joy – sethlewis.ie

AI Beats Us At Our Own Game

I have a friend who works for NASA. He told me that the International Space Station has always struggled with a mould problem. He said everything that goes into orbit is fully sterilised and decontaminated, except for one thing: the people. Among all the clean and tidy machines, the people remain organic. Alive. Chock-full of microorganisms and a million other mysteries including (but not limited to) mould. Even when we leave the planet, we bring our mess with us.

The solution to the mould problem on the ISS is obvious. All we need to do is replace the people with robots. We’re told that AI is already more intelligent than we are, and getting better and more efficient at everything we do. Robots wouldn’t need sleeping quarters, wastewater recycling units, exercise facilities, showers, or a kitchen. All that human-oriented space on the space station could be re-purposed and used far more efficiently.

A Puddle of Pure Joy

It was a hot day in the High Tetras of Slovakia, last summer. We were on holiday in a town with a water park, so we decided to cool off there. As we walked in, we were impressed with the extent of the place—the large indoor pools came first, then multiple outdoor pools, a lazy river, creative water features, and slides of all sizes twisting off in all directions. Someone had obviously put a lot of thought and effort into collecting and channelling water in the most delightful ways possible. It worked. We had a great day. And out of all the slides and waterfalls and all the fun we had and saw others having, there was one moment that stands out as the purest, most transparent joy I saw that day.

Just the thing (a poem)

When the thing that I thought
I was waiting for happened
it opened my eyes up to see
that the thing that I thought
I was waiting for wasn’t
the thing that I thought
it would be
so I thought I would wait
for another thing, maybe
and this one would be
just the thing
but it turned out it was
just the thing that it was
not the thing that I hoped
it would be
I could go on forever just
hoping and waiting
for something to be
just the thing
or stop with the somethings
and turn to the Someone
who teaches my heart
how to sing

Enjoying Your Own Decline

Nobody likes to talk about it, but the decline is coming. I’m not talking about economics, western culture, or common courtesy. I’m talking about us. You and me. Life is a mountain with two sides, and no matter how high you climb, you’ll still end up at the very bottom someday. Even the god-like pharaohs landed there, and the treasure in their tombs was eventually plundered. That’s how it goes. If you’re lucky, you’ll live long enough to experience the decline as a gradual downward slope. For others, it’s more like a cliff. One thing is certain: decline is coming.

It may be your strength. It may be your beauty. It may be your mind. It may be your influence, the relevance of your work, your notoriety, or your social prominence. Eventually, it will be all of the above. I guess it makes sense that we don’t like to talk about this. It sounds dire, doesn’t it? And yet I’ve witnessed people living out the years of their decline with a strange, luminous joy that refused to track with their diminishing abilities and strength—on the contrary, it actually grew stronger and brighter as they weakened and let go. How is this possible? I want to know, because I want that joy.

Beyond Measure

When we speak about blessings, we usually speak about the good things we enjoy, like family, friends, a nice holiday, or a great coffee. These are wonderful blessings, worth counting, and giving thanks for. And yet I was reminded recently (through a prayer of thanks offered by a friend) that when the Bible speaks of blessings, the language it uses is often far more extreme than the language we’re accustomed to using ourselves. Paul tells us that “no human mind has conceived” the greatness of “the things God has prepared for those who love him“ (1 Corinthians 2:9). In other words, God’s blessings for his children are literally off the charts, stretching beyond the borders of imagination. “My cup overflows”, says David, in Psalm 23, and in Psalm 16 he speaks of how,

“You make known to me the path of life;
you will fill me with joy in your presence,
with eternal pleasures at your right hand.”

Slow Happiness

As I look out the window at the sunshine on my garden, I remember the many days that I saw the same view differently—when the glass was streaked with rain, when the ground was hard with frost, and the plants that are budding and growing so beautifully today were nothing but tiny seeds or bare sticks. It all changed so slowly, but it changed so much. And as good as it looks today, I know that there are even better things ahead—the apple blossoms will ripen into apples, the rose stems will bloom with their own unique colours and fill the air with their intoxicating aromas, there will be blueberries and strawberries and maybe this year we’ll finally get some grapes from the grape vine, now that it’s more established. It takes time, establishing. Our blueberry bushes give us a lot more now than they used to, and the apple tree is a little bigger every year. Life is like that, too, isn’t it?

The End

Yesterday my wife and I attended the funeral of a friend that we will miss dearly. We still hear the echo of his deep voice in our ears, singing to the God he loved and served so well for so long. We will carry the memory of his smile and kind words with us as a precious treasure for the rest of our lives.

It’s hard to say goodbye.

It’s hard, but we need to do it. We need to remember, and grieve. We need to look back with thankfulness and look forward with hope.

But who can dare to look forward at a funeral?
Who can see beyond the finality of death?

A Living Poem

One of the reasons I love poetry is because of the power it has to make ordinary language come alive in new and different ways. But of course, when I say “come alive” that’s only a poetic phrase—I don’t actually mean that poems could ever really live. Or could they?

The Flood

This is a poem about the joy of giving and looking beyond ourselves:

The Flood

Self-seeking will never find
The ways that giving heals the mind
The joy that grows from being kind
To those who can’t give back.

The Song of Streams

This poem is an old one, which I posted here on my blog three years ago (it’s hard to believe the blog has been going that long). I am re-posting it today because most of you wouldn’t have seen it back then, and also because I’ve been thinking about these ideas a lot recently as I’ve worked on the manuscript for “Dream Small.” When the book comes out, you’ll see that one of the chapter titles uses a phrase from this poem—I’ve called it, “The Upside-Down Ladder.” I have to say, though, that the original inspiration for this poem came from a scene in “Hind’s Feet on High Places,” by Hannah Hunard, a book I highly recommend.