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I read somewhere about Dorothy Sayers, the late British writer, poet, and playwright who would often point to the analogy of an artist, who “does not see life as a problem to be solved, but as a medium for creation.”  I think what she was trying to say is that the context of our lives is in the story we create with them, and that the problems we solve, however great or small our accomplishments might be, are only details within the story.

The other evening a friend invited us to go listen to a jazz singer friend of hers who was performing at a local hangout.  We accepted the offer more to be with our friend than for the music, but not long into the evening we became converts.  Not that we were not fans of jazz before, it’s actually quite pleasant to listen to.  We even own a small collection of jazz recordings.  What we began to realize, though, is that we were not just listening to the music being performed, we were experiencing the musicians themselves.  Jazz is like that you see, a unique music form that it is not simply being played, rather it is being created before your very eyes.  It’s more like entering a studio where artists are painting and sculpting instead of a gallery filled with completed works. 

In the introduction to his book Blue Like Jazz Donald Miller describes his own experience this way.  “I never liked jazz music,” he says, “because jazz music doesn’t resolve.  But I was outside the Bagdad Theater in Portland [Oregon] one night when I saw a man playing the saxophone.  I stood there for fifteen minutes, and he never opened his eyes. . . After that I liked jazz music. . . Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself.  It is as if they are showing you the way.” 

Life, it seems to me, is sort of like jazz music in that it doesn’t resolve.  Instead it is a medium for creation, and we begin to create when we realize that we are living in a studio not a gallery.

Traveling Together, Part 2 

“Do not attempt this journey alone.  Find companions who see you as a pilgrim, even a straggler, and not as a guide.”  – Philip Yancey 

On a trip from Dallas to southern Colorado last fall Tee and I followed the exact route we had carefully mapped out in advance.  All went well until we were about two hours north of Albuquerque, New Mexico.  It was getting late and dark, yet we seemed to be progressing as scheduled  . . . until suddenly we ran out of highway and found ourselves on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere.  Startled be this unexpected occurrence we doubled back briefly assuming we had missed a turn, then paused to re-check our map only to discover we were indeed on the path we had mapped out.  So for the next sixteen miles we suffered along a bumpy desolate country road nervously counting the miles toward a return to smooth pavement and some indications of civilization. 

Recently a number of our friends and loved ones have found themselves in the midst of some rather serious health issues.  It’s an indication of our age I suppose.  And like us when we were driving through New Mexico in the middle of the night the smooth pavement beneath their lives suddenly and unexpectedly disappeared.  Unlike us, though, their journey back to civilization may not be as predictably nearby as the mere sixteen miles we had to travel. 

We live in an age that seems to revere individualism and self-reliance.  Yet all of us – and I do mean ALL of us – sooner or later experience rough roads that have no predictable end in sight.  It is in times such as these when we are reminded of our deep dependence on one another, on our fellow traveling companions.  

We are all just pilgrims, you see, even stragglers at times – especially during those times when the pavement beneath our lives suddenly and unexpectedly disappears in the dark of night and there is no predictable return to civilization.  That’s why we travel together, why we must not attempt this journey alone.

Traveling Together, Part 1 

“Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work:  If one falls down, his friend can help him up.”  – Ecclesiastes 4:9-10   

Life is designed for companionship, not isolation; for intimacy, not loneliness.  Our lives begin that way, don’t they?  When we enter the world our parents become our first travel companions through life, and our relationship with them is our first exposure to intimacy.  And even though tiny infants may be helpless and totally dependent on their parents, their relationship is one of cooperation, of the parents’ understanding of the child’s needs and the child developing trust and intimacy with the parents. 

We’ve enjoyed observing this relationship between our two little granddaughters and their parents, especially as they have begun to walk.  Walking, you see, is not something the parents can influence or control.  Children have to do it on their own and the parents have to allow that to be.   They can encourage, support and catch them when they fall, but they can’t teach it or force it.  It’s sort of like watching an egg hatch.  You know it’s going to occur, and probably soon, but you don’t know when.  Toddlers learning to walk are like birds hatching, you know it’s going to happen, but only when they are darn well ready – and not minute before.  

Toddlers do not need their parents to walk for them, otherwise they would never walk.  What they need are travel companions, someone to encourage and support them, and to catch them when they fall. 

That’s what companionship is all about as we travel together through life, for “two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work:  If one falls down, his friend can help him up.” 

More about traveling together next week . . . .

In the preface to the 1984 edition of his famous book, Man’s Search for Meaning, Dr. Viktor Frankl took the opportunity to write this admonishment to his students.  “Don’t aim at success,” he explains, “the more you aim at it and make it a target, the more you are going to miss it.  For success, like happiness, cannot be pursued; it must ensue, and it only does so as the unintended side-effect of one’s personal dedication to a cause greater than oneself or as the by-product of one’s surrender to a person other than oneself.  Happiness must happen, and the same holds for success:  you have to let it happen by not caring about it.  I want you to listen to what your conscience commands you to do and go on to carry it out to the best of your knowledge.  Then you will live to see that in the long run – in the long run, I say! – success will follow you precisely because you had forgotten to think of it.”

It would appear that Dr. Frankl’s message to his students was to discourage ambition.  But that was hardly his point.  Indeed he was himself a man of great ambition who achieved extraordinary success – as a Holocaust survivor, renowned author and teacher he became one of the twentieth century’s greatest leaders in the field of psychiatry.  Rather, his words admonish all of us to consider our motives.  Who is it are we using our gifts, talents, and knowledge to serve and please?  Are we here to serve others and to make the world a better place, or are we only in pursuit of our own glory?  

One of my biggest failures occurred when I took a job one time for no other reason except I thought it would make me a lot of money.  It turned to be a miserable mistake financially and a major setback for my career.   By contrast my greatest successes have come about almost by surprise, times when I was scarcely conscious of pursuing success.

“. . . listen to what your conscience commands you to do,” Frankl says, “and go on to carry it out to the best of your knowledge.  Then you will live to see that in the long run – in the long run, I say! – success will follow you precisely because you had forgotten to think of it.”

According to legend the famed mathematician Archimedes (c. 287 BC – c. 212 BC) was relaxing in a bath when suddenly he had an epiphany about how to calculate density and volume, commonly referred to as Archimedes’ Principle.  Startling his neighbors, so the story goes, he jumped out of his tub and ran naked through the streets shouting, “Eureka, I’ve got it!  Eureka, I’ve got it!”

A recent Wall Street Journal article entitled, “A Wandering Mind Heads Straight Toward Insight” tells how some of the most brilliant minds in history – including Archimedes, Sir Isaac Newton, Descartes, Einstein, Tesla and others – received their great revelations while goofing off as we might call it.  The article goes on to say that modern research has in fact provided strong evidence that the human brain “may be most actively engaged when our mind is wandering and we’ve actually lost track of our thoughts.”  In other words our best creativity, problem solving, and innovative ideas seem most likely to occur when we get out of the way of our own brains, allowing them to do their best behind the scenes work.

Of course, there is another essential element involved.  Insights, or a-ha moments, are most likely to occur in a prepared mind, not a lazy one.  It seems unlikely that the great epiphanies of Archimedes et al happened in a vacuum; rather their brains were in fact fertile for such revelations because they had spent countless hours preparing them.

Few of us will ever experience such break-through Eureka moments as Archimedes did.  (Hopefully, few of us will startle our neighbors by running through the streets naked either.)  But in each of us there are epiphanies looming deep within of our fertile, prepared minds.  All we need to do is get out of the way of our own brains occasionally, allowing them to do their best behind the scenes work.