The Wood Between the Worlds

In C. S. Lewis' book "The Magician's Nephew" he describes how Narnia first came to be, and who the first people from our world were to see it.  But before the main characters Diggory and Polly get there, they travel to an in-between place, which Lewis called 'The Wood Between the Worlds.'  In that place, both children find themselves drowsy and forgetful.  They lose all sense of who they are, where they came from, and what they were doing.  They can't even recall where they were going, and have trouble figuring out how to get there.

I can relate.  How about you?

One of the things I love so much about those books is how little scenes like the one I described help me make sense of my own life.  Recently, my women's small group has been looking at The Chronicles of Narnia and finding how they tie into and reflect stories and truths found in scripture.*  Naturally, I've been enjoying it.

It's always been surprisingly easy for me to find a story to illustrate and explain things in my own life, though I don't always make use of it.  Tonight, however, I was realizing how I've been stuck in the WBW.

I don't know what it is, but I find myself falling into old habits that get me nowhere, when I have things to do that will get me to Ireland.  I can't exactly blame my job, because it's a small part of my day.  I can't even blame TV or my cycle of staying up too late and sleeping in, because those are symptoms, not the cause.  I feel like I'm in a drowsy, lazy fog like the one Diggory and Polly encountered.  And it's been keeping me from remembering my urgent task of preparing to go to Ireland.

To be fair, I do want to balance out working toward the future with living in the moment, but that's not really what I've been doing.  I've been stalling.  Dragging my feet.  And I'm not even entirely sure why.  Maybe I'm a little scared and daunted by the tasks ahead, like the large amount of support I need to raise.  Maybe it seems too far away (it's not).  Maybe I've just let myself get distracted.

But now that I've remembered who I am, where I'm going, and what I need to be doing, maybe I'll find my way out of the WBW quickly.  I could really use prayer to help me work faithfully at the tasks I've been given....One of the other Narnian tidbits that's given me a visual image came from our study: In "The Horse and His Boy," Shasta meets Aslan at the end and discovers that He was the same lion who had been chasing/helping him and his companions throughout their journey.  Being chased by a lion gave the four friends quite a fright, but it also motivated them to RUN and get to their destination just when they were growing weary.  Aslan called it "strength through fear" and I suppose I'd rather have it that way than "weakness from fear," which is more like what I've been experiencing.

So there you have it: Ireland is like my Narnia (interesting, because Lewis was born in Ireland) and I have obstacles to overcome with "Aslan's" help.  And yours!--Thanks for reading, and for your prayers.

*--By this I don't mean that I believe that everything Lewis wrote in CoN was an allegorical representation of someone or something in scripture.  The fact that the books reflect some of those truths and stories is just good story telling.  All great stories borrow their power from the One True Story.

An explanation and an excerpt...

So what's been going on?
Um...work. Lots and lots of work. I've read some good books lately, too. C. S. Lewis' Space Trilogy (I'm on the third one now, "That Hideous Strength"). "Downsiders," by Neal Shusterman. "An Abundance of Katherines," by John Green. And some others.

I have been trying to write more, but I'm working on about half a dozen different things, so progress is slow. However, I thought it was time I put something new up on my blog so as not to completely abandon it.
So: here is an excerpt from something I've been working on.
It's called "Blind Like Love" and it's about a broken-hearted girl named Brianne (after my bff) who is finishing college with a pottery class and guitar lessons from a blind adjunct professor, Evan Anderson. I'd love to know what you think.

Chapter Six

“I believe in music the way
some people believe in fairy tales....
The music is all around you.
All you have to do is listen.”
—Evan, “August Rush”

“Okay, first things first,” Mr. Anderson said as he settled across from me in the empty pottery studio. “This,” he patted the guitar as he cradled it, “is Grace. As in, 'Amazing Grace.' She was my grandfather's, and the first thing he learned to play was...”

“Amazing Grace.”

“Right. So that's what he named her. And, that was the first thing he taught me, when he gave her to me.” He gave her a quick, arpeggiated strum, and grinned. “She says 'hi.'”

“Right. Um, hi, back, I guess.” I picked up the guitar he'd brought for me. “Does this one have a name?”

“I brought the black Martin, right?”

I checked the name at the top, by all the tuning pegs. “Yep.”

“Right. That's Roxy.”

I was glad he couldn't see the somewhat skeptical look on my face. It seemed silly to be naming inanimate objects.

“Now, I know this feels a little weird, for me to be teaching you guitar. I mean, I have worksheets and textbooks for you, and obviously I don't go by them. But that stuff—that's just mechanics. I learned how to play both guitar and piano before I lost my sight, so I know how to read music and chords, and I understand chord theory. Honestly, you can learn that stuff from anyone. I think you can even teach it to yourself online. But I'm of the school of thought that music is not taught.”

“It's not?” Then what was I paying him for?

“Well, not exactly. Now, some would disagree with me—after all, music has a very mathematical quality to it. It has set rules and forms. It follows patterns and structures. Right?”

“Sure.” I strained to remember the one chord theory class I'd taken. “That sounds right.”

“Well, I think that while music—like other forms of art—contains structural properties and guidelines, it is inevitably something that either flows out of you, or not. That's why I don't charge for the first lesson. This is basically to see if it's in you, or not.”

“If what is in me?”

“Music. Art. Some people think they have it, but they're really just regurgitating formulas. Others don't know they have it, and never try. But think of the great artists: they weren't people who just studied colors and lines and concepts. They painted what they saw, what they felt. Same for musicians. You can study all you want, but it won't make you a musician if you're not one. To really be good, you have to feel it, in your soul. You have to mean it. It's not science. It's...philosophy.”

He was losing me, rapidly. “Huh?”

“I mean, it's something you let soak into you, and flow back out. It's like a religion, or a relationship. When you devote yourself to God, or to a person, you make a commitment. You spend time with them. You study them. Music, really, is like love.”

That sounded interesting. “How so?”

“Well, like I said, you can't just base it around formulas. A plus B equals C. I mean, yes, if you put this finger here, and this finger there, and strum, you get E minor. But making music is about so much more than that. Like a good relationship, you have to put in time and work. But just being with a person and talking to him, even taking care of his needs, doesn't make it a romance. Just like just playing chords doesn't make someone a musician.

“You have to feel it. Like love, music fills you up, heart and soul. You think about it. You obsess. You hear it, you notice. Even when no one else does. You get lost in it, sometimes. That's what makes someone a musician. Even over talent. Just like...a relationship can look perfect from the outside, but be dying. People can play and sing without meaning it, but the great ones...like relationships that last...they mean it. They know it, they feel it.”

“Wow,” I whispered. A little chill went down my spine. “I've never heard anyone talk about music that way. Except in the movie 'August Rush,'” I amended. “You start off all your classes like this?”

He shrugged. “More or less.”

I drew a deep breath. “Well, I'm not sure if I really fit that description.”

“Well, let's find out.”

“How?”

“What's your favorite song?”

I gawked at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“I...I don't have one favorite,” I told him. “I couldn't possibly.”

“Why not?”

“You should see my iPod,” I said, forgetting that he couldn't actually see it. “Seriously. I have so many different genres and artists and songs I love. I tried to make a playlist of my favorites? Yeah, it's over two hundred songs. Songs I love. I have a hard time even picking a top five.”

He smiled. “And they are?”

I sighed. “Um, 'Cannonball,' by Damien Rice. 'On Fire,' by Switchfoot. 'The Breaking of the Fellowship,' from the Lord of the Rings soundtrack. 'Clocks,' by Coldplay, even though I know it's overplayed. And...oh, I don't know. There are too many others. Isn't a top four good enough?”

“Yes,” he replied. “In fact, you just told me exactly what I needed to know.”

“I did?”

“Yes. You love music. In various styles and formats. You seem to cut across genres and labels and trends. That means something.”

“What?”

“Well, I think it means you're more of a musician than you know.”

I shrugged a little. “Yeah, but, everybody likes music.”

“Not exactly,” he returned. “Some people just like a certain kind of music. And some people just use it as background noise. Some people play music to remind themselves of another time in their life. Some people just listen to the radio and like certain artists because they think they're supposed to—for them, it's just another trend to follow.”

“I guess when you put it that way....”

“Yes, Brianne, you're more unique than you realize.”

“Fantastic.”

He overlooked my sarcasm. “Now, before we get into learning chords, I assume you're most interested in learning worship songs, correct?”

“Um, yeah. I guess. Though I suppose it would be cool to learn a Coldplay song or two.”

He nodded. “I think we can manage that. What kinds of songs are you guys into at IV?”

“Mm, mostly Chris Tomlin, Matt Redman, and David Crowder stuff. Some oldies. Some hymns.”

“Okay. I'll try to pull some music for you. I've found that most people are more motivated to learn chords if they are learning to play a song they like. For now,” he rifled through a folder, feeling the corners of each sheet, “let's start with this one. It's what I teach all of my students on the first lesson.” He handed me a piece of music.

“Amazing Grace,” I read.

“Yeah. A classic. It's my grandpa's favorite. Grandpa Ray taught me to play the guitar, and since the first thing he learned was 'Amazing Grace,” he figured it should be the first thing I learned, too.”

“And now you carry on the tradition.”

“Exactly. You know the song, right?”

I snorted. “Who doesn't?”

“Right. So you can see the letters at the top of the music—those are chords. G, C, D, and E minor—all very simple, basic chords. Once you learn those, you'll be able to play practically any song in the world. Just maybe not in your key. But that is what this is for.” He felt around in his guitar case and pulled out a funny looking metal contraption. “This is called a capo. You squeeze it here,” he demonstrated, “and you fit it on the fretboard,” it clamped onto the neck of his guitar, “and it puts your song in a different key. I have a circle of fifths for you that helps with transposing, too. And a map of the fret board to help with chord theory.”

“Okay, slow down, Mr. Anderson. I learned a little tiny bit about chord theory, but that was a few semesters ago, so. I barely remember the stuff I'm learning this semester.”

“Okay,” he laughed. “Sorry, sometimes I get ahead of myself. Let's try a C chord first.” He positioned his fingers on on what he called the fretboard and pressed down on the strings. Then, with his right hand, he strummed. “That's a C. Think you can give it a try? Put your fingers where mine are.”

I looked at his fingers carefully and tried to mirror him.

“Okay, now give her a strum.”

I did. It sounded like crap. I let out a grunt of irritation.

“That's okay. Everyone sounds like that at first. Try adjusting your pointer finger down one string. And make sure you press down hard, with just the tips of your fingers.”

I tried again, and it sounded slightly better.

“There you go! You got it!” My teacher was effusive with praise. I was glad he couldn't see my skeptical expression. “Yeah, strum some more. That's a C. Good job. Now let's try a G.” He repositioned his fingers, and once more I copied him. “Okay, good. Now a D.” He taught me an E minor also, and after reviewing, he suggested we try the song.

My fingertips were already sore from pressing down on the thin metal wires that passed for strings. But I gave it a shot, haltingly getting out each chord. It sounded awful, and I knew it.

“Let's try it together,” Mr. Anderson said. He began strumming, and then singing. It was too low for me to sing, so I concentrated on trying to match him and play the same chord at the same time. My strumming was horrible. I stopped after the first verse, but he kept going.

I tried to make my fingers remember where they should go to correspond with each letter. I still didn't sound as good as he did. He had the easy, relaxed strum of someone who's been playing for years and loves it. And he could sing, too. It wasn't a classically good voice, like someone who would do well in show choirs; he had a unique, kind of soulful, yearning voice.

He sang Amazing Grace like he meant it. And though it didn't matter whether his eyes were open or closed, he closed them anyway, as if by default, to shut out the world a little. Like he forgot I was there. So I just listened as he sang the last verse, about singing praises for eternity. Then he circled back and sang the first verse again, and suddenly I felt awkward.

The last line of it—“was blind, but now I see”—stuck out to me, and I wondered how he felt, singing that. He chose to sing it a second time, and chose to teach the song to me in the first place, so it clearly didn't offend him. His strumming stopped and he fell silent. “You stopped playing,” he said.

“My fingers hurt,” I told him.

“Ah. Well, you'll develop callouses. Start by practicing a few minutes every day. Work on the chords we learned, and I expect you to play the whole song with me next time. And sing,too.”

“Um, okay. But how will I practice? I told you I don't have a guitar.”

“Well, you can hang on to Roxy for now. I told you I'd help you find one, and I will. You just worry about practicing. Okay?”

I ran my hand over Roxy's smooth, varnished surface. “Okay. So...I was kind of crap.”

He smiled patiently. “You did fine, Brianne. Trust me, everyone sounds like that when they start out. You'll get better with practice.”

“Yeah, but you gave that whole speech about trying to see if the music was in me, remember?”

“Right.”

“So is it?”

He didn't answer right away. “I didn't hear you sing,” he said. “When I played 'Amazing Grace.'”

“It was too low for me,” I told him.

“You a soprano?”

“Yeah. I can sing some alto parts, but that was just too low.”

He thought for a moment. “Then let's put it in your key. What do you think, C? Or D?”

“Um...” I tried to remember what Clarke would transpose songs into if I was singing lead. “D?”

Evan strummed a few bars. “That sound right?”

“I guess.”

“Then let's hear it.”

I cleared my throat nervously. I was relatively used to singing in front of people, but in the sudden solo performance for an audience of one, I found myself feeling awkward and unsure. I was beginning to think I didn't really have the music in me after all.

Mr. Anderson graciously, quietly started me off, though it was clearly not an ideal key for him. “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound....”

“That saved a wretch like me,” I joined in. “I once was lost, but now I'm found. Was blind,” I tried not to falter, “but now I see.”

Mr. Anderson's gentle chords soothed my jitters; the key was good for me, and I found myself singing the very familiar song with my own eyes closed. And we were in our own little world, the two of us making music that colored the darkness behind my eyelids. I felt as in that moment that the music had a weight and substance to it, like it meant something.

On the final verse, he joined in again, adding a little harmony—I was impressed. He was really very talented. But somehow, he made me feel like I was talented, too. And it was more than that: I felt like our song had lodged somewhere in my soul. It had soothed some rough corner of my heart and I wondered if he felt that way every time he sang.

“That was really beautiful, Brianne,” he said, in the silence that followed our duet. “You have an amazing voice.”

I shrugged modestly, as I always did, then caught myself. “I enjoy it,” I said.

He nodded. “I can tell.” He felt for his case and began putting Grace away, as well as the rest of his materials. “If you keep at the guitar, I have a feeling you'll find you enjoy that, too,” he said, as he gathered up his things and headed for the door. “Don't give up too quickly. It'll be a challenge at first, but you'll get it.” He turned and flashed me a smile. “You do, by the way.”

“Do what?”

“Have the music in you.”

“Oh. Thanks.” My words were simple, and completely inadequate to express the joy I felt knowing he thought so.

“See you Tuesday.”

The Mighty Checklist

So, thanksgiving has come and gone. Mine was good; I hope yours was, too.

I've noticed, though, how quickly I jump ahead to the next event in my life. Well, let's see: of course, there's Christmas approaching all-too-rapidly, and a couple of services I'm putting together before that. Not to mention that Thanksgiving day was also my half birthday...meaning I have just under six months now before I turn the big 3-0.

"Well, geez, before I turn thirty, I really ought to ____!"

I thought it would be fun to create a list of 30 things to do before I turn 30, and 30 things to do once I turn 30, you know, to sort of take the sting out of it. But now I'm finding that it just feels like a lot of pressure. First I have to come up with thirty things. Than I have to do them! Along with everything else in my life, which already sort of feels like a giant checklist.

And how did that happen? I used to see life as a journey, an adventure. Now it's a list?!? That's no fun. And worse, it's not true. Life is about more than getting things done--and Christians should know that most of all.

Sometimes things don't happen on our own time. Some of the things I'd be tempted to put on my "before 30" list are things that...for some reason, God hasn't allowed to happen to me yet. And the weird thing is, most of the time, I'm okay with it! It's only when I think about how a new year is fast approaching that I get antsy. feel like I'm on a deadline, at least in the eyes of the world.

Don't get me wrong. There are some things I thought of that I do have some control over, that if I'm not careful, I'll wake up one day and be 80 and still saying, "I always wanted to ____." And what better time to do that then NOW? But if I'm not careful, I let it spill over into other areas of my life, which I don't ultimately control. And then I just end up feeling resentful that certain areas of my life are not where I thought I'd be at thirty. When most of the time, it doesn't bother me.

Life is not about a checklist. Checklists won't save me. Life IS a journey. It's about our relationships and the choices we make.

I recently picked up "Mere Christianity" by C. S. Lewis again--just randomly glanced though it. (I love that book, and I just love the way he writes. For me, it's like sitting down with a dear old friend who is sensible and comfortable and brilliant. And just listening. Over tea--or perhaps a pint.) He talks about how Christianity is not meant to just make us nicer people but that it is a transformation, not of our own doing, into Christ. And that our choices either bring us closer or take us farther away from that completion.

I would dearly love to hold onto this perspective shift, to stop looking at life as a giant checklist that needs to be conquered. O, Lord, help me hold on--help me remember that it is about so much more. Just as you've faithfully reminded me this time. Life is about living abundantly, abiding in Christ. And when I remember that, I don't worry so much bout deadlines.

A New Chapter

I have this ritual that I've done for the past decade or so of my life. Every year, I stay up the night before my birthday and reflect on my life. This usually involves some kind of writing, and normally it's done in a journal. But this year I decided to be different.

I'm 29 this year.

I was talking to a friend tonight, who is 20, and she was saying how she felt like she's got her whole life ahead of her--and she does. I'm nearly a decade older, and I feel the same way. Suddenly.

For a while, I was really wrestling with this whole "29" thing. I mean, let's face it. I am NOT where I thought I'd be by now. Far from it. And yet, there is a kind of freedom in that. For whatever reasons, God in His wisdom has kept me here since college. And I'm okay with that, because He's always provided for me.

But now, I sense a change on the horizon. it's like it's been there all along, just...hidden. Elusive. Tucked away.

The odd thing is, part of accepting that change means letting go of where I am now. There is an area of my life, a ministry I've been involved in for a while, that I have to leave behind, and God is using a very painful method to get me to let go. But everywhere around me, I keep hearing things that make me think that this is His plan for me. I mean, sometimes it happens this way. Caspian had to be chased out of his castle to find Narnia, right?

I'm going to Ireland this summer.

That in itself is a big deal; but I'm not going just for the prayer conference or to be a tourist. I'm thinking (& praying) about living there. Moving there. That's right, becoming a missionary.

I don't know what will happen. Maybe God will close the door, like He's closed other doors. but maybe not. Maybe it's time for me to move on again, time for another new chapter in my life.

Chesterton says: “An adventure is, by its nature, a thing that comes to us.
It is a thing that chooses us, not a thing that we choose.”

And Aslan says: "You would not have been calling me unless I had called you first."

Finally, Tolkien says: "The road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began
....and whither then? I cannot say."

Would you continue to pray with and for me about Ireland? I wish I could be more eloquent about it, but at the moment, my heart's too full...I see blank pages before me. I feel like I'm still waiting for a sign; but really, I just want to feel supported. I want to know that's where God wants me.

And I want to sing, like Switchfoot does at the end of "Prince Caspian,"

I've been searching
For a place of my own
Now I've found it
Maybe this is home...

Trials and a New Toy

So, I got a new phone last week. It’s pretty cool. It’s one of those ones you’ve seen on Verizon commercials, where they play music for someone. Yes. It plays music. It is very cool. I do not have any kind of MP3 player yet, so I’m enjoying the three songs I’ve downloaded. I’ve spent the better part of my free time this week just exploring the coolness of my new phone.

I love when I get something new, and the newness is part of its appeal, and I spend many hours admiring my new thing—whatever it may be: a haircut, a pair of shoes, a CD…. I am also not one of those people who see in evil in new technology. Take the internet, for example. The internet has become something of a tragedy, at least morally, because of i-porn. Yet the ease of communicating with people all over the world, and the amount of knowledge contained on virtually any and every subject, makes it a worthwhile tool.

Technology is like anything else man-made: it has the potential to be used for good, and an equal (perhaps some would argue greater) potential to be used for evil. Telephones—and cell phones—allow us to talk to people all over the world. But they also interrupt our lives with sales calls, and keep us occupied when we ought to be focusing on the world in front of us instead of the person on the other end of the line (*ahem! Drivers! ahem!*). Still, I know that I would have been pretty lost these last few years if I hadn’t been able to communicate—by cell phone—with my best friends from college. Who all live several states away.

Even though I have been pretty occupied with my new “toy,” and enjoying it very much (my default ringtone is the chorus of David Crowder’s “Turkish Delight”!!!) I still have had other things on my mind this week.

One is, I recently had the most challenging day of Lent so far. I was at my Pregnancy Care Centers job, working, I might add, on a major database transfer, because we are switching programs, when we decided to take a tiny break and go take a peek at the yard sale that was going on just around the corner and up a flight of stairs from our office (which you may remember is located in the same church building where my dad works). I was looking around at all the stuff—typical yard sale stuff: stuffed animals, old happy meal toys, mismatched glasses and plates, etc. Then I saw the table of—you guessed it—books. I was immediately drawn to it, thinking surely it couldn’t hurt to look and see what they had. I hadn’t brought any money up with me, so I didn’t get anything—then.

But there was a book called “Colourful England” with pictures of old buildings (my boss showed it to me) that I wanted to come back for. She offered to spot me the money to get it, anmd I should have let her, because when I came back to get it, I ended up with an armful of books. Fourteen, to be exact. (But I got them all for $3.00!!) And as I’d stood there, pawing through the bins, glancing at the titles and occiasonlly the back blurbs, I suddenly got a sense of what it was I’d committed to for the Lenten season.

I bought a boxful of books that I cannot read, not for another twenty-eight days. I thought for the first couple of weeks that this would be no big deal, because even if I was giving up books, there were still movies to be watched. And there were always things to read in magazines, and in articles online; I hadn’t given those up. But being at that yard sale was a challenge: it was like making dinner for everyone, and tasting a tiny bit to make sure it was okay, but not eating any yourself.

I was challenged again, later that night, at the Chinese Church. It was, of course, St. Patrick’s Day, and I brought a little book to help them understand who he really was and why we have a day to celebrate him. I consulted with God on the way there if it would be okay to read it to them. But once there, I asked if anyone else would be willing to read it to the class. Several of my students took turns. (This was very hard for me because I love reading books like that to kids, and you know how children read.) When I had to help Stephen pronounce an Irish word (“shillelagh”) a couple of my kids reminded me that I was not supposed to be reading books.

Just before Lent started, I had been reading “The Voyage of the Dawn Treader” to the PCC kids. They were a little dismayed when I told them of my vow to give up reading books for the next forty-seven days. So that later, on the same night I’ve been describing, I asked if anyone else would like to read a chapter to the class. No one did. I asked them if they still wanted to hear some of it. They did. I asked them if they thought it would be okay for me to read a few pages to them. They did. So I read a chapter. I’m not sure if I ought to feel terrible about this; after all, it was only a chapter, and it wasn’t for me, it was for the kids.

But reading is so…part of me. I had to remind myself this morning of why it was that I gave it up in the first place. I’m not going to exaggerate and tell you that this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done; it’s not. Even though I am surrounded by books that I would normally have no qualms about snatching up and reading for several hours, it’s been nearly no trouble at all finding other ways to fill up my time. I have a sneaking suspicion that quitting the TV would be much harder, and that worries me just a little.

Well, this post is long enough for now, even despite the fact that it’s been a while since I’ve written. If you happen to see someone reading, perhaps you could offer up a quick prayer for me, that I’m learning what I’m supposed to be learning through this time. Thanks! 

Further In

I know this is another Narnia post, but it’s what’s on my heart. I always write so much better when it’s from my heart.

I went to see the movie again tonight for the second time, and I’m sooo glad. I even went so far as to download the soundtrack (legally) just now so I could be listening to it.

There’s been a lot of talk about this movie, and I wanted to throw in my tuppence.

First of all: Go see it.

I am being completely serious. Go. Today. Tonight. Tomorrow. As soon as you can. This is a beautiful movie, and it deserves every bit of praise it can be given. I cried through most of the movie the first time I went to see it, it was so beautiful. They really did a fantastic job with it.

I could break it down for you: the acting (the children were just perfect), the scenery (New Zealand is always breathtaking, and the Czech Rep. was great for a 100 year winter set), the effects (finally some realistic animals and mythological creatures!) but what I really want to do is first offer a few thoughts.

1. If you are a Christian, go see this movie. If you have seen it, take someone else.
2. If you are a Christian who is familiar with the book, STOP BASHING THIS MOVIE!!! Whatever its flaws (and I don't deny there are a few) the essence of the story IS intact. Instead of being negative, realize the potential of the story and use it to show others a picture of Christ’s love in a disarming, touching way.
3. Do not compare LWW with LOTR. Or, if you must, start by realizing that the movies have to be different because the books they were adapted from are VERY different from each other. Simply because Tolkien and Lewis were friends, colleagues, & writing fantasy around the same time, it does not mean they wrote in the same style. At all. The two works are very different, so please keep this in mind when comparing movies.

Now, having said that, I just want to touch on the things I took issue with, and end on the things I loved (I like to save the best for last).

There was no moment of the movie I hated; but there were a few changes—mainly additions—that I wondered about. Nothing was major enough to disrupt the meaning of the story. But can someone please tell me why they felt the need to change the wolf’s name from Fenris Ulf to Maugrim?? I don’t understand.* I didn’t see the need for the waterfall/ice chunk scene, but I guess they wanted to add drama. The beavers could have been better, imo. Why didn’t they go into Aslan being a Lion and not safe but good before the kids met him? And I really wish that they had better conveyed the closeness Aslan and the children had before his death. Obviously, they must have been attached for them to grieve him so quickly, but it could have been shown better.


Now for the things I liked. The music is really good—not quite as rich as Howard Shore’s composition for LOTR, which is probably my favorite movie soundtrack (combined) of all time—but I am listening to it right now, and I am really loving it.

The acting was really excellent, and though everybody is raving about Georgie Henley, who plays Lucy (and she is quite brilliant in the role), it was Skandar Keynes (Edmund) who really stole my heart. He was just perfect, and really a sympathetic character. I just loved him. Edmund has recently become a close second favorite (human) character of all, and I think this gave him an extra edge. Sorry, I just really wanted to gush about him a moment, he really is one of my favorite parts of the movie. I have always admired how Lewis was able to make you start out disliking a character and then change the person enough so that you can actually like him in the end, barely remembering what a prat he used to be because he’s so changed.

I love the coronation scene; it still made me tear up. And I like how Lucy notices Aslan’s sorrow when everyone else is rejoicing, and that she is sad when she sees Aslan leaving; that was fitting and the closest they came to conveying that bond. Mr. Tumnus was really great, a really funny and likable character as he ought to be. I love seeing the grown-up versions of the children, even though my brother complained that they made Lucy prettier than Susan, and she really was supposed to be prettier. It didn’t bother me, because I like Lucy much better anyway. And one of my favorite things is the “real” ending of the movie: don’t jump up when the credits start, or you will miss it. Wait just a minute, and the very last scene is just a nice, fitting end to the beginning of more adventures to come.

Okay, so seriously, stop reading now and go to the movies. You saw it? Great! I’m so glad. Now go see it again. Yes, I’m serious. Okay, so you can leave me a comment first. Then go.  

*Edit: I found out that Maugrim was the original, British-version name of the wolf. So that makes sense now.

Narnia Mania

I want to tell you a story.

When I was about three years old, my father started reading “The Chronicles of Narnia” to me. I am not kidding. He adapted it to my level, of course, so that my young mind could grasp the unfolding drama. The best part was that he used voices. He even used British accents. It was great. To this day I can still hear echoes when I re-read them.

I don’t remember the very first time I heard it, but I do remember becoming absolutely captivated at a very young age. At five, I was already imitating Lucy, my favorite character (besides Aslan)—I dressed up as her for (my last) Halloween that year. There was something about the stories that absolutely enchanted me.

Ever since then, I’ve been looking for a way into Narnia.

Seriously, I could write pages and pages on how much C. S. Lewis’ stories influenced me. Actually, I did write pages—in college I wrote a paper on it.

His depiction of Jesus as a Lion—wow. Brilliance. More than that, it was inspired. Aslan is both ferocious and tender, depending on the situation. He knows when to whisper and when to roar, when to use his claws and when to velvet them. There was something about this duality, this supreme wisdom that sunk deep into my psyche. Aslan’s supreme justice and supreme mercy combined to create a God that is seldom preached from our pulpits.

I was also deeply impressed by the intimate friendship Lucy and Aslan had. Lewis would often write that Lucy “understood his moods” or correctly interpreted his growls. She seemed somehow to be most in tune with him, and when she is told she is too old to come back to Narnia, she sobs that it’s Him she’ll miss, not the country. At that point in my young life I had a very similar connection to God—innocent, full of trust and love and the assurance that He cared about me.

I tell ya, Life can really take that out of you. It’s amazing to me how much that belief has been assaulted in the past decade or so of my life. That complete trust we have when we are children is attacked as we get older; it is shaken, just like our faith in everything else around us eventually is.

But no matter how old I get, I am taken back to that sense of wonder when I re-read “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.” In the past couple of years, I have had the privilege of reading it to children. I read it to a group of (older) students at a preschool a couple of years ago, and just a few months ago to my Chinese Church kids. Yes, I use voices and fake accents. I love seeing the kids get into the story…and I love getting myself back into it. I especially want them to know the “real” story before the movie comes out in December.

I know it will be really good, very well done, probably spectacular from all that I’ve seen of it already…but nothing will ever live up to the images I have in my head. They will change things, because that’s what movie people do to books. I could write a whole other post of my disgust on that topic. And because it’s something that means so much to me, I am trying to prepare myself now for the inevitable disappointments. (Hey, I had them with LOTR, too, and those are like my favorite movies of all time.) And I am trying to overlook the hype which now surrounds the movie and stay positive, knowing that no matter what happens with the movie, there will always be the original story.

The point is, I probably am who I am today in a large part because twenty-three years ago my dad read me a thirty year old book written by deceased English author. I would not be J. M. Richards, I would not have written “Found Phoebe,” if it weren’t for my dad, and Clive Staples Lewis. That sounds like a big thing to say. But I really believe it. The love of Narnia opened up for me a whole desire for more adventures into other lands—and for adventure in general, the longing to be part of something bigger. And the symbolism, which I was able to grasp even as a child, showed me that other stories might also carry a deeper meaning.

This is something which has come to fruition in me only in recent years; but I recognize when and where the seeds were planted (and subsequently watered in large part by John Eldredge). I look back in amazement that something so beautifully simple had such a profound effect on me.

Well, I told you I could write pages on this. I could mention the beautiful Chris Rice song, “Run the Earth and Watch the Sky” [thanks to Brianne for introducing me to that song] where he mentions Aslan and the Pevensies as part of his adolescence. I could go off on a tangent and talk about when I went to Chicago, to Wheaton, and saw (touched!!!) C.S. Lewis’ desk at a special library dedicated to him and six other British authors (including Tolkien and George MacDonald). But really this post is just a tribute; The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and How it Changed My Entire Life, by J. M. Richards. Or something like that. If I sound fanatical, even evangelistic about it…well, I don’t apologize. I can only hope that someday you, too, will experience the wonder, and find your own adventurous encounter with the untamed God. Y

Turkish Delight

“What would you like best to eat?”
“Turkish Delight, please, your majesty,” said Edmund.
The Queen let another drop fall from her bottle on the snow, and instantly there appeared a round box, tied with a green silk ribbon, which, when opened turned out to contain several pounds of the best Turkish Delight….Edmund had never tasted anything so delicious….and the more he ate the more he wanted to eat….
At last the Turkish Delight was all finished and Edmund was looking very hard at the empty box and wishing that she would ask him whether he would like some more. Probably the queen knew quite well what he was thinking; for she knew, though Edmund did not, that this was enchanted Turkish Delight and that anyone who had once tasted it would want more and more of it, and would even, if they were allowed, go on eating it till they killed themselves. …
But he still wanted to taste that Turkish Delight again more than he wanted anything else.

Recently, I had the opportunity to try some Turkish Delight. I found some in a store that carries specialty imported foods. I decided that it would not have been my first choice in that situation, and I would much rather have chocolate or cheesecake.

When I was little, my dad would make his version of Turkish Delight for my brother and I. It was based on something his father called “German” Toast (instead of French Toast)—syrup or honey on toast, sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. Oh, yeah. We were incorrigible little sweet tooths. Real Turkish Delight is a gelatiny confection usually rose or lemon flavored, and sometimes covered in chocolate, powdered sugar or containing nuts. Needless to say, my brother Kyle was quite disappointed with the genuine article and still maintains that it has messed up his childhood memories.

However, there is one form of Turkish Delight that I absolutely love. In fact, I’m completely addicted. I even crave it. It is…a song by David Crowder Band.

Disney and Walden Media just released a “music inspired by” CD for the upcoming Narnia movie. It is a compilation project by today’s top Christian Artists. Which you might not think I’d go for, but I did. Mostly because it’s Narnia…but also in large part because I was intrigued that DCB did a song on Turkish Delight.

I must confess that a good chunk of the CD disappointed me. You might think that a song “inspired by” Narnia might actually be about Narnia. I did. I was wrong. Many of the songs seem to be more about the artist’s perspective of Narnia, and more about The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe as an allegory than as a story. Which…would be okay…if it was only one or two songs. But several of them don’t seem to be any different than a typical Christian song talking about God and worship. They’re good pieces of music, by my humble standards, but they just don’t seem to have a lot to do with Narnia.

However, there are a few notable exceptions. Nichole Nordeman’s contribution “I Will Believe” is good and has a few really great lines in it; I’m not the biggest tobymac fan but his song “New World” is quite catchy…once you get past the fact that he practically yells “Narnia” in the chorus. My second favorite song on the album is Steven Curtis Chapman’s “Remembering You.” I couldn’t figure out why he sang “I wish you could stay,” instead of I wish I could stay, until I remembered that Aslan does leave the children after they are coronated (hope I didn’t spoil anyone!!). It makes me teary-eyed when I hear it…though not in the same way that Annie Lennox’s “Into the West” from “The Return of the King” did. “Remembering You” is both wistful and joyful, with beautiful lilting Celtic pipes (which I just adore!!)

But my absolute favorite song on the album (and I need it after all those other sappy songs start making me cry) is “Turkish Delight” by the David Crowder Band. It is the only song on the album that is from a character’s point of view dealing directly with an event from the story. A few other songs might be from a character’s point of view, like “Remembering You” might be Lucy or Susan (my vote is Lucy), and Kutlass’ “More than it Seems” sounds like it is Peter speaking.

But as you can see from the excerpt above, the DCB song is the only one taken straight from Lewis’ pages. It is soooo good. From the 70’s inspired melody (read: disco-esque) to the nearly perfect lyrics, it is a song that I have been playing over and over and over. I say “nearly perfect” because he calls it a “bit of pie”— which you now know is completely incorrect. I can forgive that, since he only used it to rhyme with “lie.” But with other lyrics like “what I wouldn’t do…it’s all I want…I gotta get another taste…the more I have, the more I want” it makes not only for a great song about the story, but in so doing illustrated the very nature of temptation and addiction in general. I think Lewis would have been pleased with that.

I know I am. (This morning I had it cranked up and was dancing in the kitchen to it. I kid you not, both of my cats came in and started at me like I was crazy. It was great.) I'm enjoying some Turkish Delight right now. 

"Christian" Fiction

I am an aspiring author. That’s what it says in my profile to the right. Basically it means that I really really like to write (hence, the blog that I pound away on for a very small audience) and that I hope one day to be published and recognized as an author. As opposed to a girl who works for a dentist and at a coffee shop and writes in her spare time.

I have actually written a book; I hope to be self-publishing it in the next couple of months. You can read a little more about it on my humble web page, listed under my links to the right. I’m not going to synopize it right here. But if “Found Phoebe” does get taken on by Red Lead Press, you can be assured that I will also add a link to where you can order it online.

A lot of people have asked me, “Is this a Christian book?” The answer is: yes and no. First of all, no, it is not an explicitly Christian book. By this I mean that Phoebe does not go to church, have a conversion experience, nor is there any mention of God. But at the same time, yes, it is a Christian book because I am a Christian, and I am the author. My worldviews are inherent in my writing, just as “The Lord of the Rings” was not an explicitly Christian book, either, yet is loved by many Christians because of the deep theological themes found there. I am not comparing myself to J.R.R. Tolkien; I am just using his work as an illustration. Although my book is not exactly an allegory, there are parallels and Christian themes in the story; furthermore, my book does not endorse any unscriptural activities.

But as a Christian Author, and even just as a Christian Philosopher in college, I have wrestled with this question: what makes something “Christian Art”? I actually took a whole class about it my senior year, thank you, Dr. Wilson.

I think as Christians, we have a tendency to separate ourselves so much from the mainstream culture that we have created our own little bubble of a sub-culture. There was a time in my life when I thought this was good, but I don’t any more. Part of the problem is that the mainstream market has become so liberal that there isn’t a lot of market for Christian religious art. To compensate, we created publishing houses and media companies that would produce Christian art. But to whom? Not to the world, who needs it the most. But to us, so that we could be surrounded only by what is good and theologically sound.

Yes, I know the verse in Philippians where Paul tells us what things we should think on. And I know we are called to be set apart, to live in the world , but not be of it, and certainly not to love the world or anything in it.

But if Christian musicians are just singing about God’s love to Christians, and Christian authors are just writing books about living life as a Christian and selling it only in Christian bookstores, how are we changing the world?

I am not ashamed that my book does not have the plan of salvation in it. I think God uses all things to draw men to him. I think he uses people who don’t even know Him to spread truth, without them even knowing it. I think His truth can be found in very unexpected places, because it is His world, and He is sovereign, and He has put truth in our hearts. I think you can find elements of the gospel everywhere: in movies like Braveheart and Star Wars, in shows like LOST and ALIAS, and in books like Susan Cooper’s “The Dark is Rising Sequence” and yes, dangit, even in the Harry Potter books.

I still haven’t finished “Heaven is Not My Home,” but I do agree with Dr. Paul Marshall that it is our responsibility as Christians to redeem the world, and to bring to light those truths we find. “Found Phoebe” is about fairies and fairy tales. Why? Because fairy tales (as John Eldredge and even C.S. Lewis would say) present a deep view of reality. They show us what is really going on. As does all effective art, Christian or not.