To: Wheels, Ramps and Ladders From: Thankful User

The last couple weeks have found me in continual prayer.  I don’t have starving children on my mind, sick relatives or friends, or even overwhelming concerns about the future (insert haunting music).  Instead I can’t help but thank God for small tools in my life.  Wheels, dollies, inclined sidewalks, ladders, sunglasses, thick-soled shoes, and biomechanics that allow my body to move, twist, reach, and balance under various loads represent a larger selection of tools for work. 

Now I could look back on the last 20 months and see the many crocodiles, fish, ground rows, drums and corresponding road boxes I’ve had to man-handle, not to mention kids crawling, spinning, jumping, hanging all over me, and think this is easy.  But never once was I scared of dropping a foam fish or tripping so hard and clumsily on unlevel ground whiles playing soccer as I am now with the fragile articles I cart all over the place.  I’m vague with details of the job because they’re not really important.  What matters are that I am all of a sudden very conscience of my abilities or weaknesses as seems to be the case and the total dependence I have on these tools.  Without them, I would take three times as long to do the work, probably hurt myself, and look like a complete fool (I have to keep my pride intact as much as possible.) 

While I painted the other day, I couldn’t help lifting up thanksgiving for a) the instruction I was given to climb a ladder at an 88-degree angle, b) the sturdiness of the roof to which I held, c) the strength and balance in my core, and d) the long, metallic tool under my feet that held my life in its high clutches.  I carted heavy products from the truck to the store about 10 times, each turn reminded of the ease created by the use of simple physics in the ramp, leverage of the dolly and reduced friction provided by wheeling the stuff rather than dragging it. 

Why was it so easy for me to point out those benefits and necessary tools for my workday?  As previously mentioned, the fear of failing hung high, as did the possibility of injury or destruction.  The simplicity of the work also allowed me to think about the intricacies of the task and other subjects that ran through my head.  The isolated atmosphere gave me no others to rely on or to praise. 

So I got to thinking of my prayers of thanksgiving.  Do I give thanks for PEOPLE who make my work, tasks, and daily living easy?  Do I even think of their presence and/or assistance as valuable and necessary?  Not only do those immediately around me contribute to life-giving enterprises such as dinner, shelter, and phone conversations, but there are those in the fields picking strawberries, ladies in the shops sewing clothes, and government officials working to create a safe and just world.  Whoa…those are big.  That’s a lot of thanks.  But since they’re not steering 75 pounds of product at the tips of my fingers or holding up my weight two stories above ground, I forget them in the list of thanks.  With that reminder, I’ll be praying unceasingly for sure.  

trimming twice

When I began the project I knew trimming was essential to both the life of the plant and the overall look of the landscaping. I saw the dysfunction and disorder, but I also received the orders from my dad who, with wisdom of years and experience, seemed to have sound judgment. Therefore, I went after the trees with great zeal, but hopefully tamed enough for growth and prosperity. At times, though, especially when I seemed to be cutting more green branches than dead ones, I thought maybe I’ve gone too far. Let me take a step back. From that vantage point I would usually take one more snip and move on. Less is better, right? Depending on the type and size of the bush, I trimmed accordingly, giving the big ones more thorough pruning than the small, but for the most part I focused the “aesthetically pleasing” goal on the little ones in front.

All went well, but with time and continual pokes and scrapes on my hands despite the gloves, I grew weary. My attitude changed from the Terminator to the Spectator. I looked at the last ones in the row, and seeing them as pretty self-controlled, passed by with a wave and well wishes. It occurred to me at that moment that “trimming the small bushes” did not necessarily mean ALL the bushes had to undergo the dismembering process. Perhaps some were ok as they were. Growth seemed to be inevitable and particularly important for the runts so why mess with them? Plus, I was done with my job, and by solely using the clippers, I only had the discarded branches to clean up.

In the background, the unearthed recesses of my mind, I thought about the way God, the Master Gardener, treats us, his lilies of the field. With each decision and cut I gave thanks that God knows his job better than I did. Here I was with no real system, but not God. He has a plan. His goal is to prosper his children. He’ll pull out the dead parts of our lives for new growth, but won’t cut away at the good, growing parts just willy-nilly. Sometimes I demand explanation for the green branches he snips away from my life, but in season, I see that I’m not only better off without them, but I can grow from the experience and in the new space provided.

I’m also glad that God is not vain. If vanity struck him and he saw my hair in the morning or in the southern humidity, he’d probably have it fall out with a hope that starting over would work out better. He’s not vain for my sake, for sure. Instead, he wants me to look good only as it glorifies him. If wild, curly hair gives him a chance through me to know others with the same predicament, so be it. If my rough contour allows him to connect like-minded sinners together to repent and seek smoother yet still passionate ways of life, may he get the glory.
Just as I looked at the plants before me, God knows that pruning is necessary for us for abundant life. Old sins, habits, and thoughts have to be cut out, forgiven and forgotten. Unlike plants though, we have a choice. While the shrubs might have been crying out for mercy, fighting back with their prickly thorns, in the end I decided when, how, and what branch had to go.

God works according to an interesting paradox: he has all the power but we have the choice. We can learn from his nature, his example as he shows it through other people especially Jesus and his disciples, and from his word in the Bible. Such insight can lead us to prune ourselves. Trees drop their leaves for many scientific reasons, but in a spiritual mindset, they do it to grow another year with renewed strength and new possibility. However, God’s purpose will also be done so our disobedience can feel like a harsher, more arbitrary or unnecessary pruning.
Thankfully, nothing is wasted with God. He made all things good, right, so why would he obliterate what needs to be gone from one life if it can help another? Once the leaves and seeds fall to the ground, they help the growth process in another way. Seeds grow into new plants, dead leaves cover the ground to prevent soil erosion, or they blow around in the yard, enticing neighbors to give some youngster a chance to earn some spending money. So it is true with us. Relationships or physical ailments give us a chance to refocus our values and goals, reinvest in people we love, and most importantly draw nearer to God (with questions and complaints! I mean, humble gratitude.)

I guess while I trimmed the shrubs, I had a similar conversation with God as I did with my dad.

Me: Are you sure this is what you want me to do? I have no idea what I’m doing?

Dad, the Heavenly One: It needs to be done. Give it your best shot. I’m watching and here to help when you need it.

trimming part 1

The conversation went a little like this:

Dad: So we have the grass to mow, which your brother is doing, the trees to cut, which your mom will take care of, the gutters to empty and the small bushes in front of the house to creatively trim. For you…?
Me: I was afraid you would say that. I’ll do the gutters.

(37 minutes later)
Dad: So the small bushes…
Me: I’ll do my best. (Thought: I have NO IDEA what I’m doing!)

Really I didn’t. The last time I trimmed the small bushes I thought of Edward Scissor Hands making poodles and dinosaurs out of the luscious shrubs in the quaint suburban neighborhood. But my bushes were neither that big nor luscious and the leaves had yet to pop out. (I guess that means the timing is good.) Now it’s not out of inexperience or lack of resources that my tree-cutting ignorance is so great. I have friends that are master gardeners with raspberries, wildflowers, and other such beautiful plant specimens all over their house. I’ve even been invited to house/plant sit for them while they took an extended vacation, a job I’m sure they’ll leave to a more capable a gardener than I if they read this.
Actually this couple has loads of books are shrubs, flowers, green things in general. I content myself on books about urban/suburban collaboration and teenagers and going off on tangents…

I’ve helped my mother plant flowers and learned only by her example the care needed for the bulbs to come NEXT year and not the upcoming autumn. My grandma always had a bed full of daisies in her garden when I was young. These were beauties in my eyes until I realized their presence meant the pumpkins probably went south on extended vacation.

The only other source of planting, pruning, gardening knowledge I have comes from the Bible. I can infer a great number of things from dead branches being thrown in the fire while the good ones stay. But much of the Bible planting techniques I could remember the on this fateful day had to do with wheat or grape vines, not thorny bushes.

So off I went with the hand clippers and electric clippers (the thing that looks like a turkey breast cutter on steroids or combs that tangle rather than de-tangle one’s hair). The bushes had grown a lot since I had last seen them a year ago, and branches popped up everywhere with such length and confidence that I hated cutting off such zeal. But alas, I had to finish my role as a yard dog and arbitrarily went about trimming.

First, I looked for the dead branches (Bible Gardening 101). Unfortunately, at this time of year some of the ones look dead but are actually nice and green inside. I was pretty pumped when I could actually grab a branch it was so dead, but rarely did they fall into my hand.
Then I went after branches that seemed to be monopolizing the food source or the vanity mirror. You know, the ones that stick right out the middle to grab the lime (sun) light and attention of all passers-by:
“Oh, it’s that a lovely branch, so strong and dominating. Too bad these other branches just hide in the back and under each other. They could really show what they’re made of if they would just try and break out of the mold.”
Deep down I knew that if it was true to humans, then it had to be a close comparison with plants. The one who takes it all selfishly in hopes to shine and glisten for or in spite of the rest will actually end up killing the whole structure. There is no “I” in plant. Of course, such a malicious sentiment probably didn’t go through these particular branches, but I taught them a lesson anyway.

Finally, I went for curb-appeal as they say in the real-estate business. Good-lookin’. Fashionable yet Fruitful (the title of my first gardening book found between Vogue and Good Housekeeping) In the end, I was like a barber trying to calm the head of an unruly patch of sprigs, sprouts and branches defying the rule of convention. Instead the shrubs were going for emo meets electricity. I cut to make the contours smooth and unified.

Mission accomplished, I think.

double take

My goal today was make my way up north and do a lot of walking.  Walk from oil change shop to relatives’ house to university to library and back again.  Especially since it’s Earth Day (a holiday about which we were reminded even at church last Sunday!).  But alas I didn’t do any of those.  The gloominess of the sky, while not threatening, was not overly inviting either so alas when I dropped of the car, I went next door to the hotel to read in its lobby.  I drove to the university via a sick friend’s mailbox and parked it while I walked through campus.  That counts right?  So today I noticed that green thoughts aren’t always green actions (though I have been really good about following the speed limit so that should save a little bit of fuel and the brakes.)

I also discovered a funny but delightful things that happens to people’s minds after extended absences.  I saw two of my old professors today but both had to do double-takes.  It’s not that I’ve changed all that much, in fact one commented that I look as 12, I mean young, as I always have.  It was more that I had been such a common sight in the daily routine that recapping the reality of my comings and goings and final ploppings down in their chairs was quite surreal.  And yet, these moments have been some of my most treasured over the last 5 days.  I’ve thoroughly enjoyed showing up to church or school or the grocery store and getting a big hug as a result of a double take.  Some didn’t have a chance to do a double take as they were ushered, called out to or encouraged to go see me with outstretched arms.  Either way is good for me; it’s nice to be a familiar face that has the opportunity to grow more familiar in the future.

And yet I am wondering about our response to each others’ presence.  There is an element of wanting that welcome-home feeling and experience every time you come into a room, and yet, the flip side has us wanting to know and feel as if we belong.  We can be part of the routine, the landscape, the normal conversation patterns, the consistent mouth to feed or voice to be heard.  I ponder how I really want to be treated.  I don’t want to be a guest because of the gap in relating with people but being “family” requires a desire and/or obligation to pitch in and familiarize myself with the vacuum as much as I am with the people sharing the house with me.  Regardless .an assurance of love and appreciation for each others’ presence can be know in either circumstance.  It’s in that relating that we can be welcomed continually while also coming in, plopping on the couch and chatting away, sans a double-take.

what we see

Tour is over for this auntie.  I handed over my bus keys though somehow I still have a key to the truck padlock.  I’ll keep that for a souvenir in my man drawer (please see Michael McIntyre on YouTube for full details.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l4xxqVzlSeE He was a constant companion along the way.  My face hurt when I laughed…but I digress)  So I am no longer traveling and now must recalibrate in this world.  “Re-entry” as some call it.  I feel a little selfish using that word as my work with the choir seemed relatively easy compared to say soldiers at war, missionaries who lived in the jungle for several decades or astronauts.  But since the majority of people don’t experience the life and re-entry of any of these folks, I’m at as much liberty and expertise to reflect on the newness of normalcy.  Of course this too will wear off and I’ll have to come up with some other witty or worthwhile subject to muse about, but let that bridge remain vacant for now.

Since I’ve been back I really want to return to my blog to write down simple observations. They will be of a different fashion, those of the real world that I’ve missed or lacked an appreciation for while I’ve been looking after a whole choir of kids, living out of a suitcase, moving from one hotel or home to the next every few nights and eating an assortment of different fried chicken and pasta salads.  I recently read a book (another crazy accomplishment of tour.  I read 15 books since January.  Thanks for driving Kyle.) that described a walk to the coffee shop from his house.  He noticed the people, the atmosphere, the space he used by sharing sidewalks with students, the conversations others had, the sense of belonging and community that people shared as strangers and neighbors alike.  This is the world in which we all live, regardless of tour bus or scooter or shoes, but how often we miss the subtle interactions or movements of the people and nature around us to realize how much impact shared time, space and communication have on our lives.  Will someone buying a slurpee inspire me as I walk past 7-11?  Who knows- I do like slurpees. But perhaps a better question is what else do I notice about this slurpee coinsurer?  Do I make quick judgments; do I think about heaven since it rhymes with seven and eleven; do I think about my nutrition plan; do I actually meet a friend in the person as she holds one out to me?  These are the observations I want to be more conscious of and particular about pointing out at least to talk out loud to myself. (I can do voices so I don’t get confused.)  I will miss lots, but even after four days home, I’m seeing a fresh the way love is shown, how kids live with innocence and boundless energy, and the movements of people all around the city.

So these are my quick observations from today.  Kids can find anyway to experiment and perform outside the box if allowed.  On his way home from school, a little boy tried out a new way of carrying his backpack: with his teeth.  I think he was going to try balancing it on his lips after he got bored with his teeth.  This made me think two things 1) Gross!  2) His teacher must be ready to be done with school if his teeth can handle carrying home his homework…but then again, he could have been training for awhile and three subjects of homework was a walk in the park for his mouth.

Sunshine makes things, especially the natural earth smell so much better.  I walked past a greenhouse of flowers and almost fell back from the overwhelming fragrances.  (note: not all things smell better with sun.  I don’t because I’m either sweating too much or have on lots of sunscreen.  Port-a-Potties don’t do well in sun either.  Yikes- that was a rough comparison.) 

So feel free to observe with me.  The silly, simple, and totally normal moments of your day.  You might learn something that could only be kept in the ordinary. 

You can observe a lot just by watching. –Yogi Berra 

Juxtaposition

Today we drove some more today to Philly where we’ve been trying to make peace in the midst of all the upheaval. The hotel is a mess but we finally got the internet to work. We ate a Famous Dave’s and did ice cream. Overall, a nice day with laughter and reading like usual. I like days like that. Sometimes I feel the pressure to be better, do better, speak better, think better. Not in the ability of these ideas but in the quality. This is more acute when I’m learning to live with new people, those who don’t share a head with me. It will be a pressure that haunts me until I die, probably, or until Jesus comes again as I doubt I will ever share a head with someone.

The world is full of art and also graffiti: the soft, purposely chosen colors and sounds of grandeur juxtaposed to the mishaps, missteps, misuses of the same. I cannot be a poetic as Norman Maclean from A River Runs Through It, but I can understand the beauty with his words and story. They are those of hope mixed in with reality. A day might be filled with deep laughter and insightful books while at the same time, frustrations mount and promises and ideals are broken. Does it cause me to stay in bed, avoiding a new day’s sun? Do I ignore that which doesn’t shine and smile? Do I pull on my striped socks (or waders) for another day, willing and desiring to do better, act better, believer better? Pressure brings the pleasure of possibility…

news from afar

What a delight to hear from far off countries today! My father is currently in the wilds of Quito, Ecuador which seems to be more vast and hilly than he ever imagined. I love getting letters from him, as they're filled with rich stories, wit and even some wisdom, at least for his daughter. But his latest “email” letter wove vivid while still familial anecdotes about his viaje al sur del America. I laughed at the mix of Spanish and English sentences, a good help for all of those needing to learn or review our 2nd language skills.

Oddly enough, my reading of said letter was surprisingly interrupted by a friend in Sweden. Another hemisphere altogether. Ironically, she can speak five or six different languages, but due to a few technical/internet(al) issues with SKYPE, I couldn’t hear a word of what she said, regardless of language. Sign language was our best bet for awhile except that my excitement deemed anything I did with my hands incomprehensible and uninterpretable. Thankfully, all of the computer hindrances disappeared so we could catch up. Her daughter is studying German in Munich and then French in France while the rest of the family continues to make efforts to learn and perfect Swedish back at their new home.. It’s been almost 7 months, plenty of time! Oh, but to connect with her after so many weeks of wanting to and not being able made my day for sure. It was wonderful to see and hear her and laugh with her. We do that well together. More than anything, I appreciated the encouragement that seems to ooze from her, covering the recipient with affirming words- not flippant or generic but sincere and profound to the moment and person. I wish I could reciprocate in like, but she knows I cherish her without glossing her with words.

And this little report is from its own little world up- or should I say THE U.P. That’s right, MI at it’s highest, and probably coldest. The Yooper language is pretty unique- you can read it in the air as the words freeze in place. The thermostat read a whopping -10 degrees F which is -23 degrees for the rest of the world. Jami and I decided it’s more for the boost of self-esteem that we use Fahrenheit in America where it actually gets this cold. Having to deal with Celsius on days such as these would make me want to stay in bed even more than normal on cold days. We arrived at the theater, layered up, only to pull all the things out the truck, practically frozen. I stuck the spike tape in the microwave so it would defrost. The Mac computers couldn’t be turned on until the screen defrosted. Calvin, the crocodile puppet, looked even more cold-blooded and still this morning. But alas, everything thawed and the warmth of the lights and children’s smiles brought UP my temperature as high as if I were working out with Richard Simmons. The local stage hands of Michigan Tech U informed us their school VP had to remind students that booze was not an appropriate way to stay warm. Yikes! Who knows what will freeze tomorrow, perhaps my nostril hairs as I go for a walk or just the bottles of water trapped in the van. Regardless, the venture to this other world is sure to leave its mark in the story books.