And I’m not talking about mitochondria. I’m talking about what is truly meaningful to humans that we don’t grasp completely. “It’s the little things,” a parishioner said last Friday as she clambered into a train car built from a barrel.
Imagine if you will a priest driving a tractor, pulling a line of train cars that contained another priest and several workers/volunteers. Behind the train cars was a large covered caboose with two elderly nuns. The train went round and round the church complex before we all disembarked.
This is a memory I won’t soon forget. Why? I don’t know; it’s the little things that are complex. For a start, that train itself had taken a couple months and several men to complete, although it was the brain child of the maintenance man and janitor. They built it because the director of VBS had asked for it. She wanted it for the kids.
Besides the actual complexity in planning the parts of life that seem simple, there is something inexplicably joyful about trains. Perhaps they’re a sign of human ingenuity, hard work, and progress. I can’t really say, and this certainly isn’t the type of post where I’m going to delve into the “dark side of train slaves” because it has nothing to do with my point. But maybe it has more to do with the children than anything else, and adults love to be children again, even if it’s only for a short time.
I read an article the other day, which caught me with its dumb, clickbaity, and dishonest title: I was in debt and drank all day until learning to cry saved my life. I’m sure learning to grieve and process emotions is good for everyone, but what saved this man’s life was his kids…not learning to cry.
After deciding to commit suicide, he determined the next visit with his children would be his last:
“Suddenly the pressure was off and I knew it could be our last visit I could be more present with my children and I treasured the time together,” he said.
“It was such a good visit that I lived for the next one and decided to do the same the week after that and the week after that. Soon I wanted to sober up and live in the present moment for them for every coming week. They saved me.”
Just paying special attention to his children gave this man a reason to live. It seems so simple: you lower yourself to the floor and you play with your kids. Or you cuddle them while watching a movie. Or you play a videogame with them. It doesn’t matter, but it’s something so simple and yet so valuable. Why is it valuable? Is it because we have a deep biological imperative to pass our genes along, or is there something deeper going on? Something about fulfilling a godly purpose that connects us to a long line of our descendants? Maybe humans actually matter, and our own offspring matter still more because we should have a bond with them?
Earlier today, I was reveling in the joy of hugging and petting my dogs. That is an intriguing connection. Who can explain the bond between dogs and humans? They adore us, and we adore them in such an uncomplicated way. And yet just looking at their grinning faces and rumpling my fingers through their thick fur gives me a shot of calm. They ease my stress almost instantly. Why? I don’t know. I’m sure a psychologist somewhere has done a study on it, though.
Perhaps the most mysteriously simple complexity that brings joy to humans is music. There doesn’t seem to be a rhyme or reason behind it when coming from a materialistic worldview. Funny thing, if you watched season 4 of Stranger Things, you know they used the human connection to music as a way to bring a character from both literal and psychic death. She was put in a trance by the demonic antagonist, who played off her shame and guilt and fears to keep her there. The only way her friends could reach her was through music, which lit up a part of her mind that wasn’t under the sway of evil.
Of course, that show is horror or science fiction or both, but what makes horror so real is the darkness of evil and the reality of it in the universe. Dark spirits are real, and humans give in to evil. Music can increase darkness, or it can pull us out of it. But why? Scientists can’t explain music, not really, though they try. And they likewise can’t explain the presence of evil.
Speaking of, did I mention we also had canned train chugging and whistles to go along with the crazy train I rode on the other day? Those are sheer delight. I love them so much. They are like music to me. If I can’t explain a human fascination with trains, I’m sure I can’t explain why the sounds of trains are beautiful and endearing either.
We try to understand the mind of God, if we believe in him. But we hit walls past which God does not let us go. The ultimate simple meaningful joy in life, I suppose, is to be okay with that — to rest in God’s presence and enjoy the goodness he’s given to us without having to ask why. Passing that on to others, whether it be to our fellow passengers, our children, or our dogs is purpose with a capital P.
Jill Domschot 