One day several months ago, to our surpise, our then-twelve year-old dug out our old video camera and found ancient footage from when he and his brother were babies.
What else can you do but melt, and wonder where the time went?
I don't know about you, but when I start wondering where the time went, it's only a short step to the guilt of convincing myself that I must have squandered the time that seems to have vanished.
But that isn't true.
I know we didn't squander it.
No, we don't remember all of these moments captured on video, and yes, many of our "memories" from those years are probably composite sketches manufactured from feelings and distant glimpses, but I know we made the most we could have made out of those moments as they came and went. We were often distracted, usually juggling, sometimes pining for the future, occasionally frustrated, but we knew the moments were special, and I believe we infused them with the best of ourselves, at least the best we had to offer in those moments.
What gives me the confidence to claim this?
The fact that our son brought the videos to us to see and celebrate. The fact that our sons are interested in our stories of past events they can't remember. The fact that our boys still smile when we make eye contact. The nature of our relationship now, as they enter adolescence, is the reassurance I need that I haven't wasted this time.
No, I'm not saying, like Job's friends might say, that parents who experience conflict with their teens or grown kids must have squandered the time. That's not what I mean at all, and I can't possibly know what all goes into the parent-child dynamic from the earliest days to the empty nest. I'm sure there are many parents who did the very best they knew how to do, and for reasons they'll never understand, feel rejected or left behind by their sons or daughters.
I pray for comfort for everyone who suffers in this way. I can't begin to pretend to know how this feels, or what words would help. Probably none.
But I do know this: With all the prayer I can muster, I will resist the temptation to feel guilty about letting time slip away without appreciating it, and accept the fact that, no matter how much you do appreciate it, the time still slips away, slow and fast at the same time, but "away" all the same, leaving you wondering how you possibly got here from there.
Look into your loved ones' eyes today, and know that you're not squandering this moment.
Look at an old picture of a loved one, and cherish the moment anew.
You didn't squander it.
Saturday, July 25, 2020
Friday, July 10, 2020
Gonna Put a John Prine Record On...
The first time I ever heard of John Prine was when he was referenced in the song "Thrift Store Chair" by Everclear. I was intrigued.
This happened to be during the heyday of Napster, so I downloaded a few John Prine songs, but never sat still long enough to give him a chance. So, he continued to be a name that was familiar because of the Everclear song, but that was it.
Not long ago, I learned that John Prine was in the hospital for COVID-19, and later learned that he died. A day or two later, he was discussed on a podcast, where I heard a few of his best songs for the first time. Now, I've run several miles listening to his first album, and let it play while working a jigsaw puzzle.
If I'm going to become a legit John Prine fan, I still have a long way to go, but there is something haunting about playing an album from 1971, for the first time, in 2020.
Isn't that magical?
A human being records something from within, and that something becomes a message in a bottle that might go anywhere, could be received by anyone, who knows when. And it might mean something special to someone at a unique time.
"Hello in There" hit me differently after my widowed father-in-law's passing than it might have at some other time.
Is this random?
Does God somehow connect us with things we need to see and hear, if we are watching and listening?
I don't know if He does, but I do know this: He is with me when I am feeling whatever I am feeling, He gets why things connect with me the way they do, and for His understanding, I am grateful.
This happened to be during the heyday of Napster, so I downloaded a few John Prine songs, but never sat still long enough to give him a chance. So, he continued to be a name that was familiar because of the Everclear song, but that was it.
Not long ago, I learned that John Prine was in the hospital for COVID-19, and later learned that he died. A day or two later, he was discussed on a podcast, where I heard a few of his best songs for the first time. Now, I've run several miles listening to his first album, and let it play while working a jigsaw puzzle.
If I'm going to become a legit John Prine fan, I still have a long way to go, but there is something haunting about playing an album from 1971, for the first time, in 2020.
Isn't that magical?
A human being records something from within, and that something becomes a message in a bottle that might go anywhere, could be received by anyone, who knows when. And it might mean something special to someone at a unique time.
"Hello in There" hit me differently after my widowed father-in-law's passing than it might have at some other time.
Is this random?
Does God somehow connect us with things we need to see and hear, if we are watching and listening?
I don't know if He does, but I do know this: He is with me when I am feeling whatever I am feeling, He gets why things connect with me the way they do, and for His understanding, I am grateful.
Sunday, July 5, 2020
A New Mascot
What a difference a few decades can make.
I have no connection whatsoever to the NFL team in Washington, D.C., other than having been elated when my then-L.A. Raiders defeated them in Super Bowl XVIII.
But I distinctly remember, in my early adult life, rolling my eyes at the calls to change the D.C. team's name to something other than "Redskins".
I genuinely believed people were too sensitive, just looking for controversy, that the name itself was meant to honor and not to disparage, that most people of Native American descent took no offense at the mascot, and that this was just another case of the tail wagging the dog.
One of my college professors assured our class one day that many people's feelings would be much more sensitive about a hypothetical team called the "Whiteskins". No one responded out loud, but I privately filed this statement away as sentimental pandering from what people would now call a "snowflake".
People just needed to get over themselves.
So, what sense does it make that I feel so joyful at the recent news that this name change is now likely to happen, after all these years, even after the team's owner once vowed it never would?
I guess minds can change, and for that I am grateful.
What seemed ridiculous to me back then seems reasonable now, and my onetime scoffing has turned to sympathy. It isn't mine to decide whether another person should be offended by something that might seem OK to me. It isn't mine to decide for another person whether they should make that offense known, when I might feel that I would keep my hurt feelings to myself.
It has become clear to me that I don't know what it feels like to have some element of my identity used as a mascot by someone who doesn't share that identity, especially if that identity included a clear line to recent ancestors who suffered loss, injustice, and humiliation, and even if that mascot were intended as an honor and not as an insult. If that ever happened to me, would I be offended? I'm not sure I can even guess at that. But even if everything lined up just right to where I took no offense at this scenario, how could I know whether every other person who shared that same identity would also be OK with the mascot?
As a youth, I remember a few of my fellow church members feeling they could not participate in the modern American traditions surrounding Halloween, because they perceived the origins of Halloween to be inconsistent with Christianity. Of course, I had no interest in sitting out the fun of Halloween, and luckily for me, my family felt that the origins of Halloween were less important than what Halloween had evolved into in our time, and what it means to us now.
I don't believe for a moment that anyone who has taken a name from Native American history to serve as a mascot for an athletic team has ever done so with malice or out of a desire to hurt. Probably quite the opposite, in fact. But pure intentions from the past do not necessarily translate across the decades as culture changes. Maybe it's less important what the founders of a team had in mind at a different place in history than how that decision lands today in our minds, and in the minds of our neighbors.
And maybe we just aren't entitled to take something that isn't ours and use it for our own purposes, no matter how pure our intentions are, and no matter whether we see any harm in it.
Maybe it's just not for us to say.
And maybe it's not even all that as much it is just the empathy that a few decades of working with real people can bring. I truly don't want people to hurt any more than people already hurt in this world.
Could it really be that knowing someone is offended is enough to make a change?
The Apostle Paul wrote that he was willing to give up eating meat altogether to avoid hurting anyone who would be offended if they thought he had eaten meat that had been sacrificed to an idol, even though he knew it made no difference at all. Was he ever called upon to cash that check? Not that we know of, but that's quite a statement to make.
I don't know if I could make a vow like that myself, which brings up an obvious challenge:
I'm not a Washington Redskins fan. I have nothing personal invested here. Would this all be harder to swallow if we were talking about my favorite team? A team I had cheered for all my life, whose logo I had worn through several different eras of fashion? A team for whom I had wept?
Yeah..that's a lot harder to imagine, and I can see how much I might resist this change in that circumstance.
But I guess that's where this becomes real.
What is more important to me?
The freedom to ignore another person's feelings for the sake of my perspective, or the fellowship with another person that might require a change in my perspective, perhaps even a change that is painful to me?
The freedom to carry on, knowing I am causing offense, or the trust that might be created by removing the cause of offense, even if I don't see it as offensive?
I pray I am able to see the answer as clearly when I am the one in the Redskins' position.
I have no connection whatsoever to the NFL team in Washington, D.C., other than having been elated when my then-L.A. Raiders defeated them in Super Bowl XVIII.
But I distinctly remember, in my early adult life, rolling my eyes at the calls to change the D.C. team's name to something other than "Redskins".
I genuinely believed people were too sensitive, just looking for controversy, that the name itself was meant to honor and not to disparage, that most people of Native American descent took no offense at the mascot, and that this was just another case of the tail wagging the dog.
One of my college professors assured our class one day that many people's feelings would be much more sensitive about a hypothetical team called the "Whiteskins". No one responded out loud, but I privately filed this statement away as sentimental pandering from what people would now call a "snowflake".
People just needed to get over themselves.
So, what sense does it make that I feel so joyful at the recent news that this name change is now likely to happen, after all these years, even after the team's owner once vowed it never would?
I guess minds can change, and for that I am grateful.
What seemed ridiculous to me back then seems reasonable now, and my onetime scoffing has turned to sympathy. It isn't mine to decide whether another person should be offended by something that might seem OK to me. It isn't mine to decide for another person whether they should make that offense known, when I might feel that I would keep my hurt feelings to myself.
It has become clear to me that I don't know what it feels like to have some element of my identity used as a mascot by someone who doesn't share that identity, especially if that identity included a clear line to recent ancestors who suffered loss, injustice, and humiliation, and even if that mascot were intended as an honor and not as an insult. If that ever happened to me, would I be offended? I'm not sure I can even guess at that. But even if everything lined up just right to where I took no offense at this scenario, how could I know whether every other person who shared that same identity would also be OK with the mascot?
As a youth, I remember a few of my fellow church members feeling they could not participate in the modern American traditions surrounding Halloween, because they perceived the origins of Halloween to be inconsistent with Christianity. Of course, I had no interest in sitting out the fun of Halloween, and luckily for me, my family felt that the origins of Halloween were less important than what Halloween had evolved into in our time, and what it means to us now.
I don't believe for a moment that anyone who has taken a name from Native American history to serve as a mascot for an athletic team has ever done so with malice or out of a desire to hurt. Probably quite the opposite, in fact. But pure intentions from the past do not necessarily translate across the decades as culture changes. Maybe it's less important what the founders of a team had in mind at a different place in history than how that decision lands today in our minds, and in the minds of our neighbors.
And maybe we just aren't entitled to take something that isn't ours and use it for our own purposes, no matter how pure our intentions are, and no matter whether we see any harm in it.
Maybe it's just not for us to say.
And maybe it's not even all that as much it is just the empathy that a few decades of working with real people can bring. I truly don't want people to hurt any more than people already hurt in this world.
Could it really be that knowing someone is offended is enough to make a change?
The Apostle Paul wrote that he was willing to give up eating meat altogether to avoid hurting anyone who would be offended if they thought he had eaten meat that had been sacrificed to an idol, even though he knew it made no difference at all. Was he ever called upon to cash that check? Not that we know of, but that's quite a statement to make.
I don't know if I could make a vow like that myself, which brings up an obvious challenge:
I'm not a Washington Redskins fan. I have nothing personal invested here. Would this all be harder to swallow if we were talking about my favorite team? A team I had cheered for all my life, whose logo I had worn through several different eras of fashion? A team for whom I had wept?
Yeah..that's a lot harder to imagine, and I can see how much I might resist this change in that circumstance.
But I guess that's where this becomes real.
What is more important to me?
The freedom to ignore another person's feelings for the sake of my perspective, or the fellowship with another person that might require a change in my perspective, perhaps even a change that is painful to me?
The freedom to carry on, knowing I am causing offense, or the trust that might be created by removing the cause of offense, even if I don't see it as offensive?
I pray I am able to see the answer as clearly when I am the one in the Redskins' position.
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