On Loving Nature

Something about the natural world turns practical people into poets.  I marvel when others speak lofty praises about the mountains, gush about the ocean, and babble about rivers.  Is there something I’m missing?  Does my brain not fully translate the input from my eyes?

People tell me pictures and films aren’t the same as The Real Thing.  Certainly one doesn’t get the sounds and smells and feel of the place, or the full panorama and color quality.  Yet to my eyes, the Grand Canyon looks exactly like the pictures.  The experience of being there added nothing but a few photographs of my grumpy expression.  

Rivers tend to be muddy and dull, or else furious and noisy.  Their primary interest for me lies in the changes in sandbars over time and the wildlife and trees on its banks.  

Rocky mountainsides, and those sparsely forested or covered in pines, are frankly rather ugly—in an interesting way, at times, but still not much to look at.  

Hawaii was lovely, and visiting was an experience I’ll never forget, but aside from certain pre-planned events, it made sense to me to enjoy the experience from the lanai overlooking the beach; I preferred to read a book rather than sightsee, considering it was a vacation and that is the sort of activity I found most restful.  

As for the ocean, it’s just is the ocean—not unlike a gigantic lake with extra waves and inhabitants.  Its existence is a matter of fact to me, not something I naturally marvel at.  My eyes aren’t drawn irresistibly toward it; it holds no allure for me as others claim it does for them.  But then, I don’t care much for water sports, either, and I prefer mammals and wood over fish and coral.  (Who doesn’t like dolphins and whales?  But they’re nowhere near as cuddly and gorgeous as cats, domestic or otherwise.)

I think I do appreciate nature, and I’ve tried my hand at nature poems many times over. Unlike the proponents of "grand vistas" such as mountains and oceans, however, my eyes favor rolling grasslands beneath an immense sky, faintly-trodden paths in a deciduous forest, brooks and small waterfalls, and a well-tended garden.  I’ve written before about the comforting sound of rain, the textures and colors of the clouds, the ever-changing majesty of trees, the pristine beauty of a snowy landscape.  These things have more to engage the eye and appreciation, more inherent beauty.  Perhaps familiarity makes these things more precious to me, just as it makes mountains and oceans more inspiring to others.  Or perhaps it’s just a matter of taste.

Similar nature posts:

On Winter, On an Evening Sky, On a Summer Afternoon’s Walk, On Clouds, or On Art vs. Science, On Trees, On Various Thoughts on a Watery Day, On a Serene Summer Rain

On a Hairy Issue

      How often do we look in the mirror and think, "Meh, it'll do," or "Darn bedhead," and proceeded with our day giving little thought to the peculiarities of hair?  How strange that we have so little hair on the rest of our bodies, but our head hair grows continuously.  How interesting the way culture's views on hairstyle have changed over the decades and centuries, and sometimes cycled back around.  How fascinating that we gain impressions of people's personalities, cultures, and worth based on their hairstyles.  How amusing that we use hair about as much as facial features to recognize individuals.  How odd the way some people will devote hours to fiddling with their hair—daily, weekly, or for special occasions.  How contentious, the various religious perceptions regarding hair—hiding it, dressing it, cutting it in peculiar ways... something utilitarian may be seen as a hair vanity—even religious tonsure, though it poses as the opposite.
       Have you've ever examined your own "luxurious locks" (a phrase, by the way, that dates back at least to 1855).  Have you spent much time contemplating hair generally?  Coloring, curling, straightening; split ends, burning, breaking; up-dos, crew cuts, mullets (shudder); hair genetics, hair vs. fur, Guinness hair records; hair loss, hair treatments, hair as deer-repellent... and English has numerous hair idioms and expressions, not to mention the ones in other languages!  Clearly this topic has much more range for exploration and discussion than one might think.  Let your hair down and have some fun researching.

On Natural Godliness

Several thoughts crossed my mind as I read Oswald Chambers’ August 21 devotion “The Ministry of the Unnoticed” from My Utmost for His Highest.  He writes, “. . . The true character of the loveliness that speaks for God is always unnoticed by the one possessing that quality. Conscious influence is prideful and unchristian. If I wonder if I am being of any use to God, I instantly lose the beauty and the freshness of the touch of the Lord. ‘He who believes in Me . . . out of his heart will flow rivers of living water’ (John 7:38). And if I examine the outflow, I lose the touch of the Lord. …If we are conscious of our influence, it ceases to have the genuine loveliness which is characteristic of the touch of Jesus.”

I can attest to the truth of this in my own life.  Excessive introspection eventually throws off my perspective and relationship with the Lord—and thus with other people.  This happens because introspection is self-centered, not God-centered.  When I focus on God, instead, the rest (acting right) comes naturally! 

However, the Lord doesn’t always transform ingrained habits of thought overnight; in such cases we may need to keep an eye on part of our inner self until we can trust ourselves to act or react in a godly way.  I would argue further that, on a few occasions, it does help to take a step back to reflect and re-evaluate ourselves from God’s perspective, just to check that no worldly lies have crept undetected into our thinking.  Generally, though, Chambers has the right of it: we need not monitor our inner self as constantly as some do (particularly introverts such as myself).

When I first read Chambers’ words, though, I couldn’t help but think that we’re human, and from time to time we do lose touch and act out of selfishness rather than love and obedience.  If we are conscious of these mistakes, but remain unconscious when we do right, won’t this produce poor self-esteem and despair of pleasing God? 

After some contemplation, I could see that if we remain introspective and only sporadically connected with God, this could be the result.  But with the ideal relationship that Chambers refers to, our focus would return to Christ after we repent of our error.  With our eyes heavenward, we would spare no thought to ourselves, good or bad.  Our self-esteem or self-perception (when the issue comes up) would be based on who we are in Him, not what we’ve done or not done. 

For people who are deeply concerned with the minutiae of their thoughts and actions, worried whether they’re doing enough to please God, triple-checking that their behavior comes across as properly loving and godly to other people, this message is freeing and simple: don’t tie yourself in knots; love and seek and obey the Lord, letting Him fill all your vision.  Then God’s loveliness will shine naturally—and unconsciously—from you onto those you interact with, no introspection required.

“What does the Lord require of you?  To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” (Micah 6:8)

On Christians and Depression

Note: I've been planning this post since attending a mental health training seminar last year and have finally gotten around to finishing it.  :)

 

“Rejoice in the Lord always,” Paul wrote, adding, “I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content… I can do all things through him who strengthens me.” (Phil 4:4, 11b, 13).

What hopeful words!  And indeed, as Christians, we believe we have the greatest hope and helper in the world!  “What right, then,” some believers cry, “has a Christian to be depressed?  Such a person must not have been a real Christian to begin with.”  

Consider, O zealous Christian, that we live in a fallen world and that all, even the saved, are in need of grace—from God, from our fellow Man, and from ourselves.  Christ never promises a life of ease, free of pain and illness after we accept him (John 16:33), but He promises to be with us through it (Heb 13:5b).  So it is with depression.

Consider Elijah--soon after his great victory over the prophets of Baal, he fled Jezebel and became so depressed that he asked God to end his life (1 Kings 19).  Hundreds of years later, Paul wrote, "we were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself" (2 Cor 1:8). If these giants of the faith could despair, surely it is entirely possible for a believer to hope in Christ for eternity, yet find hope and love obscured in every other quarter.  The depressed Christian may even be leaning heavily on the Lord all the while; His grace may be the only thing keeping them moving from day to day.  Yet, for whatever reason, despondency persists.  Living, and the idea of "running the race" (Heb 12:1; 1 Cor 9:24), can seem a drudgery.   

(Photo by Sander van der Wel via Wikimedia)

The uninformed also need to understand that clinical depression is quite different from temporary grief or sadness.  It's deeper and more persistent, lasting months or years.  It may certainly start with the usual causes: the death of a loved one, a physical incapacitation, or some other severe trial—but it can also start simply from the common but unabated stress of responsibility and life.  It may be rooted in—or may later cause—a spiritual withdrawal from God, insecurity with one’s identity in Christ, unreasonable expectations for oneself or for other people or events, an unforgiving spirit toward oneself, unbiblical priorities, and a skewed perspective of the world that casts things in a more negative light than they deserve.  Negativity becomes habitual, creating a cycle that's hard to break and leading a depressed person to the lowering expectation that he will always feel this bad, that there's no way out.

Skeptics of clinical depression may choose at this juncture to quote Lincoln: “A man is about as happy as he makes up his mind to be.”  To a great extent, that is true; we don’t have to stick with our gut reaction to events but can consciously choose to perceive them in a more balanced way.  Unfortunately, biology may hinder our mind’s will.  It's well-documented that in clinically depressed people, neurotransmitters fail to transmit the chemicals that influence happy feelings, making it even harder to break the cycle of depression.

Mildly depressed people can certainly slog through their emotions.  They can make themselves eat healthfully, exercise, hang out with friends, pray fervently, relax with music and tasks they used to love, and try to view themselves and their failures in the light of grace.  Sometimes that’s enough to bring them back into emotional equilibrium.  But other people may still feel weighted with lead, their joy muted, especially if they don’t find much affirmation and support from the people around them, or if affirmation is counteracted by criticism from another quarter, including within themselves.  At some point, the struggle to act happy and be happy may seem too futile to continue.  The person may withdraw more and more from society, and at the worst points, a person may not have energy to do anything more than cry in bed or contemplate suicide.  

Even after hearing about the depressed state of mind, some people think censuring will benefit a depressed person!  They think all the person needs is a swift kick in the pants.  Really?  The worst things to say to such a person are “get over it” or “try harder” or “just do ___ and you’ll feel better!”  As if the solution is simple!  It’s likewise counterproductive to shame a depressed person for taking medication or not taking medication, to remind them others have it worse, or to say that they should do things they enjoy and think of happy things.  The implicit or explicit criticisms that the person is not good enough or not doing enough only reinforce the web of depression around them.

More than anything, a depressed person needs affirmation of unconditional love—from their friends and family as well as from God.  They need to hear that their loved ones know who they are, and that they value them despite their failings.  They need to be reminded of reasons to hope and live.  They also desperately need encouragement that these feelings won't last forever.  As George Washington Burnap first said about "the grand essentials to happiness," they need "something to do, something to love, and something to hope for."

Remind the depressed person of Paul's words when he was in a similar situation: "Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death. But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead. He delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will deliver us again. You also must help us by prayer, so that many will give thanks on our behalf for the blessing granted us through the prayers of many" (2 Cor 1:9-11).

If you know someone with depression, pray for them constantly and invite them to pray with you.  Keep inviting them to go out even when they turn you down, and keep visiting and letting them know you care.  Figure out their love language and give them what input they need to feel more emotionally secure.  You can care without enabling, and you can tell them specific things that bother you, but be aware that your words have power to hurt or build up (see James 3).  Be gentle with your tough love, and most of all patient.  Trust “that in all things—” including depression “—God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Rom 8:28).  "Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer” (Rom. 12:12).

On a Few New Haiku (and Senryu)

Summer means weeding. (Ugh.) And mosquitoes. (Triple ugh.) I tried to use haiku to capture this "ugh-ness":

gardening—

mosquitoes in the coolness

or heatstroke at noon

~~~

(I thought of changing this next one, but realized I liked the play on morning / mourning.)

How unfortunate!

Mosquitoes also like

morning gardens.

Recently, I stayed up past 2 am (whoops) to read a new book. I didn't finish, but burning eyes and droopy eyelids finally convinced me it was time to stop (for a few hours, anyway). That incident inspired the following two senryu:

Reading—

time suspends itself

in ambush

~~~

A new book—

such a late hour, but

only the cat snores. (And it's such a funny snore, too!)



As I was reading, one of those teeny green grasshoppery things spent some time hopping between my blanket, wall, and lamp cover. (...One quick Google search later—the creature is a leafhopper, from the family Cicadellidae.   The one I saw looks most similar to the subfamilies(?) Iassine, Empoasca, or Balclutha.) The little fellow became the mental trigger—though clearly not the subject—of the next poem: 

Drawn to the flame and

blind to the open window—

Tragically unsaved.


I wrote this next one in honor of a friend of mine. By God's grace, she turned away from substance abuse to serve Christ, and one of the turning points happened when God sent a downpour on her birthday. Ever since, she's prayed for rain on that day and looks forward to it more than any other gift. She's gotten it each year. :) I made several attempts to convey her story in haiku form, and I like this the best—in part because of the multiple meanings of "clean" (literal, idiomatic, and spiritual).

Another year clean—

she praises the Lord
for her birthday rain.

On Curiosity

As I feel my mind stagnating in routine and sitting passively during conversations, I find myself wishing I were more curious, more mentally active, able to find new and better ways of doing things and to stir stilted conversation into lively discussions.

We’ve likely all heard the benefits of retaining a child-like curiosity through adulthood: greater mental agility, greater observational and problem-solving skills, greater creativity and productivity, more innovation and dialog, improved health, more satisfaction with life, etc.  It motivates science and leads us down new and useful paths.  As Samuel Johnson wrote, “Curiosity is one of the most permanent and certain characteristics of a vigorous intellect.”

On the other hand, curiosity can also be imprudent in some circumstances.  For example, exploring dangerous places or dangerous materials, especially without caution and safeguards, may not be worth the risk.  (“Curiosity killed the cat,” after all.).  In the same way, exploring people’s secrets unnecessarily or pestering others with unwelcome questions can endanger a relationship, and being curious about evil—and particularly, entertaining thoughts that evil might be good—leads to a skewed view of morality, which becomes manifest in one’s actions.  Curiosity also becomes a problem when it lacks a purpose beyond self-interest.  As author Oliver Goldsmith put it, “A man who leaves home to mend himself and others is a philosopher; but he who goes from country to country, guided by the blind impulse of curiosity, is a vagabond.”

Put those two perspectives together, however, and we must still conclude that curiosity, in moderation, is vital—for an individual’s health and happiness, and for society’s betterment.  The question then becomes, how does one cultivate healthy curiosity?  Of course, the foundation of curiosity is asking questions.  What a simple solution, right?  Just ask more questions.  

Wrong.  An incurious person can’t even conceive the questions they could be asking!  These are the type of people who, if they notice a bridge is in an inconvenient place, they won’t think of asking “why was it built there?” or “what would it take to build a more convenient bridge?”  They stop at thinking, “How annoying.  I wish someone had thought to build over there.”

As if this habit of thinking were not difficult enough to overcome, an incurious person is easily derailed by a challenge.  Their curiosity may surface when they wonder if a translator captured an author’s meaning correctly or how to best remix separated coconut oil, but looking it up right away means they have to stop their activity or go to another room to go do it, and well, that’s just too much to ask.  Later, they tell themselves—but later never comes.  Or if it does, when their initial search turns up nothing—or just as bad, an intimidatingly long text—they decide the answer’s not worth the effort of searching further or reading on.  The same sort of thing happens in conversation when they’re halted by another person’s shyness or standoffishness.  

It would not be surprising if such fruitless (and admittedly half-hearted) efforts reinforce the person’s aversion to making future attempts to satisfy their mild curiosity; so much effort for so little gain, and there are always more pressing questions.  Those, we tell ourselves, we’ll research or ask when we have the need.  ...But will we?

Considering these obstacles, the advice “ask more questions” does little good without first changing the way a person thinks—from passive to active, from accepting what’s in front of them to wondering about what’s not, from a defeatist and timid point of view to an optimistic and persevering point of view.

To my mind, curiosity goes beyond idly trying a new recipe, visiting a museum, or pausing to examine a plant beside the sidewalk—though those actions can temporarily boost one’s overall curiosity, and that’s the sort of thing that most websites seem to recommend as a remedy to indifference and mental sluggishness.  

True curiosity, however, is having an innate, deep, and persistent interest in the things and people around us.  It’s seeing the obvious and immediately really wanting to know what’s not obvious, creating hypotheses and taking steps to test them until the truth can be confirmed.  It’s challenging the norm by wondering if it’s is right and good, and considering what might make it better.  Curiosity draws one beyond one’s usual comfort zone, sure, but its inherent strength renders comfort or complications insignificant in the desire to learn and understand (though we hope one heeds courtesy and caution).

Passion, of course, provides people with a natural curiosity about the object of that passion—and the reverse is also true: showing curiosity (natural or intentional) by exploring and trying to understand something or someone will make it more compelling, which cycles around again to increase one’s curiosity.  Interests naturally vary between individuals, but due to this connection between passion and curious investigation, an honest attempt to examine and contemplate an uninspiring subject or person often has the effect of rendering it less odious.  

Aside from studying (which if forced or fruitless can have the opposite effect of killing curiosity), are there other practical, concrete steps one can take to develop spontaneous interest, passion, and curiosity—to develop an insatiably inquiring mind?  I believe so, but regrettably, it requires an effort to make the first steps and then continuing persistence in the face of the inevitable obstacles until it becomes second-nature.  I’m a long way off from that, but wouldn't it be worth the effort?

First, the common-sense advice: keep stagnation at bay by creating, playing, praying, reading mysteries, breaking routines, building knowledge, bonding with loved ones, looking for the unfamiliar or unexpected in the mundane, and paying attention to “intricacies and sensations” while doing routine tasks.  And of course, maintaining a deep faith naturally inspires a greater interest in and curiosity about people and God’s creation.

In addition, Todd Kashdan, in an article in Experience L!fe, recommends playing 20 questions, acting the tourist in your own town, exploring yourself and revisiting your childhood passions, making new friends, trying something iffy (such as a food you haven’t tried in years but used to hate), engaging in uncertain activities—where the outcome is unknown, such as sports or making up a recipe on the spot, and searching for new ideas and perspectives.  The article makes other suggestions designed not exactly to stimulate curiosity, but to generally engage the mind, such as turning dull tasks into a game, or ameliorating hated tasks by finding three unexpected things in it.  In other words, if you make yourself a challenge, you’ll overcome boredom, and if you look for something notable, you’ll find it.

There’s much more I’d like to explore on this topic—namely, how to conceive good questions, especially in conversation—but I’ll leave you with these ideas to percolate and will address this again in a future post.  

On What's in a Name

What's in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet.

                          —Romeo and Juliet II, ii, 1-2

I wonder—how much does our name affect who we are?  A name carries strong connotations of the person it represents; our identity gets wrapped up in it—whether we identify our inner Selves more with our personal name, our nickname, our family name, or with our title, job, or label.  I wrote a bit about this perception of names in general back in May 2012.  Now I question, as others have done before me, the influence of names on who we become as a person.

Words have power.  We know that praise puffs up and name-calling demoralizes—and that people can start to internalize those labels and view them as part of their self-identities.  Does a common name make a person more likely to grow up to be common, or does a common name motivate people to strive harder and distinguish themselves from the many others who share their name?  Is a person with a unique name more likely to emphasize their uniqueness in adulthood, or does it become a handicap of sorts, making it hard to fit in or figure out who they are or want to be as an individual or in the context of society?  Does a name meaning “brave” make the bearer more likely to be brave, to live up to that name?  Does a name meaning “beloved” make the bearer feel more emotionally secure?

When asked “Who are you?  What kind of person are you?” my first response is often, “Um, I don’t know.  I’m just me.”  After thinking about it, I can list qualities—what I strive to be and how I perceive myself to be in reality, and I could identify myself as a Christian, tutor, pianist, crocheter, wife, aunt... but a short list wouldn’t quite capture who I was and have become, and a longer list would be complicated, full of exceptions and examples and self-corrections.  The most concise way to sum myself up is just to say, “I am Leanna Marie Coon.”  Get to know me, and you’ll see a piece of who I am, and that name will start to take on some of the sense, shape, and form of my reality.

On the Loss of Time

Do you ever look up at the clock and feel shocked by how much time has passed you by? Do you ever wonder how you could have run out of time to see to some important task because of the sly passage of time as you worked on some less meaningful activity?  I’ve found the answer: Time Gnomes.  

As far as I have been able to determine, time gnomes bear no relation to forest or garden gnomes, but they are distant, upper-class cousins to house gnomes, who, as you know, primarily subsist on the human emotion of frustration, which they spur on by such pranks as moving keys and important papers, and stealing socks from the laundry.  Time gnomes, however, feed on a human’s lost time: They create a telepathic link with their victim, whose mind they then infuse with an addictive, mind-numbing paralytic that makes it near impossible to stop a given task or to act on passing thoughts to do something else.  Once in the grip of blank-eyed obsession, the victim enters a kind of temporal stasis, allowing the gnome to partake of the victim’s time until this state is interrupted, at which point the victim stirs from their telepathically-induced stupor and observes that they have lost track of time.

Note: This is merely an artist's depiction of a

gnome since none has ever been seen.

Photo courtesy of pixabay.

Like all gnomes, the temporal variety are skilled at remaining out of human sight, but the result of their feeding is proof enough of their existence.  I, myself, have become their victim more often than I care to admit, especially in the past week.  I’ve noticed lapses while I studied Spanish and while I made long, unsuccessful attempts to write blog posts (which are yet unfinished), also while browsing Facebook, reading a new Kindle book, and watching a dozen episodes of Castle in one sitting (though my attacker made use of human rationalization; since I still managed to crochet while I watched, the time gnome fooled me into thinking I was not in his grip).  

Time-suck attacks may cause the victim to be late, to forget appointments, or to neglect duties, resulting in unwelcome consequences, regret, and self-castigation, but otherwise a time suck has no known side effects. Some people, in fact, find the experience occasionally relaxing. However, such a zoned-out state presents special dangers while driving or using dangerous objects, from mere embarrassment to having missed a turn-off to injury or death from inattention-related accidents. Thus, a time gnome attack must be taken seriously, especially when life and limb are in the balance.

 Time gnomes, being elusive, cannot be combated by lay persons directly.  The best defenses against their insidious attacks are planning one’s day realistically and specifically, ensuring regular interaction with other people, playing lively music, talking to oneself, and using multiple daily alarms on a phone or other device to jolt oneself out of a time gnome’s grip just before important appointments or tasks.  Ideally, one will build up a mental discipline so as to notice when a time gnome begins an attack and then may take steps to remain alert and unaffected.
              Now that you are armed with this knowledge, I wish you good luck. We all need it.