Hello friends! Sunday evening here and it is still gloriously bright outside. But no, I am not writing this from outside myself, I regret to say. Dani and I did accomplish a most lovely walk soaking in the unseasonably warm sunlight and treading the well-worn Heights paths. It ended up at new ice cream shop whereupon some pistachio ice cream was much enjoyed (by Dani) and then our feet finally wandered on home. Now I feel a bit tired but the good kind of tired, the kind where your body is grumbling a bit but your soul is happy knowing the miles walked were worthwhile ones. Now you can picture evening here if you know me even a little bit. Tomato sauce bubbles gently on the stove. A candle is flickering on the table. A little classical music plays on the TV. It’s a random spring compilation at moment, but I think I may put on Beethoven’s violin concerto in a moment – discovered a new performance by Alena Baeva that I am rather looking forward to listening to. And yes, a book at the side. I thought about writing something more – poetry or ponderings on the powerfully rich and beautiful sermon this morning? Perhaps a poem later, I know not. As for the sermon, we meditated upon the death of Christ. Luke 23:26-43 and the wonder that is God going forth to die that we might live. The one man in all history that could have not died and yet he did not save himself. No, he did not. He died so that we might live. He died so even I might one day be with him in paradise. Oh my soul thrills at the thought. Jesus, how I long to be with you.
Yearning
A few book thoughts as this evening slowly darkens.
17. Exhalation by Ted Chiang. A collection of short stories that I enjoyed for the most part, yet left me a bit cold in the end. The stories here are mostly sci-fi or futuristic in concept and while I usually appreciated the author’s exploration of some interesting concepts, the writing and characters left something to be desired. Perhaps I just wasn’t in the right mood for some gritty and slightly unsettling looks into our future, I don’t know! This author attempted to extrapolate our current technology into the future and the effects such would have on humanity. The technological advances that we see even today – are they beneficial? Well. It depends. Anyway, these stories weren’t terrible. Also not great.
18. The Power and the Glory by Graham Greene. Wow, what a bracingly powerful piece of fiction. This book is atmospheric and vivid, poignantly human and oh so beautifully written. And yes, it is a bit claustrophobic at times, dark and depressing and not entirely an easy read. Yet I found myself enthralled with the tale Greene spins, the story of a priest on the run, a priest persecuted and cast out and still yet struggling to do the duty that he feels is his. There are layers to this book and I do not feel I’ve fully peeled them back. At first glance, this is a glimpse into an area of Mexico one hundred some years back when anti-Christian forces have risen to power and driven out the church by law and force of arms. I know little of this history and feel shamed that I have not heard of this chapter before.
But this is more than a dry history lesson. This is a story about people, people in all their glory and all their shame. There are some truly lovely passages in this one, especially the night the priest spends in prison. So many sentences from Greene’s pen made me pause in my reading and consider more carefully what I was reading. What is the nature of humanity? What is the nature of God? What does it mean to be a saint? What does it take to be right with God? Greene doesn’t exactly answer all these questions, but this book is not intended to be holy writ. Instead, we are simply asked to look and see and behold the faces of those humans around us who groan as verily as we do and who bear the very image of the divine. Who can save us from our sins? Will one stand in the gap and suffer that we might live? The priest attempts yet falls short in the end as of course he must. Greene doesn’t beautify the priest yet he does allow for a moment of hope, a glimpse of glory even despite the afflictions that surround. There are shades of heaven in this one. Faint, but there nonetheless. I would now meditate on Jesus, the one whose righteousness alone can bring us home to God.
Hidden Places
It is good to sit and be still this quiet Friday morning. Soon enough I’ll breathe deep and begin the work day and plunge into all its many fires that must be fought and conquered. But for now, I’ll relish the quiet of a day that has not yet fully awakened. I have had a few minutes to luxuriate in the quiet of our little flat and think on things that my mind can’t quite comprehend in all their glory. My coffee is still warm and its bitter loveliness is a little pleasure that brings me much joy. I think you know the feeling? I sigh. I wish I had more time to read and rest today, but the clock ticks relentlessly on. So grateful for the time I did have, reading one of my all-time favourite Psalms – Psalm 118 in all its comforting grace and profound prophetic majesty! I shall write more about this at a future time, but let it be said that there are few Psalms that speak as clearly of Jesus Christ and the salvation that he holds out to us. Also got a few moments in John 15 reading about what it means to rest and remain in Christ. Oh how sweet it is to be on that vine and know that I am united to Christ. What this fully means this feeble mind cannot quite grasp. But I know that I am one with Jesus and I cling ever more closely to the love that is my Lord’s. As I look upward and delight in the everyday obedience and faithfulness that comes in my union with Jesus, I rejoice. I rejoice for love unbounded.
Suit Up
Morning all! It’s a little pre-work post here and I really only have a minute or two so you all shall be spared a long rambling post. Wanted to shout out the gorgeous mid-March weather which after today will be pretty much non-existent until some eight months from now. 40 degrees this morning? Yes please and thank you. I with great glee put on my cosy black turtleneck and my good black wool coat and feel all properly attired for this last reminder of winter’s presence. I am thankful for the little things, like walking out my front door and feeling the cool air on my face and breathing deep and reminding myself that these small beautiful moments are but a taste of what is to come. This is an office day and so I had a nice drive here listening to a sermon and meditating on the mercies of God especially to such a feeble one as I. Thinking on the story of David and Nabal and Abigail and the mercy of God toward David in drawing him away from his wicked inclination toward vengeance and directing him toward the path of mercy and the beautiful picture of Christ present in Abigail and her valiant deeds and discretion in placing herself between wrath and its deserving object. Oh how wonderful it is to spend a few moments now thinking on the person of Jesus and pondering his staggeringly vast and beautiful love for me.
Imminent
Hello friends! A beautiful Sunday has been enjoyed. Dani and I got a nice long walk in, albeit in possibly the most humid environment possible, to our great sighing dissatisfaction. Still though. It was good to be outside and soak in the sunlight and enjoy a nice long ramble together, talking of all and sundry. And we were not walking just to walk although so often that is what we do. We ended up at Kaboom eventually and it was a glorious few minutes browsing the stacks as I hoped to find a treasure. I will admit this was one of those rare cases where I did not buy anything! I did find an old 1916 copy of “The Possessed”, but decided not now, since I have no idea when I would end up reading it. Was really hoping to find a copy of “Brothers Karamazov” but oddly enough there were none to be found. Hopefully next time! Dani and I finally arrived back home and oh how good it is now after my shower to be sitting in my little corner chair enjoying the supreme relaxation that is felt after a good long walk. Dinner will be burritos and tomato and avocado soon enough. But not yet. I shall talk for a few words on my latest book and then it shall be time to read – “Gospel According to Jesus” still encouraging my soul.
16. First Love by Ivan Turgenev. Was initially thinking this would finally be the exception to prove the rule – the first of the great Russians that ended up a disappointment. And I will say that this tale is simple enough and not grand or epic in any way. But this little mid-19th century Russian story proved in the end to be worth the read. I had not read Turgenev before but heard enough that I was eager for this one. Yet the story seemed so bare bones and simple on its face, and so it is for the most part. There is not much subtlety in this one. Yet it is worth it simply for the last few pages and the reflection on mortality and what life really means and what it all points towards. The last few pages were sublime and worth the seeming-superficiality of some of the earlier pages. Grateful I read this one and I will not hesitate to pick up another Turgenev in the future. This was just a short story after all, so curious to see what his novels are like. I am a simple man of simple tastes and apparently I still haven’t met a 19th-century Russian tale that I dislike.
Dreams
I wish I could dream in color like I hear all the cool kids do. Unfortunately I can’t even claim to remember my dreams apart from the odd occasion when I have the luxury of drifting back to sleep after waking earlier than my alarm clock, a very rare happenstance indeed since usually I am up and showered all before five am. So my dreams? They vanish into the fog of last night’s sleep as dreams are prone to do. And though I’m sure it would be amusing to know what my subconscious is working through and ponder what I have to look forward to, instead I force my eyes forward and dream for the moments later on when I may have time to write in black and white. These are the moments of bliss whereupon the thoughts in my brain are distilled onto the page or laptop screen and somehow present a snapshot of a moment as I in amusement let my eyes rest upon the words that prance free, born in a moment simply to be frozen forever in that museum gallery for a solitary pilgrim to enjoy as he may. I do wish at times my vocabulary was a bit broader and could better express the thoughts that burn within. Instead it seems as if the same old standbys get used again and again and I feel so shamed that I can’t write as some of the ancients used to. Even now I read a page from time to time that stirs my heart and I wonder what it is to wield such skill. Perhaps someday I shall write a line that is true. For now I simply write what is and let the words fall upon the page perhaps in disarray but you know what – there is a truth even there. I shall in humility fall to my knees knowing that I am not enough. Yet I look to the mirror and though it is broken and cracked, I still see a face that betrays hints of majesty for the one that has eyes to see. There are moments when I breath a quick prayer of thanksgiving that I even now live in communion with the God that knows my name. I still wish I dreamt in color. Yet this world though spinning wearily is not so bad when one considers the long road it’s trod. I do long for the wedding day. I do long for the day when all will be made new. I do so long for the day when the world in technicolor will sing for joy unbridled and for that day when I shall in glory look upon the face of the groom.
What Is Necessary
she crosses the front room and comes to where i sit
kneeling at the table she takes my hand and
lifts it to her lips
and then i tremble silently
letting the book fall into my lap
she says not a word but lets her eyes do
the talking
and that is all and that is enough
and i drop down beside her
and together we bow our heads
Three Steps to Summer
A late afternoon has crept upon me and I find myself somehow surprised that it already has ticked near on 5pm. It is a simply gorgeous spring day here even if a bit warmer than I would desire. The sun still shines overhead and the breeze ruffles my shirt and reminds me that summer is not yet here. I almost let this afternoon slip away, drowsing away the weariness at home. Yet…upon looking outside and seeing the day blazing brilliant blue, how could I stay indoors? And so on go the shoes, with book and laptop tossed in backpack and away I went. It’s been a while since I’ve done the afternoon EQ walk. And though it isn’t quite EQ anymore – not sure I will ever be used to calling it Caffvino – it is lovely to sit here on the porch once more and enjoy the steady hum of the conversations round about. The music layers on and then also the traffic sounds are omnipresent as one may guess. I do find myself amused at the music playlist choices. While at one time it was punk and rock and emo angst, now…well, sounds more like hipster-folk-core or some such. Sounds like music one might listen to as they drive the mountain roads, camping gear slung on top. Definitely not the music of EQ of old.
Now what shall my fingers dance on to talk about? I suppose I might further share the loveliness of the day and chronicle my morning. I woke up later than typical but it was still early enough to enjoy a walk before the sun had fully risen above the horizon. A quick cup of coffee was brewed into my little to-go cup and onward I walked – MKT trail as is proper of a morning. Oh how beautiful sang the day! It was just cool enough that I relished the warm sips of coffee I would take from time to time and yet just warm enough to make me think of springtime. And speaking of springtime…as I walked down the trail, I caught a whiff of loveliness and stopped of a sudden. Could it be? And yes it was. The first scent of jasmine of spring. Always a delight and it will never not be one of my favourite moments of the year. I looked to my right and saw the very first delicate blooms of jasmine on the hedge that ran along the trail. How could my heart not sing? Ah how I love the jasmine flower and the memories that come with! With renewed joy I walked further down the trail down to the bridge, the spot from which many times I have stopped and thought and mused and prayed and this day I let my eyes dance as they gazed upon the bayou stretching towards downtown and the far-off buildings that seemed as dwarfs under the eastern sky. The sun now said hello in full and shimmered in a friendly manner and reminded me that a lovely day was at hand. I walked back and let my eyes rest upon the construction work that some may call a blight yet I find a treasure. The old buildings with the faded “COMPANY REFINERY” upon the side are now being renewed once more, the faded bricks glorified as the new windows are fitted and the surrounding ground turned over in preparation for what is to come – unknown to me yet I hope perhaps for something more than a retail park or office spaces. We shall see. Yet it gives me joy to see buildings not torn down and tossed asunder but renewed and made to rise again in splendour. I walked past the construction site and soon enough found myself almost home. I stopped to stretch and laughed to myself at how good my legs felt in the process. Does this mean my legs are not quite as young as they used to be that I find such pleasure in the perfect feeling of completion that comes after a proper stretch? Perhaps, perhaps. I have been accused of not looking as young as I used to, after all. Later on in the day, I would receive a comment from someone who had not seen me in a while remarking upon my salt and pepper hair. Well, I will not deny that my years have crept up upon me. And I will in that acknowledgement look up to heaven and say a prayer and praise my God for all that He has granted me. This has been a good day. It has been a day that I have been reminded that even as I turn towards sunset there is a far country that calls my name.
She Sits Atop the Wooden Table
A bare few words here this cold Friday morning. I was hoping I’d have time to write something profound and sweeping and glorious and in actuality I did have the time. Alas, I am at times my own worst enemy and instead of writing I found my thoughts bobbing here and there and my focus slipping as I darted to and fro on the interwebs instead of attempting to write a few words here. Now attempting to salvage, though I fear it will simply be a life raft floating on the dying waves. Anyway! Does one have to write of a morning to make it a worthwhile one? I say not, most certainly invested in the answer – as most mornings I of course do not! So I shall rest in this day and look forward to seeing what God has in store for me his child. It is a good day, that I declare in full confidence and humble expectation. Perhaps I shall write a few words later today or maybe even this weekend. We shall see. But whether I write or not, still know that my face is still turned up in gratitude to heaven and that my heart beats in time with the song of angels. Peace, my friends. Peace and love.
Shades of Grey
Hello friends!! Tuesday afternoon here. A few words on my latest books – not many I promise! – and then it shall be walk time, even if it is ridiculously hot and sticky this mid-March day.
14. The Passion According to G.H. by Clarice Lispector. What even do I say about this one? A profoundly weird book, I enjoyed it in part but most certainly not in its totality. I doubt I could even recommend it to anyone because I just don’t know anyone who could take the strangeness and come out unscathed. Oh but perhaps that is the point? One is not supposed to experience this book and not be different on the other side, methinks. Anyway. I won’t spin my wheels too much here. My favourite parts of this book was the wordplay and the absorbing rhythm at which the author spins her tale. The book fairly thrums with a high intensity sense of longing. There are stretches in this book which thrill in the way in which the author constructs a train of thought. I honestly don’t know how one can write in this way. I think perhaps I’d love to read her poetry for at the end of the day, the stream of consciousness which runs through this novel is poetic in a way which feels almost effortless, though I’m sure the author travailed over this book with much blood, sweat and tears. This is a good book, to be sure. But just maybe not one for me. There are philosophical underpinnings which make me quirk an eyebrow and wonder what exactly the author is getting at. Her thoughts are veiled at times and I wonder if the titular G.H. is an aspect of the author or simply a handy voice to ponder deeper truths that may be at odds with the accepted wisdom of the age. It is a work to behold and perhaps some of you may enjoy this one. The writing is beautiful and the way in which the author utilizes language is truly a marvel. If perhaps I had a bit more comprehension I too could peer over the heights of pretension and join the narrator at a spot unbidden and gaze myself over the deserts that call me back to my ancient home. But if we acknowledge an ancient home we too acknowledge the fruit that we ate that took us from it and though I wish to discourse myself on many things I fear my ability to do such is not quite up to the skill the author wields with such peculiar joy. I both loved and loathed this book. I think the author would approve.
15. Tom Lake by Ann Patchett. I enjoyed this book in the moment though less so as I reflect back now. It is a very easy read and the narrative pulls you forward swiftly, even as you lean forward with the girls in earnest, eager to hear the next part of the tale their mom has finally resignedly decided to tell. Possible spoilers ahead. The characters are lovingly drawn and there are parts of this book that I truly loved despite the trauma that marked this book in parts. I think my favorite parts of this book were simply witnessing Lara and Joe and their daughters living and working and talking and laughing and crying even as they spend their time working the orchard and wrestling with their past. I could have spent most of the time with them in fact! Maybe that makes me a bit akin to Peter Duke, one who recognizes the most unusual peace and beauty at that place and feels it to be home even though he only walked that land but twice. I did think this book was well written and did enjoy the craft of the writer as she tells a story about a girl who becomes a woman and experiences a life that seems as foreign to me as to her daughters. There were a few things that bothered me, of course. I have decided I don’t like Covid books. As much as it’s subtle, even reminders of that time irk me and especially looking back at it, it frustrates me to see all the follies of that era laid bare again. There are also a few character moments and choices that made me sigh, though I recognize they are common to this age so I should not be surprised. It makes me sad to see Emily’s fierce opposition to bringing children into the world. Though I do understand the sentiment and even know people who share it, it will never not make me sad. Though perhaps there I stand with Joe and Lara. And then of course the abortion at the end was handled with such brevity and obvious approval, it made me want to weep. I do so hate abortion. But is this not a reflection of the times and mores which even now hold sway? I suppose so. So as much as parts of this book grieved me and as much as I don’t think I’d read this one again, I am still glad I read it. There are reflections in this book that are truly lovely and I’m grateful to read about a family in which there is such fierce love for one another.
Something Weird 