Author: Don McMinn

We’ve all heard the old adage, “Don’t judge someone until you’ve walked a mile in his shoes.” It’s sound advice, so let’s talk about how to take that walk.  (I’ll not comment on Billy Connolly’s humorous take on this phrase: “Before you judge a man, walk a mile in his shoes. After that who cares? He’s a mile away and you’ve got his shoes!”)

It’s very difficult to imagine what it’s like to experience life through another person’s viewpoint. What is it like…

• • • To be a person of color in a predominately white society?
    • To have a handicap that makes mobility difficult?
    • To have been raised in foster homes?
    • To be the child of a famous person?
    • To be a single mother with three small children?

The English novelist Zadie Smith wrote that when she was a girl, she was constantly imagining what it would be like to grow up in the homes of her friends. “I rarely entered a friend’s home without wondering what it might be like to never leave. That is, what it would be like to be Polish or Ghanaian or Irish or Bengali, to be richer or poorer, to say these prayers or hold those politics. Above all, I wondered what it would be like to believe the sorts of things I didn’t believe.”

While it may be difficult to view life from someone else’s perspective, it’s not impossible, and we must try. It’s the key prerequisite for developing empathy and an essential element of intimate relationships.

For a moment, think of someone you know whose life is quite different from yours. I’m thinking of the man who has done our yard work for the past 25 years. I’ve watched him raise his three sons who have helped their father do hard work. Bardo and his family are faithful, good workers who work many hours a day mowing and trimming lawns.

Now close your eyes and think about what the person’s life might be like—his fears, joys, insecurities, aspirations, dreams. Has Bardo saved for retirement? Does he have a hobby that offers a break from mundane, tedious work? How is he paying for his sons’ college education? Does he stay in touch with family in Mexico? What’s more difficult for him: working in the severe heat of summer or the cold of winter? Who fixes his truck when it breaks down?

As a result of spending a few minutes thinking about what it’s like to be Bardo, I’m more empathetic toward him and curious to know more about his story. In the coming weeks, I’m going to take the time to engage more with him.

My church is having a four-week emphasis on Love like Jesus. On the first Sunday, Pastor Chuck began his exposition of 1 Corinthians 13 and in his message he encouraged everyone to speak often to those you care about, these three magical words: “I love you.”

Our nine-year-old grandson, Ben, was sitting with us in the service playing Hangman and Tic-tac-toe. I assumed he didn’t pay much attention to the sermon, but several times that evening he approached Mary and me and said, “I love you.” From the day he was born I have often affirmed my love for him by saying that phrase.

Our 7-month old granddaughter, Claire, and her mother live with us. Many times a day I tell her I love her. She doesn’t understand what I’m saying, though I suspect that she picks up on the tender emotions of the moment.

I’m wondering: why do I often say “I love you” to my grandchildren but don’t say it to adults. Other than to my wife, it’s been a long time since I’ve spoken these live-giving words to someone over the age of 10. Why is that?

I could blame it on my family of origin—I can’t remember my father ever speaking those words to me—but that’s a flimsy excuse. I could blame it on our culture—“real men” don’t do that, or on acceptable norms—it seems odd for adults to say that to one another—but the guiding principle should be: the Bible tells us to love one another and that should include verbally expressing our love to one another. 

I’m going to change.

 

 

 

I’ve read that when you’re interviewing someone for a job, it helps to have a meal with them in a public restaurant because then you can observe how the interviewee treats the waitstaff. You can also tell a lot about someone by observing how they treat the custodial staff at the office, or those who are low on the org. chart. You can tell a lot about someone by observing how he treats people whom he doesn’t have to be kind to. It provides a subtle but accurate glimpse into how the person values people and how he is likely to treat them. 

Much of what I write about in these posts is autobiographical—not just things I’m thinking about but issues that I struggle with. I take these lessons/suggestions personal. So I’ve been asking myself: am I kind and considerate to people who are “unseen”?

Kindness should be blind, unconditional, and indiscriminate. When we demonstrate kindness to those who are least expecting it, the impact can be profound. The following story speaks of the power of a random act of kindness.  

The African bishop, Desmond Tutu, was once asked why he became an Anglican rather than joining some other denomination. He replied that in the days of apartheid, when a black person and a white person met while walking on a footpath, the black person was expected to step into the gutter to allow the white person to pass and then nod his head as a gesture of respect.

“One day,” Tutu said, “when I was just a little boy, my mother and I were walking down the street when a tall, white man, dressed in a black suit, came toward us. Before my mother and I could step off the sidewalk, as was expected of us, this man stepped off the sidewalk and, as my mother and I passed, tipped his hat in a gesture of respect to her. I was more than surprised at what had happened, and I asked my mother, ‘Why did that white man do that?’ My mother explained, ‘He’s an Anglican priest. He’s a man of God, that’s why he did it.’ When she told me that he was an Anglican priest, I decided there and then that I wanted to be an Anglican priest too. And what is more, I wanted to be a man of God.”

Bishop Desmond Tutu was one of the key contributors to the abolishment of apartheid in South Africa.

The only opportunity I have to dance in public is when I’m on a cruise ship. At least daily, there’s a venue that features live music and a dance floor. I’m untrained in dancing so it’s not a pretty sight, but it’s relaxing, almost cathartic. On our recent trip on the Queen Mary 2, Mary occasionally danced with me but my nine-year-old grandson refused. I tried to bribe and cajole him, but he wouldn’t budge. I appealed to his sense of logic, saying, “Ben, no one is going to notice you.” But that didn’t work either. 

There’s a fundamental and helpful thought lying at the core of the phrase, “Dance like no one’s watching…because no one is.” Don’t be overly concerned or restrained by worrying about what other people might think of your actions, because they probably don’t even notice. Another lesson is: If it gives you pleasure, don’t hesitate to do something you’re not good at. 

Some of us go through life being inordinately self-conscious. We worry about what we’re wearing, what we’re saying, and what people think of us. The reality is, most people don’t think of us often and don’t care about what we do, so we shouldn’t be overly concerned. 

Of course, we should defer to social norms, manners, and protocol—that’s called social intelligence. But maintain a balance between what your culture deems as normal and acceptable and what your heart wants to do. Periodically, cut the rug.