Guest Blogger: Love Notes from the Fickle Monster, Part 19
Howdy.
I am sunned, showered, well fed, and just plain happy this evening.
Yep, enough small talk.
You and I spend time, much of our time, staying in between, on the other side of, on the right side of, or simply in lines. Most are prescribed or enforced lines which keep us safe and on the correct side of the traffic pattern. Some lines guide us, direct us, and often encourage us toward success. Quite often lines keep us from disorder and chaos (imagine the Hot Buttery Buns section of Golden Corral after they ring the golden bell with no lines, mutiny). Some lines are drawn to serve as boundaries or borders or containment. As children, we are given sheets of paper with lines and told to color inside, applauded when we do, tarred and feathered if we don't. Dramatic. Why yes, I am.
Inevitably, lines are drawn, and tirelessly, we try to stay on the right side of them.
Lines.
I memorized many lines. Words, authored by some fantastic dead guy, which held a metaphoric mirror to the world, pleading with an audience to think and perhaps change.
I stood in many lines, antsy to potty, bending to check the stalls and see if someone overlooked the empty one, praying to our sweet Lord that I won't have another 3rd grade episode.
I played ultimate frisbee and soccer and floor hockey and four square (played might be generous) inside of lines.
I followed the line leader. I've been the line leader.
I balanced on lines. I walked on the line. I wept in a line.
And, I draw lines.
Every day, I draw lines, marking my world with expectations and requesting people stay neatly within my construction. I get pissy and irritated when someone steps out, acts out, or doesn't follow, when someone fails. I allow others to do the same, and quite often, I assume lines are drawn, when really...my negative imagination overwhelms and pollutes free space.
What a shame. What a terrible shame.
On my final day at the Boys and Girls Club this summer, I had an opportunity to tell the kids what to do. I wanted to tell them to take a nap, but instead, I decided it was time for a good old puppet show. They were given feathers and foam and glue and wiggly eyes and freedom. My instructions were simple: make a puppet, craft a story, and perform. Trust, I was really surprised when I looked around and the kids WERE ACTUALLY PARTICIPATING. The entire summer my fingers itched to rip my hair out, my eyes constantly pooled with tears, and my mind wanted to crawl into a dark place and hibernate...forever. But now, NOW....the children were following the way, and then, I saw him. He was huddled in a corner, crying, upset because his puppet was screwy and looked like a charred Lamb Chop Ka-Bob. I tried to coax him out of the corner, reminding him there were no "rules," no absolutes with this activity. His puppet could be jacked up and still be perfect. He wasn't hearing it, and he stayed, self punished, nose planted, in the corner.
He was drawing lines, assuming lines, defining good and bad and ugly, and missing out entirely on the great fun every other kid was having (and let me tell you, that did not happen often).
One of the greatest things I can do is abandon the lines. I have spent years, YEARS with my nose in the corner, crying because of lines. I am done. The spiritual deprivation is far too great, far too costly when lines hold my life, my love, and my faith together. Because let's be honest, this is all far too great to be contained by manufactured restrictions.
This holy substance is too sweet and precious and short to be destroyed or rationed or cornered.
I am heartbroken when I consider the line drawing I have done.
Sorry for the assumptions and the disappointment, for the fear and the frustration.
I am heartbroken, and I am sorry.
Today, I simply want to be with my Creator God, who reconciles and loves. The Being who draws no lines but draws only to Himself.
This was the first thing Cora wrote on her new mac. Awesome.
I am sunned, showered, well fed, and just plain happy this evening.
Yep, enough small talk.
You and I spend time, much of our time, staying in between, on the other side of, on the right side of, or simply in lines. Most are prescribed or enforced lines which keep us safe and on the correct side of the traffic pattern. Some lines guide us, direct us, and often encourage us toward success. Quite often lines keep us from disorder and chaos (imagine the Hot Buttery Buns section of Golden Corral after they ring the golden bell with no lines, mutiny). Some lines are drawn to serve as boundaries or borders or containment. As children, we are given sheets of paper with lines and told to color inside, applauded when we do, tarred and feathered if we don't. Dramatic. Why yes, I am.
Inevitably, lines are drawn, and tirelessly, we try to stay on the right side of them.
Lines.
I memorized many lines. Words, authored by some fantastic dead guy, which held a metaphoric mirror to the world, pleading with an audience to think and perhaps change.
I stood in many lines, antsy to potty, bending to check the stalls and see if someone overlooked the empty one, praying to our sweet Lord that I won't have another 3rd grade episode.
I played ultimate frisbee and soccer and floor hockey and four square (played might be generous) inside of lines.
I followed the line leader. I've been the line leader.
I balanced on lines. I walked on the line. I wept in a line.
And, I draw lines.
Every day, I draw lines, marking my world with expectations and requesting people stay neatly within my construction. I get pissy and irritated when someone steps out, acts out, or doesn't follow, when someone fails. I allow others to do the same, and quite often, I assume lines are drawn, when really...my negative imagination overwhelms and pollutes free space.
What a shame. What a terrible shame.
On my final day at the Boys and Girls Club this summer, I had an opportunity to tell the kids what to do. I wanted to tell them to take a nap, but instead, I decided it was time for a good old puppet show. They were given feathers and foam and glue and wiggly eyes and freedom. My instructions were simple: make a puppet, craft a story, and perform. Trust, I was really surprised when I looked around and the kids WERE ACTUALLY PARTICIPATING. The entire summer my fingers itched to rip my hair out, my eyes constantly pooled with tears, and my mind wanted to crawl into a dark place and hibernate...forever. But now, NOW....the children were following the way, and then, I saw him. He was huddled in a corner, crying, upset because his puppet was screwy and looked like a charred Lamb Chop Ka-Bob. I tried to coax him out of the corner, reminding him there were no "rules," no absolutes with this activity. His puppet could be jacked up and still be perfect. He wasn't hearing it, and he stayed, self punished, nose planted, in the corner.
He was drawing lines, assuming lines, defining good and bad and ugly, and missing out entirely on the great fun every other kid was having (and let me tell you, that did not happen often).
One of the greatest things I can do is abandon the lines. I have spent years, YEARS with my nose in the corner, crying because of lines. I am done. The spiritual deprivation is far too great, far too costly when lines hold my life, my love, and my faith together. Because let's be honest, this is all far too great to be contained by manufactured restrictions.
This holy substance is too sweet and precious and short to be destroyed or rationed or cornered.
I am heartbroken when I consider the line drawing I have done.
Sorry for the assumptions and the disappointment, for the fear and the frustration.
I am heartbroken, and I am sorry.
Today, I simply want to be with my Creator God, who reconciles and loves. The Being who draws no lines but draws only to Himself.
So, I dare myself to get my nose of out the corner,
to put my pencil down, and
to be present, line-less, abandoned.
Oh, and I dare you, too.
**********************************************************
Cora Ruth Flottman is the best friend, college room8 and a complete inspiration to Sheila.
She is an actress, teacher, Christian, lover of the written word, and men who can change the tires on a car.
She blogs here every Friday (when inspired).
This was the first thing Cora wrote on her new mac. Awesome.
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