As if we were having a real conversation

As if we were having a real conversation, and you cared about those things that were occupying me yesterday, all the little gossips concerning my own life.

I went for the eye exam on Friday. It was a totally new experience for me, and I found out only later that I was over half-an-hour late for my appointment. I discovered my lateness on my own, and I almost wish someone there had told me I was late, so I'd know whether it was noted in my file.

One thing you will learn about me is that I hate being late. Why? Because I hate the idea of inconveniencing anyone in this whole entire world. It is not my job to inconvenience you. It is my purpose to make things easier, not harder. It is my intention to treat you as though you were the most important person in the world. Why? Because you are. You, whoever you are, are the most important person in the world. To who?

I think you know the answer to that one.

I turn again to Psalm 139 (NASB):

O LORD, Thou hast searched me and known me.

Thou dost know when I sit down and when I rise up;

Thou dost understand my thought from afar.

Thou dost scrutinize my path and my lying down,

And art intimately acquainted with all my ways.

Even before there is a word on my tongue,

Behold, O Lord, Thou dost know it all.

Thou hast enclosed me behind and before,

And laid Thy hand upon me.

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;

It is too high, I cannot attain to it.

But what God does is He refines you until you forget all about yourself. I haven't forgotten about myself yet. I wish I could. And this, the first few verses of Psalm 139, will be next on my list of verses to memorize.

Those glasses...He said I needed glasses only in the evenings, but I think I need them whenever I'm inside. He said I should wear them whenever they made me more comfortable. At church yesterday I kept thinking, "I need them now. This is one of those situations where I need them. I need them whenever I am talking to you, or listening, and these almost imperceptible dark shadows go leaping across the room." I never realized before how often my eyes were strained.

I have to wait for the call to get my glasses, and I wonder if, when I get them, I will realize that I've made a mistake, chosen the wrong frames. Will the discomfort of wearing the glasses outweigh the comfort of not straining my eyes. Which, will it turn out, causes the greatest headache?

And those appointments that I've been missing? I've started taking Ginko Biloba even though I mistrust vitamin supplements, hoping that I will regain some of that short-term memory I seem to be losing with age.

We are humbled every day by things we think we ought to be able to do on our own and without any help. We are crippled when we don't admit we need it. Help, that is. And I am encouraged by this...

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. II Corinthians 4:16-17

And when I am distressed I think of all of creation groaning.

Good day today, for this shall be a day with friends, and there is work to do, but somehow and someway it will be done. And we are all in this together, though sometimes we may forget it. And so the day begins...and I love the beginning of each new day.

Impulsive, yes, Impulsive, but not really

...reading this book, and I admit again and again, that there is something lacking in my understanding such that I don't always recognize or appreciate satire. I confess to you that I did not enjoy that book, what was it called? The one that Walker Percy wrote the introduction to, which was supposed to be this great comic novel...The name that would not come to me, but his book, Percy's, which was sitting on my shelf, if only I would to to it and open its contents.

I will be writing in fragments, things better relegated to the pages of my own journal than published on the web for anyone to see. Because writing carefully and consciously is too difficult, and this stand-still I have been facing must be remedied. I have called this thing a journal after all.

A Confederacy of Dunces, and I read it but didn't understand what all the fuss was about, or why it was supposed to be humorous to listen to some man's pompous negativities and odd adventures. And clearly I didn't get it the way others had. What was lacking?

I remember that line from Good Neighbors, when Margot, realizing that she has not sense of humor whatsover asks..."Someone please tell me...why is it funny?" Margot, oh Margot, sometimes I want to ask the very same question. What is it in this novel that I am entirely missing?

And you may think that I'm asking this rhetorically, or mocking somehow, but really it is a sincere question...this world being so bewildering at times and I just don't get it.

...listening to the sounds of the dishwasher, running in the other room, and the children flying about the house while I sit behind my closed door. It is morning, and my husband is caring for the children while I sit here reading and thinking and avoiding writing, only I can avoid it no longer. It is time to break out of this aimlessness.

Only the writing now must be aimless, but maybe it will speak to someone. Maybe you needed to read this this morning, or maybe I needed only to write it... It's like a puff of air from one of those air canisters.  You know, the kind you use to clear your computers keyboard of all the dust, and pet hair, and remnants of the shells of nuts you thoughtlessly consumed while watching TV.

I haven't done enough of this drifting, and sometimes drifting is entirely necessary. And why must I subject anyone to this? I don't know, but somehow I must.

Reading Wayne Booth and I don't get it. Sometimes I do, but this morning I do not.

A tangle. I can live with a tangle. A jumble may eventually release your creativity. Or constrain it. I haven't decided which.

Impulsive. Yes, impulsive, but not really.

Really it is under control, and I am merely blowing out the dust.

And I can hear the water in the pipes behind me, making noises because the dishwasher has emptied itself of water...

Notes from Kelly

• My friends now have me desperate for a pinterest account, and I have to wait. Less than 24 hours ago I wasn't even slightly interested, and now I'm just waiting for that invitation to come to my inbox because I realized I could pin art and architecture, and figure out some things about my personal style.

• Levi Weaver is giving away one of his albums today only (2/16/12). I jumped on that because I've been listening to some of his music on grooveshark, and wanted to free some of it from my laptop computer. It's nice being able to listen to music online, but since we don't have the sort of setup to expand our musical universe, it's good to have a format that can be loaded onto an mp3 player. Besides which, the only chance I really have to listen to music is while walking the dog. Earlier this morning I spent my precious music money on his live album, most of which can be listened to here.

• I'm trying to listen while I write, as well as get this thing posted before his free music offer expires, so I'll lastly share with you my most recent favorite blog Old House Dreams. I don't know if you know this about me, but I am curious about the internal structure of just about every house I see, so long as it isn't a garden home. I'm not particularly interested in those. Old House Dreams feeds that curiosity, as well as reminding me how interesting restoration and period detailing can be. I do have a degree in interior design after all.

• I think it would be really fun to work on a big restoration project with someone who really knows their stuff.

Data Entry

To me there is something very satisfying about data entry. I know it's weird, but I like it.  With data entry you sort of know that there is going to be a beginning, a middle, and an end, and I find that sort of definition comforting.

Just for Jim...

...a regrettably brief review from when I read That Hideous Strength last summer.


That Hideous Strength by C.S. Lewis
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

One of my favorite books of all time. I was amazed upon this reading at how much of the story I had forgotten. The contents of the objective room and Arthur and Camille's attitude towards weather were actually my firmest memories. I also realized how much of Lewis's non-fiction writing was inter-woven throughout as I encountered themes that he wrote about throughout his career. That should come as no surprise considering how integrated was both his philosophy and his theology.

Also, I love this book because at moments the story is very strange. I'll have to locate my own copy of the book and read it again sometime in the next several years.

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A Review of *Out of the Silent Planet*...

...which I read in a matter of two days, and it only took me that long because of inevitable interruption. I hardly believe in moderation in the course of reading. I flirted with the idea of telling you the entire story earlier today (why I picked the book up, why I had to stop reading at 2:00 in the afternoon, etc.), but you will have to content yourself with only a brief review. This review is adapted from one that was published on GoodReads only moments before:

Out of the Silent Planet by C.S. Lewis
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

First I realized that I never could have read this book when I was any  younger. I lacked the patience, and could never have converted Lewis's descriptions into visualizations of thought. I was a great lover of dialogue in those days, and could not tolerate long expanses of description. It is a wonder I ever got through *Parelandra,* and no wonder I gained little from the experience.

This is a work of science fiction--and all that description implies. It is also a bit of a theological fancy. Makes for a great story of course.

Lewis envisions a society totally unlike ours, but similar to what ours might have been like, and then introduces elements of our own society as distorted by the fall of mankind, introduces them as a stranger would, in fact. You must, of course, read the book to find out what happens in consequence.

This book was of course wonderful, and I certainly suggest you read it.. I don't love it like I love *That Hideous Strength,* the third and final volume in the series, but still I say that it was very good. I like the way Lewis reveals himself as... at the end. I shall not say, for it might just spoil the book.

No really, the Lewis bit is only incidental to the rest of the narrative, but I like it. And it ties the book in more clearly with the first chapter of *Perelandra,* which has long been my favorite chapter of that particular book. Oh, yes, I love, love, love that first chapter. I have even quoted it from time to time.

I look forward to reading the whole book [*Perelandra*]in full again now that I am old enough to appreciate it as I never could have in my youth. I'm reminded of the inscription at the beginning of *The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe,* which I first read when I was very young...and needs must quote here at some much later date.

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Madeleine L'Engle!

I just finished reading The Irrational Season by Madeleine L'Engle, and I'm still caught up in it. This book is just washing over me like what? Like rain?--Like--I can't even tell you what the book is about because I'm so caught up in gushing over it. All the same, I reprint the content of my review here, if only for your amusement. She's an interesting woman, that's for sure, and probably the most thoroughly feminine writer that I've ever tolerated, much less loved:

The Irrational Season by Madeleine L'Engle
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Oh, I loved it and I love her. She's a challenge, and no mistake. I'm a big fan of complete and utter honesty, and yet L'Engle is sometimes a little too honest even for me. Some of her theology is a mite odd, but she is so incredibly real, and speaks to me in terms I can understand that might seem a bit too intuitive to some folks, but L'Engle must have been okay with that.

L'Engle embraces mystery. That's what I like best about her. She confesses her lifelong bouts with atheism, and yet her theism is more real than some people's sincerest belief, and that is one of the things that appeals to me about her. And her understanding--she understands so much.

Still sometimes she says things I had rather she didn't say.

This is a completely unhelpful review. If you've read much of her non-fiction you already know what her writing is like. Her mind flits from idea to idea, and she captures this beautifully on paper. Her writing is less rigorously structured than most, and yet she circles around certain ideas, repeating phrases, repeating her idea's patterns to form a meditation on what it means to be God's creature.

Mostly she writes about the sadness and pain of living in a world corrupted. She has reproduced her own poetry liberally throughout. So much of this book is autobiographical, in fact that is probably its official category, but L'Engle said that all of her writing was autobiographical, because in order to write something she had to know it, know it intimately, personally and well.

Like I said, not a useful review, but I think Madeleine L'Engle was a marvelous person, who wrote a marvelous book, and this one has me wanting to read or reread everything the woman ever wrote. And that is that.

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Morning has Come

I was going to save this until tomorrow, but have decided to go ahead and publish it anyhow.

I've told you that I feel tremendous relief with this being a new year and all. I told Michael how I did not understand why I would feel miserable in November and December, then suddenly hopeful with the turning of the year, but the Madeleine L'Engle selection I've already shared with you this week sort of answers that question for me. The chapter of The Irrational Season that I quoted from takes it's title from Romans 13:12, "The night is far spent," where L'Engle speaks of advent, the beginning of a new year according to the liturgical church calendar:

In the Christian Church these weeks leading up to Christmas, this dark beginning of our new near, is also traditionally the time of thinking of last things, of the 'eschaton,' the end.

The night is far spent. The day is at hand (2).

People are so often sad at Christmas. They miss their loved ones who are gone. They miss the sunlight, slogging through days that are so often dark and gray. Most of us miss out on fresh air entirely as we spend our few and precious daylight hours locked away inside an office building, behind a desk. The Thanksgiving and Christmas seasons are hard, hard, hard. There's all the pressure of decorating your house if you have a family, buying presents using money you may not have, accumulating debts: debts of money, of sleep, of routine.

What I never knew before is that with the turning of the year the days are getting longer. I start feeling like I can work again. I start remembering how to keep track of all those little details I must keep track of: the contents of the pantry, the history of our lives documented in receipts. Organization at home becomes just a little easier.

It amazes me that for nine months out of the year I have little difficulty tracking all the details associated with spending. No problem paying the bills. No problem filling out the spending log. No problem doing desk work in the middle of the day. There are three months in the year when the task become virtually impossible. Why? Because of darkness. Because of all the extra tasks associated with the season, when I have a hard enough time coping with the regular day-to-day.

We had a Christmas tree, assembled in our living room, decorated by my children, the first purposed Christmas tree I have had in five years of my first-born's life. I couldn't manage anything else, the boxes remained scattered around for the entirety of the season. The kitchen never got quite clean. Presents were wrapped a few short hours before they were opened. But we had Christmas lights inside our house and we had a Christmas tree. This was a huge deal for me.

But look at Romans 13:11-12 with me for a moment:

And do this, understanding the present time. The hour has come for you to wake up from your slumber, because our salvation is nearer now than when we first believed. The night is nearly over; the day is almost here. So let us put aside the deeds of darkness and put on the armor of light (NIV).

I'll let you find the context for yourself. The point I'm making here is that somehow, and quite miraculously, the dark night of the holiday season is now over. I think we Christians celebrate the birth of Jesus at this time because his was the light which came to illuminate our darkness. Now the new year has begun, and not just symbolically, but also in actuality, we move into the light. Often I think that all of life, God's ordering of the seasons, is a metaphor for our relationship with Him. I think that people who work the land know this better than we do, those whose every activity is governed by sun and rain and wind.

Moving from the sacred from the profane (though if all of life is a metaphor as I've proposed, then all of life becomes more obviously sacred), I'm still behind from 2011. I still have this mountain of work on top of me, and the mountain is growing. Even when I have the unfortunately rare, disciplined day in which I work with a will toward accomplishing my goals, a confluence of events prevents the progress that I crave. The timing of certain things has not yet begun to work out well for me this year. Last night I went to bed feeling buried.

This morning I still feel buried. I'm praying, "God, I can't do this job, but You can. You can get me through this day, help me organize my time to make tomorrow a little better. Because today there is too much and I won't be able to do it all."

You take one step. And then you recalculate quickly, or slowly, then take another. At least that is the plan. If necessary, you break every task down into fifteen minutes increments, and take a break ever forty-five, if you're following the flylady plan. I don't, typically, but when I've had to, it's worked a treat.

When this is published finally tomorrow, maybe I'll be feeling a little better. Maybe things will be just a little less a mess. It is January now, which means it is just that little bit easier for me to hope.

Spiritualizing Bill Bryson on the Brits

I read something else I thought delightful earlier this week, on a sunny afternoon before the cold came. Another day, another quoted passage, this one from Bill Bryson's book, Notes from a Small Island:

One of the charms of the British is that they have so little idea of their own virtues, and nowhere is this more true than with their happiness. You will laugh to hear me say it, but they are the happiest people on earth. Honestly. Watch any two Britons in conversation and see how long it is before they smile or laugh over some joke or pleasantry. It won't be more than a few seconds....

And the British are so easy to please. It is the most extraordinary thing. They actually like their pleasures small. That is why so many of their treats--tea cakes, scones, crumpets, rock cakes, rich tea biscuits, fruit Shrewsburys--are so cautiously flavorful. They are the only people in the world who think of jam and currants as thrilling constituents of a pudding or cake. Offer them something genuinely tempting--a slice of gateau or a choice of chocolates from a box--and they will nearly always hesitate and begin to worry that it's unwarranted and excessive, as if any pleasure beyond a very modest threshold is vaguely unseemly.

"Oh, I shouldn't really," they say.

"Oh, go on," you prod encouragingly.

"Well, just a small one then ," they say and dartingly take a small one, and then get a look as if they have just done something terribly devilish. All this is completely alien to the American mind. To an American the whole purpose of living, the one constant confirmation of continued existence, is to cram as much sensual pleasure as possible into one's mouth more or less continuously. Gratification, instant and lavish, is a birthright. You might as well say "Oh, I shouldn't really" if someone tells you to take a deep breath.

I used to be puzzled by the curious attitude of the British to pleasure, and that tireless, dogged optimism of theirs that allowed them to attach an upbeat turn of phrase to the direst inadequacies--"Mustn't grumble," "It makes a change," "You could do worse," " It's not much, but it's cheap and cheerful," "Well, it was quite nice"--but gradually I came around to their way of thinking and my life has never been happier. I remember finding myself sitting in damp clothes in a cold cafe on a dreary seaside promenade and being presented with a cup of tea and a tea cake and going, "Ooh, lovely!" and I knew then that the process had started. Before long I came to regard all kinds of activities--asking for more toast in a hotel, buying wool-rich socks at Marks & Spencer, getting two pairs of pants when I really needed only one--as something daring, very nearly illicit. My life become immensely richer (79-80).

I have no idea at all whether any of this is true of Britons. Bryson could even mock this idea of small pleasures and I might never notice (by which I do not mean to imply that he is). All the same I find this passage inspiring and have read it several times already, even before typing it up this evening. Somehow it reminds me of Bonhoeffer, who says our only good as Christians is Christ, implying that every other joy we experience is extra and mediated through Him. It reminds me of Kierkegaard's Knight of Faith. It is almost as though Bryson were describing a quality of life developed through praise.

I see connections in my reading I could never have planned. I've been reading 31 Days of Praise by Ruth Meyer lately, and have even given copies to certain members of my husband's family. It' is a lovely little book and full of truth. Living a life of praise makes one available to simpler pleasures. Though it isn't intrinsic to my nature as an introvert, as a melancholy being given to overindulgence in self-examination, I begin to value praise, and I see something valuable in the attitude Bryson describes, not guilt but exuberance. I wait to see God's glory revealed at every turn.

Why I'm So Excited about the New Year

A. I hate it when people post extensive quotations on their blogs. I hardly ever read them. I hate it even more when they post very short quotations on their blogs with little or no comment.

B. I am going to post an extensive quotation on my blog. I was reading Madeline L'Engle this afternoon, a woman who astounds me with her insight right down into the middle of my soul, and the peculiar way that God made me. 

It's funny how so much of my reading these days seems to have come down to me right from the mouth of God, right into my questions and my longings. Even if no one in the entire world ever understood me, God does. And I am so very tired of being misunderstood.

You know if you've been reading my blog, or my facebook profile, that I struggle with depression during the winter months. The short days seem to suck the life right out of me, and there are many times in the dark and cold when I am sad, or anxious, or afraid. According to what I just read, it isn't only Seasonal Affective Disorder or a chemical imbalance that is to blame. It is something so much deeper than that.

Madeleine L'Engle, from The Irrational Season:

A new year can begin only because the old year ends. In northern climates this is especially apparent. As rain turns to snow, puddles to ice, the sun rises later and sets earlier; and each day it climbs less high in the sky. One time when I went with my children to the planetarium I was fascinated to hear the lecturer say that the primitive people used to watch the sun drop lower on the horizon in great terror, because they were afraid that one day it was going to go so low that it would never rise again; they would be left in unremitting night. There would be weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, and a terror of great darkness would fall upon them. And then, just as it seemed that there would never be another dawn, the sun would start to  come back; each day it would rise higher, set later.

Somewhere in the depths of our unconsciousness we share that primordial fear, and when there is the first indication that the days are going to lengthen, our hearts, too, lift with relief. The end has not come: joy! and so a new year makes its birth known (2, my emphasis).

L'Engle is rather mystical, but then again, so am I. I have always been a big believer in new beginnings, in meaning that is transmitted to us through everything we see, everything we experience, everything we taste. God speaks of Himself to us in this. I am thrilled by the turning of the year, even if the rhythm of the days hasn't changed, or our circumstances, or our surroundings. It's a new year. All has been made new.

If you tell me that the turning of the year is merely symbolic, I ask you what a symbol is if not a representation of truth? I make no claim that every symbol is authentic, that it definitionally means what it claims to. On the other hand, the fact that we call something a symbol does not mean that it is not real, that it is imaginary by default. For a moment L'Engle helps me to understand why this is so.

She goes on to say something in the next paragraph that resonates with me this afternoon, something I have thought over and over again, but I'll save it for another day. This may be a week of quotations.

It's the end of the year, and I'm thinking about all sorts of things, trying to do a little planning, hoping to make the most of 2012.  I'm thinking about doing some gardening and yard work this year, trying to figure out what the heck I'm supposed to be doing to jump-start my five-year-old son's formal education, hoping not to miss the special occasions for celebration that are coming.

The same old spiel: This year I would like to become a better wife and mother. I would like to begin to put the proper emphasis on managing our home: not too much, not too little. I would like to live healthily this year.

I prayed this morning for several things, having copied down I John 5:14-15 in my notebook. "This is the confidence we have in approaching God: that if we ask for anything according to His will, He hears us. And if we know that He hears us--whatever we ask--we know that we have what we asked of Him (NIV--the pronoun capitalization is mine)."

For the past couple of days I have been making decisions about what my Bible reading plan is going to be like this year, having perused this blog post yesterday.

Let me say here that I didn't read Justin Taylor's suggestions very carefully. I did not find out what the strengths or weaknesses of any of those plans were. Let me offer this suggestion:

A schedule you have to print out to follow, that fragments your reading among various books each day, is not going to hold your attention or build interest in God's Word unless you are already quite the disciplined person. If you are more like me, if you want to actually read the Bible this year and get something out of it, Keep It Simple.

I tried for years to follow one of these lovely plans, and never made it very far beyond January no matter how much wiggle-room the reading plan supplied. If you really want to read the Bible this year, this is what I recommend:

Set aside a particular time for reading every day. I don't care when it is. I started out by reading in the evening; now I prefer to do it early in the morning. Set a reasonable goal for yourself, and commit to meeting that goal most days. 

This'll be my third year to read the entire thing through.

The first year I read a few chapters each night, and read a little extra on Saturdays. I'd read two chapters from one book, and two chapters from another, unless the first book really captured my attention. Some weeks I didn't read at all, but I never let it go for more than about a week at a time without reading. You might have to be a little more strict with yourself in that regard. My goal that year was simply to get through the material. I wanted to get the words into my brain so that I could be mentally working on thenm sort of in the background.

I'd read a couple of chapters from one of the Old Testament narrative books, and a couple of chapters from the New Testament, or I'd do narrative/prophecy, or some other such combination. Whatever seemed good to me at the time. I think the key was to stick with a book until I had read it from the beginning to the end, and make sure that I covered all 66 books (in the Protestant Bible). At this point I wasn't particularly concerned about reading comprehension.

The next year I was more attentive in my reading. I found that I didn't like separating my reading between two different book as I tended to lose a sense of the book by so doing. My goal that year was to pay attention to what I read, and to write down any questions or inspirations I may have concerning the text. If you look at my notebook you'll see that my notes gradually evolved during the course of the year. I started copying down verses that became important, writing out prayers etc. The only thing I made myself do was summarize, and I was lenient with myself even in that. If I really didn't have time to summarize I didn't summarize. But most of the time I made at minimum a brief summary of what I read in each chapter. It's been a wonderful exercise for me, and has greatly enriched my experience of God.

In the past year I have begun to notice that reading a book wasn't enough. I really need to study it to know what is there. This year my goals is to study a book at a time, and not worry about how long it takes me. I tend to rush, so what I really need this year is to slow down. I also want to try to read through the entire Bible at least once this year, but this is a separate activity from study. For the reading I'm going to use a New Century Version that has been sitting on my shelf for sometime and just read. For study I will use either NIV (New International Version, which is the one I made heavy notes on last year) or NASB (New American Standard, which is the one I have used and carried around with me for the past sixteen years).

That's it. Simple. The point is not to read a certain amount in a year. The point is not to become a renowned Biblical scholar. The point is to make the Bible an integral and integrated part of your daily life.

The best way I know to do that is to make Bible reading a priority, but also to Keep It Simple.

Has anyone ever put a patent on those words?

A Review of J.P. Moreland

The following is a book review I just added to my profile on goodreads.com. It concerns Love Your God With All Your Mind: The Role of Reason on the Life of the Soul by J.P. Morleand. I'm afraid the voice was influenced by a television review I read this morning on hulu.com. I started working on a blog post yesterday that was inspired by this self-same book, but I may not get to finish that one, so here's the review:

I loved reading this book. It filled a need for a week and a half that I've been feeling for over a year: the need for someone to open the discussion of what it means to have a Christian intellectual mind. I don't think the book is perfect, not by any means, and sometimes I considered Moreland's logic to be less than convincing, mostly because he holds logic so highly, and applies it so pain-stakingly in his appologetics that he misses certain non-logical but valid objections to his case. His argumentation wasn't perfect, in other words, but I think his view of things is very sane, and useful to those who feel like they have missed something in their pursuit of a Christian education. He offers plenty of practical suggestions for the church, which he posits should be seriously considered and discussed, if not assiduously implemented (and I did have to look up the word "assiduously" to make sure I was using it correctly). In the last chapter he comes right out and says, "If you don't agree with the ideas and suggestions to follow, then at least argue about them among your brothers and sisters. Find out where and why you think I am wrong and come up with better suggestions." I love this. Moreland says, if you disagree with me, that's fine, but please take the time to figure out how and why so that you may be edified. This is exactly how I think any suggestion in any book should be read and evaluated. This book offers a useful (if slightly confusing) introduction to logical constructions. I'm pursuing supplementary material in that regard. J.P. Moreland's overall point is that every Christian ought to be equipped in such a way that they are able to think through quandaries they encounter in every area of life and hold them up to the light of truth. They must be confident in what they believe so they can be fearless (and non-defensive) in their interactions with others. And those Christians are pursuing the life of the mind should be supported in this so that they may be effective in their service to the cause of Christ.

Hastily Written Commentary on the Hustle and Bustle Associated with Christmas

I'm feeling grumpy about gift-giving. Why? First of all, I'm not very good at it. My mind and heart are not alert to notice what might make a nice gift for someone I care about, except at the most incongruous and inappropriate times. Second, I hate shopping, and the very last thing I want to do is be in a store when it is at it's busiest. Third, I am absolutely no-good rotten at planning ahead. I thought that I would be very good at it, but I'm not.

This is a problem when it comes to birthdays and at Christmas time. It just so happens that all of these things happen in our little family unit in the space of three short months. It certainly doesn't help that I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder, to top it all off. If you look at the symptoms as described on Pub MedHealth's website (linked above), you'll know quite a bit about what my life tends to feel like during the winter months. Add to that the lovely and enchanting pressures of the holidays.

But wait! What's this? Nancy Wilson wrote a true and lovely piece about gift-giving that she posted on her blog today. Reading Nancy's post doesn't exactly make me feel better, but it does give me hope that even though Christmas is often threatened with the danger of losing it's meaning and specialness, all is not loss. Gift giving isn't just about the gifts. And with Nancy's words in mind, maybe I'll get to have a better attitude about it when it comes around again this time next year.

My Love of Books Is Quite Ridiculous For the Moment, I Admit

It turns out that I have little interest in writing right now. Reading has been my focus for several weeks, and shall continue, it seems, to be so for the foreseeable future. I invite you to visit my profile on GoodReads, or to view the sidebar to the right of this post to see what I am currently reading.

The Mystery of G.K. Chesterton's Wonderful Facility with Argument

I would like to know G.K. Chesterton's secret, how he could debate with such men as George Bernard Shaw, and disagree in such a way as to criticize ideas without alienating the man. How does one learn how to do this? How can I learn to take an idea, analyze it thoroughly, and criticize its weak points, while still elevating the dignity of my opponent? I'm beginning to hate that word, opponent, as I become more and more aware of its singular negativity. I've noticed recently that it must be human-nature to see anyone who disagrees with one as an enemy to be crushed, and I wonder if therein lies the problem? Why is it so difficult to disagree as friends, with the purpose of sharpening one another, instead of seeking rhetorical annihilation? I would very much like to develop such a skill.

The desire to do so, at least that is a place to start. My Dad seems to do this well, somehow managing to make opponents into friends. Our egos are generally so fragile that we tend to take contradiction personally. A shame it is, a shame. or—A shame, it is a shame.