10 Great Things about Fall

Katie Selden Photography Making Grandma's pumpkin muffin recipe and filling the house with the fragrance of cinnamon. Gray skies accented with gold, red, and black. Geese announcing that they are flying over our house every evening about 6:30. Feeling just a little bit chilly when I go out to my car in the morning and evening. Pumpkins and mums on my front porch. Needing the covers when I crawl into bed. Leaf dances in the woods behind the building where I work. Candy corn. The faint smell of smoke in the night air. Re-acquainting myself with my sweaters. Isn't this photo great? My daughter with hair the color of autumn leaves took it. You can see more of her photography here.

The Irony of Christmas

Christmas is a day of beautiful ironies--most quite familiar to those of us who know the true Christmas story. The sheer poetry of Christmas alone has inspired some of the greatest music, literature, ballet--and in more recent years, theater and cinema. Some of the ironies are obvious: the one through whom all things were made enters his creation by way of human birth--a process he created. But the world that was made by him did not know him. The Word, born as a baby, had to learn to speak. The one who upholds the universe by the word of his power crawled on the ground, eventually learned to walk, and actually needed to be educated in the ways necessary for functioning on this earth. The heir of all things was born in a manger in a small town, entrusted to earthly parents of modest means, at best. And--the greatest irony of all--"Born that man no more may die: Born to raise the sons of earth, Born to give them second birth." To say it in a less poetic way, He was born to die.

And then there were those characters surrounding the birth. His arrival was not reported in Israel Today, The Jerusalem Times,or on any local network. Instead, angels appeared to shepherds, not the most respected, highest paid workers of the day. And those attending His first visit to the temple were not well-known rulers or celebrities of any sort. The attendees were just an old man and an old woman, one who had been waiting his whole life for the consolation of Israel and one who had worshiped and fasted night and day, who immediately recognized this baby as the one who would bring redemption to Israel.

And there are the modern ironies. The world that does not know Him still wishes to celebrate something this time of year--a sort of secular peace and joy, a feel-good season, where lesbian pop singers record Christmas CDs, singing songs co-written by Muslims to the glory of . . . unity/diversity/peace [pick one--certainly not glory to the One about whom the first Christmas singers sang]. The very event that gives life, that provides peace for those on whom His favor rests, has turned into a frenzy of wide-screen, HD TVs, iPhones, video game systems, and front yards decorated with penguins, snowmen, manger scenes, reindeer--the things that drain life from us and often drive us away from him.

This poem by G. K. Chesterton captures the exquisite ironies of Christmas in an incredibly beautiful way. May you know the wonders of the ironies of Christmas: that the one who knew no sin came to earth to be sin for you so that you may be clothed in his righteousness; that he was born to die, and in doing so, triumph over death so that with him, you might share in the victory; that the one for whom there was no room in the inn is now preparing a place for you so that in a real, tangible way, he might be Immanuel--God with us and us with him for eternity.

Gloria in Profundis

There has fallen on earth for a token
A god too great for the sky.
He has burst out of all things and broken
The bounds of eternity:
Into time and the terminal land
He has strayed like a thief or a lover,
For the wine of the world brims over,
Its splendour is spilt on the sand.

Who is proud when the heavens are humble,
Who mounts if the mountains fall,
If the fixed stars topple and tumble
And a deluge of love drowns all—
Who rears up his head for a crown,
Who holds up his will for a warrant,
Who strives with the starry torrent,
When all that is good goes down?

For in dread of such falling and failing
The fallen angels fell
Inverted in insolence, scaling
The hanging mountain of hell:
But unmeasured of plummet and rod
Too deep for their sight to scan,
Outrushing the fall of man
Is the height of the fall of God.

Glory to God in the Lowest
The spout of the stars in spate—
Where thunderbolt thinks to be slowest
And the lightning fears to be late:
As men dive for sunken gem
Pursuing, we hunt and hound it,
The fallen star has found it
In the cavern of Bethlehem.

Gilbert Keith Chesterton

*photo by Katie Selden

May Happenings

This was just one of those weekends that was just jam packed with activity and excitement at the Selden house! The action began Friday night when Katie and friends attended South Christian's Junior-Senior Event [the nice word Christian schools use for prom]. Here she is all glammed up for the big night in her yellow Belle-like dress. She and several of her friends enjoyed sophisticated dining at TGIFriday's downtown and then attended the event at Grand Rapids Public Museum.


And while Katie was enjoying the South event, Henry and I were just around the corner at DeVos Hall in awe of the Grand Rapids Symphony and guest artist, pianist Andre Watts. It was quite an evening, with pieces by Ravel, a piano concerto by Grieg (featuring Watts), and a Tchaikovsky selection. What an evening of music, and Watts was excellent. From our seats in the mezzanine, we could actually watch him playing, and as someone who had piano lessons from third grade to college, I marveled at his technique and skill.

And it all peaked on Sunday with Mother's Day. Our little dining area was filled with mothers and the people who love them. Our celebration included the three of us, my parents, Henry, and his mom. It seemed appropriate that I, a mom, actually prepared a pretty good meal, something I know I'm capable of but rarely happens. We feasted on that great traditional Mother's Day favorite, lasagna, and for dessert we savored my best-ever homemade cheesecake.

And in the few down moments, I continued reading the sleeper surprise that is currently topping the Christian bestseller lists: The Shack. There will be a review when I've finished reading it--I promise! But this is probably enough excitement for now.

Survival of the Mommest

Given the somewhat pathetic, whiny tone of my last post, I thought I should follow up with the sequel, the Friday that followed the pitiful Thursday night.

Friday was a good day, the day parents were included in the junior visit to Trinity College. I arrived on campus shortly before 9:00 AM. The students had been gathered for a welcome and devotional time, and I was somewhat gratified to see the look of happiness (and relief, perhaps?) on Katie's face when I walked in the room during the admissions department presentation.

Parents and students were split up and taken on tours of the campus. It's a quaint, small campus, and the dorms were okay. Katie thinks they're good, so if she ends up there, then all that really matters is that she finds them livable. The dorm rules were definitely different from Cedarville College's eighties-something dorm rules, the last dorm rules I ever gave much thought to. Of course guys and girls live in the same building, but they only live together on one floor, with the guys in one wing and the girls in the other. The question is no longer, "Are members of the opposite sex allowed in the rooms?" but rather, "How late may members of the opposite sex stay in each others' rooms?" I'm just not going to think about that very much.

The highlight of Friday's visit was meeting with the art department's representative, an enthusiastic young professor who told us about the new facility dedicated to the art and communications departments that will be opening this fall. She's had the responsibility of ordering the equipment (including Macs for the graphic design emphasis) for the new facility, and we were pleased to see the commitment to the arts at this small liberal arts college. In fact, one of the front-page stories in the student newspaper was the problem that students don't support sports events well, and my tour guide, a baseball player, somewhat plaintively explained that AFTER the arts and communications facility is finished, then attention will be paid to a baseball field. This lack of sports zeal definitely warmed our artsy hearts.

We also had an opportunity to hear from the financial director (yikes!), and I'm still trying to grasp the sticker price of a four-year private college education. And we talked to a rep from the music department who described some of the choral opportunities for students who want to participate. It sounds like Katie would get to keep up with her music love if she wanted to at Trinity.

And so Friday ended up being a good day. It's hard not to feel the excitement of academia and to realize that Katie will get to experience all of this soon. And I will survive; other moms have made it, and I will too.

Tomorrow Katie goes to a college fair here in Grand Rapids. Henry's going to take her to that one. It will be a good initiation to dad duties, and he probably won't experience the trauma I underwent.

Growing Up

Here I sit, all alone in a hotel in Tinley Park, Illinois, faced with the reality that my little red-haired girl is growing up. It's spring break, and we decided that it was probably a good time to jump into college-visit mode, since we have only a little more than a year to go till my Katie ventures out on her own. Her first visit: Trinity Christian College in Palos Heights, Illinois, just southwest of Chicago.

While this is what I've been training Katie up for all these years, it's a little scary thinking that there will come a time--not too far in the distant future--when I won't hear her singing, giggling, walking through the house with her cell phone attached to her head or have her available as an ever-ready shopping companion all the time. I started drilling her on the order of life (go to school, go to college, get a degree, get married, have babies) when she was about four, with an emphasis on the go-to-college part, so she's only following through with what she's been taught. But sitting here all alone, with Katie and her girlfriend with the other visiting juniors down at Navy Pier, my Henry back in Grand Rapids, and Jonathan away with his grandparents visiting family in West Virginia--it's a little more alone time than I bargained for.

So tomorrow is a day of visiting classes, touring the campus (it's quaint), and talking with the different college reps. I don't know how Katie feels about all this, but I'm thinking I'm a little too young for having a child in college. And when it's all said and done, we'll hit the outlets in Michigan City on the way home--just like always. We firmly believe that the mother and daughter who shop together can never really be far apart from each other. And maybe she'll think about that and seriously consider attending a local Christian college (Cornerstone maybe?)that will allow her to stay close to home and still fulfill the life order we've talked about.

Butterflies Are Blooming

Therefore if any man is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold, new things have come (2 Corinthians 5:17).


This past Saturday Henry, Katie, Jonathan, and I visited the "Butterflies Are Blooming" exhibit at Meijer Gardens. I'm always amazed by the beauty of these creatures and at the creativity of the God who made them. So many colors, wing shapes, and sizes--and so much grace. It's fascinating watching them fly around and land to drink nectar, carefully balancing as they gradually fold their wings together. And you're never quite sure when one lands on you; it seems like something is there, but the sensation is so faint that you have to ask someone if there's a butterfly on your head.

It was a fantastic way to spend a cold but sunny Saturday afternoon, and the whole experience offered up the promise of spring and warmth after what has been a long cold winter. Although butterflies symbolize life and remind me of the verse above, they live only two weeks before they die. Caught up by the romance of it all, I theorized that since they don't get to live very long, their compensation is that they all get to be extremely beautiful. Henry the scientist reminded me that fruit flies don't get to live very long, either, but they don't get to be beautiful, and so my theory is flawed. I still like it.

Katie took over two hundred pictures while she was there, and this is one of her favorites.

January Beauty

After the excitement of the holidays and getting engaged and all, things have calmed down somewhat, and while I do intend to post about Katie's exciting adventures in the world of politics this week and my own head-spinning entrance into the world of wedding planning, tonight she needs to use the computer to write a speech. So we struck a deal: I read her speech, and she lets me post one of her pictures. I think she captured this unique contrast of the whiteness of snow with the redness of the leaf quite well. Enjoy!