Practices

 I am interested in practices. I don’t intend to use the word in a mysterious or profound way.

I make it a practice to get up before the house wakes up and spend some time drinking coffee and thinking. I make it a practice to walk in the woods.

I had a teacher who made it a practice to read a passage of ancient Greek every day. My grandfather, who hated banks, made it a practice to pay cash. He was not wealthy, but he would not buy anything on credit, a fact that astonished car dealers.

Small, habitual behaviors can be telling. My grandmother had little education but read two newspapers every day and could tell you the name of every member of the school board and city council and how they were likely to vote. I realized what a difference that small practice of reading a newspaper made years later, when I was asked by a prominent physician if Texas were having an election. It was indeed Election Day.

The flummoxed doctor was a wise and learned man, but his practice of medicine focused his attention. He concentrated on one thing to the exclusion of others. Practices are like that.

As I get older, I’m less interested in accounts that people give of their religious or spiritual lives. I’m more interested in their practices.