The Summer Files: Day 48

 

Summertime is a challenge for this mom. Like many creatives, I’m one of those personalities that needs a good dose of silence and S-P-A-C-E to recharge. So do hermits, as I’ll explore below (But I’m not a hermit).

What keeps you going? Is it hope around the corner, or the work ethic you’ve come to rely on year after year? Or are you tired, and at the point where you want to throw up your hands and disappear from this world we live in? I just finished reading The Stranger in the Woods, a true story of a man who lived as a hermit for 27 years in the back woods Maine. Overwhelmed with life, he walked into the wilderness one day, and stayed there until society absorbed him again.

He was finally captured when technology had become more advanced than he knew how to manage. Devices from Homeland Security were installed in the camp kitchen from where he had stolen food for the last 2+ decades, finally ending his career in solitude.

Experts studied him. He was an anomaly; overwhelmed by the noise and “color” of civilization, his health started to decline. Usually, solitude will eventually drive a normal-functioning person to madness, but not Chris Knight. In fact, the lack of human contact along with his technology-free mind (as explained in greater detail in the book) seemed to have sharpened his senses.

He never became sick. His injuries were never serious enough to need medical attention. He ate the same processed food we eat, of course, considering he stole food to survive. So what was it that preserved him? Was it freedom from the criticism/judgment that erodes us day to day? The freedom that comes when you don’t have to do the job of three people to stay employed?

 

Dr.’s decided he had some form of Asperger’s Syndrome, depression, or Schizoid personality disorder—some kind of unusual brain chemistry that gave him a pass on the social interaction most of us need for healthy mental function.

Strangely, when Knight tried to describe his experience as a hermit, he said, “Solitude bestows an increase in something valuable. I can’t dismiss that idea. Solitude increased my perception. But here’s the tricky thing: when I applied my increased perception to myself, I lost my identity. There was no audience. No one to perform for. There was no need to define myself. I became irrelevant.”

Anxiety/stress/depression are overtaking our country (USA). Sometimes the pressure of our day to day lives becomes so overwhelming, we dump our stress onto each other in unkind comments/rumors/criticism/ manipulation, etc., without realizing what we’re doing to our culture. Although kind words, encouragement, patience and all things good are still part of our construct, and hopefully, these will become the colors that shine brighter than those in shades of misery.

Because we need each other. Even the hermits.

 

God sees our struggles. He knows our fatigue with trying to keep pace, as well as the fruitfulness that comes from goodness and the sometimes-agony of perseverance.

Galatians 6:9 And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.

 

What keeps you trudging along with, you know, “people”? Leave your words in the comments below.

 

Peculiar Snapshots

I danced as Coppelia when I was sixteen. Like a superpower caught in a snapshot for Peculiar Children, this was mine. It’s not that I danced better than anyone else—it was that I was a wallflower, pulled from the dry wall, painted in bright color and set on the stage to tell a story. 11143277_10208165340716673_1456411550739629151_nPeculiarly, ballet made me bold like nothing else did. I even pressed a curve into my flat feet when I rose to my satin pointes.
Maybe landing the role despite my oddities was God saying, “all you need is to be willing. I’ll bring the magic.”
What makes you bold?
Feel free to share any peculiar snapshots of yourself in the comments.

Old folks and shorts

100_2156When I started working at the retirement resort I thought I would get a lot of reading done. Yep. It was a “transition” job, in between none and no prospects. It has ended up being one of the best learning experiences for me – and humbling as well. The swing shift has always been my favorite because I get several hours of talking with people – a good social time for a mother who hears the words “poo-poo” and “no!” way too often – and several hours of solitude where I can read and write. The idea’s for my children’s books took root in the wee hours of darkness when I got so bored I thought I would dredge my green writing skills from the depths of my “no way is that possible” files. While I was etching out these stories, a few real ones played out in the fire lit lobby.

The residents who brought me endless laughter were Cliff and Paul. Cliff was a very classy man who liked to discuss politics and business. Respect followed him. His knowledge stopped at fashion when he donned the brighter than life green pleated shorts every summer. The contrast between his shorts and his pale legs was enough for any resident with failing vision to spot him in the clubhouse, the park, the sun…

Paul liked to talk about people and what screw-ups they were. All gossip was said with a grin – nothing was edited or glossed over for propriety’s sake. His world was black and white, including his t-shirts that illustrated his sarcasm.

Cliff and Paul liked to chit chat at my reception desk, often competing with each other for attention. If they were 50 years younger, I’m sure they would have approached each other from opposite sides of the tracks with tires spinning and a date for a fight.

But since life had weighed their legs heavy and stride slow, they decided a standing contest was in order. Standing contest. Whoever could stand up the longest won.

They started with grins and square (ish) shoulders, insults and jokes were thrown back and forth. I could see the energy waning as Paul leaned a shoulder against the supply closet. Cliff rested half a green-encased gluteus maximous on my desk. Shoulders slouched and trembles took over until Cliff announced his need to check on his apartment. Paul gloated as he collapsed onto his walker. It’s always the scrappy ones.

Donna and Odell taught me that passions never fade. They were best friends who always graced me with an evening of the latest gossip, dinner menu’s and stories of their youth. Donna laughed about her hair turning white in her 20’s and Odell told me about the wagon she traveled in as a child. They also loved to hang out in the lobby whenever the firefighters came to assist a paramedic team. Smiles as wide as the ambulance, eyes roaming over boots and logos. I’m sure I saw them drool over a tall mustached uniform more than once.

I could go on, but I won’t close without mentioning Bernita. She taught me that as long as a person is living and breathing, they have a purpose. She got locked into a prison of Alzheimer’s disease, forgetting the simplest tasks like dressing herself and asking for something as basic as a drink of water. But when someone needed encouragement, God’s word rolled off her tongue, as smooth as satin. One of her favorites:

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future”. Jeremiah 29:11

So despite my thoughts on having a job instead of a career, I learned that life flows with a force strong and lovely in the old as well as the young, in the healthy, in the sick, and with those who wear shorts that could be seen from the moon.

God doesn’t abandon His people. He works with you in whatever season you’re walking through. Bernita taught me that.

Learned something awesome when you thought you were stuck? Tell us in the comments.