Walking on Vodka

“Miracles were all fine and good way back when,” said the man just holding on, “but as for my life it’s all pretty ordinary, at best.” I understood, but disagreed. Remembering when he first came into the rooms of AA - the glossy eyes and puffy face, vivid stories of excessive drinking and heartbreaking dishonesty, and his fingernail-scratching climb out of the depths – I have often looked across the room and marveled at how, with God’s help, this man is becoming a new creation. On this particular morning, he couldn’t see it.

Fog is like that. When it drifts in, it blinds us to the grace-full landscapes of our lives and we begin to doubt the wonder that surrounds us. When pressure at work squeezes tight, a child stumbles, or the world's ills overwhelm, it’s easy to get lost in the fog and, like my friend, see only the ordinary.

Thanksgiving is a time to push the fog aside. It’s been said we can live as if there are no miracles, or as if everything is a miracle. Perhaps the reality lies somewhere between the two, but as my friend bemoaned the fact he was incapable of walking on water, I celebrated his walking on vodka.

Leaves

I live in a tidy neighborhood. There are no white picket fences, at least the kind you can see, but people distinguish their properties all the same. Nowhere is that more evident than at this time of year. Take, for example, the way we deal with leaves.

There are those who hire others to remove their leaves. Strict instructions are given by one neighbor that leaves are to be removed immediately. He cares not where they go, just that they go, so his home remains neat and tidy continuously. He wants to live as if the leaves do not exist.

Others rake or blow their leaves into neat piles on the curb and wait for the city to take them away. The leaves, for these neighbors, are necessary nuisances that must be tolerated until they are removed and life can go on.

Then there are “the mulchers,” those who don’t see leaves as debris to be whisked away or nuisances to be tolerated, but as potential food. They grind the leaves into little pieces and  scattered them over the lawn where they eventually become food for the soil. Their approach is the messiest, but it’s also the healthiest.

Like trees, we live through different seasons. We celebrate the joy and excitement of new life just like we do when trees bring forth leaves and blossoms again. Whether a new job, project, or relationship, it’s easy to dance when all is new. Such a dance is more challenging when the leaves begin to fall and flowers blow away. Yes, to everything there is a season, but how we handle the change in seasons says a lot about our approach to life.

There are those of us who long to deny the leaves. We pay a lot to have them whisked away, as if they never existed, so our homes appear neat and tidy throughout the year.

Others tolerate the leaves, seeing them as necessary nuisances to be endured. They blow or rake them into neat piles, as if to contain or control the mess, and wait for them to be taken away so they can get on with their lives.

Then there are the mulchers, people who not only accept the leaves, but also see them as potential food, if only they take the time to grind them into little pieces and scatter them on their lawns. It is then that death becomes life, mistakes become experience, and ignorance becomes wisdom. It’s a messy way to live, but it’s the healthiest.

Noses and Nickels

“We’re down to counting noses and nickels,” said the minister describing his once-thriving parish.  New to the expression, I figured out he was talking about the way he measures the health of his parish. After many years of vibrant ministries, it was now about the number of people showing up and money collected.

Not long ago, his was the model parish. With three services on Sundays, a vibrant youth program, visible commitment to the poor, and compassionate understanding of twelve-step recovery, his parish was a seven-days-a-week faith community others imitated. Did things change because something happened, or because he began counting noses and nickels?

How we look at or measure life determines the kind of life we live. Do we look at people, organizations, and ideas from an enlarged or constricted view? Do we see what could be, or what is? The way we measure determines everything.

My measuring techniques vary depending on what surrounds me. When banks change their tune, when others tell me "it will never work," or I get tired and feel like I'm in it alone, it's easy to start counting noses and nickels, but I know we are called to see beyond such things to a more excellent way. Only then can we sail to shores beyond the horizon, work toward goals beyond our grasp, and participate in a dance beyond our creating.