Beautiful angst …

I’ve been pondering an observation taken in this past Father’s Day. I observed how social media was awash with beautiful angst.

Expressed by countless people was the love they have — and the angst they experience — for dads, moms, and others who are no longer with us. Many stories were related about all the wonderful things dads had done while still alive, all the memories of special moments together, and a deeper understanding of just how important those lives have been to those still living.

It was a raw angst expressed in these posts, but it was a “beautiful angst.” This anguish over the absence of one so cherished causes those who remain to slow down from life’s constant rush and gain a valuable discernment about what is really important in life. It causes people to re-examine the value of relationships, and how to love, and reflect on priorities and better ways to live.

Rarely do we take time to think, to ponder, to meditate, and to pray, with the result being a gross lack of self-awareness and other awareness. The gift of angst is the deeper, richer level of discernment it drives us to. When we refuse to be thoughtful and prayerful people when given the opportunity in gentler times, the intrusion of an “angst of the soul” often forces us to finally think, and pray, and really see truth. Pastor Charles Swindoll, in his book, “Hand Me Another Brick,” tells of a similar moment experienced by a famous inventor …

Thomas Edison invented the microphone, the phonograph, the incandescent light, the storage battery, talking movies, and more than 1,000 other things. December 1914 he had worked for 10 years on a storage battery. This had greatly strained his finances. This particular evening spontaneous combustion had broken out in the film room. Within minutes all the packing compounds, celluloid for records and film, and other flammable goods were in flames. Fire companies from eight surrounding towns arrived, but the heat was so intense and the water pressure so low that the attempt to douse the flames was futile. Everything was destroyed. Edison was 67. With all his assets going up in a whoosh (although the damage exceeded two million dollars, the buildings were only insured for $238,000 because they were made of concrete and thought to be fireproof), would his spirit be broken?

The inventor’s 24-year old son, Charles, searched frantically for his father. He finally found him, calmly watching the fire, his face glowing in the reflection, his white hair blowing in the wind.

“My heart ached for him,” said Charles. “He was 67;no longer a young man;and everything was going up in flames. When he saw me, he shouted, ‘Charles, where’s your mother?’ When I told him I didn’t know, he said, ‘Find her. Bring her here. She will never see anything like this as long as she lives.'”

The next morning, Edison looked at the ruins and said, “There is great value in disaster. All our mistakes are burned up. Thank God we can start anew.”

Three weeks after the fire, Edison managed to deliver the first phonograph.

I don’t know what kind of angst you may be experiencing, but my prayer is it’s the beautiful sort that leads you to a deeper discernment in life.

Scotty