“Yes, the mind is very useful, but when it does not recognize its own finite viewpoint, it is also useless.”
– Richard Rohr

When We Think We Know

It was mid-day on a Friday. Jeff and I finished touring inside the Mid-America All-Indian Center in Wichita, looking at the pottery and drums and Native artwork by Blackbear Bosin.

Now we’d walk the grounds of the Outdoor Learning Center to sit in the tipi and look at the gardens. The afternoon was pleasant. We kept walking.

We left the Center’s property, walked beyond the gate to nearby Keeper Plaza to see Bosin’s famous Keeper of the Plains statue. Time slipped away.

It was now after 4:00, the Center’s closing time.

Behind us, a Center employee was about to lock the gate behind us. We quickly slipped back inside the Center grounds so we could return to our truck.

But which way now? With the Center closed, and the grounds gate now locked, how could we get back to the parking lot?

Oh, I knew the way. Jeff didn’t agree, but he didn’t argue (he’s good like that). Let’s just go to the right, I said.

But I was wrong.

I just don’t always know right away that I’m wrong.

Thinking we’re always right can be dangerous. I know. It’s gotten me in trouble many times.

“We do not see things as they are; we see things as we are. Take that as nearly certain.”
– Richard Rohr

I’ve been sharing four statements that I try to live by. I keep them posted on my bedroom mirror. They are agreements with myself.

Today I’m sharing #2 of the four:

#2. Let go of being right.

(See #1 here, Give the Benefit of the Doubt, “Do You Assume the Best or Worst? And a Barking Lady.”)

Three Dangers of Always Being Right

Danger #1: Losing Friends

Nobody likes a know-it-all. Insisting that we’re right is obnoxious.

Being overconfident in our knowledge is dangerous to our character. And to our relationships.

We incorrectly assume we’ll gain prestige and authority if we are all-knowing. But the opposite usually happens. Pride destroys. It causes us to see ourselves as right and judge others as wrong, which is not just off-putting; it is wrong.

Solution: Practice humility.

Be aware of your ability to get things wrong, even when you think you’re right. Worry less about protecting your reputation and more about being humble. Instead of being combative, listen to others’ opinions and find common ground. If it matters, discuss it graciously. If it doesn’t matter, let it go.

Danger #2: Losing Security

Thinking we have to always be right is also dangerous to our mental and emotional health. When we think we have to be perfect in order to be loved, we live in fear. And we can’t flourish under a spirit of fear.

Nor a spirit of self-dependence. Relying on only our self-knowledge leads us away from engaging with and learning from others, and into a life of loneliness.

Solution: Trust the process.

Not your own perfection. Remember there will always be mysteries you’ll never understand. Trust that you’ll know enough when you need to know it, and be content with the unknowns yet to be revealed later or never at all.

Danger #3: Losing Maturity

While in the moment it feels good to be proven right, the quest to be omniscient can rob us of growth in the long term.

A taste of knowing it all can leave us greedy to be right all the time. And once we think we’ve arrived at perfect knowledge, we lose our ability to learn more.

Solution: Know what you don’t know.

The best way to know more is to realize you know less. Even if you already know a lot, there is always more to learn. But only if you’re teachable. Learn more by listening more, reading more, loving more. Stay open.

Benefits of Not Being Right

Not only do we not like pride in others, neither do they like it in us.

When we let go of our need to be right, we are more respectful of those around us.

• We grows in our relationships,
• in our love,
• and in our knowledge.

Send more compassion into the world with your humility.

It’s better to be more loving than always right.

How did we find our way back to our truck at the Indian Center?

We asked someone who knew.

Thankfully, an outside employee gratefully showed us an unlocked door back into the building. We walked through, out the front door, and straight to the parking lot.

Being “right” had gotten me lost.
But being humble set me free. 

* * *

We all like to be right. But sometimes we don’t do it well.

Do you like to be right, too? Please share your thoughts in the comments.

revised from the archives

See all 4 agreements (click on individual infographics)

1-Give the benefit of the doubt | 2-Let go of being right | 3-Don’t take it personally | 4-Just show up

I double-check my notes. I’m on the second floor of my local public library. The call number for the library book is correct. But where is the book? Maybe it has been shelved wrong by mistake.

That’s when I hear the noise.

A loud bark! Directly in my ear.

I jerk around . . . to find a woman brush past me, not a dog, like it sounded.

After barking, she smirks. Then she walks away.

A couple other people come rushing up beside me now. They are clearly disturbed, and ask, “Did that woman just bark at you, too?”

I pause for a split second. I know I have options for my response.

We almost always have options, even when we’re not aware of them.

The Agreements

In 2014, I read a small book of Toltec wisdom by Don Miguel Ruiz called The Four Agreements. (I recommend it.)

Ruiz shares four statements he lives by. They are virtuous and respectful toward all humans. (Read Ruiz’s four agreements here.)

After I finished the book, I tweaked the statements to create my own four agreements for life.

I wrote them on a sticky note and put them on my bedroom mirror. I don’t live them as well as I’d like, but I’m not finished yet.

My first agreement is this:

# 1. Give others the benefit of the doubt.

[Here are all four agreements.
1-Give the benefit of the doubt | 2-Let go of being right | 3-Don’t take it personally | 4-Just show up]

But how? How can we practically give others the benefit of the doubt?

5 Ways to Give the Benefit of the Doubt

1. Create a Better Story

It’s not easy. We’re wired to distrust uncertainty.

So when we don’t know the whole story (which we rarely do), our minds fill in the gaps. And we don’t naturally assume innocent until proven guilty.

Instead of assuming the best, we think:

• My husband must hate my new haircut because he said nothing about it
• My friend just wants to make me mad by bringing up that topic
• The world is against me because I had a flat tire this afternoon

But if we really don’t know, why not create a good story instead of a bad one?

Can’t we assume a positive what-if scenario instead of a negative one?

2. Use the Golden Rule

Would we want others assuming the worst motives about us when we do something they don’t understand? No.

We think they should know us better than that.

We can treat others’ motives the same way we want ours to be treated.

3. Let Go of Self-Protection

Often our cynicism arises because we don’t want to be hurt. We want to protect ourselves by staying on the defensive, not risking pain through naiveté or being caught off guard.

But is being skeptical the best way to live?

No. We will sometimes get hurt by giving others the benefit of the doubt, but more often we’ll create a brighter world, bringing light into darkness instead of spreading even more darkness.

Safety is an illusion. Take chances with love.

4. Forget Revenge

When we sense we’ve been treated unfairly, we can grow stingy with doling out understanding.

But who among us hasn’t received far more compassion at times than we’ve deserved?

By tuning into the kindnesses that we have been given, we can be more compassionate to others too, all things considered.

In everyday situations, when possible, err on the side of grace instead of judgment. It makes for healthier relationships. And happier ones, too.

5. Do It for You

Lastly, we often show the least compassion to ourselves.

Even when we assume the best in others, we may place unrealistic expectations on ourselves. If our bodies get tired or our tongue gets edgy or a relationship turns sour, we may shame ourselves with labels like Lazy or Selfish or Stupid.

Granted, we do need to take responsibility for our actions.

But we also need to give ourselves the benefit of the doubt as well, knowing we tried, that we wanted the best for everyone. Even when you fail, don’t abandon yourself yourself just because you made a mistake

Choose Your Response

Back at the library, instead of causing a ruckus about the barking woman, I choose to let it go. The woman looked homeless and had more important issues to deal with than receiving a lecture from me on keeping reverent silence in the library.

I laugh off the incident alongside the other people who heard the barking, hoping they will let go of their fears that she’ll be waiting outside to harass them.

The woman seemed completely harmless, just coping with life as best she can.

While some people in the world may be out to get us—and yes, let’s be cautious with those!—most of the people in our circles are decent human beings.

Like us, they too are doing the best they can with what they have.

Fill in the gaps with compassion.

And the library barker?

I’m agreeing to assume the best, not the worst, about her, too.

I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt.

* * *

Are you more naturally trusting or skeptical? Please share your thoughts in the comments.

See all 4 agreements (click on individual infographics)

1-Give the benefit of the doubt | 2-Let go of being right | 3-Don’t take it personally | 4-Just show up

revised from the archives

Sometimes I want to give up.

I see the long line stretching in the Alabama heat—people standing for hours, waiting for three afternoons a week just to get a free dinner and a box of free leftover produce from a grocery store or day-old bread from the bakery or whatever size bars of soap that some sweet soul donates along the way.

And I wonder: Is this really helping? Does anything change? What good are we doing?

I don’t see the girl begin to fall. She’s in line with her mother and they’re not yet to the shaded side of the building.

She starts going down. A man in line sees what’s happening and rushes to her. He catches her before she hits the ground.

Another lady in line also sees what’s happening and pulls out her cell phone. She dials 911.

I catch up with them as Winston is escorting them inside so she can sit down and cool off. Color is returning to her cheeks, but she still looks faint. Her mother is calm. She says this happens.

The paramedics find us and check her out as okay. She refuses their offer of a trip to the hospital.

They say she can drink, so I rummage around back and find a warm coke, thankful she asked for it that way. Winston and Mary Beth cut into the food line to gather several big bags of food for her so that her mom can take her home and not have to return later to get what she needs.

I wait with them as they get the food to go. I see the mother is disabled herself—I’d noticed a heavy limp—and the daughter tells me that her mom cares not only for her, but for a total of fifteen people in two houses. Some are family, others are just strays who need help.

May they be shown mercy. Healing. Rest.

A few more minutes pass. The mom leaves to get the car. I ask Ricky, a friend in line, to lend a strong arm to walk the girl outside to the car. He gladly does.

The girl thanks us for everything.

The outward happenings of any situation—whether a near fall or a line full of hungry people or a volunteer struggling to see grace—are mirror images of things also happening inside us. The girl needing help. Her fellow compatriots in line. Her mom and the volunteers and the paramedics and Ricky. And you reading it all.

• Are we seeing grace or not?
• Are we believing in mercy?
• Are we being compassionate?

May our hearts keep growing in love to see more, believe more, be more.

We close her car door. The next things still need to be done, so we all move along. Nobody else goes down today. . . .

Where have you recently seen or experienced grace in an unexpected way?

Share your thoughts in the comments.

Read more:

• 6 Lessons When Curiosity Meets Compassion
  Learning how to be compassionate is a lesson that never ends. After making it my Word of the Year years ago, I find myself revisiting it with a new One Word, Curiosity.
• What Can I Do? For Now, This Is My Something
  My friend needs something I can’t give. What can I do? For now, this is my something.
• “I’m not sure”—Is This Compassionate?
  Is being uncertain a path to compassion? Can admitting we don’t know open us to deeper connections?

revised from the archives

On a cold day a few weeks earlier, I sneaked her a little box of chocolates (these are just for you!) because I think every woman needs chocolate, right? I bought one for myself too. I tell her chocolate is one of my weaknesses.

It’s just a little thing you share when you spend time together.

Her family and mine have been friends for a few years. Her family has been in a pit for awhile. Once you fall too deep, it’s hard to climb back up.

So we help as we can. Not big things to us. Bigger to them.

One day we’re on a Walmart run together. She and I look at baby things; her husband and toddler slip off elsewhere.

We converge at the checkout.

Then her husband surprises me. He hands me this card he’s bought. It’s a beautiful sentiment of thanks.

And she adds a Hershey’s candy bar at the checkout for me.

I want to refuse, “No! Please, y’all, don’t do anything for me. You can’t afford it.”

But I understand that sometimes when you can’t pay back, you desperately want to at least say thanks.

And we should let ourselves be thanked. So I accept their gifts with humility.

Most of my friendships work in reciprocity: You treat me to dinner; I treat you to dinner. I buy you a Christmas gift; you have a gift for me. Round and round we go.

Until we can’t.

Sometimes a gift is is too big to repay in kind. I’ve received gifts that I could never repay. For those times, we need to stop trying to even things up, and just say thank you.

It works incredibly well.

Let go of the repayment guilt. And release the debt we hold over others. We can’t afford either one.

Love doesn’t work on a merit system.
The preferred exchange is grace.

Grace given. Grace received. Thank you very much.

So for my card, I say thank you very much. I’ll treasure it.

And the chocolate? I eat every delicious bite.

It’s all grace.

* * *

Is it harder for you to receive grace or to give it? Please share in the comments.

revised from the archives

Ms. Willie is always our last visit. She lives on the top floor of the public-housing apartments that Kay and I deliver supper to on Wednesday afternoons.

With all the others, we knock on their door, give them a box meal, ask how they’re doing, and move on.

But Ms. Willie is different.

She steps out of her apartment in her nightgown to chat for several minutes. She rarely wants the food because she says her stomach has been upset. (Because she also has no teeth, we show her what’s easy to chew; sometimes she takes it, sometimes she doesn’t.)

Yet she never knows who we are.

Every time.

Every week she asks us, “Aren’t y’all new ones?”

We used to say, “No, Ms. Willie. We’re not new. We were here last week, too. Remember?”

But now I’ve started just saying, “Yes, we’re new. I’m Lisa and this is Kay. It’s nice to meet you!”

She then proceeds to tell us how she got her name (from her sweet little ol’ daddy), she asks us to pray for her sister, and eventually says, “I thank you for coming, but I know you’re busy so I won’t keep you.”

But even though I’m sad her memory is fading further and further away, I’m glad she reminds us that we are new every day.

Today is a new one. And we are new in it. We’re not exactly who we were yesterday. We’re not exactly who we’ll be tomorrow.

We’re refilled with a new measure of grace every morning. Every morning we wake up with a fresh supply.

May you remember, too, that you are new today. Everyday. Like new buds opening every day now (I’m so glad it’s spring!), may you also open up to new possibilities every day, new views, new graces.

Embrace the renewed you. You’ve never been the person you are right now.

Today is a new day and you’re a new you in it!

* * *

Where do you hope to see new mercies this week? Let’s talk in the comments.

revised from the archives

My thoughts in the car after a garden-variety argument with my spouse on a long ride home:

If somebody says to you, “You hurt my feelings,” (1) believe them.

• Don’t argue.
• Don’t get defensive.
• Don’t tell them they’re wrong.

Just believe them. Because of your previous words or behaviors, they now feel pain.

An appropriate next step might be to (2) say, “I’m sorry. Can you tell me more?”

(3) And then listen and believe what they tell you next.

• You don’t have to agree with their interpretation.
• You don’t have to confess fault to a motive you didn’t have (unless you did have it).
• You don’t have to say everything else you’re thinking.

But can you just believe this is how they’re feeling? That this is what they’re hearing? That, intentionally or not, you have hurt them?

And if you really want to engage love, (4) can you listen closer to offer appropriately fresh words of compassion? (5) Perhaps give an apology for causing pain, asking for nothing in return? (6) Perhaps make a resolve to repair the damage and cause less pain next time?

There’s a difference between agreement and understanding. We don’t have to agree on everything. But can we attempt to better understand each other?

Show mercy. Give grace.

Practice love.

* * *

We all have conflicts with people we love. The way we respond in these clashes is what makes or breaks a day. A relationship. A life.

I’m grateful for the people (especially my spouse) who show me mercy, give me grace, and practice love with me when I need it most.

May I do likewise for them.

This is a life of love. It makes long car rides much more pleasant.

Share your thoughts in the comments.

sharing at these linkups

I had finished my shower, put on clean clothes, and was brushing my teeth before leaving for breakfast. My outside was clean.

But on the inside, I was still a mess.

I was dreading a potential outcome. Complaining about a person. Whining about an annoyance.

It’s the attitude. It’s what gets me.

And I knew it was bad. I told myself, “I’m pathetic,” completing the loop, passing judgment not only on others, but also on myself.

So when I read these words in an e-newsletter from Richard Rohr about Thérèse of Lisieux, I copied them down.

I share them today with you, in case you’re ever impatient with yourself, like I am, for quicker transformation.

When Thérèse, even at her young age, became assistant to the novice mistress, she counseled one sister who was impatient with her own impatience: “Sister, can you be willing to be patient with yourself until God gives you the willingness to be patient with the other sisters?”

I’m grateful that the grace we’re called to give others is the same grace that God wants us to give ourselves.

• Be patient with your impatience.
• Be grace-filled toward your gracelessness.
• Be non-judgmental about your judgmentalism.

We may not always behave cleanly—we (and others) show up messy every day—because of our human frailties. But we are clean because Jesus has said so. We are each loved by God, just as we are.

Whether we can see our insides or not, we can trust that Jesus is still growing us, daily, into more loving human beings, even when progress is slower than we’d like.

There is enough grace for everybody.

Including ourselves.

Is it hard for you to give compassion to yourself? Please share here.

revised from the archives

I wonder what the bank assistant is thinking. As she types our information into her computer, she’s listening to the conversation my friend and I have been having as we sit in the soft chairs across from her desk.

My friend: How many years have we known each other? 12?

Me: Actually it’s been longer than that. About 20 years.

[time elapses]

My friend: We’ve known each other about 12 years, right?

Me: More than that—20 years.

[time elapses]

My friend: How long have we known each other? 12 years, right?

Me: Nope. 20.

[time elapses]

The bank assistant prints out the paperwork. My friend signs her name.

My friend now starts in on her:

Do you like Elvis Presley? I like Charlie Pride. My mother liked Charlie Pride. Do you still have a mother? You’re lucky you have a mother. I wish I still had a mother.

The assistant smiles. Today is the first day she’s met us. But I’m guessing she won’t soon forget us. I wonder if she’ll go home tonight and tell her partner about today’s conversations.

Thirty minutes have passed. We’ve finally finished our business. We stand up to leave. I look the assistant eye to eye and genuinely thank her for her help and her patience.

She hands me her card. She tells me to call her if I need anything, anything at all.

She smiles again. I do, too.

In the future when I have moments of doubt—are there still kind strangers in this crazy, crazy world???—I will think of this bank assistant. Of her extraordinary gift of grace to us on an ordinary Thursday afternoon in an ordinary bank office when I walked in with my extraordinary friend.

My friend’s attention has again returned to me.

My friend: We’ve known each other 12 years, right?

Me: Sure. Can you believe it? 12 years and counting.

Where have you seen extraordinary grace on an ordinary day? Share your thoughts in the comments.

sharing at these linkups

It’s because we fall down.

That’s why we say it:

Lord, have mercy!

It’s the most frequent prayer in the Bible.

And it’s what we need the most—the Lord’s mercy. We need it because sometimes it’s dark and we trip on things and we scrape our hearts.

So we cry out, “Lord, have mercy!”

And the miracle is: God does. God always has mercy on us.

Maybe we see it immediately. Maybe it takes more time. Maybe we still haven’t seen its fullness.

But as sure as we fall, just as sure as gravity always catches us—it never fails—Jesus never fails either. He picks us back up.

When God promises mercy, God gives it. God is more faithful than we are.

Find comfort in God’s mercy.

Share your thoughts in the comments.

Related:

• Book review of The Mercy Prayer

revised from the archives

Almost Ruined

Tomorrow, my husband Jeff will finish his last regular work day. And come home to stay.

It’s retirement time.

Officially, he’ll still have a few days of work here and there during the next two months. He won’t be completely finished until July, but this is his last full week. He’s thrilled. 

But I almost ruined it.

As is my typical way, I’ve tried preparing for retirement ahead of time. I thought of the pros and cons; I tried preparing for the best and the worst.

And I’ve about driven Jeff crazy.

Who’s Scared Now?

A few weeks ago we were preparing supper in the kitchen. We began one of our talks about retirement. We each held our cool with each other’s approach for as long as we could.

Then we exploded.

He said things. I said things.

But one new thing surfaced. And it changed everything.

I heard that it wasn’t just me who was a little nervous about the changes ahead.

Jeff was a tad scared, too. But not for his own sake, rather for mine. My talk of preparing for both the good and the bad of retirement made him question if I *wanted* him to retire at all. He was afraid that I wouldn’t be happy having him home.

Still Learning

While we have had versions of that conversation in the past, that day I finally heard it differently.

Because I finally understood this: It’s not my job to regulate Jeff’s expectations.

Previously, my fear was that Jeff would have his expectations set too high for retirement, and that he would be disappointed when it didn’t live up to all the hype.

And I saw my role, with the best of intentions, was to remind him not to get his hopes up too high for retirement fun.

But he didn’t need that.

While my personality is to plan for all the possibilities, that’s not Jeff’s personality.

I enjoy the present more when I use it to prepare for the future (basically). That works for me.

But what works for Jeff is to enjoy the present while it’s here, and deal with the future when it gets here (basically).

So if I wanted Jeff to get the optimum pleasure out of his pre-retirement weeks, I needed to stop trying to lower his expectations about retirement. He’s a grown man; he knows it won’t be perfect. I didn’t have to keep pointing it out to him, just to make myself feel prepared. 

Once I realized this, our conversations about retirement radically improved.

And now here we are. We’ve almost made it. 

As we work out the kinks of having a lot more time together, I’ll keep returning to Basic Relationship 101 work: don’t try to change the other person. Give each other grace to be who God made them to be.

So you keep dreaming, Jeff. I’ll keep planning.

And it’ll all work out in the end.

Share your thoughts (and any advice about retirement!) in the comments. 

sharing at these linkups