If, in my old age, you asked me to tell you one thing about my life as it was today, I predict I’d tell you it was the day I metaphorically threw my hands up in the air about whether I have a principled reason for supporting Friends & Farmers Food Co-op: I don’t. I support the co-op because I enjoy hanging out with those kinds of people at the kinds of functions they hold.
I could go into my reasons for suspecting that “buy local” is a slogan with slippery ethical foundations (hint: for a start, it smacks of egogeocentrism), but I think I’ll leave it at this: I buy local for the pleasure of it. That’s all. It is a luxury. It makes my community a smilier, more human place.
I shall not be ashamed of saying God healed the people I read about or that God spoke to Carla about such-and-such. I may have to fall back on one of McHargue’s maxims, but still. It’s better than shying away from calling it God. And I need You, God. It used to be a luxury I was requesting; now it is a necessity. I need to experience You. I can point to my good life and say You gave them to me, but that’s not the same thing.
I thought of a good rule of thumb: I should set aside dinnertime to the kids’ bedtime not only as unstructured leisure time, but also as “spend as much time outside as possible” time.
If, in my old age, you asked me to tell you one thing about my life as it was today, I predict I’d tell you it was a day I had intended to go hear Paul McCartney play at the Bryce Jordan Center—his first and probably last concert in State College, PA—but had neither found someone to go buy scalped tickets with (Carla was at a Council meeting) nor communicated well with the babysitter, Molly Hunter, who wasn’t going to have a ride home. Top that off with a $475 bicycle maintenance bill earlier that day, and you get me canceling with the babysitter at 6:30 p.m. It helps that I’ve never cared much for arena concerts and that the babysitter had four big exams happening all the next day.
Such is life when you prioritize: Some things go neglected. And very often they are the things that should go neglected.
I wake up almost every morning these days with a shot of anxiety running through my middle. My inkling is that it stems from always doing and never resting. Is that it?
Carla says when she feels that way, she takes it as a prompt to pray.
There’s plenty of high-quality Christian music out there. Why not spin it more often? Listening to a few Jars and Crowder tracks this evening reminds me that I need not be shy.
The same Red Cross nurse who had turned me away last year for having an open, stapled porthole wound on my pate turns me away again for having apple-harvest scratches on my arms.
Hey, Mom, I don’t know what would be worse: getting punched on the back of your head and falling on your face, or getting punched in the face and falling on the back of your head.
— Sullivan, breaking several minutes of in-car silence at 10 PM on a road trip to Pittsburgh
Carla: What were you dreaming about, Sully? Sullivan: Different metals that are essential to life. Carla: Oh! What metals are essential to life? Sullivan: Well, I wasn’t really dreaming about the names. I was dreaming about their colors and crystal habits.
**Donna: ** Sullivan’s mom would volunteer [in the library] for a Tuesday, but would need to bring Sullivan’s sister. Is that okay? Mardi: Yep! If she’s anything like Sullivan, she could probably help out too! Donna: We are a go!
Carla: Are you a thinker or a feeler? Scott: Well, the facile response would be: duh, I’m a thinker. But I tend to think I’m actually a feeler who is articulate. Just not about feelings.
Sullivan: Was there a time when doctors recommended smoking? Carla: Maybe somebody recommended it at some point, I don’t know. Scott: Certainly not since the ’50s. Sullivan: The ’50s haven’t even come yet, people! Scott: We’re talking about the 1950s, Sullivan.
If you asked me in my old age to tell you one thing about my life as it was today, I’d tell you that it was a day I remembered that chills had suggested back in January that I start building a habit of singing new songs to God.
As I revisited Psalm 33, where I had found the chills about singing new songs and becoming skilled at making music to You, I found some other new things:
“No king is saved by the great size and power of his army; a mighty man is not delivered by much strength. A horse is devoid of value for victory; neither does he deliver any by his great power,” i.e., I’m not going to find salvation by having the whole Internet at my disposal, and it’s not the heaviest intellects that get God. So give it up.
“Let Your mercy and loving-kindness, O Lord, be upon us, in proportion to our waiting and hoping for You”—uh oh, I haven’t been setting my hope on You, now, God, now have I? I felt a little ashamed.
As I read these healing stories from gate A22 a few minutes ahead of boarding for Las Vegas, it occurs to me that there is a singular inner focus I can carry in life that will make for healing prayers and acts of mercy and friendliness and whatever good and God I can do: keep the foot washing in mind.
