Monday, September 27, 2021

Laces Out

 Around 8:00 p.m., a nine-year-old boy came to me with a problem.

It had been a long day. It started early, around 5:30 in the morning: packing, checking, rechecking the list for all the things one might need on a 3rd and 4th grade school camp. 

  • Sleeping bag and pillow - Check
  • Towel and bathroom necessities - Check
  • Ear plugs - Check
  • Patience - Pick some up on the way
If you've ever been at camp before, there are always things one forgets, whether deodorant, toothbrush, pillow or clean socks. But what one can't (or shouldn't) forget, is an open mind ready for fun.

For many people, chaperoning camp might sound like a foray into one of Dante's circles of Hades, somewhere between Anger and Heresy. Yet for me, there is something incredible and uplifting about seeing young people away from their devices and left to their own devices to entertain themselves and others through conversations and laughter.

We arrived at the campsite on a particularly beautiful afternoon. The sun shone across a vast expanse of grass, then to the right over a rustic looking Old West village replete with hitching posts and dorms labeled "Barber, Locksmith, Saddler and Bank." In the back of the camp were two sets of adventure opportunities, a 'Tarzan' swing and a Flying Fox, both of which were underlined by woodchips for safety. I'm pretty sure those wood chips were for the adults that pretended they were still kids. The young ones tended to land on their feet whereas the older ones tended to land on their... well, you know.

Throughout the day, after various activities from rock climbing to laser tag, archery to low ropes courses, I thought for sure that the kids would be as tired as I was. By 5:30 p.m. when the dinner bell rang summoning voraciously hungry children to the dining hall, I was exhausted. Sometimes you forget the limitless batteries that kids have (and you used to have) that don't really need recharging, just cooling down.

As the decibel level in the cafeteria rose to ear-shattering proportions, one of the teachers spoke over the din with the microphone.

"After dinner, when everything is all cleaned up, you'll be allowed some free time before we have our closing calm-down."

The cheer went up. Free time, of course, was the icing on the camp cake, and I wondered in the swirling cyclone of noise how the teachers actually planned on calming them down. Other than a plane flying over head dusting the camp with tranquilizers, I had no idea how tranquility might settle. Oh well, I thought to myself, I can always sleep next year.

After dinner finished, the dishes were packed up, the last announcements made, the kids were released from their bondage of the cafeteria through a crack in the door and they burst from it like water from a dam. 

The adults, we teachers and parents, were asked to 'supervise' the free time which basically meant that we were strategically positioned around the Old West village to make sure that there was no shoot out (kids getting angry with each other) no stampede (kids getting trampled by each other) no bank robberies (kids entering other rooms and looting stashed candy and other goodies) and no jail breaks (kids running off into the night to test out the Tarzan swing or the Flying Fox). 

I was positioned like Wyatt Earp between the Livery and the Grocery Store. As free time went on, more and more children had decided to 'Ding Dong Dash' which was to rap on the door of whichever kids had barricaded themselves in the room and then run away screaming with delight that they were so clever and clandestine. 

Thus entered the boy with a problem. He was one of the 'ding dong dashers,' a bright faced, brown-eyed boy with rosy cheeks and sweaty hair. Looking up at me with pleading eyes, he asked for help.

"Pastor Reid, can you help me tie my shoes?"

"Of course," I responded without extra thought. I suppose at nine years of age he should have been able to tie his own shoes, but what difference does it make? I only have one pair of shoes anymore that actually has laces.

I could see the problem immediately. Along the tongue of both shoes, a twist had shown up not allowing the laces to be tightened, thus his impediment for dashing while ding donging. He stood above me (impatiently, but grateful) glancing around at all the frantic activity across the Old West village. I could tell he wanted me to hurry. This may have been a new occurrence in his life. Many of the young people had mentioned how little time they spent outdoors - most played video games in their off time. To run and jump and laugh and interact with other young people, not simply at school, but here in the 'real world' was a learning opportunity and he wanted to get back at it.

Finally, with great relish, I finished tying his shoes. His smile was as wide as the western horizon. Amazingly, he didn't run away quickly, but stopped and thanked me. And then said, 'Now, I can go play again.'

The older I get, the more I recognize that's why we're put on earth. To help the next generation 'go play again.' To provide spaces where they can learn to connect, to learn safe (calculated) risks, to be without a screen and make memories. Sometimes kids face obstacles, much greater than loose laces; whether emotional, educational, family situational or otherwise. And it would be easy for us (and often times it happens) to overlook their struggles by focusing on our own: the mortgage, work, marriage, stress, our own personal/emotional difficulties. Of course we can't disconnect from our own problems, but alleviating the distress of a child sometimes changes our perspective and brings a new dawn beyond the setting sun.

This week, if you have a chance, find ways to tie the laces of young people around you. Whether this is literal or metaphorical, watch the reaction of those who are allowed to go play again.

Monday, September 13, 2021

Music to My Ears

 Do you ever wonder if anybody listens anymore?

The current scourge of listening impairment is built upon decades long ear-plugging. Maybe it was the infuriating 'Talk to the hand 'cause the ears ain't listening,' or the equally dismissive 'Oh, no you di-n't' that started this blooming mess of social deafness. In any case, we can certainly quote an oft overlooked movie Cool Hand Luke:

"What we have here is a failure to communicate."

In a world that has ceaseless avenues of communication, from analog letter writing to digital forms of modern day social media, we fail to communicate the right things. Certainly, our digital words speak a thousand pictures, but almost always they are meant to intimidate, pressure and demonize. Take, for instance, the story of Leigh Sales, a journalist for the ABC (Australian Broadcasting Company) who regularly takes to task politicians keeping them honest. Here is what she said about the current culture of social media:

 "It is that the bullying and harassment now comes, not in an occasional phone call from a real person, but at a furious pace on social media from politicians' acolytes, lackeys, fans and proxies, mostly — but not always — operating anonymously. It is non-stop, personal, often vile, frequently unhinged and regularly based on fabrications. It has the effect of an angry phone call from a politician magnified thousands of times over."

( Bullying on Twitter has become unhinged. It's time to call out the personal, sexist attacks - ABC News)

Notice the 'vile, unhinged' part. Has anyone noticed how this has become the norm, not the outlier? Some would chalk this up to people who 'can't take a joke,' or 'this is part of your job, deal with it.' But harassment on this level serves no purpose other than to destroy the very thing that makes humanity human - communication. Over the last years, people have stopped talking to each other, they've stopped reasoning with each other, they've stopped caring for each other for fear that somewhere and somehow, their good intentions will be transformed into duplicitous aims. And why? 

To build a platform. Lord, I almost loathe that phrase now. And the irony is, I'm using a Blogger 'platform' to generate an idea that hopefully will help in the dark night of someone's digital misery. 

Whatever happened to the delight of something like Ephesians 4:29... 

No foul language should come out of your mouth, but only what is good for building up someone in need, so that it gives grace to those who hear. (Christian Standard Bible)

Now I know that many people view the Bible as antiquated and out of date with our current realities, but to speak well of others interpreting the things that they do in the best possible light? This is good and helpful stuff. 

Here is a miracle that I would love to see happen: Social media transformed from a platform of self-aggrandizement and political warfare, to a celebration of life together and an interpretation of others' acts in the best possible light. Still, of course, calling out injustice (but seen through the lens of communal good, not personal interpretation), so that this world can inch towards a more beautiful place for everyone. 

How about that for communication?

The Pit

In the beginning was the pit. Yesterday, I did something I hadn't done in a quarter century. To be entirely frank, that quarter century ...