The Art of the Lesson

The morning walk was largely uneventful on the surface, because the most marvelous things happened inside me. I learned that more than one morning is going to begin with an overwhelming apathy and weakness. By the time I finished my course, the reason was clear. As William Arthur Ward, the inspirational author, once said, "Learning is more than absorbing facts, it is acquiring understanding." 

There are many mornings when I awake refreshed but in searing pain. Today was one, I figured because the temperature at around 6 a.m., was about 56 degrees. The pain level in the knees was at ten. That is how they often respond to the cold. I felt drained of energy. I blamed that on the rigorous events of the past weekend. I searched my mind for a couple of times for convenient-yet-convictioned excuses not to make the rounds. There were none.

I moaned and grumbled through the pain to pull on long johns, knee wraps, sweat pants, a T-shirt, and fleece jacket, then moved downstairs for the trek. I grabbed my water bottle and went into

the chilled morning air. There was almost no breeze. The air felt fresh. Although my legs moved as if each foot was bound in cement, I began the walk.

I won't make my movements into any special drama. They happen every day with various versions of the same pain. In fact, the only outwardly remarkable fact during this morning's walk was the absence of other joggers and walkers.  I was almost alone around the circuit. There were only two of the regulars.

Inside my chest were peculiar rumblings. I felt out of breath a couple of times, but pushed the weakness aside with concentration on the steps. It is important to listen to your body during exercise, yet you should not baby yourself. Every pinch, pull and wheeze carries clues about the nature of one's health. I logged each one, but remained determined. 

When the interruption came near breathlessness, I took a swig of water, and the symptoms subsided. When the knee pain climbed a notch, I focused more on the goal - the midway point - a bench outside the local Starbucks. I made it, and took a pause.

Homeward, on the second leg of the walk, the pace was really slow. At times I labored to take a step. I gave myself a rule - don't stop. One foot in front of the other, my eyes on the greenery, ponds, wild birds and bright sun. The house's front door hung in the back of my mind. 

The trick worked, but the energy levels continued to drop. I felt the breathlessness. Lola, my inner voice told me to take the short cut to my street, because I was likely to pass out. I argued with her. She gently repeated the advice. I focused on the way the sun bounced off the empty sidewalks and glistened against the pond. The environs became a haze more than an image. Lola won.

Well, I made it to the front door of my house, none the worse for the trial. I reflected on the incident, yet the cause was not clear.

After about ten minutes, I said, "I need to eat." I did not feel hungry, yet the thought uncharacteristically blunt. My tone held a tinge of desperation. I ate and recovered.

At times, we all have to pass through an experience and reflect, which is the real art of the lesson. Learning comes from reflection. Understanding comes with application. 

Mine was that I should check my blood glucose levels before exercise. I know. That is Diabetes101. I am normally so in control of the disease, my sugar level would have been my last choice as a source for a problem. 

As Ward stated, this little tale is about experience and understanding.  Take the story as a primer on how to learn about yourself. Consider the many signs inside and outside that the body offers during the day. Think about how often you pass up a chance to learn. Reflection on experiences can be a great teacher, unless you are afraid to understand.

When You Look in the Mirror

I am going to talk about what I do not want to discuss before I get to my point. My 9-year-old granddaughter was in hysterics for most of Halloween night. She was trick or treating, and walked up to the house of a 12-year-old that she considered her best friend. For the three-plus years they were in elementary school the older girl always looked out for her. I knew the friend, too. She wanted to be an actress, perhaps a megastar. I always thought she had a shot.

My granddaughter walked up to her friend's house for candy, and got the surprise of her way-too-short life. She saw a four-foot tall sign that read, "R.I.P. Jennifer," in the front yard, but thought it was part of the holiday decorations.  After she and her mom and brother knocked on the door, the girl was informed that her first real friend died.

My wife and I were at dinner when the call came that the granddaughter was crying and would not stop. The trio wanted to come by our home, so we went back to the house.

My granddaughter was inconsolable. My wife cried. My daughter cried. The 5-year-old grandson asked when they could finish the second leg of the quest for candy. I sat in silence. I never told her the girl committed suicide. I was unable to say anything that could make anyone feel better, mostly because the news hit me like the Hulk had punched me in the gut.

Honestly, I heard "a suicide" around the neighborhood more than a week before. I was not that moved. Suicide is epidemic, according to former Surgeon General David Satcher, M.D. , and most preventable. Sad to admit, people like me who turn a deaf ear to such reports become part of the problem. My aloofness at the general news indicates a serious imbalance in my spiritual and mental natures. I am likely not alone, but know that 3.5 million youths either have thought, plan to, have tried, or about to try to take themselves out this year. The Centers for Disease Control says suicide is the third major cause of death for the 15-to-24 crowd. Among 5- to 14-year-olds, the American Academy of Child & Adolescent Psychiatry says it is the sixth cause of death.

Now, to my real point - we would treat ourselves better if when we look in the mirror we saw what God sees. I did not want to write about this experience, but my will wore down during my morning exercises and daily activities during the past two days. I cannot find a better way to get the sight of a weeping granddaughter dressed as Supergirl,  and the memory of her now-dead friend's enthusiastic smile out of my mind.

As I worked out during the last couple of days, the question that dogged me was what the 12-year-old saw in the mirror. I wished she saw the beautiful gift she was to us. Unfortunately, there are so many forces in society that militate against it. That led to larger thoughts - what do most people of all ages see when they looked in the mirror?

I rarely stare at myself in a mirror. I know that I will only see a beautiful gift from God. Also, old-style religious training makes me fear temptation toward vanity.

Society wants me to be ashamed that I am fat. Society wants me to be ashamed that I am black. Society wants me, you and anyone who pays attention to the daily media bombardment to be ashamed of the reality of human diversity. The constant media mantra, "You are not enough," prompts far too many people to waste money and time to try to fit or improve the wrong aspects of their existence.

Society wants us to be rich, thinner, more muscular, and taller but not too tall, with the "right" hair, teeth, smell, clothes, possessions and friends. In case anyone  does not know good from bad, the lesson comes with illustrations.

Experiment - search the internet for "beauty" images versus "handsome," and note the vast differences between the latitude allowed for women to consider themselves "beautiful" and men "handsome." In fact,rappers have said for decades the bigger the bankroll, for some women,  the more "handsome" the man. When did we get reality so twisted.

The reality is that God does not make junk. When you look in the mirror, you should get the message "I am worthy." My granddaughter, her friend, and other people throughout the world should realize YOU are all you really possess. Celebrate don't berate the beauty that exists in that presence.

My granddaughter came to the house last week after school and said, "How can I be skinny?"

"What?" I asked.

"I am fat."

"No," I said. "You are nine. You have no idea what you will look like when you are 19, or 29, or even 39."

"Yeah," she said with the kind of dismissive tone a child offers when they believe the adult does not get the point. "All of the other girls in my class are skinny. I am the only fat one. I don't want to be fat."

"The question is not what you want," I said, "but why?"

"I want to be like everybody else," she said."

"Well," I said that will never get you anywhere."

Well, I guess some of you are going to cast me as a "bad grandpa," but I told her to worry more about her grades than the size of her belly. By the way, the child is far from fat by International standards. At her age it is more important to think about who she is than what she wants to appear to be.

I told her about the mirror and beauty, but that does not have much impression on a grade-schooler. I guess I will just have to say it louder and more often - "You are worthy, because you are a beautiful gift that God gave to us."

I hope my granddaughter does not become a suicide statistic someday. I hope won't trade who she is for what someone would like her to be just to get along. I hope no one does. I hope she follows my example and learns to see the wonder of her existence in the mirror.

Most of us are banged up or broken inside and out, yet we have the power to make of God's gift whatever we will. If we take charge of our self-images, others cannot tell us what is important.
Long ago, those who said I was not worthy, important, hip, or relevant,  lost my attention. Even in this journey toward harmony and balance, my focus is on God's opinion more than those of other people.

I can't wait to hear what he has to say about who I am and what I did when the earthly part of my story ends. "You are worthy," I hope he will say, "because you were a beautiful gift."