Saturday, October 4, 2008

Playing Catch with Babies


Relationships are kind of like playing catch. Impersonal relationships could be like playing catch with baseballs, and personal relationships with water balloons. The closer two people are to each other, the easier time they'll have completing their tosses. Talking face to face might be like standing five feet away, on the phone like 10 feet, and written communication might be like standing 20 or 30 feet away.

A baseball that gets dropped is unfortunate, but it can be recovered with varying degrees of difficulty. It hurts to get hit by a baseball you don't see coming, but the stakes go up exponentially when tossing water balloons because they're messy when dropped, and, in a certain sense, the game has to start over with a new balloon.

Emails loaded with emotion can be like white water balloons printed with a red stitching pattern resembling a baseball. Not a good idea to throw them unless your partner knows exactly what you're throwing. Eye-contact and verbal signals are simply a must, as well as certainty of your partner's willingness and ability to catch.

Marriage is kind of like playing catch with a newborn baby. This one can’t be dropped—at least not without tragic results. In order to minimize that baby’s airtime, those partners/parents need to stand as close as possible. Cushioned gloves might be a wise investment.

In fact, isn't it true that the baby should never leave the hands of at least one parent? Shouldn't those parents be close enough that they can simply hand the baby off to one another, back and forth? What if the parents were so close that they both held the baby at the same time, all the time?

At that point, I think the term "playing catch" takes on a new meaning. No longer a mere game, marriage is an guarantee that might be stated like this: "If you ever start to let go of this baby, I'll be right here to catch her. If this baby ever starts to slip from my hands, I know that you will be holding on and that you will already have caught her. Let's not be afraid, because together we will never let this baby drop."

Many of the weddings I've attended have referenced Ecclesiastes 4:12b, a familiar nugget of wisdom saying that "a cord of three strands is not quickly broken" (NIV). I've generally heard that verse interpreted to mean that the third strand in a marriage is God, and that He'll keep a couple together as long as they remember to include Him on their list of priorities.

I think another, equally Christian way to understand that analogy is in terms of the synergy generated by two people committed to a common goal, a goal whose sum is equal to more than the total of its parts. A marriage is not simply two people who happen to be doing life together. A marriage is a separate entity to whose success both spouses must be wholly committed.

A truly healthy marriage, then, is one in which husband and wife are more interested in the health of the baby than anything else. More than who brings home the bacon, who cooks it, who does the dishes, and who holds the remote control. More than personal autonomy or freedom to leave. More than the baseballs and water balloons constantly flying around as a parts of other, ongoing games of catch. Those things can be dropped.

The baby above all must be caught because that baby, when she grows up healthy and strong, will be capable of amazing things beyond their imagination. She will more closely resemble God than either of her parents. And there may come a time that they realize they have not fallen because she has been the one to catch them.

Friday, June 20, 2008

Poem: Wild Geese

by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

From her 2003 book
Owls and Other Fantasies

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Poem: The Lens of God


Picture the girls
not in red
but white dresses

Standing beside
not pimps
but proud fathers

Picture the boys
not in black
but white armor

Standing among
not drunks
but proud sons

One day I will be
a mere crumble of bones
as once I was before

But in this moment on the hill
beneath the tree
among the many passersby

I see the ivory tower of God
and His golden clock
alive in the bodies of His children

Here is our holy humanity
here is the end of burning lusts
here is the baptism of eyes and breath

Here is our inheritance of life.

Written 6-10-08
Berkeley, CA

Friday, May 16, 2008

Poem: Not Quite the Good Samaritan


Oh, what a jumbled bag am I
Indeed, and what a growing list
Of contradictions. Yes, I lie
A free man having sorely missed
The purposed point of his free living.
(‘Tis truly not the game of fakes.)
For men find pardon in forgiving
A fool whose faint heart only takes.

The pitied plight of this mistaken
Man yet yields his Truth unshaken:
Though jumbled in a bag, at rest;
Though listed and unchosen, best.

Written 3-11-08
Whittier, CA

Poem: Unintended Inspiration


Nobody knew
Such a chewy haiku
Would have nothing to do
With the dawn

When we read it instead
With the thought in our heads
That the sun was not dead
Or long gone.

Written 5-16-08
Whittier, CA

Thursday, May 8, 2008

Time of Your Life: Green Day Rewritten


Flew down to Tulum, Mexico, for my sister-in-law's wedding last week. It's a little bit south of Cancun, and Rebecca and I stayed at a hotel on the beach with her family for nearly a week. Turned out to be a huge dose of perspective for me about what truly matters in life. As Ecclesiastes puts it (kind of): know God and enjoy life. Such a breath of fresh air for me during the heaviest crunch of the semester.

The wedding, of course, was beautiful, as were the newlyweds. A couple nights before the ceremony, I was thinking about the couple getting married, trying to appreciate the significance of their event and the surrounding circumstances. I decided to rewrite the words of an old Green Day acoustic number from my high school years into a recap of their story and a look ahead into a bright future of marriage. I had my guitar with me, so I sang this at their reception:

"Todd and Rachelle"
(to the tune of "Good Riddance" by Green Day)

Verse 1:
Todd and Rachelle, you fit so well, two of a kind
An easy laugh, an honest heart, an open mind
This perfect promise you just made in Mexico
Just let it guide you and don't ever let it go

Chorus 1:
It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right
You know you'll have the time of your life

Verse 2:
Do you remember when you met that day at sea?
It's no surprise those butterflies were meant to be
But did you expect that you would find on that cruise
Not just a lover but a friend you'll never lose?

Chorus 2:
It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right
You know you'll have the time of your life

(Guitar solo)

Chorus 3:
It's something unpredictable, and there's no end in sight
You know you'll have the time of your life

Chorus 4:
It's something unpredictable, don't be afraid to cry
Just know you'll have the time of your life

Written 5-2-08
Tulum, Mexico

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Poem: To Hell and Back in an Evening over Macaroni and Cheese


No, not much approaches the joy
Of a well-made box, cooked an additional minute
With perhaps an extra quarter-stick stirred in.

And then to sit with the steam and savor
Its creamy simplicity, cut, of course, with a barley brew
Whose sharp bubbles serve well the inner child

In assertion of age, sufficiently advanced,
And of autonomous manhood, mustered and wrought
In stubble and plenty of well-worked years.

Musing, I convince myself against the idea
That my non-alcoholic has been emasculated, one often claimed
In the jeers and smirks of those thinking themselves somehow freer.

Only freer to stumble and speak stupidly, I contend.
Alone with my macaroni, it's somehow gratifying to grumble
Against something. A mere effort in avoidance? Could be...

Could be

Because it remains in the room
Beneath bowl, bottle, and alcoholic ambivalence
The same still question constantly imposed by the void.

Driving me to madness, around and around
Like ceaseless rats on rusty wheels, this bloodshot search
Silently steals my sight and sound balance.

No, it doesn't end, though summer come
Though seasons spend and speed me toward my final day
The question remains a threatening doom.

But tonight I hide in the safety of a childhood meal
A soft blanket in the bleak, and my drink, a cane, props me up
To walk another week or year. To reach...

O, to reach

This right arm towards heaven, in hopes
Of more than answers, more than issuance of manhood or destination
More than mere relief of worldly burden

But to find strength and be strengthened
To find freedom and completion and power in release of these commodities
To find the Lord at His table, to recline and to feast

And to behold what wondrous clarity spoke
The light into day, the breath into Adam, the answer into the depths
Of the void and the very soul of Satan, still beloved of God.

And to find compassion for that vicious asker
The one who would offer only death in rhetorical response
The one who so inadvertently shows even the lowliest soul not beyond the reach of love.

So now, in victory, I head to reheat the rest and open another;
For it seems the journey of this evening has again lightened and returned me
To simple and sufficient boyhood joys, such as those of macaroni and a tasty import.

Written 5-7-08
Whittier, CA