Community - Recovering the Stories of Life 2-9-10

Anderson, South Carolina

When I am sitting in my little computer room in my basement I have very little contact with the outside world. The heat exchanger fans in a large buck stove in the next room mask just about any exterior sounds whatever. The assorted drives and ventilator fans of computers fill in any remaining specks of silence. Thus it is amazing that I could even hear the doorbell on the next floor at all, more of a subliminal sensibility than actual hearing.

Curious, I went upstairs wondering who could possibly be at my door at first light. Door-to-door salesmen went out sometime after the Great Depression of the last century. Neighborhood kids selling cookies and gift wrap work in the afternoon. Jehovah’s Witnesses and Mormons don’t ply their trade until a bit later in the day and not usually much during the sharp chills of winter. What I found instead was a smiling messenger with physical evidence of the profound friendliness of the universe.

I have been working a couple of months to archive all my intellectual materials - photos, essays, book manuscripts, letters, and journals. While working on this process yesterday, one of the transfer drives I have been using to do this failed, taking several years of my life with it. I figure somewhere around twenty thousand files were in that drive. Long under the impression that these transfer drives were essentially indestructible, I was astounded that it simply died, that it even could. For those of us that justify our existence by writing about the world, by capturing its essence in digital images, to lose a couple years of work is disquieting, to say the least. Sleep was fitful at best.

After my personal catastrophe at 10:45 PM last night, I called a dear friend. Unable to really pay attention to her, I asked her to listen as I said a short immature prayer, one bargaining with God to give me my stuff back if I would give him my forever; not unlike those prayers people utter when facing catastrophic illness. I wondered if my friend really knew what a big deal this was to me.

She was just at my door with an ordinary piece of 20 pound copy paper. On it a small paragraph and a website URL suggested a solution to my problem. My friend described being in near tears over my loss and had gone on a mission during the night to find me a data recovery solution and to bring it to me on her way to work. As priceless as this information may prove to be, the intangibles she brought had infinitely greater value. What Diana told me was that life works much better when we care about each other and when we make thoughtful contributions to the journeys of those around us. In community we can do those things we cannot do alone.

It is not likely that I will ever be able to articulate the affective catharsis I felt when confronted with this innate friendliness of the world. I can get on the wire services and find out what is wrong with most everything in seconds. What my friend did was show me what is right about the foundations of the universe. That little piece of photocopy paper reached into a deeper place in my soul by far than even winning the world last year in an airline’s essay contest, a prize that granted me first class travel anywhere in the world for thirty days. I was just now able to experience the very best our world has to offer us, never having to even board a jet.

Standing in my front hall, I was again reminded of the promise “I know the thoughts I have for you, thoughts for good, not for evil, plans that will give you hope and a future.” If God really pays attention to what are actually tiny details in our lives, then he might just pay attention to the big ones like notes on the kitchen table from a departed spouse, pronouncements from oncologists that therapy has failed, a pink slip from the boss indicating our services are no longer needed, a notice from the mortgage banker telling us we should go to the post office and get a change of address kit.

For certain, this is not Polly Anna thinking on my part. The one who brought me this message of hope, friendliness, and care has sat in front of the oncologist’s desk more times than I can count, to be told there was some very strong turbulence ahead. She put on her seatbelt and has continued her successful flight through life. For the dozens of friends around me who are going through the clear air turbulence of shattered marriages and long-term unemployment, perhaps there is a message for them, that despite the rough ride a safe landing can be had, if they simply keep their seatbelts on.

If we can simply trust the Pilot to know what He is doing, then we can actually have confidence that we will arrive at our chosen destination. In recovery we are told, “As we go through the day we pause, when agitated or doubtful, and ask for the right thought or action. We constantly remind ourselves we are no longer running the show, humbly saying to ourselves many times each day “Thy Will be done.” We are then in much less danger of excitement, fear, anger, worry, self pity, or foolish decisions. We become much more efficient. We do not tire so easily, for we are not burning up energy foolishly as we did when we were trying to arrange life to suit ourselves".

As if to confirm that when we seek God with all out hearts we will find him, my dear friend also brought me a Tupperware container filled with peanut butter hay stacks. When we attempt a nearly impossible search for something important to us, a needle in a haystack, a lost spouse, vital health, the home of our dreams, lost data files, we come to learn that in our own strength we cannot find that which has been lost. If we just believe, then all things are possible, finding God, even getting back one’s stories of life. Answer the door, a messenger might just be there to help dispel your doubts.