Swim, Baby, Swim!

This morning I am thinking about part of a conversation I had with my big brother, Andy, before he passed away.  I was relaying to him a curious dream I’d had.  In the first part of the dream, I was at the beach.  Other than the gentle movement of the waves, there was no action at all.  There was just me, standing in water that came about chest high, looking toward the shore.  In the second part of the dream, I saw myself out in the midst of the ocean, treading water.  I looked around, puzzled at how I had drifted so far that I could no longer see the shore.  After all, I hadn’t done anything.  Last I could remember, my feet were firmly touching the ground.  I knew if I didn’t start swimming the back, I would just keep drifting.  And that’s when I woke up.  After listening intently, Andy responded in the fatherly tone he sometimes used when he wanted to either caution me or encourage me.  He said, “Well swim, Baby.  Swim.”  Presently, I am struck by the irony that this dream seems to have come back to me so that I will wake up.  In the quiet and stillness of the morning, I caught a good glimpse of myself in the midst of this ocean called life.   I called to mind a time when I stood so firmly and surely on the things I believe in, no matter how ridiculous they may have seemed.  But today I saw myself in a vulnerable place, as though treading water.  I was puzzled as to how I had drifted so far.   Last thing I knew, my feet were firmly touching the ground.  But, then I began to recollect waves of sorrow and heartbreak.  No, they didn’t take me under, but they moved me.  I also recalled undercurrents of doubt from desires unfulfilled and unjust circumstances that have not changed.  They haven’t knocked me down, but they have moved me.  And I am aware of the swift-moving tide of popular culture that seems increasingly callous, self-centered and vain.  It hasn’t carried me away, but it has moved me.  Subtly, but surely, I have been drifting.  I could try to make excuses or justifications by saying, “But I didn’t do anything!”  And, really, that is the point.  My drifting has been a direct result of my own inaction…those times when I didn’t say or do anything because “I tried before and it didn’t work” or “No one wants to hear that” or “I’m only one person.”  While all those things may be factual, they don’t resonate in my spirit as true.  What’s true is that I still believe in love, kindness, faithfulness, generosity, honesty and trust.  I still believe in mercy, forgiveness, healing, and restoration.  I still believe in good.  I still believe in miracles.  So, today it’s not Andy’s voice I hear, but that of One from within saying, “Swim, Baby.  Swim.”  This exhortation is calling me out of complacency and back to intentional, focused choices that allow me to love, give, care, and trust with all my heart.  It is calling me back to choices that go against the fear-based passivity I have often tried to pawn off as peace.  This will bring me back to the place where I have a clear view of the shore I call Hope, and that is where I am supposed to stand.  There, on the shore of Hope, is where countless blessings have manifested before.  And there is where countless blessings will manifest again and again.  This I know.  Amen.     

Walk With Me

This morning I am thinking about the stranger I met at work yesterday afternoon.  It was approximately 1:40 p.m., which meant I had about twenty minutes to quickly check emails and voice messages before my 2:00 meeting started.  The man had stopped his white truck to let me pass, as I walked across the parking lot and headed for one of the building’s side doors.  I was already halfway down the hall, near the elevator, when I heard the pounding on the door.  When I turned to look, I was surprised to see the man standing there beckoning for me to come back.  He was holding up a box and pointing to it, mouthing words I certainly could not hear.  Surely he didn’t think I was going to walk back down there and open a side door to a secure building for a stranger with a box.  I was annoyed.  I figured I would just turn around and ignore him, but for some reason I just couldn’t.  Knowing that he had seen me see him made me feel…well, accountable.  So I walked back down the hall toward the door.  He began pointing to a label on the box, and I was thinking, “Come on, man.  You’re not going to fool me with some box.  I watch Investigation Discovery!”  When I was close enough to the door, I could see two things.  First, I could see that the truck he had parked along the side of the building was for a delivery company.  Secondly, I could see that the label on the box bore the name of a colleague who worked in the building.  I began pointing in the direction of the main entrance, because that’s where deliveries are supposed to be made.  He started mouthing words again.  And again I pointed…this time with a more sweeping gesture…toward the main entrance.  Then he dropped his head and started to walk away.  As he did, I guess I lost my mind a little because I stepped outside the door.  “The main entrance is right around there,” I called after him.  He turned around and pointed to his mouth, and in an accent I didn’t recognize he said, “My English…I’m sorry...it is locked, no?”  The annoyance and suspicion I felt gave way to compassion, and I said, “Walk with me.”  Together we started walking around the building to the main entrance.  “My truck,” he offered.  But I declined with a side-eyed look.  (After all, I watch Investigation Discovery.)  As we walked, I learned that he had entered one of the side parking lots.  Consequently, he never saw the main entrance and had been going from one locked side door to another.  When he finally saw the main entrance, his face lit up with a childlike grin.  He thanked me sincerely, as he made his delivery.  And I made my way to my meeting.  Upon reflection, it occurred to me that he really might have been some kind of crazed, box-toting killer.  On the other hand, he could have been an angel in disguise.  What I really think, though, is that he was just someone who needed a little help to find his way.  Today, I am praying for eyes to see and ears to hear others who are feeling frustrated and lost—mentally, emotionally, and spiritually—after knocking on one locked door after another, searching for the way to know and fulfill their purpose.  I pray for a heart to discern those who are of no danger to me, but are just souls who may need a little help along paths that I have already known.  Even when it seems to be an inconvenience, I pray for the grace to say, “Walk with me” until they find their way.                    

Stolen Goods

This morning I am thinking about the recent naughty deed committed by my sister’s Australian Shepherd, Midnight.  The sequence of events went like this.  A large bowl was placed on the kitchen table, filled with delicious, fresh-out-of-the-crockpot, beef cubes for stew.  This was done so that the vegetables could cook separately.  (When the beef and vegetables are put together, it is so very good!)  Well, while the vegetables were cooking, and while no one was watching, Midnight made his way into the kitchen.  To put it mildly, there was quite a bit of confusion and surprise when a completely empty bowl was found where a beef-filled bowl had been left.  I tried hard to contain my amusement as it was recounted to me how Midnight was just lying calmly on the floor in the hall, looking ever so innocent.  Yet, I could not withhold my laughter when I heard the statement, “But I had the bowl covered with a paper towel.”  The paper towel, by the way, was recovered from the floor.  I guess what really tickled me was trying to picture Midnight saying to himself, “That sure smells good.  There’s a paper towel over it, though, so I’d better not touch it.”  Clearly, that’s not how Midnight rolls.  When he stands, he can easily place his paws on my shoulders.  A kitchen table and a paper towel were certainly no deterrents to him satisfying his curiosity or his appetite.  Besides, he has been charged and found guilty in prior incidences of such stolen goods.  I marveled, not quite able to understand why the bowl of beef was placed where it was so susceptible to being detected and devoured.  Today, I am marveling as I ask myself why I sometimes do the same thing.  No, I don’t mean with bowls of beef.  I’m talking about other goods that are much more valuable.  There are times when I carelessly set them in some very vulnerable, dangerously low places.  (A very wise man once summed this up as “leaning to my own understanding.”)  It really should come as no surprise when " big dogs" of anxiety, doubt, discouragement and fear quickly commence to consume these goods.  Even my strongest platitudes are powerless against their hunger.  Much like a paper towel, my best carnal efforts to cover myself are tossed aside and fall to the ground.  But, oh how I love moments like this!  I embrace these sweet, sacred times when I am reminded that I can confidently put my treasures—my joy, my peace, my hope, my confidence, my love—in higher places.  Sure, the dogs will still be able to sniff out good things that are being “cooked up” just for me, and they will seek to snatch my treasures away.  But there are some places to which the dogs cannot ascend.  I’m so glad that I can look and reach to those higher places, to places of Faith and Spirit.  There my goods are never stolen or devoured.  Instead, they are preserved while every aspect of my life is being perfectly prepared for purpose.  And, when it all comes together, it is going to be so very good!  

What I Can Expect to See

This morning I am thinking about something I heard myself say while I was sitting with my young mentor student.  The adorable Kindergartner loves for me to read stories to her, and it has been delightful to observe her take an increasingly active role in the “reading” over time.  Initially, she just told me flat out, “I don’t know how to read.”  She would focus her attention solely on the pictures while I would read the words.  But now she is starting to pay more attention to the words, pointing out the words she recognizes in some of her favorite picture books.  I know that, eventually, she will be reading chapter books and novels that have no pictures at all.  Then she’ll have to use only words to form pictures in her mind.  Lately I’ve been trying to arm her with the strategy of using picture cues to help with reading even more words.  For example, if she sees the words “The dog can eat,” she can expect to see a dog eating somewhere in the picture.  So, we have been practicing this new skill of checking the picture to see if it matches what the words say.  While reading a book with a counting pattern the other day, she recognized one of the number words.  Before taking a look at the picture, I asked her, “What does the word say?”  Immediately in my spirit, I knew that the same question was being asked of me by my Teacher:  “What does the Word say?”  All too often I get lazy, and I focus my attention solely on the pictures…those things that I can see and perceive with my natural eyes.  And, like an immature reader, I begin to just make things up, based on the story I think the picture is telling.  But, as I continue to develop in spiritual maturity, I realize I must increasingly pay attention to the Word.  It is the Word that determines the picture, not vice versa.  If the Word says “peace and healing” I can expect to see peace and healing.  If the Word says, “grace and favor,” I can expect to see grace and favor.  My reflection today is that there is always a purpose for reading—to gain understanding, to make connections, to acquire and apply knowledge, or maybe just to relax and enjoy.  The more Word I know, the better I will be able to do all of these things.  I will be a much better “reader,” in a spiritual sense.  And, for the times when there is only the Word, I will find that I have the power to make the pictures manifest.

Living Things

This morning I am thinking about a provocative point my pastor once made in one of his messages.  He said, “You really can’t worship a living God by doing dead things.”  He spoke of practices and patterns of behavior which, however comfortable and familiar, are utterly unproductive.  His exhortation made a clear distinction between actions that are motivated by fear instead of faith…that are rooted in tradition, rather than truth…that originate from lore, but not from love.  In reflecting on this, I am reminded of the science lessons I used to teach my young students about the basic characteristics of living things.  For one thing, living things need to be fed or nourished.  Living things also show evidence of growth.  After learning about these and other characteristics, my students would apply a “living vs. non-living” test to a variety of animate and inanimate things to determine how each should be classified.  There was one thing that consistently confounded one or more children.  Movement.  If something was able to move—even if it was a bicycle—some students would classify it as a living thing.  Of course, external forces can be applied to an inanimate object to pull or push it in a given direction.  (Yes, even dead things can be picked up and carried from one place to another.)  And, in some cases, activity can be produced by an internal, but artificial, source, such as a battery.  So there would have to be additional lessons in order to illustrate the surprising fact that movement and activity are not evidence of life.  Wow, what a lesson for me today!  As I sit here, I am stirred by these words that are echoing in my spirit:  Life-like is not the same as alive.  As I sit here, I am being challenged to apply the “living vs. non-living” test to some things in which I have been investing my time, my heart, my mind, and my energy.  On one hand, I know I have grown in my ability to discern the dead things in my life.  I can better recognize that which is being dragged, driven or otherwise manipulated.  But dead weight is so heavy.  Rather than celebrating my genius at discovering one way after another to rig a dead horse to make it go, I now rejoice at having gained wisdom of when to dismount.  Still, I acknowledge that I have more growing to do.  I confess that there remain secret places in my heart and mind, places that may only be accessed by authorized persons (i.e., God and me). In those secret places, there are some things I have been stubbornly keeping on mental and emotional life support.  But it’s time to show some respect for the dead.  It’s time to show some respect for myself, too.  It’s time for me to let go.  It is time to allow myself to be free.  Then I can give myself wholly to those things which manifest the authentic energy and growth that emanate from real life…to the living things that await me ahead.