It occurs to me…

I listened recently to a podcast that attempted to explain the current divisiveness of the country.  One of the commentators attributed it, at least in part, to the abundance of news sources and commentary on them.  The Information Age we are in doesn’t just allow us to have easy access to information, but to information of our liking.  Just as I could in past years turn the knob (remember those) to a radio station of my liking (rock, country, easy listening) I can now tune in to news and commentary of my liking, to what is comfortable to me — so I do.  Guilty as charged.

Because of my selective tuning the only media “dissonance” I hear is when someone sets up “the other point of view” as a straw man to expose, ridicule, and topple.  So, when I do finally hear someone expressing (God forbid) an opposing view, my reaction is exaggerated.  So what to do?

I am reminded of this from a favorite source, Anne Lamott from Traveling Mercies:

“You can safely assume you’ve created God in your own image when it turns out He hates all the same people you do.”

This parallel occurs to me – when I agree with all the news and commentary I listen to, it might just be time to try at least season my search for the truth by sprinkling in some other sources.

All of this was prompted by this today from C. S. Lewis:

“If you look for truth you may find comfort in the end: if you look for comfort you will not get either comfort or truth – only soft soap and wishful thinking to begin with and, in the end, despair.”

God help me as I listen to Rush and Sean!

“But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.”  Luke 15:20

This passage from the Prodigal Son parable jumped out at me this morning.  The prodigal son has run off with a portion of his father’s estate, “wasted his substance on riotous living,” run out of money, nearly perished with hunger, and then come to his senses – all except the running off with the money presumably unbeknownst to the father (though the father may likely have had an inkling as to the future).  I think it reasonable to assume that this passage comes some months, perhaps years, after the prodigal son headed the opposite way down that same road, leaving  his family behind.

Still, the father is looking down the road.  In those months/years that passed I can imagine that there wasn’t a day, perhaps an hour, that went by that the father didn’t look down the road with some form of pain, some form of regret, a wish for reconciliation welling up inside him.  He looked down the road hoping to see what he eventually saw – his son had come to his senses and was headed home.

 I am reminded of something I read once to this effect – if you feel distant from God, guess who moved!  I am of course not breaking new ground here, but today in this passage it occurs to me that any time I stray God is always looking down that road for me, waiting for me to return.

Seeking some peace of mind in all the talk and speeches of yesterday’s inaugural events, two things rolled into my head.  I touched base with this from the lyrics of a recent Kacey Musgraves song, because at least to me, life seems to play out and make sense in the form of a country and western song.   This from Kacey Musgraves: “It is what it is, ‘til it ain’t anymore.”  I also  returned to this from a November interview of former President Obama in Rolling Stone: “There’s no benefit that’s derived from pulling into a fetal position. We go out there, and we work. And we slog through challenges, and over time things get better.”

Each of us has or should have a view of what truth, justice, equality looks like.  Each of us has or should have a sense of what “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” looks like.  Those still exist no matter if you “won” or “lost.”

Indeed:

“There’s no benefit that’s derived from pulling into a fetal position. We go out there, and we work. And we slog through challenges, and over time things get better.”

“It is what it is, ‘til it ain’t any more.”

From Mary Oliver’s Upstream:

“And whoever thinks these words are worthy, breathy words I am writing down is kind.  Writing is neither vibrant lie nor docile artifact bur a test that would upt all its money on the hope of suggestion.  Come with me into the field of sunflowers is a better line than any of you will find here, and the sunflowers themselves far more wonderful than any words about them.”

Indeed.  I’ll stop there and go look for some sunflowers.

I ran across this today from Mary Oliver in Upstream and it seemed like a perfect prayer:

“May I be the tiniest nail in the house of the universe, tiny but useful.”

This speaks to me of the balance that is required in life, particularly in a life of faith. It occurs to me that a life of faith must include the desire to be “useful,” but also includes the recognition of the need for, the usefulness of, others (and/or The Other).  It is alarmingly easy for me to unilaterally decide just what the universe needs and just what I (and others/the Other) can do to best accomplish that.  But that nail, that “tiny but useful” nail, can’t forge or drive itself.

Today’s sobering thoughts brought to you by Mary Oliver and Oswald Chambers:

In the beginning, I was so young and such a stranger to myself I hardly existed.  I had to go out into the world and see it and hear it and react to it, before I knew at all who I was, what I was, what I wanted to be.  Mary Oliver

The only way we can be of use to God is to let Him take us through the crooks and crannies of our own characters.  It is astounding how ignorant we are about ourselves.  Oswald Chambers

It occurs to me that those phrases, “such a stranger to myself I hardly existed” and “it is astounding how ignorant we are about ourselves” are even more sobering when I consider that no one knows more about me than me.  Still, there is hope that I might know (or at least learn more about) myself if consent to “go out into the world and see it and hear it and react to it” and “let Him take [me] through the crooks and crannies of [my] own character.”   That sounds like some fun, albeit occasionally embarrassing, and a whole lot like life.

If you can’t make fun of yourself, who can you make fun of?  Photo taken in Puerto Vallarta last month.

It occurs to me how vital a quality self-deprecation is.  It is, I think, a necessary quality given the human condition of imperfection.  But then what do I know?

There’s something about the first line of a song.  I know, there’s that “you can’t judge a book by its cover” and anti-jumping to conclusions sentiment, and I get that, but there is something about a first line in a song that cuts against that.  By way of example, some masterful first lines:

“He said I’ll love you ‘til I die.  She told him you’ll forget in time.” – He Stopped Loving Her Today

“She left a lipstick letter on the mirror, shattered on the bathroom floor.” – When Rita Leaves

“You’ve heard about love givin’ sight to the blind.  My baby’s love can cause the sun to shine.” Pride and Joy

And my award winner, currently, for best song first line:

“She put him out, like the burning end of a midnight cigarette.  She broke his heart.  He spent his whole life tryin’ to forget” – Whiskey Lullaby

I could go on, but I won’t, beyond adding the inspiration of these thoughts from a recently downloaded song:

“They say nothin’ lasts forever, but I’ve got news.  Whoever said that never got the blues from you.  This cloud I’m under’s looks like its gonna stay.  The thunder’s gonna roll forever and a day.” – Forever and a Day

Those lines grab me.  They set the tone for the rest of the song, they influence what follows.  It occurs to me that each day has a “first line.”  I suppose that is in part why I start many days reading, thinking, and then looking at this screen*, hoping to set a memorable first line that influences the rest of my day – hopefully one that is not a “downer” first line like most of the above.

*Note to Ms. Holmes: Yes, keyboard.  I lstill ook mostly at the keyboard when I type.  Yes Ms. Holmes, I STILL look at the keyboard when I type, and I am proud of that C- in typing class in 1973.