Our Six Senses

At one time or another, all of us has known someone with one or more of their senses impaired. We've all wondered what it would be like to be blind or deaf. More rare, I suppose, but maybe as bad or possibly worse, what would it be like to not be able to smell or taste or feel touch? Some of us have done the experiments of wearing a blindfold and found ourselves staggering around or the one where we hold our nose and taste a potato and an apple and find it hard to tell the difference. Would you give up the sense of hearing? That would be tough. What would it be like to no longer hear the cooing of a dove at dawn? Would you miss the distant sound of a train whistle pulling you to travel, at least in your dreams? I wouldn't be able to hear my granddaughters call me Papa or Grandpa anymore, names I truly love. I wouldn't be able to hear Sara whisper that she loves me (on the other hand, I've practiced selective hearing with Sara for years.) I don't think I'd want to give up the sense of hearing. How about losing the sense of smell? That doesn't seem too bad. But wait, don't decide too quickly. Would you miss the smell of grass just after it's been mowed. What about fresh baked bread? Have you ever held a newly bathed and powdered baby? There's some danger in not having a sense of smell too. When is the last time you felt inclined to sample a big taste of something that smelled like fresh poop? And don't forget, the sense of smell is tightly tied to the sense of taste. I know of a person who lost a lot of weight because nothing tasted right because she had a severe sinus problem. So, let's do without a sense of taste. After all, most of us could stand to loose a few pounds, right? Would you miss the sweetness of a ripe pear or the full-of-summer-memories taste of watermellon? Can you imagine ice cream melting on your tongue without being able to taste it? From the texture alone, you would probably want to spit it out. Worst of all, you would probably begin to eat brussels sprouts or stewed okra because you wouldn't have a clue how bad it really was! Let's move on to our sense of sight. Where on earth would we be without "the rockets RED glare" or "PURPLE mountains majesty" or "long, cool woman in a RED dress" or "GREEN, GREEN grass of home" or "BLUE moon"? A whole bunch of songs wouldn't make much sense to us if we didn't have sight to put colors in perspective. Spring blossoms or fall leaves, forget it! A child's smile, a pretty girl or a handsome guy, using only your imagination, it just wouldn't be the same. Try attending a football game and having someone describe the action! Sight might be the last sense I would want to give up. I am a hugger! Where would I be if I couldn't feel the warmth of another person? Touch something really hot or really cold without a sense of touch and you could be in deep trouble. If you couldn't tell you had spilt hot coffee in your lap, how would you know to sue McDonald's? A glowing ember is beautiful, but your sense of touch tells you not to pick it up. If you couldn't feel the hardness of a pew, what would keep you awake during church? Touch is certainly an important sense and not one I'd give up easily. You know, I don't think I would give up any of these five senses gladly. Still, it is the sixth sense I value most. That is a sense of self, the sense that helps me stay centered. It might be different for different people, but for me it is formed by the joining of several parts: my relationship with God, the love I'm able to share with Sara and the rest of my family, and my ability to help those who aren't able to help themselves or who aren't as fortunate as I am. If these things are in balance, there is a sense of peace within myself. That is the sense of self that I strive to reach. Without using glasses or hearing aids or other means of help, I can't make myself see any better or hear better, but I can always work on improving my sense of self and I can improve it every single day. God is good.

Saving

Saving is important. It can define us. In this case, I'm not talking about saving souls, perhaps the most important saving any of us may have the opportunity to do. I'm not talking about saving money, something we all should do. I'm not talking about saving the things found in the family junk drawer, although that might go a long way toward defining the persons who stuff things in them. I'm talking about saving the little things that are a bit more difficult to name. For the second time in my life, I'm going through the collected minutiae of a loved one, the things that help to define the person that they have been, the things they have considered important enough to save; the clipped newspaper articles and announcements, the old family pictures, the saved postcards, the certificates, the letters of congratulation, the church bulletins, the report cards. Sometimes we save those things that have pertained to our parents or even older relatives and have been passed through the generations - black and white photos, original deeds, birth, marriage, and death announcements. Sometimes we save things that are particular to us - a college diploma, the bowling score sheet or the golf score card, a meaningful note from a friend at a down time. Sometimes we save those things from our children - a report card with all "A"s, a handmade Father's Day card, a picture with a huge grin showing no front teeth at all. Sometimes, we save a copy of that little prayer or poem that touched us and, hopefully, made us a bit better person, at least for a while. Sometimes, it is a cartoon that made us laugh or got us to look at something in a different way. The point is that we have saved them because they mean something to us. We might be saving in an old shoe box or a ratty file folder. Where we save isn't very important. What is important is that we know where these things are and can put our hands on them at whatever seems to be the right time. This saving is important to us, but it means something about us to the next person who goes through them as well. I've just finished going through a parent's file folder. Some things in it made me stop and wonder why they were thought important. Some things made me laugh out loud. Some things brought tears to my eyes. Taken all together, they helped to more fully define the parent. I kept some things and added them to my own file folder. Others, I trashed. Some day, my own children or maybe even my wife, will look through my file folder and better understand the kind of person I was, at least maybe a little bit better. I'm guessing that most of you already have your shoe box or file folder. If you don't, start one. The memories saved will mean something to you and will, some day, make you more understandable and meaningful to someone who has loved you. God is good.