Tag Archives: Curiosity

Back to School: Poetry 101

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My alma mater. Where my soul and mind were well fed.

I’m going back to school.  Wanna come?

Don’t you remember the excitement of the new year?  A legion of sharpened pencils.  A carefully-selected notebook with neatly arranged folders.  A stark calendar awaiting the scribbled adornment of activities, assignments, and football games. But at the heart of all the frenzy is the promise of a new beginning.  A fresh start. The potential of the unknown.

As we grow older, the line between seasons begins to blur. The workplace rarely closes for summer vacation, and new starts are far less definitive.  We become pragmatic and resolved.  Too often, we trade in curiosity and imagination for practicality and security.  We deny an invaluable portion of our inheritance – the part of our souls that was designed to create.  Why?

“Children are more creative (than are adults) and are natural inventors.  Their worldview is incomplete and demands discovery. They prosper because they embrace their ignorance instead of ignoring it. And they are willing to explore, investigate, and put their ideas to the test because they are willing to fail.” (Sam McNerney. Killing Creativity: Why Kids Draw Pictures of Monsters & Adults Don’t )

 

We’re too busy.  Our schedules are packed with “have-tos” and we rarely venture to consider the “dream-ofs.”  I’d suggest, however, that under the emperor’s fine purple garments of busy schedules often exists the exposing, naked reality of our own fear. Fear of failure.  Fear of looking silly or impractical.  Or fear of wanting more.

My friend, John, is a gifted therapist who spends his days talking with folks as they struggle to make sense of the hard things in life.  John recently discovered that he has quite a talent for sculpting.  In writing about his journey, John notes that “Sometimes, the riskiest thing for us to do is to trust and try.”

So how about it?  You don’t have to step on the yellow school bus or move into a college dorm this fall in order to try something new.  If you could go back to school, what classes would you take that you missed the first time around?  What activities?  Why not trust and try?

I’ve always been a lover of the well-written word.  I enjoy discovering and reading poetry with my children, and have a special place in my heart for the prose of Emily Dickinson and T.S. Eliot. I dabbled in poetry in high school and college, yet I’ve settled comfortably into the role of a distanced appreciator.

This fall, Chris Yokel (who you may remember from Redeeming the Fall) will be offering two 4-week sessions for folks who have limited or no experience with poetry, but who’d like to learn more.  In a nutshell:

The Basics of Poetry (Sept.17 – Oct. 7): Basic literary elements of poetry.  Teaching videos will be posted on Youtube.

Poetry Writing Workshop (Oct. 15 – Nov.11): Poetry workshop including exercises to help challenge and prod you along.

The class has been designed for those who need flexibility and can commit varying degrees of time. You can find out more detail and sign up for the class at chrisyokel.com.

Whether it’s daring to venture into a poetry class or a pottery studio, exploring a new genre of music or learning the art of cooking Thai cuisine, take a chance. Excitement is drifting through the early autumn air. Breathe in deeply. Let it inspire you.

And if you’re afraid of trying something new, well, I’ll embarrass myself first on the world wide web, so whatever you choose to do may feel a bit less vulnerable. Here goes my first, timid, awkward attempt at haiku:

no more excuses
keyboard strokes dash through veiled pride
to create brings life

 
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The Art of the Picture Frame

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Museums pay thousands of dollars for artisans to restore, recreate, and preserve them. They can substantially transform our experience of beauty.  We pass by them multiple times a day, but rarely give them any thought.  Frames.

~ A frame draws out the hidden beauty of a painting that would otherwise go unnoticed.

~ A frame sets the artwork apart from its environment.

~ A frame draws the viewer’s eye to that which is important.

Rembrandt’s home was cluttered with props – costumes, animal skins, armor and ornate jewelry.  To the passerby, there was nothing outstanding about the collection (other than its eclectic nature).  Rembrandt, however, saw the potential in each item.  Rather than scanning the landscape and seeing only clutter, he saw endless possibilities that could be captured and worthy of  framing.  The ordinary, when set apart from its environment, became extraordinary.

At any given time, my home is filled a variety of nondescript objects.   Some on display, some in piles, and some tucked away in hopes that visitors won’t see.  Yet if I pause to consider one small section of a room, each isolated item represents a novel’s worth of story.  (More on that here.)  The ordinary, when set apart from its environment, becomes extraordinary.

Imagine going about your day carrying an empty frame.  As you look around your office, home, or community, there are limitless opportunities to pause and examine more intently.  Take out your frame and choose one.  What had been part of the landscape becomes set apart.  It now has your focused attention.  The trash can overflowing with crumpled papers.  The shiny new bike filled with promise of adventure. The bird salvaging bits of yesterday’s discarded craft project to be woven into tomorrow’s home.   The frame draws out that which would otherwise go unnoticed.

The same is true of our inner lives.  Now imagine carrying an empty frame through which you look at life’s circumstances, the soul of another, or your own heart.  Nothing in the environment changes, yet where you place your frame will significantly alter your perspective.  You get to choose.

When my child, husband, friend, (or fill in your own blank) becomes difficult or frustrating, I can choose.  Where will I place my frame?  Will I focus on the inconvenience caused to me, pain inflicted upon me, or cost paid by me in order to love?  I can become quite comfortable, even entranced, while inspecting closely  the harm that has been done.  The longer I gaze, the more I see.  The more I see, the more locked into place my frame becomes.

Yet I have a choice.  In that same situation, I can move the frame.  I can shift the focus from myself to another.   Although the pain inflicted is still present, it loses its power when I refuse to make it the focal point of my thoughts.  My attention is shifted.  A  frame has the ability to draw out beauty which was already present, yet would otherwise go unnoticed.  By shifting my gaze, I can train my eye to refocus.  I can learn to see the world from a different vantage point.

~The frustrating child becomes the child who needs affirmation

~The spouse who has disappointed becomes the partner who is overwhelmed with life and needs support

~The hurtful friend becomes the friend who is hurting and in need of grace

It’s all in where we place the frame.  In that choice, we hold the power of bestowing blessing or curses upon another, and ultimately, in bringing blessing or curses upon ourselves.

So pick up your invisible frame and explore the familiar landscape with new eyes – Great works of art are awaiting your discovery.

“Art consists of limitation. The most beautiful part of every picture is the frame.”

G.K. Chesterton

 


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Curiosity for Lent

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Having grown up in a small town in the mountains of Tennessee, my worldview was largely shaped by the individual faces in our small community.  I had one friend who was Jewish.  One was Catholic.  One who wasn’t aloud to wear shorts because they were too revealing. Another who actually took her Bible to church.  These differences never caused division – they simply provided the adjectives with which each family was described.

Friends’ distinctive religious celebrations brought a welcome diversity into a fairly homogenous community.  To attend a bat mitzvah in our little town felt somewhat cosmopolitan.   The cross of ashes worn on the forehead of a few classmates evoked a subtle sense of mystery.  We respected the differences of our faiths.  However, to cross over the line between respecting and learning from one another felt too bold and uncertain.

As a young adult, my experience of God shifted from one of inherited religion to one of chosen relationship.  Gradually, I began to suspect that I might have something to learn from the different ways in which others encountered, experienced, and worshiped God. I wanted His life, His teachings, and His ultimate death and resurrection to be more than an intellectual assent or a religious practice. I was not longer content to just know about Him.  I wanted to know Him.

An attempt to move beyond wanting toward knowing came shortly after I graduated from college.  Every Wednesday during Lent, I slipped out of my office at the bank and walked down the street to attend a church service.  The choice in church was not deliberate or intentional – it’s location and schedule simply made attendance relatively easy.  Each sermon focused on one of the people involved in the Passion of Jesus. Preparing for Christmas had been an expected part of my annual tradition. Preparing for Easter had not.  Intentionally altering my routine, in order to focus my heart, changed my experience of the season.  It changed me.

As we consider the world in which Jesus walked, he encountered primarily two kinds of people.  Those who held so tightly to their systems of religion and life that they missed Him, and those who were curious enough to follow.  As we embark on the season of Lent, we all bring our childhood history, our adult experiences, our preconceptions, and our annual rituals (or lack thereof) along with us.  Although these bring a sense of tradition and security, I wonder what it would look like if we allowed ourselves to become curious…

~ Curious about how others commemorate the next 40 days

~ Curious about the “whys” behind the Lenten traditions practiced by others

~ Curious enough, perhaps, to slip into a service at a different church, read a new book, or alter our routine in some way to make more room in our hearts for the season ahead.   And ultimately, to make more room in our hearts for the One who came to rescue us from ourselves.

I want to see Him with fresh eyes.  

I didn’t grow up in, nor do we currently attend, a liturgical church which formally celebrates the season of Lent.  However, I look forward to the next four weeks with great anticipation. We’ll be reading as a family, I’ll be reading on my own, and we plan to attend Vespers at a local Abbey.  Our choices will most likely differ from yours, yet the hope is that we all approach this season not with a sense of duty or habit, but with a renewed sense of wonder and curiosity.

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A few suggestions if you’re looking for books:

If you have children, or enjoy reading historical fiction, I’d highly recommend reading Arnold Yuletide’s book, Amon’s Adventure. Written by the author of the Advent series Jotham’s Journey, each of the 28 chapters is a great read-aloud which provides fodder for rich conversation and reflection.  It paints a vibrant picture of the political, social, and religious climate in which Jesus lived.  Amon’s Adventure illuminates the complexity and confusion Jesus’ ministry brought to those who loved and were trying to obey Yahweh.  Jesus wasn’t what they were expecting. That same tension exists to some level for all of us today.



This year, I have discovered and soaked myself in the writings of Walter Wangerin, Jr.  I referenced the book Miz Lil and the Chronicles of Grace in my “Top 10 List” for 2011, and I’ve been lining up his books in my reading queue ever since.


Life of the Beloved by Henri Nouwen has become one of those staple books in our library to which I return again and again.


I’d love to hear from anyone who is willing to share books, resources, or traditions that have been meaningful to you during this Lenten season.  You’ll be an encouragement to others. Perhaps you’ll peak their curiosity.  Blessings to you and yours.


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