A man walks into a bar and says, “What time do you open?”
The bartender looks at the other patrons sitting at the bar, shrugs, and says, “Tomorrow.”
The man leaves.
The next day, the man returns to the bar but doesn’t come in. Customers walk past, entering and exiting, and still he stands at the door, not going in. Eventually, the door lock clicks, the lights are turned off, and the bartender steps out into the night, sees the man, and says, “Goodnight,” and rushes off to get home.
The man chases him down. “Hey! What time do you open?”
“Tomorrow,” as the bartender disappears into a cab.
Tomorrow comes, the man is sitting on the stoop when the bartender arrives.
The man says, “Are you open now?”
“Not yet.”
“When do you open?”
The bartender says, “When you see that beer sign lit up, we’re open.”
So, the man waits for the sign to come on. He waits, and waits. Meanwhile, patrons come and go, laughing and carousing.
Many, many hours later, the bartender closes up and see the man – “Hey, you never made it back in time!”
The man says, “I waited for the light to come on.”
“Oh,” the bartender chuckles, “I must have forgotten to flip the switch, come back when we open tomorrow.”
Today begins a thematic weekly schedule. Tuesday’s will be book review. Today’s review is a book I recently read for my 19th century British Literature class.
Grania: the Story of an Island by Emily Lawless
First published in 1892, Grania is a fictional story of a self-sufficient, headstrong young lass in the hard and barren barrier islands off Ireland’s mainland. She takes care of herself and her sick sister, and is benevolent to those who have less then her by providing food, despite her limited resources, to those who come to her. She is not poor like most of the others on the island, and works hard for what she has, but her kind and generous spirit demands that she share what she has.
This is a four-part story, in which part one introduces us to the protagonist – Grania, her mother and father’s backstory, and her sister’s heritage. Part two picks up six years later, where we learn of the demise of her father, her sister’s illness onset, and the growth of her love for a weak and vain man. This love relationship is a primary focus of the rest of the book, and is instrumental in Grania’s self-discovery, and we see how her sister is foundational to who she is and the choices she ultimately makes.
Grania is a chronological account of a young girl coming to maturity through the economic and weather brutalities she must face on her own. The young girl, Grania, is the protagonist, and her story begins at age 11 and is completed by 17-18 years old. She is youthful, headstrong, adventurous, strong and fearless, with a weakness for her love, Murdough Blake, whom she is smitten with.
Murdough Blake is Grania’s crush. He is lazy and lacks industry. He is self-centered, egotistical, opportunistic, and takes Grania for granted.
Honor O’Malley is Grania’s older half-sister. She is quite religious (wanted to be a nun), raised Grania, and winds up very sick. She is proud and generous, (characteristics she shares with Grania). She displays a resilience that Grania admires and emulates.
The story of Grania shines light on life in the Ireland in the late 19th century. It’s set in the factual islands of Aran. It is a rough life, where the inhabitants are cut of from the mainland half of the year, where they have to make do with circumstances of cold, extreme wet, with finite resources that often cause fatal illness in the people. Truly, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
If you want to spend time in turn-of-the-century Ireland, walking in the steps of a strong young women going through emotional growth, this is a great read. I found it a bit slow going at first, but came to root for, admonish, and care about – Grania.
Why didn’t she pay more attention to science? Learning about galaxies in space or the human body is interesting, is it not? Yet, she could barely stay awake during the lectures, much less connect the whys with the whats. Now she finds falling asleep as easy as pulling a turbine through a snow storm. It’s not that turbine is working or anything, but it sure is a heavy load.
When I was young, I loved sleeping. Still do, in a sense, but now I feel like I’m wasting time if I sleep in too late or long. It’s a peaceful thing when my head hits the pillow and I have a little chat with God about the day or the things that are occupying my mind, and before you know it, I’m waking up. It doesn’t take long for me to fall asleep, but inevitably I will wake up an hour later. Rarely does this not happen. So I’ve just come to expect it. Unless my mind is unduly burdened I will usually fall asleep again fairly quickly, but if there is a big decision to be made, or a conundrum of some kind, I will toss and turn for hours. When this is the case, even conversations with God do not alleviate my insomnia.
Sometimes I think perhaps I need this time with the Lord, and I just keep talking.
We all have trouble sleeping sometimes. What do you do when you can’t fall asleep, or stay asleep? Do you get out of bed, or do you stay in bed and yearn for respite?
The Lord says we can lay our burdens on him and he will carry the weight. Sometimes I have trouble with this because I want answers right away. Just as I lay there saying go to sleep, I say I give it to you God, but then it’s still there and I know I haven’t truly given it to Him. Trusting isn’t always easy, but I know that God is watching over me and hears my pleas even if I do not see an answer immediately. He has promised, “You go before me and follow me. You place Your hand of blessing on my head” (Psalm 139:5).
Let’s trust Him, and rest easy. Til the blessed ‘morrow.
“What is gonna happen next?” she says to the silence, and she lays back falling asleep on the stroke. Day dissolves, night arises while she dreams on. The pungent smell of cool, wet night fills her nostrils, and she opens her eyes. She is looking up into the bejeweled sky, cool and dark with twinkling, blinking pinpoints of light smiling down on her. This makes her happy. She wonders which is a planet and which is a star. She cannot tell the difference. Perhaps she should have paid more attention in science.
I wondered why we are all so enamored with stars. What is it about stars? They are used to describe the pinnacle of success: we can be the star of the show, the star of the moment, the star in our field. Hollywood is full of stars – movie stars – who are often honored with a star on Hollywood Blvd. According to cartoonists, we see stars when we are dizzy. Is that because when we stare into the sky, we can feel dizzy? We speak of reaching for the stars in analogy for lofty goals. Stretching far beyond sight are the stars. Sometimes we even thank our lucky stars. They are a symbol of awesome.
Stars are awesome in the true sense of inspiring awe. Stars are something that make us feel the size of the universe, and like there is something larger than this planet that we live.
I found it curious that the Bible refers to stars quite frequently, but only a couple times to any planet and then it’s mostly talks of the moon and earth. The Lord cares even about the stars that he has created. “He counts the number of stars; He gives names to all of them” (Isaiah 147:4-4). I find that truly amazing. He knows every star that is in the universe, and they are no where near as important as we are. I think that is why we want to be stars. To know we are named, and perhaps remembered.
I have to admit, I have never been too interested in outer space, or the stars, but if God thinks they are important, I can at least appreciate them for their beauty.
The lake is calm, without breeze or ripple to distract the senses from the surrounding splendor. The boat even shushes the lap-lap of the water, voiding the movement for the moment. A pure silence, one in which she alone is the center of the world. Alone with her thoughts, where the only sound she hears are the words in her head – “What’s gonna happen next?”
Spaces in silence can be so wonderful, yet often they are silences filled with many other things, like guilt, fear or apathy. Instead of appreciating the quietness and solitude a lull can provide, we feel like we should always be doing something else, or we should always be worrying about some (often manufactured) thing. Children often say, “I’m bored,” whereas the adult may not vocalize it, we are indoctrinate to activity and we cannot bear the thought of just being.
This is something that God is good at. He knows how to be, and wants us to be, in Him – resting. So simple, but so hard for me to do. I must cross of those tasks, fulfill those goals, get those achievements, but I long for those silences to sing their song of joy and peace, I just have a hard time disconnecting to the world’s cacophony. I know that God is working all the time, and we are told we can rest in Him, that “the word of the Lord is right and true; He is faithful in all he does” (Psalm 33:4), and if we listen in those silences instead of rushing to fill the void, we just might hear what God is saying for us to do, not spin the wheels so much, and know the beauty in balance. This is hard for me, as whenever I have free time, my face can usually be found in a book, a screen of some kind, or one of a dozen other means of engagement. Whoever said silence is golden did not anticipate the demands of modern society.
Do you know when to rest in the silence? Have you learned to take advantage of those silences? What have you learned in your silence?
Perhaps I need to carve out moments of silence, so God can reach me in this noisy world. Perhaps you do too.
Listen to the silence, Til the blessed ‘morrow.
“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound” – John Newton
Friday is pizza night! She likes her rituals and routines. It helps her mind stay organized, and although it’s a night for ooey gooey goodness on bread, she can mix it up too. The foundation is always the same, a crust and sauce, the accoutrements of the pie are endless: thick or thin crust; white, red, or oil sauce; meat or no meat; veggies or no veggies, and which ones go with what! Oh pizza is so much fun, and it doesn’t hurt that on Friday she doesn’t have to say, “What’s for dinner tonight?”
Rituals and routines were not a part of my growing up, so I was at a rather advanced age when I learned their value, and I am still learning how to have routine and spontaneity both in harmony. My rituals upon waking and retiring are chiseled in, I wake up, brush my teeth, have coffee with my friends on TBN before working, and at the end of the day I brush my teeth, sink into the clouds, read until the night dove descends at 11:30. I have found these routines help me wake up and fall asleep. I am truly working on getting more routine in my life, but I also do not like being a slave to a schedule. If I don’t brush my teeth before leaving the bathroom in the morning, I kinda forget until later, and I know, ewwww, but I don’t want to eat lunch at a set time, and I don’t want to do homework at a set time, and I don’t want to exercise (when I do it) at a set time, so I’ve learned to block my events in a way that can be shifted. This flexibility provides the illusion that I am free to do as I please. We are free, right? Yet, sometimes I wonder if I am creating ritual ruts. My morning and night rituals are pretty stringent, and I have a hard time veering from the norm, even for things that are fun. A rut is a groove that holds things in place. We tend to think of ruts in a negative way, but I don’t think it’s necessarily good or bad, unless, like I mentioned it prevents you from changing.
What do you think? Are you a routine machine, one who thrives on the daily rituals? Or are you the one who walks the path as it arises? Are there places in your life that have become grooves, and is that fine or would you like to change?
As a Christian, oftentimes, we have rituals and routines in our time with God. I think about how the married man and woman kiss each other at night or as their leaving as habit. The kiss is better than nothing, and would certainly be missed if it didn’t happen, but it also is lackluster. Goodnight, dear… have a good day, dear. How uninspired. I think God feels that way when we go through the motions with him, saying the same things over again. The psalmist says, “In your presence there is the fullness of joy,” how amazing is that! He wants us to be full of joy, and I think there should be heart and pleasure in those interactions, otherwise it’s merely obligation. He wants to hear our hearts, not our words. The Lord’s Prayer as an example of a WAY to pray, a foundation that can be piled on with the ooey gooey, delicious, things of your choice in the moment, not as a rut.
Our Father, who art in heaven, you are the most wonderful, awesome being that ever existed.
You are the ruler and controller of this world and his kingdom in heaven.
Please take care of the people reading this, the government woes, and the things that cause us pain.
Forgive us, oh Lord, for forgetting to come to you, in your glory, and save us from ourselves. Amen.
May God’s munificence be seen clearly in you and those you love.
The steady hum of the nightly news buzzes in the background. She tries to avoid the barrage of affliction oozing from the television attacking her sensibilities. She askes her sister to turn it off, and is rewarded with her own flavor of barrage. He sister thinks it’s her (and everyone’s) duty to be informed and doesn’t hold back the words that make the other feel like a pea with a looming foot above it. She agrees that the news is important but in small doses.
What we spend time on is what our minds become. I have been thinking about how to use my time more wisely and productively. It’s been amazing to see how much time I have when I’m not connected to Prime or Hulu, or passing the hours with merlot or chardonnay. Don’t get me wrong, there is a place for these things, but they have a way of (at least for me) becoming central to the day, the week, the year, the life. I am replacing some of the hours spent with those old friends with new friends like Benjamin Franklin and Pulitzer prize winner Frank McCourt (you may recognize that name from a movie called Angela’s Ashes, I recommend reading the book first). Sure, these are still somewhat escapist endeavors, but they are active engagement that affords growth in ways passive viewing cannot. In addition, I am getting to know the Christ more,“ and trying to understand things like, “Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart” (Psalm 37:4).
I’m trying it out. Delighting myself in the Lord. What does that mean? Well, I’m learning that it might mean finding Him to be enough, desiring Him more than other things. Since I have started finding and delighting in His great command to love Him and others above all else, I have found a peace that was illusive. I have found my wants and needs for things have shrunk, and I am much more satisfied with my life as it is. Wow! I could not have imagined how freeing this is. This Bible verse is not new to me, but the actuality of it is.
Have you tried delighting yourself in the God of the universe? How did you do it? What did you find? Was it hard to do?
I know where the road leads if I follow Him. The road leads to delights I can’t even begin to imagine. This is far more meaningful than the temporary treasures and entertainments with which this world revolves around today. I will continue moving closer to a delightful relationship with my God. I hope you will too.
“May grace and peace be your in abundance” (2 Peter 1:2).
“I wish you were here,” she thinks, “you always knew how to handle situations like this, even if it usually was far from perfect.” She misses her childhood friend, long dead, and thinks about how much time has gone by since she could ask her friend’s advice. The years that have ticked away. The moments of lost memories; memories that were never formed, never remembered, never forgotten.
There are very few close friends in my life. I’m a moderate introvert, so I find making friends difficult. Well, not so much the making of friends, as I can talk to just about anyone when I want, it’s the growing and keeping them that is like trying to catch seedlings in the wind. I suppose friendships are like plants. If you water and feed them, they blossom into their green finery, but if you let them dry out, then give them too much water to revive the straining, they can be overcome, and the strangling, starved brown ally finds itself in a state of relieved agony. It may recover. It may not. I tend to neglect both friend and fauna, but I’m working on taking better care of the things that matter in life.
What about you? Do you nurture those precious possessions; those irreplaceable gems that add splendor and wonder to the strife of the mundane? Are there times of starvation and drought that could use some sun showers? Or are you a friend that someone calls just because, or the friend that one comes to in a crisis? Can someone depend on you for nourishing their soul, to water their roots and provide sunlight on a cloudy day? What is a friend to you?
This reminds me of the old timey hymn, “What a friend we have in Jesus.” He is there despite our careless indifference. He waters us, and feeds us in our laxity, and when we pour out our problems, He is there to help us grow and bloom. I can’t glut my redeemer like the poor soul who endures my extremes in care. I take comfort in knowing, “The Lord is at my right hand [always]. I will not be shaken,” (Psalm 16:8), and neither is He shaken, but we have the obligation and the opportunity to love one another in the desert, as well as the spring. I pray that we, in this lost and confused world, can embrace and emanate this exquisite command.
When she woke up this morning, her first thoughts are a surreal mix of sleep and wakenness, unaware of the differences between night and day so rarely lived. Alone in her dreams, seeing the peaceful sky outside the window, a bird flies by, silent, and she opens her eyes. She does not see a sky or a bird, instead there are just the normal curtained panes that shield her sleeping soul. She lays, paralyzed, feeling cheated; cheated by the loss of promise, she has already forgotten.
Dreams are strange things. So real, yet so often unrecalled, except for maybe the lingering feelings of excitement, fear, peace, happiness. It’s hard for me to move from dream state to the reality of the day sometimes. I long to go back, if not to rejoin, to understand, to remember, to know. But that promise is broken when the brain is awoken. Sometimes, I’m full of fear, and my heart is racing when I rejoin earthly dwelling, and I am relieved that it wasn’t real, but I still want to KNOW what it was that caused this deep emotion – I feel cheated. The emotion seems so real, feels so real, if the event isn’t.
But is it truly unreal?
There are a lot of theories surrounding dreams: They reflect the day’s reality. They are emotionally driven. The are memories. The are Freudian suppressed desires. Others feel that they are random fragments swirling around in consciousness. What do you think? What are your experiences? Do you remember your dreams? Some are known to control their sleeping world, can you? What’s your typical night like?
Do you ever wake up straddling the moments of consciousness?
The Bible uses dreams to give warnings, to give warnings, or to give prophecies. Perhaps that’s why I feel cheated when I can’t recall what was happening in my alternative world. I long to hear from the Lord. What warning does He have form me? Which choices is He helping me make? What about prophetic dreams? I have had prophetic dreams, and they were simply things that happened many years after the dream, and have been so few that they are not something I look to, but I do believe in communicative purposes in dreams. The dream worlds are too real for them to be random meaningless tidbits crawling around in the night.
She sits outside watching her ninety-eight-year-old grandfather as he is wheeled over to the window for their first visit in six months. It has been difficult to spend time together since the pandemic kept them apart, with video chats replacing the hugs and kisses laden warmth stolen from this quisquous year named 2020. Grandfather flattens his hand on the window, beckoning the match to join on the other side, which is obliged in bittersweet ponderosity. He withdraws his hand and caresses his cheek, as he gazes through the transparent wall, the color of tears, with desire to break through this barrier to belonging.
I have not had the experience this forlorn lass has had. My family isn’t accessible at all, so visits remain virtual, and I have been blessed by healthful bounty in those that I love, but I have, in isolation, lost the social belonging that accompanies the gathering of others, be it friends or coworkers. There is a gap that cannot be filled in Zoomeos or social media posts, although I can’t imagine the isolation we would feel without these technical wonders.
Everywhere, I hear you say – 2020 has been the worst year ever. I ask you, why? What is it that you cannot live without? Is it the distractions of pleasure you miss most? Is it dining out or social interactions that make your heart yearn?
Our lives have many competing demands for our attention. Just thinking about all the businesses impact by lack of patrons, and you will see that it is heavily weighted toward entertainments. God doesn’t appreciate competition, and He is getting more attention lately, in the face of prayers for others, or even blame and anger towards Him. The psalmist reminds us: “Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in him” (Ps 34:8). We literally have walls severing our relationships. These walls are filled with tears. Imagine how full of tears the wall of our Lord is when we pull the curtain down on His hand on the window untouched.
Spilling Marbles 