Monday, June 7, 2010

Flump

Have you ever noticed that only children and dogs can flump? Somehow they turn their whole body to jelly and deposit themselves firmly yet gently on the ground. Flump! It’s similar to dropping an armful of laundry on the ground; it just seems to softly plop into a pile. When I try to do that I certainly do not flump. I crunch, crack, or crash. I wonder if it is simply age or has something to do with innocence.

Flumping looks so relaxing, so carefree. It’s really too bad that we adults are denied the flump. Can’t you just imagine getting done with a long stressful meeting, going back to your desk and flumping? You would allow the cares of the moment to drain from your body while simultaneously expressing your utter exhaustion. My son can express a range of moods while flumping: exhaustion, exasperation, frustration, and even anger. Alas, flumping is denied to me. When I try, I flop.

The problem with flopping is it is too stiff. A stiff fall accelerates. Acceleration is bad. If I were to flop after a stressful meeting, I am certain that my chair would not survive. The chair wouldn’t flump either, it would crash or crunch or both. Why am I so certain? I have attempted to flump before and have flopped. I was at my parent’s house. My son, my wife and I were playing on the guest bed. My son was laughing at me as I went for an exasperated flump. As a result, there is a new bed frame in that room.

My dog is the flump-master. He jumps up on some piece of furniture and sniffs it. Then he circles twice and collapses into a neat pile. His truly amazing mastery allows him to simulate something between a mound of laundry and a puddle of water. Like laundry or water you can gather it up and deposit it elsewhere. What you cannot do is push it. Pushing on something flumped causes it to ooze around whatever you are shoving with and spring back into place when the pressure ceases. You can literally move 98 percent of my persistent pup's body only to have it dribble right back into place when you stop pushing.

Children have similar talents. Have you ever been holding a recalcitrant child’s hand when they decide to flump? Somehow that little body you are leading from the candy isle has put on 42 pounds and turned to the consistency of cooked spaghetti. Either the child’s hand is yanked from your own or he is left dangling, suspended like a hanged man, slowly rotating in the wind as his head lolls to one side. You try to pull the miscreant to his feat and say, “Stand up.” The only response is a cut of his eyes towards you and the continued spaghetti emulation.

Adults do flump in one way though. We can flump spiritually. We decide that we are where we should be and puddle in place. Then when a pastor or even God himself tries to push us along we refuse to move. We dangle spiritually. It often takes a total shift in our world before we get moving again. God picks us up and turns our world upside down.

I’ve spiritually flumped before, but now I am determined not to let myself become that relaxed. I want to charge forward, to keep chasing after God, and win the race he’s set for me.

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