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.

On New Neighbors

In the frontier days, neighbors had no one to rely on but each other, and dangers were numerous.  Most folks with sense made a point of getting to know each other and forming communities that, if not quite tightly-knit, knew each other by face and name, with a few extra particulars thrown in.  Today, we have the police and EMTs a phone call away, and family who are now conveniently accessible by plane, train, and automobile.  I daresay we are no less busy than our forefathers who saw to their work without the time-saving aids of modern conveniences, but we are more private, more self- or family-focused, and the sense of community in most neighborhoods has diminished.  These days, the polite thing seems to be to give neighbors privacy rather than to potentially inconvenience them or embarrass oneself by putting oneself forward to initiate a relationship.  Still, there’s an old-fashioned part of my mind that thinks neighbors ought to know each other, at least to a basic extent.

                Traditionally, and according to most etiquette manuals I’ve found, it’s the task of the existing neighbors to take the initiative to greet the new neighbor.  Naturally, one ought to wait until the hubbub of moving day ends.  A person may then may wave and walk over when the new neighbors are in the yard to briefly offer an introduction, note which house he or she owns, and mention who else is in the household.  Alternately, a more formal or extroverted sort of person might bring a gift up to the front door, often involving food such as bread or cookies; the newbies are probably tired and may not have unpacked much of their kitchen supplies.  Unfortunately, allergies and other dietary restrictions may make that an awkward gift, so some websites brilliantly recommend giving the newcomers a little neighborhood cheat-sheet giving details about mail, waste pick-up, groceries, shopping, churches, and the like.  I would add, since it’s so easy to forget neighbors’ names, that a new neighbor should give the newcomers their name in writing—attached to the gift or on a business card or welcome note.

                But what is one to do when a month or two passes and nobody in the neighborhood comes by to say “welcome”?  Such is the case with us.  I’ve met only one neighbor, whom I’ve seen out frequently to smoke and let her dogs out, and I was the one who stepped toward her and extended my hand.  Through the introduction, I found out that three others live with her in that two-room half of a duplex, but I’ve only waved to those others from afar, and I don’t know their names.  As for the neighbors on all other sides, our lifestyles are such that we see each other come and go from our windows, but we are never outside at the same time or in such a condition as to make a spontaneous introduction natural and welcome. 

                I keep thinking that sometime we should go around to doors to introduce ourselves.  But going without a gift would make me feel awkward and without an excuse for visiting (even though wanting an introduction is an excuse).  Going with food or something else could be awkward in other ways.  And what if they’re not home?  Do we slip a note in the mailbox or try again... and again?  Joel and I had an excuse not to step out while we adjusted furniture and sorted boxes, but now that we’re settled, we’ve fallen into our routines of work and chores, and time goes on as we apply ourselves to personal pursuits.  Self-doubt and shyness provide convenient excuses to closet ourselves away from public eyes, except for walks for one’s health or to the grocery store.  We have a sense that we belong in our yards, our sidewalks, but who are we to trespass and approach the front door of a stranger’s home? 

I feel that greeting the neighbors is a “must” for politeness’s sake, but then I think back on other experiences, when our reception was initially polite, but then the other party didn’t follow up on invitations and showed reluctance to even to wave hello and goodbye on the way between their house and car.  The potential relationship grew ever more distant and awkward, and my desire to make further invitations to them or other strangers dwindles each time they're deflected or forgotten in the nebulous “someday” or the unfulfilled promise of “I’ll let you know.”  Of course, we’ve had experience with truly friendly neighbors, as well, and we have increasing enjoyment in entertaining family and church family and gaming friends . . . but with strangers, even though (or perhaps especially since) they're neighbors, we feel that acute concern of being a nuisance or unwelcome, which makes us draw back from initiating contact.  

“One of these days”—I hope sooner rather than later—I’ll get off my posterior, out of my comfort zone, and go a’calling with Joel.  It's the right thing to do.  But for now, I hide in my sitting room and type, musing about neighborliness that I'm too cowardly and lazy to practice.

On Various Thoughts on a Watery Day

                I watch the steady fall of rain outside our sitting room windows, listening to Hildegard von Bingen and feeling supremely content.  Both windows are lifted open for the entertainment of the cats, there being no wind to speak of to dash water into the house.  I pray the rain is falling just as abundantly—if not more so—on the fields, which need all the help they can get.

                Crocheting projects litter my desk in various states of completion, but I sit in my armchair, my new side table at hand, wondering whether to make a pot of tea.  I’ve been indulging in six cups a day lately: my pot, using two tea bags, makes three cups, and the bags can be reused to make a second pot if I time it right.  I find the second steeping often tastes better than the first.  I bring a little tablespoon measuring cup along to the sitting room so I don’t have to make the trip into the kitchen for my French vanilla creamer when I pour a new mug of tea.  With the assistance of that mild stimulant, I’ve been able to accomplish a number of tasks on my computer—never at the speed I’d prefer, but some progress is better than none.

                Long moments pass as I enjoy the sound of rain and mediate on what more to write, discarding most thoughts—the inevitable, indomitable weeds; my cats’ continuing tension and partial truce with each other; my novel- and memoir-writing dilemmas . . . Thunder interrupts my musings, rumbling with comforting authority.  Katie doesn’t seem to agree with that assessment—she jumps up from under my petting hand and flees the room.  The rain grows heavier, becoming like an ever-moving, sheer white veil over objects in the distance.  I see that our drain pipe near the front steps is clogged; water spills over the top of the gutter rather than pouring out below—one of the many little repairs we’re finding our new house needs. 

                We have a busy weekend with family before us, but for once in a long while, we don’t have to prepare the Sunday School lesson.  Even the church choir music has already been printed and compiled to be given to the pianists Sunday so they may begin practicing for the succeeding week’s first practice.  Thus I find my only obligations are those I’ve imposed on myself—or that God leads me toward—and that is a very lovely feeling, indeed!  I would that everyone gave themselves the luxury of such an enjoyable stay-cation each year.  Alas that it’s not always possible, but forgive me if I allow myself to enjoy this whimsical, wonderful, watery day.

On Aurelius and God

A friend recently posted the following quote on Facebook, which got me thinking:

Aurelius’ theory is laid out rather logically, but a few moments’ consideration reveals some underlying assumptions that cast doubt on his conclusion.

First, virtue or goodness, unless defined by a sole authority, is a moving target; one’s culture, upbringing, and personal perspectives affect what an individual perceives as most “virtuous.”  For example, in a dilemma, is it more virtuous to do what is better for one’s family or for one’s country?  Is it more virtuous to lie to keep the peace or to never lie at all?  Is it more virtuous to tolerate rude people or to encourage them toward more considerate behavior?  Is it ever virtuous to kill to save one or more lives?  Is collaboration virtuous, or is it plagiarism and immoral—or is it amoral?  Is it more virtuous to obey the law or to obey one’s conscience or one’s God?  A person can find many such situations—some small, some large—and the answer will vary according to the individual asked.

Would any decent judge allow the one on trial to define what is good or virtuous?  Of course not!  Would a judge write off a defendant’s crimes if that person did his or her best otherwise?  That wouldn’t be fair!  Humans are masters at justifying all manner of atrocities, from a childish prank to genocide.  Thus, regarding Aurelius’s first premise, presuming there is a God, and presuming that Being is just, won’t that same justice require Him to judge a person as welcome or not according to one unchanging standard—not an individual’s best effort or a fuzzy definition of “a good life”?  

Following this line of thought, still working under the assumption of the existence of a just God or gods, we’re left wondering what Heaven’s unchanging standard is.  The world’s gods and pantheons each have their own, often conflicting, standards for human conduct and virtue.  Obviously, a person can’t follow them all.  Moreover, many faiths state that a person’s eternal welcome depends not on (or not solely on) virtue, but on whether that person welcomed and was devoted to God in his or her mortal life.

Considering all this, it seems clear that Aurelius’ first premise, and thus his conclusion, are unsound, based on assumptions about the character of the gods and Man’s understanding of “virtue.”  Only in a few faiths (e.g. the Greco-Roman pantheon) would Aurelius’ gamble on living a good life pay off in all potential outcomes.  In others faiths, such as Christianity, Judaism, and Islam (and others I don’t know well enough to include with certainty), choosing to live a virtuous life without devotion to God is the same as rejecting God and rejecting eternal safety. 

Since all people must choose to worship something or nothing, I reckon a person gambles a lot if they follow Aurelius’s advice.  After death, should that person discover God is real and just and judges according to faith, that person would fail the test of following Him.  Thus, each person must consider and choose whom to worship (or not) wisely lest God does exist and He someday says to us, “Why did you give up seeking me?  Why did you reject me?  Now I must honor your decision; you are not welcome in Heaven with me.” 

It is daunting to think of examining the world’s many beliefs and forms of unbelief—to determine whether any are plausible, and then whether the most plausible one merits devoting a lifetime to it—devotion based on faith in something no human can prove or disprove (empirically, at least).  Considering the stakes—eternity—surely it’s worth it to keep searching for Truth our whole lives, not being satisfied with simply living "a good life."  And if found, surely one should follow the Truth to the Source and devote oneself to it. 

Of course, my readers know from my previous posts that I believe the Truth to be Jesus Christ.  I continue to examine that faith and compare it with others, but none have persuaded me against Him. The most persuasive argument against Jesus Christ is actually my own selfishness that doesn’t want to submit to any authority but my own will, and that’s a foolishly short-sighed basis for a decision with such potentially dire—or wonderful—consequences that will last for a literal eternity. 

On Mental Associations

What a wonder is the human brain!  It can think linearly and episodically, making marvelous leaps between information and memory to come to novel topics or conclusions—sometimes wrong, sometimes irrelevant, but at times, brilliant.  The brain has invented wonders, created beauty, and discovered criminals--in between forgetting friends' birthdays and being unable to forget that one annoying song...

Consider this line of thought: Passion—verve—"a little late for trimming the verge, don’t you think?”—Gandalf—pointy hat—the sorting cap from Hogwarts—Hog’s Head—a medieval roast boar with an apple in its mouth—basting—when’s lunch?—tea time—French vanilla creamer—toast—weddings—white...

Without looking, can you remember what idea I started with?  How about the fifth item?  It wouldn't be strange for a conversation to canvass these topics—and for one of the interlocutors to have forgotten a thought or two they'd wanted to share as they listened to their fellows. No wonder people have trouble concentrating and remembering and reasoning if our brains won't focus long enough to do a thorough, logical job—and yet we manage to make sense, somehow (to varying extents), and we still manage to function in society and in the workplace, and to do those wonderful things mentioned above.

It’s something to think on.

On Oneness

“. . . that they may be one just as We are one . . .” (John 17:22).

I never thought much on the idea of oneness with God until a year or two ago.  Since then, I’ve noticed it cropping up in a lot of places--in my devotionals, my Bible readings, our pastor’s sermons, casual conversation, even the essays I help students revise.  A few repetitions is a neat coincidence.  Constant reiteration is more likely a sign that God really wants me to get and apply this concept.

So what does it mean to “be one”?  

With other humans, complete oneness is impossible; we are in separate bodies, thinking separate thoughts from separate points of view, often working in separate places.  Thus, human oneness is nonliteral, more about emotional intimacy, sharing time and lives as with a married couple or family or close friends, until the individuals know each other well enough that they’re on the same “wavelength” or at least know how to work smoothly together.

However, in context with our omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent God, whose Holy Spirit indwells us, this ideal state of “oneness” is far more literal.  Reaching that point is a matter of seeking God wholeheartedly during every waking moment, trusting God’s promises and character, completely dying to Self, surrendering our own desires and goals and thoughts so that we may see people and circumstances with God’s perspective and then act on His prompting rather than on our human sympathy or assumptions.  To understand oneness, we may consider ourselves a branch grafted onto the vine of Jesus (John 15:5), and as such, should aim to become so thoroughly and naturally connected that we don’t know where our Self starts and Jesus begins.  

photo from Chaumette Winery, on Flickr

Unfortunately, no one’s perfect this side of Heaven where the curse of sin remains.  It takes time for any graft to take secure hold, and our willfulness, circumstances, and other factors may prevent us from truly becoming one with God.  Even when close to oneness, we widen cracks at the grafting point any time we choose to act on our own whims and assert our own will, moving contrary to the Vine.  To remain one, we must grow and move at God’s pace.  Sometimes this requires the discipline of doing nothing—remaining still, waiting, listening, or learning—before acting so that we may move in God’s way and God’s timing.  At other times, it requires the discipline of instant obedience when we feel led to do something uncomfortable before the opportunity passes. Regular obedience makes us more sensitive to His direction, but our free will remains, and we don’t always make good use of it.  

How we react to a damaged relationship with the Vine is vital to our health as a branch, as well as to the amount and quality of our fruit.  The revelation of a break in our connection to the Vine is not the time to despair of oneness and go do our own thing, but a time to seek healing.  Whether we notice the separation hidden in our center or whether it forms a jarringly obvious crack in our surface life, we need to repair the connection at once; we must be repentant and then request—and allow—our Master Gardener to mend us.  

Because of my fallibility, attaining and maintaining oneness with God takes work--constant vigilance, readiness, and willingness.  It takes actively setting aside my plans, my preferences, my perspective each morning—and any other time during the day when I try to assert my own will.  It takes being immersed in God’s Word, in prayer, and in fellowship with the Body of Christ even when—or especially when—I’m not “in the mood.”  I’m not there yet, and I still catch myself seeking God for self-improvement or for the peace that comes from spiritual balance rather than for God Himself.  But our awe-inspiring, loving, fearsome, mysterious God deserves my whole heart, not a corner of it.  To be truly one with Him, I must try, try again, be it seven times or seven times seventy (thousand) times.  I want to produce good fruit, and when my earthly life ends--although I am not always willing to do and be what it takes to receive God’s praise—I hope to improve so that I may hear Him say “Well done, good and faithful servant.”  

My Gardener and I have our work cut out for us.  

....How’s your connection to the Vine?

On Emotional Neutralism (and our new house)

        When we finally bought a house, I expected to feel elated, overwhelmed, eager, and perhaps a bit terrified.  Now that it's actually happened, I certainly feel eager to move in, overwhelmed by the work we must accomplish before we may do so, and if not terrified, at least mildly concerned about our future finances and home maintenance issues.  Elation has yet to come.  Satisfaction, yes.  Pleasure, definitely.  Gratitude, of course.  Euphoria... not so much.  It's as though all the searching and preparation and inspections and waiting boiled that high emotion down to "Okay, that's finally done.  What's next on the agenda?"

our new house

        I don't think my lack of enthusiasm reflects the house's suitability.  The work to be done could understandably have dampened it a bit, but a part of me wonders if something's wrong with me not to have taken just a moment when we received the keys to jump up and down like a little girl presented with her very own pony--performed in some private corner of my mind if not for all the world to see.  But then I ask myself, is there any particular way a person "should" feel in such a circumstance?  I don't feel depressed or disappointed by any means.  Why should I be dissatisfied with neutral emotions?

        This leads me to consider my--and indeed, our culture's--fixation on happiness.  Consider the inclusion of "happiness" in Jefferson's list of Man's inalienable rights, our culture's fixation on the importance of the individual on par with--or sometimes above that of family or community, and the Sixties' attitude of "if it feels good, do it."  These and more have unquestionably trickled down to the latest generations as a sense of entitlement for instant gratification and constant happiness.  An insidious voice within us whispers, "If I'm not happy, life is unfair; something's wrong with me; I must need a change."  The consequences of such thoughts need not be enumerated; we see them all around us, perhaps even in our own lives.
        Attitudes at the other extreme are similarly erroneous--"embrace and seek out pain; it builds character," "if you're happy, you're being selfish," or "it's wrong and worldly to enjoy material pleasures."  Did not God give us the material world to provide for our needs and give us cause to glorify God?  Did not God equip us with emotions?  Did not Solomon write, "There is nothing better for a person than that he should eat and drink and find enjoyment in his toil. This also, I saw, is from the hand of God, for apart from him who can eat or who can have enjoyment?" (Ecclesiastes 2:24-25 ESV).  Does not the Law boil down into the two great commandments to love God and love our neighbor?  And true love is never begrudging or fully unhappy.  
        I must conclude, then, that happiness is neither evil nor the ultimate Good toward which a person can aspire.  If a person is happy, enjoy it.  If a person is unhappy, this too shall pass.  And if a person is emotionally neutral, why frown because of it?  One need not feel an emotional high to praise God sincerely--whether for the blessings of a comfortable house, nourishment, work, family and friends, one's mental and physical faculties, or God's goodness, all of which He deserves.
        Emotional neutrality strikes me as producing the most sensible, steady, and satisfying enjoyment of life, as well as enabling a person to be the most useful to God and neighbors without the extremes of depression and rejection of God, or of hyper-emotionalism and off-putting behaviors.  So if I feel neutral about this ginormous milestone in our adult life, so what?  I'll take it.

On the Lure of Paper

            What is it about the smell and feel and look of paper that appeals so strong to my sense of aesthetics and my materialistic desires?  I can scarcely pass the office supply sections of a store without lingering and admiring their stock.  I have more than enough notebooks, plenty of cheap mechanical pencils, a range of lovely colored pencils, an array of patterned paper, a set of calligraphy pens and ink—yet I must always resist the impulse to buy more. 

            Is it their pristine newness?  Is my subconscious nostalgic about the pleasure of new materials at the start of a school year?  Is it the therapeutic sensation of writing that I look forward to? 

My affection (or affectation?) does not only extend to fresh, unblemished paper.  I hold antique paper in a kind of awe, whether displays of the ancient Dead Sea Scrolls or music books a mere century old.  And on paper of any age, I admire both the swirl of an elegant hand and the crisp type of a printer or typewriter.  I would wince at their loss, but I confess I feel no such attachment to abused papers--those that have been poorly treated, creased and covered in eraser marks and poor handwriting.  Destroying once-beautiful papers seems tantamount to a crime, but after the initial sorrow, practicality sets in; assuming the content of the text has no value, I can generally toss them without a second thought.

Certainly from an environmental standpoint, paper is inefficient and unnecessarily consumes natural resources.  Why not convert entirely to electronic documents that we can edit and delete without waste, and that we may view and share without cutting down trees?  Well, I do value and use electronic forms of writing.  Indeed, the smooth feel of a keyboard and the rhythmic clack of keys as words appear like magic on the screen before me has an allure of its own.  That doesn’t stop me from admiring a tidy sheaf of paper or a classic, leather-bound notebook.  Simply put, electronic books will never capture the smell and feel of paper--the tactile experience and joy of writing and reading.

 
            Am I bonkers, or have you felt this, as well?  Add your thoughts about paper in the comments below.

On a Pickle Jar: An Allegory

“Nnnngh!  Errgh!”  

Mia relaxed her grip on the dill pickle jar, panting.  Why did the canning process have to make food nearly inaccessible?  She sighed and flipped long brown hair out of her eyes and back over her shoulder.  As she began again to fruitlessly twist at the lid of the jar, her husband Henry came into the kitchen.  Spying her efforts, he aborted his walk toward the coffeemaker.  

“Hey, hon--you shoulda asked me t’ help.”  He stretched out his hands toward the jar, but Mia pulled it back.  

“I’ve got this,” she insisted with a polite but pointed glance.

“Um, alright,” Henry said doubtfully, dropping his hands and watching his wife renew her attack on the lid.  “But you know that brand’s always a bit too tight for you.  I could get it off in a couple seconds.”

“Maybe.”

After several more seconds of Mia grunting and Henry watching, he stepped aside to rummage in a drawer.  A moment later, he produced a round rubber jar opener and held it out.  

Mia relaxed her death grip on the metal lid, exhaled an annoyed breath of air, and considered the tool for a moment.  “Thanks, but I’ll get this soon.”  

“Come on--your hands have gotta be sore.  Use it.  It could help.”

She didn’t respond, but gritted her teeth and tried again to wrest the lid from its jar.  Henry sighed and set the jar opener on the blue laminate countertop.  When next she took a breather, she grimaced and swiped the rubber tool.  She tried again with the padded, grippy layer now between her hand and its quarry.  Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to make much of a difference.  It was as though some genius had used superglue on the lid.

“How about you let me…”

“No.  There’s something else I can try first.”

As Mia fetched a butter knife from the silverware drawer one-handed, Henry said, “I get that you want to be independent, but there’s nothing wrong with asking for help when you need it.  It doesn’t mean you’re incapable or incompetent.”

“Look, thanks, but I’m fine.”  Without looking at her husband, she set the jar on the counter and held the knife by the blade and whacked the heavy handle onto the lid, a few centimeters apart all the way around.  Henry shook his head and poured himself some coffee, trying to ignore the banging.  Then he leaned his backside against the countertop to wait and see if Mia would need to borrow his muscles.  She twisted her arm and hunched almost in half in her efforts to loosen the lid.  

Henry bit his lips so he wouldn’t laugh.  When she paused, he cleared his throat.  

“Why don’t you let me try before you starve, huh?”

“I wouldn’t starve,” Mia said, rolling her eyes.  “I could eat something else.”

“Yeah, but you love pickles.  Come on--give it here.”

“Ahhhhhh,” she exhaled.  “Fine.”  She thrust the jar out at Henry.  He set his coffee mug behind him on the counter and took the recalcitrant jar.  With a relatively minimal amount of effort, he twisted, and a sucking pop heralded his success.

“Great, I got it!” Mia said, immediately taking the jar back and cheerfully exchanging the lid for the fork the she had laid out on the counter.  

“You mean I got it,” Henry corrected her.  

“Pff.  It’s not like you did much when I was having trouble.  I did the work to loosen it.  I’d’ve gotten it, myself, in a minute.”

“You don’t know that.  Come on, how about a ‘thank you’?”

Mia fluttered her eyes at Henry.  “Thanks, dearie.”  Then she ignored him and speared a pickle.

Henry sighed.  “You’re welcome.”  He took the remainder of his coffee back to his office and left Mia to her crunchy, vinegary bliss.

Are you ever like Mia?  How often is God like Henry here--in “the wings,” waiting for us to ask Him for help?  Do we ignore Him, or discount His ability to help?  How often do we refuse to submit what we can’t handle to Him--and when He helps, how often do we claim the credit?  Consider this story the next time you feel overwhelmed and wonder why you haven’t yet been able to handle it yourself.