Hope seen . . . slowly softens the crust of worry. Hope celebrated . . . melts worry away. Melted worry is the compost that feeds faith and destiny.

An abundant life is not one free from worry, but one filled with hope.

A beautiful West Texas morning was in the offing. As I pulled into my regular spot I noticed them.

Ten, fifteen, maybe twenty reddish somethings were scattered around the parking lot. With the winds of spring, my first thought was that some flowering plant had been forced to give up its blossoms and that this was the location they were to be deposited.

But as I opened my door, I noticed that these objects weren’t from flora origins. Indeed these were freshwater crustaceans and cousins to the red lobster — crawfish.  And, at least at first glance, they appeared to be recently deceased crawfish.

I made my way into the office, pondering the oddity of crayfish suddenly appearing in semi-arid West Texas. And then I remembered — local social clubs pride themselves on their annual crawfish boils. I became confident that this morning’s sighting was the byproduct of one of those grand events .  .  . and that our commercial dumpster had been the disposal location of choice for the clean-up crew.

We were expecting visitors that day. So I grabbed a broom and a dust pan, gained the help of Dr. Jerry Strader, and headed back outside to dispose of those tiny beings that had not, for some reason, made it into the dumpster.

The clean-up on the pavement was easy. But then we noticed that an unusually large number had been deposited in the middle of the lawn. A rather confused flock of grackles were strolling around through the heaps, wondering what, if anything, they should do. As Jerry and I began our pick-up operation, it became apparent that those that weren’t in the dumpster had not been boiled. In fact a good number of those still in the lawn were alive and, shall we say, snapping.

We completed our clean-up — including scooping up a couple that had ventured over 100 yards in the direction of the boulevard. I suppose that their homing instincts had directed them toward the nearest bus stop. Before our venture was over, more than 100 crawfish had been recaptured.

Close to mid-morning, our dumpster was already attracting flies and the smell was a bit fishy. I contacted the city and asked if we could get an early visit from the garbage truck. Temperatures were expected to reach over 100 degrees that afternoon. I was assured that they would do the best they could.

By noon, the stench had increased and the fly population was ever larger. Then, in mid-afternoon, the city’s environmental crimes officer was on site.

“You know,” he said, “this is a violation of about three city ordinances. Do you know who the perpetrators are?”

I assured him I didn’t know specifically and he decided not to try to investigate. But he immediately called for a garbage truck.

“Smells like dead fish,” he said.

“Actually, more like dead shellfish,” I corrected. When it became obvious that specificity was not needed for his report, I relented. And he was off to investigate his next environmental crime.

Eventually we learned which social clubs were involved. Nice apologies were received. And, our acceptance of those apologies were returned. In addition, each club offered to come for a service project of our choosing in an effort to compensate us for our time and effort.

“No,” I insisted, “there is no need for you to do anything for us. Just do a better job of clean-up next time — and perhaps pick a different dumpster.”

Yet, one of our social club contacts wrote back again. “Please let us do something for you.”

She had already fulfilled her social contract. She had apologized and had offered to make amends. And even after I had gently refused, she persevered.

I felt her genuineness. I was touched by her tenacity. I was total in my forgiveness. I was blessed to be part of a university community where students own their consequences and are concerned when their actions impact others negatively. It made my day.

This was an “extra mile” moment. And a reminder that extra-mile-paths sometimes traverse tough surroundings. But their final destination is always a place of sweet peace.

Go an extra mile today. Be tenacious in your apologies. Be genuine in your concern. Make someone’s day.

And don’t offer me any crawfish for dinner any time soon.

Have you ever been in a really big hurry?

Have you ever been in a really big hurry  . . . and everything seems to go wrong?

You drop your keys just as you get to the door. You leave your phone on the nightstand. You hit “reply to all” on the email that should have gone to one discreet individual. You can’t seem to hit the trash can with that one wad of paper. You find yourself face-to-face with the one person you don’t “really have time to deal with.”

Frustration builds inside. Anger, dismay, and depression grow like grass in a flower bed. What can you do? What is the most effective action step for the moment.

Slow down.

That’s it. Slow down. Take a breath. Whisper a prayer. Hum a song.

Slowing down allows tension to melt away. Slowing down allows your emotions to moderate. Slowing down allows you to gain control . . . by easing your grip.

So, slow down . . .

“Constantly Pleasant.”

That’s how she was described. Not a person attending the memorial service would have disagreed.

As I sat and listened to the accomplishments of this remarkable person, I was somewhat awestruck by the thought that I had been blessed to know an individual who touched so many and did so much . . . while being constantly pleasant.

What if I could become constantly pleasant? What would that change? How would I change?

Thanks, Colleen. For being constantly pleasant. It’s just one of many ways that God shone through you.

For some time, I’ve wanted to have a website dedicated to ideas about conflict resolution and peacemaking. Well that site, PeaceBytes, is now online. There’s not much there at the moment — I’ve spent bits and pieces of today just getting the site operational.

But if you’d like to go and take a look, go to http://peacebytes.org. I’ll be taking some of the material from this site over in the next few days and then begin posting new articles. I’ll also be looking for those of you who would like to write guest posts. And, just as with this site, I’ll be offering a subscription sign-up.

Thanks for reading!

If you’ll just let go, your hands will be free to  . . .

• comfort a friend in pain
• carry a stranger’s burden
• steady yourself when your world is rocked
• graciously accept a gift
• smooth the wrinkles from the fabric of life

If you’ll let go . . . empty your hands of things and your heart of worries . . . you’ll be delighted with what you find in those sacred hollows.

When did I fall in love with complaining?

• It makes me miserable.
• It makes those around me miserable.
• It makes me see huge problems that aren’t big at all.
• It makes me miss good things that are truly huge.

Complaining makes me small.

Today, I choose not to complain. I believe today will be one of my best. Join me?

Just as Mother Nature uses the spring season to renew and reset, we all need a season to lose the clutter in our lives. My office at work and my closet at home are physical reminders of this personal need. But it’s the clutter of the heart that truly pulls us down. Let go. Forgive. Move forward.

Once again, we reach back into the hallowed halls of Twitterdom to retrieve a few of Foster Dog’s micro-adventures from years past. Follow us at http://twitter.com/joeycope

Watching White House Easter Egg Roll on TV, Foster Dog noted, “Much more entertaining if they would roll squirrels – or even the kids.”

When told that her degree of popularity on FaceBook exceeded mine, Foster Dog quipped, “You have a degree of popularity?”

Eying my “shape-up” walking shoes, Foster Dog opined, “They do make you look taller at least – in a non-shaped up sort of way.”

“Why the sport coat?” Foster Dog asked. “College award dinner tonight,” I answered. “Were you serving drinks or busing tables?” she queried.

Foster Dog sitting in corner of yard. “See something?” I asked. “Is it too much to ask to get a little alone time?” she countered.

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