Articles by Joey Cope at Heartlight

Misplaced Apology?

copej@acu.edu (Joey Cope) — Fri, 29 Aug 2008 00:00:00 -0500

I was staring at the paper plate in front of me, trying to recall what I had just had for lunch. Slowly, I was able to piece together memories of beef with broccoli, fried rice, and egg roll. The momentary image gave me some pleasure.

Then I drifted back to the speaker. His opening statement was what sent my mind searching for something to occupy it. This fellow is a frequent contributor to our gatherings. He's been around a long time -- a fact that he often brings up. But he's a discontented sort. I can't remember the last time that his comments were in favor of something -- other than finding someone else to be in charge up the line of responsibility somewhere.

He has a companion in these strolls. She is less negative, but equally opinionated. When the two of them get started, I do a lot of deep breathing exercises. I would shut them out completely, except for the fact that they do make some good points. Yet, their delivery and demeanor makes it especially hard for me to be objective. Of course, that's my problem, right?

I've really been working on that. I just about had it under control until a new wrinkle appeared in his presentation. The last two or three meetings, he sits quietly while others add to the conversation. Then, at his moment, he slowly begins speaking these words:

"I am sorry for what I'm about to say. I apologize if I seem negative and difficult."

Those few words seem to ice the air in the meeting room. After all, most of the time what he says is negative and difficult. What could be coming if he thinks there's a problem with it?

In my view, if you have to apologize for something before you say it, you probably shouldn't say it.

After all, with just a few more minutes delay or after sleeping on those thoughts for at least a night, isn't it possible that you could come up with a better way to say it? One that could be more readily accepted by the hearer? You might even decide that you don't need to share those words. Or perhaps they would be better received by someone else.

As some one who deals with conflict all of the time, I understand that it is necessary for most people to express concerns -- to vent their emotions. Even then, I believe that we can all work toward a better communication style. A strategy that magnifies the negative is rarely productive. Look at most of the political communications -- particularly in a campaign.

Except in those rare debate competitions rich with rules and filled with judges trained to score the participants on style, effectiveness, and the rules, no one ever wins a debate. Most of us understand that the only effect of a real-life debate is to further entrench each side into their arguments.

Contrast "debate" with "conversation." I suppose the courteous debater might open with an apology. But, the effective conversationalist always begins with words that build relationship and invite understanding.

So perhaps my colleague is a courteous debater. I am challenged to answer as a conversationalist. An apology offered to excuse future hurt is not one I'm prone to accept.

Of course, that's my problem, right?

Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen (Ephesians 4:29 TNIV).

Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone (Colossians 4:6).

Joey Cope (Dr. Joe L. Cope) is the executive director of the Center for Conflict Resolution at Abilene Christian University. He teaches graduate courses in advanced conflict management, negotiation and mediation. The work of the Center includes mediation/intervention services and educational offerings through seminars, conferences and special courses designed for businesses, non-profit organizations, and churches. Cope is an attorney and received his certificate in dispute resolution from Pepperdine University School of Law. Cope is an elder of the Highland Church of Christ in Abilene, Texas.

Website: Center for Conflict Resolution

Grace

copej@acu.edu (Joey Cope) — Tue, 03 Apr 2007 00:00:00 -0500

But God, who is rich in mercy, out of the great love with which he loved us ... made us alive together with Christ ... so that in the ages to come he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus (Ephesians 2:4-7 NRSV)

A special bond exists between my wife, Nancy, and our granddaughter, Landrye.

That's how it should be. After all, Nancy has invested hours and hours in Landrye. Trips to school and Bible class, board games, zoo and museum trips, pretend games, books read, songs sung, and those indescribable moments that come only when one person is just there for someone else.

And so these two very important people in my life share a relationship that gladdens me and delights me. I am a spectator to a wondrous glimpse of God -- seen in the way they brighten in each other's presence.

I'm not in that special grandmother-granddaughter club. Yet, Landrye's love overflows to me through small things. Like this morning, when she took my hand on the way into church and chose a seat by me.

And in her insistence that I ride in the back seat with her as Nancy chauffeured us to the pizza parlor. And when she looked to me as a mythical champion of arcade games -- a reputation earned by the lucky punch of a button that landed a jackpot of 250 tickets. And the way she says "Grampa" and giggles at my silliness.

That overflow washes over me constantly. And it matters little whether I have earned Landrye's attention. She gladly lavishes it on me.

I've spent a lifetime trying to grasp the concept of God's grace. Could it be that I am finally gaining my best understanding through the smile and the hugs of a five-year old angel?

Website: Center for Conflict Resolution

A Visit Over Coffee

copej@acu.edu (Joey Cope) — Tue, 13 Mar 2007 00:00:00 -0500

She stood behind me in line at the counter of our local coffee merchant -- the one tucked into the corner of the neighborhood grocery.

I had noticed her a few minutes before as she stood in line to buy a few groceries a couple dozen feet away. It could have been the smile on her face that caused me to notice. But more likely it was the scarf over her head.

Picking a small booth at the window, I carefully placed my coffee to the right. I opened the spiral notebook and thumbed through the book. It's the same book I've been reading in about this same spot for the last two weeks. At a rate of only 4 to 5 pages a day, progress is only gradual.

The book is about running a small business. I've read it before and I have to tell you, it contains some of the best advice I've ever seen. And that was my opinion when I read it the first time. Yet, I never acted on it. Sure, I talked about it and I recommended the book to others. But nothing was ever done.

As I sat and read and made notes this morning, I heard a voice from the next booth. A woman's voice, I didn't turn to see who it was. The conversation became quite lively at times. It was then that I noticed that there was only one voice.

As I headed for a refill on my house-blend, I glanced in the neighboring booth. There was the woman with the scarf, her small bag of groceries on the seat across from her and a small cup of coffee resting on the table between her outstretched hands. Her eyes were focused on her groceries and she was vividly describing her plans for her day.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed other coffee patrons beginning to pick up their cups and move to tables further away. As I passed by her table again, I looked for evidence of a cell phone. I saw nothing. Her conversation was continuing.

As I slid back into my booth, I ignored my book for a while, sipped my coffee and concentrated on her voice. Eavesdropping? I suppose. Yet, she talked loudly and showed no intent for confidentiality.

Within a minute, I discovered that the woman in the scarf was talking with her mother. And it seems that after she had gone over her calendar for the day that her mother had said something disagreeable. Thus, the argument.

Of course, her mother wasn't there. It wasn't a one-sided argument, though. It was obvious when her mother began talking. The tone was different. Finally the woman in the scarf told her mother to mind her own business. And the conversation came to an end.

I glanced at my watch, gathered my book and notebook, and stood to leave. I felt the need to speak to the woman in the scarf -- to make sure that she had at least one more conversation today. But, when I turned, she was gone.

Opportunity lost. Good intentions never acted on. A visit over coffee wasted.

I encourage people to engage others. That's what a community is all about. Sometime today, I truly plan to follow my own advice.

Honor Christ and let him be the Lord of your life. Always be ready to give an answer when someone asks you about your hope (1 Peter 3:15 CEV).

Website: Center for Conflict Resolution

Cookie Sheet Welcome Mat?

copej@acu.edu (Joey Cope) — Sat, 30 Sep 2006 00:00:00 -0500

The request appeared reasonable enough. Our involvement seemed pretty passive -- small investment in our resources with follow-through to originate from a person recommended to us.

When Justin, our son, and one of his co-workers, Josh, came to town on business we were pleased to have them stay with us. Our house took on the look of a organizational think-tank as they gathered information, sorted it, and arranged themselves in various locations to discuss and re-organize everything they did. Nancy and I loved it, although we didn't have a dream about what they were doing.

Our pleasure was enhanced by the fact that Alex, Justin's wife, was along. So through the long weekend, we weaved in and out of conversations, stepped over piles of materials, and coordinated schedules with their frequent trips to CopyStop and other sundry places. But as long weekends do, their visit came to an end.

As they were strategically loading the car with luggage, business materials, and our grand-dog, Simone (and her assortment of essential puppy supplies and toys), Josh brought out an aluminum baking sheet.

"I was supposed to take this to my brother while I was here and I forgot to when I went to visit him the other night. Would it be okay if I just left it here? I'll call him and have him come by."

We readily agreed. We even offered to take it by to his brother. But Josh insisted that was too much trouble.

"I'll just leave it on the front porch if that's alright. That way he can just come by and pick it up without bothering you."

Once again, we agreed. Our house had often been a drop-off point for this and that. Nancy and I kind of like the idea of being a modern-day version of parcel post.

That was about three weeks ago. Each morning as I retrieve the newspaper I look at that baking sheet. It has moved slightly from time to time.

Initially the sheet was laying flat. Within a few days it was filled with water from the sprinklers. I thought it made a nice addition to our front entrance -- sort of a mini-pond. However, what with the West Nile Virus and all, I supposed Nancy had concerns about the mosquitoes that were hatching there and turned the sheet upright.

Now it strikes a prominent profile. In the late afternoon, the sun bounces from its surface. Some times, early in the morning, a gecko perches atop its edge. Snails slither up and then away, paying homage to this metallic monolith that appeared suddenly in their world.

The baking sheet poses no problem for us -- although, I often contemplate if visitors have questions about our placement of cooking utensils. (I could probably alleviate their wonder by following the lead of a neighbor and leaving my Christmas lights up. Something about year-round holiday decorations and pots and pans in the front yard would lend itself to a common West Texas decorating theme.)

But its presence has me thinking about some of the things I may have left lying around for others to deal with. How many times have I promised to spend time with someone? To have that cup of coffee? To sit down and talk through some common concerns? To take care of something simple? To offer that apology?

I don't suppose that my lack of action is doing terrible harm. In fact, most days people wouldn't even notice. But do they wonder if I'll ever come through? And what about the others around them? Do they perch expectantly on the edge of my promises? Or, like the snails, do they approach and accept the fact that these monuments to expectation may stand forever without fulfillment -- and then slide away disillusioned? Or do they come to my door puzzled by the presence of things that are easily attended to, but ignored?

The baking sheet may be gone when I go home this afternoon. I'll miss it in a way. For some reason, having a bit of aluminum siding has made my list of good intentions shrink as my list of good fulfillment lengthens.

Website: Center for Conflict Resolution

To the Swift!

copej@acu.edu (Joey Cope) — Tue, 19 Sep 2006 00:00:00 -0500

Each time he said, "My gracious favor is all you need. My power works best in your weakness." So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may work through me. (2 Corinthians 12:9 NLT 1st Ed.)

As my plane touched down at the DFW International Airport, I felt a sense of failure.

I had been out of state working with an organization that was mired deeply in conflict. For the better part of a week I had met individually with the leadership. Slowly -- almost painfully -- each individual had told his or her story of disappointment and frustration. Toward the end of each interview, I had encouraged them all to generate positive options and to rehearse them to share in a combined meeting of the leadership late in the week.

This particular conflict wasn't really unique. The leaders of this organization were good people who wanted to accomplish good things. Yet, they had different ideas on how to accomplish that good. Unfortunately, they lacked the commitment to communication, conversation and community that would allow them to explore their diversity in a way that would benefit them all.

I thought that those individual meetings through the week had motivated them to find a way to work together.

When they all filed into the room on the last night of my stay, I knew I was wrong. These weary leaders were not motivated. They were tired and scared. For over an hour, I tried everything I could think of to move them into a positive conversation about their problems.

Suddenly, I was tired. Seeing no other options, I encouraged these men and women to look deep inside themselves and decide whether they wanted to continue in their roles as leaders. Instead of leaving that room with a coalition of virtue and direction, I left with the belief that the organization would largely unravel over the next few weeks.

Glancing at my watch, I was pleased to see that one thing was going my way. It appeared that we would arrive at our gate about 12 minutes early. That would allow me to move easily to my connecting flight to Abilene. The flight attendant announced that we would arrive at Gate C-29 and that my flight would depart from A-10. With the new shuttle, I would make the transfer easily. And, my luggage should be there, too.

As we pulled into position behind Gate C-29, I noticed that a plane was still docked. Minutes stretched into a half hour. The pilot announced that the plane still at the gate had a problem and couldn't leave the terminal for a while. Fifteen minutes later, our plane began to move slowly as the first officer delivered the news -- we were being rerouted to Gate C-39 -- ten gates further away from my flight.

I would later learn that the door on my arriving flight opened at 6:36 p.m. Thankfully, most of my fellow passengers stayed seated to allow a few of us with close connections to run to the front of the plane. Turning right out of the gate area, I ran for the shuttle and slid between the doors as they were closing. Four stops later, I moved quickly out and down the escalator. The last five gates flew past as I ran for my departing flight.

When I arrived at Gate A-10, the door was still open. I approached the ticket agent and asked if I had missed the flight to Abilene.

"Oh, you're early, you must be on the next flight at 7:48 p.m."

"No, this is my flight. I'm supposed to leave at 6:46."

The agent looked at my boarding pass. "Mr. Cope, head down that ramp and take any open seat on that airplane."

As I began moving quickly again, I wished that I worked out more. My legs were a little weak and I was breathing heavily. The surprised flight attendant showed me to a seat close to the front and helped me store my carry-on bag. I huffed and puffed.

I expected the door to close quickly behind me. But instead, the ticket agent came aboard and walked over to where I was sitting.

"Mr. Cope, I wanted to meet you officially. My name is Ann. When your arriving flight's door didn't open until 6:36 p.m., our customer service control supervisor called me and told me you would never make it in time. I was told to move you to the next flight. According to our computers, no one could make it from C-39 to A-10 in less than 10 minutes. You made it in 8. You're famous – at least at this very moment."

"I guess I was lucky that the plane was delayed a little bit. By my watch it's 6:50 now."

"Oh, the plane was ready to go on time. But customer service had us delay the flight just five minutes more. It just wouldn't be right to have someone swift like you get home without your luggage. Have a nice flight."

I spent most of the half-hour flight trying to get my breathing and heart rate under control. I thought about how I had almost given up several times in my mad dash through the airport. And I was flattered by the idea that a big corporation would show me special consideration just because I tried so hard.

The next Monday morning I received a call from the organization I had worked with the previous week. I was amazed when told that most of the leaders had decided to go forward. More importantly, they had pledged to work together. Just a few weeks later, I was flying back to work with them again as they put the negativity of their conflict behind them. I had a front-row seat to see God mend their differences and bind them together in a common front for good.

I thought about the ticket agent's words. She had described me as "swift." Odd choice of words to depict a slow, out-of-shape, middle-aged guy. I recognize that most of what I do is merely average – dulled by my slowness of mind, my lack of discipline and the fatigue of life. Yet some of those average things, whether in traversing an airport terminal or bringing others to a table of peace, can be viewed as extraordinary and given higher significance. Come to think of it, God blesses me daily in that way. And once -- just once -- an airline did, too.

Shine On!

Website: Center for Conflict Resolution

Free Breakfast

copej@acu.edu (Joey Cope) — Thu, 02 Feb 2006 00:00:00 -0600

The man's voice was loud and commanding. His words dominated not only his table, but they also rolled unchallenged throughout the room.

I looked up from my breakfast of oatmeal and coffee to find the boisterous source. Because of a column supporting the inside balcony around the lobby area of the hotel, I couldn't see him directly. His tablemates were all men -- obviously all employees of the same company. Natty white polo shirts with some sort of logo emblazoned on the sleeve.

The man was in mid-story -- something about the "tough" cars he had owned or worked on with 4-on-the-floor, glass packs, stabilizer bars, and overhead cams. His words pounded endlessly on all of us -- except when he paused to laugh at his own wit. A few laughed with him, but a young man sat stone-faced across the table from him. He stared blankly through the barrage of language. He never smiled. He rarely blinked. The man's stories never connected.

That was the second morning I ate breakfast in the hotel lobby. The breakfast was an excellent variety of cereals, waffles, pastries, fruit, eggs, sausage and the southern staple of biscuits and gravy. And with each morning, I noticed a different gathering of travelers.

The first morning the room was almost empty. The only other diners at the hour I chose to breakfast was a family with young children. From what I overheard, Dad had been transferred to this new and different city. This hotel was home for the family until the moving van arrived. Mom was obviously tired of the living arrangements already. She complained loudly to her husband about the drudgery of living in a rented room with little space and nothing to occupy the time of the little ones. The entire family felt the weight of her words, except for a little boy, the oldest son. He had someplace to go. His backpack was jammed full of whatever a first-grader takes to school. And the backpack was strapped on tight. I watched him negotiate around empty tables and chairs with his cereal bowl, bending oddly to balance the burden on his back. Mom frowned and picked at him. He only smiled and ignored her politely. She connected, but not with her words.

Morning four was a festive breakfast. Late the afternoon before, a bus pulled in front of the hotel and unloaded forty high-schoolers. Well-mannered and full of energy, these young travelers were here for a conference. As they crowded in to eat their morning meal, they split into groups of three and four. A few had their heads cocked to their shoulders. There would have been a time that an observer would have assumed some sort of spinal defect. But in today's world, the key to the deformity is the cell phone nestled between shoulder and ear. I watched with wonder as one young woman entered the room talking incessantly and with great animation to whomever she was connected by the wonders of modern telecommunications. As she made her way to her seat, chaperones stood and announced the bus was leaving for the day. All the students stirred -- except for the phone talker. She kept talking and eating until a female chaperone approached. Taking the phone from the girl's shoulder, she sweetly said good-bye to the unseen conversant on the line, folded the phone and handed it to the open-mouthed diner. "Get on the bus, hon!" she said. In one short instant, a connection was interrupted and another established.

Morning three was mostly uneventful. The breakfast tables were orderly, the diners mostly silent. CNN Headline News played on the big screen TV that dominated one wall. We were all business travelers. Except for occasional comments or short cell phone calls, we were quiet. Our connection seemed to be our disconnection.

The last morning of my stay, I saw her again. She was an elderly woman who had been at breakfast almost every morning. Well-dressed with a large bag next to her, she ate alone. I had seen her in the lobby other times. In fact, most nights she spent her time in a large chair in a sitting area close to the front door. A smaller television set the mood of that corner. She apparently controlled the channel. As I checked out this morning, she had already made her way to the TV.

The front desk was slow when I laid my keycards before the clerk.

"I'm just curious. What's the story on that lady over there?"

"Oh, she's Maurine's grandmother. Maurine takes care of her. When Maurine's working, Granny is here."

About that time, another clerk emerged. Maurine asked quietly, glancing nervously at me, "Is there a problem?"

The other clerk shrugged in my direction. "Oh, no," I started, "there's no problem. I had just seen a lot of her this week and wondered."

"She just hates to be alone and I don't have anyplace to take her. So whenever I come to work, she dresses up and comes with me. She loves to see all the people."

I finished my paperwork. As I headed out, I detoured slightly. "Ma'am," I called. Granny looked up, startled. "Ma'am, I just wanted to wish you a good day."

Granny's face softened and she smiled. A little nod and another smile.

Five free breakfasts and I finally connected.

Website: Center for Conflict Resolution

What Really Matters

copej@acu.edu (Joey Cope) — Sat, 24 Dec 2005 00:00:00 -0600

Just a month or so ago, I made what I thought was a profound statement.

"I hate the holidays!"

The comment slipped from my lips toward the general vicinity of Nancy, my beloved wife, during a discussion of all the things that needed to be done to make this a joyous season.

I could have said that even earlier than a month ago. I can remember the frustration I felt when Nancy asked me to carve our jack-o-lantern at Halloween this year. What a sticky, messy, smelly job! A job I thought was behind me when the boys grew up. I recall my reluctance in moving toward the kitchen table and strapping on the green, ballistic-vest-type apron that has served me well through pumpkins, briskets, and turkeys.

Oddly, what I can't recall right now is the stickiness, mess or smell that I so dreaded. Perhaps because all of that blurs next to the image of our four-year-old granddaughter standing next to me -- encouraging me to make ol' Jack scarier -- and the shadow of Nancy a few steps away, smiling and soaking in the moment of tradition.

My stomach tightened just before Thanksgiving. That's the day that Nancy's family gathers. For years, it was at the farm in Rising Star. The past several, it's been at our house. Not everyone can be there. But most are.

An occasion of such immense importance takes a lot of preparation. Nancy has polled the guests to make certain that favorite foods are on the table -- even if it means having three kinds of potatoes instead of just two. And a dish of black olives and that cherry-cranberry salad that Nancy's mom made. But to spread such a table, many things must be done. Rooms must be cleaned, turkeys must be carved, silverware must be polished ... Three days of preparation are necessary for a couple of hours of eating.

My stomach relaxed pretty quickly into the process. I know my role in all of this. I love having family in our home -- to see our kids and their families with aunts and uncles, nephews and nieces, is a warming experience. And my joy is magnified because, unlike a lot of my days throughout the year, my place is next to Nancy as she stirs and pours and mixes. And then again, as she sits and visits and loves on people like there's nothing else to do.

The Christmas season is another stressor. Not because I am so involved, but because Nancy is. She's the prime mover in getting things done. She's the one who arranges the schedule for our Christmas time -- a sometimes complex task now that the boys are married and must be shared with other families. She worries about the Christmas card list and forces me to write an occasional Christmas letter. She's our decorator. Nancy keeps track of what people want for Christmas. And, more often than not, she's the one who finds those gifts and wraps them.

I remember grimacing when our local radio station began playing non-stop Christmas music on December 1. "How will we stand this?" I asked Nancy. She smiled and agreed that it was a little early. She tuned the radio to a different station -- one she really doesn't like all that much. I'm sure she's still smiling about that.

On the way to work a little while ago, I had the radio on. "Angels We Have Heard on High" was playing lightly as I reached the corner of our block. Without thinking, my thumb went to the volume control on my steering wheel and I boosted that wondrous song to sonic blast proportions. At the top of my voice, I sang "Gloria! In Excelsis Deo!" When I reached the traffic light, the melody was fading, yet memories were welling up.

Christmases

Thanksgivings

Halloweens (Nancy's birthday)

Fourths of July

New Years Days

Times with family

Warm moments when the only thing that really mattered was being with family and friends.

Wherever you find yourself, I pray that you're having warm moments -- and storing them away for those times when you might forget what it is that really matters.

Website: Center for Conflict Resolution