Laresnova

She’s dreaming of lighthouses again.

Still and silent in her bed she lies yet her mind rages in beauty as images of seas crashing on rocky shores flash vividly in black and white. There is a cliff that reaches higher than the rest of the surrounding land and sea and on that cliff points a lighthouse up to the heavens. At the base of the lighthouse is a little path that winds to the edge of the cliff. On this edge stands two figures silhouetted against the grey sky. These figures, one taller and one smaller, are slightly angled towards one other, as if to protect each other from the winds swooping down on them from above. Down at the base of the cliff the sea pounds relentlessly in rhythm that the spray echoes back in delight. Back on the top of the cliff the two figures huddle closer together. Wrapped in long and bulky outerwear, these figures still seek to conserve warmth in a hug that lingers in its intimacy. Dark clouds move closer to the island yet there is no rain. The sea spray calls louder in sweeter harmony with the low percussion of far off thunder. One of the figures raises a hand pointing to the heavens. The other figure moves closer still to the first. Symmetry of sea below and sky above as both reach to meet the other in stormy union. The two figures break apart and pull up their hoods. They stay a moment longer as the rain washes down upon them in sheets, the pure water washing down upon the rocks and lighthouse and figures alike. One figure laughs out loud, her laugh joining the song of skies and rocks and seas. The other figure pulls her close and together they walk up the path back towards the lighthouse. The light next to the door burns cheerily. The figures pull open the door and enter in. The lighthouse now stands alone on a cliff. The lightning flashes once, twice. Again it flashes. The seas below roar in delight and dance towards the cliffside in chaotic beauty. There is light behind her eyes as she opens them wide. Still and silent in her bed she lies thinking on these things she’s dreamed and wondering what they mean.

She doesn’t mind these lighthouse dreams that call back memories so aching sweet. And she sighs in harmony with the song of that sea spray.

Teatime

I have been trying to write winter poetry and failing miserably. Alas it is not to be this night. Hence I switch to prose, the last resort of the poet who refuses to believe his muse is dead. Or temporarily incapacitated. One hopes only temporarily. But sometimes the fire burns within and one simply must write or else he feels as if his soul will crumple in on itself like a big ball of wadded up notebook paper that is scrunched so tight that it may yet yield to the tendency to become a black hole. Yes, that is the correct feeling, finally put in words to burn in their very temporal state. But where was I? Ah yes, talking of poetry and poets and their unsurprising failures. As for me, switching to prose often feels like a defeat, yet I long to snatch victory from its jaws yet. I too am a shepherd boy – or at least I attempt to model myself after one such – and so I too can fiercely extricate this prized lamb from the lion’s jaws. Scratch that last. Dreadful metaphor, quite mixed in theme and usage. To continue. Sometimes prose pieces are fun, sometimes they turn out dreadful too. This one feels whimsical and experimental enough, I am actually somewhat pleased. It amuses me, I will allow it to live. Oh how merciful am I. Now for the piece at hand.

I really did mean to write some winter poetry as I just returned from a lovely walk on this January evening. Finally my humble southern state has been blessed with weather that feels like winter. Temperature in the mid-40s and a nice dry air and a stunning sunset to boot? What have I done to be blessed with such beauty? Well, nothing of course. It’s not all about me. Instead, the glory belongs to another. Musings such as this rolled around in my head as I walked down the sidewalk in my little neighborhood. I thought of the interplay of the small neighborhood with the sky above. The small old houses seem so feeble when compared with the majesty of a winter sunset sky. The clouds stretch up and up, set on fire by the last triumphal notes of the setting sun. The trees contribute a chorus, their branches finally shed of their overly ragged autumnal garments. The branches stretch up and out and contrast nicely against the blues and purples and oranges. But the houses? They seem a bit timid and bashful, their structures not at all suited to be seen in company with the artistry of heaven. An outlier though? The power lines. The power lines start on poles which masquerade nicely as slender wintry trees…and then the lines swoop gracefully, firm and delicate and subtle all at the same time as they highlight the brilliant colours of the twilight. Seeing the power lines hug the sky just as I hug my own arms to myself – well, it brings me a cosy satisfaction. I find delight in the way the mundane creations of this world complement the creations of the one who existed before this world began. It is a thrill to think on such and imagine that just as the power lines point to something greater, so too am I privileged to rest my eyes on the fires of heaven and sing praises to the one on high. Am I also allowed to compliment this moment as my figure somehow complements this scene in which I walk? What does it look like, this frail and faded creation walking on the sidewalk this winter night? Am I too allowed to be thought of as the mundane that points to the beautiful a bit beyond my mortal sight? My temporal hand stretches forth to the eternal. The power lines continue to vibrate in holy tension and I sigh. The sliver of dusk shivers in anticipation of resurrection glories and the waxing starlight sings of a story not yet done. The book is written and the ending sure. But for now, turn one page at a time. Faithfully I read on, now a candle lit beside me as I let my mind slip back to the present. Yet still I remember the stark beauty of that cold and perfect winter sunset sky.

Snowdrifts

A book review this Monday afternoon.

4. Surprised by Oxford by Carolyn Weber. A worthy read, this book both encouraged my soul and delighted my heart. I came into this book expecting something I would resonate with, and indeed I did. It is a possibility that I had my expectations for this book set perhaps too high (expecting something similar to “A Severe Mercy” or “Surprised by Joy” – really, the title is asking for such!) and so I was initially a bit disappointed at how this book played out. Not quite the beautiful thoughtfulness of Vanauken or the bracing clarity and wit of Lewis, but well…there are few books that can compare with those. As I’ve considered this book more as I’ve finished it over these last few days, I’ve come to appreciate this book for what it is – a beautifully honest telling of one woman’s journey to faith in Jesus Christ. Yes, the Oxford bits are a delight to read (and if you are at all similar to me and have a wistful longing to go to Oxford and wander the streets and even perhaps study there, then this book will simply increase that desire – be warned!!) and yes all the discussions of art and poetry and music made me smile (as much as I got a bit tired of all the U2 references!). But at the end of the day, my favourite part of this book was seeing the unashamed joy the author has in the knowledge and peace of Christ. This book felt a bit disjointed at times and I wished for maybe a more prolonged prologue explaining the book and setting forth the author’s purpose. And the premise of the book left no doubt as to the outcome, so there is very little tension in the author’s journey. We know she will end up a Christian! But how will she get there? And that’s what this book is about.

It is not perfect and like I said, some of the episodes felt a bit superfluous. But this book demands a re-read and to be read more slowly I think. There are some truly lovely moments and some of the wordplay is simply fantastic. The literary references will make you smile and think (when you catch them). And yes, probably I would enjoy this book much more if I liked U2 and understood all the author’s song references. The more I slowed down as I read this, the more I enjoyed it. There are moments where I felt a bit uncomfortable or annoyed at some of the characters’ interactions. Not sure if that was entirely intentional by the author, but I had to remind myself that this book was placed almost thirty years ago now, when standards and norms were a bit different. I wished the secondary love story in this one (the author and her TDH – “tall, dark & handsome”) hadn’t had quite as much screen time. But regardless of all my little quibbles, I did enjoy this book. It encouraged my soul and I found my eyes watering near the end as the author professed her faith and got baptized. It is remarkable and always a joy anew reading of a person’s encounter with the God that is real. The author is vulnerable and not telling this story to proclaim her own virtues and talents. No, the author here tells the raw and messy story of her journey to God and the real and persistent joy she now finds in a real and vibrant relationship with Him.

Doxology

She lays the table with precision
a fine china plate here and there
and there and there
and above the glasses
then the napkins
and in appropriate places the silverware
for soon will whirl in the guests rosy cheeked
and proceed to drop with delight their winter coats
and they admire the table and offer rapturous praises
as they give warm hugs to everyone else in the room
and then they ask what smells so good
roast chicken and buttery mashed potatoes
sage and bacon dressing
and carrots and onions of course
properly rings out the all important question is it time for food
and he answers first let’s gather and pray and toast
and then sing a song together
but when is the chicken coming out of the oven
and he smiles as he takes off his apron
don’t worry dear friends
soon.

That Scotland Sky

The day turns just like that. I was wearing my blue and green striped sweater and she had on her dusty pink sweatshirt and we walked side by side. It was so warm and nice she bemoaned. Why must it now be cold? I grinned to myself, secretly – oh who are we kidding, she knew full well – thrilled at this turn of events. Our hair windblown, our shoulders slightly damp from the January rain, we walked hand in hand. I gleefully informed her that due to the fact that it was winter, even though in this southern clime, it was fully right and proper that the freeze should be upon us. She huffed mildly. I would like to say she saw reason at that previous statement of mine, but alas she still groaned that it should come to this. The arctic breezes danced around us as the palm trees tossed their heads in fruitless protest. And in silence now we walked, she and I. Hot chocolate when we get home I asked at last? And then finally those words got a smile. Her eyes sparkled and she said yes yes yes. Homeward we go and I raised my arms in welcome embrace to the wintry blue and dappled sky. The day has turned out rather fine.

Hike and Bike

I enjoy watching people’s faces. Before you go and haul me before the local magistrate of common decency, hear me out. People watching, right? We all do it, we all enjoy it. Some more surreptitiously than others. And so when I’m out on a walk and seeing so many walk past me from the other direction…of course I let my glance brush their faces. I’m not prying into their innermost thoughts, though that is what fascinates me so. What are they thinking? What are they pondering? What images kaleidoscope within their minds? For just as my thoughts race to and fro in the frantic tossing of the neurons of my brain, all the people that pass surely have lives just as full and varied and yes even scary as my own. Hence I wonder…how many grocery lists tumble? How many blushing daydreams of crushes blossom? How many replays of cringe moments blare forth? I smile to myself as I think thus and then wonder – how will they interpret such? For yes, surely some of their glances touch me. I fear to live in a place where all fear to look at the face of another, to inhabit a society in which only a cold screen can truly receive our full blooded gaze. I wish to express just a bit of joy that we live in a moment where we all – me and that jogger over there and that mom and stroller ahead of me and that singing biker behind me – walk this small patch of vibrant growing singing earth. (Well perhaps the earth is paved over just here, but you get the point) I smile knowing that I walk with fellow men and women and little children that are souls as full formed and image bearing as myself. It is a wondrous thing to let myself ponder. So yes, next time you’re out and about and surrounded by people? Give it a whirl, watch some people. Don’t be creepy about it. Just be a person. And while you’re at it, say a prayer.

Firewood

New year, new books! Admittedly…some of these were read last year, but just getting around to writing these now, so just going to count them for this year. That’s allowed, right? Right??

1. Christmas with L.M. Montgomery by L.M. Montgomery. A sweet little book of short Christmas stories by one of my favourites. Yes, the stories are a bit twee. Yes, please don’t read these if you are wanting stories that are subversive or surprising. They’re just cute little Christmas stories (3 of them) that will hit all the classic marks and that you will probably read in less than 10 minutes. Or maybe that’s just me. I almost felt like these tales were a homage to Alcott at times (a few subtle clues that signify such and the writing really felt like Alcott’s style!). Anyways, I found myself smiling reading these.

2. Reclaiming Masculinity by Matt Fuller. An outstanding little book. Well worth the read. I started reading this on a recent flight expecting that I’d read the intro and maybe part of a chapter or so, but the author’s writing was so compelling that I found myself reading this book in one sitting, just finishing as plane was landing. I will confess that I picked this up not sure what I was getting into. There are many books on Christian masculinity that seem to be pushing one particular agenda or another and I was a bit doubtful this book would prove to be all that fruitful. Yet? While I’m not sure I particularly learned anything brand new, this book was a good reminder on what are the hallmarks of Christian masculinity, as well as what does not signify such. We are in an age where depending on your culture, religion, or creed (or lack thereof), manhood may look quite different. Some may even cringe to see the word “masculinity”, with all the negative connotations that go hand-in-hand (especially tied to the word that most would associate with it these days – toxic) and some would roll their eyes even to think we need to discuss such an archaic and/or outdated word that assigns traits or qualities to a particular gender. I would argue this book is well needed, now more than ever.

The author writes with superb tact and skill, coming from a Christian worldview and going often to the well of the Bible. Yet the author is very self-aware and understanding of the world and culture (specifically Western evangelicalism) in which many Christians find themselves living. He writes with compassion and yet surprising firmness when necessary. He seeks to understand women’s perspectives and fears – something that is sometimes sadly lacking in Christian books. I found myself enjoying yet also being convicted by the way the author talks about specific Christian masculinity and what it means to be a man according to the Bible. He is not overly dogmatic or pushing of certain cultural norms. Instead, he acknowledges that masculinity may (and will!) look different in different contexts and that we as Christians need to be very careful to not forbid something the Bible has not forbid, neither mandate something that the Bible has not mandated. This is a book written in times where many would dare say there is no substantive difference between manhood and womanhood, yet the author clearly and boldly proclaims that there is a real and meaningful difference between the two. I appreciate the author’s reliance on Scripture, care to understand the current times in which we live, and winsome and frank dialogue. I also appreciated his British humor – it very much helped leaven the work with occasional levity! I think I also appreciated reading an author who is not in the American evangelical sphere (nothing necessarily wrong with that, but good to read other perspectives). Also, with much relief I can report that this book doesn’t just talk about the man/woman relationship. The author speaks of the relationships a man will have in his family, in the church and in the world at large, acknowledging that there is much more to being a man than simply being married or having a child. It discusses the importance and necessity of solid friendships and of mentoring relationships.

One more point? Some books are timeless and you can read them in any year and they will be fruitful. This book (published in 2023) talks about recent events and the ethos of the western age and I am grateful for it, as much as I usually prefer reading old books. The topic of masculinity is one such that I feel a recently written book can be exceedingly helpful as it speaks to the age in which we live and acknowledge the realities in which we daily walk. I could go on and on, but at the end of the day, would heartily recommend this book to any man. (my female friends – I dare say you could also read this book and be encouraged! at least I dearly hope so!)

3. The Rhythm of War by Brandon Sanderson. Finally completing my re-read of the SA prior to the release of Wind and Truth. I will say, while this book disappointed me when I first read it, perhaps my expectation this time was low enough that I actually enjoyed this a bit more on re-read! I still think that Sanderson’s books have suffered from severe bloat with the last few installments and I still maintain that Sanderson’s reliance on telling instead of showing is severely handicapping his story-telling yet…this book isn’t all bad. There are some epic moments here and there, especially as we come to the end of the book and a twist happens with a particular elderly king and a particular ancient god. And while the flashbacks are not as exciting as in previous installments, I think I appreciated them more this time because I was able to slow down and take my time in then, knowing we weren’t really getting any particularly juicy revelations. I still think the contract made between Odium and Dalinar was pretty underwhelming, but that was kind of the point, I suppose. Also – the interludes continue to be top notch. I am firm in my belief that Sanderson writes best in a single POV and in short stories.

Oathsworn

she writes of shadows that she has seen
and dreams of lies that she has told
yet when all around her petals flutter down
she sighs with unfettered joy
and lets slip her purest passions
for neither darkest nights
nor brightest fires
can sap that which was not hers to own
a branch broken
and ancient foundation riven
and she breathes deep
knowing that she is known
and she sees stars and oceans singing
for that love she has been given
oh smell the roses and jasmine my love!
and muse on the truths that you enfold
scribble of beauty on which you lean
a small pastry upon the plate
upon that sturdy oaken table
and a cup of coffee steaming
how perfectly do they go together