Here’s a little outtake from Lanier Ivester’s wonderful post over at The Rabbit Room, Two Trees.

“The affair in the Garden was not about keeping rules or breaking them so much as choosing the Desire of our souls or choosing His counterfeit. At the heart of this poem lies that ancient choice, as terrible today as it was when God first granted it in the Garden: heaven or hell? Life or death? Not only for all eternity but for this very moment snared in time. ‘Gaze on this,’ the poet pleads, ‘not on that.’ Love and long for—in other words, submit to and believe—the ecstasy of the Life offered you. Take faith to turn from the ruin of your own heart and fix your eyes on something that is truer than all the sorrow of the world put together.

“It has been said that for every look at self we must take ten looks at Christ. I find that truth expressed with such magnificent beauty in this poem. For while the accepted interpretation—and for all I know, the original intent—of these lines may uphold an inward search for goodness apart from Christ, as a Christian I take great delight in the freedom I have to celebrate the gleaming flashes of truth that glitter and sparkle with such inexorable joy in the world around me. We’re miners, really, we servants of the true King, plunging through a darkened world in enemy territory to retrieve the scattered bits of Eden that were made to flame in the light of the sun. For though far-flung and often couched amid the hard crust of error and inaccuracy, they are there all the same. As C.S. Lewis recounted in Surprised by Joy, longings that disclose eternal realities may be mediated to us by ‘the water-colour world of Morris, the leafy recesses of Malory, the twilight of Yeats…’ That is just the wonder of poetry—or of anything beautiful, for that matter. They bear the opportunity of communicating spiritual truth, these remnants of a lost paradise with which our tired earth is endowed like veins of living gold, and give us courage to hope in a Redemptive Plan that is steadily, patiently, unrelentingly working to restore all things to their original purpose.”

I recommend the entire piece, which includes the poem, The Two Trees, by Yeats. Lanier and her husband, Philip, live in a farmhouse in Georgia. I was privileged to meet them at Hutchmoot 2010. She is a wonderful, careful and thoughtful writer.

She also has a website and a bookstore where she probably has what you’re looking for for the bibliophile in your family this Christmas. Note: It’s not for Kindle.

I hate traffic, especially drug traffic, but also the congested, automobile variety. Today I was held up by a vast, right-lane conspiracy of cars blocking the road by driving so slow they seemed to be going somewhere between 10 mph and reverse. I angrily imagined my vehicle fitted with sidewinders and me pressing a button, saying, “fox 1, away!” and “fox 2, away!” Just like in Iron Eagle, or whatever.

Calming down, I listened to the cheerful chirrups of Jason Gray and wished that the sadness of being stuck in traffic would come untrue.

I wondered if it was God’s will that I be late for work. Why would it be? How is that good? Why doesn’t my vehicle have side-winder missiles? You know, the big questions.

Mostly I pondered sovereignty. I thought of how often I’ve heard people thankfully say that they were saved from a terrible wreck because of some irritating delay. A child couldn’t find his shoes and we were delayed. If we’d been on time…. A wrong turn. Delayed by a storm. We’d have been right in the middle of that terrible accident.

Accident?

The unifying element in these tales is thankfulness to God for rescuing the teller from what was very close by and terrifying. I’ve been impressed and conversely distressed at hearing these reports. Part of me is eager to embrace them, to say: “Good, see the hand of God in all things and be grateful for mercy.” Another part of me says, “Would we be giving thanks if the delay had caused the wreck? Or would we still attribute the calamity to God’s hand?”

These questions, these kinds of puzzles, are what keeps the wise-as-serpents part of our minds busy while we go hunting for the innocence of doves.

But I know why bad things happen. It’s because of rebellion.

I’ve been studying the Pentateuch, particularly Genesis, for the past several months. The beginning of Genesis is so profoundly instructive, as well as being a deeply moving story, teeming with pathos. In chapter three we see the attempted de-Godding of God by the first parents.

The heartbreaking results follow fast. In chapters four and five the hearts stop, the blood runs, the refrain echos out: “And he died…and he died…and he died…and he died…” Etc. On and on the deaths pile up, a grotesque contrast to the unfallen before.

In the acrid air of usurpation our first parents got new clothes, a sacrifice to cover their naked shame. A hint of resolution, restoration brewing.

God is still sovereign. Even in suffering. Happier still, he is merciful down deep, slow to anger and abounding in love. He offers rebellious, treasonous mankind a great exchange, our sin for the righteousness of Christ. We can be acceptable to the Father again, by the mercy of God in Christ.

I don’t know how traffic jams and wrecks work out for God’s glory and the good of his children. I know, in the short run, it often feels terribly wrong.

But death feels wrong because it is. It isn’t natural, isn’t the way things ought to be. It’s a fearful, final foe. But one which will be defeated by the victorious King Jesus.

I don’t know how sovereignty works out. My father, quoting Walter Staton, always said, “God is sovereign and man is responsible.” That helps me.

People say, “When God closes a door, he opens a window.” I am always tempted to blurt out, “and sometimes he knocks the house over on the people.”

God isn’t safe.

So do we give credit to God for deaths in traffic as well as praise for when we are saved from the same by lost shoes or a bad sense of direction?

When we read the Bible, we see pretty fast that God kills people, sometimes in large groups all at once. This may bother us, but we can’t pretend it isn’t so. Wrestling with this is fine, even appropriate. But this reminds me of what Jared C. Wilson said.

“It’s okay to wrestle with a biblical text, so long as at the end it masters you and not the other way around.”

It’s popular to say that doubt is humble and certainty is arrogance. This depends, of course, on what we’re certain of and what we’re doubting. There can never be enough of doubting God and his Word to please an entrenched rebel in his pride. If we doubt ourselves, however, we may be on to something (this is humility). If we habitually doubt the faithfulness of God, this is no poetic virtue; it’s called unbelief. Who of us hasn’t prayed, “Lord I believe, please help my unbelief?” But let us keep on praying it and not surrender to our proud misgivings. Keep on fighting, keep on praying. Doubt is a thin shield, a hollow creed.

So, brothers and sisters, let us struggle and lose. Let’s understand that God isn’t simply responsible for the deaths of the Egyptian army in the Red Sea, or the many who worshiped the golden calf, but of Moses too. In fact he isn’t caught off guard by any death. He is sovereign over all, never asleep, feckless, or disinterested. We are responsible. We chose and go, drive and die, but God works his will over all.

Whether I am spared death (for now), or meet my end today, I am glad. I’m thankful. Uncertainty about how it all works out abounds, as well as doubt in my own ability. But let me be certain of him and his Word. He is good. He is just. He is merciful. The Story is true.

At his right hand are pleasures, evermore.

This post was first published at The Rabbit Room.

I just got home from watching The Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga’Hoole with my family. I’m eager to share just “owl” much I loved this movie. And with that bad joke I demonstrate explicitly how far I am from being qualified to review a movie. I have none of the skill of the learned chaps who know what they’re talking about when it comes to “cinema.” This will be a review from a person who has never seen most of the movies that get reviewed by people who know a lot about cinematic art. Most of my male relatives chew tobacco.

Owls movie, regular idiot review, with commentary on raising kids in a toxic world…go.

Firstly, Legend… is breathtaking to watch. It’s a visually stunning, captivating movie, with wonderful detail and animation (is it still called animation?). I recently finished reading Neil Granger’s book, Walt Disney: The Triumph of the American Imagination. I couldn’t help but think of Walt. I thought of how he accomplished something incredible with Snow White and how amazed he would be at a film like this. It was a real joy to watch. 3D? I loved it. Maybe that makes me a real hick from the sticks, unable to appreciate how 3D is devastating modern cinema. This was a movie where, for me, 3D aided the suspension of disbelief and the imaginative quality of the picture.

Movies with good “special effects” are in great supply. (Do they still call them special effects?) But there are fewer movies that have a great story and fewer still which don’t undermine the truth about the world God made either in slight, or flagrant ways. This movie, to unholster a tired cliche, has it all.

I loved the story. I bought in like a rich investor, took the bait hook, line, and sinker. Was it a basic good vs. evil story? Yes. I love that. The story was so fundamentally good that I just sat there grinning throughout. My review can be summarized in one word: fantastic. But this has a lot to do with where I am in life and who I was sitting with.

I sat between our 5 and 7 year old kids, my wife held our sleeping baby throughout. Our 5 year old boy has only been so for a few days. Yesterday we celebrated his birthday with a “St. George” party. My older brother dressed as a dragon and our son, distinguished from his comrade knights by the St. George’s cross on his chest, led the attack on the castle to save the princess (well-acted by his brilliant and beautiful sister). It was a great time, though I’m sure if there were any dour, P.C. scolds watching they would have been horrified. (This is unlikely in rural West Virginia farming country.) What we emphasized in that party and what countless tales told to these children over and over emphasize is this: If you have strength, it is not to dominate and control, but to love and serve. If you are a leader, then you are not to rule by lording it over others, but to lay down your life. To serve. To die.

I must say (though I know it is hard for some modern ears to hear) that I especially emphasize this point with my oldest son (and will with his brother in time). My old-fashioned understanding? Boys need to know that strength is not for lording, intimidating, tyrannizing, and it is for dang sure not about serving yourself. We. Look. To. Jesus.

Jesus is our example. The Son of God who, though being rich, became poor; though being strong, became weak; though being Majestic in Glory and Deserving of All Power and Praise, put on a servant’s nature. He came to serve. Husbands are therefore commanded to be like that as they lead. My heart is for that in my own life (though I fail regularly) and my training and instruction for these boys must be “in the Lord.”

So, back to this movie about owls. Inside the story there is a story (I love that kind of thing.) The story within the story is one that our main character, Soren, loves and retells over and over. He believes this story (of the legendary Guardians) with all his heart, though others deride him for his faith. A beautiful element of this movie is how the story that he believes to be true, though he can’t see with his eyes, impacts his entire being. He is different because of how this story works on him, in stark contrast to his unbelieving brother.

This is pretty much the situation for Christians.

Of course Soren is right, his faith eventually becomes sight and he meets his heroes. In a lovely touch, his number one hero is not as physically impressive as he expects. This clever turn points to the underlying theme of the story and the oath of the Guardians. They are charged with, “mending the broken, making the weak strong.” In contrast with the evil “Pure Ones,” (wondrous, ironic nomenclature) who wish to manipulate, dominate, and enslave the weak and vulnerable.

The Guardians protect the vulnerable, they serve the weak. They do not use their power and authority to serve themselves, but fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. The Guardians also have a hierarchical structure; they have a king and queen. But the use of this power and authority, as in Tolkien and Lewis (and Scripture), is operated by the “good side” not for self, but for love and service. It is, frankly, a beautiful thing to see.

It is a rare joy to go to the movies and so explicitly see the values that we emphasize in our home be, not undermined, but underlined. I was ecstatic.

Sure, it’s fine to talk over all the core toxicity of films with our kids, to learn something from the bent expressions of the fallen imagination. These can sometimes be very fruitful –especially, I suppose, with older kids. But man, it’s great to just see something good. Real good.

This is why I love Andrew Peterson’s books. Fantastic stories brilliantly told, but without the core deceptions of a man-centered worldview. A modern author…and we can trust him! Don’t wonder why Christian parents rejoice at such things. It’s a rare treasure found. There are others of course (my kids have read hundreds of good books), but the “total package” thing is pretty rare in my experience. I feel like that’s what you get with AP’s books.

This movie feels pretty close to that as well. I haven’t read the books (The Owls of Ga’hoole), but this movie was a deep delight for me to see with my kids. I enthusiastically stick all the thumbs I have and can borrow from my neighbors in an upward direction.

Note: Some of the action/peril might frighten young kids, but my 5 year old (prepped) was not bothered –and he is not exposed to a lot of scary images/movies.

Note 2: This post was originally published at The Rabbit Room.

Jonathan’s new book, The Charlatan’s Boy, releases today. Some of you are familiar with JR’s trilogy (Wilderking). If you have middle-graders who haven’t yet read them, may I recommend them to you? And now there’s more, The Charlatan’s Boy releases today! I sat down with JR in different states and he answered 5 questions for us. –Sam

1. Fact: The Wilderking Books are gold for children (and adults) on many fronts. Truth? Check. Goodness, Beauty? Check, check. Were you inspired to write the trilogy by any concern over a lack of worthwhile fiction for kids, or was your motivation simply to make billions of dollars?

I wouldn’t say any ‘concern’ about existing children’s fiction motivated me. I was quite ignorant of what was out there when I started writing the Wilderking books. I’m only a little less ignorant now. I will say I’ve been pleasantly surprised at how much worthwhile fiction is out there–though there is plenty that isn’t worthwhile. Here’s the thing, S.D.:  I want people to like what I like. I think that’s a good enough reason to write stories. I have a particular vision of the universe, and I believe things would be better for all of us if more people shared that vision. I’m joking, but only half-joking. It takes a lot of work to write a book; in order to stay motivated to do that work, one needs an overblown sense that it’s important for people to hear what one has to say. The billions of dollars, that’s just a bonus.

2. What sets The Charlatan’s Boy apart from The Wilderking Trilogy?

Sadness. There’s a sadness in the Charlatan’s Boy that has no parallel in the Wilderking books. I’ve been dipping into Buechner’s book, Telling the Truth: The Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy, and Fairy Tale. An amazing book, by the way. As Buechner argues, the grand comic vision of redemptive history is rooted in the reality of deep sadness and hurt  and danger from which we have to be redeemed. I think (I hope) the comic vision of The Charlatan’s Boy is more fully realized than that of The Wilderking–in part because the sadness, loneliness, and hurt are more fully realized.

3. What are two important things for aspiring writers to remember as they work on their craft?

First of all, let me thank you for the way you phrased this question. You didn’t say, “What are the two most important things…” You said “What are two important things…” Do you realize how much that takes the pressure off? I know lots of important things aspiring writers should remember. I don’t know which two are the most important. So here are two from the list:

a) Pursue your audience. Woo them. It’s not their job to stay interested in what you write. It’s your job to keep them interested. As a corollary, don’t try to impress your reader. That’s for sophomores. Try to love your reader.

b) Speak English. When there’s a word derived from the Latin or Greek and another word from the Anglo-Saxon and they mean the same thing, the tie goes to the Anglo-Saxon word. There are reasons to go with the Latinate word; just be sure you’ve got one, and it’s good a reason. Let your default be the Anglo-Saxon word. It’s true (I think) that something like 75-80% of the words in an English dictionary derive from Latin or Greek. But here’s an exercise for an aspiring writer. Pick a favorite passage from the King James Bible. Count the words in the passage, noting how many derive from Latin or Greek. Divide the Latinate/Greek words by the total number of words to get a percentage. It won’t be 75-80%. It won’t even be close. It may be as high as 25%. It will probably be considerably lower. That’s something for aspiring writers to put in their pipes and smoke.

4. What is your life for?

I don’t see how I could improve on the Westminster Confession: “The chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy him forever.” I do like John Piper’s suggestion that we glorify God by enjoying him forever. The ability to enjoy the good things that remain, by God’s grace, in this shipwreck of a world is a vitally important thing, I believe.

5. Tell us what makes your books, which are speculative in nature, so American. Why not just do another England-inspired fantasy?

I love British literature as much as anybody. I’ve got a PhD in British lit, for crying out loud. But when it came down to producing rather than consuming literature, it seemed important to me that I speak in my native tongue. There is a vitality, a vigor in American storytelling traditions. I’m an American [cue Lee Greenwood], an inheritor of that verbal and narrative legacy. It makes sense that I should make use of it.

Thanks, JR. As an American, who’s proud to be, I especially liked the part about Lee Greenwood.

Jonathan is also the author of a great little book on Saint Patrick called Saint Patrick. He lives in Nashville, TN, with his wife Lou Alice and their six children. Lou Alice is a peach.

Note: This was posted at The Rabbit Room recently. So, you may have seen it there. Do not read it twice. It’s like seeing yourself in time-travel. –sam

Last night I wrote a fable. It’s fabulous. And by that I mean it’s a fable.

With me?

Words really mean things. I want to be some one whose appreciation of this fact fuels more intentional investigation on word origins.

I only have one book on my shelf that I can think of right now about word origins in English. That book is pretty amazing (now I’m thinking of what amazing history the word “amazing” might have), but I ought to have more. I almost have aught.

I remember hearing Ken Myers talking to some fellow about how he was grading a student paper where it was said that a boat had “arrived half-way across the ocean.” The fellow was objecting to this use because the word “arrive” has in it the notion of coming ashore. So one cannot arrive half-way. It means to get there. Specifically to “come to shore.”

So, at Hutchmoot (the Rabbit Room conference) this idea of the power and origin in the original power of words arrived on the sandy beach of my mind. Courtesy of Walter Wangerin, Jr.

Walt (I call him Walt, because I was close enough to yank his pony tail –but I didn’t, amazingly) was amazing. <—– I haven’t looked that up yet.

I felt a thousand things as he spoke, which I feel incapable of putting into adequate words. I feel like a clever monkey trying to explain to Beethoven (who is deaf and dead) the joys of flinging poo. I felt validated, inspired, full, hopeful, peaceful, joyful and the list goes on and on like a long, long list.

But here is one thing. Walt knows words.

He inhabits language like the oldest local. He speaks as one with authority, as if in his naming the thing may finally –again– be itself. It was not that words were used by him, or that he was commanding with them. I can aspire to that. It was more.

He cooperated with words. Co-operated. He and the words were on the same side. He has arrived on their side after a long, literate life’s journey.

His relation of the history of schap (forever on the chalkboard of my mind) was a significant life event for me. Because, in so many words, he told me who I am.

I am a schap. A shaper. This is how he talked about storytellers.

And words are the tools of my trade. I will use them, care for them, add more to my bag and hope that one day I will do more than use them. I will inhabit them. Know them like an intimate friend. Partner with them. Conjure up with them a vision for those without eyes to see. And tell stories.

Like Walt.

Leg Crossers –Jason and Sam

I got to meet fellow Rabbit Room writer Jason Gray in Nashville a few weeks ago, as well as hear him perform some songs. Then this past weekend got to hear him again here in southern West Virginia (thanks Matt and Mark). Gina and I (and the kids) got to spend some extended time with him and it was really special. I encourage you to check out his music. It’s good, ya’ll.

Fake Scholarship –Jason and Gina, fakers

His emphasis on weakness, brokenness and the power and completeness of God in our weakness is beautiful. His song from several years ago, Blessed Be, has been a welcome reminder of something I have needed to hear lately.

I am going through some health issues now, again (I have a medical test today, in fact, and would appreciate prayer). This idea of being perfected in weakness, of being blessed in brokenness (which is so evident in Matthew, and all of Scripture) has been a comfort to me. Jason’s music has added to the chorus of truth I need to hear now and all the time.

The Gospel is for the broken, the needy, the ones who know they need it. Not for the morally superior. Again, consider this amazing passage in Luke 18. I need that!

So, after the jump here I put Jason’s song, Blessed Be, up for you to hear. I didn’t ask him, so mum’s the word. It’s not the best audio (or video), so I put up the words. But he tells the same story on Acoustic Storytime, which is a great record.
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Frauleins and Germanmen, allow me to introduce you to a pal who is launching his new weblog today (and by today, I mean yesterday).

Jonathan Rogers is a fine novelist and overall sort of swell fellow. His blog will, I have no doubt, be of great interest to you.

Among his many gifts, Jonathan is an accomplished practitioner of the art of the amusing anecdote. He appears poised to regularly unleash this gift on the public at the aforementioned blog. See, for instance, his initial offering. Is it amusing? Yessir, it is. Is it an anecdote? It appears to be. So, he gets very high marks from the start and it’s my belief that this will only continue.

Why yes, I am intimidated by the quality of his posts, but that can’t be helped. You will continue to see relatively few quality (or “real”) posts here, with quotes, my lame witticisms, and other “fillers” as a regular feature. That’s the best I can do right now. Expectations are important, as Jonathan says, citing some weirdo over at his “welcome” post.

Jonathan is an accomplished author of many fine books (which you can purchase, signed, at very reasonable rates). I am not. I need to devote as much time as I have for writing to that enterprise. This blog, it must be admitted, suffers from some measure of neglect.

But anyway, since we’re supposed to be talking about Jonathan, the chance to listen to Jonathan talk about the art of writing has been of great benefit to me, both in specifics and generalities. Maybe, just maybe, those of you who are, like me, working towards being authors, will routinely receive some of the wisdom he has to offer on this subject as well at his new blog.

Perhaps if we overload him with comments requesting such, he will guilted into action.

Go on over and visit. Amusing anecdotes and more await. The first one is about getting pantsed. Need I say more?

Or, it’s more about connection than it is about self-expression. And, of course, it depends on what we’re after. If we want people (who are not our mothers) to read us, then we need connection way more than self-expression.

I’ve never read Yancey, but I like this video (below). Especially at about the 23:20 point where he expresses how difficult writing is. As Pete Peterson said on the Story panel at Hutchmoot: “Many people say, ‘I write because I can’t not write.’ I don’t get that. I can easily not write. That’s the easiest thing in the world to not do.”

Well, he said something like that and he took the words right out of my mouth, so I’m putting them back in just as I like.

It’s easy not to write. It’s painful. On the self-same panel, Jonathan Rogers explained that when it’s easy it’s not usually worthwhile.

“I’ve written books that didn’t hurt, and to tell you the truth, they’re not all that good.” Jonathan Rogers

Well, this might have been easy to write.

OK kids, back to Yancey.

At one point he advises writers, “Don’t do it alone,” and goes on to say that there are many creative people, but:

“…they’re all into self-expression…but you don’t make a living in self expression, you make a living by connecting with people who want to pay money…to say ‘this is worth my time.’”

Good point, Phillip Yancey. Good point.

Also, you have an amazing ‘fro.

I have shared this vidya content before, but thought it might be good to do again. I thought those thoughts with the thoughts in my mind.

This is an attempt to collect all the posts “out there” referencing the inaugural Hutchmoot. It also attempts to present websites/blogs of Hutchmoot attendees. It further attempts links to those weirdos what made some kind of presentation at the 2010 Hutchmoot. I’ll continue to update it, so just comment if you wish to be included. I hope it is helpful. –sam

Hutchmoot-specific Posts (updated: newly added ones will be in italics)

Hutchmoot 2010, from Christina Szrama

Telling the Old, Old Story, from Bernie

Walt Wangerin Teaches: Hutchmoot Keynote, from Word Lily

Entering the Hutchmoot Fellowship, from Heather Ivester

Hutchmoot in the 2nd Chair, from Dan K

Hutchwhat?, from Kate Hinson

Waiting for the Artist, from Lanier Ivestor

Artist v. Dreamer, from Katherine

Still Here, from Leigh McLeroy

Hutchmoot Recap, from The Aesthetic Elevator

I Can, from Jodi

AP and Eowyn, from Christina Szrama (pictured above)

Dripping With Holiness, from Laura Boggs

Hutchmoot 2010, from The Grouchy Ladybug

Taste and See That the Lord is Good, Dan K

Counting Stars, from Dan K

Sigh, from Kelli

A Bit More, from Kelli

Hutchmoot cartoon pt 1, from John Haney

Hutchmoot cartoon pt 2, from John Haney

Hutchmoot, from Tricia Prinzi

What a Weekend, from Andrew Mackay

Hutchmoot Explained. Mostly, from Team Redd
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It is 2:13 AM (EST) as of this writing. I am back home in West Virginia, with my excellent wife, Gina, and our wonderful kids (all asleep, of course). I am, as the expression goes, a happy man.

I am just now returned from Nashville, where I was privileged to participate in the inaugural Hutchmoot (a conference of The Rabbit Room).

It was a tremendous event. I do not exaggerate when I say that these last few days exceeded my expectations in a great variety of ways.

I am too tired to get to all that at present, but the arch under which my joy grows is a deep thankfulness to my Father, who answered so many of my prayers with an unmistakeable “Yes.”

I intend to say more later. Happy Monday morning to you.