Planes and doors

I was talking with a guy recently who makes parts for most of the single prop planes in the world. We were talking about stress. Some time ago his company seemed to have cut corners on parts that had the potential of killing people. He had gone through a very dark season and came out on the other side. As we talked about it, one of the lessons he had learned was not to assert too much meaning in an event. "At the end of the day, what was, was. You go home and have to get beyond it."

The last three weeks we have been celebrating Advent at church. Each week associates loosely with some of the fruit of the Spirit. Joy and peace went well. They were pleasant, attractive, something we all wanted more of and were willing to help others achieve more of in their lives. I suspect pondering love this week will lack controversy as well. It's foundational and nourishes like water. But, hope... Now hope is controversial. Hope is dangerous. It builds on expectations and we are often unable to control them. Hope connects biologically when a women turns 41 and articulates that fear that started at 29. To hope in a baby at this age risks the deepest disappointment imaginable. The circumstance and experience testify against her. Hope connects to us emotionally through the millions and millions of thoughts we have accumulated on something. We have existentially birthed a life in our mind and reality never had a chance of keeping up. If you add years or decades, it can be unbearable; it can cripple and embitter. When you get to an age when experience contradicts hope, it's a desert of parchedness. Each step testifies to the risk hope posed and someone has to be the example of a hope never attained. Some speak of contentment in that situation. When unpacked, they are pretending. Rather than transformation, they have conformed to the circumstance as best they can. They try to cast the dream away, but it's like swimming against the current. You will never have enough strength to beat the river.

I was reading in Parker Palmer last night the idea that we should not resist closed doors. He personifies way in our lives and sees closed doors as beneficial and open ones. The way is made of our strengths and limitations. We must learn from each. He draws a picture of a person desperately knocking on a closed door. The world is small. The scenery never changes. The limitations and circumstances continue to chisel and shape the reality. But if I turn around, the world is actually a limitless number of open doors and the one behind me is the only closed. I picture that closed door as having blood and bone chips in it, tears mixed with saliva, slivers missing, but the integrity of the door is relentless.

Two perspectives. Interestingly, we are very good at asserting meaning to all of this. Usually translated as "I'm a f-up!" or "God's a f-up!" As I read in Proverbs about hope deferred, God doesn't talk about His responsibility. It just sounds like, "what is, is..."

Wealth gained hastily will dwindle,
but whoever gathers little by little will increase it.
Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.
Whoever despises the word brings destruction on himself,
but he who reveres the commandment will be rewarded.

Hope is risky partially because it will reveal depths of our identity. Depths of our theology. God...