Burden

Tonight I descended a hill and was surprised to see a veritable barricade of fire trucks and police cars come into view. They had taken over more than half of the road and I had to carefully navigate around two firemen who were conversing in the middle of the road. As I passed them I glanced toward the side of the road they were protecting and I saw a crumpled bicycle. It was white and the once perfectly formed rims looked they had been in the hands of a giant. The handlebar tape was still tightly wound and the paint on the bike frame betrayed no sign of distress. The surface of the bike was smooth and shiny enough to draw the eye. The form of the bike was destroyed. I thought to myself, “Tonight someone’s life has changed forever.” I could not tell if the driver was present or where the cyclist had been taken. The possibility that a moment of inattention or carelessness could cost someone their life or damage their body permanently jarred my steady mind and sent it searching for empathy for someone I had never seen and probably will never meet.

A few hours later I was at the theater to see my friend Scarlett perform in a musical version “A Christmas Carol.” The only version of the story I’ve ever seen is “The Muppet Christmas Carol” (1992) which I watched once as a nine-year-old in the movie theater, once or twice on video and then once two weeks ago. If it hadn’t been for the recent review I probably would have been a bit lost as the wrath of Ebenezer Scrooge coursed its way through well-wishers and do-gooders. Each person he scorned was momentarily surprised by his behavior but they continued about their business and settled in for another warm albeit chilly Christmas Eve. Scrooge closed up shop and made his way home after deriding his employee, Bob Cratchit, for requesting Christmas Day off.

As soon as Scrooge’s front door came into view his night of visions and wonders began. He thought he saw his deceased business partner’s face in the familiar brass knocker. He wrote it off. A short time later, after changing into his nightclothes, he spotted that same familiar face in a dark corner of this room. The vision was accompanied by what must surely be an auditory hallucination – the scratchy voice of Jacob Marley and a terrible rattling chain dragging along Scrooge’s cold floor. As Marley’s body came into view his death-white face and choking chain caused Scrooge to laugh in disbelief and attribute the strange vision to indigestion. Marley would not be ignored. Scrooge glanced at Marley’s strange metal accessories and asked, “What chain is this you wear?” Marley only let a half of a moment pass by – enough time to press one of the links between his fingers – and answered, “It is the chain I forged in life.”

I have to admit my jaw dropped a little. I tried to listen to the rest of the dialogue but I was carried away by this idea – a simple idea – of how our actions can shape (or in this case forge) our fate. I hadn’t understood why the Marley ghost (or in the Muppets’ case ghosts) wore chains. Now after looking up the Muppets version on YouTube I see the explanation was there all along, “Captive, bound/We’re double-ironed/Exhausted by the weight/As freedom comes with giving love/So, prison comes with hate.” I wondered if, say, this was literally how things worked, “How many links would I have formed at this point in my life?”

My thoughts traveled along as Scrooge’s journey began. He was visited by the Ghost of Christmas Past who reminded him of the joy he once felt at Christmas. Sadly Scrooge didn’t stay a joyful boy forever. He, like us, had to grow up. Memories often serve up helpings of feelings we wish we could forget. Scrooge saw himself fall in love as a young man and then abandon his beloved as he sought out worldly success (aka money). Long forgotten joy could only momentarily lift Scrooge before the memory of lost love cast a shadow dark enough to hide even the brilliantly white Ghost of Christmas Past. No worry, the Ghost of Christmas Present soon bounded toward him, ready to celebrate with revelers and show Scrooge how happy his nephew was (making fun of Scrooge, that is) and how content the Cratchit family was in their simple home. Tiny Tim lit up on the room as his father carried him into the house on his shoulder. Scrooge immediately felt something for the boy – first affection, then concern. In a time when life was as fragile as a fine glass ornament Scrooge knew the life of this small boy with twisted legs and weak lungs could be snuffed out like a candle if the wind blew a fever his way. He asked the Ghost of Christmas Present if Tiny Tim would live. The ghost read the shadows in the room – shadows cast by present actions which lead to future consequences – and told Scrooge that if things continued as they were currently set in motion, the boy would not live.

Pleading for the life of the boy, darkness fell over Scrooge. The merry ghost left him and I cowered in my seat in the theater because I know who was up next: The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. As light retuned to the stage I could make out the profile of a reaper. I think the scariest thing about these hooded figures is our habit to search for eyes in the place where a face should be. In the split second my eyes involuntarily search for another’s and realize they’ve found nothing they also manage to form eyes in the place where there are none. Usually the resulting illusion is small, red, glowing eyes faint as cooling briquettes. I’ve long since known my mind can construct nightmares from empty spaces. Scrooge cowered at the ghost’s feet and confessed he feared nothing more than that which is to come. The ghost showed him villagers who had robbed someone recently deceased (that someone being Scrooge) and transported him to the home of the Cratchit family. Bob’s wife was awaiting her husband’s arrival from the cemetery and the children were dressed in black. There was one child missing. Bob was late returning and one son remarked his father walked a bit slower nowadays. The mother’s eyes widened in pleasant memory as she recalled a time when her husband walked quickly and joyfully. It was when he carried Tiny Tim on his shoulder.

How can it be that carrying another person actually lifts us up? How does it give us the strength and motivation to quicken and even lengthen our stride? And, when they’re gone, how can we find peace knowing we’ve laid them in a safe place covered in green grass near a protective wall?

The ghost carried Scrooge to a lonely graveyard in which only headstones kept one another company. There, before Scrooge’s bowed body, stood a lowly grave marker bearing a very familiar name. “Ebenezer Scrooge.”

Sobbing for a chance to make things right Scrooge grasped the headstone, burdened by all he had done, all he had seen, and all it could mean for his future and the future of those he inexplicably loved. Darkness once again surrounded him and in the black night he closed his eyes and vowed he had changed. When he opened his eyes he was clutching the blanket of his own bed. When he realized his good fortune he declared, “I don’t know what to do. I’m light as a feather!” He played the rest of the day by ear – generously tipping an errand boy and a poulterer, sending a generous feast to the Cratchit family, donating to charity and joining his nephew for dinner all the while plotting to give Bob Cratchit a raise the very next day. As he partook in the joy surrounding him he shook his head. “I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve to be this happy. But I can’t help it.”

Tonight someone’s life was changed forever. I may never find out the fate of the cyclist or what caused the motorist to mangle the white bike but I have a feeling someone will be carrying a burden because of it. It may be mental, physical or emotional. It will almost definitely be financial. I just hope the rescuers involved were quick enough to prevent a life being lost. If not I hope they don’t partake in the burden, shame and misery caused by what was most likely an innocent mistake.

This evening’s events reminded me of the fragility of life. Mortality is a fickle creature, accompanying each of us in a different manner for various amounts of time. Scrooge had everything to fear and everything to lose but he relearned how to love by observing a peaceful family and the loving relationship between a father and his smallest boy. He took charge of his life and rerouted his heart in search of good things to do. Like the character Jean Valjean in Les Misérables he dedicated the remainder of his life to fairness, charity and a higher power. In the end of the musical Les Misérables an angel appears and beckons, “Come with me, where chains will never bind you/All your grief at last, at last behind you/Lord in Heaven, look down on him in mercy.” Prepared to move on Valjean adds, “Forgive me all my trespasses and take me to your glory.” Another angel joins the first, “Take my hand, I’ll lead you to salvation/Take my love, for love is everlasting.” As Valjean departs they sing together, “And remember, the truth that once was spoken/To love another person is to see the face of God.”

What carries you? Perhaps it’s a homemade crutch hidden in the corner. Maybe it’s a crumpled bicycle. Or could it be the strong shoulder of your father? Sometimes the sheer need to carry on can be enough. I hope for you, especially during this season, it is love. I hope you find the strength to be everything you are you meant to be and that your burdens are lightened at every turn. More than anything I hope, when the time is right, love will carry you home.

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Update: The bicyclist who was hit on Wednesday 12/14 was Bridgett Noland. Please keep her in your prayers. For more information visit this blog: http://bridgettnoland.blogspot.com/

The Moving Sidewalk

On Monday night I experienced the strangest sensation. I had just gotten home from a fun activity and was deciding what to do next. As I considered my various options I couldn’t help but think about one of the views I had seen just minutes earlier. I was high up in the mountains and had a panoramic view of peaks stretching toward the night sky. Their edges were softened by clouds that glowed in starlight. The moon hovered somewhere in the background and cast an eerie glow on the snow. The sky couldn’t decide if it was gray, blue or black and each muted hue was very much alive. Everywhere I looked the landscape took turns reflecting and swallowing the light. The friends I was with couldn’t help but notice the beauty. I might not have noticed because I was watching my feet to be sure I wouldn’t slip on icy pavement. Someone even said it looked like an illustration from a children’s book. I couldn’t have agreed more.

Somehow, someway I was so pressed to put one foot in front of the other I couldn’t make myself slow down. A mysterious force drove me forward and I allowed myself to think, “Eh, this’ll still be here tomorrow.” In other words, “Why stop and look around when I would just be slowing everyone down? I’ve seen this before and I’ll see it again.” As I sat and thought about this in the warmth of my apartment I wondered if I could get back up there again but then I realized it was getting late and I’d better be off to other things. A few hours later I was trying to fall asleep and it hit me. That strange driving force that keeps pushing me no longer how much I want to stay still feels very much like a moving sidewalk. Moving sidewalks are fantastic in airports but those usually only last so long. This moving sidewalk that I’ve been thinking about is much more like a ride I can’t get off no matter how much I’d like to.

I feel like the closest approximation to this sidewalk sensation is the “tick, tock, tick” of time. I think about time a lot and how much our culture values punctuality and the worth of a minute, hour, or day. It can be easy to calculate our hourly rate and use it as a measure of our personal value. Even if we wanted to escape the influence of time, we’d most likely find it to be difficult. Every electronic device seems to come with a clock and let’s not even mention how attractive watches can be. (I’ll be the first to admit I have a weakness for Fossil watches.) My life runs on a pretty regimented schedule (in fact I’m stressing out right now because I know I’m not going to be asleep by midnight) and I feel like having a routine keeps me sane. On the nights when my body does not cooperate with my schedule (and there have been many lately) I writhe in frustration because I know I have to fall asleep or I’ll be out of it the next day. It must be because I know how detrimental a poor night’s sleep is for me.

Setting sleep (and the lack thereof) aside, even the most relaxing vacations seem to be dominated by time. I’ve been on two really great seven night cruises and although each day I was free to do whatever I wanted, I couldn’t help but think, “Only five days left… Only four days left…” Much like the powerful engines that drove our ship forward, the moving sidewalk kept me gliding along. It wouldn’t have mattered if I was on a rocky mountain road or the smooth Caribbean Sea. I have a hard time allowing my desire to have fun outweigh the constant countdown of how much fun is left. As dread wells within me I find it is best to completely ignore the fact that my fun days are numbered. Inevitably I can’t help but count how many hours are left.

Typing out these thoughts is making me realize I’m super stressed out. It could just be the end of a hard week but I really think this is my outlook on life. Amazing things happen constantly and it is hard not to let memories slip away as time passes. No matter how hard I try to hold onto even the best memories, a few manage to escape my fingers and slide over the handrail. I turn back and look but the moving sidewalk keeps rolling. I promise myself, “I’ll remember,” but the memories only get further away. Luckily they rarely seem lost forever. Family members, friends and familiar faces always jog my memory and I often laugh out loud when long forgotten moments come racing back. Sometimes I just sit and reflect on the past but even in these still moments, the moving sidewalk is inching me ever onward.

A few days ago I wondered if there was a way to beat the sidewalk. I think the people who try the hardest find themselves living in the past. Reaching for past glory, longing for vitality, and aching for simpler times is an exhausting endeavor. It’s like making a 180-degree turn on a moving sidewalk: now you’re on a treadmill. While it can be tempting to march backwards, you’ll be taking three steps backward for every two steps forward. You will still turn a new age every 365 days and responsibility will continue to accumulate on your shoulders. The only difference will be your perspective. Although I might not like the moving sidewalk and I’ll always be looking for the point at which I can get off, I think it’s much better to face the future and hold on for the ride.

Thinking back on the amazing display of light riddling the mountains and snow with stardust and shadow, I can hear a quiet hum beneath my feet. I’m not worried about sliding on ice. In fact, I’m standing quite still. There’s not a chill in the air. It feels quite sheltered in here and I’m holding onto a handrail that’s slightly warm to the touch. My left hand grips the handle of a wheeled suitcase. I must be going somewhere but I’m not exactly sure where. Maybe I’m just watching it for someone. My surroundings are quite plain until I see a window up ahead. I enter a tunnel of glass and everywhere I look there is a winter spectacle of nature’s transfixing beauty. The far edge of the glass catches my eye and I know this is a temporary scene. Still, I manage to soak it in and capture it in my mind before the windowsill approaches and closes my view. In that same moment I feel a chill emanate from my right hand. I open it and find a perfect snowflake carved from ice. It’s rather uncomfortable to hold so I decide to put it in my suitcase. I search for a zipper or pocket but there are none to be found. There is no choice but to hold the memory in my hand. As I wonder who saddled me with this useless suitcase the snowflake begins to drip.

Away

It’s best to think of you

Holding still in a frame

Features slightly blurred

And always the same

Still as a snapshot

And quiet as a mouse

With no way to get out

And walk through my house

If I can’t fit you in a frame

Then I think it is best

to imagine you’re a ghost -

A most unwelcomed guest

You’re transparent and airy

And drift along singing

A song no one cares to hear

And leaves no heart tingling

But if you manage to come inside

And slam all the doors

If you haunt the hall

and creak the floorboards

Then I’ll find somewhere else

Where I can put you away

Where you can’t get out

And you’ll have to stay

I’ll find every piece I have of you

But you’ll never guess my plan

It’s a trick tried and true

And will work on any man

I’ll gather every memory

Even the ones you forgot

And I’ll put them all in a box

- Preferably one that locks

I’ll take the box and close it tight

And hide it somewhere in the night

Where no ghost can find it in the dark

And reignite the deadly spark

Crazy as it may seem

It’s easier this way

If you’re an object

I can put you away

Better yet I’ll drop you in a lake

Where ghosts can’t search

And the water’s so cold

My heart can’t hurt

I’ll reduce you to nothingness

But you won’t feel a thing

I’ll just be cleaning up the mess

And you’ll be sinking, sinking

Strange as it may seem

It’s better this way

If you aren’t real

Then I can get away

Perhaps this seems cruel to you

My plans for getting rid of you

But let’s remember you’re dangerous too

And I can’t let you win part two

Promise me peace of mind

And I’ll let you keep your voice

Let me rest every night

And I’ll give you a choice:

If you give me the freedom I need

I won’t banish you from my head

Promise you won’t come back for me

And I’ll put you in a frame instead