Jules Verne Knew the Future

—but he couldn’t have imagined what we’d do with it.

I’ve been reading Five Weeks in a Balloon, and there’s this line that stopped me in my tracks. Verne observes that Europe’s soil is becoming exhausted, and that America will one day face the same fate. Eventually, he predicts, Africa will become the agricultural center of the world.

It’s eerie how right he was.

Even in the 1800s, the land was already giving its warning. Generations of over-farming had stripped the soil bare. And he could see what was coming: extraction without regeneration, empire without restraint. He understood that the Earth doesn’t just keep giving. It keeps score.

But what he couldn’t have predicted was how far we’d go to override the land’s limits.

Instead of listening, we threw technology at the problem—fertilizers, monocrops, irrigation systems that drained rivers dry. We pushed yields higher and faster, with no thought to the long game. We engineered volume, not vitality. And now? We’re circling back. In the States, we’re just now starting to remove toxic chemicals from our food—finally catching up to what Europe understood decades ago. We talk about organic, sustainable, chemical-free like it’s cutting-edge… but we still don’t have a clue how to meet global demand without exhausting the Earth in the process.

Verne imagined Africa as a rising breadbasket. And today, yes—it holds some of the richest uncultivated land on the planet. But so much of that land is leased out to foreign entities, used for exports, or left vulnerable to climate shocks. We took promise and turned it into profit.

So here’s what I’m sitting with:
Can we still be innovative without being so destructive?

Can we imagine a future where technology partners with nature instead of overpowering it? Where food systems aren’t just efficient, but equitable? Where abundance doesn’t mean burnout?

And in the face of something so big, I ask the question I think most of us quietly carry: What can one person do?

Maybe we start by paying attention. By choosing differently, even in small ways. By asking better questions about what we eat, how it’s grown, and who gets to flourish. Maybe we start by imagining a future that doesn’t just feed the world—but heals it.

July 12, 2025 1

My Brain Wasn’t in Its Right Mind: Why Suicide Isn’t Selfish—It’s Chemistry

I was watching The Bear and contemplating the suicidal thought process.
The people left behind are trying to understand, to deal with the uncertainty and guilt.
But as someone who has survived suicide, let me ease your burden.

When I’m in the throes of suicidal ideation, basically, which means I’m considering and thinking about ending life—my brain is literally not in its right mind.
There is no reason or reasoning. It’s like trying to think through static.
It feels as though you’re swimming in dark air, not even water to hold you up. You can only see two inches in front of you, if that. It’s like there’s a wall blocking your mind from going forward or backward.

And yet, there’s so much noise—a cacophony of sounds: yelling, anguish, tears, laughter.
And here’s the weird part—there’s also nothingness.
No future. No past. No now.
Just the utter absence of hope.

How could I possibly explain that to anyone while I’m in it?

All I wanted was full stop.
To shut it off—the pain, the noise, the heaviness of existing.

Before my attempt, there was pain. Deep, deep loneliness. And the belief that no one would ever understand me.
For me, Jesus healed that pain. He filled the void that tortured me.

And still, I suffer from major depressive disorder—because it is not just trauma. It is chemistry.

But now, when I feel that “dark night of the soul” approaching, I’ve learned to hold on—and to reach out.

I didn’t know that then.
And if I had completed my trial, those left behind would have been left asking:
Why? Could I have seen it? Could I have done more? Did I miss something?

The honest answer is: maybe.
But understand—that is not a statement of guilt.
It’s a statement of awareness.

We need to let others know we see them.
Tell them we love them.
Ask them if they’re okay—really okay.

Not everyone who faces trauma will become suicidal.
But for some of us, our brain chemistry doesn’t bounce back easily—if at all.

When someone is in suicidal pain, their brain is dysregulated.
Serotonin and dopamine—those systems that help with hope, reward, motivation—are off balance.
Not just low—disrupted.

It’s about malfunctioning circuits. It’s about the way stress, trauma, and hopelessness chemically rewire perception.

But the beautiful, painful truth is: rewiring goes both ways.

With help, time, love, faith, and treatment—things can shift.
But no one in that moment can see it.

So, if you’re someone who’s never been there: don’t try to fix the pain. Just stay close.
And if you have been there: I see you.
I’m still here.

And so are you.

If you need emotional support, reach out to the national mental health hotline: 988.

June 30, 2025 0

Time Is a Funny Creature

Time is a strange thing. When I’m writing—really writing—I forget it exists. Hours pass in what feels like moments, and I resurface blinking, surprised the sun has moved. But at 3 a.m., cradling a squirmy puppy and begging her to please go back to sleep? Every minute drips like honey from a spoon. Thick. Slow. Unrelenting.

I’ve been thinking about how time doesn’t move the same for the heart as it does for the clock. When I’m in flow, time speeds up. When I’m in waiting, it slows to a crawl. And somehow, both feel precious.

Maybe time’s not meant to be measured in hours and minutes but in presence. In how deeply we’re living the moment we’re in—whether it’s a burst of creative energy or a quiet, tired vigil with a tiny creature learning the rhythm of the world.

Either way, I’m here. Pondering onward.

—Christine

June 25, 2025 0

What I think, I become.

There’s this little phrase tucked into Proverbs, and I can’t stop ruminating on it: “As a man thinks in his heart, so is he.”

It’s simple. Elegant. But let’s be honest—it can be deeply unsettling. Yikes. Some of my thoughts…

Note: it doesn’t say “as a man behaves,” or “as a man is told,” or even “as a man believes.” It says thinks. And not just the passing faux pas—we’re talking about the thoughts you’ve spent more than 10 seconds on. The ones you let sink in and settle. These are the deep beliefs that live beneath our words.

And science? As usual… recently caught up to Scripture.

🧠 Psychology Meets Proverbs

Science has now established that stress can be used to enhance performance, not just inhibit it. Bossard and Gomez (2024) studied something called stress-arousal reappraisal. When people learn that their stress response is actually a good thing—that racing heart, sweaty palms, buzzing nerves—it changes everything. People perform better. They feel stronger. Their body handles stress more efficiently.

And it all hinges on one small shift in belief:
Stress is not danger. Stress is energy.

One sentence. One new story.
That’s it.

Recognizing your stress, however it manifests for you, as poorly dispersed energy, changes how you deal with it. The reason for the stress is less important than what you do with the stress-energy. That’s why going for a walk or a run relieves stress. That’s why eating and then burning calories helps us “feel better.” But those coping mechanisms don’t deal with the stressor—just the energy it created.

And this is where Scripture meets science.

The Bible doesn’t sugarcoat stress or hardship. It doesn’t say we won’t face trials—it says we’ll walk through fire. But what it does say, over and over again, is that how we think about those trials changes who we become.

“Count it all joy…” (James 1) isn’t naïve—it’s reframing.
“Be anxious for nothing…” (Philippians 4) isn’t denial—it’s surrender through trust.
“As you think in your heart…” isn’t just a proverb—it’s a law of spiritual becoming.

Our interpretation is our transformation.
How we choose to cope becomes a mirror to the mind.

🪞 The Mirror of the Mind

So here’s the ponder:
What story are you telling yourself?

Whether you realize it or not, you’re writing your character one thought at a time. If I think I’m weak, I’ll act from weakness. If I think stress is a threat, I’ll respond like I’m under attack. But if I learn—slowly, with grace—that discomfort is growth in disguise?

That joy can be found even in pain.
That worry is waste, but the energy it creates can be redirected into purpose.
That is the beginning of mastering your mind.

You’re not a robot acting out fate.
You’re a soul with a story—and every thought you nurture becomes a sentence in that story.

🙏 God’s Gift: The Reframe

I believe with all my heart that Adonai, our Creator, gave us this ability not just to feel but to frame. Not to avoid pain, but to transform it.
To think differently. To see differently. To live differently.

And that gift—your mind, your story—isn’t meant to trap you.
It’s meant to free you.

🌀 So I Ponder…

Maybe Descartes was close: I think, therefore I am.

But I’ll go further:
I think—and in that thinking, I shape who I am becoming.

Not because I’m powerful, but because I was designed to co-create with a powerful God who invites me into the reframing process.

And if my thoughts have that much power—shouldn’t I pause long enough to wonder if they’re true?

Pondering onward,
Christine

June 15, 2025 0

The Mask Comes Off in the Fire

In ancient times, people viewed the mind through the heart.
Titus Lucretius Carus, Roman poet and philosopher, once wrote:

“Watch a man in times of adversity to discover what kind of man he is;
for then at last words of truth are drawn from the depths of his heart,
and the mask is torn off.”

This truth still holds.
We don’t find out who we are in our comfort—we find out in the fire.

Not the moment we snap out of exhaustion.
Not the frustration at a coworker
But the moment when everything is on the line.

When the stakes are life and death—what road do we choose?
Do we harm to survive, or find a way to love?
Do we shield our own at the cost of others, or listen for a better way?

I pray I never face that kind of test.
But if I do, I trust that God will lead me.
And I pray I’ll have the wisdom to follow.

✨
What do you believe we carry into those moments?
Where does your strength come from when everything else is stripped away?

🪷 Pondering onward,
Christine

subscribe at

theponderingplace.com/join-the-pondering-place

June 13, 2025 0

Forged by Fire, Not Fueled by Rage

Los Angeles is burning again.
Police cars overturned. Flags defaced. Crowds in the streets — not marching in protest, but surging in anger, demanding open borders and shouting down the idea of enforcement as if laws themselves were the enemy.

Watching this unfold, I feel the knot rise in my chest.

And I think of my father.

He came to this country in 1947 — not because he was poor, though he was. Not because he was afraid, though he had every reason to be. He came because the place he was from had been obliterated.

He was German.
He was Jewish.

And in post-war America, that made him suspect from every direction.
Some hated him for being German — the enemy.
Others distrusted him because he was a Jew — even though that identity had nearly cost him his life.

The war may have ended, but the distrust lingered. America was eager to move on, but not yet ready to embrace the displaced — especially not the ones who blurred the lines between categories we find easier to hate.

“Many who sought a safe haven from persecution during the 1930s and 1940s found their efforts thwarted by the United States’ restrictive immigration quotas and the complicated, demanding requirements for obtaining visas. Public opinion in the United States did not favor increased immigration…”
— United States Holocaust Memorial Museum

That was the world my father stepped into.
And it’s the world he had to navigate with quiet strength, resilience, and humility.

He didn’t sneak in.
He didn’t demand to be taken care of.
He secured a sponsor. He filed the paperwork. He paid the fees.
He arrived in New York on the USS Bremen and stood in line at Ellis Island, waiting for this country to say yes.

By 1951, he was wearing a U.S. uniform — a baker in the Korean War — feeding the soldiers of a nation still unsure if it wanted him. That’s the legacy I come from.

So when I see angry mobs insisting that compassion means erasing process, I feel that old ache and a rising frustration. I understand the longing to come here. I really do. America still shines with promise.

But I also understand the cost of doing it right. The patience. The grit. The sacrifice.

My father didn’t demand America bend to him. He bent himself toward her promise.

I believe in compassion. I believe in mercy. But mercy without structure is not mercy. It’s mayhem.

This country needs rules. Because without rules, there is no justice. And without structure, there is no sanctuary.

We owe it to those who came through the fire — not to burn down the country that gave them shelter, but to protect it for those still coming.

Not through entitlement.
Not through rage.
But through honor.

Forged by fire.
Not fueled by rage.

Reference:
United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. “Introduction to the Holocaust.” Holocaust Encyclopedia. https://encyclopedia.ushmm.org/content/en/article/introduction-to-the-holocaust

June 9, 2025 0