a retrospective: After the Chair

I've been thinking more on Andy and particularization.   In yesterday's post, I talked about how Andy was very gifted at making me feel "particularized," in other words, like a unique individual in his little world.  And I got to thinking, that's a very "Jesus-ish" character trait or ability.  

So, here's the thing:  maybe particularization isn't always positive.  The gift isn't in particularization, but rather, in affirmative particularization.

...

I have a confession to make:  I'm pretty thin skinned.  And some would argue that I'm pretty pale, too.   Since we're talking dermis.    

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I graduated from college with a double major in Philosophy (emphasis was in history) and in Theology (sort of an add-on my senior year).   The year was 1999, the economy was robust and gas was right around $1 per gallon.  Diploma in hand and armed with a stout reformed protestant world-view I was ready to conquer and redeem.  I didn't know what, but I was going to conquer and redeem---something.  Well, despite the booming market, Wal*Mart was good to go for philosophers and theologians, and having very few remaining marketable skills, I was abandoned to the factory workforce.  Strangely the HR person didn't even need to verify my educational pedigree.  I had my diploma in my folder and everything.  Well, actually not the diploma itself, but I did have a nice black bi-fold holder all ready to go with the college's crest, or seal, or whatever it's called.

So I made "fractional horsepower electric motors" for 6 hot Iowa weeks.  And then I stopped.  My metabolism was making steps in minimizing my carbon footprint, and I saved money by eating (...nothing...) and drinking lots of kool-aid until I could find something (anything) else to sustain myself with.  I answered a job for a cabinet builder, no experience required.  Sounded good.  So me and my diploma folder got us a job sanding stuff, and then spraying a noxious film over it to preserve for infinity.  

I suppose by now, you're wondering what in the world my immediate job history has to do with affirmative particularization.  And I just want you to know that I haven't lost sight of that.  So bear with me.  It's been over 12 years since I worked in that shop.  5 years ago I had a dream that I met the owner at some kind of trade-show, and I just went off on him.  Seriously.  This guy made me feel like a worm.  And I don't think he'd be able to sleep at night if he understood how often he did that to people.  Because he's the sweetest, gentlest guy (his friends all tell me). 

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Particularization happens.  Sounds like a good bumpersticker.   Because of the great darkness that sin has deformed our hearts into, when I ignore somebody, when I make flippant remarks, when I don't look them in the eye at the counter-whatever-that is the mark I leave on them.  Or they leave on me.  

Now, in all fairness to the human capacity for relationships-we cannot dote on every person we meet.  I certainly know that.  I can barely tolerate and maintain the few relationships I have.  And it's God's grace that I have those to begin with.  Some of us get a huge kick out of meeting people and going to parties and crazy huge clubs.  Not me.  I love sitting at home, drinking beer with a couple friends on the porch.  BUT, I also know that living sacrificially will hurt a little bit for a little while.  So I try to push myself to have and show compassion for people as I bump into them.  I didn't say I liked it.  I haven't said I do it well.  But I'm young yet.  And I've got room for growth.

I guess Andy is a great way for me to be reminded of Jesus' virtue of affirmative particularization.  Somehow, Jesus manages to show love for people while teaching them, rebuking them, trying like crazy to get away from them so that he can get some time to himself...while living with 12 red-necked, social-reject tradesmen, con-men, and their older and younger brothers, who smell like fish on a perpetual camping trip that lasted 3 years.  Crazy.  

Well, wish me luck.  At least I don't smell like fish.  Today.    

45 minutes in the Chair

Just a quick note on a characteristic of God I noticed today. So this past year I've started going to a "stylist" rather than a barber. Now, in all fairness, in the past 15 years, I've probably gotten 20 haircuts. If you do the math, I'm not a well-groomed fellow. But, maturity and sloth don't look good on the same guy, at the same time, so...

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My wife met Andy before I did. I don't remember where she got the recommendation but she liked him right away. In fact I don't remember her ever going to another stylist. Well, I met him...seems like 3 years ago? My wife and I were going to see sweet, sweet Baby James. She'd told a coworker, Michelle, who is a huge music buff. And she'd also happened to be bragging about whilst under the shear, and Andy indicated an interest in taking his wife to just such an event. So. There we are: a nice party of 5. Two dudes, three chicks, and sweet Baby James.

...

On the date of the show, I was long-locked and resplendent in my split ends. Of course Andy was totally wanting to get into it. We hit if off, and James Taylor performed fantastically. As always. Can the man have a bad night? I don't think so.

...

So Andy has gotten into it with my lockage several times now, and I always come away looking pretty prim and proper---in a sharp metro way, you know? No confusion, just a sharp dressed man, strutting his stuff down a quiet Midwestern street. Today, as I rolled out of there, ready to take a shot at being America's Next top...I sort of caught myself feeling loved.

Now, don't take liberties---what I mean is that I felt like Andy had been looking forward to seeing me, and talking to me, and actually liked cutting my hair, and trimming my eyebrow (he always asks really quietly if he can trim it-in case I freak out or something?) for me. (When he asks me it's always kinda "Heya, you know, I know you're a dude and everything, and dude's don't really worry about stuff like that, but, hey-you know, since you're just sitting here, and I happen to have some clippers and stuff, you know, why don't we both just grin and bear it, and get 'er done, eh?")

...

The feeling I think is best known as being "particularized." I learned that word this year in a small group study. In that context, we talked about how powerful being "particularized" by somebody is. How Jesus "particularized" those he interacted with. He talked directly to them, going into the specific instance of their lives. He didn't lift them up as examples or types. If he was healing somebody, he healed them, as specific individuals, and blessed them uniquely. He made each individual he dealt with feel as though they were known.

I think Andy has an exceptional gift for that. Every time I go in there and sit down in his chair he talks to me like he's been waiting all day for me to get there. That's something to think about. That makes me want to spend time with him. That makes me feel known. And in spite of being known, being cared for. There's something very "Jesus-ish" about that ability that I wish I had a better grasp on. That's a trait I think Jesus must have been well known for. And it's something I think I'd like to be known for.

a morning at the airport

I have two programs to choose from in the morning: Sunday (program A) and Not-Sunday (program B). When I wake up I calibrate, look around and ask myself: Is it Sunday today? If it is then I insert program A and off we go. If not, it's program B, and, well, off we go.

That works good for me.

Today was program B. Great. One of the things I got to do today was go to the airport and pick up my mom-in-law and her sister. They were returning from a well-deserved trip in Florida where their brother lives.

I was pleased to have something to do, and somewhere to "go." That's how Mongo sees things. "Go" is good. So that was the carrot for him this morning-we were going to "go." Doesn't matter where. Just not here.

Unfortunately I laid the bait too early. So we went and ran all the errands that I had planned (mind you, using the trip to airport and seeing grandma as the bait for good behaviour), and we still had and hour and change to go. And my wife calls me to let me know that the flight is now delayed by 15 minutes (lie, lie, lie) or so.

The errands: go to cheap tool store to peruse the racks and racks of cheap tools. Cheap tool of interest is totally sold out, so says the cheap-tool salesman who has a dubitable amount of interest in actually selling me anything. We very slowly walk through the store while I drag bait around behind me on a string in order to prevent my very curious boys from looking with their hands at every item in the store. What is this bait? A trip to the store next door before we go to the airport. The store? next door? you ask?


You got it. Who can resist? What a dumb idea that was. The place was packed. with. crap. And the boys were totally mesmerized. They thought every thing in there was totally it. And I don't know that I blame them. I mean, all the colors of the rainbow, formed into various shapes of cool stuff, all made from plastics of varying kinds and qualities. So who can blame them? But can I just say this? Sign says "Dollar" singular. I recognize that it doesn't explicitly say one dollar, but it's sort of implied. More lies. lies. lies.

So we settle on one item each and head to the currently vacated checkout register. Now, my boys are young, and curious, and a little over-friendly. The woman who comes to occupy the checkout register looks like, well, like life has been a lot of work for her. I'm ok with that. And the fact that she smells like she has a cigarette under the counter doesn't bother me much. But then my oldest asks her ever so sweetly (*from the mouths of babes, right?) "Why do yer talk like that?" (I'm pretty sure she had ill-fitted false teeth)

(head in hands...shaking my head and handing over my debit card) Silently saying, why? Boy, hush--

She looks surprised. She doesn't look at me. Just him. And then she says "ooooooooookay." Well, needless to say we got out of there in a hurry. That was the first time that had happened to me. I knew it was coming, just didn't know how, when, or where. I tried to explain to Tigger that asking people questions like that was a risky proposition, and that he probably had hurt her feelings. I remember making a similar mistake once. Difference being I was 19 and he's just 4. So...I didn't think anyone seriously talked like that, and I imagine he was just as curious as I was. But anyways...

Lesson? Oh yeah, just didn't really know how to explain it to a 4 year old. But I took a shot at it. I just explained that people from different parts of the world talk differently, and that when you meet those people you should never make them feel self-conscious, or make them feel different than you because of the way they talk. Then I put on a couple different accents and explained that sometimes different ways of talking are learned, and sometimes they're created by accidents and can't be helped. Anyways, he looked at me very seriously and indicated his remorse at making fun of the woman in the store. I considered asking him to go inside to apologize, but I thought that would just further embarrass everybody. I think that was the right thing to do.

Well, the plane is still in the air, and I'm out of stuff. I'd expected the cheap-tool store to provide hours more entertainment. About 1 hour 15 minutes more. Anyways...driving back towards the airport, and Tigger is talking about a hundred miles an hour about something. I thought about parking the suburban somewhere and just watching airplanes come down, but I'm kinda a scairdy-cat, and there were orange trucks and workers near the pull-out. So I just kept going for fear of being pummeled in front of my little boys by really big dudes in reflective vests.

Having ditched that idea, I started thinking about how much cash I had in my wallet. McDonalds wasn't serving french fries yet, as I'd discovered already in previous attempts to fill time and tummies. Then it came to me: HAIR CUT! Doubled as mult-purpose time filler! Grandma would feel more special because the boys looked especially cute, mom would be happy cause I'm takin' care of buisness, and the boys would probably enjoy it, at least while the other kid is under the razor. Sounds good.

I was right, and they were both exceptionally well behaved given the circumstances. I'm a sucker for sundries, so I bought 3 individual little packets of colored hair gel thinking sometime we'd surprised grandma or mama with bright red spiky hair.

Anyways, that done, I was flat out. I had no more ideas, and was pretty reluctant to spend anymore money. So I just did it. We went to airport and parked the car. Walking inside, I was extremely pleased to see that Casey's General Stores had sprung for a picnic table and some rinky dink plastic track thing. The boys managed to occupy themselves with that thing for the better part of an hour. It was amazing. It would have been a scorned object had it been at my house but I guess it turned into a little miracle for me.

The plane that grandma was on was listed as on time on the monitor. For close to 45 minutes it was listed as on-time. 35 of those minutes it was lieing. Eventually grandma came down the escalator, and was greeted with a lei from (...) Dollar General. She was immensely pleased and sat right down on the ground with those two monkeys clamoring all over the place.

I stood back several feet, as any good chauffeur would do. As I watched, grandma laid her suitcase to one side and started to open it. And she showed us all something that I think I will remember for quite sometime. Her nightgown? No. A small handgun that she snuck through security just to see if it could be done? Nope, not that either.

She pulled out a heavy apron, adorned with an almost psychotic montage of coffee and espresso related phrases and paraphernalia. And she had stuff for the boys. But, well, to be honest I don't remember what she brought them. Maybe she didn't. But I'm pretty sure she did. But that wasn't what she showed us. What she showed us was how excited she was to share her gifts with us-the people she loved. I mean, most of us get home, take a nap or get a snack. Then we break out the cheezy t-shirts.

I was totally blown away by the apron. She was offering me an endorsement that was so much more than an apron. And she couldn't wait to get home and give it to me. And whatever it was she gave the boys, she couldn't wait to give it to them. This 50 something year old, parkinson's disease having woman sat down in the middle of the walkway of a quiet airport, and as people walked around her and her little party, she started opening her baggage up and showing us all the neat stuff.

What she showed me, and the thing that I will continue to remind her grandchildren about, was the genuine spirit of giving. Thoughtful, eager, individual, and delivered with a hug.