After Midnight

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Monday starts slowly and for that I am grateful. And while I shan’t write long, I do want to pen a few simple words of gratitude for that which I have been given. This past weekend has been simply lovely, full of quiet and uninterrupted times of rest and also yes – conversations with dear friends and simply the enjoyment of being with others whom my heart loves. Yesterday was a lovely time at church in the morning – worshipping our Lord and hearing from his word! – and then following got to go to the classic Las Locas for lunch with all the friends to see John and Emily (and little Charlotte!) who were visiting briefly! Oh how wonderful it was to see John again and though we didn’t get much time to go deep on all the things, it did my heart good to see him again and see the work of the Lord in the life of him and his family! Later on, Dani and I got a wonderful walk (even though shorter than usual – I guess we can’t walk five miles every day!) even though summer has most certainly made its arrival known and I sigh to know that it will not get any better over the course of the next few months. Alas for summer in Texas. And after the walk and a quick little dinner, me and Dani went over to Kaitlyn’s for a movie night with her and Klayton! It was such a sweet time being with them and enjoying movie and quality discussion and simply being in the presence of good friends. Oh how blessed am I!

And I could write more of the past weekend and the thankfulness in my heart as I consider all that God has done for me and all the blessings he has given this undeserving one and the little simple pleasures of this weekend that made my heart sing (such as long stretches to read, the making and subsequent eating of epic lasagna dinner, watching classic BBC Pride and Prejudice with Dani for the first time and yes, all the walking and sweating and enjoying standing on the bayou bridge looking out over the quirky beauties that Houston has to offer…), yet I fear my words can’t do justice to the joy that fills my soul. For I consider the manifold and abundant nature of the mercies and compassion of my Lord and I know that I can never fully comprehend the infinite wonders of who he is yet that which I do see now in a faint sense is enough to send me to my knees in stunned adoration.

One More Day

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Sometimes I wish to write of sweeter things and of all that I have loved and known. Sometimes I wish my dreams were always pure and full of heaven’s scent. And sometimes I wish that my fainting heart never longed for anything more than to more perfectly know God and to dwell with him in peace marveling on his divine love and simplicity. What a mystery it is at times to think on the fact that God is three persons yet one in very essence – my thoughts cannot fully comprehend such and I do confess at times the more I think on God and his manifold attributes, the more I realize how little do I understand the reality of his nature. Yet not always are my thoughts and dreams of such – too often do I think on tawdry things, on the mud beneath my feet that I swirl my boots in to delight in the patterns that arise. Too often do I let my heart race and fret over those worries that are so little and small in the grand pattern and I can’t even control them anyway yet my heart weeps and sometimes I don’t even know why. Why am I sad and why do I cry? What is wrong with my life that I lose sight of true reality? Ah for this body that is yet shackled to this broken earth. Both of us broken and both of us groan. I do long for heaven. I don’t long for a place and I don’t long for mere relief from this weariness. I long for my Lord. I want to be with God.

Forever Next Door Neighbors

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red blossoms upon her cheeks
as she exclaims in tones of ecstasy
see here i left only a few hours ago
and now the kitchen sparkles
but more than that
a pot of sauce on the stove
and i see a freshly baked loaf of bread
and some garlic butter
and a wedge of cheese and is that wine
well i do declare
i suppose it just may be dinner time

Thoughts of Dutch

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A Friday evening in which all should be remembered except for the little thorns here and there which may be safe to be forgotten for though those thorns in the moment seem to prick so awfully bad and perhaps even a drop of red drip drops split splatters and the shocking color against the green of growing life underfoot is trampled after all soon enough it is a moment past even though in the moment it was present in such a way that it seemed to take up the enormity of infinity stretching from pole to pole though now look back where does the time go though the scar may still persist it is in the past now and can be smiled at as a memento of that for which we struggle along this pilgrim road which seems a bit long now stretching towards the skyscrapers that reach with broken claws up to the heavens oh smile down upon us they cry and have mercy upon us when we remember to ask but for me and my house we will serve the Lord and that is my cry this night for mercy has somehow already been shown me for yes even that red that dripped and dropped down that crooked tree was somehow from eternity past destined for one such as me and in actuality me and for that may this song be remembered until the new dawn of the eternal comes.

What is this Feeling

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A little book review this rainy Sunday afternoon.

32. Wandering Stars by Tommy Orange. A book that’s simultaneously an easy read while also being very likely the most depressing book I’ll read all year. And yes before everyone chimes in, I’m well aware that depressing books can and often are worthwhile in how they point out the horror of all that’s been and was and still is right under our noses. Still though? Doesn’t mean these books – or this one in particular – are quite the type of books I love to read. This book is a rough one. It frankly unveils the horrors of both addiction and loss of cultural identity as it explores the aftershocks and still reverberating effects of the systemic erasure of Native American life and culture throughout the United States. Sometimes one would wish that we lived in a world where such horrors were not perpetrated by those in power, yet we cannot close our mind to history or deny that such events ever existed. And so I’m grateful for books like this that seek to show through the sweep of history and might-have-been personal narrative that the brokenness of this world is not so easily fixed as some might believe. I also found reading it a troubling experience, a lot of content warnings here, as the saying goes. I really do hate reading books with addiction themes. And…pretty much every single main character in this book struggles with such. I don’t think I could read this book again. Yet still – I did breathe a sigh of relief to see signs of hope at the very end of this tale, a hope that points to something better beyond the curve of the road ahead. As much as addiction and loss are all over this book, there is also just a bit of recovery.

And beyond the addiction themes, there are many discussions of identity and what it means to have a certain cultural identity. What is cultural identity and what brings such? Is it blood, is it cultural heritage, is it geographical longevity and ties to a certain piece of land? Is it familial connections or is it merely knowledge and being connected to that which came before? We all long for an identity as such – we wish to be known and valued for who we are – but who are we? It is difficult for me to overmuch critically analyse this book as I’m aware there are many questions that I am ill qualified to answer. This is a book written from a cultural minority viewpoint and thus questions are raised that I have never had to face sheerly due to the – at least outward – fact that I am in a cultural majority position. Does this mean I have the luxury of not thinking or caring about my cultural and/or ethnographic identity? I would argue part of my apathy in regards to such lies with my belief in Christ and that my true identity is found in being a Christian. Such tags as “race/colour/nation” are not ones I resonate with and find them less than helpful at times. Yet still I must and do recognize it is easier for me to shelve those labels as I don’t have to live in a society in which I am a minority. I must remember this. I don’t think this is a book I shall revisit and likely one I will not keep on my shelf. Yet. This book spawned a lot of thought and I am grateful for such, as much as I did not always agree with the author on some of the answers he pointed towards. I am grateful for the author sharing his perspectives and yes, even a piece of his story.

Pivot

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she skips down the sidewalk
ignorant of the clouds gathering above
yet even though the rain starts to fall
she still pays no notice for she’s simply
thinking of her recent dreams
and of the fact that she’s
in love
for what now can harm her
or tell her she’s not enough
maybe she’ll go down to the coffee shop
and buy a mocha
or maybe just a croissant
but now she’s still and leaning against the fence at home
letting her thoughts settle
breathe once breathe twice
is the sky bluer than normal?
is the light through the trees always this stunning hue?
breathe girl get a grip remember your story
but also remember
i am not alone
i am loved
i am known
and there’s a little butterfly perching
on the bench out front

Keep up the Pace

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I struggle to write sometimes of that which I know best. Instead I wish to write of dreams, of imaginary scenes, of the tapestries that run through my head in lush depictions of those stories for which I long. And sometimes I actually succeed at hitting the mark and am able to depict the glories for which I wish I was now participating in most fully. But alas, often times my pen runs dry and the prose I affix in permanency seems to be most dull and really a waste of time – both mine and yours, sad to say. What does that mean then? Should I stick to the here and now and write the mundane, the hours that fill my day and the little funny things that pop up in my life that yes of course pop in rhythm with the experiences of you all? I suppose I could. And really I wonder why I don’t allow myself the freedom to wander about and explore the experience of writing which I know. Sometimes I do, do I not? The best writing is that which weaves in the common and familiar and acknowledges the everyday realities which we experience in such concrete ways. And so let me remember that. Yet still if I refuse to write that which burns within and decide to not let my pen linger on those dreams that rise to those mythical images that even now dance before my eyes, then I would be denying the truer realities that dwell beyond the veil. May it never be. May I never focus so much on the here and now that I forget the later and not yet – the truer possibilities that in fact are sure because the faith in which I now abide is not to be gainsaid. So instead let me dance upon the asphalt in this present reality as I look up to heaven opened and gasp, dreaming of the future reality that is mine and yes just possibly yours as well.

Lions and Cloudscapes

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I am a bit too far behind on logging books so decided I really should get to work on that. Hope this doesn’t take too long, but no promises!!

28. Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen. I have now read the penultimate unread Austen that I will ever read. And that strikes me with sadness, but it would not do to let that impede me from reading these last two (this one and Mansfield) – for is it not terrible to think of me hoarding unread books indefinitely? And thus it happened this past month that I finally lifted this book off the shelf and turned to the first page and started a delightful journey. For in truth this book was a delight. Does it bear the marks of a first work? Which – upon further research – I discovered this was the first of her books that she completed, even though it wasn’t published until after her death. And yes, to answer my above. This book definitely is a bit less mature and full than her later works. It’s absurd in many ways and definitely the least “Austen” Austen I’ve ever read, but still I kind of love it? This book is humorous, ironic, playful in all the right ways. Her writing is quite arch and ridiculous and I love it. And even though the main character – one Catherine Morland – is quite silly and preposterous at times, I only need to remember that she is in actuality only seventeen for it to all make sense again. There is lots in this one to love and I shall certainly return to it for re-reads in future.

29. Evangelism in a Skeptical World by Sam Chan. A solid book helping me to understand that evangelism may – and should – look different in different cultural contexts, including generational ones. I’ve been thinking on this subject recently, especially after reading the biography of John Paton a few months back, and so this book came at the right time for me. Too often I feel it’s easy to think of “evangelism” or “sharing the gospel” as something that must be done in a certain way or following a certain method, and Chan does a great job of refuting that mindset. In truth, sharing the gospel is simply telling someone the truth of how God has made a way to have real relationship with Him and why this is something utterly existentially necessary to every person on this earth. In stating the previous sentence as I have, I have already made choices in how to present this truth and there are leanings and perspectives that I have unwittingly betrayed as I attempted to state the good news of God’s gospel in as simple a fashion as possible. Chan helps us understand some generational shifts that have taken place and how we (at least those of us in the West, for he speaks to predominately a Western audience here) have moved perhaps past the point where a strictly apologetical and fact-based approach resonates with the majority of people. I was intrigued reading about the shifts that have taken place and how Chan has in his own ministry noted that people respond to gospel presentations very differently now than even twenty years ago. Maybe we in the West now respond to more of a story-based approach than the old more structured gospel presentations (such as the Four Laws, bridge diagram, etc, etc). I am very much simplifying this book but what I’m saying here is what stuck with me. Chan attempts to go much deeper and to highlight and give examples for different methods of sharing God’s gospel with others that may be more effective. In all of this, the part of me that hates pragmatic Christianity and tactical discussions cringed a bit. Surely, it is not us who can change the hearts of man? May it never be thought. And Chan rightfully affirms that only God can truly change the hearts of men and women and draw them to Himself. But does God not use such mean instruments as ourselves? And give us wisdom to understand different ways of communicating and approaching others with the greatest story ever told? And so I appreciate this book as one that makes one think more on how we might be lights and witnesses in this modern age. Perhaps I do need to consider more carefully my friend groups and how I might live my life in such a way to more clearly and boldly proclaim Christ. Maybe I do need to think on how I present Christ to others and how the stories I tell can be used by God. Part of me winces a bit at how much Chan loves the story or example method in his talks and speeches. I don’t think I will ever love the leaning on such. Yet I do understand that there are times when stories and parables are brutally effective and useful. Did not Jesus tell stories? Did not Jesus give examples from real life to indicate spiritual truths? So might I too not get too defensive when I hear of preachers and pastors using stories to point to the truths of God. This has been a bit of a rambling review and I apologise for that. I will say this book was worthwhile and made me think a lot about evangelism and how I approach it. Very worthwhile read for that.

30. An Experiment in Criticism by C.S. Lewis. As anything written by Lewis, a very worthwhile read. I much enjoyed this little book (or really almost an essay) sharing Lewis’s thoughts on literary criticism and the desired result of reading a truly good book. As always with Lewis, he makes some firm statements that really cannot quite be backed up, yet I did chuckle as I felt very validated on my stances on re-reading (very very pro) and also enjoyed Lewis making quite clear that reading a work is not simply about the imparting of information for its own sake but that in actuality the reader when reading enters into an actual transformative experience – i.e., the reader cannot get the same effect simply by reading the summary of a work, but that a work is the sum of its parts – content, prose, structure all, and if one truly engages with it will reap a corresponding reward.

I feel as if my mind doesn’t quite work at the same level as Lewis’s (shocking I know), and so it’s challenging for me to truly grapple with this book as I feel it deserves. Yet if anything, I think it made me revisit and think on why I love the books I do. And it also made me desirous to continue to seek better books and to read the truly excellent. Lewis is a bit much sometimes when he attempts to classify the types of books and types of readers that fill the earth. Maybe a bit dogmatic yes and in this day and age, he can even strike one as strident. Yet also I think we could use a bit more of Lewis in this modern age. It is bracing to remember and be reminded of the fact of objective beauty and truth. Yes, almost transgressive no? What does that say about us? And Lewis does not deny the usefulness and delight of different types of works. He is anything but haughtily pretentious in his discussions of literature. He sees the value in works that critics would sneer at, and for that I love him.

31. The Small Rain by Madeleine L’Engle. I still love this one. It is passionate and dreamy in all the best ways. It is a tale of a girl who has yet to truly understand the world or herself. It is the tale of a girl who sees with the maturity of one beyond her years because she has already seen so much and been through so much yet you’re often reminded that she is really just a girl. Katherine Forrester is one of my favourite characters to revisit – as I’ve been reminded as I read this one – and though at times she seems almost alien in the way she hovers above the text, there are brutal moments when all crashes down to earth and Katherine is revealed as oh so human. For a first book, this is revelatory. If only I could write like L’Engle. There are some of her quirks that will be further utilized in later books, but there is also a freshness here. Yes, it’s an adult book and thus some heavy themes – do not read this if you want a light read! – yet this book does not delight in the darkness. There are some descriptive passages that made me almost want to weep for beauty. Yes yes, I know I’m biased because I love L’Engle’s writing so, yet I truly believe this is a wonderful book. This is a book that just works as a late-night read, good for being curled up on the couch with a candle burning as one’s mind slips into a state suspended between the waking world and the world of dreams.