Midweek Musings - The Place In-between

"Midweek Musings" are a bit of a departure to offer our readers some variety and a break from all the seriousness the world can dish up.
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In church on Sunday, the children's message was about when we are are learning how to do something, wanting a specific outcome - that it can seem unattainable, even hopeless.

Think learning to play an instrument, ride a bike, solving a problem, anticipating a want or need. When we are in-between beginning and mastery - not knowing and knowing - conflict and resolution - not receiving and receiving - the story isn't finished. Our job is to trust the place in-between, and remember we are not alone.

Funny how those lessons for littles seem to apply equally to the adults in the room.

The first image that came to me was my Dad teaching me to ride a bike in our very bumpy, grassy yard. My forest green Schwinn - his hand on the back of the seat loping along side me, letting go - and the day I didn't fall. I think his joy was as great as mine - maybe greater.

I miss my Dad - every day. It will be 9 years in May. It is still hard to believe it has been that long, but as my memory on Sunday proves - he is still with me.

He showed up the Sunday before as well.

In Exodus, Moses is leading the Israelites out of Egypt - and Pharaoh isn't having it. His minions are in high pursuit. The collective feeling of those following Moses is - shall we say - not positive. Something to the effect of "There are plenty of graves in Egypt. What are we doing in the middle of nowhere, tired and hungry with no hope of survival?"

Moses tells them:

"Trust. Just sit still."

I could hear my father, clear as day. A mix of comfort and amusement washed over me. He never seems to be far away.

You know the rest of the story. The Israelites do - begrudgingly - follow Moses - and find themselves literally in-between the waters of the Red Sea - and then free.
They certainly didn't see that coming.

We spent a lot of time in the woods with Dad. He would order a "no talking" period of 2 minutes. A lifetime for us.

"Be still," he would say.
"Listen."
Then, "What do you hear?"

That would lead to his famous question that yielded many hypothetical discussions.

"If a tree falls in the woods and there is no one there to hear it - does it make a sound?"

Then it was the "getting lost in the woods" discussion, how to get help, make a shelter, what to eat, etc.

"If you get lost in the woods - stay put. Don't run around and get more lost."

Followed by similar life lessons about making decisions and taking action.

"When in doubt, do nothing - don't be in a rush - that is when you make mistakes - take your time."

Dad normalized the place in-between for us. He understood that we would be navigating this terrain our whole lives and we best familiar with it. Sometimes the in-between place was unequivocally about doing the right thing. He would talk us thorough it - allowing us to decide - with the reminder:

"Do the right thing - even when it is not popular - and it usually isn't. Do it anyway."

Yes, he was also a Marine.

Along with that came the reminder that you do the right thing - minus being offended - which is self-serving and a waste of energy. We were told many times that taking personal affront was simply an indicator that we had too much time on our hands. Better that we get busy and do something useful.

Being offended may temporarily take us out of the place in-between - but it is a misguided motivator for action that usually ends badly. You can avoid being offended by remembering that 99% of the time it's not about you.

My father was a master of seeing the big picture - which included the understanding that we don't always know, nor can we always predict what outcomes will occur.

"What do you know for sure?"

It was a question he often posed. His forestry professor had used it as a class exercise. Turns out, there is not much any of us know for sure.

"That is the way it should be," he would say.

We are not supposed to know everything - nor should we pretend to. There is a great deal of beauty and peace in embracing the place in-between - it isn't the enemy. It takes work, but there can be an incredible amount of comfort in the release of arrogance. The practice of grace and trusting that things will work out is exactly that - a practice. No one promised it would be easy.

The option is to try and control the uncontrollable. Never goes well.

How often have we been sure a situation was beyond help or hope? How often was the outcome better than we could have imagined or manufactured? Many times the end solution was not even on our radar.

In the current political, social, and spiritual climate of polarization and blame, I think about my Dad a lot. He wouldn't be thrilled about some of what is occurring and it would trouble him - but he would look for points of light.

He would recognize the solutions emerging from unexpected people and places. He would point out the danger in generalizations. He would remind us that just because one doesn't like the person or the approach - good can still be a result. Accept the good. Move forward.

And there would definitely be a discussion about the pitfalls of hating what we oppose - because we can quickly become what we hate.

Seems to be the current object lesson.

I can still hear my father's sonorous voice reciting the Lord's Prayer - his blueprint for how he moved through the world - a prayer of hope, gratitude, and a request for guidance. Often I feel his hand over mine when we get to that part of the service - it was a long standing tradition.

We talked often - Dad was a wonderful conversationalist. If there was something that seemed insurmountable, unsolvable, hopeless, he would always hear me out - being still, receptive, present.

At some point he would kindly offer - with a hint of twinkle in his voice...

"Well Gracie, I can guarantee you one thing."
"What is that?" I would ask with anticipation.

A guarantee from the man who never promised what he couldn't deliver,
and me forgetting each time what his invariable response would be...

"It will change."

He wasn't wrong.