Another night of singing as Grandma continues to fade. By Thursday afternoon all eight of her children had arrived. Now everyone is here, and the waiting continues. Thursday night was the second night in a row that we spent the evening together, about forty of us. Her favorite thing is for her children to sing:
It’s interesting to see how the approach of death has brought us together. A few tears, lots of food, and lots of singing.
So it looks like my Grandma is wrapping up her last days here on earth. And while we’ll be sad to see her go, she is 92 and has lived a wonderful life.
Last night we all joined her where she’s been staying at my aunt’s house. One of her favorite things is to have everyone sing for her. So we sat around and we enjoyed each others’ company and we ate and every once in a while someone would start singing an old gospel song or a hymn. And anyone who knew the words would join in. This is one of those times:
I think singing is a great thing to do in the face of death.
“So you’re not going to leave the building?” he asks, and I can tell by the pooling liquid in his eyes that he’s trying hard to hold it together.
“Promise. I’ll just be down the hall. You’ll be okay.”
He clenches his jaw and nods, then holds out his hand, pinky extended.
“Pinky promise?”
“Pinky promise,” I say, and our fingers entwine in that ancient and unbreakable vow. His little finger feels tired and reluctant. I mess up his hair, give him a hug, and walk away.
* * * * *
I want my trust to be buoyed by something tangible. I want to tether my trust to concrete facts. I want to stake my trust in the ground of the known so that I can walk away, take long hikes through the forest of self-sufficiency, and return whenever I want, knowing that I left trust in a certain clearing. Waiting for me.
But trust, ruthless trust, is like spring water or smoke: it is always moving, and it refuses to be nailed down. It is not something to be summoned up at whim. If I want to surround myself with trust, I have to seek it out, then go where it leads.
I’m learning this as I watch him walk through a forest of anxiety. I see how he grasps for the cool, hard surface of the known. He tries to create pillars of certainty on ground that can so easily be washed away: the life of a loved one or my expected return in 60 minutes’ time. I’m beginning to see that for him to get through it, he’ll have to come to grips with the unknown, the terrible possibilities, the absence of promise. Trust is not trust if it’s based on the naive belief that everything will go the way I want it to go.
As I watch him, I see me. Such high hopes I have for us, that we can both enter that place of peace found only in ruthless trust!
* * * * *
“The way of trust is a movement into obscurity, into the undefined, into ambiguity, not into some predetermined, clearly delineated plan for the future.” – Brennan Manning, Ruthless Trust
* * * * *
I peek my head around the corner. He sees me and comes walking over.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I ask him.
“Nah,” he says, smiling. “I had a great time.”
This time I won’t say I told you so because I know the difficulty of walking in that trust, that peace. I know how scary it can be, leaving the known behind, turning my back on the certain. But I also know those moments of floating, when all the constraints of this world fall away (if only for a day or a season). I know how it feels to genuinely not care about money, or future, or fate. To be present.
Even though he’s almost too old, or sometimes pretends to be, I reach over and grab his hand and hold it while we walk outside. Into the fresh, autumn air we go, and I find myself asking God one question.
Pinky promise?
During our trip around the country I had the honor of hanging out with United States poet laureate Billy Collins at a small wine bar in Orlando. Turns out he also gave this intriguing and poetic TED talk, “Everyday Moments, Caught in Time.” Enjoy!
“But when I, having been where I have, open the door of my fridge and see through one empty glass shelf to the next it leaves me feeling uneasy and, if I’m being honest, a little forgotten by the Big Man Upstairs. Though the paycheck goes in the bank tonight, this is still a new thing for me – not being able to fix my situation with a band-aid and a credit card.”
* * * * *
“I wasn’t really planning on quitting. It wasn’t like I had been sitting around thinking about how tired I was of working there. In fact, I actually really like my job at Starbucks. I work with really nice people. My job is fun. I make tips and have great benefits. And the best part is that, at the end of the day, I don’t have to bring my work home with me (unless of course you count my free coffee…)”
* * * * *
“and we’re feeling the strain. of wanting the old back, but aching for these children whose mother isn’t making the effort. we learned recently she’s been hurting them when they go home for the occasional weekend, and i told her no more of this back and forth. i told her we need to either adopt them ourselves, or find another Christian couple who will.”
“and i don’t think we can adopt them.”
* * * * *
“When we were away last weekend I realized again the gift of being fully present, disconnected from anything that is not in-the-flesh. It re-sets me, I regain consciousness of the present moment, the beautiful mundane. I have time to think about life through an uncluttered lens, and the world of the internet becomes less urgent, put back in its proper place. When we visit my parents’ their internet is so slow that I don’t even bother checking email, and by the time we come home I no longer want to.”
* * * * *
“The thought of, for example, working on the CD for six more months before declaring it ‘done’ would have been considered short-term economic stupidity. As a result, we are saddled with thirty years of sub-par music–if they’d just held on a bit longer, it would all sound so much better.”
* * * * *
“The world clatters into our haven and tries to thwart us at every turn; we know it waking up and we know it going to sleep. The poet Richard Wilbur called it “the punctual rape of every blessed day” and the language may be harsh, but the days are nothing if not harsh, no?”
* * * * *
“I’m starting to enjoy the wide open space between letting go and being caught, to lean into the in-between, into the small discomforts of waiting and needing. One thing I know for sure is that these spaces – the spaces made by our letting go, the wearing thin ones, the crowding together on the couch or floor ones – are the ones that open us to the possibility that we’re learning how to fly.”
* * * * *
“And I have nothing against committing to a job for a lifetime; my problem is having my sense of freedom erode day by day. The more I become embedded, the harder it will become to “get out” … if I should ever choose to “get out.” Will I eventually marry this business and sacrifice my dreams to earn a Ph.D.? Will I become like so many others and just let this business take my soul?”
* * * * *
“It isn’t lost on me how my parenting short-cuts have mistreated the people I love, cultivated bad habits, and broken trust. I have bad habits to break, new habits to make, and relationships to repair.”
It would appear that many people were less than enthused with Jim Lehrer’s moderation of the first Presidential debate. I don’t have too much to say about that, except that I know I wouldn’t want to be the one stuck between those two human representations of all the special interests in the (not-so-free) world.
But, hey, if you all want change, it’s change you’re gonna get. Here are 14 candidates for you to choose from – help decide who gets to moderate the next debate by voting in the comments. Or if none of these suit your fancy, pick someone else. You’re free to decide! After all, this isn’t the Presidential election.
Conan O’Brien – Anyone whose Twitter bio is “The voice of the people. Sorry, people” deserves a shot. Plus, there’s the hair.
Sacha Baron Cohen – Preferably in his Borat Mankini. Okay, maybe “preferably” isn’t the word I’m looking for.
The Count – The moderator of the next debate obviously has to have Big Bird’s back. Don’t make him count to three…
Or we could go with his cousin:
Count Chocula – (Random fact: you can buy a box of this cereal on Amazon for $9.51)
Garth from Wayne’s World – For some reason he came to mind. Not sure why. My younger demographic probably doesn’t even know who he is.
Elmo – After watching the documentary Being Elmo, I basically want Elmo involved in every facet of society.
Bryan Allain – Lancaster’s resident funny man. I’d like to think he’d bring some of his Amish expertise into the mix, as well as his refreshing ideas for debate moderation.
The Trolley from Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood – The Trolley would fit in nicely with our two candidates: his communication is indecipherable, he’s constantly going back and forth, and he spends most of his time in a make-believe world.
Frank Costanza – Just because I love the way he transitions from normal talking to impassioned-rage-filled shouting.
Lloyd Christmas from Dumb and Dumber – Because presidential candidates basically talk like this, except with fancier words:
Lloyd: You’re it.
Harry: You’re it.
Lloyd: You’re it, quitsies!
Harry: Anti-quitsies, you’re it, quitsies, no anti-quitsies, no startsies!
Lloyd: You can’t do that!
Harry: Can too!
Lloyd: Cannot, stamp it!
Harry: Can too, double stamp it, no erasies!
Lloyd: Cannot, triple stamp, no erasies, Touch blue make it true.
Harry: No, you can’t do that… you can’t triple stamp a double stamp, you can’t triple stamp a double stamp! Lloyd!
Lloyd: [hands over ears] LA LA LA LA LA LA!
Harry: LLOYD! LLOYD! LLOYD!
Kit from Knight Rider – Go over your allotted time? The missiles pop out of the quarter panels.
Mahmoud Ahmadinejad – Okay, I concede that giving him this kind of platform would be counterproductive on some kind of world relations standard. And he’s delusional. But you have to admit, it would make for entertaining television.
Simon Cowell – Someone who says it like it is.
Lord Voldemort – I don’t know. Maybe he’d be a little excessive.
WHO GETS YOUR VOTE? WHO WOULD YOU ADD TO THE LIST?
