Community sense

Habits That Heal

Mark R. Wenger

Our dog Vinny needs to have his coat trimmed from time to time. He’s a Cockapoo—a mix of Cocker Spaniel and Poodle—but without papers. He is an indoor dog, a member of the family for five years now, beloved as only dogs can be for their genuine and undying affection.

Last year we discovered that periodic trips to the groomer had traumatized Vinny. Since then we’ve experimented with several alternative groomers, even those who say they are good with difficult dogs. For naught. Our docile dog goes wild, disintegrating into a snapping, jumping, and whining beast when being clipped. At least one groomer said she wouldn’t work with him again unless he is sedated.

Running out of non-medical options, we bought an electric trimmer at Wal-Mart for a do-it-yourself job. I’ve never given anyone a haircut, much less to a dog traumatized by such events. Kathy held Vinny gently on a kitchen counter; I went to work with the clippers.

It took a bit to get the hang of it, but we soon were making ragged progress on his back, sides and even head. Then it was time to do his legs. Things deteriorated in a hurry. Try as we might, he just didn’t want us clipping his lower legs and feet. He tried to bite me repeatedly. I didn’t take kindly to this behavior. We kept trying. Treats to distract, compliments to encourage, scoldings to show who was boss.

We finally quit. It had been about ninety minutes; I’d had more than enough. Not only was Vinny unhappy, I had joined him in the land of traumatized. “I’m never doing that again,” I vowed. “We’re going to either find someone who will sedate him for grooming—or get rid of the dog!”

I sat down quite defeated. I had missed my evening walk along the Mill Stream to take on this onerous task. By habit as much as anything, I dragged myself and Vinny out the door for a two-mile hike together. If I was going, he was coming along like it or not!
The amazing thing is that by the end of the walk, my attitude toward Vinny and the grooming—about life as a whole, it seemed—had changed. I came back sweaty and smiling. “You know, Kathy,” I said, “I’ve changed my mind. I am willing to try it again the next time he needs to be trimmed.”

I am fascinated how certain regular practices—habits, traditions, rituals—have the capacity to help re-
order life when chaos threatens. Sometimes these habits enable us merely to survive when things fall apart. Many patterned behaviors seem to carry within them the graceful capacity to heal and restore a sense of balance to life.

Clearly that’s not the case with all habits. Some habits are bad, destructive to oneself and others. I’m thinking here of addictions, grasping appetites, and obsessions: the friend who is an alcoholic; the young woman who can’t break from an abusive relationship; the man who can’t control his fascination with pornographic images.

The line between destructive and healthful habits isn’t always easy to see, especially in ourselves. It seems to me that one key test is whether the habit reflects love of God, love of neighbor, and care for the self. Another test is whether the habit contributes balance to a multi-faceted life or becomes a pathological center of gravity sucking all of life into its clutches.

While acknowledging the reality of destructive habits, I’d rather focus here on the plus-quality of habits and traditions. My healing-hike after Vinny’s unpleasant grooming is a simple example, even metaphor, of what I’m talking about. These habits practiced over time wear life-giving patterns and contours into our lives. The activities themselves eventually form and nourish us much like a stream both molds and feeds the surrounding landscape.

Habits of Recreation

I think of four overlapping categories of healing habits. The first are habits of recreation. In his latest book, Hannah’s Child (Eerdmans, 2010), Stanley Hauerwas tells of discovering by chance a way to deal with the stress of his wife’s illness. He began to run.

The more ill she became, the farther I ran. . . . I would run no matter how hot or cold it might be. I would run no matter how hard it might be raining or snowing. I once ran when the wind chill factor was forty-seven below zero. I was determined that (my son) Adam would survive. I was determined that I would survive. I ran, and somehow we survived. (p. 150) 

Not all recreational habits are so sweaty and dogged. Recreation can be filling-in the daily crossword puzzle with a mug of coffee in hand. Or tending a garden, pulling weeds, harvesting flowers or fruit in a ritualized daily or weekly rhythm. Playing a musical instrument or singing is another habitual balm for the soul. Hobbies of many kinds have little profit or utility by standard cost-benefit analysis. But many people recount the joy of collecting, tinkering, attending theater, and playing a game.

Routine Rituals

A second kind healing habit I call routine rituals. These are the little things that pattern a day or a weekend. Some people lay out their clothes the night before. Boarding school taught me to make my bed. I have unlearned this habit since I’m married, but I’m grateful that Kathy keeps the tradition alive. Our neighbors go out for breakfast with their grade school children every Saturday morning.

Somebody has done a study finding evidence that if you kiss your spouse every morning, you have fewer accidents on the way to work, fewer days off sick, and live about five years longer. Eating three meals a day, getting seven-eight hours of sleep a night, flossing and brushing your teeth, balancing the checking account once a week. Such small routines can help us prepare for and recover from the craziness life throws our way.

Habits of Relationship

A third category is habits of relationship. For many years I have met weekly, most every Thursday morning with a pastor friend. We talk about our work, our families, our lives. There’s a lot of belly aching and laughter; occasionally there are tears. We pray together at the close of the hour. I once pooh-poohed the fall ritual of hunting.

Although its not part of my relational repertoire, I’ve come to admire the memories and deep friendships I see formed in hunting camps.
There is no end to the health-giving relational habits: clubs and choirs, Curves and “Cheers,” the places where they know your name and are glad you came.

Habits of Religion

Habits of religion are a final type of healing ritual. These are practices in which we practice paying attention to God. Marcus J. Borg has a chapter entitled “The Heart of the Matter: Practice” in his book The Heart of Christianity (HarperSanFrancisco, 2003) His goal in this chapter is to describe and promote religious practices or habits that nourish human life and form Christian identity. He writes,

By practice, I mean all the things that Christians do together and individually as a way of paying attention to God. They include being part of a Christian community, a church and taking part in its life together as a community. They include worship, Christian formation, collective deeds of hospitality and compassion . . . They include devotional disciplines, especially prayer and spending time with the Bible. And they include loving what God loves through the practices of compassion and justice in the world. (p. 189)

None of these healing habits—recreation, routine, relationship, and religion—is a panacea. But in a culture of high velocity change, information overload, and frenetic mobility, these practices help to anchor the soul in patterns and rhythms that help to steady us, develop resilience or recover our balance. We slow down, we listen, we repeat, we are shaped, and we are nourished.
—Mark R. Wenger, Lancaster, Pennsylvania, is Director of Pastoral Studies for Eastern Mennonite Seminary at Lancaster.