Trip to the Zoo

Warning - what follows may not be for the faint of heart or those with weak constitutions!

So, our family headed off to the zoo the other day.  I am always torn about the ethical implications of zoos. Some of the habitats are so small it just seems wrong to keep the animals all penned up.  Then again, conservation efforts are more successful when we can see animals up close and some of the more entree prone creatures (I'm looking at you Mr. Antelope) just might have a longer life-span within the friendly confines of the zoo.

On this particular day I successfully repressed my moral quandaries and joined my wife and kids on a trek to see all that nature had to offer.  At the far end of the zoo was a large complex devoted to primates, the not-so distant cousins of we human beings.  "Let's go check it out," my wife and I suggested.  The kids did not seem that excited about our impeding family reunion.  But, being the outstanding parents that we are, my wife and I chose the path of least resistance and told them that we were going to the primate house because...because...we said so.  Yeah, because we said so!  Being the outstanding children that they are, my kids complied in body while leaving their spirits back with the elephants.

The primate house is in a big building.  The animals have indoor and outdoor areas in which they can play, eat, just hang out or do their business.  Our zoo has a large gorilla population so we went inside and proceeded to watch the young gorillas leap and fly all over their habitat.  My two youngest children loved it (so did my teenage daughter, but she was never going to let me see her enjoying herself).  This was such a great family moment, my wife, our kids, and hyper-active primates.  If ever there was a Norman Rockwell moment, this was it.

Then it happened.  An adult female gorilla was sitting with her back to us.  Suddenly, she turned herself around, looked directly at my oldest daughter and myself, and then promptly vomited into the palm of her hand.  Then, before we had time to experience the appropriate amount of disgust, the gorilla began to eat that which she had just regurgitated.  Welcome to the primate house, humans!

I am happy to report that neither my daughter or myself lost out own lunch (but for a few seconds it was close). After the initial shock wore off we wondered if the gorilla was sick (mentally and physically).  We started to look around for an employee to tell them about the problem, but could find none.  It was at this point that I decided to do what all good middle-class Americans do when we can't report a problem to the authorities - we opted to flee the scene.  Unfortunately, my youngest kids, who had not witnessed the gorilla enjoying its own version of fast food, were having too much fun watching the juvenile gorillas to leave.

I returned my attention to the female gorilla who was still sitting in the same place, only a new group of people were standing in front of her.  Once again, she looked them in eye then regurgitated her regurgitation.  This family was not as discrete as my daughter and I and started freaking out, which of course drew my two youngest over to see what was up.  When they saw the gorilla eating its own vomit they started screaming.  You can't plan this kind of family fun, dear reader.  Some gifts just come your way by chance.

Because the gorilla's actions involved bodily emissions my kids really did not want to leave, hoping to see the animal puke in its hand again.  The gorilla did not disappoint.  By now it began to dawn on me that this gorilla may not have been physically ill, or even that mentally unbalanced.  On the contrary, the look in her eyes convinced me that she knew what she was doing.  You want a show, I'll give you a show!  Having fun at the zoo now?  Make sure you stop for a snack on your way out!

Yes, I believe that the gorilla was messing with us.  Whether she was doing this out of boredom, frustration, or because she needed some professional psychological help is not clear.  What was apparent was that the one in control of the situation was on the side of the glass with all of the other gorillas.  I was the primate on display, the one held captive by the whims and gag reflexes of this gorilla.  She knew it, even before I did.

Control can be really deceptive.  You might think you have it, only to discover that it was just an illusion.  The ability to walk upright and create zoos (with gift stores and over-priced food vendors) does not mean that we humans are really in control.  God gave us stewardship over this earth and with that comes some influence over other parts of creation.  But it is not absolute or universal.  We are not God, even if we think we are.  To remind us of this fact God has conveniently given us a few reality checks including upchucking gorillas. 

That to me is the most important function zoos can play. In the midst of the artificial environments we create, in spite of our best efforts to control our world, we come face to face with the simple truth that we cannot make the creation do what we want.  We can guide it, nudge it, even sedate it, but if the gorilla wants to puke in her hand as a sign of independence then she is going to do it.  All we can do is watch.  Or walk away.  Most of us with small children will be forced to watch even though we really want to walk away.

Thank you, Ms. I-will-eat-my-own-vomit-just-to-gross-you-out Gorilla.  You may have churned my stomach and put me off my dinner, but you taught me an important lesson - stay away form the primate house!

God's iPod

I am an iPod voyeurist.  I am completely and utterer fascinated by what music people have on their iPod (or MP3 player or phone or whatever other device they use to play music).  Before you call the cops I have never done anything about this obsession other than occasionally ask close friends what they are listening to.  Ok, maybe I have also inquired about the playlist of a few acquaintances...and perhaps once or twice approached a complete stranger.  But I have it under control.  Really.
It does not matter what the person looks like or what they are doing while listening to music, I am interested in what they have flowing through their headphones (or earbuds).  Last night a man in his late fifties was walking by my house.  He still had on his work uniform (looked like he worked for an auto repair shop) and was moving at a moderate pace.  I so wanted to run up to him and ask what he was listening to.  But I didn't.  Instead I sat there, watching him walk by, imagining.  Was it country?  Soft rock?  Folk?  Or, and this is the romantic in me, was he blasting through some Black Sabbath or Iron Maiden?  I hope so.  Justin Bieber would just be so very, very wrong.
My greatest temptation is stopping a runner and asking them what gets them moving.  See, I hate running.  Put me on a field or a court playing a sport and I am happy to run till I drop (which takes much less time than it used to).  But to run just to run, well, I think I would rather have a root canal.  Without pain medication.  Thus, I am fascinated by people who actually do run.  Most of them listen to music while they run and I want to know what it is.  Maybe it will help me get out there and pound the pavement.  Then again, maybe it won't.  I still want to know.
What music people listen to can tell you a lot about the person.  Not everything mind you.  My oldest daughter's iPod is filled with music from my iTunes library.  One day she asked me to put some songs on and I agreed, with one condition.  She had to listen to every song in its entirety the first time it played, even if she did not like it.  She did (or at least she told me she did.  Teenagers don't lie, right?)  Even if the music is not of their choosing that can tell you something about the person and who their friends are.
Music also tells stories.  Songs get tied to events in our lives and form a soundtrack that is unique to each person.  The song Ironic brings back powerful memories for me - October 1996, it is morning and I am sitting in the airport in Amsterdam.  We just arrived a few hours ago from Nairobi (we left Kenya at midnight).  I was tired, cold, and could not wait for my next flight because my wife and I were headed home to introduce our brand new baby girl to her family.  I had not heard any new western music in over a year and the first song I heard (and saw, it was a video) was Ironic.  Everytime I hear that song I feel cold, tired and excited.
The playlist I really want to listen to, however, is God's.  I imagine that over eternity God has mixed up a little (I would.  How many times can you listen to Thriller before it just gets old?)  but I want the original.  I want to know what God was listening to when God created the universe.  Sure, some of you might argue that there was no music yet, but we don't know that.  Besides, I do most of my creative work with tunes blasting and so why not God?  Just think about it.  The moment before anything existed, right before the Big Bang, God flips on the iPod and out comes....
Oh, the possibilities! Was it something classical?  Perhaps Motown (the Queen of Soul?)  Queen's We Will Rock You?  Or something that we have not even heard yet?  That playlist, those songs, imagine what they could tell us about the character and nature of God.  And the memories of those moments of creation. 
So, if you have nothing better to do on a warm summer weekend, ponder what God was listening to.  Don't be afraid to show your own personal bias.  And, if you wish, share your thoughts with the rest of us.  Because, as an iPod voyeurist, I really want to know what you are listening to as well.

Stewards or Control Freaks

We live in a suburb. A middle-class suburb to be exact. As with any community there are sights and sounds that help you identify where you are. In the suburb, in summer, it is the sight of people working in their yards and the sounds of lawn mowers and weed trimmers. From 8 ish in the morning (don't want to wake the neighbors) till after sunset our subdivision is filled with the roar and hum of lawn care. Keeping the grass and weeds knocked down is a good thing. I for one do not relish the thought of being ambushed by some wild animal lurking in the tall grass when I go to take the trash out. So I have no issue with the mowing per se, it is the trimming that raises some questions. Why do those of us who live in the suburb feel the need to edge and hedge and manicure our lawns? Will something really, really bad happen to us if the grass does not stand at a 90 degree angle to the sidewalk?

My wife and I lived in Kenya for three years. They have grass there, and weeds. They too see the value in not having wild animals stalking them in their own front yards. Their solution is goats. The goats eat the grass in the yard. While they are eating they return to the soil a rich deposit of goat droppings, thus fertilizing the grass. And the best part? When the time comes they eat the goat. Try doing that with your John Deer! (BTW, roasted goat meat is very good). The downside is that goats don't really get into trimming or edging. Thus, the yards lack that suburban manicured feel.

Christians believe that God has made us, humans, stewards of the creation. It's God's world, we have to take care of it. Yet we, humans, have a bad habit of wanting to be the owners of this world rather than stewards. I wonder sometimes, what the suburban obsession with manicured lawns says about our relationship to God. Are we being good (perhaps OCD) stewards of the creation? Or does our attempt to make our yards so neat and orderly reflect a desire to control "our" world? I don't know. Just something to think about. I have to go now, the trimmer is calling.