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© 2015 Dr. Jennifer R. Thomson, sunshinedeepwater.blogspot.com.
© 2015 Dr. Jennifer R. Thomson, sunshinedeepwater.blogspot.com.
Do Over
Happy first day of Spring! Are ya feelin’ it? No, I’m not
confused—well, not about this anyway. The beginning of February marks the midpoint between
winter solstice and spring equinox in the Northern Hemisphere. Many Earth
centered traditions consider this day, around February 2, to be the beginning
of spring. It’s the time when all the flora and fauna that have been lying
dormant underground—all the seeds, bulbs, roots, hibernating animals—begin to
quicken with new life. The crocus and daffodils begin to push new shoots upward
in anticipation of the warmer days to come (really, the days will eventually
get warmer!). Burrowing animals, such as . . . the groundhog, . . . begin to emerge from
their winter homes to let us know the new season is stirring to life below.
Or to tell us
that we’ll have six more weeks of winter.
Seasonal transitions
remind us that we are part of nature; like nature, we are always changing.
Unlike nature, we have some choice about the direction of our changes.
This season’s
natural transition from winter to spring reminds us that we can follow a
redemptive path to new life. We can take
this opportunity to reflect on what we want to leave lying dormant in our own
lives—and on what new beginnings we want to nurture to fruition. That is, past
regrets we can lay to rest and future hopes we can work to realize.
When my younger
daughter Ellen was a preschooler, she wanted a pair of cowgirl boots. And I
wanted to get some for her. But I had so little money then that I could hardly
pay my bills. I would send $5 a month to each creditor and even that strained
my finances. A friend—whose daughter was 2 years older than my older daughter
Rebecca—passed all her daughter’s too-small clothes to my girls. It didn't matter that all their Disney-character shirts were 2 and 4 years out of date. Instead,
we’d say how lucky they were that their friend loved them enough to hand down
her clothes to them. And I would think how grateful I was to my friend for her
generous gift.
When Ellen
asked for cowgirl boots, all I could think of was how much they cost and how
soon little feet outgrow their shoes. She’d have about 6 months, maybe a few
more if I bought the boots too big to start with. I couldn't justify spending the money.
At Ellen’s
graduation from the university a few years ago, I saw a little girl dancing in
her cowgirl boots. Every time I see a little one in boots like that, I feel
some regret that I never bought them for Ellen, though I manage to leave that
regret mostly behind me. As winter transforms into spring, I am reminded to allow that regret to remain dormant.
When I was
growing up, all the kids in the neighborhood would gather to play in our yard—baseball,
football, kickball—kick the can in the dark of warm summer nights. We spent as
much time trying to agree on the rules of whatever game we were playing as we
spent actually playing it:
“That tree is first base.”
“No, you don’t have to have your foot
on it; you can just keep your hand on the trunk.”
“The front point of the triangle
garden is second base.”
“Over the back hedge is an automatic
home run.”
(No one ever hit an automatic home
run.)
After an exhaustive rules negotiation, we’d begin playing. Before
we knew it, someone would shout, “Do over!” and the action would stop so we
could argue whether a do over was indeed warranted. Almost always, we reached consensus
in favor of the do over and the game continued.
It isn’t
easy to let regrets be. They keep popping up again as new situations remind us
of the past. When Ellen was a recent college grad-newlywed-expectant mother struggling
to make rent, I opted for a “do over.” I didn't buy her any boots, but did send her money occasionally, and I gave her a library of picture books for her
unborn daughter.
-–And last
year, she got herself a pair of cowgirl boots.
The movie Groundhog Day takes the concept of “do
overs” to an extreme. For those who don’t know the movie, here’s a brief plot
summary:
Bill Murray
plays a self-centered, smart-alecky jerk of a Philadelphia TV weather caster.
The day before Groundhog Day, his station sends him with a production team to Punxsutawney,
where the official national groundhog will announce whether it’s spring or six
more weeks of winter. He thinks it’s a stupid assignment in a stupid town full
of stupid people, with a stupid Bed and Breakfast where he’s forced to stay. He
treats his team badly, insults everyone around him, and then heads to bed.
Next scene,
we see the digital alarm clock numbers flip to 7:00 and hear the radio play: [Sing
or have accompanist play on piano, “I’ve Got You, Babe”]
Bill Murray
grumps past other guests at the B&B on his way to the groundhog newscast. He
records a disdainful report on groundhog Punxsutawney Phil’s announcement. He
spends the day insulting people and making unwanted sexual advances on his
producer.
A snowstorm
prevents the production team from driving home, so he goes back to the B&B to
sleep.
Next scene,
we see the digital alarm clock numbers flip to 7:00 and hear the radio play: [“I’ve
Got You, Babe”]
As he heads
out, he meets the same people as he did the day before—and they say the same
things. Everyone’s gathered in the town square and his news team tells him it’s
time for the groundhog story. He’s confused. The day continues to repeat till
he goes back to the B&B to sleep.
Next scene,
we see the digital alarm clock numbers flip to 7:00 and hear the radio play: [“I’ve
Got You, Babe”]
As he
continues to wake up to the same day—and the same song on the radio—over and
over again, he goes through three stages:
First, he
takes advantage of the fact that his actions have no consequences. He indulges
his every self-centered desire: He drinks a lot, he’s mean to people, he robs
the bank. He hits on his producer over and over and over—there’s a brief montage of her slapping him on the face about 10 different times.
In the second
stage, he tires of the unending repetition of meaningless actions. He falls
into despair until one day, he steals Punxsutawney Phil from his cage and
steals a pickup truck from the street, heads for a cliff, and lets the groundhog
drive them into oblivion.
[Quickly] Next
scene, we see the digital alarm clock numbers flip to 7:00 and hear the radio
play: [“I’ve Got You, Babe”]
Indulging
his worst self bored him; suicide didn't work; so he has to find a new
direction.
He knows
everything that happens all over town because he’s been living this same day
over and over dozens of times. So now he decides to do things differently. He knocks on the door of the old piano
teacher each day, saying he’s never had a lesson. We hear his progress until he
becomes the center of the town’s Groundhog Day party, playing requests for
everyone. He gets to the restaurant each night in time to save a man from
choking. He’s kind to his B&B hostess, respectful to his producer (yes, their
romance develops); he is beloved by all.
He even
takes his groundhog ceremony broadcast seriously, giving a sincere and
thoughtful speech for the camera that moves everyone to tears. But he doesn't stay for the admiration of the crowd; he runs off to save a boy from breaking
his arm by catching him as he falls out of a tree, something else he now does
every day.
After months
of refining this new third stage of his repeated do overs, he goes to bed as
usual one night. In the next scene, we see the alarm clock numbers flip to 7:00
and hear the radio: but no, this time it’s not Sonny and Cher. His endless do
overs have ended; it’s a new day. Of course, he’s the only one who experienced
the same day over and over. People certainly notice the difference in him, but they
don’t believe he really has changed. After all, no one transforms so
completely overnight.
Too bad we
don’t get the chance to relive our days and make the kind of transformation Bill
Murray’s character makes.
Then again, we actually do in a way.
Then again, we actually do in a way.
Soon after I
joined my home church, about the same time Ellen wanted cowgirl boots, Wendy, a
member of the annual budget drive committee, asked to speak with me about my
pledge. I dreaded our meeting. My $20,000 a year income was already stretched
to its limits; how could I afford to just give money away for something I didn't really need, like church?
When Wendy
began talking about pledging, I burst out crying. I’m not exactly sure
why—maybe I wanted to give and felt bad that I couldn't afford to. But I think
there was more to it than money worries. I think I hadn't yet truly committed to the church. Yes, I was glad it was there for my kids, but I didn't feel
connected myself. Somehow, I resented being asked to help pay for it.
I still
don’t know for certain why the thought of pledging made me cry, but I do know
when I began feeling a genuine connection to our church: when some friends
there made me join the Board.
Ok, no one could make me—but they put a lot of effort into convincing me to do
it.
I had
already been a member of the worship committee and the choir, but being on the
Board completely changed my understanding of how our church worked, what it took to keep
it going, how much everything cost.
That pledge
meeting when I burst out crying began to quicken within me a new stage of life.
My spiritual self that had lain dormant for years began to awaken, and it felt
uncomfortable at first, like pushing tender green shoots through the winter soil and patches of snow. Joining the church board allowed my spiritual self to bloom in
the sunshine of my new commitment to the church.
Every time you
awaken to a new day (whether it’s to Sonny and Cher’s “I've Got You, Babe” or
not), you have a renewed opportunity to become the person you want to be. You
can decide to begin anew; you can choose to work toward your hopes instead of to
dwell on your regrets.
· Transformation.
· Encouraging each other to find ways to
live meaningful lives and to overcome the selfishness and regrets and despair
that we all have—
these are reasons I really do need my church after all.
When you
join together in community to support the kind of personal transformation that
makes your own life meaningful, then you can change the world with your love.
You can make it a point to catch the boy so he doesn't break his arm; you can
treat everyone with respect, you can learn how to put your own self-interest
aside and take requests from the crowd at the Groundhog Day celebration.
Right now,
you are here in religious community to support each other in the hard work of
living good lives, to welcome others who wish to join you in that work and to
“love the hell out of the world.” [Tom Schade, Winter 2013 UUWorld]
On those
days when living up to your ideals seems just too difficult, when you have trouble breaking through patches of late-winter snow, know that you have
a community where you can turn for the support and encouragement that will help
you be your best self again.
As the
seasons transition from winter to the first blush of spring, may you feel the
quickening of new life growing within your spirit.
May you
approach each new day as a do over, a chance to live up to your ideals, to live
in ways that make the world a better place.
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