As a mom, a still point in a day has become a precious gift, a deep and glorious breath, a moment to collect one's thoughts, un-interrupted by the little voices, the many distractions that often challenge, seem to define and certainly enrich our lives. Thoughts shared here come from the still points of one life and pass along to another, hopefully to enrich, encourage and perhaps entertain. ("Burnt Norton", by T.S. Eliot)

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Distractions (1)

My friend Ann recently gave me a copy of, Gift from the Sea, written by Anne Morrow Lindbergh (Charles Lindbergh’s wife) in 1955. It was quite the gift. It is absolutely amazing to me how a mom writing in the 1950’s could be so relevant to the space and time that I am in as a mother in 2010. The pages in this short book stroked my soul and gave me the most enjoyable read I’ve had in years. I would highly recommend! Though I think I bought all the copies Powell’s had to offer… and have given them all away…

It cracks me up that Anne says, “For life today (1955!!!) in America is based on the premise of ever-widening circles of contact and communication.” If only she could see us now! Her point is that our lives are more complicated than lives of mother’s past used to be… there are more demands, more opportunities, more good things that we need to say no to if we are going to be able to give full focus to the best things! Unfortunately, I find saying no to good things is hard. Saying no to mediocre things is even often hard…

“What a circus act we women perform every day of our lives. It puts the trapeze artist to shame. Look at us. We run a tight rope daily, balancing a pile of books on the head. Baby-carriage, parasol, kitchen chair, still under control. Steady now! This is not the life of simplicity but the life of multiplicity that the wise men warn us of. It leads not to unification but to fragmentation. It does not bring grace; it destroys the soul.”

It’s true, we have so many more options than women before us did, than women in third world countries do. We are so privileged to have those choices… and yet, enter cliché: “with great privilege comes great responsibility!” I find that I’m not generally struggling to choose between the good and the bad – but between the good and the best. In the still points of the day, do I choose what is best, what is edifying, what is eternal? Are my priorities set? Am I moving on a course that is leading me towards fulfillment and purpose, the abundant life? Do I even have or take the pause to examine and see if and where and in what direction I am headed?! Or does life just overwhelm and complicate and distract?

Whereas the women before us, and today in other, less fortunate cultures, struggled merely to exist, we have the luxury of free time and the responsibility to choose how to use it wisely. Not so that we can measure up to some standard of modern world Proverbs 31 woman… but so that we can live a life of refreshing intentionality, of peace and grace.

I love that Anne chooses the word “distraction” to describe the common cause of complication in our lives, “Distraction is, always has been, and probably always will be inherent in a woman’s life.” Ever since discovering T.S. Eliot’s poem, Burnt Norton, and his line “distracted from distraction by distraction,” I’ve been obsessed with the word. It’s true though, for many of us it’s not some huge negative event or pivotal moment in life that keeps us from the things we ought or want to be about… it’s instead the little distractions. From bad things to mediocre things to good things, just enough distraction and I find myself off balance, out of synch, moving in the wrong direction, not moving at all…

So she poses the question, “how to remain whole in the midst of the distractions of life; how to remain balanced, no matter what centrifugal forces tend to pull one off center; how to remain strong, no matter what shocks come in at the periphery and tend to crack the hub of the wheel.” Anne would agree, there is no easy answer, but perhaps it’s enough if we at least find ourselves asking the question.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh, 1918

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