Life in a minor key!

Tired of Christmas, artificial trees and smiles, rush and bustle and disappointment?  Here's the cure!  Be sure to check the music links, I've found a new favorite singer and a wonderful new song, along with a haunting rendition of a personal favorite.  But don't just keep this idea in your holiday heart, rather as Dickens urges us, let's keep it in our hearts all the year.  Happy Advent!

Advent is upon us!

Happy Advent, here's a nice little article and it isn't about counting down to Christmas with wine!

Of Hobbitses and Prophetses?

“Frodo: I can't do this, Sam.

Sam: I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness, and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end, because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines, it'll shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.

Frodo: What are we holding on to, Sam?

Sam: That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo...and it's worth fighting for.”

~The Two Towers (movie version!), J.R.R. Tolkien~

This is a quote familiar to many, and a philosophy of life for some, and the whole point of this blog.  Here's an article that echoes it perfectly, and just in time for Advent!  

The story of an old classic

I think I should go back a reread Pilgrim's Progress, you may want to as well after reading this interesting article!

Living in a fantasy world?

We're reading through 'That Hideous Strength,' the final installment of C.S. Lewis's Space Trilogy, purported to be a modern fairy tale for adults, one of those impossible books that is bigger on the inside than it is on the outside.  Why am I fascinated by fantasy and fairy tales?  Why can I write nothing but?  Why is my soul not satisfied with modern, realistic fiction?  Why do my favorite books, if not fairy tales per say, smack of that genre even so?  Chesterton, Lewis, and Tolkien all delved into the genre, trying to discover why it so enamored themselves and people in general, and the only conclusion that can be reached is that they are true.  No, I do not believe there are evil stepmothers lurking in the woods with magic apples, do not be ridiculous, rather there is Something beyond the thin veil of what we call normal and reality and everyday, something bigger, bolder, and more startling than we can imagine.  It is at this very Thing that the stories hint and tease, they skirt the corners, lift the flap, nibble around the edges, but can never get to the very heart of the thing but they excite in us an eagerness, a hope, a joy, an anticipation hardly to be believed in such 'worldly' and 'mature' people as we consider ourselves to be.  Like Christmas or a starry winter night, it is 'deep calling out to deep.'  The closest we muggles will ever come to true magic this side of reality.

That's why we love sunsets and the ocean depths and butterflies and never tire of new life, why music in a minor key haunts our oldest and dearest memories.  We are a haunted race, we are living the dream but longing to awaken to real life, we know there is something more to existence and reality than this thin layer of biological, physical, and temporal real estate we occupy.  That's why the most radical man and greatest teacher in history always spoke in parables, his stories could seep into places cold, hard facts and reality could in nowise touch, that childish, yearning soul at the heart of even the most intelligent and coldest man.  Indeed, 'eternity has been set in the heart of man,' we've yearned for it unutterably since Eden fell, even our origins are spoken of in fairytale language, as is the end of mortal days, read The Revelation and tell me it isn't a fairy tale too!  Anything that whispers of it or hints at bigger things beyond our myopic vision, inexplicably fascinates us.

But we need not live like materialists, thinking 'this crude matter' is all there is, shutting our hearts and minds to the greater mysteries of the world and beyond it.  For that greatest fairytale of all is True, and it tells us how to live now, so when the Prince comes back, He'll find his bride ready and waiting, but we won't ride off into the sunset at the end of the tale, nay, it will be but the beginning of a greater tale that will never, ever end.

Let the dead bury their own dead

I went to a funeral yesterday, our community choir was asked to sing, so I went.  I sat through most of it rather in fidgets, not knowing why.  I've been to dozens of funerals, that's what happens when you are a pastor's wife, and I've never been that antsy and disquiet.  It wasn't that I had a problem with death or anything in the service in particular or was particularly acquainted with the deceased, but I was anxious in an atmosphere that should have been one of quiet rejoicing, mournful joy, peaceful hope.  I've been through funerals for a 21 year old suicide victim and a thirty something father of four killed in a tragic accident, while those were difficult in their own way, this was something entirely different: I felt it a mockery, a parody, a satire, not of the dead, that was all handled quite appropriately, but as if I was in a movie mocking the Christian burial rites or reading an obituary in 'The Onion."  It had nothing to do with those particular people or that particular service, but rather the denomination in whose building I sat and to whose prophets I was listening.  While I live in a very backward and ignorant part of the country (at least as judged by the political and academic and cultural elite of our day), the apostasy of this particular variant of lutheranism hasn't left us untouched.

We are twenty, if not thirty, years behind the social mores of the rest of the nation.  This particular church is still very conservative, at least compared to the rest of the denomination, but it is still part of that denomination.  Let's just say it took them three years to find a replacement pastor, several of their previous candidates were vegan or climate warriors, not a great fit when the local economy is based on oil and beef cattle!  And those aren't even the major issues with this particular denomination, whose more 'enlightened' and progressive elements have strayed into things such as goddess worship, universalism, denying the death and resurrection of Christ, and determining that humans are rather misunderstood and ignorant than sinful.  They wonder why true believers are jumping ship like so many rats?  Paul himself said 'we of all men are most miserable if Christ be not raised.'  I believe that is what was troubling me: here we had all the banners and stained glass and a cross on the wall and all the right words, but there was no Hope, though we are bidden 'grieve, but not as those without hope,' we had lost just that!

If people want to embrace paganism, the divine feminine, the full spectrum of sexual experience, universalism or whatever, by all means that is their choice and right to choose thusly, but why do it under the Christian banner?  If Christ be not raised, what is the point?  Or rather, why are we, mere mortals and created beings, choosing to become God's counselors?  That question was rhetorical by the way, it was not meant as a challenge to modern skeptics that they might 'improve upon' what God hath wrought.  Either God created Man, Man screwed up and broke the world, Christ came (God in the flesh) to pay the Price we owed for our own stupidity and evil, He died and rose again and conquered Death and is coming back, or He is not.  If there is no such thing as sin and evil, why did Christ come and die?  If there are no eternal consequences for our evil, why did He come?  If He is too loving to do such a thing (either to sacrifice His own Son or condemn men for their evil) then he is no god at all, simply a blanky left over from childhood to comfort us in moments of stress or grief or terror.  If man is not broken and creation not ruined by the Fall, where then is our Hope?: if this is it, and we are so intrinsically miserable, how can we ever find Joy?

That is what breaks my heart, we broken and wretched creatures telling God that He is not Love, cannot be Love by such actions, that either sin is not a problem or its cure is too costly and heinous even to be considered possible by enlightened minds.  You take away all hope, you have willingly entered Dante's Inferno whilst ye live: 'abandon hope all ye who enter here!'  For to make God small, to say He is not What and Who He has said He Is, is to utterly doom humanity to eternal darkness and despair, for who can now save us from such wretchedness?  To say that His revealed Word is full of errors and misunderstandings and oversights and misinterpretations and superstitions and yet say it is the basis of your faith is madness: is it or is it not the infallible Word of God, something upon which we can stake our souls?  If it is not, give me an unabridged dictionary or the works of Jane Austen or something equally wise, let me not base my life upon a fallacious document that must be picked apart and scavenged like a carcass nearly picked clean!

They want a small god when it comes to sin and judgement, one that will not hold them accountable for their actions as long as they cling to that much abused word called 'love.'  But they want a big God when it comes to justifying their own good deeds and virtuous thoughts (as defined by themselves), when it comes to punishing those who disagree with the popular social gospel of the moment, when true trials and evils and sorrow and terrors and death assault them, but you cannot have it both ways.  Either God is Who He says He is, or he is not.  Either sin is a problem and God has offered us a cure, or it is not and there is no hope for humanity, either in this age or in the one to come.  As I sat there, the rainbow in one of those beautiful windows mocked me, for in the old story, the rainbow was established by God as a sign that He would not again destroy the world by water, the fate to which the ancient world was condemned for its evil.  Now they wave it about and claim it as their emblem, as if evil itself has been abolished and one may live as one likes as long as it is 'love.'  Little realizing that while God's promise will hold true, the world will not perish in another deluge, evil has not yet been utterly cast into the abyss and the world itself is reserved for fire.  In Noah's day they were eating and drinking, being married and given in marriage, until the flood was upon them and carried them away.  So too is it in our own day, we embrace the promise of Eden's serpent and laugh with him and ask, 'did God really say?!  Are we not gods?'  But such an attitude has ever only earned humanity wretchedness and death, be it the flood or being cast from Eden or finding ourselves cast into the outer darkness upon the very eve of a new and glorious Dawn.

People want authenticity and real and natural, etc. in this day and age, why can we not be honest about our beliefs and worldview as well?  If you embrace Christ and Him crucified, then be so unashamed.  If you cannot handle that, why keep waving that particular flag?  Embrace or reject the tale as it is told, do not reinterpret a classic to fit your opinions!  You know making a beloved book into a movie or remaking a classic movie is always fraught with disaster and the result is often panned as ridiculous by comparison to the original, how much more so with The Story!  Embrace it wholly or toss it out as thoroughly flawed, do not cut and paste the most palatable parts and ignore the rest.  Do not seek the comfort of Christ in death but reject His precepts whilst you live.  Do not demand God's love and acceptance (on your terms) but reject His laws.  Either He is Creator, Lord, Master, Savior, Judge or he is a myth, let us have no more feel good wishy-washy nonsense of an all loving god who is too weak and tepid to discipline his creatures or set any sort of standard for their conduct or pay the terrible price to rescue them.  We would not respect any human parent of that sort, how much less our Heavenly Father?

Good article!

Jane Austen fans click here.  As for the rest of you, why are you here?  Go read some Jane Austen and come back an addict!

The ultimate pursuit of pleasure!

This article was rather refreshing for me: Boldly Seek Joy!  I was raised in a home where the best I could hope for was not to be yelled at, criticized, shamed, or scorned for the indecent act of living, my mere existence was an offense to my mother and she could never see me enjoying anything without finding some fault, some chore, taking the object of my transitory happiness and giving it to another or destroying it, or otherwise raining on my pathetic attempt at a parade.  That is the biggest struggle I've had with this thing called Christianity: a big, bold, impossible God who actually loves and blesses His children.  I just don't get it!

There's that passage about 'as one escaping through fire,' the guy who just barely sneaks into heaven with his burned and ragged clothes and nothing else, yeah, that's me, or what I've always assumed.  Me, the kid who feels guilty for having a birthday and necessitating a present (socially required else she wouldn't bother) from my begrudging mother.  Then there's the greater cultural mentality of 'pulling oneself up by one's own bootstraps' and 'the self-made man,' at least for those of us who aren't waiting for Uncle Sam to bail us out.  My family isn't going to do anything for me, everything depends on my own effort, and how good can that be, if my own mother can't love me?  So I hide in the bushes, waiting for everyone else to go on ahead, and then at the last possible moment slink forward to the next place of concealment, waiting for all my betters to have their turn and chance, picking up the crumbs and bits of trash discarded along the way to survive.

And into this wretched little life came a rather impertinent proposition: you have value, you are loved, you are not outcast or forgotten, you can't earn love, you don't need to be ashamed!  Paul says we of all men are most wretched if Christ is not risen, so why do we intentionally live like that?  Either He's risen or He isn't, and if He is, death, sorrow, darkness, evil and all those horrid things have no claim on our immortal souls, we should live lives of Joy, not slink about like a defeated and scattered army.  Why can't I get that through my ridiculous head?  If I believe what I believe, why don't I live like it's true?

The path is difficult, fraught with shadows and trouble, but we walk it not alone, and He Himself has promised us Joy upon the journey, a down payment for that waiting at its end.  C.S. Lewis calls the little pleasures of this life comfortable and refreshing inns along life's often weary journey, to be enjoyed in their turn, but not an end of themselves.  Just because some people live for nothing but pleasure, does not mean the things in themselves are to be utterly scorned, rather don't let them become gods, for jumping off one side of the bridge is little better than falling off the other, rather walk down the middle as was intended!  And everyone is welcome to walk that path, even me!

Just give up: the real meaning of losing your life to find it!

Enter the kingdom as a little child, the first shall be last and the last first, you can only save your life by losing it, gain the world by forsaking it?  It sounds like nonsense, foolishness, ridiculousness, if ever we've heard it!  Perhaps a better word is paradox: a riddle that makes no sense until you're on the inside looking out.  What else could start as a minor scandal in some uncouth province of the greatest Empire known to man, started by fishermen of all people!, and quite literally 'turn the world upside down?'  But it isn't a nation or culture it was meant to transform, though that can be the result, if taken seriously by enough people, but it is a very personal question asked of each and every individual ever born: what will you make of this nonsense?  He calls it nonsense Himself, a foolish little thing, used to turn nations and powers and cultures and the very way the world works, on its head.  What will you do with this impossible thing?  Don't just acknowledge that it exists and move on with your life, even the demons do that!  Don't just bring it into your life, another facet of who and what you are, another hobby or interest or intellectual pursuit.  Don't chase after it thinking it will be your ticket to success or prosperity, it won't.  Don't think you can just incorporate it into who you think you are or the life you currently have, it won't be slipped into place like a book on a shelf.  Don't wait until you're perfect either, because you never will be.

Come empty, come broken, come just as you are.  Leave all your expectations, opinions, desires, sorrows, and everything else at the door.  Just come.  Quit trying to make it about you, what you want, what you need, just come.  Like a little child to a loving father.  Like a beloved bride to her groom.  Like one friend to another.  Like an employee to a great boss.  Just come.  Your expectations, your desires, your ideas are just too small, throw them out and discover what you are, who you are, but most importantly Whose you are.  We are like children playing at pretend, insisting our make-believe is real.  It sounds like nonsense, but it is what you've been looking for all your long, weary life, what humanity itself has been seeking since Eden fell, but you need to decide what to do with it.

Amen!

Unwitting guest blogger: here!

Behind that perfect family picture

We've all fallen afoul of it, even before social media, the internet has just made it that more pervasive.  I finally have a great family photo (mostly because I didn't try taking it myself), looking at that beautiful picture (even with me in the photo!) I can't believe that lady has such a nice, beautiful family and such a great life!  Wait, that's me!  Yep, it's my family and I think that lady's life (mine!) must be all sunshine and roses, but even taking that picture wasn't sunshine and roses, let alone getting to the place where our family could actually look like that!  How often do each of us see something that triggers that sort of thought and the inevitable jealously and disappointment with our own lot?  How often have we configured our pictures and social media content to portray the ideal life rather than being real, most especially with ourselves.  Even my son's school pictures offer me the ability to pay extra to airbrush the kid, that we can remember him as he's never really looked?!  Can this culture, and we ourselves, get any more feckless, insipid, shallow, and utterly focused on the externals?

Take our perfect picture for example.  I just wanted a family snapshot, taken by a friend of mine with my camera.  She's a photographic perfectionist and decided she'd do a mini photo session approximately 20 minutes before our husbands and sons had to leave!  We trekked all over her woods, getting bit by mosquitos, my toddler crabby and uncooperative, her unsatisfied with anything so far.  Finally she plopped us down on a hillside and a cat miraculously appeared over her right shoulder some 20 feet behind her, enchanting my otherwise unenthused daughter, and there it was, a family picture worth smiling about, but you wouldn't guess the trouble and effort and pure good luck that went into that shot.  Nor would you think about the abuse, neglect, infertility, job loss, chronic illness, debt, adoption, and the other thousand little sorrows and tragedies behind those smiling faces, the stuff that never makes it onto facebook.  We're just another smiling family that has it all together and has never suffered even a rainy day, let alone a life of struggle and pain, except there is no such thing!  But if we never admit we have problems, we never have to deal with them, we never have to face the messiness that is life, yet neither can we heal and learn what it is to actually live and love.

There's nothing wrong with a nice photo, but there's everything wrong if that photo is what you've convinced yourself that your life or someone else's is.  Behind those smiling faces are sleepless nights, tears, disappointments, grief, and loneliness.  But we don't need to live like that, pretending we have it all together when inside we're falling apart.  Forget airbrushing your life, be real, especially with yourself and allow others to do the same, that's where real friendships and relationships and love can thrive, healing those things we thought we'd carry the rest of our lives, chronic and unhealed.  But it's messy, it's slow, uncomfortable, and we can't even pretend to be perfect, but that's what reality means.  Our thoroughly edited virtual reality has about as much in common with real life as that airbrushed photo portrays who you are on the inside, or who you are when no one is around to make you smile on command.  Let's make the real thing more interesting and three dimensional than your latest social media post; be real with yourself and others, and allow them a safe place to do the same.

Read and smile

Amen!

Dear woke community

Are you a woker (one who is woke, have I coined a term?)?

I don't know much about the 'woke' movement, but out here in the hinterlands it seems to be a bunch of self-congratulatory people who have the 'right opinion' about all the different sorts of people and this right opinion makes them better and more wise and sensitive and kinder than everybody else, so much so that they can lecture the rest of us on our lack of wokeness.  Here's my question to the wokers, with all your cultural/social sensitivity and positivity, when was the last time you were intentionally kind to another human person who was neither a good friend nor close relative?  In all your sensitivity and wokeness, have you seen and addressed the needs around you?  Have you comforted the mourning, listened to the anxious, encouraged the disheartened, bought a meal for the hungry, reached out in friendship to the lonely, welcomed the outcast, visited the ill...talked to someone who isn't 'woke?'  Or has all your piety been in condemning those who aren't themselves enlightened?

This isn't new, though it has a different trendy name at the moment, two thousand years ago it was the Pharisees, today it the liberal, academic, and social elite who talk big about their care for the poor, the outcast, the under appreciated, the race or social minority of the moment, but who in reality have done nothing for the weak, the lonely, the needy around them.  They are all 'for' the oppressed but know neither their names or true situations, but they are a champion of 'the cause!'  If elected, they'll do this or that for those wretched individuals, but as a private human person, they would be hard pressed to name even a single individual of this oppressed social subclass that they have an actual relationship with or have helped with a single moment of their time or resources, but hey, they'll spend other peoples' money on any social cause that will get them elected, published, or otherwise benefit their own cause.  Worse, they don't see the strange irony in treating all their 'opponents' as they insist their opponents treat the 'special' group, of whose cause they are the most outspoken social champions.

As Shakespeare was wont to say:

“Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed.”

All of modern politics and academia has become a blame game, helping no one, merely elevating oneself by demonizing the 'other.'  And as Beatrice declared, I too would depart unkissed, save that you cannot escape this noisome atmosphere save by escaping the planet by some means or other, which I am at present unable to accomplish.  Perhaps if we ignored the most vitriolic of these verbal crusaders, instead of lauding them as noble heroes intent on our cause, and rather demanded that they prove their words by their actions or else remain silent, instead of throwing more money at education perhaps they could tutor kids in their own neighborhood?  And can we not, each in our own little worlds, propagate kindness for those about us, whether they are of the 'special' class or not?  That merely for the sake of being human, they deserve our consideration and respect, they have an innate dignity and the right to be treated with such?  Kindness must begin with us, only then will we undermine the culture of hate and vitriol upon which our social leaders perch like contented vultures atop the carcass of personal virtue.

Look back and laugh!

I was glancing through someone's adoption blog the other day, the writing dating from the time before the infamous call, when their child finally came home.  She seemed rather distressed at others' use of the word 'exciting' to describe what her family was going through during the long, unpredictable wait.  Being now two years out from our second placement, I am almost a little wistful about that so-called excitement.  For nothing in life compares to the exhilaration of 'the call,' that moment you find out you are finally parents, it makes me almost want to go through it again, almost.  But this young lady does have a very good point, while excitement is certainly a part of it, the whole experience can hardly be summed up in that word.  There's so much of doubt, fear, worry, impatience, frustration, grief, and a hundred other emotions tied up with it that it is impossible to distill it down to one word.

I'm sure Frodo's flight from the Nazgul might have been considered exciting or the experience of a soldier in any given war, at least to those on the outside, those only hearing the tale; it is quite another creature altogether to actually be in the midst of it.  But even our own stories come to look that way in our own remembering thereof with enough time and distance.  Scripture tells us that the woman soon forgets the pain of her travail in the joy that a human being has been born into the world, and that concept applies to so many things in life, even the adoption process.  During the waiting, the doubt, the fear, the what ifs, the grief, the interminability, the frustration it seems like it will never happen, that you'll never be free of this endless swamp.  But whatever happens, eventually you look back and wonder what all the fuss was about, hopefully you laugh at yourself and how silly your impatience was, for in the end, the trouble was worth it, the struggle was not in vain for it was just another chapter in that great book called your life, which is but one minor volume in a great and boundless library, and that book but the introduction of an endless volume containing a story that will never end.  Like the children at the end of the Narnia series, they all look back and laugh, will we?  What's your story about?  Are you trying to write your own or is there a vastly experienced Author penning your tale?

Of freckles and fecklessness

We live in a social utopia where if something bugs you (your nose, your biological sex, your name...) you can pretty much change it and be happy, happy, happy...but if we are so happy, happy, happy, why are there record levels of suicide, depression, drug use, social unrest, loneliness and the like?  We're trying to update the interior by painting the outside of the house!  Ask any millionaire or famous person if they're happy because of their millions or fame, the answer will likely be a resounding no, if they're happy, it is for a whole other reason.  While that stuff is nice, it doesn't make us happy.  Neither does swapping out some physical defect or personal accessory, redefining 'your brand' doesn't do squat for your sense of purpose, confidence, or contentment.  So why do we think it does?  We don't, deep down but we like pinning our hopes on something that may never happen, even if it does, we'll then pin it on something else when the first attempt fails.  But why chase false hope?  It hurts less.  It's easier.  If we can pin our happiness and dreams on something else. it isn't our fault that it never happens and we don't have to go through any uncomfortableness in the process.

Anne (of Green Gables fame) spent far more time worrying about those seven freckles on her nose and her red hair rather than learning to curb her fiery temper or learning to appreciate the real people around her rather than idealizing characters who could never exist only to be disappointed with the real thing.  Elizabeth Bennet spent so much time laughing at the foibles of others that she completely overlooked her own.  It isn't a new problem, it's as old as humanity, modern culture has just given us more excuses and cultural support: if you are dissatisfied with life, there must be something wrong with life or those around you, it can't be a character defect.  Yep, character, that old fashioned word for who we are on the inside, who we are when nobody is looking, the part of us that has nothing to do with culture, race, sex, occupation, socioeconomic level...  The part of us we can change, if we want to, the part of us that really matters, the part of us that determines our level of happiness, contentment, and meaning.  But we'd rather take a pill or have surgery or do yoga or not eat certain things, it's easier that way.  Easier yes, but futile.  Like trying to reach the summit of a mountain by camping at the base and complaining about the weather or your arthritis or the price of rope.  You may feel like you're being productive or making progress, but unless you actually make the attempt, you might as well have stayed home.

The local school district told my cousin's daughter that her alphabet soup of mental and emotional and social disorders lay at the feet of her hidden transgenderism, not in the broken home, the lack of any family support, structure, and encouragement, the indifference of all who should love and care for her.  Her 'coming out' hasn't done anything for her other problems, except maybe made her even more confused, did I mention she's 12?  Let's put a band-aid on a severed leg!  You can't treat the mind/soul/heart/spirit of a person by focusing on the physical and material aspects, you have to treat the whole person, but you can't do that if you think we are merely chunks of flesh, born only to die.  But no one save the hardest core atheistic humanists believes that, and I wonder if they even believe it at 3 in the morning, alone in the dark?  We were made for so much more, but the growth and shaping is painful, it's hard, it hurts, and we, as a species, tend to be averse to pain and hard work.  But would we rather sit at the base of the mountain and fuss or ascend the peak we came to climb?

You can't be happy moldering, festering, rotting as you are.  Like a fertile egg, as C.S. Lewis said, "you must either hatch or go bad."  We have all sorts of handy modern excuses and the support of the entire culture to simply rot, if not get worse, but we'll never be happy, content, or fulfilled that way.  The only option is to grow, to change, to improve, to grow daily more like the One who made us.  It isn't easy, it isn't quick, it isn't painless, but it is the only way.  Our culture says 'all roads lead to all destinations' but just try that with your gps sometime; if you are trying to get to a certain place in a certain amount of time, you take the most efficient path, not cut across country, certain that this or any detour will get you there just as quick, how much more so in our lives?  Both Miss Anne and Miss Elizabeth did eventually find their joy, but it was not painless or easy, and it was not without addressing their personal flaws in the interim.  Will we do the same, or merely sit in base camp complaining about our lot our entire lives?

Lemonade for the mind?

I think C.S. Lewis is one of the most perplexing people ever to set pen to paper.  He can take these lofty and complex ideas and reduce them to simple statements using common words that anyone can understand or even make a fairy tale out of them and impart them without seeming to even try.  I forgot I had a copy of 'The Four Loves,' and happily sat down to peruse it the other day.  He makes it look so easy, but it must be pure magic.  I'm not much of a nonfiction person, but Lewis is different, I can read anything he writes again and again.  As a person who has to learn about love and relationships as one might study birds or mathematics, I found his insight upon the topic quite invaluable.  But then he too was a student of the same subject so it is no surprise he knows how to write for those of us who never learned it firsthand from our families of origin.  His autobiography, 'Surprised by Joy,' is a worthwhile read as well.

The first thing I noticed was how intellectually stimulating his writing is.  In the world that grammar and spelling forgot, it is fun to discover words I must actually look up and literary references I must google.  It is rather depressing how much our cultural intellect has atrophied in the last few decades, ugh!

The second, was how timely his writing is, or perhaps I should say timeless, as there is something that applies to every age of the world and culture, as he's dealing with issues of the human heart, which changes little between times and places, no matter our technology or customs.  Personally, I found his chapter on 'Affection' most applicable to my messed up family of origin and to my husband's family issues likewise.  But his chapter on 'Eros' is very timely, even more so than the day he wrote it.  In a world where romantic love is everything and cannot be denied, it was refreshing to find someone who didn't think that was quite the case.  It didn't work for Romeo, Lancelot, or a hundred other characters out of history and legend, why do we think it has suddenly changed?  On a professional level, I think he's spot on in his diagnosis of something that has puzzled me for years: people who baby their pets to the point of inducing ill-health, physically and or mentally, in the poor, wretched creatures.  You never know what you are going to find when you pick up a book written by Lewis!  If your brain is feeling a little squishy or you've finally grown tired of cat videos, maybe pick up a little something to perk up your mind and enlighten your soul at the same time, enjoy!

An orphan indeed

I thought I had one remaining member of my family of origin who wasn't completely hopeless as a human being, either giving up and entombing their heart away from the painfulness of messy relationships or becoming a social parasite sucking the life and being out of unwitting friends and family, but I don't.  I finally figured out my last remaining sibling is a narcissist, I've ignored the symptoms, hoping maybe he could change, had escaped my family's legacy, but alas for his family, it just isn't so.  As a teen I'd ponder who might come to my funeral and actually be sad, let's just say my dance card was empty.  I consider that scenario anew, a whole lifetime later, and while there are actually people on the list now, not a single one is a biological relative.  It's something my heart has known forever but which my mind is still trying to wrap itself around: I'm truly an orphan, biologically speaking anyway.

There's a passage in scripture where Jesus says if you don't 'hate' your father and mother, and follow Him, you can in nowise be His.  The hate actually means 'to love less,' He isn't advocating hatred by any means, but that you must love Him more than your parents or anyone else.  Some people struggle with that, I never have.  What's it like to be loved, accepted, wanted by your parents?  How can I comprehend the love of God when I can't understand mortal affection and kindness?  I know what it is to love but not how to be loved.  There's another passage that I also don't understand like most normal human beings ought to, the part about love others as you love yourself, that no man hates his own flesh...I was never taught to love myself, I learned that I was the enemy, that all the problems in the world had their origin in me, that I didn't deserve even the least bit of kindness.  How very strange how constant childhood abuse warps what should be natural emotions and ideas about normal relationships!  I must learn the opposite of what scripture teaches everyone else: that I too am a valuable and worthwhile person, deserving of as much consideration as everyone else, that yes, even I can be loved and am worth loving.

He has a special place in His heart for the orphan and the widow, those bereft of everything and overlooked by society and everyone else.  It's just hard realizing that I fall into that category when physical death isn't the tool of bereavement, though I suppose it is a sort of spiritual death, this entombment of one's heart and soul whilst one still draws breath, this willing entrance into Hell while life still lingers.  No matter how wretched my own lot, theirs is worse and willingly borne.  How dreadful a life lived apart from all love and hope and joy, and worse, an eternity away from all Love and Hope and Joy, at least I have that Solace, and you can too, but first you need to realize you need it.  That's the greatest tragedy of all, they don't need anyone or anything else, they are sufficient unto themselves and they don't even realize they are miserable.

The sound of silence

I'm reading through Job right now, it sounds depressing but it isn't, it honestly wrestles with the question 'where is God in the middle of our strife and sorrow?'  I'm also having a bit of a relapse emotionally from childhood trauma triggered by a very dear friend's current struggles with the same, though I think I lived through that to help her live through this.  'Grumpy Cat' dying is news, but the aches and groans of uncountable breaking hearts is just life as usual, unspoken in its agony, but so common we think it's just how life is.  We don't want to deal with it so we'll go scan through grumpy cat memes or videos and anesthetize the agonized parts of our souls until they shrivel into nothingness.  In our world of ultra connectedness we've never been so alone.  But then the comforters that came to help Job out weren't much better than the inane posters on any given message board, mostly extolling themselves and running him down in the process of 'helping.'  They sat in silence together seven days but then they opened their mouths and ruined it.  We can't fix people, that's not our job, but we can give companionship and comfort to those who desperately need it, if we could just put down our phones long enough to notice.

A long awaited movie?-an unwitting guest blogger movie review

There's a new movie out about a much beloved author, here's a little review for you Tolkien fans if you are wondering how it is.

Little bird, little bird

There seems to be an endless parade of holidays and special occasions that I tell myself, 'if I can just get through this day, everything will be okay,' but then Christmas or Mother's Day or a birthday rolls around again and the cycle of grief seems to start all over again.  Is this how Frodo felt, slogging through the Dead Marshes or scrabbling over the rocky wastes of Mordor?  Is this what Job went through, after losing everything and his friends show up to accuse him of some secret evil?  Is this how my grandfather felt after his wife of 65 years died?  Is this how the migrating birds feel, following winter's retreat north through wind and cold and snow and rain, when it seems like spring will never come?

Someone gave me a bird feeder a couple years ago and some really nice bird feed to go with it, but I've been slow to put it out and bad about keeping it filled because we don't live in a place where there are resident birds save in the spring, the winters are too cold and summers too dry.  I've had it out for about a year and have had exactly two birds (a house finch and a hairy woodpecker) anywhere near the thing, though the deer did find it this winter and made short work of what little there was inside.  But occasionally I'd fill it again and hope and watch and wait.  Nothing.  Then the other day I saw an odd bird in a tree near the feeder and finally got to check a pine siskin off my life list.  The day after I had a whole flock and they've emptied the feeder and they seem to have invited their friends, I have five species of sparrows, a couple warblers, and a pair of towhees hanging about, resting and refueling before their final push north.  My usually dead and dull yard is alive with singing and flitting wings, what appeared lifeless and lackluster is proving to be a refuge, a sanctuary, somewhere safe and comforting along an arduous and difficult journey.

Frodo found that in Rivendell and later Lorien.  And we each must find it in our own turn upon this arduous trek called life.  When sorrow or fear beset us, where can we turn to find rest and refreshment?  Where do we look for hope when the night of despair draws about us?  Even Jesus sought such comfort the night before His crucifixion, weeping tears of blood, praying in a night dark garden, but there was no delivery, there was no escape, only strength for the journey.  And it is that final, awful journey that has bought us each hope.  So when you walk through an interminable night, there may be something greater at journey's end than you can begin to comprehend.  Frodo's journey meant life for the world though it seemed only to lead to personal doom.  Where do you turn for hope?  What might lie at the end of your own disquiet night?

And remove all doubt...

There's an old adage about it being better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open one's mouth and remove all doubt, well here's another example of the modern 'feel good' and 'be popular' philosophy triumphing once again over common sense and truth.  I recently cited the makers of the 'Les Miserables' musical movie and their interesting views of that particular work.  Liam Neeson, the voice of Aslan in the Narnia movies, also made a few odd statements about C.S. Lewis's beloved works being applicable to 'all people and faiths,' are also to be wondered at.  But I suppose this phenomenon should not be surprising in the age where the teachers of literature tell us to read into every work whatever it is we want to find there rather than ruminating upon the truths the author is trying to reveal.  I challenge Mr. Phoenix to find an ancient work outside the biblical narrative that treats women with such respect and significance as do the canonical scriptures.  I challenge each and everyone of us to find the actual truth in any given work or production, rather than reading into it only what we want to see.

Modern Applicability

PBS/Masterpiece Theater came out with a new version of Little Women a year or two ago and I finally got to watch it.  It was amazing!  I've never seen a movie version of this particular book and they did an excellent job.  I'm rather amazed that they could be so true to the book and the mores of classic literature in this 'enlightened' day and age.  Apparently the new 'Anne of Green Gables' had an episode that delved into a modern issue that had no place in the books and I'm glad I haven't started watching that only to rue it six hours in.  They are coming out with a 6 hour Les Miserables too, I read a blurb about it somewhere that was excited about the 'modern applicability' of the new version of the tale, which may be just the spin the writer of the blurb put on it or it may be a very scary thing indeed, but they did a good job with Little Women so maybe Jean val Jean will be in good hands?

It was rather hilarious watching the extras on the musical version of Les Mis that came out a few years back.  The cast and crew was going on and on about how applicable it was to modern sentiments (occupy wallstreet!) and completely missed the entire point of the story, they even waxed long about civil war soldiers carrying the book with them, 'Lee's Miserables' they were called, but not seeming to realize that Lee was on the pro-slavery side of the Civil War, oops!  They are right that these tales do have modern applicability, but not in the way they think.  Human nature does not change, the virtues and vices are unchanged since the dawn of time, though what occupies our cultural attention at any given moment certainly does.

Sending Anne Shirley to a drag ball isn't going to become a timeless tale like the original books because it is a mere cultural moment, not a glimpse of what it is to be human, regardless of your race, gender, sexual orientation, religious creed, culture, time period, hair style, income, education...those are all externals, like clothes or makeup, things that adorn us but it is not Who we are.  Modern culture likes to make What we are, Who.  But classic literature, like God, looks past all that, to the very heart of a person, to know who each and every one of us is.  Anne Shirley, Jo March, and Jean val Jean have endured for over a century because they are human, or rather were written so well we can identify with their struggles, rejoice in their triumphs, and find hope for our own growth in their adventures.  We see ourselves in them, rather than finding just another vehicle to push a political, social, or cultural agenda.

C.S. Lewis has it right when he says humans are immortal though kingdoms, cultures, even the earth itself, will fade away, of all this we currently call 'reality,' only human souls will endure, and it is the development and growth of that soul with which classic literature is concerned, while most modern storytellers are content with cheap and shallow cultural thrills, and their tales pass away as swiftly as leaves upon the wind, while the classics endure, generation after generation, even if the storytellers of the age don't fully comprehend their source material, still light and good shine through for those that have eyes to see, ears to hear, and the open, wonder seeking hearts of little children.

How to Live like That

Whether you are taking the Dave Ramsey plunge or trying a new diet, revolutionizing your lifestyle to revolutionize yourself is all the rage in this modern era of ours, but I wonder if we have it backwards?  There's nothing wrong with eating better (me) or sticking with a workout plan (the hubby) or getting out of debt or getting a better job or moving to a better neighborhood or spending less time in the web-o-sphere, all of those are laudable accomplishments and may really change your life, but trying to change yourself, who you are as a person, that someone you become when no one is watching, by trying to change external things like diet, exercise, career, location, relationships...isn't going to do all that much for who you really are.

You can get that gender transition surgery or go see a psychiatrist or dye your hair or lose weight or identify as a howler monkey or go back to college or start a non-profit or go off the grid or whatever, but it isn't going to change who you are.  Contrary to popular belief, you were not born 'this way' neither will you stay 'this way,' you are a dynamic individual, different now than when you went to bed last night and you'll be different tomorrow than you are today.  Every thought, word, and action is slowly, think glacial here, changing you, for better or worse.  So if you want to start being a better person you just start saying, acting, and thinking better things, right?  Maybe, the question is, what are 'better things?'

Modern thinkers (why do I want to put quotes around that!) would have us believe we must be tolerant, open-minded, accepting of others (except those who don't believe as the modern thinkers do) but a quote I saw attributed to G.K. Chesterton comes to mind: 'don't be so open-minded your brains fall out.'  Be polite, kind, and respectful of all people, no matter what they believe?, by all means, yes!, but just because I don't happen to agree with you doesn't mean I hate or disrespect you, no one can agree on everything, be it colors or pizza toppings.  I miss the old days of 'agree to disagree,' instead it seems like everyone is ready to pummel everyone else over the silliest things.

Let's skip the political minefield of 'tolerance' and try some other measure of 'better things.'  Food?  Organic, paleo, gluten free, non-gmo, vegan...ugh, that's no better!  Environmentalism...no!  The weather?  Floods, blizzards, wildfires, hurricanes...this is not a good time for even that discussion.  So what is good and right and true?  How can we become better if we can't even define it?  And no, defining it for ourselves doesn't get us anywhere, the 'all chocolate diet' of my preference isn't going to fly in real life, no matter how much I want to believe that it is true.  Which leaves us with one big huge mess, maybe going on a diet is the only way to improve oneself, at least physically we have some consensus on what's desirable, just look at those models...ugh, nothing is safe!

The moderns have totally destroyed rational thought, thanks grandma!  Perhaps we should go back in time a hundred years or more and figure out what was good back then?  But we can't talk to anyone about it, or can we?  Go exhume Jane Austen or one of the Brontes or Louisa May Alcott and see what they think upon the matter, no one is more qualified!  How you ask?  Just dig into a great book and enjoy a little Sense with your addled Sensibilities!  If you want to change that inner person, a steady diet of classic literature is just the thing, it's even gluten free, enjoy!

In the era of selfies...

I usually abhor any sort of self-promotion, hence my use of a pen name!  But here's a link to something a third party actually found worth publishing, and it is really good, if I'm allowed to say so as the author?  It's nice to be my own guest blogger!

Wake the dead?

I got chewed out the other day for merely walking into a gas station/deli with the intent of ordering food but not calling ahead to warn them of my 'large' crowd.  I looked at our humongous assemblage consisting of a one year old, a six year old, 3 thirty-somethings, and an older couple.  One guy bought a pre-made sandwich, the kids and I weren't eating anything but snacks, leaving a grand total of 3 people who might order something from the deli.  Boy did I feel like dirt, and through no fault of my own and that was the worst part of it.  By nature I'm a people pleaser and do everything I can to make sure others are comfortable and happy, even at the cost of my own comfort and happiness.  When someone still gets mad at me though I've tried my best not to cause problems or frustration, it stings and I wonder what's wrong with me.

My favorite books and people all share one trait: kindness.  I grew up without any and still struggle with the thought that it's because I don't deserve any.  But we all do merely for the fact that we're human, wrought in the very image of the Divine, though if you are of the opinion that a monkey is indeed your uncle, that's a whole other philosophical argument I won't address here.  People are a bit harder to sort through, but books are fairly obvious.  Trashy romance novels make me ill.  Heartless adventure stories leave me cold.  Murder mysteries without a soul stay on the shelf.  I need warmth, plot, character, depth, in short, the epitome of what it is to be human, those are the books that win my heart.

Jane Austen, C.S. Lewis, G.K. Chesterton, Tolkien, L.M. Montgomery, Alcott, Victor Hugo, Walter Scott, George MacDonald...they all get it.  I don't love every book they've ever written, but their works have endured for a reason, and it isn't the torrid romance, indeed, they are full of what might be called romance, sentimentalism, pathos, but it has nothing to do with bulging muscles and ripped shirts, but rather it is an exploration of the spiritual, emotional, mental, and feeling side of what it is to be human.  Modern culture has reduced 'romance' to a mere carnal lust whereas it used to mean something quite different, indeed, while there is romantic affection and the pursuit of relationships within many of these books, it is only a thing, not the Only Thing.  There is so much more going on, something far bigger than the characters and plot, a something that makes the books real, tangible, believable.  A something that hardly makes a cameo in any modern writing.

What is that something?  It is the same thing we spend our lives pursuing.  The something that makes our mere existence a true life.  Most try to content themselves with trashy, shallow romance or some other intoxicating substitute, but they always come away empty and searching for more.  As I said before, we are each a work of Divine creativity, we are even told 'eternity has been put into our hearts,' so is it any surprise that we yearn for Him above all else, even if we know it not or mistake it for a longing for something else.  These books aren't preachy or theological or even metaphysical or spiritual but they are set in a world where such is possible, where virtue and events aren't mere happenstance, where magic and hope and meaning still happen, a world very much like the one we inhabit, except we choose not to see it.  Our stories and lives are as two dimensional as our worldview, we choose to box ourselves into a small, duller place because it is 'safe' and of our own design, little realizing we have trapped ourselves within our own tomb.  But the cement isn't dry yet, we can still break out and find the sun, and picking up a good book might just be your first step back towards real life!

On Eating Crow

I believe I owe someone an apology, who I am not sure, but I have previously reviewed various cinematic works on this blog and now I've had a change of heart of sorts.  I believe I previously stated the last Star Wars movie (Last Jedi?) was rather good and that the Hobbit movies were not.  I believe I am quite wrong on the former and was too harsh on the latter.  But how much of one's opinion of any creative work (music, story, book, movie, video game, art...) depends on your own mood at the time, other stressors or distractions, your surroundings, what everyone else thinks, etc.?  I loved Star Wars when I was a kid, I read all the books, and couldn't wait for the new stories to come out, but instead they tossed out all the old stories and the new ones are rather bad, but I was so desperate to be pleased that I went and watched and told myself it must be good, or rather it took me until the second on came out to admit that the first installment wasn't all that great and the second was only good by comparison.  I was so excited it wasn't dreadful that I thought it was great.

Then there's the Hobbit.  This time I took it in chunks.  Taken as a whole, each movie is way too much sensory overload and distracts from what actually works in the movies; taken in 6 smaller doses, I appreciated it much more.  You've got a great cast, good music, fantastic scenery, a decent story, and if you can minimize the dazing quality of the endless chase scenes/orc brawls enough to actually notice the rest of the movie, it is actually pretty good, that and a message about the value of friendship and home versus the dangers of greed and 'success,' makes it all the more endearing.  The new Star Wars I just feel like they chopped up the old stories, flung in some random new stuff, and made a crazy quilt of a plot that really doesn't work.  I think I'll just cherish my favorites of the old books and movies and the memories they inspire rather than try and convince myself that I love the new ones.

So how much of your attitude towards a particular creative piece has to do with the quality of the piece itself or are other circumstances influencing your like or dislike of a certain work?  Do all your friends like a certain video game and you tell yourself you love it too?  Did 9th grade English turn you off to Shakespeare?  Did you watch something when you had the flu and can't stand to even think about it now?  Did that kid that bullied you all through high school like a certain book that you have never read but know you despise?  Did you have a migraine when your friends insisted you sit through that concert?  What are you avoiding or deriding because of negative connotations rather than for the quality of the work itself?  Perhaps there's a gem just waiting to be discovered under the dross of your former prejudice?  Finding a new favorite is well worth eating any amount of crow, you don't even need ketchup!

The builders build in vain...

It is curious to me that our modern society's definition of personal virtue, character, and morality is so very different even from that espoused by folk of my grandparents' generation and especially that taken for granted in classic literature, Jane Austen's works being a very poignant example.  Modern stories all revolve around action and peril and physical lovemaking, while stories from a century or more gone focus on human emotions, moral actions, character development (or lack thereof), affection and virtue, and all those tedious things that comprise the human condition but never yield even a single good explosion, save perhaps of a life or destiny.  Our modern stories, like our modern culture, have no soul.  We are merely soulless physical machines born only to fornicate and die, at least if you believe the modern tales of romance and the popular 'women's' magazines.  But I'm old fashioned and don't believe it for a minute, though the larger culture certainly does, what with suicide rates, the opioid crisis, and people ready to fight to the verbal death with a stranger over something as silly as the 'best' pizza toppings.  It is a depressing era to be alive in modern culture, at least if you drink the cultural kool-aid.

But it is a lie as old as Eden.  The world is broken, humanity is broken, creation is sick; we all agree on that point, but the doctor, the cure, is not found within the province and knowledge of men.  It isn't in sexual freedom.  It isn't in getting to choose your sex/age/race...  It isn't in a spouse or children.  Not in money, power, freedom, fame or any of that.  Not even a great car or the perfect job.  The 'ancients' knew it, Miss Austen is no stranger to the fact, but we in our 'wisdom' have become blind to the true point of her writing.  It is not of romance or the female struggle or even to laugh at social foibles that she mainly writes, but it is of virtue, the development of character, becoming more and more human, the pursuit of all that is good and lovely and right.  The 'sequels' written by modern authors are all about the physical aspects of romance and completely miss the point of the original works: her heroines are flawed people who grow in the course of the story and even if they didn't find a worthy man at its end, they were still better people for it.  It isn't about getting Mr. Darcy into bed but rather about Elizabeth learning not to judge others so harshly and for Darcy to learn compassion for those less fortunate.  But even virtue is not enough to save us.

We must grow and change and become better if we are to thrive and flourish, but building upon a cracked foundation will only undermine the whole edifice, we must root out the broken stones and shore up the clay beneath if we are to succeed.  But we did not build ourselves, how can we fix ourselves?  We can't.  We must let the Builder start a new work in us, then and only then, can we begin to build upon the foundation that He must lay and therein, alone, lies true Joy.  Our souls are sick, but there is a Great Physician, but we have to decide we are sick enough to actually see a doctor.

Jane Austen of the Sea?

It's my husband's fault, I never thought myself the type to read historical novels of a naval stripe and here I've waded into the two foremost sagas of the genre.  It started with the mini-series of 'Horatio Hornblower' and a thrift store DVD copy of 'Master and Commander' and led to reading the entire Horatio series and the first three of the Aubrey books.  I really liked the Horatio books, even if I could never come to love the main character, it was quite interesting, surprising, well written, decent characters and plots, and a most enjoyable read.  I started the Aubrey books eagerly, having read comments of the humor to be found therein, the witty banter of intelligent characters, an immersive story, and some calling the author the 'Jane Austen of the Sea.'

I'm not sure I read the right books or perhaps I read the wrong comments?  I gave it a chance, three chances in fact, surely such a popular work with so many volumes must deserve a second and third chance, as I pushed through three volumes of the tale, but it never got better, I never found my sea-going Austen.  The writing was excellent, but the plot dragged like an anchor, the characters were not at all likable, let alone lovable, where was the 'intelligent characters' I had been promised?  There was a little sparse humor, but overall I found the entire experience depressing, especially the tone of the books.  I thoroughly enjoyed the movie, there was life and movement and color and danger and everything interesting.  While I was not a huge personal fan of Horatio Hornblower, I loved his brilliance, boldness, and determination to do what he knew he must, even if his self-loathing drove me to distraction and the sea itself, the ships, the other characters added plenty of color and interest.

Being a student of biology and medicine, I enjoyed the advent of another dabbler in the series, to some extent, but he seemed more an alien presence than a human biologist.  The most human being in the entire three books was a sloth!  The whole work reeked of silent misanthropy and was rather discouraging to any human who happens to read it.  And the title Jane Austen of the Sea is truly undeserved, while he may use words with the skill of Miss Austen, the author is no comparison to her in any other light.  She was a keen observer of the human condition, society, and manners, she is vastly funny and actually likes people, even if she is forever making sport of them.  Her characters are human, some are even likable, not mere caricatures one has no interest in.  She can make a novel with very little adventure interesting and memorable, whereas this series takes adventure and exotic places and makes it less exciting and interesting than an interview with Lady Catherine De Borough.

There is no human color in these books.  It lacks the mark of the 'classic' which though often dark or ugly in dealing with the human condition, at least offered some hope that things could be better, that there was such a thing as virtue, and that by strength of will and determination and discipline, a character could grow, could change, and thus so could we.  Dickens used his novels to spur social change.  Austen observed social mores of her day and reflected on the unchanging nature of the human heart, her heroines were flawed but not immutable and we love them because they do in fact grow, which gives us hope in our turn.  O'Brian gives us two dimensional characters, that while they undergo extreme experiences, change very little, at least for the better.  There is not a single character I liked even a little, save the sloth.  Hornblower too is filled with flawed characters, difficult circumstances, and a main character that is hard to love, but you do love him, in a distant sort of way, for he is human, but Aubrey is a great dumb brute of a dog, jumping up with muddy paws to maul your best frock in happy unwitting delight, while decent enough when retrieving birds, he's a complete nuisance elsewhere.  The doctor is a brilliant but naive creature, as ignorant about his own heart as he is about the human race.

It is written in the style of the classics: flowing lines, wonderful words, and a world in which one might lose oneself, but it is not a world I wish to inhabit, for the true classics were filled with virtue and hope along with the darker and more despairing airs of the world, O'Brian has left the former out and wallows only in the latter.  We are left with indifference and misery but have no solace at all, either for the characters or humanity in general, which makes O'Brian no Austen, certainly not a 'classic' writer at all, but rather the heir of that more depressing and appalling literary tradition known as Modern Lit though in a classic setting, a more appropriate comparison I believe would be the John Steinbeck of the Sea: good writing but overall depressing view of humanity, no plot to speak of, and characters with little or no likability.

I found more hope in toiling through Mordor with Frodo, the journey seemed quicker as well, even with Gollum as a companion.  I found 'Persuasion,' as close as Jane Austen gets to a sea-faring novel, infinitely more interesting, if less lively.  'A Tale of Two Cities,' is less depressing, even though the main character rots in jail with a death sentence looming over his head for the majority of it.  'Les Miserables' though filled with misery and wretchedness is infinitely more enthralling.  I'd much rather sail to the Dark Island among the Dawn Treader's crew than spend a day aboard the Surprise, for I fear all of O'Brian's characters unwittingly work for the NICE.  C.S. Lewis warns against this lack of virtue, this inadvertent misanthropy so rampant amongst modern souls in his essay 'The Abolition of Man,' and these books offer ample proof of it, for this indeed is a 'book without a chest.'

If you are looking for a good sea-faring story, try Horatio Hornblower.  If you are looking for a voyage into the human soul and condition, try any of the classics.  If you are looking for a depressing study of modernity draped in archaic guise, the O'Brian books might be for you.

One size fits all!

The phrase 'one size fits all' is always troubling to me, perhaps one size fits most, but very rarely can you actually find something that is truly one size fits all.  For my husband, it is hats, do they have a 'big and tall' version for hat stores?  There's a song from the Veggietales series wherein a certain cucumber is trying to sell pants on an infomercial sort of show, which is ironic as the veggies in these tales never actually wear pants, but he is offering 'one size fits all,' and promises 'pants if you're short or shorts if you're tall,' sung to such a catchy beat you almost want to buy some, but at least they are having fun with the idea that there can ever be such a concept.  Even politically, have you ever noticed all women are the same, all the people of a certain race are the same, whatever your political demographic, you are all the same, except we aren't.  I'm a unique individual, while I may share beliefs, traits, opinions, or ideas in common with certain other individuals that doesn't make me them or them me.

Our material obsessed culture has tried to express its individuality by making certain items more coveted and therefore valuable and 'unique' though 100,000 other people already own the same item, but that's like painting identical fenceposts different colors, sure they are all a unique color, but inside they're just wood and exactly alike.  Politics and stuff can't save us, where then is our identity found? History?  Genetics?  Biology?  Relationships?  Hobbies?  Money?  Fame?  Power? Mind altering substances?  Career?  Nope, we've tried all that, if not you personally, then millions of folk down through the ages and none of them are happy, just check the celebrity gossip magazines or your own family history.  The writer of Ecclesiastes some three or four millennia back repined this very phenomenon, wondering what life was truly about.  He made quite a curious comment upon the matter, stating, 'God has put eternity into the hearts of men.'

Eternity?  In the heart of a mortal creature?  Today, the beginning of Lent on the Christian calendar, many will hear the words 'from dust though art to dust thou shalt return.'  A reminder of our mortality.  But 40 days hence, we hear the words of victory and the answer to that age old question, 'death where is thy victory, grave thy sting!'  That's the answer to 'Life, the Universe, and Everything,' as it were, not '42' as fun as that is.  We can't find a hat that will fit all heads but we can find Something so big and wonderful that all men may find the answer to life's greatest riddle and Life indeed.

In Perfect Peace

Most people's definition of peace would be lack of stress, strife, or conflict, but that isn't possible in this broken world.  But there is a certain Prince of Peace, Who has promised us perfect peace, but not peace as the world gives it, a peace that passes all understanding (got that song stuck in your head now?) but how can that be when we are also promised strife, troubles, and sorrow by the same Person?  He who promises to bring not Peace but a Sword?  Ah, the paradox of this strange, funny, wonderful life!  You can have Joy even in your sorrow, Confidence amidst your doubt and uncertainty, you can be Holy even while sin haunts your daily steps, and Peace amidst chaos and strife.

Peace is one thing I cherish above all else in our home.  I never had it growing up, only an uneasy break in the constant tension when my mother wasn't home, but she always came back and then the constant belittling, shaming, criticism, and frustration would begin anew.  We don't have a perfect home, far from it, especially with two rather loud kids, and four quite strong willed people, we have our share of disagreement, tantrums, and disagreeable episodes, but behind and beneath it all, there's a love that never gives up or goes away, hope is never quenched, a person's value is never questioned, and one's security is never threatened.  My kids don't worry that I might not love them anymore if they don't listen.  My husband doesn't wonder if I'll be here in the morning after a disagreement the previous night.

That's the Peace that is offered, not a peace the world understands, for it is something from beyond the world as we know it.  A peace, a security, a sure-footed stance on an immovable mountain rooted in eternity itself, no matter what the storms of life throw at you, even if war engulfs you, that sort of Peace will never waiver or fail.  And it is free to all takers, if we'll only accept it.

Some articles worth reading

Getting rather depressed or confused by the obsessive politics and irascibility on either side of the aisle?  Here's an interesting analysis.

Feeling rather stymied by modern cultural trends and wondering how to be both rational and realistic in an age of more and more nonsense?  Read this.

The Reason for Story

I watched Masterpiece Theater's version of 'Northanger Abbey' last night, and I think I may actually like the movie better than the book, which is not something I ever say about Jane Austen!  But there are so many painful scenes in the book where Miss Catherine is unwittingly annoying Mr. Tilney because of her awful friends that I can't help but blush for her, ugh!  Happily in the movie, with time constraints, they only show one such scene.  Another interesting subtext within this particular movie was the mention of vampires, or rather a form of vampirism.  I've often noted the true-to-life narcissists in Austen's other works (both novels and movie versions) but this is the first actual discussion I've seen of the topic, though it wasn't spoken of in those terms, narcissists are often referred to as emotional vampires.  Besides, Lady Catherine, General Tilney is certainly one of Austen's best depictions.  

I bought a version of 'Persuasion' at the same time, hoping it would be better than the other one I saw, but still I was disappointed.  The book is good, but the movies are rather tedious, perhaps it is impossible to make a good movie version of this particular novel?  I now have an enjoyable version of each of Miss Austen's works save 'Persuasion,' even a 'Lady Susan' though it is called 'Love and Friendship.'  Even with all our mastery of the computer arts and visual effects, no one has yet mastered this elusive work, for Austen's works are not about show and glitz or even the happy ending, but deal with humanity in all its shades of good, bad, beautiful, ugly, joy, and sorrow, which are the heart of any great and enduring story.  And our modern movie making is moving ever further from just that, sufficing itself with grander and more epic battle scenes, more violence and nudity while the very reason we tell stories in the first place is forgotten, it is not to be entertained but rather to learn something about ourselves, our world, and our place in it.

You must unlearn what you have learned!

Pick your poison: dystopian novels or Shakespeare.

Forget what you learned (or didn't) in high school English, I'm guessing not much, but here are a couple neat articles about two famous (or infamous) and very different sorts of literature.  You don't have to hate reading, even if Hamlet or Brave New World did unforgivable things to you back in the day.  It's sort of like giving a kid dark chocolate or wine: they just don't appreciate it and it may ruin the experience for life.  Why not give it another try?  You might be surprised!

Bought with a price

I think the Narcissists in my life must have made a New Year's resolution to double down on their activities of late.  To most people this would be annoying or irksome, but having been raised by one, I'm still wired to torment myself in hopes of making them happy, to tying myself into knots hoping to please them.  It doesn't work, it never has.  My mother could no more love me than I can hitchhike to the moon, I can't blame myself for that, it isn't my fault, I have no control over it whatsoever.  So I know all that in my head, but how do you get it hammered into your heart?  Practice I guess, I just need to make a conscious choice to do it over and over again until it's habit.  Isn't there just an app to reprogram my brain or something?

Then I ran across this article which, though mostly unrelated, the title 'You are not your own,' got me to thinking about this whole issue.  Who do we belong to?  The Narcissists would say they own me, and act like they do, no matter how unrelated or distant they still think they should be running my life and get rather testy when I prove otherwise.  American culture would say obviously my body, my life, but that's ridiculous.  I just fell down the stairs this morning, I had no control over anything, it was all gravity and I was just along for the ride.  Sure I can dye my hair or diet or exercise but I have no control over anything really, I'll get cancer or not or my muscles will grow or not without any ability of my own to control that.  So who really owns me?  Who built the house?  Who maintains it?  Who paid for it?

I've rented my entire life, and while I can be quite at home in a rental, it isn't my house.  I can't paint the walls or rip out the carpet without the owner's consent.  Why is it so hard to think that way about myself?  Most people wrestle with giving up their own sense of ownership, I struggle with getting other people's fingers off of my soul.  'You are not your own,' means 'you aren't theirs either!'  Yay!  All these people who KNOW how my life should be lived, the way it MUST be done, are no more correct than anyone who says 'I will live this way because that's what FEELS good.'  The hard part is figuring out the proper way to live, we silly humans tend to fall off one side or the other; now how do I learn to keep to the middle of the road?

Kingdom come

I've been a wanderer, an orphan, a refugee my entire life, at least in an emotional, relational, and spiritual sense.  Here's an interesting article reminding us that we do have a home, and it's here now, not some distant hope, and that it is our job to be citizens of that unseen country and help others to find it!

Ridiculous Road Trips!

Want to feel small, and invigorated all at the same time?  Check out this quick little article on mind boggling interstellar road tripping!  Wow!  My question is, why would anyone want to live on Mars?  First the trip to even get there would be horrendous and once you were there survival would be bleak indeed!  Why not move to Antarctica or the Sahara?  At least you could breathe the air and water is known to exist!  Star Trek and Star Wars give us visions of easy travel and accessible civilizations all along the way, like road tripping between the States, but I wonder how many of these idealists have even road tripped across South Dakota, much less between the empty wastes of space?  But then again, 'if I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,' still He is there! Apparently we've been dreaming about such things since time out of mind, we are just more scientific and less poetic than the ancients.