The importance of being thankful

Friends in America told us: ‘Thanksgiving is almost better than Christmas – we gather the family together, enjoy wonderful food and play games, but we don’t have to buy any presents’.

I’ll always prefer Christmas because it celebrates Christ’s birth, but during our years in the US Alison and I also enjoyed Thanksgiving. It happens on the fourth Thursday of November each year. Many will fly or make long car trips to be with family.

Since our family was 4000 miles away, friends Jim and Barb invited us to join them. Actually, not just them – all their family. Almost 40 sat down each year at joined-up tables to eat an enormous meal. The main dish was turkey (not usually eaten at Christmas). The family made sure to give thanks for the blessings they enjoyed.

We brought the tradition back to the UK with us. Towards the end of each November, we’ve gathered family who live near us, cooked a turkey, enjoyed eating and playing some games, all the time giving thanks for each other and much more.

But I know many people find it hard to be thankful. They might be completely alone, or out of work, or sick, or facing problems they can’t solve. Life for them is hard; they don’t feel thankful.

But it is possible to be thankful, even when life is tough.

Here’s a big statement that’ll affect everything I write in this blog: Thanksgiving is an attitude of mind, not of circumstances.

Now, I am not saying that circumstances don’t matter. Don’t tell the woman brutally sexually assaulted she should be thankful the attack happened. Or say it to the family whose child was killed by a stray bullet during a drug gangs shootout. Or to those whose home and all their belongings have been destroyed by a tornado, leaving them with nothing but the clothes they wore as they huddled in their basement. These are dreadful tragedies which leave a deep and lasting sense of hurt and loss.

Yet many of the most thankful people I’ve known had gone through very hard times. Some were still struggling. But they had found ways to develop a positive and grateful attitude to life. I first met Sandy when I was unwell and he visited me. He was in his late 60s, a man with a bright, cheery, encouraging personality. I felt so much better after his visit. Only later did I learn he’d recently been diagnosed with terminal cancer. Until his death Sandy remained grateful for all his life had meant. Pat was like that too. Every joint in her body ached. She could walk unaided across a room, but not the length of her street. She got by with a Zimmer frame – a walker – but eventually needed a wheel chair. Yet when I visited to lift her spirits she lifted my spirits. She was thankful for her home, for her family, for neighbours that helped out, and much more. Pat died when her heart finally gave out, but we never forgot a kind lady who lived life grateful for all she’d had.

And that’s what I mean when I say that thanksgiving is an attitude of mind, not of circumstances.

I believe at least four things make a grateful life possible.

Living without resentment

The Old Testament account of Joseph is one of the greatest examples of letting go of the past and living for the future. Among several sons of Jacob, Joseph was his father’s favourite. His brothers were jealous and planned to kill him, but, at the last moment, chose to make money by selling Joseph to slave-traders. They in turn sold him on in Egypt. He served his master well, but was falsely accused of sexual assault and thrown into jail. But Joseph could interpret dreams, which he did for the Pharaoh. His reward was not only to be released from jail but given the highest post in the land, second only to Pharaoh. Joseph’s wise management saved Egypt from starvation during a long famine. But, back  in Canaan, his family were starving, so his brothers travelled to Egypt to buy grain. They were brought before Joseph. They did not recognise him, and after testing their honesty Joseph gave them grain. Later the brothers came begging forgiveness for how they’d wronged him. From the first moment they came to Egypt, Joseph could have had them executed. After all, they’d almost killed him. Instead they sold him. He was made a slave, falsely accused and put in jail. They had caused Joseph great harm. But he’d been merciful, and now Joseph’s reply to his brothers is astounding: ‘You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good’ (Genesis 50:20). Their evil against him was in the past, and Joseph could see how God had put him in exactly the right place to be found by Pharaoh, made a ruler in Egypt, and save millions of lives.

Joseph was a man who refused to live in the past, forever angered by wrongs done to him. He let go his grievances, forgave his disloyal brothers, and gave thanks for what was good, for what he’d been able to do with his life.

The alternative – never-ending anger – would have put him back in a cell, this time a cell of resentment. Plenty live in that kind of prison today – they’re sad, bitter, discontented – trapped by what once happened to them. It’s a bad place to be.  

Resentment about the past drags us down. Thankfulness for the present lifts us up.

Noticing and valuing the good things

My colleague Bert was notorious for his pessimism. Everything could be going great, but he’d focus on ‘what just might go wrong’ even though there was no sign or likelihood that it would. As someone said: ‘For Bert, every silver lining has a cloud’.

I hear an equivalent to that from fellow golfers. Every time their ball gets a bad bounce and rolls into a bunker, they get angry and moan: ‘Did you see that? It’s not fair. I always get bad bounces.’

Bert was almost always wrong with his pessimism. And the complaining golfers are wrong that they always get bad bounces – they forget all the times their ball got a good bounce, such as glancing off a tree into the middle of the fairway.

It seems that we can’t forget bad events and can’t remember good events. If that’s how our minds are focused, we won’t have much about which to be thankful.

But we don’t have to let the negative dominate our minds. One of the keys to thankfulness is noticing and valuing good things. This week I heard an interview with a coronavirus patient in hospital who said: ‘You don’t value your health until you lose it’. That’s often true, but it doesn’t have to be like that. With a little thought, we can value our health while it’s good and be grateful for what that lets us do. Similarly we can value our families, or that we have enough money to live on. Or be grateful for our job, our friends, our homes, our safety, and so on.

As a child I was trained very firmly about how to cross a road: Stop – look right – look left – look right again – then, if nothing is coming in either direction, walk across, but don’t run! (Adjust that guidance if you live in a country where driving on the right is normal!) That was simple advice compared to today’s more sophisticated instructions.[1] But my mind absorbed that  ‘right / left / right’ formula. And it worked.[2] Our minds can be trained. So, like my crossing the road routine, we can create a default mode to stop / think of good things / be thankful.

It easy to drift towards negativity, but it’s not inevitable. We can discipline our minds to think of things for which to be thankful.

Accepting that life doesn’t always go in our favour

I often hear someone complain: ‘Life isn’t fair’. The honest (but not tactful) reply could be: ‘And who said life should be fair?’

Here are two things about the fairness of life.

First, we live in a broken world. God made it perfect but after very little time it was spoiled. Theologians might say we now live in a ‘fallen world’. So, if it’s broken or fallen, it’s not likely that only good things will flow our way. Bad things will happen too. Sometimes they won’t be our fault. Sometimes they will be. We make rash choices, and suffer hard-to-bear consequences. This world isn’t perfect nor are we perfect, so our lives will include ‘unfair’ things.

Second, isn’t it arrogant to think everything that happens to us should be good, pleasant, fair? If the whole world was perfect, what everyone experienced would be perfect. But no-one really believes everyone and everything is perfect. But then, why should we be excused hardship? Why should nothing unfair happen to us? And not to our family? The hard reality is that we don’t get a pass. Every person goes through good and bad times. Life is not always good for anyone.

Therefore, let’s avoid unrealistic expectations. Life will bring trouble as well as joy. Accept that. A starving man is grateful for a plate of food, and doesn’t quibble that it includes brussels sprouts (or cabbage, or broccoli…). He’s just grateful to have food. Likewise, let’s be grateful for the life we have, pleasant and not so pleasant.

Always believing good things still lie ahead

I’ve talked with many couples who were planning their weddings. Usually one of them would say, ‘We want our wedding day to be the most wonderful day of our lives’. If I knew them well, with a smile I might joke: ‘Really? So everything will be downhill after your wedding day?’

Now, I knew what they meant, and they knew that I was teasing them. No-one was offended. And we’d have a good chat about how to make marriage wonderful for the long-term.

The serious point for now is that for some people the best is past, perhaps long past. Nothing good lies ahead. Which means there’s also nothing for which to be thankful.

I prefer to think of my life like chapters in a book. So, were there wonderful things about my childhood? Yes, there were. In my next chapter, moving through the teens, were there wonderful things? Yes. And the years just after leaving home and starting work? Yes. And so on, thinking through all the major stages of my life, each one like a new chapter in a book. What I don’t do is compare the later chapters to the earlier chapters. I’m the same person, but most other things are different. They’re not comparable. So I don’t wonder whether this chapter is as easy or pleasant as chapters from decades ago. I only seek the good in the chapter I’m living now, and hope for equal or greater happiness in chapters yet to be written.

It works for me. I don’t wish I was back where I once was in life. I do enjoy the time I’m in now, and I have plenty to look forward to in the next chapter. All of which makes it easier to be thankful for all that’s around and ahead of me. Living gratefully is wonderful.

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[1] A great guide for crossing the road, written for parents with young children, can be found at this UK website: https://www.rospa.com/media/documents/road-safety/teaching-road-safety-a-guide-for-parents.pdf

[2] Except once! I panicked and forgot my training, with near disastrous consequences. See my blog ‘Lasting relationships are not lucky or unlucky’ posted on June 27, 2021. You’ll find it via the Archives list


Plundering the archives

We all have the experience that ‘life gets in the way’ of what we plan to do. Last week we had an unexpected need to transport a bed inside our car. (Yes, inside the car – and it’s not an especially big car but we got the bed in.) This week builders arrived to repair the fence between our house and the neighbour’s which, even though it’s not our fence, took time and imprisoned our dogs indoors. We were glad to move the bed to help out family, and we’re glad the fence has been fixed. Things like these come along, and they have to be fitted in.

All this is to say that right now I have one of my major study assignments to write, and it’s taken longer than I expected. So – with another major part of my life taking my time – I haven’t been able to create a blog article this week. My apologies, but the assignment really must have priority over the blog.

Instead, I’ve looked back over 2021 and identified a few of the archived blogs which I know have been read more often than most. (I don’t know who reads each blog, but I do know the number who read each one.)

There are six listed just below. One is fairly recent (The Tay Bridge disaster) and the rest from further back.

Of course there are 40+ in the archives, and you can pick out any of them for reading now.

Whether my selection or others, I hope you find something useful. And my sincere apologies for the delay in offering a fresh article. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.

Here’s the list:

How a motorcycle crash changed my life (but not in the way you think)  June 19, 2021

Blind to what’s obvious August 22, 2021

The Tay Bridge disaster October 31, 2021

How we caused a plague of frogs  June 12, 2021

Surviving Susie April 18, 2021

Being true to your word (and suspicious of your car nav system) June 6, 2021

To find any of these, just click on the ‘month’ links under Archived blogs and you’ll be in the right month to find the one you want.

You get to the same place by using a web link like this: https://occasionallywise.com/2021/06/ The numbers in the link are a date, so the link I’ve used as an example would take you to blogs in the month of June 2021. If you wanted to access April, change the ‘06’ to ‘04’, or to September by changing the ‘06’ to ‘09’, and so on.

The green-eyed monster

What is prohibited in the Ten Commandments, included among the acts of the flesh in the New Testament, listed as one of the seven deadly sins, and described by Shakespeare as the green-eyed monster? *

The answer is envy.

It’s hard to imagine there’s anyone who hasn’t been envious. You might think it’s especially a failing in affluent societies, a temptation of people in suburbia who ‘want to keep up with the Joneses’. Whatever others have, they want it too. But envy also happens in the poorest of places. Someone has a better tea pot, or bicycle, or job, or a rich relative who sends them money, and others want these things too.

It’s an understandable sin. We all want our lives to be better, so we envy those who have things or connections or abilities which would improve our lives, if only we had them too.

Sometimes we justify our envy. ‘It’s not fair they have these things,’ we reason. ‘Why shouldn’t I have them as well?’

I studied Human Resources as part of my management degree. One paper described how staff reacted when the work was demanding but the pay poor. Interestingly, their research showed that employees would work for low wages providing everyone doing that work had the same low wage. But if some were paid more, those on less were seriously discontent. They wanted parity. They wanted what others were getting.

On the whole, though, few try to justify envy. Down the ages envy, and its close cousin jealousy, is considered wrong.

I’m going to set out three ways in which envy is harmful. I’ll finish by adding three rather different thoughts.

First, how envy harms lives.

Envy is a cruel master

I spent a lot of time trying to help Gwyn and Julie. People would think they were a great couple with two wonderful children. But they had a secret. They were lost in a maze of unpayable debts. They owed money to the bank and on five different credit cards, and when they’d maxed out on their limits, they’d borrowed from short-term lenders at astronomical interest rates. That wasn’t all. They’d bought from several catalogue companies, the kind where you pay small sums every week but the overall cost of goods is high. And they owed significant sums for unpaid utility services and local taxes.

I sat with them for hours, tried to list every outstanding amount, and, just when I thought we were done, Julie or Gwyn would remember another debt. They were deeply submerged in a financial swamp. Debt collectors phoned constantly and banged on their front door at all hours.

The couple seemed unable to think straight so, on their behalf, I began contacting credit card providers, banks and catalogue companies. Most of them were amenable to working out payment arrangements. I introduced them to a friendly bank manager, and we considered consolidating all their debts and structuring a payment plan.

But, just before any of those remedial arrangements went into effect, I saw Gwyn and Julie’s children playing on brand-new bicycles. How could they have those new bikes? I caught up with their parents, and asked for an explanation. ‘All their friends seemed to have new bicycles, and we couldn’t let our children not have them too,’ Julie said. I asked how they found money to buy them. Sheepishly she said, ‘We got them from a catalogue company we’d never used before’. More debt. Soon after Gwynn and Julie were made bankrupt. I lost touch but I believe their marriage fell apart a year or two later.

There are three hard truths from Gwynn and Julie’s story. First, the fundamental problem behind most of their debt? They saw what others had and they had to have it too. Second, their envy was uncontrolled. It got them into debt, and then more debt. Third, despite outward appearances, and despite all they bought, Gwyn and Julie were miserable. So miserable, it ended their relationship.

Envy is a cruel and destructive master.

Envy is insatiable

Envy doesn’t have limits. It’s inexhaustible. We may think, ‘If only I have this, then I’ll be satisfied.’ But we’re not. We will always see something better than what we have already, and we’ll want that too.

One of my favourite podcasts is ‘No Stupid Questions’. A recent episode had the title: Why Do We Want What We Can’t Have? ** The presenters included the story of a stone cutter who constantly wanted something better for his life.

A stone cutter is passing the house of a wealthy merchant and sees his expensive and fancy possessions, and his important visitors, and he says to himself ‘Wow, that merchant must be so powerful. It must be amazing to be like that.’

The next day he wakes up as the merchant. So he’s happy for a while. Then he sees a high-ranking, important government official being carried in a sedan by his servants. And he thinks ‘Woah! How powerful that official must be.’

The next day he becomes the official, and this trend continues and the guy becomes the sun, he becomes a big storm cloud, and he becomes the wind. Then he finds that the one thing he can’t move when he’s the wind is a massive rock so he grows envious of the rock.

And next day he’s the rock. One day he hears the sound of a hammer hitting his surface and he thinks ‘Wait a minute! Wait a minute – what could be more powerful than me, the rock? And he looks down and sees a stone cutter…

That story says it all. Envy is never satisfied. There’s always one thing more, then another and another, an unending lust for things better than those we have already. In the end it get us nowhere.

Envy is no judge of what really matters

I arrived in the car park of the golf club, and began getting my gear out of the car. I was getting ready to play in a pairs match – my partner and I against two golfers from another club. My partner arrived in his Jaguar. Then the first of our opponents drove into the car park in his Porsche. Minutes later our second opponent came in his Audi S5. I hadn’t come in any of these elite models of car. I came in my Nissan. For a moment I wished I had one of their cars. I wouldn’t have been fussy. Any of them would be fine. But I caught myself quickly, realising ‘I already have a good car. It does everything I want a car to do.’ What matters with a car is that it gets you from A to B with reasonable comfort, safety and reliability. My car does that. The brand name is not what’s important.

Envy doesn’t think like that. Envy casts greedy eyes over anything supposedly better or more desirable than what you have already, and says ‘You should have that’.

Envy doesn’t think of affordability, or climate impact, or even suitability. It considers only things like prestige, speed, and impressing others. They are not the things that really matter.

I’ll finish with three rather different points about envy. The first will seem surprising.

  • Sometimes envy pushes people to do the right thing

Envy is a bad driver, but occasionally points us in a good direction. I’ll give an example.

While I worked in America, my car was a Subaru. I’d never owned a Subaru or any 4 x 4 car before, but it was the right car to have for the snow and ice of a Chicago winter. I deeply appreciated that car’s road-holding ability when the temperature was minus 18F. But what I most enjoyed was its reversing camera. Put the car into reverse, and a rear-facing camera showed an image on the dashboard of whatever was behind. I loved showing that to friends. Some said, ‘Wow! I wish I had that feature on my car.’ That was envy. But a good envy, because reversing cameras don’t just prevent you reversing into a wall, they stop you running over the toddler who’s invisible to wing mirrors but standing right behind the car. My friends’ envy meant they’d insist on a rear-view camera when they next bought a car, which might save a life.

In that instance envy served a good purpose.

  • Envy is not inevitable. It’s a choice

Envy feels like it’s a reaction. Your neighbour builds a wonderful extension on their house, or takes their family on the vacation of a lifetime, or gets promotion at their work, or inherits a million from an aunt they never visited. And you react with ‘I want that too’ or ‘I wish that would happen to me’. It’s an instinct, the thought that inevitably comes to mind.

But envy is not inevitable. It happens so quickly and easily it feels automatic. We’ve become used to it, as if coveting what our neighbour has is a preset feature of our humanity.

But it isn’t a preset. Envy is a choice.

Envy is a choice just as greed or lust or anger is a choice. If someone puts a plate of Danish pastries in front of me, must I eat one? Or two? Or three? If I see a beautiful woman, must I imagine having sex with her? If someone is rude and insulting, must I punch them on the nose? We’d say there’s no must about any of these. We might fail, but it was never inevitable we’d fail. Nor is it inevitable we’ll fail with envy.

The hard truth is this: envy is a choice. We are not helpless beings, pushed around by irresistible instincts. We can make decisions, including a decision not to envy what others have.

  • To beat envy, turn the other way

You’ll have heard or read this: Happiness is not having everything you want, but wanting what you have. (It’s a saying attributed to many writers.) It’s rather simplistic. But what it points to is powerful: contentment.

For a time the Apostle Paul was held prisoner in Rome. From his prison he wrote letters, including the one to the church in Philippi. Given his circumstances these words are remarkable:

I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength.  (Philippians 4:11-13)

Paul was beaten, thrown out of cities, deserted by friends, suffered poor health and, here, languished in prison. Yet, whatever his circumstances, he was content. But please notice that twice he says he has ‘learned’ to be content.

We’ve all learned things – how to use tools, how to speak a language, how to drive a car, how to grow plants, how to play chess, and many more. We didn’t know automatically how to do these things, but we learned. It took effort, time and commitment, but we got there.

The same is true with contentment. There aren’t ten easy steps to memorise and, suddenly, you’re now perfectly content. It’s choosing to be at peace with what you have, and choosing to resist the urge to chase what you don’t have. I’d never pretend that’s easy, but I know it’s possible.

And here’s an encouraging truth. If two things are in opposite directions, moving towards one takes you further from the other. Contentment and envy lie in opposite directions, so the more we walk towards contentment the further we are from envy. I can’t overcome envy by thinking constantly about things I envy, hoping that one day I’ll wake up not wanting those shiny new things others have. I overcome envy by focusing on the very many thing I have already that bring me contentment. I choose to be content, and let envy perish by neglect.

I urge you to do the same.

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*  The tenth of the Ten Commandments is: ‘You shall not covet your neighbour’s house. You shall not covet your neighbour’s wife, or his male or female servant, his ox or donkey, or anything that belongs to your neighbour.’ (Exodus 20:17) 

The Apostle Paul, writing to the Galatians, says this: The acts of the flesh are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery; idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions and envy; drunkenness, orgies, and the like.’  (Galatians 5:19-21)

Thomas Aquinas – the 13th century Italian philosopher and theologian – is considered to have defined the standard list of the seven deadly sins: pride, greed, wrath, envy, lust, gluttony and sloth.

Shakespeare used the term ‘green-eyed monster’ in Othello, Act 3, Scene 3:

“O beware, my lord, of jealousy;
It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on.”

**  No Stupid Questions Ep. 68 https://freakonomics.com/podcast/nsq-envy/

Don’t kill the horse

‘God gave me a horse, and a gift to deliver. Alas, I have killed the horse and can no longer deliver the gift.’

I first read that quote many years ago, and I’ll explain the sad reason behind the statement.

The words are attributed to Robert Murray M’Cheyne, a presbyterian pastor in Dundee from 1836-1843.

M’Cheyne was born in Edinburgh in 1813 and enrolled at the city’s university when he was only 14. A few years later his Christian convictions came alive, and he began studying divinity. As he completed his theological study he wrote this: ‘Life is vanishing fast, make haste for eternity.’

That ‘make haste’ mindset controlled everything M’Cheyne did. Each moment had to be invested in profitable work. Soon he was minister of St Peter’s Church in Dundee. All around he saw people with ‘hardness of heart’ to the Christian gospel. He worked day and night for their lives to change.

After three years of constant work his health was affected. His heart was suffering ‘palpitations’ and quickly they got worse. His friends were concerned; his doctor advised complete rest. Reluctantly he agreed, and returned to the family home in Edinburgh. The following year he was persuaded to join a group of ministers assessing Christian work in Israel; M’Cheyne’s inclusion was partly because the climate would be good for his health. He was gone for six months. During the return journey he became dangerously ill and nearly died. But he recovered and, once stronger, returned to Dundee.

While M’Cheyne had been away, a ‘revival’ had broken out in Scotland including Dundee. When he returned to St Peter’s church, things were very different from when he left. The church was filled. People with a deep concern for ‘eternal realities’ cried out for God’s mercy.

He threw himself into his work with renewed passion. He met with anyone seeking God. He preached in St Peter’s, and in the open air, and at meetings across Scotland, and into England. No-one could have worked harder for his people.

In February 1843, he toured north west Scotland – an area with rugged countryside, high mountains, narrow passes, and almost everywhere exposed to the worst of weather coming off the Atlantic Ocean. M’Cheyne preached 27 times in 24 places, often struggling through heavy snow to his next engagement.

By the time he returned to Dundee he admitted he was desperately tired. But typhus fever had broken out across the city so he visited sick person after sick person, hardly taking rest. Of course he was not immune. His own burning fever began on March 12th, and after a week he became delirious and died on March 25th. M’Cheyne was engaged to be married, and aged just 29.

He died convinced that he’d given his all for God and God’s work, yet sensing that somehow he’d ‘killed the horse’ – his body – which God had given him to deliver the gift of the gospel.

The words spoken by M’Cheyne near to his death have helped me and frightened me. What’s frightened me is the warning that I could bring all I was meant to do with my life to a premature end. What’s helped me is the realisation that life is a marathon, not a sprint, and the goal is to finish, and to finish still strong.

Before explaining more, let me be clear here what I’m not talking about. People have accidents, or become victims, or develop illnesses. Everything is changed through no fault of their own. A soldier loses his legs when a roadside bomb explodes. A young health worker in Asia contracts a disease to which she has no resistance and dies. An aid worker in the Middle East is kidnapped, and though eventually released has ongoing struggles with fear and loss of confidence. A young mum contracts cancer and dies within two years, leaving behind a husband and two very young children.

These are tragedies. These are people whose lives were ended or damaged long before anyone would have expected. They never had the chance to fulfil the potential everyone believed they had. But they didn’t cause the events which happened to them.

Their circumstances are not what this blog is about. I am writing about things we do – things we control – that damage or shorten our futures.

Because these things are numerous and varied I can only give examples.

Sometimes the issue is personal management of our health. I wrote in a recent blog about back problems I’ve had throughout my adult life. (Will life always be this way?, 13.9.21) I asked the specialist I saw in America if my damaged back could be the result of a rugby accident when I was 15. (I was hit in my back by an opponent’s knee as he tackled me.) ‘No,’ he said. ‘The state of your back is not the result of an accident. You were likely born this way.’

So, no-one caused my back pain, but there has always been one person responsible for managing it. I’ve been good about that, but not as good as I should because most of the time I’ve been overweight. Carrying too much weight stresses knees and back. It was easy to find excuses. When you’re a minister you go to meetings at which the host puts out scones and cakes. As an executive leader you go to conferences where they feed you three cooked meals a day. At other times you meet with people in restaurants. While in America, I had days with meetings like that at breakfast, lunch and dinner. One breakfast meeting in a restaurant lasted so long my lunch guest arrived. That was convenient, but did serious damage to the waist line.

Weakness of will meant I often ate the wrong things. Even when I ate the right things, I ate too much. Now that I’m retired, and almost always eating at home, I choose healthy things. Sorry, I should tell the truth – Alison chooses the healthy things. And I’m very grateful she does, as I weigh a lot less now than I did.

That’s my confession – I’ve not always looked after my health. I suspect most people could make a similar confession, though not necessarily about weight. Perhaps smoking? Or drinking more than a little? Or not getting enough sleep? Or anything else that risks shortening our years.

Then there’s the issue of overwork which M’Cheyne likely got wrong. I’ve seen employment adverts which virtually spell out that they want an employee who’ll give 110 per cent, surrendering heart and soul to the company. These are invitations to abandon health, family life, friendships, recreation, for the greater profit of a business. That deal is never worth taking.

Yet many do sign up, and they go along with a culture which demands that you start early and finish late, that you don’t take most of your vacation time, and that you answer your phone or emails any time of night and day. Often the wages are good, but you pay a heavy price to get that income. Marriages break up. Children become strangers. Health breaks down. And nothing lives in your mind except work.

Work is good and honourable. But overwork kills the spirit and the body.

For some, career and much more is shortened by serious loss of reputation. It happens when someone fakes their curriculum vitae to get a top job. Or when they’re found to have given bribes to win a contract. Or they lied in court. Or they falsified accounts to make the business look more profitable. These things have significant legal consequences, but even if the legalities are escaped the actions are usually career-ending.

Sometimes the failure isn’t legal but moral. I worked beside a journalist who’d had an affair with the wife of a very prominent civic officer. The relationship ended when it became public. The wife’s marriage was damaged, and so was the journalist’s career because he had to move far away to find another job. Tragically, church ministers can fail morally in similar ways. The vast majority would be ashamed of their actions, but they were weak when they should have been strong. It’s not always ‘career’ ending – there can be restoration – but the damage done is never small.

There have always been addictions, and they have dreadful consequences. Addiction to alcohol is mostly obvious. The same can be true with drugs sold on street corners. But addictions to prescription medications are often secret. And often deadly.

This information on deaths from drug poisoning in England and Wales comes from the British government’s Office for National Statistics

Almost half of all drug poisonings continue to involve an opiate. For deaths registered in 2020, a total of 2,263 drug poisoning deaths involved opiates; this was 4.8% higher than in 2019 (2,160 deaths) and 48.2% higher than in 2010 (1,527 deaths). Opiates were involved in just under half (49.6%) of drug poisonings registered in 2020, increasing to 64.5% when we exclude deaths that had no drug type recorded on the death certificate.*

It shocks me that opiates cause almost half of drug deaths, and the number has grown by almost 50 per cent over ten years. Often few knew someone was addicted until they overdosed and died.

There are other kinds of addictions too, such as gambling and pornography. Increasingly, worries are expressed that computer gaming has become compulsive, and not just for children. Perhaps TV soap operas are also addictive. I knew someone who recorded two or three every evening, and sat up late watching them.

I find much to admire in the life of Robert Murray M’Cheyne. And I never learned how to limit my commitment to caring for people’s bodies and souls. The sacrifice always felt worth it.

But there’s also much to learn from M’Cheyne. His words about ‘killing the horse’ and so ‘can no longer deliver the gift’ are sobering. Would he have wanted to have lived and ministered for longer? I feel sure he would.

There is a challenge, then, in his words. We make choices, and what stops us fulfilling our potential will be a bad choice.

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* Extract taken from https://www.ons.gov.uk/peoplepopulationandcommunity/birthsdeathsandmarriages/deaths/bulletins/deathsrelatedtodrugpoisoninginenglandandwales/2020

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Right doesn’t cancel wrong

It’s April, 1912, and in the boiler and engine rooms of the Titanic, firemen, mechanics and engineers are working flat out. The captain has ordered a near maximum speed of 22 knots. Sustaining that speed is back breaking work for those who stoke the boilers and keep the thundering machinery running. But they get it right; nothing goes wrong with those engines.

But something does go wrong, just not in the engine room. The lookouts in the crow’s nest don’t have binoculars – they were borrowed and not returned. So the men on watch gaze as best they can into still night air. The lack of airflow is a dangerous problem. Wind-driven icebergs disturb water. Stationary icebergs are hard to see. Suddenly, dead ahead, there’s an iceberg. They sound the alarm, the ship alters course, but too late to avoid a sideswipe against the ice. The hull is breached and water floods several compartments and spreads. Less than three hours later, the supposedly unsinkable Titanic disappears beneath the water taking some 1500 people with it.

Six hundred and eighty eight of those who died were crew; that’s 76 per cent of those who began the voyage. Many were firemen, mechanics and engineers. They’d done their jobs. Those engines raced the Titanic forward. But what was done right didn’t make up for what was done wrong. Almost certainly many things were wrong. For more than a hundred years people have questioned why the vessel was among icebergs, why warnings of icebergs weren’t heeded, whether it should have been going so fast, whether the iceberg should have been seen earlier, and much more. The Titanic was luxurious in appearance and sailed magnificently, but none of that counted when it hit the iceberg and became one of the worst peacetime maritime disasters ever.

Here’s the lesson from this. Getting one thing right doesn’t compensate for getting other things wrong. The below deck crew made the Titanic’s engines run as smoothly and sweetly as possible, powering it through the water. That was good. But it didn’t make up for sailing at speed into water strewn with icebergs.

We comfort ourselves that what we’re getting right compensates for things we’re getting wrong.

It doesn’t and here’s another example.

I was in a restaurant, and noticed that a large pizza was placed in front of a nearby customer. He was far from a small man. I couldn’t help but think he must have eaten a lot of large pizzas before.

What intrigued me wasn’t that the customer was about to eat a pizza which could have fed a family, but his chosen beverage. He was drinking a can of Diet Coke. Normally I’d think well of someone avoiding the approximately 140 calories in a regular cola. Except the pizza he was tucking into had about 2200 calories. Since the recommended calorie intake for men is 2500 calories per day, that customer was getting 88 per cent of his day’s allowance from that one pizza. I thought: ‘What’s the point of a diet drink when its benefit is well and truly erased by your giant pizza’.

One thing right (the diet cola) couldn’t cancel what was wrong (his massive pizza).

How can we pretend that doing one thing right negates one or more things which are wrong? But sometimes we do think like that.

I’ll list three reasons for that idea, and why those reasons are invalid.

We think what’s good compensates for what’s bad, because it comforts us to think that way.   When I was about 15, I was in the top performing class of pupils my age, but I scored near to the bottom of that top group. Almost everyone in the class did better than me. For example, I sat five national exams in that school year. Here were my results:

English – passed.

History – passed.

Maths – failed.

Arithmetic – failed.*

French – failed.

German – so poor I wasn’t allowed to take the exam.

That performance was not good, not at all good. But I wasn’t too disappointed. After all I’d passed in two subjects, those I was actually interested in. So that was okay.

It wasn’t okay. Passing two, failing three, banned from taking another – that’s never okay. Through many of my school years, my teachers’ verdict was consistently ‘Could do better’. I simply didn’t put any effort into studying subjects that I didn’t enjoy. If I had I’d have passed.** I might never have been top in my class, but I didn’t need to be at the bottom.

Instead I underperformed but comforted myself I’d passed something. That was an excuse. I could and should have passed them all. I was indulging in false comfort.

We think what’s good compensates for what’s bad, because at least we’re doing something.    The guy who ordered Diet Coke was at least doing something towards weight loss. I have my own versions of that mindset. If I’ve started pulling weeds out in the garden, I’ve done something towards getting it under control. If I’ve started on my next study assignment, I’ve done something towards completing it. Both of those are good. I’m on my way. It’s an achievement.

Starting is an achievement. But it’s not success if that’s when we also stop. Drinking Diet Coke won’t get restaurant man to his right weight unless he cuts back on pizza eating. Pulling out a few weeds won’t get my garden in order when more weeds are springing up at great speed in every other part of the garden. Writing a couple of paragraphs of a study assignment is not great progress if the deadline for the 2000 or 3000 word assignment is just days away.

We feel better once we’ve done a little. But doing a little can become a substitute for not doing everything we should.

We think what’s good compensates for what’s bad, because we reckon good things outweigh bad things.    If everything was weighed, surely the good we do would tip the scales the right way. ‘Today I phoned a friend going through a hard time. I bought coffee for a colleague. I complimented someone on their work. And I washed the car. Yes, I know I cheated on my expenses, told a neighbour I wished he lived somewhere else, and murdered my boss because he was getting on my nerves. But there was more good than bad in my day, so that’s okay.’

That list of a day’s ‘good’ and ‘bad’ is, of course, ludicrous, but I’ve exaggerated it to make two points.

First, good and bad things don’t carry the same ‘weight’, any more than ten light parcels weigh the same as ten heavy parcels. You can’t compare buying coffee for a colleague with murdering the boss!

Second, the bad things shouldn’t exist at all. If you had a thousand good deeds in your day, they still wouldn’t compensate for theft or murder. Doing something right doesn’t cancel doing something wrong. The wrong should never happen.

So, if we can’t take comfort in having some good in our lives, while ignoring the bad, what do we need to do?

The short answer is living with no half measures and no excuses.

No half measures because often something isn’t better than nothing. When I play golf, I may reach a hole where there’s nothing between the tee ground and the green except water. If I want to get my ball on the green, I’ll have to hit it 150 yards through the air. Hitting it 80 yards isn’t enough. Nor is 120 yards or 140 yards. These are all ‘something’ but they’re not enough. My ball will land in the pond unless I hit it more than 150 yards.

Likewise, the fact that the Titanic’s engines were first rate and running flat out was ‘something’, but it wasn’t enough when the ship sailed straight for an iceberg.

None of us are perfect, and we’ll often fall short. But when we accept ‘short’ as enough we’re in trouble.

No excuses when we’ve simply not given our best. I left school with the worst exam results for anyone in the ‘A’ stream of pupils. I wasn’t much interested in some of the subjects, and I didn’t relate well to those who taught them. But those were excuses, and don’t come close to justifying my lack of effort. I could have done much better, and even if I had a hundred excuses I’d still be guilty.

It’s been many years since I stopped thinking that getting a few things right compensated for getting so much else wrong. Here, in closing, is the image of how I’d like my life to be.

Picture an athlete – a sprinter – giving everything to finish their race well. Eyes focused on the line, arms and legs pumping, chest pushed out to breast the tape. Long before that moment, they’d ironed out the flaws in their technique and mindset, and trained their body to run the distance at full speed. They prepared and on the day they performed. Everything was honed to be the best it could be, and they gave it. There were no half measures and afterwards no excuses.

That’s my ideal of how my life should have been lived. I’ve never wholly succeeded, but I’ll always try.

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*  At that time Scottish schools separated arithmetic from maths, hence separate exams.

**  A year later I was more motivated and did pass the maths exam, and when I was 20 (and wanting admission to university) passed ‘Higher’ exams in French, Geography and Accounting. Some years further on I studied for a PhD degree, and read German text books and included passages in German in my thesis. Perhaps I was a ‘late bloomer’.