Dear Elizabeth Gaskell,

Please forgive any impudence or impropriety on my part for writing you.  I realize this letter is terribly late, and will never reach you, but all the same I feel it must be written.

I have just today finished your wonderful novel, "North and South."  I cannot tell you how profoundly moved I am by it.  At first, it was just the romance between Margaret Hale and John Thornton that drew me in; what a splendid, passionate romance it is, to be sure.  My own heart raced every time you spoke of Mr. Thornton's deeper feelings toward Margaret.  Oh, wouldn't we all wish to be loved so thoroughly!  But there were so many other details and twists in the story that captivated me, til I wished I could just crawl inside the pages and visit awhile.

Through her trials and suffering, Margaret has become like a sister to me, a 'kindred spirit,' to borrow a phrase from another ink-and-paper friend of mine.  Though I know nothing of the great grief of losing both my parents, there were other misfortunes that she had occasion to reflect upon, and several of her thoughtful musings mirrored my own feelings in similar circumstances.  It is a wonder to me, for we live worlds and centuries apart, and yet, had we met, we could have talked of many things.  The bitterness of being displaced from a beloved town, only to find one's self in a seemingly less desirable place; the whirlwind of feelings one has on returning to an old home and finding it changed, as well as yourself; indeed, even the many conversations she has with herself about her faith and her conduct were so well written I could imagine and recall the times I have felt similarly.

John Thornton is a character unto himself, and I could write you pages in praise for creating such a man.  He is far from perfect, I realize that quite well.  Still, he is such a measured combination of strong, willful masculinity combined with the secondary, hidden, tenderhearted nature such as must make him the object of many a reader's deep affections.  Just as he will love Margaret all the more for her own contempt and his mother's hate, we will love him all the more even when Margaret rejects him.  But there is something else there, too; I found myself wishing in a self-pitying kind of way that a man like Mr. Thornton would sweep into my life and love me as recklessly and unrelentingly.  But now I wonder if in some imperfect way, he was meant to be a metaphor--not an allegory, mind, but an illustration--of God's love.  Even if that was unintentional, we still have the delight of seeing how much Thornton and Margaret effect one another, so that by the last chapters, we can see how each has altered enough for them to draw together in requited love.

I found a curious by-product of reading this novel was in appreciating the simple faith, sincere modesty, and chaste conduct of the characters.  You will not know this, of course, but in my day romantic stories are everywhere.  There are some cheap thrills to be found in them, I grant, but they pale in comparison to the story you weave.  Couples of my day are portrayed as engaging in sexual liberties which would shock you--would certainly have shocked Margaret beyond words.  It is commonplace here, though, and few even give it pause for thought.  Though I myself have not experienced such things, I have become, in a sense, desensitized to the idea of others experiencing it.  Then along comes your novel, like a breath of fresh summer air.  The very tenderness with which Mr. Thornton recalled Margaret's arms about his neck and longed to feel them again--only that, no more, with none of the lewd, lurid insinuations that are all too familiar--nearly broke my heart.  No era is perfect, but something in your story makes me yearn for a time when once again, the bare touch of two hands clasping would be considered a kind of pure intimacy.

There was also something in the very dignified manner in which both Margaret and Thornton conducted themselves that acted as a kind of conviction on me.  Perhaps there are those would consider such a book "preachy," but I did not feel so.  I felt their own exhortations to themselves in their sufferings to be a kind of clarion call to my own soul, to bear up and be strong even when my heart feels weak.  They both strive for self-control, which again clashes in stark contrast with the common attitudes of people in my day.  Here, we wish to deny ourselves nothing.  We vent our feelings in haste and spout our opinions for the world to see, and we do not like to wait or be told no.  We are like large, spoiled children who expect to have our wishes granted and cry bitterly when they are not, as they inevitably cannot be.  Would that we were all a little more patient, willing to accept the consequences of our own actions, and had a bit more restraint--like the heroes you created.  Your characters held strong convictions which did not sway, and yet true to life, they experienced doubt, despair, and reproach.  Both had enough failings and short-sightedness despite their best efforts, yet this softens them in our eyes and makes them relatable.  They spoke honestly and called out the best not only in each other, but in those around them, to the best of their abilities.  Well, excepting perhaps Fanny and Edith, the silly girls.

And so I express all this for the purpose of acknowledging my gratitude.  Thank you for writing this novel, which I only discovered last month, and which I have been greedily devouring for the past two weeks.  I only wish there was a bit more to the end--but I am sure you will not see that as a criticism, for as an author myself I know the flattering effect the clamor for "More!" produces.  And in truth, it left me feeling curiously satisfied, as most novels do not.  It has left an impression on me, one I will not soon forget.  Aside from all that I have already reveled in, I must confess that I was somewhat surprised in yet another way.  I am a lifelong reader and book lover, from a very young age.  Yet now, in my thirties, I find myself still amazed at discovering new books--and from their pages, new friends--new stories to love, treasure up, and learn from.  If I were to write a letter of thanks to every author whose work has touched me as yours has, I would still be busy indeed.  Perhaps I write to you tonight because your story is still fresh and vivid in my mind, or perhaps because I am sure not to offend or irritate you, as you will never read this.  I almost wish you could, because I should like you to know how much I enjoyed your book.  But then I suspect you are far beyond the need of any praise from earthly man (or woman).  Perhaps much later, on some eternal day hence, we will be able to sit and talk of John and Margaret like old friends, and that would be pleasant.

Until such a day, I will be content with sharing my praise of your work with the world--or at least, the few dozen people or so who might ever read this.

I remain Your Grateful Reader,

Jessica

Where is Phoebe?

Um, so, the other night I had a dream about someone reading and reviewing my first book, "Found Phoebe."  This person liked it immensely, which left me with a warm fuzzy long after the dream ended.  But when I got up, It got me thinking, whatever happened to Phoebe?  I haven't looked at her story in ages.  I've been so preoccupied with other projects, and oh, yeah, life issues, like moving and looking for jobs....

But I haven't given up on her story, not entirely.  I have a first draft of the second book nearly finished (though I haven't looked at it in several months!).  It's been so long since I invested in her story that I'm curious whether anyone else is still thinking of her.  Back when it first came out, I got a lot of questions about a sequel.  Lately I've been working so hard on my Dark Lightning books that I had to put Phoebe on the back burner, so to speak.

You guys are the readers, what do you think?  Should I keep working on Phoebe's stories?  Is there still interest in sequels?   Should I work to get "Found Phoebe" picked up by a publishing company, or try to market the version I have a bit more?

I'm open to any & all (constructive) thoughts.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/jmrichards/4561008472/

A Psalm of Life

So, Wendy tells me that April is National Poetry Month. Since I have little to blog about, aside from Lost, I will steal/copy/borrow/recycle an idea from Wendy's blog and share with you my favorite poem.

I found it in a High School English book from 1901 (seriously!) and just fell in love with it. It speaks to many of my favorite themes. I've tried to memorize it, but I always seem to forget a stanza. The last three were quoted by the minister at my Grandma Jean's memorial service.

A Psalm of Life, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Tell me not in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Find us farther than today.

Art is long and Time is fleeting,
And out hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act--act in the living Present!
Heart within and God o'rehead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime
And departing, leave behind us
Footprints in the sands of time;--

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

QT

Several years ago, when I was in college (and I don't really feel like saying how long ago that was, as it is beginning to depress me a little) there was a popular book about relationships. (Actually, there were several, including I Kissed Dating Goodbye, Passion and Purity, and Lady in Waiting...good books, in their own way, I suppose, and though I have some on my shelf, I must admit I haven't been tempted to reread them in a good while.)

The book I'm talking about in particular here is called "The Five Love Languages" by Dr. Gary Chapman (not to be confused with the former husband of Amy Grant). It proposed the idea that there are five basic ways in which we both give and receive love.
They are:

1) Acts of Service

2) Receiving Gifts

3) Physical Touch

4) Words of Affirmation
and
5) Quality Time.

The idea was that while you may be trying to show someone you care about them by getting them Gifts, but their love language was Acts of Service, your message was not as likely to be received.

After thinking about this for a while, I came to the conclusion that my Love Language was primarily Quality Time. Words of Affirmation is a big one, too, what with words meaning so much to me and all--but it's QT that really fuels me.

It's funny...because I think that includes quality Alone time, as well. But it extends to so many areas. Perhaps "quality" is a relative term; I know for me it includes good conversation. And laughter. Or even just sharing good stories (including movies, etc). Sometimes it's a three hour phone chat with a friend I haven't talked to in a while...sometimes it's watching reruns with my family...sometimes it's grabbing a coffee (or tea, in my case) with someone I'm just getting to know.

It's been years since I read that book, but for some reason the idea has come back to me. I think it's always good to look around you at the important people in your life and think about what their LL might be, so that you can love them better.

So what about you? What do you think your Love Language is? Let me know! I really am curious.

About Time

I know what you’re thinking. You’re rejoicing that I have finally gotten around to posting a new blog. Not because you are riveted by my every post, but because you are just sooo tired of seeing my cats.

Well, so was I.

There really are any number of things I could have blogged about between then and now. My brother came home from a three-month-stint in Texas, for one. He subsequently went with me to the movies, me for the first time since Narnia, to see “V for Vendetta.” Could have done a whole post on that. Kyle then proceeded to get me hooked on Firefly, the Best Canceled Show In Existence. I could go on about that as well…but I won’t. I also keep toying with the idea of doing a MacGyver Tribute…but alas, that too will have to wait.

Really, this post is about one thing: celebration. That’s right. Not only is today Easter (or as we call it in my house, ‘Resurrection’), the day celebrating Christ’s triumph over death (Hallelujah!), but it is also the end of Lent. Woo hoo!

Those last few days were really hard, because the end was in sight. And also because I could not believe it had been so stinkin’ long since I’d picked up a book.

The first thing I did this morning was crack open Blue Like Jazz while I was in the bathroom (where my mother left it after she finished; our shared loo is a veritable library. You wouldn’t believe it.). I’ve already read it, but it just felt so good to be holding a book in my hands again.

After that, I went straight up to my room and compiled a stack of books to last me the next few weeks. (I didn’t trust myself to do it on my fast.) First on my list, by Brianne’s recommendation, is Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell. Just below that is a YA novel I picked up at that garage sale earlier this month, called The Boggart, by Susan Cooper—good fluff reading. Plus, they go to Scotland!!! My internal list is very long, but as I’ve been so deprived, I probably will read what ever I feel like, whenever. I’m working the closing shift at the coffee shop tomorrow, and it will be so nice to have a book during those slow hours. My only trouble will be deciding which book to take with me!!

So, what exactly did I learn during the last 47 days? Discipline is hard. I generally don’t have enough of it. Obedience is costly, as Oswald Chambers would say. I really don’t know what else I learned…or if I was meant to. Will I ever do it again? Well…a month and a half is a long chunk of time out of every year to not be reading. But that bottom line is, if I get the nudge again, of course I will. The whole thing was an exercise in obedience to Christ—sacrificing something to show homage to He who is truly Lord of my life. Why else would I give up reading for 47 days??? Y

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! 

47

Today, as you may or may not know, is Ash Wednesday. The first Day of Lent.

Now, when I was growing up, my churches never really did much with Lent. I was never encouraged to give up anything. I think it was generally considered a Catholic practice. It wasn’t until College that I ever really even paid attention to this season on the Church calendar. My freshman year, three friends and I all decided to give up sweets. That’s a pretty popular choice these days. It was hard, and I remember we had trouble with grey areas like sugary cereal and pop-tarts. But we did it.

I had one professor at C of O who was particularly in tune with the practices of the church, whether ancient, modern, contemporary, or postmodern. My senior year I took his class on Christian Worship and the class was divided into groups (were we in the same group Brianne? I completely forget!) to prepare and provide a Lenten service, one group a week. Again, prior to that, I’d never really paid a whole lot of attention to Church seasons, least of all Lent.

At the beginning of this year, I was reading a book I got for Christmas. It was Lauren Winner’s Girl Meets God. (Yes, the same Lauren Winner I got to meet and hear at Jubilee as I discussed in my last post.) She writes from a background in the Jewish Orthodoxy and mentions how they use a calendar of seasons to guide their worship. Most churches don’t seem to do this as much anymore…but her current church, which is Episcopalian, does. It was one of the reasons she was drawn to it.

There is a chapter in GMG where Lauren relates a conversation with her pastor just before Lent. He asks her what she is giving up; she tells him she’s going to fast on Fridays. He then asks her to give up something in addition: books.

When I read that, two things happened to me.

One was, I think my heart stopped. I was dismayed beyond words at the thought of giving up something like that.

The second thing was, I felt a nudge from the Holy Spirit.

Now, if you’ve ever felt this kind of nudge, you know what I mean. It’s a kind of spiritual elbow to the ribs. I’ve felt it before; it usually accompanies something I really don’t want to do. Something I feel I shouldn’t have to do. Something I could probably justify not doing. But when you get that nudge, there’s really only a couple options: obey, or disobey.

I know from past experiences with the said nudges, that if I do the thing I don’t want to, if I obey, it is usually to my benefit. It might be hard, even painful, but good comes out of it.

So I began by telling my family I was giving up reading books for Lent. They responded with surprise, even a little skepticism (as I said, we never did much with Lent) but eventually encouragement. I told Brianne; she too was encouraging but also a little surprised. If you know me at all, you know I read. If you know me well, you know I devour books. I read all the freaking time. I always seem to have a book stashed somewhere—in the bathroom, in stacks by my bed, in my purse….

But I know that God is not just calling me to give up reading because it takes up so much of my time. I know it has to do with obedience, and keeping my love of books from becoming idolatry. So I will be obedient. It is nerve-wracking, quite frankly, to realize that I will not be picking up and reading any book at all (except the Bible) for the next 47 days. Especially after I bought all those books at Jubilee. I already have a considerable list accumulating of books to read when Lent is over.

It sounds crazy, even to me. But I don’t share this story to say “look how holy I am,” I share it so that you can participate by encouraging me. This will be a challenge, I know, and it’s only day one. You can pray for me, that in the absence of my reading God will show me what he wants me to learn, and that I won’t just fill it with something else. Like TV. Even though I did just get season 4 of MacGyver.

Books are a big, dare I even say HUGE, part of my life; but God must be bigger still. I look forward to this time of Lent with anticipation and trepidation both; who can say but God how I will emerge? What will God teach me in the next 47 days, about discipline, obedience, and grace? Well, when I find out, so will you!