Flags Unfurled

All the town came out to see. After a year of fundraising and construction the new flagpole in the village square was ready. The mayor and other city officials were assembled, as well as the local boy scout troop to lead the pledge of allegiance and a high school senior to sing the national anthem. With a drumroll, the large flag was hoisted into place, but it was a still morning and the flag drooped like a sleeping child on his mother’s shoulder. Even the most patriotic longed for more.

“It needs wind,” a child whispered to her mother, and she was right. Flags need wind to come to life. Boats need their sails filled if they’re ever going to reach their destination.

If we are honest, we need wind too. We need the help of something, or someone, if we are to unfold and come to life. I’m thinking of a teacher I know who sat quietly each morning before the students arrived only to unfurl into one of the finest educators I’ve known. There was also the socially awkward painter who found her inspiration once the brush was in her hand. There was also the minister who climbed into the pulpit and delivered a sermon without notes that left us all mesmerized. In each case, something other than their own innate talent, their own determination, blew through them.  

Each day we are hoisted into our various roles. Whether we head downstairs to make breakfast for our children, grab our coffee for our commute, or head to the studio, we have a choice: we can go through our days as if it all depends on us, or we can open ourselves to God’s “wind” or spirit and allow it to blow through us. Such wind will cause us to wave and twist in random ways. We may even snap and pop from time to time. But such is the way of a spirit-filled, or animated, life . . . one filled with air, an inspiration to all looking on.

Flipping the Hourglass

Something someone said made me think of the large hourglass side-table in my parents’ living room. I remember picking it up, flipping it over, then sitting and watching the grains of sand slip down from one chamber to the other. Like my view of life at the time, it seemed endless. Now, as I think back on the grains of sand, I recall the countless moments of my life that have come and gone, and I wonder if it is possible to flip the hourglass over?

I don’t mean, is it possible to turn back time? I gave up that fantasy long ago. Instead, can the experiences we’ve had – the people we have known, the successes and failures we’ve had, and the places we’ve gone and things we’ve seen – be used in the time we have left? Can we take all that has happened and all we’ve experienced and flip the hourglass so those grains of sand shape the time we have left?

I remember a scene from a favorite movie when a character goes through a dramatic moment. It came out of nowhere, and suddenly what was awful turned out to bring about a radical change in the character. As those looking on applauded, the teacher leaned in and whispered, “Don’t you forget this.” Like flipping the hourglass, the character was taught to use what happened in his past to feed and shape his future.

Flipping over the hourglass changes the way I see my past. It encourages me to use my past to transform my future.

Leaping over Bulls

The connection was unmistakable, and I moved in closer to listen. He was speaking of his love for an ancient mural (a man leaping over a bull) and explained how it had served him well throughout his childhood. Learning issues had plagued him throughout his childhood, and then a teacher at his boarding school suggested that he not write a paper but makesomething. Working with his hands to create a model of what the other students were writing about awakened something within him that eventually led to a successful career as an architect. Like the childhood mural, he had learned to leap with the bull.

As someone with a learning difference, I know well the struggles at school. More than that, however, as a minister I know the countless bulls that come charging at us as we seek to live lives of faith. They lower their heads and come charging whether we are ready or not, and our first thought is to charge right back (or stick them with a spear). The ancient wisdom captured in the mural suggests a more excellent way. Maybe it’s a sudden health issue, a job crisis, or a devastating blow to a relationship, bulls come in all shapes and sizes. Instead of charging, perhaps we need to learn how to leap.

I can’t help but think of the alcoholic who surrenders rather than lives another day trying to control his drinking and finds new life while twirling in the air above the bull. I think of the couple who had to navigate a new job that required regular international travel. It leads to “sporadic honeymoons,” as they call them, around the globe. I also think about the small, struggling company that found great success when they grabbed the horns of new technology and became a virtual giant.

Earlier this year, the struggling student got to see the original mural. With tears in his eyes, he could see how it had saved his life, and I couldn’t help but see how learning how to leap over bulls had saved mine, and maybe yours, as well.