Swish-swish-swish. The sound knocked me out of my space-y haze and I looked down. It was dark, so I stopped and stood still while my eyes took a couple of seconds to adjust. Those precious few seconds were all that it took for the creature to decide I wasn’t an immediate threat and it was safe for it to scurry away.
I half-heartedly wish I could say this doesn’t happen often to me, but alas, it’s becoming more regular. Three weeks ago TCU started a program for Faculty and Staff: Frog Legs. For whoever signed up, that person worked with their department at tracking how much they walk — with the obvious connection of awareness stimulating improvement — by the use of pedometers. These pedometers, with the TCU Horned Frog logo and everything, show me just how little I walk during certain times at life.
Did you know that the least amount of activity I put my body through is while traveling? The first two weeks of the program I was visiting divinity schools and seminaries by flying and driving everywhere. I know what you’re thinking: the airports are where we get the most tired (well, besides the gym); it turns out that tiredness actually comes from the amount of carry-on bags and the g-forces from the take-offs and landings rather than the actual number of steps.
The places with the most pedometer activity: retreat centers! This is one of the bizarre paradoxes of life, but I walk more at the places where I sit and pray, think and read than I do for the process of moving around the globe. It was during my times at these retreat centers that I encountered the swishing creatures.
The first instance was last Friday night at my home church campgrounds in Newton, IA. I returned there last week after finishing my last divinity school visit and volunteered to help my parents and the other youth group sponsors and minister of my congregation with their middle school retreat. I was in charge of ice-breakers — (the guy living in Texas) — go figure. It was while the group was working on their Youth Sunday worship preparation that I walked from our cabin up to the main lodge to grab a sleeping bag for one of the adults who forgot one. I was trudging up and down the hills and lost in thought: about the events of the past two weeks, about the friends I missed and about the cold air starting to penetrate my jeans. Then came the sound. I looked down to the right at an opossum and chuckled. It flipped over, just five feet away from me, and scurried off down into a small creek bed. Leave to an opossum to play dead when I go that close.
The second instance was last Tuesday night when I was doing a spiritual retreat down in Lake Dallas, TX. I had just enjoyed a nice dinner and decided to go for a walk — down the stations of the cross and eventually following the driveway almost until it connected to the road. I made it there just as the sunset was fading away and I turned back and returned the way I came. Just when I was about to reach the retreat center I heard the sound and stopped. I looked down to my left. There, an armadillo took a second to look at me and then turned. It was four feet away, but it knew with its scaly shelled back towards me that it would be able to make it to safety. Its pace wasn’t a life-or-death frenzy, it was just fast enough to let me, or any other potential predator, know that it was out of the game.
Neither of these were spooky instances for me; if I had really bad blood-pressure neither would have likely caused enough stress to trigger a heart attack. They both, however, made me take a moment to stop. And together, they made me reflect even further.
Both instances had the same first reaction from both me and the creatures I’d never been closer to in my life. My first instinct, luckily (or else I might have missed it all), once I heard signs of their reactions was to stop and take a second to let my senses readjust for this new situation. Their reactions were to first play dead or uninterested until they gaged me. Both then turned and left me to go about what I was doing, just with them out of the picture.
I can only hope once I finalize my seminary/divinity school decision I don’t get the same reaction from many of those close to me. I may have those on my left show their shells and shut me out of their lives and I may have those on my right try to ignore me and then when they have the chance they may get as far away from me as possible. Either of those reactions are possible, and in a couple of cases likely; luckily, there’s often a sleeping bag or a pen and notebook ahead for when I continue the journey.
On the flip side, both instances (and probably those that will happen in the future) bring about more reflection on God, creation and my world external to myself. They take me out of the self-absorbed, introspective state and show me another previously hidden facet I can appreciate. I hope everyone gets these occasionally jarring moments that penetrate comfort zones only to cause more honest reflection.
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