Responsible for What I Say and Do

They’re tucked away in various nooks and crannies of our homes; the lock of hair and the baby’s first Nike sneaker in the nightstand drawer, the dried corsage and the stack of report cards in the plastic “memory bin” in the attic. I’ve even got my Girl Scout sash, with its rows of badges, signifying my early adolescent expertise in cooking, sewing, bird-watching and music. As I reflect on my days as a Brownie and Girl Scout, the words of our shared promise come easily to my lips. “On my honor, I will try to do my duty to God and my country, to help other people at all times, and to obey the Girl Scout laws.”

From the distance of half a century, I can still see the influence of that pledge and its encouragement to be courteous, service-minded, loyal, thrifty, friendly, and kind. Those values took root in my life as a child, giving guidance as to how to live in community. True confession, though: I did have a struggle with the “friend to animal” rule, as I was bitten by a dog as a young child and wasn’t too fond of the less-than-friendly canines in our neighborhood.

The Girl Scout laws have now been reframed to urge the girls to be honest and fair, friendly and helpful, considerate and caring, courageous and strong, and “responsible for what I say and do.” Yet how do we do that? How do we choose our words and actions wisely, taking responsibility for honesty and fairness? As children, we’re influenced by what we see at home, what we learn at school, through the tenets of our faith and the lessons of our scouting leader or our soccer coach. But for many of us, those lessons came more than a few years ago. How can we be “responsible for what I say and do” in our grown-up world?

Putting on my Ann Landers/Dear Abby hat, here are some possible tools. Rotary International calls their model the Rotary Four Way Test. “Of the things we think, say or do, is it the truth? Is it fair to all concerned? Will it build goodwill and better friendships? Will it be beneficial to all concerned? True, fair, building up instead of tearing down, of benefit to all. Think about your most recent pronouncement to your co-workers, or to the kids or grandkids. Do your words meet this test?

My friend Janice keeps it simple with the three-letter reminder: NEU. She asks: Is it nice, is it encouraging, is it uplifting? A practical measuring stick for sure. Personally, I prefer “kind” to “nice,” because I have experienced niceness with an “I really want to stab you in the back” flavor. Elizabeth Gilbert suggests that “niceness is a social construct – a mannered way of keeping things polite,” as you can be nice “through clenched teeth and strained nerves,” i.e., the waitress with the rude customer. Kindness, Gilbert says, runs deeper. “Kindness never patronizes, never puts on an act, never judges, never blames.” A lofty goal for sure, but if you can’t be kind, at least be nice. NEU or KEU, it’s an easy rule of thumb to test our words to each other.

It’s a struggle to be considerate and caring on a regular basis. I’ve had days when I think back to an interaction, in person or even on social media, with the reaction, “Boy, I really blew that response.” The rearview mirror is the place to start, as we get so bogged down in a pattern of communication we have trouble seeing our own lack of responsibility for our actions and words.

I’m glad when I catch myself in the act, feeling the twinge of guilt when I’ve said something unkind or discouraging to another, so I can take back my words. But at my best, I want to engage my mind before my mouth, resulting in kind, nice, encouraging and uplifting interactions.

I may not wear my Girl Scout sash in public any longer, but I strive to wear the character that began to form around the friendship circle and campfire. To uplift, to encourage, and to serve: that’s my motto and pledge for today.

Tax Day Rant

Disclaimer: the opinions expressed here are my own. Phone the friendly people at the IRS for tax advice.

Federal income tax was first imposed upon the citizens of the United States during the Civil War. Those earning between $600 and $10,000 were taxed at the rate of 3%; those above $10,000 ($272,800 in today’s dollars if I multiplied correctly) at a slightly higher rate. It wasn’t until the ratification of the sixteenth amendment in 1913 that this practice was fully authorized: “The Congress shall have power to lay and collect taxes on incomes, from whatever source derived, without apportionment among the several States, and without regard to any census or enumeration.” Did they foresee the day when “Americans will collectively spend more on taxes in 2017 than they will on food, clothing, and housing combined” (taxfoundation.org)?

Yes, I’ve been spending too much time on irs.gov in recent days. Here’s their explanation: “Numerous modifications have been made to the United States tax system over the years. This holds especially true with income tax, which is a relatively volatile tax. And although many changes are sure to affect tax laws in the future, it is safe to say that income tax is here to stay.” Oh, goodie!

The income tax is a volatile tax? As in “liable to change rapidly and unpredictably, especially for the worse,” or as in, “those trying to fill out the forms may become volatile”?

I’ve gone on Tax Day rants before, but does anyone else feel the pain? I know, I should bite the bullet and hire someone to professionally prepare my taxes, but it’s a matter of principle for me. Why should a middle class American, even one with a teeny-tiny small business, pay someone else (or a heartless computer program) so she can pay her taxes?

Yet when I get to the part when I write the check, I wonder: did I do this right? Did I miss a deduction? Turbo Tax lists ten strange but legitimate federal tax deductions, including boat repairs for whaling captains (outlawed unless you’re Native American), cosmetic surgery for adult entertainment business professionals, clarinet lessons if you have an overbite, and moving expenses for your pet. Good news for #45 if he brought a dog to the White House. With all those possibilities, why can’t I save a buck or two?

And then there’s city taxes. Initially, it appears simple. People living in Ashland pay 1.5% of their income (with some exceptions) to City Hall for 2016, going up to 2% in 2017. It’s a regressive tax, which if I remember high school economics correctly, means it doesn’t matter if you’re poor or rich, you pay the same rate. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy, right? Except if you work in another city, or in numerous cities, they want a piece of the pie too. So your employer withholds taxes based on the rate from your work city, which your residence city gives you credit for, but only a certain percentage of credit, and you have to do the math.

If, like our son and daughter-in-law, you live in Columbus, the rate is 2.5%, the privilege of getting stuck in traffic on I-71. But if you’re a non-resident employee who worked some days outside the city, you can attach a list of vacation days, holidays, and sick leave days, as well as your federal 2106 form and Schedule A, and they might cut you a break. I’m getting a migraine just thinking about it.

Here’s my beef: I have a doctorate, earned, not honorary. Granted, it’s not in tax preparation, but I should be able to complete our tax returns without resorting to caffeine drinks, cussing, or hair-pulling. Yet I shouldn’t complain. Our government sustains thousands if not millions of tax preparer jobs through its complicated tax structure, keeping the unemployment rate down at least through April.

Looking for good news? Tomorrow is Tax Freedom Day. On April 23, Americans as a whole have worked long enough to pay our taxes for 2017! Maybe I’ll splurge on a massage or tattoo, or a large Pepsi at the drive-through, throwing in a few more cents for the governor. It’s party time!

The Fork in the Road

I was privileged to sub for the regular organist at Trinity Lutheran Church in Jeromesville on Palm Sunday. I’ve played piano for years, but my organ gigs have been few and far between. The skill set was rusty at best, and didn’t return as smoothly as the proverbial riding of a horse.

As I practiced in the stillness of the sanctuary on Saturday, with light streaming through the glorious stained glass, my feet fumbled on the pedals, but the chords of the ancient hymns flowed sweetly through my hands. It had been nearly half a century since I dreamed of slipping off my shoes and sliding onto the organ bench in the choir loft at First Presbyterian Church as the new organist. Glenda was our organist then, a young woman I admired for her grace, kindness, and musical ability. I wanted to be like her when I grew up.

I was taking piano lessons, and after a bit of urging, my parents agreed to organ lessons instead. The ensuing story includes a piano-playing job offer for my instructor at Fantasy Island Amusement Park, leading to the question: “Would you like to take over my job playing the piano for a local church?” Unknown to me at the time, that question would lead to a fork in the road, one path toward the Presbyterian choir loft, and the other ultimately to the pulpit of The Salvation Army.

The fork in the road may come as a carefully researched decision to choose a specific profession or university, to take a new job or move to a new home. For some of my high school peers, the fork appeared in the form of a draft notice. At other times, the choice is spontaneous: a magical look across a crowded room, or the spur-of-the-moment decision to hop in the car and head to California. Regardless of the origin of the point of decision, we follow the advice of Yogi Berra: “When you come to the fork in the road, take it.”

Those of us who follow the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth are at the end of the period of Lent, the forty days on the church calendar leading up to Easter. Today, that period of self denial and attention to the things of faith is coming to an end. As Tony Campolo famously tells the story, “It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming.”

As many Christians do during Lent, I’ve read the account leading up to the crucifixion and resurrection, “the passion of Christ.” While many begin with the Palm Sunday narrative, I started earlier in the story, with a verse in Luke 9:51: “As the time approached for him to be taken up to heaven, Jesus resolutely set out for Jerusalem,” or, in a different translation, “he steadfastly set his face toward Jerusalem.” Here was the cosmic fork in the road, the time of deciding to take the path of obedience.

At times, we follow the example of Jesus, sure of our choice and determined to follow the path to its end. At other points in our lives, we are as Lewis Carroll described in Alice in Wonderland: “Alice came to a fork in the road. ‘Which road do I take?’ she asked. ‘Where do you want to go?’ responded the Cheshire Cat. ‘I don't know,’ Alice answered. ‘Then,’ said the Cat, ‘it doesn't matter.’”

We chuckle at Alice, but sometimes we’re in a similar position. The fork comes, and we have no clue which way to turn. We make our lists of pros and cons, but the math doesn’t convince us on either side of the equation. That’s when I agree with the Cheshire Cat: perhaps it doesn’t matter.

Here’s why. In 1980, long-time pastor Eugene Peterson wrote “A Long Obedience in the Same Direction.” I read that title and I get it: it’s not the individual forks in the road that change us; it’s the direction. For me, that direction was through faith and music. For you, it may be integrity or hard work, kindness or a passion for adventure, as you seek the direction of your life through your values, your convictions. So when the next fork appears, take it!