Call Story #59: Elders and "Small Call"

The service was good at the restaurant. So Bill did what he often does when he eats out:  he took the time to write a simple note on the back of the check, thanking the waitress for her good service.  When asked about this practice, he simply says, “it is part of my call right now. It is what I can do.”

Nell pays attention when she is at the grocery store.  Not just for what is on sale, but for acts of kindness and people who may need a hand.  Sometimes it leads to conversation, which is part of her call—to encourage relationship and community, as well as to find hints and traces of God in daily life.  Even and especially at the grocery store.

Frank gathers with his wife every day at 5pm.  They read something out of a devotional, but mostly practice silence together.  Both Frank and Ruth have been highly active people throughout their life.  They are slowing down now, and this silence together represents a part of their call.

Nell, Frank and Bill are a part of the Lumunos Elder Council.  At one time they served a more active role in the organization, working hard on the Board of Directors. They set strategy, raised money, and led programs. That kind of involvement isn’t right for this stage of their life. But offering their encouragement, support and wisdom on a monthly phone call is.  Lumunos is a better organization because of our relationship with these Elders.

The Elder Council also helps us understand the fullness and diversity of call.  Call is not only about  BHAGs (Big Hairy Audacious Goals) and grand visions.  Call is about how we act at the restaurant and grocery store.  Call is not only about words, but also about the willingness to keep silent.  Call is about paying attention to the small things that happen in our daily life.

Small acts done out of a sense of call often lead to big things.  For the waitress who has had a long day, picking up a note of appreciation from Bill would make a big difference.  It could turn around a whole day, and that is no small thing.  I imagine this was one reason why Jesus used small images and metaphors—a mustard seed, or lost coin—to speak about his big priorities.

Small acts of call are not just for elders.  Words of encouragement in a restaurant, paying attention in a grocery store, and keeping silence could be small call for us as well.  What represents small call for you?

PS:  If you know an elder that is interesting exploring their call, check out our new workbook:  Looking Back and Giving Forward:  Finding Common Ground for Positive Aging. 

Doug Wysockey-Johnson
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Painting is "The Waitress" by Edouard Manet

What Comes From the Heart Reaches the Heart

The gospel singer Mavis Staples was 13 and prancing around the stage, imitating the group that performed before her and not being herself. Her father pulled her aside and said “Mavis, you be sincere. What comes from the heart reaches the heart.”   Mavis never forgot those words.


Pops Staples was right.  There is no more powerful way to communicate than speaking from the heart.  It doesn’t matter if the context is a difficult work conversation, a discussion with a family member, or an email to a friend.  Listening to our hearts is the first step in good communication.


“Deep calls to deep” wrote the Psalmist. “What is most personal is most universal” said Henri Nouwen.  If you are looking for an effective communication strategy, it seems like this is it. Take the time to listen to your heart, and then speak from that deep place. Coming from the heart is no guarantee that what we say will be received well.  Communication is a complex thing with land mines all over the place. But it is easier to let go of another’s response if we have taken the time to listen to our own heart before speaking.   


Mavis was so grief stricken when her father died, she stopped singing.  Now she has started again, and is clearly singing from her heart.  Listen to her new song “You are Not Alone” (written by Jeff Tweedy from the band Wilco).  It spoke to my heart.  Does it speak to yours?  


Doug Wysockey-Johnson
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Call Story #58: Forgiveness

As it turns out, some tigers have a hard time forgiving.  There is a new book out by John Vaillant called The Tiger.  One part of the story involves an Amur (Siberian) tiger who was wronged by a human. The man shot the tiger without killing him, and then took the tiger’s kill. After a period of time, the tiger tracked down the man in his cabin, destroyed anything with the man’s scent on it, and then killed him.   It is a primal and extreme version of a drama and an emotion that happens every day in the human arena.

We humans hold grudges.  We remember wrongs.  We seek revenge. We struggle to forgive.  And sometimes we rise above it.

My friend Brad has just been wounded by his family of origin.  Again.  For the 100th time his parents and siblings have found a way to stick the knife in, this time by not inviting him into a conversation that involved the whole family. Rather than exact some sort of revenge, or nurse his resentments, Brad did the harder thing.  Over the course of a few days, he looked squarely at the hurt and allowed himself to feel the grief.  He didn’t hide his feelings from the family. He took a few walks and received the support of friends.  It took time and energy.  Following call always does.

But he did the work, and now he has been able to re-engage the family in a way that is nothing short of inspiring to me.  Where anger and revenge would be understandable, I see grace and even support of his family.

Wendell Berry knows something about the struggle to forgive his family. In his poem A Letter (to my brother) he writes:

Dear John,
You said, “Treat your worst enemies
As if they could become your best friends.”
You were not the first to perpetrate 
such an outrage, but you were right.
Try as we might, we cannot
unspring that trap.  We can either
befriend our enemies or we can die
with them, in the absolute triumph 
of the absolute horror constructed 
by us to save us from them. 
Tough, but “All right,” our Mary said,
“we’ll be nice to the sons of bitches.”
Wendell Berry, Leavings

Forgiveness is an outrage.  It is a call that requires hard work, lots of help and usually time. The only thing worse is the opposite—what Berry calls “the absolute triumph of the absolute horror constructed by us to save us from them.”


Reflection Questions
With whom are you angry?  Is there work you need to do?  Are you called to forgive yet?

Doug Wysockey-Johnson
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Photo by John Goodrich

Real Work

In what has become a well known poem, Marge Piercy writes:

The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
Has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil, 
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
But you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
And a person for work that is real. 
"To be of use", from Circles on the Water

“Real work” can take many different forms. Like the pitcher that cries for water, we are made for meaningful work, not to be put up on a museum shelf.  Sometimes real work is teaching. Sometimes it is managing.  Sometimes it is volunteering  Sometimes it is parenting.  And sometimes real work means participating in your own rescue.

I have been gripped by the plight of the trapped miners in Chile. Psychologists tell us that, along with food and notes from above, these men need real work.   They will emerge from this disaster more whole if they can be “partners in their rescue.” Clearing rock and rubble become real work if it leads to your liberation. This is the opposite of being a pitcher sitting on a museum shelf.  It is scratching and clawing for your very survival.

 What does “real work” look like at this stage in your life? How might participating in your own liberation be a part of it?

Doug Wysockey-Johnson
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