Teenagers aren't known for their ability to focus.
Actually I think this is a little unfair. Interrupt a teen when they're juggling three simultaneous social media interactions, or about to unmask the imposter in a computer game, or not quite finished doing their hair - and you see just how laser sharp their concentration can be, and how earth-shattering the disaster you've caused by breaking it.
But... when it comes to other tasks, the picture is somewhat different. Getting some homework done. Responding to a request to clear the table. Getting ready for school. Heck, just listening to the words I'm speaking to you right now...!!!!! (sound familiar? take a deep breath...)
In these situations, all that focused energy has utterly dissipated.
In recent days I've found this topic of distraction quite, erm, distracting. Or intriguing. As I've mused on what I've seen in my kids, and in my own inner world, I notice plenty of distraction happening - but also that it isn't always the same. I think there are at least three types - and each of them can be addressed with strategies the world teaches us, which is perhaps not surprising since we all struggle with this. But there are also relevant truths from God's word. Isn't it amazing that he bothers to talk to us about something as mundane as our minds wandering? There are lots of examples, but I've been looking at Philippians 4 as a starting point.
So let's get into it. I'll start with an example from the kids...
Ella was really excited about the trampoline park party. She'd been up even earlier than usual, her hair was done (four times), she'd rushed through breakfast. It was almost time to go. She just needed to clear the table, clean her teeth and get some socks.
Unfortunately those three tasks had taken her twelve minutes so far and we were starting to run late. She'd gone upstairs to clean her teeth, and I'd found her adjusting her eye makeup instead. Then she'd put her toothbrush under the tap, which made her want the toilet, and she came back down having forgotten she hadn't actually used the brush yet. I'd given up on the aim of developing independence and stood over her to check she cleaned for the full two minutes, then reminded her to bring some socks down. She'd gone into her room but changed her t-shirt instead. I sent her back up for the socks. Twice. She was so pleased with herself when she finally got the socks that she forgot about the table. I stood staring at it so she'd get the hint... she looked puzzled, then got it and laughed at herself. Her phone buzzed. She sent two texts. The cup and bowl were still on the table.
I call this form of distraction the grasshopper. And I admit I do it too. I'm just not as annoying (am I?)
Grasshoppering - it should definitely be a verb, since we all do it - is that constant stream of thoughts that jump around, usually just out of sight, but definitely there, in the far corners of our minds. It would probably be easier for me to count the times when I am not aware of them than to notice when they are present. Even writing about them now has me spinning off down a mental sidestreet of the hair appointment I've not made yet, the worship outline I need to pull together, and the ever-present internal monologue about what to have for tea. I apologise if I've just set the same grasshoppers jumping in your head.
Maybe this is useful - often these are things that need to get done, and it may be impossible to imagine how your personal/social/family life would function if you didn't have this parallel processing ability. But I guess we've all had those moments when you realise that you had been utterly absorbed in the thing you were doing and the grasshoppers are gone - maybe at the end of a great film or book, or if you've woken up having fallen asleep in the garden, or (if you're lucky) at times in your work. To me that sometimes feels like I'd forgotten who I actually am, and I'm reluctant to let reality kick back in. Don't get me wrong, I love much of my life - but the complexity and swirl of endless trivial decision-making isn't the bit I love the most!
And my hunch is that this reluctance is important - that we were made for something more than this. There may be some useful outcomes of grasshoppering, but there are also many, many examples of it wasting time, causing me to forget what I was doing, or making a mistake because my brain is in too many places at once. It cost Ella - and me - time and calm and getting to a party when we were meant to. None of those were a particularly big deal in this instance, but they can be, especially if we end up habitually living stressed and running to catch up with ourselves. More importantly, it stops us from living here, in the present, bringing all of ourselves to the task in hand - or the rest in hand. It distances us from our own lives, and from the people we love. It causes us to scurry and fritter and scatter our precious time, our precious energy, our precious selves, on a thousand mundane trivialities - instead of actually living.
The world offers us some strategies, and they can be useful. Having a handy list for 'things I need to do' so you can jot the tasks down and then let go of them (just don't read through the rest of it or you'll multiply the distraction out of all proportion!). Time-management techniques like pomodoros, where you set a timer and work with focus on a single task for, say, 45 minutes, and then use the remaining 15 to attend to grasshoppper business. Mindfulness approaches including breathing exercises and techniques for grounding ourselves. Mentally travelling through our bodies from toe to crown, noticing how each part feels. Identifying one thing we can feel, taste, see, hear and smell. Shutting our eyes and feeling the breath filling us, then bring pushed back out. Using a few yoga or pilates stretches to reconnect us to where our body is at. These can be useful, and if you don't use any of them I recommend having a go. And if you fancy another distraction to add to your list - can you come up with Bible teaching or examples that commend any of these?
God's strategies are invariably better. Philippians 4:6-7 is familiar to many of us, and isn't just about distraction - but it is relevant. Paul writes, "Do not be anxious about anything" - so when that thought jumps into your mind, worrying about it is not God's design for us. What is? "...but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God." So the onus is on us to pray, to make our requests. They can be as short and simple as the triggering thought. The principle is simple: if the thought has distracted us, then we can bring it to our Daddy.
We need to not miss the "with thanksgiving" bit. The thanksgiving - again, it can be short and simple - helps stave off anxiety. It reminds us to notice what God's already done, what's good, as well as what still needs to be worked on.
What does it look like"? 'Oh, I haven't done X - thanks for reminding me - please help me get it done after lunch' or 'I've just remembered Y is waiting to hear back on that job - please assure her you're in charge - thank you that that's always true'.
Dead simple. Let the grasshoppers come - they will, welcome or not! And when they come, let them trigger a jump to your Daddy's heart, your Daddy who can do all things, who already knows this is on your mind, who already knows how he's working it out, but who loves it when his children talk to him and bring every little detail of their lives under his gaze.
You know what else is genius about taking grasshoppers straight to Daddy? It filters out the ones that really shouldn't be given a moment's notice. Grasshoppers that are about self doubt, or getting even, or coveting, or lust - if we habitually bring them all straight to our Daddy it means he can help us spot and kick out the ones that we really don't need jumping around in our minds.
And then what happens? "The peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." The world's techniques may give us the world's peace (or focus, productivity, relaxation, etc). Those are good gifts. But habitually taking our grasshoppers to Daddy gives us his peace, which transcends understanding. We don't have to have answers for every grasshopper question that jumps into our heads. The peace is beyond understanding - it doesn't depend on understanding - it isn't limited to questions where we have understanding. And that's not something that the world can give.
Let the grasshoppers come. And let them jump straight into your Daddy's care, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving.
So on to distraction type 2.
Mia was not in a good place. I'd been asked to take her out for a few hours, to give her and her carer a break from each other. Everything was tense. She'd been kicked out of school and was struggling to settle into the alternative placement they'd found for her. Most mornings she refused to get out of bed or to get ready. When her carer did manage to get her there, she picked fights with the other students, carved grooves into her desk and graffitied any paper she was given. Then she ran off down to the local shopping centre where she was banned from several shops already. She seemed pretty determined to sabotage any opportunity she was given.
But none of that was apparent as we sat opposite each other in McDonalds. We'd been round a few shops and she'd bought some presents for her sister. She'd let me stop her buying the spray-in hair dye she wasn't allowed and I had steered her past the vapes she had a history of stealing. We'd eaten some junk and she was starting to relax with me. I suggested we play 'Truth or dare', using a kids' app that I knew wouldn't suggest anything too challenging.
She seemed keen, and we got going. Several rounds later I'd learned quite a bit more about her, and she'd given a lady nearby a compliment and obeyed my (very tame) commands for a whole 60 seconds. It was going well.
And then her whole demeanour changed. Her face seemed to close down. The sparkle went out of her eyes and she scowled. I could see her hands balled into fists. I won't repeat the words she used, but she started muttering about one of the girls at school, threatening what she'd do to her on Monday, calling her names. It was as if I had disappeared - or she had; her body was still sitting there but her mind was somewhere completely different. She was immersed in the altercation to come, rehearsing it, practising her lines and her stance and the fierce look on her little pinched face.
This happened over and over again. Over the next few hours, as we found various things to do, played some games, laughed, shared music recommendations, and just wandered, she was mostly good company. And then something would happen - often I didn't catch the trigger - and the sunny Mia would disappear, to be replaced by this ball of fury.
This one's called the bulldog. And sadly it's one I recognise in me, too. I don't think I'm as transparent (am I?)
We're in the grip of the bulldog when we find ourselves off in an imaginary world, playing out an interaction - usually not a terribly nice one. Maybe we're not getting on well with our boss and we find ourselves lost in the argument that we are itching to actually have. Or we go back in time, and replay that awful incident in the park, but this time we say all the things we wish we'd thought of at the time. Or we project forward, imagining how things unfold by the end of the month, by next year, when the pigeons come home to roost and we are vindicated and we get to say, see, I told you so. Or a thousand other possibilities - each one with us at the centre of a drama that has one key feature: it isn't actually real.
I hate to admit it, but I have jerked myself out of a bulldog moment by realising I've just shouted out loud at someone who isn't actually there. Or I notice that my hands are clenched into fists and I'm marching down the road as if driven by an angry mob - which I guess is not so far from the truth.
Again, I suppose there are some possible benefits to this skill. Being able to imagine a scenario and to rehearse how things might go can help us prepare for difficult conversations and imagine alternatives. Reflecting on things that didn't go so well is key for learning for the future. And a keen imagination can be turned to all sorts of creative uses.
But... being trapped in a dream, particularly an unhealthy dream where anger, bitterness and revenge play key roles, isn't so great. And if we do this a lot, it can have serious consequences. Our mental health may suffer as we live in dark places and dwell on negative emotions. We may treat people in line with their persona in our imaginations rather than who they actually are. And, just as in grasshoppering, time spent in our dreams is time away from our actual lives.
What does the world say? Again there is lots that's useful (and you might want to think about where this has Bible backing too). We can practise realistic thinking to counter negative imaginations and worries. We can use journaling to shift the focus to the present and to explore where our minds are taking us. We can try gratitude exercises to help us cultivate positivity and to recognise the good in situations that may be tough. And we can set boundaries for worry, and draw on techniques like problem solving or coaching to engage more positively with the challenges we face. All this stuff is useful, and I commend it if the bulldog is a particular challenge for you.
And then, there's God's perspective. Just before the verses we've already looked at, Paul wrote: "Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: rejoice!" It's typical Paul - direct, to the point, eminently practical, and a real challenge. When we face situations that the bulldog would love to grab onto, we have a choice to make. We could choose joy instead. This, too, is a habit that is built over time by practice - but anyone can start, any time. We can choose to look for things to be thankful for despite the tough situation. We can also - and this is harder! - choose to thank God for the things that are hard themselves. We may not know how these are bringing good into our lives, but we know that they are, because God promises that all things work together for good. This doesn't mean that the things are good in themselves; they may be very bad, an affront to God and the way he designed the world to be - but they are not beyond his power to transform them, or to transform us through them. I read somewhere that if we only thank God for the gifts that already appear good, we are missing off half the list. And thanking him - finding joy - in what feels bad is super powerful because it reminds us that he is on the throne, we are not; he is Daddy, we are little children; he understands, we don't; he writes the story; we are not in charge. We can relax. We don't need to imagine a better outcome, because he's already written it and he is bringing it about.
We can also choose to bring more opportunities for joy into our lives. Particularly when something is difficult, it can be tempting to live in a grey world until it is over - but that's not something he requires of us. We can put beautiful flowers on our desk when work is really tough. We can listen to a comedy or watch an old film we love in the middle of grief. We can find a tree to climb (or lie under), or take our shoes off and walk on the grass, or toast marshmallows, or hang out with some children, in the middle of whatever it is. If our minds are often being bulldogged, it might be a sign we need to.
Paul goes on to say, "Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near." Though these are two separate sentences in almost all the translations, the connection is vital. In the face of difficult relationships, challenging circumstances, and hard seasons, gentleness is profoundly counter cultural. 'When the going gets tough, the tough get going', we say; and we recognise a friend's lack of care may be a result of the stress they are under. When things are hard we tend to ramp up the pressure on ourselves and on each other.
Remember Paul is writing this letter from prison, chained to a guard. He knows what it is to be in a tough place. But he isn't spending his time imagining the insults he wishes he could hurl at the men who are no doubt treating him cruelly at times. Instead he counsels gentleness; gentleness so profound that everyone - even those who may be causing you pain - can see it. How is that possible? It's because we know the Lord is near. He is near us right now, seeing all that is happening, walking alongside us in the midst of the struggle. And we are near to his coming again in justice, in glory, to put everything right. We don't need to dream of revenge, because he has everything in hand - and his justice, unlike ours, is perfect. And we don't need to internalise the pain or struggle on our own or avoid showing weakness, because he is with us. He holds us and carries us, and is our defence and our shield and our place of safety where we can hide. So we can be gentle - with ourselves and with each other.
[This is not an instruction to allow abuse - gentleness is not the same as accepting all that is meted out to us. If this is part of your story, get some help and move ahead with support - I can't say that strongly enough.]
So when the bulldog growls, you can bid him leave. Actively find reasons to rejoice. And choose gentleness, knowing that your Daddy is near.
Finally, distraction type 3.
Hanh was doing what he did every day. He got up, reluctantly, at the third request. He showered and got dressed. And then he sat in front of his laptop, playing the same two computer games over and over and over again. Sometimes he put some music on. Sometimes he watched a soap, or a football match (the whole street could hear when his team scored). But mostly it was the same two games. For hours and hours and hours.
He'd put a couple of part-baked baguettes into the oven for breakfast (that kid could eat!) and I showed him how to set the timer - but he'd be so engrossed in the game that he'd ignore it when it went off and most mornings he ate them an hour later, crisped to a husk, dark brown and cold. Hours later he'd tell me he was hungry, but when I put his dinner in front of him he'd leave it, hammering away at the mouse and shouting insults at the screen (I wish I hadn't asked google translate what they meant). That would go cold too and eventually get wolfed down an hour or two later.
Admittedly, at first there wasn't that much else he could do - but as his time with me lengthened, the list of possibilities grew. He'd met some other kids on the street and could have gone out to meet them. He'd started college and could have spoken to his friends there. I'd found him a few Vietnamese contacts he could have messaged - even some others who had been through a similar story. He knew my family would do their best to make him welcome, that we'd play games or go out somewhere interesting; that I'd take him shopping or for a meal; that he could explore the local area. If he'd been desperate he could have done some college work or even - horrifying thought! - engaged with me. None of it trumped sitting perched on the computer chair on his haunches, shouting at the pixels on the screen.
I call it the ostrich. And before you get distracted wondering, no, ostriches don't actually hide their heads in the sand - the myth maybe arose because they do use their beaks to turn their eggs, in nests that are shallow scoops in sandy ground. But it's too universal a myth not to use it.
Guess what? I do this one as well. But I don't think I'm quite as extreme (am I?)
The ostrich is deliberate distraction. It's when we withdraw from our actual life, for whatever reason - challenge or boredom or pain or just habit - and give our time, energy and attention over to something else. To netflix or social media, or to reading or making patchwork quilts - to mind-fillers that are more or less frowned upon, more or less virtuous - but all of which are a replacement for the life that we don't want to be present to just now. And some of that may be completely fine - we do need ways to relax. Even screen time is not evil in itself. But it may become excessive, or we may use it to avoid engaging with situations that are challenging, or with emotions we would rather avoid.
What does the world say? Firstly, the idea of balance - finding ways to limit the ostriching we take part in so that we can't get to the point where relaxation has become disengagement from life. For many people this means limiting our screen time, or scheduling it alongside other activities to keep everything at healthy levels. Another important idea is engaging in intentional activities that are creative or beneficial in other ways - taking on creative hobbies, exercise classes or sports groups, or volunteering - or reducing how many of these we do so that we can give ourselves more fully to them. And another approach is to consider how we can increase our meaningful connections with others - thinking about the quality of the interactions we have now and how this could be improved, scheduling date nights or coffee with friends or 1:1 time with our kids. It might mean intentionally engaging with a new social group to meet new people and widen our circle of friends - or the opposite, pulling out of a group or activity to create the time to have deeper relationships with the people we are closest to.
So much for the world; now on to Paul. In verse 8, he says, "finally bothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable - if anything is excellent or praiseworthy - thank about such things." Here is a more powerful idea than simply seeking balance. Instead, seek excellence. Paul isn't saying that we should watch TV or read or volunteer as excellently as we can - though he does say something similar elsewhere - here he is saying that the TV-watching and reading and volunteering we are doing should fill our minds with excellent thoughts. Whatever we do should lead to us thinking of what is true, noble, right, pure etc.
This is brilliant. It's so practical - and so utterly personal. The question isn't, 'am I doing a healthy amount of XYZ?' - it's 'what does doing XYZ lead me to think about?' If the answer is all that is good - then XYZ is right for us. And if it's not, then we need to make some changes.
Those changes might be as simple as doing, or not doing, XYZ. They might be doing a certain amount - whether that's making sure we have enough time for something that's deeply positive, or limiting the time we spend on something that can lead us into unhealthy thinking if we overdo it. It might mean doing something, or avoiding it, at a certain time or on particular days. It might mean that we need to link some activities together. And it might simply point us to how we can make better transitions between the things we do - cultivating the habit of pausing and identifying things that are lovely, admirable, excellent, praiseworthy in the activity we've just done, focusing our mind on this for a moment, before we dive into the next item on our list.
It challenges us too in how we interact with each other. If my conversation with you when we meet for coffee, or after church, or my whatsapp group chat, leads us into complaining or comparing or gossiping or banter that crosses the line - we need to make a change. And we can strive to be people who point others, as we continually point ourselves, towards what is true, right, noble, praiseworthy.
Sometimes we struggle to do this. And when that happens - when it all feels bleak and dark and none of Paul's list are evident to me - I'm learning to turn on a worship song and start singing. Because Jesus is always and forever true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent and praiseworthy. When nothing else is, I can look at him.
So when the ostrich beckons - you have something better to look at, something better to think about, than a close up view of sand. Fix your eyes on what is good.
Finally (really finally this time - I've learned that trick from Paul too) - what has all this got to do with the photos?
I like taking photos for lots of reasons. One of the important ones is that photos stop all three of the distractions. I have long enjoyed the hobby of 'glory hunting' - spending time once a week or so finding something beautiful and spending time photographing it. It doesn't need to be beautiful by normal standards - it can be anything. The weeds growing between the bricks on my drive. The shadows cast by a seed head I should have cut off by now. The dead leaves I just removed from a houseplant. Dewdrops, apples, lichen, ripples.
Photos keep me here in the present. Spotting something beautiful and taking pictures from all around it, experimenting to get images that capture what I can see - I'm really focused. The grasshoppers become less distracting. I'm engaging fully with this object right in front of me, on its beauty. I slow down and appreciate its glory, and get a fresh glimpse of the magnificence of the God who created all this - despite the fact no-one really looks at it most of the time. The bulldog slinks off. As I look from different angles and notice the textures, the colours, the shadows, I'm drawn into the loveliness and excellence and praiseworthiness. Often I end up singing or just sitting in silence for a while. The ostrich has nothing to rival this.
Be still and know that I am God (Psalm 46:10). I can find my way into stillness through photos.
I hope the pictures help you pause too as you read. Maybe they give the previous sentence time to sink in. Maybe they make you aware of beauty where you hadn't looked for it recently. Maybe they help you notice loveliness around you too. Maybe you'll have a go and find this - or another - way into stillness for yourself.
I hope so.
Comments