My family made four cross-country moves before I turned 18. I don't remember the move from California to Michigan because I was just a toddler. The move from Michigan to Illinois was a mixture of excitement for something new and sadness because I quickly missed my friends of eight years. The next two moves, when I was 11 and 16, turned my already naturally introverted personality into that of a human frightened of meeting new people and who reveled in close friendships with a select few.
When I got married, I was convinced that I was done with moving. When my husband and I finally settled into our home in Indianapolis, I felt like we were in our "forever" place. We might eventually need a new house, but we would live in the city until at least retirement. I would never have to go through the painfully awkward experience of moving to a new city again.
We celebrated my 30th birthday with our closest friends and our newborn daughter. The next day, my loving husband, who knew the emotional scars that remained from moves during my adolescence, informed me that his boss wanted him to transfer to a new city, two hours away.
I spent the next year trying to mentally prepare myself for the painful task of picking up and starting over.
A year later, we packed up our belongings and moved away from one of my sisters, friends that were like family, a church community that I loved, work colleagues who made my job easy, and a place where I felt I belonged. As soon as we moved, I dove into working on our foreclosure house purchase and grad school classes to distract myself from the fact that I wasn't where I wanted to be. I wasn't very fun company, and I'm thankful that my husband actually stuck around to see me come out of the deep loneliness that settled in.
I reached one of my lowest points shortly after our move, while I was trying to find the bank that was "hiding" in plain sight on a main road just a half-mile from our house. I eventually found it after calling my husband and explaining my frustrations though angry tears. I don't know what exactly was the final straw, but something snapped then and I sat in my car at the ATM, my husband on the other end of the phone, my toddler daughter in the backseat, and screamed the Cadillac of profanities.
I am not proud of that moment of human weakness.
As an introvert, I treasure rare moments alone, the times when I am allowed to just take a step back from everyone and everything and be with my own thoughts, interruption-free. I know that some people do not understand the difference between happily being alone and being lonely, but over the years I have learned that they are two entirely different states of being. Alone time refreshes me; loneliness slowly destroys me from the inside out.
Of course, my introverted tendencies don't always help me cure my loneliness. In my adult life, my husband and I have moved five times, four of them fairly significant distances. Three of those four significant instances, I moved into situations where I already knew people and had some kind of initial connection in my work and church life. Those connections helped to build our community, no matter how small. In the move from Indianapolis, that was not the case. I got along great with my grad school classmates and fellow TAs, but I wasn't hanging out with them outside of our small basement office. My family tried multiple churches over the course of two years before we finally settled into a church we liked. But we still failed to make connections like the ones we had when we lived in Indianapolis. When our son was born a year after we moved, I missed the community I had when our daughter was born two years earlier. I longed for a playdate that included babies sleeping on the floor, while friends and I talked about the joys and struggles of motherhood.
My four moves growing up taught me that friendships after moving can remain, as long as one is willing to work on it. But in order to emotionally survive a change in location, I needed to build new communities. While Facebook and text messages help me stay connected to geographically distant friends, they are no replacement for Steak 'n Shake nights with my girlfriends and dinners with laughter, good food, and a glass or two of wine.
As a culture, we are getting really good at being connected, but we are miserable at connecting. We need to be better at noticing loneliness and connecting to those who just need someone to notice them and listen to what they have to say-it's a difficult task to open our social circle to someone new, but it can make a critical difference. For example, when we first moved to Texas, our family spent six weeks living in our 30-foot travel trailer while we waited for our house purchase to go through. A college acquaintance invited us over for dinner to get us out of the camper. That single invite led to Easter dinners, impromptu BBQ nights, and a Thanksgiving camping trip. It was the beginning of genuine friendship.
We are social creatures. Some of us need bigger communities than others, but we all need our own "tribe." I love social media because it keeps me connected to friends and family across the globe. But on a bad day, sometimes I just need someone to say yes to a couple hours hanging out at Starbucks while I nurse a Java Chip Frappuccino.
And maybe now that I am finally rebuilding my own tribe, I can occasionally step out of my introverted self to help someone else find theirs.
Written by Sarah Styf
You can let us know your thoughts by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
Tuesday, April 30, 2019
Tuesday, April 16, 2019
Is Nature All There Is?
Is nature all there is? When you look out at the cosmos or stop to contemplate the beautiful designs of a flower abloom in spring—do you imagine that all of it is the product of a purely natural process, or that perhaps there is something more going on here? Something deeper? Something grander? Something perhaps more designed than we might recognize?
When it comes to these big questions about evolution and creation, design and the origins of the universe, there are generally two major camps: naturalism and supernaturalism.
On the one hand, naturalism is defined by the Oxford English Dictionary as the "idea or belief that only natural (as opposed to supernatural or spiritual) laws and forces operate in the world." Those who adhere to philosophical naturalism (so-called "naturalists") make the claim that nature is all there is—nothing but natural laws and material forces are at work in the world, govern its behavior, or alter the universe at various stages of development and decay.
On the other hand, supernaturalism is the philosophical claim that the natural world cannot simply be explained by the laws of nature or scientific naturalism alone. Instead, there is a spiritual world beyond nature (super-nature) that can include anything relating to deities, ghosts, the human soul, or other non-material entities. As one can readily see, supernaturalists exist along a spiritual spectrum and can include individuals ranging from astrologists to Christians, Zoroastrians to the spiritually inclined, but not religiously defined.
In general, however, those who believe in the beyond challenge the naturalist view that nature is the sum of reality's parts. Instead, they argue that this is an intentional universe alive with hints of the divine.
What do you think?
It can be hard to deny the benefits that philosophical naturalism, and the science and technology based on its principles, have brought to our world. Medicinal breakthroughs, advances in travel, and gadgets for entertainment are just a few of the services science provides.
However, naturalism has its weaknesses. At times it can rob the universe of its wonder or leave individuals without a place to turn to in their deepest and darkest moments. Furthermore, its promises of bringing health, hope, and wholeness to the world fall short as humanity continues to struggle with its doubts, despair, and deadly selfishness (with all this said, I do not want to claim that naturalism necessarily leads to utter despair or global social meltdown, supernaturalists struggle with the same issues).
Furthermore, naturalism suffers from rational problems. For example, if nature is all there is, how can that claim be tested empirically? If there is nothing outside of nature to test it how can we be confident, according to the scientific method, of our hypothesis that what we see in nature is what we get and nothing more?
Perhaps most worryingly, naturalism can, at times, discount those who take stock of the supernatural and believe in its existence and power. While I am not here to stage an all-out defense of the supernatural worldview or to engage in a serious attack against philosophical naturalism, I am concerned with how a naturalistic viewpoint can sometimes reduce the universe to its elemental parts and perhaps miss its most inspirational aspects—that which lies beyond our senses and scientific measurements.
I believe there is something more to our universe. The very brilliance and depth of the cosmos, the intricacies and intimacies of flowers or the smallest birds, the grandeur of natural spaces that take our breath away, or the awe-inspiring work of the human body and mind as it reacts to, and seeks to work with, the world around it.
I appreciate the natural world. I marvel at the advancement of science and technology and am moved by the possibilities of human discovery. And yet, I remain humble to the fact that there is something more, something divine, about the world we live, move, and have our being in.
Perhaps what I am encouraging here is a consideration. An invitation, maybe. That when we turn our gaze to the natural world and wonder at its majesty, we might also consider what is actually not far beyond the natural world—the divine, the holy, the supernatural.
It is my hope that we might even entertain that it is through these natural things that we might be able to seek the supernatural. Even more, that we might perhaps feel our way toward that "something more" that is at work in our world—if only our minds, hearts, and philosophical postures are open to it.
Written by Ken Chitwood
With the recent image taken of a black hole, the outer edges of our universe are again in the news. What do you think about when you look at the heavens? Do you see the hand and mind of God at work? Is there some particular combination of forces at work where, maybe, God started the process, but it now runs of its own accord, without the need for divine influence or interference?
You can let us know your thoughts by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
When it comes to these big questions about evolution and creation, design and the origins of the universe, there are generally two major camps: naturalism and supernaturalism.
On the one hand, naturalism is defined by the Oxford English Dictionary as the "idea or belief that only natural (as opposed to supernatural or spiritual) laws and forces operate in the world." Those who adhere to philosophical naturalism (so-called "naturalists") make the claim that nature is all there is—nothing but natural laws and material forces are at work in the world, govern its behavior, or alter the universe at various stages of development and decay.
On the other hand, supernaturalism is the philosophical claim that the natural world cannot simply be explained by the laws of nature or scientific naturalism alone. Instead, there is a spiritual world beyond nature (super-nature) that can include anything relating to deities, ghosts, the human soul, or other non-material entities. As one can readily see, supernaturalists exist along a spiritual spectrum and can include individuals ranging from astrologists to Christians, Zoroastrians to the spiritually inclined, but not religiously defined.
In general, however, those who believe in the beyond challenge the naturalist view that nature is the sum of reality's parts. Instead, they argue that this is an intentional universe alive with hints of the divine.
What do you think?
It can be hard to deny the benefits that philosophical naturalism, and the science and technology based on its principles, have brought to our world. Medicinal breakthroughs, advances in travel, and gadgets for entertainment are just a few of the services science provides.
However, naturalism has its weaknesses. At times it can rob the universe of its wonder or leave individuals without a place to turn to in their deepest and darkest moments. Furthermore, its promises of bringing health, hope, and wholeness to the world fall short as humanity continues to struggle with its doubts, despair, and deadly selfishness (with all this said, I do not want to claim that naturalism necessarily leads to utter despair or global social meltdown, supernaturalists struggle with the same issues).
Furthermore, naturalism suffers from rational problems. For example, if nature is all there is, how can that claim be tested empirically? If there is nothing outside of nature to test it how can we be confident, according to the scientific method, of our hypothesis that what we see in nature is what we get and nothing more?
Perhaps most worryingly, naturalism can, at times, discount those who take stock of the supernatural and believe in its existence and power. While I am not here to stage an all-out defense of the supernatural worldview or to engage in a serious attack against philosophical naturalism, I am concerned with how a naturalistic viewpoint can sometimes reduce the universe to its elemental parts and perhaps miss its most inspirational aspects—that which lies beyond our senses and scientific measurements.
I believe there is something more to our universe. The very brilliance and depth of the cosmos, the intricacies and intimacies of flowers or the smallest birds, the grandeur of natural spaces that take our breath away, or the awe-inspiring work of the human body and mind as it reacts to, and seeks to work with, the world around it.
I appreciate the natural world. I marvel at the advancement of science and technology and am moved by the possibilities of human discovery. And yet, I remain humble to the fact that there is something more, something divine, about the world we live, move, and have our being in.
Perhaps what I am encouraging here is a consideration. An invitation, maybe. That when we turn our gaze to the natural world and wonder at its majesty, we might also consider what is actually not far beyond the natural world—the divine, the holy, the supernatural.
It is my hope that we might even entertain that it is through these natural things that we might be able to seek the supernatural. Even more, that we might perhaps feel our way toward that "something more" that is at work in our world—if only our minds, hearts, and philosophical postures are open to it.
Written by Ken Chitwood
With the recent image taken of a black hole, the outer edges of our universe are again in the news. What do you think about when you look at the heavens? Do you see the hand and mind of God at work? Is there some particular combination of forces at work where, maybe, God started the process, but it now runs of its own accord, without the need for divine influence or interference?
You can let us know your thoughts by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
Tuesday, April 2, 2019
The Art of Becoming Politically Mature
The political landscape has changed. And I'm not just talking about the results of another election. I mean that the attitude and atmosphere surrounding politics in our country has shifted dramatically.
Growing up, I dreamed of pursuing a career in politics. It was the age of The West Wing, when being a part of the American government was something prestigious, a great way to serve our country and work for real change.
But it doesn't seem that way anymore. We now live in a world of Scandal and House of Cards. Politics is now seen by many as a necessary evil. National dialogue often sounds more like a toxic relationship than an open conversation. State politics (at least where I live) are a mess. Even races for local government have become combative.
But recently I got a phone call. It was from a college friend who is running as an independent for a seat in his state legislature. He was calling to ask for prayer, encouragement, and financial support.
As we talked, I shared with him how disillusioned I've felt. He listened. And then he shared his hope.
He said he understood my frustrations. But unlike me, his frustrations led him to get more involved.
In his words, he is running as an independent, "not as a way to turn my back on the other parties, but because I really think I can help build bridges. We all share the same concerns. Now we have to do the hard work of finding the solutions."
He went on to share his heart and his hopes, what he's learned from being involved, and where he has already seen change as a result of doing the hard work of crossing party lines and looking for common ground. For him, politics is still a way to serve his neighbors and work for the common good.
That one conversation changed my whole outlook. Why? Because my friend had painted a picture for me of what it looks like to be politically mature—what it looks like to stay engaged, even when the political landscape looks bleak.
And, he helped me to re-engage.
Since our conversation, I have picked up the newspaper again, started reading books about politics, and begun to pay more attention to both national and local political races.
Along the way, I've learned a couple of lessons about how to stay engaged even when my candidate or party doesn't come out on top. Maybe they can help you, too.
Lesson 1: There's Always Another Election.
It's very possible that the candidate that I'm pulling for will lose. But I'm realizing that's okay. Just because they lose this time, or my preferred party doesn't come out on top, there is always another election. I have the great gift of being able to vote ... again and again and again. So, I'm committing to not giving up. To stay informed and keep voting.
Lesson 2: My Representative Still Represents ME.
Even if my top pick didn't win, I need to remember that the person who now occupies that seat is still my representative. As such, he or she answers to me. So, I need give my elected officials a call. I need to write their offices. Show up at their local events. Let them know what issues concern me and ask them to seriously consider the impact their position will make on their constituents.
Lesson 3: Read. Listen. Learn.
And I'm not talking about checking in for 60 seconds to my favorite 24-hour news network. Really read. Yes, read deeply and from a variety of perspectives on the issues. I need to get a couple of newspaper subscriptions and take in what is going on over my morning cup of coffee. Furthermore, I need to learn to listen, to tune in to longer conversations on the radio or television in which the candidates and officials themselves are sounding off at length about their positions and the issues that they see as central. I can't let someone else do my thinking for me. I need to learn as much as I can and weigh my options.
Lesson 4: Pursue GREAT Conversations.
I've started opening my door to every person handing out a political flyer in my neighborhood. Why? Because it is a chance to learn more about the candidates and have some awesome conversations about the issues that matter. I'm getting to know people on both sides of the aisle. So my encouragement to you is this: don't close yourself off from having those conversations. If you get an invitation to a local meeting of the Democratic or Republican parties, GO! Hang out with them. Ask good questions. Learn about the positions and encourage them to consider other perspectives. Showing up can have more of an influence than we realize. Let's open the door, take the phone call, and accept the invitation.
Lesson 5: Run for Office.
Yes. Some of us should consider it. That is what I admire most about my friend. He believes he can make a difference and decided to run for office. Sure, he might lose, but there's always the next election. The important thing that he taught me is that politics isn't a game to win. It's about leading change well and realizing that sometimes, just by running, you can shift the conversation and highlight issues that wouldn't have otherwise been addressed. So if you are feeling inspired to run, then go for it! Your voice matters. Use it well.
In short, these are just a few of the lessons that are helping me to become more politically mature. My friend gave me a great gift in reminding me that we still have incredible opportunities to make a positive impact on our world.
Written by Nick Price
You can let us know your thoughts on all things political by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
Growing up, I dreamed of pursuing a career in politics. It was the age of The West Wing, when being a part of the American government was something prestigious, a great way to serve our country and work for real change.
But it doesn't seem that way anymore. We now live in a world of Scandal and House of Cards. Politics is now seen by many as a necessary evil. National dialogue often sounds more like a toxic relationship than an open conversation. State politics (at least where I live) are a mess. Even races for local government have become combative.
But recently I got a phone call. It was from a college friend who is running as an independent for a seat in his state legislature. He was calling to ask for prayer, encouragement, and financial support.
As we talked, I shared with him how disillusioned I've felt. He listened. And then he shared his hope.
He said he understood my frustrations. But unlike me, his frustrations led him to get more involved.
In his words, he is running as an independent, "not as a way to turn my back on the other parties, but because I really think I can help build bridges. We all share the same concerns. Now we have to do the hard work of finding the solutions."
He went on to share his heart and his hopes, what he's learned from being involved, and where he has already seen change as a result of doing the hard work of crossing party lines and looking for common ground. For him, politics is still a way to serve his neighbors and work for the common good.
That one conversation changed my whole outlook. Why? Because my friend had painted a picture for me of what it looks like to be politically mature—what it looks like to stay engaged, even when the political landscape looks bleak.
And, he helped me to re-engage.
Since our conversation, I have picked up the newspaper again, started reading books about politics, and begun to pay more attention to both national and local political races.
Along the way, I've learned a couple of lessons about how to stay engaged even when my candidate or party doesn't come out on top. Maybe they can help you, too.
Lesson 1: There's Always Another Election.
It's very possible that the candidate that I'm pulling for will lose. But I'm realizing that's okay. Just because they lose this time, or my preferred party doesn't come out on top, there is always another election. I have the great gift of being able to vote ... again and again and again. So, I'm committing to not giving up. To stay informed and keep voting.
Lesson 2: My Representative Still Represents ME.
Even if my top pick didn't win, I need to remember that the person who now occupies that seat is still my representative. As such, he or she answers to me. So, I need give my elected officials a call. I need to write their offices. Show up at their local events. Let them know what issues concern me and ask them to seriously consider the impact their position will make on their constituents.
Lesson 3: Read. Listen. Learn.
And I'm not talking about checking in for 60 seconds to my favorite 24-hour news network. Really read. Yes, read deeply and from a variety of perspectives on the issues. I need to get a couple of newspaper subscriptions and take in what is going on over my morning cup of coffee. Furthermore, I need to learn to listen, to tune in to longer conversations on the radio or television in which the candidates and officials themselves are sounding off at length about their positions and the issues that they see as central. I can't let someone else do my thinking for me. I need to learn as much as I can and weigh my options.
Lesson 4: Pursue GREAT Conversations.
I've started opening my door to every person handing out a political flyer in my neighborhood. Why? Because it is a chance to learn more about the candidates and have some awesome conversations about the issues that matter. I'm getting to know people on both sides of the aisle. So my encouragement to you is this: don't close yourself off from having those conversations. If you get an invitation to a local meeting of the Democratic or Republican parties, GO! Hang out with them. Ask good questions. Learn about the positions and encourage them to consider other perspectives. Showing up can have more of an influence than we realize. Let's open the door, take the phone call, and accept the invitation.
Lesson 5: Run for Office.
Yes. Some of us should consider it. That is what I admire most about my friend. He believes he can make a difference and decided to run for office. Sure, he might lose, but there's always the next election. The important thing that he taught me is that politics isn't a game to win. It's about leading change well and realizing that sometimes, just by running, you can shift the conversation and highlight issues that wouldn't have otherwise been addressed. So if you are feeling inspired to run, then go for it! Your voice matters. Use it well.
In short, these are just a few of the lessons that are helping me to become more politically mature. My friend gave me a great gift in reminding me that we still have incredible opportunities to make a positive impact on our world.
Written by Nick Price
You can let us know your thoughts on all things political by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
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