Fresh Beginnings

A new year, full of worn regrets and fresh beginnings. At my Weight Watchers meetings our leaders always instructed us in mid-December, “Be sure to make room for the newcomers next month because they’ll be packing the seats; help them feel welcome.” Whether it’s healthier eating, more kindness to others or putting the bottle away for good the coming year is full of wishes, hopes and intentions for a better life, starting right now.

Which all makes me think of my friend, Mark, who was a living, breathing example of purposeful inhibition. As an old hippie the word “inhibition” causes me to shudder but when you realize that it’s not about what “The Man” is telling you to do then inhibition becomes your friend, even your benefactor. It’s the means by which you can accomplish the things you desire most to do, in your deepest, best self.

Mark and his lovely wife

Mark stopped attending school in the eighth grade to go into the family business, as a butcher, then went back to school and became a history teacher. Then he studied quite a bit more and became a pastor. This was around the time TV preachers with private jets and big hair were concentrating on developing their telefollowers who sent them lots of fan letters and money but Mark and his wife lived a quiet life in a small town in a house that he built. He was the kind of pastor who led his congregation—face to face--through the Bible on Sunday mornings, preaching it section by section and helping people see how God worked in their lives. Nothing showy—just steady spiritual food, Sunday after Sunday. And a lot of visiting the sick, the poor and the needy.

Visiting folks in the congregation, whether at home, in hospital or other care facilities was Mark’s meat and potatoes. When do people hunger for encouragement and friendship the most? When they are most needy. When do their families need guidance in how to love their sick moms, dads and kids? When they are faced with fear or uncertainty and they don’t know what to do. That was Mark’s arena of expertise. He went to them in their need and used what he knew about God’s ways to strengthen them. He knew how to comfort.

How do you feel just before you open the door to your friend’s hospital room—confident or terrified? But you make yourself knock and go in, don’t you? You have just controlled—inhibited--your desire to escape to a more comfortable place. After you finish the visit you’re a little more strengthened to do intimidating things like this again. You have built up your ability to dampen your initial apprehension and then achieve an outcome you want.

Of course I respected Mark for his love of reading long, difficult books about history and other subjects that put me to sleep. I admired his methodical, consistent care of the vegetables, shrubs and flowers he grew and shared with me and other folks. I was awed at his stamina in hiking sections of the Appalachian Trail with friends decades younger than himself when he was in his late 70’s. But, most of all, I was astounded at his ability to eat chocolate, slowly, with gustatory joy.

People like me, who have dis-inhibition in most areas of life, do things too quickly to fully savor the nuances of an experience. I wolf down a full-size Baby Ruth bar in about thirty seconds and then root around for what other sweets might be in the pantry. Mark could bite a teensy piece of dark chocolate from a small square, let it melt on the tip of his tongue, then sip strong coffee and swirl the two flavors around in his mouth before swallowing. He told me that doing this allowed him to realize and appreciate the depth of the flavor in the chocolate and that he didn’t need to eat more than an ounce at a time of the sweet stuff to feel satisfied. How unimaginable.

Sometimes the most fearsome door to knock on and walk through is that of prayer for God to intervene in our frayed relationships with others and our requests for them—restored health for an old friend, a loved one’s abstinence from a poison or the return of a prodigal child. Along with these concerns one of the most difficult spiritual trials for me to have is the struggle of being kind to people I don’t like. Am I hesitant to pray for an improved relationship because I’m afraid I’ll have to keep being nice to that person, for the rest of my life?

There was a new associate pastor in the church I attended about 35 years ago who was enormously intelligent, yet lacked what modern educators call “social-emotional skills.” I did not like him at all, to the point that I ducked into the bathroom most times I saw him walking down the hall on Sunday mornings. Of all the ridiculous decisions, my family became part of the new congregation across town that he pastored. For five long years the best thing about Sunday mornings was the joy in my children’s faces when they walked into their Sunday School classes. The day we returned to our former church and relatable pastor was wonderful.

Then the lightning bolt struck and I realized that my attitude toward him was soul-sapping and something had to be done. So, I started praying more often for him, mostly for him to have love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness and self control—just the basics. I also prayed that he would relate to people in a more natural, comfortable way. This went on for years, whenever I remembered him or his wonderful wife and kids. “Little bites” of prayer over a long time.

About twenty years passed and I heard from mutual friends that this man had completely changed. He was now friendly, openly compassionate, even kindly. I was floored. I also realized that my heart had changed and it was softer toward him. I began this prayer strategy with a few other unpleasant relationships. Those improved as well.

Have you been carrying around a gnawingly-rotten relationship for ten, twenty or even thirty years? Even if it’s been stuck in that groove for so long you can still hope for a change in everyone’s hearts and actions. Pray for them, and for yourself—then keep on praying.