The Spill | Kelley J. Leigh: Mopping up Meaning in the Mess

Smiling Sidewalk

1 Comment 02 September 2010

Watch Your Step.

“Every day you may make progress. Every step may be fruitful. Yet there will stretch out before you an ever-lengthening, ever-ascending, ever-improving path. You know you will never get to the end of the journey. But this, so far from discouraging, only adds to the joy and glory of the climb.”

Sir Winston Churchill

May you find joy in the steps of your path today.

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Image from: www.happychairishappy.com

All Spillage

Dead Batteries and the Xbox

4 Comments 29 August 2010

A Random Thought …

Yes, we have a couple of popular video game systems at our house. No, I’m not proud to say it.

But I will say, some are better or worse than others. And, ours didn’t enter the house without a great deal of discusssion. There you have it.

‘That said …

Strange but true, when left running unattended, the Xbox console runs a low fan that is identical to the inner-ear sound my hearing aid makes right before a battery goes dead. It’s a motor-ish hummmmmm, and barely perceptible, like white noise in a silent waiting room.

A Correlation?

Because the Xbox and my dying hearing aid make an identical sound, I literally have to stop what I’m doing in order to consciously discern whether my battery is fizzling or the Xbox has been left on.

Oddly, in this process of stopping and listening, I’ve noticed another similarity. It’s not always true — only with certain sons on certain days. But, when used too long, the Xbox causes a total loss of human ability to hear the world and its ambient noise — including any human conversation in the room. So does my hearing aid, when the batteries die.

Same inner whirring sound. Same outward affect.

My Conclusion:

Given my son’s responses while playing said electronic device, I conclude that a dead hearing aid battery and an overused Xbox have the same deafening impact on human communication.

___________________________________

Do you think there is any credible scientific study to back me up on this conclusion?

What? I’m sorry, what did you say?

Nevermind.

I can’t hear you. My battery is dead, and the Xbox has been left on …

All Spillage, Parenthood, Sons

Second Son

12 Comments 11 August 2010

His bedroom floor is a pile of books, drumsticks, sculptures, pocket change, awards, clothes, and papers. The contents of his childhood now covers that one blue paint spill which just never came out of his carpet. No matter how hard I try. The mark on the floor will stay. And, my second son will leave.

Three months ago he was looking for me in a crowd. A long black graduation gown flowing down his lanky body and a small tassle bobbing on his head, he found me. Brightest eyes. Biggest braces smile. His voiced called, and cracked with joy, across the long hall “Mom!!!” He was elated, surprised by what he had been long expecting. Diploma in hand, he had graduated into a whole new season in life and couldn’t contain the beaming. His happy squeezing hug made me cry.

I’d never seen that particular look on his face. It was new.

At three, he used to build towers and towns of wood blocks for long stretches of time, with laser focus, entirely naked. He was a wild toddler who caused me to make rules for things I never imagined a child would try.

No standing on the dishwasher in order to throw my spice bottles into the ceiling fan.
No playing with flour or shaving cream when Mommy isn’t around.
No peeing off the back deck.
No going down the block without any clothes.

At ten, my kitchen floor began to vibrate. Our family internalized his rhythm when the drums entered his bedroom. His simple beat gained complexity, meter, rock, worship. His mountain of drum cases loaded and unloaded with his older brother and their bands, in and out of cars, in and out of concerts, in and out of years. In foreign countries, around campfires, in churches, theaters, stadiums, or alone in his room, his music became his second language, and my constant soundtrack.

At eighteen, he has a shape formed by brotherhood. The Second of Four. I watch them all line up next to each other in four chairs, with four game controllers, killing each other on the computer screen with great yells. But, in reality, I know they would die for each other.

They all move and live within a larger shape where he has stretched to become his own. They would tell you. He is the engineer, rock climber, architect, scientist, faith apologist, thinker. And even though he is ready to go it on his own, out from under the shadow of four, they will watch him fly, and stand by him when he falls. No matter where he goes, he’ll never lose his band of brothers.

And now, his bedroom floor is a sea of piles to be sorted, packed, or pitched. In a matter of days, that sea of objects will disappear and reveal that one remaining paint stain sunk deep into the carpet fibers. And maybe I’ll just leave it there.

As Ty gets ready to go to college next week, I think of that look on his face after graduation. It was the elated look of a boy released to become a man; a man who will carry away the things of his childhood, and leave behind something no one can steal. Deep in the fibers of my heart,

he leaves a mark.

My Second Son.

All Spillage

Wednesday

0 Comments 21 July 2010

‘Ever get directions like these?

All Spillage, [clAy] Faith

Engage.

2 Comments 19 July 2010

The Key to Finding (or re-finding) your Faith.

Orbiting. For the last six years, I’ve done spiritual discussion groups with women don’t go to church but want to talk about Christianity. I landed in that space without intention. Random conversations about faith kept popping into my days. Seriously. Random. On the first day of kindergarten, in line at Loaf ‘n Jug, at the mailbox — people with the same God-hunger kept showing up and orbitting my life. It wasn’t like, “Hi, I want to talk about God…” It was more a repetition of the same deeper need — expressed in different ways and places. I’d hear things like:

“I don’t know what to tell my kids about God … “
“My best friend’s boyfriend is beating her … I know you’re a praying person. Will you pray”
“I feel like an empty shell … I don’t belong anywhere … “
“ I used to go to church until [so-and-so] told me I’m going to hell. Do you think I’m going to hell?”

Not Church. The conversations usually started because I am seen as a ‘church’ person. Even in the smallest ways, I think most people assume a faith community has some spiritual answers. But overall, “church” wasn’t where they were going to find their answers. Church was missing the boat. It just didn’t have anything to offer my orbiting friends.

So, what’s the alternative?

How do you begin? If you are like most of my spiritual friends, you have some things you’d like to ask, to resolve, or pursue. The key to finding the answers is asking the questions. Start where you are. Over and over I see it. The key to finding your own faith is to engage.

Finding your faith, your spirituality, the life within your shell — it always begins with the choice to engage. No one else makes that choice for you.

It’s yours alone.

So, how do you engage? Where do you start? Go read the rest of the article I wrote — complete with some practical start-point suggestions. Head on over to Tattered Couch and read the rest.