. It was Wednesday. It was just another day. Or so it seemed.

It has been almost thirteen years since Jason was standing in a hallway at W.R. Meyers High School with a friend, when a troubled young man appeared with a gun. And it was loaded. Before they realized what was happening, and had time to react, shots rang out and they both fell. But Jason would never get up. An ambulance came quickly and he was rushed to the hospital, but he died later that day. It was his older brother’s birthday. Jason was only seventeen.

A quest for clarity

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At first glance, “Raise a Little Hell” by the Canadian band Trooper has to be one of my all-time least favorite songs. And for obvious reasons, I suppose. For I am much more into heaven-raising than hell-raising.

But more than that, part of the problem with this particular song is that it is crafted well enough to have a musical hook; it seems to be designed to draw people in. Usually this is a good thing. In this case, however, once you are in, listening, alert…there doesn’t immediately appear to be much of value to hear – except the same old line over and over and over again. Which could make for a dull, boring, song.

On the surface, it is also disappointing. There is a sense of wasted potential. It could have been good. Or considerably better, anyway. A celebration song. An energetic anthem, perhaps, to liven people up and rally the troops for a worthwhile cause, etc. Or at least an inspirational beach-walking song if nothing else (e.g. “Find a pretty shell. Find a pretty shell. Find a pretty shell. Hey!”). A little on the loud side for a peaceful beach setting, but a lyrical improvement nonetheless. Anything would be, you might think. Anything except maybe “Let Viterra Sell.”

Thanks for visiting

This is a brief note to thank all who have taken the time to visit this website. This site is intended to be a resource that will help you, in some small way, to move ahead in your life. Whether you live in Canada or the USA or Europe or Africa or Asia, etc., I hope this online service has been an encouragement to you. May I encourage you to act on whatever significant insights you feel that you have gained from your time spent here so far. Reflection is all fine and good, but, in the end, action is what really matters.

God bless,

norwegiansoul

Listen up and rise up

Advice. Have you ever benefited from timely advice? “That guy is a jerk!” your friend said. Blunt but wise words that encouraged you to avoid a potentially abusive relationship. “You’ve got to get more excercise,” your doctor said. And 10 years later, you are as healthy as can be, and still out there jogging, bright and early, with all the other jogging addicts. “Danger: Sharks. No Swimming,” the sign said. So you stayed on the beach, stayed out of the water, and now you are still alive. Good advice.

It is actually a sign of wisdom to regularly seek advice

Everybody needs to listen to appropriate advice from time to time. Each person reading this (and writing this) would benefit if they did. It really doesn’t matter who you are or where you are from. Nationality isn’t an issue. Culture doesn’t count. Race is irrelevant. Money is insignificant. An education isn’t everything. Old age is no guarentee that you have arrived. Das macht nichts as they say in German. It doesn’t matter when you arrived on the earth either. People on this planet need to listen to constructive criticism today just like they did a thousand years ago. It is a good idea to stop and listen, because nobody is really a know-it-all after all. Surprised? I didn’t think so.

20-year chunks

Life is too large to live, or even think about living, in one large chunk. Even 24 hours is too much to deal with all at once. Our batteries can only run for so long, approximately 16 hours, before they need to be recharged. The Energizer bunny might have been able to keep on going and going but we can’t. Most people are only conscious, make that semi-conscious, for 66% of their existence. If you live to be 60 years old, you will spend about twenty of those years in a comatose state recovering from the other forty. Does being alive ever strike you as being incredibly strange?

Breaking life down into smaller chunks is not easy though. For there are approximately 65 different ways of going about it, and each method is no doubt advocated by someone with a Ph.D. who has written 14 books, etc. But they all tend to sound arbitrary and forced after a while; that is, if they are presented as the one and only possible approach to life. Self- help books, phases and all, can be helpful but not when presented as bedrock truth claims that seem to hang in the air. But maybe I am going through the phase-doubting phase.

Beauty for the soul

Coldplay, the British alternative rock band, is much more popular than the cold. Chris Martin, Jonny Buckland, Guy Berryman, and Will Champion – extremely talented musicians – make a living being mysterious and cool, but in Europe the extreme winter weather just makes it difficult to live. What is it about their music that connects with so many people around the world, and seems to warm our souls?

Living with an artistic person, and a Coldplay fan, I have also felt the “warmth” that their music brings. With album titles like Mylo Xyloto, Viva la Vida, and A Rush of Blood to the Head, there are times I wonder what in the world they are singing about. But whatever it is they are saying, it must sound appealing to millions of people. Artistic people like my wife know good art when they see it and hear it. Beauty isn’t just in the eye of the beholder; the classics are classic for a reason. Coldplay ranks right up there with U2 in terms of popularity. That is saying something.