Massaging the lion’s paw

 I recently learned about Alex Larenty, an animal handler who works in the South African Lion Park near Johannesburg. More specifically, Larenty is a lion trainer and, apparently, a lover of lions. Moving from England to South Africa in 1999, he began setting up a family business that trains and supplies big cats for TV shows and movies. Currently he also leads safaris into the park where he demonstrates his ability to relate to wild animals. (The tourists are safely caged in the back of a jeep.)

About 15 years ago Larenty discovered that when he applied a healing cream to an infection on a lion’s paw, the lion relaxed; it almost seemed to smile at him. According to an article published on Facebook, “Since then, he has massaged all the lions in the park on a daily basis. Thanks to the pampering, he created a bond such that just by seeing him arrive, the lions lie down, begin to stretch their legs and smile.” You can find YouTube videos of all this. Amazing.

This story is not without its dark side. Apparently, some people who learned about Larenty assumed that the lions in the park were now tame. Not so. As a result of this assumption at least one person was mauled to death and several others have been wounded. The park has become controversial with animal rights advocates, some of whom feel the animals are being exploited. I sympathize with the animal rights advocates.

Even so, I’m amazed at Larenty’s ability to befriend the lions and, in effect, minister to them. It speaks of the power of gentleness and touch.

Another example of what happens when humans are gentle with wild animals is a fishing technique called “trout tickling.” I read about it in a biography of English novelist Charles Williams. I love Williams’ strange novels; he was a companion to C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien and the three met together regularly to read their manuscripts to each other. So I was delighted to learn more about his life.

Williams was a complex and troubled man. He did not treat his wife well. Florence was a gentle woman. In the chapter about her early life, we see her uncle teaching her the art of trout tickling. She learned to lie by the side of a pool in the river, waiting until a trout swam in. Then she slowly reached her hand down and under the fish and began to stroke. It relaxed the trout. When enough time had passed, she closed her hand and pulled the fish up onto the grass and watched it thrash about until it died. Later, dinner was served.

This is bittersweet story, but I guess it’s a more humane way of fishing than a hook through the mouth. Catching a fish through gentleness. But it does seem deceptive. Befriending a beast with the intent of the ultimate betrayal.

I now have a dilemma. I had intended to use these two examples of the power of gentleness to write a blog on how important gentleness is as we grow older. But I find that these examples are too dark. In fact, it seems ridiculous to apply them to my life. Or to yours.

So I’ll just switch to a different kind of animal: grandmothers.

I was privileged to have had relationships with both my grandmothers. Grandma Nichols (maternal) was the epitome of gentleness. She was blind but that didn’t seem to dim her love of life, especially her love for her 26 grandchildren. I remember when I was with her, I just knew I was her favorite, and I’m sure everyone of the others felt the same way. She was quietly cheerful and so happy to be with me. I felt peaceful and well-loved in her presence. She gentled me.

No one would call Grandma Forsythe (paternal) gentle, but all 25 grandchildren loved her. Again, I was her favorite. Having raised 11 kids (not counting the two who died in infancy) in a coal-mining town in Pennsylvania, she learned to be tough. She never lost that characteristic as she grew older. She was tough, no-nonsense, and feisty. I felt energized and stimulated in her presence. I loved being with her.

I want to be like both my grandmothers. I am drawn to gentleness, one of the fruits of the Spirit the Apostle Paul writes about in Galatians 5. In another letter, Paul encourages the believers to “have a reputation for gentleness” (Philippians 4:5). I’d like that reputation. Kind, gentle, thankful, joyful. While I have no desire to stroke the paws of lions or tickle the undersides of trout, I’d love to be able to bless people—grandchildren and great-grandchildren—just by having a gentle spirit.

But I also want to be feisty, adventurous, and maybe even a little outrageous. Like Grandma Forsythe. Frankly, that sounds like more fun. And in the older years, fun is really important. Plus, I bet the great-grandchildren would love it.

Gentle or feisty?

Why not both? Not gentle or feisty. Gentle and feisty. Is that possible? I hope so. I think I have both tame and wild parts of my nature.

Can they get along? Live together in peace? And still have fun?

What do you think?

Mighty Mouse saves the day

It’s Saturday morning as I write this, approaching 7:00. I’ve already been up several hours. This is my favorite part of the day, setting the stage for whatever else happens. If it’s gone well, as it usually does, my heart is at peace and my mind awake. My body is as ready as it can be for the challenges of the day. And I’m hungry.

I think back to the Saturday mornings of my childhood. That was one of the happiest parts of the week, but entirely different from what my mornings are like now. Saturday mornings meant—Saturday morning cartoon time! My parents exercised strict control over our family’s big, boxy, black-n-white TV set. They decided what we would all watch together in the evenings, mostly comedies like “The Honeymooners,” “I Love Lucy,” or “The Jack Benny Show.” We liked being together and we kids learned to laugh at the same jokes my dad laughed at. But TV time was strictly limited.

Saturday morning was the blessed exception. Beginning at 7:00, Tommy, Becky, and I, still in our pajamas, would sit on the floor in front of the Big Box. Mom would turn it on and the marathon would begin. Mickey Mouse, Goofy, Daffy Duck, Tom and Jerry, Popeye the Sailor Man, Betty Boop, and a score of others entertained us, made us howl with laughter, passed on to us some of our culture’s precious values. For several wonder-filled hours.

The variety was good, but I had my favorites. The following poem tells about one of them:

Saving the Day

‘Here I am to save the day,’
means that Mighty Mouse is on the way!

Every Saturday morning
Mighty Mouse saved the day,
even though the day
didn’t know it needed saving.
We three kids sat on the rug
in front of the old black ‘n white
TV, cartoon-happy.
We grinned in wonder
at the Mouse’s amazing feats.
Not at all like the grinning Mickey
or the simpering Minnie,
Mighty Mouse swooped down
from the sky, his puffed out
chest and hero suit a sure sign
help was coming.
Time and time again Mighty
saved the day, rescuing it
from the clutches of night
and from all that was dark
in the world of animals
and little kids.
This minuscule
but valiant rodent
let us know that justice
would prevail,
although at nine-years-old,
I didn’t know what that meant.
But he did, indeed,
save my day.
Every Saturday morning
at 8:00 am.

I’ve always loved movies. Occasionally our parents took us three kids out for a drive-in movie night. We saw all the Walt Disney movies. Enchanting. In the adult years when we lived in Bolivia, movies were a thing of the past, partly because of the legalistic nature of the churches we were working with. (We made an exception when “The Gods Must Be Crazy” came to town.)

Since then, things have changed for the better. There came the time when we purchased a video player. A few years later it became a DVD player. Now, of course, we stream movies directly through the internet. We have to discipline ourselves not to overdo what we’d previously been starved for. (Actually, I had felt the lack, not Hal. Movies were not part of his growing-up years.)

And now we’re retired. If I wanted, I could completely indulge. I’ve got the time. And sometimes, I do indulge, especially if I let myself get hooked into a good series, like “Madam Secretary” on Netflix. I confess I’ve watched “Downton Abbey” several times.

But there’s something inside me that checks this indulgence. I’m not sure I’d like the person I might turn into if I watched too many movies—overweight, flabby muscles, lazy brain. Am I exaggerating? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad?

It’s not so much that as it is there are better ways to spend my time. Even though I stay seated to read a book, my brain stays engaged. I could also walk outside under the trees, visit a friend, join an exercise class, play in the garden, write a poem, etc., etc. You know the list. But it’s true. It’s good to be reminded.

Not that I’ll give up movies. No need for such an extreme reaction. A good movie relaxes me, makes me laugh, and can even give me something to think about. But I’m determined not to let characters portrayed on the screen become my chief form of relaxation, laughter, or food for thought. People do that for me. Real right-here-in-the-flesh people. Actual life lived rather than watched.

I need more than Mighty Mouse to save my days.

Notice: What I’m about to say now has nothing to do with movies or Mighty Mouse. But I just have to announce that yesterday I met my brand-new great-granddaughter, Ariah Hope Burgi. Very little at just under five lbs., but heathy and growing. Such a miracle. Life just goes on and on. Welcome to the family, little girl. We love you already.

Benefits of the aging brain

 The title of this blog seems counter-intuitive. It's almost contradictory. The phrase “aging brain” naturally brings to mind terms like “cognitive impairment” (nasty scary phrase), decline, dementia, or, at the least, forgetfulness and “senior moments.” But benefits? Is the aging brain in some ways superior to the young or middle-aged brain?

That’s what Ashton Applewhite, author of This Chair Rocks: A Manifesto Against Ageism, claims. At the beginning of her chapter on “The Older Brain”, she makes several affirmations:

--“Serious mental decline is not a normal or inevitable part of aging.”
--“Most forgetfulness is not Alzheimer’s, or dementia, or even necessarily a sign of cognitive impairment.”
--“About 20 percent of people in their nineties seem to escape cognitive decline entirely, and continue to perform as well as middle-aged people.”

Applewhite recognizes the realities of cognitive decline and dementia, something that causes fear in most of us. She also admits to what she calls “basic brain aging.” This refers to things like a decreasing ability to recall names or numbers on demand. It seems to getting harder to find the right words or remember where we left our glasses. Missing appointments happens more often. I’m no longer able to multitask like I did when I was a younger more productive woman. It’s easier to be distracted; I notice this when I try to contemplate or pray. All of this happens.

So, what are the benefits of the aging brain? Applewhite devotes most of the chapter to the following positive traits (that I sincerely hope are true):

--The aging brain is more emotionally resilient. She writes that “As we turn eighty, brain imaging shows frontal lobe changes that improve our ability to deal with negative emotions like anger, envy, and fear.” Apparently we have less social anxiety and fewer social phobias. “Even as its discrete processing skills degrade, the normal aging brain enables greater emotional maturity, adaptability to change, and levels of well-being.”

I can see that. While I still experience negative emotions and what I consider immature reactions to situations, in general I’m more at ease with my life. I used to be painfully shy, even into my middle years, but now I’m freer to speak up, hold my own in a group discussion, and even assume leadership roles. Sometime I look at myself and am amazed. And when I experience those angry or envious feelings, I recognize them, tell myself to “snap out of it and grow up!” Sometimes I listen to myself. (Sometimes I don’t.)

--“Brain changes can boost creativity.” Grandma Moses is a case in point. She didn’t start painting until her older years. Several friends have also discovered a talent for painting since they retired. I know I’ve never been as creatively active, but I also know I’ve never had so much time for writing, painting, or playing my guitar. Is leisure time the cause of my creative burst? Partly, of course. Is it also the benefit of my artistically aging brain? I’d like to think so.

-- Aging gives one the ability to use both sides of the brain. Now that idea fascinates me. When I was younger, I was good at school stuff (reading, writing, and even arithmetic, believe it or not) but I also loved to write poetry and dream up imaginary countries. So was I a left brain (reason) person or was I right brain (intuition)? I was told it had to be predominately one or the other.. Applewhite writes that “A 2001 brain imaging study out of Duke University showed that while younger subjects relied predominantly on one side of the brain or the other (depending on the task), older people began to use both sides in a more synchronized way.” Interesting. She means both at once, an ability to draw on both reason and intuition when facing a situation. Again, that’s something I’d like to think was true. True integration of personality. Sounds wholesome.

--“The older brain has access to more information.”  That seems logical, as long as we can remember all the information we have access to. Her application of this idea borders on hilarious. She says that “When a word or phrase takes time to come to mind, the pause may reflect not decline but mental processes at work. According to a growing number of studies, the apparent lapse reflects the fact that older brains are sifting through the store of information accumulated over a lifetime, filtering, placing information in context.” Concerning not being able to come up with the right word, Applewhite proposes that “Since older, educated people have larger vocabularies than people who haven’t been around as long…. it takes longer to find a word… because it’s a bigger job.”

So the next time I’m awkwardly groping for the right word, I’ll just say, “I know that word. Be patient. My experienced brain is processing my encyclopedic treasure trove of information. It’ll be worth your wait.”

--The aging brain has more ability to assimilate and prioritize information. Applewhite calls this wisdom. It’s a capacity for integration and an ability to handle ambiguity. “Wisdom allows for seemingly contradictory ideas or events to exist in our minds with less dissonance.”  If this is true, we older people may be better able to handle the current political situation. But so far, I see us elders as frustrated and confused as the rest of the country. Maybe we just need more processing time. Then we will be at ease with it all and share our conclusions with the electorate. I hope this happens before November.

I like Applewhite’s positive take on the aging brain. It gives me hope. But I do wonder about some things. For example, it seems to me these benefits are not automatic. Wouldn’t they apply mainly to people who have lived a reasonably good life, who, while not perfect, have gradually matured in positive ways. Do people not reap what they sow? What about people who have lived through trauma and not received healing? Does old age heal? I think not, not age alone. And how cross-cultural are these conclusions? Does the brain age differently in different cultures? Does the aging brain of a Cherokee or an Aymara person respond differently than that of the middle-class North American? Does this list of the benefits of the aging brain express something universal about human beings? Or do cultural and personal variables make a difference? I wonder.

In the meantime, I’ll take all the good news I can get.

If I can’t figure something out, it’s because my mature brain is processing, integrating, following the path of wisdom and this takes time. Surely that’s what’s happening. Surely.

Who needs multitasking anyway?

Gifts of Sight

 The venue seemed to be a large room in a warehouse. Or a barn. Antique stuff on the walls around the room surrounded a spacious area with tables here and there. If it were not for the furniture, I could imagine a square dance happening. Very western and homey. A small crowd was already there when we arrived and over the next hour more people drifted in and soon the place was full.

We were there for a literary event, something I am naturally drawn to. The occasion was the launching of a new book. The author—my daughter Kristin.

At this point I am going to claim my God-inspired, constitutionally-defended bragging rights as a mother. Kristin has never considered herself a writer (although I have a bundle of interesting, funny, and well-written letters collected over the span of 30 years). This whole project has surprised her more than anyone else. Over a year ago she began sensing an inner nudge to write down certain experiences and insights that had been deeply touching her life for some time. A few friends also suggested she write them down in a book. At first the idea seemed preposterous, but the nudges didn’t stop. Kristin has learned to listen and sense from where (and from Whom) a nudge is coming.

So she said Yes and began to bring together the thoughts, stories, and memories that would be the building blocks of her book.

The beginning of any big project is chaotic and messy. And sometimes discouraging. And so it was with this huge (to her) project. But Kristin is not a lone-ranger type. From the start, she had editors and experienced writing coaches by her side, and this made a difference. She gave me the privilege of being one of her coaches. Tenacity, courage, and lots of reorganizing and rewriting went into this year of hard work. And all of it alongside her fulltime profession and involvement in family life.

And now it was time to celebrate and formally present to the public Gifts of Sight: Discovering God’s Love Through the Lens of Visual Impairment. And celebrate we did! After about 45 minutes of socializing and snacking, Kristin’s editor Jesse called the group to attention and introduced Kristin (whom everyone knew) and her new book. Enthusiastic applause. Then Kristin took the mic and told the story behind the book. With laughter and a few tears, Kristin walked us through her journey, beginning at birth actually and leading to this evening and this celebration. I found it very moving and so did everyone else.

Then followed the book signing (with a healthy line of people wishing to purchase), more snacking, and visiting. My assignment for the evening was to take as many photos as I could. Throughout the evening, Kristin couldn’t stop smiling. Neither could I.

Let me tell you a little about the book. Kristin brings together three streams -- her profession as a teacher of the visually impaired, her personal life story, and insights on life lived as followers of Jesus. She uses the science of sight and visual impairment as a metaphor for how God sees, knows, and loves us, showing how this understanding has been transforming her own life. The combination of professionalism and personal vulnerability makes this book compelling and deeply encouraging.

That’s my objective opinion, in case you’re wondering. And, yes, with a little bragging mixed in.

Those babies we hold in our arms all start out as possibilities. After years of nurturing and prayer, with a batch of mistakes thrown in, how wonderful to see those possibilities come to fruition and shine.

I’m both humbled and grateful. And I’ll probably keep on bragging.

Going steady

Back in my high school days, a mark of status and popularity (so important to teenagers) was a state-of-being known as “going steady.” It meant that a boy and a girl decided to exclusively date each other. They publicly declared this intention when the girl wore the boy’s school ring on a chain around her neck. It told the world—I am desirable. I am chosen. I am worthy.

Most of us adolescent girls longed for this. I know I did. But I must confess, I never went steady in high school. I had good friends, yes, but never a steady boyfriend.

College brought a certain level of maturity to relationships. No girl wore a ring on a chain around her neck. But there were couples, naturally, and it sometimes seemed as if finding a marriage partner was one of the main purposes of a college education. A ring around the finger.

Eventually, in the post-college years, I got that ring around my finger. It’s turned out well. I now look back on my high school longings and smile.

The phrase “going steady” is interesting and can almost be seen as an oxymoron,* with going and steady cancelling each other out. In high school it meant simply dating (going out) only one person (steady). Understood. But going is a word of motion, movement, and adventure. Steady can imply standing firm, rock solid, intentional.

I like oxymorons. I may even be one.

Now in my aging years, going steady has become more important than ever. I have a chemical condition inside my head that makes me perpetually dizzy. I am most comfortable sitting in my easy chair where I can look out the window or read a book. But the rest of my body wants more. It wants me to be active, go places, and do things. I need to please both.

So I’ve learned some physical therapy exercises for improving balance, even (or especially) when in motion. I’m currently in an exercise class called “Strong for Life” that allows me to do most of the routines sitting down. Even seated I can break a healthy sweat, with no fear of falling. And I’m taking my walking stick with me when I go out. I insist that it’s a walking stick, not a cane. I’m learning to go steady. Intentionally adventurous.

The oxymoron can also be applied to our relationship with God. “Going steady with Jesus” sounds a bit trite (because it is), but there might be something to it. God is “my rock and my fortress” (Psalm 18:2). David sings for joy because “He lifted me out of the slimy pit … he sat my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand” (Psalm 40:2). Jesus tells us that he is the vine and we are the branches; we are to abide (stand firm) in him in order to bear much fruit (John 15). And Peter promises the early Christians that God is at work in them, making them “strong, firm, and steadfast” (1 Peter 5:10). That’s the steady part.

Jesus also asks us to follow him (Matthew 16:24), to put our feet in motion, to go out to the ends of the earth making disciples of all nations (Matthew 28:19). The whole of the Scriptures tells the story of a God who loves us with a steadfast love, makes us strong and whole in him, then sends us out to befriend and bless the people he loves. That’s the going part.

I’m still drawn to the idea of going steady. And slowly learning how to do it.

*Oxymoron: a combination of contradictory or incongruous words, such as “cruel kindness.”