THE BRAIN

My son-in-law shared advice he sometimes gives to others—and has to give himself from time to time as he functions as a stock broker.  It is advice that make sense to me. “Don’t expect other people to think with your brain.”

 I have thought about this a lot the past few days.  We can guarantee that we will spend a lot of our life disappointed if we don’t follow this advice. After all, the way our brain works is what we know to be most familiar. The way we see things is surely the way things really are. Why wouldn’t others think with our brain?

 But, while our brains all operate with the same electrical impulses and pathways, the way they are used is as various as the kinds of circumstances we have lived in and that we live in.  When Deb and I were in Cody, Wyoming a couple of years ago, we stayed in a guest house on a ranch several miles outside the town. The closest neighbor was a couple of miles away. The sky was vast and explosive, roiling with wind swept clouds and crystal clear stars. Silence settled on the night as a warm blanket.

 Spending time in that environment where a person spent a lot of time in their own company, helped me see how different the brain works than it does when I am in a swirling, chaotic, traffic clogged city. My brain feels different in the silence of wide open spaces than it does where the music blares on my neighbor’s deck while they are taking a midnight soak in the hot tub. 

 I understood how the rugged individualistic brain on the prairie was essential for survival. But, it doesn’t seem as virtuous when  I am trying to sleep in a  neighborhood where the actions of each impinge on the sleep of the other.

 Not sure how much I can think with the brain of another, but I think I will be a whole lot happier if I don’t expect others to think with my brain.  

NECROSIS OF CLUTTER

I often run across descriptions of life that intrigue me. In reading a book by Jonathan Franzen, I saw this sentence: “The old playroom in the basement, still dehumidified and carpeted and pine-paneled, still nice, was afflicted with the necrosis of clutter that sooner or later kills a living space: stereo boxes, geometric Styrofoam, packing solids, outdated ski and beach gear in random drifts.” (The Corrections, 168)

Along with my love for alliteration, I am also fascinated by the description “necrosis of clutter”. Necrosis refers to the death of cells due to lack of blood supply.  I am sitting here at my computer imagining a couple of piles on my desk. I think of the books lining the walls of my study. Is my office “afflicted with the necrosis of clutter”? Are these items just dust collectors who are dying because of lack of blood supply.  When they just hang around me for months on end without my touching them or making decisions about them, is the result the death of a living space? 

I know that creativity requires space. I know that for the mind to imagine new realities it has to unlearn some old realities. I know that the spirit of creativity lives when it has breathing space. I wonder of the clutter limits my imagination and hinders the birth of a new future?

And, I wonder if the electronic stimuli that floods our daily life could be called a necrosis of clutter. Can I develop an idea or thought beyond the surface level of its potential.  Because there is so much electronic clutter, do I glide over surface of the ocean rather than diving down and exploring the life that roils under the water? 

I am not sure I know the answer, but I do think it is worth pondering.

TASTE AND SEE

The seasonal cathedral has returned. The canopy of green spreads its translucent leaves across the trail. The early morning storms have exited east and rain drips off still wet oak. The sky filtering arms of the maple makes my prescription sunglasses redundant. 

The trail is laced with rivulets of water. The typically dry crevices have become flowing streams, running down hill.  The creek, often flat and noisy with protruding stones is spilling over its edges as it races toward the river. 

The air is fecund—robins singing, geese grousing, blue heron gliding,  bees buzzing, pollen sneezing. Life reproducing in the thick, moist air. Spring has finally birthed from the frozen season and life is swimming all around me.

The morning cool is damp—the liquid air presages the muggy heat that envelopes us later in the day as the sun makes it’s journey across the May sky.

And my heart is singing the line from the hymn we sang yesterday in church: “Blest are those who from this table live their lives in gratitude.” I am so grateful to live this day! It is hard for a heart that is alert not to overflow with sweet thankfulness.

PROVIDING A BED

Listening is providing a bed for someone to dump out their suitcase on.” This profound insight is from my good friend, Gerry Janzen, Professor Emeritus at Christian Theological Seminary. Everyone who knows Gerry knows that, when he says something like that, there is more to come.

Gerry told me of his sitting beside a man on a long airplane flight. The man “spilled his guts”. He shared one problem after another. He did it with no expectation that Gerry would solve the problems. He did it knowing that he would likely never see Gerry again. Why would he do this? Why do we share our problems with others?

Gerry then told of traveling years ago with his family, first from Indianapolis to Vancouver BC. It was a 3 week trip. They returned home for 3 days and then traveled to Boston for 3 weeks. He said that when you are on this kind of trip, you want days when you can just dump out your suitcase on the bed and sort through the stuff. It always feels better when you put everything back in, folded and in some semblance of order. 

This, Gerry says, is what listening provides. It is a bed on which people can dump their dirty, rumpled and used lives, sort through their chaos to see where important things are, and then put it all back into the suitcase and get back in their lives and move on. When we live out of our suitcase, when we are always on the move, it is nice to take time to sort through our stuff and organize it. 

When you are sitting with someone and they are pouring out their heart to you, it may be sufficient to just allow them to dump. They might then sort it through, get some degree of organization, and find freedom to move forward with their life. What a gracious gift to offer!

MASS MUSINGS

We were invited to join our granddaughter at her school  The school was having a Mass to celebrate grandparents. We loved being with her as we sang the songs and heard about how important we are in the lives of grandchildren.  

When it came time for the Eucharist I was reminded of the many other times I have been in churches where I was unable to take communion. I was saddened by the fractured church of Jesus Christ of which I am a part. For centuries we have imperfectly tried to work out how to follow the one who broke down barriers between people. We have a lot of work to do. 

But, on this occasion, my mind was on something more personal.  I was not reflecting on how these church practices exclude others because of important theological differences, but how I have excluded others from my heart’s table because of important differences.  

How many times have I given someone a look that made them feel unwelcome in my presence? How often have I been reluctant to sit down at table with others who hold different perspectives? How many times have I been hurt and not been anxious to sit at table with others whose actions hurt me? What can I do to overcome my contribution to exclusionary behavior?  

So, on this occasion, I celebrated mass seeking forgiveness for my own contribution to the separation to which I have contributed. I want to have the courage and grace to open my heart’s table.  I am glad for the glimpses of wholeness I get when brokenness is overcome in hugs and tears.