Big Picture

Rob Jirucha photo

The Highlands where we live is dark at night. There are no street lamps and few people have lights on their driveways. The city lights are distant and hidden by the hills allowing for the display of night. When you arrive home late at night, it's hard to miss the stars sparkling as jewels. The moon, anytime larger than half, is enough to light the way on an evening walk. During night walks we take a flashlight, but it comes on only for an oncoming car.

A friend and neighbor was recently lining his short driveway with lights. There were five posts, and each contained four lights. I was impressed by his electrical abilities and even more impressed by his reason for this project. He told me that when his friends come to visit, they might need to park at the top of the driveway. At night, the new lights will guide their way. It was a lot of effort for a few friends to have an easier walk down the hill.

On one hand, I wish I had that type of sacrificial spirit to work so hard for a few folks. He's truly a thoughtful guy and wants to genuinely help others. Yet, on the other hand, I felt some frustration and thought about Edward Abbey.

Abbey was a park ranger at Arches National Monument near Moab, Utah. He spent a number of summers there in the 60's when the park was still primitive, and he wrote about it in Desert Solitaire. He recounted how he rarely used his flashlight at night unless there was some animal life to see. His eyes adjusted to the road well enough without it.

While we often think of a flashlight as something that enlarges our vision and guides our way at night, he believed it had the opposite effect. Like all mechanical objects, it tends to separate us from the world around us. With the flashlight on, eyes become adjusted to the pool of light separating us from the greater world. He saw this as isolation, a limitation of the machine.

He felt this way about most mechanical devices. They serve to isolate us. Our focus becomes on them, and the rest of the world becomes lost. Not that he would have abandoned all things mechanical, but he was cautious to not allow gadgets to separate him from the greater world. Not bad insight for 40 years ago when gadgets and mechanics were fewer.

So, it's only a few lights next door. Going with the thoughts of Abbey, I can become angry to see that the great space around me is becoming harder to see as it becomes lighted. I could feel frustrated that more don't see and appreciate this great night wonderland above.

Yet, those lights might be needed for someone who truly needs them. Maybe one of his friends has poor vision or is elderly. So, I hold my frustration for now and take a look at myself. When I see his driveway lights, they will be a reminder for me. I have my own gadgets that isolate me from friends, family, and the world around me. There are responses to conflict or life when it doesn't go my way, responses that separate me from others and birth isolation. You could call them my personal mechanics. That's where I'll put my attention for now so I can see bigger and wider at all times.

Maybe when I get all those things in order, I'll allow myself just a little frustration for the driveway lamps.

Ice Tea

As a boy growing up, Mom and Dad often entertained guests for dinner. This usually started with Dad cleaning the house a couple of days in advance. Often, he would wax and polish the hardwood floors. Not that things were normally a mess, but guests meant extra special attention that all things were neat and clean. Off limits most of the time, the dining and living rooms would come out of hibernation to host the guests. People didn't randomly drop over too often. It wouldn't be polite, I guess. So the dinner parties, socials, and get-togethers were usually planned and somewhat formal. I always enjoyed the various food items and buzz of activity. Even more, I was free to play without supervision and occasionally make mischief.

Mom's good friend, Mrs. Coleman was polished, proper, and full of etiquette. She was over for tea one day. The house would have been spotless for her arrival. A brilliant summer afternoon, the woods shaded our deck allowing speckled views through the oak leaves to the blue sky above. The two were casually enjoying some social time under this outdoor canopy. A pitcher of tea was being chilled in the fridge.

It may have been childhood summer boredom, but I needed some adventure. I chose a slightly bad but humorous option. Ok, only humorous to me. I grabbed every tea-colored liquid from the cupboards. Bitters, Worcester Sauce, soy sauce, and others were added to the ice tea. When Mom retrieved the tea, I watched through the windows as they took a drink of this cool refreshing concoction. Together they sipped, grimaced and swallowed, and then feigned satisfaction. Conversation continued as if nothing happened. Is that all? My creative work led to nothing other than polite smiles? The punishment I knew would be coming was not worth this lack of response.

From Mrs. Coleman's perspective, etiquette meant silence. Don't offend. Pretend satisfaction, though I am certain she never did taste anything as awful as this. For Mom, it may have been embarrassment that kept her from commenting on the tea. Both were somewhat caught in the trap of keeping up appearances. All is well though the tea tastes like bathroom cleaner. Smile. Etiquette ice tea.

I have not been the butt end of a joke like this. Surprisingly. Yet, I certainly have kept up appearances and feigned enjoyment in other circumstances. "All is well with me. How about you?" Though my emotions and spirit have felt as if they have been tainted by various negative life events, I have smiled and politely feigned satisfaction. Maybe this comes from embarrassment or pride that I look polished and together. Yet, the result is always the same. Conversation and relationship continue though we each sit knowing something isn't quite right. We depart, say this was lovely, and that we should do it again. Yet, I have left feeling empty and lonely.

It would have taken some steps of faith for Mom to say, "This tea is really bad. Oops, sorry. Must be that little Robbie at it again!" There would have been some admission that her son was a prankster, not altogether wholesome. It would have meant some honesty and a willingness to laugh at life. "Oh, well. Such happens in life, Mrs. Coleman." Mrs. Coleman may still have not said anything. Mom may have more openly lost face in that case, and that was the risk. Yet, there was opportunity. A few spoken words could have created a more intimate relationship between the two. Maybe it could have been a pathway to discussion about kids, family life, and so on.

Life seems to pour tainted ice tea, at times. Events, circumstances, and relationships can turn sour. When we drink that cup, we can keep silent and feign satisfaction. Or, we can talk openly to others. The other person may sit politely, smile, and do nothing. Yet, some time and patience will always lead to someone honest and real enough to receive our messy, not-altogether selves.

Even better is open dialogue with God. For a season, we may sense that God sits silently while we drink in life's taintings. Yet, I've found that it's not been God. It's been me not taking the time to sit and be real with him. When I do take that time, I find a trusted Confidant who will carry my load, clear up the murky waters and provide a clear, refreshing drink.

Carry each other's burden's...Gal 6: 2

Everyone who drinks this water [from the well] will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become a spring in him welling up to eternal life. Jn 4: 13

Even Rocks

Rob Jirucha Photo

Our son, Parker, was baptized in the morning, and we had an open house at an old school-house just down the road from us. The property is a historic spot, an old homestead. About 100 people celebrated with us on this beautiful blue-sky day. Food and fellowship were shared in the school house and the surrounding grounds. Many took hikes to the nearby Gowlland Tod provincial park and enjoyed the views of the Malahat and the peninsula. Everyone had a great time and commented that they would love to come together again.

There was one slight glitch...er, injury during the day. While many ate and talked outside, two young boys enjoyed the simple, childhood pleasure of throwing rocks. Living and breathing targets were chosen. Maybe they were bored and found this as a suitable hobby to pass the time. A rock connected with one boy's forehead and their game ended at this point. Even if they wanted to continue, the referees...I mean, parents...stopped the play.

There was no concussion, and though the blood flowed, no stitches were needed. I called his mom later at night, and all was well. It was more of a scare than a permanent scar.

This got me thinking about my encounters with rocks. I wasn't quite so lucky when I was his age. I'm not sure what I was thinking, but summer boredom took over my occasionally rational mind. I was longing for winter and snow. Particularly, I was hungry for a snowball fight. This is pretty hard to do in July. Ah, rocks, they would be a fine substitute. I convinced a few of my friends to have an organized, team effort rock fight. "You guys hide behind that huge boulder. That will be your defensive fort. We'll take this boulder and section of the woods for our side." I'm not sure if there was an objective. Who would be the winner in this sort of game? Do you stop once someone is hurt? How are points scored? There was no plan other than hide and throw rocks toward the other team.

If you have ever seen those tragic and scary moments in movies where the action is slowed, it really does happen that way. The rock game, having just begun, ended on the first throw. Just as I got behind my rock-outcrop fortress, a baseball-size piece of granite was moving through the sky. As I looked up to make ready my first throw, someone's soaring summer snowball made its move toward my forehead. A quick-witted person would have dodged to the side. Yet, I stood transfixed like a deer in headlights. We're not sure why they stand dazed, are we?

Nine stitches, if memory serves me. There is still a very visible scar on my forehead. It's the one off to the side, not the one in the center. That one is from pretending to be a ghost when I was three. With a sheet over my head, I ran into a wall. Also nine stitches. That's another story.

My behind has slid down long stretches of pavement on numerous occasions. I've accidentally dangled off a merry-go-round, had a leg caught, and been dragged over the surrounding gravel. Countless bruises, abrasions, and wounds have come from rocks in one form or another.

I've often thought of rocks as eternal, unchanging, and unalterable except by heavy machinery. Yet, solid as they are, even rocks break down, develop their own deteriorating scars. Wind, rain, and the growth of various plants in the cracks of rocks all contribute to an unseen, gradual process of decomposition. Like the picture above, you catch a glimpse of it where moss and lichen grow. Pieces of a once solid wall begin to crack and crumble here and there.

My body will continue to be injured over the years from rocks, various objects, projectiles and time. It will go on like this until some final day when my life passes into the next one. Solid rocks are going through the same process, only without the "passes from this life to the next" part. How much more will all the things I invest in, hope in, work toward and create also fade away? I wonder how my time is being spent. Is it with something that will last or is it a fleeting object that will crack and crumble in time?

These thoughts are what help me as a parent, husband, and youth pastor. For all I love to do - the hobbies and interests - they are short-lived. The temporary side of me wants to put all things before the lives of those closest to me. Yet, the investment in a life is something that will really last, I believe. There is an eternal side in me that knows this. It keeps breaking through the dim light of my brain. Over and over, it beckons me to return to things more solid than the rocks around us. Family, friends, those in need, and the One in whom I have faith.

you gotta leave it behind, leave it behind

all that you fashion, all that you make

all that you build and all that you break

all that you measure, all that you deal

all you count on two fingers and all that you steal

leave it behind, you gotta leave it behind, leave it behind

alleluia, allelu - u - u - ia, alleluia, allelu - u - u - ia

U2, words live from Slane Castle