There’s a way to look at the world and especially the people in it that sets you apart. Sadly, it becomes the way many Christians, who, because they are trying to separate themselves from their own messes, end up staying away from everyone else’s messes as well.
I woke up this morning feeling a really strong connection to my bed. We had a hold on each other that didn’t want to let go. My bed really wanted me, and I must say it was nice to be so desired, but God and you want me too, and that’s not a statement of arrogance. I’m not talking about the fact that you couldn’t wait to read my Catch this morning. I’m talking about the fact that we are connected far more than we realize. We are all a part of each other. Remember the Bible calls us a “body.” Someone is an eye, someone is a foot, someone else is a little finger, but we are all connected and we all need each other. The same blood flows through us all. When we move, we move together. Where I go, you go too. Where you go, you bring me.
If your caller ID says the police department is calling, it’s probably a good idea to pick up. With Chandler not here now, it kind of changes the dynamic of the things that run through my mind before I answer such a call. Sort of like every time you hear sirens if you’re a parent, you do a kid check in your mind. Don’t you? And then say a quick prayer for whoever it is that is in trouble. Chandler was hit by a car on his bike when he was nine, so you never know.
It’s one thing to connect; it’s another thing to engage.
We’re talking about connecting with one another this week, but for me, I have to go further than connecting. Connecting is like talking to someone; engaging is putting your whole self into the conversation. It’s a level of attention and involvement. Engaging involves an exchange of ideas, experiences and emotions. I give you something; you give me something back.
A spaceship docking to a space station is connecting. Opening the hatches and greeting those inside is engaging. It’s a deeper experience of the connection.
It’s such a strange sensation for September in southern California. I woke up to a sound I couldn’t place at first. We’ve been in a heat wave so all our windows are wide open and the fan is on in our bedroom. I got up and walked around the house trying to place that sound. It was a sort of pinging sound that seemed to be coming from the open windows. Then I finally realized what it was. It was the sound of drops of water hitting our metal gutters. I had to go outside to confirm it. It’s raining. All the parched lawns of our town are getting watered today, and it’s not even a watering day. It’s Tuesday. You’re only supposed to water on Mondays and Thursdays. Tell God that.
Living around lots of people can have a numbing effect on your relationships. It’s required by the mere fact of sheer numbers. You can’t be in close proximity to hundreds of people every day and connect to all of them. So the alternative is the means by which we cope with this reality: we don’t connect with anyone. The result of this is people isolated and alone in a crowd. It’s the only way we can function. We actually get good at shutting people out — not seeing what’s right in front of us. So we’re alone on the street, alone on a bus, alone in an airplane, even alone with just a few people in an elevator.
I know I look victimized and forlorn here in the picture but don’t believe it. I put myself here. Isolation is something we choose. I remove myself from interaction because I prefer to be alone. I actually like it in here. I have a cot to sleep on and they bring me my food. Not the best in the world, but I don’t have to buy it or prepare it. The best part is, I don’t have to interact with anyone. I don’t have to pay attention; I don’t have to be responsible for anything; I don’t have to care about anyone. I don’t have to figure out how I fit into a wider plan. I’ve already got the plan; it’s to stay right here indefinitely. I don’t have to find my place in the world; I’ve already found it. It’s here in isolation. I’m not a part of anyone or anything.
isolate verb: to cause a person to remain alone or apart from others
Why would you want to be alone?
I started listing all the reasons someone would choose to be alone and apart from others, and the list is pretty long. But I can shorten it, because there is something in common with everything on the list. In most cases, we choose to remain isolated because we are looking to ourselves and finding we don’t have what it takes to come out from behind ourselves. Isolation is a means of protection and a by-product of fear and insecurity. Far enough in, and no one can reach me.
A quick update on our daughter, Anne, whom many of you prayed for in relation to what the doctor called “situational depression” over losing a job. She is doing much better and has a new job in Hawaii. Though we dislike that she is so far away, she loves where she lives, the people who live around her, and is adjusting to the new job. One piece of Anne that still remains with us is her dog, Malle (pronounced Mallay); the one she rescued as a puppy from a dumpster in Puerto Rico. Malle is a medical term for “ankle” which was how big she was when Anne found her — no taller than Anne’s ankle. Now she is more like thigh-high; I feel like we should call her Femur.
The only safe place for your heart.
I’m going to write about isolation this week — Where does it come from? Why do we isolate ourselves from others? What’s wrong with it? How do we get out of it?
Marti likes to pick topics for me to write about that are particularly difficult for me. I think she’s thinking that if I write about it, I might write myself out of it. That goes so far. You can write about something — even capture it very well — but still not do anything about it. Writing it assumes you’ve grasped it and done something about it, even something you recommended. Not necessarily. You can even become an expert on something you don’t do. It can be the most deceptive cover-up.
But it’s a start, and you have to start somewhere. So here I go.
John Fischer The Catch 