Controlling the Sea

I recently visited a town on the Jersey Shore and was surprised to find the beach completely transformed. The town, like many others, was rocked by Super Storm Sandy, and the few remaining vacant lots are poignant reminders of the storm’s devastation. Someone, the state or the residents, decided to protect the town from another storm and spend millions of dollars to dredge sand from the ocean’s floor and add it to the shoreline. The result is a wide beach never seen before, and I couldn’t help but wonder how long it would last. I do not blame people for wanting to protect their homes, and I hope the enlarged beach will succeed, but I learned when riding waves in that very ocean that the sea will do what it will, and it’s best to accept its fickle moods.

Sitting on the dredged-up sand, I thought about all the times and ways I’ve tried to control the sea. For much of my life, I believed I was in charge and set out to make my world and those around me (myself, too) comply with my particular vision. I know I’m not unique. Everywhere I look I see people trying to make the world around them comply with their expectations. From the devout parents who make their son go through a painful procedure to “get the gay out of him,” to the spouse who stays in an abusive marriage in hopes she can make her husband kind and understanding, there are many less dramatic examples as well. Like the coastal town, we think we can control the sea, and I just don’t know if we can.

I meet with a group of people who remind me that “acceptance is the answer to all my problems,” and I believe that’s true. There’s a big difference between acceptance and complacency, but I will write about that when I figure it out. For now, I want to let the efforts of one small town remind me of the ways I have foolishly tried to manipulate the sea and try to live the rest of my life with greater acceptance of people, places, and things. Releasing my clenched fists, I want to receive things as they are.

Sountracks

If you were to put together a soundtrack of your life, what songs would you include? That opportunity has presented itself to me and it’s been an interesting adventure. 

Songs I loved as a child cause me to cringe and look to see if anyone’s listening. Yes, I liked the Carpenters, and Puff, The Magic Dragon still beckens me to the land called Honahlee. In time, I wandered down some colorful paths listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd and The Allman Brothers, but it was the sad music of James Taylor, Neil Young, and Jackson Browne that carved a deeper place in my soul. 

Mine is an eclectic soundtrack, one that includes popular songs that are obvious, sappy ones which make my cool friends roll their eyes, as well as “druggy tunes,” as my wife describes them, that bring me back to circle of friends in a dorm room I’ll never forget. There’s even church music and Broadway musicals which provide their own theologies.

As we return to the festive months of summer, music cascades over all we do, and I would invite you to consider your life’s soundtrack. What was your first “favorite song”? What was the song you always played whenever you hooked up a stereo? What did you listen to when you were hurt? What did you listen to when no one else was listening? What song did you play in your first car? What music makes you get speeding tickets? What did you dance to at your wedding? What song moves you to tears? What would you want played at your funeral?

More than reminiscing, soundtracks can teach about the various chapters of our lives. The most important people and moments of our lives are usually intertwined with the melodies and words of particular songs. Friends in school used to ask what 5 albums I’d take with me on a desert island (Which must have had electricity and a stereo)? Now I pose a similar question to you. What songs would you select if you were to make a soundtrack of your life?

Extra Credit: Make the soundtrack and play it for someone, offering commentary where appropriate.

Feed the Birds

I was given a bird feeder by some dear friends and have tried to honor their generosity by keeping it filled. It hangs outside my studio, and I delight in the birds, chip monks, and squirrels that feast daily.

Recently, I was away for a week and the birdfeeder was empty when I returned. I quickly replenished it and sat on the to see how long it would take for the birds to return. Soon, a bird landed on a nearby tree and looked over at the feeder. Then he or she hopped to a branch closer before taking the leap to the feeder itself, checking out the new supply, and flying off again. Within ten minutes the cocktail party I’d grown to love returned and I marveled at how quickly the word had spread drawing others back to the sumptuous feast I had prepared.

I don’t consider myself an evangelical, although I am enthusiastic about my faith. As imperfect as it is, I possess a longing for God that runs deep within me.  As flawed as I am, I can’t help but return each morning and try again.  I suppose, like the birds before me, I’m hungry and search for food every morning. On those mornings when I find something to eat, I’m profoundly grateful. Sometimes I find it in a sunrise, or the sound of the wind causing the trees to sway. Often, I find it it in one the meditation books I read while sipping my cherished coffee. When I find it, though, I always want to run and tell others. I guess that’s why I began writing these Brushstrokes, and trying to write a novel.

I guess I’m just like the birds in front of me this morning. St. Francis would be proud!

Couldn’t resist: (Message seems particularly appropriate these days) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XHrRxQVUFN4