ReConnect: Made in Bangladesh
The chicken and pork had just come off the BBQ and now, fifteen Watsons sat in a crooked circle catching up. Our cousin was visiting from Nova Scotia, and the Ontario Watsons had gathered to welcome her to our neck of the woods. Around the circle, splintered conversations of summer plans, future travels, political prognostications, Netflix recommendations, East Coast gossip, and the art of cooking meat hung in the air alongside belly laughs and chuckles. It was your typical family summer BBQ.
Then, as happens from time to time, there was a collective lull in the conversation. To my surprise, my daughter Zoe found herself in the spotlight, the object of the entire group's attention. Someone innocently asked if she was enjoying being around the family, but her response caught us all off guard.
"Yeah, it is great being around the family, but I guess I am just a little sad today." Someone asked why that was. "Well, I have been learning about fair trade at school and I noticed the clothes I put on today were all made in Bangladesh. I guess it just makes me sad that most of the clothes we all wear are made by kids who have to work long hours for unfair pay."
I almost choked on my potato salad as the circle now sat in uncomfortable silence, everyone too stunned to know what to say. You could feel the collective itch in the room as everyone wondered what the tag on their clothes might say about where their shorts or t-shirts were made.
My oldest brother broke the silence with his annoyingly righteous "tell me more" posture of curiosity. "Tell me more about fair trade, Zoe!" he said, rescuing us from the awkward silence. Zoe regaled us all with what she had been learning, and we, in turn, praised her for her concerns, relieved she hadn't asked any of us what we were doing about fair trade. As the conversation slipped back into political conjecture and debate over which European country one should visit next, I quipped to my brother under my breath, "Zoe will learn the guilty feelings about clothes go numb over time." We both chuckled, but I immediately felt bad for uttering the words. It was an incredibly cold and cynical thing to say, even if true.
Staring at Zoe during her moment in the spotlight, I was both proud and incredibly sad. Sad because in looking at her, I could see myself. For a time, in our mid to late 20s, Kristen and I had been quite passionate about fair trade. Africa was in the spotlight back then and medicines for HIV/AIDS, debt cancellation, and fair trade were on a lot of people's minds. Kristen and I had made several trips to the continent, looking to do our part to help. At home, we searched for North American-made clothing, were frequent consumers at Ten Thousand Villages, and wouldn't even consider chocolate or coffee that wasn't marked "Fair Trade."
But somewhere between then and now, I guess I just stopped caring. And I know exactly why. Back then, it felt like there was one thing to care about: Africa. I was young and had the energy for that. With the dawn of social media, however, suddenly, there were thousands of things to care about, broadcast daily to my news feed. Compassion fatigue, cynicism, and weariness crept in. Life gets busy with duties and demands. Next thing you know, your daughter is waxing eloquently about fair trade while my mind was fixated on which hot sauce went better with the pork.
Ah, I have sinned and grown old. Truth be told, I wouldn't want to go back to my mid/late 20's, Brad. He had a messianic complex and was self-righteous, naïve, and preachy (and if you are thinking I still have those propensities, touché, but trust me, they are far more muted than they used to be). I don't want to return to that, even still, at that moment, watching Zoe teach us all about fair trade, I could see a part of myself that I had lost along the way. The part of me that cared and loved deeply.
In the book of Revelation, Jesus is addressing seven churches in Asia. To the church in Ephesus, he writes, "I know your deeds, your hard work and your perseverance . . . you have persevered and have endured hardships . . . yet I hold this against you: you have forsaken the love you had at first. Consider how far you have fallen!"
I don't think Jesus was specifically addressing middle age here, but boy, does that sound like my own experience of middle age. Hard work, perseverance over the years, even hardships, yet forsaking love. I would like to think that over the years, I have gained experience, wisdom, smarts, and a knack for discernment. Yet I worry I have forsaken love and replaced it with cynicism. These days, the human species annoys and vexes me more than it ever has. I can't think of a single cause, issue, or movement that I don't harbour some cynicism about. Even my first love, music, doesn't quite move me the way it used to. Never has moving to the country to eat me a lot of peaches while sticking my head in the sand seemed more tempting. There is a certain world-weariness about me these days.
I am probably making things sound worse than they are. I don't think I have fully succumbed to the curmudgeonly old man within me. All I know is that in that moment with Zoe, I realized I had lost a part of myself. A part of myself I needed to reconnect to. I can't imagine this means becoming a zealot for fair trade again, but at the very least, I think it worth exploring what I still actually care about and what it might look like to fan the embers of that flame.
And I don't mean this post to make us feel guilty about what we are, or are not, doing for some social justice cause. It is bigger than that. Life gets busy and stressful and hard. Most of us work and persevere through those things. Being an adult comes with duties and responsibilities. The best of us put our heads down and get to work. But things can get lost in the shuffle. Between the idealism of youth and being an adult tamed by duty, we can lose parts of ourselves in the process. Or at least, lose contact with parts of ourselves. Part of being a thoughtful adult is asking ourselves from time to time whether there may be parts of ourselves we need to reconnect to.
I have come to think that without times of introspection and pause, we won't even recognize what we may have lost. Without slow times of pause, it is easy to just keep sliding in whatever direction life seems to be taking us. We need time and intention to change course, if necessary.
Last week, our focus was on what we need from our summers to refresh and rejuvenate ourselves. This week, our focus is on what we need from our summers to reconnect with ourselves. Have we let things go that we need to reclaim? Is there a passion or interest that has sat on the back burner while we busied ourselves with the duties of life? Was there a dream or passion we let slip away? Are there people we have let go over the years, thinking we didn't need them? Friendships we have allowed to become idle? Do we even have room in our lives for anything new?
Below are our reflection questions for this week. Perhaps part of our summer rhythm is making space to take stock of what we might need to reconnect to—ourselves, others, God, creation? Give yourself the space to linger on these questions. Below them is a link to Karla's guided prayer and reflection for the week. We hope these may be an aid to you as we allow the slower pace of summer to do its work within us.
Finding Connection
1. Is there a hobby, interest, or even a part of myself I want to reconnect with this summer?
2. Who are the people I miss and am drawn to reconnect with this summer?
3. Is there space in my life for community and new connections?
Karla's Guided Reflection
https://sites.google.com/nexuschurchkw.com/nexussummerprayerguide?usp=sharing