We gather here, a faithful few, against winter’s bluster and the Devil’s sure wrath. The musty scent of old library books lifts off the shelves and percolates the room. When the clock strikes and a golden haze of light cuts through the frosted windows we bow our heads and fumble for words and wisdom. We are small minds, grasping at the rough-worn edges of Infinity. Outside, the world is tilting and plunging into hell, but we are looking for the other half of eternity. To whom shall we go? We ask, like Peter. You have the words of eternal life.
–
100 words. I like drabbles. They’re short and sweet and force you to cut bad adjectives. Thoughts?
What a strange old world,
where I’ve got one heart
but a thousand faces,
I’ve got a hundred friends
but one ticket to Vegas.
What a sad old world,
where we wear smiles
and our words are sweet,
but all we do, all we do
is love and leave.
It’s the American Dream
and it keeps beckoning,
but what will it cost me?
‘Cause my Mama said:
don’t chase what’s empty,
and my Daddy said:
honey, no dream is free.
What a cruel old world,
where we all die
and even though we know,
we still buy our drinks
and sell our souls.
If I have a son one day,
I’ll always tell him
just one more time:
if you chase anything,
chase the truth
in a world of lies.
It’s the American Dream
and it keeps beckoning,
but what will it cost me?
‘Cause my Mama said:
don’t chase what’s empty,
and my Daddy said:
honey, no dream is free.
Wearable technology is slowly but surely becoming the next Big Thing. We’ve got smart watches now, and smart clothes are making their debut, so we’ll probably all be buying smart underwear in a year or so. What a time to be alive. But it doesn’t end there – many predict that after wearables, implantables will follow. Technologies that will live inside of you. I was reading this article, which should give you a fascinating, or terrifying, view of the potential future tech landscape.
I studied Computer Science, but when it comes to technology, I’m less interested in banging out code than considering some of the more abstract issues the rapidly advancing field raises. Philosophy, morality, humanity – how does technology mold and shape our understanding of people and society? However fascinating technology gets, it doesn’t beat the startling intricacies of human nature. No surprise: God’s creations are infinitely better.
In literature, technology inspires all sorts of stories and bizarre futuristic worlds. It very well may be part of the reason dystopia has seen such a resurgence, in addition to the foolproof, mass market ploy of incorporating The Love Triangle. But the very best technology-inspired stories (I don’t want to slap on the science fiction label, because they don’t necessarily have to be) ask the hard questions. How do we hold security and freedom in proper tension when we have the ability to know and control too much through 360 cameras and chip implants? What, at the very raw core of our being, makes us human, when there are clones and emotionally intelligent robots walking the streets? And perhaps at the center of it all:
Is technology our slave or tyrant?
If you dig deeper, the question is really about the condition of our souls. Technology is a neutral thing, and it can be used for good or evil, just like nuclear energy or money. From a biblical perspective, it ought to be our slave. Our vocation as human beings is to subdue the earth and everything in it, and technology is a means to do that: to help us water the fields, keep the lights on, erect buildings, increase efficiency. It can absolutely be used and stewarded well (something I’m interested in exploring in my career, Lord willing). Yes, technology is improving the convenience and comfort of many aspects of life. I don’t need to leave the house for groceries? And here we were just thinking what a brilliant concept the supermarket was!
But from the Fall and the corruption of the human heart, it will inevitably be abused. For every good use of tech, there will be unspeakably terrible ones. The issue is not that technology makes us better or worse, but that it exposes us, perhaps in new ways. How we approach it and how we use it reveals and magnifies our brokenness. These are 2 things we cannot halt: the advance of technology, and the decay of morality. It makes for some very good storytelling, yet some very sobering realities. Is technology our slave or tyrant?
I’m afraid many people think it’s our salvation.
Maranatha.
Thoughts? I have plans to write something of a follow-up to this on the interplay between technology and characters in literature. Stay tuned!
Written for The Unreliable Narrator challenge. No explanation shall be provided, as I’m not sure I can give an adequate one. But I welcome and appreciate any thoughts and feedback. So without further adieu…
A Portrait for Fools
“Please, we worked together once.” The woman’s voice, soft and pleading, still pierced the silence like a knife tearing through sheer fabric. I felt the edge of sophistication pressed against her tone, the persuasive manipulation trembling beneath her veneer of innocence.
The guard, evidently, did not. “Ma’am, he’s had no visitors in ten years. No family, friends, nothin’. And a pretty face like yours turning up out of the blue…“ He trailed off, or his voice fell out of my earshot. Not that it mattered, because his half-dubious tone said enough. This man did not have a quarter of the backbone needed to fight her wiles.
So I readied myself: ten years was generous time for perfecting my vacant stare.
“We had, well, a history.” She spoke haltingly. Oh, her façade was good, too. We made quite a pair.
“A history?” There was the dubious tone again, but the lilt in his voice suggested that he could not suppress a spark of interest.
Fools. They put the best of minds in here and leave the weakest to watch them. I graced the emptiness with a brief smirk.
“—was imprisoned for selling secrets.”
“We worked together before that. Office job, nine-to-fives. He didn’t always live that life.” She was insistent now, perhaps endearingly so. “Well,” she paused, “I don’t think he did.”
“Miss, I understand, but—“
“You don’t! He’s got no one, and I have to, I have to—“ The rest of her words died in a spasm of gasps.
The guard’s response was lost in the sound of metal grating against metal and the jangle of heavy keys. How intriguing—the smokescreen of naiveté, the lure of gossip, and yet it was mere hysterics that made him yield. No one ever taught men how to handle a woman in tears.
And there she was. I drank in the sight of her in one swift glance. Her lipstick was still the bright, blood red shade I remember, but her raven hair was swept back in a tight conservative braid. The black lace shirt offset her long skirt, a plume of white that fell right above her ankles.
She stepped towards me cautiously. “It’s me,” she whispered. “Catherine.”
I allowed my eyes to flit across her face before I returned to looking straight past her.
“They said you lost it—after everything.” She gestured helplessly. “I couldn’t work up the will to see you. Clinically insane. I guess it saved your life. They would’ve put you in front of the firing squad. God, you shouldn’t have done it. You always had these radical notions.” She stared at me, and even though my eyes swept past her, I felt the heat in her gaze. Like the fire they stoked beneath my house. Crimson and orange tides. Black smoke.
Her voice shook, like a thin leaf quivering under a water droplet. “But this isn’t living either, is it? Just a shell, when you were once so full,” she stopped abruptly, closing her eyes and sucking in her breath, before she continued, “so full of words and dreams and fight.” She exhaled the last word forcefully.
And her face and voice and words struck a match somewhere deep inside me, like a small candle held up in a vaulted cathedral. Memories surfaced out of obscurity, rising, crashing against each other and threatening to break the emptiness on my face into something deeply human. I ground my teeth and fought against it, but how do I beat something buried in my very bones? The blood hammered loudly in my ears. Unwitting images flashed through my mind, searing the blank white walls around me with sudden color.
Our small ship tumbling against the blue-green crests as they rounded on us, salt water flying against the mast—
The black uniformed guardsmen firing, and firing, and I was wondering when the bleeding would begin—
Catherine’s raven hair whipping against my back as they closed in—
Her blood red lipstick and brown eyes—soft when we murmured lovers’ things, but cut out of steel in my last vision of her—
Sweat clung to my skin as I fought down the images, struggling to swallow them, hating that they would not die. They never died. But I held my composure. She would not see the battle. No one did. I was still a shell, a statue, to her. Clinically insane.
“I think I’m the insane one, sometimes,” she was saying. Her gaze had drifted away from my face now too. “That I haven’t let this go. Ten years, and I haven’t let this go.”
My chest constricted, like iron bars bending against my breast. But all I said was what I said to every guard who ever tried to bait me into conversation.
“Am I dying?”
And I was almost pleased. Pleased that I managed to inject the right amount of perplexity and childlike artlessness into my voice in spite of the roaring and writhing inside. But it was a hollow victory.
She did not seem startled that I spoke. “Aren’t we all?” she returned listlessly. For a brief moment, our eyes met. My chest burned.
“But you had one hell of a life, Jude.”
It was the first glimmer of her old ardor and wit. Her real self, stripped of the masks she took on. And my name, rolling off her tongue like both a conviction and a curse. Before I could think too much on it, she closed the space between us. I felt her lips press just against the edge of my mouth. Then her feather-light breath brushed the tip of my ear.
In the darkness, eternities flicker,
flaring, fading, in candlelight gasps,
until You breathed our dust to life
and bent infinity into the cords of time.
In the silence, every clock thunders,
the taunt of mortality’s countdown,
breaking our marriage to earthly things
and making alike the beggars and kings.
In the judgment, empty treasures burn
before the face of a holy blaze,
so teach us, o God, to number our days
for all that’s worthless will be swept away.
We live in a world of extreme sensory overload and nonstop schedules. Did you scroll through this post and decide it was too long of a read? I hope not, because it isn’t that long. Or maybe you just read the bolded, numbered items. Thanks for making my point – I hope you stay and read this now.
With social media, video games and TV shows on top of our life responsibilities, I think many of us lose sight of the value of good, old-fashioned reading. Remember books? Those things with paper and ink and grand stories? I encounter a lot of people who say, “I don’t have time to read.” But yes, you do! How much time do you spend on Facebook, or playing computer games? I’m not saying that those are bad things, or that you should assume a monkish lifestyle in a cave with only a library for company (as much as I love books, I’d die too). But there is time. If you make it a priority.
I have 4 simple reasons why I think we need to dust off our bookshelves and reclaim the art of reading. These aren’t coming from a highbrow literary scholar or a cynic scoffing at a generation of digital junkies. Yours truly is just an ordinary reader who finds a spark of magic beneath well-told tales and wants to share.
It gets us inside other people’s heads
Well, that sounds creepy. But I mean it. Reading is one of the best mediums for getting inside people’s heads. Even when the story and characters are fictional, the thoughts and emotions reflect a piece of the author’s own mind. Ernest Hemingway said, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” A good author pours himself into his writing.
There is something thrilling and challenging in gaining access to such a full spectrum of intimate thought. It broadens our perspective. Growing up, my worldview was largely shaped by my family, friends and teachers – the people around me who spoke into my life. And it was shaped by books. We are not God, and we do not create ex nihilo, or out of nothing, in matter or in ideas. We are taught, molded by others, and even geniuses stand on the shoulders of giants. Books opened up my eyes to a richer and wider range of thoughts from people of vastly different cultures, eras and lifestyles. It challenges us too. What is in the mind of an adulterer? A murderer? A man single-mindedly bent on vengeance? As a Christian, I want to read with discernment and avoid garbage. But I don’t think we should shy away from the gritty realities of our fallen world. If nothing else, you will understand more deeply the depravity of man, and you may be forced to examine yourself as well, because we all have the capacity to fall far and hard, if not for the grace of God.
It cultivates compassion
I was as selfish a child as they come and I had little tolerance for the shortcomings of others (I’m still working on this). Literature taught me to love flawed people, because all good characters are flawed. Of course, I don’t give all the credit to books – there was the selfless example of my parents, good friends and mentors I was blessed with, and above all, the grace of God. But I will say books taught me a great deal about loving the unlovable. Partly because I got into their heads and saw they weren’t all that unlovable once you understood them (few people are villains just for villainy’s sake) and partly because they held up a mirror to my own heart.
It inspires us
Do you remember how Sam carried Frodo up Mount Doom when he just couldn’t make it himself? When we close a great book, we are awed that the world is still going on the way it was before when everything has changed. Simply because we have this new story living inside of us. Stories inspire us – not just to nod, assent that it was good, and move on – but they inspire us to action. We won’t all get to save our friend’s life behind enemy lines and run a blade through the monsters, but there are little things that make a difference. Be faithful where you are. Reach out a hand when you see a need. And you never know, greatness may be thrust upon you one day.
Sam was just a gardener before he was a hero.
It teaches us about the Gospel
All good stories, though fictional, are echoes and dim reflections of the one Great Story. They are imperfect, because they are written by imperfect people, but they echo the themes of sacrificial love, the brokenness of sin, redemption, the ultimate triumph of good. I love reading quality fantasy. The worlds and people may not exist, but fantasy often echoes the truest themes loudest of all. It magnifies the things of the human heart that our daily lives minimize – the battle to do what is right, the value of loyalty and friendship – to an epic and grand scale. Like C.S. Lewis says in The Weight of Glory, it shows us a clearer picture of who humans really are: eternal souls that will either be glorified or damned.
Stories make me shun existentialist philosophies. They show me there is more to live for than man-made ideals and that our hearts are pressed with purpose and a desire for nobler things. We are stamped with the image of divinity, created for eternity, drawn to redemption, made for glory.
The “10 Books” Challenge has been making its rounds on social media, and I recently took part. But for someone who loves to read, pasting a list of (just) 10 books with no explanation is decidedly unsatisfying. So I created this, partly to indulge myself, partly to benefit you. I don’t know about you, but I find myself wanting to read extremely different genres depending on my strange and colorful spectrum of moods. If you’re looking for a good read of a specific nature, maybe something here will suit your fancy. Or you can tuck this away for future reference. Or you can skim my list, scoff, and move on with your life. But don’t tell me if you go with option 3.
The categories are relatively loose, and I defined them mostly after choosing the books. So don’t take the structure too seriously. There is a wide, wide range here. I can almost guarantee you won’t like every book – because you aren’t me. But I found something worthwhile in every single one, whether it was life changing, magnificently written, or simply a very good time. (My private, and secondary, ambition was that everyone would find at least one book on the list that they: have never heard of, are also totally enamored with, are severely opposed to, would add to their to-read list. Did I succeed?)
This isn’t a list of books you “must read before you die.” I don’t feel qualified to make one of those. But I will stand behind this as a list of worthy reads.
Tell me what you think. And what’s on your list?
For Your Soul
Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis: Lewis holds up bravely in the face of existential and post-modern philosophies.
The Gospel According to Jesus, John MacArthur: Cut the sugarcoating. MacArthur will bring you face to face with the Jesus who said, deny yourself, take up your cross and follow Me.
Heaven, Randy Alcorn: If you’re skeptical about this, so was I. But Alcorn is biblical, thoughtful, informative and enthusiastic about eternity in a contagious way.
The Truth of the Cross, R.C. Sproul: Sproul brings home the fullness, significance and depth of the cross. Appreciate grace all over again.
Saved in Eternity, Martyn Lloyd-Jones: Lloyd-Jones is an unparalleled expositor of Scripture – watch him tackle John 17, the High Priestly Prayer.
Outta This World
The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien: If you can’t make it through the entire series – I get it. But if you do, I hope you understand why Peter Beagle calls Tolkien the colonizer of dreams.
The Chronicles of Narnia, C.S. Lewis: Don’t be like Eustace; read the right sort of books. Like these.
The Giver, Lois Lowry: What makes us human? Lowry paints a world that is almost seductive yet terrifying.
Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Matthew Stover: You would never guess that this brilliant, sweeping tragedy rose out of the ashes of that less-than-mediocre movie. I’d venture to say: not just for diehard fans (but I sort of was one, so take it with a grain of salt).
Till We Have Faces, C.S. Lewis: It’s weird, but profound. It’s haunting and Lewis touches something deep in us.
Rollicking, Good Adventures
The Count of Monte Cristo, Alexander Dumas: This is a crazy thrilling ride. It’s not lacking in depth either.
The Scarlet Pimpernel, Emmuska Orczy: It’s like Batman during the French Revolution, sans Christopher Nolan’s dark makeover.
Mark of the Lion, Francine Rivers: Its historical Christian fiction and it comes with some common flaws of the genre. But on the whole, it’s a grand story that’ll take you back to the heyday of Rome and, I daresay, inspire you with its conviction and courage.
Howl’s Moving Castle, Diana Wynne Jones: Characters with quirk, wit, and warmth. The story is also tons of fun.
Watership Down, Richard Adams: Yes, it’s about rabbits, but it’s a better adventure story than many about humans.
Drama & Real Life
To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee: It’s a timeless ode to childhood and growing up wrapped in something noble.
The Kite Runner, Khaled Hosseini: He brings characters, in all their brokenness and feeble aspirations, to life. And I seriously envy his prose.
Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen: She understood a woman’s heart even better than the way Taylor Swift understands girls today. Lest you think it’s just the predecessor to empty-headed rom coms, Austen has plenty of social insights, satire, and highbrow humor.
The Book Thief, Markus Zusak: It’s a simple story, but it will wrench your heart out.
The Hiding Place, Corrie Ten Boom: True story, and a good one at that, about courage, faith and compassion.
Throwbacks
Nancy Drew, Carolyn Keene: When I refer to my detective novels phase back in the day, this is all I really mean.
Doctor Doolittle, Hugh Lofting: I definitely preferred talking animals to talking humans.
Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH, Robert C. O’Brien: I have fond memories of this book. Writers have really done some magic with mice – Mrs. Frisby, Reepicheep, Hermux, Redwall… Yes, I wanted a pet one.
Cedar River Daydreams, Judy Baer: Warm and cozy books with an ensemble of lovable characters. Just remember to suspend your disbelief, because they’re not much like real high school kids.
The Chronicles of Prydain, Lloyd Alexander: Classic fantasy tropes based on Welsh mythology. The princess is named Eilonwy and there’s a magical pig. You should be sold.
“A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.” – Franz Kafka
How long is twenty seconds? In a conversation, a twenty second pause is ridiculously long, palm-sweating silence. When you’re counting down to a deadline, twenty seconds run away from you faster than a man hustling a mistress out the back door when his wife returns (sorry, I think I stole this reference from an obscure line in Suits).
My roommate and I watched We Bought a Zoo last night, and it was better than I expected. Nothing shockingly original or profound, but it was a sweet story. While most of it wasn’t terribly memorable, one line in particular caught my attention and flipped a switch in my head.
“Sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of just embarrassing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it.” – Benjamin Mee
I bet we can all think of those moments—those times we mustered up that courage and did something outrageous. Or profoundly stupid. Those stories that still make us turn as red as a plum if they happened less than two years ago, but are the best stories we have to retell ten years down the road. And we can all think of the other moments—when we let the twenty seconds slip away, replacing them with a haunting what if that hangs over our heads.
Those are the big things. But it also got me to thinking: sometimes, it takes an insane amount of courage to do something small too. Because I don’t think anyone lives in a perpetual state of bravery. We’re all cowards sometimes. Or most the time. So I thought I’d come up with a brief list of things I—and you—could do with twenty seconds of courage. They’re not all big things, and something great may not always come of it, but I think they’re worthwhile.
Make someone new feel welcome. Whether it’s at church or a party, there are always these huddles of people that stick together. Step outside your comfort zone and talk to someone new, or just someone who might be left out. Lay aside convenience and comfort. You might turn someone’s day around. You might make a lifelong friend.
Hang out with someone very different from you. Maybe it’s background, beliefs, age, personality—someone you typically wouldn’t be friends with. Take the initiative and ask them to lunch or coffee. If they ask you, say yes. Learn something, and give them something to think about too.
Share the Gospel with someone. You can go cold turkey, or you can finally open up with the friend you’ve never told. You probably can’t get it all in in twenty seconds, but it’s enough of a start that it would be more awkward to run away than just finish after that.
Tell someone how much he or she means to you. You don’t have to wait until you’re writing Christmas cards, or until their birthday rolls around. Sometimes I think we do that because it feels safer. You and I are not promised tomorrow or our next breath. So go knock on their door or pick up the phone now. Or on October 12. Or on the most random date you can think of.
Show genuine kindness to someone who hurt you. I guess I subconsciously ordered these by how close someone is to you—and it’s those who are closest who can hurt you the most. So swallow the perfect insult that’s poised on your tongue. Being nasty is easy, but you will regret cruelty. You won’t regret being too kind.
These aren’t things that will make headlines. They’re more in the vein of storing up treasures in heaven than here on earth. I realized all of the five points contain the word “someone.” Doing any of these things makes you more vulnerable for the benefit of someone else. Because courage and selflessness are two sides of the same coin: it is turning away from self and focusing on others.
How long is twenty seconds? Long enough to do something brave.
Where good things linger,
like soap scents and long laughs,
and sad thoughts flee.
Where kindness warms the winter,
and love never quits on me.
There’s a shelter from my storms,
a shoulder for my tears,
and a lesson on the longing
for the Home I’ll come to
at the end of my pilgrim years.
Pen and Fire 
