I gave blood last Sunday. Our church does an annual blood
drive. My friend Kent attends GracePointe and is the area director who oversees
donations for the Red Cross. You know they are serious when they show up with three bloodmobiles.
It’s cold and cramped and full in there. Happy people taking
care of the bleeders, everyone part of a constant motion. I’m reclined at one
of the stations and the phlebotomist is all business. She hands me a red
rubber ball and tells me to squeeze. After my life source is flowing well I lay
back and relax and think about taking a little nap. But before I can settle in she gives me a quick glance and tells me to “keep squeezing. Keep your grip tight
or your flow will decrease.” (I didn’t know that.)
Keeping a grip gets more important all the time. My grip on
parenting, exercise and diet are in need of constant focus now. And holding on
to something gets harder with age. I remember shaking hands as a younger man
and attempting to deliver a crush in answer my friend’s iron grasp. Sometimes
I would win, other times I would succumb to his pressure. It was all in good
fun then. Now the crush has a more profound impact and the crumble is uglier.
So it comes down to just keep squeezing. What I think of as my life source amounts to staying engaged. Trying to really listen, thinking as
much as watching and respecting someone else’s journey is what creates the
flow. The “ugly” now looks alot like dogma, a lazy closed mind and an
expectation for the future based on the past. (I realize at this point I have
crossed the line where metaphor becomes corny so I will be done.)
I try and give blood once a year. I need to be reminded of
the squeeze more often.