The Blame Game

The human brain is a funny thing. And one of its greatest quirks is that it will do anything—absolutely anything—to force a situation to make sense. People are meaning-makers. We crave understanding. And no matter what scenario we find ourselves in, we want to understand the “Why?” behind it and how it fits into our preconceived notion of how the world works.

This is why when things go wrong, we immediately start searching for a culprit. We want something or someone to blame for the problems we’re facing. Even when a situation is completely out of human control, we still rack our brains searching for ways the fault must lie with someone. Our brains simply aren’t satisfied until we can form an explanation and pin the blame somewhere.

I was recently reminded of my own susceptibility to this bias when facing an issue at my job. As I work with technology, I spend a lot of my time working out problems both small and large, and this one was a doozy. After frantically trying everything I knew to solve the problem and coming to the conclusion that it was bigger than I could handle on my own, I suddenly heard a voice. Not a heavenly voice, mind you. It was my internal voice, speaking as loudly and persistently as I’ve ever heard it before. And what it said was this:

”This is your fault.”

I’ve heard that statement from my inner voice a million times before, and every single time, I believe it. If only I’d done something differently, I wouldn’t be in this mess. If I were smarter or better at what I was doing, I wouldn’t have found myself here. If I weren’t such a failure, this wouldn’t have happened. And on and on.

It doesn’t matter if the situation is actually my fault or not. It doesn’t matter if the problem was caused by someone else or something outside my control or even pure circumstance. My brain can find a way to make anything my fault because it has to find someone to blame. Why not me?

Often, we think that we’re a lot more in control of situations than we really are. And often, we’re a lot more willing to offer grace and the benefit of the doubt to others than we are to ourselves. All this, combined with our need to understand our surroundings, can result in a vicious cycle of self-blame where we come to the conclusion that everything is our fault and tear ourselves down for it.

But, as I often have to remind myself, there’s no need for it to be this way. Because more often than not, that voice is a lie. There are so many things that happen to us that are outside of our control, and it’s pointless to blame ourselves in those situations. And even if something is our fault, it’s much more productive to focus on solutions rather than what cause the problem in the first place. Sure, we should learn from our experiences, but constantly berating ourselves teaches us nothing. It’s useless. And we don’t have to do it.

You don’t have to listen to that inner voice that tells you it’s all your fault. You don’t have to believe it when it says you aren’t good enough. You don’t have to put up with the self-berating and abuse.

What if, instead, we granted ourselves the same grace we share with others? What if we gave ourselves the benefit of the doubt? What if instead of saying, “This is your fault,” we told ourselves, “I forgive you even if you are to blame”? How much more could we accomplish? How much healthier and happier and more fulfilled could we be?

Right now, I’m working hard to learn how to show myself grace even when my inner voice says I don’t deserve it. To let myself off the hook for things that aren’t my fault and to forgive myself for the things that are. If you could use a little more of that, I’d encourage you to practice it today. You never know how far a little (self-)forgiveness can go.

Countdown to Christmas

I don’t know a lot about Advent. The churches I grew up in never celebrated it. Until I got to seminary, my only exposure to the season was through Advent calendars, which dispensed little gifts each day leading up to Christmas. They would count down the days, each one getting a little bit closer to the big one. To me, it was all about getting through the calendar as quickly as possible so that I could get to the real gifts. Advent was nothing more than something to rush through on the way to Christmas.

Now, I know that Advent is really the opposite of that.

The season we’re about to enter is not about rushing. Rather, it’s about anticipation. The difference there may be subtle, but it’s important. When we’re looking forward to something, we can take one of two paths: We can barrel towards it as quickly possible, skipping everything in between. Or, we can wait patiently for it, savoring the excitement that comes with anticipating something wonderful.

Practicing anticipation takes focus. This season offers so many distractions, from the sales to the parades to the elaborate decorations to the parties and everything in between. And I’m not saying that any of those things are bad. They’re all meant to celebrate something very good: the birth of Christ. But they are not the thing itself, and it’s important to remember that fact. In the midst of all of the fanfare, it’s much too easy to forget what it’s all about, and that’s where anticipation comes in.

It also takes patience. Just as Mary waited lovingly for her baby to be born, just as the angels stood by with bated breath to sing their song of praise, just as creation itself sat still and silent before the entry of the eternal God into its earthly midst, so we wait for the day that we can participate in their celebration. The birth of Christ is a cause for great joy, and it is even more so once we’ve participated in the anticipation of those who came before us.

I’m still learning what it means to practice anticipation in the season of Advent. The church offers many helpful resources and guides that I hope to dive into in time. But no matter what, I’m choosing to commit myself to practicing anticipation this season as I look forward to celebrating Christ’s birth on December 25.

Maybe you’d like a little more anticipation in this season, too. It doesn’t mean we have to give up the songs, movies, gifts, and treats. (I’m certainly not.) But it does mean that we approach these things in a different way. Rather than rushing through to Christmas or trying to make it last a month or more, why don’t we simply savor the anticipation and look forward to Christ’s arrival together?

The Gifts of Worrying

I’m a worrier. Anyone who knows me know that about me. It’s my natural inclination to dwell on the “What if?” questions and the long list of things that could potentially go wrong in any situation. It’s a part of who I am.

In some ways, this is a blessing. It forces me to think things through a little more carefully, to avoid pitfalls, and to go about my life in a more safe and efficient way. There is a healthy way to use this aspect of my personality.

But sometimes, I let my worry get the best of me. When I don’t keep my tendency towards worrying in check, it can take over. And when it does, it brings me a few… well, let’s call them “gifts.”

Stress

I like to compare my worried self to a big ball of stress. When you’re nearby, you can just feel the anxiety radiating off of me. I’m undergoing inner turmoil, and it just consumes me. The littlest hiccups become causes for despair. I can’t focus on anything because my mind is completely full of the long list of things that are going wrong or that could go wrong, and I am very unpleasant to be around. This is a gift that worry brings me.

Frustration

Usually, my worry stems in one way or another from my preconceived plans going awry: the schedule is off or someone has a different idea than I do or I have no control at all over what’s happening. And in my mind, a deviation from my plans is an objective evil. I lose all patience because I’m dissatisfied and just want things to go my way. I start to form grudges against people who I would normally give the benefit of the doubt and probably haven’t actually wronged me anyway, and my internal dialogue becomes downright mean. This is a gift that worry brings me.

Ineffectiveness

Too much inward focus leaves little room for outward effectiveness. When I’m worried, I get so in my head that I can’t concentrate on what I’m doing, much less perform at my best. Nothing stifles my creativity or efficiency more than worry. In an attempt to get things back on track, I become counterproductive and usually end up creating even more work for myself. I do not perform well under the pressure I put myself under. This is a gift that worry brings me.

Fatigue

If you struggle with worry the way I do, you understand the pure exhaustion that comes with it. After spending every ounce of energy I have on being stressed, getting frustrated, and futilely working to make things the way I want them to be, I completely run out of energy. This happens much more quickly than it would if I were simply focused on the task at hand. But since I’m pouring all of my energy into my own internal dialogue, I have little—if any—left for things outside myself. This is a gift that worry brings me.

Relief

At some point, though, worry will dissipate. Whether things go the way I think they should or not, I eventually get through whatever it is that’s causing me to fret. And on the other side, I always discover that my situation is so much better than I imagined it would be. Many of the things I feared in the meantime never came about, and the reality I’m faced with is actually quite pleasant, even though it isn’t exactly what I had planned. When worry goes away, I am left feeling ten pounds lighter. I can breathe much more easily. And life seems so much brighter. This is a gift that worry brings me.

Though the gift of relief might sound appealing, it’s really an inferior consolation prize. When I go down the route of worry, I have to endure the stress, frustration, ineffectiveness, and fatigue in order to get to the relief and the happy ending that accompany it. That’s a lot to go through.

What if, instead, I chose a different path? Rather than pushing so hard against the circumstances surrounding me, what if I simply accepted them? Worked within them? Maybe even learned to appreciate the good things about them? Maybe then, I wouldn’t have to go through so much just to get to the good part afterwards. Maybe then, I could enjoy the journey rather than suffer through it just to get to the end. Maybe that would be a better gift than the ones worry offers me.

If you’re like me, worry is a constant temptation, a borderline addiction, a vicious cycle. But as I have to remind myself often, there is a better way. We can choose to become less worrisome and more accepting of our circumstances. Because the gifts of worry are not gifts at all. The real gift is this life we’ve been given and the ability to we have to enjoy it with those we care about. Worriers, we would do well to do a little more of that and a little less of the worrying we’ve become accustomed to.

Social Butterfly Blooming

It’s no secret that I’m an introvert. I tend to be quiet, to keep myself, and to prefer my home over any other place on earth. That’s how I’m wired, and I consider it a blessing. However, introversion is not exactly a beneficial trait in my line of work. When your job is so people-oriented, you have to be… social.

Socializing was never my strong point growing up. I wasn’t a loaner by any means, but I didn’t venture outside the bubble of my friend group very often. This was true through high school, college, and even seminary. I always had friends and knew how to act in social situations (for the most part). But meeting new people and talking to strangers just wasn’t my thing.

I always wondered how this aspect of my personality would mesh with my career in ministry. And then, my ministry career started.

When I first began working at the church, I became socially exhausted very easily. I wasn’t used to being around people all day long. I was accustomed to the long periods of quiet, solo study time that came with being a graduate student. But at work, I was constantly talking to people: my coworkers, church members, random strangers who would walk in. It was a lot to handle.

Recently, though, I realized that all of this social exposure actually has the opposite effect on me now. I no longer fear talking to strangers (not even on the phone, which used to be terrifying). Chatting with coworkers is energizing to me, even uplifting. And I love greeting any and every church member I see with a smile. Honestly, I feel like a different person.

Which got me thinking about how I got here. What changed, whether inside of me or outside, that allowed me to become so much more socially capable? What was the secret, unseen element that allowed me to adapt to my new situation?

Here, I think, is the key: security. Once I started to feel more secure in my new environment, my social network, and the actual work that I was doing, I was able to put some of my energy elsewhere. Not having to constantly worry about what to expect when I came in to work or whether or not I was doing a good job freed me up to grow in new ways.

I didn’t even have to be all that intentional about it. Because I was in a good place, I was naturally able to excel and to improve my skills in areas where I was lacking. Over time, I grew into the person I need to be in order to succeed in the role I’m in. And all of it was possible because I felt secure in my environment.

If we’re going to become our best selves, and if we’re dedicated to helping others do the same, we must make creating a sense of security one of our top priorities. When someone is worried about their safety, unable to plan for the future, or overly concerned about measuring up to some impossible standard, they simply cannot be all that they are meant to be. Security is a basic building block of growth. That was true for me, it’s true for you, and it’s true for those we want to help as well.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m still an introvert through and through. I love my solitude, and I still hide away from people when I’m feeling overwhelmed. I can’t change who I am, but what I can do is grow and become the best version of myself possible. I’m always working to do that, and I hope you are, too. The first step is establishing a sense of security. It’s the solid foundation that we can start building on, and once we have that, there’s no telling how far we’ll go.

One For All

I’ve always been interested in ethics. How do human beings, both individually and collectively, decide what is right and what is wrong? How do we know what should be considered good? And what happens if—or, more likely, when—we don’t agree? Who gets to decide? It’s a fascinating topic to observe.

We know the world can be a difficult place to live in, often more so for some than for others. Life is hard, and it isn’t fair. But fortunately, we’ve each been given a certain amount of influence over the quality of life on this planet. We don’t have to simply accept things as they are. Through various means, we have the ability to make a difference, to decide how the world is going to work. So how do we know what to do?

The most common answer I’ve heard is that the right decision in any given situation is the one which does the most good for the most people. This seems like a fine approach at first. If the goal is simply to create the most good, then this is the way to go. But after generations of trying this method over and over, we’ve found that it does have its flaws.

Because there are still those who don’t fall under the category of “most people.” Minorities of all kinds. The oppressed. Those whose needs society has simply decided don’t matter. These individuals don’t benefit from the “most good for the most people” approach. Instead, they get left behind to silently suffer the very evils that we’re trying to protect humanity from. Even if a decision makes the world better for 99% of people, it hardly seems fair to move forward if it makes life unbearable for even the smallest faction.

The “most good for the most people” mentally works great until you find yourself outside of the scope of its favor. Maybe you’ve never been there. To be honest, I don’t know that I have. But I do know people who have certainly fallen through the cracks, and it’s a terrible place to be. Creating the most good is a noble venture, but if it isn’t creating good for all, then it isn’t creating good at all.

In the face of this reality, some might give up on the endeavor completely. If we can’t find a way to help everyone, why bother helping anyone? Many have come to the conclusion that what’s right is simply whatever is best for them and those they care about, usually those most like them. This approach makes sense from a strictly pragmatic point of view, and it is how many people use the influence they’re given. But ultimately, it comes from a place of selfishness, which has no potential to positively impact the world and only leads to isolation. And in light of the fact that other people are people just like you and me, it seems that no person concerned with morality could actually make decisions from this perspective.

People of faith tend to claim that their understanding of right and wrong is of divine origin and thus perfect and universal. As a devout Christian myself, I do affirm the tenants of the Christian faith and believe that the world would be a better place were they put into practice fully. However, there are some problems that arise from taking this approach to solving ethical issues.

Firstly, all people are hypocrites. I don’t know why, but human beings have this baffling ability to claim that we believe one thing while simultaneously doing the exact opposite of that thing. Principles like love, peace, and grace are all beautiful and powerful, but when we fail to allow those principles to dictate our real-world actions, then we aren’t living out what we claim to believe, and there’s a huge disconnect between our faith and our real-world ethics.

Secondly, the world is a big, diverse place with a lot of different belief systems. No one religion is universal, and the very nature of faith dictates that it must be a choice. Religious beliefs and the moral actions that come as a result of them cannot be forced upon anyone. And so, it would be difficult to use any one faith (even if you believe it to be the one true faith) as the standard for ethical decision-making across the world. Regardless, any time religion mixes with power, the results are disastrous anyway.

That is not to say that our faith should not inform and influence our ethics, nor that we shouldn’t bring our faith with us when we come together to make decisions on a grand scale. At its best, faith makes us into better people, and so we must rely on it to help us make the right decisions. But a universal ethic of right and wrong can’t simply come from one group or another; we have to get there together.

A truly ethical approach to decision-making takes into account not just the needs of the majority, the benefit of the self, or the beliefs of a single group. Rather, the logical endpoint of every ethical question is that for something to be good, it must be good for everyone. Every person is a person, and every person must be considered.

I‘m not audacious enough to claim that I have all of the answers to the world’s problems. What I do have is an idea for a new starting point: What if, rather than coming from a place of scarcity, we approached the world’s problems from a place of abundance?

Because the truth is that there is enough. There’s enough money. There’s enough food. There’s enough work. There’s enough joy. There’s enough comfort. There’s enough fulfillment. There’s enough for all of us to have enough.

Far too often, we see life as a zero-sum game. If someone else gets more of something, that means I have less. But that simply isn’t the case. There’s more than enough of what we need in the world for everyone to survive, to thrive, to be all that they’re meant to be—and then some. And when we willingly sacrifice some of our abundance so that someone else can simply have enough, we aren’t losing anything at all. We’re taking our extra and turning it into someone’s enough, and in doing so, we’re creating good. Isn’t that worth so much more?

We are all in this together. We create barriers between people, families, races, nations, and more, and these boundaries are helpful to an extent. But if we aren’t careful, we can allow these human-made lines to trick us into thinking that they’re real, and the truth is that they’re not. We are all here together on this planet as one big group, and when any part of that group suffers, we all suffer because the greater good is diminished. The ultimate goal of ethics is the ultimate, big-g Good, and that means good for every last person we share this life with.

The solution to the world’s problems is not all for one. It’s not some for some. It’s not even most for most. It’s one for all, and that isn’t an idealistic dream. It’s a reality that we can create if we—each of us—choose to use our influence to make it so. May we make it so.