words worth reading many times

Tonight we are having a Literary Night. To the uninitiated, this is a time where we bake up some treats. Pour out some beverages. Set up some good reading lamps. Pull into a circle and read select portions to each other. 'Select' can be funny or deep or a well written Christmas letter. It can be a journal entry or a dear john letter. I swear we were moved to tears on those readings. We have roared through James Herriott, even while the reader was fallen over sideways, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

I often default to Mark Twain. Perhaps because you cannot match his cleverness or self-effacement. His honesty is like a tonic. Like this, from his newly published autobiography:

By my count I have been in the right mood for competently and exhaustively feeding my ancient grudges in the cases of only thirteen deserving persons. It makes good reading. whenever I go back and re-read those little biographies and characterizations it cheers me up, and I feel I have not lived in vain. The work was well done. The art of it is masterly. I admire it more and more every time I examine it. I do believe I have flayed and mangled and mutilated those poor people beyond the dreams of avarice.

But then there is Wangerin writing about someone who has recently found the love of his life:

Chauntecleer healed more quickly than anyone else. This was not just because he had so strong a constitution, one well able to knit even the most open wound. But this was also because his spirits were so high. He laughed enormously and often, these days. He talked much, and he would talk on any topic available, to anyone who asked a question. And Chauntecleer began to fancy himself a philosopher. He stared up and spoke grandly of God and of the ways of the Deity.He disclosed the hidden patterns of his effective rule. And most particularly he discoursed on beauty- female beauty - its attraction to the male. And he smiled in his sleep these nights, Chauntecleer did, because his dreams were all good. And he healed very quickly.

The value of a night like this, of course, is to be introduced to other authors. I have been delighted to read the whole book after hearing a short reading. And I have learned to avoid an author after just a brief sample. Sorry Cameron, but Pride and Prejudice and the Zombies didn't make the grade with me.

What's this about relief?

What is it about relief and glad, glad news that makes it seem unnecessary to write? When I am deep into the weight of a struggle, I write to process my thoughts and my emotions about those thoughts. But when the struggle is over, when the weight is off, when the present view is so saweeeet, I do not need to write. I don't even want to.

So pushing against disinclination, here goes: I don't have to have any treatment for thyroid cancer this year. Maybe not even next year. I am free to put down things on the calendar that won't be squeezed around trips to Omaha. I am able to look ahead and smile. I am looking and smiling.

An Important Peace

This was a thought that a friend shared with me. Thanks, Jim.

Let's say a troubling thing has intruded into my life. Could be poor health, a rupture in a relationship, some crime committed against me. Something that is alarming, or painful, or scary as all getout.

It is what it is, and by God's good intention, produces a brilliant result in my life and in the kingdom...because He is determined to make His Name Great in my life. One of the evidences of God being there as His Beautiful Sovereign Self is the peace He gives (not as the world gives.)

But I can muddy up that shiny, crazy good thing by forfeiting peace. By amplifying anxiety or stewing in unforgiveness or slavishly preferring the non-strength of an idol. However my mode, giving peace away just makes the suffering so much harder! It would be like having someone come into my house and stealing my stereo. And then in my panic and distress, taking a big hammer to the tv, microwave, books, and ebook, just to make the theft more hurtful. It's an insane way to cope with loss. How much better to cast my care on my God who cares for me. How much kinder to my lacerated life to cease being anxious about how this thing will end up, and make my requests known to God who then trades my sorrow for His peace. What a good swap that is!

A Moment to Enthuse

These are two very special ladies in our lives. Nora, on the left, and her older sister, Addie.

Until you have a grandchild, its pretty difficult to make you understand the relationship that develops. Its beyond pride and joy. Its beyond pleasure and enjoyment. Its way better than chocolate and reading. Way better.

When Nora sees me she smiles so wide you can see all of her pretty teeth (there are 4 of them right now). Addie likes to call me Non (rhymes with phone), and pretty much has the best ideas for what to do when we play. When I was a young mom, I felt I needed to juggle chores with playtime. Not as a grandparent. I get to sit down on their level and be with them for however long they like, and play as long as their mom lets us.

The Hunters

Dale and Ben did all the freezing, stalking, waiting, shivering, and then aiming, shooting and dragging to bring these big boys home. We have freezers full of meat! Ben's weapon of choice is his new-to-him WWII era Russian issue, scopeless but with a really accurate sight. Two shots, two deer.











And then we roped some friendly men to do the skinning, carving, slicing and cubing.

Hunting

No pictures yet. But there will be. Oh my, there will be.

6 men and their rifles are heading out to the woods and fields of Boyd County. I am going to cook for them. And enjoy visiting with our hostess, Beth, because we never get enough time to do that.

And there will be legendary stories that this blog will chronicle. Stay tuned...

My Friends

Back in the last century (last millenium even!), like we're saying when I was a teenager, I met Linda and Karen. We were all youngish women who wanted to be involved in cross cultural evangelism. They both had husbands and children. I hadn't met Dale yet, and was on the wild side. Well, wilder than I am now. You will just have to take my word for it.

And we all ended up in Mexico. Living our years in villages in dusty, chilly, windy mountains. Learning languages and cultures. Raising our children to know Mexico as home. Adapting ourselves to limited supplies and different living situations. You should have heard us when our schedules allowed being together in the city. Or visiting each other in the village. Oh did we have stories! I recall the time we were booted from a restaurant because we were too......

And now we gratefully enjoy the moments we can grab here in Norfolk. Or during visits to Mexico. Wherever we can find each other, it's as if we have not been apart. So much of what shaped me shaped them the same way. We have known sacrifice but we have also known the sweetness of comradery. As we are all in different cities, and different careers, I love hearing about their worlds. And trust them to speak into my challenges. I love you two!