Something I Have To Remember

        Thomas F. Eden                      1953 - 2013
 

Tom and Christopher (about age six)

     My brother-in-law, Chris's brother, passed away peacefully during the night two weeks ago. We had been expecting it. He was in hospice care at the Masonic Home in Burlington. Of course, expecting it does not mean that we were shock-proofed. The call came at 3:30 a.m. The first thought at that hour is that someone has dialed wrong; the second thought is that this is it--the call you been dreading even though you knew it would be coming sooner or later.

     Tom was a great guy. He was a strong but gentle spirit. He loved his family, his friends, and most especially his 12 year old son, Christopher. He had a slow, dry sense of humor even to the end. We would go down to visit him and always be surprised that someone in such a final stage of life could still be so witty. Because he never complained, it didn't seem as if he were suffering any great physical agony of any sort; although he surely must have been quite uncomfortable. But that was Tom--apparently he regarded complaining as a fairly useless exercise of emotions. I have to remember that. 
     Amid all the complaining, blaming, and self-pity that seems to come so naturally to human nature, there is another point of view that is available for those who have eyes to see: life is what it is with or without our permission.
     Though there are certainly exceptions to the rule in the overall scheme of human existence, especially when you consider what is going on in the world at large ("man's inhumanity to man"--I haven't figured out how to phrase that in a politically correct fashion), and even though there are definitely some mean-spirited people in the world, for the most part in our individual lives, things just happen because they happen. In other words, no one was out to get us, hurt us, or punish us. The world is not against us because it rains on the day we were going to the beach. We don't get a cold because someone wanted us to be sick. We didn't have a flat tire on the way to work because God doesn't like us.
     Is there a time to complain, to blame, and to feel sorry for ourselves? Of course there is. I just think we sometimes get carried away with it. We use it not as a healthy source of venting our emotions, but as an excuse for not taking responsibility for ourselves or as a way to control other people ("Do you see what you've done to me?" "it's your fault that I'm this way!" "Do you realize how you have ruined my life, my day, my happiness?"--those sort of things). Tom never complained. I definitely have to remember that.
     He will be missed by his family, his friends and those who knew him because he was a good person and pleasant to be around. He brought good energy to the world, and if there's one thing we need more of, it's that. And if there's one thing we need less of, it's the tendency in human nature to be so caught up with our misery that we make others miserable along with us.

"See, I am making all things new." (Revelation 21:5b

    
    

Where Life Is

 

 I had one of those frustrating days yesterday when my laptop and I disagreed on how it should be working. Talking to it did no good; begging was humiliating; and prayer didn't seem like an appropriate way to handle such a technical predicament (although I will confess that I used it anyway--even though I suspect that God probably doesn't regard such a thing as a priority in the world of human spiritual needs).
     I worked all day on it trying to get things back to "normal." I performed the usual system restore and disk cleanup and a few other computer incantations. But, alas, to no avail. I was left with the last resort effort of restoring my hard drive to the original factory settings, which, as many of you know, means that your files won't be saved--they will go to whatever mysterious realm old files go when they suddenly disappear.
     I'm happy to say that by the end of the day I was back in business. The old "all's well that ends well" adage had graciously applied to my situation. As a result, I had a peaceful night's sleep, thinking more highly of myself than I probably ought to have thought (paraphrasing the words of St. Paul in his letter to the church in Rome). All in all, it was a very satisfying result after a time of great frustration.
     Several years ago I did a program at the Pinelands (formerly Mt. Misery) with Gwen White (wife of one of our former bishops, C. Dale White). While we were setting up, we were talking about the fact that we both often refer to sources beyond United Methodist and Christian materials in general when we prepare to lead workshops. That discussion was very liberating for me personally to hear someone I deeply respected so much admit to that. And several years after that I was in correspondence with Bishop Reuben Job regarding a spiritual life center he was proposing in Nashville--also implying the use of some nontraditional resources. At the time,I had an interest in possibly being a part of that.
     So yesterday when I was going through what might have been an extremely frustrating time, I referred to one of my favorite non-Christian thinkers and writers--Thich Nhat Hanh, a Vietnamese Buddhist monk. He talks about the perspective of "Being Here Now." In other words, be very present in the task or event in which you are engaged at the moment. When you do that, you do so with a nonjudgmental and even appreciative attitude. 
     If it's something fun, your attentiveness to the experience magnifies it with a greater sense of joy. If it's something frustrating, you see it as just what is and not as a curse of some kind.  Therefore you go about it as one of life's peculiar puzzles. As Thich Nhat Hanh says, when you do that, whatever you're doing, you are living life mindfully in the only moment you actually have at the time--the present moment. 
     In other words, if you're preparing dinner, be present in the experience of that. Be mindful of the task as a meaningful and important part of life and not as a terrible chore you have to carry out. And when you sit down to eat, be mindful of the pleasure of the food before you. 
     Anyway, the point is that as John Denver has sung, "Some Days Are Diamonds, Some Days Are Stone."  But both kinds of days are legitimately life. And as such are meant to be experienced, I believe, for what they are--in the present moment. By the way, that's where true peace exists and joy and love.