Thinking hard, or hardly thinking?

Man, do I ever love the freedom of a blank page without criteria, word counts or structures. I'd love to be all artistic and say that it's representative of how my mind works, without structures, order or a set process. However, unfortunately, and perhaps to my regret, this simply is not true. I process, I weigh options, I scan and consider pros and cons. I worry about repercussions; I think ahead and foresee opposition like a game of chess. And yet, as I sit here writing my paper on Obama (woooooo! Obamaaaaa!) I cannot help but get all artistic and struggle to foresee any sort of opposing views to my own. Talk about complicated, perhaps I'm just contradictory. But then again, perhaps not.

Now, time to get down to business. I sat here momentarily, listening to an inspirational piano solo, thinking of what I felt was worthy of attention of such a focused moment. Here we go.

I was in bible study the other night, working through Amos chapter 1, and the topic of helping others was raised through the lens of compassion. I don't quite remember the specifics of how we arrived upon the notion, I just remember where my mind went. Not for quite some time has my mind raced as it did. While I sat in silent reflection, I pondered to myself just why is it that I can read about the death of someone with such a cold response, and yet feel a shudder jolt through my body at the thought of losing someone I love. A couple ideas came to mind.

In Obama's book "Dreams from my father", Obama's dad is characterized as a rough sort of guy with alcoholism and a bit of an antisocial attitude. Yet, in a moment more revealing, Obama is told of how his father, when doing well financially, always lent out money and gave generously to his friends. And yet, when struggling, he was abandoned. After this slow period, when he bounced back and those who turned away from him struggled, he embraced them yet again with open arms. To his disservice, he gave. He gave all he could, and never refused those who asked. He gave, even when he couldn't afford to, to the very people who had abandoned him. This behaviour is criticized in the novel, as Barack Sr. treated everyone like family one character notes "if everyone is family, nobody is family" or something to that effect.

This was my initial thought. I can only care so much. I cannot see every death, every bit of injustice or misfortune as I would for the people closest to me. If I do, where is there special place in my heart? How can I raise a healthy family if I spend as much time, or more, away raising and restoring others? There's no way to balance familial love equally, and a choice eventually must be made. It's not selfish, and this is the crucial bit. It's entirely selfless. But even in selflessness, it's a tough thing to come to terms with. Who do I love? Who can I invest time loving? I can love everyone poorly, or love some people in a deeper sense. If I care for everyone, I shed a tear at their misfortunes, but if I care for those closest to me, I help them through their hard times.

Next, it made me think of Notes from the Underground. Philosophy, year 2, DC. Essentially the story of an existential consciousness paralyzed by choices. His authenticity and true-to-self attitude is not in his attempts to do a bunch of things, or decide on anything in particular, but rather to be stagnant in the face of overwhelming possibility. Contradictory at times, full of conviction throughout, this voice as it constantly shifted in thought remained within an action-less body in contrast to the way many people carry out many actions without thought or true desire to act at all. Rather than do, he thought.

This one, perhaps, is more of a stretch, but maybe not. What does it ACTUALLY look like to care for EVERYONE? Consider that. I didn't say to think about others, I didn't say to reflect on suffering, I said to care for everyone. Where do you begin? How do you decide that's where? How legitimate is your care? How superficial? Are there those who are fine, who need no care? How can you be sure? How do you help those that refuse help? How do you help, if you yourself require assistance? How do you prevent yourself from making it worse? Etc. These are the secondary thoughts that raced through my mind upon consideration of this dilemma. I've heard it said that in many things a Christian is called to, there is a sort of paradox. That we are called to act in ways we maybe lack the disposition or capacity to act in, yet we should do them anyways. That this is the call of a Christ-like lifestyle. And yet, these questions all remain. The overwhelming sense of uncertainty paralyzes my mind when I reflect; all the while I can't help but feeling I'm missing out on something crucial.

So then where does that leave me? Where are the lines drawn for who gets cared for, and who will have to rely on others? Though I'm inclined to draw the lines as close in as possible, and build on what already exists, I can't help but feel that that's not right. Furthermore, the idea of expanding the lines out in an infinite way feels cheap and unproductive. I don't know that the question is meant for an answer. I do know that it's meant for reflection. Like so many other concepts in life, there are things which in themselves are an end. Things which, by way of the means alone, one can arrive at places of enlightenment and truth. The goal is to think, but to think with compassion. Let thought dictate word and deed. Never limit yourself to just thought for fear of paralysis. Likewise, never limit yourself to just deed, for fear of alienation and neglect of those closest to you. Balance is not a goal, as balance too can be stagnant. Constant flux, constant reaction to the circumstances and needs. Constant work at improvement not in search of perfection, not in search of an answer, but in search of the means through which to live properly. That the search may become the right path, and all along have carried you to an ever changing destination of love and care.

A pulse

I'm still alive and kicking...

Yeah, so I've been inactive lately...

But I'm still here, I tells you! For the few (if any) who read my words, don't give up on me. In the shadow of my mountain of homework, the last mound of earth between myself and bliss, I stand firm with faith and conviction that I'll come out of this one alright. Prayers work greater wonders than well-wishings and mutual pity parties, and as such are immensely appreciated.

I wish I had more time to stay and chat, I feel inspiration tickling the tips of my fingers as I am torn between free thought and mental conformity manifested in an evil essay outline. Good will prevail in the long run, but the short term is dictated by due dates and passing grades. If only inspiration would take a number, patiently awaiting the conclusion of this semester to encourage me to write when time is more readily available. We shall see.

Until then, prayer. Prayer for focus, for attentiveness, for motivation, for that extra push when I know I've done all I can do, but haven't begun to let God do His work in me.

Cheers!