Justine's Christmas Music Showcase: Week One

November is here!  Hurrah!  I try every year to wait until October is in the can to pull out my Christmas music.  I do not always succeed.  For instance, last Saturday, Sadie caught me in my guilty secret while we were driving to do some shopping.  The Clumsy Lovers disc in the car CD player switched, and all of a sudden, Amy Grant started singing "Tennessee Christmas."  "Oh, Mom," Sadie reprimanded, "You've already broken out the Christmas music?"  "Don't judge me," I rebuked, and turned the volume up.

And why ought I to be ashamed, anyway?  Christmas music is GREAT!

So, to indulge myself (and possibly scare off any of the few remaining visitors to Trivialities -- lol!), I have decided to showcase a favorite Christmas album a week from now until Christmas.  So, without further ado, here is a gem that was released last year:

Album: Christmastide

Artist:   Bob Bennett

Label:   Independent, 2009

OK, I guess that everybody but me knew about the incomparable artistry of Bob Bennett years ago.  I plead both youth and heathenism for my ignorance of his 1980's awesomeness.  This, of course, means that nobody will be surprised to learn that his Christmas album released last year is a masterpiece from start to finish.  But, I'm going to tell you about it, anyway.

So, I didn't get the chance to review this on my blog last year, because I ordered it from Feed the Lake.  Feed the Lake is the premium source for the best in Christian artistry, but it is out of Canada.  That means that even to pseudo-Canada (i.e., Washington), orders take their time crossing the border.  These border crossings take a while, I surmise, because there is a Tim Horton's always on the Canadian side of any U.S./Canadian portal, and the temptation to stop for a Maple-Glazed and a cup of coffee whenever you approach is too great to overcome.  I am convinced that Bob Bennett's CD was munching pastries and slurping joe for a good week before making it into the States.  Always worth it to support Feed the Lake; and any amount of time is worth waiting for this glorious album.   

What to mention first -- the original songs, the arrangements, or the voice?  The Voice.  Truly Mr. Bennett has one of the most pleasant singing voices in the realm of popular music.  I love how it can be warm and deep and mellow -- and then lilt effortlessly upward to hit the higher notes.  The way he phrases a lyric is exceptional, too.  In a song like "Jesus Christ the Apple Tree," for instance, he has a way of taking the repeating lyric and infusing it with a slightly different interpretation with each recitation: here it is full of pathos; there it is full of barely-suppressed joy.  Fascinating.

It is so hard to find new Christmas music that is actually worth listening to.  Of course, that is because most new Christmas songs are not written by Bob Bennett.  Christmastide opens with an original offering: "God With Us."  A beautiful expression of Emmanuel is found in these words:

Make wide the way and straight the path/God with Us

He comes in mercy, not in wrath/God with Us

Behold an ancient mystery

God stepping into history

Hail the incarnate deity

God with Us

. . .

God with Us

Because we fell

Yeshua Hamashiach

Emmanuel

God with Us

It was always meant to be

God with Us

With you, with me

If that doesn't make you feel warm and Christmasy all over, then you must be a Scrooge.  If so, the song "Christmas for Cynics" might be right up your alley.  Even more rare than good new Christmas music is hilarious new Christmas music.   For a season fraught with all sorts of set-ups for humor, the music tends to take only the sentimental or sacramental routes.  Even if you're a Christmas nut like me, you'll laugh along with "Christmas for Cynics" -- I promise.

I think my favorite of the original songs is "It May Not Have Been December."  Here, at last, is an answer to all those know-it-alls who try to rob the magic of Christmas by their insistence that Jesus was probably born in the spring, that the star of Bethlehem was probably a planet, that this whole holiday is a trumped-up paean to pagan winter solstice festivities.  Pooh to you!  Bob Bennett peels back the layers of protest and explanations to show just why we celebrate the Birth and how little it really has to do with the auxiliary things.  It is simply lovely.

It is always a treat to experience a musically delicious offering of little-known Christmas songs on an album.  Mr. Bennett has pulled out some beauties.  The aforementioned "Jesus Christ the Apple Tree" is ethereal and haunting in its simplicity.  And "Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day" delivers readily on all the joy promised by its title. 

There are some more traditional songs presented simply as instrumentals, and they serve as a nice bridge between the other songs.  "Come Thou Not Expected Bossa" is a particularly unique and festive one.

I am trying to model my effusions after my friend, Flicka, who writes better reviews than I because she is able to resist the temptation to write about every single song.  I could write lovingly about each of these tracks on Christmastide, but I think I shall be mysteriously reticent about the rest of the offerings.  I can assure you, though, that should you purchase this album for your holiday collection, you will not be disappointed.  Merry Christmas! 

Fire From the Heartland: Can You Feel the Sisterhood?

I have never been one for sisterhood or feminism or girlie time.  On balance, I tend to like men as a sex far more than women.  I have a handful of dear, very dear, girlfriends, but a gathering such as a women's retreat with my church or some sort of girls-only webring would most likely bore me to death.  I have never seen The View, nor have I watched an episode of Oprah since I was in high school.  Once, when I was having a conversation with my stepmom, she mentioned something about, "Well, how do you think being a woman affected your position within the company?"  I stared at her a moment and said, "I really never think about things in terms of my 'being a woman.'  I'm just who I am." 

I am currently reading a fascinating book called Passionate Minds about the poet and playwright, Voltaire, and his love affair with a math genius and general 18th century French hottie named Emilie du Châtelet.  In this book, Emilie is constantly drawn to male companions, primarily because most women are far too silly for her.  Now, I am no genius -- math or otherwise -- but I can surely relate to her quandary.  Fortunately for me and other women of the non-silly variety, we can find our sort of people far more easily in this digital age.  Were Emilie alive today, she, too, would have had the opportunity to meet up with such amazing women as Flicka and Arielle and Joelle and the vermonster, etc (one or more of whom might very well be a math genius -- and, if you happen to be, ladies, please do not make me feel too stupid).

And I write all of the above merely as a prelude to this revelation:  I have found the sisterhood.  And it is conservative.  And it is awesome!

I really wanted to watch Fire From the Heartland for the first time with my best friend; Flicka, dear, I'm sorry, I just couldn't wait until my next trip to the Great Lakes region.  We'll watch it together soon and have a good bawl fest.  Last night, though, hubby was still at work, Sadie was napping after a traumatic encounter with a flu shot, so I lit a fire and then some candles, curled up on the couch under my favorite raggedy green blanket (the nice throw that Flicka got for us is decorously adorning the fancy couch upstairs), and watched the DVD.  It was a lovely time.

I think I have always been a conservative at heart.  When I was younger, I was a pretty active libertarian.  Then, as I was consecutively saved and became more religious, I started to re-think some of my more radical views.  My big 180° was on abortion.  The first time I ever voted Republican was in 2000.  From that point on, I began to identify more and more as a Republican until finally, in 2008, I just gave in an embraced the Elephant.  But, like many conservatives, I have never been fully enchanted with Republicanism.  Always, always there was a wishy-washy here and a squishy-squashy there to cloud my political complacence.         

Sarah Palin was a nice burst of joy in 2008 -- JOY!  My dad, who grows ever more conservative along with his daughter, said just the other day that Sarah Palin's heart is just obviously and overflowingly joyful -- that that is her most attractive characteristic and, ultimately, the thing that draws people to her.  After the elections of 2008, I wanted to crawl into a hole for the next four years.  But, Sarah Palin didn't.  So, she didn't.  As the attacks against her not only did not abate but seemed to grow fiercer -- more persistent, more desperate, more ludicrous -- she just seemed to grow stronger, more positive, more confident, more grounded.  And, rising with her on this tide of patriotism, concern, strength, confidence, and joy were the women portrayed in Fire From the Heartland.

Now, it didn't just start with Sarah P.  No.  She may have breathed a fresh life into it on the national stage, but conservative women seem to have always been the backbone of America.  You just know that if Caroline Ingalls were alive today, she'd be packing up boxed lunches for her four girls and Charles and driving the wagon to the nearest Tea Party rally.  Fire From the Heartland showcases conservative ladies of the past (Clare Booth Luce, Margaret Thatcher, Phyllis Schlafly), present (Ann Coulter, Michelle Malkin, Michele Bachmann, et al.), and future (I'm thinking here of the pic of Sonnie Johnson's adorable daughter that flashed on the screen, along with the Tea Party activists who, I think, are just getting started).  In fact, Rep. Bachmann probably had the most time on screen and a story so absolutely compelling and uplifting, it's hard to believe that any person with even a vestige of decency within them could throw mud at her.  Probably, my favorite interviewee was Sonnie Johnson, of whom I had never previously heard, but from whom I expect to hear plenty in the future.  She has such a raw honesty about her, combined with a most charming sense of wry, self-effacing humor.  I loved the part when she said that she went and voted for Al Gore in 2000 (and -- wow! -- I cannot believe how thin Al Gore was in that clip they had of him!) and then went home and actually read about his positions and then realized that she did not agree with any of them -- such a delightful recounting of conservative awakening.

All in all, Fire From the Heartland is a warm and fuzzy movie.  If you are a conservative woman -- or a man who likes conservative women (hubba! hubba!) -- you will surely like this movie.  If you are a liberal woman or man, I like to think that this might improve your opinion of conservative ladies.  I don't know; I'll have to try to coax my most liberal friend, Holly, to watch it with me and give me her opinion.  I would have liked to have seen a wider pool of interviews.  Maybe some business leaders and teachers thrown in to mix it up.  Of course, had they scored an interview with Sarah Palin, that would have been nice.  A little more Ann Coulter screen time with a lot more snark would have been a bonus (her columns are one of my semi-guilty pleasures).  Had they found this super-funny, feisty lady, it would have been a fiery addition.  These quibbles aside, I can hardly wait to view it again with my BFF.  Oh, I'm coming, Flicka -- make sure you have popcorn on hand!

On the Election's Eve in Washington State: Starve the Beast!

An explanatory and apologetic note:  Politics, being neither adorable nor, unfortunately, trivial, is not a subject I broach often, enthusiastically, or with great specificity here at Adorable Trivialities.  In my ideal world, politics would not even be on my radar.  However, as I am a person with a brain and a soul and a patriotic heart, I cannot help but be troubled by this entirely wrong-headed direction my country's been traveling; nor can I help but desire that it get some ways back on track.  To this end, I've sort of let myself go off on the sitch here in WA.  And, I apologize as well in advance for the stronger than normal language (believe me, though, its targets are well deserving of any and all vitriol).

This is the most exciting election in WA since I moved here in 2000!  Not only do we have a GREAT candidate on the ballot for the U.S. Senate (giving us, at last, a real chance to break the shackles that have held us to the dim-witted Patty Murray lo these many years), we also have a slew of fascinating and important initiatives on which to vote.  Since almost every county in WA went to mail-in only ballots after 2008, I have already filled in mine and dropped it off at the King County ballot box (as Jason does not trust the mail -- or, really, the ballot box system for that matter, but we have no other choice).

The Senate:  Dino Rossi is, of course, my guy for the Senate.  See him above to the left?  Isn't he adorable?  I have voted for him every time he's appeared on my ballot: in 2004, when the governor's race was stolen from him; in 2008, when dispirited Republicans stayed home (not I, of course, but many, I think) and feckless Independents turned to the dark side; and now in 2010, when he is running against The-Queen-of-Spreading-About-Government-Largesse-That-We've-Borrowed-Mostly-from-China-But-Let's-Not-Mention-That-Too-Loudly-You-Know Sen. Murray.  My only qualm with electing Dino (please God!) is that he is too smart and reasonable and competent to be wasted in the Senate.  We seem to have this silly notion that senators are these august statesmen whose wisdom and expertise in law-making have elevated them to such an elite position.  In reality, "senator" is a job with little necessary qualifications in the realms of knowledge and common sense.  A pulse and a drool cup and someone to wheel you into the Capitol are about all you really need.  Dino Rossi will be (please God!) one of the smartest guys running around Capitol Hill.  It will be a boon for this great and glorious state to elect him to serve, and we should be grateful that he's willing to go through Dem mud-slinging hell for our sakes.  Thanks, Dino!

Initiative 1098:  Of all the initiatives concocted in smug, voters-are-greedy-and-stupid-ha-ha-ha hell, this one takes the cake.  I do not know whether to be more repulsed by Bill "I Gots Mine, Suckas" Gates, Sr.'s wretchedly condescending and misleading ads or the blatant attempts at class warfare in the fish tacos commercial.  Class warfare needs to stop.  It is unproductive, destructive and clearly breaks God's commandment against covetousness.  I-1098 is a diabolical attempt by mostly D.C. union leaders and a few lame rich people to impose a de facto income tax on Washington State -- one of the few blessedly non-income taxed states left in our great union.  Of course, the Yes bastards will tell you it's only going to be on households making more than $400K annually.  Oh sure, soak the rich!  There's a plan for the future!  Good one, you idiots!  This is deliberately misleading, because the state legislature can extend such an initiative to everyone by a simple majority after 2 years (unless 1053 passes -- see below).  BUT, even if the income tax were guaranteed never to extend down to the middle class and lower, this initiative is utterly disgusting because it is class warfare of the most nakedly execrable sort.  And, of course, it's all for the children.  You know what?  The last thing public schools need is more money.  Starve the beast!    

Initiatives 1100 and 1105:  I call these joint initiatives the "Gary Initiatives" after my dearest friend's husband, whose incredulous ejaculation upon hearing that liquor stores in WA are owned and run by the state was, "How is that even legal???"  Well, I-1100 and I-1105 are working hard to get the state out of the liquor business and into private hands.  Which is as it should be.  I voted "yes" on both.  They read as almost identical, with, perhaps, I-1100's going a little further in privatization and de-regulation.  Oh, the teeth gnashing and garment rending from the No people!  Don't you know that with liquor in private retail outlets teens will be drinking tequila every night?  Don't you know that children will die?  Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa! (That was my representation of a dramatic, over-the-top wail.)  This silly argument earned an excellent riposte from the Yes folks:  Are you saying that beer and wine in the hands of teens is safer, somehow?  Because, now beer and wine are in the same retail outlets that will, upon the passing of these initiatives, be selling hard liquor.  There is a false dichotomy here:  no alcohol in the hands of teenagers (surely the most stupid people on earth) is safe.  The answer to teen drinking is not a nanny state liquor store.  And, on a personal note, when I want to make a Bicardi rum cake or a Black Russian cake or Bananas Foster or Cherries Jubilee, I do not want to have to factor in whether the guv'ment store is open for business.

(I love actual, individual, flesh-and-blood children, by the way.  But, the bigger government gets and the more in-my-face it wants to be, the more I hate the generic group of "children," because they are the go-to excuse for every new tax or new regulation that the statists dream up.  Leave what's "best for the children" to their parents, you arrogant bastards.) 

Initiative 1053:  The No commercials for this initiative are laughable and ludicrous!  Ooooh -- 1053 is supported by Tim Eyman and Big Oil and Big Banks -- oooooh -- isn't that scary? -- ooooh -- don't we hate those nasty hobbitses, my precious?  Of course, what the No people do not ever want you to know is that 1053 is simply another attempt to limit the power of Olympia (that's our state capital, by the way) to raise taxes willy-nilly on us po' regular working folk.  Similar initiatives to force all proposed tax hikes to be voted on first by either the people or 2/3 of the state legislature have passed thrice before.  After the two year expiration date, Olympia has never failed gleefully to raise taxes.  Olympia -- especially under Governor Troll Woman -- simply lives for raising taxes.  Democrats never seem to have any more creative ideas for running government than "let's raise taxes and spend more money."  It is important to subdue this proclivity because of poisonous possibilities like 1098 -- see above.  So, when the Association of Washington Businesses comes out in favor of 1053, and some of those businesses may be in the fields of finance or petroleum products, 1053 is, all of a sudden, the tool of Big Banks and Big Oil.  As David Boze so excellently pointed out on his radio show last week, considering nearly identical initiatives have passed three times prior, couldn't you really say that the people most in favor of putting the brakes on Olympia's tax-and-spending sprees are Big Voters?  Another big Yes vote from me. Starve the beast!

Initiative 1082:  Open up the purchasing of Workers' Comp. insurance to private companies?  Heck yeah!

Initiative 1107:  Repeal the imposed tax on bottled water, candy and other snack products?  Sure!  Starve the beast!

Referendum 52:  Issue bonds to fund retro-fitting schools to be more energy efficient and environmentally friendly?  No way, Jose!  If it's so important, work within your budget to fund it without borrowing.  Starve the beast! 

A little known, but very insightful, American folk singer once wrote:

So, here's my advice for the folks in D.C. [or Olympia]
Please pause a moment to reflect
Just how big a boon our great nation could see
From a dose of benev'lent neglect. 

Do less for people and they'll instinctively do more for themselves.  We're not pets.  Cut taxes, cut spending, and leave people alone and you will marvel at how well they figure out their own lives.  And, for the truly helpless among us -- who are certainly far fewer in number than the sob sisters would have you believe -- there is charity and church and community.  I hope that, all across this country, my fellow Americans will vote tomorrow to starve the beast!

You Wouldn't Want To Live in Any Era But This One

Do you dream of Empire-waisted gowns and tall, imperious men named Darcy?  Is the fancy dinner party you yearn for one of grapes and wine and oysters eaten while reclining leisurely on your lectus triclinaris?  Do your penchants for blue eyeshadow and unbridled power make you envy Cleopatra?  Would you give your eyeteeth for a chance to act on the stage of Shakespeare's Globe? 

If you, like me, feel often out of step with this current age and moon about sighingly for an era not your own, then I have the perfect antidote for you:  The You Wouldn't Want To series from Scholastic.  Read them and remember how darn lucky we are to have been born to a world with indoor plumbing and an advanced sewer system. 

Dearest Tom Hobbes felt blessed for civilization's achievements of good governance in the 17th century when he reflected that life in a state of nature is "solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short."  Of course, now we have lives that are "publicly broadcast, indolent, amoral, apathetic and long."  But, see there, I am already losing the gratitude I ought to hold for what Western civilization has become.  As much as I hate, hate, hate many aspects of it, I need only repeat the mantra "indoor plumbing, indoor plumbing, indoor plumbing" to get my head back around the right way.

Because, without indoor plumbing and advanced sewerage, ew.  Truly, ew.  I was reading Passionate Minds by David Bodanis last night, and he was writing about a young Voltaire who, with much aplomb and misguided arrogance, falsely claimed to have written some seditious verses about the French regent, Phillipe d'Orléans.  When the officials who arrested him could not find the verses, Voltaire claimed that he threw them down the toilet.  They had to get the vidanguese — the local official responsible for emptying the city drains — to open the drain and peer inside.  She claimed that she could see no incriminating papers floating near the top.  So — barf-o-rama! — they made her open the drains and go inside to inspect further.  As she pushed her way in, the pressure was too much for the brick and mortar enclosure.  A pipe burst.  Everything came shooting out.  Everything.  But, no subversive writings were found, because Voltaire had been lying the entire time.  Forget the sedition — for that useless and disgusting excursion alone, they ought to have hanged him. 

(When Voltaire was exiled to England a few years later, by the way, he was astounded at its modernity.  He was awed by its robust capitalism, its easy relationship between different religions, its freedom of expression.  And, just this past year, "Mohammed" was the most popular boys name registered in England.  "Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction" ~RR.  I'm going to miss that grand old lion.)

Electricity, modern medicine, vacuum cleaners, portable music, inexpensive books, bicycles, automobiles, airplanes, trains, capitalism and free markets, clean water, aspirin, clean air, clean and inexpensive food, a system of laws and courts, private property, the right of redress, representative government, the chance of education, the ability to meet your pre-destined best friend even though she lives a few thousand miles away, central heating and air conditioning, ready-made clothes, deodorant, leisure time, opportunities, freedom of religion, sunscreen, Scrubbing Bubbles, water parks, computer games, the Internet, and the near-miraculous blessing of a highly advanced plumbing and sewer system (!!!) are all things to fill even the most secular of souls with gratitude.

I'm going to try to be better about not knocking this modern world.  After all, the implied point of the Scholastic series is right:  all things considered, I really wouldn't want to live in any country or era than this one.  Historic times and ancient cultures are lovely to read about, perfect objects for flights of fancy, fascinating to look back upon . . . but, most often, in the living of them, they were terribly, terribly stinky. 

2010: The Year of the Cheeky Conservatives

Punchy.  Cheeky.  Sassy.  Saucy.  Fearless.  This ain't your grandfather's conservative movement.

If the Tea Party Movement has done one thing right (and I think it has done far more than one right thing), it has been to inject some adrenaline into the dehydrated veins of demoralized conservatives.  Remember how horrible it felt to wake up on Wednesday, November 5, 2008 and look about and wonder if we were heading — with the landslide win for the most liberal brand of Dems — toward that sort of limp-wristed, soft-underbellied slide into Western European-style socialism and whether we would have something as unique as the idea of America by the end of 2012?  Well, I do.  I awoke that morning at 4 AM and wrote a fable — an allegory, really — about our willful abandonment of all things rugged and wild and free called "Whosoever Treasures Freedom."  Well, I thought, that was a nice ride while it lasted.  And I was depressed — or, at least, depressed for me, which is still far too ebullient and gay for my husband's taste most of the time.

Then, 2009 got into full swing and — wonder of wonders! — the party of "Hell No!" arose.  Regular American people were jolted out of their slumber to gather together in defiance of this squishy slide.  The moral core of America fought back — not with rifles or bayonets or violence of any kind, but with feet planted firmly in the ground, arms crossed, eyes steely with resolve, saying, "Not on our watch.  Not to our children and grandchildren.  We don't want it.  We don't need it.  We can't afford it.  Stop it."

Now, with the amazing tools of things like blogs and Twitter and YouTube, conservatives are getting quite creative and ever more amusing.  Things like Tim Hawkins's The Government Can and Steven Crowder's I GotsA Peace Prize were only the beginning.  Now, with this catalyst of an election just around the corner, conservative causes are releasing sharp, focused and hilarious videos almost daily.  I came across this gem today:

(Backstory:  Rep. Alan Grayson (FL8-D) is thoroughly reprehensible.  Scummy, dirty, douchebaggery does not even begin to do justice to his absolute loathsomeness, but it is a good start.   He recently approved of a vile, repulsive concoction of lies and misrepresentations in the shape of a campaign ad about his opponent, Daniel Webster.  Perhaps most appalling and despicable is that he took cuts of Mr. Webster's speaking at a church function about marriage completely out of context — contriving to make Mr. Webster appear like a misogynist neanderthal and one who is completely obsessed by biblical exhortations of wifely submission — and ends the ad with the outrageous labeling of his Republican opponent as "Taliban Dan."  For the ad itself and the unedited video of Mr. Webster's speech, I direct you to Freedom's Lighthouse (my favorite source for all must-see videos and the latest polling information).  Mr. Grayson has been unapologetic when confronted with his malignant malfeasance, saying "in context, out of context, whatever.")

Well, Townhall released today a brilliant, biting, spot-on send-up of this Alan Grayson kerfuffle.  The ending is priceless!  Enjoy!



I think that this new, confident, bold and ballsy, in-your-face face of conservatism is largely due to one former governor of Alaska who was the first one to call out now-President Obama for being, essentially, a very silly person.  Most of the pundits and all the politicians (including, for way too long, his opponent in the general election, Senator McCain) were intimidated by his resounding, pastor-like delivery of frothy, empty sentiment, by his exotic family history and upbringing, by his academic accomplishments and pretensions to intellectualism, and by the seeming aura of destiny that surrounded his campaign.  Add to that the understandable American aversion to anything that could be construed as racism, and Candidate Obama seemed untouchable.  Then, in September 2008, Sarah Palin delivered a barn-burner of a speech that actually dared to poke fun at this pretender, this shyster, this voice in a suit.  For this, she was excoriated by most of the media, and even a great portion of the country.  So much gall packed into one woman!  So much hatred focused on same.  The campaign to destroy her was immediate and unrelenting.  But it failed.  And, up from the ashes of November 5, Gov. Palin has become one of the strongest voices for the resurgent fun factor in conservatism.  The smiler with a knife, she continues on — bold in her message that silliness cannot hold sway in such a sensible country for long, and that Americans are now as they have always been: a people who, paradoxically, are far better and wiser as a whole than the officials they elect.

The Least Interesting Man in Washington . . .

. . . will make the best senator in D.C.!


I love Dino!  (And I love Not Dino, too!)

How I Became the World's Greatest PTF President

There was really no campaign at all.  At the last PTF meeting that previous June, I happened to be walking by the auditorium while nominations were in process.  I yelled in, "Justine!" and no one seemed to notice.  So, I went on my way.  But, when the votes were tallied, I guess I came in first, because there was a call waiting on my answering machine at home saying, "Congrats! You're the new prez!"  Aw geez, I thought at the time, that's a lot of work!  Then, I forgot about it and went to the water park.

So, sometime that August, I got a call from someone on the PTF committee — can't recall her name — exhorting me to get working on the first major fundraiser of the year, selling Fosterbrook.  Basically, it's a bunch of wrapping paper and chocolate and other worthless things that the kiddos are socially pressured into foisting upon their sphere of influence (read: grandparents) in return for a paltry percentage of sales for the school.  I tell you, I looked through the proposed fall fundraising catalogue, and I didn't see anything worthwhile.  Seriously, not a Jane Austen or G.K. Chesterton book in the lot.  So, I sat down at my laptop and wrote a letter.

Dear Parents,

We all hate having our kids impose on neighbors, friends, and family with these obnoxious fundraisers.  Besides, Fosterbrook just sells a bunch of crap.  What's say you all cut me a check for $50 per kid, and we call it even?

Love and kisses,
Your PTF President

I sent that home with the kids on the first day of school, instead of the Fosterbrook packet, and the parents were so grateful that the checks just started rolling in.  Some of them even doubled their extorted gifts.  It was great!  Fosterbrook was not too happy, but who cares?  That was a nice little $15,000 padding with which to start the year.

Next up, someone started bugging me about Fall Festival, which, for some reason, is held within the first three weeks of the school year, when everyone has other things they would much rather be doing.  So, I cancelled it to much rejoicing.  Instead, I instituted Friday movie nights once a month in the auditorium.  For $10 per kid, the parents could drop them off to eat popcorn and watch a Roald Dahl movie while the parents got a few hours out and about.  It was a smashing success.  Over the year, that brought us in an additional $12,000.

After these remarkable decisions, I disbanded the rest of PTF and told the parent volunteers that I had it covered.  The only other position I kept was treasurer.  She was kept busy with all the fat receipts coming in from my brilliant ideas.  I doubled the size of the book fair — bringing in vendors other than just Scholastic.  I cancelled the hall rentals for the Christmas and Easter concerts and sent this letter out to the parents, instead:

Dear Parents,

It totally sucks having to sit through OPK's* performances at the concerts, right?  So, this year, we're going to host a series of small, separate concerts on campus, so you needn't be oppressed by the scraggly violins or off-key warblings of any rugrats not in class with your infinitely more talented offspring.  Please consider, in appreciation of my consideration for your time and eardrums, a modest gift to our school.

Hugs and atta-boys,
Your PTF Kommandant

Need I say it?  The money poured in so fast, my treasurer had to come in on the weekend to process it.  Since we were expending so little for these fundraisers, almost all the proceeds went directly into the school's coffers to fund stuff that we really want the kids to have — like awesome field trips.

The tricky one was the spring auction.  Traditionally, each classroom would put together one or two baskets that would then — with other donated items from local businesses — be auctioned off.  The problem, as I saw it, was not simply the expense of hosting such a gala (which, as always, seemed counter-productive), but the fact that parents had to contribute to make these baskets, and then, presumably, buy them back again at auction.  So, I thought maybe I could get some guidance from the other parents.  I sent out the following e-mail:

Hi Parents!

What do you guys think of the auction baskets, huh?  I know it's a major fundraiser for the school, but it seems rather redundant to me.  Did you ever wonder why the school doesn't just raise its tuition to what it needs for the year and then leave us alone?  Yeah, I know, me too.  So anyway, I don't know, this auction thing — let me know what you guys think, OK?

With a firm handshake and a solemn nod of the head,
Your Sovereign PTF Queen

Suffice it to say, I got a lot of good ideas as feedback, and not one of them included a classroom auction basket.  Now, how we raised the money might not be exactly legal, but it was certainly bonzer.  I cannot reveal more at this time, especially with the investigations still ongoing, but we ended up doing quite nicely, thank you, with no baskets.

Well, the year ended and so did my presidency.  All the parents gathered together to implore me to serve another year, but I told them that even such grand schemes as this had to meet their timely ends.  My farewell address brought tears to more than one eye, especially as the parents considered that next year would bring back Fosterbrook, the grand, 3-hour long, aurally abusive concerts, and the like.  They built me a cushioned litter and hoisted me up on the shoulders of the four strongest dads and paraded me around the parking lot while six lithesome moms threw rose petals in my path and a brass band played a triumphant march.  Then came the startling announcement from the principal:  My PTF had done such a miraculous job of raising funds, that PTF was far into the black for the next three years.  A grand "Hurrah!" rang up from the crowd, and I bowed slightly, graciously, and slowly walked to my Honda, waving all the while.  As I drove off, away from the school and my seat of absolute power, I realized that I had truly been the greatest PTF president that the school — and perhaps the world — had ever known.  And that was enough for me.

*Other People's Kids

Har-dee-har-har!

For some reason, this video clip from Billy Madison has been cracking me up lately.  It is such a brilliant smack-down of inanity, and the actor — Josh Mostel? — delivers it with a pitch perfect mixture of solemnity and incredulity.  In this political season, especially, it rings rather relevant.  Pure comedy!



"And may God have mercy on your soul."  ROTFLMAO!

Let Freedom Ring!

Morris.  Kangaroos.  Those fantastic accents.  Happy outdoorsy people living boldly among about 10,000 of the deadliest animals ever discovered.  Michelle Tumes.  Vegemite.  Phrases like "hopeless nongs" and  "gutless spivs" thrown about in Parliament.  The reasons to love Australia are almost innumerable.

Now, here is another one:

The Australian T.E.A Party!

When I was in Canada this past July, one of the most talented musicians ever created, a man with refined and extensive literary taste, someone who is always interesting to talk with, and an entrenched and determined (though not angry) self-described socialist named Spencer asked me what I thought of this Tea Party Movement in my homeland.  I told him I love it.  I think his reaction was to tsk-tsk me.  Canadians, I have discovered, love to tsk-tsk Americans at any opportunity.  I leave them to their joy.  

I, however, am unapologetic.  I think the Tea (or the acronymic T.E.A. -- Taxed Enough Already) Party Movement is, overwhelmingly, a positive one. As Thomas Jefferson famously wrote to James Madison in 1787: I hold it that a little rebellion now and then is a good thing; as necessary in the political world as storms in the physical. . . . It is a medicine necessary for the sound health of government.  Interestingly enough, he was writing this part of the letter in commentary upon the Shays' Rebellion.  So, let's look for a moment, between the ellipses.

Shays' Rebellion was an uprising by poor, debt-ridden, farmers in Massachusetts between 1786 and 1787.  It was sparked by the demand from overseas lenders that the Revolutionary War debts be paid in gold and silver, quantities of which were not yet abundant enough in the new country to afford repayment.  The borrowers on these notes, individual states, were trying to squeeze the money from mostly rural, small-time landowners to pay back the debt.  They used the force of the courts to sue farmers for back taxes, selling off the land to settle those amounts when the farmers could not pay.  It was a cruel cycle: an insolvent state wringing dry poverty-stricken landowners in a way that forced families off of their land and into greater poverty.  The farmers, called Shaysites after fellow farmer and Revolutionary War veteran Daniel Shays, lobbied for the issuance of paper currency and lower taxes.  Their methods involved disruption of the court system and general rowdy protest, but no bloodshed.  They were eventually put down by General William Shepherd; the rebels were rounded up; and, the rebellion itself became a call for strengthening the Federal government's power and re-thinking the Articles of Confederation.

Now, to look between the ellipses of the famous Jefferson quote: I hold it that a little rebellion now and then is a good thing, and as necessary in the political world as storms in the physical. Unsuccessful rebellions, indeed, generally establish the encroachments on the rights of the people which have produced them. An observation of this truth should render honest republican governors so mild in their punishment of rebellions as not to discourage them too much. It is a medicine necessary for the sound health of government. [Emphasis mine.]

This is an interesting observation.  "Unsuccessful rebellions, indeed, generally establish the encroachments on the rights of the people which have produced them."  In other words, if you are going to have a rebellion, you had damn well better be certain that you can win or are prepared to take the consequences; if you fail, all that stuff you're rebelling against will come down like a ton of bricks on your head.  Coming from a man who had authored the Great Rebellion's founding document, these are sobering words.  "Lives, fortunes, and sacred honor" were not lofty sentiments, but tenable, possible casualties in the Revolutionary War.  Then, the next statement is curious, indeed: "An observation of this truth should render honest republican governors so mild in their punishment of rebellions as not to discourage them too much."  Which truth?  The truth that rebellion is "good" and even "necessary"?  Or the truth that failed rebellions lead often to increased governmental authority?  In a way, I think he means both.*

Jefferson's first part of the letter is an almost Benthamian musing about the correct kind of government to produce the maximum amount of happiness and liberty among a population.  He sees three possible types of government; put simply, they are anarchy (without rule), democratic republics or constitutional monarchies (limited rule), or despotism (unlimited rule).  Without much pretense at an argument, he comes to the conclusion that the American-style of limited government was, indeed, the best to secure the greatest freedom and contentment among a diverse, far-flung population.  (Do you think he was at all prejudiced in favor of this conclusion?  Discuss.)  So, he is in France, as ambassador, hearing about this troublesome rebellion in Massachusetts, and he is singularly unruffled. 

He writes to James Madison that, "An observation of this truth should render honest republican governors so mild in their punishment of rebellions as not to discourage them too much."  Let's say he means the truth that such rebellions are good for the state; indeed, that they are "a medicine necessary for the sound health of government."  Does he mean that "honest" governors in a republic ought not to be concerned about such rebellions, because they bring to light weaknesses in the system that can then be addressed to make a better republic?  That such rebellions ought almost to be welcomed, as they pinpoint underlying concerns?  That such rebellions are positive in nature because they remind the people that they own the government, and not the other way around?  Or, is Jefferson encouraging leniency on the part of the state against rebels because, in their failure and suppression, the state can legitimately assert greater authority?  Are these two views incompatible?   I think, perhaps, what Jefferson might be saying here is that, whether they succeed or fail, rebellions in general are the great tool of freedom — constantly pruning and nourishing the great tree of liberty.  If they succeed, it means that the population in general is behind the concerns of the rebels.  And, even if they fail, they clarify a need that can then be addressed in a formal way by government. 

A little rebellion was certainly a good thing in the late 18th century.  The Shays' Rebellion was one of the events in our early national history that led to the Philadelphia Convention in May of 1787.  Now known as the Constitutional Convention, the delegates came out a little less than five months later on September 17 with what Benjamin Franklin prophetically asserted was "a republic, if you can keep it."  Can we keep it?   223 years later, I look at such things as the Tea Party Movement and think, "Yes, I do believe we can."  Because a little rebellion, now and then, is good medicine for our sick, gouty, bloated government.

Happy Constitution Day!  And, welcome liberty-loving Aussie friends!

Sources:  Wikipedia's Shays' Rebellion Page; History 1700's Shays' Rebellion Page; Archiving Early America's A Little Rebellion Now and Then Page
*As Arielle kindly pointed out in the comments, the verb "establish" has another meaning which I was not considering when I wrote this piece.  Definition the sixth in the OED (how I love that book!), lists "to place beyond dispute; to prove."  In this sense, Jefferson's sentence certainly meshes more as a completed thought with the rest of his paragraph.  "Unsuccessful rebellions," in other words (again), "indeed, generally [place beyond dispute] the encroachments on the rights of the people who produced them."  Therefore, as I speculated originally, even unsuccessful rebellions serve to "bring to light weaknesses in the system that can then be addressed to make a better republic."  As I mused to Arielle in the comments, I think that Jefferson was an idealist on this point.  Rebellion really ought to make an "honest" republic re-examine its governance; but, more often in history, including in our own great country, rebellion has brought down more draconian rules and sterner enforcement.  Successful rebellions -- I'm thinking here, specifically, of the Civil Rights Movement -- are the fulfillment of already proven encroachments on rights.

I Love Flicka Spumoni!

Thank you!  You made my day!

Sanity

How do you spell "sanity" on school mornings for Justine? 

C-a-r-p-o-o-l.

Why didn't I think of this last year?

Creation is a Spiritual Imperative

I have been doing something unusual (for me) this summer:  I have been writing songs.  I am not a songwright in any meaningful sense; still, I find myself drawn again and again to the piano — plunking out tunes that refuse to exit my brain; scribbling down lyrics on any stray piece of paper.  It's totally weird.  And yet, I'm tickled to death, because I've always wanted to write songs.  And though I have musical taste enough to know that my songs are not very good at all, they are mine — my own little bursts of creativity — and they bring me unspeakable joy.

So, I got an inspiration a few days ago for the final chorus of one of the right-wing protest songs (hey! it's a largely untapped market!*) I've been working on for several months now.  I was so jazzed to share it with Jason when he came home, that I followed him into the bedroom, new lyrics in hand, and sang them to him while he changed out of his work clothes.  At the end, I gazed at him expectantly, hoping for a chortle, but willing to settle for an appreciative grin.  Instead, I got silence, a sideways glance, and then a withering, "What do you want to do with this?"  Ah, when Art marries Economics, moments like these are the offspring.

"What do I want to do with it?" I shot back incredulously.  "I want to write it, finish it, learn to play it well on the piano, maybe figure it out on guitar, and sing it for you, my dad, and Flicka Spumoni.  That's all."  While I was proclaiming my modest ambitions, I confess that an image flitted through my mind of myself — wearing a bandanna kerchief, "Welcome Back, Carter" T-shirt, and my most groovy tattered jeans — sitting cross-legged, guitar in hand, at a Tea Party Rally, leading a few thousand of my fellow conservatives in a rousing rendition of the song's chorus (believe me, it's great for a sing-along).  This vision was quickly discarded.  First of all, I am way too shy for such a display; secondly, I can't play guitar for shit.

"Well, it seems to me that you're expending an awful lot of time and effort for something with which you are not really planning on doing anything," replied he — unnecessarily grumpy, I thought at the time, though the poor fellow does have a lot on his mind right now.

Hmmm . . . he is right, in a way, of course.  The only thing these songs will be good for is maybe to entertain Jason (though I think I'll be excusing Mr. Stinky Attitude from granting me audience for the foreseeable future), my dad (who is honor-bound to be receptive to all my creative effusions and marvel at my genius), and Flicka (whose unreserved — and, perhaps, heedless — approbation of whatever I send her only encourages my further imposition).  But, and here is the key, these songs — no matter how lame, how silly, how incompetent, how banal they are — are for me.  I like them; I get a kick out of them; and, in the end, that's enough.

Carolyn Arends mused on a blog post for Conversant Life almost two years ago about beginning work on her 10th album (the since-released and absolutely breathtaking Love Was Here First) in the face of what has become a particularly inhospitable remunerative climate for creative artists.  On one hand, it has never been easier for an artist to get his work out to the public and find his niche audience; on the other, though, this niche-driven art market makes the bigger labels and publishers skittish about investing in unique or untried talent.  As Carolyn wrote in her post, CDs and Books and Massive Anxiety Attacks, Oh My!, she was having "difficulty in giving a solid business rationale for the undertaking.  Digital distribution models (both of the legal and pirate** variety) have radically changed the income potential for artists, which is a nice way of saying I won't make very much money."  Now, she came to a conclusion a lot more lofty than my own (but, then again, she is a musical and lyrical genius who writes songs that immediately make it onto God's iPod, while I am a dork with a spinet and a laptop), but, ultimately, reflecting the same inner calling of creation as pleasure — pleasure in the challenge to dig deeper, find the right word or phrase and link it to the right melody or mold it seamlessly into a paragraph so that it becomes intuitive; pleasure in giving pleasure and receiving pleasure from artistic reception; pleasure in brushing your fingertips against the hem of the divine robe and sharing a small part of the Father — the Original and Ultimate Creator.

Carolyn's more elegant explanation:  "So what am I doing? Why am I doing it? . . . I want to sing honest songs. I want this CD to be better than the last one--a deeper pocket or a sweeter line. I want to record some bit of something that gives me and maybe someone else goosebumps. I want to be moved, and to move someone else.  Like most artists who are also Christians, I walk a fine line between calling and indulgence; I could not honestly tell you the ratio between flesh and spirit at any given moment. But this is what I know. We must all tell our stories, as truthfully and as beautifully as we can, and God is such a good God He can and will use our efforts. I've seen it more times than I can count. And I don't know if that gives me mojo, but it gives me motivation. And I can't wait for the next recording day." [emphasis mine]

Carolyn is too modest to bring up another point:  she was so obviously created to do what she does, that there are divine implications if she does not fulfill that calling.  In other words, I believe that God has a major stake in whether she creates or not; I'm not convinced that He does in whether I do.  So, though my creative expressions may not have eternal ramifications, I have become certain that there is a spiritual imperative that draws humans of all levels of gifting to create.

Michael Medved has posited an idea about the words in Genesis that we are made after God's image that I love.  Because God is Spirit — and the Word had not yet become Flesh — this line from Genesis has little to do with a giant old man in the sky and everything to do with the substance of our souls.  Our Maker has bestowed upon us the unique gift of creation; He has given us a share in His ability.  No other created being in heaven or earth shares this with the Father.  Do the angels create?  There is no evidence in Scripture that they do.  That famous fallen angel cannot create; he can only destroy.  Do animals?  Well, certain trainers love to astound and awe audiences by showing off painting elephants.  But no elephant will manipulate its natural habitat in order to create art.  Humans always have.  Along side artifacts of survival — perhaps an integral part of our survival instinct — there is art.   

A couple years ago, I took a Creative Writing class on the short story at a local college.  I came away from that class convinced that I have not been gifted in fiction.  God, who has the best sense of humor, immediately inspired me to start writing short stories, one after the other, pretty much against my will.  It was almost as if He were gently reminding me that my calling is not up to me; it is completely about Him and His Spirit flowing through my hands, willing or unwilling.  Between that and the constant encouragement of Flicka, I have since decided just to be open to the blessing of creation — no matter how embarrassing or uncomfortable or disappointing to my own high standards.  He is using it all for His glory, even in ways I may not know until the other side of the veil. 

*Conservatism is counter-culture!
**Please, please, please do not pirate music.  If you love an artist enough to share his work, pay him for it.

Come, Thou Long Desired Autumn

I know the official end of summer is not until — oh, what is it?  September 22 or somesuch.  But, for all practical purposes, today is our last day of summer.  Tomorrow, Sadie goes back to school, and the 9-month hamster wheel turns anew.  I took her out of town this past weekend with one of her friends from church for a girls' getaway before we're locked back into that wretched schedule (can you tell that I have not reconciled myself even now to the non-homeschooling twist my plans have taken?).  But, today is the last day of vacation.

Instead of cramming in "one-lasts" all day, we're downplaying it with hanging out at home.  Really, we are pretty worn out from the weekend.  And, my glorious, obliging Pacific Northwest came through for me with a chilly, rainy, gloomy, inside sort of day.  I am tickled to death.  I am thinking of soups and sweaters and cozy fireside reads on the couch with my favorite old, green blanket tucked in around my toesies.  Autumn, autumn, blessed autumn!

Yeah, I guess I'm ready to say "good-bye" to summer. 

Sugarless (and Probably Butterless, Too) in Seattle

I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that potluck dessert offerings in conservative, Bible-belt areas are delicious — ooey-gooey and stuffed with sugar and butter and shortening and maybe even that mysterious element, lard.  What I know for sure is that such items at events in progressive, secular hubs like Seattle tend to bite the big one.  If you don't believe me, ask Sadie.  Yesterday, at her theater day camp's grand finale of play and parent-provided potluck, Sadie eagerly grabbed what looked to be a scrumptious piece of chocolate cake and an innocent-looking chocolate chip cookie.  One bite and an evocative grimace from Sadie revealed (and I confirmed by finishing the discarded balance) that the cake was instead a deceptive carob-applesauce concoction.  Fie, fie!  She then bit into the cookie and practically started to cry.  I didn't dare eat that one — I'm not a fan of chocolate chip cookies even under the best of circumstances — but I can guess by her disappointment that such things as butter substitute were probably defiling the heretofore unsuspicious baked treat.  Oh, the humanity!

Now I am starting to realize why, whenever I bake something to share at a communal event, my stuff flies out the window and I am met at every turn by ecstatic commentary muffled by the effect of hamster-like cheeks stuffed with my goodies.  These poor, deprived Puget Sound people have never before tasted real butter and real sugar.  I bake like a Bible-believer, and truly, you can taste and see that the Lord is good.

So, why are these libs obsessed with robbing childhood of the great joys of authentically ingrediented baked goods?  I'm sure part of it is bragging rights; you know, so they can say something like, "Little Saffron is on a sugar-free, gluten-free, fat-free diet.  I just love that she is eating healthy."  Dude, that's not healthy.  Someday that kid is going to get a hold of a Twinkie, and look out — next thing you know, she's flat on her back on the couch, watching The View, on the verge of a sugar-induced coma.  Think it can't happen?  I could tell you stories of my childhood friend who was raised in a vegan, sugar-free household, and who binged on candy whenever she escaped to my house.  I do not know what the other part of this deprivation is due to — maybe, like Mrs. Fidget, they just want the personal satisfaction of doing something good for their families, whether their families want it or not. 

I know kids are fat nowadays; but, they are not fat because Mom is baking homemade, delectable treats everyday.  They are fat because Mom buys Hostess products by the bushel and sets them up in front of the TV everyday.  Eliminate TV from your household and bake a real chocolate cake or Nestle Tollhouse cookies every week, and watch your kids thrive, I say.  Tree-climbing, hill-rolling, rock-flipping, snake-catching, bike-riding, book-reading kids who know the taste of real butter and sugar are happy, healthy kids, indeed.

A.W.B.F.C.

To borrow from a popular pro-life slogan:  "Some children are fatherless by chance; not one should be fatherless by choice."

Nowadays we tend to think of orphans as being children bereft of both parents.  In the biblical sense, though, an orphan needs only to have lost his father to fall under the special protection and consideration of God and those who love Him.  Widows and orphans are grouped together in the Bible so often because they were often of the same family.  We must care for the widows and orphans.  If you love the Lord and believe His word, then there are no two ways about it.

Now, one of the frustrating things about modern culture is that the majority of "widows and orphans" are husbandless and fatherless, not because of death or even imprisonment, but because of divorce, abandonment, or chosen single-motherhood.  As Christians, we are bound by faith to support and provide for these fatherless homes.  But, because the state of fatherlessness is a chosen one and a rampant one, the burden is becoming far too great on the Body, and, I believe, taking away resources, time, and attention from other vital ministries. 

There is a young mother at our church.  She has a two-year-old daughter and is pregnant.  She and her husband were separated, reconciled temporarily (hence her burgeoning belly), and then he flat out abandoned her.  Left.  Flew the coop.  Refuses to provide for his wife or their progeny.  Now, as her church family, it is a pleasure and a privilege to step up and support her in this horrible, difficult time.  But, when I told my own wonderful husband her story, he had another — possibly inspired — idea of how best to support her.

"You want me to get a bunch of guys together to hunt this bastard down?  I wish you'd let me keep that beating stick I found on the hike at Barnabas.  Shove that in his face and he'd hustle back and take responsibility, boy howdy."

OK, my first reaction was to laugh heartily and say, "Yep, that's a Christian reaction."  But, on further reflection, why shouldn't Christian men band together to go after other supposedly Christian men and hold their feet to the fire?  Part of the reason that community is so important in the life of a Christ follower is that, by ourselves, on our own watch, we simply cannot hold ourselves accountable.  It is pretty easy to make excuses for our own bad behavior — heck, it is one of our specialties!  Calling out others can get murky — what with that whole speck and plank thing; but, when a person's behavior actively hurts the Body of Christ — such as choosing to create by his actions a widow and orphans — he or she ought to be made to answer for it.  There used to be "shotgun weddings" — and maybe we need to reinvigorate and expand that tradition.      

I think that my husband's gut reaction was, in his own very special way, a compassionate one.  It is not compassionate to look about at the state of the American family and exhibit only tolerance for bad choices that devastate children and rip apart the fabric of society.  Tolerance is not love; tolerance is a passive virtue, and love is active.  And, while waving a stout beating stick under the nose of a wayward husband might not be the most seemly of convincers, it is probably an effective one.  I suggest that a league be formed within every congregation called the A.W.B.F.C, which stands for — you've guessed it! — the Ass-Whupping Brothers for Christ. 

The Troughs

What makes a classic work of literature, well, classic?  Some may argue that broad appeal over many generations is the primary criterion.  Some might aver that a certain sense of pushing conventional boundaries or being revolutionary in scope or style are the marks of classics.  Still others might put forward that a work cannot achieve "classic" status unless it has been put under the scholarly microscope, subjected to reams of literary criticism.  I would like to offer up something I find increasingly:  a classic is a work which stands up to multiple readings, offering something new or unexpected with each.  Under my definition (as well as the others), The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis is truly a classic.

I just finished my third reading of it. I'm pretty sure my own personal demon has read it, too, because I think I fall prey to just about every diabolical trick delineated in this book aimed to drive me away from Father, time and time again.  It's a squirmy, wormy feeling to read about "the Patient" and find that the patient is you.  And, while I could relate to every temptation presented to Wormwood's patient, what really caught my attention in this most recent reading was the letter about peaks and troughs, not so much because that is my own particular struggle right now (though, isn't it always at least a shadow struggle that threatens to solidify?), but because my dear friend is mired in a bit of a trough, and I have been relentlessly praying for her.

In Letter VIII, Screwtape schools his nephew, Wormwood, in what he calls the Law of Undulation.  We humans, you see, are amphibious — existing as half spirit, half animal.  Being as such — this "revolting hybrid" — we can only achieve a state approximating constancy between our spiritual selves (which can be sited on eternal objects) and our natural selves (always subject to temporal changes) through "undulation — the repeated return to a level from which [we] repeatedly fall back, a series of troughs and peaks."

We had a guest pastor at our church this past weekend while our senior pastor is on an extended vacation.  While, overall, it was a good sermon on 1 Samuel 15 and the progression of sin, I did have one disagreement.  The speaker said something like, "Dry seasons in your walk are not blessed times nor times of growth; if you are running spiritually dry, it is a sign of unresolved sin in your life."  Not only is this discouraging and disheartening, I do not think it is true — certainly not always true.  The presence of Father can at times be clouded to our senses by our sin; but, there are times when, for reasons only He knows, His palpable presence is simply not revealed to us.  And these are the times, C.S. Lewis surmises through the voice of Screwtape, when we grow in obedience.

God wants us to desire a relationship with Him; He wants, as Screwtape notes with disgust, "servants who can finally become sons."  But, because He desires that we desire Him, He has given us free will, making "the Irresistible and the Indisputable . . . two weapons which the very nature of His scheme forbids Him to use. . . . He cannot ravish.  He can only woo."  When the Holy Spirit first washes over our lives, bringing repentance, reverence, and reconciliation, we live on the peak of what Carolyn Arends calls the "overflow of perichoresis" — that is, in the abundance of the love and life that exists and has always existed in the presence and fellowship of the Trinity.  But, then we wake up a day or a month or a year or a decade later and find that we are still half-animals.  Make no mistake, eventually you will hit a trough.  And why?

It's worth it to offer up as explanation this lengthy quote from the incomparable Jack Lewis:  "Sooner or later [God] withdraws, if not in fact, at least from their conscious experience, all those supports and incentives.  He leaves the creature to stand up on its own legs — to carry out from the will alone duties which have lost all relish.  It is during such trough periods, much more than during the peak periods, that it is growing into the sort of creature He wants it to be.  Hence the prayers offered in the state of dryness are those which please Him best. . . . He cannot "tempt" to virtue as we do to vice.  He wants them to learn to walk and must therefore take away His hand; and if only the will to walk is really there, He is pleased even with their stumbles."  If this is true, and I suspect it is, then God must love the Psalms — that handbook for the broken-hearted, filled with David's (and others') prayers from the trough.  Think for a moment of Psalm 27: "Hear, O Lord, when I cry with my voice!  Have mercy also upon me and answer me.  When You said, 'Seek My face,' my heart said to You, 'Your face, Lord, I will seek.' Do not hide Your face from me; do not turn Your servant away in anger; You have been my help; Do not leave me or forsake me, O God of my salvation. . . . I would have lost heart, unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living."  David, with all his sin and his dry seasons, was a man after God's own heart.

There are a lot of Christian songs about rain.  I tend to like them, because I really like rain (being a web-footed Pacific Northwest girl), and also, I think, because I like the analogy that, after the dry seasons, the rain travels down to the resting seeds and nourishes what was already there; the next season brings fruit.  The Lord provides this cyclical journey, because we need that sort of peak and trough rotation for equilibrium.  The key is not to despair during the dry or barren seasons, but to recognize them and still follow the "sweet will of God."  Here is the end of Chapter VIII which gave me chills when I came across it last week:  "Our cause [i.e. the cause of drawing souls away from God into fodder for demonic sustenance] is never more in danger than when a human, no longer desiring, but still intending, to do our Enemy's will, looks round upon a universe from which every trace of Him seems to have vanished, and asks why he has been forsaken, and still obeys." [Emphasis mine.]

I am praying for you, dear friend, without ceasing.  And I know you will see again the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.

Stream of Semi-Consciousness

You know how it is when your alarm is set for 6:30 AM and at 6:20 AM there is a tap-tap-tapping sound of someone hammering outside and you really hear it because your husband opened the window last night before he went to sleep and the tap-tap-tapping noise doesn't wake him at all — oh no — so you have to get out of bed and close the damn thing and what's the point anyway because now it's 6:22 and you're awake and you might be able to go back to bed for that extra 8 minutes, but what's the point? so you get up and stumble down the hall to the kitchen to brew some coffee and no one remembered to filter enough water to make a pot so you fill the Brita system and have to wait for it to drip-drip-drip down; and while you're waiting you look out your window into the back yard and see that the deer have marauded through your garden last night you know your garden that has been thriving and looking gorgeous and you thought maybe you'd get a secondary strawberry harvest this year but now it's gone gone gone gone so you run out the front door to see if the deer made it there and they did of course munched up your giant tomato plant that you thought you could hide from them by putting it right next to the front door but of course these deer have no sense of shame and they marched right up and ate branches and leaves but you look down at the pavement and they were kind enough to have spit out the green tomatoes all over the ground and you want to call up your deer hunting brother-in-law and see if he'd like an easy neighborhood gig but by now the water is filtered and you might as well shove your rage down into your gullet and make the coffee but by now you're thinking that Alexander was right — and it is a terrible, horrible no-good, very bad day and you consider moving to Australia.  You know how it is.

Update:  Still bitter about those stolen 10 minutes.  Who hammers at 6:20 AM?