Category Archives: books

An Old Friend, A New Book

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Michelle is one of my oldest, bestest friends. When I’m particularly sad or mad or glad, I pick up the phone and talk it out with her, and she listens and asks questions, and we shriek and lecture and giggle and howl by turns. Yup, it can get noisy.

Back in ’05, she and her husband and son lived here for seven weeks, and we were both working on our books. We’d sit cross-legged on her couch, each with a laptop, critiquing each other’s drafts. We’d hash out the issues we were writing/reading about, and delete and add paragraphs. It was brutal, safe honesty, and incredible fun, even though I’m pretty sure neither of us want to do it again. At least not for a long time.

It always amazes me that we get along so well, Michelle and I. We have lots of similar interests and passions, but we have lots of differences about less important things. She likes light blue; I don’t touch it. She doesn’t like desserts so much, but I do. She likes a more modern decor; my default is eclectic. My book was primarily for singles. Hers is for new brides. Our worlds could hardly be more diverse. But we get along like a house on fire.

Now her book is here! I got a copy yesterday. She co-authored it with her sister Christy. I am as proud of them as can be.

Authors don’t write books because they are masters of their subjects, or have all the answers. They write because they are more honest than most of the populace about the issues they live with, wrestle with, learn about. They are hungry students who know there’s more to learn. I didn’t write my book for single women because I believe that single is the best and only way to live, or because I want to be single all my life, or because I know everything about living well singly. I wrote because it was time to be honest about the scenario many ladies find themselves in, and because those ladies deserved a caring, sensitive voice.

Michelle and Christy wrote with the same motivations. Writing from the middle of their lives as new brides gave them a voice of understanding and credibility. The book is honest, personal, and articulate–a winning combination.

To order your copy of Marital Bliss with a kiss of reality, email Michelle at smilesbymiles[dot]gmail[dot]com. Visit their blog here to “meet” them and/or subscribe to updates. I like the fun, interactive blog even though none of it applies to me, so you have to know it’s a good one if I’ve subscribed to it.

I skimmed the book last night. Not being a bride, I’ll likely not be taking the time to read it from cover to cover. But I cheer for solid marriages and women who love their husbands and families well, and I will promote this book because of what’s in it and because the authors are stellar ladies who deserve big cheers for their enormous vision and creative wordsmithing. I believe the world will be more beautiful for what they wrote.

Bravo to Michelle and Christy!

My Commander in Chief Weeps about War

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Recently a friend and I were talking about reading the Bible, and we wondered what we’d think about it if we’d only now read it for the first time. Would we find all the doctrinal points that every church holds so dearly? Would it make sense to us, and would we be persuaded that it is Truth?

So these questions are often in the back of my mind when I read my daily portion in the book I wrote about here. And very recently, while reading through John, the light clicked on in my brain, and I thought to myself, Yes! This Jesus is a man I would follow and I would believe what He says. If I would have heard Him speak and interact with people, I would definitely have been part of the crowd that followed Him.

There was something fresh and liberating in coming to that conclusion, acknowledging that this decision of following Christ is part mystery, part wistfulness, part staunch, glad faith.

Then another friend was telling something about the political shenanigans in her country. I listened because I like to hear people tell me their perspectives about politics even though I never follow the news about it. Then she asked, “So what do you tell people when they ask why you don’t vote?”

My answer went something like this: I have become acquainted with wonderful person of Christ, and He is my hero and I am following Him. He lived in very unstable political times, and He had lots of chances to start His own kingdom/political party but He didn’t. He said He was calling people to the Kingdom of Heaven. This is a place where Love dwells, not war or violence or deceit or pride and one-up-manship. I don’t have a lot of answers on all the details, but I just know that His kingdom is where I want to put my allegiance and time and interest and energy.

Then this morning I read several blogs that extolled the armed forces because of today being Memorial Day in the US, and I wanted to weep. How can violence bring peace? How can killing be laudable? I believe that there are soldiers in the military with soft hearts who want to follow Truth. But they’re part of a ghastly machine and support a kingdom that opposes the one Jesus leads.

He has won me by His love, not His power, and thus He demonstrates that Love, not guns or bombs, is the most powerful force in the world. I follow Him. Falteringly, feebly, but convinced that He is the one who deserves my allegiance. I do this because I have heard His voice in the Gospels (it IS good news) and His is not the voice of a smooth-talking politician but of a healer whose face is streaked with tears.

A Re-read

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Books are like friends. You get attached to them, and keep going back to the ones who tell you things you need to know.

On Sunday, four of us took a picnic out to the cliffs to enjoy the sea and the sunshine. We watched a sailboat sit for awhile for lack of wind, and it reminded me of Sheldon and Davy Vanauken’s fanciful plans for their “Grey Goose.” Together, my sister and I recounted for our friends the gist of the story of A Severe Mercy which was fun because she remembered details I’d forgotten.

I know some people who think the story is about two spoiled children. Maybe it is, but I still liked it from the first time I read it, fresh out of high school. Our discussion on Sunday inspired me to go back to it again for the umpteenth time, and now I’m enjoying it again. There’s nothing like revisiting words that delighted you before. This time, I can understand how it could be seen as a spoiled child’s story, but it is still a powerful account of love, faith, and grief, beautifully told. I don’t mind admitting that Sheldon’s way with words completely charms me.

Back at age fifteen or sixteen or so, I didn’t know what he meant when he said that beauty has an ache, a pang. I couldn’t follow all the British terms from their time in Oxford and friendship with C.S.Lewis. The years have increased my understanding and experience, and now I comprehend more of what he says. “Severe Mercy” was Lewis’ phrase in a letter between the two men, referring to the grief that deepened Sheldon’s faith and love for God.

Vanauken’s second book, Under the Mercy recounts more of his professor days in Lynchburg, VA after Davy died, and shares some papers he wrote in those days. I’ve frequently gone back to the chapter on “The Bachelor” because he writes so eloquently of the historical place in society and the dignity of the single person. He writes about feminism and political protests in DC, and eventually of his “crossing the English Channel” and becoming a Catholic. The second book is good, but doesn’t carry the immediacy of the first.

This is an excerpt from A Severe Mercy that has become part of my world-view:

…we have not always been or will not always be purely temporal creatures…we were created for eternity. Not only are we harried by time, we seem unable, despite a thousand generations, even to get used to. We are always amazed at it–how fast it goes, how slowly it goes, how much of it is gone. Where, we cry, has the time gone? We aren’t adapted to it, not at home in it. If that is so, it may appear as proof, or at least a powerful suggestion, that eternity exists and is our home.

Here’s to Having Priceless Dreams

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I read Life of Pi some years back, liked it, and recently decided to revisit the book. I’m scarcely into the first chapter and am already hugely enjoying it. Here is the last sentence of the Author’s Notes:

If we, citizens, do not support our artists, then we sacrifice our imagination on the altar of crude reality and we end up believing in nothing and having worthless dreams.

Heavy Books

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Last Wed. I was at the Delta counter in Pittsburg airport, frantically rearranging the contents of my luggage so that they’d weigh less than 50 lbs. each. “Too many books,” my friend said. Too true.

When I returned to the agent who had first taken my bags, he waved me to the next agent and said to her: “Take this lady next. She had a weight problem.”

I couldn’t believe that an agent would say that, and I blushed even though I knew he was talking about my books and not me.

I as settle into normal life after living in the rarefied air of Bible school, I’m re-inspired to read. Lots of books. Ones I’ve read before, so as to become reacquainted with old friends. And others that are new, so as to gain new friends. I will not become overwhelmed with so many books and so little time as I always complained before, but instead, I plan to enjoy and savor and gain from every tidbit that I get.

Come to think of that, maybe it WILL become a weight problem.

Favourites

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They told me to come round for tea sometime, so I asked if I could come at 4. We sat in front of the warm fire, drank tea, stroked the dogs, and chatted. The chat went on and on, in a hurry, and when I was ready to leave, they urged me to stay to eat stew with them. I couldn’t refuse.

The conversation moved on, but always centered on books, stories, memories of stories. They have young bookworm girls always in need of book recommendations. “What did you read when you were a young teen, and 15 and 16, that shaped you?” they asked.

Instantly, I knew the book. It was Shadow of the Almighty. I read it before I understood the concepts of evangelization; I just liked the story.

As when someone asks you to lead a song, you suddenly don’t know any songs. And so I was blank when trying to recall anything else besides Jim Elliot’s story. Then I remembered Elizabeth Yates and her sweet word crafting, especially The Next Fine Day and On That Night.

Then it came to me, what to recommend for the young girls: all of Patricia St. John’s books. Each book has a theme Scripture verse that the plot winds around unobtrusively but beautifully. They’re set in all parts of the world, about winsome children with big life lessons in front of them. When I started to talk about the titles and themes in the books, I got goosebumps and almost choked up. The stories are so real and human, and I’m sure they shaped me more than I realize.

It was a lovely visit. After all, what could be better than sitting by a fire with tea, comparing favourite parts of Narnia or Lord of the Rings?!

My Friend’s New Books

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Michelle and I have done alot of things together, gone on many adventures and dreamed many dreams. But I love how God dreams bigger than we do. We never dreamed we’d both be authors, both have book-birthing stories to compare. Guess I should have known it, knowing how little silence there is when we’re together, and how much we like words.

Finally, this week I got to see her new books: We Build a House and My Brother’s Keeper.

They are both for children, aimed at helping them to adjust to changes in life. We Build a House is Michelle’s own story of building their house, told and seen through her young Adam’s eyes.

My Brother’s Keeper is about a family’s journey of living with a handicapped child. It, too, is written in the voice of the brother. It made me cry, which is another reason why it’s a good book.

I’m proud of Michelle’s vision and skill and creativity evident in these books. I’m proud to show people the books and say “My friend did that!”

Order your copies for yourself and for beautiful gifts from smilesbymiles@gmail.com

Daily Bread

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On one of the loveliest days of last summer, my family drove to the quay in Cork City where the Logos was docked. It was a delightful visit, meeting the staff, taking a tour of the ship, and of course, perusing the bookstore.

I came home with a small stack of books, but the best choice by far was The One Year Bible, New Living Translation. No matter that I started it when the year was half-finished.

Every night, it’s like sitting down to a meal. I love it. I love the variety of Old and New Testaments, with Psalms and Proverbs every day. I don’t stress out with guilt for skipping over the genealogies and such like, and the portions aren’t too long–actually, I often think they’re not long enough, that the meal was finished too quickly. The translation helps give a fresh message, so I don’t become lulled by words I’ve read all my life. Lately, in Genesis, I’ve been swept up with the narration and God’s amazing understatements.

A long time ago, every day for 40 years, God fed His people a mysterious food. It was unlike anything they knew so they called it “What is it?” The daily snowing of manna sustained them on their rigorous journey because it came from Him whose hand is strength and grace and love.

So when I pray before I begin my nightly “meal”: “Give me today the food I need” I am asking God to send me sustenance and strength that I can never get anywhere else. What He sends is often a mystery, not always acknowledged for the wonder that it is. But it is a wonder, and a beauty, and I love Him for it.

Growing Things

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During the summer, there was a for-real mushroom growing on a carpet in my house. I was trying to discover the source of the damp smell, and to my horror, found a button mushroom by the leaking radiator. The landlord called a plumber who fixed the leak, and I got a dehumidifier the same week, so now there is no more fungus. Anyhow, it’s too cold for anything to grow.

Except now book stacks are growing like stalagmites on a cave floor. Beside the bed, on the bed, beside the chair, on the desk. Books of writing, women, stories, character studies. I have tickets to fly to the US on Feb. 11 for my 2nd stint of teaching at Calvary Bible School. Yay, yay!

I plan to teach for 6 wks. ‘Godly Womanhood’ class accounts for the women’s studies and character studies and counselling books. And I will be assistant teacher for Christian Writing class, which is why I’m reading Zinsser and Card at the moment. How to inspire writing that is excellent in creativity and Truth? This is my quest.

The stalagmites grow slowly and steadily upwards.

Recommended Christmas Story

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It’s been a frantic week of shop keeping and baking and carol singing. It’s been good, but frantic, and during yesterday’s duties I felt particularly as if I was moving in a slow, creaking gear. “Little smiles and little tears are all we’ve brought” was the line that repeated itself in my brain. It was my line, the only thing I could offer to anyone.

It’s the line from the poem “How Far is it to Bethlehem?” by Frances Chesterton. The line is the one Elizabeth Yates uses in her lovely Christmas story “On That Night.”

This morning I was part of the city market crew, to sell cakes, bread, and scones. I learned again that I am solar powered, and can sell things well. If the sun shines, anything is possible and everything is wonderful. And I can talk people into buying things because I’m enthused and happy.

Town was wonderful. I fell in love again with life and with Waterford City. The air was crisp and cold, and did I mention, bright? People met my eyes and smiled and/or waved and drivers were polite to each other. I rode the bus back to the bakery, to bake apple tarts and lemon tarts, thoroughly revived and ready to work for another week. This time as I worked, the little smiles and little tears were gone, and instead I sang and laughed and joked. Yup, I’m solar powered. The Romans used to call this country Hibernian. After 13 winters here, I understand why they did.

This evening six of us young ladies sang several songs as part of the carol service in St. Andrew’s Church in Dunmore East. It was a lovely evening of Nine Lessons and Carols, with a huge crowd of friends and neighbors packing the (drafty) pews. As we meandered out into the cold crisp night, I thought again of Yates’ “On That Night” and the magical, gentle night when the characters in the story left their prayer time, went out in the snow, and found what they’d lost. I hope we get snow now too.

Next week, hopefully things won’t be quite so frantic. I hope there’ll be an evening when we sisters can sit by my fire and take turns reading “On That Night” to each other. I love the wistful, gentle, worshipful story written by a gifted lady.

As far as Christmas stories go, I can’t choose my favourite between that one and “The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Twomey.” Both deal with love and loss, grief and miracles, and have parts where I choke up and parts where I smile every time I read them. Do yourself a favor and read at least one of them this week.