The Importance of Hymns

My father couldn’t carry a tune, but he loved music. He especially loved hymns, which he saw as an integral part of worship. Daddy picked the hymns for each service and marked the date in his personal copy of the hymnbook so that he wouldn’t use them too often. He had his favorites, but he liked variety, too.

He was also careful to pick only those hymns that taught good theology. I loved “In the Garden” because it was fun to sing, but Daddy hated it. To him, “In the Garden” was shallow and lacked a theological message. He did let me sing it around the house, but he would never have tolerated it in a church service.

Daddy must have taught me well, because I always feel let down when I attend a service without congregational singing. And, like Daddy, I appreciate hymns and songs with a solid message. But I’ll sing others, too, just for the pure enjoyment of it.

Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God. (Colossians 3:16, ESV.)

Amen.

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The photo shows DeTour Union Church, where I first discovered Daddy’s love of hymns. He took the photo as a slide in 1958 or 1959.

Easter Memories

Easter has always been a special day for me, starting with the four years we lived at LaPrairie, Illinois. Each Easter, Daddy took a picture of us in front of the manse’s bay window. I was just a little girl, and although I have some good memories of living in LaPrairie, I don’t remember anything else about those early Easters.

It was different when we moved to DeTour Village, Michigan. There was no bay window, and I’m only aware of the one Easter photo taken in our living room the first year. But I have fond memories of the Easters we spent there.

Those seven Easters all followed the same routine. We started the day with a sunrise service, which had its own sermon and hymn selection. That was followed by a congregational breakfast. Then there was a break, during which we went back home and searched for the hard-boiled eggs we had decorated the night before. After adding them to the jelly beans in our cereal bowls (we each had our own color), we headed back to church for Sunday School and the regular Easter service.

When I grew up, married, and had children, Easter still had a pattern. We attended the 7:00 a.m. service, followed by a congregational breakfast. However, there were two major differences from my childhood Easters. First, Caroline and John did their Easter egg hunt as soon as they got up because the choir sang at multiple services and they would have been too impatient to wait until I got home. Second, the 7:00 a.m. service had the same liturgy, hymns, and sermon as the later ones. I miss having two distinct services on Easter morning, and I probably always will.

The children are grown up, now, but I still sing in the choir and eat breakfast at church between services. It’s a nice tradition.

Easter is far more than a tradition, however. Easter is the day we celebrate Christ’s resurrection. As it says in I Corinthians 15:17-20 (ESV):

¹⁷And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins. ¹⁸Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished. ¹⁹If in this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.

²⁰But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep.

CHRIST IS RISEN! HE IS RISEN INDEED!

ALLELUIA!

Inherited Debts?

I read my devotions from a denominational magazine, and Tuesday’s talked about how God’s heirs must expect and accept suffering. I agree with that point. However, the writer was obviously not a lawyer. He said that, as heirs to human estates, we may “inherit wealth or debts still owed.” That’s wrong. Although we may choose to be responsible for someone else’s debts, we don’t inherit them.

A better analogy might be inheriting a house that happens to be mortgaged. If we want the house, we may have to accept the debt that comes with it. However, nobody is required to accept an inheritance, and if we turn down the house we will avoid the debt as well. Still, if the value of the house is significantly greater than the mortgage, why would we reject it?

That’s what Holy Week tells us. If we want to inherit God’s house as his children, we have to accept suffering as well.

Romans 8:16-17 says:

¹⁶The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, ¹⁷and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him. (ESV)

Jesus must have thought our salvation was worth everything He suffered on Good Friday. And although I don’t like to suffer, I am willing to accept the sufferings in this world to inherit the far greater glory of the next.

What about you?

Overdone Virtues

What some people see as my father’s strongest virtues may actually have been his greatest faults.

If anyone asks me who I admire most, who had the greatest influence on me, or who is my hero, I always say “Daddy.” I loved and respected him and have tried to model myself on him, mostly. But he was as human as the rest of us.

I was reminded of that recently as we have been working through some family emergencies and I realized that my brothers and I all share some of Daddy’s weaknesses.

Have you ever heard the phrase, “generous to a fault”? Daddy was always careful with his money, but if anyone needed help, he was the first one there. And that’s the problem.

I was in college before I recognized that Daddy was quick to give but slow to take. He rarely accepted invitations to dinner because he didn’t want to put anyone out. On one of those occasions, I told him that the parishioners probably enjoyed having him over, and I actually said he was being selfish by depriving others of the opportunity to do something nice for him. He accepted my point, but I doubt that it made much difference in the long run.

Then there was Daddy’s sense of responsibility. At our cousins’ reunion last summer, people were talking about how Daddy worked long hours because he felt responsible for his parents. Again, though, I wonder if his sense of responsibility deprived his siblings of the opportunity to help.

Maybe Daddy was looking for perfection, or maybe he just wanted to feel in control of the situation. Either way, he wasn’t willing to let somebody else take on a job that he believed he (or his children) could do better, even if it was something as insignificant as folding bulletins. In the days before automatic folding machines, he took that task away from the elders and gave it to us because we got the edges even. I have fond memories of folding bulletins on Saturday evenings, but it illustrates Daddy’s inability to give up control.

All three of Daddy’s children inherited his over-developed sense of responsibility and need to be in control. Fortunately, I recognize it and try—not always successfully—to keep it in check. I’m better at delegating than I used to be and am not quite as quick to take a job back when it doesn’t meet my high standards.

I also work at compromising with others who share my need to be in control. Unfortunately, it takes two to compromise, so sometimes I take a different route. To misuse a cliché, I make a conscious choice not to rock the boat unless that’s the only way to keep it from capsizing. No, I’m not always successful, but I attempt to pick my battles and carefully choose when to stand up and when to stay seated. Or, in some situations, I simply stay out of the boat.

Daddy wasn’t perfect, and neither am I.

But I try not to let my virtues become faults.

The Power of Poetry

This week’s blog post celebrates National Poetry Month. It is longer than usual because I am repurposing a speech I wrote for Toastmasters several years ago. But I think you’ll enjoy it.

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Poetry can be funny or it can be serious. Its subjects can be trivial or earth-shattering. But it often sticks with us in a way prose doesn’t. This is especially true when poetry contains the “rhyme and rhythms found in life,” as my friend, poet Tom Spencer, expressed it.

How many of you have read or listened to Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass”? If so, how much do you remember? I own the book, and I’m not sure I can quote any of it. “Leaves of Grass” is written in stanzas but reads like prose, with neither rhyme nor much of a rhythmic beat.

But consider another of Walt Whitman’s poems that is much easier to remember. “O Captain! My Captain!” is Whitman’s tribute to Abraham Lincoln, written shortly after his assassination. This time Whitman used both rhythm and rhyme, perhaps because he knew no better way to convey his strong emotions. Here is the first verse:

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,

The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While fellow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;

            But O heart! heart! heart!

                        O the bleeding drops of red,

                                    Where on the deck my Captain lies,

                                                Fallen cold and dead.

So rhythm and rhyme are the main elements that help us remember what a poet has said.

Strong word images also play a part. Here is another Walt Whitman poem that has always captured my attention.

A noiseless patient spider,

I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated,

Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,

It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,

Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them. 

And you O my soul where you stand,

Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,

Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to

            connect them,

Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold;

Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.

This poem doesn’t rhyme, but I remember it because I can see the spider patiently weaving its web and then hear the longing as Whitman compares himself to that spider.

Or, to take a shorter example, a word picture can be something as simple as the one in Carl Sandberg’s, “Fog.”

The fog comes

on little cat feet. 

It sits looking

over harbor and city

on silent haunches

and then moves on.

So rhyme is not crucial to remembering as long as the word images are strong enough. It does help, though. An hour from now, see if you can forget these lines from Gelett Burgess’s short poem, “The Purple Cow.”

I never saw a Purple Cow,

I never hope to see one;

But I can tell you, anyhow,

I’d rather see than be one.

Actually, Burgess must have had second thoughts about that bit of humor, because he later wrote this:

Ah, Yes! I Wrote the Purple Cow —

I’m Sorry, now, I Wrote it!

But I can Tell you Anyhow,

I’ll Kill you if you Quote it!

(“The Purple Cow: Suite)

I guess I’m lucky Burgess is already dead and can’t come after me.

Rhythm and rhyme are also important elements when saying, “I love you.” Who can resist John Boyle O’Reilly’s “The White Rose”?

The red rose whispers of passion,

And the white rose breathes of love;

O, the red rose is a falcon,

And the white rose is a dove. 

But I send you a cream-white rosebud

With a flush on its petal tips;

For the love that is purest and sweetest

Has a kiss of desire on the lips.

The “rhyme and rhythms found in life” also play a big part in soothing the soul. My favorite poem is by William Wordsworth.

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o’er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed—and gazed—but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought: 

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

Whenever I read Wordsworth’s poem, my own pulse slows and the tension drains away. And it’s all because of word images conveyed through rhythm and rhyme.

Poetry can also affect the way we react to the world around us. “The Arrow and the Song” was Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s way of reminding us that our actions have consequences even if we don’t see them right away—or maybe never see them at all.

I shot an arrow into the air,

It fell to earth, I knew not where;

For, so swiftly it flew, the sight

Could not follow it in its flight. 

I breathed a song into the air,

It fell to earth, I knew not where;

For who has sight so keen and strong,

That it can follow the flight of song? 

Long, long afterward, in an oak

I found the arrow, still unbroke;

And the song, from beginning to end,

I found again in the heart of a friend.

Then there are poets who want to change the world. Their message is more likely to be heard if it also entertains.

If Joyce Kilmer were alive today, would he be a tree-hugger? I don’t know, but everything the environmentalists say and argue is ineffective compared to Kilmer’s simple poem, “Trees.”

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree. 

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast; 

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray; 

A tree that may in Summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair; 

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain. 

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

Of course, humor is another way to promote a cause. Consider Ogden Nash’s parody of Kilmer’s poem in Nash’s “Song of the Open Road.”

I think that I shall never see

A billboard lovely as a tree.

Indeed, unless the billboards fall,

I’ll never see a tree at all.

Oh yes, poetry can be powerful.

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The lines of poetry at the beginning and the end of this post are mine. The Ogden Nash poem is still under copyright but is covered by the fair use exception. The other poems are in the public domain because of their age.

It's a Dark World

I just finished reading The Secret of Nightingale Wood by Lucy Strange, and I enjoyed it. Or maybe enjoyed is the wrong word since I read most of it with tears in my eyes.

The book had a good rating on Amazon, but a number of reviewers said it was too dark for the 8-12 age group where the publisher had placed it.

I disagree.

Obviously, every parent should monitor his or her child’s reading material and understand what that individual child can handle. But this is a dark world, and children of all ages come across death and mental illness and ruthless people. We can’t protect our children from the dark side of life, but we should prepare them as best we can. And fiction is one means of doing that. Obviously, some novels handle these matters better than others, but The Secret of Nightingale Wood treats the issues sensitively. I certainly would not have objected to my daughter reading it when she was eight years old.

The book is writen by a British author and is set in England just after World War I. As mentioned by one reviewer, it would have benefited from an author’s note putting it in historical perspective. Still, middle-grade readers should be able to follow the story and separate the worthy characters from the immoral ones.

I am reminded of Katherine Paterson’s Bridge to Terabithia, which won the Newberry Metal but was banned from some school libraries because it deals with death (and for some mild language that every child is familiar with). In my opinion, it is one of the best books on death ever written for children.

The Secret of Nightingale Wood isn’t quite a Bridge to Terabithia, and it is far from perfect, primarily because there are too many coincidences for my liking. Fortunately, most have some advance set-up, and the one that didn’t became less of a concern on second glance. I won’t spoil the plot, but when I thought about that seemingly important coincidence (which comes almost at the end of the book), I realized that it wasn’t even necessary to the story, which resolved nicely without it.

But as to not letting your children read it because it deals with dark subjects? That’s not a valid reason. You can’t protect them from life, but you can try to prepare them for it.

So add The Secret of Nightingale Wood to your middle-grade child’s library.

How Much Description is Enough?

I’m following up on last week’s post by reprinting one I wrote for the Indiana Writers’ Consortium. It appeared on the IWC blog on May 4, 2016.

How Much Description is Enough?

I don’t use a lot of description in my stories. As a reader, I prefer letting my imagination fill in the details, so I write that way, as well. Still, there are times when some description is necessary.

Genre may also dictate the amount of detail. Romances often include in-depth descriptions of each character, the clothes they wear, and their decorating choices. Thrillers generally don’t.

So how do you find the right level for your work? This rule comes from Description and Setting by Ron Rozelle:

The problem for the writer of popular fiction is to give sufficient description without giving too much. The best solution is to keep your type of reader in mind all the time, and follow what I call the clutter rule: If something isn’t serving the advancement of the story, it needs to go.

His admonition to “keep your type of reader in mind” recognizes the differences between genre, but the basic rule applies to them all. If it doesn’t advance the story you are writing, get rid of it.

In On Writing, Stephen King says, “”For me, good description usually consists of a few well-chosen details that will stand for everything else.” 

So how do we find those well-chosen details? By ignoring the ones that are common to every similar scene and adding those that the reader will translate into the message you want to send. 

Maybe your characters meet in a coffee house. Most readers know what a coffee house looks like, so you don’t have to describe the counter or the room crowded with tables and chairs. But if this particular coffee house is on the verge of bankruptcy, you could mention the empty tables or the cracks in the linoleum flooring. 

Or do you want the reader to know that your protagonist’s best friend is poor? Put her in a faded shirt that is too big for her. You don’t have to describe her outfit again until she suddenly appears in a new dress that fits perfectly. That will peak the readers’ interest more than a constant fashion (or off-fashion) show will. If your protagonist is obsessed with what people wear, however, that’s another matter.

You can evoke a country setting by describing a white clapboard church with a cemetery and surrounded by farmlands. Or you can place your story in an urban setting with a stone church sitting on the corner of two streets lined with brick houses. These few details are enough to paint the picture.

Every reader is different. But if you want to keep my attention, tell me what I need to know and let my imagination fill in the rest.

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I took both of the photographs in 2010. The first is the Lund Mission Covenant Church near Pepin, Wisconsin, with a graveyard barely visible on the left. The second picture shows the Old Pullman Church in Chicago.