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Make a Lifeby Patti L. Auber, published April 2013
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Recently a dear friend of mine lost her home in a fire. The
family, which includes her husband and adult daughter, lost absolutely
everything they owned except what they had on their person when they left for
work that morning. Her home and possessions were not all she lost. Her three
beloved dogs perished in the fire. For my friend, that was the most unbearable
part of the tragedy. I can scarcely imagine the challenge of rebuilding an
entire life from ashes. But rebuild she must, right? Life must go on. Or does
it? Why must life go on? Why wouldn’t it be perfectly valid for her to just get
off the merry-go-round right now? When does it become just not worth it
anymore?
Consider the Book of Job from the Hebrew Bible. So, here is this man, Job, who is a good man, one who “feareth God and escheweth evil,” and who has made a life for himself. In fact, through his hard work and faithfulness to God, Job has built a very, very good life for himself and his family. Now along come God and Satan. “Sure,” Satan says to God, “why wouldn’t Job be faithful you? Look what you have given him.” They decide to make a little wager—let’s mess with Job a bit and see just how much he can take before he turns his back on God. And mess with him they do, until ultimately Job is left alone on a dung heap, his lands and properties gone and his children killed. Even Job’s wife finally walks out on him because he won’t “curse God and die.” No one, not even God, will help Job make meaning out of what happened to him. “Show me my guilt,” he begs. But there is no answer. Perhaps there is no answer because there is no guilt. Life can no longer hold any sweetness for Job. The only possible comfort for Job would be to die, and he begs God for that mercy. Instead, God decides to give Job back everything that he lost. Well, not the old everything, but a brand new everything. Yep, new children, new lands and flocks, wife comes back. Everything. What possible meaning can Job find in this new life? He will forever be haunted by the memory of what he lost. He’s been taught how very ephemeral life is. He has learned that any life he may ever make for himself hangs on a simple whim of God, or the Fates, or whatever. What bittersweet thoughts must come to Job as he sits on his porch in the evening looking out over his new lands, with his new family around him? Why didn’t Job just choose to get off the merry-go-round and be damned with it?
In Archibald MacLeish’s play, J.B., a modern day retelling of the Book of Job, you will find these lines:
I heard upon his dry dung heap
That man cry out who cannot sleep.
If God is good, he is not God.
If God is God, he is not good.
Take the even. Take the odd.
I would not sleep here if I could,
Except for the little green leaves in the wood,
And the wind on the water.
I find it amazing that, like Job, very few of us, even when faced with overwhelming tragedy and sadness, choose to get off the merry-go-round of our lives. Almost all of us decide that life’s little sweetnesses—the “little green leaves in the wood and the wind on the water”—make it worthwhile, and so we just keep going on with it and in spite of it all. Whether we believe in a personal God, an impersonal God, or no God at all, we somehow continue to believe that we can and should make a life for ourselves.
Make a life. Those words are sure to mean something different to every person, but we all agree that make a life is what we have to do. We invest the major portion of our adulthood building that life in spite of whatever challenges or random tragedies befall us. We raise our children in a way to give them the tools to make a life for themselves when they are adults. Every morning when the sun comes up, we arise from our beds and go about living the life we have made for ourselves. Life is relentless and we are relentless in our need to make our own.
So, it must be important, this making of a life. Oh, maybe not important to anybody else. Maybe not important to the whirling world or the impersonal universe. But my life is important to me! I don’t claim to understand why, or even feel I need to figure it out. I am comfortable living with that mystery. I do, however, understand on some deep level that the reason I am here is to make my life and along the way to take solace from the little green leaves and the wind on the water. So every day that I zone out in front of the television, or lose myself on Facebook or Pinterest for hours at a time, I cheat myself out of my opportunity and my calling to make my life. Every day I ignore the ontological imperative to learn, to feel, to think, to connect, to create, to love—I’ve cheated myself.
I guess that’s the real tragedy, isn’t it? To quit on life. To turn away from our grand calling to Make A Life. As for my friend, she’s decided to rebuild. One day she’ll have a new house, and maybe even another dog or two. Her life won’t be sweet again for quite a while as she slogs her way through all of that. And I suspect that even when she once again has a porch to sit upon in the evening, and watch the sun go down behind the little green wood, with her dog by her side, life will be at best bittersweet for her. As it is for us all. Bittersweet, but precious.
Consider the Book of Job from the Hebrew Bible. So, here is this man, Job, who is a good man, one who “feareth God and escheweth evil,” and who has made a life for himself. In fact, through his hard work and faithfulness to God, Job has built a very, very good life for himself and his family. Now along come God and Satan. “Sure,” Satan says to God, “why wouldn’t Job be faithful you? Look what you have given him.” They decide to make a little wager—let’s mess with Job a bit and see just how much he can take before he turns his back on God. And mess with him they do, until ultimately Job is left alone on a dung heap, his lands and properties gone and his children killed. Even Job’s wife finally walks out on him because he won’t “curse God and die.” No one, not even God, will help Job make meaning out of what happened to him. “Show me my guilt,” he begs. But there is no answer. Perhaps there is no answer because there is no guilt. Life can no longer hold any sweetness for Job. The only possible comfort for Job would be to die, and he begs God for that mercy. Instead, God decides to give Job back everything that he lost. Well, not the old everything, but a brand new everything. Yep, new children, new lands and flocks, wife comes back. Everything. What possible meaning can Job find in this new life? He will forever be haunted by the memory of what he lost. He’s been taught how very ephemeral life is. He has learned that any life he may ever make for himself hangs on a simple whim of God, or the Fates, or whatever. What bittersweet thoughts must come to Job as he sits on his porch in the evening looking out over his new lands, with his new family around him? Why didn’t Job just choose to get off the merry-go-round and be damned with it?
In Archibald MacLeish’s play, J.B., a modern day retelling of the Book of Job, you will find these lines:
I heard upon his dry dung heap
That man cry out who cannot sleep.
If God is good, he is not God.
If God is God, he is not good.
Take the even. Take the odd.
I would not sleep here if I could,
Except for the little green leaves in the wood,
And the wind on the water.
I find it amazing that, like Job, very few of us, even when faced with overwhelming tragedy and sadness, choose to get off the merry-go-round of our lives. Almost all of us decide that life’s little sweetnesses—the “little green leaves in the wood and the wind on the water”—make it worthwhile, and so we just keep going on with it and in spite of it all. Whether we believe in a personal God, an impersonal God, or no God at all, we somehow continue to believe that we can and should make a life for ourselves.
Make a life. Those words are sure to mean something different to every person, but we all agree that make a life is what we have to do. We invest the major portion of our adulthood building that life in spite of whatever challenges or random tragedies befall us. We raise our children in a way to give them the tools to make a life for themselves when they are adults. Every morning when the sun comes up, we arise from our beds and go about living the life we have made for ourselves. Life is relentless and we are relentless in our need to make our own.
So, it must be important, this making of a life. Oh, maybe not important to anybody else. Maybe not important to the whirling world or the impersonal universe. But my life is important to me! I don’t claim to understand why, or even feel I need to figure it out. I am comfortable living with that mystery. I do, however, understand on some deep level that the reason I am here is to make my life and along the way to take solace from the little green leaves and the wind on the water. So every day that I zone out in front of the television, or lose myself on Facebook or Pinterest for hours at a time, I cheat myself out of my opportunity and my calling to make my life. Every day I ignore the ontological imperative to learn, to feel, to think, to connect, to create, to love—I’ve cheated myself.
I guess that’s the real tragedy, isn’t it? To quit on life. To turn away from our grand calling to Make A Life. As for my friend, she’s decided to rebuild. One day she’ll have a new house, and maybe even another dog or two. Her life won’t be sweet again for quite a while as she slogs her way through all of that. And I suspect that even when she once again has a porch to sit upon in the evening, and watch the sun go down behind the little green wood, with her dog by her side, life will be at best bittersweet for her. As it is for us all. Bittersweet, but precious.