Finding by Forgetting

Lost in thoughts about the argument he had with his wife over breakfast and the disturbing call from the bank, he entered the elevator unaware of the woman cowering in the corner. Looking over as the doors closed, he asked if she was alright. No, she said, she wasn’t. Ever since her husband died, she’d been deathly afraid of riding in elevators. The man went and sat on the floor beside her until they reached her floor. Once she was gone, he realized he hadn’t thought of himself or his worries at any point while sitting beside the woman.

Of all the ways we get lost, getting lost in our thoughts and worries is the most frightening. Far from losing our way in the woods or taking the wrong road, getting lost in one’s thoughts and feelings is darker and more bewildering.

When I get lost, I often try to figure things out on my own, but I always become entangled in my own thinking, wrapped up in my feelings. The solution is never found within. Only when I’ve gone beyond myself and focused on someone else has the darkness and confusion been lifted. Like the man in the elevator, when I’ve sat beside another and focused on what was going on with them have I forgotten my thoughts and worries.

When I was hungry, you fed me .  . . when I was naked, you clothed me . . . and when I was in prison you visited me, someone once said. I always thought that was about the people who were hungry, naked and in prison. Now I see it’s just as much about us and how we can find ourselves by forgetting ourselves. 

All it takes is getting on the floor and sitting beside another.

God Speaking

All she did was clear her throat as she slept in the loft above the kitchen, but the sound was as if angels were singing. Maybe I’m just a Dad who misses the sounds of his children, but because she’s my child and the sound could only belong to her, I listened with a heart filling with gratitude faster than my mug was filling with coffee.

One of the first theologians who stirred my soul was a man who awakened in the darkness of his own imperfect humanity and laid on the ground praying for God to speak. He only heard two branches hitting one another, but the CLACK CLACK was enough to stir his soul for years.

I often wonder why God keeps himself such a secret, but this morning I realized that the problem lies not with God’s silence but my listening. Too often I listen for God’s voice only in church or expect it to arrive in King James English. The fact is, God speaks all the time, in church and in the gutter, in poetic prose and broken English (and other languages), in the bright moments and dark. Whether it’s a piece of music or two branches hitting one another, a sermon or a clearing of a young girl’s throat, God speaks. 

The question is will I have the ears to hear and a heart to receive?

Violins

It sat in the store window, displayed in a stand specifically designed to show it to the public in the most complementary angle and light. Afterall, it was a violin, and not just any violin, it was a Stradivarius. With its shape and color, there was no mistaking the instrument for anything but one of the finest violins ever created.

A wealthy merchant passed by and heard the on-lookers commenting on the violin. Although he didn’t play an instrument, he knew then he had to have the violin. Trying to hide his shock over the price, he purchased it and took it home and displayed it in the stand to impress his many visitors. No one dared to take the instrument from its stand. 

Once, he allowed a visitor who claimed to be an accomplished musician to take the violin out of the stand and play, but it sounded awful. The merchant wondered if there was something wrong with the violin. It wasn’t until a famous violinist came to town and asked to see the Stradivarius that he finally heard what the violin could do. The notes filled his villa and wandered through its open windows. Soon there was a crowd below listening. Each note was as rich as the color of the wood, each melodic line as curved and its frame.

He listened to the music for the rest of the afternoon until the violinist place it back in its stand and politely thanked the merchant and went her way. He remained in his chair as if still listening, closing his eyes the way he did when tasting a special wine. It’s not enough to have a special instrument, he thought to himself. The instrument must be placed into the hands of a great musician. Then, and only then, can one hear the instrument for what it is.

Follow up questions:

In what way have you left your life in a stand, caring only about the way looks?

Have you ever taken your life from the stand and placed it in the hands of the great musician (God)?

If so, what did the music sound like? . . . If not, what kept you from doing so?

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If you would like a book of similar meditations, Spiritual Java was published in December and is available through Amazon.