A friend shared a story with me– years ago now– about an incident with her (how old was he at the time?) two-year-old son. She, like me, was at home with her children all day and they, like mine, enjoyed a snack from time to time.
He was, it seems, very fond of cookies. Or were they pretzels? It doesn’t matter, I suppose. What matters is that this lovely mother (who loved to give good gifts to her children) obliged her little boy and gave him not one, not two, but three of these cookies. He held one in each hand and had one (if I remember correctly) in his mouth.
What I know I remember correctly is this: she gave him the cookies, and he cried.
He did not cry, clearly, because he didn’t have what he needed: as a good mother, she took care of his needs, sometimes before he even knew he had them. Neither did he cry because he didn’t have what he wanted (witness, O Reader, in your mind’s eye the aforementioned cookies). No. He cried because he Didn’t Have The Bag.
He wanted to hold the bag of cookies. The whole bag. He did not want to be limited to the generosity– the ample generosity– he enjoyed. He wanted to control and be sure of the continued supply. He wanted it all.
I am like that. Are you?
My husband lost his job yesterday. Lenovo let go 2500 employees and he, despite his excellent and even ingenious work, was among them.
And why should he not be? Why should he not be? Why, when others are suffering similar losses, should we not be among them? Is it not right that we– who love and serve the living God who willingly reduced himself to live among us with our weakness and limitations– should also be limited, should hurt, should suffer even in this small way?
Not only that, but we have been through this before– in the dot-com implosion of 2001. It was a long road, that one. But it was a good road, too. And we were never abandoned in it for even thirty seconds together. The road of suffering– even of small suffering, I have found– can have the Very Best Company.
Nonetheless, familiar spectres rise before our vision. From the time Bill’s news fell yesterday morning, spectres swam again and again into view. Lack of health insurance, no dental insurance, possibilities of loss upon loss upon loss. And another vision still: my friend’s little boy, a cookie in each hand, crying because he isn’t holding the bag.
Here in the West, we imagine that we are holding our bags all the time. For most people in my socio-economic group, health insurance and job security are almost rights. They come amongst the trappings of the everyday. They are, in a way, The Bag.
But none of us hold the bag, really. We don’t know when the blow will come with its concomitant suffering. We can’t predict our next loss and the sudden, staggering awareness of how close we live to the edge of need.
Bill’s loss– our loss– is a new and sweet reminder that we don’t get to hold our bag. We look about us and we see so much– So Much. Our children, our friends, our marriage. Bill and I would both tell you on any day that we are among the wealthiest people we know. We are, in fact, the richest.
We have a cookie in each hand.
And Our Father is holding the bag.
