Practical Wisdom Archive

That’s what I overheard the man say as he downed his fifth beer, “It’s just not natural.” He was watching the trail of information crawling across the bottom of the screen of the t.v. set hanging over the bar. It announced that another state legislature had approved same sex marriage. “God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve,” he proclaimed, in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

Who’s to say what is natural and what is not? Some religions believe it is unnatural for a woman to cut her hair or a man to shave his face. There is a tribal custom in a country in Africa that requires all women be circumcised, allowing only men to have sexual gratification. They believe it is unnatural for a woman to seek pleasure. This custom reinforces the male dominated hierarchy allowing men to objectify and control women’s behavior.

It was once believed it is unnatural to fly. People said, “If man were meant to fly, he’d have wings.” Perhaps they were right. Maybe we weren’t meant to travel so quickly. Our bodies don’t naturally move that fast. Maybe we should walk from place to place instead of drive in cars or fly in planes. Of course that would take us an awfully long time and it wouldn’t be very practical.

I enrolled in a yoga class recently and after my first class, nothing about yoga seemed natural. The downward-facing-dog position seemed especially unnatural. I kept thinking to myself, “Surely this can’t be right.” But in time, it was easy to see the benefits of this “unnatural event.”

Personally, I think velveeta is unnatural. I’m pretty sure that’s not the way cheese is supposed to taste. In 2002 the FDA warned Kraft Foods that velveeta was being sold with packaging that described it as a “pasteurized processed cheese food,” which the FDA claimed was false. I ask you: How can any cheese that doesn’t have to be refrigerated be natural?
Maybe we should stop worrying so much about what is natural and what isn’t. Perhaps that is best determined by each individual, particularly when it comes to people who love one another. I happen to believe that anytime people are loving the world is improved and heaven sings. Surely there are no natural boundaries to love. And surely any God that exists would take pleasure and delight in seeing its creation find happiness.

One of my favorite quotes is by the renowned English playwright and poet, Dorothy L. Sayers. She wrote, “As I grow older and totter toward the tomb, I find that I care less and less who goes to bed with whom.”

In conclusion, I think the man at the bar who bellowed out his opinion as to what is natural and what is not should keep his mouth shut. His ignorance keeps announcing itself.

My daddy looked just like Gomer Pyle! And being from the southern state of Alabama, he talked a lot like him too. He had big, goofy looking ears and short black hair that was flat and matted to his head.

My brother Billy and I used to make fun of him all of the time; but never in front of his face. We did it behind his back in the privacy of our shared bedroom where we stuck our ears out, pushed our hair down and tried to mimic his ridiculous drawl.

Daddy never cursed but when he got angry or frustrated he gave us our favorite phrase to mock. His face would get all gnarled up and he’d say, “dadgummit.” Billy and I used to love to imitate the innocent stupidity of that remark. We very proudly knew all of the much harsher curse words and would use them frequently—behind Daddy’s back, of course! My little sister paid no attention to our game. She was much too young to understand our sophisticated mockery.

Daddy worked in the oil fields as a rigger and didn’t make much money. I’ll never forget the rank smell of crude oil that permeated our modest house. You could smell him from a block away on his way home at night happily trodding toward the front door which he swung open with the same giddy
remark every night; “Daddy’s home!”

The year was 1969 and I was happy because that meant it was “my” year! Every third year was mine. On my father’s salary, with three kids, we could hardly afford lavish gifts for Christmas. So each year one of us got a “special” gift, while the other two received trinkets. I was thrilled because my turn had finally come around.

Of course I knew exactly what I wanted. I had two whole years to pick it out. It was a bright red bike with a banana seat and u-shaped chrome bar on the back to hold any friend I would let ride with me—-and it cost fifty dollars! Fifty dollars was more than was ever spent on a single child for Christmas in my house but that didn’t matter to me. I couldn’t wait to ride my new bike!

But something was wrong; two weeks before Christmas, Momma and Daddy called me into their room for a talk, which always meant trouble. They very sadly sat me down on the bed and quietly told me I wasn’t going to get my bike. I vaguely remember words like: “It’s been a rough year. Your Father and I just don’t have the money right now. We’ve done the best we could.” Blah, blah, blah! All I knew was—It wasn’t fair! Instead of being the understanding child they had hoped for, my response was fury. I screamed and yelled and ran to my room where Billy waited to hear what happened.

Momma was distant with me for a few days—probably ashamed she’d raised such an ungrateful child. But Daddy never mentioned it again. He acted as though nothing had happened, which made me even more angry. The next few days Billy and I had a heyday making fun of how stupid Daddy looked and how dumb he sounded when he talked.

A few days after my emotional outburst, Momma overheard noise from our bedroom and swung the door open to find Billy and I jumping on the bed like monkeys imitating our goofy looking Father. She broke into a monologue that day that I’ll never forget. She said, “You boys think I don’t know what you’re doing, but I do. I know you’re making fun of Daddy.” She sat us down on the bed and made us listen. “I can’t imagine why you’d want to make fun of the man who works so hard to put food on the table for you to eat and buy you new clothes to wear to school every year. Your Daddy is one of the most giving people you’re ever going to know . I pray to God that the two of you grow up just like him. He works nearly 12 hours a day for his family and never once complains—and do you know why? Just because he loves us, that’s why!” She got up and left us alone to contemplate her scolding. I felt bad—-real bad—but not nearly as bad as I was going to.

Christmas morning I awoke without much enthusiasm. My little sister and Billy ran to see what awaited them under the tree. I moped into the kitchen to get something to drink without passing the living room, or even looking at the tree. I was sure there was nothing under it that I really wanted anyway. I heard Daddy’s deep drawl call me into the living room. “Chris, come in here. I’ve got something I want to show you.”

I dragged myself into the living room astonished to find Daddy standing over my bright red bike with the banana seat. I stood there shocked! Never before, and never since, have my emotions been so mixed. I was half ecstatic and half ashamed. I was elated and embarrassed at the same time, glad to have my bike, and sad because I’d been so cruel to the man who had obviously found some way to buy it.

I later learned from Momma that Daddy had taken a second job for two hours every day just to get the money to buy it. He said it was worth the extra work just to see the look on my face Christmas morning when I saw the bike.

From that Christmas day in 1969 until today, I never made fun of my Daddy again. I am proud to be my Father’s son, and I aspire to be as much like him as possible. And you want to hear something ironic? The other day I took a good look in the mirror and guess whose face I saw staring back at me? You guessed it—-I look just the way my Daddy did in 1969.

There’s a restlessness within every soul, some part of us that’s uneasy and anxious.  There’s something in us that won’t let us rest until we find love; not the romantic, cheesy kind of love you see in the movies, but the real deal.  I’m talking about a gentle love that gives you peace, one that calms your soul and leaves you knowing you are finally accepted just as you are.  That’s the love our souls seek.  And we will search for it relentlessly, every day we’re alive.  Like a person dying of hunger, we will go anywhere and do anything to get fed because we know our very life depends on it.

Few people understand themselves.  They don’t know why they’re willing to risk so much for love or do the silly things they do in pursuit of it.  They don’t know why they’re so willing to quit a job, leave home and move to another city just to be with someone they met on the internet.  They don’t know why they keep going back to the same person asking to be loved when love has been withheld by that person their whole life.   They don’t understand their soul’s intense and demanding need for unconditional love. 

Many people spend a lifetime looking for the right thing in the wrong place.  They try to fulfill their soul’s desire for love by using their bodies.  They use them for sexual pleasure.  But after the body is pleasured, the soul is still restless, still unfulfilled. So, they have to keep finding new partners for sex just to find some sense of ease.  For many, this becomes an addiction, an endless cycle of accepting less than what their soul truly longs for.

Others, lead lives of “quiet desperation,” as Thoreau wrote.  Instead of searching for their soul’s destiny, they give up their search and find something to comfort their loss.  Some people use food for comfort, others use alcohol, drugs or shopping.

Inevitably they all fail because nothing material will ever fully satisfy the soul.  Its restlessness isn’t about getting something, it’s about giving something.  Contrary to the daily messages we receive from the consumer-addicted society in which we live, our greatest joy doesn’t come from acquisition, it comes from giving our gifts to each other and to the world around us.

That’s what the soul truly longs for.  That’s what the restlessness is really all about.  It’s not a desperate longing for a husband, wife or mate.  It’s a deep desire within us to share our lives and all of the good in them.  It’s a need to contribute something of value to another soul—-to give the very thing we seek; unconditional love.

But since we can’t give what we don’t first possess.  The soul’s journey always begins inside.  Eventually if we don’t make a conscious choice on our own to look within, circumstances in life will demand it.   Life has a series of pre-ordained wake up calls designed to jolt the soul back to reality.  Anyone who’s lost a loved one, been through a nasty divorce or been unemployed for a lengthy period will tell you going through that experience created a dramatic change of course in their lives.  It forced them to rethink what’s important and really worth giving their time to.  All of it contributes to the advancement of our soul’s journey.  Nothing is ever completely bad.  We gain value from every experience in life, even the ones we wish never happened. 

The road inward is the soul’s first step on its journey.  The road to self-acceptance has to be traveled first before it can give or receive the most valuable gift life has to offer.