Monday, August 31, 2009
Next trip
So I'm thinking that if God speaks to me through art, I need to go to Paris. Just imagine; entering the Louvre an idiot, and emerging a savant...
Friday, August 21, 2009
Looking for me in all the wrong places...
In the middle of the San Francisco Marathon expo, my husband and I, along with thousands of anxious runners perused the sample stations looking for energy bars and liquid fuel that would enable us to go farther and faster than ever before. For most of them, finishing tomorrow's race crowded their minds. Getting through the masses drove me.
Like the other runners, my husband acquired his "bib" (the numbers that identify who you are), and "chip", the bar code that electronically verifies starting and finishing the marathon. He bought sugary syrup called "Goo" and "Gel" to ingest while running. He and the others were on a mission to be prepared. They looked the part. They had a common goal. They had mutual Identity. I felt envious.
At the end of the corridor, a life sized poster of a woman about my age, obviously in shape, wearing a cute little running outfit and dangling a pair of Nike's taunted me. The slogan: "You too can be a running Diva".
I went down that mental path for a few moments: Sure, I could do that. I could spend every spare minute running in order to run some more -pay for parking and a hotel to run with thousands of people - risk hypothermia, dehydration, being trampled, all for a little medal. No thanks. I can find other identities...
Driving from the expo to our hotel, I thought about the vast number of groups in San Francisco that I could be identified with. Since my husband is Italian, I could take up residence in little Italy, although I would only be one of them vicariously, so it doesn't really count as my own identity.
We passed China Town. Don't qualify. Height/Ashbury - dressed like that in the '70's, and don't want to go back. Nob Hill - not rich enough. The Financial District - too preppy. The Presidio - bad eyesight, and can't spell. I think spelling matters there.
And then, as we crossed over the Bay Bridge, I spotted it rising like a beacon on a hill - Ikea. My spirits rose; I think I am Part Swedish! It is meant for me to buy Scandinavian furniture!
Yet after eating the meatballs and losing my husband in the crowded showroom, it occurred to me that this was just like the marathon - especially the trampled part, only with a different outcome. Instead of a medal, you get a rug or a loft bed. Either way, it is only temporary, and not worth the effort.
On the way to the car, I stopped for a moment and looked up. The seagulls above soared in quiet simplicity. God, I have no identity. I don't have a tattoo or even an active piercing. I am not INTO anything but You. I do not feel in the least bit unique. I feel like I should have more, but maybe THAT is the problem.
Later that night in our room, while my husband slept, I pondered a photograph on the wall. The image seemed to be strategically placed there just for that moment in time. An areal shot of a monument in the middle of hundreds of San Francisco buildings towered beyond the congested city. Unrestrained. Unique. Powerful. Like a lighthouse in the sea of humanity. Like God.
I heard an almost audible message from Him as I drifted off to sleep. The kind of message that settles down deep inside. You belong with ME.
The next day, as the runners sported their accomplishments throughout the streets of San Francisco, I didn't schlep like the day before, I confidently sauntered as though I'd won the over 40 division.
It is OK that God is my identity. He is big enough for the both of us.
Like the other runners, my husband acquired his "bib" (the numbers that identify who you are), and "chip", the bar code that electronically verifies starting and finishing the marathon. He bought sugary syrup called "Goo" and "Gel" to ingest while running. He and the others were on a mission to be prepared. They looked the part. They had a common goal. They had mutual Identity. I felt envious.
At the end of the corridor, a life sized poster of a woman about my age, obviously in shape, wearing a cute little running outfit and dangling a pair of Nike's taunted me. The slogan: "You too can be a running Diva".
I went down that mental path for a few moments: Sure, I could do that. I could spend every spare minute running in order to run some more -pay for parking and a hotel to run with thousands of people - risk hypothermia, dehydration, being trampled, all for a little medal. No thanks. I can find other identities...
Driving from the expo to our hotel, I thought about the vast number of groups in San Francisco that I could be identified with. Since my husband is Italian, I could take up residence in little Italy, although I would only be one of them vicariously, so it doesn't really count as my own identity.
We passed China Town. Don't qualify. Height/Ashbury - dressed like that in the '70's, and don't want to go back. Nob Hill - not rich enough. The Financial District - too preppy. The Presidio - bad eyesight, and can't spell. I think spelling matters there.
And then, as we crossed over the Bay Bridge, I spotted it rising like a beacon on a hill - Ikea. My spirits rose; I think I am Part Swedish! It is meant for me to buy Scandinavian furniture!
Yet after eating the meatballs and losing my husband in the crowded showroom, it occurred to me that this was just like the marathon - especially the trampled part, only with a different outcome. Instead of a medal, you get a rug or a loft bed. Either way, it is only temporary, and not worth the effort.
On the way to the car, I stopped for a moment and looked up. The seagulls above soared in quiet simplicity. God, I have no identity. I don't have a tattoo or even an active piercing. I am not INTO anything but You. I do not feel in the least bit unique. I feel like I should have more, but maybe THAT is the problem.
Later that night in our room, while my husband slept, I pondered a photograph on the wall. The image seemed to be strategically placed there just for that moment in time. An areal shot of a monument in the middle of hundreds of San Francisco buildings towered beyond the congested city. Unrestrained. Unique. Powerful. Like a lighthouse in the sea of humanity. Like God.
I heard an almost audible message from Him as I drifted off to sleep. The kind of message that settles down deep inside. You belong with ME.
The next day, as the runners sported their accomplishments throughout the streets of San Francisco, I didn't schlep like the day before, I confidently sauntered as though I'd won the over 40 division.
It is OK that God is my identity. He is big enough for the both of us.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)