hoarding happiness

I remember, as a kid, learning how to water ski. 

My grandma, who regularly skied until she was 77 years old, schooled me on skiing's finer points. Crouch in the water. Rope between my legs. Hands holding the handle. Knees bent, skis slightly pointed inward. Give the signal to the boat that we could go. Surge and yank of horsepower. Don't pull the rope, let the rope pull me. Keep my weight slightly forward. Stay within the boat wake. If I wanted to tail left, push more onto my left foot. Go right, lean more on my right foot. 

What my grandma didn't clue me in about, however, was my favorite part. The delicious force of wind in my face; the restful, serene view of the passing shoreline; the soothing, arhythmic beat of the waves thumping under the skis -- THIS is my favorite part of skiing. The sensory revelry. The time on the skis; the act of skiing. It stirs my heart to leap for joy in my chest to ski.

Of course, I gotta keep to the fundamentals of skiing. Skies slightly pointed inward, watching the water, watching for other boats. Watching for when the boat (usually driven by my mischievous older brother) will circle twice and then steer through that wake. This is because my brother loves to see if I can manage skiing through that absurd chop of his stirred-up waves (usually, I fall).

It bothered me that I couldn't fully absorb the thrill of skiing, because I had to work hard to make sure I didn't fall off the skis. "I'm missing the moment!" I'd worriedly berate to myself. It takes a lot of time to fully live in any moment. It starts to feel rushed. I know I'm not taking in as much as I could.

What is this experience for you? What wholesome joy of yours do you fret will slip through your fingers too fast? What good thing tempts your heart to hoard it? 

It's taken time for me to relax about feeling rushed through life's happy times. Most of what motivated my angst was this: I carried an untested belief that a happy time such as this might never come again for me. So I felt like I must maximize how much I treasured THIS happy moment. I had to slow it down, absorb by osmosis as much as possible. I needed to hoard it, seal it in Tupperware, make sure it lasts as long as it can.

But that's folly.

It's possible: the exact same happy time may never come again. Yet different, equally happy, equally glorious moments thump through life at an arhythmic pace. Don't they for you too? A great talk with a friend. A delicious meal. A solid grade on a tough exam. A concert. A time of prayer. 

They show up like a wave to a shore, and then recede right back out. I can't catch the wave and keep it to myself. It'd be folly to try. But another wave always comes in. This helps me refrain from trying to hoard happy times. Like sad times, other happy times will come. I don't know when, or how, or in what way. But they will.

I haven't skied in years. I miss that rush of wind. I would love to feel that pull of a ski rope again. Maybe I will, maybe I won't. If I do, I'll probably feel like it went by too fast. But other joys remain, happy times I've yet to imagine or even know existed. It's the same for you.

Grace and peace to you on this day, dearly beloved--

"I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live ... " -Ecclesiastes 3:9-12

the blessed annoyance of unlearning

"Come snow skiing with us," they said. "It'll be a fun day," they said.

Nope.

That was not a fun day.

I didn't have coordination trouble. Nor did I have problems getting onto the ski lifts. I also figured out how to stop (ie just fall down). 

No, my trouble was deeper. I had to unlearn. 

The stingiest hurdle for me that day was my skiing experiences ... but not snow skiing. Water skiing.

They're both skiing. This is true. And they are similar enough for me to believe my water skiing experience would help. But ... it actually did not help. It hindered. It wasn't just learning how to snow ski -- I also had to unlearn and work against my water skiing habits and reflexes. Unlearning took effort.

This memory comes to my mind now and then, especially in the wintertime. 

At times, I tend to believe that improvement in life -- growing in my faith, or changing how I relate to others, or more regularly giving thanks -- can be achieved by acquiring more knowledge, by growing in wisdom and skill.

But that's only part of it. 

We also gotta unlearn. Sometimes, we gotta unlearn more than we would want. 

Un-learning. 

Unlearning habits that no longer work. 

Unlearning coping strategies.

Unlearning unwise ways to relate. 

Unlearning our sneaky pride.* 

[*Specifically, unlearning a pride that convinces us that we know what's best for ourselves, and unless we get exactly what we think should happen, everything all ruined. That's a sneaky kind of pride that feeds anxiety, when we assume we know the best ways that everything should happen and work out.]

Unlearning lies we came to believe were truth. 

Unlearning behaviors. 

It's a continual shedding of those barnacles that cling to us.

“We all want progress. But progress means getting nearer to the place where you want to be. And if you have taken a wrong turning then to go forward does not get you any nearer. If you are on the wrong road progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road ... Going back is the quickest way on.” -CS Lewis

Unlearning can 'feel' like you're losing ground. It can 'feel' like you're falling behind. It can stink to realize that you have anything to unlearn. 

It's rarely 'feels' efficient to unlearn. But we all have stuff to unlearn. Small stuff. Bigger stuff. Welcome to the party.

It's wise to figure out where you took a wrong turn. We all make wrong turns, sometimes even for (at the time were) understandable reasons. Sometimes we took a wrong turn because we were trying the best we could, with the knowledge we had to work with at the time. 

Make the turn. Do the unlearn.

Let's go see if we can pick the original path back up, to run the race as it's marked out for us.

"let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God." -Hebrews 12:1-2