Raw would be the best word for it - how I feel after an argument with Steve. Like many married couples we have a few "unsolvable" issues. Different little incidents and events, miscommunications and misunderstandings set us off, but essentially we have the same arguments we've been having for ten years.
I have been focusing this month on any little opportunity I might have to grow in the virtue of generosity. And I think one of the hardest parts of being generous is giving people the benefit of the doubt, especially when we think they don't deserve it. Arguments are instances that call for an attitude of openness and generosity but in the midst of an argument, it is so hard to turn away from what we're feeling and what we've experienced in order to hear what someone else is going through, but this would be the generous thing to do. I think living generously, in large part, means turning towards other people's feelings - facing their emotion head-on - especially when it makes us uncomfortable and squirmy.
One afternoon this past week I was at a large park near our house with the kids when a sudden rainstorm caused us to run for shelter under a nearby gazebo. Taking shelter with us was a young(ish) couple and what struck me was their overall attitude of generosity towards each other. It was clear they found each other fascinating. During the course of the storm their conversation ranged from Star Wars to Renaissance art to their parents. Silly statements or generalizations were met with laughter, not criticism. They expanded on examples; corroborated experience.
I couldn't help imagining how this might change once they became sleep-deprived parents or anxious about how to make an oversize mortgage payment with meager salaries, but then generosity is generosity because it's not afraid of ugliness or anxiety or petty mistakes. Generosity is love unconstrained by ego and vulnerable enough to say, "I want to know what's making you tick right now...what's going on inside that mind?"
So what is Spirit asking of me right now? How can I reach out and pick the fruit of generosity and take it into myself? If experience has taught me anything it's that Steve and I will always have a few issues that are unsolvable. We would have to be fundamentally different people to solve them and if we were fundamentally different we wouldn't be the person the other has come to deeply value and passionately love. Perhaps the most generous thing is simply to admit that while not everything about our relationship is perfect, Steve is the still the perfect partner for me. To remind him that I don't mind having this argument again if it means continuing on through life together. The young couple offered a reminder: no matter what we're experiencing we can always be generous in our love and sense of admiration of our partners - even in the midst of those "unsolvable" arguments.
Friday, June 27, 2014
Thursday, June 19, 2014
The Incident with the Apples
What I find interesting or, more accurately, challenging about the day-to-day work of being a Christian - the work (really) of looking and acting more like Christ; putting more good into the world than bad, bearing more "fruit" as we Christians like to name virtue - is that it's absolutely, totally and finally dependent on those small decisions we make, moment by moment by moment. I used to think that I'd grow spiritually simply by using the tools of the Christian tradition, tools like prayer and scripture and meditation. And it's true that these tools definitely help us grow, not because they make us more Christ-like in and of themselves, but because they help to set us up to make "fruitful" decisions. But, when it comes down to it, growing in the likeness of Christ - the real work of Christian spirituality - depends more than anything on how we choose to live and act in the very smallest details of our lives.
The other day I had the opportunity to grow in generosity. And I blew it. The details got the better of me. I'd like to be able to look back at my time as a mother with young children to say that I met the day-to-day challenges with patience, creativity and grace; that, when presented with the option to choose virtue over emotions that come more naturally (anger, resentment, despair), I'd see myself choosing the good every time. But more often than not this turns out to be wishful thinking.
Yesterday I needed to fit in a last-minute trip to the grocery store in order to have something to cook for dinner. I was on a deadline. Steve had an event, dinner needed to be ready by 6:30pm, serious storm clouds loomed and threatened drenching rain and I had no car to get to the store. What I needed was to get in and out and home again quickly, but I should know by now that in-and-out trips to the grocery store never pan out with kids in tow.
Sebby wouldn't get in to the stroller; I had to strap him in forcefully. Once we were in the store, Emma wanted to push the cart...and so did Sebby. I got anxious as we seemed to waste time arguing over which fruit and vegetables to buy, watching the fish in the aquarium, and tracking Sebby as he ran up and down the aisles.
Then, at the check-out, Emma wanted to help pack the groceries. This was thoughtful, yes, but I knew it would hold us up even further. The storm clouds pressed closer. I pictured us soaked to the bone. I was conscious of how much time the errand had already taken and now I couldn't see Sebby anymore and knew that he was running somewhere in the store. I looked back to see a line-up of people behind me, all waiting for me to hurry up and pack my groceries already. So when Emma picked up the bag of apples the wrong way and they tumbled out the opening and all over the floor - a dozen apples, rolling around people's feet and carts and all over the place - I couldn't be generous and help her pick them up and laugh about the situation and show her how to hold the bag so that wouldn't happen again. "Go find your brother," I snapped. "I'll do this; I'm better at it than you."
That was just mean or, more to the point, miserly; what I put out into the world was the very opposite of goodness and generosity, which would have been the virtues to reach for in that moment. There was my daughter, trying to help, trying to be generous herself. Looking back, I wish I could have given her something in that moment, instead of grabbing at her work and stealing it back for myself.
The 19th century German philosopher, Arthur Schopenhauer, said, "It is in the treatment of trifles that a person shows what they are." Indeed. And I don't think there's anything in the world that presents us with so many trifling details as our relationships with other human beings. If you're like me you have racked up a daily tally of failed attempts at virtue and Christ-like living, but let me say this: parenthood has got to be the best training ground we'll ever get when it comes to opportunity for spiritual growth. While our relationships present us an endless supply of trifling details, they also act as a natural and intrinsic means of spiritual refinement. Eventually, we'll gleam.
The other day I had the opportunity to grow in generosity. And I blew it. The details got the better of me. I'd like to be able to look back at my time as a mother with young children to say that I met the day-to-day challenges with patience, creativity and grace; that, when presented with the option to choose virtue over emotions that come more naturally (anger, resentment, despair), I'd see myself choosing the good every time. But more often than not this turns out to be wishful thinking.
Yesterday I needed to fit in a last-minute trip to the grocery store in order to have something to cook for dinner. I was on a deadline. Steve had an event, dinner needed to be ready by 6:30pm, serious storm clouds loomed and threatened drenching rain and I had no car to get to the store. What I needed was to get in and out and home again quickly, but I should know by now that in-and-out trips to the grocery store never pan out with kids in tow.
Sebby wouldn't get in to the stroller; I had to strap him in forcefully. Once we were in the store, Emma wanted to push the cart...and so did Sebby. I got anxious as we seemed to waste time arguing over which fruit and vegetables to buy, watching the fish in the aquarium, and tracking Sebby as he ran up and down the aisles.
Then, at the check-out, Emma wanted to help pack the groceries. This was thoughtful, yes, but I knew it would hold us up even further. The storm clouds pressed closer. I pictured us soaked to the bone. I was conscious of how much time the errand had already taken and now I couldn't see Sebby anymore and knew that he was running somewhere in the store. I looked back to see a line-up of people behind me, all waiting for me to hurry up and pack my groceries already. So when Emma picked up the bag of apples the wrong way and they tumbled out the opening and all over the floor - a dozen apples, rolling around people's feet and carts and all over the place - I couldn't be generous and help her pick them up and laugh about the situation and show her how to hold the bag so that wouldn't happen again. "Go find your brother," I snapped. "I'll do this; I'm better at it than you."
That was just mean or, more to the point, miserly; what I put out into the world was the very opposite of goodness and generosity, which would have been the virtues to reach for in that moment. There was my daughter, trying to help, trying to be generous herself. Looking back, I wish I could have given her something in that moment, instead of grabbing at her work and stealing it back for myself.
The 19th century German philosopher, Arthur Schopenhauer, said, "It is in the treatment of trifles that a person shows what they are." Indeed. And I don't think there's anything in the world that presents us with so many trifling details as our relationships with other human beings. If you're like me you have racked up a daily tally of failed attempts at virtue and Christ-like living, but let me say this: parenthood has got to be the best training ground we'll ever get when it comes to opportunity for spiritual growth. While our relationships present us an endless supply of trifling details, they also act as a natural and intrinsic means of spiritual refinement. Eventually, we'll gleam.
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Written on the Body
In the same way that one encounters a word or idea and inevitably hears it or sees it in print within a day or two, I had the experience of seeing - for the first time - a tattoo with a message seemingly intended just for me and, within a couple of days, seeing another one! And then it seemed like everywhere I looked I was seeing prophetic messages on upper backs and wrists and biceps.
Two of these fleshy billboards, in particular, stood out. I saw the first while riding my bike. I noticed the woman riding in front of me had two images tattooed on to the back of her upper thighs and every time we stopped at a red light I looked to figure out just what the images represented. On her left thigh was a replica of a human heart - all valves and ventricles - and underneath a single word: Realist. On her right thigh was a mirror image, of sorts, the kind of heart we all know how to draw - a Valentine - and underneath, in cursive script, the word, "Optimist." The second tattoo I saw was on a woman seated in front of me on the streetcar. She was wearing a tube top so I had a clear view of the sentence she had etched on to her left shoulder blade: "Change is the result of Awareness coupled with Action."
I don't know why these messages stood out for me except that in them I recognized some kind of Truth. "Which are you?" The tattooed hearts seemed to ask: realist or optimist? Do you see things as they are or as you'd like them to be? The second tattoo offered straightforward observation; I don't think you can argue that no matter how "aware" one is change doesn't happen without diving in and taking action and without awareness, action is just meaningless movement.
There is much meaning in each of these messages but for me they simply offer further proof of Marshall McLuhan's dictum that the medium is the message, after all. Our Truths are simply what we decide to embody, what we project to others; those words that would reveal themselves on our skin if our skin could write what we are all about. In sum: we are what we carry within us - those attitudes and actions that we live, day in, day out, at breakfast, lunch and dinner, through endless months of schlepping to work and lessons and grocery stores. We are, in essence, messages writ large. We speak through our bodies, often louder than we do in words.
Two of these fleshy billboards, in particular, stood out. I saw the first while riding my bike. I noticed the woman riding in front of me had two images tattooed on to the back of her upper thighs and every time we stopped at a red light I looked to figure out just what the images represented. On her left thigh was a replica of a human heart - all valves and ventricles - and underneath a single word: Realist. On her right thigh was a mirror image, of sorts, the kind of heart we all know how to draw - a Valentine - and underneath, in cursive script, the word, "Optimist." The second tattoo I saw was on a woman seated in front of me on the streetcar. She was wearing a tube top so I had a clear view of the sentence she had etched on to her left shoulder blade: "Change is the result of Awareness coupled with Action."
I don't know why these messages stood out for me except that in them I recognized some kind of Truth. "Which are you?" The tattooed hearts seemed to ask: realist or optimist? Do you see things as they are or as you'd like them to be? The second tattoo offered straightforward observation; I don't think you can argue that no matter how "aware" one is change doesn't happen without diving in and taking action and without awareness, action is just meaningless movement.
There is much meaning in each of these messages but for me they simply offer further proof of Marshall McLuhan's dictum that the medium is the message, after all. Our Truths are simply what we decide to embody, what we project to others; those words that would reveal themselves on our skin if our skin could write what we are all about. In sum: we are what we carry within us - those attitudes and actions that we live, day in, day out, at breakfast, lunch and dinner, through endless months of schlepping to work and lessons and grocery stores. We are, in essence, messages writ large. We speak through our bodies, often louder than we do in words.
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