Partial Attention and Vulnerability

Today I received a letter in the mail addressed to "Aust" from "Chicken Man."

A flood of nostalgic longing overwhelmed me, and it hasn't quite passed.

"What I wouldn't give to be cleaning rotten toilets with you in our hot as hell Thai dungeon," the letter continues. 

On our chore chart, Amber "Chicken Man" was my squatty potty scrubbing buddy.  Every other Saturday, we shared the repulsive task of cleaning the rudimentary showers, toilets, and sinks in the basement where we resided for five months.  

I hardly recognize "Aust" now.  The depth of the relationships kindled in a small basement room with one glassless window and no AC, changed everything.  

I hold tightly to thousands of stories- awaiting a tsunami on the rooftop of an unfinished building, dumping water on strangers during Songkran, feeding a pack of ungrateful monkeys from a highway overpass, being chased through the Red Light District after overhearing a conversation about "four young American girls," struggling to communicate in a tonal language... and misspeaking on hundreds of occasions.

Each day began and ended in the same way- my team and I would gather in the center of our bunks. We gave each other honest feedback for 30 minutes; we prayed and praised; we wept and laughed.

Grace was realized in our midst.  We knew the best and worst in each other and gained a much greater sense of ourselves.

On Sunday, our pastor spoke about living in a "continuous state of partial attention,"  and it resonated within me.  

Vulnerability is no longer a choice when the environment demands immediate and extreme adaptation. It elicits a sense of helplessness that I believe we should all experience at some point in our lives.

This time of year is so busy.  My schedule becomes an excuse not to dive deeply into the relationships that inspire and fuel growth and self-awareness.  The cycle fuels a seasonal depression that I try to denigrate with excuses and blame.  Glenn has commented how frequently I miss Thailand during the winter months... last week, he made the connection that the place itself is not the object of my nostalgia. I would not want to scrub a squatty potty without Amber singing beside me.

It is the sense of being fully known, fully seen, and loved regardless of it all.  It is easy to remain hidden within a routine.  We rarely see each other this time of year... not truly.  We live in a state of partial attention, and it takes its toll.

I see the toll on the little people in my classroom.  They need to be known and loved for all of their unique gifts and vices.  We all do.

As we spend time preparing and packing this holiday, my goal is to be less hurried and more present... to recognize that the world changed as the result of a baby boy who remained unseen to so many for so long... to pause more often and engage in a more meaningful dialogue...to be more than partially attentive.