Last time I wrote about going through a door and shutting it behind you. Now I want to take my reader through just one particular door: one which is, by convention, almost always shut behind the entrant. This week I'm in the bathroom, a place where - with the possible exception of mothers of toddlers - one is usually alone.
I want to draw your attention to two common household items often found there. The first one is a mirror, the prime function of which is to reflect a near-perfect image of the one looking into it. The prime function of the second item, a sponge, is to soak something up, usually water or soap, hopefully in order later to discharge its contents in the course of washing a body. Unfortunately the second stage of this operation is not essential, as can sometimes be discovered on cleaning the bathroom, when a sponge might be found somewhere inconvenient in a cold and saturated condition!
I think it will be readily agreed that these two are opposites, in that one is hard while the other soft; the function of one is both instant and constant while that of the other is delayed and finite. They have one thing in common, however, in that they can teach us something about human relationships.
If, in your childhood, you read Revd. Charles Kingsley's book The Water Babies - or had it read to you - while you may have, like me, forgotten the plot completely, the names of two characters will surely come to mind: Mrs Do-as-you-would-be-done-by and Mrs Be-done-by-as-you-did. Considering the vocation of the author, it won't surprise you that these have a biblical foundation, to be found in Jesus' teaching on active goodness and mercy in Matthew 7:9-12.
My bathroom-based reminder focuses on just one tiny aspect of this very broad topic. Suppose you meet someone whom you know quite well, but not intimately. You might well greet them with, "Hello, how are you?" or, "How do you do?" To either of these an acceptable social response is to repeat the question, which achieves nothing for either party. Sometimes a brief answer is offered, such as "Fine, thanks" or "Not too bad.", which again convey very little, and often terminate the exchange. If you know the person a little better, you might enquire, "This is a pleasant surprise, what brings you here?" Here, now, is a direct question that demands an answer. The nature of that answer will depend on all manner of things, most of which will be determined by the circumstances, feelings, demeanour or other inclination of the one giving it. There might be a dismissive, "nothing special." or at the other extreme the enquiry might prompt a lengthy explanation that could, in turn, lead to expressions of sympathy or practical advice. You will probably notice how the shorter sentences are colder and crisp like a mirror, while the final lengthy example more closely resembles the sponge's absorbing and discharging properties.
The descriptions above are very much given from the point of view of the confident initiator of the exchange. Suppose though, you are - whether by nature, or as a result of particular circumstance - going into this encounter in a more timid or fragile condition. You might not want to enter into any conversation at that time, or with that particular person. You might not wish to appear impolite, so prepare one of the short crisp rebuffs and respond, breaking your journey as little as possible <acting like a mirror>. At the extreme, you might ignore the enquiry completely, not stop and say nothing at all <acting like a broken mirror!>. At the opposite end of the spectrum, you might be pleased with the encounter, feel that this is just the person to whom you could unburden your situation or problem and you're delighted that they have greeted you in a way that invites your, perhaps lengthy, explanation. <acting like a sponge> If you continue your unburdening beyond the point where the enquirer would dearly love to move on, then perhaps your attitude could be likened to the cold, saturated sponge on the bathroom floor!
Somewhere in the midst of these examples is another scenario. You're the more vulnerable of the two, but you draw up from the depths the courage and confidence to speak first. "Hello, how are you?", you ask, hoping - perhaps, based on your knowledge of the other person, expecting - that the answer will be, "Fine, thanks ... and you?", which gives you the 'in' to an unburdening.
In a short piece like this, I'm not seeking to assign 'right' or 'wrong' labels to any of these behaviours. I'm simply suggesting that there are many different ways of meeting friends and acquaintances, and that they may vary between the same two people from one time to another ... and that we all ponder, regarding both ourselves and those we meet, "am I a mirror or a sponge today?"
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