A long, long time ago, a good friend of my father's had an issue with his neighbor. Or rather, his neighbor had an issue with him. Or rather, had an issue with his children. The children, youngsters of my own age, naturally enjoyed playing in their yard, with one another and with their little friends. Well, the neighbor felt the children were too loud, and suspected that they were occasionally stepping onto his property. In short, the neighbor did not like children.
Nonetheless, he refused to discuss the issue soberly with my father's friend, preferring to grumble, accuse, and wag his finger. For this reason, my father's friend, George Baganstoss by name, decided to write and deliver a speech from his driveway, which paralleled the neighbor's and was conveniently situated below the neighbor's living room window. He showed my father the speech, which struck my father as quite eloquent, with shades of John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, and Abraham Lincoln.
In his resounding baritone voice, George delivered this speech one evening, standing in his own driveway, gesturing appropriately with his arms and hands.
The neighbor pulled down his shades (and likely plugged his recalcitrant ears).
I have always remembered this incident, which caused me to genuinely like George Baganstoss for himself rather than just as the father of our friends. And I am reminded of it now as a problem arises regarding the two little children who occasionally visit me at the villa where I live. It seems that someone considers their presence annoying, a trespass of "solitude". Are they running around and jumping through hoops or destroying property or being riotous? No, mostly they like to play with my laptop. Sometimes they will just visit for a bit with me. One girl, Viana, comes just to ask how I'm feeling, for she knows that I've been ill. I find the two of them polite, well-behaved, fairly quiet, and wonderfully entertaining. Having raised five children, who are already grown, and one of them, my natural son, gone forever, I am called back to a youthfulness within myself, an aptitude for simple joy.
Once upon a time, little children were brought to Jesus for him to lay his hands on them and bless them. The disciples were annoyed and rebuked them.
"Let the little children come unto me," Jesus said, "and forbid them not; for of such as these is the Kingdom of heaven made."
And again, when asked by his disciples Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven? Jesus called a little child to his side, and he said "Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven."
I would add the logical extension that as long as you reject and forbid the little children, neither will you enter the kingdom of heaven, try as you might through your precious silence and solitude.
Nonetheless, he refused to discuss the issue soberly with my father's friend, preferring to grumble, accuse, and wag his finger. For this reason, my father's friend, George Baganstoss by name, decided to write and deliver a speech from his driveway, which paralleled the neighbor's and was conveniently situated below the neighbor's living room window. He showed my father the speech, which struck my father as quite eloquent, with shades of John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, and Abraham Lincoln.
In his resounding baritone voice, George delivered this speech one evening, standing in his own driveway, gesturing appropriately with his arms and hands.
The neighbor pulled down his shades (and likely plugged his recalcitrant ears).
I have always remembered this incident, which caused me to genuinely like George Baganstoss for himself rather than just as the father of our friends. And I am reminded of it now as a problem arises regarding the two little children who occasionally visit me at the villa where I live. It seems that someone considers their presence annoying, a trespass of "solitude". Are they running around and jumping through hoops or destroying property or being riotous? No, mostly they like to play with my laptop. Sometimes they will just visit for a bit with me. One girl, Viana, comes just to ask how I'm feeling, for she knows that I've been ill. I find the two of them polite, well-behaved, fairly quiet, and wonderfully entertaining. Having raised five children, who are already grown, and one of them, my natural son, gone forever, I am called back to a youthfulness within myself, an aptitude for simple joy.
Once upon a time, little children were brought to Jesus for him to lay his hands on them and bless them. The disciples were annoyed and rebuked them.
"Let the little children come unto me," Jesus said, "and forbid them not; for of such as these is the Kingdom of heaven made."
And again, when asked by his disciples Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven? Jesus called a little child to his side, and he said "Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven."
I would add the logical extension that as long as you reject and forbid the little children, neither will you enter the kingdom of heaven, try as you might through your precious silence and solitude.
2 comments:
Maybe it’s jealousy in solitude
Anonymous--Indeed.
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