Pain and Cynicism

“Pain is God’s megaphone to rouse a deaf world…We are like blocks of stone…The blows of His chisel…are what make us perfect.” --C.S. Lewis

Driving home from the grocery store yesterday I had to veer to the center of the road as a man was literally peeling a small dog (a Chihuahua, I think) from off of the road. A little boy was sitting on the curb, crying his eyes out.

Driving past this, I couldn’t help but think of my first dog; Rocket Ismail Timmer. Rocket was named after Raghib “Rocket” Ismail who played football for Norte Dame. My dad named the dog after Ismail because he ran two kickoffs for touchdowns against Michigan in one game (he’s a massive Michigan State fan), a feat which had never been done and might never be accomplished against Michigan again. Rocket was a beagle, and a great one at that. We often took him rabbit hunting and once watched as he tracked a rabbit down and killed it himself.

I think we got Rocket when I was about 5 or 6. I remember bits and pieces from that day. I know where we got him, on the north side of Grand Rapids, probably because dad would remind us of this every time we were near the house for years. That’s one of the few things I know for sure. I seem to remember that his name was Pete when we picked him up (we decided that Pete is not exactly a great name for a dog, hence Rocket). I also remember my parents saying that he was probably abused or neglected because of the way he acted toward people when he first lived with us: scared of hands, cowered at any raised voice, and always acted like he was about to get hit. Soon enough, though, he became a happy and well-adjusted dog who fit in very well with the family.

Five years later, Rocket ended up like the dog I saw yesterday. Hit by a garbage truck, splayed out on the asphalt like so many other family pets. The worst part was…it was completely my fault. Rocket was a good dog, but he was a young dog. He was a runner. We had to make sure our back gate was closed before we let him outside. I had mowed the lawn the night before, and the gate was left open. I never checked it when I left Rocket out. After looking for him as long as I could, mom decided it was time to go to school. A few hours later, my dad had found a message on the phone when he came home to look. Rocket had been hit a full two miles away from our house. A woman had seen the whole thing, got him from the road, and called the number on the tag. My parents never blamed me, and I never felt blamed, but I knew it was my fault.

This was really the first time in my life I had experienced that disappointment. It was a new kind of pain; something as simple as losing a dog. Up to that point, I had no family members or friends who I had lost in any meaningful way. This experience is, of course, not at all unique to me. I am sure that many people’s first real experience with loss is much greater than I could have imagined. But this was mine, and it was very real.

Thinking about this event in my life, I can’t be for sure of course, but I think it might be where I started developing a sense of cynicism (this, or my being a Cubs fan from birth). I don’t know if I am more of less cynical than the average person, but I am fairly cynical. I tend to expect to be disappointed by just about everything that is (a) new and (b) I enjoy. However, cynicism is not wholly a negative thing (too much of it is probably negative). Cynicism can be healthy. It warns us. It puts us on our guard. Cynicism teaches us to live in a world which is simply “not the way it’s supposed to be” (to borrow a phrase from a great theologian). In the end, cynicism comes from these experiences of pain. C.S. Lewis was right.

Source: http://teachingtimmer.blogspot.com/2010/08/pain-and-cynicism.html