Man of My Dreams

I remember reading the Anne of Green Gables series, how well it taught the lesson.  Anne turned down a silly farmer who asked her to marry him via his sister.  She said no to Gilbert who’d been her rival all through school.  She was disappointed when her best friend agreed to marry the ordinary local, Fred.  But maybe her friend Diana was onto something.  Maybe Anne’s tall, dark, handsome, charming ideal wasn’t what Anne really needed.  As fiction conveniently wends its way, Anne met with such a man at college.  They courted for months.  And in the final breathless moment when he asked her to be his wife, she realized that she’d been wrong.  Her girlhood husband list had been dreamy and foolish.  There was nothing so wrong with this man.  But her heart wasn’t in it.  The truth was, she had been meant for Gil all along, only her stubborn fantasies had kept her from accepting it. 

Having a list seemed to help me when I was in high school.  It reminded me that love and marriage were about choice, not just feelings.  I still like my lists, even if only for self-knowledge.  In my case I was over 20 years old when I realized that a man doesn’t have to have a career plan for the rest of his life to make a good husband.  Many of the men I have ever respected (including my own dad) have been hard workers, caring for others, but trying different things, or whatever work they could find.  In a changing world, myself even desiring a bit of adventure, how could I demand stability? So my list has been modified.  As I've gained humility about my own certainty of how the world should be, I've grown a bit more relaxed about some of the things.  

Never mind the unforeseen and unknown; what selfish attitude is it that tells me that I can decide what I want and demand that I get that or else?  How was that affecting my relationships with men?  Is that what marriage is about?  Is that what life is about? 

I know lots of examples of people digressing from their lists as they matured:

A friend said she’d never marry someone in the military.  Then she met her husband on a military base in Japan, and she changed her mind. 

Another friend said her husband would have to own a top hat.  Would she really turn down an otherwise perfect match because he didn’t own the ideal accessory?  (The answer was “no”, she wouldn’t turn him down!)

Some friends wrestled with more serious questions.  Could they marry someone who was not a virgin?  What if his views on finances (debt, saving, spending) was different from hers?  If God was calling her to ministry, could she marry someone who didn’t have that same calling? 

I suppose it goes both ways.  No doubt men have their own hang-ups.  One man I know struggled because his family owned many animals and the woman he was interested in had severe allergies.  I’ve heard that many men planning to be missionaries look only for women who are pursuing the same goal. 

Some of these things are generally good wisdom.  A pastor I know counsels people to marry only if they’re physically attracted to one another (successful legacy of arranged marriages notwithstanding).  I know couples who were not attracted at first, but as they proceeded with their relationships, gained such feelings.  I myself would rather not marry someone in the military because of the demands on time and loyalty.  It’s a good idea to be unified about things like money and children and ministry.  But they’re not essential.  And sometimes, especially when we’re young, we don’t know what we need.  One artist friend knew God would provide her with an artist-husband, whose soul could understand hers.  Another artist friend has been married for decades to a man who’s good with numbers instead. 

Still other friends now happily married look back and think their "lists" or ideas were lacking some significant points, like respect for parents.  

In our society we barely know what marriage is really about, let alone what makes for a good one.  Sometimes parents and mentors advise us.  Sometimes they’re just taking a guess and pioneering new territory they never ventured on in their own relationships. Some of it is good advice, general wisdom.  A lot of it is promoting self-interest.  Some of it is universally-useful advice about trusting God and loving others. 

Are there legitimate deal-breakers?  Is it wrong to have a list of things we’re looking for?  What guiding principles are there for deciding to get married?  What is marriage?  What contributes to a good marriage?  If you choose rashly at first, is there hope for a good marriage in the end? 

But the fuss we make about who to choose… 

~ Miss Austen Regrets

To God be all glory.  

Catching Fireflies

She used to love to catch fireflies, chasing around the yard on a summer evening. Those were the best days, the sun up so long, and even after dark you could stay outside because it was warm, buzzing with humidity. And she would laugh to be alive, regular brown hair bobbing as she ran, transformed by the dusk into elven innocent beauty. What could be more fetching than a girl cupping living light between her hands?

But she moved away and started growing up. She didn’t play in the mud anymore, or hold summer bugs in her palms. Butterflies were safe to land on a nearby flower and she would only watch. Dandelions were enemies to uproot, not fairies to set flying on the wind. Sitting behind a desk with a computer and a cell phone now, weeks and months went by without remembering those days of childhood glory.

A few quirks remained, nothing to hint to a judging world that anything of her elven self truly remained. As the clock displayed numbers corresponding to the month and day of her birth, she celebrated. Her clothes demonstrated an independent taste: dark earth tones punctuated every so often by a royal blue or coral. She always had something to say for a dessert that layered chocolate. And mythical monsters like Bigfoot and Nessie never lost their interest.

Then it happened. Enough of her stable, grown-up life fell away; just as she was ready to take a leap into a real responsibility the freedom of childhood reentered her life. She fled to the country, to the remnants of summer twilights under the stars. Seeds, formerly inserted in precisely dug holes round a circumscribed flower bed, flew from her hands into the fallow ground. Rain fell and she learned to dance, not shivering from the night breeze, but turning her face towards it.

Had she grown out of the child she had been, or had her world trapped her in a box of expectations and limited possibilities, a prison from which she had finally escaped?

To God be all glory.

Dancing Without Music: Tolkien on Marriage

Marriage is like dancing with no music. There is still an art, and still the beauty; there is also that dimension of more going on that you have in dancing. But instead of the music being enough to give a girl an idea of where life is going, there is none; she must simply follow. Give and take, go and come. Trust. Responsibility. Cry for help. Confidence. Smile her delight. Swing out, spin in. Submit. Dance.

The hobbits watch in dreamlike fixation as a woman beautiful beyond their experience weaves her way around the table, in and out of the kitchen, gracefully dodging a man equally unique to the hobbits: big, clumpy, capering and energetic. Styles so different, the two manage to make a fascinating dance of contrast and complement. How do they make it work? What force prevents collision?

Tom Bombadil sang about his lady when he thought no one was listening, and when he knew they were following, straining for his every word. He praised her as beautiful and trusted her to be ready with hospitality. Brave and free, each with few friends, the couple shared life and interests with each other. Perhaps many nights were spent crafting a tale to spell his lady. He gave her gifts and she did the washing. They each remained who they had been before they met, but they sacrificed things and changed also, making a brand new life together. When the hobbits asked Goldberry about her husband, she spoke with quiet respect, “He is the master.” Perhaps there is no satisfying explanation of Tom Bombadil because he was a man who needed to be known rather than described. There are no memorized steps of the dance with him. Their house is full of the comforts of community: ready beds, generous tables, and long conversation by the fire. Goldberry and Tom knew the value of relationship.

Main characters in Lord of the Rings are unmarried. Nine companions, the fellowship of the Ring, had the freedom to risk their lives and tramp across the world because they were not married. A man or two was moving towards marriage, dreaming of the woman he’d left behind. Tolkien was a real romantic, the kind who understood the pull of adventure and of chivalry, as well as of courting and of marriage. This last is not too common in literature, that real married couples would be glimpsed in story and lifted up for their simple virtue and hard submission. Immensely happy in marriage to Edith himself, this author did not shy away from representing marriage in his stories.

Another example is found in The Fellowship of the Ring before the hobbits encounter Tom Bombadil. Still in the Shire, they meet a hobbit couple, the honored Mrs. Maggot and her intimidating husband, Farmer Maggot. It’s a dreadful name to inherit, let alone acquire, so Mrs. Maggot must have loved her husband, and made the most of it. She too embodied hospitality. Spin in. Feeding a large working farm and family of sons and daughters, she didn’t mind at all to include three hungry strangers at her table, presenting them with heaping helpings of farm fare, mushrooms, and good homebrew. Farmer Maggot was a good provider, a defender of his property – maybe less because of what it grew than of whom it harbored. And when in the service of doing what was right he risked his own safety for newfound friends – this round hobbit reminiscent of the American rednecks – his wife stood at the door and cried out for her husband to be careful. Swing out. This isn’t just something people say. Do you see women encouraging their husbands to do the right thing even though it is dangerous? Do you hear people in unhappy marriages nervous about the other’s safety? No, it comes from a heart of love, natural – yes, and common but only because the simple heart of marriage is common. Isn’t that how it should be?

There are other examples, men and women whose wedded bliss was interrupted by wars, disease, or accident. Take Frodo’s parents. Rumors ran wild that Drogo didn’t get along with his wife, and that she thought his girth was too large even for a hobbit. They died together, though, out boating – and as far as the Gaffer was concerned, that was their only crime. It left Frodo to the wildness of youth, an orphaned rascal living with an extended family too big to take good care of him and to teach him responsibility. This again was the implication given by the sturdy gardener, who had carefully raised his own son under his eye and apprenticeship. What an unlikely beginning for the Ringbearer, whose sense of responsibility called him into the darkness, surrendering forever the possibility of home!

Elrond’s marriage does not appear to have been happy. His wife early (well, thousands of years into their relationship) grew weary of their home and left. Why didn’t she stay for him? Why didn’t he go with her? Should he have gone, the Halfelven whose work was so large in preserving the Middle Earth for which his father had risked much more than happiness and comfort? Should she have stayed, enduring without music, just for the following?

Many characters seem to have lost their mothers or fathers early, including Samwise, Frodo, Aragorn, Boromir & Faramir, and Eowyn & Eomer. It was a hard time, and even marriage did not guard against sorrow and loss. This is evidence that Tolkien’s ideal of marriage was not unrelated to the real world in which he moved. His stories exemplify love and commitment in the midst of the hard times to which we can relate.

Another splendid example of the exertions of marital love and the roles each person takes is the marriage of Earendil and Elwing. Earendil, on behalf of his people, sought to reach the undying lands and plead for the help of the Valar. He was lost at sea, hopeless, when his elven wife flew to him in the form of a white bird with a silmaril at her breast, and, lighting the way to Valinor, saved her husband and delivered his mission from doom. He initiated risk, and she accepted the separation and the danger. In this story the husband led the way on a mission to save the world (as all husbands should), and she supported him with strength of her own and encouragement. I believe the story goes that the couple now above Middle Earth sails till time ends, in the heavens, her silmaril doomed to light the way for all men as the evening star.

Many people in Tolkien’s tales are related to Luthien and Beren, who stole that silmaril from the crown of Morgoth. Luthien was the daughter of Thingol (a high elf, one of the first to see Valinor) and Melian (a Maia). Their marriage is another inspiration. King Thingol loved Melian and worked his whole life to make her happy. But he also respected his bride and took her advice. This position Melian wielded to moderate her husband’s temper, thereby making him the best man, father, and king that he could be. Ruling together, they preserved and protected a kingdom of peace, beauty, and, until fate started to unravel the spell of protection Melian had woven around Doriath, of justice.

Thingol and Melian’s marriage is somewhat reminiscent of Celeborn and Galadriel, both strong and wise, with strong claims to the leadership of their people. Yet they ruled peacefully side by side, together attending councils of the wise. Again they both offer hospitality, but are cautious to protect their country against harm, for love both of land and of friends inside. All the wives in Tolkien are beautiful, and all the husbands are valiant. But not all the men are wise, nor are all women hospitable. Celeborn and Galadriel represent together the best of Tolkien’s ideal. They are happy and sad, serious and celebratory. They are wise and strong, beautiful and kind. People love them and follow them, not only in war, but also in peace. Memory is important, and yet there is always curiosity to meet new things. And so it ought to be in marriage. Such I believe was Tolkien’s experience.

My favorite marriage in Tolkien is one that hadn’t yet taken place. Eowyn was independent; she was not free – not because she was a woman at home, but because she wanted things impossible for her to have. Faramir pushed, and she took a small step away. He pulled and she came close. Before she knew what was happening, the simple steps were increasing in difficulty until she cried out, “My hand is ungentle!” The princess grew frightened in the face of love and submission, though she had stood proud as the shieldmaiden of her king even against an enemy as terrible as the Lord of the Nazgul. She cried out to one who seemed to know what he was doing, who was leading her into a place where she was less confident, where her only choice was to follow. And the crying out was trust. Her heart changed, or at last she understood it. She chose freedom, stepped willingly away from her independence, and chose to love, like her partner, to see things grow well. “Then I will wed with the White Lady,” he laughed. She smiled her delight, and on the wall of the city their hands met and clasped, and they faced darkness and light together.



To God be all glory.

On Knights and Princes

"I remember the time when I liked a red coat myself very well -- and indeed, so I do still at my heart..." - Mrs. Bennet of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Women have always had a thing for men in uniform, whether it was the shining armor that bespoke defense against dragons and pagan armies, or the clean, gloved dress blues of the United States Navy today.

On the radio this week I heard an interview by Dennis Prager of Allison Armstrong. This woman has a book and website about “understanding men,” and being a woman, she is obviously comparing them to females so that women, knowing themselves, may appreciate the men in their lives. One thing she said about women is that what they need from a man is security. While few professions are more dangerous and truly insecure than defense, I argue that a woman feels more secure when she is with a man in uniform.

So it might seem strange that nearly every girl dreams of being a princess. She wants to be beautiful and important, and to have that prince at her side who will dance her into the sweet sunset. Nevertheless, a man is created to lead. Prince, being part of the hierarchy in a system of monarchy, is the romantic personification of authority. He has a kingdom at his fingertips. His people look up to and respect him. What woman would not want to be at the side of such a man? For women crave that figure in their lives that gives them direction.

In the old chivalric code, a knight seldom wed with the lady to whom he dedicated his conquests. The woman might be of a social position out of reach, or she may demonstrate the good sense that so few women are able to carry out: not joining her life with that of a man whose every day is violent risk of life. In other places I have addressed this romantic moral.

So here is my principle of Knights and Princes. When a girl or woman is rescued by a gallant man, be it from certain death, the humiliation of carrying something too heavy for her, or the common courtesy of having doors opened on her behalf, if that man is a stranger, or a brother, or a mere friend, he is a Knight, honored by all, a man who stands ready to serve and defend wherever the need is presented. (Though less relevant to my thesis, I will here add that her father, should he so deliver the maiden, is doing is high and worthy job as Guardian, Defender of the Realm.) And if he is husband or fiancé performing the deed, I name him Prince. A true lady would never call a mere knight her prince, or think of him as such, lest she be claiming another princess’ Prince.

Knights have arisen in my life this week, blessing me and coming to my aid: a neighbor of a friend relieving me from shoveling snow in 20-degree weather, a friend carrying a sign too heavy for me, a boy from church holding a door, and my brother working in my place voluntarily on this my birthday. I hereby dub them Knights.

To God be all glory.

One More Note on Miss Austen Regrets

My favorite part of the movie was when a friend, a married woman came up to Jane and told her that many women needed the encouragement that Jane Austen's books offered. Their love wasn't perfectly romantic anymore, but they could read books. (Lisa insert: maybe the books inspired the women to have a balanced view of love and marriage, or a value and lightheartedness for the friends and family and husbands and wives that they had.) The woman went on to say that God had given Jane Austen her gift for writing so that she could be such an important encouragement in the world - even if it meant that Jane couldn't be married. That way she could still impart her gifts to the world. Jane's life had meaning and purpose.

With all the happily ever afters we all love in Jane Austen's novels, it is encouraging for single girls to occasionally hear a story where the girl doesn't end up with the handsome prince, but her life was still good and worth something. Don't worry; I know my life means something. It is just nice to hear the stories, to see an unmarried life in a romanticist-inspired light.

To God be all glory.

Poetry Month?

Impossible that it's ten o'clock. April is poetry month, so I'm told. Happily I already celebrated unknowingly by spending time with some friends passing Longfellow back and forth. Our favorite was either "Maidenhood" or "The Village Blacksmith." When I was in school my mom/teacher made me write poems. On demand. Come on! Inspiration does not come at my beckoning. And how often do I feel inspired without any words to express the perfectly poetic sentiment of my day? I think that's what I mean by "romanticism." Anyway, I did so want to write a poem for my sentiments, and it is poetry month, so I gave myself the assignment and resorted to the means I used to complete my high school English assignments: list what strikes you as poetic about your thoughts today, and form them into some sort of verse. Except they used to rhyme. So ignore my ridiculous form. And forgive the fact that the strongest point of my poetry is using words with precision, but not so much creativity or parallel.

Friday afternoon, mind swimming with Synonyms
For diligence and self control, perseverance and temperance
I’d rather think of poetry, of rain and wind and crashing seas
Scottish shores and Celtic tunes, flutes and violins wailing.

Sitting to think and compose and to focus,
I lie back against the pillow on my bed,
Fully awake, I let my eyes close
Mysteriously, just being, with a hand above my head.

Missing my friends, strange loneliness dull
As the soft throb of my heart behind
High, keen thrills of longing and wishing
Ready for a change and afraid of what it might be

Needing one to excite me, to share
The passion of a poem, a truth, or a care
Tears are more fitting for the sorrow of life
And days still come with love and laughter

Sisters eating cookies together, not looking at each other
Barely talking, but just being
Existing, Individuals not stories
Being personal and together

Books are exciting, words speak for themselves
Metaphors alternately dry or compelling
History the truest voice into my need
Casually combines love, war, and theology.

That's it. Are you a real poet? What do you have to share?

Oh, by the way - I found this real sonnet by an authentic poet, and I bookmarked it on del.icio.us today. My wordpress has a pathetic sidebar link to my recent del.icio.us tags - most of which are not so recent. I say that and then trying to retrieve the link, del.icio.us isn't working. But I'm sure it will be sometime.

To God be all glory.

"Falling" in Respect

There is a popular marriage book called Love and Respect. All my dear married friends talk about the subject. Women need love. Men need respect. Respect is more than words. A wife wants to hear her husband say “I love you,” (and men don’t mind hearing their wives say it, I suspect). She also needs his love to be demonstrated. Likewise respect must be lived out.

Respect is an attitude. It’s how a woman talks about a man, or her attitude when he’s talking to her. Things she refrains from saying or doing can be as important to demonstrating respect as what she says. Even when he isn’t there, a wife can respect her husband by the things she tells about him and the way she tells them to her girlfriends or children. Respect is important to a man, just like being cherished is important to a woman.

For example, a counselor (author of the book?) once heard a wife tell him that she loved her husband, but couldn’t respect him. He reversed the question and asked how she would feel if her husband confessed that he respects her, but just doesn’t love her. Obviously she would be devastated. The implication is that a man is equally devastated to hear that his wife doesn’t respect him.

Yet our society considers love a prerequisite for marriage, and so judges a man who doesn’t love his wife. Respect is often something a wife never considered. She didn’t know she was failing. She thought she was respectful, taking literally the phrase, “all due respect.” If her husband was communicative, he may have mentioned his desire for respect, at which point she got defensive, and considered him most unfair. If he wanted respect, maybe he married the wrong woman. After all, he is the same man who (insert ridiculous quirk or character flaw here).

What does a wife do if she cannot respect the man because he is not respectable? There are many testimonies to the change wrought in a man, even after years of marriage, when a woman chooses to respect him. Picking the things that are admirable in his character, she praised that to him and to others. She prioritized her life around the things that were important to him. In Wives and Daughters, the soon to be Mrs. Gibson asks Molly to tell her all her father’s little likes and dislikes, so that she can be a pleasing wife. The first thing Molly tells her, however, is something that Mrs. Gibson sets out to “cure.” Her behavior did not show respect. The villain in Wives and Daughters, a very human and almost pitiable Mr. Preston, is by no means a respectable man, but Molly appeals to him as though he were, and goads him on to more honorable behavior.

I think this dilemma of being married to a man you don’t respect is a symptom of our dating culture. Our paths to marriage have been all about falling in love. How many girls fall in love with someone and feel like the dad on Stepmom, that marriage is the next step? The hurting son in the movie asks his dad if, since a husband and wife can ‘fall out of love,’ can a parent can fall out of love with his kids? Love is a choice. I believe that, and think the dad was wrong to divorce his wife.

What if he had “fallen” in respect with his wife? Think of a man sitting in a field plucking petals: she respects me, she respects me not… However, respect is more obviously a choice.

Our modernized fairy tales are full of falling in love. I’m a romantic, and I appreciate Disney’s animated fairy tales. But don’t they have more resemblance to Sir Walter Scott than to Grimm’s? Think about the original versions of fairy tales you know.

Take Sleeping Beauty. A man risks everything for her, and she without even really knowing him delights to be his bride. Why?

Cinderella knows the prince’s character, and they share a romantic enchantment for a few hours one night before he scours the kingdom to claim her. Aside from the obvious appeal of a maid marrying a prince, why would she do that? If she were a romantic, would an evening’s dance be sufficient?

Beauty – is she won over by the love of the Beast in the original tale? What about Snow White – seemingly romantic, singing someday my prince will come – ultimately married to a man whose fascination with her beauty jolts her into life again – literally.

Snow White and Rose Red is perhaps the most romantic fairy tale, its hero repeating the plea, “Snow White, Rose Red! Will you beat your lover dead?” Even in that story the chosen bride is not apparent, and the second sister is married to the hero’s previously unmentioned brother.

Yet the hype of every movie and story popular today is falling in love or the misery in marriage if you don’t.

In fact respect before marriage is a concept often trampled by the rush to feed and give in to love. Instead, respect marriage and respect the other person. Value them more than the relationship, more than the attraction. Purity, modesty, submission, counsel, and a long-term focus are ways to express respect for each other before marriage. They are also characteristic of the courtship movement. (Allow me to interject that as I thought about this topic, I followed it to this place; this is not designed as a defense of courtship.)

Whereas the dating culture is all about flowers, butterflies, and the kiss that tells you he’s the one; courtship has a focus on boundaries, on matching emotion and expression to the level of commitment. And I suppose that’s all I really want out of calling a relationship a courtship: not a strict set of rules and prohibitive encounters, but intentionality in building respect even as you grow in love. The idea is not only to more accurately find a spouse with less regrets (at giving away your heart or more), but to prepare for married life.

“Intentional” could speak to the willful direction of a relationship. Historically, a suitor came to the father (and thereby to the lady) to make his intentions known. That factor alone could make a world of difference in dating relationships. If each would regularly express their intentions for the relationship, or at least begin by honestly telling each other what the goal is, dating would be less complicated and harmful.

Being intentional in either aspect, and preparing for marriage, could explain the tendencies to short courtships. Practicing love, respect, submission, confidence, and preference is hard to do without wanting to move right into the real deal. Or courtships could be short because they’re begun only after at least one party is willing to consider marriage. Part of the important observation and decision-making is done before the first date.

Coincidentally, I think that “respect” is the less hated buzz-word translating the Greek hupotasso, usually translated in the Bible as “submit” or “be obedient.” In Ephesians 5, women were not told to make sure they didn’t usurp their husbands any more than the men were forbidden from hating their wives. Love is a positive thing. Women should embrace submission. All along the Bible has had the instructions for successful marriages.

Colossians 3:18, "Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as it is fit in the Lord."

To God be all glory.

Amy's Touching Tale of Valentine's Day

So writing the last post took so much time that I know it's past Valentine's Day now. I wore pink today, and brought chocolate hearts to work - for myself. After spending some eagerly anticipated time studying the Bible for a Sunday school lesson, I read more of Persuasion, which is better every time I read it and especially compared to the movies. In fact Persuasion the book is better than any and every Jane Austen movie. The hero is too wonderful (while remaining human), and the heroine is so easy to relate to in one way or another. In the book there are four men in love with Anne Elliot. In the movie you're lucky if you get the impression any more than one was. I digress.

Every time I sit down to blog, I think I'll just write my thoughts down and push "publish." When I started blogging, that was the way. God must be teaching me discipline, patience, and hard work, because I have to think and draft and revise to put a blog up anymore. Before I know it I've spent three hours blogging instead of: reading Persuasion, writing books, finishing a Sunday school lesson (are those ever finished?), cleaning my room, making breadsticks, eating supper, or watching movies. Actually, I did make breadsticks.

Now I have a confession to make. If you click on a link from my blog, I can tell. I don't know who you are, but I know what links you like. So I know that the del.icio.us sidebar on my Wordpress blog doesn't get any attention. On the blog run by Amy of Humble Musing fame, the del.icio.us sidebar is one of my favorite parts. I love her little article recommendations. So I copied her, and did a sidebar on my blog, too. Sorry blogger readers! I'm too lazy to put one on Lady of Longbourn.

Since I know you don't click on those any more than many of you comment, I'm spending a portion of this post directing you to Amy's Valentine's Day: Love it or Leave it? I read the story once and told it two and a half times, and came near to crying with each encounter. But don't be afraid; it isn't mushy. It's gallant. So read it; the post is short.

Hm. A secret to blog writing (but don't ask me; I'm not all that successful): Write your disconnected blog, and name the title after the last thing about which you talk. That way your readers will at least scroll to the end to see what you're talking about. A great picture near the top helps too.

To God be all glory.

My Thoughts on the Truest Expression of Love

I asked a while back what was the truest expression of love.

Fiction and stories have always served to teach me. They make me think, and ponder scenarios beyond my experience. When I don't have a book that perfectly suits a question I'm considering, I (sometimes consciously) devise a story of my own. That is the setting for the question I asked.
My initial scenario was a man and woman in love under oppressive circumstances who had several options: 1. Part and give each other up. 2. Part promising to be faithfully and exclusively devoted to one another despite separation. 3. Marry and face permanent endangerment or death as a result. So the questions are: 1. Is it better to sacrifice and let each other possibly find love elsewhere? 2. Is it more faithful to the feelings and nature of love to continue feeling for each other when all chance of enactment is past? 3. Is consummation so important to love that you would risk each other?

Suppose you're in A Walk to Remember. Do you marry when your marriage is guaranteed to be short-lived? What if you're in Pirates of the Caribbean? Do you marry if you know (which was, I allow, not the case in the movie) that the relationship will consist of one day in 3652? You're a mother in Nazi Germany who has a chance of sending her children away to safety, but she'll never see them again. (supplied by my mom): Or should missionary parents endanger their kids by discipling them at home or protect them by sending them to boarding school? Then again, is life and safety more important than a relationship with your parents? Michael Card wrote "God's only way is to give and to die."

I wasn't only asking about romantic love. But I confess I've always got that under consideration, being interested in the subject. Seriously, I can see the usefulness of reading all the relationship books. Aside from personal application, I believe such subjects are fundamental points in the development of one's relationship with God and others. Plus it's Valentine's Day, so I have an excuse - for today.

Gratification is doing whatever the feelings of love motivate you to do in a moment. This promises the most instant satisfaction, but it might be deceptive. I can't tell you how many times I've felt like hugging someone and decided I couldn't, or shouldn't, or more deeply would rather not.

Consumation would be a more long-term, planned and waited for climax of a relationship. It doesn't necessarily indicate commitment, but it is a fulfillment of something hoped and worked for. What is the consummate activity of friendship, or of parenting? For some friends it might be meeting, or reading journals or going on a trip together. In Butterfly Kisses, Bob Carlisle indicates that the peak of parenting is when his daughter is given away in marriage.

Consumation might be understood as the "truest expression of love" by definition. It might be too specific, though. Let's keep exploring.

Commitment is, in this case, synonymous with faithfulness and loyalty. True love inspires commitment. There's no greater gift to offer a person than your eternal devotion. Then again, what if the love is unrequited? What if there is eternal separation to match the eternal commitment? Then the commitment doesn't mean anything.

Sacrifice. Obviously there are different levels of sacrifice. A guy who sees a romantic comedy instead of the latest Will Smith alien movie is being sacrificial (generally speaking), but that is not the truest expression of love. Maybe a bunch of little things all added together are the kind of sacrifice I mean. There isn't opportunity for each of us to die for another to demonstrate our love. Romans 12:1 talks about being a living sacrifice, which is totally giving one's heart, soul, mind, and strength to the purposes and good of another. Or maybe sacrifice is the answer in some instances and not others.

As I think about this, I remember love languages. I don't even know what they all are. There is giving and touch, probably words, and maybe service. I'm still missing one. Anyway, this side of the argument points out that the motive is important, not the expression. My mom kept saying "it depends" when I asked her this question. I wasn't asking what was right or wrong, or the choice that should be made in a given circumstance. Perhaps my point is to show how those things can conflict with expressing love. Am I wrong? After all, God is love.

Ought love to be the ultimate consideration? When faced with a choice between improving a relationship and improving the other person (making them good-er) in your relationship, which claim is superior? I could invite a friend to ice cream because I want to build our relationship, and spending time is a good way to brick our relationship. Or it could be because I know they like ice cream and I want to brick them. Or I could be bricking myself because I like ice cream. So which is more important? Which is love?

There I go again. I can’t blog without asking questions. But to answer my original survey, if I were taking a test, I’d pick sacrifice. I can refute the others (to my own satisfaction, but I can’t necessarily prove my case).

To God be all glory.

Flavor

One can read over the brim of one’s cup, just as Treebeard the Ent studied Merry and Pippin in his mountain home over his entdraught in Middle Earth long ago. Such was I doing when I stopped thinking about the words and became more attentive to the taste in my cup. I was drinking a vanilla chai tea latte, hot, and slightly watered down due to my lack of tablespoon at work. The flavor is one of the new things introduced to my life in a year that is rapidly flowing to its end. I like it.

But I miss hot chocolate. Not that I never drink chocolate anymore. That I drink chai tea when I would have been sipping cocoa is undeniable. Life has changed. My tastes have dutifully broadened as an expected part of growing up. If they are broadened, they are also dispersed. Now the intensity of my appreciation for chocolate is tempered by my acceptance of vanilla chai tea.

Would my life be better if I had refused to taste chai tea? If through loyalty I remained zealous for chocolate alone, could I still be a grown up and still be happy? Would I be happier?

Life is a choice whether to try new things. Once surrendered to a new pet topic, to the diminution of my former sole passion, my experience says there is no possibility of returning to a single-passion life. A new opportunity arises, and if I am consistent, is tried. Causes ebb and flow, wax and wane now, each replacing the last for its moment in the spotlight.


Cotton Grass, Blowing in Wind Against Blue Sky, Norway

I haven’t really written anything in a while. Inspiration departed. Whenever that happens I get borderline depressed, because life seems to have lost its flavor, and my passion for each moment has waned. I don’t like drifting, shallow waves of life lapping around an unresponsive me. Leaving the metaphor, though, I keep on doing things: going to work, talking to people, checking email. Even genuine smiles come to my face.

Now, slowly, I think I’m coming out of my doldrums. A week ago Saturday night, I completely spontaneously saw a movie, August Rush. There were so few people in the theater, and I was so tired. Reclined in my seat, I tilted my head against the back of the cushion, and absorbed a beautiful movie. The soundtrack was uniquely expressive, imposing its presence and importance. Music spoke in the movie. It communicated identity, feelings, direction, summons, friendship, longings, and fulfillment.

Afterward I escaped the scent of popcorn into a fresh midnight wind. The air was too cold to linger, but I breathed it deeply, and memorized its touch on my face. I felt the cold and the current. My brother and I talked of how we love things and moments with feeling, and flavor. They say something, and mean something.

In contrast, the chocolate cake I had just before the movie was bland. The color boasted bursting flavor, when in actuality the taste was dull and muted. Not like fudge, or cinnamon, or grape juice. Those things are so bursting with flavor that they assert their identities.

Then a few days later was a day full of feeling, and a sense of doing things important, though everyday. I cried near the end, for a few friends came home. Tears break the walls of the world without passion. That’s the metaphor of George MacDonald’s Princess Lightness.

Yet when the walls are down, and I care about what happens around me, when I’m advancing my might on causes and people, there’s the probability that I’ll see the world in reality, and see myself as I am. Couple this to just turning 23, to holidays and old friends, and I am sad now – not depressed, but sad in a sentimental way, in a fightable way.

Sunday I went to Red Robin alone. They offered me a free burger for my birthday in exchange for receiving their emails, so I went to redeem my coupon. The staff was nice. I brought a book about grace. And in between sips of a chocolate shake and bites of luscious burger, I observed. The walls caught my attention, bearing an eclectic collection of posters, prints, and photographs. One fantastic picture showed downtown Chicago along the Chicago River in 1929. Already the concentration of sky-piercing towers was a marvel. Chicago is my favorite city. I can’t lay my finger on the reason, only that when I am there I feel alive. Every place is a story; every sound has a flavor; and every person has a style.


Motion of Cars Along Michigan Avenue Illuminated with Christmas Lights, Chicago, Illinois, USA

I love Christmas for the same reason. Each song is a tale, each note a rush of emotion. Every light twinkles mystery into my soul. Altered from its original intent or not, in December the whole country is united in focus. No one asks why the stores all play music about snow, bells, peace, and Jesus. It is understood when you wear red that you’re being festive. Even those who have dropped out of church make it back for the memories of candlelight at Christmas Eve services.

So today, especially at Christmas, I want to challenge you to seize the day. Breathe the moment. Live to the hilt. Pursue life. Feed on truth. Praise beauty. Remember. Cry. Hope. Laugh. Sing. Love.

To God be all glory.

Choice and Romanticism

Quaker Wedding
“Love is a choice.” The first time I heard that I recoiled. Initially my romantically trained, fairy-tale fed imagination failed to provide any circumstance under which a choice-love could be satisfactory. What about starry moments, and love’s first kiss, and that breathless moment when you don’t just know or decide you’re in love; you feel it in the depth of your being?

Again my romanticism was being refined, sheared of its secular, humanistic trappings and built up strong and more penetratingly captivating than ever by the gentle, beneficent truth of God.

No one would ever accuse Elizabeth Bennett of being unromantic, she who in the movie (do I even have to say which version I mean?) swore, “I am determined nothing but the very deepest love will induce me into matrimony;” who could never dream of marrying simply to secure her own comfort. Oft lost among the multitude of offenses described in her rejection of Mr. Darcy’s marriage proposal, we find this stinging quote, “I might wonder why with so evident a design to offend and insult me you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will…”

A generation of passionate Americans believed that they usually loved against their will, that they “fell” in love, as though it were a snare or an unstoppable force like gravity. In his book, Family Driven Faith, which I am presently reading, Voddie Baucham writes, “What value is there in being told that someone is with you because they can’t help it?”

No wonder there is so much divorce. Not only did men and women get married because they believed it was simply the next step in falling in love; many who ended up getting divorced never experienced true love, the kind that cannot come without choice, at all. Imagine their emptiness. Without being able to express it, so many couples were internalizing the kind of offense that so rebuffed Elizabeth. She would no more commit to a marriage in which she was unvalued as one in which she was unloved. The two went together. Thus the ease with which she expected Mr. Darcy to recover.

At the happy conclusion of Pride and Prejudice, Mr. Darcy recognizes that Elizabeth had thought him “devoid of every proper feeling.” Through his intentional demonstration of love, and not just love, but charity, he finally won her heart. He learned his lesson and came to her now not begging her to put him out of his misery by consenting to be his wife, but confessing how dear she was to him, and how much he valued her. No romantic I know finds the first proposal better than the last, or represses their sighing heart when at the end Mr. and Mrs. Darcy enter into a life of relationship and “mutual help,” as the vows say.

Love is more romantic, and more importantly, has meaning, kindness, and value in being a choice.

To God be all glory.

Reconciling Chivalry and Romanticism

Knight
Has it ever occurred to you that the poetic age of chivalry, so often counted as a part of the romantic past, is at odds with the philosophy of romanticism, with “happily ever after”? Let me quote,

"This woman is almost always unattainable by virtue of her social status or physical distance, and by her fear of social censure; it was, paradoxically, her vary distance that lent value to the lover’s patient suffering. The lady’s worth could be increased by dispensing merce (some token of her affection) to a worthy and deserving suitor, yet the Lady who submitted too soon would be condemned."
from Order of the Grail

and from Everyday Mommy:
"When a knight found a maiden who caught his eye it was customary for him to ask if he might be her champion. Today, a champion is someone who bats over .400 or wins a wrestling match. But, in that time to champion was to fight for or defend a person or cause. If the lady accepted him as her champion she would present him with a token, such as a handkerchief. She may have chosen to drop the handkerchief, hoping the knight would retrieve it. If he did, he became her champion and he kept the token inside his armor.

"In that age of villains and ruffians, a maiden would derive protection from having a champion. The mere mention of his name, such as Sir William of Pembroke, would afford her a measure of safety. Anyone with any sense knew better than to harm a knight’s lady, because he would pursue them to defend her honor."

The old code of chivalry used to baffle me. I appreciated the gentlemanly way knights behaved to ladies, that the champions fought battles and rescued princesses. But I was born romantic, I think, and have never liked a story without a happy ending. The tale of knights told by the history of chivalry said that often a man would choose a lady to whom to dedicate his victories, faithful to her, defending her purity. And when he had won many battles, he had very little hope of receiving the lady as his wife in return. She may even marry another, one of her class if she were a noblewoman. A princess delivered from harm would grace her hero with cheers and her favor, but not with her love. Something honorable was seen in this sacrificial chastity. I could not see it.

Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End came out this summer. Spoiler warning if you care: In the first Pirates of the Caribbean, we found that Will loved Elizabeth so much that he would die for her. The second movie opened with a wedding that never took place, both parties being arrested. Throughout this movie, the young couple had their issues, particularly involving communication and honesty, two things for which they had a bad reputation. In the last movie, At World’s End, Elizabeth proves she can fight and take charge like a boy, and Will realizes a conflict between his loyalty to his father and his lust for Elizabeth. For now we see that he’s not particularly interested in being there for Elizabeth, at her side, so much as he would like to kiss her and not watch her kissing anyone else. Yes, Elizabeth is a horrible example of a lady. When the movie finished, I was caught breathless by the poignant cost of their love. Will gave up his heart, sailing ten years without touching land, for the privilege of spending one day each decade with his wife. It makes a touching tale.

But it makes a pathetic marriage. “For better or for worse” carries more than a few days’ commitment. Marriage is about becoming one, joining lives. However, based on Elizabeth and Will’s relationship to the point of their wedding, they weren’t cut out for a marriage. Letting Will rescue her, and then moving on with life, maturing into a woman interested in a life built around another person, might have been better than the one day per decade marriage.

This conclusion from a negative example (what could happen if my romantic ideals had been gratified in the days of chivalry) helped me to finally embrace that non-romantic code. My friends agree: to be surrounded by good, courteous, self-sacrificing young men is pleasant and edifying. Obviously we are not going to marry every man who holds the door open, or who defends our lives in international wars. Such services are honorable, and we all benefit from and respect the men willing to do them.

Aragorn was such a knight. He had pledged his love long ago to a woman basically unconcerned in the military campaigns he led. Eowyn noticed his nobility when he arrived at Meduseld, spoke to her kindly and intelligently, and was respectful to her beloved uncle. Perhaps she was a romantic like me, assuming that happily ever after meant the knight who rides in on his white horse to rescue her automatically would fall in love with and marry her, or at least, in dark times, let her die with him. The kingly, weathered Aragorn had more wisdom and patient faithfulness than to surrender to romantic ideology. He refused Eowyn’s shadow-love in one of the tenderest scenes in the trilogy. In the end, each player in this saga found their place, and met it with fire-tested maturity. Aragorn became the people-serving king with his long-beloved Arwen at his side. Eowyn discovered love, hope, gentleness, healing and humility in her friendship with Faramir. Faramir himself took up his role as steward, a prince tending a garden-land and inspiring a weary people by his example. He was the husband who could be at Eowyn’s side for life.

In him Eowyn was choosing the ideal of her maturity. I love Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen for presenting everyone as human, and especially for vividly portraying this contrast in heroes alongside the transition in her heroine, Marianne. In the end Colonel Brandon was her choice, having belayed her attraction to every other childish crush, however honorable he was, like the prince described in the Three Weavers. Neither gratitude nor pity nor obligation are good reasons for marriage anymore than infatuation. Yet each of these has its good place in the world. So also chivalry has its place, and however the romantics may rail, the sensible woman will cherish the old code.

To God be all glory.

Disclaimer: I'm still a romantic. In no way am I saying that marriage should be shunned for the chivalric order. The point here is that marriage is so sacred that it should be entered only if the knight and lady are that and more.

Mead

That's right. I'm going to write about intoxicating drink. But only a specific kind, and with no particular endorsement to drink it. I never have. See, I'm writing about the word.

"Mead" is a very old word, having its roots in the Indo-European and being specifically attested before 900 A.D. Saying "mead" is also very pleasant, for it is simple and vivid and sounds nice. The habitation of Bambi, a meadow, also contains that word, and I am sure they are connected. Another word, very closely related to mead, is "meadery." There is a meadery in my state, and when we were searching for activities to entertain our high school Awana group during our "trip" to Denver, I came across it. Alas, I didn't think parents would appreciate their children receiving such a tour.

My large forty-year-old dictionary (Webster's New Twentieth Century Dictionary Second Edition, 1966) defines mead, "an alcoholic liquor made of fermented honey, malt, spices, and water to which yeast has been added."

Dictionary.com has the following definitions:
1. an alcoholic liquor made by fermenting honey and water.
2. any of various nonalcoholic beverages.
(Random House)

The etymology of this ancient word, as described by the Online Etymology Dictionary, is:
mead (1)
"fermented honey drink,"
Old English medu, from Proto-Germanic. *meduz
(cf. Old Norse mjöðr, Danish mjød, Old Frisian, Middle Dutch mede, German Met "mead"),
from Proto-Indo-European base *medhu- "honey, sweet drink"
(cf. Sanskrit madhu "sweet, sweet drink, wine, honey,"
Greek methy "wine,"
Old Church Slavonic medu, Lithuanian medus "honey,"
Old Irish mid, Welsh medd, Breton mez "mead").
Synonymous but unrelated early Middle English meþeglin yielded Chaucer's meeth.
mead (2)
"meadow," Old English mæd "meadow,"
from Proto-Germanic *mædwon
(cf. Dutch made, German Matte "meadow,"
Old English mæþ "harvest, crop"),
from Proto-Indo-European *metwa-, from base *me- "mow" (see mow).

And of course the etymology of "meadow" is:
Old English mædwe, originally "land covered in grass which is mown for hay," oblique case of mæd (see mead (2)).

So the word has to do with honey, with land covered in grass (which is mown). The image presented to me is that of a spring-green field of grass bordered by honeysuckle and other small, fragrant flowers visited by bees. On such a field would JRR Tolkien's wood-elves have feasted, raising goblets to toast with the sweet wine made from honey and fresh spring-water. Since Tolkien was a philologist and etymologist, he was likely trying to make such a point by introducing mead in a meadow.

Oh no. There's another thing. Wine is romantic. Or at least mead is. In such opinion I am joined by the Redstone Meadery:

It is so ancient a beverage that the linguistic root for mead, medhu, is the same in all Indo-European languages where it encompasses an entire range of meanings, which include honey, sweet, intoxicating, drunk and drunkenness. For this reason it has been suggested that fermented honey may be the oldest form of alcohol known to man.-Mikal Aasved, 1988

May Maelgwn of Mona be affected with mead, and affect us, From the foaming mead-horns, with the choicest pure liquor, Which the bees collect, and do not enjoy. Mead distilled sparkling, its praise is everywhere.-XCIII Song to Mead, Book of Taeliessin XIX

Mead. Mention of it evokes images of heroes and romantic tales, of castle feasts and chivalry. Legends surround it, that of golden nectar, swirling in a goblet chased with silver, with the heady, erotic aroma of honey caressing the senses. We see Vikings, downing great tankards of frothy mead after a successful raid. One can imagine a beautiful maiden, holding the stirrup cup in her lithe hand, offering it along with a shy smile to the handsome and chivalrous knight preparing to go off to battle.

The -ery part of meadery can even be fascinating (if you're like me).
-er is a suffix in colloquial usage, added to nouns meaning a thing or action connected with (as in diner)
-y (2)
adj. suffix, "full of or characterized by," from Old English -ig, from Proto Germanic *-iga (cf. German -ig), cognate with Greek -ikos, Latin -icus.

This means a "meadery" is a thing connected with, full of, and characterized by honey wine.

As a final disclaimer, I must mention the following verses: Proverbs 20:1, Proverbs 23:29-35, Isaiah 5:11, 22; Ephesians 5:18

(all bold emphases mine)

To God be all glory.

Things that Are of Romance (edited)

A while ago I defined romance: "According to Wikipedia, romanticism is 'an artistic and intellectual movement that originated in late 18th century Western Europe... a reaction against the rationalization of nature, in art and literature it stressed strong emotion as a source of aesthetic experience... ' Thus, to say something is romantic in this sense is to say it is emotional, slightly irrational, and adventurous."

I've recently discovered a few more examples of things that are romantic (like pirates):

• umbrellas
• horse-drawn carriages
• quilts
• (from zjramsli) the Marine Corps Hymn
• roll top desks
• (from believer) inkwell pens
• (from believer) calligraphy
• (from believer) classical music
• (from believer) screened in porches
• (from zjramsli) GA Henty books
• (from zjramsli) superheroes
• doors held open for ladies
• old books with underlined passages and notes in the margins
• hats (but not baseball caps)
• candles
• willow trees
• bridges

Use comment section for further submissions.

To God be all glory.

Love in Waiting... by the movies

While I'm posting about movies, particularly Wives and Daughters, which I had to put in to transcribe the quote in the prior post, I thought I'd throw out this comment about heroines in movies.

My favorite (romantic) movies are ones in which the heroines prove that love is worth the wait. Even if the movie is not one of my favorites for other reasons, if that is part of the plot, I'm encouraged. In Wives and Daughters Molly loves Roger very selflessly, for a long time, without ever pursuing him. She waits for him to come after her, and in the end, as you can imagine, their love is very sweet.

Win a Date with Tad Hamilton is another movie in which the theme of waiting, while blurred, stands out to me. In the end there is no need to rush to expressions of romance. A love worth waiting for is content to express itself every day, to rest in the security of knowing the other's love.

As a little girl I loved Brigadoon, and one of the main songs: Waitin' for Me Dearie. "Waitin' for m' dearie, and happy am I to hold my heart 'til he comes strollin' by." There is no need to trifle with the hearts of others along the way. "For you see, I believe that there's a laddy weary and wanderin' free, who's waitin' for his dearie, me."

Pride and Prejudice nearly opens with Elizabeth's confession: "nothing but the very deepest love will induce me to matrimony... so I will end an old maid." She is willing to hold out for real love even if it never comes. Compare her opinion with her sister's and her best friend's. Lydia sacrifices real love for rushed lust. Charlotte despairs of love and settles for comfort.

A new movie with this theme is The Lake House, in which the characters wait for years without meeting in person. And there is nothing like Jane Austen's Persuasion (best in book form so far; look forward to the BBC production) for encouraging one to hang on.

To God be all glory.

Love by the Movies

If you believe the movies, and I don't recommend that you do, you may have noticed that most people can fall in love if they are trying. Even if they're only trying to give the impression of falling in love, they end up suffering from romance anyway.

Though I advise you not to base your view of reality on the movies, to some extent I do. So I'm left wondering what is wrong with all the good Christian men in the world who don't buckle down, accept responsiblity, and choose a girl with whom to fall in love. Allow me to quote a movie, Wives and Daughters. Father: "I don't see why you don't put up for her still. Don't you think you could like her if you tried?" Son: "No need for trying to love her, that's already done." Father: "...Tell her you love her, and if she won't have you now, then wait a while and ask her again. And don't give up trying until you've made her safe."

Love is a choice, right? That's the mature, reformed view of things? In my opinion there is nothing more romantic than two people trying to fall in love, even if they're already married trying to keep falling in love. There are shows in which two characters try not to fall in love, and that can be entertaining, but I stand by my statement. Trying to be in love is better. Maybe that's why God made marriage, and not just the temporary relationships caused by the dating mentality.

If love is a choice, though, it is also something which we can choose not to do. This means we are not the slaves of emotions. Teenagers need this message. If your feelings are controllable, you are able to wait and to save them for God's timing. I rest in that.

To God be all glory.

Scottish Things

In Scotland they wear sweaters all the time, I think, because of the wind pushing sea air across the land. The thought stirs my soul and makes me breathe deeply, only dreaming to catch a whiff of their salty breeze. My midwestern life has never extended to an ocean.

Speaking of that bonny country, today I received my very own copy of the 1898 edition of J.M. Barrie's The Little Minister. Last year I read that novel, and so enjoyed the dialectic writing (several different levels of the Scots' take on English) and the love story, that I determined to have a copy. Merry day, to receive such a treasure.

Ooh! I should add "old books" to my list of interests. After publishing, I shall do so directly.

More Scottish notes: the Highland Study Center, of R.C. Sproul, Jr. and friends, published their bi-monthly magazine containing a sluagh of articles on the evolutionary worldview. This further relates to Colossians, which happens to be whither I drew much of my devotions this week, is verse 8 of chapter 2, warning Christians against being spoiled by "philosophy or vain deceit" after the "rudiments of the world, and not after Christ."

The article which has been most applicable to my life (since I received the magazine Friday) is Going Bananas, about the manipulative application of the flawed theory of conditioned response. Last night I watched Batman Begins for the first time. In fact, that two hours was my first exposure to feature-length Batman. A message is promoted by the ninjas at the beginning which was directly addressed in the essay. I was so proud when the movie rather refuted the teaching.

Oh, which reminds me, why don't superheroes have wives? They experience all this conflict about girlfriends. Yet, with the Genesis 2 view of humanity, wouldn't it be a good thing to have a wife supporting, loving unconditionally, encouraging? I think a woman could be much more encouraging than a butler, though he does serve his purpose. Men tend to enhance the "tough guy" attitude that elicits survival, while women, I like to think, are the motivation to survive.

My brother is reading C.S. Lewis' That Hideous Strength, which addresses the topic of women's reason for existence especially as relating to men. The topic of feminism isn't the primary reason he wrote, but is an evident outcome of the worldview C.S. Lewis was attacking. His means of attack, which simply delights me, is to follow his enemies' philosophies to their conclusion, until their ideas are in self-defeating contradiction. All worldviews that are non-biblical, I believe, ultimately arrive at this fate.

To God be all glory.

Tears of the World

My brothers have been dutifully exposed to feminine media (translate: chick-flicks and the books which inspired them). As the oldest sister of six siblings, I have proudly persuaded my two brothers to watch the Jane Austen movies, with more success in some instances than others.

However tonight I am not writing to brag. I am writing to confess. My brothers have not been without their influence on me. The other night I was walking by a table in our house on which sat a luxurious stack of Calvin and Hobbes books. Hours of intoxicating laughter were promised by the mischievous illustrations on the covers. A tiger named Hobbes philosophically addresses the issues of life... A little kid plots against his parents with such innocent sincerity that it is no longer innocence: absurd little doings of a five year old playmate. Calvin is my hero.

There are other things in which I've been indoctrinated. For example, I do not mind an afternoon of football. To say that I multi-task does not detract from the fact that I enjoy the thrill of strategy involved in football. Strategy and big, amazing plays. Football, unlike most other sports, reminds me of war. I mean it isn't violent, like boxing, (violence isn't its reason for being, like hockey). But the strategy! The prospect of being a captain's wife was probably alluring in the old days. He could tell tales of brilliant feats in battle. But pity the poor bored people who only ran and hid in caves. I heard during some wars the civilians would watch from hilltops, though. Now that would be exciting!

My brother wants to be a Marine. If he were old enough, nothing would be stopping him. He already acts like a Marine. His room is papered with recruiting posters. Intimidating (and suprisingly young), grim men hold pieces of metal somehow shaped and put together to maximize killing power in quick, impersonal, and gruesome ways. I admit that the "good guys" of Christian civilizations tend to fight really wicked enemies who are worth defeating.

But I always argue with my brother that I'm sad we don't use swords any more. If one side is using planes and bombs and technology, of course swords aren't very useful. The chivalry of swords is lacking in warriors of today. The personal nobility of defeating an enemy by individual skill and courage and passion is missing. Any weapon that does not require interaction between champions just misses that sense of fairness which makes women cheer. The strategy is removed from footwork and "it's all in the wrist" to grand schematics of boats here and satellites there.

Men who at least know how to use swords and bows have more understanding of chivalry toward women, too. At least I think so. I'm not sure I know any. I just imagine that the study has to also ingrain in them the protection of women and children, of innocent bystanders. The history of knights who used to wield those weapons had to include their dedication to "women and children first," and defending even a woman's honor. Such are willing to give their lives to defend the weak, or the beautiful.

Today a middle-aged family man, a milkman prepared for a siege, marched into a one-room school house in Pennsylvania, and shot little girls execution-style. It's gruesome. My response was, "It's senseless." How could this happen?

Obviously, little girls were not at school alone. The gunman ordered the older people and the males out of the building. And they went. I can't imagine. If anyone threatened my sisters, or the little kids I know at church, there would be no way I would bow to the wave of a gun in my face. Did they think cooperation would save the little girls' lives?

One note I find interesting is that one of the three dead (several more are in critical condition) was a young woman, a teacher's assistant. I imagine she refused to go. Maybe the passion of youth, which some old people tend to mock, inspired the most heroic act of the day. I wonder what happened, and if the fact that she died kept others safe. Maybe her presence helped the other students to be less afraid. I don't know. I just wonder.

As homeschoolers, we like to ignore the world. With three school shootings, all different, all horrible, in one week, I'm definitely tempted to think, "If you'd just keep your kids at home..." No, nothing justifies the tragedies those families are experiencing. I was home through high school, feeling safe. But I cannot ignore the world. I have to consider what opportunities may be opened for sharing the message of redemption. I examine God's cosmic plans and how this extraordinary compression of violent events may contribute. What is happening in the world that the spiritual forces of evil are fighting so hard right now?

I remember the day after September 11, 2001, I was journaling. In one day my problems, my concern for the Bronco's wide receiver Ed McCaffrey whose leg was broken, faded. They were insignificant. Though I would almost prefer to bury my thoughts in comic books or to wallow in the misery of petty struggles, every once in a while the plight of the world breaks through - and breaks my heart.

To God be all glory.

Sense and Sensibility Sketches

Fanny Austen-Knight (1793-1882)

My appetite being now thoroughly whetted for a long trip to England or at the very least a viewing of Pride and Prejudice (the five hour Jennifer Ehle version), I thought I'd share some Sense and Sensibility character sketches from my journal this spring:

Colonel Brandon fell instantly in love with Marianne. But he was not going to pursue her because he thought it would be better for her to marry someone nearer her age. So he sought to be only a blessing to her. He had been a bachelor settled and content, so practiced at supressing his heart that he hardly cares. Only the deepest (most selfless) love will induce him to matrimony.

Elinor is a steady girl, aware of reality yet unable to fully reconcile herself to it. She is a woman of her word ever self-less. However, she is not so strong as to be able to bear sorrow cheerfully.

Marianne cares only for the dramatic and romantic, embracing both ecstasy and despair equally. She says what she thinks, and behaves as she feels. It does not bother her that a man should take liberties with her without commitment. The amazing thing about her is her recovery. She settles into a love that is calmer but runs deeper, and so it brings her deep joy.

Edward is a man of mistakes and self-deception. His love is self-giving, but certainly not self-controlled. He is also a man of duty, though it torment him, he could still, I believe, have been happy marrying his first love. He is conflicted much of the time: between keeping his vow to Lucy and his regard for Elinor, between obligation to his family's expectations and his dreams.

Mr. Willoughby is a tragic, horribly appealing villain. He does have great self-control, but that leaves him without excuse for his conduct. He is always selfish, and irreverent. He enjoys romance as Marianne does, but he does not live (and die) for it. He is uniquely able to give away his heart completely separate from his intentions and choices. That this causes him pain - anguish - is his sacrifice to the ideals of romance.

"Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove.
O, no! It is an ever-fixed mark, that looks on tempests and is never shaken." - Sonnet 116 by William Shakespeare

To God be all glory.

Fairy Tales and Romance

"Do you believe in fairy tales?" the reporter held a microphone to Miriel. She laughed at the obvious implication that she was living a fairy tale. Since she had met Prince Edmund a year and a half ago, she had been pinching herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming.

"I believe in the power of fairy tales," Miriel began diplomatically, "to give us perspective, and to unleash our imaginations, and to remind us of past traditions. Our dreams are more often found in fairy tales than in our ambitions."

"What are your dreams?" another reporter shoved her way forward. "Did you dream to marry a prince?"

"Princes are not fairies. They exist in our world. Princes can fall in love just like you or me. To dream that is not a fairy tale..." A reporter began to interrupt, but she held up her graceful hand for silence, then continued, "In the past year, to marry your prince and to serve your country has become my dearest dream."

"What makes you think you are qualified to serve us?" Miriel recognized the cocky reporter from the back of the crowd. He was a pessimist and a trouble maker.

Thinking out her reply carefully, Miriel answered, "Many people serve your country. Cooks and secretaries, mechanics and soldiers make this country run. The royalty may have different responsibilities, but they are not greater than the people who do these other tasks. I do not pretend to be any more qualified to deliberate in your treaty talks than to repair your car; but I will use the skills I do have to serve your country. And I will invest myself in learning more skills."

I sometimes get little bits of inspiration that cannot be fit into any longer story. It has been a long time since I pushed a little notebook in front of a friend and made them read it. So I thought I would share it with you today.

This week I began to read Captivating. Several personal friends recommended it, and several websites criticized it. So I am trying to be open. An undeniable effect of the book so far is imagination. Mine is all alive with memories and ideas and stories. (In the adventurous, enchanting sense - true or not.)

As an add-on to the above post, when I was looking for the passage which I typed for you, I also found this list titled, from some years ago, A Christian Girl's Philosophy of Romance. Each point has a lot of explanation behind it which I never bothered to write down.

• Father figure - My dad approves a suitor as suitable and worthy.
• Big brother factor - God, dad, and brothers defend against those with harmful intent.
• Principle of waiting - Both I and my future husband are waiting, hoping, and maybe eventually protecting each other by silence.
• God's sight - While I am waiting, I am aiming to please God. The suitor, I am praying, will see me through God's eyes, so I will be pleasing to him, too.
• Sacrifice - Giving every desire and thought and my future to God as an act of worship.
• Playwright - The Author will write a beautiful love story (Ephesians 3:20-21). He is able to give good gifts.
• Charged by the does - I won't seek love until it finds me; love is a choice.
• Given to God - Until I am married, I should be caring for the things of God, keeping a pure spirit, and being satisfied with God.
• Dependence - Depend on God who never fails and who always forgives, before He gives me His creature on whom to depend.
• Wilderness of loneliness - Waiting can be a training ground to make me more like God and focused away from myself.
• There is only ONE - Statistically, there are billions of men, but only 1 created and prepared for me. He's out there; he's mine; and I'm his. Act accordingly. In the end, it doesn't matter if there are hundreds who meet the "qualifications" or just a few. I'm waiting for 1.

Proverbs 31:12 ~ "She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life."

Song of Solomon 2:7 ~ "I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem,
By the gazelles or by the does of the field,
Do not stir up nor awaken love
Until it pleases."

1 Corinthians 7:34 ~ "...The unmarried woman careth for the things of the Lord, that she may be holy both in body and in spirit..."