Complainers Anonymous

Achy and tired, wanting to sleep so much longer, I took pen to paper anyway this morning and began with "Achy, tired, want to sleep. " I then began to muse about why I felt so tired. My diet has been lousy lately, comprised mostly of crunchy, salty, cheesy things - my go-to now instead of sugar.

Or perhaps the culprit is a thousand accumulated worries. Children in far-off places both geographically and situationally. Places where they ALONE hash it out, choose good or ill, draw close to God or not, are happy, content, loved, fulfilled, or are insecure, lonely, anxious, suffering.

Then I wrote, "And what of today? What about me? The day is here, my schedule in place. Forty bright faces will greet me and I'll either fulfill their trust by giving 100% or go through the motions. May it not be the latter.

And please help me not to succumb to complaining, to accept the schools' requirements (however ridiculous and counterproductive) as from Your hand - "tests to pass", to be done without murmering or complaining."

That prayer led me to an insight, which is the reason I share this today.

Complainers aren't necessarily complainers at heart.  I have tended to think they are, relegating them to that category in much the same way I peg people as optimists or pessimists. (Notice I say, "they" - not identifying myself with either complainers or pessimists, although lately I've been guilty of complaining.)

But complainers have legitimate things to complain ABOUT. Things their trained eye is smart enough to figure out are not being done right. It's not just that they are miserable Eeyore sorts; they grumble and murmur because something hurts, something is wrong, unfair, lost or missing, broken, gone.

And yet, we're told not to complain. Moses' complainers in that desert were severely judged for doing so, although clearly one could say they were only pointing out the facts as they saw them. There WASN'T any water. They HAD been eating the same thing for a long time. Pharoah's army WAS pursuing them.

So what was the problem for them? What am I neglecting to do when I complain? I think it's this: I complain when I focus in on the irritant and fail to gaze elsewhere. I forget to look at points past, points future, on things unseen, putting myself at the mercy of my own immediate circumstances, cauterizing my ability to endure, to wait, to hope. "Stuck in a moment" to borrow a phrase from U2.

I need a bigger view:  the hopeful one, the trusting one, the "set on a wide place" one, that knows that whatever happens, whatever IS happening, all is well. All is well. All is well.

And Then There Were None - Our Empty Nest

There was a time when we made sure they were never too cold or too hot, swaddling them in blankets, putting them in a cold bath to take a fever down. More than anything, we wanted them comfortable and happy, clean and dry with their bellies full. Stimulated, free to grow and fail but still safe, protected. We wanted them to believe that the world is a good place to be, that they were loved, loved supremely.

And this was something we could do. It really wasn't that difficult. In fact, the tending to their needs was its own reward. Success was tangible, fairly immediate. They burped. They smiled.  They gained weight, crawled, walked, talked. They loved us like mad. No, the job was never done. It could be boring and tiring, but the goals and the outcomes were mostly in our hands. At first.

Then they grew up and moved away. They still needed to eat, take their medicine, get their rest, have their minds stimulated, feel loved, behave properly, do all the things that make for health and wholeness. But it was no longer our job; it was not really any of our business. And we could no longer "make it all better."

But I can't stop wanting to. I can't stop my mind from thinking about them - worrying, wondering, guessing, forecasting. As parents, our job is over, but our hearts don't know it.

I don't think they ever will.