Tether

My five point harness had me locked into a Manned Maneuvering Unit (MMU) training chair. This piece of equipment is used by astronauts to train for work in a microgravity environment. I was excited to be part of this simulation, preparing to “fix” a broken part of the external components of the International Space Station (ISS) as a team member on a mock spacewalk. In a space simulation, I quickly learn that unwieldy space suits and simulated microgravity environment exercises can make me go swishing across the polished floor. Laughing, I felt myself going backwards until at 25 feet out, my safety tether snapped taught. My momentum was changed as I started to slowly move forward again towards the black and white structure. Still smiling, my hands and feet braced to gently catch myself coming back to the station wall. The tether, made of strong woven fibers and thick metal buckles, has to be able to withstand the simulated great temperature variances found in space, resist abrasions and still maintain flexibility. It didn’t take long to discover that more than a gentle movement would send me inadvertently moving away from the mock-up station; and be grateful for the safety tethers that keep me from careening off across the floor. 

A book titled The Untethered Soul caught my attention the other day. Let me put in my aside here, I have not read the book - it could be good, my reaction is purely to the title. An untethered soul, and all I could think of was simulations of fixing a mock-up of the ISS. My response to the title was thankfulness for the tethers in my life.

Sitting for a few quiet minutes today, I thought of who and what makes up my safety tether. Some of the fibers are short and others of inestimable yardage are woven in throughout. Buckles, forged from unbreakable love of Jesus are ones that do not fail. The webbed lengths are strong in family, friends, love, retain joy in abundance and resist abrasions with compassion. These cordage systems keep us from drifting away into space. They are our life lines that pull us back, reversing the backward momentum. And we in turn serve the same purpose for others.

At least until it’s time to take your MMU for a little spin, and go drifting slowly across the floor for the fun of it. 

Looking at Pumpkins

Pumpkins come in all of these really fun varieties.  They are white, green, orange, striped, mottled, big, small, oblong, perfectly round, squat, skinny, fat, bumpy and smooth.  They can have stems that are large, small, short and long. In all of these shapes, you can see in pumpkins how creation has this wonderful echo throughout, design elements are used in clever ways over and over.    

A pumpkin sitting on the bale of straw in the front of the house caught my eye. I noticed that it wasn’t truly just orange.  It was like a faux finish of orange, on top of a cheery yellow.  It looked rather sunny.  In face it looked rather like photos of the sun.  Seemingly random bits of orange in thicker and thinner patterns cover the surface, like it could have a pumpkin flavored solar flare from any moment. 

I have met people that are like this.  They just seem to burst with life and joy.  They are encouraging, vivacious, and warming – just like the sun.  I have also noticed that these tend to be multi-faceted individuals who have experienced flares in life and learned from them; using them later to bring warmth, comfort and courage to others. These are people I, and others, want to be around as they are drawn to the genuine caring.

This is a wonderfully green and orange pumpkin with deep grooves that lead to a valley where the stem is.  That stem, with a round of green at its base rises up like a mountain out of a plain.  Variances of color and a twist of the stem leave the tip of the stem uneven; undoubtedly a peak weathered with many mountainous weather fronts.

There are a few women who I have met that are many years young, and in years of age rather elderly.  And they have done that gracefully. They are like these mountains rising out of the plains, standing as beautiful monuments. Wrinkles, lines and scars indicate the weathering they have witnessed. But they still stand, and gather life in beautiful ecosystems around them. Water flows from snow capped peaks to nourish the cycle of life. They share their wisdom, gracefully and lovingly; they relinquish controls that I think would be very difficult to relinquish. Not placing their value in the ability to do, but in being. 

Is it a pumpkin, or is it art in pottery?  Something in a light tree trunk brown with a crackled white glaze.  The small lines of tannin peek through the white and remind me of the shape of waves moving through the ocean.  Lines indicate movement, just as those cresting waves show the movements of the wind and water. 

The artists, entrepreneurs, movers of large and small movements; those who see an idea in their mind and heart and then go about trying it – these are people who enrich the world around them. Encouraging by example to do, experiment, hypothesize, research – to try; these are the people who I think teach me bravery to move.  To move with the wind and the water, and know that perhaps I will find myself on new shores.

I’m going to keep looking, who knows what other worlds will be seen; microcosm within a macrocosm.

Seaborn

   I just finished Chesapeake by Michener, a book that found me thoroughly hooked by the end of the second chapter. As the times progressed, (and I promise not to give out the ending of the story), I thought of my own family and how they moved across the ocean and to the frontier of the New World.

   One particular family story sticks in my mind as I think of the settlers. Leaving from Wales, a husband and wife, and their two boys boarded a ship and sailed the Atlantic to arrive in Penn’s colony. It must have taken such nerve to leave home, family, friends, and a way of life for parts literally unknown. But, to top it off, the third boy was due soon and born while at sea. They named him Seaborn Lewis. Every once in a while I think about what it must have been like to travel across the sea like that and what the general feeling was upon that ship. With a new baby and two little boys to get underfoot, under deck, and under anything else on a ship where there could be mischief; how did they handle that? Was this young mother frightened over the colony that awaited her or excited. Did she stand on the deck and watch her home slowly move farther and farther into the horizon, or did she look out to the home that would be? Regardless of her fears and possible hesitations, this wife and mother made the journey and raised her family to be part of their new community.
   I moved around a bit as a kid. Sometimes it wasn’t too hard, other times it was dreadfully difficult. Ohio, Kentucky, Florida, Ohio, Iowa…. Schools changed, friends were made and left, neighborhoods were known and then left. I developed a strong distaste for that song Friends, by Michael W. Smith, because I heard it so much. In this day and age, there are many ways to communicate with the people who were and are part of my life, though separated by many miles. Skype, facebook, e-mail, telephone, letters, photos, packages, or even trips; my possibilities are full of options. With that, I think about how that would have been so different in the 1600s. A letter, carried on a ship over an ocean, perhaps a package or a silhouette. Whole families would have sprung up with barely knowing each other as an ocean separated them. The words on long awaited letters must have been cherished.
   I pass people on the sidewalk, sit next to them at church, talk to them in random conversations. I wonder how many of them have had someone reach out to bring cherished words. As they also need someone who seeks to understand them, the feeling of separation or conquering their own ocean.

Watch Out for the Pedestrian

   I was walking to my car and came to an intersection. Look right, left, back farther to the right – it is a four way stop, and then I started walking across the street. A teal colored car with a red stripe and rest spots was preparing to make the corner. The driver decided that there was a great need to hurry me along and proceeded to yell – hurry up as he drove past. I don’t know, perhaps there was a great emergency or perhaps he thought he was funny (which he was not). Either way, I was crossing along on a snowy road and being hurried along by someone in a car. Needless to say, by the time I was crossed the intersection, I was just down-right irritated!

   Arriving at my own car, I started thinking about how the driver was really quite rude and if I had slipped on the wet and wintry conditions, that would have created a potentially serious hazard. I felt my irritation grow. But, after I had cleaned off my own car and given myself a few minutes to cool off, I thought about how the driver could not have known that my knee was hurting or how I was concerned with slipping. I’m not excusing this or justifying the behavior. I’m simply stating that we are often unaware of a bigger picture.
   Sometimes, we have pedestrians in front of our ideas, policies, practices, and they resist change. They hem and haw their way along (or at least we think so), while we are attempting to move forward. How tempting to roll down the window, “hurry up!” Otherwise, I will run over you with progress, change, and the newness of life. I may not be aware of their pains, fears, and aversions. They may not understand why I am attempting to move forward.
   So, be careful when crossing the street, and be mindful of the pedestrians. You may just be one of them.

Wind Chimes

   I was walking down the side walk and heard wind chimes making sound in the breeze. A soft striking sound followed a beautiful tone ringing out that seemed to just float in the breeze. As I enjoyed the sound, I thought about how wind chimes work. There are these tubes that just hang there. They don’t really make any beautiful sounds until struck, moved by a breeze.

   We often are just like the wind chime tubes. We would just hang there and not make any beautiful sounds, until we are struck by the movement in the wind. Our interactions with others, our movements and conversations can act like the wind. They move the striker along, sometimes softly and sometimes with great force. Without the movement, the sound would not occur. Without the sound, the chime is without purpose.
   Sometimes, we resist the movement, but let’s make music instead.

Waylon and Willy

   Clip, clop, clip, clop. Waylon and Willy are two large dapple grey horses, pulling a hay wagon down the street. People sit on the bales of hay, looking out at the world, listening to the sounds of the horses, and slow down to a different pace.

   I had the pleasure of meeting Waylon and Willy this last weekend at a community festival. They were four years old and well matched in height and breadth. Yoked with a decorative harness, they pulled together, with feet often moving in tandem. Their noses were soft, and their necks warm and damp from their labor.
   It was such a strikingly different pace, perched behind these two animals. No rushing, not running, but moving with the pace of the horses. The sounds were different, as the shoes clipped and clopped across the cement, and an occasional whinny. It was a nice pace, the world was moving a bit slower and it was nice for fifteen minutes. I know that given an option when in a hurry or going a long distance (like to the next town), I would not really want to choose by horse. I like convenience. But, on the other hand, daily trips to work or to the store might not be so bad by horse. You have time to wave at the people passing on the street. Intersections become less of a drive through stop and more of a conversation point. It might just be a little more civilized.
   Oh those horses were so beautiful.

Flood

   I had never seen a flood before I moved here. Oh, I have been through two hurricanes, tornadoes, and wild snow storms. But, flood plains were just never part of the topography. Then, I saw my first flood. I was amazed at the volume of water that it was composed of. It could move the bedrock under streets until there was no street there. Houses could topple into the water. Just water, not rapids, just a current but higher volume would move tremendous objects. It seemed to stay at flood level for a long time, the water inching back down so slowly. I’m sure to those who had homes that were now small islands, it was an achingly slow process.

   Sometimes our lives can be a lot like floods. It’s not so much that it suddenly becomes rapids with whitecaps, but that the volume changes and continues to build in pressure. We feel things snap, move, become sodden. And the time it takes for things to change can be so slow that we miss the movement. But, take heart. The waters go down. There is a mess to clean up, but then it’s done. We can rebuild something stronger, better.

Gotta’ Get Plugged In

   I use laptops, one at work, and my own at home. For one meeting, I moved all of the required technical components into a conference room, hooked up the network cable, plugged in, and then moved the mouse. Now wait a minute – why isn’t the cursor moving? I moved it, clicked it, moving the little mouse wheel thing, clicking right and left – nothing! All of this took about thirty seconds and then I moved ever so slightly to my right and realized that the mouse wasn’t plugged in. I had to laugh. Of course it can’t work if it’s not plugged in.

   What do I need to plug into? Faith, friends, family, hope, love, laughter, work, and prayer. But, sometimes I get plugged into distractions, moments of discord, stress, and struggles. Then, the proverbial mouse doesn’t work as well in what I want it to do. I have to be “plugged in” to the right things for the motion to work, for action to occur.

Son-flower Follower

   A few years ago, a local farm planted at least one field in sunflowers. I would occasionally drive past and loved to see the bright yellow petals contrasting with the dark brown centers. They stood so tall and straight in the field and were so beautiful.
   When I would drive past, I would be headed to a different city and would see these flowers at different times of the day. I didn’t even think about it the first time. When I drove to the city, the flowers were all visible from the road. When I drove back, several hours later, the flowers had turned their heads and what I could see then was the green framed with bits of yellow petals. It puzzled me for a moment and then I remembered, sunflowers are so aptly named because the follow the sun.
   I want to be a sunflower kind of Christ follower. I want my movement, my purpose, to follow the son. When I need to move because He has told to move, I want my face turned in the right direction. I will plant my feet, lift my face, and follow the son.

Time

I have wondered, only occasionally, what time looks like. In my mind, it takes a hodgepodge shape, kind of like the joke about how camels were made. You know the joke, it’s a horse made by committee. I don’t think time is a horse or made by a committee, but I do think that it’s a strange blend of parts. Part leopard because it can go so quickly that you can’t keep up. Part owl as it is stealthy and moving when you don’t even notice that it is passing. Blend in a few roller coasters for up and down moments, and the thrill of the climb, and the hurdle of the slide down. A kaleidoscope for eyes, because the look of things changes over time, and the perception of time itself changes over time. A nail and a hammer is in one hand, as time holds you in place and it can be painful. But, in the other hand is a bandage because time can also heal. Time is such a strange creature, changeable and speeding and then crawling.

Meant to Move

A few days after a trip, with a stormy night making yesterday feel even longer, about three o’clock in the afternoon I wanted to go home and go to bed, getting some sleep. Oh sleep!!! Where is my bed? Can I just lie my head down on a conference table someplace? A banana, nearly green like I like it, and a glass of water helped. But, I knew that when I got home from work that I would need to help mow. I don’t really mind mowing on days like yesterday, with a nice breeze and without it being very hot. In fact, it’s good exercise and thinking time.

Pulling into the driving, my head was set back against the headrest. The door opened, the warm air rushed in and I just sat there. Oh, I just want to sleep. Must change clothes, must put on tennis shoes…must go hug the pillow and curl up for a quick nap. The curling up lasted seconds, the mowing started. With a water bottle tucked into my pocket, I headed out to mow. At first, my feet were dragging along with my sheer force of being forced too. Continuing on it became easier, energy came even as the grass grew shorter.
We are meant to move. We gain energy with movement, exercise, exertion. It seems contrary and rest is certainly an important and necessary thing. Progressing along, stirring in our path, we are meant to move. Step out and let’s dance down the path, or at least make ourselves finish the mowing.