Instead, I have a suffix. I am the third, named after my father and my grandfather. Since
The absence of a middle name causes plenty of consternation among those who like to fill in all the boxes. Some have filled in III as my middle name. I once used Q as a middle initial when I needed three letters for a login. NMI is another popular choice.
Since my dad died, I don’t use III after my name very often. It still shows up on tax forms and passports. But it’s not on my driver’s license. Some like to include it on certificates. They can’t spell or pronounce my last name, but they love the suffix.
I do not meet many who share my lack of a middle name. Many even give their pets middle names. I enjoy that uniqueness. I also love to ask those who like my suffix, “What was my father’s name?” And then, “What was my grandfather’s name?” Some get it. Others are confused. I just chuckle.
When we arrived, our most recent Airbnb host wrote, “A 5-star rating is VERY important to us and goes a long way to helping our family business.” After we checked out, he begged, “Hey Mr. Bill would truly appreciate a 5 star ⭐️ review from you as that helps our family business out tremendously!”
I get it. People read reviews. Five out of five stars? Good product, good seller, good experience. But if you have to beg for a good rating, does it mean anything?
A couple of months ago I bought a new car. I bought other cars from this salesman and always had a good experience. But as we got ready to drive off, he said, “When you get the survey, be sure to give me a ten. I am almost in the top three.”
Reviews don’t mean anything if we simply give excellent feedback every time. I told my last Airbnb host, “I’ve stayed in many five star places. If you want a five star review…” and I listed out my suggestions. I decided I’m not going to give an excellent review unless you merit it.
The real deal? Most products and people don’t really deserve more than three out of five, or a 6 out of 10. Few products are worth the money. Few people go above and beyond. The world is average. Maybe. To be honest, most of the world is below average. Not even three (out of five) stars.
You want a five-star review? Four star? Earn it. Convince me. Persuade me. Don;’t command me. Or beg me. Give me a reason.
A couple of months ago, the pastor asked me if I could fill in and lead the praise worship service when he and his wife were out of town for a conference. Another guitarist and bass player joined me as I led the songs a couple of Sundays ago.
I’ve led the music before when other musicians were sick or out of town. On those Sundays, I also preached and taught a bible class. But on this occasion, I would only be doing music. The other tasks were covered by another fill-in pastor.
This was the first time my only job was the music. I picked the songs, led rehearsal, and was the one leading the congregation in song that Sunday morning. These are my reflections on the experience.
For me, the focus required for musical performance engages a different side of my brain from the preaching task. The latter is more of an intellectual endeavor. Music comes from my creative side. In preaching, I am engaging with the listeners. With a guitar and my voice, I find I engage more with the music.
With enough practice, much of performing happens on autopilot. My fingers automatically respond to the chords I see on the page. I picked familiar songs so the sounds that come from my mouth have long been stored in my brain. Most of the tempos came from a rhythm machine. My breath comes from my diaphragm and my vocal chords feel relaxed and resonant. I hate to admit it, but it’s very mechanical.
Someone is running the soundboard, making sure all the voices and instruments are balanced and heard. While someone is reading, preaching, and praying, I am trying to listen, but I am mostly thinking about when I will play next. I am suddenly aware that it’s really hard for any musician to fully engage in worship.
I appreciate all who supply music for worship on a weekly basis. It’s fun to do once. I’m not sure I’d want to do it week after week. Preach? I did it weekly for many years. But that’s a whole different task. I think I’ll reflect on that next time.
I go to the grocery store enough that I’m on autopilot. I often buy the same things, I know where to find them in the store, and I’m out the door in no time.
One of the items on my list: cocoa powder. That’s in the baking aisle which is just past all the spices and oils. Except it wasn’t. When I got down to the end of the aisle where I knew the cake mixes, chocolate chips, and cocoa powder was, I was all turned around. Actually, I wasn’t turned around. The store aisle was.
The previous night, store management decided to move items around. Now the cake mixes were near the front of the store, along with the cocoa powder, and all the spices and oils were at the back of the store.
Why would they change everything around?
Of course, I consulted the oracle, Google, to find out. My guess was right. If management can keep you in the store longer looking for the items on your list, you’ll make more impulse purchases and they’ll get more of your money.
Since the self-checkout lanes were full, I checked out with a live cashier. She asked me if I found everything, because the store had been rearranged. I had, but it was nice of her to ask. I guess I wasn’t the only puzzled customer to pass by that day.
I’ll bet every detail in the store is intentional. From the music in the background to the appearance of the employees to the colors of the displays, everything is designed to persuade me to spend money. The merchandising folks know their stuff. I guess it’s better to say they know people and how to influence our behavior.
I didn’t hear the bell, but suddenly, both fighters came out of their corners and began swinging. Sort of.
I wasn’t ringside at an octagon. I was just pumping gas at BJ’s Wholesale. I was feeling pretty good about filling the tank with fuel that cost about twenty cents less than the Racetrack just a few blocks away. My reverie was shattered when the woman on the other side of my pump released a barrage of obscenities at the guy in a white pickup truck directly in front of her.
She had finished her purchase, but couldn’t pull forward because the driver of the pickup had pulled right in front of her, blocking her exit. I have no idea why he was there. He just wasn’t moving. First she asked. Then she yelled. Then she started cursing. He didn’t budge. He just shouted right back at her.
Everyone else at the pumps paused to watch them spar. Finally she unloaded several f-bombs, backed up, and left, tires squealing. The man still didn’t move. For some reason, he decided to camp out there for a while. He wasn’t blocking me, so I just pulled away, glad that I wasn’t in the middle of that.
From my experience, most people aren’t happy at the gas pump. I’m not exactly sure why. It could be cost of fuel. It could be that they’ve been in the car together for way too long. Someone usually needs to go to the bathroom right now, but they know it’s going to be disgusting in there. There are people pulling in and backing out, making maneuvering a challenge. Any number of things.
I don’t think I’ve ever gotten into a heated argument with a stranger. I avoid such confrontations, preferring to find a different solution. Some, however, take on all challengers. I’m more than happy to just be a spectator.
In a recent newsletter I read, “Noticing sparks gratitude; gratitude sharpens our noticing.” (It might have been Rob Walker’s “The Art of Noticing,” but I haven’t yet found it in my emails.)
I spend a lot of time noticing things on my daily dog walks. Sometimes I count how many houses have a Ring doorbell. Or interesting items at the curb on trash day. I like to whistle back and forth with the birds at dawn. I’m annoyed when I notice newspapers sitting in driveways for weeks.
I have many reasons to be thankful. I’m healthy and can take long walks with the dogs. I live in a safe neighborhood, know a lot of my neighbors, and live where it’s easy to be outside just about every day.
So the cycle of noticing and gratitude resonates with me. When I am tuned in to what’s going on around me, I find new reasons to be thankful. Once I start giving thanks, I begin noticing more things around me I’m thankful for. It’s a good upward spiral that develops both my gratitude and my awareness.
One morning, I notice beautiful colors in the eastern dawn sky. I whisper, “Thank you,” for an amazing sight, for the coolness, and the quiet of the morning. As I see the morning approach, tall pines escape the darkness, and I am thankful that there are still a few lots without houses.
Then I notice how many new houses there are in our neighborhood. I remember building our house decades ago, when these roads were lined with wooded lots. I’m so thankful we were able to build a house where we raised our children.
That’s how it works. Observation directs your mind towards the positive things in your life, spawning gratitude. As you ponder your blessings, you notice more good things around you. Again and again and again.
It’s such a cool concept. I try to initiate the cycle every time I’m out walking, starting with thanks or observation. Give it a try.
I host and facilitate a weekly online men’s bible study and discussion group. As host, I open up the Zoom room a few minutes before the scheduled start time and wait for everyone to join.
For some reason, it really feels strange being on Zoom all by myself. I sit there for a few moments and look at myself. I make sure I look okay. I brush my hair to the side. I make sure the lighting is okay. I make sure I’m not too close or far away from the camera. I shuffle my lesson papers around.
My mind starts to wonder.
What if no one else shows up? What if they all forget that we’re meeting today. I sent out reminders, so that doesn’t seem possible.
Maybe I set up the room wrong. No, that’s not possible. I don’t set up that part of the meeting.
Maybe everyone is traveling or sick, and can’t make it today. Would all fifteen guys would be indisposed on the same day? Doubtful.
Maybe the internet isn’t working right. I check my email. Everything is in order.
<Ding>
The first person shows up, and seconds later, more appear on my screen. All those thoughts drain from my mind, and our group is underway.
Years ago I had some similar analog thoughts. Analog means we actually met in person. I would open up for an appointment, meeting class, and then sit there wondering if anyone would show up. There were times when I got stood up for an appointment. No call, nothing, just a no show. A few of those and you start to get paranoid.
It really only happened a few times. But one time is enough to get your mind racing with all the “What ifs…”
Stopping at the grocery store for just a few items took a lot longer than I planned. The Saturday afternoon gridlock of aisle wanderers lengthened my shopping experience.
First thing on my list is a few containers of frosting from the baking aisle. A man with a cart filled with bags of pretzels (?) paused to look up and down, back and forth at all the boxed cake mixes. I doubt he was there to buy any. He was mesmerized by pictures of picture of delicious cake. I waited a few moments, and when I realized he wasn’t leaving any time soon, I reached up and grabbed what I needed and scooted off to the next aisle.
Or at least I tried. At the end of that aisle was a couple bickering about whether they needed anything in that part of the store. They were stalled out, so I looped around to the other end to get what I needed. They might still be there, deciding if they need air freshener or not.
I thought I could make a quick swing through the meat section for a steak. Nope. A couple of offensive lineman sized female shoppers blocked off my approach from every angle. They certainly had no 40-yard speed to boast about. I decided to return after an attempt at the dairy section.
I had trouble getting near the dairy items, too. Three women were strolling side-by-side past the eggs, lamenting the inflated prices, oblivious to others in the store. There was no way to get by them. I patiently followed until one of them noticed me with a start and said with a note of annoyance, “O, excuse me!” and let me get some butter. I just smiled. At least on the outside.
I am always thankful to leave the grocery store in one piece mentally. It’s not easy, is it. The shopping may be a pleasure, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.
On a recent walk with my Great Dane, I shocked a young man back to reality.
Our two mile loop isn’t far from the community’s middle school, and on this day we were walking right around afternoon dismissal time.
I would guess the young man was in 7th grade, weighed down with a substantial backpack, head buried in his cell phone. As we closed the gap, I shook the leash to jingle her Dane bling, her large metal prong walking collar. He didn’t look up, absorbed in digital conversation.
We stopped, waiting for him to pass by, but he didn’t notice us until he was one foot in front of us. But then he did notice and jumped a foot up and back when he saw the beast staring at eye level, tail whipping back and forth, excited to greet a new friend. He was terrified, nervous, and shouted, “Whoa, I didn’t see you!”
It’s hard not to notice that 115 lb. of dog from 50 feet away. Whatever was on my phone would have to be amazingly absorbing to isolate me from every other reality surrounding me.
When he jumped, I couldn’t help laughing out loud. Sometimes we really worry about who’s watching us and what they think about us. Guess what? They aren’t watching you, they’re not thinking about you, and they don’t even know you’re there.