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Kathy Hendricks offers talks and retreats across the country and overseas on spirituality and family, and is a contributing writer for many of the programs published by William H. Sadlier. She and her husband, Ron, live in Larkspur, Colorado, and are the parents of two young adults, Eric and Anna.
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Back to Nature


Our neighbors are back. They were gone for several months and I missed them. It's nice to see them meandering once again through the grass that has grown tall in their absence. Occasionally they canter back and forth. One of them likes to chew on the fence. I can't say we made our decision to buy this house based on their presence, but it certainly sweetened the deal. Having horses for neighbors makes up for living so far from the grocery store.
I watched them for a long time the other night. It drew me away from the cacophony of the evening news and the incessant jabbering on the Internet. Maybe if we all lived across the street from a horse or two, we would be more cordial towards one another.
I learned a new term this summer Nature Deficit Disorder. It is caused by a deprivation of contact with nature, and is officially considered a mental illness. The disorder is on the rise among adolescents who are increasingly unable to be outdoors without some kind of device plugged into their ears. As a result, they are unable to sustain an appreciation for or attentiveness towards the natural world.
I dont think NDD is confined to the young. Every one of us needs to tune out the racket now and again in order to slip into a natural environment. The gospel accounts of Jesus withdrawing to quiet places illustrate his adherence to a prayerful life. I also wonder if he simply craved space in which to retreat from the bickering and general dull-headedness of his disciples. It must have given him a terrific headache.
Besides affording a blessed respite, the time apart must have also sharpened his ability to hear what was really important. Take, for example, the story of the blind Bartimaeus (Mark 10:46-52). Jesus picks his voice out of a crowd and then responds in tender fashion. "What can I do for you?" he asks. Its a sensitive question attuned to a poor mans deepest need.
If asked the same thing, many of us might be hard-pressed to respond, given our own nature deficit disorder. When continually immersed in external racket and inner dissonance, how are we attuned to our deepest needs? It takes distance and some "soul-whispering" to discover the answers that lie below the surface. This became clear to me while directing a retreat for young mothers a few years ago. In between sessions, I offered individual spiritual direction for interested individuals. The list filled up quickly. Every woman entered the room in the same way. She sat down and immediately burst into tears. Out poured stories of marital stress, health concerns, and anxieties over the demands of motherhood. Retreating to a quiet place seemed to open an inner ear to the heart that had been plugged by too-busy lives and too-little time. Had there been a horse pasture nearby, I would have assigned a good half-hour of visitation with its residents.
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