Now, the Star-Belly Sneetches had bellies with stars.
The Plain-Belly Sneetches had none upon thars.
Those stars weren’t so big. They were really so small.
You might think such a thing wouldn’t matter at all.

(from The Sneetches by Dr. Seuss)

 

 

“Yes, Abby, I have spots,” I agreed.

“‘nother one!” she continued, finding more.

I noted an entire solar system of freckles decorating my arm. “Yeah, I have lots of them.”

Nicki smiled at us from across the breakfast table. “She was counting my spots yesterday,” she said.

“Where are your spots?” I joked with Abby.

Abby checked her smooth brown arms. “Where they go?” she wondered. Then she hopped down from her chair. “I go find it,” she promised. “Be right back.”

Her imagination kicked into overdrive as she turned away from us and looked around the room. “Spo-ots!” she called. “Where are you?” She proceeded to find some imaginary person, told him to “give back” her spots and put them in her hand. Apparently, the ”spot thief” refused, because she turned around and sighed. “All gone,” she said.

After we stopped laughing into our fists, I pulled Abby into a gentle hug. “Hey, you know what?” I said. “I love you even if you don’t have any spots.”

It’s very tempting to want to look like other people. To wear the right clothes, to use the right words, to befriend the right crowd. We figure that if we look like the cool, confident people, we’ll automatically inherit their “cool-ness”. Haven’t we all heard that “the clothes make the man?” And if no one will accept you without those accessories, shouldn’t you add them on, so that people will admire you?

This is how a whole community was suckered by a slick con-man in Dr. Seuss’ classic story, The Sneetches. Taking advantage of the Sneetches’ prejudiced caste society, Sylvester McMonkey McBean – the self-proclaimed “fix-it-up chappie” – rolled into town with a fancy machine that he claimed would solve all of their problems. You see, some Sneetches had stars on their bellies, while other Sneetches had no such mark. The star-bellied Sneetches figured that their markings made them more important than the plain-bellied Sneetches. The Sneetches who had “no stars upon ‘thars” became dejected. They were outcasts with no hope of ever joining the cool crowd.

But McBean’s machine would change their status forever. He had a star-making machine to stamp stars onto their bellies, providing them with instant cool-ness!

 

Then, quickly, Sylvester McMonkey McBean
Put together a very peculiar machine.
And he said, “You want stars like a Star-Belly Sneetch?
My friends, you can have them for three dollars each!”

Naturally, the plain-bellied Sneetches all lined up and forked over their cash to rush headlong into the machine, into their bright new future.

And it worked! They returned with stars on their bellies, to the amazement and anger of the other star-bellied Sneetches. Fortunately for the original star-bellied Sneetches, McBean’s wonderful machine could also remove stars! In went the natural-born star-bellies to remove their birthmarks, making them stand out once again from those “other” Sneetches.

 

“Belly stars are no longer in style”, said McBean.
“What you need is a trip through my Star-Off Machine.
This wondrous contraption will take OFF your stars
so you won’t look like Sneetches that have them on thars.”
And that handy machine working very precisely
Removed all the stars from their tummies quite nicely.

This quickly resulted in an all-out territory war, fought with money and a stamping machine. Every Sneetch ran in and out of the machine, stamping and un-stamping until … finally … no one could tell which Sneetch started out with stars and which Sneetch had not. Some had no stars left. Some had three. Some had stars on their bellies, some had stars on their behinds.

 

Then, when every last cent of their money was spent,
The Fix-It-Up Chappie packed up. And he went.
And he laughed as he drove In his car up the beach,
“They never will learn. No. You can’t Teach a Sneetch!”

But McMonkey McBean was wrong. The Sneetches stood around for a few moments, staring at one another in confusion. They struggled to try to distinguish one Sneetch from another, but they no longer could tell the difference.

Which, they finally decided, was the way it should be. They returned home, arm in arm, as one community.

Outward appearance is just that. It’s actually pretty easy to look good on the outside, if that’s your only goal. But good looks only take you so far in life. In Proverbs, it says, “A beautiful woman with no discretion is like a gold ring in a pig’s snout.” Having a star on your belly doesn’t make you special, any more than wearing the latest fashions or telling the funniest jokes. What makes you special are the things no one can see at first glance. Love. Loyalty. Acceptance of others. Don’t put on a star to look like everyone else. Be yourself, and give people time to see your uniqueness.

It would be a very boring world if we all wore the same stars on our bellies.

 

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Sometimes big problems have simple solutions.

In “Pale Rider”, a stranger (Clint Eastwood) rides into town and rescues a man who is being harassed by the town bullies. In gratitude, the man introduces himself as Hull Barrett (Michael Moriarty), and invites the stranger back to his house in the hills for a bed and a meal. Hull lives there with Sarah Wheeler (Carrie Snodgress) and her 14-year-old daughter, Megan (Sydney Penny). They’re less than thrilled with the generous offer, fearing the stranger could be dangerous. But everyone is shocked when they see the stranger enter their front room, wearing a priestly collar. From that moment on, the stranger is known simply as “Preacher”.

After he learns that the once-thriving town is suffering at the hands of merciless outlaws trying to force them off their land, “Preacher” agrees to help. Hull and his live-in family figure that with a holy man on their side – especially one who can drive off bullies – they’re sure to be rescued.

Preacher asks Hull to put him to work while he’s staying with them. Hull doesn’t want to impose on him, unless he can find something “spiritual” for Preacher to do. Preacher replied, “Spirit ain’t worth spit without a little exercise.”

Hull decides to tell Preacher about a boulder that he’s been trying to break open, convinced that he can find gold deep inside it. Enough to help them pay off his debts and preserve his land. Hull explains that he tries every now and then to crack the heavy rock open with a hammer, but it’s a near-impossible chore. And he can’t blast it open without damming up the stream the boulder sits in.

“Well, there’s plain few problems can’t be solved with a little sweat and hard work,” Preacher suggests.

Then, taking up a sledge hammer, he begins taking swings at the boulder. Hull watches in wonder as the Preacher applies blow after blow, patiently working to wear down the giant rock, though it’s clear the task will take weeks, if not months.

Then Hull grabs another sledge hammer and begins working alongside the Preacher. The task seems insurmountable, but they find joy in working at it together. The Preacher has helped Hull discover hope, simply by taking action.

Too often, we know what to do to solve our problems. We simply don’t want to take that first step. Either we’re afraid we’ll fail because the solution seems so far out of reach, or we shy away from the hard labor or sacrifice that we know the job will require.

Still, we know what to do. We just have to decide to do it. And once we’ve decided, we have to actually start doing it.

We can solve a lot of problems simply by starting to solve them. If your first effort doesn’t pay off, don’t be discouraged. You’re far closer to success when you’ve tried and failed than you were when you weren’t even trying.

It’s far easier to steer a moving car than a parked car. Once you start driving – start doing something! – you’ll be able to re-direct yourself as needed until you find the right solution. Just get yourself going. The sooner you start, the sooner you’ll figure out how to succeed.

And the sooner you’ll learn that it was actually easier than you expected.

 

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Bond paused, almost carried away by the story of this extraordinary man.

“Yes,” said M. “‘Peace in Our Time – This Time’. I remember the headline. A year ago. And now the rocket’s nearly ready. ‘The Moonraker’. And from all I hear it really should do what he says. It’s very odd.” He relapsed into silence, gazing out of the window.

He turned back and faced Bond across the desk.

“That’s about it,” he said slowly. “I don’t know much more than you do. A wonderful story. Extraordinary man.” He paused, reflecting. “There’s only one thing …” M. tapped the stem of his pipe against his teeth.

“What’s that, sir?” asked Bond.

M. seemed to make up his mind. He looked mildly across at Bond.

“Sir Hugo Drax cheats at cards.”

 

Ian Fleming is my favorite author. If you’ve only seen James Bond movies and never read the original novels from the ‘50’s and ‘60’s, you wouldn’t understand why. But Fleming was a master of suspenseful storytelling, both in his style and story structure.

His novels typically started with a small incident that seemed innocent and harmless, like a small snowball rolling down a hill. But over the course of the story, that snowball continued to grow larger and more threatening until it became a mammoth avalanche that threatened to engulf an entire village. One of the best examples of this technique was Fleming’s third James Bond novel, Moonraker.

It starts out with a very simple problem, one that almost seems boring for an adventure hero like Bond. His boss, M., summons him to resolve a public affairs situation with an inventor named Hugo Drax. This scientist has become a very important public figure, since he’s designed the Moonraker, the world’s first short-range missile, to protect England’s borders. A national hero, Drax holds the scientific hopes of all England in his magnificent mind.

But there’s a problem. M. has discovered that Hugo Drax cheats at cards.

That’s it. That’s the only concern.

But it poses a lot of questions. And presents a big problem for someone as important as Hugo Drax. M doesn’t want Drax to get caught and be publicly embarrassed, shaming himself and perhaps shaming the entire Moonraker project. The rocket is too important for England to let it be destroyed by Drax’s bad habit.

But it also raises a clear question for both M and Bond: Why? Why would a successful, popular, wealthy man like Drax want to cheat at cards? He doesn’t need the money or the sense of security. It doesn’t seem to fit.

Or does it?

M. invites Bond to join him at his club, Blades, and play bridge with Drax. Since Bond is an excellent card-player, M. wants him to expose Drax’s cheating in a way that keeps his misdemeanor private. In other words, Drax will know that Bond has caught him, but only Bond and Drax will know the truth.

After Bond succeeds in exposing him, Drax’s true nastiness is revealed.

 

Drax’s first reaction was to lurch forward and tear Meyer’s cards out of his hand. He faced them on the table, scrabbling feverishly among them for a possible winner.

Then he flung them back across the baize.

His face was dead white, but his eyes blazed redly at Bond. Suddenly he raised one clenched fist and crashed it on the table among the pile of impotent aces and kings and queens in front of him. …

Then he looked again at Bond and spoke very quietly, the red moustache lifting slowly from the splayed upper teeth.

“I should spend the money quickly, Commander Bond,” he said.

Then he turned away from the table and walked swiftly out of the room.

 

It will come as no surprise that Drax is really a villain with a master plan that threatens the entire world (or at least all of England). The remarkable thing is that he would have easily succeeded in his grand scheme, except for a tiny error that hinted at his private nature.

Drax cheats at cards. Therefore, Drax is a cheater, and not to be trusted.

Sometimes, when we correct our toddler, warning her not to do something she’s about to do, like coloring on a wall or throwing a toy off of the upstairs landing, she pauses and looks at us for permission to continue disobeying, anyway. “Little bit,” she suggests. We tell her she can’t even throw things or color on the wall “a little bit”. Even a little bit of destructive behavior still causes damage. What’s worse, if we allow her a “little bit” of destruction, more will always follow. She asks for a little bit of leeway to color on the wall today, and next time she’ll ask to color it “a little bit” more. Eventually, the whole wall would get colored. Sort of like a snowball rolling down the hill until it creates a massive avalanche. Getting permission to do something we know is wrong only teaches us that we can get permission. So we’ll be sure to ask for it again.

But the more we get away with, the less influence we have with other people. Our actions reveal our character, and people see whether we are someone who can be trusted.

We all have influence on people around us, either good or bad. Our decisions and resulting actions make us trustworthy or suspect. Jesus said that if we can be trusted with small things, we can be trusted with large things as well. How honestly we handle our taxes, our homework, our time cards, and our friend’s reputations will show others how honestly we treat every other issue, large or small, significant or trivial.

Do you want others to know that they can trust you?

Don’t cheat at cards.

 

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Hancock (Will Smith) is a super-hero. A very rude, self-centered, condescending super-hero.

Ray Embrey (Jason Bateman) is a promoter. A desperate, destitute, but very positive promoter. He wants to help Hancock improve his image so that people can learn to love him. After all, Hancock provides a valuable public service, protecting people from criminals and random catastrophes. But the way he does it – showing so little concern for people’s property, possessions and feelings – rubs everyone the wrong way.

And Hancock doesn’t really care. After all, he’s a super-hero. Where would those puny people be without him saving them every other day?

Do you ever feel that way? Wondering where some people would be without you? You probably have, at some point in your life. We all focus on ourselves more than on anyone else, so we know our skills, charm, intelligence and strength inside and out. When we compare our gifts with those of others, we sometimes decide that, without our contribution, people would just be stuck.

For example, without my 6’5 height, many of my relatives wouldn’t be able to reach items from the top shelf. [Although I guess they could always use a ladder, like everyone else.] Without my writing skills, many church dramas and Sunday school lessons might have fallen apart. Without me loaning out money, some of my friends might not have made it through the week. So let’s face it. Those people need me!

Of course, that’s only one side of it. While tactfully acknowledging how important Hancock is, Ray tries to help him learn to show appreciation for everyone else, too. To start, he encourages Hancock to plan on telling police officers or rescue workers “Good job” the next time he flies out to rescue someone.

“If they did such a good job, why’d they have to call me?” Hancock argues.

“Consider this,” Ray replies. “Say, ‘Good job. Bullets can’t harm me. They can harm you. Good job.’”

Hancock simply doesn’t buy it.

Ray tries to help him again, asking him to repeat the phrase, “Good job”.

Hancock stays silent.

Ray says it very slowly, as if teaching the foreign words to a child. “Goo-ood … jo-o-o-ob.”

Hancock continues to stare back with contempt. He just doesn’t see the point.

The problem is that Hancock is too familiar with his own contributions. Focusing entirely on his own large role, he doesn’t see the smaller roles played by other people, without which he wouldn’t accomplish much.

How could Hancock rescue anyone unless someone took the time to call him? How could he rescue someone if an emergency response team had not started the rescue efforts? Their first efforts might not have solved the problem, but they kept disaster victims and hostages alive until Hancock showed up.

It doesn’t matter if those people have fewer skills or powers than Hancock. What matters is that they helped, even if some people think those contribution were small.

It reminds me of the classic poem, “For Want of a Nail”.

 

For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.

 

No job is too small or unimportant, and no contribution should be ignored or sneered at. Without the help of every willing volunteer and laborer, even the super-powered Hancock couldn’t do his job.

When he does show up for his next rescue attempt, Hancock forces himself to say the strange words to a policeman. “Good job,” he says in an awkward tone.

Feeling just as awkward, the officer goes over the details of the hostage situation, as Hancock – for once – listens with patience and respect. Soonafter, Hancock emerges, bringing out both the rescued hostages and a new attitude, and he experiences something he had never known before: gratitude from those he helped.

Hancock is stunned as the onlookers clap and cheer for him. Everyone truly appreciates his help, because they can finally say to him, “Good job.” Not only for what he did, but for doing it with a humble attitude of service and teamwork.

If you feel you have some big talents, don’t let them give you a big head. Without the help of all those “little people”, you couldn’t be very big.

Remember to thank them for it.

 

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