Month: September 2023

Loss of a Coworker

Getting to know people who are not like me has always been one of my favorite aspects of working with the public and attending public school.

Coworkers are people that you may not have anything in common with the except that you both work at the same place. So you end up building a special relationship with someone that you ordinarily would not have made friends with. Getting to know people who are not like me has always been one of my favorite aspects of working with the public and attending public school.

Losing a coworker is a strange feeling. I remember Dad losing a coworker to cancer when I was just a lad. I think his name was Ed White. Dad had visited him a few times while he was in the hospital. I remember how he would tell Mom how the visits went. I don’t have anyone to verify this-they are all dead-but I am fairly certain that Ed White paid the hospital bill when my sister was born. Mom and Dad went to the funeral without us kids. We didn’t know all of the details but we could tell by Dad’s countenance that it was not a time to be rowdy at the house.

“Paul passed away this morning.”

I got this text a couple of weeks ago from my boss at my former State job. I only saw him once or twice a month for the years that I worked there. But I talked to him on the phone quite often. He was one of our field officers and spent most of his time covering a large part of east Alabama. It was always a welcome diversion whenever one of these officers dropped into to see the people like me who hardly left the office. Those officers all had the best stories.

He carried a cane. He would walk by and smack that cane on my desktop and say things like:

“You’re fired.”

“You’re working too hard, take a break.”

He was good at saying nice things in an abrasive tone of voice. He was also a very giving person. My first week or so at work he made me a wooden stand with my name. I still have it in my new office. It means a little more to me now. One day he brought me a bunch of metal straws. At first I thought, what in the world am I going to do with these? But they have been in constant use since I brought them home to the kids. Recently I have gained a deeper appreciation for these straws since I have slipped into the habit of drinking milkshakes nearly everyday.

Paul had served in more than one branch of the military and was a veteran of Iraqi Freedom. This may be where he picked up the cane. After he retired from the military he landed the gig with the State and that’s where I met him. He retired in the last year or so because his health. He had been fighting cancer. God I hate cancer. Paul was indeed a character. He made me want to be a better gift giver.

The first coworker that I ever lost was named Chavelo. Although I think that was his nickname. His real name was Isabel. I had never heard a man named Isabel, but I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now. He was from El Salvador and he introduced me to papusas. He would share them for breakfast. We were working for a man up in our church who owned a commercial lawn care business. We all went to church together. I was the truck driver and chief weed-eater operater, Cecil-another Alabamian-and Chavelo drove the big mowers. Neither one of them spoke proper English. And now that I think of it, I don’t think they even tried to talk to each other, they just each talked to me.

Chavelo told me that he had worked on a dairy farm in El Salvador.

“Tha macheen dat meelk da cow. It bad por da cow chitty. We meelk by hand.” He made a squeezing motion. I’m not sure what I was supposed to do with this information, but it has brought me a lot of joy over the years.

As we drove from job to job, Cecil would point out houses that he had sanded the floors in. The two would interrupt each other to talk to me. It was so entertaining.

“You see that bank right there Brother Zane?” Cecil asked one day.

“Yes.” I said, not fully paying attention as I navigated the truck and trailer through the streets that had been designed for horses and carriages.

“Somebody robbed that bank with a banana!”

“What?” I asked incredulously, now fully paying attention.

“It was a chocolate covered banana.” Cecil replied. I’m not sure of the veracity of this story, but I know for certain that Cecil believed it. I really hope it is true because I want to believe it too.

That’s what it was like working with these two. They were both old enough to be my grandad. I did a lot of laughing back then. That’s what the best coworkers do, they make you laugh.

Chavelo was sick one week for a few days, and when he returned I noticed that his eyes were yellow. After a month I began to noticed that his upper belly was protruding. He was not an overweight man by any means and this protrusion turned out to be bloating from liver cancer. I noticed the same symptom in Paul a while back. Chavelo went down hill pretty quick. I went to see him a few times while he was on his deathbed to pray for him.

“It’s no good Brother Zane.” He burst into tears one day. I cried too.

When he died they asked me to speak at the funeral. That was the first time I had ever spoken at a funeral and also the first time that I had ever spoken with a translator. I said something along these lines.

Chavelo and I had a language barrier, but not a communication block. We couldn’t always understand each other’s words, but we understood each other’s thoughts. Love transcends language. Chavelo was always sharing and we were always laughing. That connection was worth more than words could explain.

I sometimes think of Chavelo when I get discouraged while trying to learn Spanish. Chavelo helped me understand that speaking English is not the only sign of intelligence.

Eventually I got a job with Parks & Recreation and left the mowing industry. I was sitting at my desk one day and I got a phone call on my personal phone. I didn’t recognize the number so I didn’t answer. It is one of the biggest regrets I have. Pastor Dillon was out of the country so that’s probably why they called me. When I finally checked the message I was gutted.

“Cecil has had an mowing accident and he didn’t make it. Please call us.” It was from one of Cecil’s family members.

When they described the hill that he had been mowing when his mower flipped over on him I knew exactly where they were talking about. It was steep and tall. I never liked mowing on it myself.

Two things changed in me after Cecil died. I still answer the phone even if I don’t recognize the number. This does mean that I talk to a lot of people in Kolkuta, India, but I don’t mind. I also don’t play around with zero-turn mowers and I don’t feel bad telling people, “Hey man, you need a roll-bar on that thing.”

When I got the text about Paul it brought back a lot of memories for me. God and Death are no respecters of persons. I don’t know if this has helped anyone, but it has helped me.

Compliments

Are you better at giving or receiving compliments?

I imagine that most people like to have nice things said about them. Especially the Words of Affirmation people. I never remember exactly what my love language is because I never finished reading that book. There wasn’t enough plot for me. However, I have always enjoyed complimenting people. Although my sister-in-law, sister, and even my wife sometimes tell me that I am not very good at it. They say things like, I never know if you are being nice or making fun of me.

Compliments are like bubble gum, its ok to chew on them for a while, just don’t swallow them.

For instance a generic compliment to one of them might sound something like this, “I like that dress.” That is boring, and easily forgotten. To give a good compliment you have to imagine that your 3rd grade teacher is grading you on your effort. “I like that dress” is at best average. It lacks creativity and inspiration. Now try something like, “That dress reminds me of some curtains I saw at a museum exhibit about Japanese textiles.” See how that is more memorable? Some thought went into that. But even my best efforts get responses like Zane, no woman wants to hear that her clothes look like curtains.

Death and life are in the power of the tongue: and they that love it shall eat the fruit thereof.

Proverbs 18:21

Maybe I am not very good at giving compliments but I really do try because I believe in the power of words. I believe that words can be a source of inspiration. I believe that words can set a person’s mind in the right direction. This is why I feel compelled to write. But maintaining a blog in the era of the reel to sometimes feels like a lost cause. I must admit that I occasionally wonder if my energy is being wasted. And it is difficult to find inspiration to write when you are questioning whether what you are doing matters.

And then I’ll meet a real live person who has read my blog and they will compliment me on my writing and it inspires me so much that I stay up until 2:45am writing run on sentences because I am drawing inspiration from the power of their words.

Let me back up a little bit. I know that people read my blog because the website tells me these kinds of things. But it uses numbers and I have always thought that numbers were so impersonal. So meeting a reader in person gives me a clearer context for the numbers.

Whenever someone approaches me to tell me that they read my blog I feel incredibly vulnerable. I usually write in isolation so to me it feels like I am merely putting thoughts into words as a mental exercise. Some of the essays that have reached the most people were really not intended for entertainment but were my way of grieving. Many of the things I have written are simply thoughts that will not leave me alone and I only get peace when I release them to the outside world. There is something cathartic about reaching into the infinite and grabbing hold of something and wrestling it into the finite so that others can view it.

I also feel that since no one saw me write it that no one knows that I wrote it. I take refuge in this assumed anonymity. Furthermore, because I feel like that what I write already exists in a perfect form in the infinite, I can only take a small amount of responsibility for making it finite. These personal psychological constructs give me a false sense that no one really reads anything I write.

Whenever you read someones work you get an insight into their mind. In a sense you become familiar with the deepest part of that person. As the reader you also enjoy a sense of real anonymity in relation to the author. This is why I always feel vulnerable when I meet with someone who is a fan of my work because I feel like they can read my mind, but I cannot read theirs. But I can see it in their eyes if they really have read. Maybe they cried with me. Maybe they have the same questions that I do. Maybe they too used to go swimming in the creek with the town drunk when they were kids.

It happened to me last night as I was walking out of the conference center here in Pigeon Forge, TN. They took me by surprise.

“Brother Wells I read your blog and I love your style of writing.”

Whenever something like this happens I just say “Thank you!” But I try to say it in italics because I really mean it and I am otherwise speechless. I always think of something nice to say or questions that I should have asked hours later.

Then they said, “I feel like I know you.” This may be one of the highest compliments I have received on my writing. Complimenting someone involves a going out of yourself in much the same way that writing does. Saying something has the power of putting your thoughts into words and transferring them into someone else’s mind. And you may never know how much your words may help someone.

The Art of Listening

Whether or not you are a musician, how good of a listener are you?

I have worked with a lot of musicians over the years. Most of them have been church musicians that learned to play by ear. This does not always mean that they cannot read sheet music, or lack a strong understanding of music theory. It usually simply means that they do not sight read traditional musical notation in real time. I only know a few people that can sight read sheet music. And they are fantastic musicians. The rest of us have to study traditional sheet music in order to play it.

There is no shame in being a musician who plays by ear. There are even a lot of advantages. For instance when someone has a good enough ear they can listen to a song once and be able to play it. This is also our greatest handicap; many times we need to have heard a song before we can play it. The danger comes when we think that we are good enough to stop listening.

Many master musicians have spent years practicing ear training. Remember when you were learning your multiplication tables or when you were first introduced to Algebra? You may have struggled to even understand the concepts and the thought of being able to do these complicated formulas in your head seemed out of reach. But after practice you can probably now do simple math and even Algebra mentally and it feels natural. This is also true for music. For most ordinary humans it takes practice to be able to identify intervals, find your vocal part, or pick out a melody or chord progression. But ear training immerses you into the language of music and after a while things start to make perfect sense.

“Listen!”

This is what my Dad would say from behind a book whenever one of us kids was making too much noise. We would quieten down and strain as if we could hear. Hear what? I never know exactly what we were listening for. Was he about to say something? If we tried hard enough could we hear the book he was reading playing out in his head? It took me a long time to realize that he was simply telling us to be quiet. I catch myself telling my kids the same thing these days.

Whether or not you are a musician, how good of a listener are you? Listening is so much more than a musical skill. At the very least listening is half of communication. Listening is a vital ingredient in healthy relationships. It becomes even more important when we understand that faith comes by hearing.

So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God.

Romans 10:17

Whenever I take those learning style tests I always score high on a preference for auditory learning. I believe this is accurate. I really enjoy listening to audiobooks. I can recall things better when I give my undivided attention to auditory information. I think that is what makes someone a good listener, the ability to give their undivided attention.

How do you listen to music? Do you like it in the background or full blast?

When I was a teenager listening to music was a ritual. Digital music off of the internet via Napster and Limewire was in full swing, but I always felt the computer speakers sounded weak. I preferred to buy my music in compact disc form from the music section at Wal-Mart. I would bring the unopened CD home, carefully peel the cellophane and stickers off, and insert the disc into my three CD player stereo. I would listen to the whole album straight through in one sitting without any repeats or skips. Doing nothing but listening with my undivided attention. I still think this is the best way to listen to music.

I have a hard time listening to background music. I would rather listen to background silence than barely audible mosquito music. I am drawn to focus on the music and when it is too quiet any disruption seems amplified.

All of this has me thinking about things that inhibit being a good listener.

I tend to get distracted by noise. I have a hard time going to restaurants if the music is too loud, or if there are a bunch of TVs playing different programs. It is very difficult for me to have a conversation while there is music playing. The worst thing is when there are two songs playing at one time. I sometimes wonder if that makes me a bad listener. Perhaps it means I am susceptible to distractions. To some extent I do not have control over external noise.

I can control internal noise. Have you ever been listening to someone talk only to realize that you have no idea what they are talking about because you were thinking about something else? We call this spacing out, or zoning out. If used properly, the ability tune everything out and focus your attention on your thoughts is a valuable skill. But an inability to control your thoughts can also make you a poor listener. It becomes a matter of will. Will you listen to what this person is saying or will you let your mind wonder?

Your attitude is largely controlled by your will and is another internal factor that can an inhibit and an enhance listening. Imagine the worst political figure that you can. If you are like me, you will have a hard time listening to that person say anything. There is an internal block that keeps us from being open to people that we do not trust. Have you ever noticed in political debates that people are always interrupting one another? There is not a lot of listening going on. What we have here is a failure to communicate. There are many deep issues in this example, but a lot hinges on being unwilling to listen.

As musicians, if we really claim to play by ear, then we should understand the importance of listening. We must constantly practice active listening. We must listen to the song to learn what to play. We must listen to the music director for instruction. We must listen to the other musicians in order to play together and not simply at the same time, like two political candidates arguing over one another. This also applies to relationships.

He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches.

Revelation 2:29;3:6;3:13,22

I read something interesting this week in This Is Your Brain On Music by Daniel Levitin. Pitch, loudness, and sound in general are purely psychological phenomena. All of these perceptions are just how our brain interprets air pressure. You literally cannot hear without an ear. This has really been heavy on my mind.

I hope that we can all be better listeners.