I wish I had something interesting to blog about today. I thought of something while I was in the car today but for the life of me cannot remember what it was. You say well why didn't you write it down. Well I was driving silly. I couldn't write it down.
I'm rereading the book Gilead by Marilyn Robinson. It was published a few years ago. It won the pulitzer prize for fiction. It is so beautiful. The language is really wonderful. It is a great story written from the voice of an aging congregational clergy person. He is writing a letter to his son. Late in life he married and then had a child. Now at 76 or so he has learned that he doesn't have long to live. The child in only 7 now so isn't all that interested in knowing his father's story now but the narrator knows that one day he will want to know and he wants his son to know who he was. It is a great story about redemption. It is just beautiful. But what I'm finding now, reading it this time, is that the words are much more poignant than they were the first time I read the book. The story of a father knowing that he will not see his son grow up and the great sadness that comes with that feels all too familiar. Every word feels so laced with grief, even the stories of hope. So this time around I'm not as able to read it as quickly. I hope that even if my brother isn't able to leave the same sort of story for his children that should he die I am able to tell his children who he was. Although, to be honest I'm not always sure I really know who he is.
But the thing I realized today while I was meeting with my spiritual director is that I want people to know who I am. So that there will be no question at the end of my life. I think this blog is part of the way I'm doing that. I think it is interesting and somewhat sad that people can go their entire lives without being fully known. I think my life has been somewhat guarded up to this. I don't think guarded is the right word I think instead the word is hidden. No that isn't right either, instead I think I've been asleep. And now I feel like I've woken up and I want to experience every moment. That is what I've been trying to get to in this blog. I want to feel each moment and some of those moments will hurt like hell. And I want the people I love the most to know what I'm feeling. Not just the parts that are easiest to stomach, not just the easy parts but the hard parts too. There is this great Dave Wilcox song called The Hard Part. You should check it out. It is a great song about this very thing.
Alright enough for today.
Feeling this moment.
2 comments:
Wow Brian. What a thought provoking post today.
I think that it's human nature for people to explore the merits of their life. It usually happens when one reaches a substantial or significant mile marker or have a life changing event. Is there something happening with you?
The other question that needs to be asked is how does one make a measurement of one's life merits? Is there a physical measure? Is there an abstract measure? Is there any sort of measure? We as humans always want to see some sort of tangibility when it comes to the merits of our life, and usually that tangibility is in some sort of monetary form, which by the way I think it's kinda sad, and our capitalist character revealing itself. Is that how you want to see your merits of life?
Or can you find it within yourself knowing that the people you have met throughout your life have been touched by your friendship, your humor, your words, your advise, and your presence, without it being up in bright lights? I believe you can.
You named what I'm feeling, Brian. I want to be known . . . and liked. I guess one of the reasons I blog from way out here is that I want to be on at least someone's map, someone's radar screen, and, truth be told, I want to feel it all as well. I'm wondering what it means to want to be known when my "life vocation" is about making something else known. I'm wondering if the two can come together or if they will always rub up against each other like two children fighting to be mom's favorite.
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