The Line and the Dot

 

 

THE LINE AND THE DOT

 

“True life is to be found on the other side of the law.” 
Nicolai Berdyaev

 

 

Once upon a time, there was a line. An ordinary line that stretched as far as the eyes could see to the left and to the right. The line curved with the terrain, but it was just another line amongst many. Nothing special.

 

And on that line, there were dots. Lots of dots. Dots of various sizes. Some very small, others quite large, and many that were just average, ordinary, run of the mill dots. The dots seemed to move along the line at various speeds. Like ants on a concrete path in summer, they followed one another on the line with no apparent destination, but with a great deal of effort.

 

There was one particular dot, not unlike countless others, that we shall call ‘Dot.’ Dot wondered one day, ‘Where am 
I going?’ Dot gave this considerable thought as the day progressed as he, like all the other dots, moved along the line. ‘Where am I going?’ was his only thought. As you might imagine, dots aren’t ordinarily capable of complex thinking. After he’d wracked his dot-mind with this question without finding even a scintilla of an answer, Dot garnered up his courage and said to the slightly larger dot in front of him on the line, “Excuse me, but do you know where we are going?”

 

Shocked by the audacity of this question, the slightly larger dot replied, “Well, I don’t really know for sure, but I’d have to guess we are going that way.” The slightly larger dot, being kindhearted, was frustrated that he couldn’t point the way, but as everyone knows, dots don’t have arms with which to point.

 

Dot thanked the slightly larger dot and considered the answer given. ‘That way?’ Dot thought to himself. ‘That way, well, 
I suppose this make sense. Because we must go, it seems to me one way or another, so that way seems good. I guess.”

 

As the days went by, Dot did his best to simply go along ‘that way.’ However, within his dot-mind, he was unsettled. Eventually, a question formed, ‘Why can’t we go the other way?’ he queried internally. ‘What’s wrong with the other way?’

 

Meanwhile, the line meandered up and down hills and valleys, passing through several small towns and one very large city. If one could see the line from a bird’s eye view, they’d see that the dots on the line were doing what dots do, moving along at their own pace along the line. Some dots moved at a breathless pace, frustrated when temporarily hindered in their progress along the line by a slower moving dot. Other dots found it better to move forward for a while and then they’d seek to find peace by returning to familiar territory along the line. And of course, there are always those dots who having discovered a place along the line that made them feel comfortable and took up permanent residency at that point refusing to move. Dots, it seems, are a lot like humans.

 

Back to our friend, Dot. Dot was growing increasingly unsettled by his unanswered questions. As he approached others along the line he was warned, “Just stay in line. That’s the safest thing to do! We go along, to get along!”  Another kindly suggested, “Dot, remember they don’t like it when you get out of line!” Other dots grew anxious hearing Dot’s questions, and said, “Get in line. That’s what we do. That’s who we are! Your job is to walk the line!” Still another reminded him, “The line is our friend. The line keeps us safe. I’ve heard of dots who got out of line, and things didn’t end well for them.”

 

Dot continued along the line, but his dot-mind was disturbed by the answers he was receiving. Dangerously, Dot began to consider what life might be like for him if he got out of line and went exploring. The more he thought about it, the greater his level of dissatisfaction with line-life became, and his desire to jump the line into the unknown grew insatiable.

 

As the line crested yet another rolling hill of farmland, Dot made his decision. ‘Today is the day!’ he declared inwardly. Dot immediately began to look for the right opportunity, impatiently seeking the precise moment when he would change his life for better or for worse and jump the line. 
‘I don’t care what happens,’ Dot acknowledged. ‘I just have to see what is beyond the line!”

 

As they were making an abrupt turn northward, Dot seized the moment and got out of line. His little dot-heart was beating wildly as he rolled away into the unknown. He heard the calls of dots on the line warning him and trying to get him back in line, but Dot bravely entered an entirely new world.

 

“This may not end well,” Dot smiled. “And I know that I’m way out of line, but I’ve got to set my own course.”

 

And so, friends, what do we gain from the story of the line and the dot? Allow me to suggest that there are times that getting out of line is precisely the right thing to do.

 

 

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“Stop imitating the ideals and opinions of the culture around you, 
but be inwardly transformed by the Holy Spirit through a total reformation of how you think. This will empower you to discern God’s will as you live a beautiful life, satisfying and perfect in his eyes.”

Romans 12:2 The Passion Translation

 

 

Gabby's Excess

 GABBY’S EXCESS

 

 

“Is creative inspiration a spiritual experience, the manifestation of the positive mission of man? The poet may be a great sinner and fall very low, but at the moment of poetic inspiration and in the kindling of the creative spark he rises above himself and the level to which he has fallen.” 

Nicolai Berdyaev

 

Waking in a haze, Gabby immediately had two thoughts, “where am I?” and “my head is killing me.” Stumbling to her feet, she searched out the bathroom in hopes that someone would have had the foresight to leave a bottle of aspirin in it.

 

“Thank God,” she mumbled as she dry swallowed four pills in hopes of swift relief from the pounding in her head. “Now, where am I?” As the haze of delirium began to clear, she recognized that she was in a hotel suite. “But what hotel? What city?”

 

The night before, Gabby had stood center stage at the sold-out Hollywood Bowl. A stage where so many greats had performed over the decades, she sensed the presence of some of them: The Beatles, Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, Elton John, Pavarotti, and so many more – but tonight the name on the marquee that shined over Highland Avenue outside the bowl was hers – “In Concert – Gabby Gonzales.” For two and a half hours, she sang and danced, telling the occasional funny or insightful story and entertaining the 17,500 people who had been fortunate enough to snatch up tickets. Accompanied by her own band and backing vocalists, along with a portion of the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra, she held the crowd mesmerized as she sang hit after hit.

 

Far above the Bowl, God smiled. “That’s my daughter,” He said proudly to the gathered angels, “Take care of her. I’m not done with her.”

 

The crowd screamed approval demanding yet another encore. This was a night Gabby would long remember.

 

Except for this horrible headache. “Oh, man, I drank too much,” she moaned in agony retching over the toilet bowl. “Last night I’m adored by thousands, this morning I’m puking my guts out in a toilet. How far I’ve fallen.”

 

Gabby found herself on her private jet by midday flying to a little island she’d recently purchased in the western Caribbean. “It was a good deal,” she teased her always worrisome financial manager. Feeling somewhat human again midflight, she looked forward to the serenity that she always found on her island.

 

The next morning, Gabby tossed on a bikini and took an early morning swim in the warm Caribbean waters. Reinvigorated, she made her way back to her mansion to enjoy a cup of fresh brewed coffee and a plate of fresh fruit. Finishing her meal, she poured herself a second cup, grabbed her notepad and entered her music room in search of her muse and to write new music. “I’ve so very much been looking forward to this,” she told her chief of staff as she was closing the door, “I am not to be disturbed for any reason.”

 

Sitting at her custom concert grand piano, she took a few deep breaths and a couple drinks of coffee and began the process of creativity. Within a few minutes, an idea for a love song emerged and she found the melody. Two hours later, with tears running down her face, she knew that something magical, something far larger than herself and something that would touch tens of millions deeply had been created. A song now existed that didn’t exist only moments ago.

 

And God smiled, “That’s my daughter. I’m so proud of her.”

 

Time after time, Gabby would tap into a mystical power of creativity that was utterly inexplicable. “It’s grace,” she’d explain, “that’s all I can say.”

 

And time after time, Gabby would also tap into the self-destructive patterns so often associated with the creative. Excessive spending, excessive gambling, excessive drugs and alcohol. And she’d spin out of control to the point that those people who were close enough to see it despaired for her very life.

 

But then, she step back into her music room or the recording studio, or the concert stage, and magic would happen. The media reported that her music continued to get better song after song and concert after concert. But they also began to report rumors of the underbelly of her life.

 

But God smiled. “That’s my daughter. I’m so proud of her.”

 

The inevitable storm for such a person as Gabby happened. The details aren’t important, but the consequences are. Coming to, she found herself strapped to a hospital bed. Crying out for help, the nurse on duty stepped into her private room. “Ms. Gonzales, I’m your nurse, the name is Rebecca. You are in the hospital and you nearly died. But you didn’t. And I’m going to see that you don’t, at least on my shift.”

 

Gabby’s eyes grew frightened as Rebecca filled her in on the gross details of her condition, and the extraordinary efforts made by the ER doctors to save her from dying. “Sister,” Rebecca said, “You are lucky to still be here.”

 

But God smiled, “She’s my girl. She’ll be alright.”

 

As Gabby began to come to terms with what had occurred, she realized what her problem was. “God,” she began. “I’m a mess.”

 

“I know,” He replied. “What do you want to do about it?”

 

“I want to live!”

 

“You will,” He assured. “You are my daughter, and I am proud of you. I am the one who gave you the gift of music, but you are taking the gift and twisting it. Give me the gift, and you will live, and you will make music like never before.”

 

She did, and she did.

 

“Two years ago, tonight,” Gabby said to the crowd, “I nearly died from my own excessiveness.”

 

God smiled, “That’s my girl!”

 

“But that’s because I didn’t know something. I didn’t know who I belonged to. God reached down and told me that he loved me and that I was his daughter. And I believed Him. So, dear friends, if it’s okay with you, I’ve got a lot more music in me and you are going to have Gabby Gonzalez around for many years to come.”

 

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“And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, 
will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day 
when Christ Jesus returns.” 
Philippians 1:6

 ELEVATED EDDIE

 

“It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship… There are no ordinary people.” C.S. Lewis

 

The soles of Eddie’s shoes never wore out. He could wear any pair of shoes for months with little or no wear on the soles. It didn’t matter if they were sneakers, flip-flops or hard-soled leather dress shoes, the soles remained unscuffed. Of course, he’d break an occasional shoestring, and the shoes grew dirty over time, but the soles kept their out-of-the-box condition.

 

The reason is that Eddie’s feet never quite touched the ground. He went through life with just a hint of air between the ground and his feet. For Eddie gravity didn’t have the same effect as is does on most others.

 

Eddie didn’t understand how unique this characteristic was until he entered middle school. 

 

Middle school is a wicked place where differences aren’t tolerated. Soon the self-appointed gurus of popularity at Eddie’s school dictated loudly that he was a misfit. Cruelly, and without cause they taunted and tormented him with the kind of public humiliations that only early adolescents can devise. This torture was simply because of the way in which he carried himself. Walking to his locker between classes, they called out in the unison of lemmings, “Elevated Eddie! Elevated Eddie!”

 

Ostracized and eliminated from the circles of power, Eddie was shocked that many of his longtime friends were literally turning their backs away from him pretending they’d didn’t know him. His heart broke under the pressure as the confusion grew as he sought to understand what he’d done wrong to deserve this hostile treatment. 

 

The one place that Eddie felt safe was within the confines of his family home. At home, nothing had changed. His parents who were busy in their careers, found time for him and his younger siblings around the nightly dinner table. 

 

“Eddie,” his mother asked, “help me set the dinner table, okay?”

 

As they prepared the table, she’d detected a disturbance within her first-born child, “Are you okay, son?” she asked.

 

Eddie quickly filled her in on the events of the day.

 

She nodded in understanding. Smiling, she said, “I have an idea! Do you trust me?”

 

He said, “Yeah, I guess,” in that wary tone of voice that only resides in the life of a thirteen-year-old boy.

 

“Good,” she replied, “Would you get the water glasses, please?”

 

The family had gathered, Eddie’s little sister Olive insisted on praying for the meal, and the business of dinner begun. Tonight’s dinner was like nearly any other in Eddie’s household. Stories about the events of the day had been told, laughter rang out on several occasions and a couple of times harsh words were exchanged amongst the siblings. There was nothing unique about this meal, events such as this were occurring in millions of other homes simultaneously.

 

As the meal was concluding, Eddie’s mother spoke up and briefly explained to the family what had happened to her eldest at school that day. Wrapping up her remarks, she queried her family, “So, what do you think?”

 

Olive quickly volunteered her learned six-year-old opinion, “Well, I think the people at that school are just stupid. You should just turn your back on them and ignore them. I hate stupid people!”

 

Eddie smiled at his baby sister’s reply. “Thanks, sis! I’ll think about that.”

 

“Well, they are! Stupid!” she insisted.

 

Eddie’s dad spoke up, “Maybe they are, Olive, but how does that help your brother?”

 

She frowned.

 

Bryon, the usually sulking middle child spoke up, “Whatever you do, Eddie, don’t screw things up for me! I’ll be there in two years. So, be cool. Don’t blow it for me.”

 

“Son, let me ask you a question,” his mother said. “Do you know why your feet don’t touch the ground? Because it is true, they don’t. But it is important that you understand why. Do you?”

 

“She’s right, Eddie,” his dad reiterated. “Knowing the reason will provide you with the answer as to how best to deal with the situation as school. Eddie, very few people experience the lift that you experience. And for your entire life, there will be those who will give you a hard time about it. Their reasons for doing so will be varied, some will be jealous, others just want you to fit into their mold, still others will be threatened because you are different. Regardless of that, you’ve got to learn how to handle the criticism and maintain your sense of dignity and worth. And, I guess now is the time for you to face this head on. So, like you mom asked, do you know why your feet don’t touch the ground?”

 

Later that night, he’d prayed for an answer to his parent’s question. Suddenly, he sat up in bed triumphant. He’d gotten his answer and with the answer came a game plan for tomorrow.

 

Excitedly, Eddie dressed and prepared for his return to the place of great shame. Today, he noticed, the distance between the ground and shoes seemed at little greater. As he arrived on campus, the taunting began. “Elevated Eddie! Elevated Eddie!” the little tyrant’s pubescent voices echoed through across the school.

 

Eddie stopped and turned to the voices of his accusers and simply smiled. 

 

Their taunts grew louder and more as more students joined in the frey. Eddie’s smile grew and his eyes glowed in joy. 

 

When Mr. Scales, the vice principle, stepped into the hallway, the taunts ceased immediately. That isn’t entirely true, for there is always in any given American middle school that one kid who is so enraptured in the taunting but is also utterly clueless to the presence of power. Of course, he continued his taunts until he felt the cold hands of Vice Principle Scales grab his shoulder, and which point he fell silent and left a noticeable dribble in his pants from the fear he experienced.

 

Eddie continued to smile. He savored the victory over the tinny voices of public opinion for the first time in his young life.

 

Explaining what had occurred, Eddie went on while chewing his pizza that night at the family dinner table., “They were calling me ‘Elevated Eddie’ thinking that was a slam or something. But what they didn’t know is that ‘Elevated Eddie’ is a complement! I am Elevated Eddie! And it is great! I love being Elevated Eddie!”

 

“Why is that, son?” his dad asked.

 

“I’m elevated because I know something they don’t,” he replied. “I know who I am. I am a child of God, and how could I be anything but elevated? Seriously!”

 

Byron piped in, “I’m okay with that, so long as you didn’t screw things up for me when I get there, Elevated Eddie.”

 

“If I be lifted up, I will draw all men unto myself.” Jesus (John 12:32)

 

“Therefore, holy brothers and sisters, who shall in the high calling, fix your thoughts on Jesus…” Hebrews 3:1