How Many Hours in a Mile?

Last week, for no reason except that it was in front of me,  I picked up Lewis’ A Grief Observed. Douglas Gresham’s introduction took me in and it wasn’t long before I’d read all four chapters of the short book.

But not without being profoundly shaken. It’s a raw, intimate book, like reading someone’s journal, as Lewis walks  through debilitating grief after his wife’s death. Reading it is like watching the writhing of a man in agony. I barely had the emotional fortification to take it in. Parts of it made me cry, and drew me back to re-read them, as a kind of catharsis and soothing.

Living in a broken, groaning world, even without feeling the deep grief of death, I ask God lots of questions. It calms me somehow to know that He hears and understands and cares, and that’s enough, even though the questions don’t have answers.

Am I just sidling back to God because I know that if there’s any road to H. it runs through Him? But then of course I know perfectly well that He can’t be used as a road. If you’re approaching Him not as the goal but as a road, not as the end but as the means,  you’re not really approaching Him at all.

Lord, are these your real terms? Can I meet H. again only if I learn to love you so much that I don’t care whether I meet her again or not?

When I lay these questions before God I get no answer. But a rather special sort of  “No answer.” It is not the locked door. It is more like a silent, certainly not uncompassionate, gaze. As though He shook His head not in refusal but waiving the question. Like, “Peace, child; you don’t understand.”

Can a mortal ask questions which God finds unanswerable? Quite easily, I should think. All nonsense questions are unanswerable. How many hours are there in a mile? Is yellow square or round? Probably half the questions we ask–half our great theological and metaphysical problems–are like that.

Heaven will solve our problems, but not, I think, by showing us subtle reconciliations between all our apparently contradictory notions. The notions will all be knocked from under our feet. We shall see that there never was any problem.

A Drawing for a Drawing

A heads-up here: this is basically a self-serving post. I would be so happy if I could win something, and so I’m going to link to my friend  Becca’s blog. She’s hosting a give-away of one of her drawings, and it would be great fun to win.

Becca is, among other things, an artist with words and paint. It would be an honor to have something she drew, and it would just be a ton of fun to win a drawing!

Hope, A Thing With Feathers

She was one of my teen students last year and wanted to interview me now for her school project about the political conflicts in Ireland. But most of the time, while we walked to the coffee shop in wind and dust, and while we sat inside, over my hot chocolate and her (healthier) fresh orange juice, we talked about everything outside of Ireland.  The stuff that girls talk about when they’re relaxed and happy: life and love and dreams.

“I’m scared of my future. I don’t want to grow up and make big decisions.”

You don’t have to make those decisions now, I said. Enjoy today. And you can always be a little girl inside. You know how old I am, and you know what? I still feel like a little girl even though I’ve done some adult-sized things.

“I know, that’s why I feel you can understand me, and really, you’re cute!”

Never mind that her command of English didn’t let her know how to use ‘cute’. Hearing it from her was priceless.

“Do you believe in true love? Like Romeo and Juliet?” Smarting after a break up that was friendship but not love. “I think we’re too young for love now, but do you believe in true love?”

Yes, I do! I don’t know know if Romeo and Juliet had real love, but I believe in true love and that it is commitment. Do you know this word?

“No.”   It’s a long word for a language student.

Maybe love can be like Romeo and Juliet. I don’t know, because I’m still waiting for true love. But I think true love is commitment. That means he loves what’s inside you, your heart, not only your hair or your face or body. And it means even when you are disappointed, or angry or impatient, you will love him, and he will love you. That’s real love.

“Yes, because when I’m old, I won’t be beautiful. True love, commitment, that’s what I want.”

I finished my luscious chocolate and we walked back to her street in gusts of wind, and I was happy beyond words that being an English teacher gave me the chance to have this conversation with this beautiful, thoughtful young lady. I was glad that even if I didn’t have a colorful, amazing story to prove something, I could tell her with confidence that true love does exist. If I couldn’t give her anything else, I could give her hope.

Sometimes this is the most one person can give another.

Comments on “The Jesus I Never Knew”

I’ve been reading Philip Yancey’s The Jesus I Never Knew and have only several pages left to read. Like always at the end of a good book, I’m sorry to see the end coming.  Yancey’s calm, thorough, careful writing soothed and fed me when I felt restless and hungry for rich words and truth.

He writes about Jesus’ world, what it must have been like to breathe that air, to walk those roads. In many ways, I’m not sure that it was so different from today’s gritty, tentative, restless towns. More than ever to me, Jesus is the hero to follow, the leader to believe in. And the audacity hits me sometimes, that I say I try to live like He did, because of my colossal failures in loving and serving like He did/does.

The best parts of the book are the last two chapters: “Kingdom: Wheat Among Weeds” and “The Difference He Makes.” The words and ideas are full of triumph and purpose, not heady and empty ideas, but solid and real–truer than our present physical surroundings.

I recommend this book, not just because of the easy-to-digest writing style, but because of the content that can lead to the source of Life.

And as an aside: Someone wrote me recently to ask why I’m reading Yancey, because she heard that he left the faith. I sighed, not because of the question, but because of the rumor. Someone has not been doing their homework, and jumped on a victim and spread a lie without reading to the end of the story.  So Yancey did leave the faith in his youth, but the fruit of his life now shows his allegiance to Christ. Who hasn’t done stupid things when they were young?

Please do yourself a favor and when you hear negative things about an author, don’t write him/her off as poison. Ask good questions of people you trust, don’t believe everything you hear or read on the internet, read books with discernment. ALL books are going to be flawed because their authors are flawed. But we can be students and ask good questions and learn the good that people have to teach us and at the same time be honest about the things that aren’t truth.

(The aside turns into a rant so the speaker steps off her soapbox.)

A Writing Meme From Dorcas Smucker

Let’s be clear about this: I don’t do chain stuff or forwards. For various reasons. Two recipes or 50 questions about yourself to forward to 51 of your friends or email poems that have 152 emoticons in them that you MUST  forward unless you want to be attacked by a billy goat? I don’t do it. Life is too short. But Dorcas tagged me in a meme, which is (or can be) a different thing, and I answered her questions because they were about things I care about, and I had time to answer them.

(A meme is an idea or theme that spreads like a virus in the blogging world, and this one is about writing and I’m breaking the bendable rules by not preparing a list of more questions or bloggers.)

1. How long have you been blogging, and how often do you post?

I started the blog in ’08 when my book came out. Before that, I had a xanga site, which was more social to me than serious writing. There is no rhyme or reason as to how I often I post. I refuse to write just so that I get more hits on my site, or because it’s been awhile since I last posted. I only write when I feel there’s something inside that needs to get out. This is my 201st post here.

2. Have you had anything published, and if so, what and when?

Some devotional/inspirational articles in CLP’s “Companions” some years ago. I published my own book, written especially for single women, in ’08.

3. Who is the author who best speaks your language and who you would most like to be like, in style and message?

Philip Yancey speaks my language because of his honesty. I admire the way he explains his conclusions with words that are carefully chosen but still carry a cadence, a kind of rhythm.  I admire CS Lewis for the way he connects the spiritual and the tangible world. I’m relishing Les Miserables  but would NOT want to mimic Victor Hugo’s style.

4. What do you see as the unique message God has given you to share with the world ?

It has something to do with exposing beauty and truth. Also, I want to be a voice for those who have none, and an ear for those who those who have found none. In other words, be a facilitator, which may not necessarily mean writing.

5. Who or what has made you believe in yourself as a writer?

A teacher at school (Rosalind McGrath Byler) and a Calvary Bible school teacher (Ervin Hershberger).

6. Who or what has done the opposite?

Men who refused to market my book, were opposed to it because it didn’t fit their theology and disapproved of my using quotes from writers in other denominations.

7. Besides blogging, what types of writing have you done?

Journaling. Letters. Dabbled in verse and music composition but wasn’t willing to stick to it. In my head, I’ve written travel articles about my local area in Ireland.

8. Where would you like to be, writing-wise, in five years?

Working on my 2nd book.

9. What would need to happen to move you from here to there?

A lot of things that God and I keep discussing.

10. Any advice for beginning bloggers/writers?

Don’t write if you can help it. But if you can’t help but write, do! Read all the time, always have several books on the go, and don’t read rubbish.

11. Just for fun: what’s a skill you have that almost no one knows about? (example: I know how to develop black and white film in a darkroom.)

I can read and write words upside-down, across the table from my English students.

Commas, Maybe?

The silence from this corner is not because I’m bored, or depressed, or too busy. Things tumble  about in my head, but they don’t need to see daylight yet.

This is a period where

It feels like

everything I

say

or write

must not end

with a

.

but with a

,

or

?

The words I have declared now feel

less sure.

The sacred and beautiful things

are still all of that,

but I feel I can say nothing,

write nothing,

except to end it with a

question or disclaimer or comma.

A few things I know.

They are great, glad statements that arch over the questions. These things I know and they have no question marks.

I think everything else is sand.

Shifting.

Ending in a comma because each new thing adds to the

sequence.

Each orbit of the sun reveals a new

aspect to acknowledge.

Each bit of truth adds

understanding

so that I can

never

be wholly sure of what I’ve seen.

I can’t see myself completely ,

never mind someone else

or my surroundings.

It means living with an open hand,

not clenching anything in my fist,

not refusing new things.

Being sure only of my God

in whose hand I am,

and only His words are

final.

Deepest Fears Spill Out

For a long time, I’ve promoted the act/discipline/therapy of journaling. Life journals, and particularly thanks journals. Because I maintain that getting something out, something that’s churning inside you, isn’t as big or scary or impossible when it’s  outside of you and you can look at it and see it for what it is.

This was confirmed recently when talking with a friend who had gone through a debilitating mental breakdown. In the process of healing, which included the strong support of her family, and a Christian counsellor, she said with a little grimace, “And I had to write alot.”  It was obvious that the therapy helped, and she admitted it even though it hadn’t been fun at the time.

Not everyone can write easily or well, but in a journal, that doesn’t matter. You should still write. Even in single words punctuated by dashes and not complete sentences and paragraphs, if that makes it easier for you.

Not long ago, I was processing some issues by journalling. There were things roiling inside me, and I wasn’t able to verbalize them, let alone make sense of them, but suddenly, as I wrote,  my current deepest fears went spilling on onto the page, and then I thought “That’s it! That’s what’s bothering me.” I felt so relieved to have a name for it.

Sometimes the truth of the words doesn’t compute with me until I re-read them a week later. But often it happens as they tumble out. You hear yourself say it, it’s a form of self-talk, and it helps. A lot.

Try it!

And no, you didn’t really think I was going to tell the cyber world about my deepest fears, did you?

Sad and Angry Tonight

Usually when I’m angry, I try to keep it to myself but I snap at people and am biting and try not to say much so as not to cause too much damage. But right now I’m angry, and I don’t mind if the world knows it.

I’m angry because a dad, after his daughter was dating for the better part of a year, told the young man he can’t see the girl again. The dad, an American, said he couldn’t see his daughter marry an Eastern European.

The young man has a stellar character. He would treat any girl like a queen. I understand the challenges of a cross-cultural marriage, but I think it’s unfair and wrong to break a man’s heart like that, on the basis of his ethnic background.

I hurt for the couple.  I ache for the injustice of it. I hurt for the young man, because I know him and his gifts and his character. I know he has support around him, lots of people love him, this can be redeemed sometime, somehow.

But right now, I’m angry.

New Hope Singers CD !

The latest Hope Singers CD is ready for shipping now. Although we sang mostly in Polish at programs, most of the songs on the recording are in English, and arranged by our conductor, Lloyd Kauffman.  You can order your copies today!

This is the repertoire:

Praise to the Lord
Let All the Nations Praise the Lord
Ghospodi, Pomiluy (Lord, Have Mercy)
Father, I Adore you/Alleluia
Fairest Lord Jesus
In Christ Alone
When Peace Like a River
Tryumfy Królu Niebieskiego (the Triumphs of the Heavenly King)
He’s Got the Whole World
Amen
I Can Tell the World
An Unclouded Day
Królu Niebios (King of Heaven)
O Healing River
Barka (My Boat)
Blest Be the Tie

To order recordings, contact:
The Family Bookshop
4041 St. Rt. 26E
Montezuma, GA 31063
Phone: 478-472-5166
E-mail: elmest@juno.com

 

Joy Like Swords

I read these assorted words this week, on a theme I keep bumping into:

The Lord our God is One and in Him, all the fragments of life are woven into one piece. In Christ, we’re aren’t ever torn. In Him, all brokenness is made whole, all moments are made holy, all pieces are made one.   —Ann Voskamp

Why must we always insist that the destination is the most important measure of success? We put so many worry hours into our future only to discover that it keeps changing.

My years pursuing and practicing the job of sign language interpreting were not wasted. They brought with them necessary gifts for my life: the gift of listening for the purpose of understanding, the gift of learning how to do the work, the gift of becoming comfortable in my own skin.

That season prepared me for this one. But at the time, I was sure that season was all there would ever be. I was sure I would be a sign language interpreter for the rest of my life.

What you are doing now may not be what you’ll be doing this time next year. Those things you care so deeply for now may seem small a month from now. Might I boldly suggest that the season you are in carries hints of what you’ll be doing next? This season is a kind companion, escorting you to the next one. And then the next. We would be wise to sit back a bit and enjoy today’s adventure, whatever gifts and sufferings they may hold.

Neither the accolades nor the critiques are worth anything. Don’t force something as valuable and sacred as the definition of your life to fit onto the small, flat, earthly paper of a degree or a certificate. They will come and they will go and they are important. But they do not get the final say. For in HIM we live and move and have our being. —Emily Freeman

“Gandalf! I thought you were dead! Is everything sad going to become untrue?”

And the minstrel sang to them… until their hearts, wounded with sweet words, overflowed, and their joy was like swords, and they passed in thought out to regions where pain and delight flow together and tears are the very wine of blessedness.  — Tolkien, The Return of the King