Hum Drum Motel

If you're in it, you want to check out. If you're out of it, you want to check in.

I'm pre-press proofing a book by a pastor who died of ALS (Lou Gerig's disease). His sister, my friend, has compiled his writings from his final 2 1/2 years of living. It's fairly remarkable and I hope one day you will all have a chance to read it. It's like love letters to his congregation. Love letters to his life, which he wishes could be just ordinary.

Like the soldier on a tour of duty. One who is paralyzed by an accident. A long term hostage. Loosing one you love. Any kind of suffering. Terminal change makes you long for the ordinary. And it also seems to make you love so much more deeply. You can't help but to throw away all petty politics of everyday relationships. When you are facing death, that's what you do. You open up to the sunshine of pure love, whereby your only wish is to make it better for the other person. Yet you long to be ordinary.

Lately I'm noticing that my 12-year-old daughter's facebook status reports that she's bored. Boredom. More boredom. Bored again. Mostly I think we don't have any right to be bored. Yet, in a way I'm bored too. When you have everything you need, life can become rather hum drum.

I can't help but to think back when Bob was sick. One day when the full force of his illness revealed itself, our whole marriage flashed before me which then happened on a daily basis. As if the arc of our time together was coming to a close; and it was so sad. Yet we became most grateful for our shared experiences. Actually, we both started feeling a soulful connection to everybody, even strangers. Still we wanted so badly to just be normal again. Bob's fantasy was to drive to the grocery store and buy a box of cereal. Hum drum sounded so good. I also didn't want to loose that intensity of relationship.

Yet you do. One day Bob refused to be spoonfed, as if he didn't even know that I'd been spoonfeeding him for months. On the way to normal. Recovery. Back to lovely, splendid hum drum which transforms into daily boring hum drum. Until something else happens which brings you to other kinds of intensities. Some people are amazing at living passionately everyday no matter what. Be present with their loved ones. Evaluate their lives. Write up their bucket lists and have at it.

By now I've grown rather attached to the author who will die tomorrow as I finish the book. Yet his words live on forever for those who are lucky enough to get a hold of them. The obvious truth is that we will all die tomorrow, or the next day, or whenever. Yet our passions and intensities live on forever.

Check out of the Hum Drum Motel. Or if you are suffering, I pray that soon you may check into it.

O my goodness, this is what happens when I blog too late in the evening. Good night, friends. Thanks for coming over.

With love, T