Make Your Bed

Crazy! Who would ever dream this advice would be given to university graduates at their commencement?! May 17, 2014, Naval Admiral Bill McRaven, ninth commander of U.S. Special Operations Command, delivered to the nearly 8,000 graduates at the University of Texas the 10 lessons he learned during his SEAL training. His very first lesson was:

 “If you want to change the world, start off by making your bed.”

“Every morning in basic SEAL training, my instructors, who at the time were all Vietnam veterans, would show up in my barracks room and the first thing they would inspect was your bed.
It was a simple task — mundane at best. But every morning we were required to make our bed to perfection. It seemed a little ridiculous at the time, particularly in light of the fact that we were aspiring to be real warriors, tough battle-hardened SEALs, but the wisdom of this simple act has been proven to me many times over.
If you make your bed every morning you will have accomplished the first task of the day. It will give you a small sense of pride, and it will encourage you to do another task and another and another. By the end of the day, that one task completed will have turned into many tasks completed. Making your bed will also reinforce the fact that little things in life matter. If you can't do the little things right, you will never do the big things right.
And, if by chance you have a miserable day, you will come home to a bed that is made — that you made — and a made bed gives you encouragement that tomorrow will be better.
If you want to change the world, start off by making your bed."

Wow. Coming from a Navy Admiral, a SEAL commander, this advice bears unusual credibility. I am not a SEAL; I am not a Student. But you and I still face fierce challenges on a daily basis. The Admiral’s advice will serve us well. 

Here’s why I think it matters.

•    You are not in the bed.
To make a bed means that you and I are not in the bed. Instead, we are up, we are moving; we are not wallowing under the covers. We have at least made an initial attempt to face the day. 

A Dallas Theological Seminary professor said, “If you are depressed, make your bed.” When I first heard that decades ago, I mulched the thought over and over in my mind wondering if I agreed. In the end, I concluded that it makes quite good sense. It is not sophisticated advice, but it is certainly sound advice. To make a bed is to make an attempt to live life.

•    You at least have a bed.
Seeing in Brazil the hordes of humanity hovered under pieces of plastic they call “home” has given me a new appreciation for having a bed. In the course of making the bed you and I have the opportunity to give thanks that we are not homeless and sleeping on the street or under a bridge or under a piece of plastic. A bed is a blessing. 

•    You actually possess the ability to make the bed. 
This seemingly mundane chore is transformed into a privilege when we realize that millions would give anything to be able to do what we are doing-walking, tugging, tossing, bending-all the motions easily taken for granted to those of us with healthy bodies. The physical ability to make our bed is a gift.

So, in the morning, yawn, stretch, and yes, make your bed. Truth be told, it matters.

The entire address from Adm. McRaven can be found at
Adm. McRaven Urges Graduates to Find Courage to Change the World
https://news.utexas.edu/2014/05/16/admiral-mcraven-commencement-speech

6. My Mother, We Went Through Fire and Water

But You led us to a place of abundance. (Psalm 66:12)

I ached for her. 

She was so innocent and they were so cruel. My training prepared me to face these hostile Communist government officials. Hers did not. After all, she was just a Grandmother on a visit to meet her newborn grandson. 

My Mother’s visit to Warsaw had gone well. Well...mostly. She was out of her comfort zone, yet worked cheerfully to help run Grand Central Station in and out of our home. She was not accustomed to standing in line for milk at the store, so she left that to others. 

And, unexpectedly, a buried personal pain surfaced for her, as raw wounds were laid bare again. In World War II she sacrificed the life of her oldest brother to free this nation from the Nazis, and now Poland was in the hands of the Communists. A painful memory stared her in the face each morning she awoke, a lesson, not out of a history book, but out of her own life. 

All too quickly the visit ended. The morning of departure was bitter sweet. She was ready to go, but she was not ready to leave. Her presence brought such joy and comfort. I, especially, would miss her when she left. Austria and Switzerland were next on her itinerary, and the plans were fixed.

Hugs, suitcases, more hugs - all international missionaries know the scenario. Finally the car was loaded. She waved to the little ones standing on the porch until the car turned the corner and they were out of sight. Over cobblestone streets Larry and I drove our Precious Cargo to the airport.

Will you take the mail? The loaded question posed to her the night before her departure definitely held an agenda. Taking the mail meant taking a risk. Our small clandestine missionary team was growing, and we secretly shuttled each other’s uncensored correspondence to family and churches when any one of us left the borders of this totalitarian state. If caught transporting such contraband, there would be consequences. 

She bravely agreed to be a currier, knowing this bundle would add tension to her departure. The stack of letters was hidden in her suitcase in hopes of N E V E R being unearthed. If the letters were found, each person with a letter in the stack would be incriminated.

Airport procedures in this oppressive society were never pleasant. Lines at check-in were endless, and only served to intensify frayed emotions. Finally, we said our last good-byes as she was cleared to proceed to Exit Customs. We hoped it would only be a formality. We were wrong.

Exit Customs was in a confining concrete room with long tables. This staged a theatrical-like scene allowing anyone in the departure hall to gawk. One by one passengers were questioned, documents were examined, and suitcases were investigated. If all went well, you were dismissed to repack your bags and board your plane.  'Routine' was the desired outcome for all travelers leaving Communist Poland.

In a matter of minutes, it became evident my Mother’s departure was not to be ‘Routine’ or quick. The look on her face was one I recognized - a look of desperation that said, “I am helpless. What should I do??” In this stark customs facility these powerful Communist officials wielded an authority over my Mother that was far beyond her ability to navigate.

What had gone wrong? 

A language misunderstanding to the interview question, “How much money are you carrying?” gave an answer they did not like. So, she was singled out for further scrutiny. Her lovely pale blue pants suit spoke American and she became their target.

What about the mail? 

It was discovered. In the suitcase inspection, the bundle of letters was found.
Heaven and earth stood still while the uniformed military official s l o w l y turned the string-tied stack over and over under the examination of his powerful, decision making gaze. What if's were screaming in my head.

What could I do?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Helplessness is a power all to itself, and in my helplessness I cried out in desperation to the only Power that could intervene. “Oh God, please blind the eyes of this official. Please remove any interest he has in the bundle in his hands. Please release my Mother from the grip of this situation. Please, God, set her free to leave.”

Intervention is God’s Specialty, and intervene He did. With the speed of a glacier, the official put the letters down, and my Mother placed them back into her American Tourister. With a sneer and a wave of his hand, the Customs Official gave my Mother the final souvenir of her trip, a rubber stamp on a piece of paper granting her permission to leave the country. 

The Austrian Air flight was about to leave without her, so she hastily shoved all her personal effects back into her luggage. Across the hall we feebly waved one final farewell. We were weak with relief. I have never been so glad to see my Mother go! 

This entire episode was cruel and unnecessary. However, my Mother was only briefly subjected to a treatment an entire population had to face on a daily basis: demeaning, dehumanizing intimidation. It would be 1989 before there would be a Change, before a Grandmother could visit without harshness and harassment for taking the mail.

A life lesson was woven for me that day, dark threads in the tapestry of a sweeping mural: God specializes in Protection, yet God’s Protection may still include pain. 

My Kind of Movie

I was still awake long after the lights were out.

The moviegoer in me could not sleep. Our Friday night date night at the movies was still playing in my mind and in my emotions. The movie: The Finest Hours. 

“There are moments that change our lives; there are times that test our limits; there are hours that define us.” Disney

Why I liked this movie:

It was based on an extraordinary true story.

Into the teeth of a violent winter gale, a brave, selfless 4-man crew sets out off the coast of New England to rescue men stranded on a broken oil tanker. Hurricane-force winds, freezing, horizontal snow, and 60-foot high waves, made this attempt seem like a suicide mission. Still today, this 1952 heroic effort remains the most daring small boat rescue in Coast Guard history.

The characters are stellar.

Bernie Webber, the Coast Guard Captain and pilot
I relish movies that portray inspiring stories of leaders who selflessly do the right thing even when it is the hard thing. Bernie is such a leader. He
•    consistently keeps clarity of focus throughout this drama
•    thinks under pressure
•    has the gall and good sense to ‘turn the radio off’ when the message is wrong

Miriam, Bernie's fiancé 
The romantic side of me smiled. Besides being a good old syrupy love story, this movie introduces us to one strong woman. She is intelligent, tenacious, determined, and desperately in love. Miriam is on land, while the love of her life is at sea. 

Andrew Fitzgerald, Ervin Maske, Richard Livesey, the crew
So many of us are not the point person. Yet we give our very lives as we stand right beside these individuals. We find ourselves in situations where we are holding on for dear life, and wondering if we will live to see the next dawn. These were such a people. Despite overwhelming odds, they volunteered to go! At times in the crisis, they disagreed with the plan, and they certainly offered suggestions. But not one of them bailed when his ideas were not taken. These men reinvent the definition of hero as they doggedly demonstrate acts of bravery to save the lives of others.

INSPIRING: my one word description of The Finest Hours. I left inspired, and I left wanting to tell you about this true-to-life drama. 

Question: What type of movie do you like to see?