I finished reading each of the books I received for Christmas.
The Comfort of Crows, A Backyard Year by Margaret Renkl
Absolution by Alice McDermott
The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store by James McBride
A Song Over Miskwaa Rapids by Linda Legarde Grover
The Wildest Sun, A Novel by Asha Lemmie
I read the last Maggie O’Farrell book, one of her first, I had on my shelves, My Lover’s Lover, and I even read one of the books I gave my husband, Murder Most Royal by S. J. Bennett. It was time to head to the library.
Anticipating the need to restock my shelves, I had requested a number of books and three of them were waiting for me.
Olga Dies Dreaming by Yacht Gonzales
Fault Lines by Emily Itami
Girl, Woman, Other by Bernadine Evisto
Plus, I noticed that one of the books I planned to request, Apeirogan by Colum McCann was on the shelves of my preferred library. I would nab that one, too, but first a stop at the Lucky Day shelf. Does your library have one of those?
Lucky Day books are new releases often with lots of holds on them. You never know what will be on that shelf, and you may just get lucky. I did, for The English Experience by Julie Schumacher (2023) was on my TBR list. Hurrah! The only catch with Lucky Day Books is that they can’t be renewed and one can only check out two Lucky Day items at a time.
No problem.
Schumacher is a faculty member in the Creative Writing Program and the Department of English at the University of Minnesota, and her novels are written with humor and warmth about life in academia. I thoroughly enjoyed two of her previous novels, Dear Committee Members (Winner of the Thurber Prize), 2014 and The Shakespeare Requirement, 2018.
This most recent book is set in England during a month-long study abroad program. Professor Fitger, who was strong-armed into leading the group at the last minute, accompanies eleven undergraduate students. One thinks he is actually going on a program in the Caribbean; another has never been away from her cat, and another disappears from the group immediately, heading to Paris. They all complain about Fitger’s requirement for weekly papers about their experiences, and we, the readers, can shake our heads at their meanderings and loose attempts to fulfill the homework. Fitger has his own problems to contend with, including his ex-wife who intends to move away, taking the dog they share. He is counting the days till he can return to his midwestern life.
A lovely change of pace book. Humorous, light-hearted, but also warm and insightful.
An Invitation
Has a book made you laugh outloud recently? I would love to know.
I begin most days in the area of the house I call the snug. An enclosed front porch is how it would be described in a real estate listing, I suppose. Not very big, but spacious enough for two comfortable reading chairs and two sets of bookshelves against the inside wall. A few months ago I rearranged the space to make room for a small desk.
Cozy. Full of light on sunny days. A welcoming space for beginning the day.
Before making the bed and getting dressed, I settle into the snug for my morning meditation and devotion time. Most days I am there an hour or so before moving forward into the rest of the day.
That was not the case this past Saturday.
My time in the snug began in its usual way by reading the day’s reflections in the two books I have selected to accompany me through the year. Joyce Rupp’s Fragments of Your Ancient Name, 365 Glimpses of the Divine for Daily Meditation and Margaret Silf’s Daily Readings with Margaret Silf. I have used the Rupp book before, and It is interesting to me to see what I underlined before and what resonates with me now. The Silf book is new to me, but I have loved other books by her and in 2023 I re-read one of her other books, Wayfaring, A Gospel Journey into Life.
Each reflection in the Rupp book is a “name” for God, a way to describe God, and on January 20 the name of God is “Joyful Journeyer.”
... When love accepts both ease and struggle, When prayer includes a heart of acceptance, ... When silence serves as a source of listening, When dying no longer frightens or dismays, ... Then we know how it is to engage with you As the Joyful Journeyer on our road of life.
Each line moved me deeper into stillness, pondering those hopes within me, but also how I yearn for the hope to become truthful reality in my life.
Silf quoted Mark 3:20-21. “Jesus went home, and such a crowd collected that they could not even have a meal. When his relatives heard of this they set out to take charge of him, convinced he was out of his mind.” Silf reflected on how “the ordinary cannot tolerate for long the presence of the extraordinary,” but that isn’t what struck me about these verses. Not this time.
Instead, I focused on “Jesus went home.” First of all, how glad I was that Jesus had a home and could return there. I thought about him being welcomed. I imagined him finding comfort; the kind of comfort that comes from knowing where everything is and not having to introduce yourself or even be on your best behavior, because you know you are loved.
I thought about all the times I returned home –my parents’ home and my own homes. When we lived in our country home in Ohio, I often drove or flew home to be with my parents or our daughter and her family. How fortunate I felt to be able to do that and to know they waited for me and wanted, even needed my presence. At the same time, oh, how my heart lifted as I approached once again the driveway to our beloved Sweetwater Farm. Home.
(I arrived home, but in my case the crowd that collected were all our animals always eager to be fed!)
I opened my Bible to see if I had ever underlined these verses, and I had not, but I noticed a difference in the word choice and translation. In the version Silf quotes, the word “relatives” is used, but in the New Revised Standard Version, which I read, the word is “family.” That feels so different to me. A change in intimacy and even acceptance. A difference perhaps in the way we know and see one another. I will think about that more.
I spent some time musing on these thoughts in my journal, and by that time the streetlight was off and dawn had become day. The young mom across the street had headed off to her exercise class–at least that is my guess–and several dog walkers had strolled past our house. Most days I would blow out the candle, my first companion of the day, and move into the rest of the day.
Instead, feeling chilled, I wrapped my shawl around me and read the last chapter of another book in my meditation basket, Thin Places, A Natural History of Healing and Home by Kerri ni´Dochartaigh, a memoir by an Irish woman born in Derry, on the border of North and South of Ireland at the height of the Troubles. One parent was Catholic and the other Protestant, and terror reigned around her. Not only did I learn about how it was to live during those harrowing (a word she uses frequently) times, but I thought how what she experienced is an aspect of what I imagine those in Gaza are experiencing now.
Much of the book, however, is about place and time — all places and all times.
There is a time for everything–for sowing, planting, harvesting. A time for holding on, and a time to let go. A time for sorrow, and a time for healing. More so, there is, simply, time. There is time for it all. We still have time to step in or out –of places, of relationships, of thought processes, or our own selves. Sometimes the snow will still be here on St Brigid’s Day, and sometimes we will have a year without it coming at all. There will be years when the autumn trees seem more vibrant, more sublime, than we ever remember them being before. There will be years when we have suffered so much that we can’t pick out one season from the other, never mind one day. Days when we cannot imagine ever feeling okay again, thinking that we have taken enough of it all, enough already, enough. Then, a change in the wind, the first bluebell, the smell of snow in the sky, the moment courses on, and everything has shape-shifted–everything is okay again, more than okay, maybe, even.
p. 247
Today was my time to move slowly, deliberately. Today was my time to soak myself in stillness.
My only goal was to make the bed and get dressed by noon.
I just barely accomplished that.
An Invitation
What does your Sabbath time look like? I would love to know.
Escombia County, Florida, went even further. Their new list of BANNED books includes:
Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. BANNED!
Death on the Nile by Agatha Christie. BANNED!
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. BANNED!
For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway. BANNED!
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain. BANNED!
Dr. Zhivago by Boris Pasternak. BANNED!
You might as well ban English teachers and classes.
Oh, also on the BANNED list is Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides, but that’s obvious, isn’t it? With SEX in the title. And there are the usual suspects, books by Toni Morrison, May Angelou, and Margaret Atwood. But the list also includes National Geographic Society’s Human Body Systems. Heaven forbid that young people learn about their own bodies. And five dictionaries and The Guiness Book of World Records. Huh?
These campaigns, of course, are not about books. They are about control and fear. What to do? Well, one thing is to encourage the young people in your life to read, to be curious and explore the wonders of books, and to talk with them about what they are learning and discovering. And to share your thoughts about banning books.
Why Didn’t I Think of This?
The New York Times Book Review, Sunday, January 14, published an essay about a new phenomenon called “Reading Rhythms.” Not a book club, but “a reading party.” People gather to read –whatever they are reading at the moment–and then after an hour or so they talk about what they are reading.
I’ve long believed that gathering in groups to meditate together or to write together opens a different kind of energy from doing those activities alone. But I had not considered the power of reading in groups, although I love the calm and pleasure of sitting in the same room with loved ones when we are each reading, but what an interesting idea to do that intentionally with a group of strangers or to invite friends over to read and then talk. A cozy winter activity, but I also imagine doing this outside in the summer sitting on the shore of a favorite lake.
Stay tuned–an invitation may be forthcoming.
An Invitation
What’s your favorite BANNED book? I would love to know.
More than likely, when you gather with friends or family, politics is part of the conversation. Our fears. maybe our hopes, but more than ever, our fears. Many in my circle go through periods of abstinence from the news or at least limiting time spent reading, watching, listening to commentary about recent polls, speeches, or outrageous statements made by he “who shall not be named.”
Wait a minute, he needs to be named. Loud and clear. Our fear is that Trump will be elected again. Our fear is for the survival of democracy.
This is not time for abstinence, but it is a time to be smart about what we ingest into our hearts and minds. And it is a time TO DO.
I am writing this post the day of the Iowa cacuses. I started my day, as I generally do, in the snug, reading my daily devotions, writing in my journal, meditating and praying. I have listened to NPR while getting dressed and scrolled through my inbox, which includes articles from the Washington Post and the New York Times, along with daily newsletters from Robert Hubbell, Heather Cox Richardson, and Jessica Craven, whose opinions, expertise, and knowledge I so respect. Now here I am at my desk, planning to carry on with my regularly scheduled activities.
However, this is not a time to carry on as if nothing is happening or as if “all be well.” Sorry, Julian of Norwich. Not only is today Iowa caucus day, but it is also Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. This is a time To Do.
In a recent post (January 2, 2024) in Jessica Craven’s Chop Wood, Carry Water blog, she posted her resolutions for 2024. They include:
I will do everything that I am able to do to help save democracy.
I will spread good news relentlessly.
I will ask everyone I talk to if they are registered to vote, and help them register, if they aren’t.
I will repeat the words “A vote for a third-party candidate is a vote for Trump” everywhere I can, as loudly as I can, as often as I can.
I will ignore polls.
I will stay in the day and do what I can.
I will do what I can. That means different things for different people, but for me that means participating in letter writing and postcard campaigns. Jessica Craven’s newsletter is an excellent resource for learning about those opportunities.
This weekend I spent a couple hours preparing letters and addressing envelopes to send to 50 parents of voting-age teenagers in Arizona who may not yet be registered. I copied the basic letter and added my handwritten note, following the directions. I supplied the envelopes and postage and the time. Not a big deal from my end of things, but a potential big deal when it comes to getting out the vote. (A project of The Civics Center, https://www.thecivicscenter.org/blog/tag/Arizona)
My intention is to participate in similar campaigns. This is something I can do. And I bet you can, too. Perhaps you can participate in phonebanks or can contribute money to key campaigns, too. Do what you can.
Robert Hubbell in his January 3, 2024 post responds to a reader who says “reasonable” Republicans (or independents) can support Trump. His words reinforced for me the need “to do.”
Supporting Trump means supporting someone who attempted a coup, incited an insurrection, denied women their reproductive liberty, instituted a policy of state-sanctioned discrimination against Muslims, promised to use the presidency for political ‘retribution,’ has been found by a federal judge to have committed rape, bragged about grabbing women by the genitals, mocked a reporter with a disability, threatened to pull out of NATO, retained national security documents after he left office, associates with white supremacists–and more…
It is time to declare where we stand-for or against democracy. There is no room for hesitation, doubt, false equivalencies, whataboutism, lack of enthusiasm, disagreement, disappointment, anger, or wishful thinking. And once we declare where we stand, our task is clear. We must work tirelessly to elect Joe Biden.
I must work to elect Joe Biden, and I hope you will, too.
I am grateful to Steve Garnaas-Holmes for these words of inspiration.
May my love be a guiding star for others. May my words and deeds show forth the reign of your mercy and justice. With humility and generosity may I offer the gifts you have given me. The treasure chest of my soul I open to you and the world. http://unfolding light.net
An Invitation
It is good to stay informed. It is good to lift our fears and concerns up in prayer and to pray for those who are actively engaged in saving democracy, but it is good and necessary “to do.” What will you do? I would love to know.
There were so many cocktail parties in those days. And when they were held in the afternoon we called them garden parties, but they were cocktail parties nonetheless.
You have no idea what it was like. For us. The women I mean. The wives.
p. 3
Alice McDermott‘s exquisitely, delicately written novel Absolution opens with those two spare paragraphs. It is 1963 in Vietnam, a time in history when women were apt to think of themselves as “helpmeets.” (As I type this I wonder why the word “helpmate” is not the preferred term.) It is also a time and place in history when the men are advisors, consultants to what becomes an untenable war.
But this novel is not about the men. When I was describing this novel to a group of women my age, the discussion immediately turned to the role of men, American men, in Vietnam. Interesting. When I think about novels about Vietnam, I immediately reference The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien, who, by the way, gives a glowing endorsement on the back cover of Absolution. I don’t recall one woman in that stellar and memorable novel.
Yes, there were women in Saigon, American women, and there are stories to be told.
In this case the main characters are Charlene and Patricia, whom Charlene immediately re-christens Tricia, which is an early clue into her character. Charlene is on one hand a bully, but on the other a woman who desires to “do good.” At another time in history Charlene might have become the founder of a world-class corporation, but instead she devises a scheme to raise money to distribute baskets of treats to children in hospitals and orphanages by selling “Saigon Barbies.” She enlists Tricia to help her, and newlywed Tricia, new to life in Saigon, blends passively into Charlene’s realm.
The story is told retrospectively by a much older Tricia in correspondence with Charlene’s daughter Rainey. Absolution is the act of forgiving someone for having done something wrong or sinful, and one feels that in the telling of the story so many years later. McDermott reminds us in this story that we are each more than one thing. We are a collection of complexities. Even our urges to “do good,” on wartime or personal scales, are knotty and often grow out of lack of understanding a culture or context.
Over the years I’ve enjoyed other books by McDermott, such as Charming Billy,At Weddings and Wakes, and A Bigamist’s Daughter, but this book demanded more from me. More attention. More honor. More presence. More reflection. I loved this book.
An Invitation
Can you think of a book that enlarged your perspective? I would love to know.
Wouldn’t it be nice if we had a 13th month in the year? One between December and January. A transition month in which to bring a close to tasks related to the previous year along with time to move into the new year. A month that is not attached to either year. A threshold month.
This past weekend I accomplished one of those threshold tasks. I defrocked the house of its Christmas glow, cleaned, and renewed it for these winter months. Major!
DecemberJanuary
Earlier in the week I re-read my 2023 journals, which is always a beginning of the year ritual. I wrote thank you notes, but have yet to go through the Christmas cards to change addresses, where necessary, and I am sure there are follow-up notes I will want to send after re-reading the letters.
I moved into my new weekly planner and also a new book journal and cleared off my bulletin board, but I haven’t cleaned out any drawers yet, even though my sock drawer is a mess and the kitchen drawers feel cluttered and unorganized. How many jars of outdated spices need to be tossed?
DecemberJanuary
I have had my first 2024 appointment with my spiritual director and have met with some of my directees, but I have not yet prepared the content for all of the January sessions of the writing group I facilitate. I prefer to be prepared at least a month in advance. Oh well.
I’ve made a list of people I would like to see soon, but have not yet made any dates. Nor have I made a necessary dermatology appointment, but I did have my annual physical in December. Check that off the list!
Well, you get the idea, and you probably have your own tasks that signal the end of one year and the beginning of the next.
I understand how rare it is to have complete closure before a new stage begins. The journey is continuous. Even as we grieve the loss of someone or something in our lives, we peek around the corner to an opening, a beginning, a suggestion, an idea, an entry, a new place on the labyrinth.
DecemberJanuary
You may recall that my contemplative companion during Advent and Christmas was one of the Wise Men. (See my December 5, 2023 and December 12, 2023 posts) The Wise Men prompt me to think about the gifts I can bring to the world, but they also remind me about the gift of the journey itself.
Wise one, you who have come far, ...
Do not cease following that star, whose light you have seen at his rising. ...
You will kneel in unfamiliar places, you will uncover gifts.
And you will continue to journey, to search, to look with love-lit vision.
Under that star there will always be home,
always another road, and you will never travel alone. Steve Garnaas-Holmes, www.unfoldinglight.net
And so I continue to move from 2023 to 2024. One step, one task at a time. One day at a time, and I know I do not travel alone.
One More Thought: My Word of the Year
Last year my word of the year was “beloved,” and oh, how that nurtured me, and I hope enabled me to nurture others. For awhile I thought my word for 2024 would be “dwell,” but I now think it is a pair of words.
Between Christmas and New Year’s I moved into my 2024 Book Journal, and I am ready to record each book I read in the coming year plus begin new TBR lists. Actually, in the last couple days I have recorded the first two books read this year (to be shared later this month) and have added four TBR titles: The Department of Rare Books and Special Collections by Eva Jurezyk, suggested by a friend; and three titles recommended by Ann Patchett, Girl Woman, Other by Bernardine Evaristo,Her First American by Lore Segal, and The Wife by Meg Wolitzer. The titles recommended by Ann Patchett were all published several years ago–part of her weekly “new to me” initiative.
On the first pages of my new book journal I list all the books I read in 2023: 107 novels and 38 nonfiction books. In 2022 I read 150 books, so this year’s 145 falls a bit short of that, but who’s counting. Truly, it was another year of great reading.
I also included in my new book journal the compiled list of books I have not yet read from my 2023 TBR. I hope to read them this year. There are 32 fiction and nine nonfiction books on that list. And finally, I included a list of books I acquired during the past year and have not yet read. (Nine books) I am not going to tell you how many books I acquired during the year. Some of those books were gifts and others I found in Little Free Libraries, but let’s say I helped the financial status of a number of independent bookstores.
Christmas Gift Books
Friends and family are often reluctant to give me a book, because I read so much and may have already read what they give me. This Christmas my husband asked for a list of books I would like to read, and off he went to Next Chapter Books where he bought me A Song Over Miskwaa Rapids by Linda LeGarde Grover, The Wildest Sun by Asha Lemmie, The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store by James McBride, and The Comfort of Crows by Margaret Renkl. Plus, a friend took a risk and sent me Absolution by Alice McDermott, which I am reading and loving now. Stay tuned in the coming weeks for my reviews.
Last Books of 2023
Early in December I lamented that I had only read three books so far, but my pace did pick up. I ended up reading four more books in December, plus finishing my year-long devotional reading. You Are the Beloved by Henri Bowen, compiled and edited by Gabrielle Earnshaw. That book was a gift from a friend and has been a treasured companion this past year.
I also read two mysteries by Anthony Horowitz, which I thoroughly enjoyed, The Sentence is Death and Moonflower Murders. Perhaps you’ve read Magpie Murders or watched the tv series on PBS. Finally, I read two earlier books by Maggie O’Farrell–her debut novel published in 2000, After You’d Gone and The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox, published in 2006. At first the debut novel felt overwritten, but I am glad I continued reading it and actually liked it better than the later book, which, although the story was compelling, there were missing pieces, I thought. Still O’Farrell is an amazing writer, whose Hamnet and The Marriage Portrait I hope to re-read. She has written ten books (one of the 10 is nonfiction, I Am, I Am, I Am) and I have now read eight of them. I own one of the remaining, My Lover’s Lover and will also read The Distance Between Us–soon, I hope.
Reading Intentions
I certainly don’t have an intentions about number of books to read or about spending more time reading, but I would like to hold my TBR lists a bit more lightly–to think of them as suggestions, rather than To Do lists. Also, I would like to balance my reading more between new releases (I am attracted to the glittering new books!) and older books, including the backlists of favorite or new to me authors.
My last year’s intentions, which I plan to continue, include:
Read more carefully.
Continue to use the library.
Re-read favorite books. Out of the 145 books read in 2023, only 12 of those were ones I had read before.
Keep closer track of where and from whom I get recommendations.
Continue the process of letting go of books.
An Invitation
Any book and reading intentions for 2024? I would love to know.
At the beginning of each new year, I read my journals from the year just past. What were the highlights? The gifts? How well were intentions met or were they discarded? What themes evolved during the year? And what losses were encountered along the way?
At the beginning of 2023, I was trying to shed a lingering cold, not COVID, but a cold that zapped energy and enthusiasm. I was also feeling deeply the loss of a dear friend who had died at the beginning of December. On that first day in January, 2023, I remembered how we entered 2020 totally oblivious to the pandemic about to strike our lives, and I wrote, “What losses will this year bring, for there will be some. How close to my heart will they be? How major will they be in the way I live my life? Or will I be the loss?”
Typically, I’ve entered the new year with energy for new beginnings, new projects, and eagerness to meet new or continued goals, but in recent years I’ve learned to hold expectations more lightly. Perhaps I am learning how to hold life more lightly, too. And more gratefully.
What does this have to do with the photograph of the tree on our boulevard? Well, one morning right after Christmas, I settled into the snug for morning devotions and when daylight appeared I was stunned to see the trunk of this tree and 13 others on our block wrapped in bright green rings. Soon these diseased trees will be removed. The grief has begun.
I think I am grateful, or at least I am trying to be, that we will lose these trees during the bareness of winter. Perhaps the absence of these trees during the non-leafy, non-green months will help us accept the starkness, the lack of branches arching over the street and the sidewalk. I don’t know when the tree removal people will set to work on our block, but I’m trying to use this time to prepare my heart and soul for this loss–as well as other losses, known and unknown, to come.
How do I prepare?
My day begins in stillness, in silence. These winter days it begins in the dark, as I watch the light begin to make its appearance. I whisper my first prayers of the day. “Thank you for the rest of the night. Thank you for the promise of a new day. Thank you for your presence. May I be aware of your presence in all I do and all I am. May my loved ones be aware of your presence. May all who know the losses that life brings know your presence.”
I read the day’s selection from books I have chosen to accompany the year’s pilgrimage. This year I have chosen Daily Readings with Margaret Silf, along with a book I have read before, Fragments of Your Ancient Name, 365 Glimpses of the Divine for Daily Meditation by Joyce Rupp.
A new year and another mile of the journey. Three hundred and sixty-five new chances to watch the sun rise on God’s surprises along the way. Three hundred and sixty-five windows of opportunity through which to glimpse the face of God in the rock face of everyday life.
Margaret Silf, p. 3
Your intimate presence startles my soul…
I ask for the simplest of gifts from you…
The blessing of communicating with you.
Joyce Rupp, January 1
Even as I grieve losses of the past, as well as losses tender and new, and feel the flicker of losses yet to be, the amaryllis in the snug reminds me we are each living and dying at the same time. And we are each beloved.
May this new year bring you many blessings. Happy New Year!
An Invitation
What are you bringing into the new year? I would love to know.
Last December I read at my usual rate of 10+ books. In fact, I read 13 books, including Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver and Lucy By The Sea by Elizabeth Strout, and a memoir by Frances Mayes, A Place in the World, The Meaning of Home.
This year I have read 3 books. THREE BOOKS! Granted those three, which are each books I have read and loved before, are hefty tomes, but THREE!!!! I intended to re-read another favorite, but after 100 pages I put it back on the shelf.
Before I reflect on possible reasons for this change in my reading, here are the three I did read –re-read.
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. I am not sure how many times I have read this book, but what I do know is that I will read it again and again. Maybe it will be my new Advent tradition and treat for myself.
Fresh Water for Flowers by Valerie Perrin. This is one of my favorite books, too. The main character, Violette, is a cemetery keeper in France. Love and death. Misguided love. Misunderstood love. Beautifully written.
Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. I remember reading this in 8th grade, and I think it influenced me to become an English teacher. I have not read this book since that time and now realize what I read must have been an abridgment, for at almost 500 pages this book was at times quite the slog. (Saying that feels so sacrilegious.) At other times I reveled in the language and the descriptions. I cheered Pip, the main character, but also pointed my finger at him in frustration. Dickens didn’t miss a human emotion in this book! One of the movies I have re-watched this month–while wrapping presents–was The Man Who Invented Christmas about Dickens writing A Christmas Carol. Delightful.
I started, but did not finish re-reading Possession by A. S. Byatt. I will at some point, but it felt too dense, too slow, and it demands more focus that I am able to give it at the moment. Instead, I am reading one of the mysteries by Anthony Horowitz, The Sentence Is Death, and that seems to be just what I need.
So what’s the deal with my reading this month? The usual Christmas activities and tasks have taken up the space of my usual reading time this year, I think. As I age I have less energy and in December I needed that energy in ways not normally necessary. When I haven’t been engaged with my Christmas list, I have been more inclined to watch a movie or stream a series than read a book.
Also, instead of devoting or immersing myself to a book, I am grazing.
A friend sent me a wonderful anthology, Christmas In Minnesota, edited by Marilyn Ziebarth and Brian Horrigan, and it is a seasonal treasure. Stories and essays and memoir, along with nostalgic drawings and photographs. I can dip into Christmas moments, as shared by Minnesota writers–Garrison Keillor, Susan Allen Toth, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Sinclair Lewis, Jon Hassler, Faith Sullivan and so many more. Sometimes I read an offering from beginning to end, but other times I just open the book and read a paragraph or two wherever I land. I have no intention of reading this book from cover to cover, at least not this year, but instead this book is like an unexpected encounter with a friend in the grocery store or receiving a Christmas card from someone who has not been present in my life for quite some time.
Am I concerned that the number of books read this month has plummeted from my usual number? No, not at all. I can already feel myself looking forward to wintry days devoted just to reading. But I can also feel myself loosening my grip on the number of books I read and how much time I devote to reading. At this stage of my life, I have more freedom to make those decisions in the moment.
An Invitation
Have you taken time to read this month? Is there a book you are eager to read in the new year? I would love to know.
NOTE:
I am going to take a brief holiday break, but will begin posting again on January 2.
When I was in spiritual direction training, each of our monthly sessions began in silence.
Each of us enrolled in the program entered the gathering space quietly. We greeted each other with hugs or smiles or nods of our heads and then, sitting in a circle, we sat in silence. Not just for 30 seconds, but for minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Never quite long enough for me.
I loved that time. Needed that time, and how surprising that was, for I had driven the six hours, often alone, from Cleveland to Lebanon, PA the night before and then retired to my small, dorm-like room in the retreat center. A night of silence.
How could I desire yet more silence?
I recall our program director saying, “Let’s move into silence.” (That was over 25 years ago, so I can’t vouch for the complete accuracy of my memory.)
MOVE into silence. Such an interesting concept, that is. The idea that we are called to MOVE into silence. To enter silence deliberately, intentionally.
Is that what the Wise Ones did as they followed the star? Did they hold on to the reins of their camels and lumber along in silence, only nodding to one another at a moment of decision? And somehow they got just where they needed to be.
I remember another journey taken mostly in silence. It was December of 2002, almost Christmas, and I was driving by myself, as I often did, from Cleveland to Minnesota. My mother was dying of colon cancer, and it was clear this would be her last Christmas. She seemed to be doing well at the moment, but I knew how quickly that could change.
Normally, I listened to the radio in the car, following the NPR stations as I drove that 14 hour journey. Sometimes I listened to an audio book. On that trip, however, I drove in silence much of the time. I thought about what I would say at my mother’s funeral. I conversed with God about all that had occurred in recent months, but most of the time I just drove. I moved forward in silence, into silence.
The silence helped prepare me for whatever was ahead.
Each Wednesday evening during Advent our congregation gathers for evening prayer, and during the service we sit in silence two different times. A gong is struck, an invitation to move into silence, and other than a child’s squeaks or the brief rustling as we settle into the quiet, the sanctuary is silent.
We are silent together.
Perhaps the time until the gentle tinkling of the bells signals the transition from silence to the next stage of the service feels long for some of those present. It is never long enough for me, even though much of my days are spent in silence, working at my desk, reading in the snug, meditating at the beginning of the day. There is something different about sitting in silence with others, however.
When we are silent together, we create silence and respond to silence, enlarging and deepening it. We rest in it, but also awaken to its gifts. I am aware of the breathing around me and feel supported by that life. I sense the Presence among us.
I felt that when I sat in silence with my spiritual direction colleagues all those years ago. I feel that at the beginning of a spiritual direction session when my directee and I sit in silence. And I feel that way Wednesday evenings when we sit in silence in the barely lit sanctuary.
I suspect the Wise Ones felt that as they followed the star in silence. Perhaps the camels were even silent.
May you create space in your life for the gift of silence.
An Invitation
What role does silence play in your life? I would love to know.
NOTE:
I will post on Thursday, December 21, but then will take a week off to honor the Christmas holiday. I will return the week of January 1.
Living on Life's Labyrinth 