Saturday, January 28, 2012

The wisdom of Solomon and Jo Rowling.

One of the reasons I read as much as I do, is that I routinely find things that arouse excitement.

Check out this excerpt from the story of Solomon, Ancient King of Israel:

"...God said [to Solomon], 'Ask what I should give you.' And Solomon said, 'You have shown great and steadfast love to your servant my father David, because he walked before you in faithfulness, in righteousness, and in uprightness of heart toward you; and you have kept for him this great and steadfast love, and have given him a son to sit on his throne today. And now, O Lord my God, you have made your servant king in place of my father David, although I am only a little child; I do not know how to go out or come in. And your servant is in the midst of the people whom you have chosen, a great people, so numerous they cannot be numbered or counted. Give your servant therefore an understanding mind to govern your people, able to discern between good and evil; for who can govern this your great people?'
It pleased the Lord that Solomon had asked this. God said to him, 'Because you have asked this, and have not asked for yourself long life or riches, or for the life of your enemies, but have asked for yourself understanding to discern what is right, I now do according to your word....' 
Then Solomon awoke; it had been a dream." - 1 Kings 3, New Revised Standard Version

Now take a look at this scene from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, just after Voldemort had hit The Boy Who Lived with the Killing Curse:

"[Harry] lay facedown, listening to the silence...A long time later, or maybe no time at all, it came to him that he must exist, must be more than disembodied thought, because he was lying, definitely lying, on some surface...He stood up, looking around...Harry turned slowly on the spot, and his surroundings seemed to invent themselves before his eyes...He spun around. Albus Dumbledore was walking toward him... 
'Where are we, exactly?' [asked Harry.] 
'Well, I was going to ask you that,' said Dumbledore, looking around. 'Where would you say that we are?' 
...'It looks,' he said slowly, 'like King's Cross Station. Except a lot cleaner and empty, and there are no trains as far as I can see.' 
'King's Cross Station!' Dumbledore was chuckling immoderately. 'Good gracious, really?' 
'Well, where do you think we are?' asked Harry, a little defensively. 
'My dear boy, I have no idea. This is, as they say, your party.' 
Harry had no idea what this meant... 
[After talking for a time with Dumbledore,] the realization of what would happen next settled gradually over Harry in the long minutes, like softly falling snow. 
'I've got to go back, haven't I?' 
'That is up to you.' 
'I've got a choice?' 
'Oh yes.' Dumbledore smiled at him. 'We are in King's Cross, you say? I think that if you decided not to go back, you would be able to...let's say...board a train.' 
'And where would it take me?' 
'On,' said Dumbledore simply. 
Silence again. 
'Voldemort's got the Elder Wand.' 
'True. Voldemort has the Elder Wand.' 
'But you want me to go back?' 
'I think,' said Dumbledore, 'that if you choose to return, there is a chance that he may be finished for good. I cannot promise it. But I know this, Harry, that you have far less to fear from returning here than he does.' 
...[Harry] stood up, and Dumbledore did the same, and they looked for a long moment into each other's faces. 
'Tell me one last thing,' said Harry. 'Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?' 
Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry's ears even though the bright mist was descending again, obscuring his figure. 
'Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?' - J.K. Rowling, Deathly Hallows, chapter titled "King's Cross"


After Solomon's dream took place, he became known in his kingdom for his great God-given wisdom, which made him one of the most well-known and respected rulers in history. Harry returned to the chaos of the most devastating battle Hogwarts had ever seen, and the conversation he had with Dumbledore helped empower him to defeat Voldemort with a finality he did not achieve as an infant, and become known as a savior for Wizard and Mugglekind alike.

Think twice before ever letting yourself be convinced that what's in your head is meaningless.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

A new way to live.

I'm not often caught off guard by anything except face-to-face interaction with people. For whatever reason, interacting with other humans is a mystery I can't seem to conquer. There are moments when I feel I have achieved the impossible. I'm engaging, I'm warm, I instinctively know the appropriate things to say, and, more importantly, I instinctively know the appropriate things to say to provoke other people to speak. In the midst of such miracles, I think, "Maybe I've finally figured it out. Maybe this is the day that the mystical magic required to have a comfortable conversation made its way into my bones at last." Oh the hope those thoughts bring.

Then I go talk to someone else. A different person takes my place. I stammer, I can't think of anything to say that doesn't sound like a textbook, and I'm either mostly silent, or I ramble through a multitude of unimportant words. The impossible becomes unreachable again and I wonder where my charm decided to hide. And why it decided to hide.

Most other things don't throw me for a loop. You know those people who drive you crazy with all the things they do so well all the blessed time? I've often been one of them. I intend no arrogance when I say that. I just say it because it's kind of true. When I was a kid, I was always near the top of every list that measured academic prowess. All the smart kid award ribbons they gave out at assemblies; I got 'em. Spelling bee champion certificates; got those too. I was also on the teachers' mental "most attentive and well-behaved" lists, which meant extra responsibility that I reverently bore on my shoulders. And my success wasn't limited to the classroom. In generally all other areas of my life, if a standard for performance was set, whatever it was, I would meet it.

With that kind of record, it was easy for me to develop an expectation that everything will work out. The results might not be perfect, and getting to the goal might not be easy, but the goal will be met. It always is. A challenge comes before me, I confront it, I conquer it. A flawless formula. No surprises. No chances of wondering what's happening and why.

But that system broke down and I have been unequivocally baffled by the last six months.

38 weeks have passed since I stopped being a full-time student and gained a degree, and I still don't have a job. Not even at Wal-Mart.

Before last summer had ended, the mental interrogation began. "What is this? I'm capable. I'm competent. I have talent. I have skills. I'm a hard worker. I have initiative and to spare. Why is this happening?" Soon after came the accusing. "You're not as capable as you thought. You didn't have a detailed plan. You should have had a detailed plan, then you could have followed through and everything would have worked. You didn't try hard enough. You're being lazy. If you would just make up your mind and get up and do something, then you wouldn't be in this position."

But that wasn't true. At least not completely true. I tried, or at least made moves to try. But every plan, every attempt, was stifled. I fell into, and am still hoping to get out of, an exhausting, stifling hole. No money, not even enough to drive a mile down the road, meant going out to find a job became an as of yet unconquerable challenge. But the longer I don't have a job, the longer I'm not making money, the longer I'm incapacitated. No movement. No progress.

The larger problem with the dialogue in my head, though, was its focus: me. I've been learning more than ever lately how much my life is not about me.

I have always believed, and do still, that being responsible for oneself is important. Some people need to learn that lesson. But my lesson was different. It's easy for me to live by my own ability and expect that what I do is the answer for everything.

My opinion is beginning to change. I think God loved me enough to not let me live the rest of my life thinking that I can do whatever I decide to do, or that it's even ultimately up to me to do anything at all, or that situations will always work out. Some things, no matter how hard a person may will them to, don't work out. People die. Fires burn possessions. Security is stolen. Heaven is the only sure redemption. I live and breathe only through God. The most important thing I need to do is know him.

It took a long time, but I think I'm finally beginning to rest in that. Knowing God. The knowledge of him I already have is the the most life-giving I have ever known, and there is yet an infinite depth still to explore. And by his grace, in knowing him, I can be faithful to move and work in the means given to me. I'll get a job. Probably. I'll pay my own bills one day, live in my own place. I'm still vigilant and looking for what I can do where I am. When opportunity is presented, I'll take it. But whether I'm making a paycheck or not, God is providing. He's gracious. And he is the source and definition of my life.

"Easy" is not a word to describe these last six months. I have been broken down further than I ever thought I would be. But I've been saying the closing words of this song all the more:





Thank you, Jesus.

Monday, January 23, 2012

Because nothing I do can ever go without authorial comment...

My last post featured an abstract something that I wrote. I don't really know what it is. Maybe it's a poem? I don't normally write poetry, but more surprising things have happened.


For those of you who read it, to refresh your memories here appears the poem-piece-work-thing again. For those who who have not read it, here now is a chance to read it for the first time:




Twin faces look out from the wall, one above the other.
Their eyes are both fixated to the same point.
They share a look of fright. A look of worry.
As if something's coming after them.
A relentless pursuit.

Each countenance is frozen.
The upper's eyes are wider than the lower's.
The lower seems to feel more dread, like there's a finality about this chase that the other doesn't see.
With both mouths agape, neither of them appear to like what's coming.

The terror is close.
It will catch them any second.

They could run, only they can't.
They're in the wall.
Immobilized.
Incapable of fleeing what is sure to strike...now.

Seconds pass.
The faces are unchanged.
The terror has not overcome.
It just looms.
Like a rain cloud neither approaching nor departing.

In these faces is mirrored my own.
Frightened.
Unmoving.
Never overcome, never overcoming.






There's a real smile-bringer, eh?


Before I continue, I'd be grateful if you would entertain a small digression on creative interpretation. This could mean and/or represent any number of things (although I doubt any of them would be very happy). One of the gifts of the human mind is interpretation. As someone who internally interprets things from the outside then releases them back into the world with her own fingerprint added, the last thing I want to do is stifle that same privilege in others by saying that what I thought when writing is the only valid meaning to be discerned from my creations.


In that spirit, I would like and intend to share here what I was thinking when writing the above unnamed work, but I do so free from the attitude that "what I say goes."


Back to the business at hand, this was inspired by a thoughtful look at my bedroom wall. The "twin faces" were found in an electrical outlet (an American one, of course), that I spied from the side. The vertical slits formed each pair of eyes, the round holes made to accommodate the third prong on three-pronged plugs served as mouths. I was feeling particularly melancholy in this moment, and as it's melancholy and mirth that spawn the majority of artistic endeavors, I guess it's no surprise that I was overwhelmed with an urge to find a pen.


The brand of melancholy darkening my mood was spawned in part by frustrations of feeling almost incarcerated in circumstances, unable to get out of them to do what it is that I want most. As soon as I saw the faces, I thought it was significant that they were unable to move. I also found significance in the fact that not only is their spatial position fixed, their expressions are never allowed to change. If their expressions can't change, maybe what's bothering them is unchanging. The good news of that is, it will never get any worse. The bad news is, it will never get any better. I've felt that.


Though I've felt that, however, I don't believe it. Not eternally. But my eternal beliefs would not shine with so much hope if melancholy didn't take me to such dark places.

Sunday, January 22, 2012

An exercise in writing.

I suppose a writer can and does grow through filtering their own experiences through their own faculties without suggestion or influence from any other source. But it's been my experience that I often won't realize something until an outside source has gained my attention and placed a light on what was right next to me but darkened before that point, especially when wandering over rarely frequented terrain. Thus I treasure what I gain outside myself and believe that my growth is quickened by it.

I expect (either accurately or misguidedly) one day, when I'm a "real writer" (whatever that means), I won't ascribe the same degree of importance to hearing from the outside. Between that time and this, I solicit reactions. And interpretations. Have you the inclination, please share them. Much obliged.



Twin faces look out from the wall, one above the other.
Their eyes are both fixated to the same point.
They share a look of fright. A look of worry.
As if something's coming after them.
A relentless pursuit.

Each countenance is frozen.
The upper's eyes are wider than the lower's.
The lower seems to feel more dread, like there's a finality about this chase that the other doesn't see.
With both mouths agape, neither of them appear to like what's coming.

The terror is close.
It will catch them any second.

They could run, only they can't.
They're in the wall.
Immobilized.
Incapable of fleeing what is sure to strike...now.

Seconds pass.
The faces are unchanged.
The terror has not overcome.
It just looms.
Like a rain cloud neither approaching nor departing.

In these faces is mirrored my own.
Frightened.
Unmoving.
Never overcome, never overcoming.

Saturday, January 21, 2012

A peek inside my journal.

Journals are good for writing messily. They're also good for writing things that shouldn't be posted on the Internet. Typically, the things that end up in my journal fall under one of those two categories. Thus, they stay in my journal.

Occasionally, though, the fruit of my journal endeavors is something blog safe. Perhaps even blog worthy (in my mind). Such a creature appeared last week. I thought the occurrence was amusing, and I always like a laugh, even at the expense of myself. :)

For your reading pleasure, slightly edited for clarification for those not a part of my mind's inner circle:

1-14-12

Dude, I am so not cool. If that wasn't clear before, tonight provided sufficient proof. I was just trying to recount bits of tonight's episode of SNL to Calyn and it was comical. Not because I'm a comic genius, but because I'm exactly the opposite. I sounded like...I don't know what exactly I sounded like...like an intellectual trying to be culturally relevant but failing. Much like I just failed with that description. Everything's a lecture with me. I have a friend who is a joke over-explainer and makes no secret of telling people that he is. I'm like him. And what I mean by that is...see? I'm the one who should be writing textbooks, not sketch comedy. Or better yet, I'll write articles on sketch comedy that can appear in peer-reviewed journals, so that I can intellectualize and over-explain and get paid for it. That's the ticket. I'll become a famous cultural critic. Even the uncool seem kind of cool when they have money. I do remember one thing I said that may have redeemed me a little. I used the word "trashy." Maybe I'm only 99% uncool. Add in a little money and I might be able to bring that number down to 98.5%.


(Note: In my journal, this little paragraph looks moderately substantial. On this screen, in this diminutive, uniform, personality-challenged font, it's far less impressive. This is why I like handwriting.)

(Note 2: "The Beautiful Letdown," playing in my mental jukebox, has been my companion writing this, "painfully uncool" as I am. If you like Switchfoot and haven't been singing it before now, you're welcome.)

Friday, January 20, 2012

Music. My favorite from last year.

I archived my book list from last year rather promptly, but I failed to muster the same initiative with my music list. Oops. It's still January, though, so I'm cool, right?

Here the original page appears in its entirety, with added italicized commentary in parentheses.





My brother and I made an indie film with the camera on my LG Vu. It's a money maker, I tell ya. See?



As grand as that was, the soundtrack to my life and times in 2011, unfortunately not included in the movie due to budget concerns and lack of editing skills, is even better.

Here it is, a list of meaningful new (either to the world at large or to me) music I have incorporated into my life in 2011.

In alphabetical order by title:

1. Barton Hollow - The Civil Wars (I not-so-secretly want to be Joy Williams. To do that, though, I have to find myself a John Paul White. I think he's out there. Somewhere. If you're reading this and think you're him, we should meet.)

2. The Far Country - Andrew Peterson

3. Heal for the Honey - Brooke Waggoner

4. The Ladder - Andrew Belle

5. Love & War & the Sea in Between - Josh Garrels

6. On the Altar of Love - downhere (I have supported the endeavors of these guys for a while. Musically, they haven't ever given me a reason to falter. But this time around, I was nervous. Before I heard this album, I was actually afraid that I wasn't going to like it. I prepared myself for impending disappointment. Then I heard it. And I think it might be my favorite album from them. Maybe.)

7. A Way to See in the Dark - Jason Gray (This album restored my sanity during a time when I thought it had ceased to exist.)

8. Welcome to the Welcome Wagon - The Welcome Wagon (Released by Asthmatic Kitty, produced by Sufjan Stevens, this album is terribly catchy. And they pronounce the word "handkerchief" like "handkercheef.)

And an honorable mention has to be given to Hark the Herons's album Under Skies. They released it digitally in 2010, the year in which it was crowned my most listened-to album, but they didn't print physical copies until this year. I bought three of them, so my Hark the Herons fever has been just as raging this year as it was the last.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Adventures in the Pit of Email.

When one develops parts of their life around the Internet, abandoning said Internet leaves behind a mess. Like all messes, this one either has to be cleaned up, or severed from one's life with brutal finality and left alone and ignored completely.

I'm not a brutal severer. I have no wishes to disconnect myself from the three Ws eternally. Therefore I elected to start the cleaning process today.

Step one: plunge into my inboxes.

I have looked at and done something with approximately 500 emails today. I am frequently given to exaggeration, but in this moment I can truthfully and sadly say that I am not exaggerating. My neck is feeling enough pain to testify.

It wasn't all drudgery, though. I can confidently say I was amused today.

It seems about the time I went dark, a whole host of persons started thinking I merited them giving me something for free. In my Gmail account, I got a slew of messages offering me everything from money to iPads. Wow! People can be surprisingly generous. One woman, or what I assume was a woman, even said the generosity was a family affair. Apparently her "Cousin Lenny" was the one who really wanted me to have a prize and she was just acting as mediator.

My favorite message came from another woman who seemed to be feeling a greater sense of urgency than any of the others. She implored me, "Please have your iPad," not "You've won!" or "I would like to send you a free iPad." No, it was "please," as if she really wanted to say, "Take it off my hands, I don't want it, it's yours, get it out of my sight!" This one was also a family affair, because apparently this iPad was coming "courtesy" of one of her cousins too.

I  might have been tempted to believe them if any of them could have spelled or used punctuation.

So no money or expensive high-tech gadgets for me. All I received were chuckles at the lengths people will go to get my address (every one of them (or perhaps a singular one under many guises) asked for it).

This kind of stuff happens on the Internet every day, and I know that. It's not unusual enough for me to post a blog on it. But the only reason I comment on it (aside from being grateful for a smile in the middle of an unpleasant chore) is because they were all in my Gmail account. In the years that I've used Gmail, this is the first time I've received messages as such to that account. And it wasn't just one or two. I was bombarbed by them. The latest of them came today, so it's continued to happen periodically over the last few months. And I'm intrigued by the fact that they didn't start until after I was unplugged. Hmm.

Getting back to cleaning, I'm happy that's done. I do still have some to work through, but only a handful, and I have identified all of them and know what I need to do with them after my neck and patience both get a break.

After email, I will move on to other things. Then, maybe sometime in the near future I will successfully be able to use the Internet again.

Big blog news!

Here in the Boro, at our cozy house in the middle of town, we now have access to the Internet!

I can't help but share my joy. Everywhere.

What this means for my blog, is that I expect an increase of posts, and maybe even an increase of organized posts. In short, more activity; with all hope, orderly activity. If we're lucky, interesting orderly activity.

That may not thrill you at all, but it's putting a smile on my face. See? :-)

Will my hopes transform into realities? Stay tuned with me and we'll find out together.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

I had a dream...a coupon dream.

While I still have the Internet handy and can spontaneously share what I'm thinking:

I've been preoccupied with coupons lately.

On the Tuesday after Christmas, half of the people who were here at my grandma's house were all sick. And the rest weren't really a bundle of energy either. So we spent the day watching TV. (As an aside, that was one of the most enjoyable days I have ever spent watching the television. Even TV's not so bad when you share the experience with some of your favorite people.) Most of the time was spent watching Extreme Couponing. Although I had heard about it, I had never seen the show before. I tend to live in a television no-man's land. But one of my cousins obviously does not live in the same land, because when I turned it over there, he said, "Oh, I love this show!"

And he really did. As episode after episode came on, he had already seen each one of them. Multiple times.

As I was discomfitedly lounging in a recliner, willing my head and throat to stop hurting, shivering, and praying for the coughing to stop, I was captivated. People saving 98% at the grocery store, 99%, 100%, even 104%. It was amazing.

I never have been afraid of coupons. I've always had a soft spot in my heart set aside just for them. But my family never has used many. Coupons take organization, and as long as my family has been in the position where saving money has been really appealing, we've been rather unorganized. Everyone has their strong points, and that was not ours while I was growing up. In our defense, we've had challenges that don't facilitate organization, but at the same time, there was room for improvement even with those challenges. But again, everyone has their strong points. And grace is sufficient for the rest. And grace has covered the disorganization.  Back to the point, in the midst of the disorganization, better employing coupons has been a closet dream of mine, but I gave it up.

However, life is new. I like new. I am 23 years old. When I was a kid, I couldn't do much. But now, as an adult, I am in a better position to help foster more organization in my family as long as I am still a part of the closely knit unit and take on a job like this myself (or mostly myself). In the middle of working, raising kids, taking care of the house (or apartment, trailer, wherever we happened to live), and trying to stay sane in the middle of chaos, my parents did just about all of the organizing that they could. Their long patience and faithfulness has paid off, and now they have a child who can help them. :-) Also, I hope soon to be gainfully employed, and with money of my own, I can buy food. And, another new thing is that my family has seen some of the hardest times we've ever experienced lately, so the motivation do better has increased to a new high.

Thus, my dream of masterfully wielding coupons has been rekindled. And it seems more tangible now than it ever has before.

My trouble is we still don't have access to the Internet at home. The Internet is key in all of the fantastic money-saving strategies that these extreme couponers come up with. They compare store ads with a few clicks of their mouse. They find coupons online that can't be found in print. The world wide web helps them do serious research, and as is usually true of research, it's profitable. I can do a certain amount of research going to find wifi, but printing is a sticky situation.

Also, I'm not interested in buying junk. There are a lot of coupons out there for junk. I don't care if frozen dinners are on sale and with a coupon I can get them for $0.10, I don't want to buy them, because I don't want to eat them. Not only has poverty made my stomach shrink, it's made me realize how important the things I do eat are. And in the average collection of coupons I see, I don't find any for a lot of things I want to buy. But as I haven't done much research, who's to say they're not out there?

Back to where we began, then, I am preoccupied with coupons. More than just coupons, I'm preoccupied with finding ways to save money so that my family and I can have a better life. I want to see what I can do. I want to see what tools are available. I'm not expecting anything too grand, but I'll never know until I try.

So I'm sitting here at my grandma's house googling coupons. In time, I'll let you know if anything comes of this. Who knows, maybe I'll be on TV one day.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

2011's Literature List

Like I discussed in my last post, and like I'm sure you are aware without my informing you, 2011 is now complete. It was...a lot of things. In my world, one of those things, when looked at through a literature point of view, was productive.

I started this list fairly late in the year, so when I did, I had a lot to add to it at once. Because there was so much from the start, I fostered grand visions of reading at least 52 books before the last day of December passed and everyone in Times Square started kissing their neighbors. I figured an average of one a week, especially since I was unemployed with a degree in book-reading, would be a fairly easy yet admirable goal to achieve.

But, like it tends to do, life had other agendas which were obviously too pressing to let pass, and I didn't have so much time on my hands. I still managed a final total of 44, however, which is pretty near 52, if my math skills are still any good. I'm pleased. I can't really tell, though, to what degree my pleasure should extend. I didn't make my goal, which leaves me feeling like there's something left undone. I also am unsure if I would have even made my goal had I not been so busy and could have devoted more time to reading. And I really don't know much about the reading habits of most people to be able to compare. For all I know what I accomplished could just be a'ight or it might be super human. (I'm really not leaning toward either one, not being given to extremes. I think I'm in the middle?) Not that how the population's reading habits stack up to each other really matters, but it's nice sometimes to know where you fit with other people, you know? And not that the quantity of books I read in a given period matters either. What matters is I did read something and my life was enriched.

Enough finger jabbering. I read 44 books in 2011. I'm happy about that. The aforementioned year is now only a memory, which means two things:

  1. It's time to get reading and start a list for 2012.
  2. It's also time to archive the list from 2011.

I've already begun #1 with Herodotus' Histories. And here we are with #2. My list of books read in 2011 archived in full. With commentary added. The post I present as it was the last time I updated it, with the added commentary in parentheses.

Happy reading!




Here is presented a list of books, or anything that I consider closely resembles a book, I have read this year. For the first five months of the current year, I was still an undergraduate. Therefore many of them were read with the fear of not graduating if I failed to do so, but I'm nerdy enough that I enjoyed them nonetheless. So much so that I want to read some of them again, outside of a classroom, where I can come at them from a different perspective. I will keep adding to the list as books are finished.

In alphabetical order:

1. Areopagitica by John Milton 


(Treasure free expression, truth, or books? This is a work for you. You'll fall in love with him just as much as I did.
Here's a quotation to tickle your fancy: "For books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul whose progeny they are; nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them."
Oh, what they hey, here's another: "I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and unbreathed, that never sallies out and sees her adversary but slinks out of the race, where that immortal garland is to be run for, not without dust and heat."
And another one (I can't resist): "Give me the liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely according to conscience, above all liberties."

Ah, Milton.)

2. The Beggar's Opera by John Gay

(After (or before) you read this, listen to a recording of a performance of it, because it is, after all, meant for performance. It will enhance the reading experience. The first person who needs to follow this advice is me. I haven't ever heard the whole thing. I studied this in one of my music history classes, but in the class we didn't study the whole thing. So I've heard only a portion. (On a side note, the English professor whose class I read this in really, really downplayed its relation to the wildly popular Italian opera of the time. He mentioned that it is often seen as a kind of rebellion against its more popular sister, but kind of shooed it away as being mostly irrelevant. It was one of the few times I wanted to say, "Wait a second, the bulk of what you're saying is quite fascinating and has plenty of merit, but on this one point, you're wrong! What do you know about opera?" I didn't challenge him, though. Here's to not rocking the boat.))

3. Belinda by Maria Edgeworth

4. Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller

(This book was published in '03. Like, everyone and their brother (amongst people who read books and who have any interest in the church or Jesus) read this book sometime in the 7 years between then and now, mostly within the first 5, I expect. But I didn't read it until this year. For the longest, after hearing about this book everywhere I turned and realizing that the circle of people who hadn't read it was growing ever smaller, I called myself a bad postmodern Christian. Which on the one hand, the larger hand, if you're in my head and are acquainted with my sense of humor, was really just a joke. An attempt at humor. On the other hand, though, the smaller hand, the scholarly and culturally conscious hand, was a bit of a critique. As much credence as I don't give to trends, I still wanted to read it. Because that's what I do. And a lot of people whose opinions I respected said good things about it. So I vowed to give it a shot. And that vow was kept this summer.

By the way, I liked it.)

5. Daisy Miller: A Study by Henry James

6. Deathtrap by Ira Levin


7. East of Eden by John Steinbeck

(This just might make you think about the first couple chapters of Genesis in a different way. If you're like me, you'll probably take those considerations and store them away in the back of your mental filing room when you're done, but it's always good to think new thoughts. Oh, and Steinbeck was a really good storyteller.)


8. Equus by Peter Shaffer

(This play was both less and more disturbing than all of the hubbub I had heard led me to expect. That being said, if you really like horses - or really hate them - you might want to keep this one at arm's length.)


9. Everybody Wants to Go to Heaven, But Nobody Wants to Die by David Crowder and Mike Hogan

(Eschatology and bluegrass all wrapped up together in a quirky little metaphorical package. It was delightful.)

10. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

(Abandon all notions you have received from movies/popular culture. And prepare for your sympathy genes to kick in.)

11. God, the Devil, and Harry Potter: A Christian Minister's Defense of the Beloved Novels by John Killinger

(This is, I think, the third book of its type that I've read. You could classify it as a mix between literary criticism and well-meaning Christians wanting to reassure the world that J.K. Rowling isn't a minion of Satan. I appreciate their efforts. This Mr. Killinger has doctorates in both religion and literature, so he seems to be quite qualified to discuss the subject. The book itself is pretty outdated, as it was written after only four books in the series had been published. If you're not familiar with the world of HP, this could be a gateway to help you learn more. If you're like me, though, the plot summary may bore you. There's a lot of it. But on the whole, if the subject is close to your heart, a worthy read.)


12. Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott

(The first book by Anne Lamott I've read. I'm a fan.)

13. The Hidden Hand by E.D.E.N. Southworth

(Rollicking good fun. You won't find it on any classics lists, but it just might hold your attention and make you smile.)

14. The History of the Adventures of Joseph Andrews by Henry Fielding

15. Homegrown Democrat: A Few Plain Thoughts from the Heart of America by Garrison Keillor

(I'm not particularly politically polarized. But I do have a soft spot in my heart for Garrison Keillor. I liked reading what he had to say.)

16. How I Learned to Drive by Paula Vogel

(Don't be fooled by the title. This play isn't really about driving. It's about something much more sorrowful and frightening than driving. If you're fragile when faced with mental perversion, this may need to go on a 'don't read' list.)

17. Iola Leroy by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

18. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

19. John Milton's Epic Invocations: Converting the Muse by Philip Edward Phillips

(The professor who taught the class I took on Milton wrote this. Imagine that, a professor teaching with his own books and requiring his students to buy them. Don't mind my sarcasm, though. He's insightful. And the only English professor I had twice. I like him.)

20. King Arthur and His Knights by Sir James Knowles

(No, this isn't Le Morte d'Arthur by Sir Thomas Malory, but if you really like knights and jousting, it's worth your time.)

21. Les Miserables by Victor Hugo

(I'm in love. And can't stop asking myself why I didn't read it sooner.
Here's a taste (English translation, of course): "The pupil dilates in the night and at last finds day in it, even as the soul dilates in misfortune and at last finds God in it.")

22. The Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit by Charles Dickens


23. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

(Most women who read read this when they actually are a little woman. I didn't. Why? I don't know. Now that I have read it, I love it.)

24. Maggie: A Girl of the Streets by Stephen Crane

25. The Man that Corrupted Hadleyburg by Mark Twain


26. Mary Poppins by P.L. Travers

27. A Mask Presented At Ludlow Castle, 1634 by John Milton

28. A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller

(I really love Don's affection for and the attention he gives to story. I'm a fan.)

29. Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave, Written by Himself by Frederick Douglass

30. Oedipus the King by Sophocles; translated by Robert Fagles

31. Paradise Lost by John Milton

(Had I not been a John Milton fan before I read this, I would have been convinced with this epic. The man's a beast. And really smart. And it's fun to see how he took the biblical story of the creations of the earth and hell and filled in the gaps with his imagination.)

32. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

(Oh, I love Oscar Wilde. He was kind of twisted (who isn't?), but he was bang-up writer.)

33. Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan

(Western culture has been irrevocably tinged by this and I think most people don't even know it. I'm happy to be in the loop at last.)


34. A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry

35. The Reason for God: Belief in an Age of Skepticism by Timothy Keller

(Good book. I wanted to read it in 2010. I had heard a little about it, and I figured I could quote the man in a paper I was writing, which would have been great, because I needed another source. I looked for the book all over the place, but I couldn't find it. And I didn't have time to buy it online. So I scrambled at the last minute to find a different source. I found (a questionable) one that I was able to tie in and it all worked out. But after I read this over a year later, I almost wanted to rewrite my paper. I haven't done that yet, but I just might. I really liked that paper.)

36. Rees Howells: Intercessor by Norman Grubb

(If you don't have a solid handle on how God provides (and really, nobody does), you should read this book. Even if you've witnessed provisional miracles in your own life, it's always good to hear stories about God's faithfulness.)

37. The Rise of Silas Lapham by William Dean Howells

38. Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe

(Think you know Robinson Crusoe? Do you know how long it takes for him to get stranded on that blasted island? Longer than I thought.)

39. School of Christ by T. Austin-Sparks

(The words in this little book, which is basically a transcription of sermons, are really good at helping to put Christ at the complete center of your life. Of everything. It might rock your world.)

40. Searching for God Knows What by Donald Miller

(This year, I actually read this book for the second time. I read it the first time in 2008. When I read it previously, I borrowed it from a friend. But I bought a copy for myself this year, and remembered I liked it, but couldn't really remember why I liked it. It had been a while. So I refreshed my memory. Now I know. This book kind of blew my mind the first time I read it, and kind of did the same thing again when I read it this year.)

41. Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen

42. Song of Myself by Walt Whitman

43. Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire

(Umm....not what I expected. And not really in a good way. But Mr. Maguire is a great writer. And seems to love classic literature as much as I do. I'll leave it at that.)

44. The World of Music - 7th Edition by David Willoughby

(This is a textbook. A run of the mill one. For an introductory music class. But I read the whole thing (which is kind of rare for most textbooks of its type used in a college setting), so it made the list.)

"In the hands of the one who makes all things new."

I'm kind of behind on this...but a day late and a dollar short seems to have been my modus operandi for the past six months, so I guess it fits. Here I go...

I'm not usually one to make a ruckus about a new year. Time keeps moving forward and I don't often feel compelled to commemorate its passing. I'm the type who's too busy looking at where my feet are and have been to look far enough in front of me to build up the required anticipatory enthusiasm for celebrating something like the arrival of a new year. It's here before I really have time to prepare, and then, in the shock of the moment, I typically look back and reflect on the one that just passed before I give much thought to the one I just landed in. By the time my head has returned to a forward position, the newness of the year has faded, and, in complete honesty, we humans aren't always prone to make a big deal about things that aren't shiny. So I wave a belated farewell to the shiny new year, and I get down to the business of living in the comfortably worn year which I have found myself.

Thus, from me, a turn-of-the-year post like this would usually major on the highlights that I could pick out from the closing year and minor on thoughts devoted to the blossoming one.

Not this time.

I spent half of 2011 reflecting on 2011. I'm done reflecting on 2011. Now that 2012 is here, I don't want to forget 2011, but I do want to put it away for a while. Like an old man who has seen a lot of life, it was tired. The tired need rest. Death is the ultimate rest, and, as is true for all people at some point, it was time for 2011 to face the final rest of death. Unlike most people, though - whom are usually remembered fondly from the moment they are graced with death - I have yet to think back on 2011 very fondly. I will. In time. I think. It's just not time yet.

That being said, I am convinced that I am more excited about 2012 than I have been for any year I have lived previously. Like 2011, I was tired. Not tired to the point of death, but tired enough to want rest. To want new. 2012 still carries the promise of new. New doesn't always mean good, or better. It just means new.

Behold, the promise of new. 

I like that promise.

And, I'm not gonna lie, I also kind of like the fact that a lot of things are looking pretty worn out, so by virtue of being new, there's a 99% certainty they will be better.

So no looking behind now. Here's to new. To finding a job. To learning new things. To looking at life with anticipation and not dread. To no longer watching my family struggle through physical survival, but rather have lives so full there's a struggle to make it all fit.

And as much as I wish it for myself, I wish it for you, too. God grant you newness this year, in more than just  numbers on a calendar.

Amen.