Don McMinn

Expressions of arrogance and pride are distasteful, almost comical.
Expressions of humility and modesty are attractive and honorable.

I am deeply moved by expressions of humility.

• I have a friend who is President of a private bank. When he introduces himself in public he says, “My name is _______ and I work at _____ bank.”
• I have a friend who was President of a major university. When he speaks of that time in his life he says, “For several years I served on the leadership team at ___________.”
• I have a friend that I knew for four years before I discovered he has a Ph.D. in geology from a major research university.

These men and women are exceptional in their character, credentials, and experiences. They have accomplished a lot in life. But it takes a long time to discover their depth, because they are so humble. They have a lot more behind the counter than they put out on the shelf.

How about you? Are you eager to tell people what and who you know? When meeting people for the first time, do you quickly try to impress them with your credentials and experiences, or is your discloser slower and more subtle? Do you overstate or understate your strengths and assets? Do you hide your weaknesses and failures, or do you acknowledge them as a natural part of your life’s narrative?

I love the following story because it is utterly fascinating and, the protagonist exemplifies what I’m advocating in this essay.

The 17th century French mathematician Pierre de Fermat proffered a theorem that became the Holy Grail of math problems for 350 years: prove there are no whole-number solutions for this equation: xn + yn = zn for n greater than 2. Some mathematicians spent their entire lives trying to solve the problem; many thought it was impossible.

On June 23, 1993, Andrew Wiles—a quiet, unassuming professor of mathematics at Princeton University—stood before his peers at a conference in Cambridge and for several hours scribbled math equations on the chalkboard. Finally, he said, “I think I’ll stop here,” and put down the chalk. He had solved Fermat’s Enigma. With little fanfare, he had deciphered one of the most complicated problems in mathematics and then simply said, “I think I’ll stop here.”

Understated. Humble. Let’s follow suit.

[The book, Fermat’s Enigma by Singh, tells the whole story; it is a must-read. There are many videos on YouTube about Fermat’s Theorem. For a four-minutes summary click here.

[reminder]What are your thoughts about this essay?[/reminder]

Summary
What? — Humility is a noble virtue; bragging is not. We should be slow to reveal the depths of our personal assets and strengths.
So what? — Always have more behind the counter than you put on the shelf.
Now what? — If necessary, adjust your thinking about this issue.

[callout]Occasionally, I’ll include in a post, the link to an interesting article which addresses a different topic than the post.

Here’s a great article – The Benefits of Despair – written by Lisa Feldman (June 5, 2016; New York Times) She shares some good thoughts about why “emotional granularity” is beneficial. Sam Harris says, “We read for the pleasure and benefit of knowing another person’s thoughts.” Read and benefit from Feldman’s insights. Click here for the article. [/callout]

Role models provide an effective shortcut to learning. Find someone who is succeeding at what you want to do or who you want to be, study her, and copy her actions.

You can also learn from bad role models. Find someone who is failing at what you want to do or who you want to be, study him, and avoid the undesirable traits.

For instance:

• Recently, I read a book that was poorly written. I was frustrated trying to make sense of the author’s sequence of thoughts (or lack of). I analyzed what it was that made his writing disjointed, and now I want to eliminate those characteristics from my writing.
• I observed a leader who is autocratic, egocentric, and draconian. I don’t want to be like that.
• I was annoyed by someone who talked too much. Do I do that? (Probably not; my wife calls me the king of brevity.)
• I have an acquaintance who is reliably late to all our appointments. That bothers me and prompts me to analyze myself: Am I ever tardy?
• I studied under a professor who was intentionally intimidating. I found it very unappealing.

Young people are particularly susceptible to the influence of role models so, parents and teachers, teach them the value of identifying both positive role models and anti-role models; train them to be selective in whom they idolize and emulate.

[reminder]What are your thoughts about this topic?[/reminder]

[callout]Recommended Article

Occasionally, I’ll include in a post, the link to an interesting article which addresses a different topic than the post.

Here’s a great article – Why You Will Marry the Wrong Person – written by Alain De Botton (May 29, 2016; New York Times).  He shares some good thoughts about why marriage is so difficult. My favorite sentence in the article is: “In a wiser, more self-aware society than our own, a standard question on any early dinner date would be, ‘And how are you crazy?'” Click here for the article.[/callout]

Beginnings are important. First impressions, initial greetings, the commencement of a trip—how something starts is important. The “front door” is critical.

But we should also carefully negotiate endings—that is, how to properly close the “back door” of a relational encounter or event. A proper ending will enhance the experience and bring good closure. A mishandled ending can be awkward and leave a bitter aftertaste.

For instance, how could proper closure be negotiated in each of these situations?

• A phone conversation
• A valued employee leaving an organization after having worked there for many years
• When leaving your house in the morning, leaving behind family members
• A staff meeting
• A lunch meeting with a friend
• A major project
• A vacation with friends

Thoughts to ponder:

• When was the last time you botched a farewell?
• When was the last time you intentionally orchestrated a proper farewell?
• Identify a time in your life when you were personally disappointed by a botched farewell.
• Identify a time in your life when you were blessed by a proper farewell.

An excerpt from the novel—Life of Pi by Yann Martel—provides a vivid illustration of a botched farewell.

Here’s the setting: Following a shipwreck, a young boy named Pi has been on a life-raft for 200+ days with a tiger named Richard Parker. They have developed an interesting and, in some ways, close relationship. The raft finally washes ashore, but the closure of their relationship is awkward and disappointing.

A Disappointing Farewell

When we reached land, Mexico to be exact, I was so weak I barely had the strength to be happy about it. We had great difficulty landing. The lifeboat nearly capsized in the surf. I streamed the sea anchors—what was left of them—full open to keep us perpendicular to the waves, and I tripped them as soon as we began riding a crest. In this way, streaming and tripping the anchors, we surfed in to shore. It was dangerous. But we caught one wave at just the right point and it carried us a great distance, past the high, collapsing walls of water. I tripped the anchors a last time and we were pushed in the rest of the way. The boat hissed to a halt against the sand.

I let myself down the side. I was afraid to let go, afraid that so close to deliverance, in two feet of water, I would drown. I looked ahead to see how far I had to go. The glance gave me one of my last images of Richard Parker, for at that precise moment he jumped over me. I saw his body, so immeasurably vital, stretched in the air above me, a fleeting, furred rainbow. He landed in the water, his back legs splayed, his tail high, and from there, in a few hops, he reached the beach. He went to the left, his paws gouging the wet sand, but changed his mind and spun around. He passed directly in front of me on his way to the right. He didn’t look at me. He ran a hundred yards or so along the shore before turning in. His gait was clumsy and uncoordinated. He fell several times. At the edge of the jungle, he stopped. I was certain he would turn my way. He would look at me. He would flatten his ears. He would growl. In some such way, he would conclude our relationship. He did nothing of the sort. He only looked fixedly into the jungle. Then Richard Parker, companion of my torment, awful, fierce thing that kept me alive, moved forward and disappeared forever from my life.

I struggled to shore and fell upon the sand. I looked about. I was truly alone, orphaned not only of my family, but now of Richard Parker, and nearly, I thought, of God. Of course, I wasn’t. This beach, so soft, firm and vast was like the cheek of God and somewhere two eyes were glittering with pleasure and a mouth was smiling at having me there.
After some hours a member of my own species found me. He left and returned with a group. They were six or seven. They came up to me with their hands covering their noses and mouths. I wondered what was wrong with them. They spoke to me in a strange tongue. They pulled the lifeboat onto the sand. They carried me away. The one piece of turtle meat I had brought from the boat they wrenched from my hand and threw away.

I wept like a child. It was not because I was overcome at having survived my ordeal, though I was. Nor was it the presence of my brothers and sisters, though that too was very moving. I was weeping because Richard Parker had left me so unceremoniously. What a terrible thing it is to botch a farewell. I am a person who believes in form, in the harmony of order. When we can, we must give things a meaningful shape. It’s important to conclude things properly. Only then can you let go. Otherwise you are left with words you should have said but never did, and your heart is heavy with remorse. That bungled goodbye hurts me to this day. I wish so much that I’d had one last look at him in the lifeboat, that I’d provoked him a little, so that I was on his mind. I wish I had said to him then—yes, I know, to a tiger, but still—I wish I had said, “Richard Parker, it’s over. We have survived. Can you believe it? I owe you more gratitude than I can express. I couldn’t have done it without you. I would like to say it formally: Richard Parker, thank you. Thank you for saving my life. And now go where you must. You have known the confined freedom of a zoo most of your life; now you will know the free confinement of a jungle. I wish you all the best with it. Watch out for Man. He is not your friend. But I hope you will remember me as a friend. I will never forget you, that is certain. You will always be with me, in my heart. What is that hiss? Ah, our boat has touched sand. So farewell, Richard Parker, farewell. God be with you.” [Martel, Y. (2001). Life of Pi, Harcourt Books, pp. 284-286]

The next time you approach the ending to a significant encounter or event, carefully orchestrate a good ending.

[reminder]What are your thoughts about this essay?[/reminder]

Where have you been? the mother demanded. The little girl replied, “On my way home, I met a friend who was crying because she had broken her doll.” “Oh,” said her mother, “then you stopped to help her fix the doll?” “Oh, no,” replied the little girl, “I stopped to help her cry.”

When someone is hurting, do not respond with:

• Advice/instruction – “Let me tell you how to solve the problem.” Or, “The next time that happens you should…”
• Logic/reasoning – “Let me analyze the situation and tell you why it happened.” Or, “I think the reason that happened was because…”
• Pep talk – “You’re a winner! You’ll make it through these tough times!” Or, “I’m sure tomorrow will be a better day.”
• Minimize the incident – “Sure it hurt, but get things into perspective; there’s a lot going on that’s good.” Or, “Aren’t you being overly sensitive?”
• Anger – “That makes me so mad! They shouldn’t get away with that!” (Angry at who caused the hurt.) Or, “I’m so upset that you keep getting yourself hurt.” (Angry at the one who is hurting.)
• Martyr’s complex – “I had something similar happen to me.” Or, “After the kind of day I had, let me tell you what hurt really feels like.”
• Personal fear/anxiety – “I’m afraid that’s going to affect my life too.”
• Mr. “Fix it” – “I can’t believe that salesman talked to you like that. I’m calling the store right now and talking to his boss.” Or, “I know you must have been scared when you had a flat tire on that lonely road. Tomorrow I’ll take the car in and get a whole new set of tires.”
• Spiritualizing – “Well, you know that God will work all this out for your good.” Or, “Remember what Joseph said when his brothers mistreated him: ‘They meant it for evil, but God meant it for good.’”

The best antidote for hurt is comfort. Comfort is an emotion, not a cerebral commodity. It is also very simple; if we make it complicated, we’ll miss the mark.

We can comfort others through gentle words, appropriate touch, and our quiet presence.

Gentle words

While there are many words in the Oxford Dictionary, only about 40-50 words qualify as comforting words. The “vocabulary of comfort” includes phrases like these:

• • • “I’m really sorry that you’re hurting.”
    • “It hurts me that you’re hurting because I love you and care for you.”
    • “It saddens me that you felt _________ (embarrassed, rejected, belittled). I know that must have hurt you.”

When comforting someone, the fewer words spoken, the better. If we say too much, we will inevitably move into the cognitive, rational realm, which will be counterproductive.

When speaking words of comfort, it’s also important that our tone of voice be complementary to what is being said. Words of comfort should be spoken gently and with compassion.

Appropriate touch

Proper and tender acts of physical affection can also minister comfort. Depending on the relationship, a warm embrace, a hug, holding hands, or a kiss can help communicate care and concern.

Quiet presence

Sometimes, just being with a person who is hurting is helpful. When I was a young minister, I wasn’t sure what to say to someone who had just lost a loved one. A wise mentor taught me that the “ministry of your presence” is powerful and effective. Just being physically present communicates care and concern.

So when you encounter someone who is hurting, do not do the nine items listed at the beginning of this essay. Do extend comfort. You’ll be amazed at the outcome.

[reminder]What are your thoughts about this essay?[/reminder]