How sad I'll be when I have no more unread Gary D. Schmidt books! What an outstanding author! He taps the heart of things and communicates significant truths packed in the garments of story. Published in 2004, Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy is an earlier book, but just as powerful as The Wednesday Wars, Okay for Now, Orbiting Jupiter, and Trouble. Indeed, it was a Printz Honor book and a 2005 Newbery Honor book. Thankfully, I have a few more Schmidt books to read if I can lay my hands on them (at least one of them is available in audio form on Hoopla).
I had to read bits of this aloud to my boys because I knew they would sympathize with the protagonist, Turner Buckminster. After a horrific introduction to his new life as the minister's son in Phippsburg, Maine, all Turner wants to do is run away. He doesn't fit in a town full of bullying peers and cantankerous elderly neighbors. The church elders are eager to clear out a shanty town on a nearby island, to make room for a lucrative tourist resort, and hope to garner Reverend Buckminster's support. Lizzie Bright lives on that island and becomes Turner's only friend. But it is 1912, and others frown on his associations with a young black girl. (Indeed, what a timely tale! If we all worked on building cross-cultural relationships, we might bridge the racial divide.)
The characters are endearing. Turner's struggles are excruciating. The plot pacing perfect! While this is a sad book (death occurs), it also speaks of hope and redemption. What a wonderful piece of historical fiction, spurring universal inspiration to seek love and justice. Schmidt proves, once again, that he weaves wonder in the ordinary struggles of life. Perhaps it appeals to me more as a pastor's kid, but I think it will hold equal appeal to other readers and would be a superb selection for teachers seeking relevant literature to discuss race and justice in classrooms today.
This was not a book I normally would have picked up or read. I'm sure Jerry Jenkins is a fine writer (I've listened to several of his writing tips and even considered joining his writing course). Still, I don't seek football books, unless I'm skimming them to offer them to my sons. If I recall, the library had an audio book sale, clearing out their old cassette fare. I purchased a Maeve Binchy, and you got one free, thus Hometown Legend came home in my bag.
Cal Sawyer owns a failing company that produces leather footballs. His business provides employment for many in his struggling town. But business isn't the only thing drying up. The once vibrant high school football team's only hope is in the return of a coach who lost his son during the last game he coached. Can Cal save the business? Will the coach rouse his players to victory? What does it take to have a faith that endures through loss?
I enjoyed the narration, and the story was interesting. It has everything a football fan could want: a down-on-its-luck team, a town fighting extinction, a drifter with wicked talent, and even a few dashes of romance. Still, it felt predictable, and the happy ever-after ending seemed too sunny. While the book conveys that winning isn't the primary goal, and that genuine faith persists despite loss, the message is packed in almost too neat a package. The book released on September 10th, 2001, so its timeline doesn't reflect America's reality. Who knows? If my sons want to watch the movie version, available through Amazon Prime, I might be game.
One thing I love about my Salvation Army heritage is the ability to go anywhere and find others who immediately feel like family because they share mutual friends, live similar lives, and hold comparable values. When I lived in London for a time, after my college graduation, I attended the Army there and fielded questions about Salvationists back home. They broke with tradition and allowed me to rehearse with their senior band (they didn't allow women in British senior bands then - oh the indignity!). We rehearsed pieces written by mutually familiar composers.
I can normally walk into an Army service in another city, state, or country and find some connection to the people. Yet, it is rare to be in another church setting and discover people who know of some Salvationist. Danielle Strickland holds such a following and I've run into several non-Army friends who have heard her speak. She is a dynamic speaker, writer, and advocate. (Here's a 3 minute clip where she presents a snippet of the message of this book.)
Her biography on Amazon supports the buzz - "author of 5 books, host of DJStrickland Podcast, and founder of Infinitum, Amplify Peace, Brave Global and Women Speakers Collective." This book, A Beautiful Mess: How God Recreates Our Lives, conveys a powerful message in a tiny capsule. Using a framework of God's process of creation, Strickland identifies the order God brings to our lives from chaos. She challenges us not to run from chaos, but to embrace this divine pattern toward order and purpose.
I loved her illustrations. When learning to swim, we must let go and plunge into the scary water. She mentioned the Magic Eye images - something I recently passed along to Trevor. He figured out how to see the hidden images faster than I had when I first encountered them. You must train your eye to take in the complete image, to allow your eyes to catch the outline of what is hidden within the bigger picture. An example, taken from Henri Nouwen, talked about the importance of our reliance and trust in God, just as a trapeze artist can only take impressive risks when he/she has absolute trust in the catcher.
She writes, "Our connections, our desires, our relationships need to be tended to like a garden." Plus, she reminded me that every season of life has its own purpose and glory (here's an excellent blog post she wrote about reclaiming desert spaces). It is wrong to assume our work or success determines our value and even while I know that, I often live with that assumption, anyway. We were made in the image of God to reflect His divinity to a fallen world desperately in need of Him. Her reference to Mother Teresa's directive challenged me: "Spend an hour with God each day and don't do anything you know is wrong." Excellent words to follow.
As a writer, I couldn't help but take down the many reflective questions offered at the end of each chapter. These will serve as prompts for my daily pages for quite a while and might help me flesh out changes I would like to make in my life. Here are a few (some verbatim, some paraphrased) I found intriguing:
Do you feel lost in the work and/or the people you are leading? Why is this? What do you need to change?
What is the greatest challenge you are facing?
What is your answer to the "why" of your life?
What blocks your vision of the big picture?
Are you rooted? Do you live a flimsy life?
What words would others use to describe your life?
Is your life static or stuck, or is it rich with life, movement and growth?
Where do you sense a need for greater depth in your life?
Are you stewarding your resources and using them to bring life to others?
This small but powerful book has provided me with much to ponder. Am I moving from chaos to God's designed order? Am I basing my life and worth on His foundation? What are the things I need to change to pursue God and His will more? If I want to live a life that causes others to reflect and say "she was a good and faithful servant," what should I be tending more fully?
Leif Enger's recent novel, Virgil Wander, has been on my radar (just look at that stunning, enticing cover). I intended to read it in time for a library book club session that my friend, Stacy, leads. Then came COVID, and the library closed. Since I could access it through Hoopla in e-book form, I was undeterred.
After an automobile accident, Virgil Wander can no longer summon all the words normally at his command. In fact, he feels like an entirely different person, a likely response to a near-death experience. As the doctor urges him to find someone to live with him temporarily (to keep him from forgetting a pot on the stove), a man wanders into town seeking information about a son he didn't know he had. Virgil invites Rune into his home and revels in the man's kite production and flight. While Rune learns more about his son (who disappeared from the town years ago), Virgil begins to understand more about his new person and place in the world.
Like the title character, the novel wanders amiably, yet I never grew disinterested. By the end, the pacing ratchets up a notch and I couldn't wait to find out what further misfortune might arrive for the struggling town and characters. The tiny Minnesota town by the sea is a character in and of itself and plays a big role in shaping the novel. Russ Ramsey, author of Struck: One Christian's Reflections on Encountering Death, interviewed Leif Enger on The Rabbit Room blog. Leif observes, "Virgil lives on the borders of faith and doubt, speech and silence, lucidity and confusion, civilization and wilderness, order and chaos. The inland sea is also a constant reminder that life is unpredictable and fog-shrouded and that tragedy is tethered to beauty and in fact joy."
What a beautiful novel! I enjoyed the characters, the writing, and the story line. I might have enjoyed the book discussion too, but they held it on Zoom (I hate Zoom). Still, I wouldn't have risked exposure for an in-person discussion either (our library plans to resume regular services on June 10th). Extended isolation to avoid a pandemic is as powerful a life-changing event as plunging into a body of icy water in a car. We will all respond to the world differently, just like Virgil Wander.
I like Melanie Shankle. She's genuine, vulnerable, and funny. I'm so glad I purchased this brief audio book when Christian Book Distributors had a recent dollar sale. Yep, I got it for a buck (along with 11 other books, videos, and miscellaneous items my husband believes we never needed). Plus, in purchasing this, I discovered she is a San Antonio blogger and has a new book of essays encouraging readers to look for the good in others. Here's a link to her blog.
The Antelope in the Living Room: The Real Story of Two People Sharing One Life is a breath of fresh air when cooped up together, sheltering-in-place with different perspectives on what that should look like. Let's just say I had to put off listening to this for a few days because I was in no mood to reflect on marital bliss. But, frictions blew over, life went on, and I ditched the music CDs to get back to listening to a book while walking (an option already challenged with my library's closure and my CD player's demise - it was skipping even when playing brand new CDs, so it is not a case of over-used discs causing the interruptions). I appreciate how Melanie can inspire laughter one moment and serious reflection the next. Plus, I agree with her conclusion - despite the bumps along the way, it is better to do life together than to go it alone or to throw in the towel when tempers flare and you feel you may never want to speak to your spouse again. Besides, I should count my blessings: we have woods on our property and yet my husband hasn't once gone hunting and brought home an animal head to mount in my living room.
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!
