Dustin's Distraction

Sometimes we need a good fire to clear some ground before the seeds of faith can begin to grow.

Life is full of challenges and hard times. Although it is easy to complain about those times, we are frequently blessed through them. Sometimes we need change to take place in our lives. We need to grow in ways we have not considered before. Sometimes the only way to do this, though, is to clear space for the new growth to take place. The landscape of our lives can easily become cluttered with bad habits, narrow views, adherence to traditions, complacency, and other noxious growths that might smother the growth we really need. Thus some trials we face are, by design, rather difficult and life changing. As fire sweeps over the landscape of our lives, we feel the burn.

We all have seeds of faith that we carry throughout our lives. As we plant them and care for them, we have the pleasure of seeing them come to fruition. I have decided that not all seeds of faith act the same though. Some seeds germinate and develop quickly. Other seeds may take years and years before they reach their potential. Yet other seeds, although they are present, require something more before they can even be planted. For example, there are some pinecones that sit dormant for years. They release their seeds only when there has been fire. These seeds need plenty of sunlight and space to grow properly, so the fire not only triggers the release of the seeds, but it provides the necessary preparation for them to have the greatest possible chance to grow the way they should. Some seeds of faith come from pinecones.

Hindsight is my expert witness here. I can look back and see how I really needed to grow or change at times, but was unwilling to yield up the space needed to make it possible. I can also see how some of the more difficult trials I’ve faced served to burn off those things in my life that were getting in the way. The seeds were already there, but preparation needed to take place before I could plant and grow them. Once the fire passed, the seeds were planted. Without fail, in each of the examples from my own life I can think of, things have turned out better than they were before, no matter how much I complained about the process.

With all of this said, the next time you find yourself feeling the burn, remember that there are pinecones waiting to give you something better

I have let time pass without making mention of the biggest recent event in my life. We had our baby boy on May 25th, 2010. We named him Dallin Garrison Tanner. I must say that he is absolutely beautiful! What a blessing.

With each of my children I have been right there for their birth, oftentimes with sore thumbs from Marie squeezing them through the contractions. With each of the children I have cried when they are born. It is such a relief to finally have that baby in your arms, healthy and whole. It is overwhelming to consider the amazing privilege of creating life and the awesome responsibility you assume as a parent. I think for a brief moment I experience a lifetime of love and worry as I hold my baby for the first time. Words cannot do justice to the power of the experience.

With a new little one in my life, I go through some self-evaluation and renovation. I want to be a better dad. Even if my kids think I’m the best dad ever, I know I have tons of room to improve. I want to hold on to the strong spiritual feelings that a newborn brings into my heart. It amazes me that, even with all sorts of new responsibility, I can feel peacefully reassured. I always feel stirred up to action. Of course, there are rough nights and stressful times. The smell of the metaphorical new car can wear off. Nothing, however, can take away from the joy I feel just to be a parent. My children are my treasures. They make me a wealthy man.

One day I came to the conclusion that my shadow carries all of my burdens, not I. In having this epiphany so many things made much more sense. I’ve frequently asked myself why I can’t just leave things behind, let go, get over, forget, etc. The thought came to me that it was that cursed shadow of mine. Perhaps he is more dark and sinister than I had previously thought. (Beware of silent, shady types that lurk about. They can’t be up to any good.) He’s dragging my burdens along, thus they always seem to linger nearby. I can imagine looking at my shadow only to see it towing an overloaded wagon full of everything that stresses me. I indulged in my little fantasy fueled blame game.

It would be great if I could actually pass all the strain of my burdens on to my shadow. (By the way, I think I’ll call my shadow Carlos. I don’t know why. He just needs a name.) Unfortunately I was viewing him as a hitchhiker in my life. He is always tagging along. He’s like a bad penny or obnoxious younger sibling. He’s worse than a stray animal. You don’t even have to feed him and he’ll keep coming back. For one brief moment at a time I can jump and break away from him, but gravity always pulls us back together. No matter how high I jump, he’s always waiting to catch me when I come back down. I can hide from him in the dark, but as soon as the lights come on, there he is. He’s always under foot.

Another epiphany struck me. Maybe I should make friends with Carlos. I can’t fight him, can’t avoid him, and we spend an awful lot of time together. Sometimes it’s hard to look past someone’s imperfections/annoyances and forgive them for how they have treated you though. Still entertaining the notion that Carlos was hauling my burdens along with him, it was easy to feel like Carlos does what he does just to spite me. Given the nature of my relationship with Carlos, I realized that I couldn’t escape my burdens, or dump them off on him. If he is attached to me, even if he were bearing my burdens, I’m still dragging them both around like an anchor. Why can’t he take them, then let go of them and move on? It would be so much easier. Useless shadow… How could I possibly be a friend with Carlos? Then the answer came to me. Carlos is already my friend.

He’s always there for me and never leaves my side, no matter how cranky, rude, obnoxious, or goofy I get. He’s seen me through the best and worst of times. Because he’s carried my burdens, he understands everything I’ve been through, all I feel, and all I hope for. He shares my burdens with me. Even when I try to ditch him he just waits patiently for my return, and takes me back without a word of complaint. When I’m wrong he never says, “I told you so.” When I get a little crazy he keeps me grounded. He’s always there to catch me when I fall. He sucks at it. He’s a shadow! But he always tries. So now Carlos and I are good buddies. He’s always welcome to tag along. As long as Carlos is there, I know I’m not alone.

P.S. I started liking my shadow when I gave him a name. Maybe you should name yours too. Also, I don’t actually talk to my shadow. You don’t need a degree in psychology to realize something isn’t quite right about that.

From Dictionary.com:

1. the quality of being patient, as the bearing of provocation, annoyance, misfortune, or pain, without complaint, loss of temper, irritation, or the like.

2. an ability or willingness to suppress restlessness or annoyance when confronted with delay: to have patience with a slow learner.

3. quiet, steady perseverance; even tempered care; diligence; to work with patience.

Use those definitions how you like, but with the general concept in mind, I would add a qualifier to the definitions:

It’s not patience until you feel like you’ve run out of it!

If it is easy to deal/put up with, endure, or wait for, then there really is no need for patience.

Sadly, my own definition tells me I am not a very patient person. I can’t wait to someday say I am.

Questions

Will our scars make us numb
to the things we must feel?
Will our fears keep us from
doing what helps us heal?

Will the trials that we face
block our path to progress?
Will the hopes we embrace
fuel desires for success?

Will the love that we feel
risk breaking our hearts?
Will the hurt we conceal
make us wander apart?

Can a glimmer of light
brighten dark hazy days?
Can the still of the night
for our burdens defray?

Will our worries abide
and cause faith to wear thin?
Can the stress from outside
give us strength from within?

A true story by Dustin Tanner

I was absolutely thrilled to be finally going on this trip. I had looked forward to the outing all year. It was an opportunity to go camping with my father and spend time with other boys and their fathers. I had fond memories of previous years playing softball, fishing, gathering around the fire, and sharing good laughs. This year was sure to be just as good and leave me with more fond memories.

Excitement grew in my heart as we finally left the paved road. It was a transition from civilization to the desert wilderness that signified drawing closer to the destination. I tried to imagine the kinds of fun I would have as the truck rumbled across sections of washboard road. My mind wandered to my Red Ryder BB gun, which was safely stashed in the back of the truck. I contemplated whether I would have to use it to protect myself from any rattlesnakes.

Some way down the road my father stopped rather abruptly and reached for his camera. “What is it dad?” I asked. Dad replied, “It’s a rattlesnake. I want to get a picture of it coiled up and ready to strike.” Even in the mind of the 10-year-old boy this seemed like a bad idea. I urged my father to be extremely careful, and opted to stay in the truck. I could see dad throwing rocks and doing whatever else he could to agitate the sunning snake into curling into a striking position. His efforts, however, were to no avail. The snake remained stretched out in the road. Dad, with camera in hand, ducked down out of sight temporarily. He came back into sight brushing dust off of his clothes. He then picked up a large rock and thrust it downward. It did not take much of an imagination to realize that dad killed the rattlesnake. I thought to myself, “Good riddance. That’s one less snake to worry about.” Dad then crouched down briefly and came back up with something small in his hand. He climbed back into the truck and showed the rattle from the snake. He explained he was going to make it into a tie tack. I did not know whether I should be disgusted, worried, or impressed. The one thing I did know was that I was excited to get to the campout, and was glad that this delay was finally over.

My imagination filled with images of the old West as the name of our destination crossed my mind- Lookout Point. Lookout Point had been a station on the old Pony Express trail in Utah’s West desert. I imagined a weary horseback rider frantically stepping from his tired horse to a new horse with fresh legs. In my mind I could hear the whoops of the local Indians as they pursued the horseman. Excitement bubbled up in my heart as I imagined the possibility of finding a real arrowhead. I wanted so badly to resist asking the inevitable question, “Are we there yet?” I knew I could not resist much longer. It was like an itch that needed to be scratched. I managed to put it out of my mind for a while, choosing to think more about the wonders I might find.

As the truck came over the top of a hill and made its way through a long bend in the road, there were hills covered in sagebrush, juniper, cedar, and patches of scrub oak. Dad did not need to tell me where we were. I had already spotted the camp full of familiar people. Some were busy setting up tents, others were standing side by side talking, looking off into the distance at some unknown point, avoiding eye contact like people often do. Some of the boys were already wandering off having fun with each other. I wondered how long it would take to set up the pop-up trailer. I knew I shouldn’t be wandering off until camp was set up, but wanted to go explore.

Naturally I managed to disappear from dad’s side as soon as the opportunity arose. I scurried off looking for my friends, which was not hard to do. Just follow the noise of boys shouting and having fun. All of the boys seemed to converge at the same time on what would become the central gathering spot for the camp. In a semi-democratic manner, we decided that we should start a fire for the camp. We all went about gathering wood like a swarm of ants gathering food. In an impressively short period of time there was a nice fire crackling in the center of the ring of already dirty boys. With the first vital task complete, there was an obvious need to move on to the next activity. One of the boys in the group happily blurted out, “Hey! Let’s jump the fire!” The vote was almost unanimous. There were a few boys that either had too much sense or were too scared, or perhaps both.

I did not hesitate. I was amongst the first to brave the flames. I had a sense of death defying excitement. There was a scurry of boys running about, charging the fire, and leaping over the flames, the extent of their enjoyment only confined by the limits of their young imaginations. Then something happened that would alter my experience and memories forever.  It set in motion what would become some of the most vivid memories and experiences I would ever have at one of these campouts. A familiar voice broke over the noise of the crowd. It was dad calling me back to the pop-up. He wanted me to put on some mosquito repellant. I had been so consumed in what I was doing that I had not noticed just how bad the mosquitoes were. I had numerous welts forming from the bug bites. Mosquito repellant was an excellent idea. I proceeded to dowse myself in repellant until it was running and dripping from my skin. If some was good, more was better.

I returned to the fire as quickly as I could. The mood had changed substantially. In the course of jumping the fire the group had been adding wood to make the fire bigger, thus raising the challenge and excitement levels. In the brief period it had taken me to put on bug spray the fire had grown to be taller than most of the boys. In my mind it was easily seven feet high. In reality it was probably about five to six feet. The rest of the boys stood around silently, staring at the dancing flames. None of them were jumping anymore. I felt such disappointment at the scene. I had left when it felt like the fun was just getting started.

“Let’s jump it!” I exclaimed with all the sincere enthusiasm any boy can muster. My shout was met with a prolonged silence. “Fine, if you won’t, I will!” I internally scoffed at the others for being chicken as I dashed toward the fire. I probably had it in my head that jumping that fire would make me a legend, which it did, just not the way I expected. I closed my eyes as I leapt into the flames. I saw the flames gather around me as my eyes drew closed. There was a strange whoosh sound as I came to a solid landing on my feet on the other side of the fire.

I felt triumph, which soon turned into bewilderment. Rather than being cheered on, the boys were all staring at me, some of them with their mouths gaping open. That was the first clue something was wrong. Then there was an odd but unmistakable smell. It was burnt hair. It was my burnt hair! In the brief second that it took me to pass through the flames, a significant portion of my hair had singed off. The sequence of bad ideas leading up to this moment might have had similar results under any circumstances, but the addition of half a can of mosquito repellant, which happens to be highly flammable- it even says so on the can, sealed my fate.

As I reached up and felt my hair I could tell that my new hairstyle was not very even. How it felt in my hand actually conjured an image of the haircut Mickey Dolenz (from the Monkeys) sported. I could tell, based on the looks on the other boy’s faces, that I was not so fortunate. In the delicate, sensitive, and tactful manner that children have, the mocking began. I suppose I cannot blame them. In retrospect it was pretty funny. To my 10-year-old mind it was painful though. I do not like being the center of attention, especially when it involves humiliation.

My memory of specific events fades out at this point in my story. I know there was a flurry of activity around me. I am sure there were some fathers that were upset with their sons’ lack of frontal lobe. I, however, was their sacrificial lamb. The attention was on me, thus taking some of the heat off of them. I also became the moral of the story. “You see John, that’s why you should never play with fire!”

The lingering bits of the remainder of my experience are all focused on the humiliation. The only protection I had was my mid 80’s San Diego Padres hat from Little League. The hat could not possibly be big enough to conceal my shame. I specifically remember feeling frustrated and trapped because my hat did not offer me enough protection. There were still visual reminders that allowed others the chance to figuratively stoke the coals that made my face and ears burn with embarrassment. My hat was still better than nothing. I felt like I could not wait to go home and get a haircut.

There are a few things that I kept from this experience. I came home with my memories. Unfortunately everybody else went home with memories too. Even as recently as a couple of years ago, more than 20 years after the fact, I ran into someone that chuckled as they reminded me about that time I jumped the fire. I also learned a few obvious but valuable lessons about fire safety, flammable liquids, and natural consequences. The one tangible object that I have kept from my career as a fire-jumper is the San Diego Padres hat. It’s old and too small for me, but I have never brought myself to let it go. It means something to me.

There are lessons to be learned in all things, but are we students in all things?

I believe that we miss out on so many of life’s lessons because we are too busy moaning about our circumstances rather than digging through the “wreckage” to extract what is valuable and useful. If you are going to take a loss (damage, hurt, whatever you want to call it), then why not take some souvenirs that might be helpful along the way? What would Bear Grylls do? I mean besides finding some reason to get naked and do jumping jacks around a fire.

We all have “war stories” from our lifetimes of experiences. Whether figuratively or literally we are going to have some scars too. Are we caught up in telling the stories to show off the scars, or are we sharing the stories and showing the scars to pass on what we have learned? If we have learned from our struggles, apply what we’ve learned, and seek to help others with it, then consider the scars to be red badges of courage. If we are just showing off the scars, then consider them scarlet letters of stupidity. (I don’t usually like using words like stupidity, but in this instance it just sounds better than some of the alternatives I could think of.)

I’m not going to pretend that I’ve mastered this concept. I moan and complain plenty. Sometimes it is fun to show off the scars, if for nothing else to give someone a good laugh. I recognize, however, that who I am is strongly influenced by where I’ve been and what I’ve experienced. Most of my better qualities do not come from just the good times. They’ve come from the hardships and trials as well. Every time I’ve managed to sit still and think, I’ve managed to find a nugget of wisdom or something useful. It’s just hard to see past what I don’t like.

One final note: Unlike Bear Grylls, I have yet to find a reason to get naked and do jumping jacks around a fire. Maybe someday… But I do know that sometimes we have to eat life’s bugs in order to survive. We may not like it, want to do it, and sometimes would prefer to starve, but there is always “nutritional” value if we can look beyond the “explosion of puss” (to quote Bear Grylls about grubs and spiders) long enough to take in what we need to be stronger and carry on.

I had an experience that I will hold in my memory for the rest of my life. I sat and cried with my hunting buddy.

In my own mind I find some amusement in stating it that way. Since I am a psychologist it may not be so surprising to hear that I cried in the presence of another dude. Knowing that the other dude is also a psychologist would surely zap most of any remaining surprise. To be truthful, however, it is not something that I do a lot of with any of my buddies. If you know me well, then you know I am a big old softy. That doesn’t matter much though. I still like to get out with the guys and hunt and fish, and grunt a bit like Tim the Tool-Man Taylor. Maybe I’m compensating for something?

Anyway, to give a little more information, this buddy is one that I met a few years ago. He quickly became a friend that I love dearly. I admire him a lot because he is a very strong person. He has survived cancer more than once. You don’t find a more devoted family man. You don’t find many friends that show as much interest or concern in your life. I’ve gotten after him for changing the topic from how he is doing to how I am doing, when he has been the one with really big and scary things going on in his life. I once asked him how he copes with all of the stress that he has had to deal with. His answer was simple. He said he just worries about other people. This remains true, even with ongoing medical concerns. He is a great friend.

He and his wife had a huge scare just recently. His wife became very ill. She was sent home after her first doctor’s visit without any serious immediate health concerns being expressed. She continued to feel worse and ended up in the hospital. It became apparent that her condition was serious, and was a threat to her and their unborn child. As I sat and listened to my friend tell how events unfolded I took a little pleasure in the fact that he was willing to talk to me and let me be a supportive friend to him (not in what he was going through). Tears came and went along the way. Then came the clincher.

Things arrived to a point where he was told that if his wife did not start improving, he would probably have to choose between the life of his wife and the life of his unborn child. He described collapsing in the hospital and sobbing. This is when the tears really came. I have never felt such a heavy heart in my life. The image of a giant of a man (he literally is a giant) breaking down leaves an impression. The image of him having to go through such a dilemma was almost more than I could take. Rhetorically he asked how you choose between one’s life and the other’s. Both are such treasures beyond any earthly value. I’m glad that it was a rhetorical question. How do you answer something like that? (Fortunately things have worked out. His wife and unborn child are doing well. That’s the sweetest part of all!)

There was so much to this conversation that I simply cannot put into words, or will not for various reasons. Most of it is not mine to share, thus the sparse details. The parts that I am willing to tell boil down to a few fine points for me:

The richness of your life is reflected in the love you share with those around you. The more you love, the more vulnerable you are to being hurt. The risk of being hurt, however, is a small price to pay for the pleasure of good friends and family. You cannot always predict when heartache may strike, but it is nice to know that someone will be there when it does. I don’t say this because I fancy myself as a great friend. I say it because I’m lucky to have such a great friend who has been there for me. I’m blessed to have had the opportunity to return the favor to some small extent. I’m glad to have a hunting buddy I can cry with.

I would probably blog more, except when I go to blog I want to write something either funny (that is subjective) or meaningful (also subjective). The tragedy here is that I don’t always have anything of either variety. My options become not writing anything, or repeatedly trying to find something when I’m not feeling particularly inspired. I guess the third option is to type my thoughts about not coming up with something to write about. Yes, I think I will take that option…with a teaser. Coming soon! Something meaningful or funny, or perhaps both, but don’t count on it. I just wanted to keep my 4 Facebook fans informed.

How often does someone casually ask you how you are doing (which is a wordy way to say hello in most cases) and no matter how bad you really are doing you say you are fine? There are a few possible answers to give when someone asks how you are doing. Hopefully the truth is that you are indeed fine. For most people, however, there are going to be days that you are not. So why would we still say we are fine if we are not? There is nothing wrong with having bad days. There is nothing wrong with feeling down. There is nothing wrong with being sick. Pretending to be impervious to life’s challenges is wrong. When it comes to facing challenges in life, there is no immunity.

Now I know that there are times and places to talk about things. You are better off if you don’t just put it all on the table every time someone asks how you are doing. The rub for me, though, is that there is some unwritten law stating that we must be strong and put on a good front for everyone. If everyone is putting on a good front, then people tend to look good. Then the temptation to compare ourselves to them creeps in. That is when we find ourselves wishing we were as talented as this person, as good looking as that person, and so on. This is a huge problem. If I spend all of my time comparing my full knowledge of my flaws and weaknesses to the “Sunday best” appearance that people put on, I’m adding misery to suffering and loneliness to isolation.

People frequently ask me how I can do my job and not let it run me down. The truth is that my job offers me sanity (it can be tough though). Don’t take this to mean I feel better by seeing how bad life really is for other people. I’ve learned that people share more in common and understand more about each other than they will ever realize so long as they keep sucking in their social guts and remain feeling isolated in their problems. I have the opportunity to get the honest answer when I ask how someone is doing. In turn, I get invited into someone’s world where I can show some understanding. It is satisfying to accompany someone on their journey.

I’m not saying that people need to go shove a dose of socially awkward honesty onto their friends and associates. Be someone that removes the need for the “socially acceptable” responses. When you ask how someone is doing, be sincere, listen well, find out more, and don’t settle for the generic response if you don’t think it is true. You don’t have to be nosey. Just make sure it is clear that you are willing and prepared to listen. If you have ever had somebody do this for you at a time when you really needed it, then you understand how meaningful it can be. It opens doors, cuts down on isolation, and strengthens relationships. I am willing to bet that you can think of people in your life that do this well. In general we think about those people in positive terms. Why not be one of those people to someone else?