Two different strangers randomly made fun of me recently.
Part of me was aghast.
One guy pulled over in his car after I nearly fell off a curb and turned it into a pirouette so he could tell me thanks for the laugh.
The other woman just made fun of me for wearing a balaclava, hat, sunglasses and hood. It was cold and dorkiness doesn't count when you are trying to stay warm.
Part of me laughed.
I try to give thanks for my "goofy human stuff that makes me approachable." (That's how a friend graciously described why strangers are willing to mock me.)
I'm going to claim that and even hold it up as part of my pastoral calling. My goofiness makes space for others to breathe and laugh.
That could be my most godlike quality. I don't say that to boast about me, but point out what a wild God I worship.
I've been thinking about the one creation story recently
where we hear in Genesis,
"In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters."
God makes light, but then God pushes back the waters of chaos so there is space for creativity and life. Creation is not so much about making something out of nothing, but making space in the void, the chaos, the busyness, for life to exist.
Sometimes I think the most important part of my calling is trying to make space for breath and life. I try to join in this act of pushing back the overwhelming voids and darkness so there is some room to delight, create, and breathe.
I suck at most things religious so I'm going to hold onto this gift with all my might. I'll wear my goofy human stuff on my sleeve knowing it probably won't win me any glamour awards, but it might make a little space in the darkness for laughter and breath.
Seattle airport is to blame.
I haven't been able to write for a while, which isn't a big deal other than I think by writing and I am compulsive enough to need to write every Monday night.
But I haven't felt like it since Seattle airport.
The shelves in the bookstores were lined with only self-help books. Titles like Be a Winner in Finance, Leading like a Winner, Win Friends were everywhere we looked. (I have no idea what the real titles were other than winner seemed to show up a lot).
I'm not opposed to sharing tools for managing life; I just think it belongs in relationship and community not Seattle airport bookstore, especially not with pre-underlined highlights.
That kind of writing is obviously hot right now and some irrational fear overtook me that folks might look to me for helpful hints in life.
I've got nothing.
Okay, I do have the basics of trust the God of eternal love and try not to be an asshole.
Other than that, I resort to my childhood favorite advice of "dry your face before your butt."
I write simply because I try to pay attention and it keeps me from lying about what I see.
I got a pedicure in Florida and Elijah mentioned that my feet looked like old lady feet. He realized immediately this wasn't the nicest thing in the world to say so he fixed it by saying, "having your toes painted makes you look like you're trying to be young."
Little shit. This is what I get for raising astute kids. Mind you, I got the pedicure because my toenails are black and blue from hiking, but the bright red polish might have been out of my league. He's totally right and he said it with such love and even some concern that I could only laugh.
I write not to help people succeed or figure out life or pretend like I have a clue; I write because I try to pay attention and give shape to the deceit and delight I see in the world I love. I try to notice that bright red toenails might be covering a greater truth.
And I do think it's a waste of time. My writing and your possible reading are without purpose or agenda. But some of my most fascinating glimpses of truth are when I'm wasting time, daydreaming, wandering aimlessly, or just sitting quietly. Or writing a blog with the dog on my lap and my red toenails dancing in the gleam of the happy lite.
