A New Era

This is Katie, college freshman at Cornerstone University as of today. This isn't quite the photo I had hoped for, but it was a busy day, and in the end, the photo that I had envisioned, of Katie sitting at her desk in her freshly organized dorm room, just didn't happen.

Maybe this one is better though. As we backed out of the driveway, the car loaded with boxes and suitcases (you can see them in the background), Katie pulled my camera out, took a picture of herself, and said, "This is how I look now. In four years, when I'm done with college, we'll take a picture and see how I've changed."

It will be interesting in four years to see how she's changed, but I'm pretty sure a camera won't be able to capture it all. If Katie's college experience is anything like mine was, she will experience tremendous spiritual, intellectual, emotional growth and change--the kind of things a camera won't capture.

It was a busy day. We began and ended it in lines. This morning we waited briefly for a student ID and the laptop incentive that Cornerstone offers to its new students. Laptop and student ID in hand, we drove over to Katie's dorm, and we barely got the trunks open when Cornerstone staffers picked up all the boxes and carried them to her room. A most impressive display of help!

After lunch, we left Katie and her roommate, Shanda from Indiana (that rhymes!), to assemble their room but returned for the late afternoon welcome ceremony, with praise and worship music (more on that in a future post), an address from Cornerstone president Joe Stowell, and prayers for parents and students.

We ended the day with a dinner in the gym (after an hour-long wait in line) and a quick good-bye back at Katie's dorm. Stowell commented that today, the students all feel like they're at summer camp, and I think I'm having a hard time not thinking that as well. About October, he said, reality will hit the students, and that's when they'll start feeling homesick. I'm thinking that may be when it hits me too. Right now, I can walk upstairs, open her bedroom door--and the mess everywhere won't let me believe that she's too far away.

As Jonathan and I pulled out of the parking lot, I said, "Well, it's the end of an era. You'll get to see what it's like to be an only child." He's not sure what he thinks about that, but I think he'll come to like it. He said to me, "Another four years, and you'll have one kid out of the house." He obviously thinks she's just at summer camp, too.

Christian Fiction

Before I became a book editor, I worked for about a year and a half at a local Christian bookseller. It was an interesting job, and I learned a great deal that has helped me in my current job as an editor. I had an opportunity to learn about current popular Christian authors, Christian book publishers, Christian music--and a lot about the consumers of it all who came into the bookstore.

One of the perks of working in the store is that we were able to borrow books to read so that we could familiarize ourselves with the product. I had never developed a favorable impression of Christian fiction--being an English major who studied Shakespeare, Milton, Hawthorne, and Twain--but since I had access to shelf after shelf of Christian fiction material, I made it my goal to find a well written Christian novel during my time there. One reason was that fiction was the overwhelming favorite of many of the customers, and they often asked for a recommendation. I always steered them to C. S. Lewis but had a feeling they'd be disappointed when they got home. Why take days to read a Lewis novel when you could whip through a Karen Kingsbury series in a week?

Frequently ladies would tell me that there was one novel that I just had to read--Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers. Those who loved the book just couldn't say enough good things about it. Many said that it was one of the best books they had ever read. Finally, I broke down and read it. To that point in my life, I could honestly say I had never read a Harlequin romance. But with Francine I discovered a new genre: Christian Harlequin romance fiction. And I was shocked. And it takes quite a lot to shock me.

The well-written jacket copy tells the reader that this is a "powerful retelling of the book of Hosea . . . a life-changing story of God's unconditional, redemptive, all-consuming love." The story is set in California's gold country in 1850, and the main characters are Michael Hosea (get it?) and Angel, a bitter young woman who was sold into prostitution as a child. God tells Michael to marry Angel and love her unconditionally. Being a handsome, godly, near-perfect man with the patience and sensitivity of a Christian fiction main male character, Michael does just that. Angel, following in Gomer's footsteps, puts up a barrier to deflect Michael's love and runs away several times during the course of the novel. Michael always goes after her and brings her back.

It all sounds very Christian and very spiritual, and yet as I read the novel I sensed that there was something driving the plot that wasn't quite appealing to the "whatever is pure" part of my thought processes. Rivers makes it very clear from the beginning of the story that Michael--despite his handsome, manly appearance and character--is a virgin. Angel--beautiful, mystifying, distant, and a prostitute--is not. Although the couple marry, Michael--again with the patience of an uber-Job, waits for Angel to put her guard down, to love and be loved--before consummating the marriage.

There are many wistful glances, lips brushing, longing gazes, suggestive conversations, and skin brushing against skin incidents that occur long before Michael and Angel physically become man and wife. In fact, I finally discovered why all those ladies were so in love with this novel. I have to confess that I've watched R rated movies with their nudity, groping, clothes flying, clutching, and panting, but I don't think I've ever encountered much in any media form that compares with page 156 of Redeeming Love, the page where Michael finally meets Angel on the "marriage bed." It finally dawned on me why all those ladies were so excited about this novel. And it also reminded me that words can be more powerful than visual images in stirring the imagination.

And so I have more questions than answers as recent life events force me to once again consider this genre of Christian fiction. What makes a Karen Kingsbury or Amish fiction novel or Francine Rivers story Christian? A plot line that leads to the unregenerate main character "getting saved" in the final paragraphs in the book? The fact that there are no "bad words" in the text? Is a writer writing Christianly when she describes sexual activity (between a man and wife, of course) in a sensual way that could potentially arouse emotions in readers in a less than pure way? Does basing a story on a biblical account like Hosea necessarily make it Christian?

I've long had a concern for readers who fill their minds with Christian fiction to the exclusion of anything else. I'm not convinced it's much healthier than a constant diet of soap operas or chick lit. And while I admittedly found some enjoyable reads in the Christian fiction section, my craving for quality craftsmanship would not be met there. The question we must ask of Christian fiction, just like any other media/art form we encounter, is does it stir thoughts that are true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, or praiseworthy? Or does it just present worldly notions in a seemingly more acceptable package?

It's Just a Theory

A very long time ago, when I was a junior high and high school language arts teacher, I used a common exercise that many teachers of language arts use to encourage their students to write creatively and imaginatively. In this exercise, the emphasis was not on grammar, spelling, punctuation--the mechanical things that bog student writers down--but on allowing ideas to flow from brain to paper with ease. Usually on one day of the week, I would provide my students with some type of writing prompt that they were to respond to in a journal. Topics were things like, "What was your favorite birthday gift?" Or "Write about your favorite vacation." One subject that comes up in nearly every teacher resource book is this: "What would you do if you were the principal of your school?"

Students would inevitably write things like: "Have pizza and candy for lunch every day." "Get rid of math class." "Have recess for four hours every day." "Let students sit wherever they want in their classrooms." Students usually responded impulsively and really didn't give much thought to what the consequences of their policies would be if they ever actually were put in place. It wasn't the point.

At the end of the year, I'd send their journals home with them, and if the journal even made it home, it was probably stuffed in a drawer or thrown in a closet. (I know this because this is what my children did when they brought their journals home.) Years later, probably during spring cleaning, the journal emerges from the crowded drawers or the back of the closet. Now an adult, the journal writer reads through his childish notions and laughs at his immature ideas about what would have made a good school to a junior high student. The adult realizes that it wouldn't have been nutritionally healthy to eat pizza and candy everyday; that in fact it was important to learn math skills; that having recess for four hours wouldn't leave enough time to learn what was really essential; that sitting next to his friends in class probably would have made it even more difficult to pay attention to lessons. He realizes that the consequences of his childish policies would have had a devastating impact on his life.

So I'm imagining a young Barack Obama journaling away on the topic of what he'd do if he were to become president of the United States: "I'd take over the auto, banking, and heathcare industries"; "I'd make abortion as accessible as possible to anyone who wants one"; "I'd spend more taxpayer dollars than all the previous administrations before me"; I'd say whatever I wanted whether I had all the information I needed to comment intelligently." "I'd have the best, most expensive vacations ever, and I wouldn't care about what anyone else thought." "I'll appoint justices to the Supreme Court who think the Constitution is an antiquated document that has nothing to say about law in the twenty-first century, who will create legislation from the bench that will benefit minorities in the interest of fairness."

At the end of the school year, instead of throwing his journal away, shoving it in a drawer, or pitching it to the back of his closet, young Barack left it open on his desk, and he read his policy ideas over and over and thought they were good, but he never quite made it to the maturing part that allowed him to understand that silly policies have terrible consequences. And so years later, he implements what he believes are great policies and doesn't really care about the consequences. The consequences are beside the point.

And somewhere, a language arts prep school teacher in Hawaii is kicking herself for using "What would you do if you were president?" as a writing prompt.

Expressing Pain and Sorrow

In this passage from the Institutes, Calvin explains that Christians ought to give expression to their pain and sorrow. To experience sadness in this world and to just "keep a stiff upper lip" is not a Christian practice, according to this one who experienced much pain, sorrow, and grief in this life.

"We have nothing to do with this iron philosophy [of Stoicism] which our Lord and Master has condemned not only by his word, but also by his example. For he groaned and wept both over his own and others' misfortunes. And he taught his disciples in the same way: 'The world,' he says, 'will rejoice; but you will be sorrowful and will weep' [John 16:20]. And that no one might turn it into a vice, he openly proclaimed, 'Blessed are those who mourn' [Matt. 5:4]. No wonder! For if all weeping is condemned, what shall we judge concerning the Lord himself, from whose body tears of blood trickled down [Luke 22:44]? If all fear is branded as unbelief, how shall we account for that dread with which, we read, he was heavily stricken [Matt. 26:37; Mark 14:33]? If all sadness displeases us, how will it please us that he confesses his soul 'sorrowful even to death' [Matt. 26:38]? . . .

"Thus it will come to pass that, by whatever kind of cross we may be troubled, even in the greatest tribulations of mind, we shall firmly keep our patience. For the adversities themselves will have their bitterness to gnaw at us; thus afflicted by disease, we shall both groan and be uneasy and pant after health; thus pressed by poverty, we shall be pricked by the arrows of care and sorrow; thus we shall be smitten by the pain of disgrace, contempt, injustice; thus at the funerals of our dear ones we shall weep the tears that are owed to our nature. But the conclusion will always be: the Lord so willed, therefore let us follow his will. Indeed, amid the very pricks of pain, amid groaning and tears, this thought must intervene: to incline our heart to bear cheerfully those things which have so moved it."

Annette and the Miserable, Crazy, Nasty, Ugly Monday Morning

If you've ever had any grade schoolers in your house, you've probably read (many times) Judith Viorst's classic, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. With my apologies to Judith and to those who really do have serious problems in their life, here's my own personal version.

Because of all the thunder, lightening, and storms, I didn't sleep very much last night, which meant that Henry didn't either. When I half-woke from my brief, but deep stupor, after awhile I realized that it was much lighter outside than it normally is when we get up. I looked at my clock and realized it was 6:45--about 45 minutes later than we were supposed to get up. Something had happened to the alarm. After realizing just how late we all were, Henry got up for the first shower because he had to take Jonathan to driver's ed, and they needed to leave by 7:30. I could tell it was going to be a miserable, crazy, nasty, ugly Monday morning.

As I made the bed and wrapped my mind around what needed to happen, I started to wonder if I would be able to get ready on time for my mammogram, scheduled for 8:00. An 8:00 Monday morning mammogram is not the best way to start the week already, but thinking that I might have to postpone to another day was somehow worse.

I think I'll move to Tahiti.

Jonathan had gone to the basement to sleep to escape the flashing and booming of the lightning and thunder. I went down to wake him, thinking he possibly slept past his alarm too. When I told him it was time to get up, he snarled at me because the alarm he had set hadn't gone off quite yet.

I showered and got ready pretty quickly. Katie's future Cornerstone roommate had come to stay for a couple of days, and they were using the bathroom--and Jonathan couldn't get in to get ready. The ensuing chaos was more than I could handle, so I went downstairs to grab some toast and a banana. Someone had changed the setting on the toaster so that my "toast" ended up being tannish, slightly warm bread. There was no coffee. I could tell that it was going to be a miserable, crazy, nasty, ugly Monday morning.

When I got to the lab for my mammogram, the grouchy lady at the front desk took my name, entered it in her computer, and scoldingly told me I was supposed to be there at 7:30. "That's not what my calendar said," I wittily shot back. "I wouldn't make an appoinment for that early." And I wouldn't. She told me if I hung around, maybe they could squeeze me in--no pun intended. I told her no thanks--I needed to get to work and I would reschedule. Maybe--if I'm lucky--I can get another Monday morning appointment.

I NEEDED coffee. I went across the street to Horrocks, a market where I was sure I had seen a coffee bar. When I went to the coffee area, a sign said that the coffee was complimentary for customers. Not feeling quite right about walking in, taking free coffee, and then walking out, I asked the deli lady if I could buy some. "Coffee's free," she said. I grabbed a nice cup of French Vanilla and three peaches to soothe my guilty conscience.

It was a miserable, crazy, nasty, ugly Monday morning.

When I got to work, I went to the ladies' room. I looked in the mirror as I washed my hands and realized that my eyes looked strange--washed out. I realized I had put on all my makeup except my mascara, an event that may have now occurred twice in all my make-up wearing years.

When I get home, I thought, I'm going to pack for Tahiti.

I have to say, though, that with the exception of AOL not loading my emails properly and my fighting through the haze of fatigue to do my work, the rest of the day wasn't so bad. Of course when I went to Walmart at lunchtime to pick up a few things I needed, they didn't have my brand of deodorant, so for the first time in my deodorant-using experience, I'm trying a new brand.

I wonder if they have Soft and Dry in Tahiti.