Life is
filled with frustrations. Some of the biggest are the striving to complete a
task and understanding a concept or statement presented by another.
Most of us
have watched a dog chase its tail. The pup discovers that long thing flitting
about and decides he needs to catch it. With all the same energy used to chase
a squirrel, that mutt runs in the tightest of circles. His hope is that he can
just get his teeth on that elusive tail. In the end, he either flops to the
floor in an exhausted, dizzy state or, woe to him, he catches that tail and
sinks his fangs into that nemesis and feels the sizzling pain that follows.
In the past
months, Americans struggled to decide about the leadership of the country.
Hours of debates and commercials and millions of dollars later, no one was sure
exactly what either candidate offered. Of course, most elections have turned
this way. Politicians are afraid to lay out in simple terms what they believe
and propose. Instead, they use double-speak that leaves voters saying “Huh” and
knowing not a whit more than before the pols uttered their first words.
One of the
heights of frustration comes when a person tries to understand what coverage is
offered in an insurance policy. The documents go on for pages, but the vague,
legalese paragraphs offer no clues as to what is and isn’t paid for. We’re
supposed to “trust” our agents, and I do. However, being able to read a clear,
concise policy is what most of us want. It isn’t about to happen folks.
Recently, I
bought Amy a porch heater for her birthday. I opened the box, pulled out the
contraption, along with too many pieces of foam packing, and eventually found
the directions. The pages consisted of warning statements that serve as COA
documents for the manufacturer. The instructions were pictures; that’s it. I
stared at them in hopes that they would telepathically deliver the way I was to
assemble the darn thing. After receiving nothing, I worked until the base and
top were together.
Now is the
season for colored leaves and cooler temperatures. Those of us who have yards
with trees have begun the task of getting up the leaves. In my case, that means
mulching them. Already I’ve performed that job three times. Each time, I work
for a couple of hours and choke on dust from dirt and ground leaves. With the
job complete, I clean the mower and look up. To my dismay, the places that I’ve
wiped clean of tree debris are once again half covered in leaves. I put the
mower up and walk into the house covered in dirt and disgusted. Tomorrow, I can
do the job again and then again the next day and the next until I finally grow
weary of grinding leaves in December.
I used to
fret over leaves and policies and politicians, but not so much any more. Age
has a way of teaching all of us some valuable lessons. The truth is that the
world will go on even if leaves pile up knee deep in the yards of our world.
Most of the time, we’ll be covered with insurance in spite of our inabilities
to understand those thick policies. These days, one man’s election doesn’t
completely determine the destiny of our country. Opposition is always somewhere
to check, and most recently block, the entire efforts of the
commander-in-chief.
We choke on
the gnats of our lives. We worry too often about things over which we have no
control. I now figure falling leaves are one of God’s greatest teaching tools
for us humans. He uses them to show us just how little control we have over
external things and instructs us, instead, to work on areas that lead to
personal growth. To the degree all humans turn toward that self-improvement,
life will be better and frustrations will diminish. Remember, “Man plans, and
God laughs.”
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