There is a Balm...

I’ve been rereading Marilynne Robinson’s Gilead, because it’s such a poetic, elegant book. It won the Pulitzer in 2005. This is a little quote about the book in a 2005 USA Today article:

“Gilead is written in the form of a letter the Rev. John Ames, in failing health, is writing to his 6-year-old son in 1956. It deals with the minister's life and the lives of his father and grandfather, both of them preachers. One is a pacifist, the other is a gun-toting abolitionist.

Robinson, who teaches at the Iowa Writers' Workshop in Iowa City, says the novel reflects her belief that ‘America is quite a religious country, but it's the extremes that have taken over the public discussion. I think many people have a different experience and understanding.’”

It’s a beautiful book, but it’s also a difficult read. There are no chapters, just line breaks between when the narrator puts down and later picks up his pen. The book is very internal, as if we are reading the minister’s thoughts. Reverend John Ames is a very humble, very wise man, and as a character, his intellectual and spiritual struggles are downright heartbreaking.

Still it’s not a book I’d suggest to David; because it does require a bit of patience and focus to really enjoy. It takes a lot of energy. Also, i think it's dangerous and presumptious to ever suggest a book that deals with religious subjects.

However, the main character, Reverend John Ames reminds me of my “grandma” Lorena, whose humility was inspirational. (We weren’t blood-related, but she lived across the street from us; she was my mom’s mom’s best friend, and when Grandma Alberta died, Lorena wasted no time in making herself available to feed us, sew clothes for us, throw birthday parties, teach us piano, and basically educate us in a spirituality and civility I still struggle to achieve today.) I wish my friends could see how strongly Lorena thought of things; when she did this, you could sense it in her posture and her face. She’d pray this way, too.

She never had to yell at you; she had a way of looking disappointed that would break your heart and make you step in line immediately.

And even when I turned from being this quiet, depressed boy who used to physically hide from people into this loud, unruly homosexual who’d never let anyone step on him, she still loved me with a fierceness and loyalty that my own family could never seem to muster for me.

Anyway, in Gilead, John Ames says, “And often times, we believe we are protecting ourselves, when in truth we are actually struggling against our rescuer.”

It reminds me of a couple of lines I once wrote:

HARRIS: But, I want to save you from all that!

PEARL: (Laughing, not entirely scornful) Oh, honey. I’ve drowned many a lifeguard who was only trying to save me.

Saving.

It also makes me think – where might I be avoiding my rescue wrongly thinking that I am defending myself, protecting my self. I know I have in the past done this, drowned the lifeguard, so to speak.

It seems to me that, if I am ever actually capable of saving another person (and I’m not sure my personality has that ability, but I hope very much that it does), it’s because – like Lorena was for me – I am there for that person. I am – despite whatever happens between us – there for that person. We may disagree, but I am loyal in my way, and that makes it work. I don’t believe in “knight-in-shining-armor” thinking. And if someone saw me that way, I know that a failing of my character is that that sort of dependency would scare me away.

I hope that there is something within my personality that actually makes it just “work” that I am able to help someone else. That somehow we recognize the strength of our characters, because together they work. Like Lorena’s quiet and concentration worked to calm my internalized panic down and help me find my own voice. I hope that I can have enough humility to be gracious and thoughtful like Lorena.

I love when a single line in a book can make you want to be a better person.

I’m not talking about “love” or a long-term relationship or anything (I’m thinking that’ll never be in my cards.) I have just been craving the ability to make a difference in someone’s life, like Lorena did in mine. I suppose it’s because I’ve been missing her so much that I long to have her concentration and humility and patience, that I long to know that something from her was passed to me, that I can show how she made me a better person, that I can prove this!

Anyway, this isn’t a chuckle-fest post, but it’s where I am now. I am not depressed, just full of thinking and wanting to be better, and that want – that hope – actually even as I miss Lorena – that hope kinda feels good. Because I believe I can be a better person, and I believe I was given an excellent example to live up to, and not everyone has that opportunity in this life.

I also believe other things:

- That when Marcie and I wear matching shirts, that just proved we are spiritually connected. And that her wary, confused looks aren’t real, but are done for comic effect to make me smile (Hi, Marcie!)
- That David will always be one of my best friends.
- That it’s important for me to realize how much I am enjoying everything about Orlando Vigilante now – the people, the rehearsals – and that I need to keep reminding myself that I kinda feel blessed.
- How cool is Merrilee Stallings – I am so glad I’ve gotten this opportunity to better know her.
- That Joshie is going to steal the show at points, no question. And it’s a joy to watch it happen (while staying in character…STAY IN CHARACTER, STEVE!!!)
- That it’s okay to cry if a perfectly blue sky on a perfect day makes you feel that way.

I’m in a good place, I guess. Reflective, with a little grieving thrown in, but in large part, a good place.