My last week has been filled with good television (watching "The Planets" on PBS) plus good re-reading (That Hideous Strength by C.S. Lewis). So, what am I learning from all this goodness?
That God is present in all things, including space and time. There is nothing that separates the God-breathed. His fingerprints and evidence of creation are infused in all things. Even icy moons a billion miles away.
Science may try to take God out of the equation and never put Him back in. Science may strive to make us humans as gods, working toward ways to chemically prolong life while destroying so many other lives, and bring an evil into the world that we can scarcely imagine. But none of it can escape God's hands. One cannot remove God just because one wants to. The efforts will eventually cause the Earth to be toppled upside down to restore the sanity, or is the modern view of sanity what needs the toppling?
As G.K. Chesterton reminds us when we ask the question - what is wrong with the world?
His answer - I am.
We can just as much contribute to the problem we are trying to fight, if we do nothing to share and reveal the truth. Shake up the ground that is around us when we see the direction growing dangerous. We are given different gifts to be able to do this, and sometimes that requires true bravery.
In going against the grain, we stand for goodness, we embrace beauty and let it sing out in a world so weary. Sometimes our world is so weighed down by the heavy cracks that are embedded in culture, one cannot see the light, which is there but is so often hidden. One has to be willing to dig deeper and continue onward toward the good we hope to see come.
The shallow pools do not offer us the chance to grow, they just keep us standing in one spot without drowning.
We won't be popular when we go against the grain, but if we are going to go through such earthly trials and come out with joy despite all the brokenness, then we need that reminder of the goodness and beauty that does exist. We need it to nourish our souls, reaching deeply into us so that we can be brave, kind, loving, generous, merciful, and thoughtful. We need the stories that encourage us in this way.
I am watching the Nova series "The Planets". Is anyone else watching these episodes? I have always been filled with wonder and fascination when I look up at the night sky, or study the planets, stars, and galaxies.
I hear the poetry of King David in my head. My favourite poetic verses in Scripture:
Psalm 19
The heavens declare the glory of God;
the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Day after day they pour forth speech;
night after night they reveal knowledge.
They have no speech, they use no words;
no sound is heard from them.
Yet their voice goes out into all the earth,
their words to the ends of the world.
The spheres and stars make no sounds we can hear, yet they are revealing much to us as they spin and speed through the vast heavens. They play a music we cannot hear - the music of the spheres. And the beauty of it is beyond our imagining.
Watching these kinds of astronomy episodes fills me with wonder. I discover a new perspective of our solar system, learning about how all the right events, planetary movements like Jupiter shifting around before settling into its current location, had to come into an exact perfection in order for life to exist here. I do not think it is just crazy luck that these things took place. It wasn't a random chance of the draw. There is our Creator God above all this orchestrating the movement of the spheres, creating a perfect home for us.
The big question always asked and never answered, is did God create any other place in the universe with life?
God's love is so deep for us, He knew our sense of wonder and discovery would need to be filled, and He gave us this vast cosmos to set us wondering. The universe has to be big enough to warrant such amazement and mystery - I know we will ever figure it all out. We will continue to discover, and that's a beautiful thing.
Sometimes I watch a program or video about some element of space and time, and while it is filled with so much in the way of fascinating scientific facts, theories, and solid evidences that scientists seek, they leave God out of it. I do not need a scientist to tell me the reason Earth is somehow in the perfect place, set just right amongst the planets, far enough from the sun so we don't burn, and the only planet with liquid water to sustain life. I know that God created such a place for us. Did God move around the planets, pushing Jupiter back so that Earth could flourish with seas and trees? Indeed, it was God who made it possible for the planets to form, and our sun to burst forth into light.
We know a little bit about the cosmos, and there will always be more to figure out. Even about our neighbor planets, which are close (relatively - if you consider that in the scope of the universe millions and billions of miles would be close).
To know that God cares for each of us, on such a small planet in the vastness of the starry landscape is a treasure to hold in our hearts. We have the same love in our souls that created the stars. His love moves the stars and spheres. They follow His circles of love in the cosmos. We get to look up in wonder, and praise Him for their glory as we spin along with them through the heavens.
Oh the beauty of a blank page.
I see the possibility.
Blank pages don't stay very blank for long with me.
Most people shudder the thought of having to fill a blank page, though.
It is as if they are back in school again, with a test or assignment to write an essay they do not want to write. They suddenly feel inadequate, as if they have nothing to say to fill a page, even though they do have much to say. Maybe the subject of the essay is tough, or elusive, or abstract. The solemn silence then fills the classroom and pencils start scratching away all around, but the blank page stares up with a menacing paleness. With an air of drudgery it is written with a hand and mind so reluctant (while the real desire is to get out of that classroom), resulting in (possibly) receiving a low grade, or maybe not. Usually a teacher can tell if the student was giving the essay much or little thought.
That kind of memory sticks with most people, I think, to this day. I've heard people refer to it in different ways, but I never really had that feeling in school when given a blank page. I always had words swimming in my head, and I didn't realize it at the time, but I was eager to get those words out. As long as I just started writing it would all come out and I would fill that page. I'm not saying my teacher always liked it enough to give me a high grade, but I would always give it a go. I would never leave the page blank, or not fill the space (or whatever the assignment required).
In truth, I could have sat there all class period and written, that wasn't my problem. Once the biggest hurdle of simply starting to write was surpassed, it was just a matter of giving my thoughts the space to swirl and fuse in my mind and then make their way by pencil or pen onto the page.
My issue is always sharing it. Thankfully, throughout most of my school years, it wasn't the norm to read essays out loud to the class or share them, so I didn't have to approach that hurdle too often, and now that I am grown up, I have to make that effort to share. That is why this blog was born so many years ago. It is my way of sharing my writing, and challenging myself to keep going.
Keep filling the blank pages.
With my quiet, introverted, thoughtful, musing kind of personality, I am at my best creatively when I am sharing those things. So, I thank you sincerely for coming along that journey.
We thought words travelled the wires
In the shiny pouches of raindrops,
Each one seeded full with the light
Of the sky
- Seamus Heaney
It is a rare weekend with no plans, so I plan (paradoxically, haha) to do mostly bookish things amidst the regular chores that call each weekend. Nobody is expecting me, and there is no time to be somewhere. So now is the time to embrace this ability to embrace all the bookishness. I shall be mostly cloistered away in my tiny library tree house home.
But first, coffee.
It is that time of day perfectly set-up for coffee and thinking. The mornings awakens those desires for me. As I sit here, my coffee comes, and I think about the gratitude I feel for those who have bought and are reading my book, and how I so thoroughly enjoy any comment/feedback I receive from those who give it. My duty as the writer is to respond in gratitude, and I do so eagerly. I welcome the thoughts of readers, and love to hear what spoke to them the most, or what they thought about a certain section of the book. To hear the differing perspectives is delight.
I am reminded of C.S. Lewis, who responded to every single letter he received from a reader of his books. He felt so strongly that it was his duty (or perhaps a better word, privilege) to respond to every person who took the time to read his books, and write to him question or thoughts. I feel the same. I understand how it feels to have someone read the words that swam around in my head for so long, and finally make their way out onto pages. The very least I can do is answer questions, or hear their their thoughts, or sign a copy. I am filled with overwhelming gratitude anytime that happens.
The great thinking morning continues as my hand scribbles away in my journal, and coffee slowly disappears from the cup. When I have time to spare, time to sit and ponder, time to listen to those conversations going on all around me, it is a lovely morning indeed. I love the morning coffee shop vibes of a Saturday. No need to rush my coffee. I sip it slowly and let the smooth taste sustain me for awhile. It is a coffee so delicious, a treat after a week of working and not lingering very long with my coffee and thoughts. I mark this time with a deep sense of appreciation.
The later it gets, the busier it gets at the coffee shop. Families rush in like a herd, dads come in with little ones, eager for their strong coffee, young couples come in for iced lattes. It is a rustle of bustle.
What about this quiet writer sitting softly at the round marble table hidden in plain sight? It is where I like to be - tucked away but able to observe. Not to be observed, but to observe. I will let the others be the show. I will be the one sitting quietly, likely unnoticed by all. Suddenly, I will drop off my empty cup and saucer at the counter, and slip away in a flash, back out in the humidity of the deep summer.
One feels the radiance of a new page
on which everything could still come to be.
- Rainer Rilke
The air has been thick with heat and humidity. Growing more and more intense, the space above our heads could not hold all the heat together any longer and at last it finally burst. The explosion and release came with gusty winds and heavy rain, suddenly enveloping the whole atmosphere.
I sat here at my kitchen table prepping for a class I will be leading at church (on imaginative fiction), notes and books strewn across my table. Working in my library of a tiny home. And the delight of the afternoon rainstorm came upon me. I could sit here for hours appreciating it. My soul longs for it.
Why does my soul long for a cloudburst whilst most people dislike storms and ache for the sunshine? A thunderstorm I delight in, but I am frequently reminded that that is not the norm. I have always been different like that.
As a child my imagination automatically kicked into overdrive when a summer thunderstorm approached. I heard the distant thunder and I would grab my tote or backpack, add a journal, a book or two, a few treasures, and maybe a stuffie, and venture across the house, looking out the windows as I set out on my journey, listening for thunder (which was possibly a T-Rex getting closer), and watch for the rain to start.
As soon as the heavy rain was upon us, I would find a cosy nook, a safe place to sit with my bag full of treasures, and imagine the story I was in at that moment. I might be hiding from a T-Rex and raptors that were surveying the area, or I might be on a journey escaping from bad guys. A spy always has bad guys chasing them.
I was always doing brave things in my stories, because anything was possible in my imagination, and a good storm kindly provoked it. I was always seeking out that safe place to catch the cosy vibes of a storm where my imagination could reach out, boundless.
I didn't know what I was drawn to then, but now I know it is the mysterious atmosphere where every moment is full of possibility. That feeling has been with me all my life, and probably always will be.
