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Resolved to Read

Dana @ Pen and Fire4 Comments

I don’t go about New Year resolutions in any orthodox way, and I write them more to inspire than to formulate a checklist. I ignore all the advice to make resolutions that are “achievable” and “measurable”. Psh. But to each his own, and there’s certainly wisdom in being realistic. I may be neither wise nor realistic – which would explain a lot.

For the first time in (I think) ever, I put together a reading list for 2015 as an addendum to one of my resolutions. Every reader says their book list is far too long to finish in a lifetime. I concur, though I’ve never actually had any sort of list. I picked up books to read haphazardly, often on impulse, and occasionally on recommendation, since everyone’s taste is so distinct. In December, I started thinking of ways I could live more intentionally in the coming year, and since books are a significant part of my life, it struck me that I could read more intentionally too.

So I wrote down a rather rough and vague resolution.

Read widely. Read all the works of one author. Read classics. Read Christian books that deepen my understanding of God and help me live for His glory. Read for the thrill of it.

And I put together a list of books to go along with this. Looking at it holistically, it’s actually a very random mix. Oh well. Variety is the spice of life.

 

C.S. Lewis

The Four Loves
The Abolition of Man
A Grief Observed
The Great Divorce
Surprised by Joy

* Yes, I’m trying to read all his (major) books. He’s written bucket loads, so the plus is that I’ve already read a good number. But I also picked him because the blend of his life journey, profession, faith and storytelling make for a fascinating thinker. I’ve already seen bits and pieces of how his theology and worldview weave in and out of his fiction and nonfiction alike, and how the trajectory of his perspective morphs over his lifetime.

 

Classics

The Brothers Karamazov (Dostoyevsky)
Anna Karenina (Tolstoy)

 

Christian

The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment (Burroughs)
Assurance of Our Salvation (Lloyd-Jones)
The Promises of God (R.C. Sproul)
Jesus the Evangelist (Richard Phillips)
Surprised by Suffering (R.C. Sproul)
Orthodoxy (Chesterton)
One Perfect Life (MacArthur)
Alone with God (MacArthur)

* Confession: I snagged a lot of these from free Kindle book deals and they’ve been collecting digital dust. In case you were wondering how I decided on this list.

 

Fiction Fun

The Way of Kings (Brandon Sanderson)
Dune (Herbert)
Scarlet / Cress; Lunar Chronicles (Meyer)
The Sign of the Beaver (Speare)
Calico Captive (Speare)
From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler (Konigsburg)
Flipped (Draanen)
I Am the Messenger (Zusak)
Fahrenheit 451 (Bradbury)

As many new year resolutions go, they begin petering out towards the end of January. I admit, I’m slogging through Dostoyevsky right now. At my current rate, I may not get to a single other book in 2015. But now that I’ve posted this … I hope the public accountability kicks me into powering through. After all, murder and the meaning of life and all that good stuff – shouldn’t this be the sort of book that keeps you up at night?

(I know, who am I kidding?)

[photo cred]

Our Hearts Are Restless

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How I wish the heavens would thunder for you. But I wait, as the world spins on and years peel away, for God to melt the heart of stone. I can wait a lifetime; God knows I will not see a better day than that one, when the Light, slowly bleeding in now, tears across your skies like a scorched gold sunrise. Yet I live between the teeth of fear and hope. Fear that sovereign goodness and justice will cross my poor, imperfect love for you. Though I have no standing before Righteousness, no counsel to give Wisdom, no sorrow that outdoes the hell of the cross and divine desertion, I fear His glorious design will shatter me. But I hope. Hope that His Kingdom will storm into yours and raise the blood-colored Gospel flag. Hope is a small, fragile thing but we are black holes without it. When will you tear this veil, O God? As long as He gives me breath, I will plead before His gates. Like the Psalmists of old, I will hammer the halls of heaven with every appeal my weak heart can muster. Then I will sit, and wait upon the Lord. And pray. That God may splinter the shadows before your eyes. That His words—I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life—which have prodded against the steel ramparts of your mind for so long may charge through spirit and soul with holy conviction.

We are dust, yet eternity presses on our hearts. We are feeble, yet our stories glisten with splendor. They say there is no meaning, or we cannot know it, or the pervasiveness of evil denies it—but why, why, why do our very bones tremble at grace and our blood thrum for glory?

Surely, surely, there is a God whose love is better than life.

–

“You have made us for Yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You.” – Augustine

The Circus

Dana @ Pen and Fire1 Comment

They juggle ideology and guns like grim-faced jokers at a circus. Believe or die. Money can’t buy men like that, with murder strapped to their chest and convictions running red. So you’ll fight fire with fire till the whole world burns. Like slaves squabbling backstage for land and life. Like dust grasping for immortality. But eternity has no birth. Truth is a Word, and He says I AM.  Cast your knives and walk the wire, but He’s written the last act. Truth is a Word, and He became flesh. It is finished. He bled,

to cut the cord of death.

–

100 words. 

Dwindling Scenes

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Where does history go—yours
and mine? Those days when we tangled
limbs and lives. No one told me, love
is a bleeding dream: as we recklessly
whispered forever into the night.
Where does history go—with
your one-line jokes and sideway smiles?
I’m afraid I’ll find it, in this crowded room,
fading from your coffee-stained eyes.

 

Featured in Germ Magazine February 2016.

40,000 feet High: Countdown to Landing

Dana @ Pen and Fire4 Comments

It’s the most wonderful time of the year…for lists. I was on a particularly long flight last week, and some of my musings in the air just happened to fit with the Weekly Writing Challenge. Thoughts?

5. Mortality

The odds of dying in a plane crash are 1 in 11 million, but mortality thunders a little louder when you’re hurtling over the Pacific. It’s in the sloshing water glass beside me, rattling in the teeth of air turbulence. It’s in the engine roaring, the constant hum of a tin can tearing through the clouds. Perhaps the odds are for us, but I remember again my frailty.

4. Sovereignty

Martin Luther said, “Every man must do two things alone; he must do his own believing and his own dying.” This is peace: knowing He holds life and death, same as the stars bound up in the heavens.

3. Scars

Far from shore, in the quiet space between heartbeats, old scars resurface. Between dusk and sunrise, dead dreams and ghosts whisper, tauntingly.

2. Grace

Forgetting what is behind, and straining toward what is ahead.

1. Home

Where I’m from? Where my family is? Where I live? There are outposts, places of belonging, scattered across the globe. But Home—

Well, I’m not there yet.

 

A Bucket List for One

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Travel, AustraliaWe don’t get a lot of time to shut out the world completely these days, do we? We stumble, bleary-eyed, to work or school after scarfing down a questionable breakfast, spend the day sitting with or talking to people, and often enough, social plans run a road straight through our evenings. We all crave social contact but we need personal time to recharge and rejuvenate. Yet, there are all these things we are averse to doing alone, because they seem socially and culturally awkward. Or we fear it makes us look pathetic. But I think there are a few things that are worth doing alone once, for the experience and for the unexpected ways we learn and grow from them. I wouldn’t call any of these profound – but perhaps they are not effortless.

Go see a movie alone. I know some people do this, but most tend to rally up at least one other person to go with. Admittedly, I’ve loved going to the movie for years, but I’ve only ever gone alone once. I don’t think it’s an opportunity you have to look particularly hard for: you’re bound to want to see some flick one day that no one around you does. So just go. Theaters aren’t great for socializing anyway, and watching a film is a perfect solitary activity. (We all do it at home; are we just afraid to look lame in public?) When I went by myself, I loved it. I felt oddly independent, and it forced me to get over wondering what the strangers nearby thought of me (which was probably nothing).

Spend a birthday alone. Not like hide-in-a-mountain-cave sort of alone, but don’t throw any kind of celebration. Try to free up your evening and just spend time reflecting on your year. I think it’s a humbling experience, because even if we don’t like to puff it up, we’re used to a culture of big cakes and party hats, and getting a pass on selfishness for one day. Spending your “special day” alone can be a bit of a jarring but necessary reminder that the Earth will keep spinning even without your big bash. No red alerts will go off.

Travel alone. I think this one, more than the others, can give us a dose of real loneliness. Not necessarily in a bad way. Maybe in a semi-scary but thrilling way, when you step onto a plane alone and step off in an unfamiliar city where no one is waiting for you. It magnifies your senses. When we travel with others, we’re usually wrapped up in each other’s conversations and concerns. But by ourselves, we perceive so much more. We get snatches of conversations, pieces of other people’s lives. The smell of Auntie Anne’s. The flickering lights of planes in descent, mingling with the stars. The world is suddenly so big, and we are so small.

Being alone, doing things alone, humbles us. It reminds us that the world will go on just fine without us, and in these few hours (or days or weeks), no one really needs us. It’s good for our souls.

Oh, and one more thought. Dance to Taylor Swift alone. Around your kitchen in the refrigerator light. But I bet you all do that already.

The Other Half of Eternity

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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?

Vanity’s Shroud

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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.

 

Featured in Germ Magazine December 2015.

Technology: Our Slave or Tyrant?

Dana @ Pen and Fire2 Comments

technology, future

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!

[image cred]

A Portrait for Fools

Dana @ Pen and Fire3 Comments

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.

“You can play the world for a fool, but not me.”