Trophies

My grandmother’s dining room was once filled with countless trophies. They lined the room on a shelf and gave witness to a remarkable sailing career. Although I never thought much about them, I knew, even as a child, it was an impressive collection. Returning to the home this weekend, I noticed the shelf had been taken down and all the trophies were gone. In town for my aunt’s funeral, the last of her generation, I couldn’t help but think about the passage of time and the trophies of life.

I was taught at an early age that the goal of life was to make a difference, to leave a mark, a legacy. I remember my striving for my high school diploma. I joked about how I would frame it in gold and hang it where everyone could see it. I remember wanting a particular college award that came with a brass pin. I said I’d never take it off if I got it. When I started working in schools, I was determined to make a name for myself. I wanted my children to think about me the way I thought about my father.

I’m embarrassed to admit, I have no idea where to find my high school diploma, in the drawer of my dresser the brass pin sits tarnished, and my children think very little about what their father once did. What I once thought was important, what I needed to define me, no longer matters. Like my grandmother’s trophies, the achievements I valued have been taken down and put away.  

I can’t help but wonder what really matters, what really lasts? Life chasing trophies is exhausting. I still believe we’re called to make a difference, to leave a mark, but maybe we do so in the wrong way.

My aunt’s funeral was a reminder that each of us comes with an expiration date and none of us knows how much time we have. A wise man pointed out that people on their deathbed never ask to see their financial portfolio, the name plate on their office door, or any award given. And yet, that’s what we spend most of our lives striving for and talking about. I have a feeling all those who have come to the end of their lives would tell us to stop the striving and start the living for what really matters.

With all the striving that surrounds us and all the shiny trophies waiting, it’s easy to get caught up in what doesn’t last. There’s a more excellent way, and it’s high time I find it, for where my treasure is, there my heart will be also.

Facing Home

When the Hebrew people were in exile, they gathered and remembered the promised land with profound fondness and deep longing. Even the children who only knew life in Babylon closed their eyes to imagine of such a place, a place that sounded familiar even though they’d never been there.

I know that feeling. I know that fondness and longing for home - my true home. I’ve heard people describe it, I’ve closed my eyes and imagined it, but I’ve never been there . . . I’ve never been there, but it’s as if my soul has, and it’s longing to return.

Sitting with these thoughts and feelings this morning, I can’t help but write about it. Somehow, writing helps my soul breathe, and sharing it offers the possibility that others know such thoughts and understand such feelings as well.

Somewhere beyond the horizon there’s a place surpassing all human understanding, our true home. On this shore, we hear whispers about what lies beyond our vision. (There are those who claim to know what it’s like and who gets to go, but they don’t know anything more than we do.) Our souls know all we need to know. It’s like they’ve been there, like they came from there. When we close our eyes, we can almost see a place we’ve never been.

Even though I have no idea when I’ll get to see this place first-hand, I can at lease turn my face, turn my heart, turn my life in that direction. That seems to be enough, for now.

The I's have it!

Someone once said, “we should always count the I’s.” His point was that we reveal a lot about ourselves, and our perspective on things, by the words we use. In this particular case, he was showing how our frequent use of “I” reveals a preoccupation with self. The speaker caused me to pause and see if I was guilty of such self-centered language. The answer, unfortunately was, yes.

Twelve-step recovery circles speak of “the bondage of self,” and I know those chains only too well. They also have a humorous saying: “I’m not much, but I’m all I think about,” which wouldn’t be so funny if it wasn’t so true.

The chains that bind us are everywhere we look:

·      The politician who speaks of public service while increasing his net worth ten-fold.

·      The minister who preaches about the community of all believers while making sure the spotlight is always pointed in her direction.

·      The couple who makes sure their names appear in the top supporter group not because of their passion for the organization but their preoccupation with being seen as leaders in their town.

Such examples abound, but what about “ordinary people” like you and me - the ones who have no office in the capital, no pulpit in which to stand? We might think we’re free from such self-centeredness, but an honest examination might prove otherwise.

·      Do we turn conversations in our direction?

·      Are we particularly fond of those who are fond of us?

·      Do we give our opinions and answers more than we ask questions?

·      Do we offer help in hopes of being seen doing so?

There’s a “more excellent way,” one that frees us of our self-centered fears. Spiritual leaders have often shown us the way. Jesus said anyone who wants to find his life must lose it, and the final words in the prayer attributed to St. Francis says it as well:

O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

I don’t know about you, but I need to be reminded to look beyond myself, so the I’s no longer dominate my words and actions.

It’s then I’ll be free.