paris. 1922.

Apple-shriveled

Time worn

She sits

In heavy solitude

As August sun

Seeps through crumbling brocade

Into the maple-paneled room

Dust, eternally trapped

Rides the somber rays

In filmy, choking ranks

Her only observer

Her faithful attendant

A vintage brooch of peacock visage

Upholds her dwindling tangle

Of dalmation hair

     Tumbling

       Tumbling

             Down 

In stringy wisps

About her wizened shoulders

Her crinkly eyes

Still distinctly blue,

Yet less distinctly seeing

Gaze at the tarnished mirror

Her reflection

haphazarded

by cracks

and

rust

The faded wingback chair supports her fragile frame

Its damask pattern

worn

and

frayed

as much as she

Ancient punch stains and

Historical coffee spills

Stalwart mementoes of former days

In her lap

Lies a pink satin sheath

With tucks and pleats

And loosened stitchings

Her purple-veined hands

As agile as eagle talons

Caress the smocking

Rub

Rub

The smoothness of the mother-of-pearl buttons

With childlike tenderness

She fingers the yellowed lace hem

And in her

Trembling tracings

She recalls the years of the dress

The silent moments

It contains

And

The old grandfather clock

Ticking out of tune

Ticks

And

Ticks on

The only sound in this catacombic room

And over her head hangs the cobwebbed chandelier

Many years fallen asleep

Perhaps never to be awakened

From slumber

In green mottled frames

Dripped with

Water stains

From ceiling leaks

Photographs of bygone faces

Stare out from the

Paper prisons

Holding their breaths

In resignation

And

The clock ticks on

Out of tune

Out of rhythm

Keeping time as he’s bidden

The mirror trembles

Under the weight of a passing generation

And 

Outside in the street

A little girl

Jumps 

Rope

Marriage-Happy Christianity?

Altared: The True Story of a She, a He, and How They Both Got Too Worked Up About We

By Eli and Claire

Altared instantly piqued my interest. How could it not? It stuck out like a sore thumb {or like a garden gnome in a desert}. It is revolutionary. Possibly offensive, perhaps flippant? It is a Christian book actually advocating for a less all-consuming, obsessive view of marriage. Now that's a book to pick apart and digest.

With a grain of salt, I read devoured it, and found it to be one of the most thought-provoking books that I have ever read.

Altared is co-authored by a young couple who wrote under the pseudonyms, "Eli" and "Claire". Throughout the book, they weave the re-telling of their own "love story". But in between remembrances of their long-distance relationship, they tell a deeper story - one that reverabates throughout the Christian community, seemingly growing stronger with passing generations and the uptick of romance novels: the all-consuming view of marriage.

What? There is something wrong with the evangelical community's approach to marriage? It sounds strange. It may be offensive to some. But the arguments that Eli and Claire set forth are worth the contemplation. They cover a lot of ground in the book, and though I can not adequately express their extensive thoughts in a short blog post, I have included a few of their perceptions below.

1) Why do churches - all across America and throughout the denominations - nudge the singles in their congregations down the aisle? Why are singles the most marginalized group in the Church? Why is there an unsaid rule that singles aren't functioning members of the church (or community) until they are married?

Perhaps because the evangelical community is marriage-happy. Because it is assumed that every person should get married; that everyone should want to get married; that everyone, except for a finite few, will eventually get married; and, as such, everyone of marriageable age should get married ASAP, regardless of the bigger picture: The perfect will of God.

Eli and Claire back up their points with scripture, and reflect that perhaps we have gotten it all wrong - terribly wrong. Perhaps as a community, we have taken God's gift of marriage, and made the gift our god - singles and marrieds alike. Perhaps marriage and the pursuit of it has overwhelmed our thoughts, our desires, our questful thirst, our hearts unto a sinful amount.

Eli and Claire qualify that they do not disdain marriage or the God-given glory and beauty of the institution; they simply query if our motives for marriage are based in selfish desires or instead based in a heart duly surrendered unto God.

2) Is this marriage-happy state in the Christian community preventing believers from whole-heartedly and purposefully fulfilling God's command to love one's neighbor?

It's a big command {second only to loving the Lord}, and Eli and Claire note that the command should not become any less important when one becomes of marriageable age or becomes married. Perhaps our marriage-happy community has blurred the lines, and in the midst of loving one's family {a wonderful act in and of itself}, we have forgotten the enormous value of loving as a family unit. Perhaps in the pursuit for a spouse, Christian singles are neglecting numerous and constant opportunities to love their neighbor. Perhaps married Christians have come to see loving their spouse as their highest and most important duty before God, and thus they have casually thrown by the wayside the command to love one's neighbor. It's certainly food for thought.

3) Has the Christian community's approach to teaching the essence and holiness of purity been based on the wrong motives.

Eli and Claire point out {and I must agree based on the books I've read} that the Christian community has taught the youth to remain pure for their future spouse. Nothing wrong with that, but for the motive. Why be pure? So you can save yourself for you future spouse. What about instead preaching a purity based simply out of faithful obedience to God's command - future spouse or not. With this motive, the quest for purity no longer relies on man; it quells the waiting anxiety; it takes the impatient heart off of the hazy, unknown future spouse, and instead refocuses it to look towards God and His righteousness.

Eli and Claire include so many more thoughts and propositions in their book - each as thought-provoking as the last. Many readers may disagree with Eli and Claire; and to most, the content may sound distantly offensive - distantly, because they cannot put their finger on the discordant theme, but the subtle presence is there nonetheless. The offensive aura of the book may simply be rooted in the foreignness of the thoughts enclosed - the thoughts that just maybe God is less worked up about marriage than we are.

I received this book for free from WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group for this review, but the opinions expressed in this post are mine.

Indelible by Kristen Heitzmann

Indelible. I felt a tinge of hesitation. I had to read it on my computer, downloaded to Adobe Reader. I'm a book person. I like pages, and paper, and raised lettering on the covers. But it was the weekend - one of those big, long comfy weekends that makes reading a happy event - and so, I decided to give Kristen Heitzmann's recently released, Indelible, a try. I had it read by the end of that long, comfy weekend. 367 pages. It took a top spot on my all-time favorite Christian novels list.

It's a story of redemption, of transformation, of Godly order out of sinful chaos. And it all takes place in the, by all appearances, sleepy town of Redford, Colorado - a rural community situated in the treacherous Rockies. {I confess: I'm a sucker for these rural, sleepy town plots}. But behind the generic faces of Redford's own, lie specific stories - stories of loss in a lost world - abandonment, suicide, abortion, divorce. Everyone has a wound. Heitzmann phenomenally articulates each individual's pain. She takes her reader into the soul of a Fleur, the blind artist; into the brain of Natalie, the young sculptor with the eidetic memory; into the heart of Trevor, a member of the emergency mountain rescue team; into the mind of obsessive compulsive Miles. It is one of those treasure books, in which, you become a character yourself - you taste the fear, sense the anxiety, and revel in the goodness that all the actual characters experience.

Heitzmann writes an engaging thriller - one that is both suspenseful, and yet well-written. A tough combination to find in Christian lit.

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher through the Waterbrook Multnomah book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255

Love Does:

Discover a Secretly Incredible Life in an Ordinary World
By Bill Goff

It's a refreshing compilation of anecdotal stories drawn from author, Bill Goff's very life experiences. He was the kid who talked his way in to law school; the man who unintentionally became a U.S. diplomat; the home-owner who was visited by a foreign prince; the guy who played a $$$ prank on his best friend; the gentleman who sent flowers to the lady who totaled his jeep...

Truly the amazing stories are made all the more appealing by Bill Goff's hilarious style of writing and dry humor. He is able to pull it off, more or less, without coming across as arrogant.

If the book were simply a string of these life stories, I would give the book 5 stars (yes, the stories are that fascinating). However, with every story, Goff tries to weave it back to Jesus. This in itself is not bad, but stretching scripture to apply to stories, and vice versa, is. The spiritual "tie-in" attempts are generally shallow and eventually became tiresome: "[Jesus] already digs us more. And more than that, our pictures are already in His wallet."

In addition, much of the spiritual discourse is very elementary; Goff introduces important biblical characters, i.e., Joshua, Paul, Judas, as if the reader probably does not have any clue as to who they are.  This seems unnecessary as the book is written to Christians, not unbelievers.

In my book, Love Does gets 3 our 5 stars.

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher through the BookSneeze®.com book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255 

2012: In Review

Thankful for yet another year of life. Thankful for hugs from friends. For family convos over morning coffee. For trips to Southern California. For China. And all the "little things" that I have recorded throughout the year. In looking back over my gratefulness journal, I find that those "little things" - often overlooked - are some of life's most precious moments and blessings.

2012 Snapshot Moments of Simple Gifts

Truth from young lips. Bittersweet tears. Kumquats. Alarm clocks. Tenacity. Nate's green eyes. Flexible friends. Griffin Robert Gibson. Cough drops. Bedside prayers. Literacy. Godly parents. Randomly recalling fragments of old dreams. Taste. Sunrises. Sister-Sister heart shares. Sufficient grace. Waffles. Pine forests shining golden-orange from sun-rays. Museums. Teen-hood. Preserved vintage buildings. The Olympics. Greek food. Leah Horvath. The Man Who Was Thursday. Smiles exchanged. Shampoo. Ron Paul work. Hymns and poetry. Pre-birthday hugs from Mom. Peaceful nights. Youth. The van. Restaurant leftovers brought home. Texas Independence. Forgiveness and do-overs. A "hugging" family. Lung-breathing, heart-beating life. Green cow pastures. The joy and peace of knowing God. Payday. Braids. Thomas Hardy. The Bridge of San Luis Rey. Plane tickets. Raw sugar. LOTR soundtrack. Scottish heritage. For time given. Screwtape Letters. Mint Oreos. Jesus. Chinese Fortune Cookies. Tear-jerker movies and books. Singleness. The love of a jealous God. Gummy bears. Girl date with Mom. Americana. TieDye shirts. Repetition of life. Toes. Lighthouses. Morgan. Wild grapes. Hugs from Garrett. Gelato with the fam. 70's dress. Sister reunions. Zoos. The box-car kids. Madelyn Hart. Rilla of Ingleside. Car rides with Leah. Family trees. Heirlooms. Mini-homeschool reunions. Natural rights. Remembering. Clean kitchens. Panicked prayers. A protective Dad. Prosperity. Security. Salvation. Fruit popsicles. MOM. Suffrage. Indica Peace. My cousins. Seth Gaines Gibson. Naps. The Titanic. Heroics. Lightening storms. Ultrasound images. Closure. Youth Governors. Symbolism. Talks with Mom and Dad in the morning. Scotch-Irish folk music. China. Room 316. Journal parties. Nations. Sour plum juice. Elevator comfort. Orlando's dear friendship.  Moral support. The Elams. Soul-deep peace. Brothers. Imagination. Spontaneous family trips. Walmart parking lot hugs. OCD.  Anticipating joy for the next day. Spontaneous closet dance party with Nate. Generations in the house. Gracious library policies. Thorp Spring Church and Cemetery. Ancestry. The origins of dirt paths and bovine psychology. "Runaway Car". 1776. Mr. Martin. Mellow Man. Deep convos with Biff. Cuddling with Nate. Jyp and Dym. Learning assertivenesss. 800 Critical Reading score. Tears of repentance. Fried turkey. 1976 Christmas cassette. Hearing stories from my parents' childhoods. Auld Lang Syne. Life in all its richness and poignancy. This blessed, amazing year.

And here's to another year, full of God's sweet blessings and mercies. He maketh our cups run over.

November

Harvest moon glows like a

Tipping canoe in a black sea

Bare, stretching tree fingers

Criss-cross its face --

Grey rivulets against the yellow silhouette 

The precarious vessel

Seems at rest

Not bobbing

Just subtly in time

Drifting further down in

The dark sky expanse

Of waters

Sinking deeper

A constant

Though sparse

Mingling of stars

Range as points of reference

As buoys and distant lighthouses

For the lonely canoe

And the wind cannot wreck it

Nor waves beat upon it

It sinks because it has

Been commanded to do so

And even now,

The slender ship dips into obscurity 

The Homeland is Elsewhere

It is a longing

Growing deeply

Ever intense

Subtle sighing of the soul

Reminds the traveler

Where he is going

The dark canyons and

Sudden cliffs seem endless

The shadowed valleys and

Dreary fogged lands stretch out

Seemingly forever

And weariness may linger

Bruises may form

Blisters will scab

And wounds – of battles –

Foreign battles in a foreign land

Ache as only man’s flesh aches

But the traveler moves on

Waiting and watching for that sudden rise

For the swift glory of majestic mountains

For a valley of golden light

For the burning longing testifies to it

The longing that was tucked away in his soul

Since his first birth

And awakened and kindled in his second birth

That knowledge spurs

The traveler on towards

The unseen, yet known land

He has been a foreigner

Wandering aimfully

In this dry and thirsty land

All his life

But it wasn’t until his second birth

That he understood

That his homeland was elsewhere

He was not a native-son

And even now, he walks

Through the darkest passage yet

His man-heart trembles

But the Friend who has reawakened

The longing

Is with him

And the traveler is strengthened

For he is nearing

The place that

Odes

And poems

And songs

Have memorialized

Yet failed to represent

A place of returning

A haven of welcoming

A going home

And The Shadow passes

And the traveler with a final step

Leaves behind the foreign land

The land of vultures

And before his hungry eyes

He sees a valley ever wide

Rising up through forested trees

To mountains of unseeable heighth

And the golden light of an eternal dawn

Breaks through the groves and meadows

Gilding the wings of soaring eagles

And haloing a dwelling

And to this dwelling

The traveler’s eyes are drawn

His world-weary eyes are satisfied

And the longing wells

In his soul like tears of the ocean

The doors are all flung open

The windows all a-jar

For him

Welcoming

Beckoning

And with a swiftness

Of a renewed soul

The traveler nears the house

And the darkness

Of the former lands

Are forgotten

The worries and cares

Are erased

His memory

Is only for this dwelling

In the celestial valley

How often his soul

Dreamed of this place

How often his Friend

Would whisper to him

Of its beauty and peace

And before the grand house he comes

With no fear of rejection

Nor hesitation in his mind

But as a son coming home

To those who love him

And think of him by day

And by night

And he enters

And the welcome

Is a fulfillment of all hope

That was ever hoped

And he is embraced

By those who have longed

For his arrival

And the celebration is sweet

And his wounds are dressed

By the Faithful Friend

The Balm of Gilead

Eases the pain

And blisters heal

And the bruises disappear

And the traveler’s dusty

Dirty

Ripped

Blood-stained

Garments are exchanged

For the white raiment

Of the Household

And the son

Sees familiarity everywhere

There is nothing unknown

Every crevice in the house

Comes into focus

As if from a dream

From a recollection imprinted

On his heart

And the longing

Once burning, hurting

Is now

Satisfied and redeemed

And it rests as a quiet song

In the son’s heart

A hymn of salvation