Chew on This
I try to present the image of a cynic whenever possible. It isn’t hard, really. If you were to watch the news very often or listen to the liberals screaming at the conservatives or the conservatives screaming at the liberals or observe the way the rich look down upon the poor or the way the poor plot against the rich you would join us in the Camp of the Cynics. Like I heard someone once say, we Cynics are not that organized, but we’re very committed.
Still, even though I may feel pretty confident in my identity as a cynic, days like today come along and I begin to wonder if the cynic and the closet emotional sap can coexist within the same person.
It was senior Sunday at church today; the day when we see baby pictures juxtaposed against the senior photos of the kids graduating high school, when we hear stories of what these kids have experienced together in their years at Highland, when huddle leaders pass out Bibles and blessings, when parents valiantly smile through misty eyes.
It was also the day that parents of younger kids, no matter how they tried to deny it, felt the clutch of fear gripping their hearts in anticipation of the day that their children, be they 17 or 11 or 9 or 7 or a newborn, would be telling the church what they remembered about their time together or what influenced them as they grew up, up, and away.
It seems that no matter how much Diet Dr. Pepper I drank today, I simply could not quite wash that lump down my throat.
Maybe I am not the committed cynic I thought I was. That same lump seems to rear its ugly head at other times, too. Singing “Blessed Be Your Name,” hearing Radar O’Reilly announce the death of Henry Blake on M*A*S*H (gets me every time), watching my kids bonding together, seeing or being in mountains, remembering…
Maybe there is a soft, chewy center to the hard candy shell after all.
Still, even though I may feel pretty confident in my identity as a cynic, days like today come along and I begin to wonder if the cynic and the closet emotional sap can coexist within the same person.
It was senior Sunday at church today; the day when we see baby pictures juxtaposed against the senior photos of the kids graduating high school, when we hear stories of what these kids have experienced together in their years at Highland, when huddle leaders pass out Bibles and blessings, when parents valiantly smile through misty eyes.
It was also the day that parents of younger kids, no matter how they tried to deny it, felt the clutch of fear gripping their hearts in anticipation of the day that their children, be they 17 or 11 or 9 or 7 or a newborn, would be telling the church what they remembered about their time together or what influenced them as they grew up, up, and away.
It seems that no matter how much Diet Dr. Pepper I drank today, I simply could not quite wash that lump down my throat.
Maybe I am not the committed cynic I thought I was. That same lump seems to rear its ugly head at other times, too. Singing “Blessed Be Your Name,” hearing Radar O’Reilly announce the death of Henry Blake on M*A*S*H (gets me every time), watching my kids bonding together, seeing or being in mountains, remembering…
Maybe there is a soft, chewy center to the hard candy shell after all.
3 Comments:
It takes brains and hard work to be a true cynic, but when you love what you do it really doesn't seem like work.
I'm with you, right down to the M*A*S*H episode. And the older I get, the more that soft center reveals itself. Gret thoughts Val.
Not just Gret thoughts, Great thoughts!
I have known your soft heart for a long time and love you for it. Miss Judy
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