Stranger thinks have happened...

On Christmas Eve, my Granddad, with beaming pride, showed me the only pictures he's taken with his new digiital camera...a fox on his neighbor's roof. Their quality was a bit lacking; to tell the truth, I probably would have made a complete fool of myself, saying something like "Aww, what a cute cat," if he hadn't prepped me. But he was just so proud and proceded to explain how he came to capture such profound images.

You might be wondering as I was how a fox a) gets into a pretty dense neighborhood and b) climbs onto roofs. When I asked about the 'foxes on roofs' bit, my Granddad explained that he hears footsteps on his roof during the night on a regular basis. Due to his exposure to so many different roof-prancing animals, he's become aware of the distinctive qualities each animal exhibits. A few weeks ago, he noted that the shuffling on the roof resembled the steps of neither a cat nor a squirrel. He made a mental note of this and continued about his busy business of cotton farming. One morning while watering plants in his bathroom window, he glanced up and there he was, the clever fox, on his neighbor's roof. He put two and two together and hypothesised that the clever fox used the power lines to traverse the great divide of his roof and theirs, but he's a bit confused how the fox was allowed in the neighborhood.

Aside from the unusual nature of the story, I assume that this scenario is a familiar one between grandchildren and their grandparents: Grandparents, with pleasure and pride, showing their ability to integrate new technology with amusing stories, and grandchildren, with patience and perhaps pity, endulging them. I was more than happy to endulge my Granddad, and this anecdote will become a memory that will help me to know just a bit more about my Granddad.

I don't really know my Granddad, and he doesn't really know me. In fact, I'd wager that we interacted more during the 3 days at my aunt's house over Christmas than we have in the last decade. Our time together and particularly the interaction I've described above solidifies a bit of regret on both parties that we are strangers. However, the gestures of sharing his story and pictures were his effort to bridge the divide, to alleviate the isolation, and create a space for relationship to grow. Although it wasn't clear to me then, I've come to understand that we do this everytime we attempt to tell an interesting and clever story to anyone we don't really know. They're the premeditated, pre-intimacy stories, the risky stories that hope for peace and friendship, and consequently leave us vulnerable to someone thinking that we are neither interesting nor clever. These stories are subtle invitations into the cuckiness of our lives.

In someways it can be frustrating that this is one of our vehicles to being known (especially if we consider ourselves to be poor storytellers, not clever, funny or interesting), but yet it is hopeful because it really isn't all that much. If strangers that have known each other for nearly 24 years can experience the hope of a new beginning from a fox on a roof, then I believe there's hope for all of us. Peace and love are perhaps just a risk away.

*****

Last night around dusk, almost immediately after writing this post, I went for a walk and saw a fox wondering the streets of my neighborhood! I live in an even more densely populated area than my Granddad. (I literally live within 3 miles of downtown Fort Worth!) At first I thought it surely must be a large mutant cat, but two other walkers squashed my skepticism when they shouted from the other sidewalk, "Did you see the fox?" I responded, "So it WAS a fox?" and with beaming pride that resembled that of my Granddad, they walked on saying, "Ya, how bizarre!"

feeling a little crazy...

I've been itching to write for weeks, but I've allowed lack of direction and at times lack of complete or coherent thoughts to keep me from hitting these shiney little buttons. Perhaps my lack of direction has to do with the waves of nihilism countered by moments of great hope that have become my reality during this season of advent. My poor bipolar heart isn't quite sure of what to make of times, which often lends towards a sort of intellectual paralysis.

Let me explain some of this with a quick summary of some of the events from last week:

Last Monday, I became profoundly frustrated by the fact that so many Christians support legislation that will give tax reductions to the rich, reduce the amount of domestic funding for poor folks that need assistance, and increase spending for war. I became a bit nervous and maybe even scared when I learned that evening that a good friend will be heading to Washington DC to participate in civil disobedience in response to this legislation, a move that could have him arrested and possibly compromise his professional standing.

On Tuesday evening, I spent 3 hours repairing bikes with a new friend (whose enthusiasm for bicycles convinced me to come despite the fact that I know absolutely nothing about repairing bikes) along with 4 or 5 gentlemen over 55. Mission Arlington, the parachurch organization who graciously or foolishly let this girl (who didn't even know how to remove and inner-tube from a tire at the beginning of the night) volunteer, will give hundreds of used and new bicycles away as Christmas gifts. I left overwhelmed by both the generosity of the ministry and the enoromous patience and assistance everyone had given me.

Wednesday, I read half of a book that exposes some of the major features of the critical condition of the health care industry in the US. I wanted to finish it the following day, but it was just too depressing. It really made me wonder about what I'm getting myself into by becoming a physician. I'm finding it harder and harder to reconcile a profession where I will serve the 'least of these' but am required to become part of a very, very croocked establishment? From where I sit, it seems like crunch time, when being a "critic-from-within-the-establishment' may actually only be interpretted as "complicity with the establishment."

Thursday was a 'snow day,' which means a day of solitude for those who live alone. It was quite nice to have time to meditate and sip tea. It gave me time to sober up from the emotional beating I'd given myself the day before.

Finally on Friday, after a long telephone conversation with a trusted friend followed by coffee with a new one, I was convinced that even my madness can momentarily be subdued. It's crazy, confusing, and complicated out there, yet brief moments of clarity and compassion are just around the corner when you understand that you're not alone.

Thanks to all the folks in my life who listen so well, who are often equally clueless, who humble me, who help me to be more comfortable with uncertainty, who care, and who in general, make me feel less crazy!!