Being Attentive

Today I drove a 1988 BMW convertible. Its historical place obvious in its design. I noticed immediately the bright red line at 55 on the speedometer and the absence of cup holders. The German engineers, I was told, held out a long time before including cup holders in their designs. They firmly believed driving to be its own work....the automobile deserves its rightful attention. I try to imagine a time when driving was about the journey not the destination.

There is no red line on my Accord speedometer, and the days of 55 as the limit for speed are largely gone. We not only have cup holders in our vehicles but also but thermal coffee mugs designed to fit them. The BMW engineers finally capitulated to the market....putting holders in the cars against their will. (The good guys don’t often win when the driving force is consumerism).

Driving is now something that “happens” while we consume a value meal on the way to soccer practice. For longer drives, our vehicles are equipped with DVD players so children can pass the time on the road rather than giving the journey its due.

The reality is we spend most of our lives journeying...far more than we do arriving. We even, sadly, construct our lives in a manner that ignores the significance of the journey. We celebrate the new job but not the multitude of opportunities to grow in our current work. We dance at the wedding but neglect to celebrate the daily milestones that make up a marriage.

Those German engineers were on to something. Life is its own work and deserving of our full attention.

Agent of Rescue

Mary Karr, in the third memoir of her personal narrative trilogy titled Lit, credits her son with saving her life. She was on the path to personal destruction...depression, alcoholism...and the image of her son's life in light of her choices caused her to change. She's apologetic for the pain she caused him on her path to healing, saying, "because of you, I couldn't die and couldn't monster myself, either. So you were the agent of my rescue--not a good job for somebody three feet tall." (p. 5). Her son, dev, was "barely four" when Karr's marriage and mental health simultaneously unraveled. Yes, being the agent of a parent's rescue is no job for a pre-schooler...or anyone.

And yet, I know exactly what that means....for "agent of rescue" fits perfectly the situation with my own son. My young hero, also about 4 at the time at the time of my divorce, was the source of my survival, my motivation for choosing grace over bitterness. Even now I understand why bitterness is the more prevalent route. Motherhood reminded me why the tougher road mattered; without him, I imagine grace may not have won the day.

And it is Gabe, now 9 1/2, who continues to be the agent of my rescue. Divorce is not a clean equation when it comes to forgiveness. There is no once and done; the wrongs just keep comin. Even wrongs contained in the past take on new significance in light of the present. I choose grace because that's what's good for Gabe, and that goodness reflects back on my own healing and renewal.

Maybe it's not so bad for a child to be the agent of a parent's rescue. I'm not suggesting that parents place the weight of the world on their children's shoulders. I am suggesting that we give credit where credit is due...even to pint-size packages. In this life, the fullness of God's truth comes to us in unexpected ways...the upside-down kingdom is at work, and sometimes a little child shall lead them.

Dating and Children

"You have too much make-up on your eyes", he says as she descends the stairs to greet her boyfriend.

The couple sits alone on the porch: NO KISSING!!!!, speaks his body language as he leaps through the front door yelling "Surprise!!".

The couple sits in a private space in the home hoping to converse: DON'T FORGET I'M YOUR GUARDIAN, he seems to say as he sits close, hovering, thereby preventing intimate-speak.

Yes, guardians can be ever so obvious in overprotecting their loved ones, hoping perhaps to keep them closer in the midst of their reaching out to love of a different sort.

It's particularly obvious when the guardian is an 8 year old watching ever so closely over his mom's interactions with her significant other. Seriously, my son watches me and Craig like a hawk. Surprise leaps...intentionally hovering. He seriously critiqued my eye makeup on Saturday.

Gabe knows what he is doing; I know what he is doing; I don't know that he knows that I know what he is doing.

Good news for Gabe. I'm keeping detailed notes for when he starts dating.

Warning Labels

I opened up a package of Chilean Sea Bass this morning. On the package was a sticker: Allergen Warning: Contains Fish. I wondered what this world has come to that Wegman's feels compelled to warn the consumer that a package of fish contains fish. Imagine.

And then I wished for a world, at least momentarily, where warning signs state what at least on the surface is obvious.

Relationship: Warning, this package contains conflict.
Profession: Warning, this package contains uncertainty.
Parenthood: Warning, this package has challenges.

It's not a direct parallel. Allergens to conflict, uncertainty, and challenge are not life-threatening. Naming their inclusion rarely offers an anti-dote to lawsuits.

Still, sometimes I just wish life came with warning stickers. You?

Awed by the Museum

I called my son while he was with his dad on Saturday. His dad answered the phone in a hushed voice telling me they were in a museum and handed the phone to Gabe. I said to Gabe..."Hi Sweetie. What kind of a museum are you in?".

He replied in a hushed and reverent tone..."a long, long time ago museum".

He continued in his 8 year old reverence..."you know about how we learn about Jesus?" and I said "yes". He said..."before that!" And then he said, responding to some exhibit with again a tone of deep reverence, "oooooh..2nd century". I think the "WOW" was implied.

I decided reverence trumped the details of history at this point; it doesn't matter that he knows that the 2nd century is actually post-Jesus. The theology lesson, for that matter, that Jesus is not only "long, long time ago" but also "present for today" also took back seat. In this moment, reverence was enough.

A momentary and second-hand experience of the museum through his eyes proved better than a visit on my own, in which surely I would've toured quickly and without much appreciation for the massive narrative of history that precedes my experience or for the curators who recreate this history on my behalf.

Being Gabe's mom teaches me reverence and joy and mindfulness. I think I realize one of the things that Gretchen Rubin misses in her "Happiness Project"; the gift of seeing the world through the eyes of children, particularly through the eyes of our own children, is a sure route to happiness and its higher spiritual virtue, joy.

Ruminations on the Happiness Project

I finished The Happiness Project, by Gretchen Rubin, yesterday, and I admit it made me happy.....happy to be done.

I picked up some interesting tidbits about happiness research, and appreciated the opportunity to ruminate on my own life. However, by the time I reached her October chapter on Paying Attention, I was mindful that this quick and dirty, one year on the road to happiness narrative was getting on my nerves. My favorite moments were her honesty and self-deprecating humor, such as when she engaged in a "Pollyanna Week" of being 100% positive and snapped at her husband before she got out of bed the first morning. That's real. I can connect with that.

My least favorite was the first of her Twelve Commandments, to "Be Gretchen", which she over-articulated. I love the Socratic principle to "Know Thyself", and appreciate its lesson, but I was really glad it wasn't my own Pollyanna week the umpteenth time she said she needed to "Be Gretchen". It distracted me from her point to be myself...doggone it I'm not Gretchen so how many times did I need to read her reminder to "Be Gretchen". I know she was referencing herself, but "being herself" would have been a better way to say it if her memoir was to ultimately reverberate with both author and reader.

Generally, I appreciated the principles of living a better life but found her continuous cycling back to her Twelve Commandments and 21 Secrets of Adulthood and her Four Splendid Truths rather tiring. Of course, this means I should probably re-read November: Keep a Contented Heart. If I were to engage her recommendation to try my own Happiness Project, maybe I should ask if there is a remedial version.

Still, I think my biggest critique isn't the manner in which the project is undertaken. She admits to having a pretty contented life, but recognizes the value in preparing for adversity which surely comes to us all. I actually take objection to Aristotle's assertion that undergirds her project: "Happiness is the meaning and the purpose of life, the whole aim and end of human existence".

The meaning and purpose of life, rather, is growth,learning to love, and being a more authentic agent of God's grace. And when my propensity toward discontent rears its ugly head, it is not its detractor to happiness that is my barometer. Instead, it is the extent to which discontent blocks me and those I am called to love from experiencing God's grace that beckons me to change. And that higher aim, with its two (2...mind you...just 2) great commandments to "Love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength" and "Love Neighbor as Oneself" is probably the only aim of a happiness project that makes me fully mindful.

I guess I reverberate most with Rubin's Twelfth Commandment: "There is only love". Ah, now there is one splendid truth!