Getting Pruned

by Jonathan Hart, LPC

I have a Dieffenbachia.  It's a tropical houseplant I've been growing for a few years now.  When I got it, it only had 4 leaves and stood maybe a foot high.  I stopped counting the leaves a long time ago.  It now stands three to four feet high.  Maybe I should say "stood".  I have recently learned a great deal about the plant's nature and needs, which resulted in my cutting it almost in half.  Let me explain.

The Dieffenbachia is also known as "Dumb Cane", apparently because of it's poisonous sap, which will cause throat constriction and even death if ingested.  "You're dumb if you eat this cane", I think is what the name means.  I, personally, call it "dumb" because it will grow itself into oblivion.  If you let it go, it becomes too tall for the root system to hold upright and it falls over, uprooting itself.  In order to properly care for the plant, one must cut off a fairly significant amount of growth.  New, healthier, growth sprouts from below the cut, and the plant is sturdier and more balanced.

I must confess, pruning seems counter-intuitive.  It feels destructive to me to chop off parts of the plant that are doing well, from which new growth is continually sprouting.  It seems wasteful to simply drop those leaves and stems into the trash.  (I actually planted the severed portion to see if it will take root and propagate.  I'll let you know what happens, maybe.)  Yet the overall health and continued success of the plant depends on this process of cutting back.

http://www.gradinamea.ro/P-dieffenbachia-991-11047.html

Why the horticulture lesson?  Because this seems to be a beautiful, if unsettling, analogy for the human condition.  We are all about growth.  We love to get stronger, taller, to spread more leaves and challenge new heights.  Growth is good.

We don't seem to like the idea of pruning much, though.  First, it means experiencing pain, and nobody likes pain.  I'm sure my plant was terrified as I approached with my knife.  Second, it means understanding that not all growth is necessarily good.  There is a kind of growth inherent in humanity that turns into pride, an appearance of strength that leads to catastrophe.  I love to see new sprouts on my plant, but I was utterly dismayed when I returned home one day to find that the plant had toppled over onto its neighbor, damaging both plants in the process.

There is a kind of pain that originates in our own actions and attitudes.  I am not speaking of the pain that comes from death, natural disaster, or the predation of others upon us.  I am speaking of the kind of pain that we experience as a natural overflow or consequence of our own actions and words. These actions and words grow from attitudes and a sense of entitlement that feels like strength; in other words, from pride.

The moment we believe we have overcome a temptation, that we have succeeded in surpassing the weakness that used to trip us up, we have entered a kind of denial that we often label as growth.  "I'm better now.  I wouldn't do that! It's no longer a problem for me."  Pride is the language of "I'm better than that".

I celebrate when I see anyone overcome a temptation or weakness, but I also cringe just a little, because I fear that in the certainty of having surpassed the actual behavior or attitude, they may come to deny that the core weakness to it still exists.  It is the core weakness that will topple us, for in the moment we believe we are proof against it because we have "come so far", we let down our guard and open ourselves up to it all over again.  None of us is as strong as we think we are.

Wise is the one who will open him- or herself to pruning when it comes, who will humbly acknowledge the truth that their heart whispers to them and reveal it to a trustworthy helper.  It hurts, it's scary, it changes things irrevocably... and it spurs new, real, balanced growth.  Those who resist pruning head for a far more painful tumble when the overwhelming weight of "growth" tumbles them from their pot.  The damage is greater, the recovery longer, the hurt done to self and others deeper.  The very hurt we fear from the pruning is intensified and broadened.

Not all growth is real or healthy.  Often it becomes an illusion of strength or competence, while on the inside we deny the toppling sensation we feel deep down.  Better to bring it out voluntarily and deal with it sooner -to submit to the pruning knife -  than to let it continue until we fall.

Sweet Sorrow

by Jonathan Hart, LPC

Living in this world means living in the tension between good and evil, love and sorrow, joy and pain.  It is to experience the pleasant comfort of cuddling with your spouse on the couch and to ache with the beauty of the moment, while knowing that the moment must inevitably end.  It is to experience the trauma of loss and death and to know that growth and wisdom often come through pain.  Juliet loves the sweetness of Romeo's affection as they say "good night" and yet must release him for a time to do without it.

To deny or diminish either of the parts is to live out of balance.  To pretend there is no pain is to smother and  invalidate your genuine and legitimate grief.  To live in the pessimism that says "good is always crushed" is to smother real and life-giving joy.  We can exist in either of these out-of-balance ways, but we cannot truly live.

To love is to risk loss, and the more we love, the more pain we experience in the loss.  Intimacy requires vulnerability, and the more open and emotionally naked we become with the other, the greater the closeness and experience of connection.  We live in a world of friction, and yet within the friction there is heat and light and life itself.

If you are protecting yourself from either of these elements, consider that a full, rich experience of life in this world is only possible when we acknowledge the truth of sorrow and loss while holding on to solid hope that there is good and light in the world at the same time.

--

The Culture of Dissatisfaction

by Jonathan Hart, LPC

My truck is not what I want it to be. It is not new, big, heavy, or powerful. Its barely worthy of the title "truck". My house is't the greatest, either. There are a lot of ongoing repairs or refurbishments that need to happen... sometime. My computers are old and somewhat slow. My hair is starting to turn grey, and if i'm totally honest, there isn't as much of it as there used to be. 

Something in our culture disposes me to see things in this way. The ads with which we are saturated in video and print and pixels paint a world that is in desperate need of repair.  This I affirm.  But the ads stray into falsehood thereafter. Universally, ads point to a fix.  "If you have this item, pill, procedure, or experience, you will be satisfied."  They hint (but never say out loud) that the product they offer will be enough forever.  They, and we, know different.  But we are buying what they are selling.

The truth is that even millions in the bank, a rich family life, and all the possessions and stuff that we could ask for are not going to be enough... for long. All things (people included) age and decay.  All things (people included) break down and die. We rightly and achingly long for something more.  


Part of living well in this world is, to quote the Man in Black from "the Princess Bride", "Get used to disappointment".  Well, not exactly, but close.

The fact is that the things and experiences of this life cannot permanently or consistently satisfy us. Good comes and goes. Peace comes and goes. Contentment comes and goes. We run into trouble when we try to make these things "normal" and view anything else as sub-par or defective, when we make these temporary things more important than they really are.  We run into trouble when we depend on them to give us the one thing they absolutely cannot: satisfaction.


My truck is dependable, for now. My computer is enough to do what I need it to, for the moment. My family life is really good, at the moment. My house keeps me and my family warm and dry.  All of these thing will wax and wane. There is no ultimate fix that can be had for love or money in this world.  


Our hunger for more is good. Our awareness of lack and need is actually something to hold on to and allow for rather than trying to fill it up or soothe it. It points us to the something more that is intangible, and to the only thing that will truly, ultimately satisfy: it is our longing for heaven and the perfect eternity that God has for his children.

A Prayer in Pain: Lamenting in Sadness, Depression, Grief, Disappointment, Sorrow.....

By: Courtney Hollingsworth, PLPC


I don't think it a coincendence that many of our posts on this blog have talked about the lost and silent feeling that often accompanies pain, sadness, loss, grief, suffering, sorrow, depression, darkness, etc., like here and here and here, to just name a few. In these dark places in our lives and hearts, we are often at a loss for words or just don't know where to start. In the Bible, godly people would cry out to God in prayer from those places, and it is called a Lament. I'm sure you can see that this is the root word for "lamenting." There are many Laments in the Psalms and the book of Job, which God has given us. You can also write your own. A great book on this is A Sacred Sorrow, by Michael Card. Here is a a prayer of pain modeled after the way God has shown us in the Bible.

I jumped into the deep end, or I was pushed, I’m not quite sure.

The water is dark and icy, torrent like a storm.

I can’t even recall what the sunshine feels like on my face.

My tears well up in my heart, and overflow onto my cheeks,

Though they are veiled by the rain.

Do you see my tears?

Struggling to swim, gasping for breath,

My arms grow tired.

Do see my hands reaching for the sky? Do you even see me?

There are weights on my ankles,

And the more I fight, the heavier they become.

I wish I could say my voice is hoarse from calling out your name,

I wish I could say my eyes have never left the horizon, searching for your face.

I’m afraid I have drifted too far out to sea.

If you’re there, I cannot see you.

If you’re there, I cannot hear your voice.

Have you left me to struggle alone?

Do you see me at all, or have I wandered too far?

I told you I was prone to wander,

You knew it was true.

Where was your hand in mine?

Did you forget me too?

I just can’t do it anymore; I’m just not going to make it.

My Shepherd, you have never failed me, you have never let me drown.

I cannot save myself. I cannot protect myself, try as I might.

I must hide in the shadow of your mighty wing.

You see every tear I cry and hold it in your hand, my Comforter.

I long for the day when you will wipe away all my tears.

Keep me firm in your embrace until that day. Hold me fast.

I beg you not to let me drown.

Please do not forget me.

Fiction, Hollywood, and Real Relationship

by Jonathan Hart, LPC

SPOILER ALERT:  for those who haven't read the Harry Potter or Hunger Games series, there may be plot spoilers in the following paragraphs, though I will try hard not to reveal too much.

My wife and I were discussing some of our thoughts about how the books The Deathly Hallows and Mockingjay ended, and how they served to wrap up their respective series.  We were thoroughly disappointed in each and for similar reasons.  The core of our disappointment was the principle of "putting a bow on ugly".

The Harry Potter series ended with an epilogue titled "19 years later", that (we felt) too neatly and agreeably attempted to wrap up all the threads from the series.  The fact that Harry named a child after the person who most utterly despised him and treated him viciously even behind closed doors was just too much.  I can see coming to respect him, but one simply does not name a child after an abuser of this magnitude.  All the ugliness seemed to have inexplicably vanished.

The Hunger Games series tried to do the same thing, though the attempt at closure was somewhat better.  The author at least attempted to acknowledge that ugly existed in the post-story world, but it was still resolved too simplistically and without the flesh to make it believable for me.

Hollywood and fiction train us to expect that all the loose ends can be resolved, that resolution equals "happily ever after" or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof.  They train us to need things to work out that way.  This is most plainly true in the (despicable and utterly useless) genre known as "Romantic Comedy".  I cannot say more without using profanity.

Think of the sense of disappointment or unease when you watch a movie in which resolution is not clean or neat. We recently watched the movie Moneyball, which does not conclude with a "Hollywood Ending".  I can only say that the events depicted happened within the recent lifetimes of many, and as such could not be modified to fit the pattern described above.  I feel that if they were more ancient history they would likely have been changed into something completely victorious.

This is fine, and even necessary (to a degree) for celluloid.  The unfortunate side effect is that because reality is very much different, many people are left with a sense of disappointment and even despair when real life does not work that way.  The truth is that human beings are generally a broken, selfish lot that is capable of both great goodness and great evil, often within a single breath.

The fact is that intimacy, real relationship, and engaging responsibly with another human being is often like a wrestling match.  The very best relationship in the world experiences conflict and disagreement, hurt and offense, misunderstanding and tension on an ongoing basis.  The couple who tells you that "never a harsh word is spoken" is either whitewashing, outright lying, or they are not experiencing real, deep intimacy.

If you are going to really do deep, intimate relationship with another person, you'd better know how to fight.  I don't mean knowing how to eviscerate your opponent in the shortest period of time.  I mean knowing how to hold in tension the following two truths: 1. This other person and I are on the same side,  and 2. There is pain and friction between us.

When I talk about knowing how to fight, I mean knowing how to understand and express my own feelings and thoughts in a way that does not accuse or attack the other, even when it is plainly and wholly their fault.  I mean learning how to uphold their honor and dignity while feeling the painfully powerful desire to rip their eyes out.  I mean knowing how to view conflict as a necessary part of doing relationship, and not as a threat to relationship.

It is often one of the hardest lessons to learn in relationship that resolution is not about coming to agreement, but rather it is about coming to a deeper understanding of the other person, and thereby learning how to craft a unique relationship between the two of you.  No part of that process is clean, neat, or simple.  It is ugly, and to expect or demand otherwise only leads to disappointment.  You can put a bow on it if you like, but that doesn't make it easier to look at.  It takes patience, forgiveness, grace, mercy, and love.  When you've come to the other side of it, it will still be ugly, but there is a beauty in what has been created by moving through it that will last a lifetime.

The Cubs Killed my Fandom

by Jonathan Hart, LPC

I grew up in Chicago watching the Cubs play baseball.  As a kid, I remember hating the fact that baseball interrupted my afternoon cartoons all the time (this was before Wrigley had lights). I watched some of the games, and I remember sometimes getting excited when they would get ahead.  But inevitably, they blew it in the 8th or the 9th, and the disappointment was bitter.  In 1984 (Yes, I had to look that up: http://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/CHC/), they came close to winning it all, but they blew that, too.  I haven't "followed" them, or anyone else, since.

Because of recurring disappointment, I lost my enthusiasm for sports.  I do not consider myself a "fan" of any team.  There are few names and no stats that are readily recognizable to me.  The only reason I know Pujols plays first base is because I live in Saint Louis, and I went to a game once when my son won free tickets for us.  There are other factors that have influenced my lack of affiliation with the sporting world, but I credit the Cubs with most of it: one can only handle so much disappointment before shutting those feelings down.

The trouble is that I don't experience the high of a close game, the joy of celebrating a victory pulled from the jaws of defeat.  When the Cards suddenly hit their hot streak this year and pulled out a win for the Wild Card slot (I confess that I don't really know what that even means), I nodded and smiled.  When the Rays did the same (and I likewise confess that I didn't know there was a major league baseball team named the Rays until earlier this year), I have friends in Tampa whose celebrations resounded on Facebook.  I nodded and smiled.

A basic principle that is demonstrated by this story is that risk and disappointment seem to be inseparable from joy.  We cannot shut down disappointment without likewise shutting down joy.  Joy and pain operate on the same switch. We tend to protect ourselves from hurt, which is natural and helpful in the short term.  When this shutting down becomes a way of life, however, it robs us of our joy in the long run.

People let us down.  People harm us.  Trusting others with our hearts and with our dreams often leads to pain.   We rightly withhold ourselves from those who recklessly and selfishly feed upon us.  When we generalize this distrust ("All men are predators.", "All women are emasculating.", "Trust no one.", "Look out for number one because no one else will.") we begin to lose our capacity to experience joy.   We lose out when we do not risk entrusting ourselves to anyone out of fear that they, too, will hurt us.

It seems like the greater risk, the longer wait, and the deeper disappointment all lead to a reciprocally greater joy. I think of the Red Sox when they finally broke the curse of the Bambino (and I don't really know why he cursed them).  The fans spilled into the streets for hours and days.  Smiles, laughter, and an entire city's communal joy resounded.  I can't imagine what Chicago will look like if that ever happens for the Cubs.  It will be a madhouse.  I will likely smile and nod.

What parts of your heart are you withholding, and from whom?  Where is your joy deadened?  Is life kind of flat for you?  When was the last time a celebratory shout left your lips before you realized it?  When have you felt your pulse quicken, or realized that there was a goofy grin glued to your face? These are just some diagnostic questions to help you sort out the places you are hiding from risk and pain at the expense of your joy.

Will I ever be a fan again?  Maybe.  Honestly, it probably won't be with the Cubs.  I might risk it for a team that won't interrupt my cartoons, or one that wins more than once a century.  I do, however, envy those Die Hard Cubs fans if and when their curse is broken (or when the Illuminati finally decide to take pity and let them win, depending on your conspiracy theory subscription).  I envy them the exponential joy they will experience. They have been waiting and hoping faithfully for a long time.  The fans deserve it.  Some call them fools, but I laud them for their persistence and loyalty.  It will be a mind-bending ride.