The Friction Zone

Our Walmart nation has succeeded in attaining one thing: an easier lifestyle. It's a fact that we're now fatter, lazier, and more short-tempered than ever before. And we're hooked on anti-depressants. But I believe that a little "friction" in our lives is a good thing. Not harmful, destructive friction. But the type that gets us up and off our sectionals, usually for the benefit of someone else.

Oh yes, here's the "need-vs-want" sermon. But it's everywhere. In fact, the other day a friend posted a comment on Facebook that she "needed" a massage at a local day spa. Seriously? I mean, tell that to the old lady who came to the food pantry last month and said that she could only take food that she could eat out of her car, which was also her current home. She doesn't have friction, she has hardship. But she does need someone to get off their sectional and step out into the "friction zone" to help her.

Oh yes, I am guilty of it, too. I love to sit and simply have "my time." Do nothing. But those "nothing credits" begin to add up. And before you know it you start to really believe that life is about nothing. That you are about nothing. Antidepressant sales just jumped.

I remember years ago when I was on a 2-day 150-mile bike ride for the Lung Association. We were riding into Loyola in Chicago and the temperature had plummeted into the low 30's. I was crossing an overpass when my rear tire blew. I was so cold and my hands were so numb that I had trouble changing the spare. A "sag wagon" picked me up and the nurse in the passenger's seat said, "Got another one who's hypothermiating!" As I looked at the other two frigid riders who sat in the back of the van with me all we could do was smile. And eventually we started laughing. I remember that it was a great, wonderful laugh! We could have been back in our living rooms drinking beer and eating Frito's. But instead, we sat there cold, wet and hungry. We willingly stepped into the friction zone to raise money for a worthy cause. I will remember that afternoon for a very long time.

I'm not sure why we avoid the friction zone. Again, I'm quite guilty, too. Maybe because it takes effort, consumes personal time, and can be too easily "reasoned away." But I think I'm going to step into it more often from now on. When I do so I am able to really write the memorable chapters of my life. I'd like to tell God someday that I did more "somethings" than "nothings."

Father Naus

I had the typical Walmart-style religious upbringing. Go to church. Be bored. Absorb nothing. Think of myself for an entire week. Repeat.

Fast forward to my college years. Being a Protestant entering a Jesuit University like Marquette made me feel awkward enough. But meeting a priest for the very first time was highly intimidating. But there he was larger than life, Father Naus.

He wasn't what I had expected a priest to be like. He laughed quickly. His voice was a delightful and hearty mixture of booming authority, open acceptance and good cheer. He spent every Thanksgiving in the dorm with the students who couldn't make it home. For any event, he dressed like a clown, Tumbleweed, telling bad jokes and making balloon animals for everyone. I also remember that he limped because of a case of polo when he was a child. He taught two classes that I remember; The History of Humor and Oriental Philosophy. I so much wanted to take the first but due to a class scheduling "reshuffling of the cards" Father Naus taught me the ways of Confucius.

Even though it has been years, albeit decades, since I have seen Father Naus, I do think of him often. He sends his Christmas cards in the summer; astonishingly, to more than 7,000 to students he has befriended over the years. And although I have moved frequently, he always seems to find me. I occasionally send him a letter back. I did after my first trip to Honduras in 2008, telling him that he has had such a positive influence on my faith journey. I owe him another letter today.

Truth be told, I thought I'd write this posting about how much Father Naus is like Jesus. But I now believe that that would be inappropriate. And I don't think he'd much agree. Father Naus, that is. But I do wonder what the world would be like if we had just a few more like him. Those who overcame hardship and poured their hearts and gifts out onto others. Those who spent their days giving of themselves rather than taking. Those willing to dress like a clown simply to give some much-needed good cheer to others.

Someday the summertime Christmas cards will stop and there will be an emptiness inside of me. But I am so very glad and blessed to have had someone like Father Naus point the way for me.

Do you have someone? I'd enjoy hearing about your Father Naus. Feel free to write a comment ...

Grass

We have had a lot of rain here lately. And as a result the grass, if left unattended, is frightfully long. I raised the mower height a bit. Then more. And finally, to its highest position. I thought, "I'll probably have to mow this again to a shorter height. Crap! Maybe even tomorrow." Still, I dug in. Taking it slow. Letting my Troy-Bilt 6.75hp kick out clumps of chewed up grass. It was not too bad in some parts. And excessively long in others. I actually like to mow the lawn. But I hate it when the grass is this long. My mood darkened. Then, I became self-conscious. It was around lunch time and the people in my neighborhood who drove by looked and I read their expressions, "He's finally mowing!" "What a slug!" "What took you so long, fella?" "My lawn looks great compared to yours!" And so on. But I kept at it, knowing that what I was doing was the right thing. And of course I chose the hottest part of this sunny day to mow this field. I tried to distract myself with the project itself. I studied the different weeds (yes weeds) as I chomped them to a manageable size. Some had flowered. Some were simply long strands. But I kept at it. About a quarter done. Then, half. Then, I noticed people driving by were smiling. I again read their expressions, "Hey! He's finally mowing that lawn!" "Nice job!" Still, I worried about my Troy-Bilt as it battled the thickest grass of the whole field. But we pushed on together. And people smiled more. Then, as I was just about done, I ran out of gas. I thought, "Good enough!" Even more smiles. And even I smiled.

Fact is, it wasn't my lawn. I was mowing it for a family that had moved out months ago who were still trying to sell it. It's a grand salt box, actually.

No praise here. Please. I'm just glad I have such a dependable Troy-Bilt. And just enough gas. Well, almost enough. Still, there will always be grass to mow, yes? Enough to share.

Crappy Minivan

Recently on a Friday night, I was driving from Columbus to Akron with my daughter to pick up a friend of hers for the weekend. And I pass this really old white minivan. Dented. Rusted. I think in its day it was a Ford. Or Chrysler. Hard to tell. But I thought to myself, "What a crappy ride." Then, as I do, I thought harder. And deeper. The dude driving has a name. I'll call him Ray. No, Leon. In the passanger's seat was Shirley. As I glanced again, I noticed two little figures in the seats behind them. Tasha and Rieanna. (Stay with me here.) So, they aren't a crappy ride. They are a family. Where are they going? Or, maybe they're coming back from somewhere. Yeah, that's it. They just came from visiting, ah, Shirley's uncle. In Canton. He's been aweful lonely since his wife died last year of breast cancer. They would have stayed longer but Leon needs to get to work in the morning. At 6am. I sat a little lower in my seat. Why do I judge people so quickly? And by what they drive on the freeway? Please. I glanced in my rear-view mirror and saw them trailing behind. I felt like crap. Everyone tells a story. All are complex. All are valuable. Yet we whiz by in our Walmart world behavior and never take the time nor effort to really get to know one another. Time and attention can be like a gift to someone.

Really, everyone.

Then, suddenly, Leon charges past me on the right. I think, "Slow down you idiot! You have Shirley and the girls in the car!"

Moron.

Balloons

I recently heard someone say the old line, "he's worth his weight in gold." Which made me think about weight. A lot. In a Walmart world, we sometimes equate weigh with value. More is better. Bigger is better. To continue my incredibly poor metaphor here, I can see why we like the material "cinder blocks" in life. They build foundations. They are solid. We can see them. We can touch them. The more we have the more secure we feel. And if we put them on a scale we can measure how much we have. Measuring seems to be very important to most people. It seems to give us a sense of value. Which seems to give us a sense of importance. Which seems to give us a sense of meaning. I thought, "What if you put a balloon on a scale?" It wouldn't weigh very much. Really, it wouldn't weigh anything at all. But then, the scale is the one of the Walmart world. Balloons are better than blocks. They defy the scale. They float about. They don't last forever. And if you pop one the air inside simply returns to the rest of the air all around. Still with us. So, maybe instead of finding value in blocks we should place it in balloons. The stuff we cannot see with our eyes or measure on the Walmart scale. But the stuff that we take for granted. Like friendship. Sympathy. Sincerity. Authenticity. Integrity. And love.

Utopia

I once read a book when I was an English major at Marquette titled Utopia. It was written in the 1500's, I believe, by a guy named Thomas More. It had a lot of weird little societal quirks and notions in it. Some of which led to modern-day communism. But what I was most drawn to was More's ideas around vocation. How people pursued their careers and how happy it made them. Essentially, in Utopia there was no sense of commerce. No capitalism. And thus, there wasn't any greed. For example, one character was a physician. He lived in a common house on a common street. No country club status. And, here's the kicker, he was sincerely happy. People "made a living" in Utopia by doing what they really wanted to. In fact, they really did "make a living." There's a gal here at work who just loves to bake. She does it every weekend and brings wonderful cakes, brownies, or cookies to the office every Monday morning. If she is on vacation or is traveling on business and misses a week, people wander around looking lost and stare empty eyed into their coffee. I just know that she would love to "make her living" at baking things for people. There's also another gal who should be a personal trainer. She's a dynamo. And there's a guy who is a pastor at a small church every weekend. I've heard him preach a few times. He has the gift, that's for sure. Now, each one of these colleagues is very good at the place I work. Don't get me wrong. Exceptional, in fact. But what makes me sad is that our Walmart world has diverted them away from what they are naturally good at and greatly enjoy. My wife believes that "work is work" and you come home to, well, a home where you can unwind and do what you really like to do. I disagree. I really wish we lived in a society where most people felt open and secure enough to pursue and do what they really want to do -- without the shackles of making enough to "live" on. I truly believe that we would all live longer. And be happier in general. But maybe society is only in its infancy. And we'll outgrow capitalism. Maybe we need a few more centuries to really grow up ... and mature. (If we don't kill one another beforehand.) In More's book, Utopia was a far-off land. But maybe, just maybe, it isn't about where Utopia takes place but when.

Why rabbits?

I saw a rabbit just outside our back window this morning as I was making breakfast for everyone who had yet to wake up. I sat there and watched him (let's assume he was a he) eating grass. Or clover. Or whatever rabbits eat from my yard. I then thought, "Why did God create rabbits?" I mean, they really don't have any significance on the whole ecological chain thing. Sure, some animals and people (mostly in Appalachia) eat them. Some use their feet for good luck. (Which is weird.) I then thought even deeper and wondered what this rabbit was thinking. Or feeling. Contentment from eating? Feeling the dew on the grass? Basking in the morning sun? Yeah, maybe. He obviously was oblivious to this "higher intelligence" staring at him through the window. He really didn't care. Of course, had God never created rabbits there would be no Easter Bunny. No Energizer Rabbit. No Peter Cottontail. But that wasn't God's plan. What was God's plan for rabbits is beyond my understanding. It then occurred to me that perhaps I was oblivious to God's staring at me. Smiling. Yeah, maybe. But it did feel good to be between rabbits and God. And it was really nice to see him and realize he's nearby. I believe he lives underneath my back porch.

The rabbit, I mean.