Divine Spark Within

Divine Spark Within

Anna Dostoevsky, 1846-1918

“I’m glad to see you Fyodor, and in such a cheerful mood at that. Has something pleasant happened to you?”

“Yes, it has. Last night I had a marvelous dream.”

“Oh, is that all!” And I started to laugh.

“Please don’t laugh. I attribute great meaning to dreams. My dreams are always prophetic.”

“In that case, tell me your dream!”

“Do you see that big rosewood box? That is a gift from my Siberian friend …and I value it very much. I keep my manuscripts and letters in it, and other things that are precious to me for their memories. And so this is my dream: I was sitting in front of that box and rearranging the papers in it. Suddenly something sparkled among them, some kind of bright little star. I was leafing through the papers and the star kept appearing and disappearing. And this was intriguing to me. I started slowly putting all the papers to one side. And there among them I found a little diamond, a tiny one, but very sparkling and brilliant.”

(A few moments later, Fyodor continued…)

“I’ve been thinking up a plot for a new novel,”

“Oh tell me, do tell me about it,” I begged, very curious. And (then) a brilliant improvisation poured out. Never, neither before nor afterward, did I hear from him such an inspired tale as on that day.

—From Dostoevsky: Reminiscences by Anna Dostoevsky, his wife

One of my passions is exploring the elements that shaped people of great faith. I prefer the story behind the biography, digging deeper, past someone’s known accomplishments to the person they were when no one was looking. And particularly—what happened in their childhood.

So one April, at a writer’s conference in California, an editor asked me about heroes of faith. The topic was a regular feature in her magazine. A lot of big names easily came to mind, but I paused. What person really shaped my faith?

Fyodor Dostoevsky 1821-1881

“Fyodor Dostoevsky,” I said. “The great Russian novelist.”

Her face brightened with surprise. She asked if I would write a full-length article. Being a brand new author, I felt flushed with excitement. But I specified my interest: “I’d like to write about the man beyond his writing.”

I’d been a fan of Dostoevsky’s work since high school when I did my final English term paper on his novel, Crime and Punishment. In college I read The Brothers Karamazov. That story presented the human condition and the struggle of faith like no other, excepting Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. It moved me to the core as I wrestled with many of the same questions his characters asked.

For me, reading Russian literature was no small accomplishment. In junior high I had to go to Reading Lab because I was such a slow reader. Comprehension wasn’t a problem. I just wanted to read every single word. The funny thing is, it still takes me a long time to finish a book. But reading at a relaxed pace allows time to soak in a story, enter the conflict, and identify with the characters.

With a fresh writing assignment and the possibility of getting published I dove in. I ordered two books about Dostoevsky through Montana’s inter-library system. Anna, his wife, wrote one and his daughter, Lyubov, penned the other. I also read how his contemporaries felt about him.

Leo Tolstoy said, “To me, Dostoevsky was a precious person—perhaps the only person I might have asked about many things, and who might have given me answers about many things.”

Albert Einstein said,Continue reading

Creating Space

Creating Space

Headache“People, especially men, hate being alone with their thoughts,” said reporter Rachel Feltman in The Washington Post.[1] Humans would rather be distracted than endure solitude, according to a recent study. What’s really baffling is we’re talking about a fifteen-minute experiment!

“People usually think of mind-wandering as being a bad thing, because it interrupts when you’re trying to pay attention,” stated Timothy D. Wilson, a psychology professor at the University of Virginia and lead author of the study. “But we wanted to see what happens when mind-wandering is the goal.” The results showed that “people didn’t like it much and found it hard.”

That article amazed me. It’s not how I feel about solitude, but in a way, it shouldn’t be surprising. The modern world has morphed into a culture of distractions with the Internet, smartphones, and social media.

So what? Why does that matter?

Because, as Feltman pointed out, “the ability to let the mind wander has been linked to greater working memory and increased creativity.” A lot of creativity is about forming connections between things in an unfolding sequence.

In another study, MRI brain scans confirmed that certain parts of the brain’s cortex are wildly active when people rest, daydream or allow their minds to wander.[2] It makes sense when you think about dreams. The brain is awake, though our bodies are asleep. In the same way, our minds can work in a different way when Continue reading

Not Enough Trees

Not Enough Trees

Years ago, a landowner in northern California made his wealth planting vast fruit orchards. His kids grew up in the business. They rose early to irrigate and stayed up late, making fires to prevent killing frosts. Together, they’d gone through both lean years and bumper crops, and the business prospered steadily.

Early on, the father did all the planting and pruning. The son worked much harder than the rest, striving to be his father’s perfect child. The oldest daughter proved to be a lollygagger, dragging herself out of bed while voicing her complaints. She didn’t like the intensity of tending orchards. Her younger sister often picked up the slack, in exchange for borrowing clothes.

Distraught DadOver time, the operation grew, and the man hired a much larger staff. He put his younger daughter in charge of scheduling and administration. The son, now a young man, went into sales and distribution. But the other daughter wanted a different life. One night at the dinner table, she announced her move to New York to become an actress. The father’s cheeks lost their color, and his eyes became glassy. He stifled a deep sigh, knowing he’d have to let her go.

Her attempts to break into the theater world proved costly. Her father had given her a large sum of money so she’d have time to put out feelers and audition in different venues. The first week, she stayed at the Ritz-Carlton and ate at a different restaurant every night. A shopping spree for city clothes followed. Life was grand.

She landed bit roles here and there, but eventually her money dwindled. She’d need to make a living on the side and took a waitressing job. A studio apartment took most of her wages and tips. At night, she learned the art of dumpster diving near her favorite restaurants, concealing herself in a dark hoody.

young woman drug addictShe mingled in the bar scene to get out of her tiny quarters. That’s when she met the guy who’d become her dealer. He seemed friendly enough, passing out party favors—a variety of designer drugs. Heroin rapidly became her new solace, helping her escape failure, loneliness, and homesickness. Date rapes were easier to bear when you’re high. One night, a man handed her money, assuming she was a prostitute. Insulting, yes, but an easy way to keep the drugs flowing. She lost a few acting jobs after failing to show. Then, the restaurant manager fired her when she dumped a pitcher of ice water on a customer who put his hand on her inner thigh.

That night she texted her brother. “I don’t know what I’ve become.”Continue reading