Gy;m reflections

I've been going to the gym for about two months now. Some random reflections:

I think that perhaps one of the essential life questions is not, "Who am I and what have I done?" but "Who am I and what have I done with what I've been given?"

I still think there should be some way to harness the energy of all those treadmills, ellipticals, and stair climbers.

I've been happy with the amount of ethnic diversity (though still moderate) I've seen at the gym. One of my concerns when joining was that I was supporting a white middle class establishment.

I've also been surprised by the number of senior citizens working out, though as Darrel points out, "if anyone has a right/reason to be at a gym, it's senior citizens."

Family harmony

New parents, learn from my mistake. Those nice CDs of lullabies, and later, the catchy children's songs? Don't let them into your house. Once your children hear them, they will settle for little else, and you will be stuck listening to the musical equivalent of "Fun with Dick and Jane" for the next 8 years of your life. The problem with catchy children's songs is that they're catchy, and you'll find yourself singing them at inopportune times.

But if my warning's come too late, then at least let me make some recommendations for your family's listening pleasure. In no particular order, the most bearable of the children's music genre that fills our soundwaves:

Let it Shine and Share This World by Jim Rule
God's Love is for Everybody and Can't Keep Quiet by Brian Moyer Suderman
Here Come the 123's by They Might Be Giants
Song of Wisdom from Old Turtle
If You're Not Going Far by Kentucky T Dutchersmith and the Rubber Band
Cada Nino/Every Child by Tish Hinojosa
To Such as These by Kim Thiessen for MCC
Water from Another Time by John McCutcheon

I dare say that if I were on a deserted island, or stuck in solitary confinement, it would be songs from these albums that would surface in my mind, not the hymns of old or the current trendy tunes. And perhaps it's not such a bad thing after all, to hear your kids belting out, "Love is better than the rest, it's better than success, and all that you possess!" (The Music Machine) or, "Alleluia, the great storm is over. Lift up your voice and sing!" (Water from Another Time). Just be warned that they may also remind you to "have patience, have patience, don't be in such a hurry."

Well, I didn't get what I wanted for my birthday*, but it was still a day full of blessings. DJ brought me breakfast in bed (after admonishing me to go back to sleep), Darrel baked up a storm in the kitchen, making French breakfast muffins, whole-wheat bread, AND pineapple upside down cake, Marina invented a new hand sign for "I love you," and Havah, though not her usual cheerful self, still laughed uproariously at the antics of her young friends. My life is full of life.

And yet, every year on my birthday, I think about planning a funeral service. I'm not fixated on my death, though I try to live moderately aware of the inevitability of it. A funeral is much like a wedding, except that you generally have 3-5 days to pull all the details together, instead of the more standard 6+ months of matrimonial planning. It seems to me that, in the event of my sudden demise, the knowledge that I have made some preparations would be comforting to those I have left behind, as well as helpful in a practical sort of way. On the other hand, I don't want to plan things out in too much detail, as there may be something theraputic for my family in the process of collaborating on the order of worship.

If I really wanted to be prepared, I would write something for my children to read. You can disagree, but I think the saddest death is one that leaves dependents. There is something terribly tragic about the death of a child, to be sure--a hole that can never be filled, the forever unanswered question of what fruit this life could have yielded, what shape it could have taken. I hold as my ideal those anabaptist martyrs who went to their deaths singing, and wonder what my children would hold on to if I were gone--what memories, what promises, what confidence, what lessons, what clarity of purpose?

Alas, like so many other things, thinking about something will have to suffice for actually doing it, as I have neither the time nor the strength to engage in that level of planning and reflection. I will, however, leave you with a song, which many days is the closest I come to a statement of faith. Like most songs, reading just the words is like trying to fly with one wing, but it will do for now.

Nothing is lost on the breath of God, nothing is lost forever;
God's breath is love, and that love will remain, holding the world forever.
No feather too light, no hair too fine, no flower too brief in its glory,
No drop in the ocean, no dust in the air, but is counted and told in God's story.

Nothing is lost to the eyes of God, nothing is lost forever.
God sees with love, and that love will remain, holding the world forever.
No journey too far, no distance too great, no valley of darkness too blinding;
No creature too humble, no child too small for God to be seeking and finding.

Nothing is lost to the heart of God, nothing is lost forever.
God's heart is love, and that love will remain, holding the world forever.
No impulse of love, no office of care, no moment of life in its fullness;
No beginning too late, no ending too soon, but is gathered and known in its goodness.

Text and music by Colin Gibson, 1996

*What I really wanted was to sleep! Until noon, preferably, but a good 12 hours (or even 8!) would have been great. Hopefully Pastor Woody didn't notice me dozing off during the sermon--no reflection on him, just severe sleep deprivation. Maybe next year I'll get my wish. :)