I was hyperactive before “hyper” was a word. While this is slowly subsiding with age, I also have an attention deficit disorder. When others speak with me, I have to focus carefully because I am so easily distracted; by anything and everything. I feel like a puppy who desperately wants to “sit and stay” but then see a squirrel scamper across the yard—then it’s all over! SQUIRREL! I’ll be right back, I promise.”
Often during important meetings I realize I have no idea what has just been said. The sunlight playing off a wristwatch has stolen my attention. And when asked, “Well, what do you think about that?” I jerk my gaze from the watch to their eyes and realize I don’t have a clue. It isn’t that I’m not interested in what people have to say, it isn’t that I don’t hold them in the highest regard. It’s just that my mind wanders away without my permission. I think I might know how a narcoleptic feels falling into a deep sleep, his head hitting his chest and then suddenly jerking awake, secretly feeling for drool with the back of his hand.
Attention deficiency does have its advantages. With your attention darting to and fro it forces you to take in every detail in the room. You don’t miss out on the little things that others are too focused to observe.
Just this morning I met with a friend at a McDonald’s. We share many of the same interests and I am heavily invested in what he has to share. Because we’ve met each week for over a year, I must assume he’s grown accustomed to my spastic attempts at attention.
As we walked in together I noticed a dapper man in his eighties. He wore a wool glen plaid sports jacket over a classic v- neck sweater and sports shirt. He was well groomed, with freshly pressed trousers and polished wing-tips. You can see why he got my attention: you just don’t expect that in a fast food restaurant. His crowning piece was a spun wool, short brimmed fedora, replete with a feather in its satin headband. I smiled to myself and quietly enjoyed his sense of style.
We sipped coffee as my friend described his weekend. I was fully engaged in our conversation, although my vision darted from table to table, my radar searching for strange movement. Across the room, two teenage boys dressed in hunting apparel slumped into a booth, not speaking to one another, both concentrating solely on their breakfast.
“We have radar lock!”
My attention was captured as one of the teenagers recklessly disassembled an egg McMuffin and stuffed its ingredients between two pancakes. Now he really had my attention! Like the teacher in Charlie Brown cartoons, my friend’s conversation mutated into, “Wok wok… wok!” as I focused on the young man building a pancake tower. He slathered it with two ketchup packages, picked it up Dagwood-style then took a huge bite. The next time I glanced over, he dipped his hash browns in syrup. Can you blame me for losing my concentration? I nudged my friend, who stole a glance, chuckled, and continued his story. I intentionally refocused on my friend’s conversation, catching up quickly.
I was able to maintain my laser-like focus for a good ten, maybe fifteen seconds, when off to my right an odd motion caught my attention. I locked in on the dapper gentlemen. He had carefully pre-staged his breakfast. The plastic knife and spoon lay at his right and the fork at his left. The miniature paper napkin that once encircled the utensils was carefully folded on his lap. What was the strange movement that caught my eye? Having carefully prepared his place setting, he had lifted his fedora ever so gently from his head, held it poised above his silver hair, and bowed his head to pray—holding that position for several long moments.
I was deeply moved by his quiet act of gratefulness. This gentleman’s humble elegance spoke volumes into my spirit. In that moment, I was neither hyper nor deficit in my attention. I wasn’t struck by the man’s motions, but I was struck by the moment. God seemed to pour into my heart that He was honored by the man’s dress and demeanor. I don’t know, maybe I’m just being sappy, and I certainly don’t pretend to know the heart of that finely dressed man, but I was reminded that our outward appearance is not nearly as important as our inward condition. I admired his wardrobe, but I truly was inspired by his humble prayer.
Jesus put it this way—
“If you decide for God, living a life of God-worship, it follows that you don’t fuss about what’s on the table at mealtimes or whether the clothes in your closet are in fashion. There is far more to your life than the food you put in your stomach, more to your outer appearance than the clothes you hang on your body.”
Matthew 6:25, The Message