BEAR WITH ME [T, 6-27-23[

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith and Life for the Years of Winter—BEAR WITH ME [T, 6-27-23[

 

We had a neat Sunday morning at St. Mark’s Above the Starbucks. Folk singers Carrie Newcomer and Kid Kazooey [Kevin MacDowell] led the worship. Mental health worker Sandy brought Samson, her adorable little therapy dog. He sat in front of us, which makes any worship service perfect as far as Helen is concerned, especially since he played peek a boo with her through the openings between chairs.

Strangely, the part of the morning that I liked best started out by breaking my heart a little.

About half-way through the service, a child behind us started crying. Not loudly, but so hard, so completely. I heard a woman trying to sooth, but it wasn’t doing much good.

So, it was bear time.

I have actually thought about not carrying my bears anymore, the ones I use for just such a situation. We hardly ever go some place that we encounter a child who is having a hard day. That’s what the bears are for. Why give pocket space to bears if you don’t need them?

They are little hard rubber bears, about two and ½ inches long, an inch high. I started carrying them to use when my grandkids, now well into their 20s, had a bad day and needed a distraction.

Then I began to run into other children who were having a bad day. In a restaurant, or medical waiting room, or mall. Getting a new bear out of the blue just seems to make a day better.

I did not give the bear directly to the child. I gave it to the adult with them, at the same time explaining to the child that they should not take things from strangers but it was okay this way. It was a sideways statement of support to the adult, and also a reminder that people noticed how they were treating the child.

Even though we don’t encounter many bear-necessary situations now, old habits die hard. I automatically put three bears—black, brown, and dark brown—into my suit coat pocket as we left for church. [Three is the most I’ve ever needed at one time, and they need to be distinguishable.] [1]

My body twists only with difficulty now, but when I heard the crying, and the soothing didn’t work, I twisted far enough around to see a little boy [three? four?] sitting on his grandmother’s lap, his older sister [five?] looking at him anxiously and solicitously.

I don’t know why the little boy got to crying. Certainly not because of anything his grandma did to him; I know her. But he cried so hard, even though he was almost silent. So I reached into my pocket and pulled out two bears and gave one to each child. The crying stopped.

After the service, the children asked if they could keep the bears. I said yes. They were eager to talk about the bears and how they intend to play with them. A good Sunday morning worship experience.

I’m going to have to go bear hunting, though. I’m almost out.

John Robert McFarland

1] When we were in the airport in Montreal, we had to empty our pockets directly onto the conveyor belt for inspection. The woman behind me started laughing and had a hard time stopping. She pointed at the bears. “I just didn’t expect that,” she giggled.