The Shack Downtown

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Hello friends! A few words this evening before I turn my eyes to better things. It is good to rest this Sunday and consider the works and words of God. I am grateful for days of rest such as this one and even more grateful for the true eternal rest that is mine in my Jesus forevermore. This morning before church was able to find a few minutes to enjoy my coffee and read in the Scripture and was most blessed by my reading as I stepped through some of my favourite passages. Firstly, as of today I have begun the epic trek through Isaiah. Truly one of my favourite books and I’m so excited to read it these coming weeks!! I say weeks as I doubt it will be days – at least it certainly shouldn’t be as that would mean I’m reading it much too quickly. And I also read a bit in Matthew – been lingering in Matthew 5 these past few days, wondrous words from Jesus that he preached oh so many years ago yet still they ring strong and echo throughout the world in their beauty and their truth. Reading Isaiah and Matthew together? Perfectly marvelous and I’m most eager to see their resonance. Today as I read, was particularly struck by the authority and majesty of Jesus as he said words that could only be said by one who in himself held sovereign power. His words rang with authority and people marveled at them. Take in these words which he said – “Do not think that I came to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I did not come to abolish but to fulfill.” That verse hit me hard today. As I now read through Isaiah I should not consider it full of dusty dry words that are now of no account because of the coming of Jesus who has made all new. No, instead I should read the words of this prophet and consider that they are words that are fulfilled and made all the sweeter in the full light of the mystery unveiled in Christ – the divine plan of salvation that is now revealed for the world to see. And consider the authority in that statement – “I did not come to abolish but to fulfill.” Not some wimpy statement indicating that perhaps some of his deeds would by chance fulfill a prophecy or two. No, Jesus came to fulfill in his very person and with full intentionality and in the fullness of his nature as God and in the fullness of his nature as man he came to bridge the gap that the grand story would come to its climactic moment in which God now offers full communion to fallen man. What a marvel, what a story!

And it is true and it is real. Jesus did not come to abolish all that has come before, even the words of God that rang throughout the millennia. Nay Jesus in and of himself came to fulfill. Jesus is the fulfillment of the promises of all the ages going back to the first echoing of the gospel as the serpent’s death was prophesied at the the bruising of the conquering Seed. Consider how this Jesus was bruised for me, for you. He was beaten and bruised and even for us was pierced, crushed, chastened and scourged as laid upon him were the iniquities of us all. Consider the blood that ran fresh from the cursed tree as this Jesus died for you and for me. Consider Jesus, the one of whom that spear was run through swift and true and of which the water and the blood testified that it was finished true. Consider Jesus, the one who bore the sin of many and who even now intercedes for us. Consider Jesus who did not come to abolish but who came to fulfill and now that it is finished sits at the right hand of the Father, the work done now and for all time, no more need of any further sacrifice. Consider Jesus and his blood which was given for you and me, for all who in him alone would bow the knee and only in him rest and believe. Consider Jesus, whose yoke is easy and burden is light, the one who offers rest to us because he knows our toils and our pains. Consider Jesus, he who died and rose again to life victorious, conquering death and its train forever as he trampled upon that cursed serpent’s head. Consider Jesus, our only hope in life and death. Consider Jesus.

Adventure

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The light fades in the western sky. I would love to see the stars this night but I know it is rather unlikely. Instead, I shall set my back against the sun-warmed rock and pull out my notebook and attempt to scribble something worthy of what I have seen this day. My whole life I have longed to witness the grand and beautiful and be a part of something bigger and greater than myself. I have longed to be living a story that could properly be called epic.

Yet as any seasoned reader knows, it’s a perilous thing to wish to live in the stories that so often thrill us. The highs are high yes. But oh the lows. The pain and the anxiety, the heart pounding in your throat and the bile rising as you fear you’ll lose all you ate that day. I do rather wish now to go back to my little town and enjoy a quiet evening by the fireside.

I saw death today. It’s the first time I’ve seen it up close in the raw and wild. And it was a friend. I will talk of her later, I don’t think I can bear to think further on her now. We started this quest together in joyous abandon, sure that it was our destiny and what had been writ for us in the stars. Now a bare few weeks into our adventuring, she is gone and I remain and there are no stars this night.

Jester

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The giant strolls across the moors
and I point my hand across the way
see there he is!
see there he goes!
see there the clouds raised
by his mighty toes!
I sit against the rock on the riverside
and pen a ballad to be sung that night
I wonder if she’ll be there
that lass I love to mad distraction
that lass of the chocolate eyes and raven hair
but now this tale may end in abbreviated fashion
I jump up with alarm as the quaking grows nearer
the giant has come to investigate it seems
why a shepherd boy lazes away by the stream
I hoped to avoid his notice
but alas it seems this tale will have an ending different
than the one I would preferred to have written
instead of the mighty warrior holding court as his words hold sway
we end with our poet lad running fast away!

That Peculiar Summery Shade of Green

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Hello friends! It is Memorial Day and while I’m grateful to not have a full day of work, Dani and I are both a bit saddened that our sick and weary bodies are keeping us from enjoying a proper day off. Ah well. I had a nice little walk when I woke up this morning (walking the MKT trail before 7am is always fun – you see the real ones!) and Dani and I went for a grocery store run a few hours back, but apart from that? We have had a most lazy and quiet day. I guess that’s good? My chest congestion continues to linger and annoyingly enough I’d even guess I have a small fever just now. But someday I pray my body shall recover and I will feel healthy again. Someday! I’d also like to write something creatively. Perhaps after I dash off a couple quick book reviews. It made me happy yesterday to write a little prose, as feeble as it is at times. Ah writing always relaxes and invigorates my mind. I need more such sessions. But as I seem to be rambling on without end, let me talk a bit about a couple books and then we shall see if my rambling extends to more poetical endeavors.

43. The Seven Dials Mystery by Agatha Christie. It had been far too long since I’d read a Christie, and after finding a few new ones I’d not read before at local used book shop, was hankering to dive right in! This one scratched the itch and it made me happy (albeit confused) as I read. Christie is her usual masterful self in this one. All new characters in this – not a Marple or Poirot to be found! – and I enjoyed as always the little window into 1920s Britain. The slang is always amusing and I don’t know, I just enjoy seeing the interactions between the young men and women in this – made me realize that things haven’t changed that much in the past 100 years! The mystery was solid too – though I did get a little suspicious partway through and half-guess the villain, it wasn’t by any means obvious. Typical Christie finish here, with plenty of twists and turns and very satisfying denouement. Glad I picked this one up.

44. A Ring of Endless Light by Madeleine L’Engle. In the mood for something homey and real and encouraging, I grabbed this from the shelf as it’d been a while since I’d read it. It was exactly what the doctor ordered. Full of L’Engle’s typical mix of the mundane and the ethereal, I found myself quickly engrossed in this tale of a young girl growing up one summer as all changes around her. I love the family dynamics in this one, I love the conversations, I even somehow love the various interactions Vicky has with her 3(!!) suitors, even though I think I remember that annoying me first time around. I do love how L’Engle writes dialogue and back-and-forth conversations about serious matters. Though I don’t always agree with some of the particulars of L’Engle’s theology, I love how she asks the questions and truly engages with the possibilities raised by this broken wounded world we live in and a God who is real. This book also has L’Engle’s penchant for the strange and beautiful as we vicariously thrill through Vicky as she swims with dolphins and touches the faint after-images of the divine touch on creation’s weave. This book isn’t perfect and there is one character in particular I really don’t quite like – oh Zachary Gray! – but at the end of the day reading this book was a comfort and joy to me. We need more books like this in the world.

Sabbath Meditation

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I sometimes wish I lived in a little cottage at the top of a cliff overlooking the sea. It sounds picturesque, does it not? Imagine hearing the waves crash ceaselessly against the rocks far below. Look far out across the grey sea and smile as you imagine the sunset that is soon to be. Take a walk in the garden and feel the wind whip against your shoulders as you hear the gulls cry in melodious cacophony. Well, perhaps strike that last. But still, can you imagine sitting on the porch of your little cottage watching the soft rain fall and with a book upon your lap breathing deep the sea air? Perhaps you have a little lantern next to you for that light which becomes necessary as the sky slowly darkens. And inside you know the pot of tomato sauce bubbles away and perfumes the air for the moment when you shall step back inside to stir and inhale the scents of garlic and oregano. I think of what it would be like to have a cottage as I have described and I smile. Maybe someday. But also I know there are drawbacks to such a life. How far away the grocery store, I wonder? Perhaps thirty minutes, perhaps more! And if it is storming, of course I would not risk the muddy drive. And where are my closest friends? Perhaps not nearby. I would be lonely at times, lonely enough that my heart be sore to hurting. And the nearest library would be quite a distance away and I would know all the books on all the shelves by the sixth month, surely. But then, I suppose in this little cottage of mine I could build quite the cosy little library, could I not? So no disadvantage that.

But still my heart yearns for a quiet little home on a cliffside far away. Though at times I would miss those whom my heart holds dear, still it would do me good to gaze upon the beauty of that wine-dark sea each and every day. There is something in my soul that craves such. I would love to walk the garden path and lift my eyes to the stars above and pray to God aloud and relish the fact that He hears me true and sets his hand upon me in firm affirmation of my place at his feet. But then, I suppose I need not a cottage for that last. I can even now on my couch in this little city apartment raise my eyes to heaven and cry out to the God who knows my name. Maybe someday I’ll have this cottage to call my home sweet home. But for the now, I smile and rest in the fact that eternal life is mine no matter where this feeble frame resides. Someday I shall receive the call that even now eternity in my heart prepares me for. Someday I shall walk the garden path with the God who knows my name. Someday soon even I shall see that perfect beauty for which my soul longs. Someday I shall look into the eyes of Jesus.

Oathsworn

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Why do you scribble so furiously she shouts in agony
see here all my tears upon the page
they are for you my love for you that’s all
well then please turn your eyes upon me
let me see their grey
and I turn from the stained paper and she feels my gaze
why do you tremble so my honey
what makes your eyes spark in the candlelight?
you know my love i never was much good at talking
why do you think i write so many fevered words?
give me a minute or two and you’ll have your answer
i understand yes i do for you i’ll wait
i’ll sit here upon the crook of the moon
and i smile with that fresh imagery and i answer
you have my lifetime and all my best stories
and yes you have me too

Precipitation

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I have been procrastinating writing all day. It is truly tragic, is it not? One has time to write and write finally for the first time in a long time and then for some perverse reason the will decides to keep choosing other things to do instead. It is maddening, truly. So now the afternoon winds on and I had almost decided it was time to do some dinner prep but then I told myself no that it would not do and that I would write something, even if the output turns out to be quite execrable.

I really wish I could go for a nice walk. It’s been a few days since I’ve stretched my legs properly and it irks me that I feel oh so sedentary in this moment. Yet the rain has been pouring and pouring and though now it seems it’s stopped, I do not trust the sky and I shall not risk the walk, quite certain that more storms shall be rolling o’er head shortly. So. I write! What shall I write? It’s been a long week, what with me and Dani being properly sick and miserable. It’s a garden variety cold/cough for me, but Dani’s been hit much harder. Right now I’m just grateful if she’s able to keep any food or liquids down. Praying for her recovery – oh please Lord, heal her. I suppose it’s normal after a vacation for the body to finally collapse upon arriving home again, mm? Definitely our bodies have been through a lot these past few weeks, what with traveling to Italy (Rome & Positano!) and Greece (Santorini!) and I am quite a terrible chronicler in that I really should detail some of our adventures in the aforesaid, yet I can’t quite bring myself to open the spigot. Instead, I’ll close this little post and then ponder if my creative self can decide to write anything more poetic and dreamy than the dreary prose that has trickled forth thus far.

I really am in a mood, aren’t I? Yet I do long to write something beautiful. I am not quite certain if I can. Yet even if I can’t, it is good to sit here at home, dry and warm on a day when outside is damp and stormy. I will perhaps do some dinner prep now – classic burritos with tomato/avocado salad! – and then see if any writing is to be. Peace and love, my friends. Peace and love.

Candles

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Light and life and rose petals and a frost upon the glass
see what you make me think of when you grace me with your smile
don’t you think it’s worth it
even these moments that fall short of art?
I don’t consider it any less a celebration just because it’s quiet
and certainly I don’t mind it when it’s just me and you
if anything my heart is sad knowing you’re hurting
so don’t apologize my love don’t say you’re sorry
just know that you here and now is all i want
someday we’ll go for walks again together
someday we’ll celebrate down at my favourite patio bar
but for now let’s just relish being home together
i’ll light the candle and you curl up on your chair
soon enough my love soon enough you’ll be better
but for now it’s enough knowing you’re there

Anniversary

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It’s wonderful to sit down for a moment and to in the moment consider all that has come before. The moments blur and speed up as if memory has undertaken a compression activity in order to improve processing speed for the present. Perhaps that is so, if a crude way of putting it. But still ought not we take time now and again to look backwards? I find it easy to say that for perhaps that is already my natural inclination and I need no reminder. Looking back at a story unfolded and on shiny paper with letters vivid in wet ink upon the page is pleasurable. The story writ there, even if interpreted through smudged lens, is finite and bounded. The book is readable, to come to the point. But the book is lying open, is it not? It will not always be so. Someday it will be closed and there shall be another volume on the shelf which must be pulled down for the continuation. But leave that for now. That volume is for consideration at a later date – when the sea air blows fresh and the gulls call. For now, consider the open book upon the table. The pages already spoken of are wonderful to think on, but they are static. There is no changing what has been printed. The ones still to come? Well, they are a bit blurry, you might say. Yes, perhaps with the right glasses one could read them. But I certainly can’t. You neither, I think. It takes eyes of a divine nature and alas our nature is a bit fractured and marred, nowhere close to the divine that has granted us its imprint. Still we squint. And perhaps certain words can be read here and there, but perhaps to not to be able to read the rest is a blessing in and of itself. I think if I could read the reminder of this volume, I’d need to sit down for a bit, dizzy and faint for that which is not my burden to bear in this moment. Instead, I lift the book up and look at the name of the author on the spine. Ah yes. I’m in good hands. I don’t exactly know how this volume will conclude. Yet I do know it will be an ending worthy of the name. And then as I spoke of before, there is always the volume yet to come. Oh how I do look forward to that one. It shall be a pleasure beyond description to read that one. Someday. Someday.

One More Year

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Hello dear friends!! A few short thoughts on a few books read recently. I don’t want to write much here as I’m hoping to write a bit more creatively later on. As always, we shall see.

39. Notes from the Underground and The Gambler by Fedor Dostoevsky. It has been far, far too long since I’ve read words penned by Dostoevsky and reading these two novellas really made me realize how much I’ve been missing out. I don’t truly know what it is about how Dostoevsky writes but when he writes scenes, you really feel them. His prose is exquisite, his scenes imaginative and oh boy the characters. I’m not going to belabor my thoughts on these two stories, but they are magnificent and weird and wonderful in all the best ways. Both of them have a sense of sublime tragedy that is hard to capture yet Dostoevsky does it so well. There is humour galore (please don’t ever call Dostoevsky dull or boring) and there is plenty of the absurd. There are moments where I almost physically cringed with the raw emotion being displayed on the page. In particular I loved the interactions between the narrator and Liza in “Notes on the Underground” – beautifully, beautifully depicted. Also in “The Gambler”? Every moment with Grandmother was a riot and a wonder to behold. Again, I’m not sure what it is about Dostoevsky and his writing that captures my heart so, but I do love reading him. Yes, these are tragic stories and a bit grey and grim at times. Yet there is still heart there, if painfully it beats.

40. Roman Stories by Jhumpa Lahiri. A collection of short stories set in Rome, I enjoyed these in the moment but I’ll confess now that I’m not certain how long they shall stick with me. The writing is technically proficient but something about the stories themselves left me a bit cold. I may just not have been in the proper mood for them, who can tell? The prevailing themes are strong – marital tensions/dissolution/aging, living in a foreign land as a stranger yet not, racial animus and racism writ large – yet even with those themes being solid in and of themselves, the stories felt a bit stark and bare at times, feeling a bit too carefully crafted. Ah well, like I said, I did enjoy these in the moment for the most part.

41. Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay by Elena Ferrante. Another novel in the Neopolitan series by the brilliant Ferrante. Yet as much as I can acknowledge the craft in this one, I think this is a turning point novel for me. Don’t think I can read another. Very possibly I said this about the last one, but this time I think it’s true! Possible spoilers ahead, so read with care if not wishing to be spoiled. Anyways. The cast of characters in this one grows ever larger and while some times I struggled to remember who was who, the character list at the beginning helps with such. As always, any scene with Lila in it simply sings. I think the author knows this and deliberately deploys these scenes as needed, as her writing of the character sizzles with warmth and realness. Elena Greco, as typical, is a bit more of a boring character, but the fascinating thing here is that I think the author realizes this and even nods to such, attempting to show Elena buck against the norms and silken cords that bind her tight. Elena is always struggling to fight her own feelings of inferiority and is not helped by the many in her life – even her own husband! – who think she’s really rather second rate. It’s fascinating for the author to choose to depict her main character so and I think it’s really rather clever, even if it does come across as making Elena the duller character in pretty much any of her interactions with anyone else. Still yet, this book is eminently readable and as before, all the Lila scenes are fire – not to be missed. But this book ended in such a way that made me very angry and though I could argue that it only makes sense for it to have ended how it did, I abhor marital infidelity and the depiction of such…even if it seems warranted or even the right thing to do to abandon a spouse and children, I couldn’t quite wrap my head around Elena’s actions here. She’s impulsive and destructive and while I suppose we could say it only makes sense living with a husband who seems so neglectful and dispassionate, there is no way I can justify her leaving her family for a stupid affair of the heart. Nino is his father all over again (as I believe is pointed out) and I simply raged to see that Elena gets taken in by him so easily. Perhaps Nino actually does feel for her – as seems to be the case – yet even so? Two families wrecked just so that two people can indulge their feelings for one another. I loved hearing Lila tear into Elena and perhaps the last book in this series will show how these choices only lead to further destruction and misery. Perhaps, yet I don’t even want to find out. I knew this series got grimmer by the book yet I thought I could handle it. Ah well, perhaps not. I hate unfaithfulness.

42. Enjoying God by Tim Chester. A simple book on how we can grow in our enjoyment of God and communion with Him in the every day hardships and mundanities we face. I greatly enjoyed this one. Yes it is simple at times, but maybe we need that? This book had so many good reminders of how we ought understand who God is – in the three persons of the Trinity – and how we ought understand our relationship to Him – union with Christ and therefore relationship with God in true fashion – and then how we ought live and breathe to grow closer to our God in the everyday. I confess my full theological nerdery and say that my favourite chapter by far was the chapter at the end where the author dug into some of John Owen’s writings on communion with God and really went deeper on what it means for us for our union with God to be the foundation for our communion with him. Superb writing and fantastic summary of John Owen (not easy to do!). This book was good for my soul.