Cold Daffodils and the 10th Commandment

My neighbor planted his bulbs near the house; because there is a big overhang on my house, I chose to plant mine in the front yard, next to a big boulder. Next door, the daffodils were in full bloom when the spring snowstorm hit us. I had been sad because I had no daffodils, but now mine are in bloom.

I have had a hard time my whole life being covetous. My friends had Norman Rockwell families. I was an Army brat. I had short hair, my schoolmates had Beatles and Stones hairdos. Cars, muscles, money, social skills, adventures, other people have always had what I want. I was resentful, but it never translated into a drive or ambition. Now, as others are having their midlife crises, I am finally happy not to have something. I am now realizing that the internal babble of jealousy flavored my life but never motivated me: I didn't make decisions based on wanting to be like others.

The fineness of the distinction struck me with those daffodils. I wished my bulbs would come up earlier, but I wasn't about to move them. I just forgot for a while that they all would bloom for the same length eventually. I let my envy make me unhappy by focusing on someone else's blessing instead of my own. The 10 Commandments by being proscriptive, tell me to stop but they don't tell me how. The two the Jesus gave, are prescriptive, telling me how to act.

The daffodils have provided me with a clarity. Instead of being jealous, of wishing I had his flowers, I can rejoice in his because I can enjoy them, and rejoice also that I get a double helping, because when his are through blooming, we both still have mine to enjoy.

I have been doing that, without understanding that I was participating in it. I rejoiced with and for Brad at his ordination, beng glad I had a part in advancing it. Ditto with Alicia and Bryan. I have thrilled to Deirdre's becoming a granny, and have admired the physical beauty. I have enjoyed other people's possessing things without jealousy. Seeing others happy can make me happy.

Dark days are in your mind

Why is the day so foreboding? It is within my own expectations and judgments that gloominess arises. The dogs are truly in the moment: "I am tired, I am hungry, I hear a noise, I see a movement, the one I love is home again." Me, I worry about how the one I love sits morosely, I worry about whether I am doing the right thing to accomplish my mission, I worry that I will grow old and ineffectual before I am done.

I woke today before the alarm went off. I lay in bed looking out at a light grey, almost pearly sky and rejoiced in my breathing, luxuriated in warmth and comfort and thanked God for his gift of those things. But as soon as I got up, I started complaining. My back hurt, there was dog hair on my face, the floor was chilly, my day was too full. Oh, and the world is going to hell in a handbasket, and taking my measly retirement plans along with it.

And yet I have been told that I appear to be a cheery person. I really do look for the positive. So there is a dissonance between the person who is "on duty" for others and the dark poet of my privacy. Who is real? Next Sunday is Easter. Am I a Passion Sunday person, like Mel Gibson, or am I a resurrectionist? Ecclesiastes or Mel Brooks? Know thyself, Bob. And don't evangelize until you are sure of what you believe!