I spent the last weekend at the Oregon coast with Padre and his wife. I don’t really have a nifty name for her like Padre, so I’ll just call her Padre’s wife. Actually, that sounds a tad impersonal, as if her only point of interest is that she’s married to Padre. I guess I could call her Glenda the Destroyer. Her name’s not Glenda, and I’ve never seen her destroy anything, but it does alleviate the whole just being called a wife thing.
Anyway, Padre, Glenda the Destroyer, and I spent a fair bit of time walking around on sandy beaches and watching waves roll in. Why? Because that’s what you do when you go to a cabin on the beach… well, near the beach.
There are these sandstone cliffs that jut straight out of the ocean near where we were staying. Standing there in the sand, looking at that rock, I couldn’t help but be impressed by how solid it was. It made a great comparison, the solid rock juxtaposed with the rolling, changing ocean. I don’t know if it’s the sound, or the scale, or really what it is, but being around the ocean makes me think. I kept thinking that the rock over there was like how life should be. It should be solid, defined in some tangible way. I should be able to map it out, draw it, and compress it into so many numbers and symbols.
Because I was with Padre, and because Padre rarely walks by anything taller than him without wanting to climb to the top (he’s like a cat that way), we ended up on the top of the cliffs looking down at the water. It was then that I discovered something interesting. The “solid” rock wasn’t so much solid as glorified mud. I could scrape a fairly deep line in it with my toe. As we wandered the cliff line, I could see where the trail had been and simply wasn’t any more. Whole sections of the rock had slid away, forced into the swells by the steady pounding of the ocean and the slow erosion of the rain.
So, in the end, the rock really was like life. It was messy, changing, and unstable. In short, it was a scary, beautiful place.
I spend a good deal of time wanting things I don’t have. I want a better job. I want a wife. I want some sort of purpose to my life. I want the rock to be solid. What I have is glorified mud. The question is, is there anything wrong with that? Is life really supposed to be so defined, so clear cut? Are we really supposed to have some sort of driving purpose behind us?
With that in mind, I think my next couple of posts will be about the “not-meaning of life.” I don’t claim to be smart enough to tell anyone what the meaning of life is, but I’d like to try to see if I can’t find a couple of things that it isn’t.
Oh, and I’m going river rafting with Padre and Glenda the Destroyer this weekend. I know that Padre reads this site, so hopefully Glenda the Destroyer isn’t too upset about the name I’ve given her.
Anyway, Padre, Glenda the Destroyer, and I spent a fair bit of time walking around on sandy beaches and watching waves roll in. Why? Because that’s what you do when you go to a cabin on the beach… well, near the beach.
There are these sandstone cliffs that jut straight out of the ocean near where we were staying. Standing there in the sand, looking at that rock, I couldn’t help but be impressed by how solid it was. It made a great comparison, the solid rock juxtaposed with the rolling, changing ocean. I don’t know if it’s the sound, or the scale, or really what it is, but being around the ocean makes me think. I kept thinking that the rock over there was like how life should be. It should be solid, defined in some tangible way. I should be able to map it out, draw it, and compress it into so many numbers and symbols.
Because I was with Padre, and because Padre rarely walks by anything taller than him without wanting to climb to the top (he’s like a cat that way), we ended up on the top of the cliffs looking down at the water. It was then that I discovered something interesting. The “solid” rock wasn’t so much solid as glorified mud. I could scrape a fairly deep line in it with my toe. As we wandered the cliff line, I could see where the trail had been and simply wasn’t any more. Whole sections of the rock had slid away, forced into the swells by the steady pounding of the ocean and the slow erosion of the rain.
So, in the end, the rock really was like life. It was messy, changing, and unstable. In short, it was a scary, beautiful place.
I spend a good deal of time wanting things I don’t have. I want a better job. I want a wife. I want some sort of purpose to my life. I want the rock to be solid. What I have is glorified mud. The question is, is there anything wrong with that? Is life really supposed to be so defined, so clear cut? Are we really supposed to have some sort of driving purpose behind us?
With that in mind, I think my next couple of posts will be about the “not-meaning of life.” I don’t claim to be smart enough to tell anyone what the meaning of life is, but I’d like to try to see if I can’t find a couple of things that it isn’t.
Oh, and I’m going river rafting with Padre and Glenda the Destroyer this weekend. I know that Padre reads this site, so hopefully Glenda the Destroyer isn’t too upset about the name I’ve given her.
Comments
p.s. I'm reading these blogs from most recent to least recent. Sorry if my comments are hard to follow.
Thanks for the offer but my apartmeht doesn't allow dogs.
Emily,
I probably come off a lot more disillusioned than I really am. Mainly I get stuck in these moods on occasion where I spend more time thinking about why I do what I do than what I'm actually doing.
As for living your life for those that you love, that's pretty good advice, but can easily be taken wrong. The world if full of too many people who inadvertantly hurt other people out of love because they don't know what true love is. Better advice can be found at the end of Ecclesiastes, "Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man."
That, along with the two great commandments (love God with all you have and love your neighbor as yourself), can give you a pretty good framework for living well.
Thanks for the comment and the perspective. I appreciate it.
I think it comes with having frankly examined one's life and realized how much of it is not what we thought it would be.
I understand what you want, Tom. And I want you to know across the miles, I have been praying for GOd to bring you a wife. You already have purpose, you just have a difficult time seeing it.
The thing is, as one's purpose comes closer and more into view, pain begins. Conflict starts. We have to be willing to shed what is extraneous to that purpose and that is often unpleasant.
Carry on, brother. You are not alone on this path. Others are here, if far away in flesh, nigh in spirit. Our arms and hearts reach...
It will come...and if it doesn't...something will, to fill the void. A crises of some sort, an epiphany, a void- a- anything that will draw you to him. The trick is to embrace whatever it is, and make something of it.
One time, my husband and I were going through a rough patch in our marriage and he brought me home a GIANT, I mean HUGE lemon-- the size of a grapefruit.
Well, any sensible person knows fruit that large has very litle flavor, but he wasn't being sensible, he was showing off. I took it in a bad way until I slept on it. Then I went to the refridgerator, got it out and made a big pitcher of lemonade. I wanted to cry every minute I was squeezing that lemon because part of me wanted to save it for a testament of his stupidity, part of me wanted to show it to other girls to show off, but my pride wouldn't let me. Part of me just wanted to own a boquet of a dozen red rosed to put on my kitchen table. Life is not a fairy tale.
So I cried and squeezed and squeezed and cried. Then I served the lemonade to him and my babies. I felt good. Strong. Better.
And though the story may make others laugh, it still brings a sting to my heart when I remember how hard that time was for me. But I'm still here. We're still here. And when it comes right down to it, most of life is about showing up. Every day. Just come. DO your best.
It's your purpose.
Simple?
Yes.
Too easy?
Probably.
But only because simple is hard to achieve.
Worth it?
That was a far better response to a post than I ever expected to read. Thanks for the story, the insight, and the encouragement.
And, yeah, it's always worth it.