On Being Hollow

When I was a kid, one of my favorite books was E.L. Konigsburg's From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.  If you've never read it, it's the story of a brother and sister who run away from home, with the unlikely plan of taking up residence in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  While living in the museum, they become mixed up in a mystery of sorts, involving a particular piece of artwork; in solving it, they encounter an elderly, wealthy art collector, Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, and she discovers their secret.  As they talk with her about their time at the museum, the siblings reveal that one of the rules they've been living by is that they must learn about one new thing every day.  They're surprised, however, to discover that Mrs. Frankweiler vehemently disapproves of this plan.  Here's her explanation:

"I think you should learn, of course, and some days you must learn a great deal.  But you should also have days when you allow what is already in you to swell up inside of you until it touches everything.  And you can feel it inside of you.  If you never take time out to let that happen, then you accumulate facts, and they begin to rattle around inside of you.  You can make noise with them, but never really feel anything with them.  It's hollow."

I've always loved that passage, and I think it's a great reminder for those of us in the community of faith.  It seems that sometimes, as believers, we can get so caught up in learning, learning, learning.  Another Bible study, another quiet time, another devotional--we must always be learning.  But we often fail to take our learning to heart, to let it mature into something that touches the deepest part of who we are, that impacts how we live every day.  And then when we find ourselves in interactions with the rest of the world, all they are able to see in us is all those facts, rattling around.  We're making noise with them, but it's not meaningful to anyone, because we haven't let the information grow inside until it touches everything; it hasn't changed us in the way it was meant to.

If you're beginning to wonder what kind of New Age, anti-church claptrap I'm preaching, let me assure you that the Bible is just as clear on this point as E.L. Konigsburg.  James, in the first chapter of his book, urgently reminds his readers that the Scripture is intended not just for study, but for application.  He explains that when a person hears more and more information, but doesn't put it into practice, it's as though he has looked at himself intently in a mirror, and then walked away, only to have "forgotten what kind of person he was" .  (What an evocative phrase--not forgetting what we look like, he says, but forgetting who we are.)  Be an "effectual doer," he urges, not a "forgetful hearer."

In that case, you may be asking, what does this look like?  In other words, what does an "effectual doer" actually do?  It's an excellent question, and I certainly would never claim to have a monopoly on the answer.  But I will tell you what I see when I ask that question myself.  I see that Jesus says if we love him, we'll obey his commands, and his command is that we love each other.  I see that John says if we claim to love God, but don't love others, our proclaimed love for God is nothing but a lie we tell ourselves.  I see that Jesus says people will be able to identify us as his followers by the way we show love.  I see that Paul says if we have all the knowledge in the world but don't have love, we ourselves are nothing.  I see that there is no amount of Bible study or spiritual knowledge that will compensate for our failure to live out our learning by loving the ones that God loves, in the same way that he loves them.  This means that relationships, service, sacrifice, compassion, are at very least equal in importance to more and more learning.  It means that a cherished hour of talking, laughing, living together with someone is to be valued beyond one extra chapter of a study book completed.

This encourages me to take my time.  To grow into faith at a pace that allows for exploration, examination, reflection.  To think deeply and maybe for a long time about what love for others really means, and what choices and changes I might need to make so that it becomes real in me.  Most importantly, it encourages me to choose wisely in the way I use whatever precious time I have each day.  I could hurry through.  I could mark my spiritual growth by the number of chapters I consume every day.  I could fill my calendar with classes, studies, and seminars.  But I'm not willing to do so at the cost of walking away from that mirror and forgetting who I am.

Update on Money-Making Scheme #1: Consigning the Kids' Clothing

In an earlier post, I wrote about my generally unsuccessful attempt to make money by consigning some of my kids' old clothes.  When I left the store, most of the items still in hand but some reluctantly accepted, I was told to call in about two weeks and check on the status of my account.

If you followed the link above, you know that this event took place more than two months ago.  However, until yesterday, I still hadn't gotten around to calling.  My thinking was this.  Given the not-so-enthusiastic reception that greeted my offerings, they're probably not going to just fly off the sales floor.  Therefore (I thought), I don't want to call too early, hoping to have accumulated even the small amount of cash that would be possible, and discover that I've collected nothing.  I decided to wait until my items had some time to sell, then come in and pick up my ten bucks and be done with it.

So yesterday, I called the shop to check my balance and see if it was time to swoop in, victorious, and claim my lunch money.  The total balance in my account was--drum roll, please--one dollar and fifty cents.  Money-Making Scheme #1?  Fail two times.

W-O-M-A-N

Stagger out of bed when the alarm goes off and jump in the shower.  Grab comfortable clothes for a morning of teaching preschool (but not too comfortable, because you need to be professional at the office later), while listening to the kids getting ready for school.  They're already fighting, but at least they're old enough to get ready on their own now, which means you actually have time to blow-dry your hair.  Or at least you thought you did.  Finish with the dryer, look at the clock and think, "Holy crap, is that the time?"  Run downstairs and holler that it's time to go to the bus.  Pick up everything Child #1 left behind on his way to the van, promising to come back and make a second trip for Child #2 who is protesting that he can't leave because he hasn't fed the cats.  Drop off Child #1 at bus, go back home.  Pack up all your own stuff, back to the van, drop off Child #2 at school.  Stop at gas station, since fuel light has been on since you started the van the first time.  Drive to work.

Arrive at work 10 minutes late.  Attempt to do an hour's worth of room set-up and materials prep in 30 minutes.  Spend the next three hours helping with potty accidents, setting out and cleaning up art supplies, and dodging plastic fruit projectiles from boys "playing golf" with the wooden spoons from the play kitchen.  Do an insane amount of ballet dancing, using homemade streamers, which fortunately 4-year-olds aren't tall enough to smack you  in the face with more than a few times.  A little Schubert takes the edge off.

See everyone off with moms and dads, wash the snack dishes.  (Yes, the teachers have to wash the dishes.  Teachers have to do everything.)  Leave the rest of the cleanup undone so you can get away a little early, as you are scheduled to lead a meeting and are supposed to bring lunch for everyone.  Precariously balance to-go orders for four people out to the van, put key in ignition, look at dashboard clock and think, "Holy crap, is that the time?"

Arrive at your meeting 10 minutes late.  Get through all the housekeeping items, then discover logistical problem with facilities plan for upcoming event.  Spend 30 minutes longer than planned on ironing it out.  Go back to office and open up laptop for the first time today.  Attempt to reply to an hour's worth of email in 30 minutes.  Leave the rest unread so you can pick up Child #1 at the bus stop.  Drive home.  A little Metallica takes the edge off.

Arrive at school bus stop 10 minutes late.  Pick up Child #1 and go home.  Give food, water, and lavish praise to cats, who have charmingly left a dead vole on the front porch to show you how much they love you.  Empty dishwasher, load dishwasher, wash dishes.  Check homework.  Renew library books you forgot to stop and return.  (When would you have done that?)  Pay bills.  Engage in prolonged negotiation with Child #1 over what he and his imaginary friend Larry can have for snack.  Drink some more of the Dr. Pepper you got yourself at lunch, even though you shouldn't have drunk any of it in the first place.  Wonder how much water you've consumed today (not enough).  Pause for a moment of regret that you didn't tell them to leave the mayo off your sandwich.  Drink more Dr. Pepper anyway.  Drive to Post Office and pick up mail; drive to school to pick up Child #2 from track practice; try unsuccessfully to read most of the mail while you wait for him to come out.  Return home to discover bills you forgot to take to the Post Office and mail.  Decide against making anything for dinner, and in favor of eating whatever leftovers can be found in the refrigerator.  Unwisely check work email again and answer a couple.  Leave the rest of the housework undone so you can get ready for the event you're attending with your husband tonight.

Make heroic effort to don "shapewear" necessary with dress your husband helped you pick out.  Pray to God that if you succeed in getting it on, you don't immediately pass out from lack of oxygen.  Cross over from mild regret to cursing yourself for the earlier Dr. Pepper/mayo incident.  Finally manage to get dressed and meet your nephew--tonight's babysitter--at the door, only slightly out of breath from the effort.  Excuse yourself and return to the bathroom to do your hair.  Speculate whether makeup will cover chigger bites on your knee incurred at last week's track meet, and decide to try it.  (It won't.)

Leave for the event 10 minutes late, admonishing Child #2 to do his homework as you walk out the door.  Drive to meet your husband, and realize about halfway there that you forgot to get yourself any dinner out of the refrigerator.  Spend the next couple of hours looking at artwork, listening to music, and bumping elbows with eleventy gazillion people, approximately half of whom you are actually introduced to.  Clap enthusiastically when your husband receives an award.  While he gets his picture taken, enjoy 5 minutes alone at a table with a tiny, tiny plate of cheese, crackers, and fruit.  Afterward, walk out to the parking lot with friends and realize you can't remember where you parked.  Your friends help you by asking, "Does your van have a lot of bird poop on it?" and then directing you to the place they saw it when they drove in.

Leave the event 10 minutes after you already planned to be home.  Drive home in absolute, blissful silence.  Load up your nephew--along with your kids, since Hubby is still off at the thingy and there's no one else home--and drive him home, where your niece's enthusiastic greeting ("YOU got a HAIRCUT!  AND you have on a PRETTY DRESS!  And a pretty JACKET!  And pretty BOOTS!") almost makes you decide the shapewear was worth it.  Drive back home and send your kids to bed, over the angry protests of Child #2, who just now remembered that he forgot to do his homework.  Put a load of track clothes in the washer.  Put on pajamas, allowing your body to resume its real shape.  Fuzzy socks take the edge off.

Check personal email and decide there are too many to read or answer.  Make yourself a plate of leftovers and eat them in eight minutes while watching Phineas and Ferb.  Wish you had some more Dr. Pepper; drink some water instead.  Pack suitcase for work trip tomorrow.  Move clean laundry to dryer.  Create elaborate document to get husband through the 24 hours you'll be on work trip, containing instructions such as, "Friday, 3:30--Pick kids up from school."  Open work email and attempt to finish at least an hour's worth of work in 30 minutes.  Spend an hour on it instead.  Look up at the clock and think, "Holy crap, is that the time?"  Go take track clothes out of dryer and get yourself a piece of cheesecake out of the fridge, even though it's 11:54 pm.  Eat it while watching 30 Rock.

Shut everything down and head upstairs.  Stop in each kid's room and sit on the side of the bed, looking at them sleeping.  Notice how big they are; think about how fast time flies by.  Breathe in a moment of overwhelming gratitude for the amazing blessing of these kids, this day, ballet dancing with preschoolers, Metallica, friends, Dr. Pepper.  Collapse into bed and remember again how much you love this bed.  Sleep. (Until it's time to wake up and repeat.)

Do I Look Fat in This?

Yesterday, when I was having lunch with a friend, he complimented me on my recent haircut.  Well, actually, he said he knew there was something different about my hair, but he didn't know what it was.  After we both jokingly agreed that he should at least get credit for noticing something, we talked for a little bit about that infamous stumbling block of communication between men and women, the subject of women's appearance. 

Despite the ubiquitous nature of this relationship problem, I think the solution is actually quite simple, and it comes down to this.  Men, in general, are wired to be problem-solvers.  They search for problems, focus on problems, address problems, and then put the solved problems behind them.  To women, this problem-focused approach can often seem very negative.  We often wonder why it seems that our husbands, boyfriends, or significant others can find something that needs to be changed, fixed, or improved in everything we do.  Yet the corresponding positives seem strangely absent--why doesn't he even seem to notice when something is done perfectly?  The reason is that problems require attention.  Lack of problems means he can turn his attention elsewhere.  After all, if everything is great, why does he need to think about it?  If something goes wrong, he'll let you know--otherwise, you can assume that all is well.

I suspect that all this means that when women ask, "How do I look?," here's the question that men are hearing: "Can you find any problems with the way I look?"  He believes that he's being asked to perform a valuable service--identify problems that you want to know about and address.  It's the response he expects from you too, when he asks you how he looks (if he ever does).  He doesn't want to walk around with his fly unzipped or his hair looking funny, or maybe even in an outfit that's not appropriate to the occasion.  He assumes you don't either.  So he looks you over, scanning for problems.  If he doesn't see any, he gives the answer expressing approval appropriate to the situation.  You know what it is.  He says, "You look fine."  (This is actually the best-case scenario.  Worst-case scenario is that he finds a problem.  In which case, he won't say, "You look fine."  He'll say, "I don't think those shoes go with that outfit.)

Man or woman, I don't need to tell you that women are rarely thrilled with the answer, "You look fine." And my observation is that this can be not only frustrating, but also confusing for a man. After all, "fine" is pretty high praise, actually, in his book, since it means he's actively searched for some needed improvement, and wasn't able to find anything.  But he quickly sees that, for some reason, we're not happy with his response.  If he concludes that we're frustrated because he is not being helpful enough in solving the problem, and he tries offering some suggestions for improvement, just to please us, he will find this strategy even less well-received.

The conclusion that men often come to, after ending up in this situation a few times, is that women don't want an honest answer when we ask how we look. Therefore, it's best not to put in any honest effort, since they can't please us anyway.  Look her over if you must, but if you see any problems, lie and say she looks fine anyway.  And really, if you can get away without even looking, that's fine too, since you're only going to give the same answer no matter what she looks like.

Let me clear this one up right here.  Women DO NOT want men to give a dishonest or insincere answer to this question.  So what do we want?  We want an honest answer to something completely different.  When women ask any variation of the question, "How do I look," here's what we're asking:  "Do you like the way I look?"  We're not asking for problem-solving, or analysis of our hair, clothes, makeup, accessories, body, or weight.  (Really.  Even if we specifically ask if we look fat, we're still not asking you to comment on our weight.)  For that, we've got Cosmo, TV, low-fat ice cream, Carmen Electra, and virtually every commercial product and form of media in existence.  From you, we're asking, "Do I still do it for you?  Do you think I'm pretty?  Am I still the one?"  And we're hoping that you can honestly say "You rock my world."  "Fine" just doesn't have the same ring to it.