I had the strangest experience recently. I have never had a moment like this before, fortunately, and I hope this is not the begininning of a downward slide into confusion. This is laughable, but the strange thing that happened was a stretch. Yes, a simple stretch of the arms. Perhaps it happened because in my absent gazing at the flickering candle light I was too entranced to be aware of anything else; but raising my arms to stretch, I tried to clasp my hands, only to learn they couldn't find each other! My confusion was momentary, but I was greatly struck by the realization of not knowing where my own hands were and not being able to do what should come so effortlessly.
After my fingers were safely grasping one another I realized I had just had a post-modern moment. That sense of lost uncertainty must be what it feels like to believe there is no true right or wrong, no real meaning in life except for what one puts into it themself, nothing more important than nurturing one's fragile ego.
I usually refer to such ideas as having both feet planted firmly in mid-air, but I suppose flailing feet and lost hands result in the same consequence in the end. Good old American rugged individualism seems to have evolved into a softer but more self-conscious individualism that has extended the boundaries of personal autonomy to encompass realms of ethics and morality to the effect that each person creates his or her own set of values which must not be reproached by others. This is is often accompanied by a sort of free-form, ecclectic spirituality that both borrows from various traditions of choice and creatively invents ideas of some kind of god. All this results not in a knowledge of God, or of right and wrong, or even of self; but rather, in a muddled confusion.
I do not think, however, that people want to be confused. I think they want solid ground on which to stand. However, finding solid ground is problematic when one's self is the standard for measuring the world around them. The real problem to recovering rich soil on which to place our feet, I believe, is the disdain for restraint. For example, when people speak of rights, the topic is often something that was forbidden in prior days. When is the last time people clamored for the right to obey authoriy? But authority is the stuff dirt is made of. There really is a God and he really has written laws of right and wrong into the universe. He really did create us and therefore has authority over us. We really do have to live his way because it is his world. And as it turns out, seeking God-fulfillment is more rewarding than seeking self-fulfiillment. When we live unto God we find our feet firmly planted on solid ground. We also enjoy the added benefit of knowing where our hands are.
Time is the one commodity we seem never to have enough of. In fact, our lives are sometimes measured by our shortage of it. How many of us when asked, "How are you doing?" respond with, "Busy!"
In an age where information is sent around the globe in seconds, work is done mainly by machine, and people routinely travel at speeds undreamed of in other centuries, one would think that we would have an abundance of time for leisure, relationships, and rest. On the contrary, we are arguably the most enslaved generation of freemen ever to walk the earth. Our backs are bowed under the tyranny of expectations other generations had not the luxury of facing.
We work harder and faster to gain more, the obtaining of which pushes us further into debt causing us to stretch even farther and suffer the anxiety caused by overextended finances. We submit to the many social pressures that at one time would have been viewed as leisure for the wealthy but are now viewed by many as inescapable necessities. I think of mainly of children's sports. Many families commit to sports all year round and devote two to three afternoons a week and every weekend to the pursuit of their child's participation in this social requirement. And to think that Caesar only required a pinch of incense....
Apart from the countless (and costly) events we parents are required to sign our kids up for, our lives are also hijacked by our own set of social necessities that require full allegiance in return for acceptance or respectability or a place in "Who's Who of the Pond," whatever the agreement was when we pledged our soul to the good cause.
I just wonder what possesses is to over-extend ourselves so far that the only thing we can say in response to a polite "How are you," is, "Busy." Is it possible to cast off the demands of others and reel in our lives just a little bit? Perhaps if we could, our answer would transform from "Busy" to "Satisfied." Satisfaction, after all, is not offered to us by the mad rush of time, but by the slow enjoyment of things worthwhile, by a job well done, and by the investment of ourselves in relationships with others and with God.
Have you ever noticed how toadstools seem to spring up overnight? One day the newly mown law looks almost perfect and the very next day its appearance is marred by brown growths.
Just today my daughter pointed out to me a colony of toadstools growing in our front lawn. I hadn't noticed them before, but that is no proof they hadn't been there for a few days. Looking at the intruders made me think of the unseemly things that spring up in our lives when we're not looking; things that grow best in the dark, out of view, out of the sunlight. Things like envy and resentment that start out small, but if allowed to grow will eat away at our soul and destroy our health. In the same way that toadstools look like edible mushrooms, some things look healthy but hold a secret poison. I'm thinking of pride, the very thing we're told we must possess, yet the biggest barrier to experiencing the presence of God. Does He not oppose the proud but give grace to the humble?
It takes a lot of diligence to keep a lawn free of dandelions and toadstools, but it is something we have to do if our lawns are to be healthy and presentable. It takes even more work to keep our lives free of such toadstools as pride and the love of money. Yet without diligence and great care our lives will easily and quickly be overrun by such things because they come so very naturally.
But how are we to see clearly what's growing our lives? How are we to know a blemish from an adornment? The only honest mirror we can turn to is the Word of God. Any mirror of our own making will only deceive us because we will see ourselves as we want to, not as we really are. Do we want the exposure? The conviction? Are we willing to part with our toadstools? Are we willing to entrust ourselves to the Master Gardener? He will cultivate better things in us than destructive fungi and weeds. He said he would.
My boys will tell you that I never let them have any fun. After all, mom didn't let them light fire to the small pyre they had built out back and I forbid them from shooting arrows into the neighbors yard. What more condemning evidence could they need to convict me?
What they won't tell you is that there aren't a lot of rules at my house. We used to have more, but when I realized I could no longer remember what they were, I quit making rules and just kept to the basics, which really simplified things. I found that the three rules of Don't be mean, Don't call names, and Do whatever mom tells you, when she tells you regardless of whether you want to or not work pretty well.
An unspoken rule at our house (an unintentional rule, not included in the big three) is: If it doesn't irritate or make more work for mom, she probably won't mind. And so, quietly, my boys began to dig a hole. I didn't mind, as it was physically laborious and surely healthier than playing video games or engaging in other passive activities indoors, and so the digging continued. As time went by, I passed from being approving of their activity to being forgetful of what they doing with those quiet hours spent outside, and so the work progressed.
Occasionally when I went to the back yard my attention would be drawn to the growing hole. I would briefly look at its width and depth and be impressed with the amount of hard work the boys had invested. A little more work, I thought, and they would surely tire of the project and fill in the crater.
I underestimated, however, both their resolve and the value they attached to this work. Diligently they dug. Eventually, the hole got so deep they had to construct steps to enable themselves to climb out. This improvement came about when one boy left the other stranded in the hole by pulling out the ladder. Being an infraction of rule one, a rigorous tongue-lashing followed this act. Building steps into the side of the hole prevented further acts of malice, but I grew concerned for my boys' safety when they began tunneling. The beloved project had now become a problem, and certain of a cave-in, I demanded they fill in the hole. The protests began. Not only was their pit a great accomplishment, but so many hours had been invested they that could not bear to think of filling it in. Gone would be their work, gone would be their fort, gone would be our yard's most impressive feature! All this would be gone if mother made them return the dirt to its original home.
True, all this would be lost, but I had a growing concern more was being lost than that. Rain comes, wind blows, and dirt vanishes. If this hole was not filled in soon I knew it would be permanent fixture in our yard. So, under compulsion, the boys reluctantly began to shovel dirt back into the hole. Gradually the cavity grew shallower. Gradually, the walk way was unearthed to reveal red cement. Gradually, as they toiled, they grew more convinced that mom never lets them have any fun.
The hole is now gone, and so is the mountain of dirt beside it. I can't say I mind my boys thinking me mean or cruel in my demands; they won't always think me so. One day when they have boys of their own they will gain the parents perspective, and on that day I will be vindicated.
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