on accompaniment, attentiveness, and contribution
It is possible to do more than God requires and less than God desires.
In fact, this may be the default way of living in our culture, even inside of the church.
What, then, does God desire?
Well, undoubtedly more than we might ever comprehend, but perhaps primarily to know how profoundly we are loved. To accept the gift of the wonder of being alive, of this world.
Knowing oneself as infinitely loved by God changes everything, and enables clearer vision of what might, then, be required.
Our boys enjoy the occasional “what if” game. The other day our older son asked, “what if you could *only* move when someone told you to move?!”
His brother then began to “control” his movements with his speech. And if his brother didn’t tell him to move, then he was stuck.
If we are attached to the approval of others, our actions are bound in a similar way. We are subject to either manipulation or paralysis.
Far better to root in something real.
It is possible to not realize that we spend a disproportionate amount of our energy on things of little consequence. When we do, we major in the minor.
We do this with our health when we obsess about a dietary detail, but don’t exercise much or give ourselves the chance to sleep well.
At work this can happen when we clamp down on a problem the resolution of which will not actually move us forward.
And then, with limited time left, we minor in the major.
The tricky part is that majoring in the minor feels like we are doing something productive. We are not.
Let’s major in the major.
This is the walkway from the street to our house.
A few weeks ago, four workers took up about a third of the bricks (the part that is darker on the left side), dug a trench, laid some wiring, filled in the trench, and placed each brick evenly back in place.
Brick by brick is the only way to do this job.
Many valuable tasks in life are like this. Showing up consistently to a routine of prayer. Working an hour a day on a generous project. Attending to the individuals in our life with active love.
Each daily instance of these virtues may feel inconsequential and, if we overanalyze it, it is possible to become disheartened.
But, if we don’t stop, it is remarkable what we can build and where we can arrive.
Every day, our children notice what captures our attention. They take outstanding inventory of our focus and so come to know what we value.
Realizing just how much they understand helps me become better than I might otherwise be. Principally, this entails decreasing the number of things that I try to pay attention to.
Sure, this applies to the stuff that we trade for money.
But even more importantly, it applies to the stuff to which we give our time, attention, emotional energy.
When we choose to spend time doing something, we are “buying” that thing with our most precious resource.
When we enter the world of Maurice Sendack, Fred Rogers, Roald Dahl, Mo Willams, or the geniuses who write and produce Bluey, we know instinctively that we are in the hands of special people.
They have clearly cultivated a special attentiveness to children and then create a world rooted in this tender perception that invites all to rejoice in a child’s way of proceeding.
Our boys have stumbled upon another writer with this same gift.
Abby Hanlon’s Dory Fantasmagory is a delight for all comers, especially sassy younger children who may feel a little left behind by older siblings.
The fifth book in the series is our favorite, but we are re-reading them all to make sure.
The most valuable things reside on the other side of discomfort.
The vulnerability of commitment.
Sharing something that is deeply important to us with another.
Taking the first awkward steps to learn a new skill set.
Sitting in quiet non-judgemental awareness with one’s own mind.
These moments can be quite uncomfortable… but if we are able to see this discomfort as something enormously valuable, then we are able to grow.
One night some years ago, when I was living in Uganda, I was walking home alone.
There was no moon, and when the power went out (there was frequent load shedding) I was about a quarter mile from home. It was completely dark. I could not see a thing.
Or so I thought at first. But standing there, after my eyes adjusted, I realized that I could see just a tiny bit, enough to move a little bit closer to home with each small step. Sure, I ran into a few bushes, but I did arrive safely.
When navigating life’s challenges, it can get pretty dark. Even so, we typically have enough clarity for the very next step. We usually have enough light for our feet.
(Also, this, from Meister Eckhart…)
Last week, I watched a Broadway production of Our Town. (It’s delightful, and free on YouTube.)
It was my first exposure to Wilder’s play, and it was wonderful, on multiple levels.
One of the main themes (it seems to me) is that it is a real challenge to see the wonder of one’s life from the inside of that life, in real time, as we live it.
There are many reasons why this could be true: the uncharitable noise inside one’s head, daily demands, anxiety or false imaginings about the about the future… it is no surprise that the wonder of the present life gets out of focus.
But in Our Town, Thornton Wilder arranges for us the conditions to see the simple beauty of his characters’ lives from the outside, which allows us to return to our our own lives with greater wonder and clarity.
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