From the Mojave Desert to the Scottish Highlands, my breath has been stolen by the mystery, wonder and beauty of God’s creation. But, it is the people that grab my attention as I go from place to place, for I know each human I encounter is much the same as me, mostly hidden, existing quietly in a mind that’s greatest energies are focused on one thing: Survival. Each day when I awake, my mind spins and I think of the things that are required to earn a living and remain safe and peaceful. This common thread has always lent me great confidence in safety and security as earth spins. However, my imagination can’t resist writing little vignettes, in my head, about the people I see.
On an especially fun afternoon my family was in the Country Music Hall of Fame Museum in Nashville, Tennessee. It was exciting to see the costumes I had watched Dolly Parton and Porter Wagner wear as they performed on their Saturday night venues when I was a child. Spaghetti for supper, clean sheets on the bed and an evening listening to my dad play along with Roy Clark, Buck Owens and the Hee Haw Gang were staples in our house, so seeing the set where the show was recorded was incredibly special. Memory lane for the price of a ticket is not a bad thing. Within the halls of country music’s greatest is a wall of gold and platinum records. You can open a small door beside the title and listen to the original recording. As my family was wandering near this display, Keith tapped my shoulder and motioned for me to discretely turn and observe what he had noticed. An elderly woman in a wheelchair was sitting with one hand on her heart and the other against a placard, listening to a song. Her eyes were closed and as tears streamed down her face, I knew she was in a secret place no one else could ever go.
The urge to rush and comfort was squashed by a greater awareness of the intimacy of her moment. My story weaving mind began, this was the song she danced to on her wedding day and death has stolen her love. The incident stuck with each of the Rooneys as we made our way out and continued our journey to other places. We discussed our thoughts about this woman. Was it memories of a warm summer evening with family? Perhaps a star-crossed lover was lost in the war OR maybe she had been a roadie and was quite the rebel at heart, now confined by age and infirmity. I don’t know and never will. My imagination wrote a story and it is……fiction.
We all do what I did, constantly. It’s impossible not to, but it is not impossible to control the urge and practice self restraint when interpreting and explaining someone else’s behaviors or motives. How many times do we get it wrong but promote it as right? Scripture sternly warns believers not to participate in this. BUT inquiring minds want to know. The spirit is willing but the mind and mouth are weak! And so we judge…….loudly!
Please be mindful that false narratives are devastating and abusive. We assign motives to others actions and place ourselves at the center of their world (even when ‘they’ are complete strangers). We react in anger, seeking others who will join us in our indignation. We are called to fill ourselves with love and compassion without knowing the story. Isn’t faith in action trusting that God knows and it’s enough to compel us to act as an extension of Jesus Himself rather than checking their sin-o-meter or worthiness log?
I wrote a dreamy story of this woman’s past and present, but IT IS FICTION. If I imagine a cause and effect, happy ending or not, about my neighbor or anyone else on earth and promote it as truth, I have gone from whimsey to gossip/bearing false witness. One is for entertainment, the other a mortal sin. Know the difference and respect the quiet place in every person’s mind and heart you know nothing of. Be Kind for we share the planet with the broken and God would have us bring the glue that puts them back together.
Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Colossians 3:12 NIV
Love Always,
Gretchen