Lewis takes on Blake

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It’s just like me to skip the preface. I know some people who read every printed word of1409691_sunset_sky_with_dramatic_clouds a book, from the preface to the acknowledgments, from the contents to the appendix, from the teaser to the “Also by”…

Not me. Though I have my compulsions and perfectionist tendencies, those do not extend to my reading habits. Hence, in my now fourth reading of C.S. Lewis’ book, The Great Divorce, I am only now discovering the logic behind the title. I have recommended this book to dozens of people, but never followed my curiosity about the title to its logical end…read the preface.

“Blake wrote the Marriage of Heaven and Hell. I have written of their Divorce,”.

Of course, that meant I had to find out what the, Marriage of Heaven and Hell, was all about. The combination of Heaven and Hell was Blake’s ambition. Lewis’ intent was to prove their complete incompatibility. We must chose.

…in some sense or other the attempt to make that marriage is perennial. The attempt is based on the belief that reality never presents us with an absolutely unavoidable ‘either-or’; that, granted skill and patience and (above all) time enough, some way of embracing both alternatives can always be found; that mere development or adjustment or refinement will somehow turn evil into good without our being called on for a final and total rejection of anything we should like to retain.

There were a couple things contained in the brief two page preface that solidified my need to read this book again and to share it, piece by piece, with you.

First, the title revelation:
Just as in his book, The Screwtape Letters, Lewis expresses an uncanny foreknowledge, peeking right into our bedroom windows, as it were, listening to our modern discussions of morality, politics and religion. Either that, or, the same issues that plague us today were of concern to his generation as well. Issues such as absolute truth.

Absolute truth…I think that little nugget can be found at the root of nearly every philosophical debate, and certainly at the root of every religious argument. For, each side of the discussion is bent on convincing their opponent of their exclusivity of their own truth. And if there is absolute truth then one opinion is necessarily excluded.

Even those who argue, “Anything goes. What is true for you may not be true for me,” are espousing a specific, exclusive worldview – namely that subjective truth is the standard, disallowing objectivity.

We are not living in a world where all roads are radii of a circle and where all, if followed long enough, will therefore draw gradually nearer and finally meet at the centre: rather in a world where every road, after a few miles, forks into two, and each of those into two again, and at each fork you must make a decision.

As we mine the contents of this fascinating story, I challenge you to make your choice. It is either Heaven, to which there is only one objective path, or Hell. But blessed be our Savior, who being not willing that any should perish, has indeed been patient, giving each one long enough to make that critical choice.

2 Peter 3:9
“The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.”

We’ll touch on my second observation in the preface next time (:

Practice or Play

I’ve always been intrigued by drums. There’s something about percussion that seeps into my bones more deeply than the melody of a wind instrument or pleasant piano harmony. But alas, like probably most American kiddos my mom insisted that I learn to play the piano before I took up a more difficult instrument. By the time I’d completed two years of piano, I knew my own reticence to practice. So I never even tried to play the drums.

But if I did I would certainly price the dynasty drums from musicians friend.

Missing Peace, Chapter 2

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“Abby, stop scooting that thing around on the tile. It leaves black marks.”  My mom didn’t even look up from counter where she was slathering mayonnaise and mustard on 9 slices of bread. A whole baloney and cheese sandwich for her, Jennifer, Kelsey and myself. Only a half for our youngest sister, Rachelle. Lunch was always a sandwich, varying between salami, baloney and pbj.

“Mom, can you buy turkey next time? It’s lower fat.” I shoved the ugly, claw-footed piano stool back under the reception table in the kitchen, skipped to the bar and hitched my left leg up on the end barstool. It’s comfortable standing there like a pelican, on one leg.

“Did you get this new cookbook when you went to the lake with Ronda and Gwen,” I asked. A homeschooling mom of four girls, once a year, Mom tried to take a long weekend with her girl friends to recharge.

“Yes. Your dad’s cholesterol was high last time he visited the doctor. Ronda mentioned that she’s been using that low-fat, no-fat cookbook at home and the recipes are good. We won’t have to change much, because we eat pretty healthy, but I want to try and cut out a little fat for heart health.”
“Hmmm. These do look pretty good. Can I try making a couple?”

“Sure, pick one or two out and when we go to the store on Thursday I can pick up the ingredients. You’re at the age where you can really help out in the kitchen, and it’s a good skill to learn early. I sure didn’t know much about cooking when I was fourteen!”

The first thing I made was low fat chicken divan. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so obviously gross if full fat chicken divan hadn’t been one of my grandma’s signature meals.

“Well, I’m not sold on low fat food.” My dad refused seconds. “No thanks. I think I’ll just have some ice cream for dessert.”

“I picked out no fat vanilla yogurt for dessert,” I told him.

Jennifer made a face. “Is there any mint chocolate chip left from last week?”

“Probably. Will you pass me the chicken,” I pointed across the table. “I think it’s pretty good. You just have to adapt your taste buds. Less fat is healthy.” The fat free cheese sprinkled on top of the casserole had cooled and formed a brittle plastic-like sheet. And I had chosen not to grease the pan, less fat, so half of the chicken breast remained glued to the bottom of the pan.

Over the next couple weeks, my family vetoed nearly all the fat free substitutes. The cheese was rubbery. Fat free butter tasted like plastic. Skim milk looked like water.

“J,” my dad used Mom’s first initial most of the time when he wanted her attention. “I’m done with this fat free stuff. I’ll start swimming laps again for heart health, but I want to enjoy what I’m eating.”

Give me a break, I thought. I can do this. Apparently, I have more self discipline than the rest of you. In fact, I can up my workouts a little too. I’ll be the thinnest, strongest one in the family. 

And so it began. I thought I was choosing self-discipline as my niche. While others honed their skills in sports, music or academics, I employed my iron will to prove that I could be the most obsessive exerciser and eat the fewest fat grams of anyone.

“Mom, can I go to Safeway with you?” I hurriedly added peaches and instant rice to the bottom of my personal grocery list. “I want to pick up a few of my things.”

“Seriously, Abby. Why do you need ‘your’ things? Can’t you just eat what the rest of us are eating?”

“Please, Mom. I’ll pay for my own things.”

“I guess. But you have to share with everyone if someone wants it. You’re not going to label your own food in the refrigerator.”

I knew no one was going to touch my waxy, fake-food choices, so I agreed.

That night, Dad grilled chicken. That’s safe enough. I would have volunteered to make the salad, but I wanted to keep an eye on Dad. Just to make sure he did it right.

“Do you have to put that much sauce on there, Dad?” Globs of sticky, red paste dripped from the bristles of his baster. They were stiff and splayed after years of painting food yummy. Mom used the same brush for butter on the top of her homemade bread. I wonder if there is any lard still on the bristles? Will it come off and add calories to the chicken?

“I tell you what, can you just leave it off my piece? I think that brand is a little to spicy for me.”

Dad shrugged. He sat down beside me in our well worn plastic lawn chairs. The chair groaned a little beneath his frame.

I have good genes. Both Mom and Dad are relatively trim for their height. Growing up in the same small Oklahoma town, they swam together on the Phillips 66 swim team. Every single day for most of their young lives, they had logged 3-5 miles in the pool. Their affinity for activity rubbed off on their four daughters.

“After dinner can we play a game of horse?” Shooting hoops is a pretty good workout.

“That sounds fun.” Dad agreed. “But I want to let dinner settle first.”

I hate the thought of food settling heavily in my stomach.

 

Getting the word out

The are so many occasions to need someone who does vinyl banners printing. It seems kind of odd, not owning a business or having something to promote, but believe it or not, I have been thrilled on more than one occasion to know Abba Printing, in Burke, VA. They’ve made my needed signs for church Bible studies and more.

Maybe I should have them make one for Patrick’s 40th birthday! Though I’d have to save it for several years.

However, that might be the last of our anniversaries!

An abusive relationship

I am a terribly cruel sunglasses owner. My relationship with these sweet little necessities  is always short. I have been known to abandon them, crush them, abuse them and sell them. Makes me sound terrible, right?

That’s why it’s simply unreasonable for me to ever hope to own a pair of
bolle sunglasses. Fashionable as they might be, I’m sure I could never treat them right.

 

A Welcome Guest, Amy Dardis

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I hate feeling disconnected from God.  And yet, there are seasons in my life, where I just allow myself to get distracted. Sometimes it’s because of sickness, sometimes it’s that I get so busy and burnt out, other times its exhaustion, and sometimes it’s just hormones. It’s something that happens gradually. I will be walking closely with God, seeking Him in everything, and then slowly after a few weeks or months, I notice the change. I become more irritable, easily frustrated, distracted, and feel lost. I get that feeling like my life isn’t moving forward and I just don’t know how to get out of my rut.

To read more from Amy, visit Haven Journal, here.

 

Bum cushion

Prior to the Jeep, my husband has played with many expensive, big-boy toys. The first, and my favorite was the motorcycle. Let me amend that, motorcycles.

He started with a  Ninja crotch rocket, then slowly fell in love a Harley. For me however, never to be the driver, pads and seats for the back end of the bikes were very important.

 

Foundations of Fitness

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Hello Friends! I’m inviting you to join me over at Haven Journal today. Here’s a taste, follow the link to get more!

My dad was a full five bike lengths in front of me, despite the fact that his bike might as well have been made of lead compared to mine, crafted from a lighter alloy. He turned back to search for me in the slowly spreading sea of cyclists. Concern filled his eyes, but he knew better than to admonish me.

We had registered for this 60 mile bike ride in Tulsa, Oklahoma, in May, right after I returned from my first stint at Remuda Ranch, a treatment center for eating disorders. By now, a rainy, chilly, September day, I had shed most of the weight my therapists and dietitians had gently encouraged me to gain.

Malnourished and tired, I hadn’t felt well for three days, but I refused to tell my parents. If they knew I was getting sick there was no way they’d let me ride, and I would rather die than miss a chance to burn 60 miles worth of calories.

Keep reading…

(Image is the property of Haven Journal)

A happy ending

My neighbor on the end of our row of town homes likes a stellar lawn and an impeccable patio. I’ve seen him out blowtorching weeds. I’ve seen him laying large flat stones one by one to make a new walkway to his front door. I’ve even watched him swipe the sweat from his eyes as he takes the extra time to mow the widow’s lawn next door.

We’ve had a pretty wet spring. Just before most of our rains hit, I caught him weighing the wisdom of cleaning the gutters of his three level home all by himself. Finally, I’m happy to say, he conceded and found someone to do the best roof cleaning, including  the gutters.

Closing Lewis

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Did you see the movie Thor? Remember that great, impassable chasm that in the end seemed to forever separate him from his love? The movie portrays two distinct realms, the world of the gods and the world of men.

Now, truthfully, the gods of Thor, were more like men, even in the fantasy. They could do evil and good. They had rivals and equivalents, relatives and love relationships. They lied and were deceived. But Praise the Lord, our God is not such!

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the LORD.” Is. 55:8

Though it’s admittedly fiction, allow me to blow some holes in movie’s premises about gods and men.

At the close of the book, The Screwtape Letters, Lewis’ main character and narrator is blasting his nephew and protege for allowing a young man to slip through his demon fingers. The human died with full knowledge and acceptance of Christ’s substitutionary death which purchased his pardon and eternal life.

It’s interesting to consider that first moment of real life. It’s murky, a muddy puddle, to peer into the mystery that we’re told we cannot even imagine.
“However, as it is written: ‘What no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived’ — the things God has prepared for those who love him–”. 1 Cor. 2:9

But as expected, Lewis does a masterful job of imagining what that might be like. You see, though God is utterly unlike us, we were created in His image. And then, Jesus came to earth clothed in human flesh so that a perfect man could ransom the lives of wretched men.

God has allowed our worlds to overlap. In fact, from the beginning, His desire was to walk with us daily, visibly, physically. Only sin has carved this chasm between us.
“But your iniquities have separated you from your God; your sins have hidden his face from you, so that he will not hear.” Is. 59:2

But that chasm is most certainly crossable. In fact, it has been crossed already, by Jesus, so that we can be reunited with our Creator. For those of us who have humbly accepted Christ’s payment for our sins, we have the promise that we will see Him!
(1 Cor. 2:9) 19
“Therefore, brothers and sisters, since we have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus, 20 by a new and living way opened for us through the curtain, that is, his body,”. Hebrews 10:19-20

So listen to Lewis’ description of a Christian meeting his maker:

he saw Him. This animal, this thing begotten in a bed, could look on Him. What is blinding, suffocating fire to you[Wormwood, the failed demon], is now cool light to him, is clarity itself, and wears the form of a Man.

and

-that this thing of earth and slime could stand upright and converse with spirits before whom you, a spirit, could only cower.

Think of it, Friends! Think and be thrilled that it cannot be contained! Your great future, the glory of beholding His face and being able to stand before Him loved and unashamed! What magnificence! And it is not far away!
“Now to Him who is able to keep you from stumbling, and to make you stand in the presence of His glory blameless with great joy, to the only God our Savior, through Jesus Christ our Lord, be glory, majesty, dominion and authority, before all time and now and forever. Amen.” Jude 24-25

In fact, except for the physical vision of Jesus, it all ready is.
“For he raised us from the dead along with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms because we are united with Christ Jesus.” Eph. 2:6

P.S. Lewis was such fun. I think I might go very slowing through his book, The Great Divorce, with you next. What do you think?

 

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