Believing is Not Seeing

Science tells us to believe only what we can see, hear, taste, touch, or smell. Even emotions are observable as electrical brain activity. Yet most of us know that the world is broader than our experience and that our personalities are more than a mathematical equation based on heredity and environment.

I just finished reading Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis, and it got me thinking about how much we rely on the five senses to shape our individual worlds. Since some of you may want to read the book, I won't give away the plot or the ending. However, I am going to share one of the many insights I got from the book.

Till We Have Faces is billed as a retelling of the Greek myth of Cupid and Psyche, but the main character is neither of those two. The story is told by Psyche's older sister, who labels it "a complaint against the gods." Orual's narrative shows us the war within her as she waivers between her tutor's Greek philosophy (seeing is believing) and her nation's religion (which requires faith in things unseen). And as the book progresses, the reader realizes that Orual cannot even see what she experiences; she is blind to her own motivation and the effects of her actions. So how can she judge the gods?

I'm Orual. Not only am I blind, but I also lodge complaints against God. "How can You let a good Christian friend get cancer?" "Why haven't you convinced a publisher to accept the novel I wrote to glorify You (and, okay, to glorify me, too)?" "Can't you make the Cubs win the World Series before I go mad?"

The gods answered Orual's complaints. And God answers mine in His words to Job. Since the entire passage in Chapters 38-41 of Job is way too long for a blog post, here are some highlights.

- "Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding." (38:4)

- "Have you comprehended the expanse of the earth? Declare if you know all this." (38:18)

- "Do you know the ordinances of the heavens? Can you establish their rule on the earth?" (38:33)

- "Do you give the horse his might? Do you clothe his neck with a mane?" (39:19)

- "Will you even put me in the wrong? Will you condemn me that you may be in the right? Have you an arm like God, and can you thunder with a voice like his?" (40:8-9)

Or, to put it more simply, God's answer is, "Trust me, I know more than you." (Lots more.)

I am clearly unqualified to second-guess God. Instead, I must learn to trust in what I do not see.

* * *

Have you ever read a book where you identified with a character so much it convicted you of your own faults? Leave a comment and tell me about it.

Reading Out the Library

Before you can be a great writer, you have to be a great reader.

I spent most of my growing up years in a small town in the Eastern Upper Peninsula of Michigan (or the U-P, as we called it). DeTour's school library was equally small, and I quickly read every fiction book in it. Over and over and over.

Every other Saturday we drove to Sault St. Marie, Michigan (the Soo) and went to the library there. That library let you check out only six books at a time, and I had them all read within the first few days. And, as with the school library, I soon read out the Soo library. Again and again and again.

Since books cost money, I didn't own many. My personal library consisted mainly of juvenile paperbacks purchased at school through the Scholastic Book Club. I did, however, have subscriptions to American Girl, the Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, and a weekly British magazine called Judy.

I made good use of whatever opportunities I had to read something new. In visits to my cousin, I read through her collection of Cherry Ames books (think Nancy Drew as a student nurse). When visiting my grandparents, I devoured the books my mother read during her younger years.

Then I reached junior high and discovered Mama's books from her high school and college years. The back of our house had an enclosed porch that my parents used for storage. But shelves covered one wall, and Grace Livingston Hill, George Elliot, Charles Dickens, and William Shakespeare lived there. For me, those books were diamonds and rubies and sapphires that I mined while curled up in one corner of the room on an old couch. I also read a few of my father's books, but his taste ran to non-fiction and theology, and mine didn't.

I've always been a murder mystery fan, and I must own every Agatha Christie book ever published. Then when I became an adult I rediscovered middle-school novels. For a while, I claimed that I was reading them for my children's sake, but I still enjoy them as an empty nester. Classics by the likes of Laura Ingalls Wilder, Louisa May Alcott, Lucy Maude Montgomery, and C.S. Lewis, and more recent books by authors such as Rick Riordan and Richard Peck and, of course, J.K. Rowling.

So many books and so little time . . .

* * *

Who are your favorite authors?

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

It was a dark and stormy night. Or not.

I entered the world at a hospital in Southern Michigan, and I don't remember a single thing about it: especially not the weather. But, like Snoopy, I was born to write (hopefully with less cliched opening lines).

My first attempts to be a published writer came in high school. I submitted a murder mystery (so bad I shuddered when I read it years later) to Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine and a children's story (better) to Jack and Jill. Both magazines rejected my work. I also submitted several poems to a regional poetry magazine, which published them. Unfortunately, I can't remember either the poems or the name of the magazine.

Even with that success, I never thought about being a full-time writer. For most of my early years I wanted to be a teacher or a doctor or even both (following in the footsteps of my favorite teacher and her husband). Then came my junior year of high school and a re-evaluation: now I wanted to be Perry Mason.

I eventually realized my dream of being a lawyer, but I never became Perry Mason. It didn't take me long to discover that I couldn't think on my feet well enough to be a litigator. But that was okay, because lawyers who don't litigate still write, and I loved writing. I also loved being a lawyer. For the longest time, I couldn't picture myself in any other profession.

That changed in the summer of 2003 when Roland and I dropped our son off at camp as a prelude to our first childless vacation in twenty years. While standing in the registration line, I noticed a rack of books for sale. One was If You Want to Walk on Water, You've Got to Get Out of the Boat by John Ortberg. The title intrigued me, so I bought the book, took it on vacation, and consumed it. That's when I knew God was calling me to a new career.

Did I start immediately? No. I was enthusiastic enough, but Roland wasn't. And I believe that God was in the details, teaching me to be patient and trust in His timing. So I went home and started writing on the side.

In 2006, I added a writing day by becoming a part-time lawyer, although I still put in a four-day week at my salaried job. But I've finally stepped out of the boat. We paid off our mortgage in November, and I retired on December 31st with Roland's blessing.

I was a practicing lawyer for thirty years, and that's what I was meant to be at the time. On New Year's Day I finally became a full-time writer, and it just feels right. Now if I could only interest a publisher in my great American novel . . .

* * *

Are you doing what you want with your life? Or are you ready to step out of the boat? I'd love to read your answers.

Piano Dreams

No, I don't want a new piano. Now that I've finally gotten it tuned, I'm perfectly happy with the one I have. What I do want is the skill to play it.

I can read music, and I know which notes on the paper belong to which keys on the piano, but my brain doesn't move quickly enough when matching the two and sending its messages to my fingers. Worse, with age and lack of exercise, my fingers have lost what little dexterity they had.

When I was growing up, my mother gave my brothers and me piano lessons. Unfortunately, there were two problems. First, Mama's teaching job kept her busy during the school year, so we only received lessons in the summer. And with my aversion to practicing, my progress was always two steps forward, one step back. (Or, more accurately, two baby steps forward, one giant step back.)

The second problem was that I had no one to impress. My mother was, after all, my mother, and she was going to love me no matter how well I played. Our church organist gave lessons, and I wonder if I would have been more motivated learning from her.

I like music and have always regretted that I slacked off when I had a chance to become an adequate pianist. I'm not talking Carnegie Hall, here, but it would be nice to sit down and play hymns correctly the first time through (or even the second or third or fourth . . .).

As a child, knowing how to play appealed to me, but practicing didn't. And although I probably had a sneaking suspicion that the first required the second, I didn't have a strong enough desire for the first to do the second. If I could have seen into the future, would it have changed things?

Probably not. I was a child, and I thought as a child.

So now that I'm an adult, I play easy pieces to please my ear and maybe to entertain people who won't recognize how simple they are. And I practice slightly harder ones when no one is around to hear my mistakes and the pauses that aren't written into the music. Oh to have my lost opportunities back.

And not to waste the ones still ahead.

Do you regret lost dreams? Leave a comment and tell me about them.

Struggling Through Love 101

I spent my Valentine's Day thinking about the meaning of love. Not erotic feelings or even the experience of being "in love," but the I Corinthians 13 type. Paul says, "Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." (I Corinthians 13:4-7, ESV)

If I Corinthians 13 was a grading rubric, I'd flunk the course. We all would, because God is the only one who can live up to that standard. Fortunately, it isn't a required class for those who get their degree from Grace University. Okay, maybe that's a lousy analogy, but it was worth a shot . . .

My love is often selfish, and I can hold onto resentments for years. And there have been times in my life when I could truly say I hated someone. But I know those actions make God sad, just as my children's behavior could (and still can) make me sad.

I don't want to make God sad, so I try to follow His rules. Not because I have to, but because I want to. Or, to continue the bad analogy, I'm struggling through the I Corinthians 13 class because I know God wants me to take it.

The coursework includes love for friends as well as for family and everyone else. Although I've kept up with some old classmates and am trying to reconnect with others, I'm not good at maintaining long-distance relationships. One of my college friends with whom I exchange Christmas letters has gone through some hard times in her marriage. And although I tell her I'm praying for her (and do pray for her immediately after receiving the latest Christmas letter), I have never offered to be her sounding board. She may not need one, but what if she does? It's time to get out her address and send an unscheduled letter.

I want to make the same offer to the rest of my friends. I've always been a good listener, and sometimes listening is the best thing a friend can do. Not give advice, not spout Bible verses, and certainly not condemn. Just love and listen.

So if you need that kind of friend, I'm here.

We'll Name It "Das Luftschloss"

My husband and I give our sailboats German names. The first was Zeltlagermanie ("Camp mania"), and our second (and current) is Freizeit ("free time"). And yes, that is Freizeit in the blog header.

We went to the Strictly Sail show just over a week ago and found our third boat: a Beneteau 37. I fell in love with a vanity table that would make a perfect laptop desk for my writing, and Roland fell in love with the location of the raw-water impeller. (The raw-water impeller pumps water through the engine to keep it cool. It needs to be replaced once a year, and Freizeit's impeller is almost impossible to get to, especially if it should fail while we're out on the water.) It's amazing how much the little things contribute to falling in love.

I also have a name for our new Beneteau 37: Das Luftschloss ("air castle"). That's because, at almost $200,000, it is just a pipe dream. Still, there's nothing wrong with building castles in the air if you are realistic about your chances of lowering them onto solid ground. Maybe when my book hits the New York Times' bestseller list . . .

It takes an active imagination to write Romeo and Juliet, to create a country like Narnia, to invent the flying machine, and to find a cure for polio. So dreams can be good things to have. (Okay, so maybe a new sailboat isn't quite as noble a quest, but bear with me here.)

Dreams can be counterproductive if they get in the way of more important matters, such as faith, family, and friends and neighbors (in the broadest sense). I would rather lose the dream than have to name the boat Das Idol. (I'll let you figure that one out.)

Until then, I'll continue building castles in the air.

Superwoman Can't Fly

Thursday night I attended my first Toastmasters Club meeting. One of the presentations was a humorous one-man skit



called "Superman Can't Fly," in which the speaker revisited a scene from his childhood. As a nine-year-old, he donned a Superman cape that he believed would make him fly, jumped off a picnic table, and (you guessed it) fell flat on his face. He had discovered that superman (with a small s) can't fly.

Neither can superwoman.

When I was younger, I had a low self-image. I wasn't pretty or popular, and I stunk at sports. I'm convinced the only reason I didn't fail physical education was because the teacher took pity on my efforts. And my academic performance (which put me near the top of my class) was just a minor achievement in my eyes because my brothers' grades were even better.

Then I went to law school and learned that the secret to excelling was to discover what I did well and put my energies there. As my law career gave me confidence, my low self-esteem turned into pride. Somewhere along the way I forgot that everyone has different strengths and that we are all equal when looking at the bigger picture.

This has been a frustrating week as I dealt with other people's mistakes in areas where I excel. My ego kept telling me I would have done it right, and I would have. But my pride turns "I would have done a better job on this particular task" into "I'm better." And I'm not.

It would do my ego good to remember that I would still be a coach's nightmare as a player (although I'm a good spectator). And that my drawing is so bad that you wouldn't even recognize the human form if I didn't use stick figures.

The old adage says that pride goes before a fall. I haven't taken a tumble yet this week, but I'm waiting for it.

Because sometimes I need to be reminded that superwoman can't fly.