Disconnect.

I've been struggling for a while trying to make sense of things. Purpose. Relationships. Life.

Before you get all worked up, nothing's going on. Not even once have I been tempted to buy a convertible or hire an exotic pool boy even though I'm speeding head-long into that age bracket. Observing the lives of those around me reveals those tales usually don't end well. Besides, I don't even own a pool. Details, details.

This post probably won't make a lot of sense, but they rarely do. This blog is about working things out. I see it as a bonus if I write something and it happens to mean something other than random words on a screen.  Of course, I welcome your ideas and feedback if you dare to leave a comment.  Contrary to the title of this blog post, I really do wish to connect with those of you who take the time to read this nonsense.

Back on point.

I spend a lot of time thinking through scenarios, especially when I'm in plotting or writing mode for a novel.  Characters take shape within my mind, and I assign to them a host of flaws and (usually) redeeming qualities.  They act, they react.  They show compassion, they show contempt.  It's an undeniably odd way to spend one's day, creating people and then watching them take over and navigate their triangles, circles, and various other geometric designs.  I do not envy God.

My real life is no less strange than those I craft.  If I were at liberty to share even the roughest outline of my family's past, you probably wouldn't believe most of it.  If I asked for your family's story, complete with cobwebs and skeletons, I'm sure it would be just as sordid.  No one is immune from controversy and conflict.  If we were, we probably wouldn't have many true, close friends.  Stumbling and falling and then picking yourself back up again, especially with the help of others, tends to plant the seeds of empathy.  It allows our ears to remain open and our mouths to stay shut.  It makes us more than just human, it makes us alive.

Sometimes we forget how to put ourselves in the shoes of others. We must not forget.  To forget that others need to connect with us is to forget how to truly live.

My brother stopped by a few days ago.  He and his wife are involved in a network marketing-type endeavor which focuses on self-help and coaching (good things, certainly). One of the recorded talks he listened to applied to me and my writing path, and he asked if he could stop by.  As we sat on my front porch, rocking on my rocking chairs and trying to ignore the mayhem inside the walls of my house, he shook his head.

"I've been trying to let God talk to me in that still, small voice," my brother confessed.  "He usually has to shout at me."  He felt God laid that particular CD on his heart, intended for me, so I could tell him our sister was in the hospital and scheduled for surgery in the coming week.

"What is wrong with our family?"  He asked, voicing a thought that has rolled around in my head frequently.  All I could do was shrug.  If I knew the answer, it would be fixed already.

A minute later, I asked how his step-daughter, a freshman in college, was doing.  

"She's sick.  They have her running... But, anyway, I really wanted you to listen to this CD."

And that was that.  I love my brother.  I'm as guilty of this as he is, or just about anyone else.  We ask to be let in while simultaneously slamming the door.  We disconnect ourselves from others, and for what? I'm sure whatever is on the CD is interesting, possibly even life-changing; however, it cannot rival the genuine sharing of struggle and concern.  A sister struggling with health issues.  A niece burning her candle at both ends trying to figure out a new stage of life.  Someone else enduring the day with a difficult spouse or an unwell child.

I am guilty of this.  The guiltiest, maybe.

And I wonder...  Is God sitting, pen in hand, considering the plot to our story and wondering about story elements--conflict, story arc, resolution? Though He knows the end to our novel, does a twist or turn ever surprise Him?  Does He write our characters together, only to have us change the lines and the scenes into something unrecognizable?