Something Better...

My biggest fear in life was to die of cancer. When at age 29 I found a lump in my right breast, I hoped it was nothing. Everyone kept trying to encourage me that it was nothing. Young women aren’t supposed to get breast cancer, are they? But the lump got bigger, and all the tests and biopsies showed advanced-stage cancer. So shortly after my thirtieth birthday I was in the hospital for major surgery. I spent the next year going through chemotherapy, radiation, and even more surgery.

Cancer was no stranger to me. My mother died of cancer when I was 19. During her illness and after her death, I spent a lot of my time and energy being angry with God. I thought that if God really cared about me and loved me as much as I had been taught from a young age, then he wouldn’t take my mom away from me. He knew how much I was going to need her over the years, and at times I even felt like God was mocking me, as if to say “You can’t have it.”

Looking back, I now understand that losing my mother was not the worst thing that could happen to me. Honestly, being without her forced me to grow up, to think for myself, to discover what I really believe about things. I discovered that my childhood had prepared me for her death, and her death prepared me for what I would go through later in my life. I concluded that the God I had known since I was 10 is indeed a good God. Contrary to what my feelings sometimes tell me, he has filled my life with good things: a loving husband, a beautiful son, a career I love, and friends who stand with me even in the tough times.

As I was going through cancer treatments, I discovered a verse in one of the Psalms that whispered, “Be at rest, Amy, for God has been good to you.” Trusting that he had something even better planned for my life, I felt at ease even when I wasn’t sure I’d ever be well again. I came to realize that when my mother was sick I was asking the wrong question. Then I kept questioning, “Why is this happening to me?” Now I have learned to look past the why and ask, “What better thing waits for me?”

So far life hasn’t turned out like I imagined it would. According to my plans, I would have had more children. Because of my illness, I have an only child, and I treasure him more than a dozen children. If I’d had things my way, I would have had my own mother just a phone call away to share all of life’s “Kodak moments.” Instead, I have several “moms” who care for me and share special times with my family. In spite of all the hard times (or maybe because of them) life is turning out better than I could ever have planned it myself.

I’m so thankful that I am again in good health and can enjoy living life with Sean and watching Ben grow up. At the same time, I know that can change at any moment. If it does, I won’t be afraid. I’m certain, without any doubt, that something even better is in store for me.

(Note: Several weeks ago I had to write my own story as part of an assignment for the small group I'm part of. This piece is the result of that exercise. After receiving feedback from my group, I thought I'd post it here for any further comments or suggestions.)

Providential Reading

As I mentioned in a previous post, for every three new books that I read, I try to read one classic (i.e., “old book”). I don’t hold to this as a fast rule, just a general guideline. But seeing as it had been some time since I’d read one of the classics of English literature (and I had definitely read more than three newbies), I decided to select something from my “books I wish I’d read in college but never had the time” shelf. My choice: Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte.

The copy of Jane Eyre that I own is over fifty years old. There’s nothing special about the edition itself, but it belonged to my mom, a gift on her 23rd birthday from her closest college friend. That makes it special to me. The end paper bears the inscription: “Happy Birthday, Julie! From Lannie, May 1, 1953.” I’m not sure whether Mom ever read the book. Lannie married my dad after mom died, and I know that it was her favorite story. I cherish it in memory of both of them.

With so many novels of the Victorian period, I feel like my eyes get bogged down in words. While Charlotte Bronte spends a lot of words describing things for the reader, not one of them is wasted. She paints with words the way her title character paints with watercolors. More than once her words conjured memories of the places I visited while in England, especially the downs at Dunstable. Friends took us there one evening to watch the sunset, and it’s a scene I’ll never forget.

The other thing I love about Jane Eyre is that Jane is the picture of contentment in the different seasons of life, something I desperately need to learn. So often I feel like I should be doing more, working more, writing more; and then I am reminded that this is a season of life that will all too soon be past. As Jane is teaching young girls in a small country school, a friend asks her, “What will you do with your accomplishments? What, with the largest portion of your mind—sentiments—tastes?” I love Jane's reply:

“Save them till they are wanted. They will keep.”

I want to have that attitude. Sean and I have chosen to homeschool Ben. Preparing and teaching his lessons takes a huge chunk of my life right now. Some days I think of how I could be writing or working or doing any number of things to further my career or for my own enjoyment. Now when I feel that rising discontent I can remind myself that these things will keep until Ben is grown and I enter a new season of life.

As I turned the last page, I asked myself one question: Why have I never read this book before? Perhaps a book patiently waits for when the reader is ready to digest what it has to teach. I know that if I had read Jane Eyre at any other time of my life, it would not have made such an impact. It still would have been a great classic of English literature, but it would not have packed the moral punch in my life. More than ever I’m convinced that God’s hand of providence guides my life, right down to the details of what I read and when.

Amazing Grace

When I visited England in the summer of 1996, I had the privilege of visiting the Parish Church of Sts. Peter and Paul in Olney, Buckinghamshire. This is the first church that John Newton served as pastor. He spent seventeen years at Olney, during which time he wrote a collection of hymns, the most famous of which is “Amazing Grace.” One of my favorite England memories is standing at the communion rail of the Olney church and singing “Amazing Grace” in four-part harmony with my friends.

Several years ago I read Out of the Depths, a biography of John Newton that includes a reprint of his own Authentic Narrative. Having grown up hearing the story of the slave trader turned preacher, I’m thankful I took the time to read it for myself, especially Newton’s own words.

Earlier this year Sean surprised me with a new biography of Newton written by Jonathan Aitken. John Newton: From Disgrace to Amazing Grace (Crossway, 2007) is the most detailed account of Newton’s life that you’ll ever read. Drawing from Newton’s published writings as well as his unpublished journals and papers, Aitken traces one soul’s attempt to flee a God who was hot on his heels.

Newton, by his own admission, was a most despicable character in the beginning. And even after he cried out to God for mercy in the middle of a north Atlantic gale, it was a long journey from the decks of a slave ship to the pulpit of a church and the halls of British Parliament. There he gave a detailed account of his experience in the slave trade. His graphic testimony of the horrors he witnessed and took part in aided his friend William Wilberforce in abolishing the British slave trade.

Aitken gives an accurate and moving account of Newton’s struggle toward conversion and his passionate life of faith thereafter. He writes with genuine understanding, offering a real look at one of God’s works in progress. I look forward to one day meeting the finished product when my own course is run. When that day comes, I hope my attitude will echo Newton’s dying words: “My memory is nearly gone, but I remember two things: That I am a great sinner and that Christ is a great Savior.” Perhaps what made this biography so special for me was that visit to Olney all those years ago. I commented to Sean that I wish I’d done more reading about Newton before I went there…I just had no idea. No matter. One day I hope to go back to Olney with my family and enjoy the peace of that place. When I do I’ll pay another visit to the monument that marks John & Mary Newton’s final resting place. There I’ll offer thanksgiving to God for the grace he has shown in their lives and in mine.

The Wordless Word?

Ben was supposed to be doing his Bible lesson for the day on Wednesday, but he was really putting up a fight. After my repeated attempts to encourage him in reading the lesson and looking up the verses in his Bible, he threw up his hands and said in an exasperated voice, “Why do I have to read this anyway? Why can’t we just use the Wordless Book? It would be so much easier!”

For those readers not familiar with the “Wordless Book,” it is a device used to share the Christian gospel. It’s a small booklet having no words or pictures, simply made up of different colored pages--black, red, white, green, gold. Each color represents a different idea: black=sin, red=blood of Jesus, white=righteousness. You get the general idea.

In light of Ben’s query I was prepared to rant about how silly the whole concept of a “wordless” book is. I took him to John 1:1—“In the beginning was the Word.” God places so much importance on words that he nicknames his own son “the Word.” He chooses to communicate with mankind through the 66 books that comprise his written word. How, then, could we suggest being able to know him apart from words?

Then I read a brief history of the Wordless Book concept (you can check it out at http://www.geocities.com/ceffreestate/book.htm). When I discovered that two of my great heroes of faith—Charles Spurgeon and Amy Carmichael—employed this tool in their ministry, I figured I should rethink the whole idea. After all, God can choose to reveal himself in whatever way pleases him. Words on a page mean nothing to someone who does not know how to read them. Our great God makes provision for all people and can use something as simple as colored pages to draw them to himself.

Still, I sometimes wonder how many of us who already know the Bible’s message might prefer the ease of a wordless book. Colors, pictures even, but not words that we have to read and wrestle with each day. Hate to disappoint you, Ben, but you still have to study your Bible lessons. No wordless books in this home school. And I hope that as you continue to learn its story you will look forward to the wrestling as an opportunity to grow in grace.

Thrones, Dominations

No doubt about it, I am a Dorothy Sayers junkie. In the last six weeks I’ve read as many Lord Peter mysteries as I can lay hands on. And each one leaves me wanting more, especially the stories that include his partner in sleuthing and life, Harriet Vane. Call me a hopeless romantic, but beginning with Strong Poison, I went on to read Gaudy Night and Busman’s Honeymoon. And still I want to read more about this dashing couple!

So I was thrilled to find Thrones, Dominations on paperbackswap.com, and I just finished devouring this last of the Wimsey/Vane mysteries. Actually, the book was not published until 1998, more than thirty years after Sayers’ unexpected death in 1957. She had laid aside the novel sometime between 1936 and 1938 as she focused on other projects, specifically her translation of Dante’s Divine Comedy. But she herself said Lord Peter never really left her. I’m thankful that Jill Paton Walsh picked up Sayers’ mantle and completed the story for those of us who just had to know what happens to Lord and Lady Peter.

The plot is remarkably simple once you discover whodunit, with a believable double hitch to tie all the ends together. More complex are the interactions between the main characters as Walsh develops the bond between newlyweds Peter and Harriet. As usual, Bunter plays a key role in all things involving his master and is happily rewarded with a wife of his own. Knowing this is the final Wimsey mystery, readers will be particularly tickled at the afterword. The authors don’t leave us hanging as to the happy couple’s fate once the war begins; rather, they give us just enough details so that our imaginations can fill in the rest of the story.

My favorite quote from Thrones, Dominations is Lord Peter’s maxim that says, “A person who tells a secret, swearing the recipient to secrecy in turn, is asking of the other person a discretion which he is abrogating himself.” Big words, I know, but it’s a good reminder to avoid gossip and to keep a confidence. And as always, Sayers riddles her prose with references and allusions from the greats of English literature, particularly Shakespeare, Milton, and Donne. Likely that is why I am drawn to her books like dust to a TV screen. I feel like I’m taking a grad course in Brit lit with the turn of each page.

Mother's Apples

When I was in early elementary school (circa 1980) I always carried a lunchbox. My first lunchbox was a hand-me-down in the shape of a football. I had used it throughout my preschool and kindergarten years when I would play school behind the gold recliner in the den. My favorite lunchbox was a tin Walt Disney World box with matching thermos that I used during first and second grade. It’s funny how things come back to me.

I was reminded today of the apples Mom used to put in that lunchbox every day. How I dreaded those apples, even though I knew they were good for me. I would eat the chips and the Twinkies with gusto. Next came the sandwich—bologna or PB&J—which I ate out of a sense of duty and survival. But the apple...well, a talking serpent couldn't have made that appealing to me. It stayed in the box to bump around during the bus ride home. Early on I learned that when the apple returned home, Mom would pack it again the next day. This would continue for a whole week until, by Friday the apple was bruised and cut and nicked beyond recognition. Of course, you couldn't trade apples. Every other kid in class had an apple that their mothers had dutifully packed. What to do?

Finally I wised up and figured out that if I threw the apple away at school, Mom would never know. That way I could always hope for something other than an apple the next day. I think Mom knew, though. She had to know. But I don't remember whether she ever said anything about it. How I wish I had those apples back that I threw away or tossed out the bus window! Each one was symbolic of Mom's love and care. Each one was symbolic of blessings discarded. And so I pray, "Father, I don't want to treat the blessings you pack in my life the same way I treated Mom's apples."

After battling breast cancer four years ago, I have come to recognize each new day as a blessing from my heavenly Father. Today is a ripe, red, McIntosh apple, and rather than throw it in the trash can or leave it to be mangled and mushed in some old tin lunchbox, I want to eat every scrap, even the core and the seeds. I want to live life to its fullest and glorify God every moment. My son has a board book titled I'm Thankful Each Day by P.K. Hallinan. It lists all the different things in life to thank God for, like stars and seasons and sunsets and snow. Then the author sums it all up with a sort of doxology:

I guess in the end
The best thing to say
Is I'm thankful for living...
I'm thankful each day.

I'm reminded of the doxology we sang each Sunday in church when I was growing up (it was my cue that church was over for the day):

Praise God from whom all blessings flow.
Praise Him all creatures here below.
Praise Him above ye heavenly hosts.
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Won't you join me today in thanking Him?

A Word Is Worth a Thousand Pictures

Public libraries all over the country have just concluded their summer reading programs for school age children. When I was a young reader I would eagerly devour as many pages as possible to earn the pizza prizes our local branch would award. Every few weeks my mom would drive me there to stock up on Nancy Drew mysteries, E.B. White classics, and Madeleine L'Engle fantasies. I would end up reading about half the books, abandoning the rest to pursue other summer pleasures. Now each summer my son looks forward to participating in our local reading program, and I have the pleasure of encouraging him.

As a child I took reading opportunities for granted. As an adult, I must confess to yearning for long, uninterrupted periods to indulge in reading. How I wish that I had weeks looming ahead of me in which to fill my mind with stories and adventures both real and imagined! It’s sad that, in our busy, technological world filled with television, internet, and video games, books have become something of a luxury to many people. In a frenzied world that has the attention span of a half hour sitcom or that can fast forward to the end if the movie is too long, it is increasingly difficult to keep our minds on a book until the last page.

Reading is not restricted to theologians or college professors. Reading should be a habit for every Christian. In his book The Dynamics of Spiritual Formation, pastor/teacher Mel Lawrenz emphasizes reading for spiritual development. "Christianity is a religion of the Book. Jesus is the Word behind the words." In Genesis 1 God spoke the universe into existence. Is it any wonder that we, His creation, should have such an interest in words on a page? All books have their source within that one volume. Yet we often take books for granted. In the past the few books that existed were only for the wealthy. Did you know that the poet John Milton had read every book that was in print in his day? Try doing that today. Impossible! It is unthinkable to even attempt to read all the books in Barnes and Noble let alone in the public library. We have access to more reading material than ever before in history, yet we fail to appreciate the blessing of the printed word.

For the Christian, reading should be a formative discipline. It should affect who we are and how we think. Books should act as an aid in our spiritual development as they draw us toward God’s word. Martin Luther, a man who devoted his life to books, has a lot to say about reading: "It is not many books or much reading that makes men learned; but it is the good things, however little of them, often read, that make men learned in the Scriptures and make them godly, too." He also admonishes, "Watch, study, give attendance to reading! Verily, you cannot read too well; and what you read well you cannot understand too well." To modify the old saying, "You are what you read." This is why it is so important to read with discernment and to understand what you are reading.

I love the t-shirt that boldly proclaims "So many books, so little time." These days, life’s responsibilities leave little time for curling up with a good book. Lawrenz writes, "There is only so much time we have to read, so it is important to be selective. We should read what has stood the test of time; we should read new books that come recommended by reliable people; and we should read what will stretch us." Don’t just read books that entertain you. Challenge yourself. Read something that is going to make you think. If a certain book interests you, ask people who may have read the book to share their thoughts on it with you. When you read a book that excites you, recommend it to a friend or family member.

In my own reading, I try to follow a word of advice from C. S. Lewis, a man who was a voracious reader himself. He emphasized the reading of classic books that have stood the test of time. Yet he also understood the importance of reading new books. He recommends that, "After reading a new book, never allow yourself another new one till you have read an old one in between." If that is too much, he suggests at least one old book to every three new ones. And never be afraid to reread an old favorite. Books that stand the test of time are the ones that will be forever new. The Bible is a great example of that. No matter how many times you read it, you will always discover something you didn't see before.

You don't have to wait for the next rainy day to enjoy a good book. Warm sunny afternoons work just as well. Turn off the phone, shut down the computer, and grab that book you bought ages ago and has been sitting on the TBR pile. It just so happens that it's a dreary, rainy day here in my part of the world...think I'll take my own advice today.

“The Soloist” Played My Heartstrings Brilliantly

On a recent visit to my local library, I was making my usual dash for the children’s reading room to catch up with son Ben who was already making himself at home. As I rushed past the shelf containing new acquisitions, a cover graphic of a beat-up violin caught my attention and made me pause to read the title: The Soloist: A Lost Dream, an Unlikely Friendship, and the Redemptive Power of Music (Putnam, 2008). Okay, so I was hooked.

Not as if I needed another book to read. After all, the stack on my desk of books waiting to be read grows each week. And I will read them all, I assure you. It’s just that some books are a siren’s call and insist on being read now. The Soloist is one of those books, and I’m thankful that it diverted me from what I had been planning to read last week.

LA Times columnist Steve Lopez tells the story of Nathaniel Ayers, a one-time Juilliard student reduced to living on Skid Row. Lopez came upon Ayers playing a dilapidated, two-string violin only a few blocks from his Times office. Something about the way this man played held the reporter mesmerized.

Over the next months Lopez would get to know Ayers and investigate his story. Turns out, he had been an up-and-coming classical bass student at the prestigious Juilliard School in New York back in the ‘70s. After a schizophrenic break during his third year, Ayers lost his ability to function and went home to Cleveland where he began living on the streets. Later he would relocate to LA, where he made musical offerings to the statue of Beethoven, his favorite composer.

It didn’t take long for Ayers to become more than a story for Lopez, who was increasingly involved in the man’s daily life. And as the musician learned to trust his new friend, Lopez could catch glimpses of the self-assured, well-spoken young man who had wowed his teachers thirty years before. The columns were awaking greater Los Angeles to the plight of its homeless population. Well-meaning individuals donated violins and cellos to help Ayers make the music that soothed his otherwise confused, paranoid soul. Spotlighting his story prompted local and state politicians to allocate more funds for agencies that exist to help people like Ayers get off the streets and into treatment.

I won’t say that The Soloist has a happy ending. I’m not sure that’s even possible in cases of schizophrenia. In fact, the story is far from over when the last page is turned. Yes, Ayers is off the streets and living in his own apartment. He has a studio where he can practice his music in peace. Hollywood is making a movie about his life. But he is still very much a man tormented by voices within and a broken, sin-stained world without. Nevertheless, his story fills me with hope…not in some inherent human goodness, but in the God who orders each of our stories.

Certain books really prompt me to pray for our world, and The Soloist does just that. It made me more aware of a group of people I don't normally think twice about in my comfortable northern Michigan community. I know that one day this broken planet will be redeemed to its pre-Fall condition. I’m always grateful for cues that steer my thoughts away from my own selfish anxieties and toward the One who cares perfectly for the fallen inhabitants of this fallen world. So thanks, Mr. Lopez, for the much-needed reminder.

Getting Started

Those of you who know me know that I don't limit myself to one genre when it comes to books. Fiction, non-fiction, mystery, biography--the printed word gives me an emotional and spiritual high that keeps me picking up these fine-folioed friends. And like the poems I write, there doesn't seem to be a rhyme to what I'm reading at any given time. So I've titled this, my personal blog, accordingly. My whimsey (personal preferences prompted by the Spirit) leads me to a book, and I either can't put it down or can't abide even three chapters. Either way, I'll let you the reader know what I'm reading, what I think of it, and why.

Another reason for this title is that recently my whimsey has led me to Wimsey, that is, Lord Peter Wimsey whom Dorothy Sayers made popular in her series of detective novels. I simply cannot get enough of his lordship--or is it his man Bunter that has me wrapped around his obliging little finger? Either way, the Wimsey crest bears the motto "As My Whimsy Takes Me" and this blog is a nod to the vast literary understanding of Ms. Sayers. Like her Oxford colleague and fellow inkling C.S. Lewis, Dorothy Sayers has become one of my favorite writers. How I wish I could have been a fly lapping at a drop of spilled stout on the table they gathered around with the likes of J.R.R. Tolkien and Charles Williams! A drunken fly, perhaps, but a happy fly indeed to hear them read from drafts of their stories.

As a final note of introduction, I am a proofreader and a writer by trade, and so I feel the need to justify the spelling of "whimsey." While "whimsy" is preferred in American English, I opted for the accepted variant spelling. First, it blends the spelling of Lord Peter's surname with our American spelling. And second, use of the preferred spelling was already spoken for by a fellow blogger.

And so it begins...the blog that I've procrastinated on for time, times, and half a time. I invite you to check back to discover where my whimsey will take me next.