I spent much of Today thrashing the hedges. It took some time, because I wanted to give them a proper thrasing, and at eight to ten feet tall, they were much bigger than me. And they were bristling with that badly contained rebellion so common to feral shrubs. My allies, the hedge trimmer (mortal enemy of all things hedgy) and a number of other sharp edged tools, helped me out a great deal, but the whole process was pretty laborious and consequently took forever. The redeeming feature of these circumstances was that I had plenty of time to think.
Here is an example:
How am I going to get these stupid things to look level? The ground is like a bloody sine function. Hey, ducklings. The pond is very green. I need to write a blog post sometime. I could write about ducklings. No, writing about work is no good. Too boring. But Dad said that one can make a good story out of ANYTHING... even though I argued at the time, it kind of makes a little bit of sense, possibly...
Okay, I could tie a string to that post and then to the telephone pole, and measure about 7 feet on each one. Whoa, sparrow. And then - 'nother sparrow - try not to hack through the line.
... RRRGH! #$*%@ string! Why is it so thin? Okay, what am I doing? I have all this time to think. I should write a poem right now. In my head. Then I can have something to post. What comes to mind? Uh...
...plants?
As of now, I call this workthink: the kind of thinking that one does when one is engaged in labor which fails to capture the majority of one's attention. I think most people that work alone for long periods of time experience it. And it's pretty valuable, if you use it right. The above bit is impure workthink; cutting the hedges required a bit too much of my working memory to allow a poem to form, or a useful idea for my story, but pure workthink is golden. It's a tiny bit like getting paid to write. (Woot!) Even if it's all written in my head.
Therefore, it is my privilege to inform everyone that Sooner or Later, I'll be painting fences, and the number of writerly thoughts in my brainbox should increase dramatically. Stay tuned!
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
Tree Frogs and Waterflame
I want to start light and positive, but things will get serious pretty quickly. Here we go.
Little things are great. Maybe you've read Neil Pasricha's books of Awesome, and you have a heightened appreciation of the good little things in life. Maybe you've thought up of a lot of them on your own. Maybe you are Neil Pasricha. (If somehow it is you, Neil, I love page 85 of the Book of Even More Awesome.)
I've been thinking about little things a lot lately. I'm talking about things like the way frogs croak like crazy on spring nights, and the color green, and getting a coffee from a kind co-worker in the morning (or giving a coffee to a co-worker). I think there's a whole internet subculture - ok, no, a bunch of tribes grouped under one bigger subculture - related to the noticing and writing about Awesome Little Things. The internet is the branch I'm thinking about, mainly. There are groups of Facebookers. (Think the 'like' pages.) Forums are full of this stuff, too. So are blogs. And it's great. Awesome even. Because big awesome things don't happen as often as little awesome things, and we like that extra zip in our days - the tiny connections that we form with others when we share those experiences.
But I was wondering - how do we deal with this as Christians? Christianity is primarily about the big awesome thing: Jesus' death and resurrection. Being happy about stepping on really crunchy leaves (for example) is just so different from being joyful about the results of God's plan. See where I'm going with this? The two extremes are not incompatible, but...it's hard to focus on big things when most of your time is spent enjoying little things.
I'm guilty here. I love the little things - the finishing touches to life that make you realize that God is fully engaged with his creation - so much. Finding treefrogs in the garden. This song by Waterflame. Painting the last board on a fence. Making a nice girl laugh. You know? I spend a lot of life zoomed in, thinking about those things. But I can't grasp the enormity of salvation. I have a feeling this is more common. Christians know that God loves his people and sent his son to die for us. I've heard ministers talk about this as 'head knowledge.' Too bad head knowledge isn't terribly motivating. We need heart knowledge too - some thankfulness should be inspired by God's love for us. It has to mean something to us. Christianity is a kind of response.
I think we do feel thankful most of the time. I do. But for me, it's always related to other blessings, like that beautiful day yesterday, or the nice drive home, or a good talk with a friend. Basically, I get meaning and emotion from the less important things in life. They are important in a way, of course, but they pale in comparison to Christ's sacrifice on the cross. What if us seekers of little awesome things lost many of them? Do we depend on them too much? Maybe more of us get meaning from the less important places. Maybe this whole "little awesome things" move is kind of overrated. I don't want to abandon it. I don't know if writing is even possible without it. But I want to really feel the huge-ness of God's grace! I can't settle for head knowledge, and I won't settle for only the little awesome things.
Though treefrogs and Waterflame are indeed awesome, the One who made them must be a lot more so. And his Son's death (and resurrection) has got to be more important. For Christians, things are out of wack when it is easy to tell a complete stranger about our love for the cold side of the pillow but difficult to articulate our feelings about God. Actually, how do we feel about God, in comparison, say, to a free cup of coffee on a Monday morning? That should be an easy question to answer, but when we commit to total honesty and substitute other little awesome things for that cup of coffee, maybe it's not.
Thoughts?
Little things are great. Maybe you've read Neil Pasricha's books of Awesome, and you have a heightened appreciation of the good little things in life. Maybe you've thought up of a lot of them on your own. Maybe you are Neil Pasricha. (If somehow it is you, Neil, I love page 85 of the Book of Even More Awesome.)
I've been thinking about little things a lot lately. I'm talking about things like the way frogs croak like crazy on spring nights, and the color green, and getting a coffee from a kind co-worker in the morning (or giving a coffee to a co-worker). I think there's a whole internet subculture - ok, no, a bunch of tribes grouped under one bigger subculture - related to the noticing and writing about Awesome Little Things. The internet is the branch I'm thinking about, mainly. There are groups of Facebookers. (Think the 'like' pages.) Forums are full of this stuff, too. So are blogs. And it's great. Awesome even. Because big awesome things don't happen as often as little awesome things, and we like that extra zip in our days - the tiny connections that we form with others when we share those experiences.
But I was wondering - how do we deal with this as Christians? Christianity is primarily about the big awesome thing: Jesus' death and resurrection. Being happy about stepping on really crunchy leaves (for example) is just so different from being joyful about the results of God's plan. See where I'm going with this? The two extremes are not incompatible, but...it's hard to focus on big things when most of your time is spent enjoying little things.
I'm guilty here. I love the little things - the finishing touches to life that make you realize that God is fully engaged with his creation - so much. Finding treefrogs in the garden. This song by Waterflame. Painting the last board on a fence. Making a nice girl laugh. You know? I spend a lot of life zoomed in, thinking about those things. But I can't grasp the enormity of salvation. I have a feeling this is more common. Christians know that God loves his people and sent his son to die for us. I've heard ministers talk about this as 'head knowledge.' Too bad head knowledge isn't terribly motivating. We need heart knowledge too - some thankfulness should be inspired by God's love for us. It has to mean something to us. Christianity is a kind of response.
I think we do feel thankful most of the time. I do. But for me, it's always related to other blessings, like that beautiful day yesterday, or the nice drive home, or a good talk with a friend. Basically, I get meaning and emotion from the less important things in life. They are important in a way, of course, but they pale in comparison to Christ's sacrifice on the cross. What if us seekers of little awesome things lost many of them? Do we depend on them too much? Maybe more of us get meaning from the less important places. Maybe this whole "little awesome things" move is kind of overrated. I don't want to abandon it. I don't know if writing is even possible without it. But I want to really feel the huge-ness of God's grace! I can't settle for head knowledge, and I won't settle for only the little awesome things.
Though treefrogs and Waterflame are indeed awesome, the One who made them must be a lot more so. And his Son's death (and resurrection) has got to be more important. For Christians, things are out of wack when it is easy to tell a complete stranger about our love for the cold side of the pillow but difficult to articulate our feelings about God. Actually, how do we feel about God, in comparison, say, to a free cup of coffee on a Monday morning? That should be an easy question to answer, but when we commit to total honesty and substitute other little awesome things for that cup of coffee, maybe it's not.
Thoughts?
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