August 2019 – nickmullis.com

August 21, 2019

The Life of a Bubble

There is much in our world that we understand and much more that we think we understand but have no clue. The other day I sat down with a new friend and she told me all about her journey.

I was sitting on a bench in park not far from the beach when a gentle young lady sat beside me. She said her life was brief compared to most, she came in and went out and not a soul noticed she was ever there. She said even the one that started her creation never knew she existed.

Here is her exciting and sad tale…

Everything that it took for me to exist was present before anyone knew I would come along. I only needed a bit of air and enough water to show the world I existed. No one in my family has a long life, but some live more exciting lives than others. Some of my cousins bring unending laughter to children. A few of us are there when people celebrate their weddings. My life was not so auspicious as that but it was exciting from start to finish.

We were sailing out in the deepest of waters on a clear, hot day, there was just enough breeze to push our little boat along. I felt like a stowaway not a person on the ship had any idea I was there. The careless Captain finished his water and without a thought for the world he tossed his bottle overboard. The open bottle floated on the surface of the sea and bit-by-bit droplets of water found their way into the mouth of the bottle. Soon there was enough water to turn the bottle on to an angle. Waves crashed over the mouth and filled the bottle all the way up except for a tiny space. In that tiny space is where I was born.

After a while the bottle began to sink. Down we went toward the depths, sunlight fading. My little bottle settled into the sand on the bottom of the sea and I sat there pressed against it’s plastic wall watching the world swim by me.

I can hardly complain, the view was remarkable. On my first day on the bottom I saw an eel swim by looking for a new hiding place. I got to know a family of Angel Fish that would swim by each morning. There was a silly little sea cucumber that would slink past the bottle every so often. It was a peaceful life, longer than most of the members of my family.

One morning as my friend the sea urchin crawled by my little home shifted. The plastic had grown weak from the pressure of the sea around it. The corner I was resting in collapsed and before I knew it I was launched from my bottle. I had been so flat and lifeless in my bottle, out in the ocean I felt alive, I took on a beautiful round form. As I admired my lovely new shape I got caught under the feather of a sea pen. I lingered there for a bit until the underwater current moved us enough I slipped out back into the open water. Things were moving so fast. I looked down and I could barely see my bottle. The eel slid past me and as he flicked his tail he tossed me side ways, and for a moment I looked like a peanut. The whip of his tale had just enough force to send me into the heart of a rip current and I was drawn far from my bottle. I took a moment to calm myself, but my bottle had disappeared entirely, and I was still traveling away, faster and faster. As I was drawn along I passed a small bale of newly hatched sea turtles they all smiled and waved their tiny flippers as they passed.

Soon, I felt a darkness approaching and I was surrounded by a school of silvery Forage Fish. Their quick movements tickled and made me smile until I saw where the darkness was coming from, the great shark burst in among us. They scattered but for some it was too late, and I had been one of those too slow to escape. I was swept into the beasts gapping maw and I assumed that my end had arrived until I saw the slits in the side of the sharks neck. I ducked for the opening and I just fit. Out I went and I continued racing away from my bottle, wherever it had gone.

The water around me started to clear and it got lighter around me. I looked toward the brighter area and there were fuzzy images there swooping around. Once in a while one would crash into the water not far from me.

A few seconds later there was a new sensation – all the weight of the ocean was gone. I still had my round shape, half in the sea and half in the new lightness. Then pop, I was no more. I became only a memory no one ever had. Until I found you I didn’t even have someone with which to share my story. It was a brief life but it was beautiful.

August 14, 2019

Forgive and Forget?

Is forgiveness forgetting? There isn’t an easy answer to this question. We have all heard the stories of the woman that offers a home to her son’s murderer. We have seen the addict and dealer that make peace with their past and work together to change a neighborhood. Most of the time these stories leave a lot of us in emotional chaos. On the outside we smile and clap (if we are in the audience). We utter things like, “That’s amazing” or “Grace is wonderful.” Inside our guilt wells up, “Why can’t I forgive and forget,” “Why do I feel like it’s such a struggle to move on from my pain?” I don’t know that forgiving is forgetting or that we understand the full story of these “ultra forgiveness” moments.

I have been fortunate to live a pretty charmed life, I have amazing parents, siblings I can put up with and generally like being around, and nieces and nephews that are the coolest kids around. I grew-up middle class on a family farm and there haven’t been many deep cuts in my life. There have been people that have attacked my character and people that have said mean things about me and I don’t understand why – I try to be a peaceable person. They have all been people that if I saw them in trouble I would offer help. There have been three times in my life (at this point) where I have been deeply hurt. Two of those I have since moved on. One though was so tangled, multi-faceted, and effected my life so deeply I still struggle with how to fully respond. I often have to remind myself that I forgive those involved. Yet, I don’t feel comfortable around the people or the organization at the center of the hurt. The relational damage was profound.

Let’s look back at the ultra forgiveness stories… Like most of us I love and struggle with these stories. I believe in the power of forgiveness, both for the forgiver and the forgiven. There are a couple of key factors in these forgiveness narratives that we miss because we don’t experience it in real time. We see the moment after the moment has happened. We join the tale after the hard work has been done.

The first factor – Time. I’m sure there are some true miracle moments out there, but in the stories I have heard and read, years have passed from offense committed to the “hug point.” We hear the story in a one hour special and lose track of the decades that pass between action and forgiveness. The old saying is that time heals all wounds. There is some truth to that but remember a healed wound still shows a scar.

Factor number two — the victim doesn’t do it alone. The mother has people around her helping her walk through the pain. The dealer and addict have recovery communities that walk with them as their lives change forever. Forgiveness at its best happens with a community.

Some honorable mentions that don’t always show up but are there a lot…

There is a sense of guilt and repentance from the one that committed the crime. The victim and offender both recognize the role they played. The victim and offender both realize that they are no longer the same people they were and they want to move on. Both parties have had an encounter with God (I think this one has the greatest impact but is in honorable mention because many would discount its importance).

Back to my struggle with forgive vs forget. At the time I had spent, almost, a third of my life as an employee of an organization. Since it was a student ministry I first became affiliated when I was in middle school, this meant that over half of my life had been spent connected to this Not-for-Profit. I was in my 7^th year of employment when the wheels started to come off. If you had asked me at year five I would have told you I would retire with them and continue to consult and teach for them until I went on to resurrection. Year seven though things began to change. No one likes change — a friend of mine once said, “People don’t like fun change let alone difficult change.” There was a lot more tension and I didn’t help matters because I didn’t fully understand myself. I was battling through depression and didn’t know – I just felt bad not realizing it had a name. At the same time I was discovering that I was an introvert by nature and I was surrounded by extroverts that couldn’t understand that and I wasn’t sure they cared. The message I was hearing (I don’t believe it was intended this way) was, “You don’t function or think the way we do and if you don’t shape up and start doing things our way there are going to be problems. There is obviously something wrong with you and you need to fix it.” I felt demeaned and disrespected as a person not as an employee. Over the course of the next three years a lot of battles ensued I had been worn down enough that I started standing my ground and wouldn’t back down and that exacerbated the problems. The final blow came when I resigned, it was genuinely one of the worst days of my life. These people I had spent a lifetime with suddenly seemed like enemies. They were confused when I said, “We aren’t having a staff party. If we’re done, we’re done.” Later that same day I emailed the national office, “I’ve lost my job, what am I supposed to do now.” The response I got was, “Be careful what you say to donors so you don’t hurt giving.” I had lost half my life and the response was don’t hurt everyone else’s income. A couple of weeks later I got a phone call from a former co-worker, he decided then was the time to let me know he would have fired me sooner. He didn’t know what had taken my bosses so long. My life and my value fell apart. Who was I? Did I even serve a purpose in this world? Was I really that difficult to work with? Had I really been that awful of a person?

There were a lot of well meaning people in my life early on that told me to forgive and forget, “Move on with your life, things will work out.” The problem was I couldn’t see that things were going to work out. I couldn’t move on because I didn’t know where to move on to. I had nothing except a faith I had to cling even tighter to. I wasn’t ready to move on because I was still shell-shocked by what had happened. Where had things gone so terribly wrong?

People were telling me that I should be praying blessings over them. I wanted to pray like King David, “God crush my enemies” “God vindicate me.” The wound was raw and deep.

For a long time my prayers were, “God this hurts,” “God help me,” “God help me find peace.” Forgiveness was something I was going to have to move to. I wasn’t against forgiving I just couldn’t get there. God knows I wanted to forgive. I knew forgiveness was the right thing to do. It required something I didn’t yet have — some healing. Eventually I would pray for forgiveness. I would pray that God would forgive me in the midst of my struggle and that I would be forgiving toward the people that hurt me and the organization. For a long time when I would drive through the town where the office was I would default into prayers of forgiveness. Over time I stopped feeling the tension I did in the beginning. I can cross the city limits and not think of those by gone days.

At the same time I can never fully forget the pain that entered my life. I’m still in recovery, years later. The relationships I had with people are shattered. I don’t expect they will be whole this side of resurrection, but I also don’t think that limits the forgiveness. I don’t believe that means I have been unforgiving towards them.

I think of it this way… If I had a recovering alcoholic come to my church, 5 years sober, it wouldn’t be a particularly loving act to put him on the ministry team that goes to bars to reach the lost. Yes, he offers a unique perspective, but the better place for him to serve is with the recovery group, where I’m not throwing him into a place he once struggled. He has been forgiven, but his mind and body haven’t forgotten.

I think this is the truth of the log and the sawdust. Am I humble enough to admit I’m still struggling and growing? If I can see the log in my own eye then I can work on removing it and maybe walk with you while you struggle with your sawdust.

I forgive them all the time, but I haven’t forgotten yet and I think that’s okay. Forgiveness is a healing process. I have moved past wanting to pray like David. In most cases unless something exterior brings it up I don’t think about any of it. I’m on a journey and I am learning. Mostly I am learning that forgiving is a process.

August 7, 2019August 7, 2019

Socks to Change Your World and The World.

Comfort… Who doesn’t want to be comfortable? We all dream of being in our favorite shirt, in baggy sweats or shorts, sitting in our favorite chair, watching our favorite show, eating our favorite food. We spend huge money finding comfortable desk chairs, and buying a car we feel comfortable driving.

Maybe the t-shirt/sweats/show/chair/food vision isn’t one you connect with, but we all search for comfort in some area or another. I do a lot of outdoor stuff… I want my bicycle to fit comfortably. I want my cycling clothes to be comfortable. I want my hiking backpack to sit just right on my hips and shoulders. I bought a super light canoe paddle to ease the strain on my shoulders during a big trip. I have a pair of shoes that I love so much as I wear out a pair I buy new ones of the same model.

I also like to do nice things for other people. I don’t have much money to throw around so I am limited in what I do financially. Periodically, the worlds of comfort and helping people collide and that is kind of a sweet spot.

First, unless Bombas somehow stumbles across this blog, they are unlikely to even know that I have a pair of their socks. With over twenty-million pairs sold they aren’t likely to notice one guy from Indiana that bought one single pair of ankle socks.

Bombas is doing a cool thing… I don’t know who came first Bombas or Toms but they function on a similar notion – 1 pair equals 1 pair. For every pair of socks (and now t-shirts) that Bombas sells they donate a pair to a person in need. I bought one pair of socks and someone in need got a pair as well. I like that model, I once told a friend that I loved the notion of being wealthy enough that for every dollar I spent on a luxury item I could give a dollar away, so this resonates with me.

I heard about Bombas a few years ago on a podcast I listened to at the time. I liked the idea but I was walking when I heard about them and forgot about the ad by the time I got someplace I could look up Bombas. A few weeks ago I was, again, reminded of them while I was near my computer, so I looked them up while I was sitting there. They were a little pricy for me (I run a young not-for-profit which means I don’t have a lot of money) but then I remembered that I was basically buying two pairs of socks. I decided to splurge and I ordered one pair of ocean blue Marls ankle socks. After I ordered them I promptly went to bed and mostly forgot I ordered them. A few days later a package was in my mailbox, “Oh, yeah. Socks.” I wasn’t expecting much from mail order socks, plus I have some merino wool ankle socks that I love and wear all the time.

I ordered them with hesitation just from reading the materials list — cotton, polyester, rubber, spandex. It seemed like an odd mix for something to wear on my feet. For most things I like polyester and spandex, I am not a fan of cotton, and rubber just seemed weird. There were a lot of strikes against the socks going in. On paper I assumed that I was throwing money away on socks that would be worn once out of obligation for having purchased them.

What happened instead of the one and done… I found some socks that are comfortable. When I took them out of the package I was surprised by the thickness. There was a lot of obvious cushion in the socks. Then I pulled them onto my feet and they fit. I wear a size 15 shoe and most of my socks are size 6-12 when I have bought socks that were for 15s they didn’t fit tightly around my foot and a sock that is too small is better than one that fits loose. The Bombas were nice. I spent a hot day in them walking around and they never got the stiff feeling that most socks I’ve worn get. By the end of the day I am usually ready to change socks or go barefoot. The Bombas hung in there all day and felt good. I was so impressed I washed them that night and wore them again a couple of days later. It was only one wash but they still felt like new socks.

I had found one of those magical places where comfort matched with my desire to help people out. Next time you are in the market for a new pair of socks give them a try. Here’s a link that will get you 25% off and also will get me some socks and only socks because again, Bombas has no idea I even wrote this and I doubt they ever will.

Use this link to get 25% off your first Bombas Order

P.S. After I wrote the above the socks went through another long day walking around Kings Island Amusement Park. They were great, my favorite socks (up till now) would have given up after a day like that.