On the day after Thanksgiving every year, my family and I begin to turn our attention to the next MAJOR event in the Harris household: saving the dates! Who’s performing? When? (And now we have to ask in what state (with the older two in school in Tennessee.) Where is each of us supposed to be on any given day (and how many tickets do we need, etc.)? And finally, WHY did we accept invitations to participate in so many events in a few short weeks?
Thankfully for us, the commotion has calmed down a bit since the older two starting driving. But as a family, we still try to support each other’s events. So although we aren’t necessarily driving to and from countless rehearsals, we’re still on the front row on opening night, so to speak. We’re still each other’s greatest fans. After all, we’re family.
As family, we’re derived from something far greater than genes. As family, we’re committed to something far greater than individuals. As family, we’re united for something far greater than perhaps any one of us could understand.
Though all of us have very different personalities, preferences, and professions, at the end of the day, the very core of each of us is the same. We all want to be affirmed. We all want to be appreciated. We all want to be loved. We need to be loved. We have to be loved.
Yet how do we address this basic need for love in each of us? How do we address this need with people who look, think, and act differently than us? How do we address this need in others when we, ourselves, don’t feel adequately “loving” on any particular day? How do we address this basic need with perfect strangers? Is “stranger” love possible?
I believe "stranger" love is entirely possible when we consider the definition of the word strange: unexpected, extraordinary, surprising, astonishing, and funny (or amusing). I believe this is what is experienced each time a performer seeks to please an audience with an outstanding performance or especially moving rendition of a song. What transpires with each of these performances is the essence of engaging grace. It is a deep desire on the part of the performer to affirm the unspoken expectations of the audience.
When my older daughter was seven, she played the part of “Gretl” in a community theatre production of “The Sound of Music” in Asheboro, North Carolina. As the smallest of the children in the play, she would be the last to sing in the “So Long, Farewell” song (which included an octave jump in pitch). Unnerved by her mission, she proceeded to center stage to sing. As a nun waiting in the wings, I peered out from behind the curtain to see only the spotlight shining down on the side of her face as she began to sing, “The sun has gone to bed and so must I. So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye!”
What happened when she finished is a moment in time that I will savor forever. As if rehearsed for weeks on end, the audience responded with an audible sigh of approval as her little voice seamlessly ascended the octave. As she proceeded to wave her way off the stage, the audience applauded their gratitude for her performance. Some even waved back at her as if a part of the play themselves. Unknowingly, they WERE a part of the performance of a lifetime for me as I watched this interplay between strangers and family.
This display between strangers and family is the epitome of the next essential element needed for engaging grace: affirmation. Affirming others (even strangers) is vital in the art of engaging grace. Seeking to engage others with affirming words and gestures of kindness will always pave the way to engaging encounters that we can savor for the moment and maybe even for a lifetime.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Singing "The Rhythm of Life"
When I was in college I sang and traveled with an amazing group of talented people in what was known as a "concert" choir. Singing mostly classical works ranging from four to eight parts, I never stopped to truly think about how many pieces we sang or how many words (both in English and various other languages) we memorized. Nor did I ever stop to think about the unity of sound - even with so many different parts. I'm ashamed to say that I took all of that for granted back then. I did not value the countless hours of rehearsals nor did I truly value the man who stood before us with his signature hand towel to wipe his drenched brow as he drilled us over and over again until every note was precise and symphonic sound was achieved.
One year we sang a song called "The Rhythm of Life" which had the fastest lyrics that I can ever remember singing. The chorus then led into nonsense syllables and finally returned to the main theme: the rhythm of life. This was, afterall, what the composer sought to simulate in the song. And yet there was a point to the chorus: "The rhythm of life is a powerful beat. It puts a tingle in your fingers and a tingle in your feet. There's rhythm on the inside; there's rhythm on the street. And the rhythm of life is a powerful beat."
When I think about the "rhythms of life" around me, my mind immediately goes to the particular beauty that autumn brings, and if I've said it once, I've said it a hundred times: the colors THIS year have been breathtaking! The golds beckon me with royal authority to watch their every move as the wind produces hundreds of hues to excite my emotions. The oranges are ablaze with penetrating intensity that challenge the volition of my will to look away. And the deep reds penetrate my very soul. On more than one occasion, I've just had to LOUDLY reply to the beauty of the whole scene unfolding before my very eyes. Then I've felt a twinge of sadness. I've wondered just how many "other" very beautiful falls have simply come and gone without even a response from me. How many others have passed me by simply because I did not take the time to engage?
Sadder than this, however, is a larger possibility. If I have allowed such an awesome display of the "rhythm" of life such as the magnificent changing of colors to parade ALL around me without as much as a sigh, is it possible that something much greater has also eluded my attention? Have I failed to recognize the beauty of interaction not with leaves, but with life itself? Am I fully alive or merely existing. Am I constantly an active participant in life or merely a consumer? Am I engaged in a journey with a destination or am I on auto-pilot watching the world pass by me? Is there a point to life and what can I learn from the changing seasons? (And what does any of this nostalgia have to do with engaging grace anyway?)
Looking back over my life, I can categorize a number of years as just a blurb - especially the first three years after I became a mother - twice. As with all young mothers, there were many sleep-deprived days when I was on auto-pilot in a perpetual nursing/changing/rocking rhythm that continued from sun up to sundown. Those were the days when showers were the luxurious five minute respites from the reality of knowing that other human lives were depending on me to care for their needs. The focus of life became the care - not the caretaker. But children do grow up and (hopefully) learn to care for themselves.
Yet what is the "rhythm" of life that continues to pulsate as it relates to engaging grace. What are the second and third ingredients necessary to achieve engaging grace if life is the greatest gift: the ability to give birth to life is the second greatest; and the opportunity to share life with others is the third? What follows Love to lead the Way to engaging Grace?
If love truly is the first necessary ingredient for engaging grace, what are the second and third? The second ingredient is awareness and the third is appreciation. Engaging grace, then, begins with love, is colored by awareness and sings with appreciation. These ingredients produce a "rhythm of life" that truly leads to engaging grace!
One year we sang a song called "The Rhythm of Life" which had the fastest lyrics that I can ever remember singing. The chorus then led into nonsense syllables and finally returned to the main theme: the rhythm of life. This was, afterall, what the composer sought to simulate in the song. And yet there was a point to the chorus: "The rhythm of life is a powerful beat. It puts a tingle in your fingers and a tingle in your feet. There's rhythm on the inside; there's rhythm on the street. And the rhythm of life is a powerful beat."
When I think about the "rhythms of life" around me, my mind immediately goes to the particular beauty that autumn brings, and if I've said it once, I've said it a hundred times: the colors THIS year have been breathtaking! The golds beckon me with royal authority to watch their every move as the wind produces hundreds of hues to excite my emotions. The oranges are ablaze with penetrating intensity that challenge the volition of my will to look away. And the deep reds penetrate my very soul. On more than one occasion, I've just had to LOUDLY reply to the beauty of the whole scene unfolding before my very eyes. Then I've felt a twinge of sadness. I've wondered just how many "other" very beautiful falls have simply come and gone without even a response from me. How many others have passed me by simply because I did not take the time to engage?
Sadder than this, however, is a larger possibility. If I have allowed such an awesome display of the "rhythm" of life such as the magnificent changing of colors to parade ALL around me without as much as a sigh, is it possible that something much greater has also eluded my attention? Have I failed to recognize the beauty of interaction not with leaves, but with life itself? Am I fully alive or merely existing. Am I constantly an active participant in life or merely a consumer? Am I engaged in a journey with a destination or am I on auto-pilot watching the world pass by me? Is there a point to life and what can I learn from the changing seasons? (And what does any of this nostalgia have to do with engaging grace anyway?)
Looking back over my life, I can categorize a number of years as just a blurb - especially the first three years after I became a mother - twice. As with all young mothers, there were many sleep-deprived days when I was on auto-pilot in a perpetual nursing/changing/rocking rhythm that continued from sun up to sundown. Those were the days when showers were the luxurious five minute respites from the reality of knowing that other human lives were depending on me to care for their needs. The focus of life became the care - not the caretaker. But children do grow up and (hopefully) learn to care for themselves.
Yet what is the "rhythm" of life that continues to pulsate as it relates to engaging grace. What are the second and third ingredients necessary to achieve engaging grace if life is the greatest gift: the ability to give birth to life is the second greatest; and the opportunity to share life with others is the third? What follows Love to lead the Way to engaging Grace?
If love truly is the first necessary ingredient for engaging grace, what are the second and third? The second ingredient is awareness and the third is appreciation. Engaging grace, then, begins with love, is colored by awareness and sings with appreciation. These ingredients produce a "rhythm of life" that truly leads to engaging grace!
Friday, October 31, 2008
Shattering the "Force Fields"
One of the most vivid images I have of my childhood is playing imaginary games of war with my brothers. On the rare occasion when I would actually outsmart them in their own prescribed battle, they would try to resist the inevitable defeat by yelling, "Shield's up!" Of course they thought this phrase automatically gave them immunity for with these two words (and whether in time or not) they vindicated their lack of prowess by throwing up the "force field" - this imaginary wall that could totally and instantly secure them from harm's way: their sister's fingernails. I should not have been surprised when I (in my best "Tickle Monster" imitation) eeked towards my son (who was less than two at the time and sitting on my husband's lap) only to hear him exact the same defense that had interrupted the flow of interaction with my brothers so many years ago. "Shield's up! Shield's up, Mommy. Can't touch me."
Who taught him the rules of engagement (or rather disengagement), and why would he think he could use that on me? I was stopped dead in my tracks. I was also sad. Not just about the fact that I wasn't going to be able to connect with him physically at the moment, but also in the realization that he now had a personal way of disconnecting with me - verbally. The "shield" was up, and I was out! Or could I forge through the pretense of invisibility he was affronting? After all, I had successfully defeated the masterminds of many a fine war before, but could I break down the wall of "protection" from my little guy's heart?
First I played the sympathy card: fake crying. He laughed. Then I played the conditional card, "If you let me tickle you, then I'll let you get the mail out of the mailbox with me." (What was I thinking? He couldn't read words. He was just learning to use them and study the responses he got from his adoring parents when he spoke.) Finally, I just decided to play the disinterested card. I walked over to the couch and forced myself not to move a muscle or to look his way.
A few minutes later he had edged himself off Daddy's lap and was heading over to Mommy. He had aptly displayed his knowledge of the "force field" rules that day, but he had also experienced the loneliness of so doing. Mommy had respected the boundary that his "Shield's up!" cry had afforded. Now he had experienced the flip side of his choice of disengagement: ignorance.
As I joyfully welcomed him back onto my lap again and again over the course of the next few years, I told him that he could never use the "force field" on Mommy because the shield could be penetrated in only one way - yet you couldn't see the way, you could only feel it. The Way is Love.
So what is the first ingredient necessary for engaging grace to take place? What is the way to forge past the current "force fields" of power, pride and pretense? How can we lay down our own desires and seek a better way to engage? Love.
Who taught him the rules of engagement (or rather disengagement), and why would he think he could use that on me? I was stopped dead in my tracks. I was also sad. Not just about the fact that I wasn't going to be able to connect with him physically at the moment, but also in the realization that he now had a personal way of disconnecting with me - verbally. The "shield" was up, and I was out! Or could I forge through the pretense of invisibility he was affronting? After all, I had successfully defeated the masterminds of many a fine war before, but could I break down the wall of "protection" from my little guy's heart?
First I played the sympathy card: fake crying. He laughed. Then I played the conditional card, "If you let me tickle you, then I'll let you get the mail out of the mailbox with me." (What was I thinking? He couldn't read words. He was just learning to use them and study the responses he got from his adoring parents when he spoke.) Finally, I just decided to play the disinterested card. I walked over to the couch and forced myself not to move a muscle or to look his way.
A few minutes later he had edged himself off Daddy's lap and was heading over to Mommy. He had aptly displayed his knowledge of the "force field" rules that day, but he had also experienced the loneliness of so doing. Mommy had respected the boundary that his "Shield's up!" cry had afforded. Now he had experienced the flip side of his choice of disengagement: ignorance.
As I joyfully welcomed him back onto my lap again and again over the course of the next few years, I told him that he could never use the "force field" on Mommy because the shield could be penetrated in only one way - yet you couldn't see the way, you could only feel it. The Way is Love.
So what is the first ingredient necessary for engaging grace to take place? What is the way to forge past the current "force fields" of power, pride and pretense? How can we lay down our own desires and seek a better way to engage? Love.
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