7.12.2006

Coming Soon...

A post about Nancy Pearcey's book Total Truth. I know I'm probably the last person to read it, but in case I'm not, I encourage you to go out and buy it.

There's so much great stuff in it that the problem will be narrowing down what to write about!

Meanwhile, sorry for the long absence from the land of blogs. I've missed you!

5.04.2006

A Writer's Challenge

I'm inspired by Bobby's latest post to give all you writers a challenge.

For the next month, write something, anything, EVERY DAY. Write two lines of dialogue you overheard in the grocery store. Write a question and its answer. Write two or ten haikus, one after another. Anything at all. Feel uninspired? Write about how uninspired you are. Some of my most satisfying poems have been about how I don't feel like writing poems. Overwhelmed by impending tests or papers or a deadline? Dash off a few quick lines about how your hands shake when you feel frantic and overwhelmed. ANYTHING.

Why? Here's why:

"To think how to express some passion properly is the only way to be possessed by it, for unformed feelings lack impact, just as unfelt ideas lose weight. So walk around unrewritten, if you like. Live on broken phrases and syllable gristle, telegraphese and film reviews. No one will suspect…until you speak, and your soul falls out of your mouth like a can of corn from the shelf."
-- William Gass

"Make my life a prayer to you
I want to do what you want me to
No empty words and no white lies
No token prayers, no compromise."
--Keith Green

"Whatever you do, do it all for the Glory of God. Do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus. Work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord."
--Paul, 1 Corinthians 10:31, Colossians 3:17, and Colossians 3:23

4.27.2006

Nearing the end of Cultivate Beauty Month - Random thoughts in haiku form

clean, clean apartment
at least the bookshelf is clean
books lined up neatly

the Doppler effect
goose honks change pitch past window
high, lower, lower

dust on the keyboard
is it really true that it's
made up of my skin?

I have in my drawer
one-hundred and forty-three
real Hong Kong dollars

in case you wondered,
that much amounts to not quite
twenty of our own

can I help it if
on a prom-queen May evening
I cannot study?

can't write a haiku
about Mere Christiani-
ty, for I'll run out

looking at bookshelves
I guess I once loved pulp, dime-
store, sad, trite novels

I'm very thirsty
I guess that means this is the
penultimate one

dearest friends, near, far --
patient, indulgent of my
poetic whims -- thanks.

4.24.2006

Summer Reading List

I've got loads of books on my shelf, and not just school books, but fiction and anthologies from my college days as well as ones I've picked up since. I love books. I love everything about them. I love the smell of new books, and how the spines crackle when they're opened for the first time, and the rustle of thin pages. I've got a friend who will actually have time to read this summer, and I've made her a list of books to borrow, read, and enjoy. So, for the curious, and in honor of Cultivate Beauty month as it draws to a close, I will, Oprah-like, give you my recommended summer reading list, in no particular order:

Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier
Beloved by Toni Morrison
How the Irish Saved Civilization (nonfiction) by Thomas Cahill
Proof (a play) by David Auburn
Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe
The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje
The Professor and the Madman (historical fiction, based on real events) by Simon Winchester
The Devil in the White City (another historical fiction) by Erik Larson
Daughter of Fortune by Isabel Allende
The Awakening by Kate Chopin
House of Sand and Fog by Andre Dubus III
Chocolat by Joanne Harris
Wit (a play) by Margaret Edson
The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros

Had anybody read any of these? What are your favorite books, or some that you've lately read that you loved?

4.21.2006

Spurgeon on Missionaries Teaching Christ to the Natives

Hey, all. I took this from Wade Burleson's blog (with permission, bien sur) because I think it reminds us to focus on what's important. This month, I want to remember that nothing is more beautiful or worthy of cultivating than the Gospel. Our focus must be on the Gospel and its power to bring lost, spiritually dead, doomed people to a saving relationship with the Messiah. I hope you all are keeping up with Wade's blog and with Marty Duren as well, and that you are praying that God's peace will reign in the hearts of every believer caught up in the dispute, and that the Enemy's schemes for division would be utterly thwarted in the face of a renewed commitment to the Gospel. That, brothers and sisters, would be a beautiful thing.

Let Spurgeon teach us from across the years:

I do not know whether all our missionaries have caught the idea of Christ “Go ye and teach all nations,” but many of them have, and these have been honored with many conversions.

The more fully they have been simple teachers, not philosophers of the Western philosophy, not eager disputants concerning some English dogma, I say the more plainly they have gone forth as teachers sent from God to teach the world, the more successful have they been.

“Go ye, therefore, and teach.” Some may think, perhaps, there is less difficulty in teaching the learned than in teaching the uncivilized and barbarous. There is the same duty to the one as to the other: “Go and teach.”

“But they brandish the tomahawk.” Teach them, and lie down and sleep in their hut, and they shall marvel at your fearlessness and spare your life.

“But they feed on the blood of their fellows, they make a bloody feast about the cauldron in which a man’s body is the horrible viand.” Teach them and they shall empty their war-kettle, and they shall bury their swords, and bow before you, and acknowledge King Jesus.

“But they are brutalised, they have scarce a language — a few clicking sounds make up all that they can say.” Teach them, and they shall speak the language of Canaan, and sing the songs of heaven.

The fact has been proved, brethren, that there are no nations incapable of being taught, nay, that there are no nations incapable afterwards of teaching others. The Negro slave has perished under the lash, rather than dishonor his Master.

The Esquimaux has climbed his barren steeps, and borne his toil, while he has recollected the burden which Jesus bore. The Hindoo has patiently submitted to the loss of all things, because he loved Christ better than all. Feeble Malagasay women have been prepared to suffer and to die, and have taken joyfully suffering for Christ’s sake. There has been heroism in every land for Christ; men of every color and of every race have died for him; upon his altar has been found the blood of all kindreds that be upon the face of the earth.

Oh! tell me not they cannot be taught. Sirs, they can be taught to die for Christ; and this is more than some of you have learned. They can rehearse the very highest lesson of the Christian religion — that self sacrifice which knows not itself but gives up all for him.

At this day there are Karen missionaries preaching among the Karens with as fervid an eloquence as ever was known by Whitfield, there are Chinese teaching in Borneo, Sumatra, and Australia, with as much earnestness as Morison or Milne first taught in China. There are Hindoo evangelists who are not ashamed to have given up the Brahminical thread, and to eat with the Pariah, and to preach with him the riches of Christ. There have been men found of every class and kind, not only able to be taught, but able to become teachers themselves, and the most mighty teachers too, of the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Well was that command warranted by future facts, when Christ said, “Go ye, teach all nations.”


Excerpt from "NO. 383
A SERMON DELIVERED ON SUNDAY MORNING,
APRIL 21ST, 1861,
AT THE METROPOLITAN TABERNACLE, NEWINGTON"

A sermon preached by Charles Haddon Spurgeon 145 years ago today.

4.19.2006

From "Long Ago In Oregon"

by Claudia Lewis

The Nelsons

I

In the early mornings
Mr. Nelson passed our house
on his walk,
in his neat dark suit
and coat, open and
flying a bit;
white hair,
sideburns,
stepping along
swinging umbrella for a cane.
When Mr. Nelson walked,
he walked,
enjoying the air
and the morning

Everyone knew
his big store
was the best in town
Always at Christmas
a Santa there
had gifts for children

When I was very small
we lived close by
Mrs. Nelson, plump and cozy
like a grandma,
would invite us in on days
when she made marshmallows.
Marshmallows! Not like
the puffs we bought in boxes
but trembling, glistening white,
arranged in fragile pieces
on a tray.

And her grown-up boys
and girls would play with us,
swing and toss us
in the yard
all around the snowball tree.

Far in the back of my mind
as time passed
I remembered once in a while--
almost not at all--
that the Nelsons were Catholics.
Mother had told us
any church in town
was all right for us--
except the Catholic.
"Why not the Catholic?"
"...Well, in that church
they worship images."

What did this have to do
with the snowball tree
with cozy marshmallow grandma,
and the jaunty man--
the gentleman--
who walked in the morning?

I never even tried
to fit these pieces together.

II
One day I realized
I hadn't seen him lately,
passing by.
"Mother, where is Mr. Nelson?"

"Oh, I meant to tell you.
We won't see him anymore--
He was old, very old,
...He has died..."

(Meant to tell me?
I don't think you did.)

Died--
I glimpse a great darkness
in spite of angels.

Dying?
I've heard snatches
of sad talk.
Now I know--

Death
is Mr. Nelson
striding along
alone
in the morning
toward something black and far
in the night.

4.02.2006

Cultivate Beauty

In honor of Kill Your TV / Cultivate Beauty / National Poetry Month, I'll be posting some original poems (eek!) and some by my favorite poets throughout the month. To start things off right, settle into a metaphysical mindset (or mind/bodyset) and enjoy this delectable offering from one of my favorite poets, Li-Young Lee, an Indonesian-born Chinese-American poet. His writing is so gorgeous that it hurts my brain. Enjoy.


A Story

Sad is the man who is asked for a story
and can't come up with one.

His five-year-old son waits in his lap.
Not the same story, Baba. A new one.
The man rubs his chin, scratches his ear.

In a room full of books in a world
of stories, he can recall
not one, and soon, he thinks, the boy
will give up on his father.

Already the man lives far ahead, he sees
the day this boy will go. Don't go!
Hear the alligator story! The angel story once more!
You love the spider story. You laugh at the spider.
Let me tell it!

But the boy is packing his shirts,
he is looking for his keys. Are you a god,
the man screams, that I sit mute before you?
Am I a god that I should never disappoint?

But the boy is here. Please, Baba, a story?
It is an emotional rather than logical equation,
an earthly rather than heavenly one,
which posits that a boy's supplications
and a father's love add up to silence.

-- Li-Young Lee

3.26.2006

March Madness, Indeed!

My friend Miss Swartz (huh, that's a character from Vanity Fair, too) and I have been planning on a March Madness party since the beginning of February, so I took a planned hiatus from the hiatus tonight while a bunch of us gathered at her casa to hang out and eat chips and lament the sad state of offensive rebounding in the NCAA and yell at that idiot Texas player who went for five 3-pointers (easy, kids, I'm talkin' basketball, not theology) in overtime even though he hadn't hit a single one in the whole stinking game.

And did you see that commercial they kept playing over and over? It looks like a beer commercial to begin with because it's a scantily dressed woman gyrating in a club, but then it turns out to be for Old Spice!?!? What!? It wasn't just that commercial, it was EVERY commercial. Going without TV for a few weeks makes every sexually-driven ad all that much more scandalous to me! I know I already live in a Bible Bubble, going to seminary and hanging outHere's what shocked me. Did y'all see that stupid Old Spice deodorant commercial they kept with my friends from church and stuff, but living in virtual media starvation even amps up the isolation. And I don't mean that in a bad way -- I mean, why do we (I, I mean) feel like we (I) need to be desensitized to this whole sex-sells, consumer-driven, godless culture? I know I never batted an eye about trashy commercials or skimpy outfits before I started doing this... I guess one more reason to thank God for Lent, right?

It reminds me of something a homeschooling proponent said: "People always ask me about socialization. And I say, look at our society! Do you really want your kids to be socialized into THAT?"

On a lighter (though not on the caloric side) note, I went for the first time into the (new) Homemade Ice Cream and Pie Kitchen today, a place with a cumbersome name and a heavenly purpose: to provide absolute, childlike joy and bliss to customers of all ages, in the form of toothsome sweets of every possible variety. As Lindie said tonight, "I tried to die." A 20-foot-long case full of creative homemade ice cream flavors and no less than 25 kinds of pie, plus county-fair-blue-ribbon-prize-deserving cake, and positively enormous cookies. Good heavens. I was grinning so much that I thought my teeth were going to fall out of my head, and that was BEFORE I sunk said teeth into a slice of coconut cream pie. Divine. The prices are reasonable, too. I fear that I may have to resign myself to a career in a sideshow now that I've found the place -- come one, come all, see the fat lady who'll eat any kind of pie you put in front of her! I do love pie. And they have sweet potato, and banana cream, and pecan, and 4 kinds of apple, and, and, and... oh, heaven.

Do you think there'll be pie in the resurrection?

3.12.2006

Why I'm Such a Cry-Baby

Many of my friends, and anyone in my family, can attest to the fact that I am a cry-baby. I prefer to say that my heart is easily touched, because it sounds better, but the truth is, it's not hard to make me cry. In fact, all you really have to do to make me cry is talk about "the Nations," and I'm a goner. So the reading I've been doing for school has been pretty rough on me the last week or so. First, I've been reading a book for Missiology called Perspectives on the World Christian Movement. It sounds pretty dry, and some of the readings are, but others are so full of passion and tenderness for the lost people of the world that I can't help being moved. Second, I just finished a Faithful Witness: the Life and Mission of William Carey. Carey is the father of Baptist Missions, and the story of his struggle and success in India should be known to every believer. Third, I'm in the middle of reading Let the Nations Be Glad! by John Piper, which every believer really must read. The section on suffering... it was crushing. Let me give you an example of one true story that broke my heart.

An African man named Joseph heard the Gospel on a dusty road one day, and was so filled with joy and excitement that he couldn't wait to share his newfound Savior with his own village. When he did, he was shocked to discover that they did not share his excitement; in fact, the men of the village held him down while the women beat him with barbed wire, then dragged him out into the bush to die. Somehow he survived, and days later came back to the village and pleaded with his kinsmen to come to the crucified and risen Christ. Again they beat him, and left him for dead. By a miracle of God, he survived this beating too, and after lying unconscious for several days, came again to the village to share this message of Christ's forgiveness. The women beat him a third time, but, as he was losing consciousness, he saw the women beginning to weep. The next time he awoke, the same women were around his own bed, tending his terrible wounds and nursing him back to health. The entire village had come to Christ.

This is just one story in a series from the chapter on suffering. How small my own faith is! How little is my own trust in the sovereignty of God! How unwillingly I give up even the smallest convenience for the sake of the Gospel! How fearfully I approach evangelism, even when I know that my life and health are safe no matter how bold I might be!

I spent a lot of time crying as I read through that chapter, as I cried out to God for a faith so bold that pain would be a joy when compared to silence. And if that means I'm a cry-baby, I guess I'll take the title!

3.01.2006

Isaiah 58: 6-12

Since I've been thinking about Lent, which has historically been a time of fasting, I thought it was interesting that God worked it out so this passage would be part of my Scripture reading time this morning.

Is this not the fast which I choose, to loosen the bonds of wickedness, to undo the bands of the yoke, and to let the oppressed go free, and break every yoke? Is it not to divide your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into the house; when you see the naked, to cover him? ... Then shall your light break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up speedily; your righteousness shall go before you; the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard. Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer; you shall cry, and he will say, Here I am. If you take away the yoke from your midst, the pointing of the finger, and speaking wickedness, if you pour yourself out for the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday. And the Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail. And your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to dwell in.