That's About the Size of It

I'm amazed by how much wisdom I gleaned from three different sources: Sesame Street, Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood, and Winnie The Pooh.

I've heard pastors in church over the years take one bible verse and expound on it for over an hour in ways I've questioned whether or not God ever intended when He spoke it. Maybe God didn't mean all of that you just said. Maybe when he said the sky was blue, he just meant the sky was blue. (If you want to argue that point, go somewhere else...because this post isn't about that.)

It's about all of us. It's about how God can sometimes use something outside of scripture to impact us every bit as much as something taken straight from Psalm 23.

Cue Sesame Street:

I've got a lot of memories from Sesame Street, but this one little song is my favorite. I had no idea that when I was little and watching this piece (with my Winnie the Pooh cup full of Apple Jacks sitting in my lap) that I was witnessing one of the greatest biblical truths of all time.

In true pastoral form, I'm going to EXPOUND upon the PROFUNDITY that is this song.

"Oh everything comes in its own special size.
I guess it can't be measured by where you put your eyes.
It's so big when you're close, it looks smaller back a bit.
That's about the size of it."

So first, we are talking about how something big can actually look small from far away. The same goes for the world we see on TV. Everything fits neatly into that little square of technology on the wall, but when I traveled to Romania and saw those rolling hills and magnificently painted church ceilings, well...let's just say my heart was physically unable to take it all in without nearly bursting.

Also, sometimes we take something that's kind of pointless and small, and turn it into something huge because we refuse to stand back and look at it from a distance. Maybe there is a man on TV at a podium talking very BIG about things, and he's making you feel very small. Remember, he's no bigger than you are, and actually when it comes to your life...he's pretty inconsequential, all in all. Also, you can do more to impact your world than he ever can. You just have to step out and ACT.

Moving on now.

"Oh the big becomes the little when you see it back a bit.
The huge becomes the dinky, which is just the opposite.
Of the larger that gets smaller it never seems to quit.
That's about the size of it."

Sometimes we look at something and marvel at how big it is. When I was little, I was overwhelmed by my father's height. Now that I am 43 years old, my father is actually a bit shorter than me. Not by much, but I've got a couple of inches on him. It doesn't make him a smaller person, it just changes the perspective.

Also, as a photographer, I've learned that when you take a photo of a child while you are standing up, it makes them look small. If you lie down on the ground and take the same photo, suddenly the child towers over you! The way I prefer to do it is to get down on one knee. Not only does it equalize the height difference, but it connects you on a personal level with the child. You are putting yourself in THEIR place.

They will notice that. It's a pretty big thing. Try it.

"That the big become the little that's the way it seems to go.
That they make up a larger thing is something good to know.
It's nice to know that though we're small there's always room to grow.
And that's about the size of it."

So let's go back to that man at the podium on TV talking very BIG. Now to my father, who looked tall before, but now I see he's actually shorter. Then to that little child you meet on the street. They may seem small, but if you take the time to get down on one knee and listen to them, you'll find that they know stuff you didn't. Big stuff. So big you can't handle it.

(And if you are like me, you'll practically weep when you have to tell them goodbye.)

"That's about the size
Where you put your eyes
That's about the size of it."

We have to be careful not to put too much stock in someone's size. A big man can actually be kind of "dinky" when you step back a bit. A young man can actually get smaller as he gets older, and contrary to scientific research, it's not so much due to his skeleton settling, but is actually because life has begun to weigh him down. Finally, a small child can stand taller than even the most powerful fascist dictator, and if you don't believe that, you need to read "The Boy on the Wooden Box" by Leon Leyson**

In closing, I want to quote two people's words in the area of discussing the size of things we see with our eyes: my grandfather, and Winnie The Pooh. (Both of them were deeper thinkers than many people I've seen in the news today.)

"Sometimes the smallest things take up the most space in your heart." - Winnie the Pooh

"If you want to make a difference in your world, don't shake yout fist at an adult, kneel before a child." - Dannie Jester

That'll preach, right there. <><

**Check out "The Boy on the Wooden Box" on Amazon, here.

Windchimes

Before you read this, if you haven't already, go back and read the first part of this story...otherwise this next part will be a little confusing. Here is the link:

http://capturing-your-heart.blogspot.com/2017/02/the-visitor.html

When I was in Romania three years ago, the family I was staying with had given me an upstairs room, and there was a window that opened to a view of the city's rooftops. In the house across the way, there was a little garden in the back yard, and among it's flowers and vegetables, there was a cherry tree. On one branch hung a set of windchimes, and the soft melody they played was like a constantly evolving symphony composed by Tinkerbell herself. It was such a comforting sound, and one that I have always loved.

Windchimes, that is. I remember my grandmother had several sets strung under the eaves of her porch when I was a little boy, and so their sound evokes a sense of wistful melancholy. A sadness that you can't help but love, if that makes sense. So it was that part of me that dropped $25 on a set one day at a little garden supply store.

There they are. "Festival Wind Chimes" (The only difference is the set I bought was gold instead of green.) I remember walking into that garden supply store only for the purpose of buying some vegetable plants, and there was a set of those chimes hanging in the doorway. Their sound was magnificent...much more resonant than the little cheap sets I'd seen under my grandmother's porch. A large air circulation fan was keeping the store cool, and also creating a constant breeze that kept the chimes in constant motion. I stared at them for a few minutes, and the shop owner said "Pretty, aren't they? We've got them on sale right now, half price. Regular $49.99 on sale for $24.99."

I had to have them!

I asked the clerk if I could have the set in the window, and he said that was fine. He unboxed another set, hung them up in the same place, and took the set I'd been looking at and carefully put them back in the box. I went home, so excited for my porch to now be filled with the sounds I'd heard both in Romania, and in that store just hours earlier.

Boy, was I in for a shock when I hung them up. The chimes didn't move. They stood as motionless as in the stock photo above. I had hung them under the eave of the porch just like my grandmother had, but even though there was a gentle breeze that day, those chimes never moved. I blew on them, and they moved a little...but that was it. Twenty-five bucks down the drain. Of course, I realized that the store had a fan blowing them, but I was not about to put a fan out on my porch and waste electricity just so those stupid chimes would move. So for almost three years now, all they have done is hang there...motionless.

Motionless...until a few days ago, that is. I did a little research, and discovered something: Windchimes are actually a neat little invention. For example, the chimes themselves are actually called "tubes". The little wooden piece that hits the chimes is called the "striker", and that piece that hangs down is called the "sail". What you make the tubes out of (plastic, wood, copper, steel, etc) will determine how the chimes sound. Different types of metal will also create a different sound, as will how they hang by their strings, and what the striker is made from.

We're only going to concern ourselves with the part called "the sail", though. The sail can be made of many different materials, but it's important that the sail be light, and be flat. If the sail isn't light, wind won't be able to move it. If the sail isn't flat, it might move, but not very much.

The sail on my chimes was flat, but it wasn't light at all. It was a chunk of solid oak. It was pretty to look at, but not very functional. I had to make a decision at that point. I either had to get rid of this pointless, heavy sail, or be content with my chimes never making a sound. I thought about it, and gave in. I took the chimes down, cut off the original sail, and made a new one. This one wasn't pretty at all; it was actually made from a piece of plastic sheeting. I'd cut out a square of it, tied it onto the chimes, and hung the chimes back in the same place as before.

And....

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MUSIC!

Going back to my last blog post from before: I have worn a coat of anger, grief, blame, regret, and mourning for almost three years now. I kept it hidden away under a mantle of decorative oak, unwilling to part with it because of how much I had paid for it. I felt like every day that went by where I donned that sorrow anew was valuable, and to let go of it would mean I had given up the thing it had cost me.

My anger was valuable. My blame was strong. My regret was essential. My mourning was necessary.

Only when I realized that the oaken "sail" on my windchimes was expensive and useless, was I able to come to grips with the idea that a cheap, plain sail would actually make my chimes sing. The first step is realizing you've endured a problem for way too long. The next step is recognizing you are better off without it.

Then you have to take off the coat. You have to snip off the old wooden sail. You have to eliminate the idea of "What will other people think?" and realize that unless your sail is light, you'll never be able to make music again. What good is your life without the music you were meant to play?

My first realization: What others think about me in ways that don't matter (such as, in whether or not I wear a tie, drive a new or old car, live in the city or the country, or create art that doesn't fit the "mold") does not matter any more, no matter how much I might care about what they think. Only God matters. That's where freedom begins.

I'm still wearing my coat of anger. I'm not going to pretend the problem is gone. Along the way, other things have happened to me that strengthened that anger, and made me want to lash out at others...even made HATE set in toward some people. People who I felt didn't see how much I was suffering before throwing another coat of mourning over my shoulders.

If you are one of those people who may have seen a flash of that come out against you, I'm so deeply sorry.

Please be patient with me. This is an ongoing journey. And all it took was one knock at the door three years ago.

The Visitor

Three years ago, I was going about my life when an unexpected visitor came knocking at my door. The visitor didn't avail himself when I was in a bad mood or was going through a rough time. (In fact, the days prior to his arrival were filled with joy and promise.) This visitor however, carried chaos in his wake. I opened the door at his friendly knock, and he stood there with a coat under his arm and a smile on his face.

"Hello." he said "Nice to meet you. My name is Anger. Can we talk a moment?"

I must have looked confused, so he said "Terribly sorry, you seem a bit dazed. If you'll just put on this coat, it will become more clear."

I took the jacket from him, and saw a strange tag sewn under the collar. In bright red letters, it read "Blame."

I donned the jacket, and I must say, it fit perfectly. In fact, at that moment, you would have had to wrestle me to the ground if you wanted me to part with it.

Anger said "Goodness me, what a perfect fit...but just look at me, I've completely forgotten to show you it's accessories."

He reached into a carpet bag, and produced a muffler that looked so plush and warm. It matched the jacket perfectly. It looked to be hand-knitted from the finest wool, and woven into the longest end was a single word: "Regret". Anger wrapped it around my neck (a bit tightly for my taste), but truly this was a match like no other in men's fashion.

Anger then took off his own gloves, and said "Can't let you go without these, now can I?" I pulled their supple leather onto my hands, and the warmth and softness was like the deepest luxury a man could experience. Glancing at the stitching along the wrists, I could just make out the name of the manufacturer:  "Mourning".

"That's strange." I said out loud. "Has someone passed away?"

"Oh, quite not." Anger said. "Mourning does not require a death to take place. All it takes is a deep, personal loss. Sometimes, one can even mourn the person they themselves were before the loss took place."

"I see." I said "Well, these are quite nice. All of it is, but I can't afford a wardrobe like this."

Anger smiled and said "Oh, these are complimentary, Sir. I must warn you though, you'll never take them off." and with that, Anger tipped his hat as though he was about to depart. Suddenly, he said "You know, you could definitely use this hat as well."

He took off his hat, and handed it to me. Sewn into the brim was his own name "Anger".

I put the hat on, and a powerful flood of emotions swept over me. I wanted to let out a primal scream of pain, but instead, I hung my head low, turned back inward, and locked the door to the world outside. I was completely under Anger's control.

As the years went on, the coat, scarf, gloves and hat grew heavier and heavier, but I always kept my best face on for those around me as I wore them. Only my closest family saw the weight I was carrying. I pretended to smile when I encountered others, and always did my best to seem happy and full of joy, (as I always had been before Anger's visit), but something new was in my heart now. It lived in me every day.

Anger. Blame. Regret. Mourning.

I didn't like people anymore. Especially adults, like myself. I felt like everyone was waiting to throw another coat over my shoulders, or a scarf around my neck. I didn't trust anyone. Children were the only ones I really let in, because you never have to guess where you stand with a child.

Every night, as I lay down to sleep, I would think about the coat and scarf and gloves and hat. They hung at my bedside, and as soon as dawn broke and the sun rose, I would put them on again.

And thus it has been for three years.

Three long years.

It's a long time to wear this heavy, wearisome set of coordinates, and I would have worn it for who knows how much longer, with no hope of their release in sight.

It took a set of Windchimes to make me realize where the healing must begin.

To be continued...