The Hedgehog Conundrum

Not long after my wife and I got married, we bought a pet hedgehog. Our plan had been in the works since our undergraduate days; no one was more ready to own a real-life hedgehog than we were. We’d done the research, bought the gear, and owned a totally normal amount of hedgehog décor: salt and pepper shakers, bath towels, Christmas ornaments, oven mitts, candlesticks—the usual stuff.

But something we were not prepared for was how sensitive hedgehogs are to the cold. When the outside temperature drops into the 50s, hedgehogs—or the domesticated variety that we owned—go into hibernation.

Sounds like a perfectly normal thing, right? In Baltimore in the winter in our first apartment, a perfect 72 degrees was elusive. Hibernation sounded pretty good.

But here’s the thing: while our little critter did all the things she believed necessary for a long, cozy slumber, what she was accomplishing in reality was the total shuttering of her internal organs.

For our hedgehog, hibernation meant death. And so for us, a cozy, crisp evening quickly became an exercise in jerry-rigging a variety of heating apparatuses.

That seems like an oversight in the general hedgehog design, no? I often wondered—and frankly, still do—why would an animal react to a perfectly normal situation by destroying itself? Why would that be a viable response? Hibernation is natural, and so is the cold. And hedgehogs exist the world over in a variety of climates.

So what’s the deal with ours?

St. Ignatius encourages us to discern the spirits, to carefully hold up to the light and inspect the inner movements of our soul. Is this desire for a new job, a bigger house, or a new city of God? Or is this the work of the enemy of our human nature?

Ignatius was adamant that by examining our desires, we come to deeper understanding of God’s Spirit at work. Our deepest desires dwell within us; they inspire us as we get out of bed in the morning and often dictate how we spend our days (to paraphrase that famous prayer, “Fall in Love”).

And yet, we know that our desires can also lead us astray. The enemy of our human nature can twist those desires, distracting us with inordinate wealth, an obsession with honors, and bloated pride. Those same desires that originate in our most authentic selves can lead us down a dark path if we fail to be vigilant.

We return to my hedgehog conundrum. Are we mindful of those facets of ourselves that can lead us down the path of destruction? Are we inadvertently sleepwalking into despair? Or are we awake and vigilant, alert to what we need to reach our fullest potential?

The good news is whenever our hedgehog did begin to drift off into chilly slumber, all we had to do to help her was hold her close and coax her back awake. That comforting, insistent touch was enough to draw her back to herself.

How are we called to be a warm presence for those in our lives and draw others back to themselves? When might we need to allow others to come close to us and remind us of who we are meant to be?

The hedgehog conundrum points to the simple fact that we are complex beings and that the raw material of our lives can lead us deeper into God’s dream—but also far astray. But through discernment and community, we can awaken to our truest selves. We can become the people God dreams we will be.

Image by Amaya Eguizábal from Pixabay.