Focus so easily fractures.
At day’s end, near midnight, I’m reading The Attentive Life when it seems like the chair beneath me … shifts.
I shrug, only to drop the book at the next eerie movement—a sinking, sickish feeling, like taking a dip in the road too fast.
Then … nothing.
My imagination?
Another lurch, followed by shudders. It feels like an alpine chairlift revving away from the platform. Electricity zings in my shinbones, gooses my spine.
What on earth?
As to what happens next, let me say this, in itself, is already a pressing question.
Dreamer graduated from Cardiac Rehab, so numerous appointments no longer dictate our time.
A girl gets used to doing things a certain way.
Interrupted focus is unsettling. Like feeling your chair inexplicably move underneath you, as if a far-sighted burglar inadvertently rammed your basement door with his getaway van.
Perhaps I should check our foundation?
Which brings me to a hard story: Some of you know Dreamer and I have weathered a major spiritual disconnect.
For reasons I won’t go into, a decade ago change ambushed us. Our journey of shared faith and ministry ceased, an ongoing, incalculable ache.
Change demanded compromises and radical re-definitions: roles, work, finances, decision-making, schedules, recreation, even togetherness. Not unlike retirement. Moving. Losing a loved one.
In the process of groping our way forward, we’ve immersed ourselves in glorious scenery. Dreamer works summer stints at National Parks. He’ll hone his interpretive skills this fall at Yellowstone.
An undercurrent of sadness lingers. 
So this line from The Attentive Life arrests me:
“Poets, writers, artists, and naturalists all help us to understand what it means to ‘attend’ and teach us that we can think of attentiveness in many ways.”
Naturalist/artist? That’s my guy.
The author has my attention. And it feels like I’ve been tossed into a blender—the crushed ice setting. Thoughts churn.
Sudden insight shivers me timbers.
For 3 decades Dreamer and I led worship together. We created beautiful settings that helped people focus on God. That was our work. Our joy.
People change.
Love adapts, holds fast.
Now I see we’re still doing the same work— together and solo—albeit with differing goals and outcomes. Dreamer weighs in on each blog post; I support his wilderness jaunts.
We coax others to focus, to be more attentive spiritually, recreationally, ecologically.
I can focus on what’s lost, or new ground gained. Hello revelation.
+++
Certain Papua New Guinea tribes have no word for “hello.” People say: “You are here.”
The rejoinder? “Yes, I am.”
Poet Pádraig Ó Tuama suggests this is a good place to begin prayer.
Or any worthwhile enterprise.
Ambushes can help us pay attention. Like when, at day’s end, near midnight, the floor seems to swell, then recede beneath a chair, as if it’s perched on the ocean.
Later, I learn a 5.8 magnitude earthquake was shaking Lincoln, Montana. I felt the aftermath.
Aftershocks register down in the bones even as understanding still reverberates, deep in the soul.
Maybe there’s no such thing as perfect focus; just “Here I am.”
How do you maintain focus when things shift?
You can read more about our journey in my book, Where the Sky Opens.
“I can focus on what’s lost, or new ground gained. Hello revelation.”
Thank you, Laurie, for sharing your wisdom and always so beautifully expressed. I love the way you look at the world which helps me attend to it too.
April, thank you. It’s always a pleasure to hear from you here as well as to read your blog. I’ve so often thought about your poignant poem in the grocery store setting. Wishing you great peace and productivity this August.
Laurie, I feel privileged to have this peek into your interior lives and oh-so-quietly sigh with happiness/release at this revelation. Talk about the ground shifting underneath you.
That sounds like a powerful book…and just what the Divine Librarian ordered.
(our friend Gil and his wife lived in Papua New Guinea for 15 years among the Meyah Tribe, working with Wycliffe. He’s coming to share at our church next week; I’ll have to ask him to weigh in on the ‘hello’ greeting.)
Jody, thank you for rejoicing with me over the shift of ground and shaft of Light. I do recommend the book, which is very thorough and pulls from a wide range of sources—not that you have time for one more book right now . . . save your own! Which I continue to commend to God as you head into the next stage.
Let me know if you friend had a similar experience among the Meyah. The author didn’t remember which tribe it was but could never forget that holy greeting.
Laurie you open the rusty door to each of our individual Souls Your-honesty and selfless baring of self inspires me as do all of your writings .. My work demands I find the root cause of problems yet when it comes to self and scrutiny I drop the ball… Maybe I’m afraid of what I might find. Your stronger than most , strength of conviction in the face of the storm , Much respect dear Friend . I’m convinced for something to move you or shift your perspective it would most certainly need to be an earthly magnitude of at least 5.8 ….
Always enjoy your thoughts , insights , courage …
Larry, I treasure your words. Thank you.
What a great image, the rusty door to the soul. I admire your trouble-shooting, problem-solver skills. What a gift that is!
Thank you for faithfully reading my ramblings. I sure don’t feel wise. Convinced, yes. As to brave? No. More like the Cowardly Lion that keeps following the road in the company of friends. Like you. 🙂
I am here. Listening. Commiserating. Stretching. Growing. Grieving. Persevering. Admiring. Extolling. Your journey. My friend.
And I love your eloquent presence, dear friend. So grateful.
Laurie, I am new to your evocative writing and your words are speaking directly into my heart!!
I understand what you are saying and my heart agrees.
I will be a regular reader from now on.
Many blessings from my sanctuary in New Zealand – where earthquakes are frequent, to yours, with love.
Mary, “here you are,” while living on the other side of the world! — how marvelous the internet is. I appreciate your empathic presence here and look forward to more conversation. Stay safe among those quakes!
Though I’ve never experienced an earthquake, I’m old enough to have survived many an emotional upheaval–each one an unsettling interruption to my familiar, predictable existence. You are so wise, Laurie, to immerse yourself in glorious scenery, and not just the grandeur of the great outdoors. I know you avail yourself of the glorious scenery that awaits in scripture, song, the embrace or encouraging word from family or friends who hurt with us, and more. Around every bend in each day is the possibility of breath-taking beauty. In the past my problem has been a downward focus into the abyss of if-only. I’m getting better at looking up and around for the excellent and praiseworthy, as Paul suggests (Philippians 4:8). The promise that follows in verse 9 offers exquisite beauty: “The God peace will be with you.” Such comfort to reverberate deep in our souls!
Nancy, thank you for your expanded version of “glorious scenery.” I take your words deeply to heart.
May I also applaud your new personal angle on the “abyss of the if-only.” The phrase alone paints a vivid scene for me with a wide scope: from sucking vortex to curdled thoughts eddying amid the odor of silt and dead fish. Can you tell I grew up near a river? 🙂
I was reminded by a podcast today that the ancient Greeks believed in 3 prime virtues: “the true, the good, and the beautiful.” Leave it to Paul to crown that intellectual heritage with everlasting promise!