CHARLIE DEAN'SBLOG

To the cicadas and tree frogs who have been singing me to sleep at night.  Thank You.

To my friends who I played tennis with me late into the Tuesday evening.  Thank You.

To my garden that is exploding in cucumbers, pumpkins, watermelon, jalapenos, etc. Thank You.

To 70 degree days, and just a hint that fall is in the air.  Thank You.

To school, being back in session, and being back in the swing of things.  Thank You.

To Robert, who talked me into a used road bike and is challenging me to do what I don’t think I can.  Thank You.

To my favorite authors, who make me smile, laugh, and reach for my pen.  Thank You.

For my friends, who love me despite me.  Thank You.

For my wife, who puts up with me and all my craziness.  Thank You

For my church, where I can feel okay in my own skin and don’t have to have it all figured out.  Thank You.

For pool volleyball.  Thank You.

For grilled pizza with fresh basil.  Thank You.

For life.  Thank You.

I meet with a couple guys every other Tuesday morning at 6am to discuss a book.  We call it “Dead Authors,” because we only choose to read authors who are no longer living.  (duh)  Currently, we’re in a C.S. Lewis kick, and we started The Great Divorce this morning.  If you’re not familiar with The Great Divorce, it’s a theological fantasy, much like The Screwtape Letters, or The Shack.  In this story, a man finds himself in a “grey town” which we eventually find out is Lewis’ description of hell. (I’ll save that for a later day.)

Anyway, Lewis goes on to describe the interaction between a “ghost” (someone from the grey town) and one of the “bright people” (someone from the mountains of light).  In this conversation (chapter IV), the “ghost” doesn’t want to enter into the “high places,” because he wants to get his “rights,” because in life he was a good, religious man and therefore deserves to be in the “high places,” and not stuck in the “grey town.”   Furthermore, he knew this “bright person” in life, and in life he was a murderer, and it just doesn’t seem fair.  In the end, he chooses to go back to the “grey town,” rather than coexist with the murderer.

I think Lewis’ point is that there is always a temptation to make God what we want God to be.  In other words, we cast God in our image, so our enemies are God’s enemies, our opinions are God’s, our personality is God’s, etc.  But, God is calling us to the “high country,” where we are continually called to lay down our agenda, our way of seeing things, and exchange those things for following Jesus.  And while this seems so easy to say, it takes a lifetime to do, and I often find myself digging in my heals, choosing the grey town.

It reminds me of this old song by this Christian singer, Wayne Watson.  And while this style of music is definitely not my preferred style, 15 years ago, I used to listen to this song on almost every Sunday morning, getting ready for church.  Here are some of the lyrics:

Would I know You now if You walked into the room
If you stilled the crowd–If You light dispelled the gloom
And if I saw Your wounds–Touched Your thorn pierced brow
I wonder if I’d know You now
Would I know You now if You walked into this place
Would I cause You shame–Would my games be Your disgrace
Or would I worship You–Fall down upon my face
I wonder if I’d know You now
Or have the images I’ve painted
So distorted who You are
That even if the world was looking
They could not see You–The real You
Have I changed the true reflection
To fulfill my own design
Making You what I want
Not showing You forth divine
Would I miss You now if You left and closed the door
Would my flesh cry out “I don’t need You anymore”
Or would I follow You–Seek to be restored
I wonder–I wonder
Will I ever learn
I wonder–Would I ever know You now

Here’s the review I thought that I would write before I actually picked up and read Shauna Niequist’s Bittersweet: Thoughts on Change, Grace and Learning the Hard Way (Zondervan, 2010, $11.55 @ amazon): “This book wasn’t any good, she only gets published because of who she is and who she’s connected to, blah, blah, blah.”  (Which, in truth, would only be a revealing statement in that it would put my own pettiness and cynicism on display.)

Instead, I’ll say this:

For me to really like spiritual memoir, I need to find myself in the author – I need to see them struggle or celebrate the things that I struggle with and think about – especially normal, everyday stuff.  And, in Bittersweet, I found someone who thinks deeply about a lot of the same things as me: food, friends, disappointment.  What I admire most in her is her joie de vivre – this is what comes through to me, page after page, that bitter and sweet always come at the same time.

Anyway, for me, a great read. I’ve already raved to Jennifer about this book and she’s about halfway through, and we just bought another copy to give to a friend of ours. More importantly, its lead to some great discussions between Jennifer and I about how we order our lives.