Readers first met Beverly Tapinski in Kate DiCamillo's book, Rayme Nightingale. In Beverly, Right Here, we watch the fourteen-year-old run away from home to find a place for herself in the world. I struggled with the title. Plus, it features a cast of reprehensible characters: an absent father, a disinterested mother, a nosy neighbor, a vile bully, a shady boss, and a pushy evangelist (offering tracts and preying on innocent children with graphic images of snakes and devils). I worry the main character's actions might encourage young readers to have idealized views of running away, trusting strangers, stealing, and underage driving.
When Beverly's friend Louisiana moves away and her dog dies, Beverly is bereft. She hops a ride to another town, finds a job, and moves in with a friendly stranger in a trailer park. Desperation and genuine soul-ache ooze from the pages. The cover promises it will "break your heart and put it back together again." Sadly, I felt I only managed the broken heart. I simply wanted more redemption from the story. Despite plenty of random acts of kindness (tokens for the horse ride, tickets entered to win the world's largest turkey, offers to build a sandcastle, etc.), the disconnectedness of people pervaded. The writing is easily digested, the emotions tapped, but the resolution didn't satisfy sufficiently. I still think Kate DiCamillo spins gold, but this wasn't my favorite book.
I took our old camcorder videos to have them transferred to DVDs (am supposed to get them back today, in fact). Our library offers use of a machine for transferring VHS to DVD for free, but it has been closed since the lockdown started and besides, you must sit there at the machine throughout the lengthy process. While viewing the mini-camcorder tapes to discern chronological order, I viewed a bit of Bryce's birth video (not the actual birthing process, of course, but the preliminary days as my belly expanded and the initial days of his welcome home). John taped me on my 31st birthday, with infant Bryce lying on my chest and me piping up with "This is the best birthday present - to hold my newborn."
This past weekend, I celebrated my 55th birthday. Again, the best birthday present? Having my 24-year-old son home from Texas for a week-long visit! He drove all the way from Houston to see us and brought gifts: a set of my favorite colored pens for journaling and a copy of The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes by Suzanne Collins. I was tardy in placing my name on the library's hold list and dreaded waiting for 30 others to use their 3 week turn. Both Sean and I will enjoy the book. I also appreciated John's gifts (a t-shirt that reads "At times I think to myself, 'Drop the book and get stuff done!' Then, I laugh and turn the page." Plus, a new Sony CD player - much needed for my treadmill listening). We had a cook-out and DQ ice cream cake for dessert. It was fun to combine our celebrations, as we gave Bryce his belated birthday gifts.
We're laughing because I had to stand on the hearthstone in order to get my face close enough to his (he's almost 6'2") - ha!
Virtual Viewing:
Carey Nieuwhof wrote an interesting article outlining 7 new disruptive church trends. I can attest to 1 detail. Instead of viewing my home church's service, I tend to view Salvation Army services (often the Oakbrook Terrace corps service, where my brother and his family attend and where my nephew and his wife serve on the worship team). In addition, I seek the sermons of great preachers and apologists. This week, I've sought the convicting and inspiring words of Ravi Zacharias. A brilliant and articulate champion of the faith, Ravi died of cancer last week. If you have the time, I highly recommend this 12 minute video sharing some of his final thoughts:
Two longer (35-40 minute), but worthy investments of time: His Passion conference sermon and a sermon from Gateway Church, both from January 2020. I've also been watching the sermons of Dr. David Jeremiah. This 4 minute snippet of Dr. Jeremiah's sermon outlining all the positive results from past times of sheltering is encouraging:
When not listening to sermons, I relish Salvation Army brass banding fare. Here's a virtual performance of the Salvation Army song, "I'll Stand for Christ":
I bought a cedar bluebird feeder for John and he put it up in his bird sanctuary behind the house:
For days, it sat untouched, so John removed the plexiglass. Although I've seen a bird or two swoop in, grab seed, and fly away, this is primarily what I see when I sit at my upstairs desk (not the new desk), gazing out the window:
We get plenty of goldfinches, house finches, indigo buntings, bluejays, cardinals, orioles, hummingbirds, and woodpeckers:
I've also seen a fox (didn't capture photos) and a brown baby mink right up on the stones, catching a chipmunk, but the photo is unclear, and when I tried to crop it (mink in mddle of photo), it only blurred:
Thankfully, he came back (just now) and I captured some clearer shots:
Usually, we only see raccoons, skunks, opossums, and deer. Plus, I noticed a part-albino squirrel that lives in a nearby tree (full white tail, white underbelly, and four white paws - again no photos).
Purging:
Despite the sentiment on my new t-shirt, I applied myself to get something done and weeded through Sean's and my clothes. I know they were favorites, but did I really think I'd get back into those size 8 pants someday? We sent about ten bags to Goodwill, much to my husband's delight (oh, how that man loves to purge and re-organize).
Pondering:
After viewing videos of my days in DeKalb (prior to our move to IN when Bryce was 10) and reminiscing on my days in Oxford (thanks to a gentle stirring from a memoir), I've been pondering the irretrievable loss of my former self. I used to be intrepid: flew to NY without a job or housing lined up, walked across Harlem alone on a Saturday morning, seized whatever opportunities came my way, including the Wheaton-in-England program where I studied at Oxford). I used to be unflappable, handling unexpected changes with grace and understanding. Aggressive and driven, I had so many goals and dreams and wasn't the slightest bit intimidated by any of them. I handled any shifting path. Now, as John likes to say, I'm fragile. I don't rebound when difficulties arise, or handle stresses or changes in expectations. I'm nervous and easily irritated. I'm fearful and pessimistic.
At the beginning of the pandemic, I worried shortages might limit access to the medication for my clinical depression, so I began taking it every other day, until John insisted I go back to my normal dosage. All of that to say, I'm deeply saddened by my altered personality. Yet, no matter how much I wish to go back to the person I once was, I can see she's gone for good. If I had to pinpoint the alteration, it coincided with the isolation and identity-shift stemming from our move to Indiana and the birth of my last son at age 41. After almost fourteen years of this altered reality, I may never go back to being more adventurous than anxious, more driven than despairing, or more fearless than fragile. If I had known I was crossing the Rubicon, would I have entered the boat? R.I.P., old Wendy. Just know, you are sorely missed!
What a gorgeous, apt cover for this tragic and tender book about a man's experience losing his brilliant wife to a rare form of dementia. I love the blackness of the bottom half - the ground; I love the hazy purple twilight and the stark outline of the living trees against it on the top half. The book opens with a George Herbert poem, "Bitter Sweet," addressed to the Lord:
"Since thou dost love, yet strike;
Cast down, yet help afford;
Sure I will do the like.
I will complain, yet praise;
I will bewail, approve;
And all my sour-sweet days
I will lament and love."
As Job 2:10 says, "We take the good days from God—why not also the bad days?" Indeed, the foreword identifies the author's aim: "to understand something of the hand of God in this valley of suffering and to discern how to live lovingly and faithfully in this shadowy place." I think we all need this lesson. We all encounter our shadowy places and struggle to accept the meaning in the pain.
I appreciated the author's words on lament, giving permission and offering the understanding that there is a time for lament. He writes, "If the perfect Son of God can lament and not sin, so may we." I have been on the receiving end of well-meaning Christian expectations to cast off lament quickly and get back to doing what God would have you do. But, indeed, there is a time to weep.
While this book is definitely a difficult read - such intense sorrow for the loss of an articulate individual's ability to form words and ideas - it offers the author's truth with candor and faith. He is not a sunny Pollyanna, but a realistic climber who only wants to see the slope and make the wisest steps to trek the mountain. How do we live well amid suffering? I think with integrity, honesty, and faith. Somehow, we allow God to hold our hand and surrender the journey to His control.
My college roommate, Elizabeth, introduced me to Dani Shapiro's books. I reviewed Inheritance last year. Still Writing jumped out at me then, but I didn't take the time. When I discovered easy access to the e-book online through the library, I dove in. Shapiro has a very no-nonsense manner in her writing encouragement. She tries to tell it straight. Sit in the chair. Put in the hours. Get down the words. Work on the revision. Don't be afraid to put in many hours in the dark before putting your words out there into the light for consumption and criticism. The chapters in the book are brief and easily digested.
I think the hardest thing for me was a chapter called "Smith Corona" because it focused on the futile writing efforts of Dani's mother. Her mother was equally full of wild words, but did not have a clue about how to send them out into the world to her advantage. Dani writes that her mother sent scripts to The Partridge Family producers. "She didn't know that submitting scripts in this manner was about as effective as making them into paper airplanes and flying them out the window." Groan. Can you hear my heart hitting the floor? Immediately, I worried that my writing would follow Dani's mother's trajectory instead of Dani's. If only I had a crystal ball that would declare whether I'll ever achieve any writing success. Wouldn't that be marvelous? Wouldn't that solve the endless battle between putting butt in chair and getting out of the chair because I'm convinced it is all for naught?
I wonder sometimes why I read books on writing. I am desperate for encouragement. Hoping for a flashlight to guide the way in the dark. But, then I discover from other writers, even successful writers, that we're all writing in the dark, a fog where we can only see one step at a time. But, like Dani Shapiro (well, unlike her, because I have no success to speak of) ... I'm still writing.
Louisiana's Way Home (second stand-alone novel in Kate DiCamillo's recent trio), tells a story of loss, identity, and healing. Again, I didn't feel as pulled in by this tale as earlier DiCamillo books, but it was still a worthwhile investment of time. I imagine there are many children who will benefit from reading this tale (especially adopted individuals or ones who have lost family).
Louisiana Elefante and her granny take off in the middle of the night because Granny says "the day of reckoning has arrived." All Louisiana wants to do is get back to her friends, Raymie and Beverly, in Florida, but Granny is driving (for the moment) and Louisiana is just a kid at the mercy of her elders. When they arrive in Georgia, Granny can drive no more because she is reeling in pain from her rotten teeth. Louisiana takes the wheel and delivers her safely to a dentist who pulls all Granny's teeth. While laid low, Granny pawns Louisiana out to "sing for their supper." It is only after Granny disappears that Louisiana realizes her entire existence has been founded on a lie.
The themes are excellent. I loved Louisiana's quest to discover who she really is and appreciated the minister's message about forgiveness and her power to determine who she wants to be in this world. What truth in the image of a pastor providing the "magic" of "healing words" and what wisdom in accepting love where it is offered! Our hearts lead us to the home where we belong. Love is not determined by birth, but rather by sacrifice and commitment.
Still, I struggled with a few minor things. Unlike the other two books in the trio, my library shelved this one in the children's section. I worried about children following some examples in the tale: children driving illegally, stealing from vending machines, and skipping school, all without consequence. The school issue is at least addressed by the mother, who admonishes her son that he is shutting doors by skipping and we must always try to keep open all our doors and opportunities. Plus, many of the characters were despicable: the motel owner, the organist - even Granny's actions left me disgruntled.
Thankfully, as in a world full of both bad and good people, the story is peppered with kind-hearted, generous individuals as well: the walrus-like minister who listens well, the Grandpap who offers his ice-cream, the cake-baking mother who takes Louisiana under her wing. Louisiana's story holds value and will encourage children in their quest to determine who they wish to be. Children who wrestle with identity issues or struggle with feelings of being cursed will come away from this tale inspired and uplifted. Once again, Kate DiCamillo has provided valuable healing words.
Before all the hullabaloo of the pandemic arrived, I attended a library showing of A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood. I thoroughly enjoyed it. How thrilling to discover an audio rendering of Maxwell King's biography of Mr. Rogers, The Good Neighbor: The Life and Work of Fred Rogers. Even though I wouldn't call myself a big fan, I watched Mr. Rogers's Neighborhood in my childhood. Moreover, Jordan Raynor, author of Called to Create, highlighted Fred Rogers's pursuit of excellence in his newsletters. I consider Fred Rogers an excellent person to emulate. One passage in this book, where Rogers revealed his inner critic (something all writers can relate to), especially intrigued me. Just hearing that someone as successful as Fred Rogers struggled with feelings of being a fraud and not living up to what he was called to, filled me with relief. On the outside, we recognize those feelings as unfounded, but the inner critic calls out insistently, regardless.
The back cover proclaims: "Based on original interviews, oral histories, and archival documents, The Good Neighbor takes listeners beyond the gentle man in the sweater, tracing Rogers's personal, professional, and artistic life through decades of work." He was, indeed, the gentle man he appeared to be on television. His foremost commitments were to achieving excellence and nurturing children. He started every day focused on the Lord, and to everything he endeavored, he gave 100 percent. Would that others could say the same of me when I'm gone!
Desperate to ease the financial pressures of lock-down, the country is beginning disparate re-opening phases. Although the White House issued criteria, many states are ignoring those guidelines. The most significant benchmark calls for a two-week decline in documented cases. In Indiana, from April 27th through May 3rd, they documented an average of 700 additional cases per day on the ISDH website, with no decline in sight. My own rural county has 883 documented cases and 46 deaths. Yet, Indiana is re-opening.
While most businesses will be held to stringent occupancy percentages, Governor Holcomb has given a green light to churches to re-open with no attendance cap. His words, as he described his reasoning, brought to mind the canaries miners often used to alert them to dangerous gases. Holcomb explained, "What we're going to do is learn from these steps that we're taking.... We just thought a good place to start or have a control group, would be places of worship." Control group ... canary ... call it what you will. It appears church-goers will reveal the ramifications of re-opening.
Of course, Governor Holcomb encouraged pastors to follow social distancing guidelines and take adequate cleaning measures. But it raises many questions I fear churches will not take sufficient time to consider and address. Ken Braddy, of Lifeway Christian Resources, attempted to pose many of these questions in his blog article, "Twenty Questions Your Church Should Answer Before People Return." As comments poured in, the twenty questions proved insufficient. He re-titled that blog post and wrote another, "Twenty-Four More Questions the Church Should Ask Before People Return." He mentions many concerns I expected: communion, offering, and especially, enforcing social distancing and cleaning. Will the church turn people away? Will believers eager to see their brothers and sisters in Christ maintain the recommended distance and fight the urge to greet and converse in the hallways? Not to mention the many differing perspectives on the threat. Whose perspective is right?
Is it best to wear a mask and reduce transmission, or is it best to shun masks and increase your body's immune defenses? Will all people eventually encounter this virus or are we actually flattening the curve by sheltering-in-place? Things get even murkier when you address the spiritual dimension. Some assert their faith is proved in their eagerness to resume regular worship (can we truly go back to normal?). Fight fear with faith. Others argue that, while we shouldn't give way to fear (God is the source of our ultimate satisfaction in life or in death), we should also practice the discretion and wisdom He's given to avoid danger. It's like the story of the drowning man who ignores three heavenly-orchestrated opportunities for rescue while praying and asserting his faith in God.
The church we currently attend, in normal circumstances, has barely an open seat for a newcomer. With Governor Holcomb's blessing, they are resuming with a Mother's Day service. Most years, on Mother's Day, it is my greatest desire to worship with my husband and children beside me. This year, I'm conflicted. Indeed, they intend to resume our small group Bible study, held in someone's home. I'm not on board for that either. I don't wish to play the role of canary.
In some ways, this pandemic has encouraged the church to go out into the highways and byways with the gospel. I have invited non-believing friends to watch uplifting and encouraging worship services. David Jeremiah aired an outstanding sermon addressing the corona-virus. On-line viewing eliminates the awkward threat of entering an unfamiliar sanctuary. At other times, I've shared a multitude of virtual worship experiences (I just found this excellent one for "Be Thou My Vision" and one from my friend, Randy Bonifield, "Christ Be All Around Me"). The Salvation Army seldom holds open-air services as they used to, but one Chicago corps took small ensembles out into the communities to share hymns. They reasoned if the people can't go to the church, bring the church to the people. It no doubt blessed those neighbors as they stood at safe distances listening to hymns of the faith.
I'd be the first to declare how much I love singing praise and worship to God among friends and fellow believers. I know how important it is to break the bread of His Word together. Yet, while I understand the intense blessing of corporate worship, I worry we are rushing back into the sanctuary out of eagerness to return to normalcy. And if we let our guard down, telling ourselves the danger is behind us (ignoring the continuing escalation of numbers), will we live to regret it? Or rather, will we die as we regret it? Will our control group experiment prove to Indiana that it is unsafe to return to the mine, singing blithely "Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's back to church we go?"
NOTE: While I oppose the idea of "no attendance caps" and using the church as "a control group," I am not wishing to express any criticism of others who feel safe and comfortable returning to their places of worship. My husband will attend our church's socially-distanced service, where I will not. Each individual must do as his conscience and soul directs. I bristle at the expression of worshipers as an expendable commodity to practice on and glean information from as a result of their open attendance together in worship. My heartfelt plea is for caution. Churches must carefully think through each aspect of their worship together. I pray readers will not take offense, but will take every precaution to stay safe.
My husband would say "yes" emphatically. I not only read books, but I wear shirts about books. I keep lists of books I hope to one day read, and I write this book review blog. Last summer, he decided I had gone off the deep end when I saw someone selling more book-patterned furniture. It was such a bargain and ... well, books!
Dragging him and Trevor along, we drove to the seller's house, and the man assisted as my husband and son pushed the pieces into our van and truck. I think John wanted to kill me. The pieces? Well, for $50 I snagged an almost 400 pound armoire/desk and for $25 a matching file cabinet. It was easy to add the file cabinet to my book nook (click here to see what it looked like before). However, the armoire/desk sat in the garage until a week ago, when we lured our friend, Robert (together with his wife) to assist us in attempting to get the thing into the guest room.
Talk about a grueling task! The thing weighs a ton. We could remove none of the solid wood interior drawers or extendable desk surfaces. Plus, it is tall. When we got it on the furniture dolly, it was too tall to fit inside the door frame (not to mention we had to get it up two small steps into what used to be a garage but had been remodeled into our guest room when John's parents added a 3-car garage). After much despairing and plotting, we wedged some boards beneath to alter the angle just enough to slide it in the door and then up the two steps. At least Robert and his wife were both impressed with the piece (and with the sweet furniture dolly John had bought at Lowe's for the task).
The previous owner added a light inside the cupboard (hence the cord dangling down - will have to do something about that). I should say, John is dubious that I will end up using this amazing piece of furniture. He believes I will tire of pulling the side desk out and then shutting the entire thing up when I'm done working. He worries I will miss the ample space of my downstairs desk (he wants to get rid of that - since I know he might be right, I've told him to hold off for now). Still, I'm thrilled it is finally inside. We had to move my treadmill and will move the chair to the left of it to make room for a rolling office chair.
When my oldest son moved to Houston, I wanted to send him a welcome-to-your-new-home card and enclose a restaurant gift card. While scanning a map of his new neighborhood, I also looked at nearby churches. I discovered an interesting place called The Story Church, ministering to unchurched populations. How cool, to learn from their website, that shortly after Bryce's arrival in Houston, they would host an interview with atheist-turned-Christian journalist Lee Strobel. Although Bryce didn't go, I watched the entire (1-1/2 hour) interview. The first half focused on his journey from skepticism to belief. The second half delved into his research for his most recent Case book, The Case for Miracles: A Journalist Investigates Evidence for the Supernatural.
At one point in the interview, the pastor asks Strobel to share one of the most compelling miracle stories he encountered. If you click on the link to the interview and go to the 48 minute mark, you can watch/listen to an eight-minute segment airing evidence for a stunning miracle in the life of a Houston pastor (well-worth the time investment - indeed, I appreciated the whole interview). I listed the mentioned books I intended to seek: Strobel's own The Case for Miracles, Douglas Groothuis' Walking Through Twilight (a book about a philosopher's experience with his demented wife - a book I simultaneously dread and anticipate), and Tricia Lott Williford's And Life Comes Back. How thrilling, in this pandemic season, to find all three titles available in e-book form through a local library!
I didn't need Strobel's book to convince me that God still intervenes in our world through the use of miracles. When I was three, I had a near-death experience of double pneumonia. The very moment my father changed his prayer from a prayer for healing to a prayer relinquishing me into God's hands, I sat up and asked the doctors what they were doing. On another occasion, as a teenager missing the horn I left behind after they moved my parents to South Dakota, I marveled when my father followed God's direction to purchase a horn for the corps, despite a lack of funds. A week later, a letter arrived with close to the exact amount from a donor who wanted the money used for an instrument for the Salvation Army band in our corps. I fully believe God intervenes in our natural world. Oh, for faith to trust Him even more!
Lee Strobel takes the same method as in his other Case series books. He interviews various scholars and lays groundwork for the reader to decide what conclusion the evidence supports. Indeed, the results of the Barna survey that Strobel commissioned emphasize that more Americans believe than disbelieve in miracles. In fact, two in five claim to have experienced one personally, a mind-boggling number!
Yet, while Americans say they believe in the miraculous, do they really? A conversation Strobel had with a theology professor who observed the response of African and Asian students to American Christianity especially struck me. These students timidly admit they are perplexed by the lack of power in evangelical Christianity. They come from countries where spiritual warfare is a common experience, and it is hard to accept how educated Christians in American discount the miraculous and doubt the supernatural.
Whether you pick this book up to read of astonishing stories of miracles (like the opening one taken from the life of Dr. Ben Carson or the one shared in the interview link), or to digest the arguments outlined for and against, Strobel presents the evidence and leaves the verdict to the reader. Perhaps you're like me and have personal experience with supernatural events. Or maybe you wrestle with unanswered prayers - a hard topic for many. I agree with Strobel's conclusion because conversion itself is as miraculous as it gets. God is in the business of taking skeptics and turning them into believers. He steps into this fallen world and redeems what is broken. That is miracle enough for me!
