The Nature of Distraction

I shouldn't have been thinking about anything else.  But I was.  I was sitting in the middle of one of the most boring sermons I have ever heard, praying for death.  Well, perhaps I exaggerate.  I was not praying for death, it's just that the mind cannot absorb more than the seat can tolerate.  I was tired of sitting.  I was tired of listening.  I had heard the same thing, oh, at least 50 times in my life.  (I am not counting the first eight years where I was just reading little church books and eating Cheerios in Mass, like every other Catholic kid.)  The sermon had no new insight - which really is the point of giving a sermon at all:  to share insight into spiritual living.

Do you wonder what I was thinking about?  Guinea pigs.  Yep.  I'm in my late 50's.  I've got two degrees in Theology.  I've visited three foreign countries... and I'm sitting in church thinking about guinea pigs.  Because that, is the the nature of distraction.  Distraction, as an enemy of spiritual-centeredness, doesn't have to be about anything important.  It just has to distract you.  That's It's job:  to take you off focus, and consequently side-line you from any spiritual progress or a focused prayer life.  Even if you are not a person of prayer, mindfulness, introspection, or contemplation, focus is tremendously important.  

When you are standing on the pitcher's mound trying to strike out the batter, you must focus.  If you are standing at home plate preparing to swing and connect with the baseball, you must focus.  "Wax on, wax off, Danielson."  It's about focus.  But it was not just about guinea pigs in general.

                                      

About 12 years ago I decided that in addition to two dogs, two cats, and a whole flock of cockatiels and lovebirds, I needed a guinea pig.  Letting me go into the pond shop in Fairmount unsupervised was a bad idea .... akin to letting an alcoholic go into the bar to "just get a ginger ale."  They had a small pen on the floor bedded with light, flaky cedar chips and sprinting around inside were a few guinea pigs.  And, clearly, I needed one.  So I bought one the color of a cottontail bunny, took her home and named her "Charity."

I had her for a few weeks when the house I had hoped to buy two years prior came back on the housing market for sale.  Things moved pretty quickly and my parents planned to come out for a weekend to do some house shopping.  I knew that I had to stash that guinea pig somewhere safe because even at my age, I would be given a lecture entitled:  "Should you really be buying a house if you are wasting money on things like guinea pigs?"  Actually long prior, I had been giving the lecture, "Should I really be not buying a house when I am wasting money for decades on RENT?!"  But, I digress.

So I reached out to my friend, let's call her Penelope, and asked her to "pig-sit" for me for the weekend.  She said she didn't know anything about guinea pigs, and that she had a cat who may not like it.  I assured her that Charity the guinea pig was very gentle, and her pet carrier could be safely housed in  her unused spare bathroom for the weekend.  I would drop the pig off on Friday night and pick her up Monday afternoon.  

The weekend came and went, and so did my parents.  They were none the wiser for my foolish guinea pig obsession and all seemed right with my world.  Temporarily.

I got in my vehicle and drove to Penelope's house and asked her how Charity had done.  I walked into the spare bathroom to see that she had moved the pet carrier onto the floor.  I lifted it up, and wondered why my little pig didn't sprint into the air like they tend to do when they get startled, which is often.  As I set the carrier onto the sink and opened the door, my friend said to me, "I went to feed her this morning and she didn't do much..." and I responded:  "... because she's dead."  

I didn't burst into tears.  I wasn't mad at my friend.  She didn't realize that something as simple as the forced air heat from the vent on the floor could chill the pig and kill it.  They are so delicate.  Or maybe my pig just missed me, after all, I was her biggest fan ever.

So there I was in the middle of a dead-end homily thinking about my guinea pig...  probably because the Bible story referenced a guy who left home to work with pigs, which was not a dream career move for sure.  

I was thinking about how stupid it is that the prices of guinea pigs have gone from $7 to about $40... and the prices of puppies have tripled ... and how it seems nobody is selling cockatiels locally or for less than $200 when I used to sell them for $35.  We can't blame this on the situation overseas.  We could possibly blame it on COVID because for the last two and a half years, people have had time to spend at home and pets make that more pleasant, at least for the children and the children-at-heart.

My intention Sunday morning when I got up and going was to "pay attention" in Church and try to focus myself spiritually.  I have, by all accounts, failed at that yet again for the umpteenth time.  But I will tell you this, if I ever get the chance to give a homily, I PROMISE it will be relevant and as insightful as I can possibly render it.  I will not take the Time or Life of people for granted.  We are here for a moment, and then we are gone.  If we all had a better grasp on that, I think we'd adjust our sails in earnest.  We would live with more purpose and intention.  We would make the words we speak matter.  

I am spending Lent studying up a bit on St. Ignatius of Loyola (founder of the Jesuit order).  And when he wrote the spiritual exercises he urged his readers to begin at the End ... to ponder their death in order to put their life into perspective.  

Today I had an opportunity to clear a slate with someone that I had exchanged a volley of unpleasantries with over a decade ago.  I haven't seen her in all that time and she looked frail to me.  I thought about how I could offer an olive branch while not rolling over on the importance of what I was arguing for back then.  (I do, trust me, have a memory like an elephant.  Forgiving may be an option, but forgetting is not possible.)  Actually even thinking of addressing the issue with her would involve timing and decorum.  I could not afford for it to re-ignite the old fire.  All of a sudden, the other person in the room with us got up and left.  There's the timing.  

I turned to her, in a softer voice and said to her, "years ago, the last time we spoke, I regret that it ended unpleasantly.  I suspect we both were under a lot of various stresses then, and I regret it." She acknowledged that a lot of time had gone by and that the past was behind us, but she said she did appreciate my words.  To be honest, I appreciated being able to get that off my chest after over a decade.  Sometimes, I'd rather be at peace than win the argument.  Maybe I am growing up.  Maybe the good sermons are inside me and I am unfair to expect anyone other than God in my heart to deliver them to me.  Maybe.

But I think I'm done with pondering guinea pigs for now... I'm pretty sure.  

I wonder if the prices on alpacas have gone down.... 

##############