0's and 1's

“Granddaddy, I'm doing good in school,” the child, who still had work to do in English, said in the car to school.  “I’ve learned my multiplication table. I already know my 0’s and 1’s!” Trying not to laugh, the grandfather offered encouragement and later made an appointment to speak with his grandson’s math teacher.

The story, however, has entertained me since first hearing it. Although not gifted in math, even I know my 0’s and 1’s. Still, the boy’s pride was genuine, and it has since made me think about all the ways I am falsely optimistic.

When I succeed in creating a good painting, I sometimes think “I have it!” only to encounter someone who has spent her life painting, or see one of her works, and realize just how little I know.

When I read something by a noted theologian that I understand thoroughly, I marvel at how wise I have become, only to have a sunrise remind me how little I know about this world and the one who created it.

When my children and I click and I begin to line up for the father-of-the-year award, I am brought back to my knees when I say something belittling or demeaning.

When I win every game of family tennis and strut back to my car, only to watch people my age playing peers at a level beyond any I have known.

Yes, the 0’s and 1’s are good to know, but we cannot stop there. It is not a reason to feel badly about ourselves, just hungry to keep going. There are many more numbers and enormous joy waiting for when we master them as well. 

Renovations

For the last two years, the church I attend has been under construction. Built many years ago, it is an incredible structure, but is in need of extensive repairs and improvements. Knowing my love of churches, an architect-friend invited me to tour the renovations, and it was a memorable experience which taught me as much about faith as it did architecture.

We were shown around by the foreman and his apprentice, and their stories were as interesting as the building itself. While we climbed the many levels of scaffolding to reach the ceiling, they told of finding asbestos, and how removing it revealed countless leaks which had been undetected for years. (The repairs of which were not in the original budget.) Reaching the top, I touched windows I had only seen. I stood beside angels designed to hold the 450-pound lights, and was taken to the basement where we saw the new boiler and incredible air circulation system. We were told that when they removed the old system they found an old spring flowing, causing them to install a sump pump system which runs 24/7 to keep the foundation dry.

The tour was as extensive as it was overwhelming. Although, at the outset, the congregation agreed repairs and improvements were necessary, no one anticipated how many problems were going to be discovered, nor the unanticipated costs. As I exited the building, thinking of all the problems, my friend exclaimed: “What a fantastic building!” Although we had been on the same tour, we left with different reactions. I was grateful to be reminded of the building’s glory, not just its countless problems.

Part of me wished the renovation could have all been done with a fresh coat of paint, but the issues were more substantial than paint. It would have been tempting for the church’s leadership to ignore the problems, but eventually the problems would have made themselves undeniable (and more serious). To go inside was an act of courage, to do the work, an act of faith. Many who enter in a few months will not see half of what was done, but because of that unseen work countless others will worship here long after we are gone.

Like the renovation, we, too, need the courage to go inside. Yes, we know some of what we need to address, but we will also find other issues or problems we didn’t know existed. There will be times when we will wish we hadn’t made the journey, but we need the courage to go inside and faith to do the work. We need to be willing to climb up to the ceiling and down into the basement, regardless of what awaits us. We need to touch that which we have only seen, and ensure our foundation remains strong (and dry). Like walking inside a church under repair, we need to look at our lives of faith from a new perspective if it is to grow and thrive for years to come.

Original works of art.

A few years ago, I painted a scene I really liked. I found the picture of a painting in a magazine and set off to see if I could paint it as well. The result was better than any painting I had done up to that point in my artistic life, and I was not surprised when it sold quickly. Since then, however, I have thought about the painting and recently decided to try and recreate it. The problem was, I no longer had the picture from the magazine, only a pictures of my version.

It was clear to me early on in the process that I was yet another step away from the original. First, there was the scene itself, then the original painting, then the photograph of the painting in the magazine, then my rendition, and now there was going to be another layer of artistic interpretation. This version of artistic whisper-down-the-lane made me realize that with every layer comes distance from the original and, in the end, we will hardly recognize the original interpretation. 

I fear we often try the same things with our lives. One generation is named after another, and another, leaving only roman numerals to keep track. A mother tries to be like her mother, who tried to be like her mother, before the most recent translation bares no resemblance to the original. Examples are everywhere and remind me of something I recently read: We are born unique but end up like everybody else.

How sad.

I am reading a book about how our lives are works of art. Whether we are lawyers, plumbers, waitresses or writers . . . mothers, fathers, sons or daughters, we have the opportunity to be unique. Not unique for the sake of being unique, or to get people to notice us, but unique because there is literally no one like us. How dare we squander the gift by creating reproductions? How dare we create a version of someone who has already been?

In the movie, “Dead Poets Society”, the teacher takes his class outside and tells them to walk freely. They begin with wild and unique gates, only to fall into a military march of conformity. Monet, on the other hand, was told to develop his talents by going to the Louvre and imitating the masters. Instead, he chose to look out the window and the art world has never been the same.