Love. Think. Speak.

Transfiguration

2012-01-21T09:40:00.002-06:00

"Wherever you turn your eyes the world can shine like transfiguration. You don't have to bring a thing to it except a little willingness to see. Only who could have the courage to see it?"
-Marilynne Robinson, GILEAD

Ben

2012-01-17T21:35:00.002-06:00

Jan 17, 1706
Happy Birthday, Ben Franklin. A chance encounter with his autobiography got me interested in learning and reading as an adult. Franklin was a brilliant man who seemed to cram about ten lifetimes into one. A true inspiration.

Oldtime

2012-01-14T11:33:00.000-06:00

I caught this on Texas Country Reporter (the best show on television) a couple years ago. Shortly after I bought one of Steve's books and have been enjoying it - and the CD it contained - ever since. I still haven't made the time to stop in his shop for a visit but it's on the list of Texas things to do. I think I'm afraid if I go there I'll never want to leave.

Art

2012-01-14T08:51:00.003-06:00

Douglas Wilson on the arts in Christianity.

from Canon Wired on Vimeo.

View

2012-01-13T22:17:00.004-06:00

View from my favorite reading chair.

Never

2012-01-13T17:30:00.001-06:00

"You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream."
-C.S. Lewis

Sketch

2012-01-10T10:22:00.003-06:00

Sketching seemed like the thing to do on a sick day. The Townes Van Zandt post below inspired this one.

Favorite Texas Musicians

2012-01-09T09:47:00.005-06:00

1. Slaid Cleaves - Odd name, serious singer-songwriter.

2. Joe Ely - Writes and sings some great story-songs. In fact, sometimes when I hear his songs I feel as if I've just read a good short story.

3. Jimmie Dale Gilmore - He's like Hank Williams Sr. with a twist of rockabilly.

4. Charlie Sexton - Probably the coolest dude in the music business.

5. Willie Nelson - Underrated guitarist, one of the best songwriters ever.

6. Townes Van Zandt - Died several years ago, penned possibly the greatest song ever written, Pancho and Lefty. When I was a little kid I remember hearing this song covered by Willie Nelson and Merle Haggard in my grandfather's brown Ford truck. It had a mythic quality to my ears even then. Sometimes I'll get my guitar and sing this one. It always makes me want to sit quietly for a moment afterwards.

7. Stevie Ray Vaughan - He took the blues to a whole new level. I always wonder what he'd be doing if he were still alive.

Check out Slaid:

3 Things

2012-01-09T09:20:00.002-06:00

Three things I learned at breakfast:

1 - A bowl of my favorite off-brand frosted mini wheats has more fiber than a glass of orange juice. Now I don't even have to feel guilty about eating junk food for breakfast.

2 - My children's favorite chocolate cereal "promotes healthy brain development." Who needs Your Baby Can Read when you can just load them up with a few bowls of Choco-Rice Delight?

3 - My favorite provider of blueberries not only wants me to keep buying their blueberries, they also want me to "Like" them on Facebook.

Sandburg

2012-01-06T17:28:00.006-06:00

Carl Sandburg
Born 6 Jan. 1878

I like a lot of Sandburg's poetry. I skip his "Protest" poems, mainly because I don't enjoy anyone's political or social ranting. But he had a real gift for capturing beautiful things with words - images and places, especially. This is my favorite poem of his:

FOG

THE fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Happy Birthday to Tolkien

2012-01-03T12:02:00.002-06:00

Jan. 3, 1892
Storyteller, myth maker, gift to the world.

What I'm Writing In

2012-01-02T10:41:00.004-06:00

Rhodia small notepad. The paper quality from Rhodia is amazing: my Sharpie pens love it; I've not tried my fountain pens on it yet but will soon. The only place I've been able to find these in person is the Container Store. The larger ones get pricey but they are worth the money. I carry this small one around to capture ideas throughout the day. I can't warm up to the idea of using the notepad on my iPhone. I just like writing by hand too much. The fact that these notebooks are made in France seems to add to their coolness.

The larger notebook I found at Half Price Books. They're pretty cheap (under $5) but the paper quality is surprisingly good, especially for the Sharpie pens. The pages are unlined, which I prefer. The flap closes via magnet: this is a handy feature. I use these for journaling, book quotes, and my Reading Logs.

New

2012-01-02T10:17:00.004-06:00

I recently entered the world of iPhone. I've been having a blast with it. The camera on the new model is amazing and I'm enjoying the apps. Some favorites I've found so far (all free):

* The Poetry Foundation. Filled with classic and modern poems, some are even read aloud by good readers. You can "spin" and get random poems on the screen. Cool stuff.

* C.S. Lewis quote of the day. Today's quote happens to be: "We read to know that we are not alone." Who couldn't use inspiration and perspective like that on a daily basis?

* I found a Shakespeare app with all his plays and poems in one place.

* AskTwain is an app where a cartoon form of Mark Twain appears in a rocking chair, pipe in hand, spouting some of his random quotes. Fun stuff.

* I found a mandolin app with a tuner, chord shapes, and more.

* I found several dictionary apps. I love dictionaries. I have an old one in my desk that's held among my most prized possessions. Reading carefully from a good dictionary is an education in itself.

* I found a nice app featuring several Renaissance artists and their paintings. Click on a piece and find information pertaining to it and the artist. Raphael, da Vinci, and Caravaggio are featured, just to name a few. There are some irritating popups on this one but it's a minimal hassle considering the information contained and the possibilities for learning.

It dawned on me the other day how odd it is that I carry both an iPhone and a pocket watch. There is much value in the old and the new.

Art

2011-12-28T08:43:00.000-06:00

Best Music of 2011

2011-12-27T11:33:00.000-06:00

Under the Wishing Tree by Charlie Sexton

I had this CD many years ago and it must have gotten lost at some point. One day this year I found myself humming the song 'Ugly All Day' and tried to find it. Gone. So off I went to Amazon for a replacement. It served as many hours of great reading, writing, and working music this year.

The record is from 1995 but it's one of those that has no trendy sounds or styles that place it in a particular era; it's one that will sound good indefinitely.

I have no idea why Charlie Sexton never became a mega-star musician. He has everything going for him: he's a great multi-instrumentalist, he sings well, he writes good songs, and he's a handsome fellow (which sometimes is all it takes to make it).

Best Reading of 2011

2011-12-27T09:04:00.003-06:00

Fiction:

1 - ANNALS OF A QUIET NEIGHBORHOOD by George MacDonald - If you like fast-paced books with action and adventure, don't read this one. It creeps along and tells the story of a small town and the people who live there. Most of MacDonald's Victorian novels are like this; they are slow and filled with dialogue and pictures of the world. I think I like them specifically for this reason. It's such a different pace than the life most of us know in the modern world.

2 - LEEPIKE RIDGE by N.D. Wilson - Excellent adventure story from one of the best writers out there today.

3 - PRIDE AND PREJUDICE by Jane Austen - My wife talked me into it. Not afraid to say I loved it.

4 - 100 CUPBOARDS by N.D. Wilson - Young boy finds portals to other worlds in his aunt and uncle's attic: the adventure begins. This is the first book in a series of three.

5 - SHE by H. Rider Haggard - This is one of the best stories I've ever read. Written in 1887, it has the language and phrasing that I love in old books: long sentences and words that send one to the dictionary every now and then. From time to time Haggard drifts from the story to make some truly beautiful observations about life and humanity. I copied down a lot of it and will be going back to it from time to time.

Non Fiction:

1 - NOTES FROM THE TILT-A-WHIRL by N.D. Wilson (reviewed here already)

2 - AN EXPERIMENT IN CRITICISM by C.S. Lewis (reviewed)

3 - THINK by John Piper - A book about thinking in the life of a Christian. Piper encourages people to think deeply and use the intellect for the glory of God. I particularly enjoyed his thoughts on the anti-intellectualism and suspicion of learning that is so pervasive in modern Christianity.

4 - L'ABRI by Edith Schaeffer (reviewed)

5 - THE ABOLITION OF MAN by C.S. Lewis - A collection of Lewis' lectures on the dehumanizing nature of modern thought and education. First reading barely skims the surface. Will be going back to it again and again.

Biggest surprise:

SMOKE FROM THIS ALTER: Poems by Louis L'Amour - I had wanted to read L'Amour's poetry for a while but never got around to it. I found a copy at a used bookstore this year and it's been a close companion since then. L'Amour was a gifted, multifaceted writer.

Fall Fun

2011-11-12T10:34:00.003-06:00

Some friends came over the other night for some pumpkin art. It was fun. Here are the results:

Book Review

2011-11-06T09:59:00.005-06:00

Recently I picked up An Experiment in Criticism by C.S. Lewis. Most people either think of his fiction or his works of Christian apologetics when they hear them name. But this is neither: this is basically a book about reading books, from a fellow who, at his deepest level, loved books.

Literary critics are snobs and tend to judge the books themselves. But Lewis’ “experiment” is not to judge books but readers of books, not to see which are the “right” books but how books are being read. After all, one generation’s trash is another’s treasure, and some people (Status-seekers, as he calls them) will read “the right” books just because they are the right ones. But this book calls us away from such ideas and bids us to come enjoy the pleasures of reading well.

The main thing Lewis has to say on reading well is that we must first and foremost get ourselves out of the way, risk being “taken in,” and fully enter the world the author has created. We must not “use” art but we must “receive” it. Using art makes it a background for the world already inside our heads and hearts; receiving takes us to a new place and shows us new things. I can never grow if I just stay inside myself and keep rehashing the same ideas over and over again.

As soon as I finished this book I immediately turned back to page one and read it again. If you want to get more out of your reading than you currently are, or if you just want to understand the art and joy of reading well a little better, I recommend this one. It’s really just a long essay, not even 200 pages. But like a good poem, huge ideas are crammed into a small space.

Here’s a bit from the Epilogue that sums things up well. If this is all you ever read of Lewis’ ideas on the subject, it would probably be enough to change your reading life forever:

“What then is the good of — what is even the defense for — occupying our hearts with stories of what never happened and entering vicariously into feelings which we should try to avoid having in our own person?

The nearest I have yet got to an answer is that we seek an enlargement of our being. We want to be more than ourselves. Each of us by nature sees the world from one point of view with a perspective and a selectiveness peculiar to himself. And even when we build disinterested fantasies, they are saturated with, and limited by, our own psychology. … We want to see with other eyes, to imagine with other imaginations, to feel with other hearts, as well as with our own.

The primary impulse of each is to maintain and aggrandize himself. The secondary impulse is to get out of the self, to correct its provincialism and heal its loneliness. In love, in virtue, in the pursuit of the arts, we are doing this. Obviously the process can be described either as enlargement or as a temporary annihilation of the self. But that is an old paradox; ‘he that loseth his life shall save it.’

Those of us who have been true readers all our life can seldom fully realize the enormous extension of our being which we owe to authors. We realize it best when we talk with an unliterary friend. He may be full of goodness and good sense but he inhabits a tiny world. In it, we should be suffocated. The man who is contented to be only himself, and therefore less a self, is in prison. My own eyes are not enough for me, I will see through those of others.

In reading great literature I become a thousand men and yet remain myself.”

Book Review

2011-09-03T15:36:00.003-05:00

HANNAH COULTER by Wendell Berry

I’ve seen Berry’s name mentioned many times in the places I lurk, so I knew I wanted to read him at some point. With such a large body of work available, I wasn’t sure where to begin, so I decided to start with one of his novels.

This book is the life story of Hannah Coulter, a woman who came of age in Kentucky around the time of WWII and lived up into the twenty-first century. The book moves along with a somewhat slow, lazy voice as things unfold. I like the pace and I enjoyed the various stages of the character’s life.

The book is basically a commentary on the modern world and modern thought, how things were versus how they now are. It’s not a lament of “the good old days” and the fact that they are over, necessarily, but it does demonstrate how the nature of contemporary thinking and living has eliminated such ways of life. I particularly enjoyed how Berry attacks the folly of ambition and the formless ideas of “progress” that get swallowed whole today without question. Here are a couple of excellent passages worth sharing:

“Most people are looking for a ‘better place,’ which means that a lot of them will end up in a worse one. There is no better place than this, not in this world. And it is by the place we’ve got, and our love for it, and our keeping of it, that this world is joined to heaven.”

“The chance you had is the life you got. You can make complaints about what people, including you, make of their lives after they have got them, and about what people make of other people’s lives, even about your own children being gone. You mustn’t want to be somebody else, what you must do is this: rejoice evermore, pray without ceasing, in everything give thanks. I am not all the way capable of so much, but those are the right instructions.”

I’m looking forward to reading more of Wendell Berry. I think I’ll try some of his essays next.

Movie Quote

2011-09-02T23:00:00.006-05:00

THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION is one of the best movies I've ever seen. It's one of those films that after it's over you're left a bit numb by the experience, like you know deep in your heart that you've just rubbed up against the truly Beautiful. It's like those books that are so good that all you want to do is just be quiet after you finish the last page. You want to let it all wash over you for a bit before it fades away. Good stories hit you like that. It is hard to explain.

The other night we were making ice-cream sundaes and my wife spotted THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION on while channel-surfing. It was pretty early on in the film and we watched the whole thing for the umpteenth time. Such greatness! There's a ton of wisdom in this film, and there are some very good characters (Andy, Red, Brooks, Tommy). There's a line in the film worth remembering:

"Get busy living, or get busy dying."

Ashtown Burials

2011-08-27T09:33:00.001-05:00

This is the first in a new series by N.D. Wilson, who has become one of my favorite contemporary writers. Never thought I'd see movie trailers for books. Pretty cool though.

Book Review

2011-08-27T09:16:00.003-05:00

PEACE LIKE A RIVER by Leif Enger

First of all, Leif Enger is a cool dude. He not only kind of looks like Clint Eastwood, he kind of talks like him too. But he is also a wonderful writer (understatement).

I’ve been seeing recommendations for this book for the last few years, and it’s been on one of my reading lists since that time. There are a couple of folks I’ve gotten to know through blogs over the years, and when one of these guys in particular recommends a book, I usually read it, and I’m usually not disappointed. So I wasn’t necessarily in a hurry to read this one; I just knew at some point it would come into rotation. I snagged it on my last trip to the library as we grabbed a bit of Batman and Arthurian legend and Charlie Brown DVDs. (I don’t think too many kids today know about Charlie Brown. And that’s a shame. )

Characters are always my favorite things about fiction. A good story makes for a good book, but without the right characters and dialogue, even the best plots fall flat. The characters in this one did not let me down: the father, Jeremiah Land, a janitor of low ambition surrounded by the miraculous; Swede, the poet little sister with a fireball personality (she kind of reminds me of Scout in TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD for some reason); Ruben, the middle child who is the asthmatic teller of this tale; and Davy, the older brother who ends up on the run, chased by this motherless family into the badlands of North Dakota.

Are you ever thankful for the ability to read? Do you ever stop to think about it? This book is so well written that it actually gave me pause to thank God a few times that I can read. I thought at one point, If I couldn’t read I’d be missing this story. That might seem a bit goofy, especially if you approach reading casually, or if it’s just a necessary tool for life; but I love reading and have come to see it as a privilege and not a right. I saw a statistic recently stating that over seventy percent of the world cannot read. I actually find this a bit hard to believe; but when I stop and think of how large the world is and how poor much of it remains, it doesn’t seem all that far-fetched. So, if that is true, and if you’re reading this, you can do what most of the people on this planet cannot do. That is something to be thankful for.

I jotted down a bunch of quotes from PEACE LIKE A RIVER, and I planned on sharing a few here, but it almost seems a shame to tear them from context. I’ll just say that if you like good fiction, do read this book. I hated to see it end.

C.S. Lewis says somewhere that he could never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit him. Books like this one help a person to understand such sentiment.

Sharpie Art

2011-08-17T16:54:00.000-05:00

Theological Jackrabbits

2011-07-28T16:58:00.003-05:00

I ran across this while reading Marilynne Robinson's GILEAD and couldn't pass up the chance to share it:

"I blame the radio for sowing a good deal of confusion where theology is concerned. And television is worse. You can spend forty years teaching people to be awake to the fact of mystery and then some fellow with no more theological sense than a jackrabbit gets himself a radio ministry and all your work is forgotten. I do wonder where it will end."

Three Reasons Why I Like the Library

2011-07-23T10:52:00.002-05:00

The other day I took my children to our local library for a magic show. They had a blast and afterwards we all walked around and picked out books to bring home. Our local library puts on some excellent shows for kids and adults, as well as offering a wide variety of stuff to get involved in: book clubs, writer’s groups, lectures from authors, movie nights, concerts, story time for kids and families, etc. They really try hard to make it something nice for the community. It can be a good place to meet people from your community, and it’s one of the only things we get right with our tax dollars.

I like the library for a lot of reasons, but here are three to think about:

1. Nobody is trying to sell me anything at the library. I don’t like it when people try to sell me stuff. I know what I need and what I want. I need no help here. I don’t like ads that try to convince me to buy things. This is one of the reasons I don’t go to malls very often, and it’s the reason I mute the radio during commercials, and one of the reasons I don’t watch much television. The library does not sell things.

2. The library is anti-snobbery. Snobs like mega-bookstores with $5 lattes and shelves lined with NY bestsellers. The library isn’t cool enough for such a crowd. Neither am I.

3. The library does not have everything you want. I think it’s good for people to not always get what they want. It’s good to have to wait for some things or to not ever get them. It teaches people more about reality than always getting everything does. Sometimes I’ll go the library and they won’t have a book or three that I’m looking for. I then get something else and most of the time I end up enjoying it a lot and learning about a new writer. That is part of the adventure of reading and learning and discovering things in unexpected places.

I still like going to the bookstore sometimes. But it’s mostly at Half Price Books for browsing around and looking for deals; and Amazon.com has been a good thing for me.

Misc. Summer Stuff

2011-07-23T10:25:00.002-05:00

It’s been a great summer of reading and creativity for my family and me. Together we have built stuff and spent lots of time outside. It has been good for us. We’ve had friends over to help with things, and we’ve had friends over for meals more than usual. Good times all.

Reading:
At the first of the year I decided one of my projects would be to teach myself Latin. I love languages and for some reason wanted to learn to read the New Testament in Latin. So seven months later finds me in the Latin NT reading very slowly but enjoying it immensely. I might try to tackle Greek next year. To be able to read the NT in the language it was written in is something I’ve always wanted to do.

Some good books this summer have been N.D. Wilsons 100 CUPBOARDS series. I’m about halfway through and am enjoying them. Nutshell: a boy finds 100 openings to different worlds in his aunt and uncle’s attic and the adventure begins. I reviewed Wilson’s NOTES FROM THE TILT-A-WHIRL here a while back. This guy is a great writer.

Marilynne Robinson’s GILEAD has been good reading. It’s a book of letters from an old man to his son. The boy was born very late in the man’s life, so it’s all the stuff he would have told him had he been younger. It’s a good book and is pretty deep water, theologically, at times.

There has been lots of MacDonald and lots of Lewis and lots of poetry in between.

Music-wise, it’s been a summer of soundtracks. Film scores make for excellent reading and writing music. Lately I’ve spent quite a bit of time with the scores from Pride and Prejudice (A&E version), Out of Africa (some of the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard), The Village (Hilary Hahn’s violin), and the one from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.

July 4, 1776

2011-07-04T10:01:00.010-05:00

If I had a time machine, this would be one of my first stops.

Learn

2011-07-03T10:18:00.000-05:00

I was listening to a lecture recently by Arnold Pent III. He’s mostly in real estate, but he also authored a book called TEN P’s IN A POD about how his parents dragged him and his brothers and sisters all over the country back in the day. They were a homeschool family before there really was such a thing. I’ve not read the book but it’s on the list.

I have learned that often times I can find very good information in unlikely places. As I was listening to this man talk about his failures and successes in the real estate business, I was tempted to skip it, since I have little to no interest in such things. But I recognized that he was speaking from his heart; and sometimes you can sense that a man is a good man just by listening to him. Pretty soon he hit on some things that really resonated with me.

Here are some of Mr. Pent’s thoughts from his lecture:
“Be a lifetime learner, and allow your learning to be broad in many areas and deep in a few. Reading broadly offers a host of insights. It’s amazing the little amount of knowledge the average person in our culture is content with. In this culture it might be possible to live your entire existence without one effort in creative thinking. Spend time forcing yourself to think.”

Later on in the lecture he said this:
“The average Founding Father wrote between five and twenty-five books during his lifetime.”

That bit about the Founding Fathers is amazing to me. Why would they bother to write like that? To get a book deal? Get published? Get in Oprah’s book club? They wrote mostly because they had something to say. And everyone has something to say, even if only to posterity. If you want to be inspired, look at the Founding Fathers; if you want to weep, look at most any modern day politician.

Part of my own personal project is that of being a self-taught, lifetime learner. Degrees and initials after my name are not important to me, but the knowledge is what I’m after. I have realized that through books and lectures a person can pretty much learn whatever he wants to learn. Anyone can get a good education: all it takes is some time and effort and discipline. It doesn’t even take any money. Many times the local library is all you need. And if you live in a large area like I do, there are programs that will allow you access to other libraries in the area. Just ask a few questions and someone will be more than happy to point you to these recourses (if you live in a small area some libraries will still mail books to you). I have a card that lets me borrow from almost every city, university, and seminary library in DFW. So when I tell you it takes no money to get an education, I’m serious. But when I speak of “education” I’m not talking about schooling. There’s a big difference. Maybe another blog entry on that sometime.

“Two Distinct Worlds”

2011-07-02T11:16:00.001-05:00

I like the Internet. It has created a ton of opportunities for me to learn and grow that I otherwise would probably have never had. I like the fact that I can write, read, exchange ideas, and download old books for free that I would probably never have otherwise read. The Internet has been a huge part of my education (not schooling).

I like my iPod. I like my Blackberry. I like my Mac (but I liked my Fujitsu better). But I try to use them all as tools and not get so wrapped up in it all. It is so odd to be anywhere these days and see almost everyone peering into the tiny screen of their phone. And how many times have you been having a conversation with someone, only for that person to answer a text or a call right in the middle of you speaking to them? I see it all the time. I have seen people get up from meetings at work to answer calls on their cell phone. I see people texting as they drive down the street all the time. (It makes me glad I don’t have a motorcycle anymore.)

There’s a guy I discovered (on the Internet!) called The Familyman AKA Todd Wilson. He travels all over in an RV with his family and speaks at homeschool conferences, etc. His ministry is mainly for dads. I’m on his mailing list, and recently he wrote about this subject. It made me think about how this is all changing the nature of human relationships. I’m not convinced it’s for the better either. Being wired up and accessible has done a lot as far as information goes, but it has done nothing for the problem of loneliness. Here are some of Todd Wilson’s thoughts on the matter:

“Every time I see a mass of people texting away, oblivious to their surroundings, I start to feel righteous (or maybe unrighteous) indignation over the fact that we are being sucked into the technology vortex of doom.

While waiting for my plane, I crossed over to the EXTREME, anti-technology, militant side. Basking in the sun streaming through the windows, I happened to look over at a young, professional-looking couple who sat near a charging station.

Both husband and wife were on their smart phones texting or reading emails, tethered to the plug outlet. I watched for a little while since they seemed so engrossed, not in each other (I'm not sure they would have noticed if a giant eagle had swooped down and snatched one of them from their seat) but in some INTERNET conversation.

Occasionally, one of them would smile at something someone wrote from the other side of their phone. As they continued on in silence, I felt disturbed, real disturbed.

Then it hit me: they are just like those old couples who sit in McDonald's but don't talk to each other. Technology has brought progress, but at the same time it has contributed to the sad reality of married couples who sit at the same table but live in two distinct worlds.”

Book Review

2011-07-02T10:41:00.003-05:00

L’ABRI by Edith Schaeffer

Francis Schaeffer is one of my heroes. He made me not only think, but he made me think deeply about thinking. MacDonald says somewhere that casting a loving thought into the heart of a friend is giving as the angels give. This is what Schaeffer did for me. I count him as a friend, dead, and only known from the page, but a friend all the same.

L’ABRI was written by Schaeffer’s widow, Edith. It’s about how they left America in the 1950’s for Switzerland, to be missionaries of sorts. They started a study center out of their home in a Swiss village called L’Abri (French, “the shelter”). The Schaeffers had a burden for Europe, and they wanted to change the spiritual climate by going there and having honest discussions with people about the real issues of life. The main stance being that God is real, that He is personal, and that He can be known. The life they led there testified to this. The local government did everything they could to get them out of Switzerland in the early days because of their “religious influence on the community”; but through a series of events that could not possibly be coincidence, they were able to stay.

Example: As the Schaeffers were pleading their case to stay in Switzerland they had a series of meetings with local officials. They appealed to the local American consul, where an aide tried to dismiss and discourage them; they persisted and got a meeting with the man in charge. . .who ended up being an old schoolmate of Francis Schaeffer’s from Pennsylvania. What are the odds of meeting not only an old acquaintance across the world, but of him being the very man who can help you in your time of need?

The book is full of those kinds of stories.

But the thing I like the most about their story is that it is one of radical faith. They never tried to “get people” to L’Abri. They would pray for the right people to come and for the wrong ones to stay away. They never advertised. They never asked for money, but prayed for it (something many Christian ministries should take a stab at). Many times there would be atheists and agnostics hanging around asking questions and sitting in on discussions; many of these people came to believe in the reality of the God of the Bible simply by watching it all happen. No clever programs or light shows or appeals to emotions. Just reality.

The story of L’Abri continues today, with branches all over Europe and in America. It all started with one young family who left America, leaving behind many opportunities and going to a remote part of the world. They planted a seed that grew and continues to grow today. It’s a great story. I recommend the book.

Eat

2011-07-01T22:34:00.002-05:00

In case you haven't noticed, we're living in the Golden Age of hamburgers. Gourmet (and not so much) burger joints have popped up all over the place. There's a great place around here in DFW called Twisted Root that makes the best hamburgers I've ever eaten in a restaurant, period; but you can't hear yourself think in the place. I've either gotten too old or it really is too loud in there (probably a combination of both). If you live in the area, you really need to try this place. I recommend getting your burger made dry though, since they have a killer selection of in-house made sauces on the table to choose from. The BBQ sauce is great, as is the spicy ketchup.

Other places in the area: Pappa's in Fort Worth (killer shakes too), Kincaid's, Tommy's (always good), OC Burgers (excellent avocado burger), a place called Christina's that I've heard good things about, and there's a handful of other places I've not gotten to try yet: but they're all on the list.

Tonight we checked out Mooyah Burgers in Euless. Excellent stuff, and there's not the noise factor of Twisted Root. The fries are good, as well as the shakes. They make all the food out front where you can see it, and the guy that waited on us didn't stare at his shoes and mumble under his breath the whole time. To top it off, it cost us about the same to eat at Mooyah's as it does to eat at McDonald's down the street.

It's a long weekend. Go out for a burger.

Being Dad: Part Two

2011-06-18T14:41:00.002-05:00

Tomorrow is Father’s Day and I’m thinking along those lines. My own father has been dead for several years, and it’s hard to say how such finality puts certain things in perspective. The other day I was tripping over something in my garage and spotted my father’s face in a pile of photos lying loosely in a box of stuff. I dug it out for a look and was transported back to the day it was taken: one of those happy days where everyone smiles but doesn’t seem to notice the clock ticking. And the clock is always ticking. The grave beckons and some stumble on ahead of the rest of us into what Dickinson once called “the door of God.” And what will we all do till then? We’ll make a lot of mistakes, and we’ll do a lot of things right; and we’ll do a lot of stuff just because we felt like it, and a lot because we didn’t feel like it. But at the end most of us will have regrets.

Last night I went for a visit to a hospital. There were two different people to visit on two different floors. One of those people, a little boy, is just starting his journey; the other, an elderly lady, is nearing the end. Hospitals are odd places, places of hope realized, hope deferred, and sometimes hope shattered. I walked the polished floors with three smaller pairs of feet behind mine and thought of such things.

On the way home we hit McDonald’s, one of the nicer ones with the .99 ice cream cones, not the .53 ones like you get down the road in the crummier part of town. I did something I hardly ever do: I played on the playground with my children. These places are not built for 6 ft. men weighing in at two bills. I climbed up the little passageways and made my way down the slide a couple times. I thought I might lose my McFlurry a time or two but I kept it down. Usually my wife is the one that does most of the fun stuff; but last night with all the hospital thoughts fresh on my mind, I wanted to go for it. I wanted to be sore the next day and have my kneecaps hurt from climbing through hard plastic places sticky from little milkshake-soaked fingers. But more than that, I wanted to not regret missing a chance to be in the moment, to make a memory, if only for me.

I hate when my blog entries come off as overly didactic, and there’s always the temptation to end with some little moral nugget fresh from the Hallmark channel archives, like: “Live in such a way as to have no regrets.” That’s simplistic drivel and nobody can always do that. But I think we can try, even if it’s just a little. And I think we should.

Should

2011-06-11T11:35:00.001-05:00

I saw this on another blog and thought I would share it.

"A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul."
-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Being Dad: Part One

2011-06-04T10:43:00.002-05:00

Being a father has been one of the greatest joys of my life. It baffles me that some men bemoan bygone days of youth and glory, or that they run out on their families and choose a life other than their family. Everyone wants to be happy, and people do this because they want to be happy. But happiness means death. You have to die first. Plant that dead seed of your ambition in the ground and watch it sprout into life. I am learning about this and don’t have it all down yet. But I’ve planted a few things so far, and the dead seeds have come up much more beautiful than the dry shells of selfish dreams that I planted.

Last night we all went out for chicken. KFC. Gourmet stuff, I realize. But they love it. If you can remember being a kid it’s actually fun to “go in” and eat in the booth with the last guy’s crumbs still on the table. We ate chicken and had to hush a few root beer burps here and there, as well as the sounds that can be made with boys and plastic chairs and air.

At one point I looked over at my little 5-year-old boy and saw absolute joy in his face, true joy. He laughs from his belly and his heart. His smile gets so big that sometimes it must make his face sore. I told my wife to look at him and see the joy. Unstained by the world and unwounded by insecurities and the folly of getting older and more sophisticated. That face can teach a man a lot.

Sometimes when I’m tired I get grumpy. I want the house to be quiet so I can read or just stare at the wall for a few minutes. But when I choose to die, to get over myself and realize how much I’ll miss that noise someday, I get perspective. And I see life again. Through death.

Poor Places

2011-05-26T12:03:00.001-05:00

I was waiting. The street in front of me was busy, so I sat trying to turn left out of the hardware store parking lot. I spotted the fellow coming down the sidewalk on a bicycle. There is a difference that is easy to spot between someone riding a bike because they want to and someone riding a bike because they have to. I could tell he was older than me, how much I didn’t know: hard living puts years on a face that sometimes are not really there. I only saw him for a few seconds before he was on his way. But in that short-lived moment I noticed the deep lines on the faded face, the dirty clothes and unkempt hair. I could tell he was coming from the poor places just next to the hardware store. He glanced at me, and though my eyes were hidden behind dark frames, we were both aware of the awkwardness that eye contact sometimes awakens. He on his bicycle, me sitting on heated seats in my DVD-equipped minivan.

I went down the road for a pizza and thought about the encounter. Why does that fellow have that life, and why do I have this one? I’m not talking about fairness or justice, but more about Grace. There is no way for me to know the life he has lived or the choices he has made. But I do know my own. I was born healthy in a hospital with the best available care for the year 1974. I had a mom and dad who were there that day and stayed together till death broke the bond decades later. They took me home to a house. I had dogs and toys and even a swimming pool later on. I had a place at the dinner table each night. I didn’t make the food or earn the money for any of it; I just showed up and was fed till I was able to do it myself. I never had to try hard for much; it was just all there.

Through the years I tried hard for a few things, but not many. There were always opportunities, usually things I had nothing to do with. My first job was like that. Someone told me about it. I filled out a form. They said yes. I went to work. Till a little while down the road another opportunity came. I took it. Then another and I took it. And so it went. Sure, someone giving you an opportunity doesn’t mean that you don’t have to do your part; and I suppose I have done my part. I showed up on time, did what I was told, got money, bought stuff, raised babies, paid bills, went places, ate too much, went back home and repeated the whole thing. A life like that costs you a bit of time and a little discipline, but not much more. People that lived a couple hundred years ago in this country would consider my life one of luxury. Heated seats, hot water on demand, cold air at the touch of a button, a freezer full of dead animals I didn’t have to kill, a mouth full of teeth.

Still, it’s hard to be humble, to look around at your life and say, “I didn’t do all this.” Sure, I did some of it, but even that part was Grace. I could have been born and thrown in a dumpster, or in a part of the world where a loaf of bread is worth a month’s wages, or in those poor places where I might believe that all the good things were always just out of my reach.

It’s also hard to be humble and look around at your life and say, “I did this” and take responsibility when things are a mess due to bad decisions. It’s hard to be humble no matter where you find yourself. And it’s hard to understand Grace.

Thoughts on Blake, Reading & Music

2011-05-25T12:04:00.005-05:00

He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity’s sunrise.
-William Blake, Eternity

I tend to like shorter poems, ones with a few words chosen carefully. A great poet can say something of magnitude in only a few lines. Of course there are many good longer poems as well, but the shorter ones are easier to memorize and carry with you; and they tend to be more easily applicable to life, much like a Proverb. And short poems are bigger on the inside than they are on the outside: people are like that too, the inner life being the larger one.

This poem by Blake can apply to so many areas of life. I think of it sometimes when I’m reading, when a certain passage really moves me. I go back and reread it, but the moment has passed. Sometimes it hits me as I’m playing music: my guitar or mandolin will sound just right, all the little nuances that make for good tone will seem to be falling into place. And rather than enjoy the moment, I might be thinking of how I might reproduce it later, or that I should be recording the piece, or what might it sound like in a different key, etc.

But I am learning to let go and just enjoy things. I was reading the ending to a wonderful novel just yesterday, and rather than going over the last few paragraphs several times, I just relaxed and read them slowly and tried to get the full impact of the ending of the story. And it was better that way. “Kissing the moment as it flies” is letting the moment be itself, enjoying the moment, seeing it as the gift it is, and letting it go.

Blackout Poet

2011-05-21T10:40:00.010-05:00

I saw Austin Kleon on Texas Country Reporter (the best show on television) a couple years ago and found his art pretty interesting. Made me wonder why I didn't think of it. I like markers and poetry, but I don't like newspapers, so it's no wonder I didn't. In short, he takes a newspaper article, picks out some words that go together, makes a box around them, blacks out the rest of the article with a marker, and out pops a poem. To some this would not seem like legit art, but I like it. Check out some of his work. www.austinkleon.com

Book Review

2011-05-21T08:48:00.002-05:00

Book Review: NOTES FROM THE TILT-A-WHIRL by N.D. Wilson

I had wanted to read this one for a while and finally got around to it recently. It’s exactly the kind of book I like to read because it’s mainly about wonder. About how the world around us has so much to teach us if we’ll only take the time to unplug from ourselves and notice. There is a ton of G.K. Chesterton and C.S. Lewis in Wilson’s thinking, which he acknowledges openly. And since many in this generation won’t ever read Lewis (and certainly not Chesterton), we need guys like Wilson who will share their ideas and put common sense back out there. I only wish more people in this generation would buy this book rather than wade through the latest question-fest from Rob Bell and guys like him that pass for thinkers today.

Wilson takes on some of the biggies in this book. He takes apart the problem of evil not so much by reducing it, but by reducing us. He asks at one point: “Are you too important to be amused at your own finitude?” When people see themselves as small and the world as short and brief, evil gets smaller. When people see themselves as grand and rather important and the world their home, evil is larger. Wilson’s playful jabs at Nietzsche and David Hume are fun, and the chapter on Hell is alone worth the purchase price.

This book is a breath of fresh air in a me-centered culture where man is the chief end. It scoffs and laughs at the smallness of skepticism and the cowardly nature of cynicism. It will make you want to hold hands with your wife and look your children in the eye when they speak to you. It will make you notice trees and wind and water and bugs. It will make you want to say Thank You for being alive.

Pass on the next dark modern novel, skip the next bestseller from the current crop of pseudo-intellectuals with thick-rimmed glasses and cool shirts: give this book a try instead.

There is also a film series out based on the book. I’ve not got that yet but plan on it.

Birds

2011-05-16T11:57:00.002-05:00

We all spent the day in the backyard yesterday. My wife and I were working, trying to make things beautiful. Our oldest boy was whittling. Now that’s a boy thing if there ever was one. Have you ever seen a girl whittle? There’s just something so boyish about knives and wood and gouging and cutting. There’s always the risk of cutting off your fingers, which is part of the fun. Our younger boy was pretending to be a dinosaur (he can tell you the names of most dinosaurs), and our little girl was playing in the dirt. I’ve never seen a kid that loves digging in dirt so much. Maybe there’s an archeologist hiding in there somewhere.

During one of my breaks from working (I take several) I stretched out on the ground, flat on my back. I couldn’t put a finger on the last time I’d done that, so I knew it had been too long. I was between some trees so there was only a smallish strip of sky above. In the little blue gap the white clouds were rushing by in bunches, and a bird would fly by every now and then. I noticed they all flew against the flow of the clouds. I could have stayed there all day.

I started thinking about birds as I lay there. I wish I knew the names of birds like my grandfather did (I also wish I knew the names of trees). I remembered a bit of an old poem I read recently about birds. I got a little frustrated because I couldn’t remember the whole poem or who wrote it, just the message it gave — which I think is the entire point of poetry, so the dead, nameless poet succeeded in reaching me. Anyway, the poem is about how birds have no barns or stores, how they live a life of ultimate simplicity with no worries. Of course, the poet borrowed this idea from the Sermon on the Mount and obviously dared to believe it to be true.

Later in the day my wife said: “Listen to that beautiful birdsong.” And it was beautiful. I guess the prettiest songs come from the most carefree of hearts. And how much more carefree could a bird be?

Solomon sends us to the ant if we’re lazy, and Jesus sends us to the birds if our faith is small. We can learn a lot in our own backyards.

Talk

2011-05-13T12:08:00.004-05:00

“When words are many, transgression is not lacking; but whoever restrains his lips is prudent.”
–Proverbs 10:19

I was reading a favorite blog the other day, one filled with countercultural and unpopular ideas, and the fellow made a jab at talk radio. It got me to thinking of how I used to love talk radio. But that passage from the tenth of Proverbs is one of the reasons I stopped listening to it. I took a step back and saw the folly of it all.

I used to think that by listening and being “informed” on all the ins and outs of “what’s going on,” I was actually doing something. And I used to think that once I was informed and hashing it all out with someone else that I was also doing something. But that’s not doing anything. In reality, there is little that anyone actually can do about the stuff everyone is arguing about on talk radio. Most of those shows are designed to frighten or anger people, and that’s about all they do. No one wins and there are never any answers. If anything ever got solved there wouldn’t be anything left to talk about, and then the host would have to get a real job.

Not long ago we did a study in our church on words and speech out of the Book of Proverbs. You’d be amazed at the references made to speech in just that one book. Words carry ideas, and all ideas carry with them consequences. And one of the saddest consequences of our cultural abuse of words is that people don’t trust them as they once did. Words are mutilated via texting (OMG LOL BRB!); they are abused on talk radio, the news, political campaigns, and marketers have drained the life out of them in advertisements. Even in many churches people don’t trust words that much anymore. Want proof? Go into most any modern church service and you’ll see a multi-media screen with images to convey a visual message of some sort: those images, usually accompanied with some kind of heart-tugging music, have replaced words.

But the battle for words is not totally lost. There will always be some who love them. I’m learning to do so. I’ve certainly said my share of dumb things. But these days I try to be more careful than ever before. If I don’t have something valuable to say, I just try to keep quiet (Mark Twain comes to mind here).

We should be careful with words and treat them with respect. When we do they become more precious and we see them as the gifts they are and were meant to be.

Of Late

2011-05-06T12:25:00.008-05:00

Reading:
I usually have a few books going at a time. My reading is all over the place and it's hard to pin down any given direction I might be taking. I was reading a favorite blog the other day and found that the proprietor of it normally has about six books going at a time. I don’t think I could juggle six, but I usually have at least three going.

I just finished LEEPIKE RIDGE by N.D. Wilson. It was a good read about a boy that ended up in some underground caverns after being lost in a stream that runs under a mountain. There is treasure-hunting and bad guys with guns involved. It kind of reminded me of the Goonies in some ways. I read Wilson’s blog and am interested in some of the other books he’s written, but I’ve not gotten to them yet. He’s a bit younger than me and seems to be a pretty fascinating fellow. I don’t know much about contemporary writers, and I usually don’t like modern books, but I like the way this guy thinks. Check him out.

I’m in the middle of The ANNALS OF A QUIET NEIGHBORHOOD by George MacDonald. I seem to have one of his books going most of the time. This one reveals the heart of the man about as much as anything he ever wrote. This story is about a young vicar who moves to a small English town to take over a church there. I like it because it’s a book about ordinary people and ordinary events; almost like reading a journal entry of the old vicar looking back over his life among his fellow man. I’ve probably taken down five or six pages of notes and quotes from this one so far. Beautiful stuff.

I’m also reading SILAS MARNER by George Eliot. I remember this was assigned reading in tenth-grade English. I was lucky enough to get to take that class again the next year and I still managed to not read the book. Looking back I can’t really see this as reading for a fifteen-year-old though. I’ve referenced the dictionary several times reading it now. And I can’t imagine even half-way comprehending this at age fifteen or even coming close to appreciating it as a great piece of literature.

I’m pretty early into it and already like it. Everything moves very slowly and the author takes a long time getting the characters into your head. Most modern novels just get you right into the story, but I like how the old books take a long time; it seems to put more flesh on the characters and make them like real people. I know a lot people do not like old books because they move so slow, but that’s the reason I like them. That is what makes them last and endure as literature. I also think that’s why we see so few modern classics; things just move too fast and stay on the surface. Give this book a try if it’s been on your reading list all your life.

Listening:
I just got Alison Krauss and Union Station’s new record PAPER AIRPLANE. I like the sparse arrangements in the mix, and I like the fact that they use Bluegrass instruments but don’t play Bluegrass with them. It’s not folk, and it’s not country, and it’s not really old-time either – I’m not sure what to call it. But it’s very good listening. Alison’s voice is as good as ever, and Dan Tyminski (the guy who sang Man of Constant Sorrow for the O Brother movie) gets a few cuts as well. Check this one out if you like good acoustic music.

I’ve also been listening to the Decemberists new one called THE KING IS DEAD. There are a couple tracks on there that stick out: January Hymn and Dear Avery. The songs sound a lot like poetry, like most of their songs do, and they use most anything with strings on it. The record sounds like something that might be playing in the background of a college coffee shop. Good stuff.

Thoughts on Jamestown

2011-04-26T12:27:00.005-05:00

“On April 26, 1607, English settlers landed at the site of Cape Henry, named for Prince Henry of Wales. Their first act was to erect a wooden cross and commence a prayer meeting. They ascended the James River, named for King James, and settled Jamestown, the first permanent English settlement in America.“
-Thomas Jefferson, Autobiography, 1821

I didn’t learn about Jamestown in school. But then again I didn’t learn much of anything in school. Honestly, when I graduated I wouldn’t have even been able to tell you who Thomas Jefferson was, or even the significance of the year 1776. I had heard of the Pilgrims, and I knew they had something to do with turkey dinners and Indians, but not much more than that. I just wasn’t interested in school or learning. Somehow I did learn how to read and write, and do a bit of math, but that’s about it.

My school years are a fog and were viewed as more of a prison sentence than anything else. Part of that was my fault, and part of it was the time I was brought up in. My little 12-year stretch was just one more link in the chain of the ongoing social experiment known as public education. It didn’t take that much effort to blend in and get by and get out of school; if it did I never would have graduated.

I remember my senior year in Speech class. I still don’t know what Speech class was all about. I signed up for an easy grade, and an easy grade I got. We had an end-of-the-year project to do that would cause us to either pass or fail for the semester. The teacher told us we had to “demonstrate” something in front of the class. Huh? Demonstrate something? “Anything,” I asked. “Yep,” said the plump little lady about the age I am now; her name escapes me. One kid brought in his guitar and “demonstrated” a G chord in front of the class. I can’t remember any of the others, but I got up and sketched Bart Simpson on the chalkboard. And that was it: an A+ grade.

What a shame.

Many years later I became interested in American History (and books in general) through the writings of Benjamin Franklin. Somewhere around this time I ended up with a copy of THE LIGHT AND THE GLORY by David Manuel and Peter Marshall. This book, written in the 70’s, takes you back to the days of Columbus and on up to the American Revolution with an emphasis on the influence of Christianity in America’s founding. It’s not some gloss-job of mistakes made, and it doesn’t make saints out of the Founding Fathers; but it’s just an honest look at the past. It’s odd that most of the research for the book was done in the libraries of the snobby, elitist New England universities that would dismiss its claims as nonsense. I actually ended up corresponding a few times with Peter Marshall after I read the book. He died just last year.

THE LIGHT AND THE GLORY is where I learned about Jamestown. Since reading that book my family and I have taken several American history-themed vacations. We made a stop at Jamestown a couple years back and had a great time. It’s all restored to what it would have looked like back in the 1600’s, and the three ships the English sailed on – The Godspeed, Susan Constant, and Discovery – are all on display (remakes, obviously). I remember taking my oldest son on those ships and watching his eyes light up as he thought of the passage over the sea and what it must have been like to finally arrive in America. He loves American history and learned all about Jamestown prior to the trip.

If you love American history, make a visit to Jamestown. And while you’re there, go up the road a few miles to Colonial Williamsburg. You’ll get to tour the Governor's Mansion where Patrick Henry lived, and see where Jefferson went to college, among other things. There’s a ton of restored and historically-accurate acreage cordoned off to walk around in. You’ll see horse-drawn carriages and plenty of stuff being made the old way. I can’t wait to go back there someday.

Thoughts on Amusement

2011-04-25T12:24:00.003-05:00

A lot of people talk about how it’s no good watching too much TV or playing video games all the time. I say it a lot myself, sometimes at the risk of annoying those close to me. Sociologists tell us that TV and video games are making us a stupid culture. I agree with them. But it’s not enough to just tell people what’s wrong; that’s only one part of it and we shouldn’t stop there.

Only saying what is wrong with a thing leads to despair; but giving a person options and pointing them to something better than the amusements of the day provides hope. All most children (or adults) need to kick video games is just one good book. Just one good story and the lights will turn on! That’s what happened to me, and after a while I lost all interest in pop culture.

I have no regrets about not knowing what’s on TV or what’s playing at the movies, or for that matter what’s on that old soul-killer called “the news.” There are just better things to spend my time and energy on that I have found.

“I am not objecting to the amusement; only to cease to educate in order to amuse is to degenerate. Amusement is a good and sacred thing; but it is not on a par with education; and, indeed, if it does not in any way further the growth of the higher nature, it cannot be called good at all.”

“It is only the ill-bred, that is, the uncultivated imagination that will amuse itself where it ought to worship and work.”
-George MacDonald

Things

2011-04-24T16:37:00.002-05:00

Things I Miss:
The night sky in the country (been in the city almost 20 years now).
McDLT (anyone remember that?).
Food that doesn’t have all the ingredients listed on the package.
Food that doesn’t have the “Nutrition Facts” printed on the package.
Good music on the radio.
Two-for-one guitar strings.
My old dog Sebastian.

Things I Don’t Miss:
Cigarettes.
High School (and youth in general).
Glam Rock.
Grunge Rock.
Apartment living.
Parachute pants.
80’s hair.

Somewhere In The Middle

2011-04-23T11:19:00.003-05:00

Years ago I used to listen to Chuck Swindoll on the radio a lot. He always suggests reading a chapter from Proverbs every day. You can generally read through the book twelve times a year since there are thirty-one chapters to Proverbs. I tried it and have been reading Proverbs a lot ever since. It’s one of those books that initially makes you feel smart when you start reading it, mainly because you ARE reading it; but the more you read it, the more you see your own shortcomings.

My family and I have been focusing on contentment of late. Every family needs vision and things they can work toward. As I was thinking along the lines of contentment I thought of this bit in Proverbs:

“Two things I request of You
(Deprive me not before I die):
Remove falsehood and lies far from me;
Give me neither poverty nor riches—
Feed me with the food allotted to me;
Lest I be full and deny You, and say,
“Who is the Lord?” Or lest I be poor and steal
And profane the name of my God."
-Proverbs 30:7-9

Oddly enough, this all reminds me of grocery shopping. There’s an old, run-down discount grocery store in a not-so-good part of Fort Worth that I sometimes go to. I found out about it when I was working out at the old bomber factory and used to stop by and get a few things on my way home. The people in there don’t bother me, and I don’t mind the neighborhood so much. But something that strikes me in the place is that people generally look miserable in there. Hardly anyone says ‘excuse me’ when they bump into you or almost do so. Most folks are just going about their business with a frown on their face.

There’s also a really high-end grocery store over in Southlake (DFW’s version of Beverly Hills) that we go to every now and then. I was in there recently getting my little daughter a birthday cake (they have a killer bakery) and some Indian tea for my wife. And I realized that people in there look as miserable as the folks in the discount store. They’re generally rude and treat you like you’re in their way. The bill of goods sold to us that says we’ll all be happy with money just isn’t true, and this place proves it. If it was true then everyone in there should be pretty jolly.

Then there’s the old Tom Thumb store in Bedford that I go to a lot. It’s right in the middle of these two extremes. And the people in there are pretty friendly for the most part. It’s not unusual to strike up a conversation on the cereal aisle or while grinding your coffee beans. It’s also not unusual to see someone let a person with just an armful of groceries cut in line.

This kind of thing is just one of the reasons why I like life in the middle. I’m pretty sure I’ll never be what most Americans consider wealthy, and that’s okay. I also hope to never be what most Americans consider poor. I hope to stay somewhere in the middle. But mostly I hope to be content.

The point isn’t to pick on the rich like a lot of people do simply out of envy; and it’s also not to put the poor on some kind of special platform and treat them like a project rather than people. Being middle-class isn’t really a solution in itself, since there is just as much “Jonesing” that goes on in the middle as anywhere else
(The poet Carl Sandburg once said to beware of snobs, especially middle-class snobs. I like that and it makes a lot of sense to me). But the point is to find contentment where you are. I know some people that have more than me, and I know some that have less. But I don’t know very many people who are happy with what they have. I’m working on it.

Coffee

2011-04-06T11:58:00.002-05:00

Life is like Coffee Movie

This is a short video with a good message. A nice dose of perspective.

Stories

2011-04-05T11:58:00.003-05:00

People love stories. And people can remember stories. Many people who can’t tell you much about the Bible can tell you some of the stories it contains. I think this is the reason Jesus told stories most of the time: He knew people would not only remember them, but that they would tell them over and over again. And you might hear the same story again and again and still get something different from it each time. And sometimes it’s not even something contained in the story, but more like something the story unlocked, or led you to, or carried on its wings. It’s a mysterious thing, like music.

Sometimes I can get my grandmother to tell me stories about her life. Not always, but sometimes. Recently we were talking about music and I started asking her about what kind of music she used to play on the piano when she was young. At first she was just going to say the names of some pieces or composers; but then something switched, and I could tell she was going to take the time to dig and go back and start to really remember. These are the beautiful moments when a story is about to be told. I sipped black coffee and waited.

And soon she was telling me about the old recitals of her youth. How she would practice for hours and hours to prepare, and how it would make her nervous to turn to the audience and announce the piece she was about to play. Somewhere in the midst of this I was taken there, right back there, many decades before my birth, into some old auditorium crowded with parents and grandparents. The lights were dim and young faces peeked out from behind thick velvet curtains on the stage. A nervous music teacher paced backstage and gave last-minute instruction. The room had the smell of old polished wood.

I slipped in somewhere behind my great-grandfather, a man I never met. He had his coat slung over his left arm and his hat in his hand, the kind businessmen used to wear. A lot of people knew him so he was greeted by most. He took a seat near the rear. He folded down the old wooded chair; it creaked a little as he sat down and got settled in. I looked at him but he couldn’t see me. I wanted to ask him things and hear the sound of his voice. “Tell me about your boyhood, sir.” “Tell me about your first date with my great-grandmother.” “What’s your favorite book?” “What went through your mind the day my grandmother was born?” But the chasm was too vast and he wouldn’t have been able to hear me.

Toward the end of the show his little girl, around thirteen or so, walked out and announced the piece she would play. I guess I heard some vague tune in the background, but I mostly just looked at the man’s face. Men were tougher back then and didn’t wear as much on the outside, so I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. But I knew he was proud, and I knew he wished his wife were alive and sitting there next to him. But his face and the tune began to fade, and I was back in the present as the story came to a close.

My grandmother stared into her coffee, and I could tell she had taken the trip too. I don’t know what she saw there, the view from the stage being a lot different; but I bet her eyes still combed the crowd for her father as he sat next to the invisible stranger.

What an odd thing a story is.

Don’t forget to tell a few and listen to one every now and then.

Saturday

2011-04-02T12:06:00.000-05:00

I love Saturday. It’s usually the only day of the week I take off. I get to sleep late and the house is still quiet when I get up since my sleeping in is still way earlier than everyone else’s normal wake-up time. When you get up around 5am everyday you just can’t sleep very late anymore. Sometimes I would like to sleep till noon again but my body just won’t let me do it.

This morning has been particularly nice. I got a pound of fresh ground coffee last night, and I have some fresh English-blend tobacco for my pipe. The circle will reach complete perfection shortly when I fry some potatoes in my iron skillet. A good coffee pot, pipe, and iron skillet, all well seasoned and broken in, are hard to beat.

There’s a great cooking show on PBS that’s been on since I was a kid. I caught an episode of it this morning. Sometimes the host, a Frenchman, will have a guest on to cook with him. The banter back and forth is usually pretty good, and the food always looks amazing. Today he had an American celebrity cooking with him. At one point, while making dessert, some honey was dumped in the mix. The American fellow commented on how much “healthier” honey is than sugar. I also heard him make a comment on something being “healthy” at one other time, and I noticed how the Frenchman said nothing about it either time. It got me to wondering.

Health is one of the areas where Americans are just plain silly. We don’t have everything wrong, but we do have this wrong. We have managed to suck the life and joy out of food and eating, and that’s a shame. Diet sodas, skim milk, fat-free this and that all seem to be uniquely American things. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard someone make a comment like: “Well, this’ll surely clog my arteries…” as they pour gravy on meat or ranch dressing on salad. We all laugh at these things but it’s really not funny. The laughter seems to be a veil for some strange and misplaced form of guilt. What it really means is that the joy has been sucked out of eating; and it means we can’t even fully enjoy a meal with friends or family without apologizing for it not being “healthy” enough. The alternative seems to be tasteless food that nobody wants to eat, all to be healthy. Either way we are miserable. This is all American nonsense.

Whatever happened to feasting and enjoying food and drink (Yes, even wine – GASP!) with an attitude of thanks? Europeans have this right; Americans have it wrong. I think the correct attitude about health is to not think much about it at all, but just to use good common sense and live with an attitude of thanks. Eat and drink in moderation? Certainly. Fuss over every little thing being “organic” and healthy? No way. Hide the saltshaker and bring on the plastic butter? Not a chance. Not for me at least.

I’ll tell you what’s really unhealthy. Worrying is unhealthy, and worrying over this stuff either way won’t help anyone. So I say don’t worry about it and just get on with the business of living.

Sweet Afton

2011-04-01T12:29:00.000-05:00

April is National Poetry Month. Here's an old Robert Burns poem set to music by Chris Thile. Really good stuff.

"Diabolical bawling and twanging"

2011-03-21T12:19:00.000-05:00

Johann Sebastian Bach was born March 21, 1685.

By age 10 his parents had died. At 18, Bach was a church organist, followed by positions in royal courts. Once Bach was imprisoned because a duke did not want him employed elsewhere. Widowed with 7 children, he remarried and had 13 more. Considered the "master of masters," Johann Sebastian Bach's works include Passion According to St. Matthew, and Jesus, Meine Freude (Jesus, My Joy!).

Bach once stated:
"The aim and final end of all music should be none other than the glory of God and the refreshment of the soul. If heed is not paid to this, it is not true music but a diabolical bawling and twanging."

Peter Ostroushko

2011-03-19T10:22:00.000-05:00

Perfect Saturday morning music. Such a beautiful melody.

Fiddle Maker

2011-03-10T16:31:00.000-06:00

What a neat story. I might actually watch the news if this type of thing was featured more often.

Old Crow Medicine Show

2011-03-08T20:22:00.000-06:00

This is one of the best songs I've heard in a long time. These guys have been around for a while and seem to get better all the time. I've heard that they were once seen by Doc Watson's daughter while singing on the sidewalk outside a pharmacy. The story goes that she went home and got Doc and told him he needed to hear them. He did. And soon they were making the rounds. If you don't know who Doc Watson is, you should. He's a national treasure.

These Days

2011-03-06T12:07:00.000-06:00

What I’m listening to:

Smile by The Jayhawks
This record is about 10 years old but remains in steady rotation. Picture the songwriting of Dylan meeting the soaring harmonies and jangly guitars of the Beatles just after they were great (short hair, suits) and just before they weren’t so great (long hair, hippie garb), all with a slight country accent. There are some electric drums and crunchy guitars in places on this record, and it feels like it will go full-on rock and roll at times; but for the most part it’s a folk-meets-country sing along all the way. A pedal-steel might creep in here and there, and there’s always the reverb-soaked sound of a twangy Fender Telecaster in the mix. A real gem!

Settlers of the Western Woods by Steve Hartz
This fellow lives in Nacogdoches and writes books, paints, is a Texas historian, plays fiddle, mandolin, banjo (and who knows what else), and seems to be an all-around fascinating individual. I saw a segment about him on Texas Country Reporter last year (which is the greatest show on television) and bought this CD/Book combination (very classy hardback book I might add: glossy paper with some of Mr. Hartz’s original artwork in places, as well as other excellent art throughout). There are songs that go with each chapter of the book, which is mostly East Texas folklore and history. He’s got a store in an old building in Nacogdoches called the Mercantile String Shop that sells instruments and various old-time-themed items; and I’ve heard they have an old-time jam there on Saturdays, as well as a traveling Medicine Show they put on: vintage clothing, old instruments and all! I would love to see that! I’ve yet to make it to the place but it’s on the list of Texas stuff to do. Most of the songs on this record are originals, but they all sound like they could be 150 years old. There are fiddles, banjos (banjers, rather), mandolin, cello, guitars, dulcimers, and every other thing with strings it seems. Beautiful stuff; I highly recommend this one.

What I’m Reading:

C.S. Lewis’s Letters to Children
Here are some moments that are sticking out to me: Lewis is writing to his goddaughter Sarah, April 1949: “Remember that there are only three kinds of things anyone need ever do. 1. Things we ought to do; 2. Things we’ve got to do; 3. Things we like doing. I say this because some people seem to spend so much of their time doing things for none of the three reasons, things like reading books they don’t like because other people read them. Things you ought to do are things like doing one’s school work or being nice to people. Things one has got to do are things like dressing and undressing or household shopping.”

Here Lewis is writing to a young girl in Sept. 1953, thanking her for her comments on the Narnia books. This girl seems to have many questions about the stories and their meaning: “…it is so interesting to hear exactly what people do like and don’t like, which is just what grown-up readers never really tell.” Again to the same girl, one letter later: “I think the idea of making some difference is right: but of course what matters in books is not so much the ideas as how you actually carry them out.” Another from Dec. 1953, same girl: “I think that looking for a ‘point’ in that sense may prevent one sometimes from getting the real effect of the story itself – like listening too hard for the words in singing which isn’t meant to be listened to that way (like an anthem in a chorus).”

Here he is writing to a young girl in May of 1954 who wants the Narnia books to go on and on: “As for doing more Narnia books than 7, isn’t it better to stop when people are still asking for more than to go on till they are tired?”

I sometimes wonder where and how people learn so early in life to rip a good story apart to find some hidden meaning. And it seems to get worse as we get older. I have actually had to train myself to just enjoy a story and stop trying to peek around every corner and lift every rug. (Granted, this can be tricky with all the subtle—and not so subtle—political statements and jabs at tradition and objective reality seen in many modern films and books; but there are times to just enjoy a good story if it is a good story). The poet Wordsworth once said that “we murder to dissect.” Which I take to mean you can kill the thing you are trying to understand if you get too analytical about it. So thinking along these lines, here Lewis is writing an American Fifth Grade class, May 1954: “So the answer to your first two questions is that Reepicheep (heroic mouse in Narnia) and Nick-i-brick (bad dwarf) don’t, in that sense, represent anyone. But of course anyone in our world who devotes his whole life to seeking Heaven will be like Reepicheep, and anyone who wants some worldly thing so badly that he is ready to use wicked means to get it will be likely to behave like Nick-i-brick.”

Here is a really beautiful moment in the book where you see Lewis’s heart pretty clearly. He’s writing to an American mother of a 9-year-old boy who is concerned that he loves Aslan more than he loves Jesus. Lewis offers some excellent input on the matter and ends with this: “If I were Laurence I’d just say in my prayers something like this: ‘Dear God, if the things I’ve been thinking and feeling about those books are things You don’t like and are bad for me, please take away those feelings and thoughts. But if they are not bad, then please stop me from worrying about them. And help me every day to love you more in the way that really matters far more than any feelings or imaginations, by doing what you want and growing more like you.’ That is the sort of thing I think Laurence should say for himself; but it would be kind and Christian-like if he added, ‘And if Mr. Lewis has worried any other children by his books or done them any harm, then please forgive him and help him never do it again.’”

I’m also reading The Little House on the Prairie series by Laura Ingalls Wilder. Knee-jerk says these are just children’s books, but if you are interested in Pioneer history as I am, you will enjoy them. And I have to agree with Lewis when he said that a book only worth reading in childhood is not even worth reading then. I’m only on book two in the series of eight. If you are as interested in the daily lives of people in history as I am, you might consider reading these books. In great detail she tells how her family traveled via covered wagon, how her father build their house, how they got their food, dealt with wild animals, Indians, fires, sickness, boredom; but most of all you see the richness and beauty of family life as it should be. These are required reading for my children. The set was a gift to my wife from her grandmother in 1982. On the inside cover there is her grandmother’s beautiful, flowing cursive that goes so perfectly with the old themes in these stories.

And I just started Will and Ariel Durant’s The Lessons of History. This little book is mainly an overview of what they did in the ten-part series The Story of Civilization, which they devoted the majority of their lives to. This one was a Christmas present that’s been in the queue for a while, so I’m glad to get it in rotation.

Advice

2011-03-05T10:38:00.000-06:00

Some marital advice taken from Home Wisdom: A Commonsense Guide to Solving Everyday Problems. This book is a collection of things taken from The Old Farmer's Almanacs of yesteryear. Great stuff. Packed full of all kinds of odd things and random facts. I got mine off Amazon for a penny plus shipping.

He who consults his spouse will have a good counselor. I have heard our minister say, "Women's instincts are often truer than man's reason." They jump at a thing at once and are wise offhand. Say what you will of your wife's advice, it's likely you'll be sorry you did not take it. -1889

A shrewd old gentleman once said to his daughter, "Be sure, my dear, you never marry a poor man, but remember the poorest man in the world is one that has money, and nothing else." -1894

A wife's wages are love, thoughtful attentions, little courtesies. Don't skimp on her pay. -1921

Guitar Maker

2011-03-05T09:06:00.000-06:00

This is a great video. I really like this man's attitude and outlook on things, and he appears to make some fine instruments (having actually built a stringed instrument myself, I can tell you it's not easy). This segment is a few years old; I tried to do some searching online to see what he's up to now, but all to no avail. People like this inspire me, and I hope I can still be creative and doing things like this when I'm an old man.

Watch

2011-03-01T17:34:00.000-06:00

I saw this and thought it was pretty great. Definitely worth watching.

On Longfellow's Birthday

2011-02-27T12:06:00.000-06:00

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born February 27, 1807. Here’s an old favorite of mine on his birthday.

A PSALM OF LIFE

WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream! —
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,— act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

Praise a Little

2011-02-23T12:29:00.000-06:00

"When our mouths are empty of praise for others, it is probably because our hearts are full of love for self."
-John Piper

"The world rings with praise—lovers praising their mistresses, readers their favorite poet, walkers praising the countryside, players praising their favorite game—praise of weather, wines, dishes, actors, motors, horses, colleges, countries, historical personages, children, flowers, mountains, rare stamps, rare beetles, even sometimes politicians or scholars. I had not noticed how the humblest, and at the same time most balanced and capacious, minds, praised most, while the cranks, misfits and malcontents praised least." -C.S. Lewis, Reflections on the Psalms

On Washington's Birthday

2011-02-22T20:36:00.000-06:00

Washington is not only my favorite president, but he is also one of my favorite historical characters. If I had a time-machine he would be one of the people I would go back to meet. If you only read about one person in American history, read a bit about Washington (But make it an old book. Trust me on this). His courage and character will inspire and humble you. And he will make you want to be a better man.

As I think about George Washington I also think about the kind of leaders we have in our world today. They don't appear to be made out of the same stuff at all. It's normal for us to view our leaders today with suspicion, and we even expect them to tell us lies in order to get elected. And then we expect them to do all kinds of underhanded things to stay elected. I think that is so sad. And I don't think our country was meant to be that way. I don't think that's what men like Washington had in mind when they risked everything for America.

I also wonder what it would be like if someone like Washington actually did appear on the scene today. Would we even recognize such a person? I wonder if even George Washington could stand up to the scrutiny of 24-hour news channels and people poking around in every corner of life. I sometimes wonder if greatness is even possible in such an atmosphere.

But I do thank God for placing Washington in the world when He did. History would certainly look a lot different without him.

"Boy or soldier, in peace or strife,
He loved America all his life!"
-Nancy Byrd Turner, Washington

"All Mirrors Are Magic Mirrors"

2011-02-15T12:25:00.000-06:00

Have you ever noticed how odd things look in a mirror? I’m not talking about your own image, but how a room or the objects in the room appear in the mirror, or even how your lawn or the street outside looks as it’s reflected in the glass. Even the scenery you just saw through your windshield looks a lot different in the rearview mirror as you drive: it’s like looking at two different places.

I’ve thought of what odd things mirrors are since I was a child, but I never knew how to put words to my ideas and feelings on the matter (that’s what poets are for). Here’s a passage from George MacDonald’s Phantastes that helps a little. It still doesn’t completely settle the matter, but it helps to at least get a better grip on it. Sometimes great writing does settle a matter; other times it just makes the wondering about it sweeter.

“Why are all reflections lovelier than what we call the reality? Not so grand or strong it may be, but always lovelier. Fair is the gliding sloop on the shining sea; the waiving, trembling, unresting sail below is fairer still. Yea, the reflection of ocean itself, reflected in the mirror, has a wondrousness about its waters that somewhat vanishes when I turn toward itself. All mirrors are magic mirrors. The commonest room is a room in a poem when I turn to the glass.”

Valentine

2011-02-14T11:59:00.001-06:00

In the 3rd century, Emperor Claudius II was faced with defending the Roman Empire from the invading Goths.

He believed single men made better soldiers so he temporarily forbade marriage.

He also forced the Senate to deify the former Emperor Gallienus, including him with the Roman gods to be worshipped.

Legend has it that Valentine was a bishop in Italy who risked the Emperor's wrath by refusing to worship idols and for secretly marrying young couples.

Saint Valentine was dragged before the Prefect of Rome, who condemned him to be beaten to death with clubs and have his head cut off, Feb. 14, 269 AD.

While awaiting execution, it is said he prayed for the jailers' sick daughter, who miraculously recovered. He wrote her a note and signed it, "from your Valentine."

In 496 AD, Pope Gelasius designated February 14th as "Saint Valentine's Day."

The Greek name for Christ begins with the letter "Chi" written as an "X," which is why X-mas became an abbreviation for Christmas.

In Medieval times, the "X" was called the Christ's Cross or Criss-Cross, from whence "crossing one's heart" was derived, and it was put on documents as a pledge or oath and kissed for sincerity, similar to swearing upon a Bible and saying "so help me God." Thus Valentines cards are usually signed with X's and O's to express a pledge before God sealed with a kiss of sincerity.

Best Album Cover Ever

2011-02-10T20:54:00.001-06:00

These guys did write some great songs. But this has to be the best album cover ever.

Mandocello

2011-02-08T17:15:00.000-06:00

Here's a nice Bach piece played on mandocello, a pretty rare instrument. I love the sound of this instrument. It kind of growls and booms. I've always liked the way a cello sounds; sometimes when the bow is dragged across the strings it can almost sound like a human voice. Of course, with the mandocello you lose the bow and use a pick, but you still hear the same range of tones.

I've really enjoyed getting into the mandolin family of instruments. In my house we have three mandolins and one octave mandolin, which is a mandolin tuned one octave lower than a regular mandolin. At some point it would be fun to add a mandocello. Maybe someday.

Banjo

2011-02-06T22:58:00.001-06:00

This is kind of funny but it does make me wonder why everyone makes fun of the banjo.

Wisdom

2011-02-03T17:17:00.000-06:00

I ran across an old piece of wisdom today that I'd not thought of in a long time. It helps to show how important the seemingly insignificant things in life can be.

For want of a nail, the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe, the horse was lost.
For want of a horse, the rider was lost.
For want of a rider, the battle was lost.
For want of a battle, the war was lost.

Film

2011-02-02T13:14:00.000-06:00

I don't watch many movies. I just don't enjoy most of what's out there. It's not so much the sex and violence that bug me, which is the typical argument I hear against most films, but for me it's the political statements that are made in films and the way they treat movie-goers like morons who need the enlightenment of the Hollywood know-it-alls. And I don't understand why that doesn't bother more people. I hear folks all the time saying how great a certain film was aside from the political spin or the obvious jabs at something like fatherhood or the value of older people, which are things that have been highly-esteemed by people throughout all of history. So to me it's like hearing someone say, "Gee, aside from the poison in our drinking water, the stuff's really not that bad!"

At any rate, a movie usually has to come highly recommended from a very reliable source before I will bother with it. But my wife had been telling me about this one and saying how much I would like it, and she was right. This is one of the best movies I've ever seen. Visually, it is stunning; and it's as original an idea for a story as I've seen a long time.

In a nutshell, a group of folks (old and young) live in a 19th-century style village and are totally isolated from the world at large (sign me up!). I won't say how or why in case you've not seen it, but the storyline is fascinating to the end. It's more of a love story than anything else, which is okay by me, but there are believable and very tasteful statements made about the power of fear and how the weakest among us often achieve the greatest things in life. And the dialogue was great. You would expect them to speak like Amish folk (not that many of us have ever talked to the Amish, but we have ideas of how they would or should sound in our minds) but they sound, well, I'm not sure how to categorize it. I guess it sounds a bit early American, but not quite. At any rate, it was interesting and seemed genuine. The whole thing is just beautiful. The colors and the contrasts and the music: all beautiful.

I have to say something about one scene in particular. The bells have sounded and all the villagers are taking cover from that which they most fear (vague, yes, but no spoilers) when Ivy, who is blind, is waiting for Lucius, her love interest. She is at the doorway with a trembling hand outstretched, reaching for him, knowing that he will come and look for her. The fear is just at the door, about to take her hand, when Lucius grabs it instead out of the darkness and spins her into the room as he closes the door behind them. It looks like a dance. The film slows down as a haunting violin piece begins to play (by Hilary Hahn - amazing!). That is one of the most powerful scenes I've ever seen in a movie. Two others come to mind to rival it: Gandalf and the horsemen of Rohan storming down the hills toward Helm's Deep in The Two Towers, and Aragorn storming the Black Gate in The Return of the King.

I highly recommend this movie.

Book

2011-02-02T08:24:00.000-06:00

If You Want To Write: A Book About Art, Independence and Spirit
by Brenda Ueland.

This book was recommended to me recently and I'm glad I read it. I normally don't like book recommendations because I'm very picky about what I read and I'm pretty hardcore about guarding my reading time. I would likely have never heard of this book, so it was a nice surprise.

Brenda Ueland wrote this book in 1938 and she died in 1985. She was a journalist, writer, and writing teacher. Her methods and opinions were a little (a lot, actually) unorthodox, which appealed to me from the get-go.

Sometimes when I'm reading older books like this it will strike me how odd a thing a book can be. It's odd to me that when this book was written my grandparents were very young and my parents were not born yet. And when Ueland died I was in the fifth grade and it would be many years before I cared about the ideas she explores in the book. But that's one of the most interesting things about books: they lie around for years and you either find them or they find you. Sometimes I'm not sure which, but either way they seem to come along at the right time and when you're ready.

This book isn't just about writing (though mostly), but also about exploring creativity in general. I like what she says about everyone having something interesting to say, and that everyone has some level of talent. At first that sounds like the modern idea that wants to give every kid a blue ribbon who ran in the race so no feelings are hurt. That line of thinking is nonsense because it's not reality and it doesn't teach anyone about reality.

But that's not her angle: she's only pointing out that every person does have something unique to offer to the world, a perspective and experience unique to them, since every person is different and has led a different life. This idea is explored pretty heavily and I like her many thoughts on it.

She was pretty hard on critics too. And critics aren't just professionals who sit around throwing tomatoes from the cheap seats at those actually trying to play the game or do something, but critics are everywhere. It made me think of how afraid of them we are, and how they cause us to shut down creatively and apologize for not being dull and "normal" like the rest of the world. Especially men. If you're a man and you tell most any man that you like poetry or museums or plays, you'll likely get some kind of chuckle or other form of derision, either veiled a little out of some kindness or full-on because they want to impress the other fellows standing around. But if you're speaking one on one with another man, you're more likely to get a little understanding since there is no one else to impress. It only goes to show that many men are still like the little boys they were on the playground back in grade school; they dare not be themselves but remain simply one of the herd.

Here's a great little portion from chapter one:

"And men spend their lives adding and subtracting and dictating letters when they secretly long to write sonnets and play the violin and burst into tears at sunset. They do not know, as Blake did, that this is a fearful sin against themselves. They would be much greater now, more full of light and power, if they had really written the sonnets and played the fiddle and wept over the sunset, as they wanted to."

Most good ideas are just common sense, and I found much of what she has to say common sense. But art has such a high-brow reputation that people make it harder than it is. She had a great point about how writing is simply speaking on paper. So, according to Ueland, if you can speak, you can write. When we talk throughout the course of daily life, we are ourselves; but when we pick up the pen we start putting on airs and pretense. There are many reasons for that, top of the list is that we want to look smart to others, but also because we've been trained in the culture that writing is some high and lofty thing that only folks like Hemingway and others have any business pursuing.

Nonsense.

I read recently that the average Founding Father wrote between five and twenty-five books in his lifetime. They weren't necessarily trying to be published or famous, but they simply understand that writing down ideas and getting things on paper, if only for the sake of posterity, was important.

If you want to write, write. To me it's like playing music: if you want to do it, do it simply for the sake of doing it. Don't worry about being the next thing or as good as the next fellow. Just make what you can make because you can. There is a joy in this line of thinking that is very powerful to me.

Ueland talks a lot about William Blake in the book (someone who has been influential in my own life too) and he really pounded these points home as well. Up till now I'd only explored his art and poetry but never any of his viewpoints on art or life, so I didn't know he spent so much time exploring these themes.

I underlined a ton of passages from this book, but the best passage worth sharing was on the very last page:

"And why should you do all these things? Why should we all use our creative power and write or paint or play music, or whatever it tells us to do?

Because there is nothing that makes people so generous, joyful, lively, bold, and compassionate, so indifferent to fighting and the accumulation of objects and money. Because the best way to know the Truth or Beauty is to try to express it. And what is the purpose of existence Here or Yonder but to discover truth and beauty and express it, i.e., share it with others?"

You can get a cheap copy of this book on Amazon or Barnes & Noble online (like I did), or you can borrow my copy.

Top 10 Things To Do On An Ice Day

2011-02-01T09:58:00.000-06:00

1 - Sleep late

2 - Drag the dog who has never seen snow outside and across the yard to pee

3 - Make coffee. Lots of coffee

4 - Make bacon and eggs

5 - Make more coffee

6 - Finish a book and start a new one

7 - Make more food, maybe a cobbler in the dutch oven or fried chicken in the iron skillet

8 - Learn a new tune on the mandolin

9 - Get dragged outside to build a snowman with my boys

10 - Make more coffee

The Difference

2011-01-31T11:59:00.000-06:00

There is this difference between the growth of some human beings and that of others: in the one case it is a continuous dying; in the other a continuous resurrection. One of the latter sort comes at length to know at once whether a thing is true the moment it comes before him; one of the former class grows more and more afraid of being taken in: so afraid of it that he takes himself in all together, and comes at length to believe in nothing but his dinner. To be sure of a thing with him is to have it between his teeth.
-George MacDonald, The Princess and Curdie

Thoughts on Music and Robert Frost

2011-01-29T12:04:00.000-06:00

I was thinking today about the beauty of making music and the ugliness of music snobbery. Not long ago I read a blog entry by a well known, very talented guitar player. He plays beautifully, but he is a music snob. He wrote about how everyone should learn to read music notation, and that if you’re not doing this, you’re not a real musician. Of course this fellow went to Berkley or Julliard or one of those high-brow institutions, so it makes him an expert.

Nonsense.

I will go ahead and admit that I do not read notation well, but that is more by choice than anything else; and having said that this might make my viewpoint look like sour grapes. But that is not my angle here. I only want to point out that you can make great music without learning to read notation first.

The first music that man made was not played off a page. And it was not “made” at all, but it was discovered, like fire. Music came from beyond (from God, I think) and we simply learned how to tap into it. And as time went on it become like speech and we learned how to put it on paper. It goes without saying that this has been very helpful to the world; but still you do not have to be able to read to use language well, and you do not need to know how to read music to play well.

Without music notation much of the great music of the past would have been lost: that is without a doubt. It’s the same way with stories: without writing them down we would have lost them. But there were also many people who could not write their tunes down in notation or their stories down on paper, but they enjoyed them while they had them: while they lived. They enriched the lives of those folks and that was the end of it. And it was good enough for them.

And that is what we should be doing with our own music: enjoying it while we are alive, and we should allow it to make life rich beyond belief. Let the snobs argue their lives away.

Some snobs throughout history had nothing better to do but write down their snobbery in books or found schools based on their snobbery. And some other people have nothing better to do but read those books and attend those schools. But do not let it stop you from making great music or doing whatever it is that you do well.

Moving on from that…

Robert Frost died on this day in 1963 (interesting fact: my daughter shares his birthday, March 26). Read one of his poems today, or someone else’s, or better yet, write one yourself. That’s what Robert Frost did.

Sleepwalk

2011-01-24T17:27:00.000-06:00

Okay, so I picked on recorded music a bit with my last post. And while it has certainly done its share of damage to some wonderful American traditions, it has also had its beautiful moments. This being one of the finest. Sleepwalk is easily one of the most amazing melodies ever written, in my opinion. As it plays my little almost-2-year-old girl sways and dances around the room...

Thoughts on Playing Music

2011-01-23T18:16:00.000-06:00

I was thinking today about what keeps us from making the best music we can. It is true that if you want to make good music you should listen to good music; you need a certain amount of exposure to people better than you in order to get inspired. But at some point I think it's important to take a break and stop listening for a while. The reason I say that is because if you are constantly listening to _______ , and constantly comparing yourself to _______, you might get stuck there.

It's hard to sit in your living room and play your guitar or mandolin or piano and put yourself up against some professional musician who recorded his music in an ideal setting. In a studio you have the best equipment money can buy being ran by paid professionals; the music is mixed and often times manipulated before it makes its way into the finished product that we play on our home stereos. And there you sit, with that in the background, banging away at chords and trying to put a Beatle's song together. This is one of the reasons people quit. They can't make it sound like what they're hearing, so they give up.

Once upon a time, before recorded music, people got together and made their own music. They sat on porches or in living rooms or churches and played and sang songs; they didn't fuss so much over what type of instrument they owned, or over who had the best singing voice. Everyone played if they played something, and everyone with a voice sang along.

I'm not against recorded music; it has certainly been beneficial to me. But at the same time, when the "professionals" took over music and everyone started listening to the radio and records, people stopped getting together and playing as much. And something that used to be commonplace was lost. And that's a shame.

So if you're having a hard time with your music, maybe it's time to take a break and turn off the radio for a while, slow down a bit, and just enjoy being able to play. Make up some of your own tunes, or get together with someone else who likes to play. That's what people used to do.

Thoughts on An Old Guitar

2011-01-22T12:32:00.000-06:00

I strung up my old guitar the other night afresh. I think the strings were about a year old that were on there. Unlike most guitars, that old guitar actually likes old strings. It seems the deader and rustier they get, the woodier and happier its tone gets. But there is a point where they get too dead and brittle to go on. I always kind of sigh at that point, not because I don’t like changing strings, but because I love that hollow, dry sound it gives with the old strings. But on the new ones go. And they’re always a bit brassy and harsh sounding at first, but then they mellow out a bit as they age, kind of like some people do.

So I sat and played a while in the quiet before going to bed. That’s my favorite time to play, in the quiet and by the dim light of the little lamp on my bedside table. As I played I thought of the old guitar. It’s not really a “good one,” at least not by the standards most guitar aficionados use. But I like it. I’ve had it almost twenty years and it plays as well as the day I got it. The spruce wood on top has mellowed into an almost pumpkin color, and there are only a few dings and dents on it. It hasn’t left the house much and has been taken care of pretty well. I don’t keep it in a case, but usually prop it up against a chair so it’s accessible when the urge hits to play a little. And that’s mostly how I play, just a little here and there. It’s always been that way.

I guess I was eighteen when I got that guitar. I remember I had just come from my grandparents’ house. I had two bald tires on my truck and my grandfather gave me a couple hundred bucks to get them replaced. I remember that being pretty early on a Sunday afternoon, so with that little bit of money in my pocket I quickly made up some excuse to be heading home. And of course I didn’t go home. I knew the music store stayed open till 6pm or so on Sundays, so off I drove on my bald tires to look for an acoustic guitar. I had my eye on one for a while and knew I could get one for around $300. It would have made too much sense to save some money from my paychecks to buy myself a guitar, or new tires for that matter. I must have had a little money in my pocket already that day because I went to the guitar shop and bought the guitar. But I had to avoid my grandfather for a few weeks till I could save my money and get the new tires I was supposed to buy. I think I ate Raman noodles and smoked a few less cigarettes to save it up. I never told him about it. I know if he was here and I told him now, he’d laugh one of his big booming laughs and probably slap me on the back.

I didn’t know much about guitars back then; I only knew I liked to play and that I wanted an acoustic guitar. This was in the early 90s when a lot of rock-n-rollers were making the acoustic cool again. MTV had their “Unplugged” concerts going, and VH1 was doing those “Story Tellers” concerts where some rock band would play their songs acoustically. I had been playing electric guitar for a while and wanted to be cool like that. But like I said, I didn’t know too much: I only knew that the guitars with names like Martin, Taylor, and Gibson were way out of my price range. But I had seen someone famous playing one called “Takamine” once or twice, so I figured they must be good. And I noticed they didn’t cost so much, so I just looked for one with that name on it. And $240 later I had one. Off I went to my little apartment with it. I think it was cold that day, and I couldn’t afford a case to carry it in.

As time went on I started learning about guitars; I read and read, and in my reading I learned that my beloved guitar was really a piece of junk, made of pressed wood by some Taiwanese hack that had no business making guitars. At first I didn’t care or need to know what it was made of: I just wanted to play and thought it sounded nice. I was naïve enough to just enjoy the thing on its own, but sometimes we get smarter than that and let others tell us what is good and what we should like. It is then that the simple beauty of simple things diminishes with our newly acquired knowledge and sophistication. It is then that joy starts to die a little as we go, so slowly you hardly notice it fading away as the pride we call “good taste” sets in.

But if you’re truly blessed you get to live long enough to get over yourself a little and get some of that precious naïveté and gullibility back; and you get to learn to enjoy simplicity and simple things again. And somewhere along the way I learned to love that old guitar again. But there were years where it was hidden away with its inferiority as I played the “good one” instead. I spent a lot more money on the good one, and if I’m honest I have to admit I bought that one more for status than for the love of it.

At this point I think I like the old guitar better than I did the day I got it. There have been so many things learned on it that I’ve forgotten how to play now, but many that I still play. And there have been a lot of songs written that I was too embarrassed to play for anyone, so some have been lost. The walls soaked them up and only God can hear them now. But there are a lot of songs still trapped in that old guitar, maybe some I’ll be able to pull out of the wood, maybe some my children will.

I wish I could find that fellow in Taiwan that made my guitar. If I did I would tell him what a fine one he made.

Pizza

2011-01-21T23:13:00.000-06:00

Random fact: Americans eat an average of 18 acres of pizza a day.

I had pizza for dinner.

Almanac

2011-01-17T16:06:00.000-06:00

I like the Farmer's Almanac and keep a copy lying around. It's filled with common sense and it's more interesting than the newspaper. But then again, watching paint dry is more interesting than a newspaper to me.

According to the Farmer's Almanac, this week will be a good time to: Write, host a party, bake, quit smoking, perform demolition, or slaughter.

Thoughts on Poetry

2011-01-16T11:44:00.000-06:00

I love poetry, but I used to be pretty intimidated by it. In part because it seemed a little above me from the outside looking in, but mainly because I didn't really understand how to read it. I think others may find themselves in the same boat but might be afraid to say so.

Some people come to a poem and automatically rush through it, like they can't wait to get to the end. And many times they have no clue what they just read; they just rushed through and focused on the rhyming words, but many poems do not have rhyming words, especially those translated from other, older languages. But poems should be enjoyed, not just endured.

Also, poetry is not a high and lofty art form reserved for only a select few, but rather it's something anyone and everyone can and should enjoy. The fact that one third of the Old Testament is poetry should say something to us about it's approachability and its ability to speak to us in meaningful ways.

Here are some tips on reading poetry that have been helpful to me; hopefully they will be helpful to you.

1 - Read poetry slowly. Resist the temptation to read fast.

2 - Read out loud. You can hear the flow of the words better out loud than you can in your head.

3 - Keep a dictionary close by. If you see a word you don't know, don't skip it and try to move on; it might be the key to understanding a line completely. Go ahead and take the time to look up the word. Many times looking up a word is like turning the light switch on in a room: it allows you to see everything you might have missed otherwise.

4 - Don't be put off or intimidated by the punctuation but use it to your advantage. When you see a comma, take a slight pause before reading on; when you see a semi colon (;), take a longer pause; a period, take one just a bit longer and get ready for the next line. If you see a colon (:) look at it like you would an arrow pointing to the next thing written. The point of grammar and punctuation is simply to clarify meaning and make the reading easier, not harder. It's there to help, so it's worth taking the time to learn to use it properly. There is a popular trend in modern poetry to not use any punctuation at all. Buttomeitmakesaboutasmuchsenseaswritingasentencelikethis. It's not only distracting and ugly, but all meaning is lost in the chaotic form.

5 - If possible, listen to someone read poetry who really understands poetry. There are readings all over the internet, but the best ones are the readings done by the authors.

Words

2011-01-14T09:13:00.000-06:00

Sometimes a passage will leap out at you from the page and grab your heart. In such times I’m awed by the power and beauty of language, and also by how someone could write something so beautiful. Even if you’ve never read The Horse and His Boy and don’t understand the full context of this passage, it will give you a flavor of what Lewis could do with words.

“He knew none of the true stories about Aslan, the great Lion, the son of Emperor-beyond-the-sea, the King above all High Kings in Narnia. But after one glance at the Lion’s face he slipped out of the saddle and fell at its feet. . .
The High King above all kings stooped towards him. . .He lifted his face and their eyes met. Then instantly the pale brightness of the mist and the fiery brightness of the Lion rolled themselves together into a swirling glory and gathered themselves up and disappeared.”

Thoughts on History

2011-01-11T13:34:00.000-06:00

I love to read history. Not so much the times and dates and kingdoms and battles, but more about the lives of people and how they lived. I’d much rather read a journal entry from some pioneer or what some Colonial-era family did during their leisure time than about who was king or queen. Not long ago I found an old obscure book called Hero Tales of American History by Henry Cabot Lodge and Theodore Roosevelt. Here’s something that was interesting to me:

“Nearly one man in every two Harvard men came forward to serve his country when war was at our gates, and this proportion holds true, no doubt, of the other universities of the North. It is well for the country, well for learning, well for our civilization, that such a record was made at such a time. Charles Lowell, and those like him, showed once for all that the men to whom fortune had been the kindest were capable of the noblest patriotism and shrank from no sacrifices. They taught the lesson which can never be heard too often: That the man to whom the accidents of birth and fortune have given most is the man who owes most to his country. If patriotism should exist anywhere, it should be strongest with such men as these, and their service should be ever ready.”

Here are portions from some of Lowell’s letters:

“I wonder whether my theories about self-culture, etc, would ever have been modified so much, whether I should ever have seen what a necessary failure they lead to, had it not been for this war. Now I feel every day, more and more, that a man has no right to himself at all. That indeed he can do nothing useful unless he recognizes this clearly.”
-June, 1863

“Wars are bad, but there are many things far worse. Anything immediately comfortable in our affairs I don’t see, but comfortable times are not the ones that make a great nation.”
-July, 1863

“I believe I have lost my ambitions. I don’t think I would turn my hand to be a distinguished chemist, or a famous mathematician; all I now care about is to be a useful citizen, with money enough to buy bread and firewood, and to teach my children to ride on horseback, and to look strangers in the face, especially Southern strangers.”
-Sept, 1863

Lowell was killed the next month at age 29.

Thoughts on Death

2011-01-10T11:54:00.000-06:00

Nobody, it seems, likes to talk or even think much about death. I think the people of the past took death more seriously than we do in the modern world. I thought of this not long ago when I was in a cemetery. I read many encouraging things on the tombstones, everything from Bible verses to kind comments on the character of the deceased. Below are some short poems and epitaphs found on some New England gravestones dating back to the 17th, 18th, and early 19th centuries. The contrast between the old and the new is vast. Take a look:

Gay, thoughtless reader, view this sod
Where youth and beauty mouldering lie;
It warns thee with the voice of God:
Prepare, for thou shalt surely die.

So transient is the life of man,
At most a brief contracted span;
It blooms, it fades, and serves to show
How vain, how frail are things below.

Friend, quit this Stone and look above the Skies:
Here lies the dust, but virtue never dies.

Remember, man, now passing by,
As thou art now, so once was I.
As I am now, so you must be;
Therefore, prepare to follow me.

Here in the silent grave I lie;
No more the scenes of life to try.
And you, dear friends, I leave behind
Must soon this gloomy mansion find.

The old, the wise, the rich and great
Must prostrate lie in humble state.
There’s none that’s free from death’s alarm;
We all must lie in his cold arms.
Let Mourning friends and kindred dear
Lament the dead, repent and fear.
Let youth and children read this stone,
Feel they must die and soon be gone.

As fruit of sudden growth are soon mature,
So did her mind advance in science pure.
Eager in search of wisdom’s golden store,
The more she gained, she coveted the more;
With Death and Heavenly glory in her view
She smiled and bid all earthly bliss adieu.

Halt! Passengers as you go by:
Remember, man is born to die.
Consider, time is running fast
And death will surely come at last.

Farewell, dear friends, I shall lie here
Till time shall end and Christ appear.

Stop, careless mortal, read
Thy certain doom,
And take a lesson from
This silent tomb;
Ere death’s cold hands shall
Stop thy bold career
And thy poor soul to
Distant regions bear.

Fare the well, fare thee well,
We around the weep;
But oh we love thee farther still
And angles guard thy sleep.
The kind old oak for us no more
Shall sheltering branches spread;
And of our hearts are wrung with grief,
For he we loved is dead.
Fare thee well, fare thee well,
We around thee weep;
But oh we love thee further still
And angels guard thy sleep.

Few are our days, those few we dream away:
Sure is our fate to moulder in the clay.
Rise, immortal soul, above thine earthly fate;
Time is yet thine, but soon it is too late.

Children of dust, who read with pensive eye,
This lettered stone where mortal relics lie;
Think as you sigh, because they live no more:
Soon you shall drop and be what you deplore.

Here’s one found on a churchyard tombstone in England:

Here lies a miser, who lived for himself,
And cared for nothing but gathering wealth;
Now where he is or how he fares,
Nobody knows and nobody cares.

The Wisdom of Tolkien

2011-01-09T09:03:00.000-06:00

Here are some passages from the Lord of the Rings worth sharing.

“Elves seldom give unguarded advice, for advice is a dangerous gift, even from the wise to the wise, and all courses my run ill.”
-Gildor

“Courage is found in unlikely places.”
-Gildor

“Shortcuts make long delays,” said Pippen
“Shortcuts make delays, but inns make longer ones,” replied Frodo

“Now is the time for resting. Some things are ill to hear when the world’s in shadow. Sleep till the morning light, rest on the pillow. Heed no nightly noise. Fear no gray willow.”
-Tom Bombadil

“He that breaks a thing to find out what it is has left the path of wisdom.”
-Gandalf

“In every word, in every spring, there is a different green.”
-Bilbo Baggins

“…do we walk in legends, or on the green earth in the daylight?” asked the rider.
“A man may do both,” said Aragorn

“When the great fall, the less must lead.” –Aragorn

“The world has all grown strange…. How shall a man judge what to do in such times?”
“As he ever has judged,” said Aragorn, “good and ill have not changed since yesteryear, nor are they one thing among elves and dwarves and another among men. It’s a man’s part to discern them, as much in the Golden Wood as in his own house.”

“There are some things that it’s better to begin than to refuse, even though the end may be dark.” –Aragorn

“There is a seed of courage hidden—often deeply, it is true—in the heart of the fattest and most timid hobbits, waiting for some final and desperate danger to make it grow.”

Pioneer

2011-01-08T12:08:00.000-06:00

For the most part I dislike television and watch very little of it. To me there just isn’t much worth seeing on TV these days. There are, of course, exceptions: Texas Country Reporter is one of them. It’s my favorite TV show.

If you don’t live in Texas you’ve probably never heard of Texas Country Reporter. It’s a show that features people from all walks of life, usually doing out-of-the-ordinary things; it also features people living very odd lifestyles. That’s my favorite part of the show, the non-conformist spirit. I also like the fact that they tend to showcase life in small towns, and they focus on local things. We’re seeing too many local things disappear from the world.

You won’t see a segment on how the new Super Wal-Mart has made life richer for the local population, or how reading the latest vampire novel while sipping a Frappuccino helps give meaning to the lives of today’s youth. But you will see a lot of people actually living and enjoying life, not just existing in the humdrum dullness and ugliness of the modern world.

Here’s an episode worth watching. I’ve not seen many things more inspiring.

Talent

2011-01-07T09:12:00.001-06:00

“Talent is nothing but long patience.”
-Gustav Flaubert

Don’t Stop Learning

2011-01-05T15:24:00.000-06:00

"For repose is not the end of education; its end is a noble unrest, an ever renewed awaking from the dead, a ceaseless questioning of the past for the interpretation of the future, an urging on of the motions of life, which had better far be accelerated into fever, than retarded into lethargy."
-George MacDonald, A Dish of Orts

Thoughts on Health

2011-01-04T18:49:00.000-06:00

“The mere pursuit of health always leads to something unhealthy.”

-G.K. Chesterton

“Be careful about reading health books. You may die of a misprint.”

-Mark Twain

“Games are essentially for pleasure, but they happen to produce health. They are not likely, however, to produce health if they are played for the sake of it.

-C.S. Lewis

More Bach

2011-01-03T19:24:00.000-06:00

Here’s another piece worth sharing. Even the people that understand Bach’s music best seem to have a hard time explaining it. I don’t understand it all that well myself, but I am amazed by it. I’ve even heard that people have been converted while listening to it. Maybe his music was a gift from God, a glimpse into ultimate reality. I think so.

Bach on Mandolin

2011-01-02T16:22:00.000-06:00

Chris Thile (pronounced Thee-lee) playing Bach. This fellow is one of the most talented musicians alive today. It is rare to see someone who has completely mastered an instrument. Thile has. Check it out:

Here is Thile and his band doing a Bach concerto. Go to "watch" and choose trailer no. 2. Amazing stuff:
www.punchbrothersmovie.com

Happy New Year

2011-01-01T09:41:00.000-06:00

Happy New Year. I can think of no better way to start off the New Year than with great music. Here's a haunting melody I think you'll enjoy.

(That's Dagger Gordon accompanying on octave mandolin)

My 10-year-old son Christian would like to add this: "Music like this touches my heart, and I hope it does the same to you. Happy New Year - with joy!"

End of the Year Thoughts

2010-12-31T10:04:00.000-06:00

From Poor Richard’s Almanac:

“Be at War with your Vices, at Peace with your Neighbors, and let every New Year find you a better Man.”

“With the old Almanac and the old Year, Leave thy Vices, tho’ ever so dear.”

Thoughts on Offerings & Worship

2010-12-29T12:30:00.000-06:00

I’m challenging myself as to how I define the terms worship and offerings. Most modern people think offerings are always money, and worship is always music. Here are some thoughts from Lewis and Fenelon.

“I reject at once an idea which lingers in the mind of some modern people that cultural activities are in their own right spiritual and meritorious – as though scholars and poets were intrinsically more pleasing to God than scavengers and boot-blacks. I think it was Matthew Arnold who first used the English word spiritual in the sense of the German geitlich, and so inaugurated this most dangerous and most anti-Christian error. Let us clear it forever from our minds. The work of a Beethoven, and the work of a charwoman, become spiritual on precisely the same condition, that of being offered to God, of being done humbly as to the Lord. This does not, of course, mean that it is for anyone a mere toss-up whether he should sweep rooms or compose symphonies. A mole must dig to the glory of God and a cock must crow."
-C.S. Lewis, Transposition and Other Addresses

“The most indifferent actions cease to be such and become good as soon as one performs them with the intention of conforming oneself in them to the will of God. They are often better and purer than certain actions, which appear more virtuous: first, because they are less of our own choice and more in the order of providence when one is obliged to perform them; second, because they are simpler and less exposed to vain complacence; third, because if one yields to them in moderation, one finds in them more of death to one’s inclinations than in certain acts of fervor in which self-love mingles; finally, because these little occasions occur more frequently and furnish a secret occasion for continually making every moment profitable.”
-Francois Fenelon, Dialogues

Lewis on Happiness

2010-12-28T09:07:00.000-06:00

"It was when I was happiest that I longed the most. . . .The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing. . . . to find the place where all the beauty came from."
Till We Have Faces, bk 1, ch. 7

"There is a kind of happiness and wonder that makes you serious. It is too good to waste on jokes."
The Last Battle, ch. 15

Merry Christmas

2010-12-25T09:56:00.000-06:00

I’m up before everyone else, which is what dads do. The house is quiet, so quiet I can hear the neighbor’s wind chimes through closed windows. I’ve been up drinking coffee and reading C.S. Lewis. Heavy thoughts like those that come from reading Lewis seem an odd contrast to the light spirit of the day. But I like contrast. It makes the lines clean and sharp and the flavor of things stronger.

The smoke from my pipe billows over the computer screen. The coffee pot cracks and complains from the stovetop. The boys are still asleep on the floor by the Christmas tree. Last night I read from ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas as they lay in sleeping bags near the little pop-up tent that won’t hold them both. We had a “camp in” downstairs. Just the guys. No girls allowed. Not till my little daughter is older at least.

It’s cold and grey this morning in Texas (this time last year we were buried in a wet, heavy snow.) Soon I’ll get everyone up. Wrapping paper will fly. The camera will flash. Then we’ll make pancakes, just like I used to have on Christmas morning. These are the memories that children carry with them on up into adulthood, memories that some drag out in their last moments of life.

My main thought this morning: What more could a man possibly ask for?

Paganism & Those Pesky Puritans

2010-12-24T14:23:00.000-06:00

A Little Christmas History:

In the early 17th century, a wave of religious reform changed the way Christmas was celebrated in Europe. When Cromwell and his Puritan forces took over England in 1645, they vowed to rid England of decadence and, as part of their effort, cancelled Christmas. By popular demand, Charles II was restored to the throne; with him came the return of the popular holiday.

English separatists that came to America in 1620, were even more orthodox in their Puritan beliefs than Cromwell. As a result, Christmas was not a holiday in early America. From 1659 to 1681, the celebration of Christmas was actually outlawed in Boston. Anyone exhibiting the Christmas spirit was fined five shillings. By contrast, in the Jamestown settlement, Captain John Smith reported that Christmas was enjoyed by all and passed without incident.

After the American Revolution, English customs fell out of favor, including Christmas. In fact, Congress was in session on December 25, 1789, the first Christmas under America's new constitution. Christmas wasn't declared a federal holiday until June 26, 1870.

(The Puritans always get a bad rap.)

Reading, Writing & Discourse

2010-12-23T11:52:00.000-06:00

I’ve been contrasting these two sentences and mulling it over.

“Reading makes a full man, conversation a ready man, and writing an exact man.”
-Francis Bacon

“Reading makes a full man, meditation a profound man, discourse a clear man.”
-Benjamin Franklin

Nonsense

2010-12-22T11:45:00.001-06:00

I ran across this quote by C.S. Lewis recently and have been thinking on it quite a bit.

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

Thoughts on Time

2010-12-21T12:02:00.000-06:00

The year is almost over. And it’s around this time that I think of what I accomplished throughout the year. I also think of the things left undone. I’m not big on New Year’s Resolutions, but I do make plans and set goals for myself and my family. If I don’t do this, I just drift all year, which is no good.

Anyway, I was thinking about time today, about how I view it and what I do with it. If you want to use it wisely the first thing you have to do is think about it. You’ll spend it even if you don’t think about it, but you won’t spend it as wisely as you could have. Here’s what some others have to say on the matter:

“Time is going on, time is going on, and you are going with it: do what you will, you can’t help that.”
–Susan Warner, The Wide Wide World

“We are mistaken when we look forward to death; the major portion of death has already passed. Whatever years lie behind us are already in death’s hands. What man can you show me who places any value on his time, who reckons the worth of each day, who understands that he is dying daily?”
–Seneca

“Each day is on sale for anyone who will purchase it. If we do not purchase it, we lose it. Forever. And we may as well not have lived it. O how many hours are squandered!”
-John Piper

“Even if the doctor does not give you a year, even if he hesitates about a month, make one brave push and see what can be accomplished in a week.”
–Robert Louis Stevenson

And my personal favorite (something I say to myself most mornings as the alarm clock is going off):

“You may delay but time will not.”
–Benjamin Franklin

Some Christmas Poetry

2010-12-19T12:13:00.001-06:00

I love poetry. And Robert Frost is one of my favorite poets. But being a fan of Frost is like being a fan of C.S. Lewis: you hear so many people quoting and referencing them that it can seem a bit lame to fall in line with the masses. The problem, for me at least, is that normally when something is very popular, it usually means it’s not very good. The NY Times Best-Seller list comes to mind, as does Top 40 radio, low-rider jeans, Wal-Mart. The list goes on and on. But there are times when the group gets it right. Frost and C.S. Lewis are good examples. So I’ll make no apologies for being an unabashed fan of Frost. He’s pretty much the guy that got me into poetry.

Here’s a good one of his for the season.

Christmas Trees
by Robert Frost

The city had withdrawn into itself
And left at last the country to the country;
When between whirls of snow not come to lie
And whirls of foliage not yet laid, there drove
A stranger to our yard, who looked the city,
Yet did in country fashion in that there
He sat and waited till he drew us out
A-buttoning coats to ask him who he was.
He proved to be the city come again
To look for something it had left behind
And could not do without and keep its Christmas.
He asked if I would sell my Christmas trees;
My woods—the young fir balsams like a place
Where houses all are churches and have spires.
I hadn't thought of them as Christmas Trees.
I doubt if I was tempted for a moment
To sell them off their feet to go in cars
And leave the slope behind the house all bare,
Where the sun shines now no warmer than the moon.
I'd hate to have them know it if I was.
Yet more I'd hate to hold my trees except
As others hold theirs or refuse for them,
Beyond the time of profitable growth,
The trial by market everything must come to.
I dallied so much with the thought of selling.
Then whether from mistaken courtesy
And fear of seeming short of speech, or whether
From hope of hearing good of what was mine,
I said, "There aren't enough to be worth while."

"I could soon tell how many they would cut, You let me look them over."

"You could look. But don't expect I'm going to let you have them."
Pasture they spring in, some in clumps too close
That lop each other of boughs, but not a few
Quite solitary and having equal boughs
All round and round. The latter he nodded "Yes" to,
Or paused to say beneath some lovelier one,
With a buyer's moderation, "That would do."
I thought so too, but wasn't there to say so.
We climbed the pasture on the south, crossed over,
And came down on the north.

He said, "A thousand."

"A thousand Christmas trees!—at what apiece?"

He felt some need of softening that to me:
"A thousand trees would come to thirty dollars."

Then I was certain I had never meant
To let him have them. Never show surprise!
But thirty dollars seemed so small beside
The extent of pasture I should strip, three cents
(For that was all they figured out apiece),
Three cents so small beside the dollar friends
I should be writing to within the hour
Would pay in cities for good trees like those,
Regular vestry-trees whole Sunday Schools
Could hang enough on to pick off enough.
A thousand Christmas trees I didn't know I had!
Worth three cents more to give away than sell,
As may be shown by a simple calculation.
Too bad I couldn't lay one in a letter.
I can't help wishing I could send you one,
In wishing you herewith a Merry Christmas.

New Favorite

2010-12-18T11:02:00.000-06:00

After 10+ years with my beloved Community Coffee, I’ve been converted to an Eight O’Clock coffee drinker.

A while back my family and I were taking an RV-trip and I ran out of coffee. I stopped at a grocery store in Maine and found all the usual stuff: Folgers, Maxwell House, Starbucks, Seattle’s Best, et al. But no Community Coffee. I knew I didn’t like any of those other coffees since I’d tried most them, but I had never tried the Eight O’Clock blends, though I had seen them in my local stores. For some reason I thought it was substandard stuff. Anyway, I picked up the Colombian blend on a whim and have been enjoying it ever since.

I’ll still grab a bag of Community from time to time just for old time’s sake: it is a good standard brew; but I think the Eight O’Clock is smoother and just better tasting stuff.

Give this coffee a try if you like a good semi-dark blend.

Thoughts on Reading Well

2010-12-17T11:56:00.001-06:00

John Newton is certainly more famous for writing the hymn Amazing Grace than he is anything else. But he also wrote other interesting things. Earlier this year I found this bit over on the Desiring God blog taken from a personal letter of Newton’s. And I’ve been chewing on it ever since. I must admit that I didn’t at all like it at first. Take a look:

“It is far from my intention to depreciate or deny the usefulness of books, without exception: a few well-chosen treatises, carefully perused and thoroughly digested, will deserve and reward our pains; but a multiplicity of reading is seldom attended with a good effect. Besides the confusion it often brings upon the judgment and memory, it occasions a vast expense of time, indisposes for close thinking, and keeps us poor in the midst of seeming plenty by reducing us to live upon a foreign supply, instead of labouring to improve and increase the stock of our own reflections.”

After thinking it over, I agree with Newton. There have been some years where I tried to cram in as much reading as I could. And in those years I ended up with more vague impressions and foggy ideas on the books and stories than anything else. I didn’t take the time to reflect on the writing or let it impact me, mainly because I was off to the next book as soon as one was finished. Then I compare those experiences with other years where I “thoroughly digested” the books I chose. And as I look back I can see how they made a much stronger and lasting impact.

The fact is that I read very s l o w. And I’ve come to rather enjoy doing so. Reading slowly doesn’t make you a bad reader: it only makes you a slow reader. If you can read fast and fly through ten books a month, and “thoroughly digest” them, then I say go for it. I wish I could. But I just can’t do it.

As you think of the books you want to read in the coming year (and there might still be a couple left over from 2010), choose a few good ones, and choose carefully. If you can read one good book per month, great; but if not, don’t worry about it. Even five or six good books for the year would be enough if you read them carefully and thoughtfully. But just make sure you do read, even if it’s just a little.

I heard Marilyn Chandler McEntyre being interviewed recently. She said something along these lines that stands out:
“The point of reading isn’t necessarily to get to the last page. The point of reading is to be invited, and to be summoned, and to notice what you notice, and to allow yourself to be addressed, and to find the place where you’re getting what you need this time.”