Tension

I don't know any better way to describe it.
There is this prevailing tension between comfort and denial, between gratitude and outrage.

We had friends visit about a week or so ago and I had the honor of bunking with my roommate to make space for visitors.
My roommate possesses the world's coziest down comforter and I got to share it.

Except that by the time I crawled in bed that night, or rather in the wee hours of the morning, my soul-searching, heart-wrenching thoughts climbed in bed with me.
Why should I be allowed this luxury of warmth?
When millions around the globe and thousands within my city limits were not afforded anything close?

I don't know.
I don't know why.
And it plagues me.
Not so much the lack of a down comforter, but the lack of a meal,a house,a job,a friend.
Why am I so blessed and others not?

I know that we can misperceive blessing and sometimes I even long for the freedom of the possession-less . . . but not for the nights without a comforter.

Friends have encouraged me to "enjoy" what I have.
I find that challenging.
Instead I ascribe to a more Puritanical view: Self-Denial.
Solidarity?
Guilt Reduction?
Clarity?

To give it all away, sell my possessions and give my money to the poor, leave father, mother, sister, brother and go to those in need.
And this, this extreme, would certainly eliminate the tension, right?

It's been a beautiful day.
I've talked on my cell phone.
Driven in my car.
Eaten at a coffee shop.
And now I will gather with a group of close friends, to laugh, play games and "enjoy".

Somehow this all fits together.
The enjoyment, and the tension.
I'm just still not sure how.

A Leveling Ground

Divorce, disillusionment, despair.

Crisis is the ultimate leveling ground and in many ways I crave it.
All else is stripped but necessity.
The superfluous dissipates, survival remains.

Raw honesty stands unapologetically.

I remember the clarity with which I lived, shortly after the death of my father.
I had found the truth- life is fleeting- the vast majority of it is not nearly as important as I make it out to be.

I spoke with a hurting friend tonight, in a place of despair, loneliness and questioning.

I spoke with a mother of two, in the process of divorce, striving to resurface after being dealt an unimaginable blow.

Both struggle to keep their heads above water. Both are entitled to honesty. Both are confronting the ice cold truth:
We surround ourselves with illusions of safety.

Crisis strips those illusions away.

I appreciate the hightened security in the airports these days, particularly the removal of shoes.
There we are, businessmen, grandmothers, lawyers and leaf-blowers slipping off our boots, sliding them through the scanners and waiting to be cleared.
Inches of height and hundreds of dollars are taken away.
For a fleeting moment we all stand with a bit of us laid bare.

Crisis allows no room for false appearances, eliminates the very desire for such efforts.
It invites connection.
Requires it.
I suppose life could be no more fully lived than meeting in these moments- finding connection when all that separates us no longer stands.
And in the truest moments, we realize we are not standing alone.
And indeed, that the One who is with us wants only one thing: to love us.

Flying Home

They stank terribly.
They cursed profusely.
They talked loudly.
They were flying home.
I spent three fourths of the plane ride trying not to breathe through my nose and tuning them out, wishing they would pipe down so I could concentrate on my reading.
I spent the last moments of the flight fighting back tears of unbridled gratitude and regret.

Last night I joined the masses of weary travelers re-routing to get home after the holidays and landed in the back row of a tiny plane with a handful of soldiers returning from Iraq.
They had been traveling for three days.
They will be home for two weeks.
Once I finally wised up enough to engage them in conversation the cursing turned to family plans, spending time with their wives and children, and rave reviews of the Nashville Zoo playground.

I asked how they felt about being home for such a short period of time.
"Right now it's great. In a couple days it'll be awful. Cause our buddies are out there freezing their "tails" off and we're here at home."
Not every soldier shared that view, but I hadn't anticipated any of them feeling that way.

Before really striking up conversation I had muttered a heartfelt but singular, "Thank you".
Just before landing the flight attendant made special notice of these men, who give of themselves, and daily risk their lives for us. Applause rang out and I was one of the sparse few that got to see their faces and catch their response.
They were surprised.
Something in their eyes revealed a deeper knowing.
"They have no idea what it's really like," they muttered to one another.
This is why none of them will be watching the news while they are home. It is a false reality to them, grounds for fury.

They stank because they hadn't showered in three days, had been sleeping on the floors of numerous airports and were holding out to get home.
They were rowdy because they were eager to see their families.
They were harsh and crass because that is the world in which they live.
They are protecting us, defending us, risking life and limb for us.
And we think we've had a long day after a few extra hours of domestic travel . . . to see our loved ones.

We landed, taxied and deplaned.
I watched as the soldiers politely ushered everyone else off before themselves.
One woman insisted they go first, "You've waited long enough," she stated.
I followed them out.
The youngest soldier, father of a six year old girl, made a bee line for the smoking lounge and for the first time in my life, I wished I was a smoker.
I longed to follow him, to listen to him, to stand beside him, a brave, crass, life-giving man.
It took me a while to pull myself together.
In many ways I hope I never do.
To all who serve: Thank you.