Shel and Me

There is a lot of intelligence to Shel Silverstein's writings. He would have been fun to have coffee with and perhaps discuss Robert Frost or maybe Shel Silverstein. His humorous view of the mundane to the extraordinary has always intrigued me.

I have often identified with the circle in 'The Missing Piece', bumping along in the rhythm of my lack, looking for completion while happily interacting with everything I encounter. But lately I've seen myself more as the wedge- a curiosity, immobile, waiting on my circle to show up and carry me off to the ultimate adventure. But let's face it, any adventure at my age is a big deal.

I wait in the dirt with an errant tuft of grass and a few rocks and whatever else has been dropped there- maybe a shiny coin or two, watching others pass by with their adventures in tow, while I come to conclusions and compose my own version of their stories within my solitude. Every now and again someone stumbles over me and may pick me up to examine me for a moment before tossing me aside to the grass, rocks and whatever else has been dropped there.

And sometimes, when the day and stars are just right, there comes into my space that wheel with a wedge shaped void. I am picked up and slapped into place and carried off on a hilarious, whirlwind adventure. It's always amazing; it's never quite what I expected or envisioned in the stories within my solitude.

And regardless of the time or intricacies of the trip, I find one day that I've been extracted and laid aside: I added a little too much to the equation. Perhaps for them, the completeness was overbearing, precluding much that they had come to expect and enjoy within their lack. Or perhaps it was just time to get back to the real world.

And so, I wait in the dirt with an errant tuft of grass and a few rocks and whatever else has been dropped there, maybe a shiny coin or two, watching others pass by with their adventures in tow, while I come to conclusions and compose my own version of their stories within my solitude. While I miss the purpose and interaction, I find there are worse ways to live life. Perhaps the mundane and extraordinary are not quite what they seem and yet the fun, overwhelming, hilarious memories draw me and I wait and hope among the mundane for my next chance for adventure. w

Some things are worth believing in

The other night I watched Second Hand Lions again. It's been awhile. We had a young man here who had never really watched it. Oh yeah, he'd seen it, but now he is of an age that he watched it. And then he wanted to watch it again.

I know the movie by heart but as happens so often with my best liked movies, a line jumped out at me this time. Walter asked Hub for confirmation that the stories about Africa were true. Hub told him it didn't matter. If he wanted to believe it, then he should believe it. Then he broke into a speech about believing in the right things regardless and it has chewed on my mind ever since. There are things that we hope are true, that we believe without empirical proof because they are worth believing in.

I found myself at a pivotal point a few years ago. I was being told 'facts' about family that would indicate some dark deep lie that was conceived, collaborated and perpetuated by people I held in honor. I was torn between one 'rightness' and another. Eventually, I chose what I would believe and my heart was at rest. Shortly after that incident, another arose in which my faith and honor in a person was challenged by defensive words from another. The telling person made a very reasonable charge and built a worthy case. Again I chose to believe in a person of honor in my life. This time it was more than a right feeling; I soon received evidence that I had chosen the best. Some things are worth believing in whether or not they can be proven true.

In an age when everything is designed to make us doubt everything, we must choose to believe the best things. A person is never a fool, never ignorant, never silly for believing the best things because those things make us the best people. Life can break us down sometimes, strip us of our dreams and goals. Sometimes the sweetest dreams can live no longer -or can they?

Often I find that it's not the dream, but the application of it that must be laid to rest. Perhaps it's my take on the dream that holds it at bay. I have found myself blocking my own dream at times because I want it in it's original connotation and form. When it comes in a little different form or from a different perspective, I may push it away. After all, it is my dream. Or am I its slave?

I have been known as a person who strives for perfection. Frankly, I am getting too old for it, but beyond that I find that striving for a rightness, toward truth is more important than striving for perfection. Perfection is so subjective where we humans are concerned. When perfection is our personal goal, we often lose sight of what is good and right. We pass judgment on others more easily because our idea of perfection is ever before us. We neglect much that is imperative for the immediate pull of perfection. A creative heart and mind live in freedom and truth not in pursuit of perfection. There is a rightness that supersedes human perfection. That's why righteousness comes by grace though faith and not by human effort.

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 1 Corinthians 13:6-7

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—concentrate on such things. Phillipians 4:8