Solid Ground

The phrase “paradigm shift” became cliché twenty (20) or so years ago due to Steven Covey’s book “The Seven Habits”. Cliché or not, I like to think about paradigm shifts because these sudden insights can help summarize the gargantuan but gradual changes that we all have experienced over the span of our life’s stories.

One of those shifts happened to me as a young parent when I was still under the belief that I could usher my children into the world without making all the same mistakes that my parents made. I probably didn’t make all the same mistakes; mine are probably more specific to the desperation and vices of my times. The moment in time that I think about related to my participation with our kids came during Dana’s first winter before she could walk. We were playing on the new green carpet in our basement with some of the many dolls that she and Alisha had received as Christmas gifts. My wife, Lorilee called down to us saying that it was time to put the girls to bed. Even at this young family’s age I had already made a few rules. One of these rules went like this… NEVER DO ANYTHING FOR THE CHILDREN THAT THEY CAN DO FOR THEMSELVES! As their mom was calling, we quickly made a game of putting away their toys. When finished, Alisha scurried off in her sprint crawl toward the stairs. She knew by now that her Dad wasn’t going to carry her up the two flights of stairs to bed since she was perfectly capable of making the climb herself. Dana, not willing to obey quite so promptly, played a bit more with one of her dolls. I waited patiently at the top of the basement steps as she slowly made her way across the carpet and then sat up at the foot of the stairs.

Dana just sat there for a moment and then began to whimper and cry. I surmised that we were having so much fun with our play that Dana was having trouble obeying her Dad. I didn’t mind her disappointment but I didn’t like the fact that she was ignoring my calls to begin the climb up the stairs. Presently she started to come up but then stopped short. Now I was rapidly becoming impatient with her and told her in my commanding voice, “Dana, come up the stairs, now!” But Dana refused. I’d heard some things about his type of behavior before, on the James Dobson show. I thought to myself, “Here’s a chance to exercise some of the tough love of the Dobsonian variety.” I patiently and firmly explained to Dana that it was time for bed and the she must climb up those steps immediately. But now I watched as a different Dana transformed before my eyes. She was now red in the face, her strong will was flaring up and her defiant, stubborn self was coming through to me loud and clear. She would not budge. I held my ground at the top of the stairs unwilling to give in to her cry. I replied to her in a kind, caring, but firm voice, encouraging her from my perch at the top of the stairs. Dana was wailing by now probably trying to attract the attention of the neighbors or at least her mother.

After another 30 seconds of this I became disgusted with her refusal to obey me, and finally slid down the stairs toward her in preparation to give here a good paddling. As I picked her up I noticed that she didn’t come easy and there was a tearing sound as the bottom of her little jumper tore away. She was wet with sweat and her little legs did not stop pumping even after I had picked her up. I had just finished installing that new carpet and had left one of the nail heads exposed. Dana’s clothes had snagged on the nail as she was attempting to climb the stairs.

I sat their holding Dana for a long time as a few of the facts of life began to soak into my head. I am still learning the lessons of that winter night 17 years ago. Kids usually try to do what is best even though what they are doing doesn’t seem reasonable to me. Next time I see a kid do some of the crazy things that teenagers do, I hope I have the paradigm structure that allows me to look below the surface, one that attempts to see more of the good effort, before making all of the quick judgments.

Another paradigm shift is happening to me right now as I adjust to the new pricing levels for our homes, energy, groceries, and investments. I can remember last October watching the DOW Jones stock index fluttering around 14,000 points. I was feeling like a good investor who knew what he was doing. Over the summer when gas prices started to rise a coworker expressed worry about $5.00 per gallon gasoline prices. I couldn’t understand what she was worried about since she was riding her bike to work. And too, I felt I was smart enough to know that we would never see $5,00/gallon gas and so during all the frenzy I bet her that we would see $3.00 gas before we saw $5.00 gas. Boy, was I right, so right, that I ended up wrong. As gas prices tumbled I remember watching the DOW tumble too. When the DOW finally settled around 11,000 I breathed a sigh of relief. On that particular summer day, a different co-worker, whose judgment I would never bet against, suggested to me that the bottom for the DOW was probably somewhere around 8,500. That really put the fear of god into me; I was not ready to give up my dreams of early retirement. Never the less I resigned myself to his prediction and sure enough over the coming weeks the DOW index sank another 3,000 points. On the day that it dipped to 8,500 I was ready. I had heard other commentators agree that 8,500 on the DOW index was indeed our floor. About 9:00 AM on that day the DOW dropped to 8,500 the index kept on dropping until it hit 7,600. Then like it was a spring board it shot back up past 8,500 and settled on 8,600. “Hooray”, I shouted to myself “We have found a solid floor.” I proceeded to take all the money in my 401(k) that had held some of its value during the free fall and sunk the money into equities over the next few weeks. Each time the DOW fell below 8,500 I would buy. Now that most of my money has been invested fully into equities I am waiting expectantly for the miracles that our next president is sure to pull out of his hat. Every time the DOW falls below 8,000 which it has quite often I wonder why I ever thought 8,500 was a floor. And each time it raises over 9,000 like it did a few times today, I pat myself on the back and wonder how I got to be so smart.

The fact is I no longer dream of a 20,000 DOW index and the early retirement that might have gone with it. But I have not been naïve about this ride either. I’ve always felt like if I was going to invest in stocks I must be prepared for the ride. Prepared for a ride, like the one a cowboy gets on a bucking bronco, and that means staying on the ride until the bell rings and the ride is over.

Then, the other day, at noon, I had the paradigm shift that I never saw coming. It came when I was listening to an essay on NPR written by a local contributor. The writer likened his obsession with stock indexes not to riding on the back of a bucking bronco. He likened the obsession to that of riding out the storm in the belly of a beast. I understood my position immediately. I have been swallowed by the beast, by a huge whale floundering in rough seas. It is dark down here in the belly and I cannot see where we are going. Someday, if I am lucky, I will be puked up on the shore. But until then I will probably continue to hold on tightly to my investments and ride this thing out!

The last shift that I want to write about is one that I am still waiting for and have been for a few years now. Sunday mornings have always been a difficult time for me, throughout my childhood, especially so in my teen years and on into adult life. I am determined to wait for the shift to come and I believe it will, someday. At least now I am enjoying Sunday mornings though. I spent this last Sunday morning with some friends of mine who are in their 80s. They are not well enough to go out in the winter and so they watch Joel Osteen on TV. There’s a shift for you. Imagine being shut in for the whole winter. Then the thought of watching Joel Osteen for a whole half hour doesn’t seem nearly so much of a waste of time.

I had my annual December one-on-one breakfast with my daughter, Alisha, this morning. We met at the Essenhaus buffet and talked about all the usual stuff, SAT scores, potential colleges, and sports. I tried to get her to talk to me about any feelings of abandonment by me, that she might be having related to Sunday mornings. I have attended church with the family only once or twice since the day she was baptized almost two years ago. She brushed off my questions like teenagers seem to be able to do, but I do wonder what she will be saying about me in 40 years?

Growing up, I was taught that there are three things, not two. Death, Taxes and Church, are the three, and not in that order. We went to church twice on Sunday every Wednesday evening. Actually, if you count Summer Bible School and revival meetings we probably averaged four (4) times each week. As a teenager my family attended a church where the expectation was that members arrive at least 20 minutes before the service began. Everyone seemed to enjoy coming early and staying late. I had a sneaking suspicion though, that outside of my small, tight, Amish, Conservative Mennonite community other people were finding other things to do with their time. In my twenties the church Lorilee and I attended didn’t have regular Sunday evening services. That didn’t sit very well with my conscience but soon I was enjoying Sunday evenings at home watching TV, or playing in the yard, with the rest of the world. All during my 20s and 30s I never missed the Wednesday evening small group meetings that our church promoted. This duty was not nearly as hard as the one that I grew up with. And I enjoyed the comfort of peoples homes and the community that the people provided.

Then a couple of years ago I just got tired of my struggles and stopped going to church altogether. My brother had stopped a few years before me. But he has a community that is pretty tight. I think they call themselves the emerging church or something like that. Actually, I have begun to really look forward to Sunday mornings. I have enjoyed the great out-of-doors so much. People who go to church probably would say that I am working on Sunday but I have never considered gardening work. I still get quite a bit of guilt every Sunday when the rest of the family goes off to church. I have more one-on-one breakfasts with family members over the coming weeks and I will continue to try to get them to talk to me about my guilt. But they probably are smart enough not to take the bait. I have heard Lorilee and the girls practicing a Christmas song that they plan to sing on the Sunday before Christmas. I might go in order to hear them sing. I guess I will know that the paradigm shift is in place once I can feel more comfortable regardless of where I am or what I am doing on Sunday morning.