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Copyright © Louis Schmier and Atwood Publishing.
Date: Fri 2/6/2004 8:39 AM
Random Thought: Exodus 24:7
Well, the mushy, red, slurpy, and flowery month of February is
upon us. Valentine's Day is fast approaching. And although I don't do
the "on demand" candy, flower, or love card scene, I've been thrown ever
so slowly into a cupiditous mood by my e-friend, Steve Mendelle, in
Brisbane. In a message he had sent me, he had focused on something Elisha
had said to me: "You really don't have a choice, you know." He told me to
look at Exodus 24:7 and think about the meaning of what she had said. I
did. Exodus 24:7 passage reads: "He (Moses) took the book of the
covenant and read it aloud to the people. They (the Hebrews) replied, 'We
will do and we will listen.'"
That passage has really sent me deep during the last few weeks.
Strange isn't it. The Hebrews made what seemed to be an impetuous vow of
"we will do." At first glance, this seems a little a strange since most
of us are taught to think things out first and then act. What do we
usually do when faced with a choice? We first think about it, mull it
over, weight the pros and con, decide whether to do or not to do. Think
about it. In this passage, the Hebrews seem to be so careless, almost
cavalier. How did they know that they would be able to carry out that
which would be commanded of them when they did not yet know what was
required? They didn't. It's like embarking on a journey without first
looking to see where you are headed and what equipment you need and what
training you must get. It's the reverse of the natural order of
acceptance, isn't it. Or, is it.
In a Valentineish way, this passage reminds me that when Susan and
I said "I do" to each other, we did the very same thing as the Hebrews.
We had no idea what we would have to do. We had no idea what we had taken
on. I mean how the heck did either of us starry-eyed, young lovers know
what forms or what course "better" or "worse" would take; we had no clue
what "in sickness" and "in health" had in store for us. We were heading
into the unknown on a path we had to blaze as we went. But, it was an
unconditional and firm "I do" vow; it was a promise, a trust, a
dedication, a commitment. Now I realize it was a credo to each other:
without hesitation or condition, we'd each be there for each other and
with each other. We heard and accepted the offering of the other, but we
really could not understand the "I do" until we did it. It was only when
we lived the spoken "I do" did we understand the extent to which it was a
demanding agreement bound by obligation, responsibility, and perseverance.
Saying the words was easy. Floating down the aisle with both of
us feeling "we can do this" was easy. Being able to pull the words off,
being able to live them, being able to live up t them, however, had more
of a challenging messy-ness than we realized. It was a constant test, a
challenging test of perseverance and stretching and changing and growing,
both individually and together. Not every time was peachy-creamy, not
everything went well and good, not everything was straight and smooth, not
everything was easy and safe. It was neither mistake-free or risk-free.
It's not a messy-ness for the faint-hearted. The past thirty-eight years
we've needed a lot of brooms and dust pans to clean up the mess we made
and/or walked into. We had a lot of those hard, rough, challenging,
testing, less than lovey-dovey and kissy-kissy patches of "worse" times.
We've had a lot of those long bouts of emotionally draining and physically
tiring "sickness" times that you don't see in the picture albums. We have
been in the valleys together, in the shadows together, hurt together,
sacrificed together, agonized together, feared together, lost together,
cried together, clenched together, mourned together, experienced growing
pains together, rafted life's water water together, struggled together,
gritted our teeth together, clenched fists together, grimaced together.
There were times we were shaken to the core. But, every day, consciously
or subconsciously, we remembered our "I do." We worked everyday, worked
hard everyday, to work our way through, over, and around the challenges.
Together we weathered what at times seemed like the unsurvivable perfect
storms; together we faced and faced down adversity; every day we fell once
again and deeper in love together. We have ventured together, discovered
together, healed together, played together, grown together, reached the
mountain peaks together, laughed together, celebrated together, smiled
together. Every day together we nursed "sickness" to "health" and made
"worse" times "better" ones.
Exodus 24:7 and our vows mean 24/7: twenty-four hours a day,
seven days a week. It's the ever and always and unending trust and a
yielding to that commitment of trust. By trust, I don't mean a "head
trust." I mean a "heart trust." It's not blind faith; it's a seeing
faith. We obligated ourselves to an affirming, no exit "do" rather than
an iffy, fraught with exits "try." It's almost a surrendering,
unconditional obedience to that "I do" that must occur in order to figure
out what it really means. That's what Yoda was telling Luke about "The
Force;" that's what Moses was telling the Hebrews; that's what Susan and I
were saying to each other; that's what Elisha was telling me.
Do not think for a moment, then, that I could have chosen to deny
Elisha. If I did, I would have violated and nullified my credo. She
would have likely felt rejected and gone back to a life of rejection.
She was right. I did not have a choice. When you have a reflected upon
and articulated credo, a stated purpose, a sense of mission, a vision, to
which you have committed yourself, you have to surrender all control.
You have to choose no longer to be able to choose. In my case, my
teaching credo is: I will be that person who is there to help a student
help himself become the person he is capable of becoming. My purpose is
to cultivate people. To be that person, I must do whatever, whenever, and
wherever.
It's like being a Ruth: wherever my credo goes, I will go and do.
It's a commitment, an unlimited commitment, an open-ended commitment,
before you hear the details and the particular application. It's not
calculating; it's not self-protective. No hesitation. No doubt. No
weighing of pros and cons. No self-serving evaluation how much you can
bite off, how much is possible, what can be done, etc, etc, etc. No self
interest. Nothing to cool off the ardor and dampen the enthusiasm. It is
a promise, and not a promise meant to be broken. No excuse is good
enough. No rationale is acceptable. No explanation can be offered. The
promise is more than words. You see, I do not see my credo as a
"sometimes" commitment. It's not utilitarian. No credo can be selective
and still be meaningful. It's a 24/7, an Exodus 24:7, promise. It's a
serious promise to getting up every morning determinated you're going to
go to bed filled with accomplishment and satisfaction; it's an unswerving
consistency and constancy to purpose; it's rolling up your sleeves,
digging in, and going to work; it's being intuitive, curious, creative,
flexible, sensitive, understanding, and effective; its reaching for those
challenges others shy away from; it's shutting off all exit doors; it's
the difference between possible and impossible; and, its the opportunity
to accomplish something of enormous value, to stand taller, to grow
stronger, and be pulled higher. It's a commitment to be unique to another
person's quest for his or her own uniqueness. It turns cliches, truisms,
bromides, and platitudes into truths. It transforms the trite and
hackneyed into originality and freshness.
It's not a question of choosing what's convenient or comfortable
or even safe. You know, you just don't put a dent in the universe with
convenience, safety, guarantee, and ease. Sure, the tests and challenges
are extraordinary. So, are the accomplishments.
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