My Dad, the Beatles, and Thankfulness

I'm sitting on my parent's sofa, sipping tea, staring at the squirrels running along the fence, and listening to the Beatles while the rest of the family is out participating in the extravagant commercial over-consumption that has become just as traditional for this holiday as pumpkin pie. There are layers of contraversy in this scene, but I'd like to reflect on perhaps the less pronounced radical behavior: listening to the Beatles on my own perogative.

To my father this would be considered a glorious and miraculous phenomenon since as a child and teenager he loved, I mean LOVED, to torture my siblings and I by playing nothing but Beatles albums on road trips. And to give some perspective, these road trips were often of the 14 hour variety as we are among the great Texan travelling families who consider 3 hour drives to be comparable to trips to the grocery store. My siblings and I tried every tactic imaginable to entice Dad into listening to some of 'our music' or anything else. We'd have taken Dylan or the Stones or even some CCR, but rational arguments, bargaining, masterly planned sales pitches, and begging could not break this man. Beatles it was, and Beatles it would be.

Today, I recognise that a good bit of my ever-evolving personality and principles continually resonate with the lyrics of which I desperately tried to limit my intake during my youth. The irony.

For instance, Hey Jude says a lot about internal peace-making despite external conflict. You've gotta let the crazy world deeply impact you, but you can't let it dissolve your hope and peace.

Another good one is Rocky Racoon. You never know how or when God's going to foil your grandious plans just as Rocky had no idea he'd leave his attempt to murder in the name of love grasping the Book that tells us to surrender unto death in the name of Love. Rocky and Paul (not the Beatle) bear some resemblance.

And my all-time favorite Beatles song: I am the Walrus. My love for this song has to do with my love for symbols, silliness, and scintillating wordplay. It's just such a clever song, a real piece of art.

So during this Thanksgiving holiday, I'd like to thank my Dad for his obnoxious yet contagious love of the Beatles. And I'd like to thank the Beatles for being revolutionaries. In tribute to both parties and for the sake of educating all 3 of my readers, here's I am the Walrus!

I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.
See how they run like pigs from a gun, see how they fly.
I’m crying.

Sitting on a cornflake, waiting for the van to come.
Corporation tee-shirt, stupid bloody tuesday.
Man, you been a naughty boy, you let your face grow long.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob.

Mister city policeman sitting
Pretty little policemen in a row.
See how they fly like lucy in the sky, see how they run.
I’m crying, I’m crying.
I’m crying, I’m crying.

Yellow matter custard, dripping from a dead dog’s eye.
Crabalocker fishwife, pornographic priestess,
Boy, you been a naughty girl you let your knickers down.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob.

Sitting in an english garden waiting for the sun.
If the sun don’t come, you get a tan
From standing in the english rain.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob g’goo goo g’joob.

Expert textpert choking smokers,
Don’t you thing the joker laughs at you?
See how they smile like pigs in a sty,
See how they snied.
I’m crying.

Semolina pilchard, climbing up the eiffel tower.
Elementary penguin singing hari krishna.
Man, you should have seen them kicking edgar allan poe.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob g’goo goo g’joob.
Goo goo g’joob g’goo goo g’joob g’goo.

Just Be

I just did the most amazing thing I've done in weeks: for about 20 minutes, I watched the steam rise from my cup of tea in complete stillness and silence. I found myself sitting on the couch without a desire to read, no energy to move, no one to call, and the cup of tea sitting in a spot of sunlight on the edge of the coffee table.

I propped my feet up and just lost myself in the beauty of the steam floating off of the surface of the liquid, illuminated by the midafternoon light. Sometimes, the mist floated up in peace and just vanished. Concurrently, a wild storm would be brewing and suddenly hurl itself in a perfect helix toward the sky. Then a tightly wound spiral would flip downwardly off the edge of the cup as if it were diving into the pool of light below. Next, ribbons of steam gently drifted upward, celebrating their newfound freedom. Sometimes the mist resembled definable shapes, but mostly they defied definition and even description. Those 20 minutes were ones of entertainment, meditation, therapy, and magic.

I'd nearly forgotten how to stop. I'd forgotten that it's healthy to do things that aren't 'productive.' I'd forgotten that I wasn't created to study or to become a professional or even to write a witty blog; and certainly not to utter the words 'should be' or 'should have.' The truth is that I've become terrified of stepping out of a routine that has become very comforting, not because of its ease, but it's consistancy. Medical school is no walk in the park, but I've deluded myself into believing that it is managable; therefore, it is secure. However, the lifestyle of medical students is unsustainable and in the end, ultimately unhealthy. In some ways, I am that cup of boiling tea. The energy required to remain at boiling point is beyond my capacity and my purpose; thus, by nature I am moving toward a state of lower energy, toward stillness and peace. I swirl around the surface of the foaming world that demands my energy, but eventually, I'll reach the critical point where I must choose between the rat race of the moment or rest and renewal. Noble dreams of service and responsibility pull me towards the former, but I know my heart constantly yearns for the latter.

Beauty Out of Our Messes

Running in the morning has many advantages over running at any other point in the day. It's cooler. There is less traffic. Studies have shown that folks who exercise in the morning are more likely to actually do it over those who schedule their exercise during or after work hours. And, finally, if you start your run just before dawn in Fort Worth, you get to see the most brilliant sunrise sky: bright pink and orange, balanced by the blue sky and silver lining of the clouds. It's often breath-taking, (or is that just the running?)

My route takes me briefly through a golf course, and as par for any good golf course, there are a few water hazards. One of these hazards has a little wooden bridge traversing it, and just when you reach the peak of the bridge and peek down at the water, only the generator in the corner of your eye reveals that you are in the center of civlization. Otherwise, all you see is the beautiful reflection of the glorious sky, pierced by the reflection of the surrounding trees and shrubs.

Last week, while I was just reaching the top of the bridge, I recalled that part of the reason that the the colors of the sky are so beguilling is air pollution. The tiny particles floating around up there bend the light of the sun and affect the colors our eyes perceive. Air pollution is not the inherent reason for the brilliance of the sky, but in that moment it amazed me that God's grace and power allows for beauty to remain or even increase out of our mess instead of simply quenching the sky of its natural splendor. As a person living in a polluted reality, both in myself and the world that surrounds us, this is truly Good News. It's Good News in the sense that renewal, beauty, and hope are not beyond our grasps even when the evidence seems to the contrary. Our violence, be it structural, psychological, or physical, self-directed or targeted toward others, will kill and destroy, but the continual victory of Life will eventually arise out of the ashes we create. We can then reflect thankfully on the voice that intercedes, saying,

I will ransom them from the power of the grave;
I will redeem them from death.
Where, O death, is your sting?
Where, O grave, is your destruction? (Hosea 13:14)

Seeing the beauty of the sky each morning helps me to appreciate mercy and compels me to ceaselessly pursue justice and peace in hopes of stepping one step closer to knowing the love that produces such mercy.