Last week Jason and I were thirsty for smoothies. It's hot in Houston, and the smoothie business is humming. Remembering I had a full punch card from Smoothie King, we decided to go there and claim the free drink.
I greeted the cashier and showed her my punch card. Uh-oh, I could see from her face that this wasn't going well. Here's how the conversation went from there:
Cashier: We don't take these any more.
Nancy: Oh really? What happened?
Cashier: I don't know. We just don't take them. I'll get the manager.
Manager: What's the trouble? Oh, one of THOSE. Haven't seen one of those since we stopped taking them two years ago.
Nancy: Ah, I guess it's been a while since I was in here. How is a customer to know that you're not taking them any more?
Manager: Well, we gave everyone six months, and then figured that they were mostly all in, and stopped honoring the cards.
Nancy: Hmmmm, I see. Well, this full punch card is the reason I'm here, the reason I chose to come to Smoothie King today. Our plan has been to use the punch card for one drink, and to buy an additional one.
Manager: I am sorry, we cannot honor the punch card.
Nancy: Since I am here because of the punch card, but you no longer honor the punch card, I will go somewhere else.
Manager: Good-bye!
No one was angry or frustrated; we just explained our positions. I had come in good faith, presenting a card that had no expiration date, even expecting to buy an additional drink. It seemed to me that he could have chosen to say, "We are so glad to see you back in our store again! Although this promotion has ended and we're not issuing punch cards any more, I'm happy to still honor this one. Please enjoy your smoothie and we hope to see you again!"
From his perspective, the manager followed his business plan. He didn't want to lose the cost of a smoothie by honoring a discontinued promotion. As it turns out, he lost more than the cost of the smoothie - he lost my additional business that day, any profit he might have gotten from my business in the future, and anything he would have gained from the business of my friends who have now heard the story.
Yesterday the boys and I were driving near there, and I told Allen the whole story. He observed that while the manager made a "correct" decision from his own point of view, he made an unwise decision from a customer service point of view. The more that we talked about it, the more we had smoothies on our mind! It's still hot, it's still Houston, so we decided to try out a different place.
This time we tried a new place, Smoothie Factory. We ordered our favorite flavors, and when it came time to pay, the cashier asked if we wanted a punch card. I am sure he wondered why we were laughing! The service was fine, the smoothies were delicious, and we will go back.
What would you have said if you had been the Smoothie King manager? Would you ever take your business there again?
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Monday, June 18, 2012
Talking about aging
I am 54 years old. Since it's likely that my life here is more than half over, I've been thinking some about aging.
In English, we have three main ways to describe this condition of living many years. We might say, "She is old." That one is depressing. She IS old. She has arrived at oldness. No turning back, no mitigating circumstances. Just old. I won't be ready for anyone to say this about me for a long, long, long time.
We also could say, "She is getting old." That one sounds a little better - at least it's a process, and she hasn't completely become old. The downside of this expression is its passivity. Oldness is just handed to her, and she wears it. The more that she is given, the more layers of oldness surround her. Soon she'll be completely covered.
The third way to express aging is to say, "She is growing old." Now I like this one! Oldness is something I want to grow into. This is so much more positive, suggesting that old age is something to be desired. It also infers a never-ending process, a journey of aging.
So... what about you? Are you old? Getting there? Are you still growing as you're getting older?
In English, we have three main ways to describe this condition of living many years. We might say, "She is old." That one is depressing. She IS old. She has arrived at oldness. No turning back, no mitigating circumstances. Just old. I won't be ready for anyone to say this about me for a long, long, long time.
We also could say, "She is getting old." That one sounds a little better - at least it's a process, and she hasn't completely become old. The downside of this expression is its passivity. Oldness is just handed to her, and she wears it. The more that she is given, the more layers of oldness surround her. Soon she'll be completely covered.
The third way to express aging is to say, "She is growing old." Now I like this one! Oldness is something I want to grow into. This is so much more positive, suggesting that old age is something to be desired. It also infers a never-ending process, a journey of aging.
So... what about you? Are you old? Getting there? Are you still growing as you're getting older?
Monday, December 5, 2011
A Silver Rooster (overview)
The men who surrounded Jesus each have unique life stories we can identify with, or not. Considered as pairs or trios, we can learn even more by comparing and contrasting the ways they respond to Him.
For example, think about Judas and Peter. During a pivotal few hours, both men were confronted by their own shortcomings. Judas recognized that his role in accusing Jesus led to unintended consequences, and that realization was more than he thought he could bear. Overwhelmed by despair and overcome by Satan's lies, he gave up hope of life. Peter, similarly guilty of betrayal, was also drowning in remorse, but somehow found reason to persist just a little longer, long enough to see the light in a dark tomb, long enough to find redemption and renewal of purpose.
Both men were disciples, both men betrayed Christ, both were convicted of sin, both sank to the bottom of despair ... and yet the two found very different outcomes. What made the difference? Why did one abruptly choose death, and the other eventually choose to lead others to life?
There are many answers, for us as well as for Judas and Peter. When we are personally cut to the heart by the realization that we have chosen to sidestep God's best for us, how will we respond? Will we fall still further, as Judas did, or will we wait like Peter for redirection and a rebirth of hope?
The prevailing image we associate with Judas' betrayal is the bag of silver, the coins he received and then rejected. The symbol of Peter's denial is the crowing rooster, testifying to Jesus' foreknowledge of Peter's failure. Blend the two images together and you have a silver rooster, an image that represents our own crisis at the point when we realize our own denial of Christ. What will we do at that point? Will our "silver rooster" be for us a thing of silver, as we abandon hope of ever being good enough? Or will we instead focus on the crow of the rooster, as we yield to the God who already knew we would sin, but has a purpose for us anyway?
So a silver rooster is an invitation to see our failings honestly, in the light of the expectations we know God has for us, and then to choose what we will do. Will we opt for: death, or life? despair, or hope? falling further, or rising once more? the "valuable" crafted by man, or the song of God's creation? Will it be silver, or a rooster?
For example, think about Judas and Peter. During a pivotal few hours, both men were confronted by their own shortcomings. Judas recognized that his role in accusing Jesus led to unintended consequences, and that realization was more than he thought he could bear. Overwhelmed by despair and overcome by Satan's lies, he gave up hope of life. Peter, similarly guilty of betrayal, was also drowning in remorse, but somehow found reason to persist just a little longer, long enough to see the light in a dark tomb, long enough to find redemption and renewal of purpose.
Both men were disciples, both men betrayed Christ, both were convicted of sin, both sank to the bottom of despair ... and yet the two found very different outcomes. What made the difference? Why did one abruptly choose death, and the other eventually choose to lead others to life?
There are many answers, for us as well as for Judas and Peter. When we are personally cut to the heart by the realization that we have chosen to sidestep God's best for us, how will we respond? Will we fall still further, as Judas did, or will we wait like Peter for redirection and a rebirth of hope?
The prevailing image we associate with Judas' betrayal is the bag of silver, the coins he received and then rejected. The symbol of Peter's denial is the crowing rooster, testifying to Jesus' foreknowledge of Peter's failure. Blend the two images together and you have a silver rooster, an image that represents our own crisis at the point when we realize our own denial of Christ. What will we do at that point? Will our "silver rooster" be for us a thing of silver, as we abandon hope of ever being good enough? Or will we instead focus on the crow of the rooster, as we yield to the God who already knew we would sin, but has a purpose for us anyway?
So a silver rooster is an invitation to see our failings honestly, in the light of the expectations we know God has for us, and then to choose what we will do. Will we opt for: death, or life? despair, or hope? falling further, or rising once more? the "valuable" crafted by man, or the song of God's creation? Will it be silver, or a rooster?
Friday, April 22, 2011
A Typical Evening in Penney Land
Ryan has been haunting CraigsList for a new iPod to replace the one that didn't survive the washer & dryer. After a couple of days of almost-deals, finally he and a potential seller made an arrangement last Monday evening. Could we come to meet him over in Pearland in an hour? Sure! Oh, meet at the Shell station; he'll be the big black guy in the red Hollister shirt. Hmmm, okay. That's a public place, right? Ryan will protect me! And besides, we'll be able to drop Allen's tax return in at the nearby post office on the way home because they're open until midnight. No postage? No problem; here's Anna's little folder of stamps.
So we jumped in the car and headed that way. Uh-oh; when we were almost there, the BBG in the RHS texted us to say something had come up, and could we re-schedule? Well, I guess. Is anything fishy about this? Will he still be wearing the RHS? Back we go, toward the post office and home.
Then Dave called with a news flash: Guess what? That whole idea of post offices helpfully staying open until midnight on Tax Day is gone with the economic wind. Most close at the usual time, and almost all close by 7 (it was now about 8). There is only ONE in all of the Houston area open until 10, EVERY day as it turns out, and it is in Humble. Well, I had a full gas tank, the good company of an interesting 15-year-old, and a task that needed to be completed, so why not? Up 288 we went and found the one lone open PO.
Found it crammed with people, that is. CRAMMED. We walked in and were told that THIS line is for people buying stamps from the vending machine and THAT line is for customers waiting to be served at the desk. Seriously, I thought? That long a line for a vending machine to purchase postage? Whatever! I asked where you'd go if you just want to mail a return? Oh, back out to the parking lot to that big mail cart! Got it. So Ryan and I went out to chat with the post office guy and the police officer. We shook our heads at the long line, and the police officer said, "All they need is one stamp each." WAIT- they just need stamps? **I** have stamps! I laughed and said I should go re-sell the ones from Anna's stamp folder for a profit. The police officer said, "You have stamps? You really SHOULD sell them for whatever you can get. You'd be doing them all a favor. People do that all the time." So back to the car I went, snagged Anna's stamps, and headed inside.
"Who wants to buy a stamp?" I called to the folks in line. One man with two little boys emptied his pockets and came up with 41 cents; I gave him a stamp. The next lady asked how much I wanted for a stamp. I asked how much it was worth to her to not have to stand in line. She brightened, traded me a dollar for one stamp, and left. Then a few others jumped in; I sold them all (except the first) for a dollar each. Great markup! Several people said they couldn't buy because they left their change in the car, and it was then that I realized they were planning to use their CREDIT (or debit) CARD to buy single stamps from the vending machine. SERIOUSLY? How much is THAT going to cost? Made me not feel bad at all about asking a "handling charge" for my stamps.
So with a pocket fill of one-dollar bills, I told the police officer about my scalping. He patted me on the shoulder and said, "Good job!" I laughed all the way to the car.
The car... About Lakewood, its check engine light came on. About 610 it started making a suspicious hum. About Hillcroft I decided it was time to pull over into a nearby parking lot. Ryan noticed the steam from the hood and thought it was smoke. "GET OUT OF THE CAR!!" he demanded, taking good care of me. Hmmmmm, I thought. Time to call home and get reinforcements. Dave spotted our location on the map and sent the kids to rescue us.
So what do you do if you are 15, and you're stranded, and you're bored, and your name is Ryan? You see how far you can push the car around in neutral in this vacant parking lot. Sometimes he'd run back and forth between pushing and steering, and sometimes I'd steer while he provided the manpower. One of those times I was jumping into the steering position, and for reasons I don't remember, was barefoot. Shut the car door. Hard. Broke my left pinky toe. Ouch.
About that time I realized how badly I needed to go to the bathroom. What around us was open? Well, there was a bar ... WAIT - over there is Liberty High School (in a storefront? whatever, as long as their plumbing works)! I could use some Liberty! So Ryan stayed with the car and I limped across the parking lot. The kind security guard let me in; the less-than-kind lady told me that she was not authorized to allow the public to use their restrooms. Oh, no! My car is overheating, my toe is broken, it's late at night, and I really need to "go." PLEASE????? Nope, sorry. So I left. (Later on I wondered what would have happened if I'd offered her some of my newly-acquired ones stuffing my pocket?!?!?)
Well, I hobbled back to the car, AAJ arrived with gallons of water, we re-filled the radiator and made it home without further adventures. iPod guy / post office across town / scalped stamps / stranded car / broken pinky toe / engaging conversation was plenty for one evening, I'd say. :-)
So we jumped in the car and headed that way. Uh-oh; when we were almost there, the BBG in the RHS texted us to say something had come up, and could we re-schedule? Well, I guess. Is anything fishy about this? Will he still be wearing the RHS? Back we go, toward the post office and home.
Then Dave called with a news flash: Guess what? That whole idea of post offices helpfully staying open until midnight on Tax Day is gone with the economic wind. Most close at the usual time, and almost all close by 7 (it was now about 8). There is only ONE in all of the Houston area open until 10, EVERY day as it turns out, and it is in
Found it crammed with people, that is. CRAMMED. We walked in and were told that THIS line is for people buying stamps from the vending machine and THAT line is for customers waiting to be served at the desk. Seriously, I thought? That long a line for a vending machine to purchase postage? Whatever! I asked where you'd go if you just want to mail a return? Oh, back out to the parking lot to that big mail cart! Got it. So Ryan and I went out to chat with the post office guy and the police officer. We shook our heads at the long line, and the police officer said, "All they need is one stamp each." WAIT- they just need stamps? **I** have stamps! I laughed and said I should go re-sell the ones from Anna's stamp folder for a profit. The police officer said, "You have stamps? You really SHOULD sell them for whatever you can get. You'd be doing them all a favor. People do that all the time." So back to the car I went, snagged Anna's stamps, and headed inside.
"Who wants to buy a stamp?" I called to the folks in line. One man with two little boys emptied his pockets and came up with 41 cents; I gave him a stamp. The next lady asked how much I wanted for a stamp. I asked how much it was worth to her to not have to stand in line. She brightened, traded me a dollar for one stamp, and left. Then a few others jumped in; I sold them all (except the first) for a dollar each. Great markup! Several people said they couldn't buy because they left their change in the car, and it was then that I realized they were planning to use their CREDIT (or debit) CARD to buy single stamps from the vending machine. SERIOUSLY? How much is THAT going to cost? Made me not feel bad at all about asking a "handling charge" for my stamps.
So with a pocket fill of one-dollar bills, I told the police officer about my scalping. He patted me on the shoulder and said, "Good job!" I laughed all the way to the car.
The car... About Lakewood, its check engine light came on. About 610 it started making a suspicious hum. About Hillcroft I decided it was time to pull over into a nearby parking lot. Ryan noticed the steam from the hood and thought it was smoke. "GET OUT OF THE CAR!!" he demanded, taking good care of me. Hmmmmm, I thought. Time to call home and get reinforcements. Dave spotted our location on the map and sent the kids to rescue us.
So what do you do if you are 15, and you're stranded, and you're bored, and your name is Ryan? You see how far you can push the car around in neutral in this vacant parking lot. Sometimes he'd run back and forth between pushing and steering, and sometimes I'd steer while he provided the manpower. One of those times I was jumping into the steering position, and for reasons I don't remember, was barefoot. Shut the car door. Hard. Broke my left pinky toe. Ouch.
About that time I realized how badly I needed to go to the bathroom. What around us was open? Well, there was a bar ... WAIT - over there is Liberty High School (in a storefront? whatever, as long as their plumbing works)! I could use some Liberty! So Ryan stayed with the car and I limped across the parking lot. The kind security guard let me in; the less-than-kind lady told me that she was not authorized to allow the public to use their restrooms. Oh, no! My car is overheating, my toe is broken, it's late at night, and I really need to "go." PLEASE????? Nope, sorry. So I left. (Later on I wondered what would have happened if I'd offered her some of my newly-acquired ones stuffing my pocket?!?!?)
Well, I hobbled back to the car, AAJ arrived with gallons of water, we re-filled the radiator and made it home without further adventures. iPod guy / post office across town / scalped stamps / stranded car / broken pinky toe / engaging conversation was plenty for one evening, I'd say. :-)
Monday, February 28, 2011
Words from the Tomb
Once my heart was empty, and I had to guard the secret, so I
Kept a stone sealed tight in front to hide my inner void.
Unexpected, one day Jesus came to spend some time within me!
I am ever changed because He redefined my life...
Just in case the question should arise if He has pow'r to conquer,
Angels rolled the stone to prove that Jesus had shone out!
Now I'm just as empty, still as empty, as I ever was, but
Here's the diff'rence: now I'm not ashamed to show the world.
After all, I'm nothing on my own, I have no special value,
Just that I was chosen as a dwelling place for Him.
Kept a stone sealed tight in front to hide my inner void.
Unexpected, one day Jesus came to spend some time within me!
I am ever changed because He redefined my life...
Just in case the question should arise if He has pow'r to conquer,
Angels rolled the stone to prove that Jesus had shone out!
Now I'm just as empty, still as empty, as I ever was, but
Here's the diff'rence: now I'm not ashamed to show the world.
After all, I'm nothing on my own, I have no special value,
Just that I was chosen as a dwelling place for Him.
The Rock that is Higher than I
When I was a girl, we sang a hymn whose chorus was based on Psalm 61:3, where David pleads with God to "Lead me to the rock that is higher than I." I've been thinking about that, wondering what David means by asking to be led to a rock that's higher than he is.
Standing next to such a high rock would give him security.
Scaling such a high rock would give him a challenge.
Viewing the landscape from such a high rock would give him perspective.
Hiding behind such a high rock would give him protection.
No matter which purpose David has in mind, only a huge rock will do. And the hugeness of that rock isn't measured in spans or cubits, but instead is measured relative to the size of David himself. He wants, he desires a rock that will dwarf him.
I want the same thing - a gigantic "rock." I don't need one that I can carry around, or one that I can ignore. Deep down inside, I am looking for the security, challenge, perspective, and protection that I cannot offer myself. As God makes Himself real in my life, He brings me people and experiences and tasks that are bigger than I am, and that is good.
My earthly desire is to be in charge, to be the best, to win, and certainly I can do pretty well at some things. But in my innermost heart, my contentment is found not by winning, but by being won. Not by conquering, but instead by being overwhelmed by the tangible evidence of a God who leads me to a Rock that (oh, what relief!) is higher than I.
My earthly desire is to be in charge, to be the best, to win, and certainly I can do pretty well at some things. But in my innermost heart, my contentment is found not by winning, but by being won. Not by conquering, but instead by being overwhelmed by the tangible evidence of a God who leads me to a Rock that (oh, what relief!) is higher than I.
Psalm 61 (English Standard Version)
To the choirmaster: with stringed instruments. Of David.
Hear my cry, O God, listen to my prayer;from the end of the earth I call to you when my heart is faint.
Lead me to the rock that is higher than I,
for you have been my refuge, a strong tower against the enemy.
Let me dwell in your tent forever!
Let me take refuge under the shelter of your wings! Selah
For you, O God, have heard my vows;
you have given me the heritage of those who fear your name.
Prolong the life of the king; may his years endure to all generations!
May he be enthroned forever before God; appoint steadfast love and faithfulness to watch over him!
So will I ever sing praises to your name as I perform my vows day after day.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Bricks or Rocks
Here in Houston, you can see houses made of all kinds of materials. Today we drove around the neighborhood and saw plenty of stucco and wood (or pseudo-wood) siding, but the great majority of the houses were made of wood or brick. Although our own house is mostly pinkish brick, I really wish it had some stone somewhere...
Stone is made by God, even if shaped by men. Brick is all man-made.
Stone is unpredictable. Brick is expected, regular.
Stone takes thought to piece together. Brick is easy.
Stone is expensive. Brick is much much less.
While there's nothing wrong with having a house out of brick, I can't get away from this idea that stone is somehow ... more real.
That whole thing reminds me of the way I might build my life. It's tempting to take the quick way out, the predictable path, and build using the materials that are of my own making. It's less expensive and so much easier to slap up a life-wall that is made of ho-hum habits and no-risk choices.
But what is fascinating is taking a slow, piece-by-piece approach, asking God what the next component should be, and how he wants it all to fit together. Even if those building blocks are irregularly shaped, costly, and unpredictible, it is worth it to have a finished project that has a compelling reality.
May my life be built of stone!
Note:
Stone is made by God, even if shaped by men. Brick is all man-made.
Stone is unpredictable. Brick is expected, regular.
Stone takes thought to piece together. Brick is easy.
Stone is expensive. Brick is much much less.
While there's nothing wrong with having a house out of brick, I can't get away from this idea that stone is somehow ... more real.
That whole thing reminds me of the way I might build my life. It's tempting to take the quick way out, the predictable path, and build using the materials that are of my own making. It's less expensive and so much easier to slap up a life-wall that is made of ho-hum habits and no-risk choices.
But what is fascinating is taking a slow, piece-by-piece approach, asking God what the next component should be, and how he wants it all to fit together. Even if those building blocks are irregularly shaped, costly, and unpredictible, it is worth it to have a finished project that has a compelling reality.
May my life be built of stone!
Note:
Bricks
by Peter J. Leithart on Thursday, March 24, 2011 at 3:50pm
Babel is the first brick construction in Scripture (Genesis 11:3). They burn earthy clay to make it into building material for the city and the tower that reaches to heaven. Egypt also deals in brick, and puts Israel to work making the bricks for its storage cities, its neo-Babels (Exodus 1:14; 5:7, 8, 16, 18-19).
The next time bricks are mentioned in Scripture is Isaiah 9:10, where the men of Ephraim respond to the collapse of “bricks” with the plan to build instead with hewn stones (Isaiah 9:. They are Babelites, constructors of a new oppressive Egypt, from which the faithful remnant will have to be redeemed. In context, the word “brick” (lebenah) puns with the “great hearts” (leb) of the men.
What are they building from bricks? The only other use of the word in Isaiah may help: Isaiah 65:3 refers to idolatrous offerings of incense upon “altars of brick.” In chapter 9, they are building brick altars; Yahweh makes them “fall” by His word that “falls” on Israel (v. 8); no matter, say the brick-hearted Babegyptians of Samaria, we’ll build it again, better this time.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)