Twin types of separation

I once was nanny to twin boys, who I'll call Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. Dee and Dum were not even two years old when they taught me an important lesson about Stuff. Since previous blogs have explored the nature of "Stuff Theory", this one is about the spirituality of Stuff.

Tweedle-Dee required several items in order to feel comfortable: pacifier, blanket, pillow, and sometimes a toy. When I read to him or carried him, I had to wrap my arms around the entire bundle of Dee and a combination of two or three of his necessities. You can imagine how difficult it sometimes was to tickle him. Just moving from the living room to the kitchen took extra time because I had to wait for him to gather all his things, which often tripped him up when he walked.

Tweedle-Dum, on the other hand, was extremely attached to only one tiny security blanket, a faded yellow square about 8 inches wide with the head of a bear at one corner. It didn't encumber his hands or feet because he carried it on top of his head. As he toddled around the house, sometimes it would slip down over his eyes and he would run blindly into things. When I picked him up, he would place the blanket on my shoulder and then lay his head down on it.

How much does that resemble we the stuff-lovers.

Sometimes we are held-up by a long list of things that we require to feel comfortable.
Sometimes it's just the one thing that we can't let go of.

How much do we look to God like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, running around holding onto our silly stuff that blinds and trips us when our greatest security is just being held in his arms.

A pacifier won't feed you, a tiny blanket won't protect you, a toy won't love you. God will, the rest is just stuff.

Confession of a blogger

You knew it was coming. Eventually bloggers would run out of things to blog about and then they would blog about blogging.

Blogging is like a new toy that the world got excited about, but few ever learn how to use effectively and most fall out of love with over time.

Remember the beginning of cell phones? When if your cell phone rang you HAD to answer it because you had a CELL PHONE and people could CALL you anywhere and WERE calling you and you could TALK to them right NOW.

Now, most often you see people reach into their pocket for their ringing device, check the number, and put it back. Eventually, we realized that the cell phone was freedom from one thing and tether to another.

Blogging is much the same. Blogs spring up from people who are eager to publish their thoughts, only to run out of thoughts within a year. Almost immediately, a blog begins to feel like a giga-pet.

Unfortunately, this doesn't stop people from continuing to blog anyways.

I began "New Eyes" as a class assignment, and kept it up out of the same self-absorbed sense that I was uniquely clever and the world was just waiting for me to share my thoughts. Of course, college can do that to you. So can being an American. So can being 20 years old.

Graduation arrived with speeches about soaring high, spreading the wings of our unmatched talent and wisdom that will carry us to whatever ends we can dream of now that we have overcome that hardest of all life's challenges: college.

And then the crash into the reality that not only does the world sail on without us at the helm... but we can't even get a job swabbing the deck.

It's not so bad, actually, to realize that you are not so smart. Or clever, or funny, or insightful. It's like catching a fairy and realizing that it is only a lightning bug... and you have squished it.

But the let-down is so quickly over shadowed by the incredible things that squished me, the bug who thought I was a fairy. Like a lunar eclipse on a freezing morning. Adele's perfect voice. A TED.com video about technology that can shoot mosquitoes out of the air with lasers. My own friends and family astonish me with their courage and determination.

Instead of enlightening my reader, I find that the one who needs new eyes is myself.

So after some time away, I am picking up this blog again, but now with the humility that comes from knowing that anything I say has been said better, and most of what I know I learned from you.

Looking back, moving forward

Looking back, I think, is a great way to move forward.

I'm sitting in a classroom, waiting for the kids to come in and scare me. Because I'm the new sub and they don't know what I'm doing here. And that only scares me because I don't exactly know either.

On the back wall there is a green chalkboard, on the side walls are cork-boards, and at the front of the class is a white wipe-off board next to a smart board. I wish I could use the smart board, but because the computer is down it's serving as a backdrop for the overhead projector. Progress. 

When I was a little kid, my mom set up a little school room in the basement of our house and hung a chalk board up on the wall. I remember being in fourth grade and thinking it was the cutest chalkboard ever. It was about five feet square, with a wooden frame painted a nice color - maybe blue, or yellow - and had a small lip at the bottom to hold chalk.

When Mom was hanging the chalkboard, it had chalk drawings on it already. Big round head-bodies that had crude faces and four long appendages stretching straight out where the ears and chin should be. There were also a few flowers and a sun. I thought the technique was ugly and ridiculous.

Then a sudden memory, like a dream, of drawing on a chalkboard in our old house when I was five. The dark hallway, a chalkboard so colossal I don't remember the edges, tiny nubs of chalk lined up on the lip like they were trying to fuse together into one useful piece. Stretching up on my toes to spread my imagination as far as I could into the black empty space.

It took months to reconcile the two chalkboards. I knelt down so that the lip was at eye-level, the way I remembered it, and confessed to myself that it was the same board. That I was once that small, and those were my own drawings.

It was humbling, but encouraging.

I am reminded how important it is that we leave evidence to look back on. To journal, to document, to draw, to photograph, to dialogue. When we feel lost, they are the maps that remind us who we used to be and who we are now.

And also give us clues to who we are becoming.

Mouse Traps

My parents had a rodent problem once. One morning, they found a tail in one of their mouse traps. It is not uncommon for a small animal to chew off an extremity to save it's life. Smart, right?

The very next morning, they caught a mouse without a tail. In the same trap. In the same place. With the same peanut butter for bait. The wound from the previous night barely healed.


Sometimes I am that mouse. Making the same mistakes, and then feeling really stupid for not having learned a thing since the LAST time my weakness came up and bit me in the butt.

Stuff Theory - how to corral stuff

"Do you know what the difference is between junk and stuff? Junk is the stuff we throw away and stuff is the junk we keep." 

Now that we've seen the definition of stuff and the reasons we keep stuff, this is just a small insight on how to corral stuff.

Think of stuff like you would dandelions. Endearing, cute, and capable of taking over your lawn. If you leave stuff alone, it will multiply. You can keep that from happening by recognizing where it multiplies and taking action when it starts to multiply.

Where stuff multiplies: Any flat surface not designated for other purposes. 

This includes window sills, chairs, the top of your television, and the corner of a room. Anything flat and unused is a breeding ground for stuff.

Most of the stuff has another place in the house that it can be relocated to. For the few things that don't have a place in the house, it's okay to have designated stuff areas. A basket on your dresser, or a drawer in the kitchen. That way, you know where it all is and how much there is.

HINT: Whatever size the designated stuff area is, it will get full. If you only want a little bit of stuff, only give it a little space. If it's the size of a paint can, that's how much stuff you'll have. If it's the size of a large room...

When stuff multiplies: nip it in the bud.

Choose a place where stuff gathers - like the kitchen counter. Take a mental picture of what the counter looks like when it has no stuff on it. Make it a point to get the counter back to that no-stuff condition on a regular basis. Daily, weekly, monthly, whenever you decide. Now apply that principle to every stuff-prone surface.

HINT: The more often you do this, the less it piles up and easier it is. Also, you will develop stuff-minimizing habits instead of stuff-multiplying habits.

My Father's Foundations

Dad pumped concrete for over twenty years. There was no dinner conversation he couldn't interrupt with "I had a dream last night that I was in my pump..." Often, when we were driving, Dad would point and say "I pumped those foundations over there."

In 20 years, Dad laid a lot of foundations. And being the contemplative kind of guy he is, it wouldn't surprise me at all if sometimes, standing amidst the growl of huge machines and the shouting of foremen, waiting for the next load of mud or inspecting a finished slab, Dad meditated on the concept of "foundations."

It wouldn't surprise me to know that was what he was thinking about when he came home at night - gritty, grimy, soaked with sweat, sunburned, calloused and tired - and ready to sit at the head of the table and teach his kids about politics, history, and business.

Maybe, when he dragged us out of bed before sunrise to water the garden or pull brush, he was thinking about the foundation of work ethic.

When he hammered every one of us with the golden rule, the foundation of respect.

When he prayed with us every night, the foundation of faith.

Three of us are on our own, and three are still at home. As we grow and begin to build our own lives, we can thank Dad for helping us start with a solid foundation to build on.
 
"Anyone who listens to my teaching and follows it is wise, like a person who builds a house on solid rock." -Matthew 7:24