my disheveled, dis-shelved nightstand

 

Today is January 24th and I have not finished reading one book in 2012. Life has a way of interfering with reading schedules, don’t you know. [wry grin] In December when my head was clear but my body was convulsing I read through a book a day.  After reviewing my 2011 list of books read, I decided to start each month with one weightier title, working towards my goal of deep reading. I’m in the middle of…

 

Practicing History, essays from Pulitzer Prize winner Barbara Tuchman, yields as much about the craft of writing as it does about history. I’m taking my time with this book, sniffing the words, swirling them around in my mouth, enjoying the flavors and textures.

Distillation is selection, and selection, as I am hardly the first to affirm,
is the essence of writing history. It is the cardinal process of composition,
the most difficult, the most delicate, the most fraught with error as well as art.
Ability to distinguish what is significant from what is insignificant is sine qua non.
Failure to do so means that the point of the story, not to mention the reader’s
interest, becomes lost in a morass of undifferentiated matter. What it
requires is simply the courage and self-confidence to make choices and,
above all, to leave things out. 62

 

 

Many named Eric Metaxas’ biography, Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy, the best book of 2011. I was delighted to discover that our library had the audio version of this available. I’ve been listening primarily while I cook and clean the kitchen. Most sections I listen to twice before advancing to the next chapter. I expect I will get the print version of this book and re-read it with pencil at hand.

 

 

 

Alan Jacobs came into clear focus this past year. I watched symposiums, read reviews by and about him, and decided he’s a current writer I need to explore. I haven’t started reading The Pleasures of Reading in an Age of Distraction in a systematic way, but I’ve been dipping into it. Funny thing: one of Jacob’s strong messages is to read at whim. At the moment, I’m taking a whimsical approach to the book. In, out, over, back, here, there.

 

I collect books on how to write. Shelves of them. My favorites are the ones who urge me to read and read and read some more, with an occasional bit about writing. In Wordsmithy: Hot Tips for the Writing Life, Douglas Wilson piles on, with not only advice to read, but lists of recommended titles at the end of each chapter. One might not expect a manual on writing to keep you grinning like an idiot, but the humor in this book makes it impossible to read with a serious face. Short enough to read in one sitting, I’ve strung it out, savoring the flavors on each page. 

Wilson is the father to three remarkably accomplished children. Son, N.D. Wilson, is a best-selling author. Youngest daughter, Rachel Jancovic’s book, Loving the Little Years: Motherhood in the Trenches is always in my basket of goodies for new moms. I yelped in delight to discover, tucked on page 48, that Wilson’s firstborn, Rebekah Merkle has a forthcoming book, England Swings. Here’s a hilarious sample of Bekah’s writing.

In the evenings, Nancy and I hang out with the kids and grandkids,
who come over frequently. I play the guitar, read, and so on.
It is a full and busy life, but we work hard at preventing it from
becoming frenetic. I hate frenetic, which returns us to the
previous point on the fruitfulness of plodding. Living this way,
we have found that it all adds up. 41

 

There are times when I just want to read a story, when I put my mind on cruise control—which, I feel compelled to point out, is not the same as turning it off—and pick up a novel. I am fully in the center of Trollope lovers; he’s one author whose complete works I would like to read.  To be honest, I’m still languishing in the introduction. Once I get to Chapter 1, this book will likely triumph on top of the pile of books.

 

Cindy at Ordo Amoris turned me on to Why We Get Fat: And What to Do About It .  Even if you don’t agree with the premise of the book, it is a fascinating view at independent thinking. I’m smack in the middle and willing to give this way of eating a try.

If your goal in reading this book is simply to be told the answer to the question
“What do I do to remain lean or lose the excess fat I have?”
then this is it: stay away from carbohydrate-rich foods, and the
sweeter the food or the easier it is to consume and digest…the
more likely it is to make you fat and the more you should avoid it. 11

 

 

In addition to WWGF, I’m re-reading Alicia Stanton’s book, Hormone Harmony: How to Balance Insulin, Cortisol, Thyroid, Estrogen, Progesterone and Testosterone To Live Your Best Life. Whew! The title alone is daunting. I work part-time for a compounding pharmacy; we have 15 copies of this book that we lend to customers. I find it interesting that the message of this book dovetails quite nicely with Taubes’ book.

Insulin resistance promotes weight gain because it prompts fuel to be
preferentially delivered to fat cells, and it leads to elevated levels of
glucose in the blood. Both excess body fat and elevated blood
glucose contribute to hormone imbalance. 17

 

I’m linking, for the first time, to the 5 Minutes for Books site. On the fourth Tuesday, you can share a What’s on Your Nightstand post. Join us!

 

What makes a man great?

A great man leaves an imprint on others’ lives so they are changed because of his input.

Three great people have made a huge impact on my life: my mom, my husband and my pastor. Impacted not only me, but many, many others. I’ve written about my mom; some day I’ll write about the man who is not only my pastor, but a pastor to pastors; but today is my husband’s birthday. It is he whom I honor with my words.

My brother calls Curt a funnel. I can see Dan’s hands angled inward—air funneling, if you will—as he describes Curt’s ability to take a lot of information (or a complex situation) and distill out of it the essence of a thing. 

Curt is a strong leader: a man men want to follow. He is kind, but candid. As a younger man, he tended towards candid, but kind. He is intense, faithful, hard-working, funny, generous, perceptive, honest, and handsome.

Happy Birthday, Curt!

To love one that is great, is almost to be great one’s self.
~ Samuel Johnson

I admired my husband yesterday. We were driving, and I noticed how effortlessly he converts potentially tense moments into laughter. How, when there is a short second to respond to another driver’s actions, he is relaxed and generous and calm. When a driver tailgates, then moves out to pass—crossing yellow lines on a curvy, two-lane mountain highway—Curt typically says, “You go, dude!” So not offended.

I actually thought about this for a few minutes, contrasting his lack of ridiculous emotion with my tendency towards pettiness. I had a wee little conversation with myself: Self, you need to take a tip from this man. Then I looked at the clouds and thought about Downton Abbey.

At lunch today, I got a pop-quiz in pettiness. I drove to the post office. There were two spaces to park in front of it. As I was about to turn left and take one of the spots, the driver opposite me turned right and parked. I pulled up behind her and waited for her to pull forward into the front spot. I assumed she’s been to gas stations and has experience pulling forward to the front pump. And right before my eyes, she got out, closed the car door, and walked into the post office.

For Pete’s Sake! I put the car into reverse, pulled around the Offender’s car, parallel parked into the middle space. And put my Sheriff’s Badge on. Squinting and spluttering with indignation, I hadn’t got a clear view of the woman. I knew she wore a black leather coat. When I got into the post office there were two women in black leather coats. I had a mind to tap one on the shoulder and remind her of the particulars of parking courtesy. But I refrained, not wanting to tap the wrong shoulder.

Not to sound dualistic or anything, but while I was fuming and debating with myself, another me was standing to the side watching myself, aghast. When did you become such a crotchety old lady? Good grief, she probably never saw you pull up behind her! Get a grip!

Getting to the counter was like receiving a phone call at home in the middle of the argument: that instant transformation from snippy to sweet! I like the kind employees of the U.S. Postal Service and they like me. We were friendly, happy, relaxed, calm, affable. And then I went out the door, as the Offender was getting into her car. I’ll show her! I started the engine, glared in my rear view mirror, and clenched my teeth. I should just sit here and make her have to pull around me. The other me was astonished at this vindictive streak. I pulled into the street. A horn blasted, a car swerved, and now I was on the receiving end of a glare. 

So caught up I was in petty “crime” that I didn’t check for traffic. I was the jerk who pulled out in front of a car. I braked, the car threaded around me, and I saw how stupid I was. I’d just been given a pop-quiz on pettiness and flunked. But the mercies of the Lord are new every hour, and I was spared injury. It was a moment to take stock. It was a moment to remember. It was a moment to give thanks.

Photo credit: Sidewalk outside La Grande post office, D. Harper

 

 

On the last day of the year, I played for a funeral for a dear woman whose Christmas present was waking up in heaven. She and her husband left a legacy of faith, family and service.

Though there were tears and hugs and sniffles, it was predominantly a joyful time admiring the imprint of her love on those she knew. The grief of the family and friends was clean grief, unsplattered by regrets, remorse, resentment or reproach. It’s fun to go to funerals and discover stuff you never knew. I didn’t know she was such a fisherwoman, so competitive in games and sports, and rode a zip-line not that long ago!

In my experience, In the Garden is the favorite hymn of her generation. My friend sang this solo beautifully. Can one of my readers explain the third verse? (I discovered the hymn is an Easter hymn written in from the perspective of Mary Magdalene. Still, it doesn’t make sense to me.)  Another favorite is How Great Thou Art, which the congregation sang along with What a Friend We Have in Jesus.

I retrieved the hymnal I grew up with, Choice Hymns of the Faith, and made a play list for the prelude and postlude.

When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder

Trust and Obey

Sweet By and By

Softly and Tenderly

Abide with Me

All the Way My Savior Leads Me

Beneath the Cross of Jesus

Great Is Thy Faithfulness

Come Thou Fount

He Leadeth Me

I Need Thee Every Hour

I Will Sing of My Redeemer

Praise Him! Praise Him!

Standing on the Promises

Amazing Grace

Glory to His Name

Are You Washed in the Blood?

Blessed Be the Name

Jesus, I Am Resting

Lord Jesus, I Love Thee

Make Me a Blessing

Savior, Like a Shepherd Lead Me

My Faith Has Found a Resting Place

There Is a Name I Love to Hear

Immaneul’s Land

Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus

Leaning on the Everlasting Arms

It Is Well with My Soul

Sweeter as the Years Go By

 

My favorite re-discovery is a hymn called God In Heaven Hath a Treasure. Here is the “long-play” version.

God in heaven hath a treasure,
Riches none may count or tell;
Hath a deep eternal pleasure,
Christ, the Son, He loveth well.
God hath here on earth a treasure,
None but He its price may know—
Deep, unfathomable pleasure,
Christ revealed in saints below.

Christ, the Light that fills the heavens,
Shining forth on earth beneath,
Through His Spirit freely given,
Light of life ’midst shades of death.
Down from heav’n’s unclouded glory
God Himself the treasure brought,
Closing thus His love’s sweet story
With His sweetest, deepest thought.

God in tongues of fire descending,
Chosen vessels thus to fill
With the treasure never ending,
Ever spent—unfailing still.
Still unwasted, undiminished,
Though the days of dearth wear on,
Store eternally unfinished,
Fresh, as if but now begun.

Earthen vessels, marred, unsightly,
But the treasure as of old,
Fresh from glory, gleaming brightly,
Heav’n’s undimmed, unchanging gold.
God’s own hand the vessel filling
From the glory far above,
Longing hearts forever stilling
With those riches of His love.

Thus, through earthen vessels only,
Shining forth in ceaseless grace,
Reaching weary hearts and lonely,
Beams the light in Jesus’ face.
Vessels worthless, broken, bearing
Through the hungry ages on,
Riches giv’n with hand unsparing,
God’s great gift, His precious Son.

Thus though worn, and tried, and tempted,
Glorious calling, saint, is thine;
Let the Lord but find thee emptied,
Living branch in Christ the Vine!
Vessels of the world’s despising,
Vessels weak, and poor, and base;
Bearing wealth God’s heart is prizing,
Glory from Christ’s blessed face.

Oh, to be but emptier, lowlier,
Mean, unnoticed, and unknown,
And to God a vessel holier,
Filled with Christ, and Christ alone!
Naught of earth to cloud the glory,
Naught of self the light to dim,
Telling forth His wondrous story,
Emptied—to be filled with Him.

There is a decent piano version here. I don’t care for (read: I’m unfamiliar with) the extra beat at the end of the bridge section.

If you were choosing funeral songs for a grandma, what would you pick?

 

 

Do you set goals to read the complete oeuvre of an author? Do you get a little buzz inside your cheek when you read “she’s read all of [fill in author's name]?

I do.

And I tell myself little fictions about what I’m going to do.

I’m thinking aloud, trying to articulate a reading plan for the year to come. The last plan I made, for 2010, was to read around the world. I read 18 of the 71 titles listed. And reviewing the list makes me want to renew that quest. But when I listed the books read in 2011, I was disappointed in the absence of authors dear to my heart. So, without a formal reading challenge I’m planning to be more intentional with my reading.

In my last post I asked why do you read?  Thank you for your answers, which evoked many happy sighs. Thank you!

My next question is how do you decide what to read next? In my case, it often depends on which bookshelf I browse. The entry-way shelf has an eclectic collection of books just received. Since they are new to me they are the equivalent of shiny objects. The hall shelf holds favorite authors, the Penguin collection, and books which look pretty on the shelf. The guest room shelf is an unorganized hodge-podge of books that no longer fit on the entry-way shelf. The living room bookshelf has the heavy hitters: history, biography, poetry.

I love all the reading challenges that blow by me this time of the year: Ireland, L.M. Montgomery, WWI, North Africa. Part of me wants to join a half a dozen. But I hold back.

I’d love to hear how you decide which book you’ll pick up to read.

And one more question: who are the authors whose entire works you would like to read?

Key phrase: would like to. If you had time to read, if you had access to every book, if, if, if…who would it be?

I made the Wordle above just playing with this idea. I look at it five minutes later and realize that the one author I’ve been thinking about the most in this context—David McCullough—is absent. There is a category of authors—Mark Helprin comes to mind—that I’m not convinced that I will want to read everything. And the thought of actually reading through and finishing Tolkien’s Silmarillion makes me want to shout “I take it back!”

I’ve been reading Barbara Tuchman’s book of essays, Practicing History; she also needs to be added to the list. Reading her is the equivalent of holding Coldstone ice cream on your tongue until it melts. Or perhaps a better analogy would be homemade bread hot from the oven: there is some effort involved, but the end result is nourishing. A sample quote:

When it comes to language, nothing is more satisfying than to write a good sentence. It is no fun to write lumpishly, dully, in prose the reader must plod through like wet sand. But it is a pleasure to achieve, if one can, a clear running prose that is simple yet full of surprises.

My simple plan is this: Read one book from my list of high priority authors a month, before other reading. Then fill in with other books. Though I don’t write much about Bible reading, that tops my list. I’ve bounced between fast and slow Bible reading. I consider reading through the Bible in a year fast reading. But sometimes I catch myself zipping through just to put a checkmark in that box. Then I slow down.

So if on December 31, 2012, when I review my reading, I hope I will see a Chesterton, a Spurgeon, a L.M. Montgomery, a Tuchman, a McCullough, a Dickens and a Trollope on the list.  Yes, that would be lovely.

Who is on your list: Jan Karon? P.D. James? Amy Carmichael? John Milton? J.K. Rowling? N.D. Wilson? Elisabeth Elliot? Agatha Christie? Anna Quindlen? Sigrid Undset?

 

 

 

I’m a schizophrenic.

And so am I.

No, really, I am.

When it comes to reading, different people inside me emerge. The stronger personalities throw an elbow at the weaker until there is a resurgence and the weaker fights back.

I am a reader.

I can’t “not read.” If there is nothing handy to read—a pathetic situation I strive constantly to avoid—I will sound out the ingredients of cereal: barley malt extract, trisodium phosphate, riboflavin, calcium carbonate…

The intersection of schizophrenia and reading is illustrated in the answer to the question “Why do you read?”

I read because I like to read.

I read to learn facts. What does the third verse of In the Garden mean?

I read to be entertained. Tell me a story!

I read as a way to love others. Nothing like a kid on a lap with a book…

I read to show love to others. You like Dick Francis? Then I will read him, too.

I read to fulfill obligations. Carol, please read this and let me know what you think.

I read some titles because one is supposed to read them.

I read some titles to say I have read them. Shameless of me to admit it, but true.

I read so I won’t be left behind. The buzz about Unbroken is one instance.

I read to nourish my soul.

I read because I’m bored.

I read because I’m tired.

I read some books to get them off my shelf. I could just remove them, but I want to read them!

I read because someone I admire recommended the book.

I read because someone I’ve never heard of recommended the book.

I read to escape unlovely tasks. A habit begun long ago when I had homework.

I read difficult books because they often reward the effort.  Vigorous reading gives me endorphins.

I read to quench my curiosity.

I read to kindle curiosity.

 

So, gentle reader, why do you read?