MIND BREEZE

He was standing beside the trail.  Fifteen feet away, on a long leash, the little white poodle stood and stared.  I hiked by—greeting the old man and acknowledging the dog. Not moving, the dog just stared.  The man spoke, “Her get up and go has got up and went.” 

And for a moment, I felt, like a gentle breeze,the spirit of my Daddy.  He used to say, “My get up and go has got up and went.”  And then, In the brief passing, the aroma of my Daddy infiltrated my body. 

Father’s day comes around every year.  Someone said that we need to acknowledge our fathers.  And so we have a ritualized time to think, to thank, to talk about those men who might have blessed our lives.  We remember their all to human qualities through which we might have glimpsed divine love. 

But, I think I prefer my Dad moments like I had on the trail—breezes of memory that tousle my hair and tickle the senses. They sneak up on me like the smell of the old Model T exhaust that puts me back on the wooden knee of my Granddad who took me and my sibs over to the gas station in southern Oklahoma and gave us a penny to put in the gum-ball machine where two or three trinkets were dispenses with each piece of gum.  

They bring tears to my eyes as I smell the aroma of machine oil that impregnated the overalls as I ran to hug “Daddy-Buggin” as he came home from the machine shop where he worked to provide a living for his wife and five children. 

Or, the scrub of a man’s beard on my cheek and I am right back in my Daddy’s lap being rubbed by his Saturday unshaved chin.  Oh, how I long to tell him how much those times meant to me. 

These are the moments of memory I love.  They surprise me, reminding me of the presence that is so deeply woven into my soul that it takes an unguarded word, smell or touch to open my mind and heart to the gifts that have blessed me. This way, father’s day comes here and there, now and then, more like the reality of deep love than in just on a calendar date once a year.

THE LONG VIEW

“It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view.” These words have been attributed to Archbishop Oscar Romero who was shot and killed while saying Mass in San Salvador in 1980.  It is be beginning of a prayer in which we are reminded that life is greater than ourselves and that we are merely seed planters in the grand scheme of things.

I find this a helpful thought not only to keep a perspective on what I am able to do with my life, but also what might shape my response to the current activities of my life. Sometimes I get so wrapped up in my feelings about the present that I lose perspective on what I want my life to represent.  Sometimes I allow the feelings of the moment to control my response to a challenging situation. 

When I take a step back and look at the long view, the emotions of the present may not be as important as they feel. When I think about my family and friends, I alway try to not only respond to the moment but to imagine how my response will impact the long term relationship. Of course, we never know that the long term will be, but being human we can’t avoid paying attention to it.

And, I think this long view comes from my being formed by the religious community of which I am a part.  All my life, I have been reminded week after week that God has a vision of what the world would be like when it lives according to divine insight.  I have been challenged and invited to live into that vision of a world where peace and love are a reality for all.  I have been directed to consider what others are going through as I consider my actions.  

So, I pray with the Archbishop, “It helps, now and then, to step back and take the long view.”

LAUGHING

They are six and nine. Riding in the back seat of my car on the way to hike at the park, these two “all boys” decided to try to meditate.  I heard them say to each other, “Now, close your eyes and clear your minds.”  It got quiet.  But in a few seconds, they burst out laughing.  Again, “Close your eyes and clear your minds.”  Again, silence—then uproarious laughter. 

I thought, “This is the way to do it.”  When I meditate, I too have trouble quieting my mind for any length of time.  I too lose concentration. But, my response is not so much laughter as condemnation.  I think, “What’s wrong with me?”  “Why can’t I do this?”  I often get critical of myself and wonder if I can do anything right. 

And then I think of what one of the saints of the past said about life: “The purpose of life is to love God and enjoy God forever.”

And I think, “If I am to enjoy God, why not break out in laughter?” What is it about religion in general and prayer in particular that has to be so serious?  What if God desires our delight, not just our service?  What if love has as much to do with laughter and delight as it does with commitment and faithfulness? What if loving has as much to do with joy as it does getting things right? 

So, I resolve, “Laugh” instead of “judge.”  Laugh when I lose concentration rather than judge myself as inadequate. After all, I suspect God is laughing at how seriously I am taking myself.  And if God is laughing, maybe I can laugh with and in that same spirit.

TWO STORIES

Sitting in the stillness of a rainy morning, Deb and I were reading. She read a story of the conflict in in our country between Democrats, Republicans and the Tea Party.  The paper seemed to suggest the Tea Party wanted to turn over the whole establishment where as the Democrats and Republicans wanted to govern. 

Across the coffee table, I was reading about the devastation of the civil war in Syria.  Images of a city virtually destroyed stared out at me. 160,000 people have died in this protracted war. (In the midst of a statistical culture, I have to remind myself that each 1 represents a soul, a heart-beat, a loved one.) 

As we sat in our dry little bungalow, I had a deep sense of gratitude for our ancestors in this country who had the wisdom to design a governing process which allowed freedom of speech. While I often weary of the speech that I sometimes hear (when I find it hard to comprehend how people could actually believe such things), I think it really is better to allow the anger and frustration to be expressed verbally than with guns and bombs. 

 And sometimes I get tired of all the propaganda that is spread by media biased in multiple directions, I can’t help but think the right to express ourselves is far better than to restrict speech and drive it deep underground. For long buried anger and frustration can explode in destructive  violence. It seems better to allow the steam to escape from the pressure cooker than to allow it to build up and explode. 

So, I swallow hard as I read and listen. And I express my own frustration and prejudice, grateful that I can wrestle with those with whom I disagree in a verbal battle rather than pulling out weapons of destruction that spread mayhem and death far beyond the bounds of the initial controversy. 

SLEEP

I thought I would “grab a nap.”  I pushed my  brown, soft recliner back and turned off my phone. Took off my glasses, closed my eyes, and  . . . . .  You guessed it—awake. I had been sleepy, but then when I positioned myself to sleep, I couldn’t. 

So, I got up and read a brief essay, “Sleeping it Off” by Adam Phillips in his book, On Balance. He reflects on how sleeping is the only thing we desire that we can’t describe when we get it.  It is a desire that no one else can satisfy for us, but it is something that others can keep us from getting. (Especially when they are living in our heads and are causing anxiety because we can’t resolve our issues with them).

So, I began to see that sleep was something that I could not grab, take hold of, possess, but sleep is something that comes over me. I can’t go get it. I have to submit myself to not trying, not working at it, for it to come to me.   

Mr. Phillips then suggests that our relationship to sleep and our desiring it may say something about how we find satisfactions for many of our desires.  “If we took sleep as our preferred picture of an object of desire, began to see desiring as more like desiring sleep, we would be doing things very differently.  We would, for example, see satisfaction as something we had to relinquish ourselves for, and we would relish anticipation and longing. And we would never think that reporting back was possible or the point.” (84) 

And so, instead of a nap, I am here with a new way of thinking about desire and satisfaction. I can now see that anticipation and longing are what life is made of, seldom satisfaction. And I can relax into my hopes as I look forward to what will be. And it is liberating to know that I don’t have to try to explain it to myself. Relinquishing control might just help me relax enough that I can give into the gifts of life that overtake me.