WHAT I KNOW NOW

by andhedrew

www.andhedrew.com
www.andhegames.com
www.doubtfulsolutions.com

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You can always wipe the grease off your hands.

I recently read a book written by someone who was
writing about poverty from her perspective the perspective of a poor person. She described all of the
terrible ways that the working poor are hurt and taken
advantage of by people who really should know better,
and I totally understood where she was coming from,
because Id been there.

For most of my adult life, Ive been the definition of

working poor. Two or three terrible jobs just to stay
afloat, no extra money, medical bills and debt: life is really hard in that kind of situation, and I sympathised with
the author. Id felt the pain before not too long ago
and I understood it.
But there was a thread running through the book that
bothered me. I couldnt quite put my finger on what was
frustrating me until the author was describing all of the
ways that she had been hurt working in the kitchens

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of restaurants. She spoke of splattering 400 degree oil

and knives slipping and cutting and feet swelling all of
the dangerous and degrading things that go along with
a position like that but one sentance jumped out at
me, a sentance that encapsulated what had bothered
me about the book up to that point:
She described dropping a heavy piece of equipment on her feet, because the restaurant was so
busy that she didnt have time to wipe the grease
off her hands.
I stopped reading, and just stared off into the distance
this is what I have to do to be able to think deeply the
restaurant was so busy that she didnt have time to wipe
the grease off her hands.
Wow.
She could have described that experience several different ways she was so stressed that she forget to

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wipe her hands, she was so burnt out that she just
didnt care any more but the specific wording that she
chose absolved her of all responsibility.
They were so busy, that she was forced to drop the
equipment on her feet. So busy, that she didnt have
two seconds to grab a paper towel.
Yeah, sure.
The truth is, weve all used language like this even if
only in our heads to avoid taking responsibility.
Its victim language.
Ive done it so many times if only this job wasnt so
terrible and boring, then I wouldnt have to be angry and
sullen when I got home.
If only this boss wasnt such a tool, then I wouldnt have
to watch so much television to recover from the stress.

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If only I had a little more money to go on dates, then I

could really work on my relationship.
If only my circumstances were different, then I would be
different.
If only I could wipe the grease off my hands.
Well, we all know the answer, and as soon as we admit
it, the world suddenly doesnt seem like its got it out for
us.
The truth is this:
We can always wipe the grease off our hands.
There might be a boss who doesnt want to let us, but
we can shake the dust off our feet and move on to the
next boss.

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We might feel like money keeps us from wiping the

grease off our hands, but for what we lose by not having
nice, expensive paper towels, we can make up for with
scrubbing.
We might think that the economy is keeping us down,
forcing us to walk around like a shambling zombie with
greasy hands, but the moment that we decide to attack
that grease, the economy stands back and cant do
anything about it.
We might think that other people are holding our hands
in the grease, but theyve got greasy hands of their own
to deal with, and if youd just stop shaking hands with
people who have greasy hands, you might be able to
reach for the sponge.
No one can keep you from wiping the grease off your
hands, even if all you can do is rub your hands on the
back of your pants: youd then have greasy pants, but at

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least you wont drop heavy things on your toe. Greasy

pants might be uncomfortable, but you can get through
the day with greasy pants, and your hands will be clean,
at least clean enough to do your work, and perhaps
help someone else scrub away at their grease.
Oh, and the wonderful thing about helping someone
else wipe the grease off their hands: it cleans up your
hands, too.
++++++++++++++++++++

Love doesnt make a good crowbar

My wife and I have a friend, a really amazing,bright

young woman. She was dating a man who is a really
hard-working, honest, bright, and spiritual guy,which
is an aspect of his personality that she really valued
shed grown up in a family that was devoutly Christian,
hosting people in their house, doing Bible studies,valu-

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ing people, and showing them love.

She dated this guy for a while, they were supremely
happy together, and they finally decided to get married.
Shortly after they were engaged, a big chunk of her
family lost their minds.
Her parents disagreed with a minor aspect of the guys
spiritualbeliefs, and from then on, the parents set their
faces dead against the union. What was once a close
and loving relationship devolved into a huge stinking
pile ofcontrolling behavior, the parents doing everything
in their power to break the couple up.The details arent
important, but the final result was the parents and
most of her family skipped out on her wedding.
How does this happen? I mulled it over in my head for
months, because the parents were people that I greatly
respected, they werent only leaders in their church, but
were truly hospitable and loving to everyone they met.

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How could they suddenly transforminto people I didnt

recognize any more? It was truly baffling to me. It was
totally incongruous with everything they claimed to believe, and their behavior would have seemed immature
for a 10-year-oldboywho had just chugged a Mt. Dew.
It just didnt fit. I wasbaffled.
+++
A few jobs ago, I had a friend who told me about his
pot smoking habit. He also smoked a whole lot of cigarettes, and lit up a hookah every once in a while (do you
light up a hookah? Im not sure). Whenever we talked
about his unwholesome habits, I felt anuncomfortablefeeling in the pit of my stomach.
It was the same feeling that I felt when another friend of
mine talked about how he and his girlfriend were breaking up because she was pregnant, or another friend
who talked about blowing whole paychecks on his lotto
ticket addiction.

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It wasnt a desire to help them, or give them advice

my gut-level instinct was I shouldntbe friends with this
person.
I shrugged it off as a ghost of the snobbery that I had
developed as a semi-sheltered, middle class white
Christian kidwho Always Did Everything Right Thank
You Very Much, but it bothered me. I felt a strong desire
to show my disapproval,to not hang out with them.
This disturbed me, because I want to be friends with
people, even if they arent great at acting perfect. Thats
what Jesus did, right? But I still felt strongly like I was
condoning the bad behavior if I spent time around people doing bad stuff, and I didnt like the feeling of being
pulled two ways.
++ +
Recently I read Scary Close by Donald Miller, and as
a bonus I got a free audio copy of his (amazing) book
Blue Like Jazz. I had read it before, but listening to it in

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the authors own voice is something that really changes

the book, makes it new.
I was scooping my driveway when I heard a part of the
book that hadnt hit me when I read it before: it stopped
my in my tracks, and I actually started tearing up (not
a good idea when its 10 degrees outside). DonMiller
talked about how people use love like money; we give
it to people who we value, and we withhold it from people who arent behaving in a way that we think is right,
holy, or smart.
Somehow, deep in our collective subconscious, weve
lodged the idea that we can incentivize people by giving
or withholding love.
Love doesnt work that way. Think about it for a minute:
how many really well-adjusted kids came from parents
who withheld lovewhen the kids didnt act right?
How many people massively change their behavior because of judgement from someone they dont even like?

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Love isnt meant to be used as a commodity.When its

used like money, it ceases to be love.
This is what happened with the parents of our friend:
they didnt agree with how she acted, and they tried
to force her to act the way they thought she should by
withdrawing love.
+++
When I was younger,I used to run away from home.
I did this when I was especially angry at how my family
treated me, and I would work up an elaborate fantasy,
imagining how they would change their ways when they
realized that they had driven me away, how they would
tear their hair out with grief and swear that they would
have treated me better, if only it werent too late that
would be about the time that I would show back up, and
be welcomed back with open arms and the promises of
obedience to my will and endless ice cream.

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I would run away and hide, and I would return a few

hours later: not to pledges of eternal servitude and desserts, but to a house full of people who hadnt even
noticed I was gone.
+++
This is essentially what the parents did when they withheld love: they withdrew from their daughter, using their
relationship as a crowbar, trying to force her to come
into alignment with their beliefs.
None of the other crowbars worked, and when she refused to budge, even when they started throwing a temper tantrum their final crowbar broke, and it was their
last crowbar. Its so hard for a relationship to recover
after love has been abused in an attempt to control.
I know that it can recover, but it takes a heck of a lot of
work and apology and slow healing. I hope that happens for them.

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+++
The realization that love shouldnt be used like a crowbar gave me a lot of peace. I didnt have to change the
people who didnt act the way I thought they should. I
thought that once I had a relationship with someone, I
should instantly start applying leverage with it: but that
isnt love, and the times that Ive tried to change people,
I ended up just pushing them away.
Smashing a crowbar in someones face isnt loving
them, its just mugging them to get what you want out of
them.
Love doesnt make a good crowbar.

Thanks for reading.

What to do next: Wipe the grease off your
hands, and drop the crowbar.
After that: Send this ebook to a friend, or
share online with this link:
andhedrew.com/whatiknownow