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.