Black and White

This post is another that has languished for more than a week on the composing screen, so the time references are off.

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This is not about the best book for babies at three months of age.  The little board book Black on White has been nominated for that.  I bought it for my first grandbaby, and he liked it OK.

Neither is this about race.  In skin tones, black or white or a mix are just fine with me.  Or about photography.  No categorical preferences for color or black and white to expound on here either.

Nor is it about fashion.  Ever since I heard that contrast is all the rage in sweater-and-dress combinations, and lighter and darker hues of the same color are definitely out, I've noted that this necessitates a lot of black and white in either dresses (or skirts) and sweaters (or tops). I'm thumbing my nose at this bit of received truth and am not rushing to any black and white clothing racks or fabric tables.

This is about ideas.  I thought about the matter on Sunday when Oren, in a sermon from 1 John 2 pointed out that John made some really black and white statements there.  Yet, he was a loving and well-loved disciple, not known in the gospels primarily for cut-and-dried, controversial pronouncements, but compassion instead.

I wish I could remember what Oren said several months ago about people who see the world in black and white.  I don't think it was meant to be a compliment, but neither was it an unkind put-down. It was part of a message about working together when differences are present, and part of a plea for extending grace to people who see the world in black and white.  He's probably talking about people like me, I thought.  I think though it's a mistake to confuse certainty with seeing the world in black and white.  And I was off--busy processing a line of thinking that I'm not sure Oren ever intended.

Some of us arrive at black and white (certainty) only after traveling a long, gray, winding, torturous path.  In the middle of such experiences, the world looks mostly gray, with black and white shining through only after a lot of searching and tumult.  We greet those moments of black and white clarity with joy, and love to share what we've seen.  We know, though, that not everyone is much interested, so we try to be as brief as possible, distilling the matter to its essentials, skipping all the gray we've waded through, and hoping that by minimizing the time required to read, we can entice people to read long enough to understand.  It is a cruel irony that this act of consideration on our part often comes across as cut-and-dried, black-and-white, with zero shades of gray.

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Today at school I spent a good part of the day preparing for a lecture in Home Environment class tomorrow in which I will highlight the main ideas from Patterns of Home:  The Ten Essentials of Enduring Design by Max Jacobson, Murray Silverstein, and Barbara Winslow.   The book draws on A Pattern Language, a classic volume on all kinds of essential principles for designing cities and kitchen cupboards, and a host of things between these two.

I've read the Patterns of Home book multiple times and browsed A Pattern Language often.  It's been three or four years though since I studied these things thoroughly.  Today I blinked back tears as I read and took notes.  Why?  Because I was remembering again where I learned some of what I believe about creating a secure, welcoming, and nurturing environment at home and at school--and I was remembering how utterly helpless I've sometimes felt in trying to convey those ideas.  Today I saw again how beautiful and right those patterns are and how much is lost when they're ignored.

The patterns are the "black and white" of what I believe about enduring design.  While not exhaustive, they represent the distillation of many pages and years of wanderings through gray areas.  It is within the framework of a few black and white reference points that the gray areas take form and contribute to an energizing, dynamic, satisfying environment.  I see in this process a parallel to what happened when God created the world, changing it from a formless void into an orderly world, through a series of  "black and white" separations, and by introducing new and distinctive forms and beings, crafting a home perfectly suited  for human habitation.  Enter Adam.  In him God instilled the capacity and desire to create.  By this, God insured that even in a later spoiled world, black and white could be found beneath deep layers and thick clouds of gray, and when "certainty" appeared, it could be cherished and not despised.

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Today, of all days, I overheard a student ask rhetorically (or was it conversationally?) "Have you ever thought of how much a school is like a prison?"  Why, yes.  Yes I have.

Nobody would say that if every aspect of schools were designed as thoughtfully as they ought to be--in goals, in programs, and in physical structures.

I swallowed hard and didn't say a word.