What, Me Worry?

Anyone familiar with American pop culture over the last 50 years or so probably knows that the funny little guy to the left is Alfred E. Neuman,  the mascot of Mad magazine.

If you recognize young Alfred, then you probably also know that his signature phrase is, "What, me worry?"   The phrase sort of capsulizes the zany comedy in Mad magazine, along with suggesting a carefree, possibly irresponsible attitude about life, focused on finding the humor in any situation.  It does that effectively, I think.

If you know me at all, then you know that for most of my life I have been the antithesis of Alfred E. Neuman.  Although I do look for the humor is situations, and often find it,  avoiding worry has never been my strong suit.   My signature phrase might have been, "What, me not worry?"

I have always been goal-oriented and have taken my responsibilities seriously.  I have always planned my life and how I think it should go.  These are not necessarily bad qualities, but the problem I had was that I tried to plan and take responsibility for things I could not control.

In a blog I wrote in 2013,  I talked about how my illusions that I had about a safe, certain future were shattered when I was laid off from my job.  That experience was devastating for me, because it forced me to face the fact that it didn't matter how much I planned or shouldered my responsibilities, unforeseen things were going to happen in my life that were outside my control.  Some of those things would be bad.  Part of what I had to cope with when I was laid off was stress and worry about the future.  Somewhere in my psyche, I realize now, was the belief that it would be irresponsible of me not to worry.  If I wasn't worrying about the future, then somehow I wasn't the capable, take-care-of-things guy that I believed I was.  Those ideas were positively reinforced when I was called back to work less than two weeks after the lay-off.  If I hadn't been worried, maybe that wouldn't have happened, or so I thought.

In a more recent blog, I wrote about the ultimate result of that 2013 lay-off, the decision my wife Dana and I made to leave Oklahoma and move to Missouri to be near our kids and grandkids.  That decision recently led me to another lesson, which was that sometimes you don't get to see what happens next.  Your plans don't work out, and you have to trust God.  You have to take a leap of faith.

So, I took the leap, and now I'm in Missouri without a job.  And the surprising thing is that I am less like that planning, worrying guy that I used to be and more like Alfred E. Neuman.  Although I will never replace Alfred as Mad magazine's shining example of the carefree non-worrier,  I am not worried about finding a job.  I am not worried about the future.  And, surprisingly, I don't feel guilty or irresponsible that I am not worried.  I am spending my time enjoying my family, taking it easy, and applying for jobs.

I am not usually a big fan of most church marquees. A lot of them are somewhere between lame and unbelievably hostile and unloving.  But the other day when I was driving home from a lunch date with my son (how cool it is to be able to do that!),  I saw a marquee that spoke right to my heart.  What it said was so profound to me, and gave me such encouragement to keep doing what I'm doing and to avoid the temptation to worry.

It said:  Thank God for what you have.  Trust God for what you need.

Whoa!  What an awesome reminder that I have so much to be thankful for, that God has brought Dana and me to this place, and he knows I need a job.  I don't need to worry, I just need to trust.

Just in case I needed another reminder, today when I was driving home from my morning swim, I heard  a song by Unspoken that fits well with that church marquee I saw the other day.  The lyrics of that song include these words:


And you may never know what your tomorrow holds
But you can know that I am holding your tomorrow.

What, me worry?  



Copyright © 2015 by Steven W. Fouse

Trading Control for Courage

Over the past two years, my wife Dana and I have been striving to fulfill a dream to live near our children and grandchildren in the Springfield, Missouri area. 

Dana is more of a dreamer than I am, so at first it was mostly her dream.  I usually approach things from a logical, practical perspective, which doesn't always allow a lot of room for dreaming.  I shared her feelings that it would be wonderful to be near our offspring and be more a part of their lives, but to me that seemed a bridge too far.

I mean, there were so many things that had to be worked out before we could make such a big life change.  We owned a home in Lawton, Oklahoma, and although it was a nice home in a great neighborhood, the market for existing houses in Lawton was moving very slowly.  Also, we both would have to find jobs.  At first, we assumed that this would not be a problem for Dana, who is a registered nurse, and there are always jobs for nurses.   I did not see how I could responsibly give up my job.  I had worked there for over 30 years in the defense industry.  I just didn't see how I could walk away from that, and what I could ever find to replace it in Missouri.  We also had other concerns about leaving the place we had lived for so long.  We didn't know how all these details could be timed to work together.  What should we do first?  How would we begin?


Since I have always wanted to try to control the way things happen, it was difficult for me to surrender to all these uncertainties.  What if things didn't work out?  What if we got jobs in Missouri, but couldn't sell our house in Lawton?  What if only one of us got a job, but the other one didn't? What if, what if, what if?  It all seemed too hard to me, but I was willing (although sometimes pretty frightened) to try to make it happen.

So, we did some updates on the house, and listed it for sale.  We both started applying for jobs in Missouri.  For a long time, it seemed to me that I was right, that it was all too hard to do.  Neither of us was having any luck finding jobs, and our house did not sell.  There were long periods of time when no one even looked at it.  Dana came to Springfield twice for job interviews, but neither of those opportunities worked out for her.  I was not having any luck finding employment either. 

Finally after nearly two years,  Dana got a great job.  It has proven to be the perfect job for her.  Then a week after Dana got her job, our house finally sold.  OK, great, two pieces of the puzzle were fitting together.  The only thing left was for me to get a job.  We moved Dana to Missouri in April, when her job began.  I stayed in Oklahoma to finalize the sale of the house.  I would join her in Missouri as soon as I had a job.  Or so I thought.

Throughout all of this, Dana and I had prayed for God to show us the way, and to work out the details.  And we were seeing how how the details were all working out and fitting together.  I assumed that God would see the logic of my plan to stay in Oklahoma until I had a job in Missouri.  I mean, how could I be so irresponsible as to leave a good job without another one lined up.  That was just not acceptable.  Right, God? 

Today I read a new post in one of my favorite blogs, which is written by Mark Chernoff.   In it Mark makes this statement: 

'When you attempt to control the uncontrollable you automatically block yourself from the truth.  You resist how everything works rather than learning about it.  So here’s a simple challenge for you:  Instead of trying to make things work exactly the way you want them to work, just watch them work today."

Wow!  That was a lesson I learned for myself in recent weeks.  You see, it turns out that my logical plan to find a job before I moved to Missouri did not coincide with God's plan.  Although I've had several promising leads on jobs, and a couple of interviews, I still don't have a job.   I finally came to
understand that I would have to take a leap of faith.  I would have have to walk away from that good job without another one waiting for me.  I would have to trust God.  I would have to give up control and act in faith instead.   I was beginning to understand that when God made it crystal clear to me.  A leap of faith is the only kind of leap I will be capable of for awhile, because while I was struggling with this decision,  I learned that I am going to have to have knee surgery.  I knew then that I had to go to Missouri, that I couldn't stay in Oklahoma until my plan worked out.  My plan was clearly not the plan because my plan sure didn't include a torn meniscus.

So, now I'm in Missouri with my wife, my kids and their spouses, my grandboys, and my Mom.  No job yet and a bum knee.  Sometimes I'm slightly freaked out that I'm not sure what will happen next or how long I'll have to recuperate, or when I'll get a job.  But I'm taking Mark Chernoff's advice to just watch how things turn out instead of trying to control how they turn out.  And I know I'm in the right place, because sometimes God is kind enough to speak very loudly.

You see, on the morning about three weeks ago when I walked into my boss's office and took that leap by turning in my letter of recognition, God sent me a message.  I receive a daily Bible verse via e-mail, and that morning right after I had turned in that letter, my phone vibrated to signal I had a new e-mail.  I opened it, and it said, "So be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid and do not panic before them. For the Lord your God will personally go ahead of you. He will neither fail you nor abandon you. - Deuteronomy 31:6.”  If you read that chapter in the Bible, you'll find that the speaker is Moses.  He's telling the Israelites to go and take the Promised Land, that they could be brave because God would go ahead them, and that he would never fail them.  

Pretty cool, huh? 

Copyright © 2015 by Steven W. Fouse
 

He Did It His Way

A few months back, a co-worker of mine passed away after a long battle with cancer.  I  had worked with him since 1981, and although we did not see each other outside work, we respected each other and I considered him a friend, so I attended his funeral.

A few days later, another co-worker who had not attended the funeral asked me about the service.  I told him a few details and named some mutual acquaintances who had also been there.  Then I told him that there were  two songs played at the end of the service.  One was an old hymn.  The other was Frank Sinatra's standard "I Did It My Way." I remarked that I thought that song was very appropriate for the man who had died, and he agreed.  Then he told me that his minister does not allow that song to be played or sung at funerals that are held in his church.  He allows it at the cemetery, but not at the church.

I thought about that, and I didn't like it much.  I guess I understand the minister's position.  He obviously equates doing things "my way" as the equivalent of disobeying God, or perhaps not being humble enough.

However, I take a different view.  Our co-worker who had died was a complex man.  He could be stubborn and argumentative.  He was often unforgiving to those he felt wronged him, and he held grudges.  He was confrontational and believed in winning by intimidation.  He always said what he thought about everyone and everything, and he didn't care who had a problem with that.  You never had to wonder what he thought, because he would always tell you without any effort to sugar-coat anything.

However, he was also hard-working and passionate about doing a good job.  He loved to work, and continued in his job well past the age when he could have retired.  He and his wife raised and showed  quarter horses, and they enthusiastically enjoyed that endeavor as long as their health allowed.  If he gave you hell, the way to earn his respect was to give it right back.  When you did that, he would often smile a little as if he was glad you had stood up to him. He was loyal to those whom he respected, and under his rough exterior, he loved people.  He faced the cancer that eventually killed him with courage and dignity, and he was open and honest about the toll the disease and the treatments took on him, both physically and emotionally.  He never gave way to hopelessness, and he continued to work until he literally could no longer come to the office.

In other words, my friend lived and died on his own terms.  He was completely and unabashedly himself, the way God had made him.  He had faults and he could be difficult, but he lived life enthusiastically, and he completely enjoyed the things he did and the life he lived.  In other words, he did it his way.

I believe that God was fine with that.



Copyright © 2015 by Steven W. Fouse

No Place for Sissies, Part 2: Looking Back

In my previous blog,  I began what I hope will be a useful dialogue on the subject of growing older. A lot of my thoughts in this area lately have been about looking back over my life thus far, sort of assessing my successes and failures, thinking about how I have lived my life, what I did well and what I might have done better.  Looking back and sort of grading ourselves takes a bit of courage. I think it is part of the reason for Bette Davis' warning about old age not being for sissies.


As often happens when I am mulling something over, I have been reminded of a some songs that present divergent views about the results of looking back over one's life.  One of those is Frank Sinatra's classic "I Did it My Way."   This song presents the thoughts of someone facing "the final curtain" and thinking about how well he did. His self-assessment is that he was someone who planned his life, lived it according to his own rules, did things his own way, always stood tall, and, although he has regrets, they are "too few to mention."   Hmmm.  Pretty impressive record.

Another song that tells the story of a man looking back over his life is Harry Chapin's  "Cat's in the Cradle."  When I was a young man, it was one of my favorites, but these days I find its message so disturbing that I usually avoid it.   But I listened to it today, and was struck again by the fatalistic view of his life the man unfolds. The story begins when he is young man, busy with his career.  His son is born, but the young man is busy pursuing what is most important to him, and time goes by faster than he expects it to.  Now he is old, and looking back on his life, and wants to spend time with the son he neglected.  Only now the son is too busy for him.  The little boy's wish to be "just like him" has come true, but that fact is portrayed as a curse, as the tendency of some  men to value the wrong things, to make the wrong choices until it is too late, and to pass that failure along to their sons.  In other words, instead of giving himself on all A's on Life's Big Report Card
like the man in the Frank Sinatra song does, Harry Chapin's fellow gives himself nothing but F's.  And, oh, by the way, his son will fail at life, too, and there nothing he can do to make any of it any better.  He and his son were both failures before they even started out.  Let's all just kill ourselves now.

I think both of these views are unfair and dishonest.  I don't think anyone who has learned anything in life can look back and honestly say they have no regrets.  And I also don't believe anyone is ever a complete failure, or that there is ever a time when it is impossible to rectify past mistakes, perhaps by making the future better.  Some people are afraid to admit that they might have done some things better, that they should have made different decisions. Others are too hard on their younger selves, forgetting that when they made whatever mistakes they condemn themselves for, they had not yet gained the experience and wisdom that now allows them to see where they erred.

As I look back on my own life, in general I think I have done pretty well.  The biggest regrets I have are the times when I have treated people unkindly. There are things I might do differently, given the chance.  I sometimes wish I had been a lot less serious and goal-oriented in my youth, that I had taken time to have more fun.  I also wish I had been more willing to take risks, to make changes and try things that were a bit scary.   But I don't condemn myself for not making those choices.   For the most part, I did the best I could in most situations, and I don't have any huge regrets or failures to be ashamed of.

Some people I know that are my age do have major regrets.  When they talk about their pasts, some express shame, some grow wistful, wishing things had been different.  "For all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these:  it might have been." --  John Greenleaf Whittier.  To those folks I say, there is still tomorrow.

While it is true that getting older and honestly assessing our lives are not for sissies, it also true that facing our regrets and learning what we can from them makes it possible to make our futures better, to look forward to doing things differently, and perhaps doing the things we always wanted to, but never got around to.

More about looking forward in my next blog.


Copyright © 2013 by Steven W. Fouse

No Place For Sissies, Part 1: Getting Old

Actress Bette Davis once said, "Old age is no place for sissies."

I don't really think of myself as as old, more like middle-aged. But realistically, unless I live to be 114, I know that I have already lived more years than I can expect to continue living this life.

And I'm starting to understand what old Bette meant, I think.  I know that I am blessed in so many ways.  I have a wonderful wife to whom I have been married for almost 37 years.  Our relationship gets better every year.  I have a wonderful family who love and respect me.  I am still in good health.  I am gainfully employed (at least for the moment). Still, I am beginning to feel some of what Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey meant when she said, "Time is a cruel thief to rob us of our former selves. We lose as much to life as we do to death."

Time has yet to rob me of much of what I hold dear, but it is hard not to think of the future without some trepidation about what lies ahead.  I have seen enough of what happens to people as they get old, and most of it is not good.  I often think it is harder for men to get old than for women, mostly because the men I have known well who have been the victims of Time's thievery have not dealt with it very well.  Who can blame them?  It must be devastating to lose the parts of yourself that define you as a man, your strength, your virility, your abilities, your independence, maybe your self-respect.

When we consider our own mortality, it is inevitable that we make judgments about how well we have lived this life, that we wonder what it all means.  Some folks dwell on the futility of it all.  A famous fictional example of this is Shakespeare's murderous king Macbeth.  Upon learning that his wife had died, Macbeth responded with:

"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."

Steve's modern English translation:  Life is one stupid day after another, and it only leads to death.  Let's get it over with, because although we all struggle through our lives and the challenges we face, we all just end of up dead and forgotten.  It is just a lot of noise, pain, and anger, and in the end, it doesn't mean anything. It means nothing.  

Let me be quick to say that I don't subscribe to Macbeth's conclusions about life, his nihilism. As I follower of Christ, I take comfort in Jesus' words, "I have told you these things, so that you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart! I have overcome the world." (John 16:33)  Jesus was telling his disciples, and by extension us, that sorrow is just part of this life, and is to be expected, including the kinds of sorrow that come with growing older.  It is not my purpose here to try to convince anyone that they should adopt my beliefs about Christ.  As it has been said, "For those who believe, no proof is necessary.  For those who don't believe, no proof is possible."

However, I believe that whether you believe that life means nothing, or you have a faith or philosophy that gives you hope, growing old and facing what comes with it is not easy.  I think it is important to think about the issues that growing older brings, and so to try to cope with them as best we can. I hope I have a few years before the really hard parts come, but I have thought about a lot of them as I have observed people who are struggling with aging and the losses it brings.  I have looked back over my life, and I have looked forward.  I have struggled with fear of the future, and with fear of the present, and the extreme changes in our culture that have occurred in my lifetime. I have thought about the ways my self-image has changed, and ways it might continue to change as I grow older. I have seen others face death, and have been confronted by my own mortality.

To be honest, I have far more questions than answers. I would like to explore some of those questions with you in a series of blogs called "No Place for Sissies."  Maybe we can answer some of them together.

Copyright © 2013 by Steven W. Fouse

Both Sides Now

If you are around the same age as I am, or if you are familiar with "Golden Oldies" music from the 1960's and 70's, then you probably remember Judy Collins' recording of Joni Mitchell's beautiful, although perhaps somewhat maudlin, song "Both Sides Now."

In the song, which Judy Collins sings like an angel, she talks about several aspects of living and how she has viewed them at earlier points in her life.  The specific things she sings about are clouds, love, and life.  She says that as she has progressed through her life, her perspective on each of these things has changed, and so therefore her ideas about each of them has changed.

This week I have been reminded of that song, and its ideas about changing perspectives, because I find myself in a situation that is completely new to me, in a place I never really expected to be.   After 32 years with the same employer, yesterday I was one of about 200 people who are part of what is legally referred to  as a "mass lay-off" (as I learned in the letter they gave me on the subject).   During my tenure at that job, there were several lay-offs in the past, but I always survived them.  I was always on the "win" side mentioned in Judy's song.  This time I am on the "lose" side.

The real theme of "Both Sides Now" is the illusions we live under until some event changes our perspective.  In the past, the criteria for who would be laid off and who would not included tenure, and job performance, such things as quality of work, ability to self-motivate and lead others, and ability in special assignments, such as writing portions of proposals to win the company new contracts.   I rated well in all these areas, so I was always safe, or so I thought.  It turns out, looking at this lay-off from the "lose" side, that my belief in my job security was an illusion like the ones Judy Collins sings about.

Because of our Federal government's inability to do what we elect them to do, because of sequestration, and the budget impasse, the criteria for this lay-off were different than before.  Most of  the work we did at my job was funded from the same big pot of money.  A few other tasks were funded separately from other agencies in the government.  This layoff was the result of the big pot of money being eliminated.  If your job was funded by that money, it was eliminated.  Only the jobs with funding from other sources were safe.  My job was from the big pot, so I was out.   Seniority, quality of work, and all that other stuff didn't matter this time.

Finding oneself suddenly out of work at age 57 is devastatingly shocking. After so long, many of the people I worked with were like family.  Although I did not always love my job, it always gave me self-respect, the feeling that I was capable and valued, somewhere to go each day, and something to do that mattered.   Ironically, in recent months I had grown to like my job more than ever and I finally realized how much it meant to me, how much it defined who I was.  Facing the loss of all that is much like dealing with the death of a loved one.

I know that although this is the end of a major part of my life, as Judy's song says, "something's lost and something's gained in living every day."  I have lost my job, but I have gained an opportunity to do something new, to learn new skills, meet new people, perhaps live in a new place.  I don't think I would have ever chosen to do those things if I were not forced into it.  So, like the cliche says, a door has been closed.  Now I need to find the open window.

One thing I am determined to do is to avoid becoming a victim.  Someone smart told me this week that battered women who believe they deserve the abuse they receive remain victims.   But when they become angry at their abusers, they are able to realize they are not to blame for what happened to them, and  from that belief comes the ability to take steps to change their lives.  The person who told me that said I need to be angry at what happened to me to avoid being destroyed by it.   I think I've got that covered because I am mad as hell at our incompetent government and the suffering it is inflicting on so many decent people across this country.

However, I'm not going to get stuck in anger and grief, either.  Gone is whatever illusion I had that the future of my job was secure.  Now my future is uncertain.  It was always was.  I just didn't know it.






Copyright © 2013 by Steven W. Fouse