Category Archives: Certain words

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Certain words: ambivert

The day called for 140 miles by car, to start in the dark, with fog. Fortunately, I had my ipod loaded. First up? Book reviews, from NPR.

These are routinely worthwhile, and I typically have to fumble with a pen and notebook while listening (so thankful for cruise control at such times. And coffee mugs with tight lids.). One in particular caught my attention–Susan Cain’s Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking.

Introversion is finally getting the attention it deserves (here’s another example from Adam McHugh)–which may well threaten introverts–but Ms. Cain is careful not to privilege introverts over extroverts. Rather, she seeks to redress the imbalance, suggesting that introverts have contributions to make in a culture that has tended to lean the other way. Her interviewer teased out some differences, and then, in closing, offered ways listeners could determine whether they were introverts, or extroverts, or ambiverts. Ambiverts? Turns out, that if you’re in ‘the middle’ of the continuum that seeks to measure preference, that’s you. Ambivert.

We know ‘ambidextrous’–the word for an ability to use both hands equally well. And ‘ambivalent’ is to be divided between two options (‘wishy-washy’ is the negative slant here, but not always an accurate description). And now, not a new word, but one worth hearing: ambivert.

I rather like the inclusivity–the hopefulness–of ‘ambivert’. I want to keep this word with me, too, especially as I’m inclined to fall solidly on one side of the line. Ambivert is a good reminder that sometimes staking out territory–or having a particular characteristic foisted on oneself by others–is not always necessary, or of value.

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Certain words: condone

The town I grew up in had a radio station that for a while featured an afternoon program where students from different schools competed. Did I mention it was small town? So small, that our high school’s opponents were often grade schoolers–which led to a certain slanting of the questions.

Among the contests was a spelling bee. Our team got hard words; theirs got puff balls. On one of the rare occasions we drew something manageable–condone–it was my turn. Eager to score enough points for our gang to pull ahead, I spelled it, and then had to give a definition. I did both with an air of confidence, except that my definition was dead wrong.

I thought ‘condone’ and ‘condemn’ were synonyms.

The buzzer sounded, and I sat down red-faced, glad it was radio. Wrong? I thought. But I was so sure.

Since then, I’ve been a bit obsessive about checking definitions, especially with new or unfamiliar words. It would probably be easier to keep my vocabulary small, so as to reduce the risk of more embarrassment, but I can’t quite acquiesce to that urge.

Writing guides regularly suggest that authors use simple words rather than fancy ones. This can make reading a bit easier; it can also lighten the writer’s load, and save one from the unsettling situation of plunking down the wrong term–no matter how sincerely.

But, I’m thinking there’s a case to be made for more, rather than fewer, words. Some reasons? First, English is luxurious with vocabulary, and if writers don’t use some of those words, bad things are likely to occur. Perhaps you’ve heard about words that get lost on account of disuse–do you want to be responsible for causing any more of that?

Second, fancy words (OK: not ultra-fancy) add zest to a page. Not only that, but having more words to draw from reduces the frequency of repetition in the writing. What’s more boring than seeing the same word/phrase repeated frequently?

Third, using a wide vocabulary performs a community service. Since some of our readers will be high school students preparing for the SAT, we have an opportunity to be of assistance!

Fourth, more words means less repetition. Wait, I said that.

And fifth, given that a prodigious vocabulary is stock in trade for writers we admire and even seek to emulate, it seems worth adding a few more nouns, verbs, and adjectives to our bag of writing tricks. I recall a reviewer of a short story by Annie Proulx commenting on the need to consult a dictionary before getting out of the first paragraph. According to the reviewer, that was a good thing.

Opinions abound on the topic, but for what it’s worth, this is the one I condone. You?

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Certain words: abundance

In late Feb, I got to enjoy some Florida beaches, which is for me incredibly life-giving and soul-filling. Beaches are good places to ponder enormity, what with sky and sea present on such a grand scale. They also nudge me to consider abundance: all those shells, all that sand. The grasses that grow on the dunes, the mangroves that thrive in brackish water and push out limb after limb, the gulls and pelicans and sandpipers that swoop and skitter. So much.

We hear a fair bit about scarcity these days–the ‘net is full of alerts regarding threats to or lack of clean water, medical care, healthy food, human compassion. These rightly call for attention and response, and so many are reaching into these harsh realities in powerful creative, generous ways. Still–and without taking anything away from these legitimate pleas–is there room for thinking about abundance? Are there benefits from noodling over what the presence of so much suggests?

I think so. Reflecting on abundance gives us space to consider that we need not play zero sum games, where one wins at the expense of another. It reminds us that in many cases, there is enough to go around, particularly if we resist the urge to hoard, or splurge, or waste. It evokes wonder, sparks awe. Awareness of abundance breaks us out (a- negates [it's an 'alpha privative'] what follows, namely, bounds) of a tendency to think that only what we see/experience is all there is; it keep us from inhabiting too small a world.

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Certain words: imitate

The novel I’m working on is set in a small university; among its characters is a sculptor who works in clay. That’s got me researching the subject, to learn a bit more. In The Penland School of Crafts: Book of Pottery (1975), I was ambling along, reading about wedging and bisque firing, only to stumble on a contributor who wanted to get all philosophical by considering what it means to imitate others’ work, and even recommending that course of action. This was confusing at first: isn’t an artist supposed to be ‘original’?

This writer explained that while we often think of imitating in terms of copying, we can also see imitation as the carrying on of an image. Seen from this vantage point, imitation helps us practice the dynamics of imagination; it is the active bearing of an image or idea (p. 17).

An interesting twist on a familiar word….

Taken like this, we note a ‘starting point’–a thing, or even a person–which captures our attention to the extent that we try our own hand at making one of these, or walking that way. Is success a matter of slavish copying? Not really the right question, that–we’re talking about art here, after all.

Better, perhaps, to note what got us going, drew us in, made us want to try something similar. Then, we apply our own glaze; we turn it here, tweak it there. Is the object we’re imitating visible in what we’ve made or done? Probably. Is that a problem? Hardly.

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Certain words: enough

Enough is a startling word, for at least two reasons. First, it has that unpredictable grouping of letters, ough. How many ways can that set be pronounced? Through, ought, slough (of despond, more than the casting off of something), dough–no wonder those seeking to learn English as a second language are traumatized.

But enough is a crazy-maker in another way. It knocks on the door of your comfortable life and bursts in with an attitude. You thought you were doing OK, and then you heard something, saw something. Something more–and so adios, contentment.

Enough doesn’t fit comfortably in the consumer’s vocabulary. It’s not part of the lexicon used by advertisers and promoters, either. On the other hand, it is a word that sits at a table where friends gather for soup and bread on a winter’s night, or in the trunk of a car passed down by a relative. The effort of a team that played its heart out and came in second, the fumblings of a kid in love, geraniums–all enough. Enough is the laid back cousin of excellence; it keeps satisfaction from devolving into gluttony. In fact, enough is that off-ramp a half mile before all the ‘deadly’ sins, and a passel of other vices, too.

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Certain words: hope

Hope is the antidote to the Kool-Aid on offer at so many roadside stands. It’s a riot of wild color against dull snow. Hope is the nudge on days when just getting to lunch feels like a major accomplishment.

According to Scripture, hope is an anchor–which is a curious image, because you only need an anchor when you’re expecting trouble, like from a storm, or a drifting away of the boat while you’re snorkeling. Actually, there’s one other purpose for an anchor: when the engine of your (small) boat breaks down, you can pitch the anchor a few feet in front of the bow, pull at the rope, lift the anchor out, and repeat the process. Eventually this will get you to shore.

Hope abides (more Scripture). There’s a lot that picks at hope, but hope persists and refuses to tuck tail and run. Hope stands, sturdy and real–and stands outside my ability to conjure it like a rabbit from a hat, or a coin from an open palm. Hope that doesn’t depend on me?

Hope is assurance (Scripture again), the confidence that putting all your eggs in one basket is going to work out just fine.

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Certain words: serve

I’m looking for a handle, or a lever, that helps me get into this one, because serve is one of those words that tends to make skin crawl….

How about cognates–words built on the root serv? Like preserve, conserve, reserve–all of which head in a different direction from where we typically go. These terms put the emphasis on saving, so that something good or necessary is available. They also stress the action that is buried in serve.

It’s easy to think of that action as an obligation, which (we tell ourselves) usually involves something unpleasant. Thus ‘service’ becomes synonymous with drudgery, or that which is beneath me.

If I dig further, service yields this idea: a means to an end. Argh–all this does is to expose my preference for being an ‘end’ rather than a ‘means’. Unless…

What if I’m enthusiastic about a particular end–would I be willing to contribute to that coming about?

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Getting hold of ‘glory’

During conversations about glory, and the book I’m trying to write on the subject, reactions vary. Part of this, I expect, is because the term itself is slippery (Gordon Fee says that talking about glory is like picking up mercury with your fingers). But it’s a word that shows up often in both Old and New Testaments, and so trying to get a bit of a grip on it seems worth the attempt. With that in mind, a few preliminary observations about ways ‘glory’ gets used:

1. In association with bright lights and loud noises. A range of phenomena appear when glory is on the scene, so much so that folks often equate glory with the fireworks. But it looks like glory is what produces the lightning and thunder, the way a car horn, when you press the steering wheel in just the right place, yields a satisfying honk. Of course, this raises another question: if glory only produces phenomena, where does glory itself come from?

2. As a synonym for heaven. Headin’ on to glory land–or some such phrase–pops up in songs, poems, and general conversation of religious folk who know that glory is ‘over there’. Scripture uses the word this way on occasion, but it’s probably a mistake to think we must wait until we die before truly experiencing glory.

3. As a catchword for the honor we give to others on account of who they are or what they’ve done. It’s a handy way of encompassing some marvelous ideas, lifting us as it does into the rarefied air of worthiness, courage, and beauty. In the Bible, doxologies are common–those outbursts of praise that ‘give glory to God’ (the Greek word for glory is doxa–hence that word…). A surprise? That God gives glory to people, too. A problem? That people can at times want to hoard glory (and/or its cheap imitations of fame and wealth) for themselves rather than giving it to another–especially God.

4. As a name for God. Samuel refers to God in this way (1 Sam 15:29), and so do a Psalmist (106:20), Jeremiah (2:11), and Hosea (4:7). Paul may have it in mind as he considers the attitude of sinners (see Romans 1:23), and Peter likes the name as well (2 Peter 1:17). All this means there’s enough data to form a  separate category, even though this use of ‘glory’ doesn’t register very often.

There’s more to all this–and I’m still trying to fit things together. Meanwhile, if your own thinking about or experience with glory would lead you to add a comment here, I’d be grateful!

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Certain words

In college, an Econ prof started class by reading from Wishful Thinking, Frederick Buechner’s whimsical, penetrating lexicon that has been a companion since. Buechner’s definitions of Faith, Sin, Spirit, Compassion, and many more have enlivened sermons and deepened understanding. They’ve sparked guffaws rather often, too. A book like this slows one down long enough to pay attention to what fills sentences and paragraphs, the way walking down a lane reveals wonders unseen by speeding motorists.

Since bumping into Buechner like that, I’ve been keeping a file of words that intrigue me. I’m also drawn to writers who are knocked out by words, too. Like Peggy Noonan, who commended word-geeks as she talked about speech- (and other kinds of) writing. Or Annie Dillard, in basically everything she puts her hand to. Annie Proulx? Try and get through a few pages without consulting Webster. Wallace Stegner makes writing look easy because his word-wrangling is so effortless. And I just finished Neal Stephenson’s Reamde (big enough to be a boat anchor), which I thought would be a lark, since his novel is billed as crime fiction. But it’s actually more like a dictionary with a really good plot.

I check that file from time to time. Some of these words are puzzles, others are dense, most evoke wider worlds–and I’m thinking a few of them ought to show up on this blog….

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So much to remember

One of my favorite ‘big’ books is The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church. It came as a gift after finishing seminary, and has traveled with us around the States and across the equator since. This reference book (check google for what those are) is packed with snapshots from Church history–tight, dense writing that provides a surprising amount of information in scant space. I find myself pulling this book off the shelf to check on some obscure or well-known figure, only to stay and flip pages to read about others. It’s a great tool for discovery and confirmation; it’s also a good book to consider as this All Saints Day draws to a close.

All Saints Day wasn’t on my radar as a kid. Halloween–that was a no-brainer–but All Saints? Not til college, and Charles Williams’ All Hallows Eve, did I even know the day was part of the Church calendar. Since then, it still doesn’t register as perhaps it should–and I wonder why. Probably there’s some deep-rooted religious chauvinism at work; probably, there’s also some laziness on my part.

The Christian Church’s history is full of amazing biographies, women and men who gave their lives in the service of others, mystics whose utterances caused both head-scratching and heart-searching, scholars who wrapped mighty brains around theological conundrums, artists who made music and sculpture and dance to spark or accompany awe… the list is long and of great variety. Some of these stories we know; some we tell over and again. But so many others lie covered by the dust of years, untethered to contemporary experience and unsung by any herald.

Might All Saints Day offer a way to bring back at least some of these stories? I know, it’s a little late: All Saints is all but past, and there’s turkey to buy and a tree to hack out of the woods. But this is a time of year when memories flood in–and so maybe this is a time when we’d do well to open those gates a bit wider, to permit a few more characters to take a place at the table.

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Is there a story you know about someone whose biography may or may not be in the Oxford Dictionary, or a saint whose experience has encouraged/stirred/amused you?

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image came from here