Getting to Know Our Planet

I love nature, and I think my appreciation for it has grown during this academic year.  God uses it to speak and connect with me, to help me understand Him better.  When I realized we would be studying nature poetry as a class, I was thrilled!  This poem was not quite what I expected, but it made for an interesting read.

First, some things I enjoyed or appreciated about the text:

I really loved the similarities between Lucretius' "On the Nature of the Universe", and this poem -- even in the title.  As Lucretius reported to Venus, Hass reported the "state of the planet" to Lucretius, being careful to explain things that Lucretius might not understand, and drawing analogies from his time period.  It was clever. 

I also liked how this poet presented his work in such a way that I felt it was being thought out as I read.  Somehow, I didn't feel that this was a polished and re-polished work (although I'm sure it was), I felt like it was a list of thoughts in the order that they might occur, sometimes flowing, sometimes bouncing back and forth. 

I enjoyed Hass' way of writing in that he seemed to take the reader on a journey, from a stopped car on a rainy day to a Mexican desert, to a world of atoms, several other places, and back.  It's an artistic style I'd like to try to emulate.


Some questions I had about this text:

I had trouble with this quote:

"It must be a gift of evolution that humans
Can't sustain wonder.  We'd never have gotten up
From our knees if we could.  But soon enough
We'd have fashioned sexy little earrings from the feathers,
Highlighted our cheekbones by rubbings from the rock,
And made a spear from the sinewey wood of the tree." 

I'm not sure what Hass means by sustaining wonder, and getting up off our knees.  I think I somewhat understand the part about designing things from nature, but I'm not sure how it relates to the first three lines. 

"In the years since, we've gotten
Even better at relentless simplification, but it's taken
Until our time for it to crowd out, savagely, the rest
Of life.  No use to rail against our curiosity and greed.
They keep us awake.  And are, for all their fury
And their urgency, compatible with intelligent restraint."

I think I need some help with the above quote as well.  I have the most trouble with "relentless simplification" and "compatible with intelligent restraint."


Some problems I see in the text:

I think one of the "points" Hass is trying to get across is that we need to do something about the problems in our environment.  I agree.  However, with an evolutionary view -- which the author seems to have -- that idea isn't as motivating or rich or deep as a Creationist's view (should be).  If we all -- piano tuners, gnats, you, and me -- evolved from bacteriuem which "grew green pigment" and "somehow unmated carbon dioxide...", then nature preservation just seems like another one of the completely meaningless things we do as humans.  On the other hand, when we see nature as created and spoken into existence just like us, and when we see ourselves as charged of God to be good stewards, taking care of nature becomes much more meaningful and compelling.  As Dr. Gaulden said in class once, we, the believers, should have been doing more to take care of the environment all along. 

Some additional thoughts:

As I said earlier, I love creation.  I deeply enjoy Bible verses like, "The meadows are dressed in flocks, And valleys are covered with grain; They shout for joy and sing," and "Let the sea roar, and all that fills it, The world and those who dwell in it.  Let the rivers clap their hands, Let the mountains sing together for joy before Yahweh."  The idea of these "inanimate" things interacting with God in praise is such an uplifting and powerful one.  (I'd like to think that one day we'll see something like that happen in the next life.)  Nature points us straight to our Father in Heaven.  Perhaps instead of not wanting to ask unanswerable questions in our society, we really just don't want to ask questions that lead us to Him.


With Verdure Clad (The Creation) -- Haydn

"This is really beginning to bother me."

During our field trip to AFI, Danielle and I conversed with two women, Edna and Cheryl, in different sittings.  We talked about our hobbies, the clothes we like, our favorite foods, amongst other things that you might talk about with a new acquaintance.  At one point, a man offered to throw Edna’s cup away, and after he took it, he tapped us on the shoulder and said, “Watch this!  Watch this!”  He shot across the room towards the trash can exclaiming, “VROOM!”  I laughed for a long time, and realized that I had forgotten how rewarding it was to spend time with the mentally “handicapped”.  Throughout our conversations, I was able to relate to the play and the essay in the sense that we are all people, and as Professor Corrigan said, it might be better to put people in more specific categories rather than call them “normal” or “abnormal”.  For example, Edna and I might be “people who love the color pink,” and “people who wear costume jewelry,” and Cheryl and I fit into the category of, “people who like to watch game show bloopers,” or “people who love to laugh.”  While I enjoyed talking with the clients, at the same time I wanted to burst into tears.  Not tears of pity, necessarily – or at least, not entirely – but something else that I’m not sure how to explain.  There’s something emotionally overwhelming about encouraging people old enough to be your parents on their reading skills.  For the rest of the day at school, I felt as though I was almost in a fog. 

  I chose to re-read the first thirty pages of the Boys Next Door, but this time, I tried to thoughtfully read through the section on costuming, trying to imagine what the characters would look like in “real life”, and how their dress reflected their being.  I found it to be more enlightening this time, I think.  Somehow, I felt I was able to understand the characters in a different way.  I tried to picture some of the clients I met in their position, and tried to think carefully about the personal interaction and communication within the play.  I thought about the friendships I saw at AFI, the high-fives and hugs and nicknames.  It also made me want to cry. 

What I thought about most after our field trip were the individuals we met.  More than thinking about the concept of disability, I kept thinking about these people.  I think that’s important, somehow. 

What’s next?  I’m not sure.  I think the most practical thing for me to do is write letters.  I’ll have to think about it.     

Then I Am Strong

When I was in junior high and high school, my family and I attended a small charasmatic, non-demoninational church in which the pastor is a C-5 quadriplegic.  Mr. Johnson has some control over his arms and his neck, but the rest of his body is paralyzed.  He can't sweat, and hands form tight fists.  He sustained the injury through a diving accident when he was 21, and later that day, He came to know God.  Since then, he has been an active minister, and has affected my life greatly.  He says, "It's about the kids.  But it's really about anyone else we can help, too."  For years, I watched guest ministers and people of the church pray for Mr. Johnson's physical healing -- I, too, have prayed.  I could never imagine condemning this man, the church, of myself for having a lack of faith, rather, I've come to understand that through being physically "disabled", this man is in a position to help others in a way that I cannot.  I believe the same is true for the mentally disabled as well.
  I love how the author of this text talks about "life force", and a "mark" whih God puts on His creation.  This essay ties in so incredibly with other things I have been reading and listening to.  The other day my music theory professor talked about God breathing into Adam the breath of life, and how we've been passing that breath on ever since.  We're not breathing our own breath, in a sense -- it's God's breath.  This "life force" is in all of us in a unique way, enabling us to love and be loved.  The "mark" reminds me of an article I read on Monday, entitled Imprint: the Thumbprint on the Clay.The author relates being made in the image of God to a potters signature: a thumbprint.  God's way of saying, you were uniquely designed for my purpose.  What an exciting, invigorating thought.
  This essay by Dr. Fettke also makes me think of what it means to be "disabled", and the kinds of things we pray to be healed from.  I've watched videos of five to nine year olds play the Haydn concerto I'm considering learning over the summer.  Compared to them, I'm pretty disabled.  But not compared to most people.  It's all so very relative.  We pray to be healed from major infirmities like cancer, traumatic injuries, and "disability" -- paralyzation, mental retardation, brain injuries, syndromes, etc.  But aren't all "normal" people still physically and mentally flawed?  Don't they have grey hair and pimples and digestive problems and asthma and ingrown toenails?  Don't we have trouble remembering where we put our phone, don't we get nervous and speak in jumbled sentences, don't we lock ourselves out of the house?  I suppose we pray to be healed from those things too, sometimes, but do we measure our faith accordingly?  Not really.  Those are just normal problems for normal people, right?  What children we are. 

"It seems that many in the Pentecostal church have embraced this modern sense of autonomy in the notion of 'getting what one can' from God or attending church 'as long as I am satisfied or happy' with little regard for any others."  It's hard for me to think for very long about the current "modern" behavior of the Pentacostal church which Dr. Fettke describes.  My stomach feels like it's sinking and my fingertips hurt (for some reason).  But I will for just a little bit.
  This, I think, is an almost Santa-Clause view of God.  If you're good, you get presents: health, financial prosperity, happiness, etc.  There is little focus on the bloody, messy side of life that God calls us to as well.  When Paul was in prison, he didn't say, "I'm going to speak these chains away!", (do I catch a dangerous drift of transcendentalism?) he said, "I've learned to be content in all circumstances."  I'm not saying, by any means, that the mentally disabled are in a prison -- other than the one we've made for them -- but to contrast the views, "What can God do for me", and "How may I serve Him?"  We should encourage all people to ask the latter.  Each person is in a position that is right for them to be able to minister.
   Almost each time my neice visits, my mother reads to her a story by Max Lucado, and I usually listen, too.  It's about a lamb who is spotted and crippled, and when the other sheep move to a new pasture, the shepherds tell him to stay behind because he moves too slowly.  At the end of the story, the lamb stumbles upon the manger scene and gets to curl up beside baby Jesus and keep Him warm.  The very thing that made him crippled allowed him to serve his greatest purpose. 
  I like the verse, "I delight in weakness, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties.  For when I am weak, then I am strong."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3geejD5Dksk

And I Mean This Frankly

The Boys Next Door had a strange affect on me this afternoon.  I was reading it outside the cafe on campus while my friend ate a snack.  I took a break, and told her that the random dialogue was making me go crazy.  I put a book on my head and started pacing back and forth, seeing how long I could go without losing my balance.  I felt as though I was going to start speaking and acting just as spontaneously as the characters in this play.  I'm not sure what that was all about.  I just finished reading it a few minutes ago, and found it difficult to begin this post.  My ideas seemed jumbled and "choppy".  They still do.
  I think the passage that struck me the most in Act II was this:
"We had this one guy named Wally something, who'd eat the chocolate part and save all the insides in a box he had.  And he'd keep the box with him all the time.  Until one day he died and one of the attendants just threw the box away.  I mean, it was all Wally owned, this box of the insides of all the chocolates he'd ever had, and they just threw it away.  They didn't even ask his family or anything.  I don't understand that.  They didn't even look to see inside.  They just threw it away."  Barry sobs.
  My thoughts are still forming about this passage.  It reminds me of the fragility and vulnerability of human beings.  A girl in class today said that, when she's dealing with someone she has a very hard time getting along with, she thinks, "They used to be a baby.  Everyone loved them and liked them."  It helps her view them in a more compassionate way.  It helps me too, and I think it's because babies are so vulnerable.  We all have hurt feelings, child-like glee, and things that are special to us and no one understands why.
  I was also struck by the scene with Barry and his father.  The way Barry curled up on the couch and cried, "Don't hurt me."  I think everybody does this, too.  This particular situation was extremely saddening to me. It makes me want to cry. 
The Boys Next Door had a strange affect on me this afternoon.  I was reading it outside the cafe on campus while my friend ate a snack.  I took a break, and told her that the random dialogue was making me go crazy.  I put a book on my head and started pacing back and forth, seeing how long I could go without losing my balance.  I felt as though I was going to start speaking and acting just as spontaneously as the characters in this play.  I'm not sure what that was all about.  I just finished reading it a few minutes ago, and found it difficult to begin this post.  My ideas seemed jumbled and "choppy".  They still do.
  I think the passage that struck me the most in Act II was this:
"We had this one guy named Wally something, who'd eat the chocolate part and save all the insides in a box he had.  And he'd keep the box with him all the time.  Until one day he died and one of the attendants just threw the box away.  I mean, it was all Wally owned, this box of the insides of all the chocolates he'd ever had, and they just threw it away.  They didn't even ask his family or anything.  I don't understand that.  They didn't even look to see inside.  They just threw it away."  Barry sobs.
  My thoughts are still forming about this passage.  It reminds me of the fragility and vulnerability of human beings.  A girl in class today said that, when she's dealing with someone she has a very hard time getting along with, she thinks, "They used to be a baby.  Everyone loved them and liked them."  It helps her view them in a more compassionate way.  It helps me too, and I think it's because babies are so vulnerable.  We all have hurt feelings, child-like glee, and things that are special to us and no one understands why.
  I was also struck by the scene with Barry and his father.  The way Barry curled up on the couch and cried, "Don't hurt me."  I think everybody does this, too.  This particular situation was extremely saddening to me.  It makes me want to cry -- I can feel it in my throat and in my stomach.  I wish I could help him.

What to Think

My theology professor, Dr. Davis, made quite a profound statement today.  He said that, if we grew up in a cancer ward where everyone displayed symptoms of radiation: hair loss, weight loss, skin discoloration, then we would probably think that was normal, and that our skin, hair, and weight wasn't.  When you live with diseased people your entire life, you think disease is normal.  He went on to say that we, along with everyone else do have a disease: sin.  We are ill, dying, disfigured. 
  If this is the case, then what's "normal"?  We are all handicapped - mentally, physically, and spiritually.  I didn't make the connection between Dr. Davis' statement and The Boys Next Door until a few moments ago, but I definitely think that it's worth pondering.
  We can't exactly look down on and jeer at people who have the same illness we do, however different the symptoms may be.  The only truly healthy man, as Dr. Davis also reminded us earlier today, is Jesus.  We're all starving for his grace and compassion.
  I think one of my favorite lines from the play was, "I've been coming to these dances for months now and I can never decide if it's the saddest place I've ever been.  Or the happiest."
  I also wasn't sure whether to "laugh or cry" throughout Act I.  Statements like, "It's a behavior pattern," "There aren't too many bunnies in the sky today", and "I called him a banana republic" made me giggle out loud.  When I remembered how frustrating it must be to live with that kind of mental disorder, (the play mentions that these men are often frustrated) I felt sad and sorry for them.  When I worked with some mentally handicapped people at my church several years ago, I was inspired and somewhat envious of their simple view of life.  They were delighted beyond words at being in the presence of a pony and brushing his tail, eating a popsicle, showing everyone a new hairbrush that was theirs.  I guess I agree with Jack.  I'm not sure what to think.
    Perhaps if I were smarter, I would.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L6_SbflSwAg