Early Morning Musings

       When the alarm goes off at 6, I'm already awake. For several minutes, I've been listening to Johanna opening dresser drawers in her room (bang), going into the bathroom (slam), and heading downstairs to start school (tromp, tromp). Eric says she inherits the early-morning noise gene from my side, and I'm sure he's right. I admire her dedication, but I probably do need to talk to her about perhaps setting out her clothes the night before.
      I slide myself out of bed as quietly as my genetics will allow, put on my cozy bathrobe, and follow Jo down to the living room. She's sitting on one couch with her vocabulary flashcards. I take the other,  with my Bible, notebook, and pen.

       I love the early morning. I love the feeling of getting a head start on the day by being awake while other people are sleeping. Part of this, I think, is my natural temperament. I feel better and think better if I'm up with the larks. Part of it is a desire for some uninterrupted quiet time. I like silence. I like to be alone, and while other people are asleep, my solitude is ensured. Unfortunately (and it pains me to admit this), part of my love for early rising is pride. I like to feel that I've won the Morning Contest. Before you say anything, I do realize that there is no such thing as a Morning Contest anywhere in the real world that exists outside of my mind. If there was, I wouldn't win anyway; I'm sure the boulangère down the street has already been up with the rising bread dough for hours by the time I pad downstairs. Nevertheless, I feel just a bit smug that I'm up before, well, before most people. In this house, anyway. If I just choose my competition carefully, it's impossible to lose.

       I have been thinking lately about how pride is so nastily entangled in my daily activities. Why am I annoyed when my child makes mistakes on the first three math problems in the lesson? Out of concern for his future, of course. Really? What sort of future am I envisioning? One in which one needs to create box-and-whisker plots and calculate the ratio of red to black marbles in the imaginary bag on a daily basis? Don't misunderstand, I truly believe that math is important, and so are writing, history, and science. But am I teaching my kids to weigh their worth in percentage points?

      Perhaps even worse, am I teaching them to measure their worth by comparison? There are certain people I don't enjoy being around. I tell myself that it is because they are always bragging about their children, their houses, their accomplishments. But is the truth that I'm afraid I don't measure up? Maybe the level of competition is too high, and I'm just looking for an excuse to transfer to an easier league.

       We are surrounded in Geneva by seriously impressive people. Hedge fund managers. Diplomats. Company presidents. Doctors who have started their own research foundations. The woman I sat next to at church last week was about half my age and she was a freelance translator (Spanish, French, English). Her husband teaches at a bilingual school. I sometimes cannot help feeling that if they could hear me speaking my sort-of French, they would snigger up their sleeves. But even the fact that I am comparing betrays that the sin is mine.

        The more I consider where this thinking leads, the more disturbing it becomes. I don't like to admit it, but in my world of accomplishments, comparisons, and percentages, a woman who bakes delicious cookies in a spotless kitchen is worthy of praise, while one who orders take-out is missing the mark. A person who can speak five languages is to be celebrated, while a person who can speak one is to be scoffed at. A child who scores a 70 on a math paper is less valuable than a child who scores a 95. If this is true, what about the woman who doesn't have a kitchen, the one sitting outside Migros hoping for some loose change? What about the elderly person from whom dementia has robbed the ability to speak coherently in any language? What about the child who isn't even born yet?

         I can rant all I want about lack of concern for the poor or the devaluing of human life. The truth is, my middle-class focus on success is at the very root of the problem. But starting right now, I am going to try to believe the truth. And I am going to try to live it.

        What is a person worth? Everything. What did we do to earn it? Nothing.

         "But now says the Lord
            he who created you, O Jacob
            he who formed you, O Israel:
          'Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
            I have called you by name, you are mine.
            . . .
          You are precious in my eyes,
          and honored, and I love you . . . ."

                     (Isaiah 43: 1, 4a)