Open the eyes of my heart
About once a month, I get together with some good friends. At each gathering we share a meal and catch up on each other’s lives, then we each take a turn reading out loud from anything we’ve happened to read—or written ourselves—in the previous few weeks. (And I do mean anything—over the last few months the selections have ranged from song lyrics to journal entries to the first chapter of a book in progress to a cookbook to Celebration of Discipline to Everybody Poops. Yes, we have young parents in the group.)
It’s a wonderful time of sharing together and a great excuse for spending an evening laughing (and sometimes crying) with friends. I highly recommend it.
We met this past weekend and I read an excerpt from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard. I first encountered this award-winning book in college and it’s stuck with me ever since. I read from a chapter entitled “Seeing,” which talks about the experiences of men and women who had been blind from birth because of cataracts and who then received their sight due to new surgical techniques, because I found the scientific and psychological ideas so interesting. As I read this time, however, I was most struck by the spiritual analogies and my own “blindness.” See what you think:
In general the newly sighted see the world as a dazzle of color-patches. They are pleased by the sensation of color, and learn quickly to name the colors, but the rest of seeing is tormentingly difficult….It oppresses them to realize, if they ever do at all, the tremendous size of the world, which they had previously conceived of as something touchingly manageable….A disheartening number of them refuse to use their new vision, continuing to go over objects with their tongues, and lapsing into apathy and despair. Of a twenty-one-year-old girl, the doctor relates, “Her unfortunate father, who had hoped for so much from this operation, wrote that his daughter carefully shuts her eyes whenever she wishes to go about the house, especially when she comes to a staircase, and that she is never happier or more at ease than when, by closing her eyelids, she relapses into her former state of total blindness.”
This whole job search thing is a lot like dating.
First, you get dumped or laid off, sometimes for reasons that have little to do with you. (“It’s not you, it’s me. I want to date/hire other people. You’re great, but….”)
You work through a grief process that includes anger and sadness. You wonder, “What could I have done differently? Why didn’t this one work out?”
Then there’s the whole process of finding the next guy/next job. It starts casually—you announce your new single/unemployed status to friends and mention that you’re open to ideas. A few well-meaning friends try to set you up with a variety of men or jobs that are completely at odds with what you’re looking for, but you have to give them props for trying. Others “know somebody” and promise to make the connection for you, but few follow through. You can’t really blame them—it’s not their problem, and they have a spouse and a job.
This crowd has differing theological positions on the whole thing, too, and they strongly encourage you to adopt their way of thinking. Some believe God has picked out the right man/right job and will bring it “in his time.” Others believe there can be lots of guys/jobs that could be good for you and it’s your responsibility to get out there and find them. You find yourself falling somewhere in the middle and screening your calls.
If nothing comes from this phase, you become more proactive, scouring online personals/classifieds for just the right fit, and optimistically emailing a few guys/employers you never hear back from.
If you do manage to connect with an opportunity that sounds promising, a new kind of insanity takes hold. Why hasn’t he called? Did I say the right thing? He could at least email. I should have worn something different. What did that statement mean?
Right now—in both areas of life—I’ve got one I wish would call and take things to the next step, one which seemed pretty good initially but is probably not right for me, and one that seems perfect, probably because I haven’t gotten close enough to see the flaws.
I’ve never been great at dating, and I’m not real good at finding a new job, either.
This morning I watched two good friends—and thousands of other women—cross the finish line of the San Francisco marathon. I suppose it’s a cliche to comment on the emotion of that moment, but I’ll write it anyway. Women of every age, race, size, and fitness level sprinted, jogged, walked and limped across that line. Although my friends and I traveled there to see Heather and Melissa complete the race, we still cheered and clapped for these other women, most of whom we didn’t know. Coaches ran the last few yards alongside their team members, shouting, “You did great! You’re here! You made it!” A DJ honored each woman by announcing her name as she finished the race, and SF firemen in tuxes handed each lady a silver necklace from Tiffany’s. It was an inspiring experience; it made me (sort of) want to do a marathon myself, and even my buddy Dave said “that was my 11″ on a 1 to 10 scale for the weekend.
God’s ways being immeasurably greater than mine, I’m sure our transition to eternity will be much, much better than this morning’s event. (It will certainly be warmer.) But I’ll be happy if it’s as simple, and sincere, as today’s celebration. I can imagine my loved ones, and many people I don’t even know, lined up alongside the big finish to a 26.2 life full of struggles, victories, and pain. They cheer and clap and celebrate with me as I reach the rest at the end. Angels welcome me in with gifts and smiles. The Announcer proclaims my name in victory. And my Coach runs in with me, shouting “You did great! You’re here! You made it!”
Last night I joined the studio audience for a taping of “The New Adventures of Old Christine.” Ever watched it? Me either, but it was still a fascinating experience.
The entire set-up is calibrated to keep audience members alert, content, and laughing hysterically into the strategically placed microphones. A funny guy named Bob kept us apprised of what was happening, why the director wanted another take, and how many scenes remained in the shoot. A DJ played overly loud disco and hip hop to “keep the energy up” during costume changes. Halfway through the evening Warner Brothers assistants delivered dozens of cheese pizzas and passed bottled water and snacks down each row. Dinner (of sorts), entertainment, a chance to see Blair Underwood in person (sigh…..he’s so dreamy), and even free parking—overall, a fun evening.
The most interesting moments came after the first takes of scenes that, despite all efforts toward audience peppiness, didn’t get enough laughs. Quickly the team of writers would huddle in a circle near the producers and rewrite various lines. (“The chocolate fountain tastes like fingers” was judged funnier than “The chocolate fountain is full of old fruit.” Watch November 6 and that will make sense.)
Within just minutes the team brainstormed new lines, coached the actors, and re-shot the scene. And most of the time, their instincts paid off.
How I wish life could be like that. Wouldn’t it be nice to have unlimited “do-overs”? Mess up a conversation and just start over from the top. Wreck a relationship and call in the writers to fix it by season-end. Boring small group, annoying neighbor, tedious job—just add a few one-liners and some zippy situations and boom!—instant fun.
Of course, we have the Master of do-overs in our corner. He doesn’t allow us to change the past, but he’s an expert at taking our messes and turning them into good by life-end, and I’ll take that any day over a group of sitcom writers churning out quick laughs. Although I wouldn’t mind if God brought Mr. Underwood into my storyline.
Lessons from the horse whisperer
BeBe assured us the short video by “horse psychologist” Pat Parelli would yield interesting insights and lead to great discussions throughout the weekend. But as she dimmed the lights and kicked off the women’s retreat with the DVD, I was skeptical.
I was, as usual, completely wrong. The 20 minute presentation didn’t just prompt good conversations around the campfire—it served as a powerful object lesson for my relationship with God.
In the video, Parelli takes a horse that’s afraid of tarps, barrels, and its own shadow and transforms it into a brave stallion that jumps over obstacles and runs across tarps. He changes the horse’s behavior with his own (trademarked) brand of horse psychology which includes recognizing the animal’s instinctual curiosity and its desire for leadership from humans.
After establishing a “language” with the horse by teaching it simple signals for moving in different directions, Parelli slowly, casually led the horse to the barrels and tarp. Each time he allowed the horse to sniff or paw at the foreign objects, slowly allowing it to build confidence in the situation and in his leadership without forcing any action.
“I want the horse to respect me and my decision-making,” Corelli says to the audience, explaining the relatively slow process. “I could make him walk across this tarp, but the principle is more important than the goal. I want him to do it on his own.”
As the horse inches closer and shows more interest, Corelli says softly, “If I were you I’d trust my judgment. If I say it’s okay to walk there, it’s okay.”
Eventually the horse realizes this truth and leaps proudly over the barrels, then runs joyfully across the tarp. The things that held him back now pose no threat because he trusts the judgment of his leader.
I don’t need to list all the parallels for you (although I did watch the video three times during the weekend and journaled about my similarities to that horse). Little things frighten me. I often need try after try to work up my courage. I sometimes need many glimpses of the same situation to feel confident.
Meanwhile my Leader patiently builds a shared language with me, teaching me to obey clear signals and then leading me toward the scary territory. He graciously waits as I repeatedly back away and circle around my fears. He whispers to me, “I want you to trust my judgment. If I say it’s okay to walk here, it’s okay.”
And even though he could easily skip a learning process that’s long and hard for both of us, in his wisdom the principle is often more important than the goal.
Jennifer Taylor
My Other Sites
Twittering @seejenwrite- seejenwrite: Looking forward to hearing @susanisaacs and @donmilleris tonite. Flexing my fingers in preparation for copious note-taking.
- seejenwrite: Buying tix for trip to Orlando in January!
- seejenwrite: Here are my thoughts about the Twilight craze, from earlier this year: http://ow.ly/E3Vc
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