Incarnation: Mystery and Imagination

It is not that in believing the story of Jesus that we skip reason, but that sometimes we have to go beyond it, take leaps with our imaginations, push our brains further than the normally used parts of them are used to going.

- Madeleine L'Engle

The intersection of space and time is a great mystery. It is a place we can only imagine as we have set within us the realms we reach toward, or entries to such realms should we choose to enter. Seeking His glory, we step over the threshold into another realm full of impossible possibilities. It is not like us to remain idle and complacent. Aren't we always eager to move forward, into greater good? Or do we stick to the comfortable place even though the better lies just beyond? Getting there takes effort. Our viewpoint doesn't allow us to see over that hill. We must face the climb to get beyond into the greater good. The great good is coming, is coming. And all the world holds its breath until He comes.

And what we see we hold dear. What about what we do not see? Do we hold Him dear as if He were here? He is here, among us, next to us, within us! It is Christmas! He came in the flesh. Every act of love is Him, come. Whether pronounced or not. Love is His fingerprint. His flesh is love as well. He chose to suffer for us, by way of entering our world, giving away the power He always wields. 

This is the baffling mystery we can ponder year after year, stretching our imaginations across space and time. The way we view time, or the way God views time? One is linear and straight. We are caught in it. There is no escaping it. The other tends to curve around us all, weaving together the divine nature we try to understand, but only get wrapped into the deeper mystery.

Are we willing to be stretched? Most of us not; we like our comfortable spot of worldly pleasures without meandering into the mystery. And yet,they never fully satisfy. No matter what it is, it will not satisfy. As C.S. Lewis put it, if we don't ever seem to feel fully satisfied here with worldly things, we must be made for another world.

We have to be willing to open up to the other world. May the mystery of God lead us into our imaginations.

Merry Christmas to you!

Selador - An Imaginative Story, Ch. 3

I have been working on a little story for some time. I add to it every now and then. I know that the world needs more light, truth, and beauty, and if I can produce even a tiny glimmer of that, then my imaginative effort is not in vain.
In the spirit of taking the risk of sharing snippets, and trusting that someone may read what I share and connect with it, or ponder the questions raised, I am sharing some samplings of a few chapters.

The prelude I have already shared on my blog, but you likely missed it. Read that HERE.
Read Chapter I HERE.
Read Chapter 2 HERE.

Chapter III

She thought it might be rain, at first, looking up she saw no droplets falling, but the sound of rushing water came from below. Swifter than any tide, a wall of water swept through the forest, rising as high as a five or six story building, she guessed. From the height of the platform, maybe nine or so stories from the ground, the water appeared quite close. As she was staring at the water, she failed to notice the two other guards on the platform.

"What...How is that possible?" she asked anyone. But one of them simply motioned for her to move to the other side of the platform to another staircase that spiraled up another tree, taking them yet even higher. But it did not grow brighter. More mystical and atmospheric, though it certainly grew.

Soft lights in tiny lanterns adorned each step and hung from above in a beautiful, cascading manner. It felt like she had stepped into another world in another time, where even guards dress nobly and treat strangers decently. It was a fact that the guard had just saved her life. She turned back to him as she stepped, "Thank you for saving me".

To which he replied, "It is my duty and privilege."

This only confused her, as he almost acted like he knew who she was. Perhaps that was just their cultural phrase, instead of "you're welcome". The truth was, she didn't know who she was. She only knew that she loved to write and imagine, but her memories were fogged over, at best, and that point didn't seem relevant.

At last they came to another platform more ornate than the first one. Clearly, they were headed up to the places of dwelling. The carved rails and teardrop lights cast a lovely scene before her. It had a soothing ambiance, and the crashing water below seemed a world away. In fact the sounds had already mostly diminished. They moved from the platform along floating walkways that now connected all the trees, homes, places of living. It was stunning - a city amongst the tree tops. 

She was brought to a lovely hut, with two grand doors that opened for her. The sweet scent of flowers were immediately at her nose, as she passed by a vase overflowing with delicate blooms. The next room beyond there was a round table set with cosy chairs, and a tea setting. The room was ornate and decorated with soft colours. She was made to sit, and the guard left her. She gazed around from the rich carpet on the plank wood floor to the crisp coloured bark covering the walls like wallpaper, elegant and detailed. Flowers were on every table. Books, too. She had a notion to get up and take a look at the stacks of books, when the host entered.

He was tall, graceful, older. Greyed hair was kept short and tidy. He wore a vest similar to the guard, but a jacket over that. All rich fabrics that compliment and layer. He had piercing blue eyes that immediately drew her gaze to his.

He reached his hand out to her, "Welcome, Nella. May I pour you some tea?" 

In a dazed motion, she shook his hand, and he didn't wait for her to reply, but sat down across from her and poured two cups of tea. He knew a name that she had not heard in ages, in fact she had almost forgotten it. How was she known in a place she did not herself know? 

She almost asked the question on the tip of her tongue, and when he saw that she was confused, he said gently, "In time, you will receive answers, but first, have some tea and allow me to introduce myself. I am Master Louver, and I am the leader of this realm. You were brought here because your purpose is here. Your talents are needed."

Brought here? How could that be?

She sipped her tea, which tasted earthy, but somehow sweet. Not by sugar, but some leaf that must be naturally sweet. It was delicious.

He continued, "You are a writer, are you not? Our realm has long been without a philologist, and our people are eager to learn and grow, which is what you can help with."

"How do you know of me? How was I brought here? I stumbled upon a door in that dreadful tunnel..."

He raised his hand to stop her gently. All his motions were sweeping and graceful, "As I mentioned, in time your questions will come to light with answers, but for now you must be tired, as you have been walking for some time. Let me show you to your hut so you can rest."

So many questions still swirled within her, and she didn't know how to pin one down to figure out. Master Louver lead her across several wooden walkways that linked trees and huts. She felt like she was in a dream. The dim light fell softly through the topmost branches, and the glow from the lanterns created a soothing atmosphere. She walked slower than Master Louver, who was tall, but he slowed to allow her to keep up. 

He stopped at an intersection, and indicated a pathway leading to the front door of a small, neat, hut.
"This will be your hut. Please go and rest. Some food should be waiting for you, and I shall see you again."

With that, he took her hand in his in a gentle acknowledgment, and moved away. She stepped toward her door. It was not locked. The carved door opened easily. Inside, it was cosy and warmly decorated. Flowers also sat on a table ahead of her. It was a small, round table where she could eat. Indeed, food was placed there. A tray of vegetables, glazed and cooked, fruits fresh and juicy, a flat pancake looking bread, a milky drink, and it all looked so appetizing. As she sat down, she saw the adjoining room was her bedroom with lovely double doors leading into it. Windows let in an abundance of natural light, that only a few lanterns seemed necessary. She ate with an appetite she didn't know she had, and wondered who prepared it for her. She didn't see a kitchen.

When she finished eating, she moved into her room and saw a desk facing a window that looked out to the treetops. It was a stunning view. She was in the treetops, but they still went higher. She saw other huts in the distance. The misty atmosphere invoked so many longings inside her, mysterious and unknown, even to herself. She just knew the longing was there, and the utter beauty of this realm brought all those inner feelings to her mind.

She looked down, and on the desk there was a book, an empty journal, and a quill pen. Her heart leapt inside, and she sat at the desk. The book was handmade, and filled with smooth pages that smelled like trees. She picked up the pen and began to write pages about her experience thus far. The sights, sounds, scents, emotions. All that she knew at that point. She had no explanations. Just descriptions, and questions.

When she became drowsy, she got up and went to the closet across the room. It was stocked with lovely drapey dresses, a jacket, soft shoes, and a gown for sleeping. A washroom was attached to the room, so she cleaned up, changed her clothes that fit perfectly, and crawled into bed that seemed to sink with the weight of her questions.

Darkness was falling, and as she drifted off to sleep she wondered what her next day would entail. Somehow she felt safe with these tree-folk who seemed to know her and want to take care of her. Still, the mystery swirled, all into her dreams.

Selador - An Imaginative Story, Ch. 2

I have been working on a little story for some time. I add to it every now and then. I know that the world needs more light, truth, and beauty, and if I can produce even a tiny glimmer of that, then my imaginative effort is not in vain.
In the spirit of taking the risk, and trusting that someone may read what I share and connect with it, or ponder the questions raised, I am sharing some samplings of a few chapters.

The prelude I have already shared on my blog, but you likely missed it. Read that HERE.
Read Chapter I HERE.

Chapter II

She stepped over the threshold and onto a mossy grass. Her feet gleefully sank a little under her weight into the soft, mossy soil, which seemed like floating after the harsh, hard tunnel. She glanced behind her to see the door close, and no handle was on this side.

Sights, sounds, and scents awakened her as if she had just slept for weeks. Birds chirped, trees towered taller than skyscrapers, and an earthy scent made her breathe deeply of the clean air. A soft mist covered all the distant views, so she could not see if the tunnel went this way or that way.

Everything felt old. The trees were wide, tall, and had limbs that branched outward toward the tops. She walked underneath them as she went deeper into the forest, looking up at such giant beauties. It wasn't a normal forest, she could tell. As she walked further and further from the tunnel she could see twinkle lights far away, but they were high above ground in the trees. Inhabitants?

The ground was soft and moist, and maybe not ideal for homes. She wondered. The beauty of the forest was undeniable, especially in contrast to her experience of the white tunnel. Everything had lush earth tones and the air had a misty coolness. She headed toward the lights, like a moth to a lamp, even though she knew not the potential danger she may be inching closer to.

A sudden whistle rang out in the air around her. It wasn't a bird. Though it sounded sweet it caused her to become very aware that she was a trespassing stranger.

She halted and held her breath when a man stood before her with his bow and arrow drawn. She made no attempt to move. Her eyes were wide with fear, but he lowered his bow.

"You need to come with me, quickly. It is almost time." He said.

Somehow she found her voice,  "Time for what?"

He didn't answer, but led her toward the lights, "Please hurry." He said.

He looked like an elf of a woodland realm, but she thought that was a frivolous imaginative image. She hurried to keep up with him. Her loafers and modern clothing seemed odd against his earth-toned vest of silky fabric. Old and new, in contrast.

They at last reached a gate that he opened, and they passed through to a grand, tall tree that had a spiral staircase which wrapped around the tree trunk, circling up higher than she could see. He urged her forward, to climb the stairs. She did so, and he followed. She dared not stop to ask questions, so she kept going until after several minutes a platform suddenly opened up in front of her and she was able to take in the scene high above the ground.

Then, a strange and unexpected sound came to her. The sound of fierce, rushing water.

Selador - An Imaginative Story, Ch. I

I have been working on a little story for some time. I add to it every now and then. My love of writing, if not made clear by this blog, is life-long, and yet I rarely (pretty much never) share any story or fiction that I write. In learning more about myself (thanks to the personality questionnaires I have been able to take, most recently the Enneagram) I am learning of my task that is set before me - the gift is to give away that which I discover, write, learn, or do. This blog is a way for me to do that, but I have always been hesitant to share stories I write. I am a mere novice in writing stories, and as I read amazing books written I doubt my own abilities. I know that the world needs more light, truth, and beauty, and if I can produce even a tiny glimmer of that, then my imaginative effort is not in vain.
In the spirit of taking the risk, and trusting that someone may read what I share and connect with it, or ponder the questions raised, I want to share a few chapters; a sort of serial release and sampling of chapters.

The prelude I have already shared on my blog, but you likely missed it. Read that HERE.

Chapter I

She finds herself walking through a long, white, empty, but well-lit tunnel. Leading to the unknown, a feeling of apprehension fills her. The lighting of the tunnel is hidden, and there are no lamps or sconces. It raises questions in her, but she keeps walking for fear of the unknown seems to escalate with the thought of stopping in her tracks.

It is silent, except for her own soft footfalls. How long will she have to walk? Where is she walking to? Comfortable loafers adorn her feet, but no shoe can help weariness after so long.

Is there a curve ahead? Or is that an illusion? What if someone is there? Will they be friendly or dangerous? She keeps walking at a steady pace. Suddenly in the distance, she sees light coming from a wall, casting a glow on the floor. What could it be? A door?

As she approaches, it is most certainly a window. Her pace quickens. Perhaps this window will give a clue as to where she is.

She reaches the window and glances behind her. Not a soul. She decided to stop at the small window, a square of frosty glass that reveals nothing except blurry brightness. But it is indeed bright, from the sun? She must be above ground, she concludes. But why is she walking and where is she going?

She decides to keep walking. She won't get to a better place by standing still. It seems like hours pass by, but it could be minutes. Time has no presence here, just a sameness. A whiteness of mundane. Surely it has been hours, but the light in the tunnel hasn't changed. It is all the same white, curved space. Sterile. Clean and bare. No end in sight.

She begins to lose hope that an end will come, but then she sees a door in the side of the tunnel. Hidden, with only a small knob to indicate anything different from the smooth surface. She tries it. Nothing. It won't open. She cannot see any light or hear anything behind it. If a door was here, there must be another, she told herself to trust that there will be a door that she can open. A hopefulness rises again as she walks onward. The space has become so familiar, and less scary than hours ago (days ago?). Perhaps her mind being focused on the mission of finding a door temporarily stunts her fears.

Soon, another door comes, and it will not open. Then another door, and another. None of them budge as she throws her weight against them. Someone else could lose hope by this time, but she could not. Something inside her nudged her forward, but she knew not what. A steady presence of calm kept her focused and moving.

The diluted white space above, below, and all around was pale and lifeless. No warmth emanated, so she must find that within. She felt an assurance that something better was through a door. The right door. She had a hope deep down that this was not all there was.

She had no inkling as to how long she has walked (days?) but it mattered not, for another door was approached. It was smaller than the rest of them, almost like a broom closet. As her hand reached the knob, she felt it open before it did, and she had to blink several times to see that a whole world lay before her...

Winter Grey

The darkness gathers, growing deeper,
as the afternoon proceeds.
I light taper candles and marvel
as the warm glow exceeds.
The steady flames offer light,
to each moment something small.
And yet a luxury, given these dark,
grey-cast wintry hours that fall
cold and fixed, caught in a globe
of muted light and monotones.
These are favourite days of mine,
I dwell gladly in the cosiest state
The warming glow of comfort with tea,
candles, and books are times I anticipate.

The negation of the sun causes me to feel all sorts of cosy, with aims at the candle-lit grey colour scheme cosiness of my home. I don't grow glum at all, but relish in this winter-like monochrome day. Give me more of these days, please.

Advent Calendar

When I was a child, we had an Advent Calendar (the paper stock one) with the doors to open each day. Tucked behind each door was a mystery, until the day you got to open that number. I haven't had an Advent Calendar since then, and this year I really wanted one again. When we are adults, we tend to forget or let go of some of the little things that brought us joy as children. I want to try to embrace some of those little things as an adult.

In my typical fashion I looked for something that was bookish, not the norm, and came across this Bodleian Library Advent Calendar. It's a wonderful collection of illustrations from the vast Bodleian collections. This spans centuries of books, and they tuck the painted illustrations behind each door, all related to Advent and the Christmas season. There are beautiful illustrations from the 13th century, as well as cheerful illustrations such as Father Christmas by J.R.R. Tolkien. It's delightful. I feel like a little child each day when I get to open a new door to reveal the mystery that is tucked behind there.

Being grown up doesn't mean we have to let go of some of the lovely little delights that bring us joy. What are some things you loved as a child? Can you incorporate this this year? 

On Christmas Love

He freely gave to be both rent and torne

Of cruell hands, who with despightfull shame

Revyling Him, that them most vile became,

At length Him nayled on a gallow-tree,

And slew the lust by most unjust decree.

O huge and most unspeakeable impression

Of Love’s deep wound, that pierst the piteous hart

Of that deare Lord with so entyre affection,

-Edmund Spenser

The Lord invites you into a quiet, reflective space amidst the loud and noisy world. Come, and join me in this space. I am trying to dwell in it as much as possible. In this time of preparing, we tend to jump ahead all the way to the end rather than dwell in the presence of the waiting and of the darkness. Of Advent - of coming. There is wonder in the waiting. There is wisdom to be gained in the period of anticipated straining forward for what will come. He will come. He will come as we would not expect. 

We, too sit in this place of anticipated waiting for Him to come again. We know the full story of Christmas and Easter, but we don't yet know the full story of New Creation and His coming again. While we have the perspective of hope that comes through Christ and the resurrection, we still look ahead not knowing all the details of how His second coming will unfold.

In church this weekend, my class talked about prophesy and how the Old Testament looked ahead  with vague and nebulous foreshadowing of the coming of the Messiah. There were not many details and no timeline spelled out. There was just enough for what we needed - the hope of what was to come. We may have wanted more, but the Lord provided enough. This leaves open to us the freewill that God has given us. Everything is not set in stone how it will play out. We then have this responsibility to play our part well, even while not knowing all the details (as many of us would like to know - any other highly detailed people out there?)

I love the phrase in Spenser's poem, "of Love's deep wound", which reminds me of the cost of the love that we have. The selfless, sacrificial, deep love is the gift we have to open. May these next few weeks of preparing for Christmas remind us to prepare our hearts as well - to listen in quiet for what the Lord wants us to learn from this time of waiting. What could He want you to hear?

Charlotte's Letters

My dear Ellen
You will have concluded by this time that I never got home at all - but evaporated by the way...
CBrontë 

If you know me, or have been reading this blog for awhile, you will know I really like reading and learning about the Brontë family, who lived in the cold, desolate moors of north England in the early to mid 1800s. The siblings (Anne, Emily, Charlotte, and brother Branwell) were all talented writers on their own. But when they were younger they created a fantasy world together (collected in the Tales of Glass Town, Angria, and Gondol), and each wrote stories about that kingdom and created characters. I have really enjoyed reading all their works I can find, and only recently discovered this book of Charlotte's letters. Do you like reading letters of favourite authors or figures?

I always feel like I am intruding into personal space when I read letters. With books it makes sense, the author intends to write for an audience, but in general, as the writer is responding to letters they surely were not thinking that it would be published for anyone to read some day. It is a deeply personal realm, and you get to know a day-to-day side of an author, which I think brings them into an approachable realm, as if I have become a friend. As I read Charlotte's letters, I often will find myself thinking "oh, me too!" 

I relate to Charlotte even more than I ever have, connecting with her independence, her love of family and friends, her intense need to write, her willingness to travel, etc. I get that portrayed in the characters she created (such as in Jane Eyre and Villette) but to me it's also a treat to get a peak into her daily life of writing, chores, family, experience in Brussels, and walks.

It is amazing to me that we can connect with authors or other creative figures from centuries ago simply by reading their thoughts, stories, and letters.

Advent - Quiet Days

The Lord your God is among you,
a warrior who saves.
He will rejoice over you with gladness.
He will be quiet in his love.
He will delight in you with singing.

- Zephaniah 3.17

Today has not been a quiet day (it doesn't seem that any days have been quiet recently), but I read these words from the Old Testament and they bring me such comfort, especially "He will be quiet in his love", which reminds me that it is good to be quiet. We need the space for the slowing down. I don't need to feel badly when I ache for the quiet solitude my soul needs. God loves us in a quiet way. He loves us in the deepest sense that penetrates all the masks we wear each day and all the facades we put out to the world. He knows us in the silent times when our hearts cry out and when we need the most comfort as our weaknesses overwhelm us. I want the quiet love. The love that knows me, not just grazes by me. I don't want the showy kind of love that seeks to look good to others. I want the love that penetrates to the core of me. That's the love that God gives us.

In this season of Advent, the time before the birth of Jesus, I think it's important to recognize the darkness of the period before the Word became flesh and dwelt among us. What was that like? What does it all mean? We cannot immediately jump to a fulfillment of prophesy without understanding what came before that. 

Before Christmas there was darkness in the world with that slim glimmer of hope as the people waited. Waited for what? What did they expect? What do we expect? It takes some quiet and space to ponder on these things, but this season tends to be the opposite of that. There's no space on our calendars and it seriously lacks quiet. It takes the grand effort of going against the grain of our culture to have some quiet days. I literally need to block off time on my calendar for this. I've already had to say no to a few things. And I know I need to, as in the quiet days my efforts to listen and ponder will help me grow closer to God amidst a very busy time. If anything, I need that more than any other gift I will receive this Christmas. Don't you think we all do?

Daydream Interlude

I am going to take you on a journey for the next few minutes. We shall take a little daydream interlude to Oxford, England. It is the place I go frequently in real life and in my head. Oxford is always in my head, let's be honest. We will fly over the most beautiful city to see the dreaming spires that rise into the sky. I will point out the chapels, churches, and libraries. They all are part of the landscape of the city. They hold memories of time and history.

Next I will take you to ground level, because that's the best way to get to know a city. Walk all the streets and small side roads that carry more foot traffic and bike traffic than anything. Pass all the colleges and their grand entrances with big wooden doors that creak when you open them. There's a lot to see and stand in awe of. Be careful on the cobbled streets, they are a bit uneven. You will likely hear all the bells of the colleges and chapels as we wander. It's magical.

Bits and pieces of history can be told about the buildings, the streets, the people who came before us. Centuries of it is at our fingertips. I will be sure to point out many C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien connections/places that hold some interesting stories. Harry Potter, too. Don't worry about getting too tired. We will stop at a great place for tea, and a snack. It may even be the cafe at the Weston Library, which has views of the library and the Sheldonian Theatre across the street. It's a wonderful people-watching spot. It's also where I will take a little time to write in my journal as the buzz of the cafe continue around me. As tea cups clink on saucers, we will enjoy some musing moments.

Coastal Coffee and Books

The scene changes, and it all feels different. Go to a different town, and the familiar can somehow feel unfamiliar. Visit some favourite spots of a known town, and enjoy the different feeling of the places. Even as they hold past years of memories. 

The coastal feel changes the whole experience for me. When a town is on the water, the landscape, the weather, the breezes are all different. That tropical sense is also apparent in all the views. Palm trees are the most frequent plant. The way people dress is different. Most people are either on holiday or retired (so it seems). They wear shorts, skirts, tropical shirts, sandals. A beauty rests in the relaxed atmosphere of the people on the whole. 

It's a busy place. If everyone is on holiday they are dashing to and fro on the roads. I seek out the quieter places, the coffee shop, the book shop. Thankfully, I avoid the crowds that are all shopping. I purposefully avoid them because I don't want their stress. I seek the feeling of a holiday. Take it slow. Take a breath and look around you.

This is the time of year when all things start to speed up and all the rush of Christmas (and all the shopping) falls upon us. Rather than get pulled in, I try to embrace the simple and the quiet. I choose not to join the crowds at stores. I choose to be a bit more mindful of what I buy. I want my life to be joy-filled and simple. And especially in this Christmas season, I wish for my focus to be on the reflection of Advent time and what it means to be in waiting before Christ.

Autumn Grey

Grey shadows scatter on a non-regular morn.
A breeze picks up and shifts the leaves,
and the last droplets tumble down 
from an earlier rain, now at ease.

As I wake up, the rain is falling,
coming down from the clouds 
and from the north.
A rain that will summon the cold air,
bringing it southward, to body forth.

Welcome to the weather, I say in my head.
You bring good tidings with the seasonal chill.
I am forever always thankful
and delighted by your will.

Your grey sky, autumn, offers in me
all the cosy feelings of a shifting time.
Colder weather will always be 
a favourite time of mine.

Ancient Ways - Celtic Wisdom

Sometimes the best way of caring for your soul is to make flexible again some of the views that harden and crystallize in your mind; for these alienate you from your own depth and beauty. Creativity seems to demand flexible and measured tension.

- John O'Donohue

This quote, and the whole of John O'Donohue's writings in his book Anam Cara have been so helpful to me. I struggle to be creative in the way I enjoy the most (writing) when I am distracted. When I struggle with that, I feel like I have less to offer and feel distant from my true core. O'Donohue reminds me that I need to remember to be flexible. My creativity can happen anywhere, even amidst a busy or distracted time. It is important to keep the important times of stillness. At the heart of it, we all need that, but most of us stay busy all the time.

His gentle way of writing nudges me to acknowledge that the world may spin around me, but I can still be able to venture forth into the realm of imagination and creativity. I felt excited just reading that. May these thoughts seep into my mind. The ancient Celtic ways are what O'Donohue introduces into this modern world, and it has been so enlightening, as I peak into the world of Celtic practices. He writes about (just a tiny sampling) the need for solitude, thankfulness in prayer for daily things, harmony between the land and thought, the appreciation of nature and acknowledgement that the natural world is at one with the spiritual. I must have some Celtic core in me, because this all seems so much as I prefer and seek.

We see everything through the lens of thought. The way that you think determines what you will actually discover.

I find myself underlining a lot in this book, partly because it is somehow familiar and I already trust in that truth, and partly because I need that deep truth revealed to me again, and it has hit that spot of my soul that needed the reminding. Some of the pages hold insight from ancient practices and stories that are new to me.

It is lovely to imagine that real divinity is the presence in which all beauty, unity, creativity, darkness and negativity are harmonized.

What a fluid and real reminder that our lives are not just peachy thoughts trying to get noticed out under the sunshine. There is often a darkness present, and a negativity too, but when given over to God, a harmony can be made from all the messy bits we cannot seem to muddle through. Hence, we have frequent bouts of muddy musings. When handed over to God, He can bring beauty out of the mess we are.

I reflect in joy of this reminder, for I feel my thoughts are often so muddled, it is only in God that they can make any sense. Oh, these Celtic viewpoint soothe my soul and cause me to ponder for a while. 

Why Read Stories?

In reading great literature I become a thousand men and yet remain myself. Like the night sky in the Greek poem, I see with a myriad eyes, but it is still I who see. Here, as in worship, in love, in moral action, and in knowing, I transcend myself; and am never more myself than when I do.

- C.S. Lewis

Within the cosy respite of my tiny home, I am indulging in hours of reading. Often a continuous train of reading doesn't happen so easily as the distractions of the day or evening pull me to and fro. My faltering is that I let them take me, even though I'd rather let the words on the pages transport me into another world. To read stories is to live in another world without leaving your own. It's magical.  You get to curl up in the cosiest spot on the sofa, place a steaming cup of tea on the table in front of you, and enter the world of story.

Within pages you get to see the world (or other worlds) through the eyes of someone else. You get to know other's thoughts, feelings, and emotions. You get to experience it, and yet you aren't leaving your sofa or your own life. The book may come with you wherever you go, so you might be at your desk reading, on the bus reading, or on a plane traveling across an ocean. Wherever you may be, you get to lives within other's lives through the transportation of books.

But why read stories when there are so many other things to do?

Stories require the use of your imagination, even more so if the story relies on a lot of metaphor. Your mind is engaged while reading as it is constantly creating in your imagination what you are reading about (creating the scenes, scenarios, viewpoints, characters, etc), and you are enriching your life with the wisdom gleaned from the stories. You sit above the vantage point of the story as you learn lessons as the characters figure things out. 

Keeping your mind engaged and active is a very good thing, and there are many studies that measure the beneficial effects that reading has on our brains.

So, what are you waiting for? Go pick up a good book and read a story!

A Study in Frankenstein

I was hooked on reading Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. I stayed up late to finish it. I did not expect it to be what it is. It's not a cheerful story in the sense of enjoyment of a nice story. But rather, there are so many themes and questions one can ask/talk about from this story. It reaches into humanity and charges us all with confronting such things. With hints that reflect back to Milton's Paradise Lost, it offers fodder to chew on for a while.

The struggle to be accepted, listened to, valued, and loved is very strong. Who is the monster here? The created being had no control or decision in his creation story, yet his creator has rejected him, left him alone, and spurned. There is the sense of responsibility not taken for the creation made. The emotion, pain, feelings, and suffering is all real, and Frankenstein tries to shove them away, but it all comes back to haunt him by way of his creation.

Frankenstein does not accept the creature for who he was. Why? In his obsession to create the being, he ignored his family, friends, and his own life. He was consumed in the worst ways, but the moment his created being woke up, he fled and felt immediate disgust regarding his creature. Who would feel that about something they worked on for years to create?

As I read this story, I think of the love we have as created beings. God created and loves us so deeply, He said it was good when we were created. He pursues us. He wants to draw us closer to Him in a relationship. All things that Frankenstein does not do.

Are we meant to hold the power of creation in our hands? It becomes a dangerous thing, and we would not do it out of the love unfailing. but we would do it out of selfishly for power, as Frankenstein demonstrates.

Another great literary example of this is C.S. Lewis's That Hideous Strength. There is an example of man creating an immortal being for power and control over others. Animals and humans being the subject of experiment to gain such power. An evil is present there as the pseudo college group takes life apart in order to learn the secrets of putting together to control and gain power.

He that breaks a thing to find what it is has left the path of wisdom.
- J.R.R. Tolkien

We are not perfect, like God, but those who act as though they were a god, seek it with a darker power that will lead them to fall deep into destruction. These stories grip me because they are so applicable today. Frankenstein was published in 1818. Way ahead of her time, Mary Shelley was, and perhaps she had no idea how her story would be applicable 200 years later. We moderns look to other ways to build our creations in the machines we give thoughts to take on the likeness of humans. Is it right for us to do that? Do we diminish our humanness by creating something else that takes on our human traits?

These authors saw something in the way we could make some disastrous choices. They aren't far off, and it's both fascinating and frightening. I think I am drawn to these kinds of books because I like to see the light of how it could be amidst the darkness. I like to see the author's perspective of our human failings and ambitions, and the truth in that. The wisdom that then shines outward is for us to evaluate. These are books that make you think. They ask the deep questions.

Poetic Thankfulness

 A cold, marble table resting in a minimal space,
empty until I hang my bag on the chair I claim.
I rest my journal on the table and soon
it holds my hot latte and my place of thinking 
for the next hour.
My journal creaks as I open to a blank page.
My pen in hand moves quickly across the lines. 
The coffee cools before I sip.
I reflect in words. They tumble out onto the page,
sometimes not gracefully, and yet, it is in the reflecting
that I find the wonderful peace of letting them go.
Speaking is sometimes hard for me, but words on a page, 
they come more easily.
Here, I get to think on the words and let them formulate 
cohesive thoughts across pages that can provide
insights I never saw before, but always,
everyday, in the form of thankfulness.
Words form in me, and they spring forth into shapes of thankfulness.
The coffee is perfect to sip now.
Sometimes I forget to sip as I scribble my heart's feelings,
overflowing with love. Love that has been shown to me, 
that I do not deserve.
Reminders of God's limitless love lingers.
It ripples through my words, thankful.
It steeps into my soul, thankfulness.
I take a drink of coffee and breathe 
in the scent of espresso and thankfulness.

And Breathe...

Cold weather makes me so happy. When the weekend graces us with a beautiful, chilly one-day-only event, it only makes sense to get outside as soon as possible, and enjoy the short-lived weather of delight. These are the days that inspire me to get out and about.

 I started with coffee, as every good day begins, at Concord Coffee, just a few blocks away. Then, I had to get outside, so I went to Hollis Garden, to walk around. It was a very windy day, and the rustling leaves and chilled air made it feel very autumnal. I eventually sat on my favourite bench to read my current book, The Victorian Age in Literature by G.K. Chesterton. I am really enjoying it. Chesterton is such a breathe of fresh air, like the very day I was enjoying. Every time I sit there at the garden I pay attention to the sounds of the birds, the classical music playing, the wind through the trees, and the children running through the grass. I love the scents: the plants and flowers, and the smell of earth. It felt like the very air I was breathing was just fresh-born. Being in a garden does that to me. It causes me to be present in that very moment, paying attention to sights, sounds, and scents. Then the words usually start to float around in my head.

I stayed at the garden until I was too chilly to hang out on the stone bench any longer, and then I went to the library. A new coffee shop opened inside the library (a second location of the wonderful Black & Brew) so I went there for the first time, getting a sandwich and a turmeric chai latte to warm up. 

I kind of felt like I was on holiday. It was so nice. Usually on Saturday, I will start with the coffee shop, but then I do an errand and chores, so it doesn't feel like a break, but this day it felt so nice to spend the whole morning on holiday, breathing in the fresh air of a cheery autumn day. 

From Bliss Above

Who else had dared for thee what I have dared?
I plunged the depth most deep from bliss above;
I not My flesh, I not My spirit spared:
Give thou me love for love.

- Christina Rossetti

I just read through a book of poetry of Christina Rossetti's, a lovely book I picked up in London (at the wonderful Daunt Books) to bring home. So many times, re-reading an author offers new insights, as our viewpoints shift over time. When we read it years ago, in college for example I remember reading "Goblin Market" in English class, we don't glean the wisdom and beauty as we might now. I like the philosophy of reading that C.S. Lewis commented on. That the mark of a good reader is that they re-read books, and don't just read them once. This, of course, is practically impossible, however with good, favourite books, it is possible, and I certainly re-read the best of my library. For there is some new insight gained from our current perspective when you read it again.

These lines of Rossetti's captured me as I read the poem. I had to stop and read them again, and then read the whole poem again. A strong sense of love is clear in the powerful words - dared, plunged, depth, spared. I feel a keen sense of knowing here. A knowledge that is beyond us. A knowledge of the cost of loving us. Jesus is the speaker, and He risks it all to love us. Who else would love undeserving folk who do not understand such perfect love? He did not spare His flesh. He did not spare His spirit, but He yearns for us to love because He first loves us. It is not a forced love, or it would not be true. He came to us from bliss above. I wonder if we forget sometimes that Jesus came to us, leaving the heavenly realm and into the depths, to be next to us in all our struggles. He doesn't seek to rule from above us, but to love us here now, in ways that permeate all moments of our every day.

Letting Go of Imagined Castles

I have been stewing some thought into the gifts I have been given, and how to use them better, for the glory of God. I don't have all the answers but I believe it is the thing we most seek in our lives, even if we don't know that we seek it. We all want to fulfill purpose, and that is part of the gifts we are given to use for good.

One thing I know and see so much these days is that in this world, we tend to look at others to decide who we are and what we want to do. That's obviously not the way that God wants us to live, as that sets us up for a comparison game that will never be satisfied, and it leaves our own gifts behind.

Thomas Merton wrote, in his book No Man is an Island, how it is only when we let go of all that we hold onto and stop trying to be what everyone else seems to be, that we can truly know who we are. We become too focused on others as we "seek to imitate one another's imagined greatness". 

It hit me that we so often lose sight of our own vocation/gift by looking at other people and wanting what we imagine they have. Let me emphasize the important words in that sentence as "wanting what we imagine they have." So many times our own imaginations take off with assumptions of imagined castles in the sky that someone else gets to live in, but if we look more closely, we shall see that right where we are at this moment is probably right where we need to be. There is growth opportunity here. That imagined castle just isn't right for you. Maybe it isn't clear, yet, but it will be. 

The letting go part is that we are to have an indifference toward things of our lives so that we do not try to possess anything, as if they fulfilled us. Anything can be taken away from us in our lives, but not God. Only God is able to fill us completely, but we try to fill ourselves with other things that hinder our true selves from being expressed.