A Balled from Hate & Disagreement

This morning, I wrote about disagreeing. More specifically, I wrote to try to answer the question, “Which comes first, hate or disagreement?” Which honestly felt a lot like trying to answer the question, “Which comes first, the chicken or the egg?”

I found myself writing in circles trying to answer the question and come up with an origin for one or the other (spoiler, I didn’t), but the one thing I did keep coming back to was love.

Love and creating an opportunity to love seems to de-escalate hate within disagreement.

Take for example your friends and family. Can you think of anyone who has ever completely agreed, 100% all the time, with their parents? Much less all of their friends? I don’t think I can, but if you do, please let me know.

When we disagree with those we love, it seems easier to agree to disagree, move on with life and then go get dinner afterward. Compare that to disagreeing with those that we don’t love, or better yet, those we don’t give ourselves the chance to love or opportunity to know and understand, agreeing to disagree becomes much harder, while disagreeing and moving toward hate feels easier.

Again, I still don’t know what comes first, disagreement or hate, but I do believe that taking the time to get to know those we disagree with more might just help evaporate some of the world’s hate.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: To know is to love.

Mark

Every Tuesday, I have a one-on-one call with my uncle, Mark. These calls started about 2 years ago, and we’ve probably only missed a hand full of Tuesdays over that span of time.

Mark is more than my uncle, though; he’s become a friend and mentor that I never knew that I needed. He’s a guy with his hand in about a million different pots, mentoring, teaching, working and making friends with just about anyone he can. If Will Rogers reincarnated, I think it would be as Mark. He’s got wealth in relationships, and he’s a man who’s love and care for others comes through in the way he hosts, the way he longs for connection and the way he is always learning.

Mark has told me time and time again that while we may meet every Tuesday, not every Tuesday is going to feel like ‘we discovered something new.’ Rather, we met every Tuesday in consistency, and it’s in that consistency that, maybe, one out of every 20 or 50 times we chat, something special might be discussed. But it’s in the other times, those other 19 and 49 times, that we’re developing a bond, a friendship and accountability. And in that, I think there’s a lot of beauty.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: Friendship takes consistency and the removal of expectation.

Am I Doing Enough?

Do you ever struggle with the question, “Am I doing enough?”

*Pause

The other night, I got together with a friend of mine who seems like he never sleeps. Not in an unhealthy way, but in a way that he is involved in just about everything one can be involved in. He’s built different.

Korey isn’t a ‘career climber,’ doing good for personal gain and advancement, like I know a lot of folks can be, myself included. Korey is involved in his community because he cares about it. He’s an activist, a leader of young men, a difference-maker across our city and an a lover of family. And here I am, sharing a plate of fries with him, listening, taking it all in and still asking the question, “Am I doing enough?”

As i’ll say often on this blog, comparison is a thief of joy, but that’s not to say that we shouldn’t be challenged by those around us, inspired to look out rather than in.

But how does one find the time, the energy?

After all, we only have so many hours to work, make dinner, go to the gym, do chores, be with our family and friends and all of life’s other obligations.

How does one carve time out of all of that and start to prioritize caring, not career climbing, for one’s community?

I think that’ll be the question I ask Korey next time. Hopefully I’ll have some insight to share.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: Caring > Career Climbing

Perfection Problems

I’ve spent the past few days trying to organize a book shelf.

To most, that’s a process that wouldn’t take days, but minutes, but for someone like me who’s ‘perfection’ meter seems to be higher than others, it takes days.

It’s all about setting a balanced aesthetic; the top shelf has to balance with the shelf below it, and the left side needs to balance the right side. The colors need to coordinate, and each space should be able to tell a small story of the stories that it contains.

Or that’s how my mind works anyway, which is why this process is taking me days.

Sometimes I wonder how much my perfections inconvenience those around me. If I put something a certain way because it looks good, but maybe isn’t as functional, who’s way am I getting in? If I put something another way, while it still looks good of course, but is set in a way that’s hard to return to its previous position after it’s used, how much am I creating stress to those around me who know that once they take something off a shelf, they won’t be able to put it back exactly like it way?

Of course, I’ll notice, and of course, I’ll put it back to the way I had it, not selfishly out of frustration that it’s ‘not right,’ but out of a sense of needing things to feel ‘perfect.’

Perfection is my problem. At times, I can only imagine how many problems it causes those around me. I know the saying is, “Strive for perfection,” but sometimes I think I need to strive more for things being okay with how they are.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: You can’t be perfect. Because chaos reigns.

A Song from 1995

“Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world.
Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight.
Jesus loves the little children of the the world.” 

I grew up singing this song nearly every day at daycare when I was a child. It was a regular part of our ‘choir’ portion of the day from age 3 to 7 or so. We sang it so often that I still know all the lyrics by heart, and I can still picture our teacher standing at the front of the class leading us in it, chorus after chorus, mouth along to the words so we could learn them as we went. 

I also remember that there wasn’t a single child in my class that was any color but white.

For some reason, this song popped back into my this morning, followed by the thought above. It’s never occurred to me before that at a young age, I was learning that in God’s eyes, we were all loved and equal, but while we were hearing that message, nothing in my life replicated any friends or kids in my class of any different race, nation or tongue. 

That’s not anyone’s fault; it’s just a bit ironic.

At the time, it felt easy to sing a song about how God loves everyone, all over the world, no matter what anyone looks like, while not seeing anyone from any different background other than my own in front of me. I wasn’t exposed to anyone red, yellow or black, nor was I exposed to anyone from any different part of town. Granted, I was only three years old when I was singing the song, but it still makes me think.

I’m grateful to have been taught that message, but what can we do to ensure that we’re not only teaching, but doing, experiencing and living.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: Keep singing those songs in your head.

Questions Not Answered (Today)

Why can’t we just all get along? Why does the world not work that way? How come one nation say to another, “Peace be with you! Prosper. How can we help in your need?” While the other nation answers with thanks and acceptance, in turn offering to help the other nation where it may need it most because in truth, we’re all in need of something.

Why can’t people seem to love those who are different than them? How come when different opinions arise, we immediately jump to conclusions, aggressiveness, and disregard? Even those who are evil can be and should be loved, justly, but still treated certain amounts of dignity and respect as a fellow human being, though we all have moments when we act not human, but as selfish beasts.

Why are we so quick to tear down one another when we hear something we do not agree with? How come we’re too quick to slander, gossip, and write off those who are not like us in thought or deed and cast their thoughts and beliefs up to hate each time, rather than listening to where their mindset comes from and listening some more, and actually hearing what they say, before responding.

Why is it no longer okay to disagree with someone but still love them? How come we get the feeling of needing to respond, retaliate and defend ourselves deep in our chest when someone says something that we don’t agree with, letting that feeling rise up, sit under our tongues and spill out in passive aggressiveness, demeaning words and lack of respect?

We are a people quick to speak. Quick to take things personally. Quick to assume. Quick to find those most like ourselves in a circle. Quick to hide behind screens and say things we would never say exposed to someone’s face. 

We are not united, but we carry the title.
We are not united, but we wave the banner.
We are not united, but how can we be?

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: Today, unity feels like an easy to say buzzword with no weight to it. Tomorrow, will it feel the same?

Mondays

My friend Copan thinks Monday is the best day of the week. No kidding. Every week, rain or shine, hell or high water, he’ll send a Tweet out to the masses with a ,“THANK GOD IT’S MONDAY,” attached to it with some sort of excited GIF and encouraging message.

And I absolutely love this.

For so long, Monday’s have gotten a bad wrap. After all, they’re the start of the work week, which brings along waking up early, grinding on projects for eight hours, long commutes, stress, so on and so forth. But I think Copan may be on to something. While it’s true, Monday is the start of the work week, it’s also the start to a lot of other greatness too.

I was asking Copan about his perspective on his Mondays and how he seems to be one of the most positive people I know, and he spoke some truth into me that I needed to be reminded of: Any day of the week, Monday included, is the start of new opportunities. Opportunities to do good and experience greatness, while Monday’s alone signal the start to all our weeks have to offer.

Sure, that meeting at 3p on Tuesday may be something you’re dreading, but at least you have a job. And what about dinner on Tuesday night with all your friends and that a new episode of your favorite show comes out on Thursday? Oh, and there’s going to be a great basketball game on Wednesday night too.

Thank God for Mondays. Thank God for fresh starts. Thank God for opportunities.

-Cliff

Copan’s Note: Always thank God for Mondays.

Fighting for Friendship

Friendships are difficult - great, obviously, but also difficult.

Making plans. Rescheduling plans. Praying for friends. Moving away. Keeping in contact with people. Texting. Calling. Face-timing. Starting all over again.

Friendship takes work, and when it’s not reciprocated, it often feels like that work is in vain. And when working toward friendship feels like it’s in vain, friendships can fail and fall apart. Sometimes for seasons, sometimes for good.

But what about friends who don’t reciprocate friendships? The ones who don’t text back, call or try to initiate plans with you. It’s a two-way street after all. That’s hard.

It causes doubt - “Do they really value me"?”
It causes stress - “Should I reach out again? I already have twice this week.”
It causes pain - “They just don’t care.”

But those friendships are often the ones that mean the most. Our friends who are not always like us. The ones who don’t communicate like us, who have different love languages than us and who also care a lot about other people and can get stretched thin themselves sometimes. Those are the friends and the friendships worth fighting for - the ones that keep us fighting ourselves.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: Never stop fighting for friendship.

Five Minutes

There’s an old country song that I used to listen to called, ‘Five More Minutes’ by Scotty McCreery. It’s all about wishing for more time in life’s best moments. Five more minutes of high school football glory. Five more minutes fishing with your family. Things like that. Things that I think we would all say, ‘Yeah, life was great then, and I’d love more time in that space,’ because a lot can happen in the short span of five minutes.

You can work out.
You can take a nap.

You can get a new car.
You can get in a wreck.

You can get rich.
You can become poor.

You can make a friend.
You can lose a friend.

Your life can change.
You can change someone else’s.

It’s a short span of time, but so much can happen in those 300 seconds, so much good or so much bad. But I guess it’s about pursuing goodness in our allotted time here. So much is out of our control when it comes to what happens with our time, and we only get so much of it, but why not try to make the most of each minute if we can, whether it be resting well or giving others around us rest. It just takes five minutes.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: Life is made out of those five minute moments.

Experience

“I don’t know what to write.”

“I don’t know what to write.”

*Writes a sentence

“… Don’t love that.”

“I really just have no idea what to write”

The above is usually the script my brain follows every morning, Monday - Friday, starting at about 6:45a. It’s a familiar one, so I don’t have any trouble at all remembering my role; however, I’ve gotten pretty tired of that role lately.

I forgot what it was like to write consistently. The battle that it is to wake up and stare at a blank page every morning, while it waits for you to fill it with something pleasing, thoughtful or meaningful. I forgot what it was like to try to find the thoughts and the words to communicate those thoughts, all the while doing it with a passion.

Then this morning, I remembered a secret piece to it all that i’ve forgotten - experience. The driver of what shapes me, what shapes us and the world around us.

It’s the stories, the sense and the way the cosmos moves around us that make for good writing, good sharing and good living. It’s helping one another tell our stories by asking questions, listening, remembering and reflecting. Experience is what makes good writing, and it’s what gets us all out of bed in the morning.

Live it. Remember it. Tell it.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: Looking for passion? Look to experience.

The Island

Once upon a time, there was a man and a woman who lived together in paradise. They had a mansion on an island in the Pacific and both worked hard for what they had in jobs they both loved. They were both born on the island, and they had never seen any reason to leave it. The island had snow-capped mountains they could climb on the weekends and the best beaches the world had ever seen that you could walk to any time you wanted. The couple never argued and never had any disagreements between themselves or their neighbors because the family and friends they were surrounded by all looked just like them and believed just like them.

News from outside the island came in waves, just like the ones rolling onto the beach - steady, strong and from the same place. But the news rarely concerned them because it came from sources that looked like them and believed like them, and at the end of the day, the news from the rest of the world rarely ever effected their own island, which was far, far away from any other large landmass with people on it.

One day, the man and the woman had a child - a child with its father’s eyes and its mother’s drive. The child grew up on the island, just like the mother and father, and it went all the same places its parents went and did all the same things its parents did, much like any child. The child grew up happy. How could it not? It was surrounded by mountains, beaches, a loving family and more friends than it could keep up with that all looked like him and believed like him and his family. The child was smart and gifted, and but not in a way that would make it stand out or appear anything but normal by the island’s standards. It was destined to be on the island for a lifetime and to thrive and build a life there. But one day, when the child grew up, two questions arose after watching the same news, with the same people, in the same place: Why does the man on the news not look like me, and why does everyone hate him?

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: We’re all on different islands. Good thing there are boats.

Nostalgic Doses

This morning, I discovered a new singer that I’m super interested in getting into; her name is Melody Gardot, and she has one of the smoothest voices I’ve heard in a long time. It’s a nostalgic sounds that’ll take you back to the mid-century crooners your grandparents used to listen to - perfect for making a cup of coffee to, while you get ready for the day.

I’m not sure why, but nostalgia always feels best in the mornings and the evenings. It a feeling that you can chase or that can catch you off guard, like it did me this morning. Either way, it’s always a feeling that leaves me with longing, but a longing that isn’t always great. A longing for the past. A longing for older times and memories. A small escape from the now.

But the now is where we’re at, and the future is where we’re going. I’m just happy there are little pieces from the past that we can not only take with us, but that inspire us for future art, future change and future growth as a people, a nation and a world.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: Nostalgia: Take one does in the morning and one dose in the evening, if needed. We recommend not exceeding the recommended dosage in a 24-hour period.

Beautiful Things

This month, my wife, Sarah, is keeping a journal full of the things that other people find beautiful throughout their day.

That in itself is a beautiful thing, but it’s also one of the most intentional ways I’ve ever seen an individual pursue friendship. Not only taking the time to reach out to friends daily to gather their thoughts, feelings and insights into their world, but also way it makes others think.

The first day she asked me what my beautiful thing was, it was a Monday that I had spent entirely in my office from 6:30a - 5p. That required me to really think about it. What did I actually see that was beautiful around my cubicle? Aside from my beachside computer background. Was it the cleaning women saying hello to me? Was it the way the fog was settling in over the city? Was it how technology allowed me to take an elevator instead of 5 flights of stairs?

Beauty comes to us in so many ways, and it doesn’t have to be a grand mountain scene or an ocean-front property. Sometimes, I think we can all get a little spoiled by beauty and cease to recognize its presence in everyday life. Similar to a reason I’ve heard people say they would never want to live by the mountains; they would be afraid the daily routine of seeing them would make us lose majesty.

Sarah walked in right before I started to write this entry this morning, looking beautiful (She made a rule that my beautiful thing for the day can’t be seeing her, sigh). I stopped, looked at her and said, “You’ve distracted me,” (in a good way of course"). But now I realize something, she didn’t distract me - she inspired me. And I hope she inspires you today today with the question: What’s something beautiful you saw today?

Cliff

-Sarah’s Note: Notice the beautiful things, big or small.

Journals and the Movies they Make

I started keeping a journal my junior year of high school, each of them since then all looking a little different, both in appearance and format, but all in all, I have completed nearly 15 fully bounded books to this point. The process has been somewhat inconsistent over the years, but there’s at least a few months of entries from each year of my life since I was 17.

The process of writing in journals is something that i’ve never reflected on much until the past couple of days. The (nearly) everyday ritual of taking the thoughts in one’s head that you may know or may not know exist and transferring those down to a piece of paper.

I’m sure everyone is different, but I’ve never actually done anything with those processed moments. The words sit on the pages, the pages sit in the journals, and the journals sit on shelves; I never actually go back and read any of the entries, and frankly, it’s a bit terrifying and possibly embarrassing to know what I’d find, especially inside the ones from high school.

It’s not until now that I’ve started reflected on journaling because up until this point in life, I’ve never needed to recall much from my past; however that’s changing. And the process is what I’d anticipated: terrifying and slightly embarrassing - both in what i’ve read from old entires and in how i’ve never gone back to read them. I think it points to a fear I’ve got that’s never been addressed.

I’ll let you place what that fear is and ask you, Do you have the same one?

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: Reading old thoughts is kind of like watching old home movies, except they’re movies of your mind that you yourself recorded and have let no one else see.

Words on Words on a Hometown

There’s something really, really difficult about writing about your hometown, especially when that hometown is a small town. The words just don’t want to come out.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m assuming here because it’s just personally hard to write about my own hometown, but there’s just something about the process that seems unfair.

Writing about my hometown makes me question a lot of things: Am I being too judgmental? Are old wounds amplifying the point i’m trying to communicate? Am I painting people and places in an unfair light in spite of my own pain?

It also brings up all that pain. Reliving it. Revisiting it, sometimes from a 30,000 foot view. Sometimes from a first-person view. Both of which bring their challenges.

It’s unfair to assume everyone had the same experience I had, both on good and bad spectrums, and it’s unfair to not leave facts as facts and let them speak for themselves.

Hometowns can be funny places to each of us individually as we all grow and see those towns change from what they were to what they are, just as we change. And it’s probably fair to be patient with the places we grew up in as they do change, just as they were patient with us when we did the same.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: Try not too be too critical (or too in love) with your hometown; it’s changing every day, just like us.

Boycotting Snow Shovels

Oklahoma is currently in the middle of its first snow storm in nearly a decade, with temperatures ranging from -6 - 3 degrees F from dawn to dusk. It’s cold, things are slow., and there is lots of light, white powder all over the ground, which has led me to a problem: I have no way to remove it.

One thing I’ve learned that Oklahoma lacks is a place that sells a good snow shovel. I suppose in a normal year, there just isn’t much use for it, but this year, it would’ve been helpful to be able to trek on down to Lowe’s and pick one up for this sort of occasion, but alas, i’m snow shovel-less in a snowed-in world.

“Good thing my neighbors are from Colorado.”

Or so I thought.

But I was wrong. Upon texting them to ask if I could borrow their snow shovel, assuming they had one, I was shocked to hear that they don’t have a snow shovel, much less ever intend on buying one again, and not just because they live in Oklahoma now.

Tom, my neighbor, says he has fully converted to using a piece of particleboard instead of any sort of shovel.

“I just get behind it like a snow plow and go to work. It’s way more efficient, plus it’s easier on my back,” he says.

I couldn’t believe it, and initially, I was a little peeved at my reliance on ‘neighbors from Colorado’ to come through during a snow storm; however, after I tried it, the particleboard that it, all pre-peevedness melted away.

Tom was right, and he’ll forever go down as a legend in my book for his substitution of a normally useless piece of wood for one of man’s most modern inventions, and honest engine, I don’t think i’ll ever by a snow shovel myself now. It’s particleboard or bust and a realization that sometimes you can best fix life’s problems with something that looks just like a scrap piece of lumber.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: Know your neighbors, trust their wisdom and boycott snow shovels.

Cosmos Control

It’s cold outside today in Oklahoma, frigid. The high is 3 degrees F, which happens to be a lower temperature than the state’s record low for the day.

We’re turning to our furnace, covering up all of our windows, burying ourselves in blankets and dressing in layers to keep us warm. Running to things we know and things we’ve heard of. We’re dripping our faucets, keeping our cabinet doors open, and we’re doing everything we can to make sure the pipes don’t burst.

But in the end, all we can do is take precautions. The result is out of our control. The pipes may burst, our heat source may run out, and we may wind up extremely cold. And all of that is kind of scary.

Trying to control what you can’t control. Hoping for things to be ‘okay’ and not break.

But that’s kind of life isn’t it? Hoping. Controlling what you can. And leaving the rest up to the cosmos.

That’s a hard truth to sit it, and that’s what kept me up most of the night, rather than the cool bedroom air, but it’s something that i’m trying to be more okay with - being out of control.

-Cliff

-Cliff’s Notes: Out of control is in control of stress.

The Grueling Pursuit of Passion

This morning, I was reflecting on one of the best feelings a person can have. The feeling when you’re doing what you know you’re supposed to be doing.

Growing up, I always loved seeing my friends get a long, especially when I happened to be the one to introduce those friends to one another. I always got a lot of joy watching a mate from one friend group enter into the circle of another friend group, only to have the two friend groups mesh together and create a massive, new friend group. I wouldn’t have called it this one I was 12, but it was a passion, and when you’re a teenager and you start to grow up, you begin to wonder how you can translate your passions into jobs and your jobs into careers, but my passion, obviously, was pretty unique.

What was I going to do with this weird passion I had of convening people and watching them form friendships out of those introductions? I certainly wasn’t going to pursue a career in match-making, but surely there had to be something out there ‘where my greatest joy met the world’s greatest need,’ as the great Frederick Buechner said. After all, I highly doubted the world needed another match-maker (although Bumble and Tender turned out to be pretty successful), but surely, the world needed something that fit what I loved to do.

And it did, and it still does. It just always looks a little different for each season of life, as the world changes and as I change. But really, there’s no feeling quite like the first time life hits the nail on the head for you and you get a phone call that says, “Yes, we’ve got a job that fits exactly what you’re describing.”

Whatever that may be for you as you pursue finding that passion and purpose, I pray that you sit in that, ‘Aha!’ feeling of finding that illusive happiness. And it may be a lifelong pursuit, but don’t stop. It’s worth every second.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: The pursuit of finding your passion is never a wasted journey, no matter its length.

On Purpose

I’ve always struggled with not feeling ‘called to ministry,’ in a traditional sense anyway. When I was 18, I would have bet $1 Million that I would be a youth pastor or a community pastor by now because I believe, and still do to this day, that my Creator spoke to me at a specific moment one summer’s night in 2010 and said, “You have a purpose.”

Ever since then, I’ve been in a constant tug-of-war with life about what that purpose is and what qualifies as following God’s ‘purpose’ and feeling this “called to ministry” language that Christians tie to said feeling.

This morning, however, I read a piece in a book called ‘Exodus’ about a man named Bezalel. This is another guy that God said, “You have a purpose,” too, but also in a very non-traditional sense. According to the book, this is what God told him:

“I have called you by name, and I have filled you with the Spirit of God with the ability of knowledge, intelligence and craftsmanship to devise artistic designs and the ability to make all that I have commanded of you.”

That’s somewhat paraphrased, but what I took away from that was that Diving ‘calling’ and ‘purpose’ are not uniformed to what culture dictates. ‘Calling’ and ‘purpose’ are dictated by God to us, and sometimes we don’t even know what they mean, much less the culture around us; it’s that tug-of-war game of listening, following and being where you’re at with where you feel your own purpose, and I feel like we usually have a pretty good internal compass of when we’re in and out of that calling.

There’s a lot of comfort in knowing life’s calling for each of us all look different, but that those callings are never ‘less than’ another persons, even when they may look more divine or higher than our own. There is purpose in putting pen to paper, calling in creating calendar invites and divinity in driving to another meeting and that’s what I’m choosing to believe in today.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: God is in the gut.

Building A Kitchen Table

In my wife, Sarah, and I’s kitchen, we have a table that can sit six people comfortably and seven people if we really want to squeeze in tight. We haven’t tried it yet, but that’s how many physical seats we have ready to have warm bodies sitting in them.

It’s with these seats that we want to host people. We want to have people over for dinner to sit in them, to have people over to play games to sit in them, or just to have people over to sit in them to talk when they need to have someone to listen. Bottom-line, we don’t have seven seats just to have seven cold seats in our home; we have seven seats for seven people to warm them up and feel welcome.

But that’s the question - when people come into our home, are we creating space for them to feel welcome? Literally, we know there are seats at the table for everyone, but are we creating a home and a space where there’s actually room for everyone at the table? Where no one is excluded for their looks, thoughts or lives.

A table is more than the seats around it and more than the physical materials it was built with. A table is also built with respect, with openness and with a readiness to listen to all of those who happen to sit around it.

I’ve got the seats and the structure in tact, now it’s time to work on building the intangibles.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: A table was not meant to have cold seats, but a warm welcoming that you can feel as soon as one walks through the door.