Many people in the world rely on reason, on rational thought to process life and all its issues. The thing about reason that doesn't work for me is that you need to know all the variables. You can't have gaps in your information due to unknowns, or your conclusions are no longer rational.
It has always been puzzling to me that people will allow guesses put forth by scientists (Big Bang Theory, Darwin's Theory of Evolution) I suppose because they are posited by educated, rational folks. But if others fill in the unknowns with a different guess, well, it's just plain ignorant. There doesn't seem to be a disconnect for some when questions are asked about the origin of the physical properties that caused the Big Bang. Or the creator of the amoeba that became the fish, etc. It doesn't matter so much to me how it all began. I'm not sure we'll ever know that in this life. What matters most to me is how treat each other now, today.
I think kids have a corner on truth. They know for a fact that they don't know it all. And they are OK with that. But something happens as we grow up. We become convinced that it is NOT OK to say we just don't know. Our society places intellect way up high on an altar. Almost as high as athletic skill (yes, an attempt at humor). We are happy to degrade others for their lack of sophisticated thought. And what does that get us? A judgmental hierarchy of thinkers. Yikes. No wonder we are so out of line priority-wise. It's not how we care for each other that gets the big bucks, or teachers and nurses and social workers would be paid better than lawyers and first basemen.
How do we model responsible adulthood for our kids? I hope it includes what is really important in life. I hope it includes stewardship of our bodies, our minds, our environment, and most of all, our role in building up a society that honors the individual's right to determine their own destiny. That includes religious freedom. Who can tell me who God is? No one. Certainly not my government (shudder).
The messages our kids get about what is important often come blaring from the TV, and we all know how shallow, how self serving and self aggrandizing those sounds bites can be. I am hopeful that kids today are hearing from their parents that the really important things in life come from within. From a desire to be a good person.
I know many young parents who are doing a great job of that. I hope it's a generational trait. The world hangs on that hope.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Hope Floats
Last night we watched a movie in our little community clubhouse; Hope Floats. It had really sad parts, more than I remembered from watching it before. It was a very human story of betrayal, abandonment, fear, death, illness, humiliation. But it didn't end there. As the title suggests, the human story is also about loyalty, forgiveness, redemption, love, friends, family...hope.
In the night I thought a lot about the movie. About how we humans put our trust in things or people that prove not worthy of our trust. Like society's approval, or other shallow and unreliable validation. And some things are hard and sad simply because the people we love grow ill and die. If we stop there, life can be too hard. So we don't. We go on. We wake up the next day, or the next, and find beauty in the world around us, beauty in the people around us, and hope floats up.
It is an old, old story. "Nothing new under the sun" was old when Shakespeare said it. Maybe even when the writer of Ecclesiastes said it. For a long time, I thought that was a fatalistic saying. But now I realize that the fact that all the parts of life that we deal with, all the hurt and longing, all the joy and fulfillment are part of an ongoing human story. We are new each day, we are making our own choices that lead us down paths that no one has walked, exactly. But the old truths are eternal. We struggle. We grieve. We heal. We grow. Hope Floats.
In the night I thought a lot about the movie. About how we humans put our trust in things or people that prove not worthy of our trust. Like society's approval, or other shallow and unreliable validation. And some things are hard and sad simply because the people we love grow ill and die. If we stop there, life can be too hard. So we don't. We go on. We wake up the next day, or the next, and find beauty in the world around us, beauty in the people around us, and hope floats up.
It is an old, old story. "Nothing new under the sun" was old when Shakespeare said it. Maybe even when the writer of Ecclesiastes said it. For a long time, I thought that was a fatalistic saying. But now I realize that the fact that all the parts of life that we deal with, all the hurt and longing, all the joy and fulfillment are part of an ongoing human story. We are new each day, we are making our own choices that lead us down paths that no one has walked, exactly. But the old truths are eternal. We struggle. We grieve. We heal. We grow. Hope Floats.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
I Can.... Canoe?
Roll your eyes. Analogy time. I'm a young girl, in my canoe on the river of life. I find an excellent partner to paddle along with me, and though we skirmish a bit deciding who will steer, we settle into a rhythm before long. Of course we hit the rapids, and they look very frightening indeed right before we run a narrow, rocky, steep section. Class five sometimes. A couple of capsizing episodes, but we get back in and paddle like mad. We make the calm, glassy, deep part and lie back, resting our arms and catching our breath. The sun beats down and we get a little crispy, so we don't mind the cliffs that block the sun even if they mean more rapids. We have helmets by now, with our acquired respect for rocks that jut up in the most inopportune spots.
One day I look around the canoe for a particular thing, only to find so much stuff. We have filled our little boat with so much stuff. It's a wonder we can float at all. It's a wonder we can find the things we really need, like paddles. But lightening our load can be tricky. Stuff that seems burdensome to me might my partner's important something. And vice versa. But we do shed some stuff, and gain a little room to maneuver.
For a short while (maybe years, yes?) I thought I needed to give steering advice to every canoe within shouting distance. They needed the benefit of my expertise, right? And I clearly had it figured out. Clearly. What to do in a rainstorm, a pirate attack, a dark night in the tricky part. But, blessedly, I learned a couple of things. Late, maybe, but still...
People like to run the river their own way. Not everyone huddles under overlying branches in the lightening storm. Some people get out and swim for fun! And sure enough, they are able to get back in. Oh, there are some constants that apply to everyone. We are all moving, all carried by the years, by the advancing currents that lead us to old age and beyond, if we are so blessed. We can tie our little boat to moments by our sheer will to remember. But we will continue our journey no matter how much we want to look back to the way it used to be. And if we look back too much, we might miss that beautiful sunset over the Oak Tree ahead. Or the first star barely visible in that soft blue velvet sky. It can be tempting to want a map that shows every feature that lies ahead. But I also have learned that looking down at a map, or a cell phone, or a book, or a computer keeps me from soaking in the scenery around me.
Happy paddling everyone. See you at the seashore.
One day I look around the canoe for a particular thing, only to find so much stuff. We have filled our little boat with so much stuff. It's a wonder we can float at all. It's a wonder we can find the things we really need, like paddles. But lightening our load can be tricky. Stuff that seems burdensome to me might my partner's important something. And vice versa. But we do shed some stuff, and gain a little room to maneuver.
For a short while (maybe years, yes?) I thought I needed to give steering advice to every canoe within shouting distance. They needed the benefit of my expertise, right? And I clearly had it figured out. Clearly. What to do in a rainstorm, a pirate attack, a dark night in the tricky part. But, blessedly, I learned a couple of things. Late, maybe, but still...
People like to run the river their own way. Not everyone huddles under overlying branches in the lightening storm. Some people get out and swim for fun! And sure enough, they are able to get back in. Oh, there are some constants that apply to everyone. We are all moving, all carried by the years, by the advancing currents that lead us to old age and beyond, if we are so blessed. We can tie our little boat to moments by our sheer will to remember. But we will continue our journey no matter how much we want to look back to the way it used to be. And if we look back too much, we might miss that beautiful sunset over the Oak Tree ahead. Or the first star barely visible in that soft blue velvet sky. It can be tempting to want a map that shows every feature that lies ahead. But I also have learned that looking down at a map, or a cell phone, or a book, or a computer keeps me from soaking in the scenery around me.
Happy paddling everyone. See you at the seashore.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Milestones
Our Kathryn Rose, youngest daughter, graduated from college last weekend. It is one of those occasions, like a wedding, when I know I should only feel happiness for the blessing. But there is something about these milestones that emphasizes and exaggerates the passing of time. And that is always sobering, even in the midst of the gratitude.
We say, "seems like yesterday", "I remember when", "where did the time go" and other cliches that have become overused purely through their truth. A dear friend told me on Saturday that he had a very clear vision of Katie running around the bleachers of Josh's basketball games at about ten years of age. Then here she is, a grown woman...and the intervening years were but a blur.
I can call up memories of Katie from any time in her life. The snapshots in my memory are often the ones from ordinary days, not the big occasions. I hold those pictures in my mind and page through them, lingering on the ones that seem so clear that I remember the smells and sounds of the day as well. Her sweaty little face peering up at me, her eyes dancing in hopes that she can convince me to say yes. I think I did, way too often. The way she waited for her brother and sister to do whatever they were involved in by playing something that involved moving around. The way she bragged about her siblings to her friends. The way she danced. Even from the time she was little, she danced outside herself with freedom and abandon. She spent so much time dancing, it is very appropriate that she should have her degree in dance.
I am so happy that she graduated. I am so proud that she is an accomplished, generous young woman. I don't wish any of the years back, nor would I turn back the clock if I could. But I do look back with nostalgia at the time when three children made joyful noise and general mess in our home. When glitter stuck to the floor and little tiny pieces of paper cut outs went through the laundry in pants pockets. When the sound of a basketball bouncing somewhere nearby was the white noise of our home. When the days were filled with lessons and games and concerts and dances. They were very good days. I guess that is the reason I miss them so much.
But enough looking back. When Katie was little, she was always ready to go anywhere, any time. "Let's go!" was most likely her first sentence. Looking forward, I wish her the very same passion that filled her childhood. Go Katie!
We say, "seems like yesterday", "I remember when", "where did the time go" and other cliches that have become overused purely through their truth. A dear friend told me on Saturday that he had a very clear vision of Katie running around the bleachers of Josh's basketball games at about ten years of age. Then here she is, a grown woman...and the intervening years were but a blur.
I can call up memories of Katie from any time in her life. The snapshots in my memory are often the ones from ordinary days, not the big occasions. I hold those pictures in my mind and page through them, lingering on the ones that seem so clear that I remember the smells and sounds of the day as well. Her sweaty little face peering up at me, her eyes dancing in hopes that she can convince me to say yes. I think I did, way too often. The way she waited for her brother and sister to do whatever they were involved in by playing something that involved moving around. The way she bragged about her siblings to her friends. The way she danced. Even from the time she was little, she danced outside herself with freedom and abandon. She spent so much time dancing, it is very appropriate that she should have her degree in dance.
I am so happy that she graduated. I am so proud that she is an accomplished, generous young woman. I don't wish any of the years back, nor would I turn back the clock if I could. But I do look back with nostalgia at the time when three children made joyful noise and general mess in our home. When glitter stuck to the floor and little tiny pieces of paper cut outs went through the laundry in pants pockets. When the sound of a basketball bouncing somewhere nearby was the white noise of our home. When the days were filled with lessons and games and concerts and dances. They were very good days. I guess that is the reason I miss them so much.
But enough looking back. When Katie was little, she was always ready to go anywhere, any time. "Let's go!" was most likely her first sentence. Looking forward, I wish her the very same passion that filled her childhood. Go Katie!
Friday, April 27, 2012
The Vast Eternal
This morning a friend of mine shared this link on his facebook page. I thought, how nice...a chant. I'll just listen a second and see if I like it. Instead of listening a second, I was transported. Suddenly, the sheer numbers of those seeking the face of God rose up before me. The different pronunciation of hallelujah seemed like a lens that zoomed out from my chair in my house in my neighborhood in my country, and showed me a picture of pilgrims on their journey of faith in places and times I have never seen. Whatever their language or tradition, whatever their doctrine or understanding of their place in the universe, devout people everywhere are seeking to live their lives as best they can. It might mean an orange monk's robe. Or a priest's collar or rabbi's Yarmulke. But it also means a fireman's, or soldier's, or policeman's hat. It means the dusty boots of the conservationist, the exhausted arms of a mother at midnight rocking her newborn. It means the aid workers in war torn villages, the food delivery drivers in places wracked by famine, the medical teams in the ER. Sometimes the devout are so busy giving urgent care, there is little time or energy for hallelujahs. Let those of us who have the luxury of time lend our voices. To a good cause, to the positive experience of others who encounter us. To the hallelujah.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Lightening Our Load
My husband, Bob, and I were looking around at things not too long ago and asked ourselves what possessions we aren't using that might have a second life elsewhere. So he listed his beloved Indian Chief motorcycle on ebay. He just isn't riding it. I listed my cool Lemond road bike on Craig's List because I get neck trouble when I ride it.
That got me thinking about other things I carry with me that need to find a second life elsewhere. So here is my next posting on Craig's List:
One worry wart. Well used but still in good condition. Can be applied to children of any age and used without concern that it will run out. No expiration date or age limit for either the worrier or the worry-ee. Free to the first person who will pick it up.
One ego. Somewhat battered around the edges but still able to put on a good show of righteous indignation. Particularly useful in an election year. Will pay for someone to take it.
I hope they go fast on Craig's list. Just think of the extra room I'll have for enlightenment!
That got me thinking about other things I carry with me that need to find a second life elsewhere. So here is my next posting on Craig's List:
One worry wart. Well used but still in good condition. Can be applied to children of any age and used without concern that it will run out. No expiration date or age limit for either the worrier or the worry-ee. Free to the first person who will pick it up.
One ego. Somewhat battered around the edges but still able to put on a good show of righteous indignation. Particularly useful in an election year. Will pay for someone to take it.
I hope they go fast on Craig's list. Just think of the extra room I'll have for enlightenment!
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Reminders
Children are the best reality check. We adults sometimes think we have this body of knowledge from having lived through so many things that makes us better equipped to understand life. But every now and then I see a child zero in on the basic, elemental things. Like a sense of wonder at the beauty of the earth. Like the need to touch the ones we love...holding hands, hugging, just touching. Like the pure joy of moving through space with the bodies we were given.
I hear the echoes of the child in the voices of adults who see the season's first lightning bug, or notice that the rose bush has burst into bloom. I used to roll my eyes at talk about our 'inner child'. It sounded contrived to me; like psycho babble. But somehow, writing for children makes me recognize the truth in the phrase. It's not that we become children again, because that very body of knowledge I mentioned earlier is a barrier to re-entry. Instead, it is being open to the incredible world that surrounds us, being mindful of the pure imagination it took to think of all creatures, great and small. And that most complex of all creatures, our fellow humans. An intentional shift away from dwelling on the trumped up worries of modern life can bless us again with joy in the simple gifts. A childlike joy. Not childish. But childlike. Because kids get the important stuff.
I hear the echoes of the child in the voices of adults who see the season's first lightning bug, or notice that the rose bush has burst into bloom. I used to roll my eyes at talk about our 'inner child'. It sounded contrived to me; like psycho babble. But somehow, writing for children makes me recognize the truth in the phrase. It's not that we become children again, because that very body of knowledge I mentioned earlier is a barrier to re-entry. Instead, it is being open to the incredible world that surrounds us, being mindful of the pure imagination it took to think of all creatures, great and small. And that most complex of all creatures, our fellow humans. An intentional shift away from dwelling on the trumped up worries of modern life can bless us again with joy in the simple gifts. A childlike joy. Not childish. But childlike. Because kids get the important stuff.
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