Planning for 8th Grade Science (First Semester)

It’s been a long time since I’ve done a homeschooling post on the blog. We’re wrapping up 7^th grade year in the next week or two, so I’m busy pulling together the portfolio of the year (made more fun this year by not having a working printer in the house)! But that means I am also in one of my favorite parts of homeschooling: planning coursework for the fall.

We rely rather loosely on a classical framework, which among other things has meant that we’ve done history and science in four year cycles. The history cycle is ancient, medieval, early modern, and modern, and the science cycle is life science, earth science, chemistry, and physics. In the grammar years, it was basically an introduction to those topics, while the logic (mid-grade) years have given us a chance to press deeper into the topics and focus a bit more within each. For instance, last year (roughly 6^th grade) we spent part of the year on general earth science, covered geology in a more in-depth unit, and then did close to a semester of astronomy. 7^th didn’t lend itself to quite so many nifty detours, as we basically stuck to mid-grade chemistry the whole way, but chemistry lends itself to more lab-work, which the sweet girl enjoys.

For 8^th grade, I’ve been going back and forth for a while about what to do. Our introduction to physics, back in the grammar years (4^th grade) did not go too well. It was due to a lot of things: a harder year overall as we moved toward the logic stage, a curriculum I bought with great enthusiasm, thinking it would work for us, only to find that it really didn’t, and the fact that I have very little aptitude for teaching physics. The bottom line may simply be that it’s also the branch of science that holds almost no interest for S. I’m sure it would have helped if I could have lit a metaphorical fire under her and sparked that interest early, but alas, it didn’t happen.

Knowing that we’re approaching what should be a physics year in the cycle again, I think we’ve both been feeling a bit worried about what we’ll do. Since part of the beauty of homeschooling is that we get to play to our strengths, part of me thought of just dropping it entirely and moving straight back into the life sciences. Then again, another beauty of homeschooling, at least from my perspective, is that we can encourage a student to try something again or to stick with things that may feel harder without too much grading pressure. The learning is the adventure. If it turns out not to be your favorite subject – eh, that’s okay. But at least you can say you gave it a try and got a taste of it.

With that in mind, I’ve decided to compromise. For eighth grade, we’re going to do one semester of physics, and one of botany. The botany will give us a jump on biology in high school, and will also give the sweet girl something to look forward to in spring semester after working hard in the fall at something that isn’t as much her cup of tea.

This has turned out to be incredibly freeing for me as a teacher too. I find that planning in semester implements can feel much less daunting than planning a whole year. It helps me to think outside the box in turns of resources, including the use of resources that might make a great unit or cover several weeks, but wouldn’t work for a whole course. And I’m very happy with what I’ve managed to put together so far, though I can’t actually build the course schedule until I get some things ordered, which probably won’t be till part-way through June.

Here’s what I’m planning to use:

Physics for Middle School by Rebecca Keller, PhD

(RealScience4Kids)

Despite the fact that they’re a bit pricey for our budget, we love these resources from Gravitas. We’ve used both their astronomy and chemistry books for the mid-grade year. Basically the text provides ten lessons and the accompanying lab book provides labs that go with each of the ten lessons. One of the things I appreciate about them is that they are well-organized, covering important topics in the field at age-appropriate levels. Because they’re good at covering important/key concepts, I can use them as jumping off places to help the sweet girl find other reading and resources that build on the information in the text. They’re also nicely designed, with colorful images and good-sized text in a slick looking paperback that feels approachable to hold and read. Finally, the teacher’s guide actually offers some further information and some possible stepping-off points for discussion.

Developing Critical Thinking Through Science, Book 2

(Critical Thinking Company)

Since S. is a hands-on kind of learner, I wanted to make sure we have at least one more good lab resource on hand, and I’m hoping this will prove to be useful. The description I’ve read indicates that most of the labs can be done with household items and a few other things you might need to buy ahead. I think it’s technically listed as “grades 4-8” which means there are probably some easier/some harder lab options throughout, which will give S. a chance to ease into things.

Exploring the World of Physics by John Hudson Tiner

(Master Books)

I can’t tell you how happy I was to discover Tiner’s Exploring the World of Chemistry this year. We found it late, alas, but we’re still trying to get it all in because we’ve enjoyed it that much. He does a fine job of looking into the history of a scientific discipline, stopping along the way to explain concepts that were discovered or developed. The writing is an interesting combination of straightforward and yet complex when it comes to the actual science being described or explained. S. enjoys exploring the history of science and has liked the Chemistry book, so I’m planning to weave the Physics book in and around the lessons and labs from our other resources. I’ve also discovered that Memoria Press provides supplemental questions and even quizzes/tests based on Tiner’s series, so I plan to pick that up as well.

I’ve already got Botany plans in the work for second semester, but I’m still exploring resources, so I’ll share more about that later.

Caring for the Vulnerable Among Us

Watching someone you love struggle with dementia is never an easy thing. My mother-in-law's challenges in the past few years -- and prior to that, her challenges as a caregiver for her husband, as he struggled with Alzheimer's -- have made me do a lot of thinking and praying. They've also made me recall the years my grandmother lived with us when I was young. How do we care best for people we love who struggle with memory loss and confusion? How do we show our love and care for them from afar, when we can't be with them all the time? How do we support the people who are their main caregivers if we're not?

There's a very helpful and thoughtful article that deals with those kinds of questions posted at the her:meneutics blog on Christianity Today. One the things I appreciate is the honesty of Benjamin Mast, the author being interviewed, when he talks about the vulnerability of elderly people with dementia and memory loss, and how easy it is for the church to overlook them. They are part of what he terms as an almost invisible demographic.

I've been wrestling with this a lot since our last family visit to Virginia to see my mother-in-law. She has been part of a moderately large non-denominational Bible church for over forty years. Yes, the same church for over forty years. While I was touched at how warmly she was welcomed to her Sunday School class when we took her to the Easter Sunday service, it was apparent that no one had been in touch with her much at all in the intervening months since she'd last been able to make it there. She struggles a great deal with loneliness, and yet from all I can ascertain, it is very rare that she receives calls from anyone at this church, and much more rare for her to receive an actual visit.

I think there are probably lots of reasons for this. Chief among them may be the contemporary, post-modern mindset that assumes that individuals would rather muddle along privately than rely on others for help. I think there is an assumption that family will do the caring, and absent that, that social services and retirement communities (my mother-in-law lives in one) will plug any care deficit. While it's true that there is a chaplain at my mother-in-law's care facility (maybe more than one?) that person is responsible for a great number of people. It also seems odd and painful to me that the local church, which would seem to be the best representative of "family of faith" there is, would so quickly fade out of the picture, even when someone has been a faithful member of that church for decades.

It may call into question how our churches can lack inter-generationality (is that a word? Well, it is now...) By that, I mean generations spending intentional time together. I don't think this has to be all the time. There are certainly times and places where it is appropriate for people to gather with people of their own age and life experience to learn at levels that fit the seasons of their lives. Young children and teenagers aren't the only people who could benefit from that. I think fellowship groups or Sunday School classes for middle aged people could be very beneficial, partly to learn and pray together over the challenges of aging! But when churches are very age-segregated, that can lead to other challenges. I know for many years that my mother-in-law had felt most at home in her own Sunday School class for older people. More and more, she felt out of place at worship, which had grown more casual and contemporary than she felt comfortable with. The people she was most connected to were her age or older, and now when she is struggling, probably many of them are as well.

All of this has made me feel deeply grateful (again, and for yet another reason) to be a part of a historical, liturgical church tradition. Anglicanism, steeped as it is in the threefold ministerial offices of bishops, priests, and deacons, reserves a very important and biblical role for deacons as leaders in pastoral and practical care for the people of God. (I love deacons! And not just because I consider many of them good friends, and have been blessed to teach in the diaconate study program in my diocese for a number of years.)  My dear husband and I have reflected lately on how glad we are to belong to a church tradition that has a long, historically-enriched, biblical practice of pastoral care. It doesn't mean that each and every church we've ever been part of has always practiced it perfectly...that's not possible. But it means that there is a much greater chance of such care being available and humbly and lovingly offered and practiced than in traditions that are shaped more by contemporary values than by historical and biblical ones.

As the body of Christ, we are to rejoice when another member rejoices and suffer when another member suffers. We are also to carry one anothers' burdens and practice loving care amongst the household of saints. And that's true no matter how old and frail the saints may be. Our love for the most vulnerable and "invisible" among us is surely a mark of our love for God. 

Mansfield Park Revisited

Over five years ago, I posted a reflection on my re-reading (and love of) Austen's Northanger Abbey. At that time, I dubbed myself "fully 5/6 an authentic Janeite," because I hadn't yet fallen head over heels in love with Mansfield Park. At the time of writing that post, I full expected to be re-visiting Mansfield for another read within a few months. Alas, it took me over five years to get back to the book, but re-visit it I finally did.

I think it's been re-reading Pride & Prejudice with my husband and daughter (my umpteenth time to read it, but the first time I've ever read it aloud, and their first time to encounter it) that made me realize I was up for a fresh look at the only Austen novel I've never felt completely at home with. I was a tad bit worried that I might not be able to lose myself completely in its pages. This mirrored the worry I felt back in 2009 when I did my second re-reading of Northanger. As I said then:

I confess I felt nervous as I took the book off my shelf. It felt too smooth, the binding too uncreased, the pages too new to be one of my beloved Austen books. And what if...perish the thought...my reading experience remained the same as the first time and I still didn't "fall into it completely"?

Silly me. If Jane is an acquired taste, then I have so long ago acquired it that reading her now feels like second nature. I should have realized that I've spent so much time with Jane in the intervening years that I would recognize her voice as soon as I began reading. I should have known that one can never really have the same reading experience twice, because wherever one is today is not where one was ten years ago (or five, or one, or possibly even last month).

I could have essentially written those words again this time out! 

I was definitely "ready" for Mansfield Park in a way that I wasn't when I first read it many years ago, still new to Austen's music and her way of looking at the world. Gone was any sense of stiffness or unfamiliarity. This was simply Jane again, Jane whom I love to spend time with, and I thoroughly enjoyed my reading of the novel this time out.

That said, may I confess -- and still consider myself fully a Janeite -- that I'm still not sure I fully "get" Mansfield Park? I don't mean I don't understand the plot, but there's something about the characters and the underlying tone that still doesn't quite work for me on some level. My memory of Fanny Price, from my one long-ago read, was that she lacked the sparkle and vivacity of some of Austen's other characters, and while that's true, I didn't feel the loss of that so much this time, maybe because I've now come to know and love the complexities of some of Austen's other heroines (Anne Elliot doesn't precisely "sparkle" either, but I love her dearly -- and really, how many of us sparkle in real life?).

In fact, this time out I found myself impressed with just how authentic Fanny Price's character feels. Yes, she's insecure and naive and perhaps a trifle rigid and judgmental, but what else can we expect her to be, given her life situation? She also shows a marked amount of determination not to give into social pressures and romantic intensity, even when she's being wooed with seeming sincerity by Henry Crawford.

It's the men I don't fully understand this time out, both Henry Crawford and cousin Edmund. Mary Crawford I understand more -- she's a schemer and a social climber but underneath it all, not an awful human being. She's easily swayed and led into error by others and there's a part of her who would like to be a lot more noble and real than she is, but she just doesn't have much backbone. Fanny's got the backbone and a much deeper heart, which is one reason why I wondered about Edmund's inability to see that (can he really be as smart as he's supposed to be if he's that dense about women)? Even though he claims, in the end, to realize Fanny's worth, I've got an uneasy feeling that somehow there's a part of him that might feel like he's "settling."

Henry's truly the one I don't understand. I'm not sure how Austen wants us to feel about him. She gives us far more time with him than she gives with with Wickham or Willoughby, scoundrels in other novels. Like them, he is the immature schemer who trifles with women's emotions -- at least at first. But at some point in the novel, he actually appears to grow. He sees Fanny's real worth, falling for her in spite of the fact that he'd initially looked upon her as just a conquest to pass the time. It feels as though Austen wants us to take him on the level at this point. At least I can't help feeling that she does. He is trying to change, he wants to be a better man, he wants to be the kind of man who perseveres and actually deserves a woman like Fanny. In the end, he fails, but -- and here's the problem with the way my emotions felt engaged -- I felt sad that he failed. There was a part of me rooting for Henry to actually become what he claimed he wanted to become. The fact that we see his spectacular fall from grace off-scene (just through letters and hearsay) made it all seem sadder. Fanny was proved right not to trust him, and while I was glad she'd been wise enough to not succumb, there was a part of me that wondered if her inability to forgive his past wrongs didn't have something to do with the fact that he ended up failing. I'm not putting the responsibility for changing him on Fanny. Getting into a relationship with the intent of trying to change someone doesn't seem healthy. But what if she'd at least taken him at his word when he was telling her how much he loved her? What if she'd found it in her heart to speak the truth: "I don't love you that way because I love someone else. But I recognize that your feelings for me are respectful, tender, and good, and I hope that you will find someone else to love that way some day."

Meanwhile, I knew I was supposed to be rooting for Edmund (and I know if I get around to watching the film adaptation with Johnny Lee Miller in the role, I no doubt will!) and I did find him endearing on many levels, not least of which was the fact that he was the only person at Mansfield who was truly kind to Fanny from day one. But he felt so incredibly big brotherly in his role of older cousin that it was harder for me to root for the romance. Added to which, as I already mentioned, he drove me a bit batty with his inability to realize the depths of Fanny's feelings. He looked right past her and latched onto the pretty but shallow Mary Crawford, although he knew at almost every turn that the two of them weren't right for each other. Unlike Fanny, he falls into the trap of thinking that he can love someone so much they will change their essential nature. Austen seems to be telling us, in both love stories, that such change doesn't come easy.

And that makes me a little uneasy. Granted, I think on one level she's right. We are who we are, often for better or for worse, and it takes a lot to truly change us. Austen may be saying something deeper here (without actually saying it) about the limited powers of even the best romantic love. It can be a wonderful thing to love another person, but ultimately, it's the grace and love of God that can change us from the inside-out. What I'm stumbling over is the fact that often that love is mediated to us through other human beings. It's through being forgiven and embraced, even in our messy brokenness, that we often find ourselves most changed.

I've been coming to realize that's one of the things I love about Darcy's character in P&P. It feels stronger to me this time out...how much his love for Elizabeth changes him. It's true that Darcy's failings are not the kind indulged in by Wickham or Crawford. He's not a flirtatious trifler with emotions. But he is unbending in his opinions and highly condescending. He has a hard time looking past appearances and confessing his own weaknesses and shortcomings. His love for Lizzy changes him in good ways, partly because he has to learn to bend, to become more fully human. Interestingly, it's really his love for her (before she ever understands how to return it; she's changing too!) that begins the changing work in Darcy. Because both characters change and grow, there is something about their union that is highly satisfying. Edmund and Fanny, likable as they are, don't seem to change much. Their temperaments are also more alike than not (they both have trouble with the whole notion of play acting and its potential impropriety, when no one else in their circle can see that at all). You could say that Edmund grows wiser, I guess, but somehow there just doesn't feel like there's as much movement in their characters. They don't move toward each other so much as they both stand still and finally manage to see past what they need to in order to come together in the end.

All this is merely my "second impression" (to slightly mangle an Austen reference) of a novel I'm sure I will turn to again. Perhaps on a third reading, I will come to an even better understanding of the characters and its overall tone. There's a lot here to enjoy and love, including the wonderfully sketched background characters like Fanny's Uncle Bertram and her conniving Aunt Norris. And as always, some truly artful scenes.

Austen Spring

Last year we had a Tolkien summer, and this year it's an Austen spring. We're reading Pride and Prejudice in the evenings as a family. It's the sweet girl's first encounter with Austen, her dad's first encounter with an entire Austen novel (he's seen numerous movie adaptations with me, and I've read him excerpts). It's also my first time to read an Austen novel aloud. So we're all enjoying something new and fresh in the experience!

Having pretty much internalized P&P after multiple re-readings, it's interesting to read it aloud and discover how challenging it actually is to read aloud. Austen's long sentences, which meander a lot in the middle before reaching their main point, are harder on the tongue than I expected. They flow more easily when I read silently, but I'm enjoying the challenge...and remembering how Alison Steadman, the actress who played Mrs. Bennett in the 1995 A&E version, said she thought Austen's lines were harder to deliver than Shakespeare's.

And speaking of Steadman, hers is the acting voice that influences me most when I read. It's almost impossible for me not to read Mrs. Bennett's without her cadence, which isn't a bad thing perhaps!

The sweet girl has found it interesting, but has been surprised at the sheer number of words she needs help in defining. I confess I had almost forgotten, due to long familiarity, just how gorgeously dense Austen's vocabulary is. And sometimes I am stymied when faced with defining a word (especially a few of the more archaic ones) because I realize I have spent years understanding it from context but not really knowing its precise meaning. With some of the denser passages, she has also required a little help of that "could you explain what just happened there please" variety, but we don't mind stopping and providing a little extra help. I feel like a tour guide! And that's fun too.

There's also the delight of realizing anew how many words Austen loves with such relish that uses them frequently. ""Felicity" and "amiable" (or "amiability") being two of her very favorites, though S. keeps noticing how often prejudice and pride crop up too.

I've not tried much in the way of voices -- too busy just trying to read it in a lively and engaging way to promote clarity -- but it strikes me how much fun it would be to play Lady Catherine in a stage version. Such commandeering condescension! Lizzie is also a wonderful role -- a tad bit snarkier than you realize when you read her quietly on the page. Some of her lines just drip caustic wit. Despite the fact that Austen gave Lizzie's sister Jane her own name, you can't help but feel that she must have seen something of herself in her main heroine. Though the older I get, the more I think I empathize with Jane Bennett and her attempts to see the best in others. I think I am somewhere between Jane's naivete and Lizzie's cynicism. And I think part of Austen's underlying message is that both can get you into trouble. Lizzie thinks of herself as a realist, but there are bits of underlying bitterness in her dealings with the world and the unfairness of her own situation that color some of her prejudices and help make the plot go.

Everything We Have Comes From Him

I'm in the midst of a several day slog through a lot of work deadlines, which in actuality is part of a longer series of months where I've been pushing at a pace I know I can't keep up much longer.

My mind is tired. I am running out of creative ideas (both teaching and writing). I am running out of energy and hours.

My heart is tired. We have friends going through the unfathomable sadness of accompanying one of their children through terrible illness that looks as though it will end soon in death.  I have turned twice to news reports in recent days about the persecution and killing of Christian brothers and sisters in other parts of the world.

My mind and heart are also bursting with love and gospel goodness, which in the midst of all the heartbreak and heartache feels ever more precious each day. We have been loving our nearly teenage daughter through a ton of very hard questions about God, life, Jesus, the Bible, and the world -- incredible questions that come faster than we can possibly answer (her mind works at such an amazing pace sometimes). I spent part of the morning trying my best to answer questions from a seven year old who told me he really wants to see God.

Tonight I was glad to come across these words from the end of 1 Corinthians chapter 1 in The Message:

"Take a good look, friends, at who you were when you got called into this life. I don’t see many of “the brightest and the best” among you, not many influential, not many from high-society families. Isn’t it obvious that God deliberately chose men and women that the culture overlooks and exploits and abuses, chose these “nobodies” to expose the hollow pretensions of the “somebodies”? That makes it quite clear that none of you can get by with blowing your own horn before God. Everything that we have—right thinking and right living, a clean slate and a fresh start—comes from God by way of Jesus Christ. That’s why we have the saying, “If you’re going to blow a horn, blow a trumpet for God.”

What a rich treasure God has given us -- all of us who weren't much when we were called, but who by God's grace have been given everything we need, including a clean slate and fresh start.

 

Upside Down World

I'm working on a proposal for a youth curriculum lesson based on Acts 17 and 1 Thessalonians 1. The Acts 17 passage has that wonderful verse where Paul and his friends are accused of having "turned the world upside down." The people of Thessalonica didn't mean that as a compliment -- Paul and his fellow missionaries were proclaiming the gospel, and it had upset their whole way of thinking and being! (Sometimes having your world turned upside down isn't very comfortable!) But their words were truer than they probably realized at the time.

And what was true then is still true now. The gospel changes everything!

My dear husband gave me the terrific idea of having the kids look at an "upside down map" for one of the activities. If you've never had a chance to check out a map with a south-north orientation, do. It will blow your mind and get you thinking about the world in highly creative ways. It might humble you a bit too, especially as you ponder how many tacit assumptions we sometimes make about our place in the world based on the accepted construct of our maps.

Holy Week and Easter

"He became naked so that we might be clothed; he who was truly fit to rule took all our dishonesty and unfitness to rule upon himself; he rose from the utter dependence of death with an imperishable body, "more fully clothed," so that we, too,clothed in his merciful robe, might be fully knowing and fully known in love's full embrace.  Like God.  As we were meant to be."
                                       ~Andy Crouch, Playing God: Redeeming the Gift of Power

A blessed end of Holy Week, and a joyous Easter!

The Penderwicks in Spring

I don't usually pre-order books, but with The Penderwicks in Spring, the fourth book in Jeanne Birdsall's planned five book series, I made an exception. Not only had my twelve year old daughter been eagerly anticipating the next installment since she was nine, I love these delightful books too. When I had a gift certificate around Christmas, I plugged the pre-order into my purchase...and almost forgot about it.

You can imagine the excitement when the beautiful yellow and green jacketed hardback arrived on Friday. The sweet girl and I promptly treated the book like Nick and Tommy Geiger treat their beloved football, passing it with great enthusiasm. She read it in two days, managed to not give me any major spoilers, and handed it off after telling me that she loved it. I also read it in two days (knowing we will both go back to savor it more slowly later) partly because I knew she was longing to talk about it. Which is what we did for a good bit of yesterday morning.

Without providing too many spoilers, I do want to give a shout-out that this book is every bit as lovely as its predecessors, and in many ways moved my heart more deeply than the first three. The books have always been a wonderful mixture of humor, sweetness, and some bitter sweetness. Birdsall manages to balance multiple emotions while providing stories with lively pacing and character defining moments for her beloved cast of characters.

Fans of the books should know – and this is nothing you can’t discover online or on the book flap – that the events in this book take place about five years after the last one. That means that Rosalind, Skye, and Jane Penderwick are nearly grown up – 18, 17, and 16 respectively, with Rosy off to college in Rhode Island and only home for occasional visits. That makes Batty almost 11, about the age Jane was when we last spent time with the Penderwicks, and Ben (their stepbrother, the son of Iantha) now 8. (One of the first things the sweet girl said to me when she was in the midst of reading was “Ben really talks now!” which made me laugh.) There is also a new Penderwick on the scene, rambunctious Lydia, age 2.

The book belongs to the younger Penderwicks, with its heart and soul reserved for Batty. While I missed more time with the older three…though they do come into the story in important ways, and still feel very much themselves in spite of being teenagers…I was so glad that Batty finally got her book. I don’t know if I feel a special affinity for Batty because we share the role of “fourth child” in the family, but I’ve always loved this youngest (well, used to be youngest) Penderwick sister, ever since she wandered into the pages of the first book wearing her butterfly wings. Batty has long since outgrown the wings, but this book is, in many ways, about her learning to fly. 

In case you’re wondering, Jeffrey makes a couple of important appearances, and the Geiger boys (now young men), are also prominent this time out, especially the oldest Geiger, Nick, who turns out to be an important mentor for Ben and a good friend to Batty when she most needs one. Tommy Geiger, Rosalind’s long-time suitor, is offstage for most of the narrative, but have no fear…Tommy being Tommy, he shows up when it counts.

Ben has turned into a delightful kid, with a love for action figures and rock collecting and a personality as big as it needs to be to help him hold his own in a houseful of girls. Mr. Penderwick and Iantha have small roles this time out, but they’re still their usual loving selves, supportive and helpful parents with the humor they need to help their children sort things out. Mr. P still spouts Latin whenever he gets the chance, but since Skye is now taking Spanish and Jane is learning French (badly), little Lydia, in the parroting stage, is quite the polyglot.

I won’t say a thing about Penderwick animals (fearing to give too much away), but animals are important in this story, as they almost always are.

The moments of humor are delightful, as always, especially when Rosalind brings a potential suitor home from college, a handsome guy whose terrific cheek bones can’t make up for the fact that he spouts all sorts of pretentious silliness about books and films.

Keep an eye out for echoes from the first books, including the very first book. The Alcott echoes continue to feel strong in this book too. Oh, and don’t be surprised if there are a few secret MOPS meetings, as well as MOOPS, MOYPS and even a MOBAB. (If you have no idea what I’m talking about, you need to get to your nearest library quickly and pick up a copy of the first novel. Go! Now! What are you waiting for?)

The moments of pathos are also beautifully rendered in this book, especially as Batty does some soul-searching, both about her musical gifts and about her place in the family. Since the four girls’ mother died not long after Batty was born, Batty has always been the liminal character, the one more than anyone else who seems to straddle the family as it originally was and the family as it has come to be. We see in the book that sometimes that perch can feel a little precarious, but it also has its gifts.

I both laughed and cried in the final chapters. The Penderwicks in Spring is a worthy penultimate installment in a great series. The sweet girl and I both eagerly await book five and whatever surprises and familiarities that may have in store.

Big Vision, Difficult Tasks, Lasting Fruit

A letter from a missionary organization hit my electronic mailbox this morning. In it, I found this wonderful prayer its leaders have been praying recently, one which I think I need to adopt as a prayer of my own. They are praying for:

"A vision bigger than what our faith believes. Tasks bigger than our own hands can accomplish. Fruit that will last longer than our lifetimes."

Very Amen!

The World is Almost Too Beautiful

The world is almost too beautiful. The variegated petals of a tulip, the wisps of straw fluttering from the open door of the white birdhouse where sparrows are once again busy setting up housekeeping, the way the light looks on a late March afternoon when you’re not yet used to the lingering softness of the light. It is almost too beautiful, almost, until you remember, your throat aching with mingled joy and sorrow, the echoing beauties of redemption, forgiveness, release, and deep, deep peace. And you recall the beauty of the Author of it all, beauty past recounting, rhyme or reason, beauty that can only make you stutter in worship and fall down in praise. 

(Just a little prose poem on this Palm Sunday.) 

Middle School Reading: Then and Now (Or Old Books and New)

An interesting post hit my FB page earlier today, with a link to this list of middle school reading in Minnesota today and Minnesota of 1908. (And all Betsy-Tacy fans will almost immediately think, "Margaret Ray would have been in middle school just a few years after this!")

The accompanying article, which I confess I only had time to skim, addressed the significant differences in the time periods, thematic elements, and reading levels addressed by the books in question. Under time period, she was chiefly pointing out that the 1908 list didn't hesitate to recommend reading to students that had been published 50-100 years before, while the current list mostly features contemporary work of the past 20 years.

While I think the article makes some valid and important points, especially on reading levels and on our current trepidation about giving young people older books, I think the discussion could be even more fruitful if we allowed ourselves to notice that at least some of the contemporary books appear to contain literature that provides some cultural perspective beyond Anglo-American. I agree with the writer of the article that we need to give our young people literature that helps them understand the foundation of the United States and of western civilization. (And I totally agree we need to give them language and sentence structures that challenge them.)

Without addressing the merits of the individual books in question on either list (some of which I know pretty well, and others I don't know at all) wouldn't it be wonderful if we could both give them the foundational literature of our country and culture and the more contemporary literature that tries to broaden our understanding of the complexities of American history, the riches of the American melting pot, and the responsibilities and joys of global citizenship? Just a thought, but wouldn't having the grounding in foundational American and English literature prepare them to better read (and appreciate in context) some of the literature that is being produced in the English-speaking world today?

Seems to me that we would all be well-served by C.S. Lewis' idea of varying our reading diet to include three old books for every new one (not a challenge I always meet, but one I appreciate). If you haven't ever read Lewis' Introduction to Athansius's On the Incarnation, where he explains this idea and the reasons behind it, it is well worth your time. In fact, the whole book is worth your time, and one of those delightful exercises in reading something "relatively new" (the Lewis introductory essay) and then something very old, the Athanasius work. As someone who has sometimes questioned my own ability to read, comprehend, and absorb older literature, I occasionally read Lewis to bolster my courage and enthusiasm. He helps me want to dive and dive deep, even if I end up getting in over my head. (Was it Karl Barth who once used the metaphor of surfing to describe reading theology? It sometimes feels just about that vigorous!)

George Herbert, Jane Austen, and My Forty-Seventh Birthday

It's my forty-seventh birthday, and I woke up thinking about people who have died young.

Heh. Don't worry. I am not feeling terribly morose (far from it...it's been a lovely day) and that comment is not nearly as somber as it sounds. I just found myself reflecting on the Scriptural admonition "teach us to number our days," and thinking about people who gifted the world even during very brief sojourns.

This has been on my mind since I read Timothy George's essay "George Herbert in Lent," the other day at First Things. I either didn't know or at least didn't recall that George Herbert, the extraordinary Anglican poet and priest, died in March of 1633, just short of his 40th birthday. I'm pretty sure that I never realized before now that he never saw any of his poems published. He left them to his friend Nicholas Ferrar; they were all published after his death.

I suspect that both George Herbert and Jane Austen, who died at the age of 41, would be astounded at the strength of their legacies so long after their deaths. They were quiet people whose influence, during their lifetimes, was in relatively small spheres. And yet their influence, their creative power, has spread to so many others, in ever widening circles as the years pass. While it's true that not all of us have the creative genius of these two, I think that the imprint they left behind doesn't have to do only with their words, but with the faithful lives they lived and the quiet but faithful ways they used the gifts they were given. I love the Richard Baxter quote that Timothy George provided regarding Herbert: he was "“a man who speaks to God like one that really believeth a God, and whose business in the world is most with God.”

The older I get, the more I begin to realize that it's the quiet but loving moments that may have the most staying power in my own life, and the most influence for good on people I'll eventually leave behind. Those circles of quiet and loving influence feel so big in my own life. I know, I know. Sober sounding reflections for a 47th birthday. But right now I'm not feeling particularly glum about how old I am, just tremendously grateful for the years I've been given so far and hopeful that in the years ahead, I can stay a faithful course and love even more deeply. I'd like someone to be able to say about me one day that she is "a woman who speaks to God like someone who really believes in God, and her business in the world is most with God."  That's a legacy worth having.

Glass Slipper, Gold Sandal: A Worldwide Cinderella (Book Review)

This past Friday, we treated ourselves to a rare event: a movie in the theater. My daughter's love of Cinderella and my love of Kenneth Branagh directed films, not to mention my upcoming birthday, all combined to compel the family to the new Disney version of the classic fairy-tale. It was a stunningly lovely movie, so very well-made, and I hope to still find time to write a real review! (The short version: if you love fairy-tales, see it. If you love Kenneth Branagh movies, see it.)

Seeing the familiar story play out got me thinking about the film's source material, not only the 1950 Disney animated film but the classic Perrault and Grimm versions. That got me thinking about other versions of the tale too, which took me into my book review archives. I dug up a review I wrote over seven years ago and decided to dust it off and give it a rewrite.

Without further ado, here's my slightly revamped review of Glass Slipper, Gold Sandal: A Worldwide Cinderella, a beautiful picture book written by Paul Fleischman and illustrated by Julie Paschkis. It was published in 2007 by Henry Holt.

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Almost everyone knows and loves the story of Cinderella. We can easily sketch the tale because we know its images and contours so well. There's poor lonely Cinderella, abused by stepmother and stepsisters, clad in rags and sweeping up the ashes, overworked almost to death. Look! Here comes her fairy godmother! Away Cinderella rolls to the ball in her pumpkin coach, glass slippers on her feet. She loses one at the stroke of midnight, but her beloved prince picks it up and vows to find the woman who has lost that tiny sparkling shoe and stolen his heart in the bargain. And so he does find her. The stepsisters are aghast. Wedding bells ring. Happily ever after.

Am I close? Is that just about the way you know and remember it?

Maybe...or maybe not.

What author Paul Fleischman has given us in the lovely and unusual picture book Glass Slipper, Gold Sandal is not just a familiar re-telling of Cinderella as many of us in the West have growing up hearing it told. His Cinderella has gone global. Fleischman's fascination with the Cinderella story led him to look for it in other cultures than our own. What he discovered was that people the world over love to tell this story. And while the main shape remains the same, the details change in wonderful ways from culture to culture. His book is an attempt to weave those varied details together into one rich tapestry. He calls it "a worldwide Cinderella."

Fleishman chooses to tell the worldwide Cinderella as one story, with the different versions woven together. An easier route, less creatively challenging to author and reader, might have been to simply tell the story several times over and let the versions stand side by side for comparison. Instead, Fleischman has woven various cultural strands together and attempted to tell one coherent story.

He is helped in this task by the vibrantly colored gouache paintings of illustrator Julie Paschkis. Her illustrations have a definite "folk art" feel. The main pictures and text are bordered but appear on colorful, busy backgrounds of motifs and patterns that arise in the story. The backgrounds reminded me of batik cloths or other bright textiles.  If you look carefully at each background, you will see the name of a country printed. It almost looks like a little tag "sewed" into the backdrop. That little tag lets you know, on each page, what country's folk-tale tradition is being pulled on for the particular details.

So you move from the way the story is told in Mexico (where the potential stepmother appears kind at first, offering sweets like pan dulce for little Cinderella to eat) to the story as told in Korea  (where poor Cinderella learns what a hard taskmaster her new stepmother can be, and has to spend long days weeding in the rice fields) and then on to Iraq (where Cinderella remembers how she'd wanted her father to remarry and laments "I picked up the scorpion with my own hand").

Although the story often devotes one whole page or a two-page spread to a certain country's telling, there are some pages on which you shift cultures more rapidly. This is set off visually by background color changes, and by setting the text off in smaller boxes (and always with the name of the country near the appropriate text, embedded in the background). The rapid shift is a fun way for the author/compiler to pile up a lot of details and to quickly show readers the plethora of storytelling choices available when one reaches important parts of the story. For instance, when it's time for Cinderella to be clothed in something beautiful for the ball, you might be expecting a fairy godmother, but you won't find one here. In Laos, she simply reaches into her mother's sewing basket. In Russia, she finds clothing in a hole in a birch tree. In Indonesia, a crocodile swims up to her, and in its mouth was a sarong made of gold... or if you prefer the Chinese and Japanese versions, presented immediately afterwards, a cloak sewn of kingfisher feathers or a kimono red as sunset.

It's fun to see the different ways people around the world tell one story. The pages where the details come quickest remind me of those old "choose your own adventure" books! You and your young reader may find yourself wondering about the missing details you don’t hear from the different cultural versions, which might inspire you to go looking.

Another strength: the book introduces different cultural traditions and expressions, especially from cultures that we're not as familiar with in the West. The only nods to North America are the few places where the story moves into a folk telling from Appalachia. It’s an intriguing way to illustrate how different places in the world have different ways of telling stories, different expressions, and different ideas of what's beautiful to wear or delicious to eat, as the varied menu at the  wedding feast near the book's end so amply illustrates.

The literal jumping from place to place and the piling up of different cultural details is both the book's strength and a potential weakness. The story doesn't quite work as one coherent story. There's still a rags to riches storyline and we get to the happy ending, but Cinderella (never named in the actual text, just the title) changes so rapidly in the text and in the accompanying illustrations. As she morphs from culture to culture, it might present a visual and creative challenge to very young readers or listeners, who could struggle to keep up or to comprehend all the changes. For that reason, I think I would recommend the book primarily for children 7 and up, who will likely have an easier time grasping the concept and probably have a deeper interest in comparing the different versions.

As an adult with a real love of fairy-tales, I found this weaving of global tellings of Cinderella quite enchanting. If you know a child who loves fairy-tales, Glass Slipper, Gold Sandal could be a lovely way to introduce them to the way stories are told and changed as they move from culture to culture.

Tired But Blessed

Tired I am (says this mom in Yoda-speak). It's been an incredibly busy month filled with more work than I've been able to handle well, though I've given it a good try, and plenty of other stresses too. And yet today....

• I am super grateful for the fact that spring is almost here! Despite today's 40 degree temperature that felt colder in the wind, we are really and truly out of single digit temperatures. The sunshine is strengthening, the days are lengthening, there's a mess of purple crocuses blooming down the road, and I've seen two robins this week.

• I am deeply blessed to have mailed two cards today: one for my parents' 61st wedding anniversary (this Friday) and the other for my mom's 83 birthday (Saturday). 

• And I am thankful for the gifts and blessings of the Lenten season.

What Makes a Hero a Hero?

My 12 year old has been in major Star Wars mode this month, which means we recently watched the original trilogy in all of its original theatrical release glory. (Tonight we get the special release of the first film, complete with all its extras…longer Death Star run! Greedo shot first! Slithery CGI Jabba! It will be her first time to see Episode IV with all of Lucas’ changes.)

Watching these films has gotten us thinking about heroes and villains. Her fascination with Luke and Darth got me pondering, and I decided to pop over to the American Film Institute’s Hero and Villains list to see where they showed up. AFI, in case you don’t know, presents a list of the top 50 American film heroes and villains (along with lists of many other things connected to American film).

Here’s the interesting thing: Darth Vader shows up at #3 on the all-time villain list. And Luke Skywalker…doesn’t make the cut.

I was not surprised to see Han Solo come in at #14 on the hero list – we love scoundrels-turned-heroes. But Obi-Wan Kenobi at #37? Really? I mean, I love Alec Guinness and the gravitas he brings to the role, which ups the whole tone of the first film especially. I’m not sure anyone else could have brought the weight needed to lines like “You must learn the ways of the Force…”

And yes, of course he sacrifices himself in battle, another mark of heroism. But his role in really more of mentor-to-hero than hero; it’s his exit from the land of the living (though he continues to show up in ghostly form in the next movies) that allows Luke the room he needs to grow and come to grips with his destiny.

Luke is the one who has the classic hero journey. He not only ends up besting the #3 movie villain of all time in battle, but that villain is his father, and his continued reaching out in love and forgiveness to that villainous wreck of a father is what eventually enables Darth to do the right thing and find redemption. And he blew up the Death Star! How much more heroic can Luke be?

Of course, he doesn’t get the girl (primarily since the only girl for miles around in this galaxy turns out to be his twin sister, hidden from their dastardly father at birth) and one wonders if that factors in. Of course, it’s also a teensy bit frustrating to consider that Leia herself does not make it to the hero list (there are women on the list) since she seems to be at least as heroic as Han, both of them in supporting role kind of ways.

So what do you think? Should Luke have made the list?

In case you’re curious, here’s how AFI defines hero:

“For voting purposes, a "hero" was defined as a character(s) who prevails in extreme circumstances and dramatizes a sense of morality, courage and purpose. Though they may be ambiguous or flawed, they often sacrifice themselves to show humanity at its best.”

Consider Him...(Pondering Hebrews 12:3)

Except for a lovely worship service and church school class this morning, followed by a great lunch at church, I have been working all day. This is not my usual kind of Sunday, but this particular semester, I've discovered that I often have to work on Sundays because of my class schedule and my deadline schedule with Spirit & Truth. Reminder to self: must find some sabbath time to take the place of what I'm not able to have on Sundays!

Because I've been working for several hours....work of the really needing to concentrate and think and write creatively type...I'm too tired to write the post I've been planning in the back of my head since this morning. That would be a post on John Newton, author of Amazing Grace. (I mention it here in hopes that it will spur me to actually come back sometime this week and write it...we shall see.)

For now, I just had to share this verse, which has also been running around in my mind and heart much of the day (it's been a crammed full to bursting mind and heart day)....

"Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted." (Hebrews 12:3)

This is a bit of Scripture that's been engrained in me for so long it nearly took my breath this morning in worship when I felt like I heard it "anew." I think I heard it back to front -- the words "weary" and "fainthearted" smacked me in between the eyes, because I must confess I've been feeling a lot of both lately. Then I backed up to the beginning of the verse, and the remedy for weariness and faintheartedness: "Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself..." jumped up for my attention. The enduring of hostility, going all the way to the cross, to restore us in love while we were yet sinners (yes, Romans 5 still singing through my head...thank you, Paul) -- what an amazing God we have.

But it was the "CONSIDER HIM" that really lodged in my heart today. It's an active verb. It's something we are to *do* so that will not grow weary or fainthearted....which suggests that the writer of Hebrews knows all to well how easy it is for us to become those things in this world.

Consider him...or as some other translations have it....
"just think of him"
"keep your mind on him"
"go over that story again"
"think constantly of him"
"think of what he went through"

Sounds like an important spiritual discipline, not just for Lent, but for any season!

Praying that I will find real and loving ways to consider him this week. 
 

Thankful for the Apostle Paul (and Romans 5:1-11, and the Scriptures, and Grace)

I'm home on this Ash Wednesday evening, working on writing a lesson plan for Romans 5:1-11. This is part of the freelance curriculum writing job I've had since late fall, a job for which I continue to be so thankful, in part because it's such a joy to be able to spend time in the Scriptures, thinking and writing about them for youth and their teachers.

This is my fifth project for the publisher, and only my second New Testament lesson. It's also the first time I've had to tackle Paul for this curriculum. I use the word "tackle" on purpose, because as usual, I find Paul a challenge for my mind and heart.

In general, my story-loving self finds it ever so much easier to write lesson plans and activity guides for narrative or poetic/prophetic passages. Narratives give us characters we can hang our hats on, and poetry gives us concrete visual images. To be fair, Paul sometimes gives us both of those things -- he loves to re-tell Old Testament stories (often with a new twist) and he sometimes provides rich imagery ("clanging cymbal" and the parts of the body talking to one another come to mind right away). But sometimes he's the Paul I tend to think of when his name comes to mind: the pastoral, teaching Paul whose complex sentences can pack what feels like dozens of deeply rich theological words into a very, very small space.

These eleven verses I've been sitting with for the past couple of weeks contain a lot of the biggies: reconciliation, justification, grace, hope, peace, faith, endurance, suffering, rejoicing, wrath. They're all there, and the first few times I read through the passage, as I thought about trying to help teachers unpack it for youth, I found myself wanting to bite my nails. It was hard to pick one over-arching "big idea" because, quite frankly, every single idea in it is big.

So I just kept reading. I'd pick it up at odd moments and read it again. I read it in the ESV (my study Bible of choice these days), in the NIV along with some commentary notes, in the NRSV (which is the translation I need to use for my work). I read it in the Message (thank you, Eugene) and in the wonderfully expanded Amplified version, which interestingly enough, really helped me this time, because with its parenthetical comments expanding on some of those big theological words, it somehow captured the exuberance of Paul.

I think that's what I was missing for a while, as I read the passage with my mind (not a bad thing to do, of course, and needed) trying to understand the import of what Paul was saying well enough to begin to put it into simpler and more concrete terms for kids. I needed to read it with my heart too, to hear the excitement in Paul's voice as he builds and builds and repeats himself...and he does...about the amazing love of God. A love poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit. A love shown to us through the death of Jesus on the cross, a death he died while we were yet sinners. While we were a helpless mess and could do nothing on our behalf, reminds Paul, God did it all.

And we who have been reconciled through that act have hope. Real, living, true, confident hope that will never disappoint us, no matter what kind of suffering may come our way. Hope that allows us to rejoice no matter what comes, because HE HAS DONE IT. When we turn to him in trust, when we put our hope in this great good news, he makes us new and sets us right, forever healing our relationship to God which was once so irrevocably broken.

All the big words Paul uses? He's not using them to impress or confuse, he's using them because they're the only ones he can come up with that are rich and deep and brilliant enough to capture at least a little bit of the truth he's trying to sing for us here, preaching it so it can sink deep down into our bones and enflame our hearts and remind us anew of who God is and what he has done.

I am so thankful for the apostle Paul, so thankful for these words and the gift of the Scriptures.

Meet Flavia de Luce: Diminutive Sherlock

Every once in a while, I come across a quote in a novel that grabs my attention – either because it strikes me as profound, or it stirs up tears or laughter. The stirring up laughter kind of quote is the one I usually run across in Alan Bradley’s Flavia de Luce mysteries. Today it was this one, said by a rather batty (but inspiring) maiden aunt to her brilliant eleven year old niece:

“If you remember nothing else, remember this: Inspiration from outside one’s self if like the heat in an oven. It makes passable Bath buns. But inspiration from within is like a volcano: It changes the face of the world.” (~The Weed That Strings the Hangman’s Bones)

I’m reading the second novel in this delightfully quirky series, and enjoying myself for all sorts of reasons, not least of which is Bradley’s ability to disprove critics who think a child can’t be a suitable protagonist in a story mostly intended for adults. To be sure, I think Flavia’s mysteries would play well with a young adult audience too – though I wonder if young adults (more than older ones) might be put off the eleven year old heroine. But maybe not. Maybe they’d embrace her even more wholeheartedly!

Like Ender of Orson Scott Card’s science fiction novels, Flavia never quite seems her age – except on the rare occasions that she has to. The limits of an eleven year old’s world set interesting parameters for mystery solving. Flavia may compare herself to the “swarming clerics in Anthony Trollope who seemed to spend their days buzzing from cloister to vicarage and from village to the bishop’s palace like black clockwork beetles scuttling to and fro in a green maze” but our diminutive Sherlock has to make her way in pursuit of clues on her bicycle -- which she’s named Gladys.

I think that may be the genius of Flavia: she’s precocious enough to have read Trollope (okay, she confesses she “skimmed bits” of it, and that she’s not terribly into the books because there’s no one her age in them) but she’s still child enough to name her bicycle. She’s brilliant enough to perform incredible forensic chemistry experiments in her lab, but still insecure and immature enough to use her scientific brilliance in the pursuit of petty revenge on her older sisters (beware lipsticks and chocolates at the de Luce home…you never know what Flavia might have syringed inside them).

Between the genius of Flavia’s character and the lively humor of Bradley’s similes, I’m thoroughly enjoying myself with this series. I just might need to start collecting Bradley’s similes, like one collects bright beetles in a jar. He can’t seem to go more than a page or two without indulging in one. They’re often laugh-aloud funny at the same time they’re surprisingly evocative.

Did I mention the mysteries are pretty good too? There’s even a real police inspector, the amiable and smart Inspector Hewitt, who welcomes Flavia’s brilliance even if he’s not too sure what to do about her poking her nose into his cases.

Church School Snippets

One of the things I love most about teaching in our parish church school is how profoundly and wonderfully the kids get the message of God’s redeeming love. Sometimes it can be hard to remember just how much they’re listening…and thinking, learning, and growing….in the midst of the wiggles and the giggles and the bouts of silliness and the endless questions about when we’re going to have snack, but listening they are. And sometimes they do get it.

The kids we teach range in age from 5 to 11. Some of the moments with them are profound, and some are just delightful and funny. I have so many favorite moments on a given Sunday that I can’t possibly recount them all, but here are a few of my favorites today:

• My seventh grade daughter, who assists us in teaching the class, leaning over and whispering to me during opening worship upstairs. She was reminding me that one of the kids had a birthday this week, so we would want to sing to him during church school (one of our traditions). She also reminded me that during church school prayer time, we should remember to ask a girl in the class about how her recent visit with her grandparents had gone. I nodded. Then without thinking, I leaned over and whispered back, “that’s good pastoring.” And it is. I love that my daughter is attuned to the lives of these younger kids and that she’s thinking about ways we can bless them and affirm the importance of the things going on in their lives.
• Of course, the kids can also drive her a bit batty, especially when they are in highly active mode as they were today. She can get easily overwhelmed by all the noise and activity. At one point today, she hauled off and shouted “Silence!” which miraculously did produce a lull. It also made me laugh (inwardly) as I suspect that all pastors, even the grown-up official kind with collars, might not mind doing that on occasion.
• The Bishop was here today, for his yearly visitation and to confirm one of the young adults in our congregation (now in her 20s, and we’ve known her since she was about 6!). The bishop gathered the kids and gave them a little talk about the ABUNDANT life we have in Christ, helping them to understand the word abundant. After the bishop prayed for and dismissed the kids, we took them downstairs and I was about to ask, as I always did, if there was anything in worship upstairs that they had particularly noticed or wanted to talk about. Before I could, a boy waved his hand and announced, “I noticed that the bishop has ABUNDANT eyebrows.” (Which is quite true by the way…our bishop’s eyebrows are most impressive!)
• The kids were listening to a puppet show in which the characters were talking about the verse in Corinthians about how one person sowed, and another watered, but God made things grow. The little boy nestled on my lap looked at me, and said, in a highly intrigued voice, “Does God make things grow? With his POWERS?”
• We were talking about the different gifts that God gives to different people in the church: all kinds of gifts, and all important and necessary. The kids were naming people in the church who did different things and some of their gifts, and I was pointing out that each and every one of them was also gifted and also an important part of the church. At which point a newly turned 10 year old piped up with the profound words: “my dad tells me my gift is that I’m vulnerable to letting God speak through me.” Well….yes. Wow.
• We were praying for our city of the day: Windhoek, Namibia. Most of the cities we’ve prayed for this year (we’re going A-Z) have been in the 10-40 window and have a lot of unreached peoples, but Windhoek has about a 90% Christian population. The kids were astounded…and impressed. “I think missionaries have done a good job there!”
• We were singing and dancing to a very African-inspired version of Galatians 5:1 (“It is for freedom that Christ has set us free; stand firm then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.”) I called out, “If we’ve been set free by Jesus, why would we want to be slaves again to sin?” and one little boy hollered back, “Yeah, who would want to be a slave again? That’s just dumb!”) Amen, child. Amen.

Winter Re-Reads (or Book Staples on your Shelf)

What books do you re-read in the wintertime?

I'm an inveterate re-reader at all times, but I confess I re-read more than usual in the winter. This year the bouts of arctic cold and the rutted, icy ground right outside my door are sending me hurrying to my old favorites on the bookshelf more than usual. At the moment, I'm in the middle of re-reading the wonderful novel The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. This lovely book by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows has a tendency to make me both laugh out loud and tear up every so often, and it's become one of my yearly staples.

I'm beginning to think some books are like staples in the pantry, the stuff you feel you can't do without for too long without worrying you're going to go hungry. Everyone's food staples are different (mine include potatoes, onions, carrots, corn meal, whole wheat flour, brown rice, kosher salt, basil, apples, and cinnamon) and our book staples are different too. You might be just fine if you run out of Austen or cozy mysteries, but beside yourself if you're low on Asimov or graphic novels. Of course, one of the nicest things about book staples is that they can keep for years on your shelves without needing much replenishing.

History, House, and Hot Green Tea

I can tell I'm a little bit tired. I almost started this post with the line, "Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and become a history teacher." Then I started chuckling, because of course I am a history teacher, although like so many other roles in my life, it's one that's sort of snuck in the back door. I've taught eight years of history to my homeschooling daughter, and I've taught church history, in one form or another, to adult learners for about a decade now.

I've always enjoyed history, but it's really been in the past fifteen years or so that I find myself reading history just for the sheer love it. History and biography have become some of my chief reading pleasures. And though I have favorite eras (the early 20th century is my absolute favorite) I can chase down rabbit trails from all sorts of time periods. It doesn't take much to get me started on a history trail these days. My current pleasure is early New England history. I'm reading Nathaniel Philbrick's book The Mayflower and the Pilgrims' New World. I confess I'm reading it in its "adapted for young people" version, partly because at only 338 pages plus index, it's shorter than his Mayflower: A Story of Courage, Community and War. I'm beginning to wish I'd picked that up (it won the National Book Award) but given that I'm having to read in the cracks and crevices of a heavy work schedule, the shorter adaptation is probably better right now. It's also helping me prep for upcoming lessons with S on King Philip's War. Added to which, I'm thinking I may use this particular book on S's high school reading list. (Gulp. Yes. You saw those words correctly. High school reading list. It's coming sooner than you think....)

Although I love reading history and biography any time of year, I'm especially fond of reading them in winter. I have all sorts of coping mechanisms for getting through winter. This year, in addition to good history, those coping mechanisms include multiple episodes of the television show House (D. and I just finished the first season -- how we are enjoying Hugh Laurie's performance!) and lots of cups of hot green tea (decaff). Between history, House, and hot green tea, I think it's quite possible that I may make it through the next two months of cold weather.

New Scott Cairns Poems at Books & Culture Today

January is one of my favorite months for poetry. Despite one of the busiest work and school schedules I can almost ever remember, I'm both reading and writing it a good bit this month.

Today, as the snow pours down, I was so happy to see that there are two new Scott Cairns poems posted at Books and Culture today. You can find them here.

I've only had time for one reading so far, but I love these lines:

What recourse has the weary pilgrim save
to stand before that endless beckoning,
to draw his every scattered member into one,
to draw, and so be drawn?

"to stand before that endless beckoning...."  yes.
  

Farewell to Adam Dalgliesh: A Review (of Sorts) of P.D. James' The Private Patient

My plan to read P.D. James’ last Adam Dalgliesh novel at a leisurely pace failed. Partly it was because of me (I cannot seem to read mysteries in a leisurely fashion) and partly it was because of James. Although I can understand that her methodical, detailed scene setting is not everyone’s cup of literary tea, I find it enormously comforting. The older I get, the more I recognize the pure delight I find in a well-constructed sentence or paragraph.

James did not write page turners. She doesn’t cram her plots with non-stop action. Her prose is complex and she makes you work for everything: an understanding of the mystery, an understanding of her characters. I once compared her, in a review, to Jane Austen, not because they plowed anything like the same territory, but because the way they relentlessly plow the small bit of terrain they stake for themselves feels similar. The little bits of ivory they carve are different bits, but the carving techniques look alike.

There are times when James’ love of detail does seem to get in the way of her unfolding story, or at least provide a puzzling sense of unevenness to the book. In The Private Patient, the 2008 novel that turned out to be her last novel featuring Adam Dalgliesh, there’s a scene not far from the end that almost made me laugh because it felt so typically (and endearingly) the kind of scene she loves to write.

Dalgliesh has solved the murder, more or less, but feels unsatisfied with the confessed motive of the killer. In the interest of learning more of the truth, he seeks out information from an elderly solicitor whom he believes can provide him with that information. It turns out that the man can do just that – in fact his part in the underlying reasons behind the whole recent tragedy turn out to be deeper than maybe even Dalgliesh expected – but what’s interesting is the way James goes out of her way to paint a portrait of this  admittedly minor character. She’s perhaps twenty-five pages from the end of the novel (and there is a definite sense throughout the book that the 88 year old James knew it was probably her last Dalgliesh novel) and yet she makes the reader linger in the man’s room, giving us revealing glimpses of his character in his possessions, his view from the nursing home window, the dance of his conversation with Dalgliesh (in which he reveals some, but not everything, that Dalgliesh wishes to know). 

We don’t need to know all this about the solicitor. We’re never going to see him or his room again. And yet James delights in giving us the details, in creating a portrait of a character who essentially has a walk-on role. One wonders sometimes why she persists in doing this. I think a lot of it seems to be pure pleasure from the creation and exploration of character, but at least some of it can be chalked up to her desire to show that all human beings, not merely the ones in “starring roles,” are important and complex. Indeed, she shows us time and again that for Dalgliesh himself, a dedication to solving murders only makes sense if one believes that all murders are equally shocking because each one robs a unique and equally valuable person of a life. Sometimes one life may look more important or valuable on the surface, but in the end, either all lives are precious or none are. At least that’s what I think AD thinks. (He may be a gentle sort of agnostic, but he’s still the son of a vicar, and it shows through in the fundamentals.)

Contrast her delving into the conversation with the solicitor in his highly detailed lodgings with the three pages or so she devotes in the final chapter to the wedding of our hero, Dalgliesh, to his beloved Emma – Emma whom we still feel like we barely know, Dalgliesh who wore his widower-sorrow deep for book after book. She tells us very little about the ceremony itself, though she chooses a few deft details. She provides our entire glance at the wedding through the perspective of two more minor characters, friends of Emma with whom we’ve spent relatively little time. She gives no lines at all to either Dalgliesh or Emma. The lines she gives to Emma’s friends are partly borrowed from Jane Austen (another wedding with another Emma). We see the bride and groom almost from afar, like we’re looking through the wrong end of a telescope. Sweetly, I think, our last view of Dalgliesh is when he turns from the altar and holds his hand out to Emma with a smile. It’s a lovely last gesture for her stalwart, reticent detective, leaving the reader with the satisfied realization that the private, emotionally buttoned-up Dalgliesh has finally opened himself back up to life and life. Given that the reader is given precious few insights into Dalgliesh’s emotional life throughout the series (think Darcy or Captain Wentworth) as tiny as the motion is, it feels almost huge for James.

James’ own love of Austen was such that I think the comparison of Dalgliesh to some of Austen’s heroes is appropriate. What’s fascinating, however, is that unlike Austen, who never gave us much insight into her heroes’ inner lives because her books are primarily about heroines, James does. But almost all of it comes through watching Dalgliesh at work. We know him as a professional, as a detective mostly (and a poet secondarily) and the ground she plows with such precision and detail is the world in which Dalgliesh works. If we know anything about how AD feels about life, death, love, marriage, loneliness, death, or the human condition, we know it from the way he conducts investigations, treats suspects, looks at the body of a victim, asks questions, and treats colleagues. It hardly ever comes through what he says directly, though sometimes, especially in the later books, we’re privileged to be given some of his thoughts.

In the end, I think James fought hard against turning Dalgliesh into any sort of typical “hero,” romantic or otherwise, which may not have endeared her to a wider readership (not that she needed one!) but I think ultimately kept the books more interesting. This may be why she resisted giving much detail to the romance she finally let him be involved in for the last few books, though one gets the sense that she was too fond of him as a character to let him stay the reticent and lonely widower of the early books. She resists letting him fall for Kate, the woman he works so closely with for years, though she finally let us see in this last book what a deep place he will always hold in Kate’s heart – and vice versa. Yes, AD writes poetry, and he occasionally has to do heroic type things like rescue people from dangerous situations, but really he’s a very ordinary man, albeit a highly intelligent one, who is doing the best he can at a job he loves but sometimes finds difficult and painful. Does that make him a hero? Maybe, in a very real and human sense. All I know is that, despite sometimes feeling like I never got to know him as well as I kept hoping I would, I’m going to miss him.

Thankful Day

After the exhausting week and the icky Saturday (which probably came through loud and clear in my curmudgeonly post yesterday) I just have to say how thankful I am for this Sunday. The temperatures moderated into the low 30s, which did wonders for my morale.

Morning worship was lovely, infused with a lot of music that paid tribute to the late Andrae Crouch (an amazing gospel singer and musician who passed away last week). D and I both dearly love Andrae's music, and our family has been praying for him for quite some time in his recent months of illness. I loved the fact that our congregation is Anglo-Baptist (grin) enough that today we got to celebrate Andre's legacy, especially with the final rollicking strains of his "Soon and Very Soon, We are Goin' to See the King."

Sunday School and missions committee meeting were both full of challenges, but today challenges felt good, as did loving and serving as wholeheartedly as I could. Despite my inadequacies everywhere, God's love sure does make up for all I'm not.

A walk home in those more moderate temperatures, fifteen minutes of pure quiet to enjoy before the rest of the fam got home from grocery shopping, and a lunch made of fresh strawberries, Robert Frost poetry, and time with my 12 year old -- thankfully in much better space herself today! -- were also blessings. D. had to go back to work (it is, after all, still January) but S. and I proceeded to spend the rest of the afternoon baking bread after she built a quick snowman on our sidewalk, courtesy of the slight melt that had come to the snow mountains.I snuck in a little bit more reading on Charles Marsh's new biography of Bonhoeffer, and even managed the first chapter of my new P.D. James.

I know I may rue the fact that I didn't work on deadlines today, but sometimes rest, in all sorts of forms, is even more important. Very thankful for this day!

The Last Dalgliesh

Normally a trip to the library is one of my favorite things, especially in the depths of winter (I know, it's not even mid-January, but it's starting to feel like the depths)! Today was one of those cold, raw, January days that not even a library trip could seem to brighten.

It may have been because I spent half an hour or more hunting for a missing library book that's overdue -- and I still haven't found it. This is a book D. checked out several weeks ago, which has been renewed all the times it can be. We've searched all the usual and unusual places for it and still can't find it, which is driving me that batty. (It wasn't even that good a book.)

It may have been the argument that S. and I got into on the way to the library. The sweet girl (still sweet, but very almost-adolescent) loves to argue and provoke arguments with me right now. Today she decided to get frustrated at me for having read too many books to her over the years. (Apparently, I have always read "the long ones" out loud rather than leaving her to read them on her own, and she's suddenly decided that bugs her. But basically all I have to do right now is breathe too loudly and it bugs her, so I'm trying not to take it too personally.) It also bugs her that that I tend to tear up over sad scenes or endings of stories. I got so frustrated today that I basically threw up my hands, apologized for having spent so many years reading good literature to her, and told her that if she wants to opt out of family reading time at night, she can feel free. I don't think she will, but the whole argument tasted so sour in my mouth that I didn't have much heart to go perusing the shelves at the library, the place where we've found so many wonderful books over the years for our family read-aloud times.

Then there was the fact that I felt like I wanted a mystery (I've been working a ton, and mysteries are some of my favorite bits of fluff-reading) and headed to the shelves to pick up a P.D. James, my stand-by in recent years. Only to recall that I have only one P.D. James mystery left to read. I have reached the last Dalgliesh. Somehow the melancholy feeling that accompanied picking up that final book just seemed to fit this whole day.

Gregory of Nyssa on the Mystery of the Human Person

I've begun doing daily readings from Drinking from the Hidden Fountain: A Patristic Breviary. This is a daily reading book that my husband used and enjoyed last year and has now passed on to me. (He loves books that provide daily readings, and I'm in the throes of ordering a couple of such books for him...late this year...thanks to an Amazon gift certificate we received for Christmas.)

One of the things I always enjoy about reading the church fathers is the recognition that I'm listening to a faithful voice from a very long time ago. We are connected across the span of time because of our shared faith in Christ, and that connection runs deep. At the same time, a remarkable amount of distance exists because of the very fact of so much time between the writer's life and my own -- though sometimes I'm amazed that it feels smaller than I think, because so much about being human stays the same. Still, I love that the "clean sea breezes of the centuries" blow between us, as C.S. Lewis puts it so beautifully in his encouragement to read old books (which you can find in his introduction to Athanasius' On the Incarnation). I need those breezes. I need perspectives significantly older than my own.

I love that the ancient writers often have a healthy and wonderful sense of mystery about the human person, something that I think we've lost a little bit in our efforts to understand, explain, and control so much in a time when science holds sway. This isn't, by the way, an anti-science polemic. I love the fact that we've been given minds to ask questions and that, in our curiosity and our yearnings to know more, we've learned so much about the world over the years. It's also fascinating to me that the more we learn, the more we still have to learn. The complexities of life are so rich and full, we can never get to the end of knowledge.

Still, there's a humility and a wonder in some of the church fathers that's just so refreshing. This week the breviary has been focusing on excerpts from Gregory of Nyssa's The Creation of Man. I got a chuckle when I read this line:

"The Apostle Paul says 'Who has known he mind of the Lord?' (Rom. 11:34)...To this I would add, 'Who knows his own mind?'

Gregory goes on to reflect on the fact that not only is God's nature beyond our comprehension, but that we, made in his image, are also pretty incomprehensible. In other words, I think he's saying that we shouldn't be too easily frustrated by our own complexity and how hard it can be to understand our own selves (and others). Our very complexity is part of our reflection of God's nature, which is even more unfathomable (again, in a deep, good, mysterious sense) than our own. Our intellect "remains a mystery" he says, and he doesn't seem all that worried about it. Our mind "has many parts and many components...How does it comprehend knowledge? How are its different elements brought together? The mind is a single entity, not a compound. How it is divided among the various senses? How does this diversity in unity arise? How unity in diversity?" (Hint: he sees in this mysteriousness our resemblance to the Trinitarian God.)

I love that Gregory asks questions that are still, for all our advances in science and medicine, still being asked. I love that he seems genuinely serene as he asks them. And not just serene, filled with wonder and amazement before the mystery of human beings who are made in the image of God who is also mystery, beyond our comprehension, and yet willing to reveal himself, to draw near and make himself known.

(Funny p.s.: my spellchecker suggests the word "humanitarian" in place of "Trinitarian" ~ apparently the latter is not in its dictionary. And it suggests "patriotic" for "Patristic.")

President #1: George Washington

My foray into the life and times of Harry Truman has made me pick up a book that my dad loaned to me a few years ago (and recently told me I should just go on and keep!): David Rubel's Mr. President: The Human Side of America's Chief Executives.

This is a coffee table kind of book published by Time-Life back in 1998. But sometimes a coffee table book is just the kind you want to pick up and dip into. I value this one all the more because my dad has annotated the table of contents, which simply listed each president by name next to the page numbers on which they're profiled. In his clear, firm hand-writing, Dad added the number of their administration and the years they were in office. He even added chief executive #43 and made a space for #44, though I don't think he got back to the book after Obama took office. I'll add him and make a space for #45 in a couple of years.

Every profile includes a portrait (painting or photo), a synopsis of the president's administration, snippets about the president's background, hobbies, family life, and occupation, a profile of the first lady, major political events that occurred on his watch, a timeline of different cultural events that took place during his administration, and a sort of "bubble-gum card" sidebar with the president's major stats such as birthplace, date of death, and political party. It's a nice reference book to have on hand for the mid-grade years.

I've been reading "at" this book for some time, but today I decided to just pick up and start at the beginning...a very good place to start, as they say. That meant I spent about ten minutes reading up on George Washington, the man who would rather have stayed a farmer than become president. He had a vision of America as a "great agricultural empire stretching west to the Mississippi River and beyond."

He's a fascinating figure really: strong and persuasive enough to help mold the beginnings of our government, detached enough to walk away and head home to Mount Vernon after eight years in office. I liked hearing about his humility -- he thought Adams and Jefferson were both a lot smarter than he was, which the author said was true, but then added this great quote from Jefferson about Washington: "His mind...was slow in operation, but sure in conclusion." Maybe not a bad thing.

Fun fact: one of the major political events during his tenure was the founding of the first national bank. Up until then, there was no standard American currency. Pounds, kopeks, and pesos were all in circulation. (Pounds and pesos I get, but kopeks?)

Also interesting: when western Pennsylvanians complained about the whiskey tax and started a rebellion, Washington led a 15,000 man army into Pennsylvania himself. This was in 1794, again during his administration. A little hard to imagine in my lifetime...a president riding at the head of the troops, I mean, not western Pennsylvanians kicking up a ruckus.

Happy 2015!

A very happy new year! 2015 -- can you believe it?

I've been starting the new year on this blog for so many years now, I've just about lost count, but I'm pretty sure it's been almost nine years since I first started writing here. Despite the fact that last year was my most lean year ever on the blog, I still appreciate having this space to come to, a place where I can share my thoughts and the thoughts of so many writers who inspire me.

I don't want to go out on a limb and promise that I will be writing here more often this year, but I certainly would love to make posting here a more regular habit again. I especially would love to get back to my roots in starting this blog, specifically as a place to reflect on reading. 

This morning's quiet time found me meditating on the words of Emil Brunner, who reminded me that God is creating new life in me, a word I very much needed to hear as we turn the corner into this new season. And from Irenaeus, the reminder that "Likeness to God comes only from the Spirit."

I seem to be moving into this new year more aware of my shortcomings, failures, and limitations than ever before. I am trying to be just as aware -- if not moreso -- of the God's tremendous grace, strength, faithfulness, and mercy.

"Beloved, we are God's children now; it does not yet appear what we shall be, but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is."~ 1 John 3:2

Blessings in the new year!