Lenten read for those who suffer

And since every one of us has their own unique suffering in this valley of tears, I would recommend this book to everyone: "Never Give Up: My life and God's mercy", by John Janaro.

I just finished reading this book, and I thought it was excellent; it really touched me, and had transformed the way I look at suffering in my own life.

In this book, Janaro, a father of five and college professor writes about his struggles with Lymes disease, anxiety, and depression. His reflections are refreshing honest and candid; it's a story how an ordinary man endures the sufferings, trials, and frustrations that he faces each day through his emotional and physical illnesses. I think I was most inspired by the way that Janaro is able to vivify the abstract concepts of suffering and "offering things up", and show readers, in a concrete way, both the struggle involved and the hope to which Christ invites us.

This a truly worthwhile Lenten read, which will particular strike a chord with those who have dealt with emotional struggles and chronic illness, but the message it contains will touch all who face the trials and drudgery of daily life. Janaro shows readers that suffering can be crippling and lead individuals to a very dark and lonely place; but ultimately he shows readers that suffering is infused with meaning, and suffering mysteriously brings about redemption.

Here is a section which particularly spoke to me:

"Suffering must be endured not because life is less important than we had hoped but because it is more important than we can imagine. It is the place where God is with us.

Our hearts long for happiness, for life. But what is life? What is happiness? Do we find it only in that space of time that belongs to us? Do we imagine that God sits in the background and allows us to play with reality, then starts taking our toys away when playtime is over? No! That is not what life is! Life is God with us at every moment - in every joy (God delights in our joy!) and also in the abyss.

...We are called to endure suffering not with stoic resignation but with abandonment to his loving presence. We endure in the conviction that God offers us his love - the only fulfillment of the human heart - here and now, in the midst of our suffering and the ploddings of our daily lives. We are called to put our hearts on the line, to allow ourselves to be wounded by love, and to be loved, because he is with us and he loves us now. And we know that love - in the end - is always worth the risk." ~ Never Give Up, pp. 52-53

Bibliotherapy

Last weekend I had a handful of events planned, and ironically, each one of them fell through in succession. I had something planned for Saturday evening, only to find that it had gotten cancelled. Since I had set aside my evening for this event, I didn't have any backup plans.

Once again, frustrated to be in a new city all by myself, I tried to figure out what I could do that would make me feel better. There are only so many things that one can do alone on a Saturday night -- things like going out to a new restaurant or somewhere downtown are not options -- these things just make one feel even more alone.

The librarian in me didn't need a second thought. "I am going to spend the evening a Borders!" I thought to myself triumphantly. Getting lost in the shelves of colorful new book covers and paging through a variety of books sounded like a great and comforting option.

So that's exactly what I did. I headed straight over to Borders, and spent an hour and a half perusing the shelves, surrounded by other bibliophiles and the company of good books. It was quite enjoyable.

Before I left the store, I decided that I would allow myself one purchase. After all, I rationed, one book cost the same as I would have spent on a weekend dinner out or a movie. The question was, what book did I want to spend company with tonight?

I was a literature major who should only like classic, bona fide literature, I do have a weakness for "fluffy" Christian historical fiction. I know, I know, it is often not the most well-written of the genres. But there are some quality Christian fiction writers. And if nothing else, this genre provides lighthearted and entertaining reads; I also enjoy the historical aspects of some of these books and the historical world that the characters inhibit.

So, I wanted to find one of these books to escape away in, follow the characters, and be captivated by a story.

I really didn't know what to select because I don't know enough about Christian fiction to know the best new authors, so what ever I picked was probably going to be a gamble.
I ended up picking the book by Karen Witmeyer called "Tailor-made Bride." It's a story about Hannah Richards, a young seamstress who moves to a new town in Coventry, Texas to establish shop. In Conventry, she meets J.T. "Jericho" Tucker, the rough and tumble livery man who thinks fashion merely encourages vanity, materialism, and greed and is vehemently opposed to a high-fluted lady like Hannah bringing these ideas to their small town. Hannah, on the other hand, can't figure out why this stubborn young man is so cold to her, and so opposed to women fashion and beautiful dresses. Hannah sees her work as a ministry of beauty in helping other women discover the fashions which highlight their God-given beauty.


The story follows the relationship of Hannah and J.T. through their series of misunderstandings, and eventually growing affection towards one another.

I have to admit, a part of me was attracted to this book because it's a story I would like have unfold in my own life. City girl moves to country town. Meets dashing cowboy (or in this case, horseman). She melts his heart. He woes her. They fall in love and live happily ever after.

It was a cute book. Definitely there were aspects of it that were cheesy, but overall it was very enjoyable. And it was great company for me on my Saturday night alone.

"We read to know we are not alone. " ~ C. S. Lewis

12 days of Christmas poems...day 12

Sorry for the delay, folks. I don't have internet hook-up at my new place, so right now I am relying on coffeeshop wifi. Enjoy the last of the Christmas series!

Madonna with the Christ Child, Sassoferrato (1609-1685)


Love came down at Christmas
by Christina Rosetti

Love came down at Christmas,
Love all lovely, Love Divine;
Love was born at Christmas;
Star and angels gave the sign.

Worship we the Godhead,
Love Incarnate, Love Divine;
Worship we our Jesus,
But wherewith for sacred sign?

Love shall be our token,
Love be yours and love be mine,
Love to God and all men,
Love for plea and gift and sign.

12 days of Christmas poems...day 11

Day 11

A Christmas Carol

by Phillips Brooks

Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night!
Christmas in lands of the fir tree and pine,
Christmas in lands of the palm tree and vine;
Christmas where snow-peaks stand solemn and white,
Christmas where corn-fields lie sunny and bright;
Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night!

Christmas where children are hopeful and gay,
Christmas where old men are patient and gray;
Christmas where peace, like a dove in its flight,
Broods o'er brave men in the thick of the fight;
Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night!

For the Christ-child who comes is the Master-of all,
No palace too great and no cottage too small;
The Angels who welcome Him sing from the height,
"In the city of David a King in His might."
Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night!

12 days of Christmas poems...day 10

Our Savior is born! Let us make merry!

Norman Rockwell, 1928

A Christmas Carol

by George Wither

So now is come our joyful feast,
Let every man be jolly;
Each room with ivy leaves is dressed,
And every post with holly.
Though some churls at our mirth repine,
Round your foreheads garlands twine,
Drown sorrow in a cup of wine,
And let us all be merry.

Now all our neighbors' chimnies smoke,
And Christmas blocks are burning;
Their ovens they with baked meats choke,
And all their spits are turning.
Without the door let sorrow lie,
And if for cold it hap to die,
We'll bury it in a Christmas pie,
And evermore be merry.

Now every lad is wondrous trim,
And no man minds his labor;
Our lasses have provided them
A bagpipe and a tabor.
Young men and maids, and girls and boys,
Give life to one another's joys;
And you anon shall by their noise
Perceive that they are merry.

Rank misers now do sparing shun,
Their hall of music soundeth;
And dogs thence with whole shoulders run,
So all things aboundeth.
The country-folk themselves advance,
For crowdy-mutton's come out of France;
And Jack shall pipe and Jill shall dance,
And all the town be merry.

Ned Swatch hath fetched his bands from pawn,
And all his best apparel;
Brisk Nell hath bought a ruff of lawn
With droppings of the barrel.
And those that hardly all the year
Had bread to eat or rags to wear,
Will have both clothes and dainty fare,
And all the day be merry.

Now poor men to the justices
With capons make their errands;
And if they hap to fail of these,
They plague them with their warrants.
But now they feed them with good cheer,
And what they want they take in beer,
For Christmas comes but once a year,
And then they shall be merry.

Good farmers in the country nurse
The poor, that else were undone;
Some landlords spend their money worse,
On lust and pride at London.
There the roisters they do play,
Drab and dice their land away,
Which may be ours another day;
And therefore let's be merry.

The client now his suit forbears,
The prisoner's heart is eased;
The debtor drinks away his cares,
And for the time is pleased.
Though others' purses be more fat,
Why should we pine or grieve at that;
Hang sorrow, care will kill a cat,
And therefore let's be merry.

Hark how the wags abroad do call
Each other forth to rambling;
Anon you'll see them in the hall,
For nuts and apples scrambling;
Hark how the roofs with laughters sound,
Anon they'll think the house goes round;
For they the cellar's depths have found,
And there they will be merry.
The wenches with their wassail-bowls
About the streets are singing;
The boys are come to catch the owls,
The wild mare in is bringing.
Our kitchen boy hath broke his box,
And to the dealing of the ox
Our honest neighbors come by flocks,
And here they will be merry.

Now kings and queens poor sheep-cotes have,
And mate with everybody;
The honest now may play the knave,
And wise men play at noddy.
Some youths will now a mumming go,
Some others play at rowland-hoe,
And twenty other gameboys moe;
Because they will be merry.

Then wherefore in these merry days
Should we, I pray, be duller?
No, let us sing some roundelays
To make our mirth the fuller.
And whilst we thus inspired sing,
Let all the streets with echoes ring;
Woods, and hills, and everything
Bear witness we are merry.

12 days of Christmas poems...day 9

Adoration of the Magi, Rogier van der Weyden

The Magi

by William Butler Yeats

Now as at all times I can see in the mind's eye,

In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones

Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky

With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones,

And all their helms of Silver hovering side by side,

And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,

Being by Calvary's turbulence unsatisfied,

The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.

12 days of Christmas (and New Years) poems....day 8

A traditional New Year's ditty...

Auld Lang Syne
By Robert Burns

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I'll be mine!
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu'd the gowans fine;
But we've wandered mony a weary fit
Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidled i' the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roared
Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And there's a hand, my trusty fiere,
And gie's a hand o' thine!
And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught

For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

12 days of Christmas poems...day 7

A Hymn on the Nativity of My Savior

by Ben Jonson
(1572-1637)

I sing the birth was born tonight,
The Author both of life and light;
The angels so did sound it,
And like the ravished shepherds said,
Who saw the light, and were afraid,
Yet searched, and true they found it.

The Son of God, the eternal King,
That did us all salvation bring,
And freed the soul from danger;
He whom the whole world could not take,
The Word, which heaven and earth did make,
Was now laid in a manger.

The Father's wisdom willed it so,
The Son's obedience knew no "No,"
Both wills were in one stature;
And as that wisdom had decreed,
The Word was now made Flesh indeed,
And took on Him our nature.

What comfort by Him do we win?
Who made Himself the Prince of sin,
To make us heirs of glory?
To see this Babe, all innocence,
A Martyr born in our defense,
Can man forget this story?

12 days of Christmas poems...day 6

Adoration of the Shepherds, Gerard van Honhorst (1622)

The Oxen

by Thomas Hardy

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
"Now they are all on their knees,"
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave
In these years! Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
"Come; see the oxen kneel

"In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
Our childhood used to know,"
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so.

12 days of Christmas poems...days 3, 4, and 5

Nativity by Gerard David, Vienna (ca. 1495)

Day 3

Christmas Poem

by G.K.Chesterton

There fared a mother driven forth
Out of an inn to roam;
In the place where she was homeless
All men are at home.
The crazy stable close at hand,
With shaking timber and shifting sand,
Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand
Than the square stones of Rome.

For men are homesick in their homes,
And strangers under the sun,
And they lay their heads in a foreign land
Whenever the day is done.

Here we have battle and blazing eyes,
And chance and honour and high surprise,
But our homes are under miraculous skies
Where the yule tale was begun.

A child in a foul stable,
Where the beasts feed and foam;
Only where He was homeless
Are you and I at home;
We have hands that fashion and heads that know,
But our hearts we lost---how long ago!
In a place no chart nor ship can show
Under the sky's dome.

This world is wild as an old wife's tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in impossible things
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.

To an open house in the evening
Home shall all men come,
To an older place than Eden
And a taller town than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the things that cannot be and that are,
To the place where God was homeless
And all men are at home.

-------
Day 4 The Holy Night
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

We sate among the stalls at Bethlehem;
The dumb kine from their fodder turning them,
Softened their horned faces
To almost human gazes
Toward the newly Born:
The simple shepherds from the star-lit brooks
Brought their visionary looks,
As yet in their astonied hearing rung
The strange sweet angel-tonge:
The magi of the East, in sandals worn,
Knelt reverent, sweeping round,
With long pale beards, their gifts upon the ground,
The incense, myrrh, and gold
These baby hands were impotent to hold:
So let all earthlies and celestials wait
Upon thy royal state.
Sleep, sleep, my kingly One!

--------------

Day 5

Moonless darkness stands between

by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Moonless darkness stands between.
Past, the Past, no more be seen!
But the Bethlehem-star may lead me
To the sight of Him Who freed me
From the self that I have been.
Make me pure, Lord: Thou art holy;
Make me meek, Lord: Thou wert lowly;
Now beginning, and alway:
Now begin, on Christmas day.

The South and it's writers

I am reading Flannery O'Connor's "Mystery and Manners" right now, and very much enjoying it. I am finding her reflections especially relevant because she talks a lot about Southern culture and it's people, and the Southern writer.

And so, a quote for tonight:

"The best American fiction has always been regional. The ascendancy passed roughly from New England to the Midwest to the South; it has passed and stayed the longest wherever their has been a shared past, a sense of alikeness, and the possibility of reading a small history in a universal light.

In these things the South still has a degree of advantage. It is a slight degree and getting slighter, but it is a degree of kind as well of intensity, and it is enough to feed great literature if our people - whether they are newcomers or have roots here - are enough aware of it to foster its growth in themselves.

Every serious writer will put his finger on it at a slightly different spot but in the same region of sensitivity.

...The writer operates at a particular crossroads where time and place and eternity somehow meet. His problem is to find that location."

~ Flannery O'Connor, Mystery and Manners