From My Nature Journal: How’s Your GQ, Your Gratitude Quotient? Gratitude as an Upward Spiral…

I read this morning of something an author calls the ‘spiral’ of gratitude. Upon further thinking, it’s a phrase I find I like very much.

Of course, when we tend to think of spirals, if we’re not thinking footballs we’re first thinking of the downward variety, gravitational force being what it is and all; we quickly picture the proverbial circular descent that leads to a crash as object meets earth. I’m not sure why this is so, why we first think of the downward spiral, except that gravity at first glance seems to have a much greater hand in our daily lives than does lift. But that’s only at first glance, because absolutely every single time we move we are exerting an antigravity force. It’s probably also because most people tend first to think the worst…

Contrarily, it’s the upward spiral I want to think about. No, not the first half of a Green Bay Packers quarterback Aaron Rodgers ‘hail Mary’ pass. Though we have fairly few examples of such in the realm of nature (again, gravitational force being what it is and all), we do have at least one. Picture the soaring red-tailed hawk, rising slowly but persistently on the thermal. It’s an almost spiritual image, and maybe can help lift the concept of gratitude as an upward spiral to a spiritual place.

How grateful am I? Are you? Such a thing surely cannot be measured, as if there’s some kind of gratitude quotient, but it’s something worth thinking about. Maybe there should be. And though it can’t be measured, I do believe there’s a gratitude intelligence just as surely as there’s an intellectual, relational and emotional intelligence. In fact, I believe gratitude intelligence most certainly must contribute to the other three, and to any other kind of intelligence for that matter. Lacking the former, I shudder to think what kind of world this might be.

Some have spoken of the sharing of thanks as the important completion of a circle. It’s a tolerable image, but doesn’t that seem kind of closed to you, a circle? It does to me. It’s significant, to be sure, especially between the two parties. But what of a possible larger grace? What of a broader sense of shalom that might go beyond what only two parties may share? What about the potential for something we might even see as a cosmic joy that can rise to a greater Reality?

My devotional writer this morning said that, when seen this way, the exchange is more like a spiral than a circle, a spiral in which the giver gets thanked and so becomes the receiver, and the joy of giving and receiving rises higher and higher. Another contemplative theologian puts it this way:

A mother bends down to her child in the crib and hands him a toy. The baby recognizes the gift and returns the mother’s smile. The mother, overjoyed with the childish gesture of gratitude, lifts the child up with a kiss. There is a spiral of joy. Is not a kiss a greater gift than a toy? Is not the joy it expresses greater than the toy that set our spiral in motion?

With all of these realities in play, it’s now almost impossible to differentiate which is the giver and which the recipient.

I think it’s possible for someone to know

if a life of gratitude is being lived, if a

spiral is proceeding upward or not…

So, though gratitude cannot be measured – and pity the place where it is, the place where everything is tit for tat, reciprocity rules, the value of every gift is calculated and an accounting is always kept of who owes who what – I think it’s possible for someone to know if a life of gratitude is being lived, if a spiral is proceeding upward or not. Not only are thanks expressed easily and genuinely, but a larger gratitude comes into play, one that has the potential to save us from our greedy selves, one that extends further that same upward trajectory in which the thanks continuously seems to be rising.

I’ve written elsewhere that gratitude is one of the cardinal personal attributes expressed by those who find nature an important spiritual pathway. There’s always something in the natural realm for which to be grateful. Thankfulness is a marvelous discipline worth developing and celebrating, and an appreciative contemplation of God’s creation can help get us there. But it’s not necessarily only thanks to the Giver that is possible; think me not odd, but one can even be thankful to the gift for helping create the grateful awareness. If it’s an animate thing, one can be grateful even to it, and through it, to its Creator. For it’s all an acknowledgement that the earth is full of the works of the Lord (Psalm 111:2) whose good pleasure is that things have beauty. It’s a confession of faith that the earth is full of the glory of the Creator (Isaiah 6:3). It’s a testimony even of anticipation that the Giver has more gifts to share if we will but acknowledge their Source and receive them (Matthew 7:11 and James 1:17). In these ways, back to the image of the hawk on the thermal, the praise and gratitude keep ascending.

~~ RGM, April 19 2016

Blowin’ in the Wind: Roaming the Milky Way with John Adams

("Blowin’ in the Wind" is a regular feature on my blog consisting of an assortment of nature writings – hymns, songs, excerpts, prayers, Bible readings, poems or other things – pieces I may not have written but that inspire me or give me joy. I trust they’ll do the same for you.)

I’ve not referenced a movie before among my “Blowin’ in the Wind” essays, but I recently watched with Gail the highly acclaimed HBO miniseries, John Adams, featuring Paul Giamatti doing a nice job in the lead and Laura Linney a compellingly acted Abigail. It chronicles some of the interesting history of post-revolutionary War America, especially, what it took to complete the grand experiment of the first presidential succession. The series is quite long, so don’t expect to bag it in a single evening; but pick it up at your local library and spend several nights with some popcorn in front of the TV before warm spring evenings entice you outdoors.

Even though it’s probably fictional, there’s a lovely scene near the end of the series that grabbed my attention, and that I thought I’d enjoy sharing with you. Adams, late in life, long after his presidency and long back on his Massachusetts farm, walks slowly down a lane among his fields talking with his son Thomas. He is about 90 years of age by this time, his wife and two of his children have preceded him in death, and their conversation turns reflective. Sunset is past, dusk is deepening, and Thomas bids him turn and begin the walk home, as it is getting late.

Yarrow

Adams stops abruptly, thinks, and says to Thomas, “Come here…” His son stops and turns, and Adams says to him quietly, “I have seen a queen of France with eighteen million livres of diamonds on her person. But I declare that all the charms of her face and figure, added to all the glitter of her jewels, did not impress me as much… as that little shrub,” and he points to a small wildflower. (If my memory serves, it was a nondescript white yarrow.) “Now, your mother always said that I never delighted enough in the mundane, but now I find if I look

at even the smallest things, my imagination begins to 

roam the Milky Way.”                                                                     

…Your mother always said I never delighted

enough in the mundane, but now I find if I

look at even the smallest things, my imagination

begins to roam the Milky Way…

He pauses, then says very softly, “Rejoice evermore! Rejoice evermore!” His son looks at him like he’s losing touch, and Adams says with a smile, “Well, it’s a phrase from St. Paul, you fool! Rejoice evermore!” And then he shouts loudly with a jump in his step, “Rejoice evermore!” Laughing, he continues, “Oh, I wish that had always been in my heart and on my tongue. You know, I am filled almost with an irresistible impulse to fall on my knees in adoration right here,” and he gets weak-kneed and falls into his son’s arms chuckling.

As Thomas holds him up, Adams finally says, “If only my knees would bend like they used to!” He kisses his son on the cheek, and they continue.

That simple scene affected me strongly, a good example of what often happens to the Christian naturalist caught up to spontaneous praise by the most unpretentious of things. The beauty, mystery and singularity of creation is astounding.

So pay attention. Look for beauty everywhere. You might just also find yourself when you least expect it to be roaming the Milky Way.

~~ Rejoice evermore (1 Thessalonians 5:16),

RGM, February 28, 2016

Blowin' in the Wind: In the Woods with Wendell Berry

("Blowin’ in the Wind" is a regular feature on my blog consisting of an assortment of nature writings – hymns, songs, excerpts, prayers, Bible readings, poems or other things – pieces I may not have written but that inspire me or give me joy. I trust they’ll do the same for you.)

Some books take you where you want to be in the middle of a snowy winter, but can't easily make it there for the weather. Such a book to me is Wendell Berry’s A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997.

Some books take you where you want

to be in the middle of a snowy winter, but

can't easily make it there for the weather...

It is a collection of short pieces he wrote on or after Sunday walks on his Kentucky farm, and it’s filled with natural images and passions, deep environmental respect, and an ethic that reaches out and draws a person into ardent embrace of the land. One reviewer says his meditations here "...express a rich personal spirituality and affinity with the natural world," and yet I find the same holy reverence in his fiction as I do his poetry and essays; cases in point: Hannah Coulter, That Distant Land, and, one of my most favorite novels of all time, Jayber Crow.

I confess I’ve always struggled with poetry, but, interestingly, A Timbered Choir is a book that makes it easy for novices like me; yet it also invites more seasoned readers to its thoughtful woodlot saunters. I wrote once before on Berry, and will do so again, but you can find my previous blogpost featuring him by clicking this link, which will not only tell you a bit more about Berry himself but also shares another notable forest image.

The poems are without title, only separated by the year in which they were written and then numbered. Here is 1995, number 2, the complete poem. Let it take you to a place of peace and thoughtful repose.

The best reward in going to the woods

Is being lost to other people, and

Lost sometimes to myself. I'm at the end

Of no bespeaking wire to spoil my good;

I send no letter back I do not bring.

Whoever wants me now must hunt me down

Like something wild, and wild is anything

Beyond the reach of a purpose not it’s own.

Wild is anything that's not at home

In something else's place. This good white oak

Is not an orchard tree, is unbespoke,

And it can live here by it’s will alone,

Lost to all other wills but Heaven’s -- wild.

So where I most am found I'm lost to you,

Presuming friend, and only can be called

Or answered by a certain one, or two.

Of course, for me, that ‘certain one’ can only be the One I call the lover of my soul.

And here’s an excerpt from 1991, number 9.

To rest, go to the woods

Where what is made is made

Without your thought or work.

Sit down; begin the wait

For small trees to grow big,

Feeding on earth and light.

Their good result is song

The winds must bring, that trees

Must wait to sing, and sing

Longer than you can wait.

Soon you must go. The trees,

Your seniors, standing thus

Acknowledged in your eyes,

Stand as your praise and prayer.

Your rest is in this praise

Of what you cannot be

And what you cannot do.

In the midst of what seems my constant labor, I’ve often found the forest just the place of rest I need to help put all my work into perspective.

I pray you’ve enjoyed these.

~~ RGM, January 30, 2016

P.S. Each time I post to my blog, I send out an announcement of such on my Facebook page. Frequently there, I will ask my friends to consider sharing my post with others of their friends or family members whom they know may also find nature an important spiritual pathway to God. Let me place that request here for a change: do you know others, whether followers of Jesus or not, and perhaps particularly the latter, who find (or might find) these posts inspiring? Please consider sharing my site with them, www.rickmylander.com. I would treasure nothing more than that these words be shared as ongoing testimony to the creative glory of our good God. Thank you.

POTM...*: Prairie Dogs who Praise the Lord...

(*Photo of the Month)

OK, I know, I know, I’m taking great license here with my borrowed photograph. It’s an actual National Geographic cover but you won’t find the article therein saying anything about prairie dog spirituality. I simply think it’s a very funny photo when paired alongside the concept.

But here’s the thing: I’ve got prairie dogs on my mind… There’s a colony right behind our backyard fence that is definitely growing in its geography! Several days ago I ran one out of our yard, imagining only that it was an emboldened scout recruited to case the joint and see where a new entry/exit mound might be able to be excavated. I’m not even exactly sure what I’d do if this happens. They’re cute little critters, so my wimpy compassion would likely rule the day (though I’ve felt no remorse trapping rabbits from my yard and relocating them, an effort I have since jettisoned as fruitless). Extermination seems extreme (yes, there’s even a product for it called Rodenator…), and professional relocation is expensive. But I’d have to think of something.

So the day I chased Kit Carson away, I sent a quick email out to my neighbors to see if any of their yards had been encroached. I quickly got a response and photo back from our friend Jerry, across the street mind you, even further away from the field behind our house. Here’s the photo he sent:

I laughed out loud. Jerry says this guy had scaled four feet of masonry and looked in his office window when he snapped the picture. Now that’s scout dedication! Was it not just interested in an entry/exit mound but a break-in? Sure looks like it. Maybe it was checking to see if Jerry’s yard might come with a nearby beer cooler.

Of course, prairie dogs, a keystone species, are not dogs at all but burrowing rodents, with slightly longer and fatter bodies than gray squirrels but shorter (and shorter-haired) tails. Endangered in some locales, they’re prolific in Colorado and many interior west rangeland states; in fact, ranchers tend to be adamant about their destruction while city people are most often their advocates. Though colonies can be scores of acres large, they don’t always require much land to establish themselves – we see them often in the city limits of Denver in the grassy areas along freeway entrances, not the safest place in the world. Colonies are easy to spot due to the mounds the little guys create around their burrow holes, by which they can keep better watch of their surroundings for predators. The dog moniker comes from the little ‘bark’ they make to alert their compatriots when danger is near. (I guess that must mean me, as they always bark when I go out to our backyard.) Interestingly, they're one of the curiosities Lewis and Clark brought back alive to President Jefferson in Washington DC after their 1804-06 excursion to scout the American West, and may at that time have been the most abundant mammal in North America, some say a billion in number; but habitat loss and extermination have reduced their numbers to 10-20 million today. Highly social and playful, they live in close-knit family groups called coteries.

If you’re interested in seeing more, here’s a link to an interesting piece my sister sent me about them.

Precociousness and history aside, though, I’m still not sure what I’m going to do if they tunnel under the back boundary and show up in my yard. Maybe if they’re Christian prairie dogs, I can, in the spirit of Christlikeness, peacefully convince them to stay on their side of the fence. And praising the Lord? I suppose if Jesus said that the rocks would cry out their praise if the people failed to (Luke 19:39-40), anything is possible.

~~ RGM, July 8 2015

Blowin' in the Wind: A Psalm for Thanksgiving!

(Blowin’ in the Wind is a regular feature on my blog consisting of an assortment of nature writings – hymns, songs, excerpts, prayers, Bible readings, poems or other things – pieces I may not have written but that inspire me or have given me joy. I trust they will do the same for you.)

Psalm 148

1   Praise the LORD!
     Praise the LORD from the heavens,
     praise Him in the heights!
2   Praise Him, all His angels,
     praise Him, all His hosts!

3   Praise Him, sun and moon,
     praise Him, all you shining stars!
4   Praise Him, you highest heavens,
     and you waters above the heavens!

5   Let them praise the name of the LORD!
     For He commanded and they were created.
6   And He established them for ever and ever;
     He fixed their bounds which cannot be passed.

7   Praise the LORD from the earth,
     you sea monsters and all deeps,
8   fire and hail, snow and frost,
     stormy wind fulfilling His command!

9   Mountains and all hills,
     fruit trees and all cedars!
10 Beasts and all cattle,
     creeping things and flying birds!

11 Kings of the earth and all peoples,
     princes and all rulers of the earth!
12 Young men and maidens together,
     old men and children!

13 Let them praise the name of the LORD,
     for His name alone is exalted;
     His glory is above earth and heaven.
14 He has raised up a horn for His people,
     praise for all his saints,
     for His people who are near to Him.
     Praise the LORD!

For three thousand years, the Psalms have been the time-tested songbook for the people of God. Psalm 148 is one of the Hallelujah Psalms, and its message is simple: all created things in both heaven and earth give God praise! Nothing holds back! Verse one starts it out: Praise the Lord from the heavens! And verse seven picks up the antiphony: praise the Lord from the earth! Together, all of creation redounds to gratitude. This seemed to me appropriate to share on my blog this week, not only as a proclamation of praise for Thanksgiving Day, but as a declaration of faith for every single day of our lives!

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving celebration!

~~RGM, November 21, 2014

From my Nature Journal: The Long Journey

A long, barefoot walk along the Atlantic shoreline at low tide...

I look back intermittently upon firm footprints, sure, distinct, uniquely paced and directed to my various digressions and curiosities along the way. They create a history, of a walk, yes, but also perhaps a symbolic portrayal of a life’s journey.

After some time I turn back. It is a rising tide now, all footprints obliterated by breaking waves. There is no residual indication they had ever existed, nor that I had ever passed that way two hours before. My presence seems to have been of no consequence.

In times of doubt and flagging courage I am tempted to see my life’s journey like this, no residual impact. But I think again. Brief? Yes. Momentary? Yes. But of no consequence? No.

Along that shore I tended blessing and grace to the myriad flotsam and jetsam I encountered along the way. To what end? Aren’t others’ storm-tossed lives also transitory, as fleeting as my own, leaving no prints along their chosen shorelines? Yes. But blessing and grace always pay forward, tend ahead, not backward, always lean into others’ futures, beyond. Blessing endures.

...Blessing and grace always pay forward,

tend ahead... Blessing endures.

Of no consequence?

Along that shore I also extolled my Creator God, that only One completely Eternal, in Whose heart my footprints still remain, etched permanently, tracked across the lasting sands of God's Father-heart. Praise endures.

Along that shore my own heart seemed to burst in joyous, aching gratitude for the simple beauties of sight and sound, touch and smell -- birds, shells and their fragments, waves, sand patterns, sky, salt-air, grasses, heat and coolness, seeds, rain, creatures strange and familiar, smoothed stones, fog, sunrise and sunset, wind, flowers, thunder, dunes, breeze on bare skin, tracks, colors, clouds -- each alternately taking my breath away, yet causing me to praise my Maker while I had that breath. Gratitude endures.

                  

Along that shore God held sweet communion with me, spoke with me, challenged me, reminded me that though my life passes as a blink of an eye, he will one day bodily welcome me in familiarity, eternally, an old friend. Memory endures.

Along that shore I sowed pregnant seeds among the dunes: I loved and was loved. I taught and was taught. I sang and was sung to. I blessed and was blessed. I instilled faith and hope, and such was also instilled in me. Love, faith and hope endure.

                                                 

Impacts as these are not as footprints further up from the waterline, prints that simply last longer than those where the waves break but still are eventually erased by larger waves, higher winds or driving rain. Impacts as these are as everlasting as God Himself, treasures laid up in God's heaven, imperishable, immortal, abiding.

My life is wrapped in his, mingled in Omnipresence, a journey without end.

~~RGM, from an earlier journal entry, after a

walk at Hobe Sound NWR, Jupiter Island FL