Please Repay at the Pump

The sound of the alarm was like a gun shot in the still of a cold, winter night.  I’m sure I had only been asleep for 5 minutes.  Opening my eyes felt seemed like the most difficult thing I had done in years.  The previous day involved coaching a dozen youth wrestlers for an equivalent number of hours.  To add to the day, we had made sure to stop and visit some great friends we had not seen in over a year after the tournament.  These gracious hosts allowed us to bed down for the night.  My company the night before was less than I had imagined I would be able to provide but I was exhausted.  That condition seemed to remain the same regardless of how long I had been comatose.  The morning was very slow and had a rather somber tone to it.  We had a wonderful breakfast and shared a few more stories of the distant past and several from the more recent past.  The goodbye hugs were a blur and the realization of the next several hours’ drive home was beginning to set in.  How exactly does one affix toothpicks to maintain their prolonged opening of the eyes?  Trust me.  I was evaluating the idea.

As the mental fog began to clear, gloomy clouds were forming all around at a greater rate.  Grey, cloudy days seem to suck the life out of my soul more so than ever before.  Growing up in Alaska, I was previously immune to their effect.  Lately, it seemed that I had become more susceptible to their power.  As a family we began to corroborate the previous night’s arrival to our friends’ home and how we were supposed to exit their subdivision.  It seemed that none of us remembered how we got there.  A scary thought - operating a motor vehicle without the driver occupying the body – great party trick!!  Slowly we were able to reorient ourselves and begin to recognize landmarks and addresses.  This was fantastic progress.  The thought that all future, immediate decisions would be limited to operating a turn signal in the correct direction or the proper placement and force being applied by the right thumb to initiate the autopilot/cruise control button made me smile.  I made the unfortunate discovery soon after this thought that there was a “Low Fuel” light haunting me amidst the myriad of idiot lights on my dashboard.  This could only mean one thing – the requirement that another decision must be made.  Either I steer in the direction of the guardrail at the next bridge and punch it or I must seek out a rural fueling station and accept the responsibility of numerous other decisions.  I chose the latter only because it offered the upside of coffee, a guilty pleasure of mine that rules over me like an 18^th century Russian Czar.

The next decision came with the realization that we had exactly 12.3 miles before we were calling my friend in embarrassment from running out of gas.  The miracle of the cell phone and a humbled spirit allowed me the strength to call my friend and casually ask about our more local fueling options.  Fortunately, there was a trusty Valero station nearby which we found with relative ease.  The clouds continued to haunt me as they seemed to be closer than ever before, making me physically uncomfortable. 

We entered the station and secured the final pump slot.  A mild feeling of domination and pride overtook me as if to state as Pee Wee Herman once stated after a freak bike wreck “I meant to do that!”  Okay.  You can do this!!  Insert alternative debit payment device into slot, magnetic stripe facing the left, select cheapest, most damaging fuel grade available, pump like the wind and DO NOT make eye contact with local patrons.  Sounds simple and defined, right?

As I was staring down at the worn asphalt, I noticed an older model Ford Taurus station wagon pumping on the other side of me.  I said a silent prayer for the owner since my sister once possessed one of those vehicles.  I could see a dull shadow of a person approaching me in my peripheral vision.  The shadowy figure had not yet acknowledged and conceded my pump sovereignty.  I began to panic.  Country yokel-speak was never a gift I possessed, what with my northern twang and overuse of the words “honkin’,” “pop” [for soda] and “you guys.”  The shadow retreated and a calm hush came over me.  I effectively dodged personal contact.  Pee Wee Herman crept into my memory again as I was now 2-0 in the past ten minutes.  Maybe I could go to State this year for successful rural resident encounter dodging accuracy!  As I was ranking my recent success against other past accomplishments, a shadow returned and so did the corresponding anxiety.  I forced myself to look up and noticed an elderly lady who appeared to be assessing the quality of her front tires.  The hook and bait had been cast into the social waters for nearby trolling and I felt my gravitation toward the floating nugget. 

Shoulder Angel:  “Come on Dude!!  This is someone’s grandmother!!” 

Shoulder Devil:  “You’re going to regret ever striking up a conversation – I guarantee it!”

The gas pumped stopped and so did my reluctance to reach out to someone.  “Everything okay?” I uttered with minimal confidence but just loud enough for her to hear something.  “What?”  She replied.  I said “Is everything okay with your tires?”  She paused and responded “I don’t know.”  She paused and looked mildly confused why I was asking. 

I finished with my pump transaction and a feeling of purpose came over me.  Something wasn’t right and I was being summoned on some level to engage.  I looked at both her front tires and noticed an ever so slight difference in her right front tire.  I suggested that she drive 50 yards over to the air pump that used to be free before the ‘90’s and I’d check them for her.  Now it was her turn to assume a reluctant pose.  She said that she’d be fine.  I went into insistent grandson mode and assertively instructed her to swing over to the pump and we’ll get her all taken care of.   I awoke my oldest son and ordered him to run into the store to get change for a dollar so I could pump some free air for my new country acquaintance.

She drove up cautiously to the pump and slowly exited her vehicle.  She introduced herself at the exact moment that I was noticing that one of her two valve stems caps were missing.  This allowed me the opportunity to completely miss her name.  I acted as if I heard her and introduced myself as well.  Let’s call her Edna.  Edna began to inform me that she was getting ready to drive to Breckenridge and that she had family issues there.  After realizing Edna wasn’t driving all the way to Colorado and that Breckenridge is obviously someplace in the distance but still well within the Texas borders, I remarked generically “Wow!  Well then we better make sure these tires are ready for that journey.” 

There was an awkward silence for a few moments as I was negotiating the coiled mass of weathered air hose. Edna told me that she was going to see her brother who was in poor health.  She continued on to let me know that he had had some previous health issues a few months back but that his condition had changed rather suddenly overnight.  She paused and then stated frankly that her son had died almost a year ago to the day. 

I stopped pumping the air.  I stood up, walked toward her and, without hesitation, embraced this stranger.  She was surprised at first but I felt her shoulders relax shortly after I began to hold her.  When I separated from her, we both had tears in our eyes.  She seemed surprised that I did and I was surprised she wasn’t weeping uncontrollably.  “It’s hard isn’t it?”  I said softly.  Even with the surrounding noise of the pump she heard me.  Edna responded “Yes.  Yes it is.”  I took a moment to let her hear her own words.  I waited for her to accept that what she was going through wasn’t something she should just endure and fight through.  I asked her if she was overwhelmed by having to go through the thought of another close personal loss.  She revealed to me that her brother stepped in after the loss of her son and took care of many of the tasks her son had previously managed on her behalf.  The thought of her impending loneliness and grief was starting to overwhelm me.  All I could do was open my mouth and let the words from Jesus take over.  I let her know that no matter what happens; she is loved and will be taken care of.   I asked Edna if she was a Christian.  She said yes and that she was missing church as we spoke!  I confessed the same guilt to her.  I reassured her that Jesus is hard at work that very moment and that he will protect her as she traveled to her brother’s side.  That was the extent of what I knew and I think that may have been all she needed to hear at that moment.  We both became rather quiet and I finished the task at hand.  I smiled as she left the parking lot, feeling as if I had fallen back into the fog again. 

The tasks we are asked to perform on behalf of the Father are not always large feats of grandeur.  Many times they are smaller touches, comments and actions that no one needs to know about.  I was reluctant about sharing this story with others on a broader scale for fear that it may be conveyed as spiritual boasting.  Something happened this week that told me to share this story with others and to quit worrying about what others think.  Had I worried about what others thought, I never would have engaged Edna and her questionable tires. 

I guess my lesson here was that my fear of engagement was related to my willingness to serve God and others.  After a story like this, my fear of gas station encounters with folks asking me to give them cash for gas that doesn’t make it to their tanks or folks selling stereo equipment for next to nothing because I’m one pump away are less of a concern.  Look into their eyes and see what that person reveals.  The encounters we have with other souls do not occur because of fate or chance.  Many times they are opportunities to serve or may be tests of our willingness to serve. 

As I passed by my pump to get back into our van, I saw the screen “Would you like a receipt? Y/N”  I received an indelible receipt of grace that day.  I pressed “No.” 

As I looked up, I could see that most of the clouds had cleared.  It wouldn’t have mattered if they were still there or not.  The light I felt inside more than made up for my surroundings!!

Pump wisely my friends.

-- The Guy with the Distracted Mind

How do you take the word 'account' out of accountable?

I am, by trade, a sick person.  I have deliberately chosen the field of accounting to be my career.  Many people vomit at this point in my self-disclosure.  While that is an understandable reaction and a terrible method for losing weight in the long-run, I am going to embark on a journey that will strive to change your opinion of this remarkable and noble profession.  When I'm done with you, you'll be lusting over debits and fantasizing about getaway weekends with a credit you'd never thought you'd find yourself with, doing math you've never felt comfortable letting yourself perform.  You may even wind up needing a 12-step program for compulsive actuaries, but that will mean that you went too far and will require professional help to resolve the absence of your career inhibitions.  Sort of like Charlie Sheen.

I fell upon the magic of accounting early in life.  It progressed the way most obsessions do.  A casual recordkeeping class led to an introductory course to bookkeeping which almost always leads to introductions to beginning accounting.  My dirty little secret was driven underground for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was due to the potential of getting the living crap beat out of me.  Not that I hadn't prepared my entire life for that result as I clock in at a towering 5”5 ½”.  Oh crap!!  (Voice in Head: “You’re supposed to lie on the Internet about all things physical.”)  Please strike that last comment from the record…… Not that I hadn't prepared my entire life for that result, given my addictively handsome persona and intoxicating way with colored, italicized fonts that make others wonder about the source of  my obsession without drawing attention to my inner flaws. 

You see, I had started down a path seeking out some supply of balance among all the elements in my life.  The really “killer” thing about accounting is this core aspect of balance.  Couple that with a requirement of object identification and you have a disaster waiting to happen for anyone remotely riding the OCD bus.  Things need to have order.  They must have a name.  They must have a home.  They must have a “balanced” diet.  And they shall seek out an Asset ID and assume a category for their useful life.  Useful life – what a killer moniker!!  Maybe that was what I was seeking – a unique Asset ID.  Sure the Social Security Department probably checked off about 4 or 5 boxes towards fulfilling the Armageddon prophecy with that useful little, life-destroying tag.  It does, however, give us a unique identifier – much like our finger prints, our handwriting or our preference in cell phone models.

Let’s see.  We have balance, a unique purpose (must…..extract……third………element…to…..complete…  …triangulation…formula…) and, um, one more thing, like, er, OH YEAH - accountability.  What is accountability?  To me accountability refers to the notion of ownership.  Politicians ironically throw the “A” word around like it was a whiffle ball.  I choose the innocent whiffle ball because in the likely event it catches the wind and blows back to hit them in the head, it won’t hurt.  Our schools and our sports don’t seem to exhibit as much accountability as I believe they once required.  I’d throw in the easy answer of blaming lawyers, but a lawyer has to be put on retainer to be able to “lawyer” on someone’s behalf.  I think what drew me to the final corner of this career triangle, accountability, was being able to identify a source or an origin of some other action. 

Sadly what I like to do in the accounting world is to take a pile of unorganized data/paper and form them into some sort of order.  They then are classified into their respective “homes” and then tracked and monitored against some benchmark of progress or against some other goal.  If they exceed their goal, they are labeled as “favorable” (such an endearing term).  If they fall short of their benchmark, they are shredded immediately before the SEC arrives unannounced and the one way tickets to Bolivia are removed from the safe in the back of the office and presented at the ticket counter along with the corresponding bogus passports.  Actually, they are labeled as you might have guessed – “unfavorable”.  Oh dear, I labeled my work as less than acceptable!!  What if its self-esteem is harmed?!  What if it starts to believe that it is not worthy enough to compete with the other work piles and hangs its head in shame and begins to wear all black and listen to copious amounts of Marilyn Manson music.  What then?  Should I finish the basement and allow it to live there until it feels like returning to the work pile to allow itself to be evaluated again?  No my friends.  The Triangle kicks in.  The balance or imbalance of the contributing factors is evaluated.  The uniqueness of the problem is evaluated – “Is this just a phase?”  The analysis of other elements comes in to play to discover the root cause for the need to wear its hair over one of its eyes.  The components of work pile are further dissected until smaller elements are isolated and the problem can become much clearer when contributing factors are removed.  This is where accountability rolls up its sleeves and begins to point fingers, identifying the sources and amount of “unfavorableness” (not a word until now) in specific areas against a set of goals or a benchmark. 

Not sure if any of this has any spiritual correlation with you, but it does with me.  Our walk is all about the ebb and flow of our faith.  For long periods of time, we may feel that we are on the right path:  Doing God’s work as we hear Him; responding to those around us whom we hear; responding to the Word as we read; and, drawing Christ close to us.  All of these actions draw attack, distraction and obstacles.  Oftentimes, the effort it takes to hear, read and draw causes us to tire or weaken to a level of “unfavorableness.”  It is at this point when a different triangle kicks in – our Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.  When an imbalance forms with our unique relationship with God, an intervention by Christ is necessitated.  Christ will reveal the sources to us and the Holy Spirit will direct us to particular elements of our behavior, conduct, thoughts or actions that are core sources for the imbalance.  I can tell you firsthand that this spiritual audit is never a fun part of the journey.  Sometimes it’s so much easier to remain in the basement than face the perceived punishing light above.  But nothing good grows in the cold darkness, only molds and bacteria which are frequent causes of disease.  The difficulty is in taking the first step out of the basement.  The creaky steps of the stairs announce your ascension.  All you want to do is to resume your former “favorableness” without drawing attention to the fact that you’re living in a place where no one wants to visit.  With each step the temperature feels warmer.  The air seems lighter and less suffocating.  The door handle arrives sooner than you imagined but you still have to go through action of turning of the handle.  Will it squeak?  Will those on the other side be waiting with arms crossed and feet tapping wondering what happened to you?  With every ounce of strength you have you turn the handle, fighting the urge to retreat and hide forever.  Something overcomes your fear and suddenly your arm relaxes.  You realize that the door knob is turning with relative ease.  As the door opens you discover a surprise party!!  The crazy thing is that the party is for you!!  Of course the whole (Holy) Triangle is there, but so are a bazillion other believers, many of which had once adorned a black “Metallica” shirt for a period of time and some have worn one on many occasions. 

As creatures of a mighty Creator, we all must understand that our position on the “favorableness” continuum rarely stays in one point for a long period of time. God’s immeasurable grace is something we must never take advantage of but also one which we must never forget.  Mistakes happen, bad choices are made and people are hurt, often unintentionally.  All of these factors affect our “favorableness” but none of them define who we are in eternity.  We should seek out balance in our placement in this world and remember who brought us here.  We must exist in a shattered world and infiltrate our surroundings on His behalf.  We need to remember our uniqueness in our role in God’s plan and be prepared to accept His changes.  And finally, our acceptance of accountability is pivotal in maintaining both balance and uniqueness. 

You may not be ready to sign up for an Intermediate Accounting or Accounting Theory class at this point, but embracing accountability is a life lesson you’ll never regret. 

May your debits always equal your credits.

-- The Guy with the Distracted Mind

Winning the Time Lottery

Warning:  The following comments do not necessarily represent the views or opinions of the author, some republicans, most aliens, a few plumbers and a handful of doctors of chiropractic.

What's the single, most precious commodity in our lives today?  Some will tell you minerals, air, water and a few other non-essential things created billions of years ago.  But what about the aspect of time?  I've been promising myself to take up writing at some level for the past 17 years and never seemed to have enough time.  That is until last weekend when several of my friends pinned me up against a wall, held a knife to my throat, a gun to my head and a pair of nail clippers to my finely manicured nails, giving me no option but to begin writing inside the safety of something known as the Internet.  I capitalize it only because it was rumored to be a Noun and it somehow assumes the role as a proper name.  Still mulling over that one......

I used to look at time in a fantasy perspective "someday when I have time I'll get my broken watch fixed" or "someday I'd like to organize all the time I've wasted in my life into 13 categories" (mindless lists lose their meaning after 15 so I throttled back a couple).  What many of us do, subconsciously I believe, is place the idea in our heads that time will evolve into some sort of investment, generating a Bernie Madoff like return on investment.  However, many times after some sort of major life event, we come to realize that "that ain't ever happenin', Yo!!" 

Buying time, making time with your best girl, time out, time is not on our side, time after time, love you long time, time for a change, time to take out the trash, time travel, time value of money, Timex, Swiss time, Central Standard time.  This time stuff permeates our lives at every level and we continue to take it for granted.  Is it any wonder that the addiction to multi-tasking is so prevalent in our culture, aided, in large degree, by technology?  Face it folks, if you’re alive today and you don’t have ADHD/ADD, you’re hosed!!  How is it even possible to begin, let alone continue, any conversation that has any consequence if indeed there is any consequence?  (Paraphrased from the late Bobbie Knight)  Looking at the sheer number of demands we all have upon us this very moment in time should cause your adrenal glands to shudder, or at least sigh.  Where in the world am I going with this?  Quit asking so many questions, it’s starting to annoy me.

Pull up a cactus and have a seat my friend.  I’d like to share something with you.  God gave me a ton of free time last Friday at about 1:47pm or somewhere around there.  (The following is a cleverly created description reissued only twice before this so act like it’s off the cuff and wickedly cute)  I got voted off the island where I work.  Typical scenario that always seems to get ratings:  vote off the guy with the best looking pecs and killer gluts because of his perceived genius and ability to create a loin cloth out of pretty much anything organic.  Is it fair?  No.  Not everyone can sew like me and allow enough flexibility in the materials used to allow for afternoon squats of tree trunks without embarrassing tear marks in the hemp – but that’s the talent I was born with.  Don’t hate me for it. 

Segwaying back to the motif of time for a moment, I’d like to explain what I mean by the onslaught of time reference earlier.  I’m a list maker by trade and by nature.  If there’s a project that I’m involved with, nothing makes me happier than scratching through an accomplished task lying unknowingly on my list.  As I approach it casually with my writing device I typically trick it with a once by “non-strike” and quickly reverse back and drive the lead straight through its mid-section, allowing me pure pride of knowing it will never live again.  That’s a highlight of my day, sadly.  But what keeps me going is the list revision and execution of that task removal.  As a confirmed, recovering 12-step planner, I have rarely, if ever, completed my long drawn out lists.   Why?  You guessed it – my deep-seated fear of pre-packaged salad!!  Don’t look at me like that!!  You have no idea how that stuff haunts me!!  Some may have responded that maybe I didn’t have enough time to complete my lists, but doesn’t that seem a little too obvious? 

Monday morning was a first for me.  No work to go to, no scheduled conference calls and numerous personal “To Do” lists lying all over my desk at home.  One would think that I would be in Heaven since I now had time to attack my lists with the fervor of the Tasmanian Devil, sans the slobber.  Quite honestly, shock was a more accurate description of how I felt.  Not from the involuntary separation which, by the way, sounds like a medical term: “Umm, Mrs. Murray?  Yes please sit down.  It seems that your husband was involved in  what is frequently referred to as an ‘involuntary separation’.  It happens quite often with middle-aged males.  We may need to operate and remove some of his resume’.  He will look different as a result.  Some parts may be more bulging while others may disappear altogether.  It’s really difficult to say at this moment.  Perhaps you’d like to meet his surgeon, Dr. Headhunter, prior to the interviewing?  Your husband will be in good hands I assure you Mrs. Murray.  The surgeon will be assisted by Nurse Careerbuilder and our Intern Dr. Cheapsuit.  All we can do after the procedure is leave it in the hands of the marketplace.  We’ll post his search results here shortly.  Umm, again, thank you for your support and for creating an account with us.  By the way, the forthcoming spam that will be sent to you is at no additional charge.” All of a sudden I was given time.  More time than ever before.  I was in shock because I had to consider what I would do now that I had time to go after my list and attack all of it instead of the usual 3-4 items in my crosshairs. 

To be completely honest, I was plucked from a scenario that was oftentimes stressful and frequently troubling.  While the love for the people I was fortunate to work with fed my desire to stay, the elevated negative effect on every other element of my life had been showing for quite some time.  I now had time to be still.  This can and usually is very frightening.  But the necessity of stillness in our lives is an element we can’t do without.  Ask any of the stockbrokers who find themselves only minutes away from death’s door due to the intense nature of their chosen profession.  Without stillness, there is only action and noise.  Stillness is where we hear God.  It’s extremely easy to mouth at God that you can’t hear him while you’re embedded in a marriage of “To Do” lists.  I now have an opportunity to create a different list to focus my time on.  Shamefully, few if any of my lists contained the desire to know God more intimately.  I now know the Earth is too small to hide from God.  He can and will pursue us to know us on a deeper level and we should thank Him every day as does so. 

Not sure if anyone got my point.  Perhaps it’s not that important.  One the one hand I guess I just wanted to pull back the gray matter a little for those of you who care to see what a brain that shoots out random thoughts like a machine gun looks like.  On the other hand, I was challenged by some very dear friends and family to take a stab at spewing my perspectives on life and I made a promise.  I made a promise to take a stab at the Blog approach of sharing.  Promises are sacred.  Like a promise to put God in all of my lists now but with the utmost importance not down below with the weekend chores.  No, He deserves the reddest of all red flag importance.

One final thought before you all wish you had never started reading this.  The “time” I am referencing above is all finite time.  We have a duty to love every face that crosses our path, literal or otherwise, while on this earth.  But when we do, we will know that God will give us just enough finite time to do the tasks on His List and more eternal time than we’ll ever need when we’re “plucked” out of this job called life.

-- The Guy with the Distracted Mind