Start Where You Stand

I felt like a failure. The morning had not gone well. With three little children, ages 5 and under, getting out the door to church had been another uphill battle. We were on Home Leave Assignment to deliver our baby, and her shocking early arrival with life-threatening B strep had these two young parents rattled. Why, we had recently placed a full bag of clothes and a port-a-crib on top of the car we were loading, driven off with the items on top, and never heard from them again! We were a mess. So, sitting in the cushioned pew with the spring sunshine streaming through the window, I felt drained and defeated. What was to become of us? At that moment, no one could have convinced me that a lifetime of encouragement was just waiting in the wings.

Thirty five years hence, I celebrate the teaching of that one Sunday morning. Our beloved pastor Dr. Wilson Benton must have taught a passel of principles, but this weak, depleted young mother of 3 heard only one - one principle for life and godliness: Start Where You Stand.

Start Where You Stand is a poem by Berton Braley. I know little about the poet, and the content itself is not committed to memory. 

What I do remember and found transforming, is the simple, but profound, life-giving title:

Start Where You Stand

Start Where You Stand has become a life principle for me, for our marriage, and for our leadership. 

Start Where You Stand keeps one from sitting in self-pity, and protects from the quack mire of self-focus. Let it go and lean forward.

Start Where You Stand is a practical answer to swirling questions:

          How do I rebound from this foolish decision? Start Where You Stand

          How do I recover from this mistake? Start Where You Stand

          How do I release this failure and move on? Start Where You Stand

Deanna Favre, breast cancer survivor and wife of legendary NFL quarterback Brett Favre, says,“Don’t live life looking in the rearview mirror.” - an earthy way of saying, Start Where You Stand.

The Apostle Paul, long before Braley and long before Favre, said this, too, in Philippians 3:13b: “Forgetting what lies behind and straining toward what is ahead.” 

My personal challenges of being a young mother are long gone, just like the valued items on top of the car. But the challenges of life are not gone. Still, I benefit from the powerful, practical teaching delivered in the words: Start Where You Stand. I share the poem; I share the principle; I share my personal growth from this simple concept that has takes root, and for 35 years, has born life-giving fruit. 

Start Where You Stand
By Berton Braley
1882-1966

Start where you stand and never mind the past,
The past won't help you in beginning new,
If you have left it all behind at last
Why, that's enough, you're done with it, you're through;
This is another chapter in the book,
This is another race that you have planned,
Don't give the vanished days a backward look,
Start where you stand.

The world won't care about your old defeats,
If you can start anew and win success,
The future is your time, and time is fleet
And there is much of work and strain and stress;
Forget the buried woes and dead despairs,
Here is a brand new trial right at hand,
The future is for him who does and dares,
Start where you stand.

Old failures will not halt, old triumphs aid,
To-day's the thing, to-morrow soon will be;
Get in the fight and face it unafraid,
And leave the past to ancient history;
What has been, has been; yesterday is dead
And by it you are neither blessed nor banned,
Take courage, man, be brave and drive ahead,
Start where you stand.

Question: How do you find this principle to be personally helpful in what you are facing today? 

And All the While She Slept

The story I am about to share has no rhyme or reason or resolution. To this day it remains a mystery. I will never know why it happened.

No.18, a concrete house on the hill of Ulica Spadzista was our home. We shared the dwelling with a Polish family. The Krakowski's lived on the ground level, and our living space was on the upper level. This nest was perfect for our family of three to acclimate in our first year - to Poland, its people, its culture, certainly its language, and its Communist government.

This particular fall day seemed ordinary in my routine. It was after lunch, and I had just put our little two year old girl down for an afternoon nap. She had been with me all morning down in the center of the charming ancient medieval city of Kraków. I pushed her in her stroller, and we went from person to person as I practiced my prepared Polish conversational text.

Now back home, it was time for her to sleep. She would nap, and I would do homework. Coordinating mothering and language learning was a delicate balance, and nap times were crucial to utilize, if I was ever going to learn to converse in the Polish language.

No one else was home, and the entire house was quiet. However, my reverie was soon to be interrupted.

Unexpectedly, the doorbell rang. I thought to myself, “How odd. Who could be ringing the doorbell at this time of day?” It was not time for the postman, and any member of the household would use his or her own key. I was puzzled.

Again, the doorbell rang. Someone was at our gate, and the someone was impatient. The blaring persistence of the ring communicated a sense of urgency. Again, the ring.

I moved toward the upstairs kitchen window. One furtive glance made my blood run cold. This was serious. Standing authoritatively at the gate, was a policeman, but not just any policeman. He was not the type of policeman that gave out parking tickets, not the variety that issued traffic violations, not the sort that stood guard in a booth outside an embassy. No. This was the dreaded version of law enforcement know as The  National Security Police. 

The National Security Police force put fear in the life of the population. They were detested by ordinary citizens, and were avoided at all costs. Using humiliation and intimidation, these officers had authority to exert repression way beyond the others. Their one and only objective was to preserve the Communist state.

My mind just raced. Who was he? Why was he here? What did he want? Did he come to check our identification papers? Had our covert mission been discovered? His presence at our gate could not possibly represent anything good. What should I do? No one would be home for at least another two hours. I was by myself, and my baby was sleeping. 

Under normal circumstances, I would hear the doorbell, look out the window, recognize the person, buzz the gate to open, and grant entrance to the one waiting. We would meet at the front door and discuss the matter at hand. 

Not this time. These were not normal circumstances.

Hastily calculating my options, I determined to wait him out, and hope he would go away. Contact with him must be avoided at all cost. He must never know that I was here in the house. Meeting him face to face meant he would learn this family had foreigners living with them. Consequences would be inevitable. 

Rrrrrriiiiinnnnnngggggg. There it was again. I tiptoed down the stairs and crawled across the living room floor, being careful not raise my head so as to be seen. I crept underneath the thick drapes at the corner of the window and the wall where I positioned myself like a sentry, and began my vigil. With a slight parting of the curtains, I could see him without his being able to see me. 

Rinnnggg. Rrrrinnnnnnnnnggggggg. Oh my. Again, I thought of my sleeping child. If he startled her, and she woke up crying, he would definitely hear her. “Oh God, please keep her asleep.”

From my vantage point I studied every detail of his dark, imposing, menacing presence. He wore tall black leather boots that reached to his knee. The determination in his jaw was evident. Though young, it was obvious that he relished his authority. All the while he just kept ringing…

Never in my American life had I been so afraid. My heart was racing. My throat was constricted. My stomach was in a knot. How was this going to end?

And
     end
          it
              did. 

Just like it started. With one final blast of a ring, he gave up. He released his finger, placed his glove back on his hand, looked up and down the structure of the house, and turned and walked away. Just like that. 

In my weakness I crumbled to the floor. What on earth had just happened? 

Eventually, Larry returned from class, and he too was baffled by the story. Later, as the landlady listened, she expressed deep gratitude that I managed to avoid contact with the officer. 

For a number of days, I was uneasy. I battled a fear of the unknown: a cruel, gripping, paralyzing type of fear. Who was he? Why did he appear? What did he know about us? How would this affect our clandestine life? Would he come again? What would I do if, in fact, he did return? Questions with no answers then, and questions with no answers now. 

I can only conclude there must have been horses and chariots of fire on the hill of Ulica Spadzista that day in answer to someone’s prayer for my daughter and me. “Open his eyes, Lord, so that he may see. Then the Lord opened the servant’s eyes, and he looked and saw the hills full of horses and chariots of fire all around.” (2 Kings 6:17)

Like the words in the old hymn, A wall of fire around me, I’ve nothing now to fear…I eased back into life, and eventually looked less and less over my shoulder. 

And all the while she slept. Imagine that.

What Time is It?

The honking horn told me that it had happened again. Everyone else was already in the car and waiting on this teenager. The lecture was brewing. All the way to church I would be reminded that I was once again late, and that I was making the rest of the family late. I would be told that we were destined to walk in “just like the McCormick's,”  the notorious family that habitually paraded in, single file, long after the service began. Never mind that they lived closest, just across the street. 

So, with rollers still in my hair and makeup in my hand, I tumbled into my backseat position, and sought to create some semblance of decency out of the product of my tardiness. This was no fun. After all, who wants to be called ‘the cow’s tail’ even if the illustration is accurate?

My ancient teenage habits have undergone renovation, and maturity has been my friend, yet I remain time-challenged. I will be prompt for The Rapture or for my own funeral, depending on which comes first. However, between now and then, I must constantly be vigilant to arrive where I am going with punctuality. 

The business of being tardy is like an albatross. It creates tension in personal relationships, and it reeks of selfishness. I disdain the sheepish apology I have to offer for making my friend wait at our lunch appointment. Excuses always abound, but they are just that - excuses. 

I believe there are three groups of people surrounding this topic. My theory is that you are in one group and someone you love or work with is in a different group. The elephant in the room and in your relationship is the clock.

Group 1: Got it from the get-go

Honestly, some people are naturally gifted, and punctuality comes with ease. They always arrive early, and tend to have very little patience with those of us who missed out on this gifting. 

Then, there is another.                                                                                                               

Group 2: Gained it from the grind

These individuals have worked diligently to develop a consistent habit of being on time; they arrive exactly on the money, not one minute early, not one minute late.  They have more patience with us, but are still baffled by our weakness. 

Finally,

Group 3: Got left out                                                                      

That’s us, you and me. We did not get it as did the gifted, and we do not have it, as do the acquired. 

This provokes the question: Is there a cure for our disease? Yes, I believe there is. I have discovered three significant perspectives, and they are inching me forward at my seasoned age of 65.

The first is a Scriptural Perspective.
“Teach me to number my days that I may present to You a heart of wisdom.” These words from Psalm 90:12 let me know how desperately I need the Holy Spirit. A sincere prayer to monitor my actions sets a tone of hope rather than a tone of defeat. Furthermore, the desired outcome becomes punctuality with a purpose rather than an accomplishment in a vacuum.

The second is a Practical Perspective.
Michael Hyatt points out there is no such thing as time management, just self-management.This is subtle but powerful. Time management will never set me free from this bad habit. Self-management will. The focus is taken off the clock and placed onto me. The clock does not need to change; I need to change. Growth can begin when I take ownership for my behavior, and take the blame off the clock. This is exciting, because new habits actually can take root. This offers hope. 

The third is a Realistic Perspective.
The time in now for me to become master over the “one more” syndrome.  Inside the psyche of you and me, punctuality is set at odds with productivity, and punctuality needs to become the priority. Let me explain.

From ~ To statements must transform my thinking. 
I need to go…

•    From insisting on doing one more thing  ~ To stopping sooner, whatever it is that I am involved in
•    From reading just one more chapter at bedtime ~ To turning out the light, even though the suspense is gripping
•    From adding one more errand while I am still “out”~ To being at peace with waiting until tomorrow to complete my to-do list
•    From making one more phone call ~ To being satisfied with what has already been accomplished
•    From sending one more email ~ To closing my computer, leaving my office, and getting ahead of the traffic
•    From seeking perfection with punctuality ~ To welcoming improvement, a much healthier and more realistic outcome

Reality Speak: Rarely will I ever be the first to arrive at a meeting. There will still be the occasional mad race to the airport. The Big Clock App will perpetually be needed on my iphone. I will always be glad when you are not early to my front door. However, I am confident that I can grow to experience more victory in an area previously plagued with defeat. Herein lies hope. And hope does not disappoint. (Romans 5:5)

Questions: Do you struggle with punctuality? What have you found to be helpful in overcoming this challenge?