Commotion

Commotion: (n) a state of confused and noisy disturbance.

“Turn down the noise.”

Wait! You can’t do that–because there is a holy proclamation to “make a joyful noise.”

Those who want things to be quiet and calm, in so doing, quell the spiritual party.

So what noise do we want to silence? Can we censor it?

Can we stop a commotion by hand-picking the sounds that will be allowed to mingle?

Should they be segregated?

Classical music over here, rock and roll over there? An accordion on a hill far away…?

What is a commotion? Commotion is the sound of something I don’t like. It’s a stirring and rumbling that is disconcerting.

It’s Grandma going to hear a rap artist, convinced that the entire atmosphere is a cacophony which could only be resolved by the second coming of Christ.

But it’s also a poor young eight-year-old having to sit in a room with a string quartet playing back-up at an oboe recital. That commotion causes him to create his own commotion.

If we’re going to only respond to needs in life based upon how loudly they scream at us, we will begin to have the mentality of an ambulance chaser … or the 24-hour news cycle.

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Clavicle

Clavicle: (n) technical term for collarbone.

He weighed eighty-five pounds.

I, on the other hand, was a hundred and ninety. We were both eleven years old, and close friends.

He loved to wrestle. He especially enjoyed doing it with me because it made him feel strong, tough and courageous to take on his massive
buddy.

Of course, I’m not gonna roll over and not wrestle (even though I guess rolling over is part of wrestling). So we would get into it.

One day, during a sleepover at his house, we were tumbling along, and he suddenly screamed out in pain. I thought he was just kidding, so I continued my vigil. But he kept squalling, and finally said, “Stop it!”

I pulled away as his mother appeared in the door, having heard the great commotion.

Well–they took him to the doctor. He had broken his clavicle. They explained to me that meant his collarbone.

It’s a design flaw.

The clavicle is a suspension bridge that goes across from one shoulder to the other, which should be thicker–maybe four lanes. But it’s pretty thin, and more like a gravel country road.

It actually breaks pretty easily. At least, that’s what my mother told me when trying to comfort my soul over hurting my friend.

His mother, on the other hand, refused to allow me to come over any more, for fear that I might snap her boy’s neck. I explained there was a difference between a neck and a collar bone. Her response was, “You’re not a doctor. What would you know?”

So whenever I hear of someone breaking his or her clavicle or collar bone, I have two thoughts deep in my heart:

  1. Ah, oh… No more fun with your friends.
  2. Can someone make that little thing stronger?

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