What I know now

WHAT I KNOW NOW

by andhedrew

www.andhedrew.com

www.andhegames.com

www.doubtfulsolutions.com

You can always wipe the grease off your hands.I recently read a book written by someone who was writing about poverty from her perspective the per-spective of a poor person. She described all of the terrible ways that the working poor are hurt and taken advantage of by people who really should know better, and I totally understood where she was coming from, because Id been there.

For most of my adult life, Ive been the definition of working poor. Two or three terrible jobs just to stay afloat, no extra money, medical bills and debt: life is re-ally hard in that kind of situation, and I sympathised with the author. Id felt the pain before not too long ago and I understood it.

But there was a thread running through the book that bothered me. I couldnt quite put my finger on what was frustrating me until the author was describing all of the ways that she had been hurt working in the kitchens

of restaurants. She spoke of splattering 400 degree oil and knives slipping and cutting and feet swelling all of the dangerous and degrading things that go along with a position like that but one sentance jumped out at me, a sentance that encapsulated what had bothered me about the book up to that point:

She described dropping a heavy piece of equip-ment on her feet, because the restaurant was so busy that she didnt have time to wipe the grease off her hands.

I stopped reading, and just stared off into the distance this is what I have to do to be able to think deeply the restaurant was so busy that she didnt have time to wipe the grease off her hands.

Wow.

She could have described that experience several dif-ferent ways she was so stressed that she forget to

wipe her hands, she was so burnt out that she just didnt care any more but the specific wording that she chose absolved her of all responsibility.

They were so busy, that she was forced to drop the equipment on her feet. So busy, that she didnt have two seconds to grab a paper towel.

Yeah, sure.

The truth is, weve all used language like this even if only in our heads to avoid taking responsibility.

Its victim language.

Ive done it so many times if only this job wasnt so terrible and boring, then I wouldnt have to be angry and sullen when I got home.

If only this boss wasnt such a tool, then I wouldnt have to watch so much television to recover from the stress.

If only I had a little more money to go on dates, then I could really work on my relationship.

If only my circumstances were different, then I would be different.

If only I could wipe the grease off my hands.

Well, we all know the answer, and as soon as we admit it, the world suddenly doesnt seem like its got it out for us.

The truth is this:

We can always wipe the grease off our hands.

There might be a boss who doesnt want to let us, but we can shake the dust off our feet and move on to the next boss.

We might feel like money keeps us from wiping the grease off our hands, but for what we lose by not having nice, expensive paper towels, we can make up for with scrubbing.

We might think that the economy is keeping us down, forcing us to walk around like a shambling zombie with greasy hands, but the moment that we decide to attack that grease, the economy stands back and cant do anything about it.

We might think that other people are holding our hands in the grease, but theyve got greasy hands of their own to deal with, and if youd just stop shaking hands with people who have greasy hands, you might be able to reach for the sponge.

No one can keep you from wiping the grease off your hands, even if all you can do is rub your hands on the back of your pants: youd then have greasy pants, but at

least you wont drop heavy things on your toe. Greasy pants might be uncomfortable, but you can get through the day with greasy pants, and your hands will be clean, at least clean enough to do your work, and perhaps help someone else scrub away at their grease.

Oh, and the wonderful thing about helping someone else wipe the grease off their hands: it cleans up your hands, too.

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Love doesnt make a good crowbarMy wife and I have a friend, a really amazing, bright young woman. She was dating a man who is a really hard-working, honest, bright, and spiritual guy, which is an aspect of his personality that she really valued shed grown up in a family that was devoutly Christian, hosting people in their house, doing Bible studies, valu-

ing people, and showing them love.

She dated this guy for a while, they were supremely happy together, and they finally decided to get married.

Shortly after they were engaged, a big chunk of her family lost their minds.

Her parents disagreed with a minor aspect of the guys spiritual beliefs, and from then on, the parents set their faces dead against the union. What was once a close and loving relationship devolved into a huge stinking pile of controlling behavior, the parents doing everything in their power to break the couple up. The details arent important, but the final result was the parents and most of her family skipped out on her wedding.

How does this happen? I mulled it over in my head for months, because the parents were people that I greatly respected, they werent only leaders in their church, but were truly hospitable and loving to everyone they met.

How could they suddenly transform into people I didnt recognize any more? It was truly baffling to me. It was totally incongruous with everything they claimed to be-lieve, and their behavior would have seemed immature for a 10-year-old boy who had just chugged a Mt. Dew. It just didnt fit. I was baffled.

+ + +A few jobs ago, I had a friend who told me about his pot smoking habit. He also smoked a whole lot of ciga-rettes, and lit up a hookah every once in a while (do you light up a hookah? Im not sure). Whenever we talked about his unwholesome habits, I felt an uncomfort-able feeling in the pit of my stomach.

It was the same feeling that I felt when another friend of mine talked about how he and his girlfriend were break-ing up because she was pregnant, or another friend who talked about blowing whole paychecks on his lotto ticket addiction.

It wasnt a desire to help them, or give them advice my gut-level instinct was I shouldnt be friends with this person.

I shrugged it off as a ghost of the snobbery that I had developed as a semi-sheltered, middle class white Christian kid who Always Did Everything Right Thank You Very Much, but it bothered me. I felt a strong desire to show my disapproval, to not hang out with them.

This disturbed me, because I want to be friends with people, even if they arent great at acting perfect. Thats what Jesus did, right? But I still felt strongly like I was condoning the bad behavior if I spent time around peo-ple doing bad stuff, and I didnt like the feeling of being pulled two ways.

+ + +Recently I read Scary Close by Donald Miller, and as a bonus I got a free audio copy of his (amazing) book Blue Like Jazz. I had read it before, but listening to it in

the authors own voice is something that really changes the book, makes it new.

I was scooping my driveway when I heard a part of the book that hadnt hit me when I read it before: it stopped my in my tracks, and I actually started tearing up (not a good idea when its 10 degrees outside). Don Miller talked about how people use love like money; we give it to people who we value, and we withhold it from peo-ple who arent behaving in a way that we think is right, holy, or smart.

Somehow, deep in our collective subconscious, weve lodged the idea that we can incentivize people by giving or withholding love.

Love doesnt work that way. Think about it for a minute: how many really well-adjusted kids came from parents who withheld love when the kids didnt act right? How many people massively change their behavior be-cause of judgement from someone they dont even like?

Love isnt meant to be used as a commodity. When its used like money, it ceases to be love.

This is what happened with the parents of our friend: they didnt agree with how she acted, and they tried to force her to act the way they thought she should by withdrawing love.

+ + +When I was younger, I used to run away from home. I did this when I was especially angry at how my family treated me, and I would work up an elaborate fantasy, imagining how they would change their ways when they realized that they had driven me away, how they would tear their hair out with grief and swear that they would have treated me better, if only it werent too late that would be about the time that I would show back up, and be welcomed back with open arms and the promises of obedience to my will and endless ice cream.

I would run away and hide, and I would return a few hours later: not to pledges of eternal servitude and des-serts, but to a house full of people who hadnt even noticed I was gone.+ + +This is essentially what the parents did when they with-held love: they withdrew from their daughter, using their relationship as a crowbar, trying to force her to come into alignment with their beliefs.

None of the other crowbars worked, and when she re-fused to budge, even when they started throwing a tem-per tantrum their final crowbar broke, and it was their last crowbar. Its so hard for a relationship to recover after love has been abused in an attempt to control.

I know that it can recover, but it takes a heck of a lot of work and apology and slow healing. I hope that hap-pens for them.

+ + +The realization that love shouldnt be used like a crow-bar gave me a lot of peace. I didnt have to change the people who didnt act the way I thought they should. I thought that once I had a relationship with someone, I should instantly start applying leverage with it: but that isnt love, and the times that Ive tried to change people, I ended up just pushing them away.

Smashing a crowbar in someones face isnt loving them, its just mugging them to get what you want out of them.

Love doesnt make a good crowbar.

Thanks for reading.

What to do next: Wipe the grease off your

hands, and drop the crowbar.

After that: Send this ebook to a friend, or

share online with this link:

andhedrew.com/whatiknownow

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What I know now