10 Things I've Learned from Les Miserables

(Fair Warning: There will be plot spoilers so if you're unfamiliar, go rent/stream the 10th Anniversary Concert, the 25th Anniversary Concert, or the Hugh Jackman film and come back. Or, if you'd rather, here's a great synopsis.)

July 1994
On top of the Empire State Building

My backstory: 

I first saw Les Mis in 1994 with my dad on a hot summer's day in New York City. We were vacationing in relatively nearby Ocean City, New Jersey, and Dad took me up to the Big Apple for a day. I was nine-and-a-half years old. I remember on our drive into the city my dad explained two things to me. One, don't look at anyone in a raincoat because they might be a flasher (this stayed with me for years ). Two, for the purposes of seeing Les Mis, he had to explain prostitution. Of the two, the flasher thing was more traumatizing. I was wary of trench raincoats for years. 

I'm sure I barely understood what was happening in the show and I certainly didn't grasp the  profound themes of human nature, but something magical happened to me. Magic always happens with Les Mis and me. And on that hot July day, a spell was cast on me that has lingered for the last twenty-five years and shows no signs of fading. 

May 1998
7th Grade Choir Concert

When my dad purchased the three-disc complete symphonic recording I commandeered it and made it mine. Sorry, not sorry. I read the liner notes cover to cover multiple times. I learned about where the cast members were from and how they did the recording. And I poured over the lyrics to soak them up. I must've been about eleven or twelve by then. The second disc was my favorite. It had all of Eponine's songs. And I really loved me some Eponine. When I was thirteen, I got to sing "On My Own" for my first real solo at the seventh grade choir concert. I remember our director raising an eyebrow when I asked if I could, but he humored me and it remains one of the proudest moments in my personal history. (Incidentally, it's been twenty-two years and I can still sing every word with as much feeling and gusto as I did then. Probably more.)  

April 2011
Playhouse Square

Les Mis has a way of surfacing when I need it. As a teenager it gave me music for my emotions. As a twenty-something it was a declaration of the triumph of grace and light. As a worn out mom in my mid-thirties, it refills my cup with the fullness of music, story, and magic. I got to see the 2019 staged production in a cinema showing on my thirty-fifth birthday the other night. It was everything I needed and more.

The deep connection I've had with this show for twenty-five years has proven to be rich and enriching. I've grown up, like a little Cosette, with the story and songs of Les Miserables as a sort of soundtrack running in the background of my life. I certainly had no idea as a wide-eyed nine-year-old little girl of the gift I was given that summer day in New York City, but it's one I now hold very dear indeed. 

The lessons: 

The themes of grace, redemption, love, mercy, justice, friendship, comradeship, sacrifice, light, and dark didn't become clear to me until I hit adulthood. There are about as many themes as there are characters and scene changes in Les Miserables (so a lot). Every time I do a deep dive back into it I resurface with some new truth uncovered. Reading the novel enhanced that by about a billion. It's a hefty tome, but I recommend reading it at least once. The character development alone is enough reason to power through the girth. In the rest of this post, I'll share with you just ten lyrics that have taught me something or resonated deeply with me over the years.

1. To love another person is to see the face of God: This is hands-down my favorite lyric from any show or any song ever. And my favorite book of the Bible is 1 John. What in the world do these two things have in common? This verse right here, which I'm sharing in the Amplified translation because I like how full it is. "No one has seen God at any time. But if we love one another [with unselfish concern], God abides in us, and His love [the love that is His essence abides in us and] is completed and perfected in us." (1 John 4:12) Because God is love and mankind is made in His image when we love, we are showing Him to others, and seeing Him in the object of our love. It's not easy to remember. Unselfish love is not the typical knee-jerk reaction when we're wronged or have our patience tested, but it is the manifestation of God within us. This kind of love changes both the giver and the recipient. This kind of love is actually divine.  

2. "Another story must begin!": Okay, so honestly, I used to gloss over the beginning because I was all about the students later on. But then, as I grew older, I realized that the most incredible thing happens in the prologue. After Valjean is released from prison, he's treated abominably by people in the villages where he tries to make a life. Then, the kind old Bishop of Digne invites him to stay for the night. This scene is even more powerful in the book as Hugo tells us what the Bishop's servants think (Bishop be crazy) and how precious the silver really is to the Bishop. In the musical, we see Valjean marvel at the foolishness of the Bishop in trusting him as he steals the silver. He's caught and arrested (as a kid, I always thought maybe he wouldn't have been caught if he didn't sing about it so loudly. *shrug*) and brought back to the Bishop. Valjean has told his captors that the silver was a gift from the Bishop, and shockingly, he corroborates the story. In an act of heaping mercy, the Bishop also gifts Valjean the silver candlesticks which he had left behind. As he does he tells him that he must use the profit from selling the precious silver to become an honest man, that in his act of forgiveness and mercy, he is showing him God's love, and it must change his life. This single act of radical kindness changes the trajectory of Valjean's life which then in turn saves the lives of Cosette and later Marius. Because Valjean experiences the sacrificial, radical love of God through the Bishop, he has to grapple with his own sin and hatred. He recognizes that this is a crossroads. Does he allow himself to be changed by this love? Or does he cling to what he knows? For Jean Valjean, he must literally create a new identity and begin again, but I find this a brilliant example of how we are all made new in Christ. Valjean becomes a new creation through redemptive love and mercy, and although we aren't convicts fresh off the chain gang, we too must be made new in Christ. And in that new identity, there is freedom to love and forgive generously.

3. "Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise." : Darkness doesn't get to win; light is always the victor in the end. This line is taken from the epilogue, when all the characters who have died return as a somewhat ghostly chorus. It begins very softly and faintly, but it is "the music of a people who are climbing to the light." By the time the last notes ring out, it's a full fanfare about the victory that's promised "when tomorrow comes." I am one who often has to climb to the light. To put it as simply as I can, depression is hell. When I'm experiencing depression, it cuts off all that is good, healthy, and light from my experience. I know it's out there, but I can't reach it. I can't make it mine. Still, I climb for the light not just because I know it's there, but because I am a child of God. There's a fullness of life that is my birthright now. It is absolutely worth the struggle--I am worth the struggle--to fight the darkness of the night, and sing as the sun rises.

4."It is time for us all to decide who we are...": Very recently I realized how intensely devoted almost every character is to something or someone, and they each have a point at which they're willing to die for it. Fantine is desperately devoted to the well-being of her beloved child. Javert is devoted obsessed with justice; Enjorlas with equality and freedom. Grantaire is devoted to both wine and his friendship with Enjorlas (usually in that order). Eponine is devoted to Marius. Marius is devoted to both the cause of equality and to his new found love, Cosette, and ballads passionately about the conflict. Cosette is devoted to her father and to Marius. And Jean Valjean, the star, he's devoted to loving and protecting Cosette, and honoring God and using every bit of the redemptive grace he was given for the good of others. Devotion abounds, people, it's dripping off the walls. It's probably embarrassing it took me two and a half decades to really notice it. (continued in #5)

5. "We're the ones who make it in the end." : The exception to all this devotion is the Thernadiers who care only for themselves and self-preservation. The contrast, in fact, is startling. As they tell us, they're the ones who make it in the end.  And they're right. Spoiler: by the time the curtain falls, only four characters are still alive--the young lovers, Marius and Cosette, and the stinking Thernadiers. But what is the survival of the Thernadiers for? Their legacy is worthless. Utterly and entirely worthless because it only serves themselves and their good fortune is only ever temporary. On the other hand, the lives and sacrifices of (almost) all the others are beautiful. To love deeply and truly, and to be devoted sincerely to an ideal gives meaning to their lives and purpose in their legacy. The love, friendship, and devotion can carry Marius and Cosette into their future together infused with strength of those they've lost. Which prompts me to consider my convictions, my personal sacrifices, and the legacy I'm crafting. A legacy doesn't just pop up upon death, instead, it's the culmination of things cultivated in life. What do I believe in passionately? Who do I love unselfishly and sacrificially? What foundation am I crafting for those who will carry on when my time has passed? If my life is all about me, it's worthless. If my love stops just short of sacrificial, it's incomplete. If my convictions run dry when tested, they don't have much value

6. "My heart is stone and still it trembles.": There is one more exception to this devotion rule. Javert's obsession with justice ends up being the end of him. And try as I might, I can't find anything redemptive about it. Instead, what I learn is that mercy is a polarizing thing. It either changes you or it hardens you. Case in point? Inspector Javert. Over the years, I've come to see his suicide as one of the saddest parts in the show. Michael Ball's recent performance as the inspector definitely aided in that sympathy. But the heartbreaking thing about Javert is his deep misunderstanding of God, the law, and humanity. When he's offered mercy, it breaks him. The same act that set Valjean free to live a redeemed life, condemns Javert to suicide. His devotion to justice crowds out any room for mercy. His intense distrust for mankind pushes away any connection he might make. His legalistic understanding of salvation leaves him without any place for the love of Christ. He's a strong contender for the most tragic figure I've ever encountered in a musical.

7. "In my need, you have always been there.": If "Bring Him Home" isn't one of the most emotional songs in a musical, then I don't know what is. And here's the thing, in the musical, it sorta gets lost that Valjean marches his self to the barricade hell-bent on killing Marius after he intercepts the love letter to Cosette. Then, he's so impressed with Marius that he ends up saving his life. But in the musical, since this is the way musicals work, we get this incredible song. The whole thing is a prayer in which Valjean wholly recognizes that it's all in God's hands. I personally really love this lyric because I know that in my own life, God has always been there. Through heartaches and trauma and grief, God has never left me. That doesn't mean I've always gotten my way or that life is just sunshine and roses. Go back and re-read that line about heartache and trauma and grief. Life is life and sometimes it knocks the wind right out of you. And yet God remains steadfast, and I can always call on Him. I also like that God's way of answering Valjean's prayer is to make him an active participant in making it so. Marius isn't miraculously spared from any injury; instead Valjean carries him through sewers and pleads with Javert to give the boy a fighting chance to live. And, in my experience, God's answers to prayers usually require us to step up and do something too.

8. "This rain will wash away what's past...and rain will make the flowers grow.": Major spoiler: This is the heart wrenching moment between Marius and Eponine when she finally feels the warmth of his embrace and love as she dies in his arms. It's rough. Yet there is something so poignant and hopeful about Eponine. Unlike her parents, the Thernadiers, she's not bitter, covetous, and nasty. Eponine takes her hardships in stride, constantly imagining what could be and giving of herself to an absolute fault. In this song, she tells us that rain is really okay. That sorrow can lead to healing, that darkness precedes light. And rain is actually life-giving. Without it flowers don't bloom, trees wither, fields die from want of water. How too we humans blossom and grow with rain, even if we think all we really want is sunny days without the challenges of clouds and storms. The truth is, if we want beauty and strength, we must accept also what is bleak and hard. 

9. "I will never go away and we will be together every day.": Okay, full disclosure, I used to make fun of this line. Like, okay, Cosette, literally all of Marius' friends have just senselessly died, but it's alright because you exist. That's not narcissistic at all, sweetie. But I was terribly wrong about Cosette! What she's doing in this moment is drawing Marius from the edge of despair. He has survivor's guilt and is deeply grieving his friends. Grief is important. He must grieve, he should grieve. But he can not stay there, it will consume him. And Cosette knows this. With gentleness and hope, she helps him recall that his life has meaning, and that there is love in it. Love, as we have already seen, is a very powerful thing. Love and hope have the strength to pull us back from the edge of darkest despair.

10. "Take my hand, I'll lead you to salvation. Take my love for love is everlasting.": Les Mis shows us the vital importance of human connection, tenderness, and friendship. Without it we become narrow-minded, self-serving, and cruel. In the absence of love and mercy, only brutality and depravity can grow. Yet when love and mercy are given, hope is born. And out of hope, all manner of new life begins. Kindness, gentleness, sacrificial love, honor, and integrity blossom and take deep root. In friendship and camaraderie, there is strength to stand in the darkness and proclaim the light. It is love that lasts forever and ever. "And now there remain: faith [abiding trust in God and His promises], hope [confident expectation of eternal salvation], love [unselfish love for others growing out of God’s love for me], these three [the choicest graces]; but the greatest of these is love." (1 Corinthians 13:13)

And if you made it to the end....here's a special treat! I've been binge-watching this clip for about a week now. Michael Ball and Bradley Jaden singing a duet version of "Stars". It's pretty fantastic. 

I Don't Have A Picture Book Problem (Gather the Good)

Last year, or maybe the year before, I was hauling all of my Christmas picture books out of storage, and I thought to myself, "Self, you might have a problem." It's not that the books weighed too much or the box was falling apart; this is more of an addiction type problem. I kinda sorta have a lot of Christmas picture books. So, I combed through them all and found like three I could safely discard without regretting it. I don't even remember them, so clearly, I made okay choices here. And then I decided that I, in fact, do not have problem. A penchant for Christmas picture books is a pretty low-key addiction. And if someone is going to judge me based on how many I have, well, that person should maybe get a life. Or a library card and go check out some Christmas picture books. You literally cannot have a bad time reading a beautifully illustrated book with a wintry or holiday theme.

This year we decided to count them. My

seven year old son laid them all out across the living room floor. We started with the non-religious ones first since we have more of those. I used to feel kinda bad about that. As a Christian, we really do keep Jesus the focus of our Christmas season, even though we still "believe" in Santa and all that sparkly North Pole magic. Again, I pointed out to myself that many of those non-religious books have nothing to do with Santa at all. Trees, snowstorms, mice, bears, chimney sweeps, Frosty, lighthouses, old-fashioned celebrations, and so on and so forth. It's not like a book automatically has Santa in it, just because it doesn't have Jesus. So there. (You can tell that I argue with my subconscious a lot. It can be a real nag sometimes). 

Anyway, the counting. He set them all out and we remarked at how many there are. My husband came home in the middle of this and looked at me like perhaps I have a problem, but he didn't say anything out loud. We decided to keep going and set out all the religious ones too. At this point, I figured I should catalog the collection so I stop buying duplicates (oops). 

Then someone knocked on our front door and the dog lost his mind and skidded through all the books. The musical ones started playing, my son started screeching about how the dog messed them up, and my daughter ran to the window with the dog (tripping over a basket of Legos and adding to the melee). That's really neither here nor there about the collection, but it paints a good picture of daily life in our home. 

So, after we straightened the books a little and the dog regained his senses, I sat down on the floor and started to type. And it turns out we have 101 Christmas picture books.....not including my The Night Before Christmas collection my parents started when I was a baby. I get at least one every year on my birthday and have all my life. It's safe to say there's 50-75 (even though my 35th birthday is just next week!) in that collection. I'll count and catalog when I get them out later. 

As if that's not enough, I just checked out a bunch more from the library! I seem to have an insatiable thirst for these books. I love a good picture book, just in general. From Miss Rumphius to Charlie the Ranch Dog to Corduroy to Finding Winnie, I absolutely adore children's books. Maybe it's the boiled down storytelling that somehow doesn't skimp on illustrative language, or the pictures themselves, or perhaps it's the cozy feeling I get from reading a book that is a friend for children. Truthfully, we own several hundred picture books all told, and I'm not here to apologize for it. Books are truly magical things and I want them at the ready all over our house. 

And Christmas ones seem to contain an extra helping of that magic. There's enchantment in these stories about miracles and magic. There's warmth in stories of friendship, generosity, and love. I think that sometimes, for grown-ups, there's something so slippery and elusive about the Spirit of Christmas. We can hold it in the palm of our hands for a moment, and then, it's gone. Like a firefly or a snowflake. We lose it in that hustle and bustle. We try so hard to manufacture the magic, that sometimes, the spirit of Christmas gets choked out. But books help us hold that more concretely. Book don't ever change on us unexpectedly. They don't demand much of us. They don't get hacked up for commercial breaks. And books that only appear once a year remain particularly special, sweet, and memorable. 

Maybe that's what I love most about books, picture books, and Christmas picture books. There's memories to find in the pages. Sharing them with my children is an obvious memory maker. We snuggle up in Christmas forts (i.e. throwing a Christmas table cloth over some chairs), we huddle around candlelight, we plunk down on the couch, and we read, read, read. If you don't have little ones, read anyway. Read to your big kids. Read to yourself. Notice what memories come back, notice the feeling that you get, notice the wonder that's hidden in the printed pages. It's there, I promise you. Just find the right book! 

Here are some of our favorites from our personal collection. 

Non-Religious

1. Papa's Christmas Gift: Around the World on the Night Before Christmas (Cheryl Harness)
2. The Visit: The Delightful History and Origin of the Night Before Christmas (Mark Kimball Moulton)
3. The Barnyard Night Before Christmas (Beth Terrill)
4. A Book of Christmas (Tasha Tudor)
5. The Christmas We Moved to the Barn (Alexandra Day)
6. Lighthouse Christmas (Toni Buzzeo)
7. Christmas Farm (Mary Lynn Ray)
8. Christmas Magic (Michael Garland)
9. Who Will Guide My Sleight Tonight? (Jerry Pollotta)
10. Ben's Christmas Carol (Toby Forward) 

You'll notice a sort of Night Before Christmas theme in that list, but I'll do a separate post with some of my favorites. They're not all created equal. Some of them are abridged. *Gasp* The horror! 

Okay, back to recommendations. 

Religious

1. Mortimer's Christmas Manger (Karma Wilson)
2. Santa's Favorite Story (Hisako Aoki)
3. The Christmas Fox (Anik McGrory)
4. Room for a Little One (Martin Waddell)
5. As We Saw It (Tessa Colina) *this one was my mother's so check www.bookfinder.com if you want to track down a copy
6. The Nativity: Mary Remembers (Laurie Knowlton)
7. The Legend of the Candy Cane (Lori Walberg)
8. Come and See (Monica Mayper)
9. A Night the Stars Danced for Joy (Bob Hartman)
10. Christmas in the Barn (Margaret Wise Brown)

I'm tempted to give you a third list of books we love from the library (that I really want for my collection), but the kids and I have started a rating system for library books. We each have a total of two stars we can give each book we read for a grand total of six stars. This way, I can look back over our lists and see which books we really loved, which were okay, which to not bother checking out again. So, after we read our library selections and score them, I'll share that list. I'll even include how many stars each book earned! 

Well, okay then. You now either think I'm a Christmas nut who should stay away from library book sales, or you're inspired to go read some picture books yourself. In any case, I'm off to enjoy some delicious vanilla mint green tea and read before bed. Happy reading!! 

Then He Smiled At Me (Gather the Good)

If you had asked my feelings on the song "Little Drummer Boy" at any point in my life before 2007 I would've told you that it is my very least favorite Christmas song and it's ugly and I hate it. I had very strong feelings against this piece of music. Why? Two reasons. The horrid chorale version with the operatic first sopranos singing it without any feeling at all. And Rob and Laura Petrie's annoying little boy, Richie, sang it in one of the holiday episodes (and since I'm an old soul and the Dick Van Dyke Show has been one of my favorite shows since forever this was a big reason). Just yuck times yuck equals yuck, got it? No "Little Drummer Boy" for me, thanks!

So then you must be asking yourself what happened in 2007 that changed my mind. I'll tell you. Josh Groban released his Christmas Album Noel. Total transparency here: this album makes me cry every single bleedin' time I listen to it. It's been twelve years, folks, and I'm still crying. He's got a version of "Silent Night" that's absolutely perfect, and "I'll Be Home For Christmas" makes me want to sob, and he ends with this amazing full choral and organ version of  "O, Come All Ye Faithful" that's just churchy and thrilling all at once. The man knows how to sing a good Christmas song. Thus, it was his version of "Little Drummer Boy" that first broke through all my seasoned prejudice against it and revealed the sweet tenderness and beauty of this song.

I suppose, the story had gotten lost in those other versions. Robot sopranos don't exactly spin a great yarn about
a poor little boy eager to see a most special and holy baby with nothing to bring but an earnest and exuberant drum solo. And yeah, sure, in real life, no mother wants a little boy rocking out while her newborn tries to sleep. But set that aside and enjoy the narrative. After all, it's basically the story of what we have to offer the Christ Child.

"I am a poor boy too....I played my best for him....Then he smiled at me...."

The King of Kings, the Creator of all the Universe, the Keeper of every star, and the Master of all, arrived on our dusty, grubby planet as a very poor little baby. He experienced a level of poverty that I never have, and more than likely, never will. And yet, I am a poor girl, too. Poor in spirit. Without the Christ Child, I am as impoverished as it is possible to be. Praise be, it's not my best that earns His favor and thereby, salvation. He purchased my path to spiritual upward mobility with His own blood and sacrifice about thirty-three years after His birth on a wretched cross. That's why I give Him my best. Oh, believe me, my best is worth about as much as that poorly timed drum solo from the little boy. But it's what I have to give Him as an expression of thanks and awe and love. The best of my heart, the best of my attitude, the best of my thoughts, the best of my efforts, the best of my dreams, the best of my abilities....I'm also prone to forget and get lazy and self-centered, and need reminded of my poverty, my salvation, and have my best efforts renewed. Sometimes that comes in quiet contemplation and scripture reading, sometimes through a sermon, and sometimes in a song.

Below is a bulleted list of some of my favorite versions of "Little Drummer Boy".

• Josh Groban, "Little Drummer Boy", Noel
• Vince Guaraldi Trio, "My Little Drum", A Charlie Brown Christmas
• Bing Crosby & David Bowie, "Peace on Earth/ Little Drummer Boy", Bing at Christmas
• For King and Country, "Little Drummer Boy", Into the Silent Night 
• Mannheim Steamroller, "Little Drummer Boy", A Fresh Aire Christmas 

And check out this electric performance by For King and Country. Watch for the mic drop at the end (it's not what you think when I say 'mic drop'). 

The Season of Breaking Through (Gather the Good)

"Emmanuel has come to us. The Christ is born, Hallelujah! Our God made low to raise us up. Emmanuel, has come to us." ---God Made Low

Next Sunday is the start of Advent, December 1st. Whether you are religious or not, the Christmas season comes hard and heavy, at least in most parts of the Western World. We get bombarded with tinsel, gift wrapping, and Bing Crosby for at least twenty-five days straight. I think we all end up feeling rather Charlie Brown about it, that Christmas is too commercial, and can't we all just sing around a sad little tree in the spirit of love and friendship? Nope. We know we can't. Expectations and pressure and the burden of perfect, magical memories weight heavy. It's a lot.

To be quite honest, some years I feel Christmas, and some years I don't. This year, I've been feeling a decent amount of anxiety about it. I feel overwhelmed by the burden of expectations and wish lists. I'm tired and don't have any idea how to muster up the wherewithal to pull it off. I know I am not alone.

"As He sleeps upon the hay He holds the moon and stars in place. Though born an infant He remains the sovereign God of endless days."--God Made Low

We sang a brand new (to me) Christmas song this past week at church. There was something about hearing a totally new song on such a familiar subject that was able to chip away a bit of the rock formation around my heart. In that moment of clarity, in the respite from the weariness, I understood that this is the season of breaking through.

Breakthroughs are amazing things. Sometimes the breakthroughs seem small to us grown people, like the light bulb that finally went off for my son that unlocked the world of reading, or when my daughter figured out potty training. We did these things so long ago that we forget the independence and sense of pride that came with them. Some breakthroughs impact the world--like when Edison finally got his light bulb right. And some breakthroughs happen in inches and degrees and in the mundane everyday moments, like when I choose patience over anger, gratitude over entitlement, grace over bitterness.

"You didn't want Heaven without us, so, Jesus, you brought Heaven down..."--What a Beautiful Name

And for Christians,  Christmas is when we stop to remember the moment when Christ broke through. His breakthrough was like none other in all of history or mankind. He broke through the wall of darkness that separated the created from the Creator, the beloved from the lover, the children from their Father. His break through demanded the attention of all heaven and hell, even though most of the Earthlings slept right through it.

I don't really care if it's historically accurate to celebrate this moment in late December. I don't really care about Saturnalia and pagan roots. It's interesting conversation, but it's not exactly the point. The point is that Jesus came, he saw, he conquered (and he did it a lot better than Caesar), and it's worth remembering, it's worth celebrating. I realize that the victory came at Calvary, but without Bethlehem, we have no way to the cross. To rend the veil in the temple, a breach first had to be made into our world at all.

"For all our sins one day He'll die to make us sons of God on high. Let every heart prepare Him room. The promises have all come true."--God Made Low

Since I was in middle school, I read a book almost every year called The Birth by Gene Edwards. It's a short little book, probably a novella actually. And it's told from the perspective of Michael and Gabriel, the archangels. In this book, Michael actually has to bust a hole in an iron or steel wall that has come to separate Earth from Heaven so that Gabriel can get through to Mary. I don't know if that's a Biblically accurate idea or not, but it's a powerful one anyway. There had to be a literal breakthrough on the part of Heaven to penetrate the palpable darkness of sin and evil coating the entire world. And not just a message came through. Emmanuel. God with us. Jesus.

So. It's late November. Thanksgiving is just a few days away. We decorated our tree and my Amazon shopping cart is full. Christmas steadily approaches. The question is: will this be a season of breakthrough in my own heart? Will the coating of weariness, uncertainty, frustration be busted open in this season of light? God, I hope so, I pray so. Let it be so. Let the trappings and burdens fall away. They're not real. They don't matter in the end. What matters is the breakthrough. I know I need one this year. And I'm pretty sure I'm not alone.

I'll be sharing some of my favorite Christmas music, books, recipes, and so on here on the blog over the next weeks and days. It's a deliberate choice on my part to share beautiful things when I would rather just skip it and sleep. I had a realization the other day that beauty ingested but not shared will only ferment and rot inside. So, I'll be sharing and I hope it blesses you, and helps you find some light in a frazzled season.

"God rest ye, merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay. Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day to save us all from Satan's pow'r when we were gone astray. O' tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy. O' tidings of comfort and joy!" --God Rest Ye Merry Gentlmen

Gather the Good: Despite the Darkness

"Wintergreen, can't outshine your radiance. Wintergreen, or undermine your salience. Wintergreen, I love you more than anything--despite the darkness of some of these days." 

Every now and then a song comes to me that I need. Ballads from Broadway musicals, giddy love songs from pop sensations, powerful proclamations of God's goodness from Christian artists, and honest, hopeful songs from Celtic-styled folk bands. Each song very much needed to speak something specific to me. It is played ad nauseum in its season. And each one remains in a permanent playlist in that whatever-it-is that makes me me. The soul, the heart, both perhaps. In that whatever-it-is there's a special playlist of songs that have shaped and carried me. Whenever I hear them I am reminded of another place, another time, another me, and often, some important truth I still need. 

This summer another song was added to that list. It came by way of music that has already been looping for a year or more. That made both musical experiences richer and better. Like when one book mentions another so you read it, and you end up loving them both to dog-eared pieces. 

I've mentioned before the music of We

Banjo 3, so I won't fangirl about that now. But without WB3, I wouldn't have found The East Pointers. Though, to be fair, my best friend Marybeth found them first. She listened to WB3 on my recommendation, just casually, and then The East Pointers popped up on a Spotify playlist for her. I remember her telling me she found this great Canadian band, but full disclosure, I didn't listen to them right away. What can I say? Sometimes I don't know what's good for me. So many months wasted. Then again, maybe I discovered their music when I needed it most. 

In August, Marybeth and I got tickets for the Dublin Irish Festival so we could see We Banjo 3. Marybeth also noticed that The East Pointers were scheduled to be there. Because we had an entire day deliciously to ourselves to do whatever we wanted, we made plans to see both bands twice. So, before we went I finally started listening to TEP. Before long, their recent single release "Wintergreen" was looping on my Spotify regularly. The more I listened to it, the clearer it became that I needed that song. I still need it. I've listened to it almost every day since the end of July, usually more than once. 

It's a song about having worth, beauty, and meaning despite dark days. Depression is a defining element of my personal narrative. It's not my favorite part of my story. I like the bits better where I make delectable chocolate chip cookies and serve them up in dainty cups of herbal tea for my kiddos. Or when I'm all gussied up and made up and hair done up for a rare date night with my handsome husband. Those parts look nice. They feel nice. The dark parts that sometimes rage, and often, lurk in the background of an otherwise good day, do not feel nice. It can also feel like mental health issues downgrade my worth, beauty, and meaning. I start to feel like that dark shadow of a person instead of a whole person. So, whether I like it or not, depression is a defining part of my life's story.

So, when I find something brave enough to face that kind of thing head-on and come out hopeful about it, I embrace it. Embrace might not be strong enough of a word. I take it in until it's part of me, so when the dark days surface, hope is at the ready.  "Wintergreen" is one of those songs. And I just have to share this quote, taken from The East Pointers website, by their banjoist Koady Chaisson. 

“I was diagnosed bipolar about five years ago and there was so much darkness, so many extreme highs and extreme lows,” Koady says. “It’s actually a song I kind of wish I could have heard then; a vote of confidence from the perspective of someone who loves you regardless of which end of that spectrum you’re at.”

I immediately felt I had found a kindred spirit in someone who was open and honest about their mental health. Which is incredibly fitting since Koady and his cousin Tim Chaisson (fiddler and lead singer) are from Prince Edward Island, same as the enduring and endearing Anne Shirley. I admire the bravery, boldness, and hopefulness The East Pointers infuse into their music.

Last Friday, October 25, the full album Yours to Break was finally released. I say finally because I
had a countdown widget on my phone. It was highly anticipated. By me, anyway. But judging by their social media, I'm not alone. These guys have a worldwide audience and for good reason. Their music is flawlessly executed, a little experimental, incredibly fun, and deeply soulful.

Chestnut Ridge Metropark 

There are two other songs on the new album that I must mention when I'm talking about gathering good things. I mean, the whole thing is good, but in this particular vein of hope and light and feeling alive, two songs stand out to me. The instrumental 'Light Bright' which is immediately followed by 'If You're Still In, I'm In' if you listen to the album in order (which I recommend, it has awesome flow). Since 'Light Bright' is an instrumental I can't share lyrics (duh), but I will tell you that Tim's soaring fiddle, if I close my eyes, makes me feel exactly like a bird. Light and free, soaring above the landscape, catching the wind, and nothing is weighing me down. When depression wants to pin me down, this is exactly the kind of feeling I need.

Now, I'm going to close this post with lyrics from 'If You're Still In, I'm In'. But before I do that, I want to give you a challenge. No, it's not necessarily to listen to The East Pointers. I realize that indie folk music isn't actually everyone's cup of tea. Although it should be.  Go for a drive. Listen to your favorite music. Music that makes you feel. I won't even tell you it has to make you feel happy. Sometimes we need to feel sad (good golly, have I listened to me some sad tunes in certain seasons). Just music that makes you feel something. And look around at the beauty of this autumn. The leaves are starting to fall rapidly, and there are rainy days ahead, so there's no time like the present. Take the long drive home, find a scenic route, go off the usual path, and notice what there is to see. I did this on Friday and between the new tunes and the incredible show of autumn leaves, I felt thoroughly stuffed with beauty. And with beauty, hope. With hope, life. Isn't it awesome how that works?

"We can settle in on a high warm wind. No good comes from hanging back to see what happens. With hearts like heroes, and wings like doves, we can fly away break through the clouds above. Come again, bright days, come again, come again. When you're good to go, I'm following. If you're still in, I'm in." 

Gather the Good: Book Girl

Growing up I was an avid reader. A total bookworm. An absolute geek for books. I read every American Girl book, every volume of The Baby-Sitters Club, as much of Sweet Valley High as I could get my hands on, and I adored the works of Marguerite Henry (books + horses = yes, please!). I took advanced classes in high school and majored in literature in college. I did a lot of reading, to say the least.

Then I sorta just...stopped. Between kids and married life and housekeeping and volunteering at church, there didn't seem to be time. And with social media and TV being such an easy way to unwind, my once beloved books stayed on a dusty shelf. This fact always bothered me. How could such a prolific reader become someone who reads one or two books a year? And more so, how could I ever find my way back?

In the fall of 2018, I started listening to Sally Clarkson's podcast. Her daughter Sarah was launching her newest book, Book Girl. And the timing was kismet. As I listened to Sarah and Sally talk about what it meant to be a book girl, I felt so strongly that I wanted that to be me again. I got a good deal on the eBook and devoured this lovely book. Sarah writes so beautifully, having read pages and pages of deeply beautiful books herself. Each chapter has a theme and then a book list chock full of recommendations. As I poured over the pages, I was reminded of old dear friends like Anne Shirley. I was introduced to many new authors, like Elizabeth Goudge. And I was assured of the actual brilliance of some authors I've never really attempted, like JRR Tolkien. But perhaps most importantly, Sarah gives loads of tips for working in a bit of reading every day. And she shares some compelling reasons for why it matters. The brain thrives on reading in a way it cannot with social media and screens. We grow as people as we read, in empathy, imagination, and understanding. Reading is a magical, powerful pastime.

I read Book Girl in maybe November of 2018. I don't remember precisely but I think it was November because in December I took off reading. I'll tell you all about those reads closer to December. Anyway, I took Sarah's advice and kept a book handy for easy reading. I also downloaded a couple through the library app on my phone. And once I had the taste of it again, I couldn't stop.

As of now, in October of 2019, I've read 50 books. The main secret to my success is that I basically abandoned television for a while. Instead of unwinding with an episode or two of my favorite shows, I picked up a book instead. I also tried to read a chapter every morning during breakfast. I started out reading a chapter of nonfiction in the morning and a chapter of fiction in the evening. That didn't last too long because the fiction was riveting and took over. Thank you, Tedd Dekker. It really didn't take long for that passion for reading to return and for my own book lists to fill up with completed volumes.

So. Are you a book girl? Did you use to be one and seem to have lost the time? Have you never been bookish but would like to be? Start with this book!

And if you're a parent who would like to raise bookish children, check out Sarah's book Caught Up in a Story. In this treasure trove, Sarah goes through the various stages of a story and childhood development. At each stage, she offers a detailed book list with stories to foster imagination and character. I discovered some fantastic books that my son and I both love through this book. Miss Rumphius, Roxaboxen, and Brambly Hedge are now classics in our family. And I have lists of books to read with my kids as they grow that will continue to nurture their imaginations and give them a rich inner life.

Aren't books just the best things??!

Gathering the Good in a Fallow Year

 2019 has been an unusual year for me, personally and writingly. (Hey, Shakespeare made up words and everyone was okay with it). I've felt that this has been somewhat of a fallow year for me. A year of letting the fields go dormant and seeing what wild things grow, what nutrients need restored, and what can bloom in rest. I've picked away at writing here and there, but I've not made significant progress in anything. And that's okay. Believe me--it's taken a lot of work for me to get to the point where I can say that it is okay. When you self-identify as a writer and you stop writing, it's kind of an existential crisis.

Now, however, I want to start blogging again, because in this year I have discovered and cultivated so many beautiful things that bring me joy or catharsis or meaning. I've gobbled up fascinating books and practically brainwashed my family with music on repeat and brewed life-changing cups of tea and even sat awhile in passive entertainment with movies and shows. Off and on, I've thought to myself: I should blog about this! Book lists! Beauty! All the things! But then the words slip off of my fingers, like rings that need sized to fit, and I do not write.

Full disclosure: I'm a little nervous declaring some big return to writing or blogging or whatever. As if it matters terribly much to anyone other than me. But I have one of those personalities that craves all the things and has grand intentions, but then runs off to watch clouds change shape or to pick up another book full of someone else's words. In other words: I'm a creative with ADD.

And yet...it's a wonderful little phrase, isn't it? And yet....There's possibility in it that despite how things are, there may be something else. Ahem, anyway. And yet, I plan to share here some of the very beautiful things I have loved this year. Movies, shows, novels, picture books, non-fiction books, tea blends, music, bands, podcasts....I'm going to gather up this goodness and leave it for you here. So should you ever find yourself in need of something beautiful, or a simple joy, you can find some suggestions. After all, so many of the things I have enjoyed this year came on the recommendation of others. Isn't the internet a marvelous place that way? People I've never met in real life have led me to fountains of loveliness, and perhaps, I can leave a well for others.

One of the most important lessons I have learned in this fallow year is that beauty matters. Oh, it can feel like a waste of time, or that no one in all the world cares, but that simply isn't so. God himself revels in beauty. Look around at this colorful world! Outside my window right now is a tree turning the most remarkable shade of golden yellow. On Sunday I marveled with my children and my nieces at the bright pink of flamingos. And my son and my daughter and myself all have uniquely different shades of green eyes...my daughter's are so dark that the green can only be seen in the right light, my son's are rimmed with gold, and mine are bright like a polished emerald. And who among us has never cried at the intense beauty of a song? Who has never laid aside a book feeling full and satisfied, almost as if it was a feast? Beauty nourishes us! It moves us along and sustains us. And in the darkest times, or in years of existential crisis, beauty gives us purpose.

So, I think it's time that I share this treasure trove I've gathered. In fact, the tag for each of these posts will be: Gather the Good. It's the name of a We Banjo 3 album and I fell in love with the name on contact. And if you somehow still don't know who We Banjo 3 is, I suggest you go back and read this post. Then, hop on Spotify or wherever you listen to music, and listen to the Haven album. Or the song 'Happiness'. You can't go wrong. Trust me.

I will also try to do some stories on Instagram and Facebook with brief snippets of what I'm loving and some goodness for your day. And here on the blog I can provide links where you can buy, download, subscribe, listen, or otherwise enjoy it for yourself.

And please, always feel free to share with me any books, movies, songs, or anything else that has been a particular source of beauty or meaning for you. Or a simple pleasure, like brewing a cup of tea, or I don't know, sketching a wildflower. I'm always on the hunt for more good things to gather.

Who They Really Were: A Journey

I never imagined I would make a serious attempt at writing historical fiction. When I was in early high school, I started a manuscript of a story set in the 1840s but that's because I was working at a living history museum and thought I knew everything. I think I still have it in a bright purple envelope, but I refuse to go looking. Reading it, I'm sure, would we incredibly cringe-worthy.

*shudder*

You see, despite the fact that I have a real love for history, and even minored in history in college, I'm really not much a historian. I get bored too easily by non-fiction to read much of it. It often seems like a lot of dry detail packaged with a nice cover. So I figured I would never write historical fiction because I would never know enough about any given period to write about it well. And when I started working on The Sayen Falls Series in 2014, I made a solemn commitment to myself that I would not write any story if I couldn't tell it well, tell it truthfully, tell it with the honor it deserves. That's why I made certain creative choices with my characters and not others.

But there's one story I've always wanted to tell. A true story. The story of two people I love very much and who loved me very much. My grandparents--Milford and Betty Buterbaugh. I mean, I've thought about this since I was probably seventeen years old. That's half my life at this moment in time. I was just never sure how to go about it. Screenplay? Novel? I don't write historical fiction. Guess this won't work.

Then last year it hit me to construct a story that's told largely through the paperwork of a life, the mementos and souvenirs, the scrapbooks and photo albums, the stuff and clutter. So I decided this was my vehicle. This is how I would finally be able to tell their story. And then I was hit with a new unexpected problem. 

I didn't really know them.

We were very close. They absolutely doted on me and I couldn't have adored them more. The thing

is--I knew them as my grandparents. Kind, generous, old people who told interesting stories about days gone by....but they weren't like the young people in the photos, the young woman who scribbled over the faces of his ex-girlfriends in the yearbook, the young couple who eloped and had to hide it. I've always known that they eloped. BOTH sets of my grandparents did, in fact. (And my dad's parents have an incredible story as well that I know even less about and will perhaps be another quest someday). But since I've always known it, it didn't really seem that surprising. Until I stopped and thought about it, and tried to figure out how my "never do a wrong thing" grandmother ran away to marry my grandfather. That made me scratch my head. That made me realize: my grandparents were real people. They were more than my grandparents. They were young once and in love. They took risks. They were newlyweds and first-time parents and struggled to make ends meet. They had a whole story and it must be fascinating. 

Yet, when I sat down to piece together the narrative there were huge cavernous gaps. A major reason for this is that by the time I was born in 1984, Grammy was 63 and PapPap was 71. I didn't really have grown-up question to ask them until she was in her late 80s and he was in his 90s. By then, my grandmother's memory had started to fade. Plus, I still didn't really know the right questions to ask. "What was life like during the depression?" is a stupidly open-ended question that always yielded vague answers. 

Thankfully, some of the gaps can be filled in partly by my mom (who had the smarts to ask them detailed questions AND write down answers), or my aunt and uncle. But some things...no one knows. My grandparents were deeply private people and had no problem telling us "that's none of your business" if we asked something a little too intimate. This is not my default setting--I'm an open book type--so I'm especially perplexed by this. So, even if I had asked some of the questions then that I have now, I might not have gotten answers. Although, maybe I'd be pushy enough now to really ask because I desperately would like to know what kinds of things they fought about when they were first married, was she scared the first time she was pregnant, how did she know mom things without the internet? 

Anyway...I digress a bit. As usual. 

Now, faced with this mystery, I feel challenged to discover them for who they really were. I want to know who the young Milford and Betty were. How did that sweet 18 year old fall in love and run away with the quiet 26 year old who drove his car too fast? So I'm researching. I have a stack of non-fiction books on my side table that's very high. I'm combing through the precious few documents I have that they wrote and saved, and I'm hoping to get more from those who have them so I can piece together the story.

Which brings me back to writing historical fiction. Yes, I do intend to make a book out of this. BUT for several reasons it will be fiction. The most important reason is that because my grandparents were private, I think it would be disrespectful to them to not fictionalize it in some ways, change their names, etc. And the second important reason is, I simply cannot know the whole and complete and true story. It's impossible. So I have to take some creative license, make educated guesses, and fill it in as I go. (Hence the mile high stack of books). Milford and Betty are the inspiration, but truly at this point in time, only God knows what's going to come of this. I'm just setting out to discover not only their story, but the story God wants me to tell. Basically, all I have so far are names and a very sketchy outline. (Van and Ivy, if you're wondering. Aren't those great names??)

I decided the other day--whilst sitting in my closet staring at my great-great-aunt and uncle's wedding registry from 1913--that I should chronicle this in my blog. Most posts will not be this long, I just wanted to lay out the back story before I jump in. The fact is every question leads to another one and another one. I've been rapid fire texting my mom and googling things and making lists out the wazoo to even make the semblance of a narrative right now. And I think this journey is in some ways just as interesting as anything I will write coming out of it.

It's not that I'm so interesting or that I think anyone on this planet (other than my mom) will be interested in me figuring out minutiae like how long my great-great grandparents were married before my great-great aunt and uncle got married (why is that interesting even to me? Because they were two sisters that married two brothers but there seems to be a big gap between the two weddings....). It's that I think there are lots of people out there like me who one day realized that those who went before us were real people and we want to know what they were really like. And by sharing my own journey to know my grandparents, maybe other people will be inspired to dig in and see what they can find too. There are things we can yet learn from those who came before us.

The Bible tells us that human life is fleeting. We're all here today and gone tomorrow. But we leave traces of ourselves behind and it tells a story. And those stories matter.

The Inheritance of Cathedral Work

As I write, it is one day since most of Notre Dame has burned. The reports are slightly conflicting as to how much was truly destroyed, "ravaged" by flames as the eye witnesses describe. But in any case, it's a breathtaking loss. It feels surreal. This magnificent, larger than life structure, full of grandeur, designed to lift the eye to the light and bend the knee to the holy has been standing for eight or nine hundred years.

I've been learning about cathedrals just as a matter of happenstance lately. Many of the podcasters and bloggers I follow have been writing and speaking about them. Most of the oldest, tallest, grandest cathedrals took generations to complete. One generation would begin the work, another would finish it. Perhaps three or four generations separated the beginning and the end, but the work was singular--to construct a beautiful gathering place to reflect on the majesty of God, to lift songs to the risen Savior, to quicken the imagination for the perfect city God is building for us. 

My modern American brain struggles with the idea of starting a work that I will never see completed. We build churches in a matter of months. We routinely tear down sanctuaries and start over to build bigger, better. We seem to make our churches ever darker--not lighter. Paint the walls black, use filtered lights, fog machines. Our ancestors would think we were nuts. In a time before man-made light, they craved light. Stained windows cast a holy glow over a place to open up the mind for contemplation. I wonder what our obsession with dark and fog says about our cravings. Maybe it's because we live in a world so full of stimulus, that we have to darken our worship areas in order to focus. I don't know. I digress.

So today I've been thinking about building cathedrals. It's a lost art. Communities just don't do it anymore. We don't quarry the rock and fell the forests and hire the artisans to labor for two-hundred years to build a place where our children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren will worship. We don't weep on the same altar where our parents and grandparents did. And that's okay really. The Holy Spirit is just as sacred and potent and strong in Saint Paul's Cathedral as in a hovel in Africa or a secret church in China. Some would argue, the earnest artistry has been overshadowed by pageantry and the Spirit has been hushed. Perhaps so in some of these grand once-sacred places.

Still, there seems to be a message in this. For me, anyway. A directive finally uncovered. I'm in a strange, quiet season where words don't flow and writing hurts. I've been reading and reading and reading. And listening to podcasts and soaking up whatever I can to wring meaning out of it. I'm hungry for answers to deep questions, questions that I've maybe carried with me my entire life but are finally bursting forth to be answered. As if someone had planted tiny little apple seeds in my soul when I was a baby, and now it's time for them to grow into a tree and bear fruit.

As I pondered cathedrals and generations laboring together, knowing one would start and another would finish, I felt some sort of deep truth blossom. Isn't this exactly what my grandmother did in her own quiet way? The woman never carried a chisel to carve a stone, she never worked with glass to reflect the light, but she labored in love for Christ. She served in her local church for decades, and at her funeral person after person after person after person stood to tell the story of how she loved like Jesus and their lives were changed through her. She loved us, her kin, her family with humble devotion. She taught her kids right from wrong and the promises of God. She loved my brother and me, her grandchildren, whole-heartedly but with wisdom. I just said to my husband last night that when I'm tempted to complain about my kitchen (I cook on a hot plate, y'all, because I don't have a stove actually in my kitchen) I ask myself what my grandmother would do and I know she would do her work cheerfully. I try. I try to carry on as she would. She started a cathedral work; I've inherited the labor and I want my contribution to be as lovely in the eyes of God as hers.

It will look different. I tried to be her for a while, but that doesn't work. We were created differently. I'm working with different spiritual gifts, different personality quirks, different talents. My generation is also remarkably different than hers--she grew up in The Great Depression and had her oldest children during World War 2. I'm in that displaced generation between Generation X and Millenials, where we remember library card catalogs but also had to be told Wikipedia isn't a legit source for research papers.

However, our striving is the same. My grandmother spent her life laboring for the Kingdom of Heaven. There's no cathedral I can point to and boast that she set this stone, she crafted that window, she hand-carved that gargoyle. But I am a living, breathing example of one who was changed by her work and her example. And I labor for the same Kingdom. The fruit will be in the people around me. My children, my someday grandchildren, my friends, my community....the people I may never meet who read the words I write. My words are like seeds blown into the wind. I don't know how far they may float or onto what kind of soil they may land, but God may bring fruition through them. I pray for this. I pray that my contribution to the cathedral pleases Him. And I pray that though I get tired and weary, I never give up.

I have to imagine that at least some of the workers in the cathedral had to wonder if spending their lives creating something they would never see finished really made sense. Certainly, in our modern world we would say it was stupendously inefficient and a waste of  life. We crave production, end results, and mass quantities of them if possible. Thankfully the laborers of the cathedrals didn't quit when they couldn't see the end. And thankfully those who have labored on invisible cathedrals of the heart and soul didn't give up when they couldn't see the end either. They kept the faith, they finished their work, and passed the mantle to us.

I was almost done with this post and my kids came in. The writing bubble has burst. The words are just gone. As suddenly as they came to me, they're now gone. So I can't really "finish" this the way I would like to. I like to wrap up with something neat and tidy, poignant if I can manage it, quotable if I'm really on a roll. But. After ten minutes or so I've trying to manufacture something that's good and it just feels like a tangent or like I'm changing the point or I'm just plain rambling, I've realized something: this whole post is about doing work that can't be finished. I'm a writer with two noisy kids. My labor in their lives is perhaps the greatest work I'll never do, so sometimes I have to set aside the writing. I don't truly know what my legacy of words will look like, but I know what I want my legacy of love to look like. So. I'm leaving this blog post more or less unfinished to go do the work that will last. And I'll leave you with this simple thought: What are you working on that will last? What will out-live you?

And since words escape me and I find myself lacking the poignant, I leave you with a poem that has given me much food for thought in the last six or nine months. Just read it slowly, line by line, and consider how you live today and the cathedrals you build for tomorrow.

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

By: Wendell Berry 

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,

vacation with pay. Want more

of everything ready-made. Be afraid

to know your neighbors and to die.

And you will have a window in your head.

Not even your future will be a mystery

any more. Your mind will be punched in a card

and shut away in a little drawer.

When they want you to buy something

they will call you. When they want you

to die for profit they will let you know.

So, friends, every day do something

that won’t compute. Love the Lord.

Love the world. Work for nothing.

Take all that you have and be poor.

Love someone who does not deserve it.

Denounce the government and embrace

the flag. Hope to live in that free

republic for which it stands.

Give your approval to all you cannot

understand. Praise ignorance, for what man

has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.

Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.

Say that your main crop is the forest

that you did not plant,

that you will not live to harvest.

Say that the leaves are harvested

when they have rotted into the mold.

Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.

Put your faith in the two inches of humus

that will build under the trees

every thousand years.

Listen to carrion – put your ear

close, and hear the faint chattering

of the songs that are to come.

Expect the end of the world. Laugh.

Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful

though you have considered all the facts.

So long as women do not go cheap

for power, please women more than men.

Ask yourself: Will this satisfy

a woman satisfied to bear a child?

Will this disturb the sleep

of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.

Lie down in the shade. Rest your head

in her lap. Swear allegiance

to what is nighest your thoughts.

As soon as the generals and the politicos

can predict the motions of your mind,

lose it. Leave it as a sign

to mark the false trail, the way

you didn’t go. Be like the fox

who makes more tracks than necessary,

some in the wrong direction.

Practice resurrection.