Digging Tunnels

Sitting in the room with others recently, I was reminded of one of my favorite childhood summer activities. After swimming in the ocean for hours, we were pulled from the sea and told we need to take a break. Rather than just sit around, we would play in the sand. One of my favorite activities was digging tunnels. My cousin would start at one end, me at the other, and slowly, one handful at a time, we would begin digging. His arms were longer than mine, but, still, we dug toward each other. Eventually, we’d get close. The packed sand would soften until it collapsed. When our hands would touch, it was a moment of success, of connection, and, with some final cleaning out, the tunnel was ready for a tennis ball to roll through or wave to fill with water.

I still like digging tunnels, but my days of kneeling in sand are all but gone. Now I do it when sitting with others. I reach down and begin taking away the sand between us. I share what life has been like for me, the good and the bad, one handful at a time. Usually, the person I am with starts digging, too, and before long our hands meet at the middle. It takes willingness and effort to dig. It also takes a desire to reach far and dig deep so hands can meet. Then we realize, as if for the first time, that despite all our different life experiences, we have many things in common.

Just ask the two couples who’ve lost a child; listen when divorced souls share their experiences. Watch when a child finds another who knows exactly how he or she is feeling. It’s like watching hands meet. Contrary to what was written last week, about how each of us is unique, digging tunnels has shown me how alike we all are. In paradoxical glory, both brushstrokes are true.

Much of my early life was spent looking for, and accentuating, my uniqueness. Now, I’m more interested in what I have in common with others. There’s nothing like that moment when two lives share something important in common. It’s like the kingdom of God draws close. Don’t believe me? Next time you’re with someone, try digging a tunnel.

Original Art

“For we are God’s handiwork (masterpiece) . . .” Ephesians 2

He was just fooling around. Playing, really. Dipping his brush in the paint, he let it go in this or that direction until there was an intriguing, unique piece of art on the canvas before him. Unlike other pieces he’d done, he didn’t judge this one. He let it be. Later that semester, the art student painted over the spontaneous work and created something assigned. It was conventional, like the others in the class, and he was commended for his efforts. Many years later, once a successful artist, the man found the old painting. Using the most current techniques and chemicals, he removed the painting he did for class and found the spontaneous work beneath. There was something about it, something that made him smile, and he framed the piece and hung it in his studio.

The story speaks to my life and, perhaps, yours as well. I believe we were all unique works of art, made in a spontaneous creative moment by God, the divine artist. Rather than celebrate our uniqueness, we strove to be like others. Whether by wearing certain clothes, following conventional career paths, going on the same vacations, posting the same pictures, or living in specific neighborhoods, we did our utmost to look like others (and then tried to be unique in all our sameness!)

I believe the time comes when we long for something more – not more of the same, but more of the one-of-a kind. Deep down, we long for our unique, authentic, original selves. We know he or she is in there, somewhere! The problem is there are layers of paint we need to remove. It takes work, spiritual work, to remove the layers of paint, and that work requires patience, and trust. It might take longer than we would like, cause reactions we’d rather not hear . . . but when the hunger is great enough so will be our strength.

May this be the year we stop adding, and start removing, the layers. Deep within us all is a unique piece of art. May we begin the work of finding it today.

2023: Grab less; Open more

I was blessed with abundant Christmases as a child. The tree was surrounded by gifts, and it took all morning and then some to open them all. Yes, I was blessed, but I was also exhausted by it all. Rather than savor this sweater or ball, I looked for the next unopened package. In the end, I sat surrounded by gifts and paralyzed by which one I should focus on.

Unfortunately, I do the same with my life, and it’s never more apparent than at the start of a new year. With high hopes and countless expectations for the coming year, I get lost in all the possibilities surrounding me. Like a child, I don’t know where, or on what, to focus.

This year, I’m trying something different. Rather than grab (this gift or that, this resolution or that) I’m going to open my hands. Aware of the many gifts I’ve been given, I want to receive this year, this day, this moment, this person, this opportunity, this challenge as the gift it is. I don’t want to force it to be more than it is, nor do I want to diminish or dilute it. Remembering the many who were not given 2023, I want to breathe deep and, with a profound sense of gratitude, walk into this year with a grateful and obedient heart. I want to show up and be present and see what God has in store for me.

My hunch is it will be more than I can imagine. All I have to do is grab less and open more.