Rebuilding the dock.
It’s one of the cottage tasks this year and so far, things are progressing
nicely. Grandad and Zachary are doing
this together. They make a good team,
their early bond providing an intuitive communication and cooperative flow between
them. I watch them from the deck with deep
and quiet joy.
Love this! Two generations working together making
something strong. Grandad provides
instruction, Zachary follows through. He’s
given the responsibility of the small rechargeable drill and then some freedom
to go ahead and extract the screws from the old boards, experimenting with ways
that work best for him. There’s banter
back and forth. Grandad being silly at
times, Zachary still finding this amusing since he’s not quite yet a
teenager. And questions about the
project, why the old wood has shrunk and split, and why we need to space the
boards out, and why certain screws are best for this task.
Then two things.
It becomes apparent that the original strategy of replacing
certain boards first isn’t going to work due to some sizing issues. Some of what they’ve done they’ll have to do
again. I am impressed with how Grandad
explains this to Zachary without any sense of frustration or self recrimination. Just more of an ‘oh well, let’s start again’
attitude, that Zachary picks up and applies to what needs to be done next.
They work in silence for a bit. And then Grandad steps on the end of a board
he thought was attached and narrowly misses injury in the slapstick smack-thud
of his clutzy landing. Despite the kafuffle,
in the end he is upright and unscathed, even his pride. “Meant to do that,” he says immediately. Zachary has a good laugh, and they keep
working.
And it strikes me that this is what is needed when two
generations work together to make something strong. The willingness to make mistakes in front of
someone is essential to mentoring. And
it makes you vulnerable.
The year 2005 was a turning point in my own mentoring
experience. There was a big transition,
and now, suddenly it seemed, I was heavily into mentoring. In fact, I wrote in my journal that I felt
like I was entering into an era where this was the main contribution I would
now make to my work; to identify and pour into the next generation in the way I
had been called out and poured into myself.
It’s exciting, invigorating work, mentoring. But it requires a steadfast resolve to allow
yourself to be seen. To allow others to
learn from watching you make mistakes, as much as watching you do what you do
well. And even more, as Ken so
beautifully demonstrates, a teaching of how to manage mistakes and failures,
both strategically and emotionally.
I don’t relish this part of mentoring. In fact, in some cases, I know this kind of honesty
has cost me, as mentees make their own judgements and step away to find perhaps
a more perfect teacher. It’s why some of
us sometimes try to pretend we’ve got it all together. Risking that kind of judgement and rejection takes
a kind of ‘leaving ourselves alone’ and ‘oh
well, let’s start again’ kind of attitude that not all of us possess.
But I am so incredibly grateful for the essential gift my
mentors gave to me in letting me in up close to hear and see the imperfections,
the misjudgements, the bad calls; and how we thought it through, worked it out,
sought forgiveness and carried on. For
me, their vulnerability was a strength.
I admire them all the more.
I’m interested in the Church, of course. Of rebuilding intergenerationally. Taking off the old boards that don’t serve us
well anymore, and finding ways of working together to make something strong to tie
our boats to for the future. Especially now, in a new world full of Covid challenges
that force us to rethink everything. And,
in order to continue to be all we’re called to be, there’s important work for
us to do, intergenerationally.
I happen to believe we can do it best together.
