I attended church this morning for the fourth advent Sunday before Christmas (3 more days on this side of the world!). An average-Sunday kind of experience except for the reminder that it is indeed Winter Break. But something made it feel not-so-average, not anything that happened out of the ordinary but rather the fact that it was so ordinary. Today started out with the kind of average that could fit into a book out there somewhere, the kind of average that seems fictional. Does that make sense? No, probably not to anyone but me. So extraordinarily average... A balding, middle-aged man sat in the pew in front of me with several of his young children. I couldn't tell if they were all his or not, but I guessed that at least two of the young boys were. They'd chattered all through the music, distracting we in the row behind them until the constant reprimands of their mother spurred their father to join them on the pew. They settled as one might expect, influenced by his mere presence. The fact that he was there next to them reminded them that now was not a time for chatter with their friends, now was not a time for boisterous play. They were supposed to be calm and considerate of those around them.
What kind of cruel punishment was this?
And was it cruel punishment for them or for us?
The promise of cookies during the break in the service was assurance to the rest of us that they would later return to their pew even more wired than before. I watched the children interact, especially the brothers who had sat in front of me.
Violence.
The older tormenting the younger by shoving him, grabbing his hands to incapacitate him just because it was possible, was a less-than-enjoyable cause for the memory of my Social Justice class a few weeks ago to spring to mind. A study on the issue of Conflict reveals that humans are the most violent at two years of age, around the time when they learn to stand, to walk, to take action to meet their own lesser needs, and to throw obnoxious fits and terrifying temper tantrums. I write this about humans in third person but I am indeed a part of those statistics, however regretful I may be on the subject. Atrociously enough, if two years olds were the size of a teenager or adult then their every-half-hour actions would have them facing daily charges for assault. The number of times a toddler will react violently towards another being can be recorded in intervals of thirty minutes, sometimes less I am sure. A question asked in that class in response to this was whether the violence is learned or human nature. I quickly developed an opinion that violence was neither learned nor human nature, it was a part of the sin that is upon us the moment we emerge from the womb. We are all sinners, we all have sinned, do sin, and continue to sin, and this violence is undoubtedly a part of that.
Naturally, in public school class about the atrocious violence of humanity from a secular perspective, ideas of religion and faith aren't what one might call "supported". Much less the idea of sin.
By society's standards, this was a completely and stereotypically ordinary family in a very ordinary circumstance of living. Judging by outward appearance.
Every individual has their story, and whether it seems unremarkably (or in my point of view, quite remarkably) ordinary or not, it has its dazzling sides, its exciting moments, and its less-than-enticing sides as well. But today I was seeing ordinary, extraordinarily ordinary, sitting contentedly right in front of me and I would be lying if I said that I was not coveting it for myself.
Why would I crave the ordinary lifestyle when I've had it "so good"? When I've had "such amazing experiences"? When I've been through "things that change my perspective from that of anyone else's" allowing me to "see things in a way that few others do"? I wouldn't trade my experiences from the world, but does that prevent me from desiring the comfort and security of the ordinary?
Obviously not.
There are points in life when the "excitement" that I have experienced is exhausting. There are points in my life when "just being normal" looks like an amazing advantage and privilege that I am not privy to. When fitting in looks out of reach and you contemplate whether you even want to fit in anyways, and when experiences cause pain that doesn't seem to let you move on, ordinary looks like a safe haven amidst the chaos and the most refreshing oasis in the middle of a sweltering desert on the driest of summer days.
I have been gifted, blessed, relentlessly given experiences of a lifetime that I can look back on forever into the future and draw from until the day I die. I have been through things that I will never forget, nor will I ever go through again because of the uniqueness they carry. Do I have reason to complain? I do not. I've been given more than I could ever ask for, I wouldn't give up my life experiences for anyone or anything and I will stand by that resolution forevermore but there are always times where I have to take a minute to recollect myself. There are always times where I see what I would be like if I didn't have these experiences and I think to myself "Now would that have been so bad?" and I realize that no, it wouldn't have. It would be quite beautiful, actually. I can dream, I can imagine, and I can wish. I could have been society's definition of "normal". I could have "fit in". There would have been pains there and many hardships just as with any frame of life but I could have been "normal". And would that have been a bad thing? No. But knowing what I know now, would I trade this life for that one?
Simply no.
You make choices throughout your life and mine have led me here. This isn't the life I chose but it is the life I choose to keep...or to change.
