Anam Cara

A Vital Frontier....

This is a frontier of tension; it is at once beginning and end, origin and completion.  Here is where two opposing forces reach toward each other to create a vital frontier filled with danger and possibility.  ~John O'Donohue 

 

Threshold
I'm a threshold kind of gal.  I like to reflect.  To remember.  And, I need to dream.  To plan.  Though I continue to see that the journey is often far more important than the destination, it is vital to have a destination in mind.  It gives shape to the journey.  And, it gives me the courage to press on even when the journey is difficult.

At the threshold of a new year I reflect, and pray, and ask God to help me start in the right direction, knowing there are likely to be surprises and course changes along the way. 

 

When someone makes a decision, he is really diving into a strong current that will carry him to places he had never dreamed of when he first made the decision. ~Paulo Coelho
 

Spiritual: 
I set only one goal in this area last year.  I confess: I blew it.  I wanted to read through the Bible. I got off to a good start and found it to be a source of joy.  But I got derailed in the spring and never got back to it.  I am going to forgive myself, and pick up where I left off.  New year.  New start.

My other goal is to spend time with the saints this year. Reading their lives, understanding how they related to God. I know I will be challenged, humbled, provoked. And inspired.

 

Physical:
This was a demanding year, physically.  I ran three marathons: Disney in January, Run for the Red in May, and Wineglass in October.  My goal in two of the three was to qualify for Boston.  I missed it by 50 seconds.  But I did best my previous PR by 18 minutes and I learned a lot about myself in the process.

The endurance element has always come more easily to me than speed.  So this year I play to my strength.  My goal is to run the Grand Teton 50 mile ultra-marathon in September.  It is a challenging trail ultra with almost 10, 000 feet of vertical gain (and loss--almost as punishing), plus high altitude to contend with.  But this I know about myself:  It has to be pretty.  When you ask crazy things like this of yourself, the mental fortitude is at least as important as the physical.  Beauty will feed me.  It will make me stronger.  This I know.

Since I have a granddaughter coming in April, I will probably sit the spring season out, with the exception of the Oak Barrel Half-Marathon in April.  Just for fun.

 

Mental:
I failed pretty miserably in my goal to write something every day.  But I have become a good bit more comfortable with the re-writing process.  With refining and honing.  Removing extraneous words.  Using more potent language.  This year I want to try my hand at two genres which feed me as a reader, but intimidate me as a writer: fiction and poetry.  If I come up with anything that is not abyssmal, I will give you a peak.  I also am ready to attempt a longer format work than a blog post, though I am still a little fuzzy about how that will look.

I don't exactly know how to explain it, but wrestling with a foreign language opens closed places in my mind.  New vocabulary helps me see things differently, more completely somehow.  This year I will sit with my French short stories and poems, and a dictionary, and attempt to teach my mind to think French without always needing to think it in English first.  My ultimate goal is to read Le Petit Prince all the way through with comprehension.

 

Social: 
It has been miraculous to watch how God has used gratitude to cultivate grace in me this year.  I am grateful for friends and for my priest who have challenged me in this area.  If I can glimpse even an iota of all I have been given, it is almost impossible to be resentful about that which I lack.  Grace is the natural outpouring of a grateful heart.

This year I wish to be more intentional about encouraging others.  It comes naturally to me "in the moment".  But I want to schedule coffees, write notes and emails, and otherwise pursue those who are hurting and need hope.  I am available, Lord.  Use me.

How about you?  What are your dreams for the year to come?

"Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it.  Boldness has genius, magic and power in it.  Begin it NOW!!"  ~Goethe

List of Candidates 2011

Since reading Steve Leveen's tiny treasure of a book,  The Little Guide to Your Well-Read Life, I have kept a perpetual "list of candidates".  Herein I record books I positively want to read before I die...preferrably sooner than later. :)  It helps insulate me, somewhat, from disappointing, purposeless impulse reads. 

As I spend the week before New Year's Day reflecting on the year past and anticipating the year ahead, I revisit my list.  I remove books recently read.  I add a few titles I have scribbled on a note or in the back of a book.  I rescue treasures hastily punched into my phone during a conversation with a fellow bibliophile.  I survey the offerings of a couple of authors with whom I have really connected this year.  Then I dream of delicious hours to come as I enter into conversation with brilliant and creative minds, and as gifted storytellers weave a tale around me, and in me.  I want to begin all of them.  Now.

I share here the titles on my list at present, and implore you to tell me what is missing.  Some of my favorite reads this past year came from you. 

A Book of Hours: Meditations on the Traditional Hours of Prayer by Francis Colling Egan
Encounter by Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh
The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky
Davita's Harp by Chaim Potok
The Chosen by Chaim Potok
Waiting for God by Simone Weil
Thirst by Mary Oliver
A Poetry Handbook by Mary Oliver
Le Petit Prince by Antoine de Saint-Expury
Phantastes by George MacDonald
One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Alexander Solzhenitsyn
A Good Man is Hard to Find by Flannery O'Connor
Story by Robert McKee
The Naked Now by Richard Rohr
The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron
Nine Parts of Desire by Geraldine Brooks
A History of Byzantine Music and Hymnography by Egon Wellesz
The Sparrow by Maria Doria Russell
The Saffron Kitchen by Yasmin Crowther
Wild Iris by Louise Gluck
A Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard
The Way of the Heart by Henri Nouwen
Crossing to Safety by Wallace Earle Stegner
The Time of Our Singing by Richard Powers
Reflections on the Revolution in France by Edmund Burke
Tuesdays With Morrie by Mitch Albom
Father Arseny: Priest, Prisoner, and Spiritual Father, Vera Bouteneff Translator
The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas
Look Homeward, Angel by Thomas Wolfe
Peace Like a River by Leif Enger
Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions by Edwin A. Abbott
Mother Gavrilia: The Ascetic of Love by Nun Gavrilia
All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy
Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy
The Member of the Wedding by Carson McCullers

There are certain books that bear frequent re-reading.  There will be a great many of these this year as well, but I elect not to list them here.  You can follow along, if you are so inclined, in the side-bar under "Present Companions".

The Secret is Here in the Present...

 
"It is good to have an end to journey towards, but it's the journey that matters in the end."  ~Ursula LeGuinn

"The secret is here in the present...Each day, in itself, brings with it an eternity."
~Paulo Coelho

  It seems to me that this has been the theme of 2010.  This moment is where time touches eternity...where Kairos intersects Chronos.  I am learning to live here...NOW.  Fully embracing the glory of luminous moments.  Reveling.  Lolling.  Drinking deeply.  And.... determining to take one step at a time when the path is unclear and the waters completely uncharted.  Believing that there is a bigger story.  That this present crisis is not all there is.  That faithfulness in this hour creates a space for future glory.

 

"Contemplation is the highest expression of a man's intellectual and spiritual life. It is the life itself, fully awake, fully active, fully aware that it is alive. It is spiritual wonder. It is spontaneous awe at the sacredness of life, of being..."
~Thomas Merton
 

January:  I suppose Gethsemani was a good place to commence a year that would be about embracing the present moment.  Thomas Merton gave me words.  But it was God who gently led me in quiet places.

February:  Intercourse with the world beyond was too much with us.  My mom had a cancerous tumor removed from her body.  We remembered the death of my precious, 3 year-old nephew.  My 10 year-old niece was in Vanderbilt fighting a mysterious infection.  And my sister-in-law's dad began his own battle with cancer.  There were hard, angry questions.  And unexpected graces.  Moment by moment.

March:  Bridegroom Matins sang me into the Bridal Chamber, a place where I do not deserve to be yet, inexplicably, belong.  And Joshua and I celebrated Resurrection a little early.

April:  God began to teach me that even my enemies are gifts to me.  A truth I find myself having to revisit.  Frequently.

 
May:  Our family had the gift of traveling to places that captivate, where the veil between the eternal and the now is very thin.  Hagia Sophia, Meteora, The Areopagus.

June:  Glendalough helped me see the world as did the Celtic Christian, "...as holy, as the book of God, as a healing mystery, fraught with divine messages..." (Thomas Cahill).  This thought was ever with me as I experienced the astonishing beauty of the Dingle Peninsula, Scotland, Salzburg, Northern Italy, and Monet's Garden at Giverney.

July:  Kairos intersected my world again as my lovely Grandmother passed from this world to the next.  She was a woman who knew how to be wholly present, and as we heard story after story about her impact, I tasted the legacy of a life well-lived.

August:  The Feast of the Transfiguration left me with a great many ponderings about glory.  And a hunger to experience the undiffused, ineffable glory of God.  

September:  God continued to sing the song of stillness and abiding to me as my guys and I enjoyed a weekend in the wild.  Quiet, beauty, and luxury of time were gifts to us all.

October:  Difficult lessons in the guise of dreams lost, or amended, came just as leaves were departing in a frenzy of exuberance.  God used all of this to teach me about broken beauty.  And to remind me that it is the journey that matters.  This moment.  This step.

November:  November found me ripe for Thanksgiving.  I'm not sure I have ever been more aware of how very much I have to be grateful for.  And Protopresbyter Gregory Petrov gave me the words.

December:  December was a season of longing.  Longing for the One who is coming...has come...to make all things new.  Day by day.  Moment by moment.

"The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases;  his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning..." ~Lamentations 3:22-23

 
 

The Eye is Filled With Wonder...

Look! Look up to the rainbow and bless the author of it.

How magnificently it spans the heavens,

That ring of colors traced by the Most High!

By His order, snow falls; lightning bolts are hurled by his decree.

They open His storehouse and, like birds, clouds fly out.

By His power clouds thicken, then shatter into hailstones.

At the voice of His thunder, earth goes into labor;

At His glance, mountains tremble.

By His will, the south wind blows,

As do hurricanes of the north and cyclones.

He makes snow drift down like birds coming to roost,

Settling like a swarm of locusts.

The eye is filled with wonder before its brilliant whiteness;

Watching its steady fall stuns the mind.

He sprinkles frost, too, like salt

Feather-stitching the frozen earth.

Cold blasts of northern wind glaze the waters,

Icing the still pond with a coat of mail.

When heat consumes mountains and singes plains,

Stripping them of their green like a fire,

Rain clouds supply the remedy:

Their drops restore joy to the land after the scorching heat.

His wisdom subdues the sea, planting islands on it.

Mariners relate the danger of the sea;

Their tales astonish us with surprising life forms

And strange monsters of the deep.

Thanks to God, each has its message to bear,

Fulfilling the plan according to His Word.

Why do we go on and on like this?

Because He is all in all!

Let us praise Him more, unfathomable as He is,

For He surpasses all His works, great as they are...

He remains even more full of mystery than our paltry glimpses

Of His work suggest. For He created all of it,

Rewarding with wisdom those who worship Him.

A poetic framing of Ecclesiaticus 43:11-33

by Patricia Colling Egan in

A Book of Hours: Meditations on the Traditional Christian Hours of Prayer

BEHOLD a New and Wondrous Mystery!!

Homily on Christmas Morning (excerpts)
St. John Chrysostom

BEHOLD a new and wondrous mystery. My ears resound to the Shepherd’s song, piping no soft melody, but chanting full forth a heavenly hymn. The Angels sing. The Archangels blend their voice in harmony. The Cherubim hymn their joyful praise. The Seraphim exalt His glory. All join to praise this holy feast, beholding the Godhead here on earth, and man in heaven. He Who is above, now for our redemption dwells here below; and he that was lowly is by divine mercy raised...

...What shall I say! And how shall I describe this Birth to you? For this wonder fills me with astonishment. The Ancient of days has become an infant. He Who sits upon the sublime and heavenly Throne, now lies in a manger. And He Who cannot be touched, Who is simple, without complexity, and incorporeal, now lies subject to the hands of men. He Who has broken the bonds of sinners, is now bound by an infants bands. But He has decreed that ignominy shall become honor, infamy be clothed with glory, and total humiliation the measure of His Goodness. 

For this He assumed my body, that I may become capable of His Word; taking my flesh, He gives me His spirit; and so He bestowing and I receiving, He prepares for me the treasure of Life. He takes my flesh, to sanctify me; He gives me His Spirit, that He may save me. 

Come, then, let us observe the Feast. Truly wondrous is the whole chronicle of the Nativity. For this day the ancient slavery is ended, the devil confounded, the demons take to flight, the power of death is broken, paradise is unlocked, the curse is taken away, sin is removed from us, error driven out, truth has been brought back, the speech of kindliness diffused, and spreads on every side, a heavenly way of life has been implanted on the earth, angels communicate with men without fear, and men now hold speech with angels. 

Why is this? Because God is now on earth, and man in heaven; on every side all things commingle. He became Flesh. He did not become God. He was God. Wherefore He became flesh, so that He Whom heaven did not contain, a manger would this day receive. He was placed in a manger, so that He, by whom all things are nourished, may receive an infant's food from His Virgin Mother. So, the Father of all ages, as an infant at the breast, nestles in the virginal arms, that the Magi may more easily see Him. Since this day the Magi too have come, and made a beginning of withstanding tyranny; and the heavens give glory, as the Lord is revealed by a star.

To Him, then, Who out of confusion has wrought a clear path, to Christ, to the Father, and to the Holy Ghost, we offer all praise, now and for ever. Amen.

Read the entire sermon HERE.

They Called the Baby Jesus...and They Loved Him...

Lingering Fragrance...

The Incarnation is.....a very complex thing.

Its unique note is the simultaneous striking of many notes; 
of humility, of gaiety, of gratitude, of mystical fear,
but also of vigilance and drama...
There is something defiant in it also; 
something that makes the abrupt bells at midnight
sound like the great guns of a battle
that has just been won. 

All this indescribable thing that we call the Christmas atmosphere
only hangs in the air as something like
a lingering fragrance or fading vapor
from the exhultant explosion
of that one hour
in the Judean hills
nearly two thousand years ago. 

But the savor is still unmistakable,
and it is something too subtle
or too solitary
to be covered by our use of the word
peace.

~G.K. Chesterton

 

Artwork: Soliloquies-Joy by Makoto Fujimura

Favorite Literary Encounters of 2010...

Life is short, and there are so many wonderful books to read before I die.  I constantly solicit recommendations from my friends who love great literature to insure that I do not waste precious time on drivel.  With that in mind, I humbly offer you a few of my favorite reads from this year in the event that you are compiling your own list of candidates.    

My Name is Asher Lev  by Chaim Potok  A story of family and faith; of tradition, of knowing where you belong.  A story of pain...and a gift.  An astonishing, divine, costly gift.  The struggle to be an artist and a man of profound faith...a prophet.  One of the most compelling books I have EVER read.  The Gift of Asher Lev continues the story.  Trust me, you will want to continue the story.

Swann's Way by Marcel Proust  A lyricism so delicious I sometimes have to stop just to savor the words...to chew them slowly; roll them around on my tongue.  A precision of recollection; a keen observation of the inner as well as the outer world.  This is the seduction of Proust.  I am thrilled that his great oeuvre À la Recherche du Temps Perdu has seven parts, of which this is only the first.

the War of Art by Steven Pressfield  Each of us has a unique gift to offer to the world, but we may have to overcome great obstacles to make it happen.  Pressfield identifies our enemy as resistance, then gives brilliant strategies for combatting it.  An essential read for artists and dreamers of all sorts.  Full review HERE.

Refractions: A Journey of Faith, Art, and Culture by Makoto Fujimura  Makoto Fujimura creates magnificent works of art through an ancient form of painting known as Nihonga, in which he must crush and pulverize pigments to create beauty.  This gorgeously illustrated series of essays on beauty from brokenness, penned by an artist living at Ground Zero, will nourish and inspire you.  "God desires to refract his perfect light via the broken, prismatic shards of our lives."  

St. Francis of Assisi by G.K. Chesterton  "...to this great mystic, his religion was not a thing like a theory, but a thing like a love affair."  I almost always read Chesterton's works twice.  They are potent and stimulating, robust and passionate, witty and good humored.  This was a work of love for him as St. Francis played a pivotal role in his path to God.  It shows.  Brilliant and glorious. 

What is Art? by Leo Tolstoy  This book is work, but it rewards your labors with deep insights into motivations and processes of art.  For whom does art exist?  Whose responsibility is it to pay for art?  What is the moral responsibility of an artist?  A richly provocative read.

Majestie by David Teems  A sympathetic, incisive, and whimsicle exploration of an enigma, wrapped up in sumptuous language.  Full review HERE.

Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden  An entrancing foray into an exotic world that no longer exists.  The grit and intrigue, the discipline and cultivation of women who become living, breathing, gliding works of art.  A celebration of elegance and tradition.

The Help by Kathryn Stockett  An honest, evocative look at a world not so long gone.  I found myself drawn into their stories, worrying over them, crying with them, hurting for them.  And rejoicing with them every time truth won.

Permission to Speak Freely:Essays and Art on Fear, Confession and Grace by Anne Jackson  A most courageous book by one of my favorite storytellers...by one of my favorite people.  Beautifully rendered with artwork submitted from all over the world.  Full review HERE.

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer  Precocious nine-year-old Oskar has a very unique way of seeing the world.  When his father is killed in the 9/11 bombings, he is left with a mystery which takes him all over New York and in and out of the lives of a great many fascinating people.  A perplexing mixture of innocence, tragedy, loss, and love, it is a book that leaves one feeling distinctly more...human.

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce  Will you judge me if I tell you that the stream of consciousness passages are maybe my favorites?  Because I tend to think like that myself.  My favorite Joyce work, this is a coming of age story.  Everyone will find himself here somewhere.  Some of us find ourselves in all of it.  Existential questions...the hard ones...the important ones...artfully explored.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith  Francie Nolan is growing up in very difficult circumstances.  Yet she will learn to see beauty in the world around her.  She refuses to stop dreaming and she is willing to pay the price for her dreams.  Another coming of age story.  Timeless.  Lovely.

Liturgy and Life by Alexander Schmemann  A brilliant and articulate Orthodox Theologian, Schmemann brings the ineffable a little closer by illuminating practices and traditions, and by challenging me to pursue the sacramental life.  An invaluable resource.

The very best books invite re-visiting.  To each encounter you bring a new set of experiences, questions, griefs, joys.  And the story will be comfortably familiar, yet new.  These are a few of the favorites that I re-visited this year...some with my son or with friends, some in preparation for travel, and some because my soul was longing for them

Lilith: A Romance by George MacDonald  "I have never concealed the fact that I regarded him as my master . . . The quality that had enchanted me in his imaginative works turned out to be the quality of the real universe, the divine, magical, terrifying and ecstatic reality in which we all live." ~C. S. Lewis  The storytelling is flawless and engaging.  But I read it for what it does inside me.  It is a mesmerizing, painful, beautiful story of death...and redemption.  It is, in so many ways, my story.  

Beauty the Invisible Embrace by John O'Donohue  You know when you brew a pot of especially strong fragrant tea, pour it into a delicate china cup, take it out of doors along with a sweet, moist cake, sit in clean May sunshine with roses blooming around you and bird-songs in the air and read a favorite book.  Yeah, this is like that.  A deep breath of all things lovely and true. 

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho  "Every second of the search is an encounter with God,” the boy told his heart...I’ve discovered things along the way that I never would have seen had I not had the courage to try things that seemed impossible..."  Rich and nourishing.  Read more HERE.

The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien  An adventure.  An unlikely hero.  A dragon, trolls, dwarfs, goblins.  And a fellowship of friends.  Hale and hearty stuff.

Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis  I have re-read them this year with my youngest.  Aloud.  All of them.  And they worked their magic once again.  On him and on me.  We laughed.  I cried.  We cheered.  Out loud.  We talked to one another in Puddleglum voices.  And, as before, The Last Battle just about did me in.  Mythic.  Marvelous.  

My Side of the Mountain by Jean Craighead George  No little boy should grow up without this tale of Sam Gribley's year in the wilderness, living off the land.  I read it to my boys and watched their eyes grow wide with wonder and with dreams of running off and doing it themselves.  Oh, for the record, Kelsey and I loved it too. :)

Breath of Heaven...

"Behold the maidservant of the Lord!  Let it be to me
according to Your word."                             ~Luke 1:38

I have traveled many moonless nights,
Cold and weary with a babe inside,
And i wonder what i've done.
Holy father you have come,
And chosen me now to carry your son.

I am waiting in a silent prayer.
I am frightened by the load i bear.
In a world as cold as stone,
Must i walk this path alone?
Be with me now.
Be with me now.

Breath of heaven,
Hold me together,
Be forever near me,
Breath of heaven.
Breath of heaven,
Lighten my darkness,
Pour over me your holiness,
For you are holy.
Breath of heaven.

Do you wonder as you watch my face,
If a wiser one should have had my place,
But i offer all i am
For the mercy of your plan.
Help me be strong.
Help me be.
Help me.

Breath of heaven,
Hold me together,
Be forever near me,
Breath of heaven.
Breath of heaven,
Lighten my darkness,
Pour over me your holiness,
For you are holy.
Breath of Heaven.

Lyrics by Chris Eaton and Amy Grant

Top Ten of 2010

I am too much in love with words.  I need them to understand what is true; who I am.  Any experience is somehow more real if I can fit the right words to it.  I especially love the way words form a bridge to another person.  Stories, thoughts, longings, joys...reverberate between us...through the words.  Every time it happens, it is magic.  And, I am in awe. 

Here are ten posts that seem to have been bridges for us, based on visits, comments, facebook re-postings, and emails.  Thank you for reading.  And thank you for talking back.  It means more than you know.

The Martyrdom of Marriage  Marriage is Hell.  Sometimes.  I didn't sign up for that......

Sometimes I Wish I Weren't Me  The most difficult, most naked, most important post I have ever written.

On Christ Without the Church  Anne Rice's decision to live with Jesus, but not with His Church, prompted me to revisit some of my own struggles with the Church.  And helped me remember why walking away is not an option.

Forgiveness  The sacrifice.  The choice.  The gift.  A tale. 

A Blessing Unsolicited  ...we have learned, through follies of our own, that God takes a peculiar pleasure in transforming what seem to be impossible situations into vibrant displays of His glory...

Of What Value, A Life?  We laid her body to rest on a cool, clear summer morning.  Blackberries were just beginning to ripen along the fence rows......

Postcards from Gethsemani  Turbulent beauty and salvific language.  Nourishment.  Rest.

The Holy Cellar of My Existence, Which Opens into the Sky  An invitation.  Uncomfortable.  Unfamiliar.  Wondrous.

23  A long overdue thank you to the man who has loved me for 23 years.  All the time.  No matter what.

Postcards From Holy Week  The horror and the triumph.  The fragrance and the glow.  And faces.  Beautiful faces.

There is More to You Than it Seems...

"Every second of the search is an encounter with God,” the boy told his heart. “When I have been truly searching for my treasure, every day has been luminous, because I’ve known that every hour was a part of the dream that I would find it. When I have been truly searching for my treasure, I’ve discovered things along the way that I never would have seen had I not had the courage to try things that seemed impossible..."

There is a serendipity in having several books going at once. Sometimes they dance in and out of one another, telling a singular story in chorus. As I recently re-read The Hobbit (with Joshua) and The Alchemist (with friends) I found myself up against a compelling, terrifying, exhilarating truth:  There is more to each of us than it seems.

This is what Gandalf says of Bilbo, a most unlikely candidate for adventure. He is, after all, a respectable Hobbit.  Yet, adventure comes, whether he will have it or no.  And, as one impossible situation after another presents itself, a greatness is called out in Bilbo that we could never have foreseen.

The future belongs to God, and it is only he who reveals it, under extraordinary circumstances.

Santiago is a simple shepherd boy.  But his life is undone by a dream.  A dream that will call him out of the ordinary.  He will embark on a quest to pursue his "personal legend".  It will cost him everything.  It will be far more difficult than he imagines.  It will reveal to him an astonishing truth:  The real treasure is in the quest itself.

When someone makes a decision, he is really diving into a strong current that will carry him to places he had never dreamed of when he first made the decision.

I do not always want to pursue my personal legend.  Sometimes I crave a life without adventure.  I would wish impossible situations had never been handed to me.  But they are here, whether I would have them or no.  Every day I pray for enough light for this moment.  For the next step. 

The secret is here in the present. If you pay attention to the present, you can improve upon it. And, if you improve on the present, what comes later will also be better. Forget about the future, and live each day according to the teachings, confident that God loves his children. Each day, in itself, brings with it an eternity.

What about you?  Are you willing to pursue that one dream that is yours alone?  What are the impossible situations that have insinuated themselves into your life?  Are you willing to allow them to call out in you that which lies unseen...untested?  Don't give up.  There is more to you than it seems.

We are afraid of losing what we have, whether it's our life or our possessions and property. But this fear evaporates when we understand that our life stories and the history of the world were written by the same hand.

*All unattributed quotes in the post taken from The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho.  The watercolor at top of the post is from Alan Lee's sumptuously illustrated 1997 edition of The Hobbit.  

Some Children See Him...

Some children see Him lily white,
The baby Jesus born this night.
Some children see Him lily white,
With tresses soft and fair.

Some children see Him bronzed and brown,
The Lord of heav'n to earth come down.
Some children see Him bronzed and brown,
With dark and heavy hair.

Some children see Him almond-eyed,
This Savior whom we kneel beside.
Some children see Him almond-eyed,
With skin of yellow hue.

Some children see Him dark as they,
Sweet Mary's Son to whom we pray.
Some children see him dark as they,
And, oh! they love Him, too!

The children in each different place
Will see the baby Jesus' face
Like theirs, but bright with heavenly grace,
And filled with holy light.

 

O lay aside each earthly thing
And with thy heart as offering,
Come worship now the infant King.
'Tis love that's born tonight!

Music and lyrics by Wihla Hutson and Alfred S. Burt

 

Image of the Invisible...

Was there a moment, known only to God, when all the stars held their breath, when the galaxies paused in their dance for a fraction of a second, and the Word, who had called it all into being, went with all his love into the womb of a young girl, and the universe started to breathe again, and the ancient harmonies resumed their song, and the angels clapped their hands for joy?

Power.  Greater power than we can imagine, abandoned, as the Word knew the powerlessness of the unborn child, still unformed, taking up almost no space in the great ocean of amniotic fluid, unseeing, unhearing, unknowing.  Slowly growing, as any human embryo grows, arms and legs and a head, eyes, mouth, nose, slowly swimming into life until the ocean in the womb is no longer large enough, and it is time for birth.

Christ, the Second Person of the Trinity, Christ, the Maker of the universe or perhaps many universes, willingly and lovingly leaving all that power and coming to this poor, sin-filled planet to live with us for a a few years to show us what we ought to be and could be.  Christ came to us as Jesus of Nazareth, wholly human and wholly divine, to show us what it means to be made in God's image.

~Madeleine L'Engle

Good Tidings, Great Joy...

Jest 'Fore Christmas...

I am the sister of brothers.  I am the mother of sons.  I know the rough and tumble world of boy.  I know the look in his eyes when he is trying so hard to do right, and wanting so badly to do wrong.  My mom introduced me to this poem several years ago.  Jake memorized it for school.  I still hear it in his 8 year-old voice. 

For mischievous little boys everywhere, trying so hard just now to be good...

Jest 'Fore  Christmas
Eugene Field 

Father calls me William, sister calls me Will,
Mother calls me Willie, but the fellers call me Bill!
Mighty glad I ain't a girl---ruther be a boy,
Without them sashes, curls, an' things that 's worn by Fauntleroy!
Love to chawnk green apples an' go swimmin' in the lake---
Hate to take the castor-ile they give for bellyache!
'Most all the time, the whole year round, there ain't no flies on me,
But jest 'fore Christmas I 'm as good as I kin be!

Got a yeller dog named Sport, sick him on the cat;
First thing she knows she does n't know where she is at!
Got a clipper sled, an' when us kids goes out to slide,
'Long comes the grocery cart, an' we all hook a ride!
But sometimes when the grocery man is worrited an' cross,
He reaches at us with his whip, an' larrups up his hoss,
An' then I laff an' holler, "Oh, ye never teched me!"
But jest 'fore Christmas I 'm as good as I kin be!

Gran'ma says she hopes that when I git to be a man,
I 'll be a missionarer like her oldest brother, Dan,
As was et up by the cannibuls that lives in Ceylon's Isle,
Where every prospeck pleases, an' only man is vile!
But gran'ma she has never been to see a Wild West show,
Nor read the Life of Daniel Boone, or else I guess she 'd know
That Buff'lo Bill an' cowboys is good enough for me!
Excep' jest 'fore Christmas, when I 'm good as I kin be!

And then old Sport he hangs around, so solemnlike an' still,
His eyes they seem a-sayin': "What's the matter, little Bill?"
The old cat sneaks down off her perch an' wonders what's become
Of them two enemies of hern that used to make things hum!
But I am so perlite an' tend so earnestly to biz,
That mother says to father: "How improved our Willie is!"
But father, havin' been a boy hisself, suspicions me
When, jest 'fore Christmas, I 'm as good as I kin be!

For Christmas, with its lots an' lots of candies, cakes, an' toys,
Was made, they say, for proper kids an' not for naughty boys;
So wash yer face an' bresh yer hair, an' mind yer p's and q's,
An' don't bust out yer pantaloons, and don't wear out yer shoes;
Say "Yessum" to the ladies, and "Yessur" to the men,
An' when they 's company, don't pass yer plate for pie again;
But, thinkin' of the things yer 'd like to see upon that tree,

Jest 'fore Christmas be as good as yer kin be!

Christmas Just Ain't Christmas Without....

It seems to me that even the most avant garde among us becomes somewhat of a traditionalist at Christmas.  All of us have those bits and pieces that are absolute essentials...that form a golden cord stringing all our Christmases together like garland.  Here are a few of mine: 

Ornaments That Tell Stories  My mother had three glass bells.  They probably did not cost that much, but they were so beautiful.  She and my dad had bought them for their first Christmas tree.  They were PRECIOUS to her.  The hanging of them was always something of an event.  I've never forgotten them.  The hand-made ornaments of my children are treasures, especially the ones with their pictures.  Ornaments we have collected in our travels remind us where we have been: Eiffel Tower, Lion King mask from the Broadway production, African seed pods, Wool mittens from Kosova, on and on... Also, we have bought ornaments for our children each year that tell something about who they were in that moment.  Ours is a tree of memory.

A Real Tree  When I was a little girl, we would traipse trough the woods, over family property (the "Old Place"), usually in the company of aunts, uncles, and cousins, to find the centerpiece of our celebration.  We repeated this with our own children when we lived out on the farm.  Tiny cedars just right for our tiny house.  Now we buy the tree, but having the heady scent of evergreen in the house is an indispensible component of the season for all of us.

Christmas Books  Big surprise, eh?  But these are the ones we only pull out this time of year. How the Grinch Stole Christmas, The Cajun Night Before Christmas, The Crippled Lamb, The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, A Christmas Carol.... 

Music  I'll admit, I have been known to start playing it in October.  But, like the books, I put it away after so that it retains its aura of other.  A few personal favs:  If on a Winter's Night (Sting), Sufjan Stevens: Songs For Christmas, Songs of Joy and Peace (Yo Yo Ma), A New Joy (Estonian Philharmonic), A Christmas Album (James Taylor), Stockings By The Fire, Spirit of  Christmas (Ray Charles), Wintersong (Sarah MacLachlan).

Christmas Breakfast  After all the discoveries and the tearing of paper and the happy sighs and hugs, we whip up a big breakfast.  It will be our only meal til supper in East Tennessee with my parents. It is enough. :)  Omelets with red and green peppers, mushrooms, cheese.  Bacon.  Bacon is our favorite.  Bananas and cream.  Sparkling grape juice and mimosas.

Church  Certainly it has looked different over the years.  When I was a little girl, it was a velvet dress, patent leather shoes, and a poem, recited at the Christmas Play.  It was Beautiful Star of Bethlehem and a brown paper sack with oranges, apples, and peppermint.  Later, it was Children's Choir programs and large multi-night pageants.  Later still, a gauntlet of Christmas Eve services with wailing Trans-Siberian Orchestra numbers, and Silent Night amidst a sea of candlelight.  Now, it is quiet and intensely sacred. Candles, Incense, and Incarnation.

JESUS  I suppose that goes without saying.  It is His birthday, after all.  And yet, it is easy to forget in the midst of all the craziness.  But, remembering gives color to everything else.  It is breath and life to the stories, the music, and all the traditions.  "The Word became flesh and dwelt among us..."  ...and nothing will ever be the same.

Can You Hear Me?

If On a Winter's Night has been a favorite companion over the last two Christmas seasons.  Beautiful old Celtic tunes in elegant, spare arrangements soothe and sweeten my days.  But there is one song that wrecks me.  Every time.  It is a simple poem.  Unsophisticated.  Plain.  But every single time, I hear it from inside Mary's head.  And it breaks my heart.

She has been given an impossible task.  She has one earthly ally.  One person who will not walk away.  Maybe.  Joseph.  And yet....what must be going through his mind?  She knows what she has done.  And NOT done.  He does not.  He hears her words.  But, can he hear her heart? 

Can any of us? 

Can any of us hear the heart of another?

This is not an abstract philosophical question.  It is life or death, just now, for people I love.  It has been life or death for Mike and me.  To find that humble place where, without defending ourselves, without making demands, without expectation, we can hear...truly hear...another.  It is an extraordinary gift.  The gift of being heard......

Fine Art in Brentwood...

He is so young. But his artistic voice is clear and articulate.  His works compel me from across the room.  I stand before them, drinking in the colors, the fury, the vitality...imbibing nourishment.  He is a missionary kid who grew up in the Philippines.  He was a student at Faith Academy when I visited there ten years ago, though he would have been younger than the high school students to whom we spoke.  Now, he is a fellow Franklinite and a student at Belmont.

Jonathan Murrell is one of the artists whose works are on display this weekend at Brentwood Academy.  Local artists.  Many voices.  An infinite variety of textures, colors, expressions.  A feast for the eyes and for the soul.  During the craziness of the holiday season, I encourage you to give yourself the gift of slow breaths and reveries of delight.  The show is open today from 10:00 until 6:00 and tomorrow from 1:00 til 5:00.  To tempt you...torture you...seduce you, I share here a sampling of works from four of my favorites.

A coolness, like early morning, or a rain bearing wind; essence of violets and lavender and sweet raspberries; and a soft silence of trickling water.  Richly evocative.  Captivating.  Entrancing.  The works of Dorsey McHugh.

δοξάζω  [doxazo]  greek (verb): praise; honor; render illustrious; to cause the worth of a person or thing to become acknowledged; to impart glory.  The transcendent art of Gina Hurry

I asked her if she liked being a girl.  I already knew the answer.  Tricia Robinson's works are luxurious with femininity.  A rich, luscious, lovely celebration of all things female.  Not that a man would not appreciate them.  Far from it.  I imagine that he would find them as fascinating and inscrutable as a beautiful woman.

 
Viewing notes: There are three paintings featured by each artist.  I did not find titles for Jonathan Murrell's paintings, thought the second is of Time's Square.  Dorsey McHugh's are titled: "Only You", "Thankful to be Home", and "Whispers and Promises".  The three by Gina Hurry are "Just a Glimpse", "Lavished", and "With You".  Tricia Robinson's are "Love and Joy", "Pride and Prejudice", and "Lime-aid and Summer Days". 

For My Daughter's Daughter...

It's a girl!  We found out yesterday.  My daughter will be the mother of a daughter.  And so the glorious mystery of woman is extended one generation more.  I think of all it will mean for Kelsey to grow up this little one...to grow up with this little one...and my gratitude knows no bounds. 

Yesterday, among the many sweet congratulations from friends and family, came this lovely poem from my young friend Amanda, a mother of twin girls.  One of my favorite poets, Luci Shaw, wrote it for her youngest daughter, Kristin, on her eleventh birthday.  It expresses, beautifully, much of what I wish for my daughter...and for my daughter's daughter...at eleven...and always.
 

Gifts for My Girl

At eleven, you need new shoes
often, and I would give you
other things to stand on
that are handsome and useful
and fit you well, that are not
all plastic, that are real,
and knowable, and leather-
hard, things that will move
with you, and breathe rain
or air, and wear well,
in all weather.

For beauty, I would buy
a gem from the earth’s
heart and a ring that is gold
clear through, and clothes the colors
of flowers. I would cultivate in you
a gentle spirit, and curiosity,
and wonder in your eyes. For use,
in your house I’d hang
doors that are solid wood
without hidden panels of air, set
in walls built of brick more
than one inch thick.

On your floors I’d stretch fleeces
from black sheep’s backs
and for your sleep, sheets
spun from fibers that grew, once,
on the flanks of the fields.
I’d mount for you one small,
clean mirror for a grinning
glimpse at yourself, and a whole
geometry of windows to the world,
with sashes that open hard, but
once lifted, let in a breath
of pure sun, the smell of a day,
a taste of wild wind, an earful
of green music.

At eleven, and always,
you will need to be nourished.
For your mind - poems and plays, words
on the pages of a thousand books:
Deuteronomy, Dante and Donne,
Hosea and Hopkins, L’Engle and Lewis.
For your spirit, mysteries and praise,
sureties and prayer. For your teeth
and tongue, real bread the color
of grain at a feast, baked and broken
fresh each day, apricots and raisins,
cheese and olive oil and honey
that live bees have brought
from the orchard. For drink
I’d pour you a wine
that remembers sun and shadow
on the hillside where it grew,
and spring water wet enough
to slake your forever thirst.

At eleven, the air around you
is full of calls and strange
directions. Choices pull at you
and a confusion of dream.
And I would show you a true compass
and how to use it, and a sun steady
in its orbit and a way
through the woods by a path
that will not peter out.

At eleven you know well
the sound of love’s voice
and you have, already, hands
and a heart and a mouth
that can answer. And I
would learn with you
more of how love gives and receives,
both, with both palms open. I
am standing here, far enough away
for you to stretch and breathe,
close enough to shield you from
some of the chill and to tell you
of a comfort that is
stronger, more real,
that will come closer still.

This is Religion.....

Joshua likes to say that he and Gatlin have been friends since birth.  That's pretty much true.  Jake and Cooper played together as little boys, and now they play music together...at church, in our living room....  Brian and Wendi have been our friends for nearly two decades.  Wendi and I have homeschooled, baked bread, led worship, and been to sleepovers together.  Brian was the dauntless and capable band leader all the years that I was part of the worship band at the Peoples Church.  We know one another's stories. We have walked through dark, difficult places together.  And we have shared great joys.

Now our friends are walking into a new season of joy.  They will spend Christmas in Ethiopia with the three newest members of their family.  When Bennet, Kaleb and Kali come home to Franklin, they will be part of a family that loves extravagantly and gives generously of themselves to others.  They will be celebrated for who they are and encouraged to become all God has made them to be.

Megan and Joel are new friends.  Well, newish.  The thing is, some friendships go to deep places early.  Megan and Joel are friends like that.  We talk about faith, books, Vibrams, good food, good beer.  And we talk about the glorious, terrifying, wonderful adventure of being parents.  They are great parents.  Fionn and Felicity are ebullient, affectionate children who have been loved well.  But their family is not complete.  Not yet.

Our sweet friends are soon to be the forever family of a dear little one from Uganda.  I listen to Megan describe how the longing to know this child, to protect and care for him, almost overwhelms her at times.  And I think how blessed he will be to know her, and she to know him.

James 1:27 says "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows..."  For Brian and Wendi, and for Joel and Megan, this means bringing these precious children home.  Perhaps it means that for you too.  If so, I would love to hear your story.  Post a comment with a link, and we can all read about it.

For Mike and me, it means helping our friends follow their hearts to Africa.  I wonder if you might like to be part of these beautiful stories as well.

You can follow Brian and Wendi's journey to Ethiopia at How the Green House Grows.  Buy some music.  Or some chicken. :)  Megan is "living and telling a good story" HERE.  Sponsor (or join) Megan in the Rockcreek 10K on December 18th.

As we have just been reminded of all we have to be thankful for, and now enter the season commemorating the greatest gift ever given, I beg you to consider changing forever the life of a child...of a family.  Give generously.  Give sacrificially.  Bring these children home to their forever families.

This. Is. Religion.