ah, but it's cold outside

In defiance of today's clouds I've donned a bright orange dress in an attempt to fight both a case of the Mondays and a case of the dull-ies. If I can elicit some smiles from the mildly depressed, my temporary lack-of-dignity will have served its purpose well. After winter's glorious first snow I'm tempted to sleep outside in my warmest clothes and bask in the richness of all of its freshness. The wind it brought along has created an interesting effect that is still visible today: the snow has been smacked into only one side of the trees, so that someone walking from the wrong direction will get the idea that the trees on Gordon's campus remained immune to the harsh frost of the violent flakes. Sunday's early morning sunlight reflected brightly off the new and untouched ground, creating the ethereal effect of dancing shadows and clearer-than-usual rays of light. Today was a little bit dull by comparison, with the remnants of eager footprints and snowmen having disrupted the newness and stillness of the snow. The little bit of dirt that's been mixed in has turned it to a dull brown color; still, I cannot fault intrepid spirits from embracing all that they can of Narnia's wet and wild paradise. These gifts are meant to be enjoyed.

my lonely little life

I journeyed into Beantown yesterday for a concert by a band I've come to love these past few months called Good Old War. They are a surprisingly high-energy acoustic folk ensemble comprised of three youngish guys who dance more than they sing and commanded the audience of about 150 (standing room only) with the grace of seasoned pros, even though they were only on tour to promote their first CD. Normally I avoid the opening band, expecting something a tad lackluster and unoriginal, but Good Old War chose to tour with Hezekiah Jones, a fourty-something piece band that tours in variable size ensembles--for us it was a four-member band (guitarist, violinist, string bassist and drummer) that crafted a rough-around-the-edges beauty that was overwhelmingly breathtaking. They brought a stunningly simple and mellow sound, with poignant and elegant lyrics complemented by the plucking of the string bass and the beautifully rough voice of the lead singer. The honesty and quiet thoughtfulness of the words lent to a remarkably stirring response in many of the audience members--especially me. Here are the lyrics and audio to one of my favorites of the performance, called Nothing's Bound--although "Postpone," "Agnes of the World" and "How Do You Feel About Traveling" were equally heartbreaking and true.

Nothing’s Bound

I hope this letter finds you well
you took pleasure in the small things
when I could barely tell
Now that I've found you gone
replaced with memory
I write you this song

I carry all your themes around
realities in love
and how nothing's bound
to the next

You’re not in my world but still in my heart
sorry I left without explaining my part

But I thought you knew me
I thought you knew me
Things really have changed so much
you were always gone
and I missed your touch
all those nights and that lonely ache
the rip in my heart you managed to make

Well I carry all your themes around
realities in love
and how nothing’s bound
to the next

‘Cause of you I didn’t want no one
time heals wounds and I move on

I thought I knew you
I thought I knew you

if I forget your face I’ll remember your name
if anyone asks well I’ll take the blame

your faith has made you whole

The people called for Blind Bartimaeus,

and, unhelped, he stumbled his way to Jesus.

"Teacher," he asked, "would you

restore the sight I so sorely miss?

O exalted Son of David,

This you have promised.

My father has spoken of your famed

ancestry, of the God who has done

no small manner of miracles.

Might I bear witness to the same?"

"Your faith has healed you," Jesus replied,

"Go and see. My robes, you see, ,

will soon turn to red, my face will become ashen,

and you must behold this glory.

See the color of the blood poured from my side,

the dark red shades of my mercy,

the way my patient hand will crumple around

those nails, the way my loving eyes will

narrow at the thorns in my skull,

the shape of my mouth as I choke on

the spiteful gift of bitter vinegar.

Go and see. Your faith has healed you."

Restored to wholeness, fullness, sight,

Bartimaeus looked upon his Lord,

this merciful young man,

and followed him to Golgotha,

understanding carefully the way he would

henceforth be called to walk.

Shadowlands

I can't seem to escape dear old Jack. I'm enrolled in a Lewis seminar for this semester, and so far I've read Surprised By Joy and A Grief Observed; the latter is a heartbreaker of a read. Would that my reflections on death and dying were as poignant and lyrical, and that I would have loved someone so deeply and truly by the end of all things. That, of course, is another theme for another post. On the other side, my Great Conversations class (for which I am only a TA) was required to both read The Four Loves and watch Shadowlands, the film about Lewis' coming to know and marry Joy Davidman Gresham, a woman very much Lewis' complement in arenas romantic, intellectual and spiritual. Lewis' longing for a world beyond this one, beyond the Shadowlands, as he called earth, was ever more clear in his relationship with Joy; "You are the truest person I have ever known," he tells her as she lies helpless on her hospital bed, suffering through the pain of cancer. And though he admits that his incessant seeking after the next world, the real world, has ever consumed his entire being, he carefully reminds Joy that he only started living after he met her. I'm eager to call theirs the poster of anti-romance, a relationship that almost works backwards, and yet I'm keenly aware of the influence each had on the other even when love followed marriage. Their rapport and sparring is inspiring, as is their honesty and mutual longing for the real life, for Heaven as it is both imagined and left to God's creative prowess.

George Knightley does it perfectly...

“I cannot make speeches, Emma:”- [Mr. Knightley] soon resumed; and in a tone of such sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as was tolerably convincing.-”If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. …”


Emma, Volume III Chapter XIII