Absent-Minded Professor, Part II
Some of you may have been waiting for this sequel to an earlier episode (2/16/2006). I'm sure all of you knew it was coming.
My pastor (and dear friend) Jodi was here on Sunday afternoon, and I played a bit for her from Eva Cassidy's exquisite Songbird album. Jodi is herself a gifted musician--one of those people whose soul and way of interacting with the world is musical--and she liked the album, so I wanted to give her the CD. This morning, I tied a little ribbon around the case and attached an old-fashioned paper tag (you know, so it would be a charming little gift) and dropped it off at her house. Except that I didn't actually include the CD.
I've done this twice in my life. The last time I did it was a few months ago, the last time I returned a CD . . . to Jodi.
Yikes. But--yay. When I first started going to my Bible study, one evening I said something about all my little anxieties, and Jodi said, "We just don't see it!" And I remember realizing that they didn't know me--yet. As Julie said in her comments the other day, nobody expects me to be quite as easily distracted as I am. That is because I was raised by two of the most focused and grounded people on earth, and much like someone who nimbly gets about on a prosthetic leg, I have developed a number of inconspicuous adaptive strategies. In truth, however, I am essentially a person constantly in struggle against spacing out.
But what I'm noticing about my life here in Ed and Jodi's church, and among the supportive people with whom I work, is how I feel about my mistakes. I feel like my little foolish missteps are helping me map out who I am, really. It's not that forgetting the CD was itself a good thing--it's that I didn't feel like I had to proofread the note and check the package three times before I gave it to Jodi in an effort to maintain a perfect image. It seems like a ridiculous way to have lived, but to be free of it is like being invited out to play. I feel as if the constancy of their love, for me and all of us at the church, shows me what it means when Jesus tells us his yoke is easy, and his burden is light.
I wonder if all the disciples were constantly spaced-out too. It would explain a lot.
My pastor (and dear friend) Jodi was here on Sunday afternoon, and I played a bit for her from Eva Cassidy's exquisite Songbird album. Jodi is herself a gifted musician--one of those people whose soul and way of interacting with the world is musical--and she liked the album, so I wanted to give her the CD. This morning, I tied a little ribbon around the case and attached an old-fashioned paper tag (you know, so it would be a charming little gift) and dropped it off at her house. Except that I didn't actually include the CD.
I've done this twice in my life. The last time I did it was a few months ago, the last time I returned a CD . . . to Jodi.
Yikes. But--yay. When I first started going to my Bible study, one evening I said something about all my little anxieties, and Jodi said, "We just don't see it!" And I remember realizing that they didn't know me--yet. As Julie said in her comments the other day, nobody expects me to be quite as easily distracted as I am. That is because I was raised by two of the most focused and grounded people on earth, and much like someone who nimbly gets about on a prosthetic leg, I have developed a number of inconspicuous adaptive strategies. In truth, however, I am essentially a person constantly in struggle against spacing out.
But what I'm noticing about my life here in Ed and Jodi's church, and among the supportive people with whom I work, is how I feel about my mistakes. I feel like my little foolish missteps are helping me map out who I am, really. It's not that forgetting the CD was itself a good thing--it's that I didn't feel like I had to proofread the note and check the package three times before I gave it to Jodi in an effort to maintain a perfect image. It seems like a ridiculous way to have lived, but to be free of it is like being invited out to play. I feel as if the constancy of their love, for me and all of us at the church, shows me what it means when Jesus tells us his yoke is easy, and his burden is light.
I wonder if all the disciples were constantly spaced-out too. It would explain a lot.
posted by Tara | 12:36 AM
1 Comments:
Maybe they got distracted by shiny, reflective surfaces too...
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