A couple of ghost stories

Rick Richards had three co-workers, in different settings, with whom he had become close friends. Each one eventually moved away, though they returned to the area occasionally, which Rick would find out after that fact. They made no effort to get in touch with him when they did.

Two continued to send a Christmas card each year. One of those was a friend as part of a group of close friends. When he’d be back for a day or two, he’d get together with one, sometimes two members of the group, but never Rick, even though Rick had known him longer than any of the others.

The other card-sender once was going to a local event that Rick might have been likely to attend. It would have made sense for the former colleague to email and ask, “Are you going to be there?” and maybe meet up for a brief face-to-face, but there was no such attempt.

The third had been a coworker in a service organization. This person never even sent Christmas cards, though Rick felt they had been even closer than he was with the two who did. When this person was back in the area, he also made no attempt to contact Rick. A couple of those visits, however, did include being at the same place at the same time as Rick. Both times, he greeted Rick like a long-lost brother but otherwise made no contact at all.

Carl Carlton had a close friendship that began when he was in college. He and this person seemed to click immediately. They not only had mutual interests, but they also brought complementary characteristics into the relationship that helped both grow.

They stayed in close touch for many years. Carl and his wife invited the friend and spouse for visits around events all enjoyed. The Carltons also arranged to stop by and see these friends a few times when traveling near their town.

Carl didn’t give it any further thought when one of those visits couldn’t happen because of the friend’s busy schedule. But later when Carl and family showed up for a scheduled visit the other couple had forgotten about, it gave him pause. In time, the other couple was too busy to visit Carl, no matter how appealing the itinerary might seem.

Communication had mostly been by phone to arrange to get together. When email came along, Carl was not able to get an address for them.

___________

The antagonists in my childhood nightmares were not ghosts. To me, ghosts were fanciful creatures, subjects of entertaining, even amusing stories. They were nothing like the ghosts many of us have come to know, and be haunted by, as adults.

These “ghosts” are people who suddenly disappear from your life. This definition of “ghost” officially entered the Merriam-Webster dictionary in 2017, though the term can be found in use as far back as the 1990s.
Here’s another ghost story:
___________

Bill Williamson was, for many years, very close to someone in his extended family. There were letters and phone calls, then also emails and, in time, conversations on Facebook around something one or the other had posted. Bill and friend visited each other’s homes, despite the miles in between. No invitation needed.

There was a family event every two years near where the relative lived. For many years, Bill and his wife would spend a couple of days at her house before or after. One year, though, the friend had other things going on and would not be able to have Bill and wife visit. Bill chalked it up to unavoidable scheduling. When the same thing happened two years later, Bill chose not to read anything in to it then, though eventually he would look back on it as the beginning of the end.

During this time, the two friends gained vacation homes, which were an easy day trip apart. There was vague talk about getting together, but nothing definite until a time when each would be at these homes and Bill said, we’ll be at our place on these dates and can come to yours on this day.

There was agreement, though Bill sensed some reluctance on the part of the other. Then just before the time arrived, he got a message with a lengthy list of all the reasons his friend couldn’t host him at that time.

It wasn’t simply saying “something’s come up” or “we’re overloaded,” maybe giving a brief example or two. It was too much like begging the question. As the list went on, the more tangential the excuses became.

The friend said maybe they could meet somewhere when things settled down a bit. (Meet “somewhere” – i.e., “not in my home.”) She said she’d be back in touch about it. Never happened. Rather abruptly, Facebook interactions stopped. The other person’s posts stopped showing up on Bill’s newsfeed, unless they were “public,” such as a new profile photo. Comments and “likes” from her on Bill’s posts went from frequent to none. Bill was still listed as a friend but wondered if he had been unfollowed.

__________

Individuals may naturally drift apart and mutually turn attention and affections elsewhere over time. Yet when the relationship, for whatever reason, ceases to work for one, though apparently not the other, the one who wants out may resort to what has come to be called “ghosting” — i.e., ceasing to communicate without any warning.

Most, if not all of us have done it — reached a point in some relationship where we chose, for whatever reason, just to let it drop. In a casual relationship, this ending may not be particularly troublesome for either party. In many cases, acquaintanceships come and go naturally. Yet the more you’re invested in a relationship, the more painful it can be when circumstances bring it to a close. And it can be bewildering when a two-way street becomes a one-way street that becomes a dead end.

An internet search quickly turns up a lot of material on ghosting, written by psychologists, relationship experts and others. Much of the discussion of ghosting focuses on romantic relationships, but it happens in friendships as well. There’s agreement that ghosting reflects more on the ghost than the one being ghosted. They choose an easy way to remove themselves from an uncomfortable situation. It’s not the most emotionally mature choice.

Experts also suggest that we don’t try to reconnect with someone who has ghosted us. If we do, there’s usually no response from them. It’s important to remember, however, that a lack of a tangible response is, in fact, a response.

Sometimes, the ghosting is a gradual process, starting with “soft ghosting.” They minimize contact progressively over time. Fewer and fewer emails, texts or calls. Bailing out more and more on plans to get together.

Many of us may identify with elements of the tales presented above. Ultimately, we can’t do anything about being ghosted. We can just move on from extinct relationships. We can also try not to ghost other people.

If you are ghosted, try not to take it personally. It’s their pattern of behavior. It’s not helpful for you to try to think up excuses for why they follow this pattern. We can’t control another’s actions. We do, however, control our own. Take time to be sad but then move on. Devote your energy and attention to people who value you.

Forgiveness

If someone wrongs you, then later offers a sincere apology, it can be possible, if not easy to accept the apology and move on – i.e., forgive them. But what if they never do their part to make things right? Then you find yourself in the murky area of forgiveness, which seems to be a vast, perplexing area.

Can you forgive someone who doesn’t ask for forgiveness? Maybe they don’t know or accept that they need it. Maybe they know but don’t want it. Would forgiving them absolve them?

Even with a lifetime of attending church and studying the Bible, plus a master’s degree from a theological school that included training in pastoral counseling, I struggle with understanding “forgiveness.” I suspect I’m not alone.

In the Lord’s Prayer, we ask God to forgive us as we forgive those who wrong us. If we expect God to forgive us, we should be willing to forgive others. But there are differences between Divine forgiveness and human forgiveness.

Believers see God’s forgiveness as unconditional, available to anyone who asks for it, regardless of the wrongdoings. We are absolved of our sins and can start again with a clean slate.

We humans, though, are not divine. When we attempt to forgive someone, emotional and psychological factors come into play. We don’t necessarily want to let someone “off the hook.” Yet the pain someone has caused us won’t go away while we remain angry. Vengeful thoughts vex only us. It’s the proverbial drinking of the poison that you intend for the other person.

You have to ask God for forgiveness but can be assured it will be granted. If you ask another person for forgiveness, it might not be granted. Also, a person might forgive someone who doesn’t ask for it. In fact, it can be a good idea to do so, because that can get rid of that poison that is affecting only you.

That in no way cleans their slate. That’s not our job, even if it we wanted it to be. What it does do is take away the power they have over you. It allows you to recognize the pain you are feeling and to avoid (or stop) letting it define you. This can have a positive effect on your health and peace of mind, whether or not the other person ever understands and accepts that they have wronged you.

It is possible that forgiving someone may lead to understanding and empathy for them. So much the better if it does, but even if it doesn’t, it’s still worthwhile to forgive, for all the good it can do you.

What if the person you need to forgive is you yourself?

The health benefits of self-forgiveness are similar to those derived from forgiving others. Yet, I doubt I’m the only person who sometimes finds it can be more difficult to forgive oneself.

While getting another person to change is not a goal in forgiving them, self-forgiveness necessarily involves owning your wrongdoing and admitting that you might need to change. That can be difficult, more so if you aren’t ready to change.

Sometimes those not ready to change may choose to gloss over their behavior in a sort of artificial self-forgiveness.

Another cautionary note is that even true self-forgiveness can reduce one’s empathy for those they’ve wronged. Just because you feel better doesn’t mean they do, too. Experts recommend consciously practicing empathy with those we’ve hurt even as we forgive ourselves for doing so.

Please note that people who unnecessarily blame themselves for something outside their control are not candidates for self-forgiveness. They need to work on and let go of their unfounded guilt. They may also need to forgive someone else.

I am finding it helpful to identify the anger I feel about certain occurrences. In reflecting on past hurts that linger, I am starting to realize, “Oh, that’s someone I need to forgive.” I am working toward the next step: in fact forgiving them.

If it’s something about which I am angry at myself, I sometimes remind myself, “That was X years ago.” Whatever the time frame, I realize that no one else may even remember the incident and, even if someone does remember, it may well not make any difference to them now. I also have begun to say to myself “It’s OK to make mistakes” or “You are not expected to be perfect” at appropriate times.

Forgiveness, whether of others or oneself, often is difficult. The degree of difficulty may depend on how bad the act hurt or how long the grudge has been held. It takes work and practice. Talking with someone, at least a trusted friend if not a professional is often a good idea.

___________________
An internet search for “forgiveness” will yield a plethora of sources. Here are some I consulted:
— https://www.gotquestions.org/forgive-forgiven.html
—https://www.mayoclinic.org/healthy-lifestyle/adult-health/in-depth/forgiveness/art-20047692
—https://greatergood.berkeley.edu/topic/forgiveness/definition#why-practice-forgiveness
—https://www.scripturesshare.com/what-is-gods-forgiveness-vs-human-forgiveness/
—https://www.verywellmind.com/how-to-forgive-yourself-4583819
—https://www.bostonimp.com/post/the-link-between-forgiving-others-and-forgiving-yourself
This analysis of Don Henley’s song, “The Heart of the Matter,” which is about forgiveness, is interesting and may be helpful:
— https://melodyinsight.com/don-henley-the-heart-of-the-matter-lyrics-meaning/

How not to get invited back

Growing up, most of us learned how to be polite and gracious to other people. Pretty much everyone I know seems to have the basics down, especially when visiting in others’ homes. Yet, it still happens, so I am told, that some guests find ways to be annoying.

Here are some purely hypothetical situations in which a guest might ensure they won’t be invited back — specific examples from which we all might extrapolate general lessons.

For instance, someone who tends to carry a chip on their shoulder might do well to leave that chip in their car during the visit.

Another example that comes to mind is trash talking. Some people enjoy engaging in this banter. Some don’t. If the guest is the former, it’s probably a good idea to make sure the host isn’t the latter.

But what if it goes beyond banter, and value judgments enter in? Say you happen to mention, in casual dinner conversation, that you are a fan of a certain professional sports team. Then, the person you’ve welcomed into your home suddenly looks and sounds incredulous as they ask if you used to live where that team is based. The look turns to angry when you say, no, you just always liked the team.

As you redirect the conversation back to its original track, which others at the table seem to follow, that one person’s glare reminds you of the way an aging chihuahua looks just before attempting to bite. Not a good look for anyone, but especially a house guest. I suppose something like this could happen. I don’t know.

Or maybe someone comes into your home, sees a work of art and launches into an unsolicited explanation of it, implying you are clueless on the subject. Maybe they proclaim something that (they think) makes them sound learned, offering information that may not be well known to the general population, but which someone who owns the artwork likely would know. Such a pronouncement might be contrary to what most of us learned about manners from our parents.

That one may fall in the “shoulder chip” category, which brings to mind another tip. Say, the guest is from a different, though delightful area of our great nation. If they speak with a distinct, maybe even jarring accent, yet make fun of the way people speak in the area in which they are visiting, that can get tiresome. If they direct their ridicule at their host, they might not be hosted again in the future.

Or it could be that you take guests on a tour of your area. They might graciously relate some things you show them to similar sites where they live. Fair enough. Just trying to identify. But it might be over the line if they begin to go into such detail that it begins to sound as if they are guiding you through their stomping grounds rather than vice versa. I suppose it could even happen that you are showing them the campus of your alma mater, and they constantly redirect the focus of the conversation to a college in their town, maybe even without having any direct connection to it. That could take it to yet another level.

Sometimes guests mean well, bless their hearts, but don’t understand boundaries. I’ve heard of ones who see something in their host’s home that they somehow think needs their attention, maybe some adjustment or minor repair, and take it upon themselves to tackle the job — without a word of discussion with the host. If the offer is made, the host might welcome the help. On the other hand, you don’t mess with someone’s stuff without asking. And there may be some crucial background information of which the guest isn’t aware.

Just some general illustrations. You probably can imagine or maybe have witnessed others. Doing something similar to one or more of these for-instances could undercut our “pleases” and “thank yous.” A quote attributed to Ben Franklin says, “Guests, like fish, begin to smell after three days.” Sometimes the fish may outlast the guests.

A million-dollar experience I wouldn’t take $2M to repeat

As the sign came into view, “Entering Forsyth County,” one of my colleagues exclaimed, “Yay, Forsyth County!” It was maybe a little over the top but mostly amusing. She attended Wake Forest University, which is in that county.

There were four of us. Each attended a different college. No one put another’s school down, but none of us hid our pride in our own. This was just another example. It was all in good fun, much more positive than some of our interactions.

We had been chosen and put together for this summer project. Our primary role was to spend a week each in various churches, interacting with youth, leading in worship and presenting two plays. There was one other team like ours. A couple of times, with neither team booked in a church, we were together for other activities.

During one week when we were a group of eight, we had a meeting that departed from the good-natured banter described above.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a guy on the other team criticized me for talking about my school, UNC, and the town in which it is located, Chapel Hill, more than he wanted to hear. My team members, who had spent a lot more time with me, didn’t seem to have a problem with me on this. (But, as we’ll see in a moment, they did have other problems with me.) I tried to say I thought I was joining in the rah-rah banter, maybe as much as but no more than everyone else. If I’d had more presence of mind, I could’ve added that for the past three years, I had spent most of my days there. UNC and Chapel Hill provided the context for much of what I had to say.

He didn’t indicate he had a problem with anyone else sharing their own campus experiences. Ah, but what was different was that he had wanted to go to UNC-CH but couldn’t swing it financially. When others mentioned their schools, he didn’t feel envious.

It was unpleasant, but much worse was to come.

As if interpersonal issues weren’t enough, we also had to deal with a number of external challenges, including a drowning at a swim party and a serious accident during a fellowship event. One day, our supervisor received a letter from members of one church, complaining about our time with them, though the feedback had seemed quite positive while we were there. Late in the summer, we performed the play “In White America” in a town that had just been ordered (finally) to integrate their schools.

Each person had a specific area of responsibility. These roles were team coordinator, music leader, recreation and discussion leader, and preacher. I was designated the preacher and worked up a sermon to give each Sunday. The other guy was assigned recreation and discussion. The older of the two young women was named coordinator, the other given music responsibility.

That seemed good at the start, but circumstances blurred some lines. Because we traveled in my car, it was necessary for me to do some coordinating. Because my guitar and I accompanied our singing in the productions and sometimes in worship, I was de facto music leader at times. Of lesser note, but notable, I was passably athletic while the other male student was not athletic at all. This may have affected our relative roles in some recreational activities.

Even if you don’t intend to usurp some of other people’s authority (and even if they let you), doing so can engender resentment. And I presented them with other issues as well.

I do own some of the blame for intra-team friction. I had strong ideas about many things and could be short on tact. I had mental health difficulties I had only begun to address, though it turned out I wasn’t the only one on the team wearing this tag. Nonetheless, I felt then and still feel now that the amount of criticism leveled at me, as compared to what others received, was excessive.

That I was less conventional in my appearance and approach to life was a problem for the others from the beginning. Yet before the summer started, I had shaved off my then-full beard. I got my hair cut shorter and neater, though since it still touched my ears, it was too long for my teammates. Less superficial were the adaptions I made conversationally. I made sure my language was less “colorful” than was the norm among my college friends. Just as significantly, I began peppering things I said with theological words and phrases, something I had pretty much abandoned as a college student.

I felt I was compromising — moving closer to being like my teammates. I made changes to be less different from them. But I didn’t become exactly like them, and they discredited or disregarded the changes I had made. It wasn’t all; so it was none.

We had a weekly meeting that including the chance to air concerns — i.e., a gripe session. I seemed to be the primary object of the aired concerns. There was one week in which the two females had done something that the other male told me he was going to criticize in that week’s session. But it was held after we’d led some activity in which everything had clicked. My compatriot was in too good a mood to complain during the session. That was the closest we came to having one of those meetings in which I wasn’t the focus.

Things boiled over in a team meeting one night with our supervisor. The other guy on the team went through a long spiel about his growing dissatisfaction. He said he didn’t think he could continue to be on the team. His biggest issue was that there was one person he just could not work with. And that person, he revealed (though everyone already knew), was the person now writing this piece. Among other things, he criticized my hair. That didn’t surprise me, but I was taken aback when he also said the sermon I had preached most Sundays wasn’t any good. That was the first I’d heard of that. Some helpful suggestions early on might’ve been nice.

Before he officially quit, he got a chance for a repeat performance. The next week, we were again together with the other team at a weeklong youth conference. There was a meeting one night of both teams with our supervisor and his supervisor. My colleague repeated his soliloquy for a larger audience, with the same buildup to leveling blame on me. The first time, I had tried to offer some personal defense for my alleged transgressions. This time, I said nothing.

Accommodations were made for us to operate as a team of three in the last two or three churches. Despite this person’s growing resentment toward me, he had freely used me as a sounding board for his personal struggles. Not many days after he had left the team because he couldn’t work with me, he called one morning to the home where I was staying that week, because he just had to talk to me about the latest things with which he was dealing in his personal life.

The summer provided growing experiences, and not all of them were negative. Our highest highs weren’t as high as our lowest lows were low. But there were a lot of highs. Many joyful moments. A lot of intensity, often good, at times not so good. I can’t say I’m sorry I went through it, but by the time it was over, I was more than ready to go home.

After the goodbyes at the conclusion of a meal following the Sunday morning service in our last church of the summer, I got in my car and headed southwest. In Durham, on I-85, I reached the exit with the sign saying:
U.S. 15-501 S
Chapel Hill

Tears flowed.

Adventures in job hunting

Have you ever had a job interview that didn’t go well? (I’m guessing your answer is “yes.”) Who’s had one that seemed doomed from the start? (Yeah, I see those hands rising.) You may not relate to the profession, but the situation I’m about to describe is likely familiar. You may not have had the very same experiences, but I’ll bet you’ve had some that were similar.

Back when I was in campus ministry, or at least trying to be, I set up a job-search file with an ecumenical organization that had a presence on many college campuses across the country. I was working as director of a local, non-profit service agency, when I got a notice that the campus ministry program at one small university in the mid-west had expressed interest in me.

They arranged to fly me out for an interview. For reasons I don’t recall, it had to be wedged in between commitments I had at home through a Saturday evening and a seminar nearby at which I was to speak on Tuesday and Wednesday mornings. It seems possible that my schedule would’ve been more flexible from that Wednesday afternoon through the upcoming weekend.

They booked me on an odyssey that began early Sunday morning. I landed twice along the way, changing planes at the second stop, before reaching a large airport across the state from the school. There I was met by someone from the organization’s national office.

First we had to connect. He had me paged, but had my first name wrong. Hearing someone else’s first name, I didn’t focus on the rest of the announcement. But I asked myself, Didn’t the last name sound like mine? Could it have been meant for me? But why would he not have the correct name? As I pondered, the page was repeated. I went to the designated meeting spot. Yes, the guy didn’t really know my name.

Then we set out in his car, swinging by another big airport to pick up one of his colleagues. Apparently the plan was for them to get to know me along the way. One might think that a preferred alternative would’ve been for the two of us flying in to have landed closer to the school, and the three of us to have gotten acquainted there rather than in a car. But one who might think that didn’t make the plans. We stopped for a quick evening meal. At some point it started to snow. The campus was covered by the time we got there.

I went directly from the car into a building with a large meeting room for the official interview. Tables were arranged in a large circle and filled with people. My job interview would be conducted by 27 individuals. That is about two dozen more than ideal.

I had not heard of this school before the initial inquiry came. As I began the interview, I had taken less than a dozen steps on the campus, and my feet had not made direct contact, thanks to the blanket of snow upon which I had walked. I hadn’t even ever been in that state before. I knew nothing of the resources for and past programming of the campus ministry there. I had some experience and ideas on which to draw in a general way, of course, but I couldn’t lay out for them at that moment a program tailored to that community.

I had an assigned host for the brief visit. First he took me to my lodging for the night. I was put up in a private room with bath in a women’s dorm. It was on the ground floor and had its own entrance from the outside, apparently designated for guests. All the typical dorm-room furniture had been pulled away from the walls (for painting? cleaning?) — and not put back. The single bed was near the middle of the room; the other pieces were scattered about. It felt sort of like sleeping in a small warehouse. But I did sleep, after a welcomed shower.

My host picked me up the next morning, Monday, for breakfast and a day of gathering information that would’ve been useful in the previous night’s Q & A. There was a tour of the campus, including a visit to the campus ministry offices. The tour of the small town included stops at 2-3 key supporting churches. I met more people. Conversations revealed more about how this program looked, past successes and failures, hopes and expectations. A couple of hours of this activity on the day before might have been more helpful to me than riding across the state.

One person I met was the token Jewish faculty member, also known for his left-leaning politics (maybe a token there as well). My host seemed to regard him as a friend, but didn’t pronounce his name correctly.

A few people were selected to have lunch and dinner with me. So there was informal, but mostly pertinent conversation at both that day. After dinner, I was taken to the small airport in a neighboring town. I boarded a small plane that took me to a larger airport for the first of two plane changes. The overall route meandered eastward.

I was scheduled to get back in time for my Tuesday morning conference, fortified by whatever in-flight naps I could catch and, of course, plenty of coffee. Fog at the second connection, however, intervened. I missed the first day of my commitment, though those in charge were understanding.

The potential employer and I didn’t make good enough impressions on each other to proceed. File it under learning experience. At least I learned some things, and I have to think they did, too. The flight delay taught me that is is unwise to rely on an air-travel schedule with no wiggle room. I hope we both learned not to shoehorn such an occasion into such a tight time frame and to find a way for the candidate’s job interview not to be conducted before any orientation.

Another lesson would be to have 3-4 people conduct the direct interview and report to the larger body. (O.K., I had already known that.) The value of using a professional travel agent to book the flight is yet another potential lesson.

I thought about beginning this entry with something about having spent a week there one day. But that wouldn’t have been accurate. It was more like “2-3 days in 30 hours.” And the days were in reverse order.

Service-less stations

We used to get gasoline for our cars at service stations. Now we fill up at convenience stores with gas pumps. “Service” isn’t part of the name. Or the product.

To me, it’s not just that I pump my own gas and — if needed — clean my windshields. I don’t mind doing this. It’s the lack of concern for anything other than collecting my payment.

People who ran service stations often would help you any way they could if you needed it. One time, many years ago, we were on an interstate, coming home from somewhere or another, when the VW van’s accelerator stuck. I threw in the clutch and coasted off the next exit, into a service station. The guy running it took a look and discovered a worn-out spring. He fished around in his stuff and found one that would at least get us home and put it on. No charge. Just glad to help.

It also used to be that if you ran out of gas and could get to a nearby station, they’d find some container you could borrow to put enough gas in your car to drive it back and refill its tank.

My most recent experience in running out of gas (in an old truck with a non-functioning gas needle) was different. I walked to the nearest convenience-store-with-gas-pumps where, no, they didn’t have any container I could borrow, but they did sell me one for what I recall was a premium price.

Another time I was gassing up at a place not far from my house. My battery was on its last days, and I had plans to replace it that week. After the fill up, I couldn’t get the vehicle started. I called my wife to come right over with the jumper cables. Still it wouldn’t start. So we called AAA.

While we waited, we got a couple of bacon-cheese biscuits and coffees — a treat for us and a little more revenue for the store. As we were partaking, the manager came over and asked if that was our truck by the pump. I explained about the battery and assured her AAA was on the way. The owner, she said, wanted customers to be able to get to the pumps. Now, let me point out that there were three two-sided islands. I was blocking one of six places you could get gas. It was not a busy time of day. At most, two other gas customers came in during this ordeal.

Outside, a few minutes later, the manager came out to complain again about my being parked next to a gas pump. She did say it would be OK to be somewhere else on their lot, but if the vehicle remained where it was, they would have it towed. This, even though I had told her: We have a tow truck coming.

I asked if there was anyone who could help us push the truck to a more acceptable spot. She said, “No, there isn’t,” just as two able-bodied employees walked by.

My wife and I were beginning a futile attempt to push the vehicle as the AAA man drove up. He was able to get it started.

As I drove away, it occurred to me that at no time did I prevent anyone from buying gasoline. I also thought about how people used to help one another out at such places and in such situations, rather than treat them like an anathema.

Well, I most certainly will never again cause them any problem, real or imagined.