I'm sure you've heard it before - the thought-provoking (if perhaps untrue) story of the student arguing with his teacher about whether or not God exists... whether He wants to be an active part of our lives. The teacher says since there is evil in the world, it proves there is no God. The student uses the following scientific facts to refute him: Darkness isn't a measurable entity in and of itself, but merely the absence of light. Likewise, cold is the absence of heat. White is the absence of color. Evil is the absence of God in a situation. The mere fact that the world is not given entirely to evil serves to prove His existence.
Please understand - the parallel I am trying to make here is not one of theology. I am not even tempted to explore in a lowly blog the question of why bad things happen to people. Instead, I am fascinated by the scales we use to measure things. I want to know - is my everyday life another example of that which is measurable, or that which is not? Certainly, when accidents happen, they are real enough. They are measurable - in oh so many painful ways. They are tangible. They, therefore, are not just the absence of something else. It must be, then, that everyday life - the 'what didn't happen' that happens around us all the time - can be only measurable as the absence of tragedy. It is what must not be real - must not be tangible.
Can that be right? I am beginning to see how philosophers get themselves painted into the proverbial corner. I have come to what must surely and logically be a truth, but this is a truth that I do not believe. My everyday life not real? Not tangible!? How is this for tangible: I can still smell my oldest daughter's breath the day she was born. It's so real it almost hurts. When I close my eyes I can feel the hugs that my five-year-old gives me each night at bedtime. I am actually physically warmed when I do so. The depth of my youngest daughter's dark eyes is permanently embedded in my soul, and it compels me to smile each time I recall it. I can hear the hush and the beating of my heart the moment I stepped into the sanctuary on my wedding day. The smell of my grandmother's closet, the twinkle in my grandfather's eyes, the feel of my daddy's hands, the sincerity of my mother's hugs... I cannot measure these things. I cannot prove them. I cannot explain them or duplicate them for anyone else, but they are real, and they are powerful.
Apparently, what we have here is a false either-or analogy. Tragedies, accidents, trauma, disease... these are real. They are measurable. They are terrible. They are unavoidable, but they are far from the only powerful reality in our lives. They are also not the scale by which we measure our lives. Daily life - the substance and heft of it, the deep and abiding joy that is the underbelly of all that we do - IS. It is profound. It is an entity in and of itself, but sometimes it takes a bit more work to notice it.
If tragedy is a thunderstorm, then life is the unseen water vapor in the clouds that brings the blessings of gentle showers and cool morning dew. Accidents may be a gale-force wind, but our daily comings and goings are the unnoticed air pressure that both holds us up and keeps us grounded. The unexpected changes may be a primal scream, but they can't deafen the contented hums, the satisfied sighs, the giggles, the whispers, the song that is the everyday. Today I am choosing to measure my life by the smiles of my husband, the hugs of my children, the warmth of my relationships. My New Year's Resolution is to remember that the good stuff - not the tough stuff - is the most important stuff and the real measure of my success.
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