The following article is located at:http://www.christianitytoday.com/le/2012/june-online-only/wishyouwerehere.html
Fully resolved, once again, to make significant progress on my sermon for the coming Sunday, I sat down to pray. Sermon preparation frustrated me like no other responsibility.
As I tried to concentrate, the red flash of a cardinal landing on the windowsill caught my eye.
What sound does a cardinal make? It will just take second to Google that.
The search engine homepage greeted me with "Malaysian Man Pulls 328 Ton Train with His Teeth." Well, I've got to read about that; could be a sermon illustration.
After reading about the Malaysian man's herculean fear, I tried to remember how my Google search began. Oh, yeah, cardinals! Are the Braves playing the Cardinals soon? Won't take long to check that.
Stop! What am I doing? I need to start working on this sermon. I just need to pray.
"Lord, I have so much on my mind. I need to make some progress on this message today …"
That cardinal is still out there. What's he eating? We have a leadership meal tonight. I need to send out a reminder email …
I stopped praying, and scanned my long list of unread emails. I'll just read the important ones. Scanning the names and subject lines, I saw one from an elder: "CU at Breakfast."
I totally forgot about breakfast! I dashed out the door, hoping to make it to the restaurant before he left. As I raced out the door, my doctor's office called. They wanted to know, had I forgotten my physical?
History of distraction
Recently, at 46, I was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder. In retrospect, the only surprise regarding this diagnosis was that I did not recognize it sooner. The signs were obvious. Most individuals with ADD can look back over the course of their lives and see familiar patterns.
When I was seven, I begged my mother to let me play little league football. I knew only two things about football: all my friends played it and the jerseys were cool. My mother shelled out the registration fee and the cost for cleats and a uniform. It was the beginning of an illustrious two-week career. Football practice proved to be a distraction from more pressing endeavors: searching for four-leafed clovers, chasing butterflies, wondering if The Hulk could beat The Thing, and if either one could beat Superman.
My coach did not appreciate my contemplative spirit. He would grab my face mask and scream, "You don't listen!"
It's a charge I've heard from countless others since. My inability to concentrate has plagued every relationship—with my colleagues, with my wife, and even with God.
My wife jokes that she's wanted to send me a postcard with a picture of the planet Earth, with a caption that reads, "Wish you were here!"
I have "zoned out" of more conversations than either of us care to remember, but she is kind, understanding, and more patient with me than I am.
For years I struggled with frustration, mild anxiety, and a low self-esteem. Sermon preparation highlighted my inadequacies like nothing else. I could only read a few paragraphs before my thoughts drifted. A few frustrating ...