Unique Works of Art

”Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
-From “The Summer Day“ by Mary Oliver

At the school whereI began my teaching career, they encouraged us to use the mimeograph machine rather than the xerox machine in an effort to save money. For those too young to have ever heard of such a thing, the mimeograph machine takes an original piece and then makes copies from the original as it circles around a drum loaded with ink. It was cheaper than the copy machine, but with every copy the ink was lighter, the words more faint. If you made enough copies, I suppose, eventually the words would be too faint to read.

It was not unlike my approach to painting when I started out. I took someone else’s work and tried to copy it. Because I was not very good, my version was nothing like the original so there was no worries of plagerism, but, like the mimeograph machine, the spiritual lesson was sitting on the canvas for me to discover.

Each of us was created unique, a one of a kind work of art. It’s one of the most basic and wonderful spiritual truths that we so often forget, or choose not to embrace. Instead, we spend our lives trying to be like other people. Maybe it’s a father or mother, teacher, or friend. We see someone we admire and set out to be like them. Following the examples of others can be a wonderful inspiration, but not when it comes at the cost of who WE are. If we try to imitate others, our uniqueness becomes more faint with each turn of the drum. The words of our own life become too faint to read.

I remember the story of a devout Jew named Isaac who died and, when at heaven’s gate, tried to explain how hard he tried to be Moses. God shook his head and said he was kind of hoping he would be Isaac. 

I am guilty of trying to be someone other than who I was created to be. In the shadow of an amazing father, I thought it was my job to carry on his life through mine, as a teacher I tried to be like Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society, and as a father I always wanted to be Atticus Finch as played by Gregory Peck in the movie adaptation of To Kill a Mockingbird. In each case, and countless others, I’ve been unsuccessful. Perhaps it’s time to stop the mimeograph machine and create a unique work of art out of the precious life I’ve been given. 

Want to try it, too?

Letting Go of the Rope

A friend recently described the time she first tried to water ski. She got up after only a few tries and was delighted by her early success. As she lifted an arm to show her delight to the onlookers in the boat, she caught an edge and plummeted into the lake. While her story at this point was not unique, the fact that she continued to hold the rope after hitting the water was. For an embarrassingly long time, she was dragged in the water until it dawned on her to let go. Free, she floated to the surface where she could breathe again and the boat could turn and come back for her.

The story was told in a wonderfully self-deprecating way that drew everyone listening closer. Her story, and her willingness to share it, allowed us to admit the times when we, too, fell head first into the water after a brief moment of success, when we were guilty of holding onto the rope after falling, and when we nearly drowned. Fortunately, we also learned to let go of the rope and float up to where we could breathe again, and, through the grace of God, others could turn the boat and come back for us. 

Today is the first anniversary of a dear friend getting sober. My heart is full, not because she fell, but because she let go of the rope and returned to the surface. On behalf of her husband, children, and folks who love her, we in the boat are so happy to have her back!

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.