In Memory of Robin Williams
As we entered his classroom, Professor Whipp grinned at us. Just as we finished settling in, placing our backpacks on the floor, our notebooks on our desks, he beckoned us to leave.
“Come,” he said, “Follow me.”
photo credit: cliff1066™ via photopin cc
And out we went onto the University of Nebraska-Lincoln’s wide campus one pleasant fall morning. Our professor shuffled quickly, his shoulders hunched forward as usual. Professor Whipp’s physical appearance was somewhere between gangly and rubbery. It was as if he didn’t want to be noticed. He was like the embodiment of a whisper.
“You’ll see,” he said, glancing backward. “You’ll see!” After about ten minutes of walking, he stopped.
He stopped at the edge of a grassy hill whose rounded top served as a platform for a sculpture. I don’t know the name of the sculptor or the sculpture, which is just as well because of how utterly nondescript it was. I do remember that it was bronze and stood about seven feet high. It was vaguely, very vaguely, in the shape of a boot, broad enough that you couldn’t reach your arms around it. Its texture was rough, like someone had rubbed a rag on wet cement and it dried that way.
Dr. Whipp took a few steps up the hill, stopped again. And that’s when Professor Whipp did a peculiar thing. H looked up toward the bronze and bowed. He did this with what appeared to be great feeling. He took a knee and kept bowing.
Finally he stood up and turned to us. “I believe in showing reverence to that which I do not understand.”
It was one of those moments when you didn’t know whether to laugh at the hilarity of this odd event or cry at the beauty of the moment. Most of us just stared at him. And then we looked at the sculpture too.
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We spend so much time trying to figure things out. If you do creative work, you know what I’m talking about. You try to figure out what you need to do to make good art, to make a good life, to make meaning from the chaos.
We writers and publishers try to figure out what makes a book sell, what gets a book published, how to get a book on the New York Times bestseller list.
We try to figure out why brilliant people kill themselves.
Let me suggest that we make some space for deliberately not trying to figure things out. Let me ask that you find something to wonder about today. Notice something mysterious or awe-inspiring. And then bow.
Show reverence to that which you do not understand.
Some introspective thoughts that arose while reading this blog-post…
I know my purposes for writing are two-fold: 1. Expressing the passions God raises in my heart
and 2. Time spent working on my passions brings me closer to the passion-giver Himself
No matter what, I know I can’t lose by writing. But it’s amazing how easily I lose track of these facts and start believing I’m doing it to legitimize myself in the eyes of others (possibly because I’m a very new writer). Whenever I’m actually writing, the reasons why are so apparent I don’t even need to think about them. It’s only afterwards when I look at what I’ve “created” that pride poisons my thoughts and spoils the work.
The grindstone removes the rust which so easily settles between the cracks in our souls.
Chad Allen, thanks so much for faithfully posting on this blog. It’s been a true encouragement!
You’re welcome, Brennan. Keep writing!
Chad everything you say is insptring beyond words’ it surface the writer in me despite my doubts I recognize that I can write, if I put my mind ,love to it.
Beautifully put, Chad. I enjoyed meeting you at the OCW Conference and appreciate your help with the Revell editor. Thanks for all the good advice. I’m following it and am enjoying the blogs. Today I led my 91 year old father to the Lord. He was very hostile toward Christianity all his life, but God changed things in His unusual way, creating circumstances that led to this moment. That is what I’m wondering about today, seeing God’s precise timing and sensitivity to our needs. Ginni Kennedy
What a great example! Love it. I enjoyed meeting you too, Ginni!
Loved this post so much. And as I work at UNL (I’m an editorial assistant at the Center for Great Plains Studies and have my MA in history from UNL) I will have to venture onto campus one day soon and find that sculpture!
Not sure the sculpture is still there, Melissa, but if memory serves the hill was just north of the music building, a little east of the Architecture Hall. Thanks for commenting. Always nice to hear from a fellow Husker!
Chad, such a great point about not worrying about figuring everything out. There are some things we simply can’t find the answer to!
Wow. So powerful, Thanks, Chad. Will definitely do that today – and many days after, I hope.
As I grow older, I am learning the beauty of leaving some things unanswered.