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At the conclusion of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Lucy and Aslan have an important exchange:

“Oh Aslan,” said Lucy. “Will you tell us how to get into your country from our world?”

“I shall be telling you all the time,” said Aslan. “But I will not tell you how long or short the way will be; only that it lies across a river. But do not fear that, for I am the great Bridge Builder. And now come; I will open the door in the sky and send you to your own land.”

“Please, Aslan,” said Lucy. “Before we go, will you tell us when we can come back to Narnia again? Please. And oh, do, do, do make it soon.”

“Dearest,” said Aslan very gently, “you and your brother will never come back to Narnia.”

“Oh, Aslan!!” said Edmund and Lucy both together in despairing voices.

“You are too old, children,” said Aslan, “and you must begin to come close to your own world now.”

“It isn’t Narnia, you know,” sobbed Lucy. “It’s you. We shan’t meet you there. And how can we live, never meeting you?”

“But you shall meet me, dear one,” said Aslan.

“Are – are you there too, Sir?” said Edmund.

“I am,” said Aslan. “but there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there.”

I’m not one to contradict Aslan, but I have discovered a portal to Narnia.  You cannot tarry there long, three or four days perhaps. But it is a world away from this one (figuratively speaking) and full of the whimsical individuals who honor Aslan and Lewis, and most importantly, Christ.

That place is Camp Allen, a retreat center in Navasota, Texas, a short distance from Houston.  Every year, the C.S. Lewis Foundation hosts a Writer’s Retreat there, welcoming writers and readers from all over to discuss, reflect, learn, and share. The Retreat runs from Friday evening to Sunday morning (with early sessions on Thursday evening and Friday morning).  I was excited to attend, but I didn’t know the blessing awaiting me there which far exceeded my expectations.

My adventure began on Thursday evening, with a “Sprinklings” meeting during which members shared some of their work. We read together, laughed together, celebrated together, and made deep connections. On Friday, we attended great sessions and concluded the evening with a wonderful time at Bag End, an open mic experience which welcomed artistic expressions from various members of the crowd.  Saturday followed with more great sessions and a performance by the Ad Deum Dance Company, with a return to Bag End for poetry and musical performances.

It is extremely difficult for me to articulate how wonderful the Retreat was. On a practical level, the sessions were incredibly helpful and interesting. I took copious notes about the importance of social media, the writing process, how to rebound after failure, and the importance of writing in community. Diana Glyer, author of The Company They Keep, was a marvelous instructor (among many others), melding faith and art together seamlessly and with great wisdom.

On a social level, I chatted with other aspiring writers about their processes and their obstacles (many of them shared).  I made life-long friends. As a Lewis fan, it is hard to find someone who can chat with you about Lewis and not think you are a raving lunatic. I have Lewis’s name on my car tag, Narnia posters in my classroom, Narnia paraphenalia in my home office, and Lewis references littered throughout my conversations.  I have been called “that Lewis lady” and probably names much worse when I was out of earshot.  I have accepted that I’m an “odd bird” who would rather read a novel than scavenge through Pinterest or watch _____________ (Honestly, I watch so little television that I don’t even know what popular show to reference here). The Retreat gave me an opportunity to connect with other bookworms and Lewis fans.  It was a surreal experience, and one which reminded me that I am not alone on my journey.

On a creative level, I was challenged and enriched. My phone was silent and my mind and hand were occupied, scribbling various ideas and verses of poetry. It was my Walden, my escape from the shackles of modern culture and responsibilities which characterize our adult lives.  For a few days, I can step away from the heaps of laundry and from dishes which call from the sink to be cleaned.  I don’t have to give the dog her thyroid pill. I don’t have to pack the lunches or grade essays for work.

I can strip all of that away and just be Crystal for once. Not the lady who runs at a dizzy pace to complete her tasks, but the one who sits patiently and waits for the Muse to arrive, who finds a deep joy and ecstasy as words fill the page. She is the one who grew up reading and wants to return the favor by writing.  Ideas are reciprocal and therefore writing is necessary.  I anticipate these moments, and relish them when they come at long last with great pleasure.

Finally, on a spiritual level, I was blessed beyond measure. If ever there was a place where God is present in art, it is here. There are a multitude of ways to illustrate your love and adoration for God, and art (using pens, paintbrushes, instruments) is a wonderful avenue of expression. A blank page, an empty canvas, measures awaiting notes – all of these are opportunities to praise our Savior. God is indeed the architect of such good things.

In addition, there was a religious plurality there which defies denominations and dogma. The world would benefit greatly by taking a hint from the Writer’s Retreat.  It is proof that when we see ourselves primarily as sons and daughters of Christ before [insert denomination] -ists or -ans, we can erode the layers of discrimination which have haunted the Church for centuries. There is no pretense, no condescension, only appreciation.  The family of God is so wide and so wonderful.  There is beauty in that diversity which we neglect when we scurry to our own church doors and often away from blended brethren. What good could come in the world if we all came together and united under one banner for Christ? It was a time of fellowship that has surpassed any other which I have experienced in my life.

I urge you to attend one of the Foundation’s events in the coming months and years. I have found it to be spiritually and creatively nourishing.  Even if you don’t “write”, but love authors like Lewis or Tolkien (or even books in general), I highly recommend this conference.

The door to the wardrobe stands ajar.  Now is a good time to look beyond the fur coats which block our entranceway, press forward, and arrive at a greater understanding.

 

Election season is quickly approaching. Unless you live in a distant cave with no cable or wifi, you have been bombarded with advertisements. The American presidential election is one that stirs worldwide attention. As we head to the polls shortly, it is important to understand the impact of our decisions and the ancestors who fought for us to have the opportunity to make these decisions. Two hundred years ago, women of this young country lost their husbands, fathers, brothers, sons, nephews, and cousins as we fought for our independence. We have come a long way since then.

The term “leadership” is a ubiquitous and popular phrase in our country.  Colleges run successful leadership degree programs, churches sponsor leadership seminars and courses, and books which chronicle the lives of charismatic leaders rapidly climb the best-seller lists.  Why are we so fascinated with leadership?

Because leadership affects our everyday lives.

As soon as we exit the womb, we are inundated with hierarchies.  First, we have parents/guardians, then teachers/administrators, and then bosses.  We arrive into the surrounding power structures and mature to new ones as we age. Leadership is present in all aspects of our lives.

Historically, leadership was reserved for affluent, powerful, and bold individuals.  In the first part of the twentieth century, it was believed that leadership traits were innate (inborn) and therefore could not be taught or practiced.  The “Great Man Theory” touted that men were who “tall, dark, and handsome” had some God-given charisma which made them natural leaders.  Although physical attractiveness and height do not typically correlate with successful leadership, these were early beliefs of leadership endorsed by culture.  Prolific biographer David McCullough even writes in John Adams that Adams was rather short when compared to his political companions, but surely this did not hinder his influence in establishing our country.  And need I mention Napoleon?

In today’s culture, leadership is now conceptualized as something more tangible.  Anyone who lives a decent life, who gives to others, who shares gifts with the world – these people are genuine leaders.  If you are a parent, you are a leader. If you teach or coach, you are a leader.  People who place themselves last, they are truly leaders (do you detect the paradox here?).  The best leaders are primarily servants.  Leadership expert Peter Northouse defines a leader as an individual who exercises influence over a group (2007).  This group can be as vast as a country or as small as a local soccer team.  Leadership is no longer preserved for corner offices or boardrooms. Leadership takes place all day, all around us.  With this, we should embrace our roles as leaders to those in our orbit.

But some people cannot handle the burden of power. C.S. Lewis states that he could not “rule a henhouse, much less a nation” but claimed that people cannot be trusted with power.  Absolute power corrupts absolutely, thanks to that dang mistake in the garden.  The Fall (or the introduction of sin) promises to perennially create issues for us.  I propose two views of power which are ever-present in our culture: the yoke and the cushion.

“The Yoke” illustrates an understanding that power is a weight.  Power equals responsibility.  A yoke is traditionally worn by the oxen who lead a plow.  Therefore, the oxen contribute to the progress of the territory (agricultural, but for the sake of the metaphor also social, political, and economic).  Another important aspect to note is the fact that the oxen and the farmer they assist are on the same level horizontally.  There is no distinction of status as they work side by side.  Power involves hard work and focused energy.  The “kingdom” here is not a playground for tyranny, but a field in need of planting and harvesting.  The domain needs constant maintenance and thus the yoke is needed to ensure success.

“The Cushion” is for those who view power as a vertical endeavor which will provide some extra perks.  There’s a ladder which needs climbing, and each rung places one closer to a goal.  In and of themselves, goals are not hazardous; the problem is when the goals sought are for selfish means, not common good.  As a graduate of a leadership program, I have heard people say, “Well you have to play the game to accomplish things”.  Perhaps, but do we play the game as a means to a better end or so we can benefit ourselves?  Someone other than ourselves should benefit from our choices.  That is the essence of true leadership.  Cushioners step on and over people indifferently in pursuit of what they want.  When they arrive at their desired position, there will be a nice, comfy cushion for the bottoms they have worked off to get there.  But does leadership ever get easier?  We may develop effective strategies which assist us in helping others, but the issues that plague us never evaporate completely.  Solutions come then new problems emerge.  Those who truly want a better world will never be complacent about the state of human suffering.

Make a mental list of the top five leaders who have influenced you.  Do they wear a yoke or sit atop a cushion?  Are they intoxicated by power or are they humble servants?

On Tuesday, we will go to the poles and determine the next leader for our country.  Pray and make your choice, but remember that you have a sphere of influence within arms’ reach.  People are hungry for inspiration. Choose to lead with integrity and humility.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My next contribution on All Nine Muses is now posted!  Go and check it out!

http://allninemuses.wordpress.com/2012/10/28/the-extraordinary-phenomenon-audens-musee-des-beaux-arts/

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“Yes, we saw a dog”, the neighbor child affirmed with wide eyes.

She and her brother were out playing when my husband approached, inquiring if they had seen a dog. He was sweaty and gasping for breath; it was his third trek around our neighborhood.  No, he did not implement a new and strenuous exercise plan…

Lucy escaped the house again.

But let us back up several years before this moment which occurred last week.  My husband and I are nothing if not dog lovers.  We have three dogs, all rescued from shelters who, because we have no children, serve as four-legged progeny in the Hurd house. I love to read dog books (yes, I cried when I read Marley & Me, okay?).  Dog books are one of my favorite genres when reading for pleasure and relaxation.

My fondness for dogs started when I was young.  As a kid, I watched Lassie and begged my parents for a collie.  Every time little Timmy was in a scrape, he would call for Lassie and she would come running from another corner of the Earth to rescue him. Despite Timmy’s penchant for falling into trouble, Lassie was always there.  Collies are absolutely beautiful creatures, but are rather expensive and hard to come by.  After months of pleading, my grandfather found a couple who needed to give away a dog.  It wasn’t exactly a collie, but it was still a magnificent, beautiful canine.  We adopted him and named him Brandon after Punky Brewster’s dog (I’m a child of the 80s!).

After getting married, most people expected us to start having kids.  Neither of us was ready though, so we decided to adopt a pet.  I wanted a cat (because it uses the bathroom in a litterbox and therefore, had the allure of self-maintenance), but when Aaron went to the animal hospital, a small, tan-colored dog was on display in the front office.  She was enthusiastic and friendly, wagging her tail at everyone who stopped by to acknowledge her.  Aaron asked if he could check out the dogs instead of cats.  When she was placed in the room with Aaron, Eppy wagged and licked her way into his heart.  When I called after work that day expecting a cat, I heard barking in the background and knew Aaron had unpredictably made a swap. Later that day, Eppy would steal my heart as well, although it took me a while to warm up to her since she still needed some encouragement to become house-trained.  She turned out to be the best “child” a dog mom could ask for.

 

After having Eppy for two years, we considered adopting a second dog to keep Eppy company during the day.  We started scouting local shelters.  A student of mine stated that her sister’s dog, a miniature schnauzer mix, had recently had puppies and the family needed to adopt them out quickly.  If not, her family would be forced to take all nine puppies to a shelter.  She brought them to school one day and I was smitten upon our first meeting.

At around four weeks, I took Lucy home (I’m sure you can figure out why her name is Lucy, right?).  She was so tiny that she couldn’t escape from the cardboard box I carried her home in.  Eppy was not happy about sharing the limelight.  She informed us of her discontent with several “accidents” on the carpet.  I assume you can call them accidents, although I’ve never seen a dog glare and urinate simutaneously but she did it with ease.  Nonetheless, Eppy would eventually get used to Lucy.  Lucy, though, had a multitude of tricks (and attitude) which equalled, even surpassed, her sister’s.  She was rambunctious and a little mischievious.  She was well-acquainted with the rules, but to our frustration, Lucy looks at rules more like a buffet: I don’t need ALL of them, I can choose which ones work best for me. 

Five years later, Lucy is still picking and choosing which rules to obey.  She has recently developed a tendency to run off and explore the surrounding landscape at our house. She broke not one, but TWO leashes just last week.  I have joked that we need to rename her “Hercules”.  Lucy heads straight for  the old, picturesque barn near our back yard. It is full of rusty junk; in fact, one whole side is missing.  Last year, a series of rough winds (one a tornado which devastated a local town) weathered the barn significantly.  Planks are missing from nearly all sides, tin shingles from the roof are absent, and when the wind blows, it quietly whistles through the crevices.  The structure frequently creaks, protesting every time a stiff wind trespasses the walls (although the owner put a “No Trespassing” sign on it earlier this year).

Lucy is obsessed with that barn.  She is highly allergic to our carpet, which we are strategically replacing with hardwood as budget permits.  But in the meantime, Lucy is confined to the linoleum fortress which is our kitchen.  The barn is directly behind our home, in close proximity.  Every morning, Lucy watches as the sun rises, filtering its glory through the barn’s fractures.  She observes as the local cats stroll up and down the dirt road beside it.  At night, that barn seems to swallow up the light as the sun disappears inside it.  It is the primary object in her field of vision both day and night.  Certainly, it would arouse some curiosity.  Time has only deepened her suspicions and wonder of the place.

If Lucy could understand English, I would tell her that she is chasing Oz, a figment, an illusion.  She dreams of visiting that barn and seeing for herself what is so mysterious about it, but there’s nothing there for her.  No lifetime supply of squeaky toys, no endless inventory of chew bones, no tasty treats, no never-ending waterfall of dog kibble.  There aren’t theaters showcasing episodes from Animal Planet, and there sure isn’t any human food to steal.  It’s just a storehouse for broken bottles and unused supplies from former construction projects  The rest of the myth is often self-generated, either by imagination or belief coaxed by persuasion.

When Lucy broke free from her leashes, she headed directly for the barn and the weeds around it.  She sniffed the area quickly, covering several feet in the blink of an eye (knowing that her screaming owner was in hot pursuit, no doubt).  When I recovered her, I looked down into her brown eyes and inquired (rather emphatically) why she is running away from safety.  Here, she is fed and given chew bones and toys.  Here she has a warm bed protected from the elements.  Here she is cared for.  Why would she wander anywhere else??

Later, after brooding over the broken leashes, I became suddenly sympathetic.  Lucy, in her ennui, can’t help but be curious.  How many times have I stepped outside of safety to satisfy my own curiosity?  People around me warned that life outside that margin would prove difficult.  I ignored them and did it anyway.  Later, I returned limping but wiser for the experience.  I thought, “But if you go here, the grass will be greener”…but it wasn’t.  That gleaming emerald city was no more than a dilapidated shack.  My mind had constructed an ideal and I found, at the end of the yellow brick road, a vastly different product than I had anticipated.

But at least you also find some wisdom at the end of that road.  You know better.

Lucy has a new leash now.  It is adequate for a 110-pound dog and Lucy is only around 25 pounds (!).  So far it is holding up just fine.  I can still get frustrated with her at times, but she is teaching the teacher some valuable lessons about life.  Sometimes you have to sniff those weeds before you realize they are weeds. You have to walk the yellow brick road and experience it yourself to learn what lies beyond it. And even if you leave (physically, emotionally, spiritually), you can always return to soft beds, nourishment, and open arms.

 

 

The video above shows a white blood cell following and then eliminating a Staphylococcus aureus. Notice how relentless the white blood cell is until it captures the “prey”. It’s hard to believe that when we feel under the weather with colds and flus, this very action takes place in our bodies. As we sip chicken soup and boost stock for Kleenex, our white blood cells are on the hunt, searching to seek and destroy trespassers found within the human body.

Humans are a marvel, aren’t they?

In Kevin Belmonte’s new release, Miraculous, he shows us a long chronology of God’s power to perform miracles. He starts with Creation (that includes us) and moves swiftly yet comprehensively through the Bible and throughout history. His book ends with Kevin’s own encounter with miracles, citing a storm which should have destroyed his home and the birth of his son Sam. Kevin is a writer of both natural talent and prodigious knowledge. He holds a BA in English Literature and two Master’s degrees: one in Church History and the other in American and New England Studies. Kevin has written biographies on Christian monoliths such as G.K. Chesterton and William Wilberforce. In fact, you may remember a film titled Amazing Grace which chronicled Wilberforce’s effort to abolish slavery in England. Kevin was the lead historical and script consultant for the film.

After Kevin explains the myriad of Biblical miracles, he transitions easily into more contemporary figures. Here he outlines the stories of great servants such as Perpetua, Augustine, Julian of Norwich, Martin Luther, Gilbert Burnet, Jonathan Edwards, David Hume, George Washington, William Wilberforce, D.L. Moody, Joy Lewis, Corrie Ten Boom, and Clyde Kilby. What I especially enjoyed was Kevin’s engagement with apologetics. Some authors would shy away from this, fearing that they would confuse the reader, but Kevin marches boldly into the temples of misunderstanding and cites several admired authors about the importance of God’s intervention in our world. A miracle is, as Hume termed it, “a transgression of a law of nature” by a Deity who created nature. Surely, He who created the world can thwart His own preset laws to illustrate His power. Kevin continues by using William Paley’s famous argument “the watchmaker metaphor”. Here, Paley argues that if “I pitched my foot against a stone”, he would most likely conclude that the stone has always been there. Yet, if he found a watch on the ground, he would immediately assume it had a different origin. In fact, the watch requires “a maker…an artificer…who formed it.” Therefore, not all random cosmic events in the universe are a product of circumstance. Something (a Deity) can certainly create and introduce organisms (or watches or what have you) into existence. God can and does intercede at many moments throughout history, as Kevin outlines in this masterful work. Miracles are occurring all around us, all the time. Most of the time, we neglect or ignore them, opting to side with “reason”. But if we do so, and we understand the patterns at work around us, we will arrive at a moment where we cannot explain what has happened. By all accounts, A should have happened, but B happened instead. Logic dictates that A should have taken place, so what do we make of this? In our world, we have termed it “luck” and most people are comfortable using the term when explaining a supernatural interference. This is illogical. One cannot negate the idea of God and His intervention by simply calling it “luck” and then complain that there is not empirical proof of God’s existence. Can you tell me why A didn’t happen? If you truly cannot, then you also cannot elminate God from the equation.

In addition, Kevin reminds us that miracles are weaved in and out of our personal journeys. In a chapter about the silent film King of Kings (released in 1927), Kevin narrates a story in which a Polish man named William Wallner is enraptured by the scenes of Jesus. During the 1930s, Wallner becomes the leader of a Lutheran parish in Prague. A doctor in Wallner’s parish was later arrested and taken to a Nazi concentration camp. While there, the doctor continued to share his faith, to the disdain of the Nazi officers. He was struck with an iron rod until one of his arms was amputated. When this did not deter the converted physician from sharing the Good News, an officer beat his head against a stone. The officer told him that he “look[ed] like your Jewish Christ” to which the doctor replied, “Lord never in my life have I received such honor – to resemble You” (233).

Those were his last words.

The German officer could not shake these words from his conscience. Later, the officer found Wallner and came to know Christ. The officer returned to the concentration camp and risked his life to collaborate with Wallner and the Czech underground to save many more Jews from death in the camps.

Even through such darkness, God made a miracle occur.

To bring us to the present, Kevin interviews pastor Mark Rivera and scholar/poet Dr. Holly Ordway. Pastor Rivera recalls a prayer which saved his brother from dying after receiving several gunshot wounds. Dr. Ordway was a staunch atheist who came to know Christ through reading poetry and discussing faith with her fencing coach. Dr. Ordway recalls a dream in which she and her coach are in Jerusalem, near the empty tomb of Christ. When she awoke, all of her reluctance melted away and was replaced with joy. In true Old Testament fashion, God used a dream to bring Dr. Ordway to a poignant realization. Dr. Ordway is now employed at Houston Baptist University where she is an instructor in the Cultural Apologetics Master’s program. Her journey to faith is chronicled in Not God’s Type: A Rational Academic Finds a Radical Faith. You can also read insights on her blog Heiropraxis – http://www.hieropraxis.com/.

When I finished Kevin’s book, I felt that I had been on a great journey. This journey makes us examine the enigmas in our world, and more importantly, it makes us marvel at the Author of the universe. Miracles are happening all around us. If you are seeking a miracle, visit the nearest mirror and take a good look. Notice the complex design of the eyes which peer back at you. Slightly turn your head and observe the dense network of muscles employed in your face when you laugh, or cry, or are perplexed. Your body is evidence that a God exists and that He is still in the business of performing miracles to this very day.

Kevin Belmonte, as a faithful guide does, leads us into a richer understanding of our God and a renewed awe at His handiwork. I highly recommend you read and cherish this work.

To purchase this book from Amazon, copy and paste this address into your browser: http://www.amazon.com/Miraculous-Fascinating-History-Wonders-Miracles/dp/1595554955/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1350237496&sr=8-3&keywords=kevin+belmonte

The month of October is full of milestones for me.  First and foremost, it is my Mom’s birthday.  She will be turning 29 (wink, wink), and I am so incredibly grateful for her.  She sacrificed a career to stay home and raise me.  What more can someone give than his/her life to ensure that another will succeed?  Every time I opened my lunch and found scribbled encouragement with my sandwich or was sick with the various ailments which visit kids, she was there always willing to be what I needed.  I could not ask for a more than this.  Words are inadequate to describe how much I love her.

October is also Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  You have most likely noticed pink ribbons on items at the store, on passing vehicles, or on t-shirts and sweatshirts.  That level of awareness is needed in our culture right now because an astounding amount of women are diagnosed with it every year.  It is fierce and undiscriminating. Thankfully, foundations like Susan G. Komen are funding research to eliminate (or at least unravel the mystery) of breast cancer.  More and more women can count themselves among survivors thanks to the research which has emerged in the last few years.

I have mentioned in past posts that my mother is also a survivor.  In January of 2011, she was diagnosed with ductal carcinoma in situ.  The doctor was quick to tell her that “in situ” is latin for “in place” which means the cells are not aggressively reproducing.  Because of this, she was diagnosed as Stage Zero and sent for an MRI.  The MRI revealed more cells were present (not moving, but still present) and Mom was recommended for a partial masectomy.  She underwent the procedure in March.  Thankfully, the cancer had not spread to her lymph nodes (the “interstate” of your body) so the cells were contained.  Due to Mom’s early diagnosis, she did not have to suffer the terrible experience of radiation or chemotherapy.  She developed some complications after surgery, but today she remains cancer-free.  Thanks be to God for that!

In order to respect my Mom’s privacy, this is all I will tell you about her encounter.  But I can tell you about how a daughter handles it.

Cancer makes you reassess your entire life.  For the first month after she was diagnosed, I was inconsolable.  I couldn’t say the word “cancer” to other people. I often studdered over it and when I did gamble to mention it, spit it out like the word itself was a disease.  I cried at random times, on my planning period at work, in the shower, when I went to bed at night.  No one in my family (close or extended) had ever dealt with cancer.  They all suffered from heart disease. My Dad had quadrulple bypass three years ago. I always assumed at one point, when I’m too old to care, my ticker would tire out.  By then, I would most likely be wrinkly and apathetic, chomping on fig newtons in a retirement home and watching people drive by outside hoping God would pull right up in his chariot to come get me, like Elijah.

On that January day in 2011, I prayed for a miracle.  I remember what I was wearing, the layout of the doctor’s office, the overcast skies visibile from the windows of the hospital.  And then he entered.  The doctor delivered the diagnosis as my Mom sat there stoically.  She was expressionless, the hospital gown draping off her shoulders.  I remember thinking, after he said “carcinoma”, No God no.  Why?  Didn’t you hear me last night…or all those nights before?  I knew I would start getting questions.  I knew I had to be strong for her.  Most importantly, I knew I had to trust God through this.

Mom’s diagnosis threw me for a loop.  I had never, in a million years, considered it an option.  My Mom’s sisters do not have it, her mother does not have it, none of the women in my family had it.  It was never under consideration.  What now?  Her doctors were asking, “Do you have any children?”  “Yes”, Mom replied, “I have a daughter.”  She included me in many of the doctor’s visits so I may understand the procedures if I ever had to experience it.  What a difference a few months can make on your outlook.  Cancer had interrupted my normal life and now, I was scared.  Yes, I was scared.  I was scared for her and I was scared for myself.  I didn’t want to deal with this.  I wanted my “normal” life back where I could complain about what happened at work or obsess over some frivolous detail.  I wanted to remain numb and distracted.

At the time, I was reading The Chronicles of Narnia for a paper I was presenting in February.  As you may recall from a previous post, I empathized with Digory Kirke, who begged Aslan for a Narnian apple to carry back with him to London which would heal his mother.  I told a colleague that if I could just produce that apple, if I could somehow make her cancer go away, I would.  I would conquer who I needed to conquer.  I would wage war against all evil.  But  when I read those pages, all I wanted to do was cry on Aslan’s mane.  I wanted to curl up, his breath softly blowing the tendrils of hair around my face, and have him envelop me in all my sadness and vulnerability.  I knew I would be safe there – away from machines and medications and test results.  When Aslan cried for Digory, I cried too.  I knew God understood my sadness.  Then I knew it would be okay in the end.

Still there was the shred of doubt.  I prayed she would endure it but I worried, in a small corner of my mind, about my own fate.  Every time I strolled through a Victoria’s Secret or purchased a sports bra, the fear would creep in.  It was relentless.  I stared critically in the mirror at my reflection.  At 31, what had I done?   If my life ended today even, what have I accomplished?  I was reminded of lines in T.S. Eliot’s “The Hollow Men”:

Between the idea And the reality

Between the motion

And the act

Falls the Shadow

                                                                     For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception

And the creation

Between the emotion

And the response

Falls the Shadow

                                                                    Life is very long
Between the desire

And the spasm

Between the potency

And the existence

Between the essence

And the descent

Falls the Shadow

                                                              For Thine is the Kingdom

The Shadow is my fear.  Even when I put it out of my mind, it was unconsciously still there.  I could not sweep it under some figurative rug, I had to eradicate it.

In February, I emerged as if from a coma. God gave me the fortitude to conquer my doubts.  I cannot live in the fear of the Shadow.  That is not living; that is merely surviving.  To live in a “waiting-for-the-other-shoe-to-drop” mentality is constant misery.  God gives you this day – let us rejoice and be glad in it.  The Bible commands us not to worry about our future, but be grateful in the present.  I had to make a conscious effort to do it, but it can be accomplished. I wanted to go to Europe for many years. I was tired of postponing it.  Life is not waiting to happen; life is now.  That same month, we booked a flight to London.  Later that spring, I spent eight glorious days in Europe, watching a play at the Globe Theatre, standing in the shadow of Big Ben, touring the fascinating exhibits at the British Museum.  Also, I did observational research on C.S. Lewis while I was there (in both England and Ireland).  I picked flowers from the yard in Belfast which circled his birthplace, saw the shipyards where he grew up, traipsed around his house The Kilns in Oxford, and listened to birds warble around the pond (which is now part of the Lewis Nature Reserve).  I was reinvigorated. I cast off my hopelessness like a tattered coat.  Enough was enough.  I could no longer carry the burden of anxiety any longer.  On with my life.  Onward and upward…

It is my sincere hope that culture does not belittle the agony of this disease.  I’ve had students who wear “I heart boobies” bracelets and of course, we all know of a national restaurant chain which exploits women and their “assets”.  It is incredibly juvenile to mock someone else’s battle.  Pink ribbons are symbols of hope, not a punch line for immature people.  It is a real disease.  It causes pain and tears.  It makes people examine their own mortality.

When you see pink ribbons out this month, think about all those who we’ve lost, but also those who remain.  I know people, and perhaps you do too, who are in the throes of battle right now. They fight because life is worth living.  They did not, as Dylan Thomas writes, “go gentle into that good night”.  When my mother was diagnosed, my husband kept telling me, “It’s only a speed bump.  She will get through this.”

He’s right.  There is a big difference between a speed bump and a stop sign.

Perhaps “in situ” means “in place”, but my Mom’s victory over cancer was one of the most inspiring and motivating events of my life.  It has prompted me to move forward with improved awareness, to be grateful, to embrace the abundant life.

In honor of my Mom’s victory, I wrote a few verses.  And for all breast cancer survivors and soldiers, please keep going.  You owe it to yourself to live the best life!

“Pink Ribbon”

  Her symmetry distorted

 Cautious lines guide the surgeon’s scalpel

 That will purge the cancer from her.

 

How it had all come like a flood

PhonecallsdoctorvisitsMRIsmammogramstearsprayers

Ductal carcinoma in situ

The physician uttered it delicately, as a whisper

Yet it had crashed on our ears

 

Stacks of literature

 Booklets

 Pamphlets

 Wig catalogs

Prosthesis Ads

 

And fear

and mortality

and uncertainty

And…faith

 

Tonight

 she lies asleep

Tangled among wires and IV drips

Her new chest rises and falls

Dozing softly with the euphony of hospital noise,

The steady staccato of heart monitors, the muffled exchange on HGTV,

Beds and machines groaning on wheels, weaving through hushed labyrinthine hallways.

Tomorrow she will see the sunrise with new eyes

For she is more than a conqueror. 

William O’Flaherty of the “All About Jack” podcast just posted an interview featuring Crystal and her discussion of C.S. Lewis’ essay “Willing Slaves of the Welfare State” as part of the Essay Chat series.

Check it out here:

http://allaboutjack.podomatic.com/player/web/2012-10-01T00_00_00-07_00

Become a subscriber to the “All About Jack” podcast and catch the latest news on all things Lewis/Inklings!!

Bookmark: http://allaboutjack.podomatic.com/

I am beyond excited to announce that I have joined the talented scribblers at All Nine Muses!!!  Below is the link to my first post:

http://allninemuses.wordpress.com/2012/09/24/the-art-of-reconciliation/

I am incredibly grateful to head Muse, poetess, and writer extraordinaire Mrs. Kelly Belmonte for her indispensible friendship and guidance.  I am in awe of these amazing writers!  It is a dream come true to join the ranks of such brilliant wordsmiths.  Please shower love on Kelly and all of the contributors featured on the All Nine site!

Bookmark: http://allninemuses.wordpress.com

The book of Genesis tells us that Adam and Eve are our first parents.  Adam was alone in the utopia of Eden, so God borrowed a rib and made Eve.  The couple then rule unfettered over the land and beasts in Eden, but are prohibited from taking fruit from one specific tree: the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.  That should not be a problem, seeing that there are many “approved” trees in the Garden.  However, Eve’s curiosity is too much for her.  She is tempted by Satan to taste the forbidden fruit, then shares it with Adam.  After the suspicious snack, they realized that they were naked and hid from God.  For their disobedience, Adam and Eve were banished from Eden.

And we’ve all been cursed with that mistake ever since.

The burden of choice.  Many people have fought and died on battlefields both foreign and domestic for the idea of freedom.  Freedom means we have the right to choose.  No one can make decisions for us or force decisions on us.  But, thanks to the stain of sin, we cannot always be trusted with that freedom.  Sometimes we make poor decisions, we hurt others, we lie, we gossip, we steal, we cheat.  And the choice of Adam and Eve echoes throughout human history and contaminates the present.

Poet John Milton begins his epic narrative Paradise Lost with these words:

Of Mans First Disobedience, and the Fruit

Of that Forbidden Tree, whose mortal tast

Brought Death into the World, and all our woe,

With loss of EDEN, till one greater Man

Restore us, and regain the blissful Seat…

Among the consequences of our first transgression is that man must now work the “soil” in order to be fed, women must now endure pain in childbirth, and death must be experienced.  The most significant and painful one, however, is the loss of Eden.  Here the couple had dwelled in pristene beauty, naming the animals and flowers, eating of the fruit, delighting in the presence of God.  And now, that place of delight and throne of God’s favor, had been taken away.  Milton continues:

O unexpected stroke, worse then of Death!

Must I thus leave thee Paradise? thus leave

Thee Native Soile, these happie Walks and Shades,

Fit haunt of Gods? where I had hope to spend,

Quiet though sad, the respit of that day

That must be mortal to us both…

How shall I part, and whither wander down

Into a lower World, to this obscure

And wilde, how shall we breath in other Aire

Less pure, accustomd to immortal Fruits?

Earlier in Paradise Lost, Satan complains that separation from God is a punishment in itself.  Now Adam and Eve, in their sin, experience this same separation.  The deep sense of loss is what C.S. Lewis used in his poem “The Ecstacy”.  Here, Adam and Even are outside of Eden, on the margins of perfection, lamenting about the loss of Eden through their own arrogance:

Long had we crept in cryptic

Delights and doubts on tiptoes,

The air growing purer, clearer

Continually; and nearer

We went on the the centre of

The garden, hand in hand, finger on lip.

On right and left uplifted

The fountains rose with swifter

And steadier, urgence, argent

On steely pillars, larger

Each moment, spreading foamy plumes

Thinner and broader under the blinding sun.

The air grows warmer; firmer

The silence grips it; murmur

Of insect buzz nor business

Of squirrel or bird there is not –

Only the fluttering of the butterflies

Above the empty lawns, dance without noise.

So on we fare and forded

A brook with lilies bordered,

So cold it wrong with anguish

Bitterly our hearts. But language

Cannot at all make manifest

The quiet centre we found on the other side

Never such seal of silence

Did ice on streams or twilight

On birds impose. The pauses

In nature by her laws are

Imperfect; under the surface beats

A sound too constant to be ever observed

From birth its stroke with equal

Dull rhythm, relentless sequence,

Taps on, unfelt, unaltered,

With beat that never falters –

Now known, like breathing, only when

It stopped.  The permanent background failed our ear.

Said the voice of the garden, heard in

Our hearts, ‘That was the burden

Of Time, his sombre drum-beat.

Here – oh hard to come by! –

True stillness dwells and will not change,

Never has changed, never begins or ends.’

Who would not stay there, blither

Than memory knows? but either

Whisper of pride essayed us

Or meddling thought betrayed us,

Then shuddering doubt – oh suddenly

We were outside, back in the wavering world. 

Notice that the poem is written after Adam and Eve have reached “the outside”.  They remember the fountain flowing freely, creating “foamy plumes” as it feeds into a pond.  The garden is now silent; the buzz of insects cannot be heard.  Only the “fluttering of butterflies” above “empty lawns”.  As Adam and Eve attempt to survive on the “other side”, they notice a beautiful brook.  However, this image only inspires bitterness.  It is a fragment of the beauty they left behind, of the perfection lost by their sinful actions.

In stanza six, Lewis mentions a “dull rhythm” which continues infinitely.  In Eden, this endless staccato of Time did not exist.  Yet once Eden was lost, death is born.  Time (capitalization is intentional here) ticks on continually and “never begins nor ends”.

My main focus is on the last stanza.  It is one of deep reflection. “Who would not stay there…?” This world which now wraps around us is hopelessly flawed, similar to (and because of) our human nature.  The memories of Eden make it almost unbearable to live banished from it.  Remember the song of the birds? Remember the beasts we named? Remember the “good” fruit we ate?  All of that is a distant memory now.

The “doubt” Lewis hinted at in stanza one is the root of the issue.  Adam and Eve had everything, and yet, thought they could equal God in power. Satan, of all entities, would know what it is like to lose Heaven by wishing to usurp God.  He is so disappointed at losing Heaven, he resolves to spread his misery but making humans lose “Heaven on Earth” (i.e. Eden).  Humans now struggle with this same pride: “but either Whisper of pride essayed us/Or meddling thought betrayed us,/ Then shuddering doubt”.  The progression of pride and contemplation leads to “The Fall”.

Do we ever wonder “what if”?  What if Adam would have just taken an axe to that tree?  What if Eve would have just lassoed that snake like Walker Texas Ranger and tossed it to the far end of the garden?  But you see, the question “What if?” is what got us in this horrible mess in the first place.  What if we could be like God?  “What if” I can share God’s power?  We are too flawed to have such a burden.

Do not be mistaken, our culture still suffers from the sin of pride.  We see it when scientists deny the existence of God because faith is not “rational”.  We see it (and often feel it) when others condescend or think they are better than most.  We see it when a gift is transformed to a privilege or an elitist attitude- when someone who is blessed knows they are blessed. Humility, like Eden, is lost.

Why do we continue to lose our way?  Have we learned nothing since losing Eden?   Do we need the echo of the lost song of birds to ring in our ears like it did for Adam and Eve?  Must we remember the vision of “empty lawns” and cascading fountains to provoke us to live better?

At one time, we chose disobedience.  Now, let us choose the better path – one of obedience that will one day restore Eden to us.

Back when I was in college, a romantic film was released in theaters which chronicled an angel’s quest to become human. Angel Seth falls figuratively (and later literally) for a human physician named Maggie Rice.  Seth is jealous of Maggie’s ability to taste the rich juices of an apple, to inhale the fragrance of the autumn leaves, to enjoy all of the ecstacies of being human.  Seth eventually falls from a building to gain humanity.  He spends one glorious night with her.  The next morning, as Seth feels the first sensations of a hot shower raining down on his newly acquired skin, Maggie cycles on a mountain road, her hands outstretched as if she is trying to embrace the wind.  The breeze caresses her face, but distracts her from a truck pulling into her path.  Her last sensation is pain.  Seth, now fully christened to his physical body, must also endure another human experience – grief.  As the film ends, Seth adjusts to his new life with a physical presence, but without Maggie.  Consequently, Seth paid a high price to become human.

Hmmmm.  What a concept.  Angels jealous of humans?

I Peter 1:10-12 states this: Concerning this salvation, the prophets, who spoke of the grace that was to come to you, searched intently and with the greatest care, ¹¹ trying to find out the time and circumstances to which the Spirit of Christ in them was pointing when he predicted the sufferings of the Messiah and the glories that would follow. ¹² It was revealed to them that they were not serving themselves but you, when they spoke of the things that have now been told you by those who have preached the gospel to you by the Holy Spirit sent from heaven. Even angels long to look into these things.

Angels long to possess humanity?  What on earth (or in Heaven) would attract a servant of God to desire our station?  With our myriad of faults, humanity can be barely tolerable at times. But perhaps City of Angels is on to something.  Are there experiences inherent to the human condition which inspire celestial beings to wish for the opportunity to be human?  Angels have access to the very essence of Heaven.  It is a grand mystery why they would, for one brief moment, exchange all of Heaven for the use of the senses, for the chance to feel.  To feel can be both a blessing and a curse; it introduces us to intensity on both ends of a spectrum.

Lewis explored these things in an obscure yet fantastic poem called “On Being Human”

Angelic minds, they say, by simple intelligence

Behold the Forms of nature. They discern

Unerringly the Archtypes, all the verities

Which mortals lack or indirectly learn.

Transparent in primorial truth, unvarying,

Pure Earthness and right Stonehood from their clear,

High eminence are seen; unveiled, the seminal

Huge Principles appear.

The Tree-ness of the tree they know – the meaning of

Arboreal life, how from earth’s salty lap

The solar beam uplifts it, all the holiness

Enacted by leaves’ fall and rising sap;

But never an angel knows the knife-edged severance

Of sun from shadow where the trees begin,

The blessed cool at every pore caressing us

-An angel has no skin.

They see the Form of Air; but morals breathing it

Drink the whole summer down into the breast.

The lavish pinks, the field new-mown, the ravishing

Sea-smells, the wood-fire smoke that whispers Rest.

The tremor on the rippled pool of memory

That from each smell in widening circles goes,

The pleasure and the pang – can angels measure it?

An angel has no nose.

The nourishing of life, and how it flourishes

On death, and why, they utterly know; but not

The hill-born, earthy spring, the dark cold bilberries

The ripe peach from the southern wall still hot,

Full-bellied tankards foamy-topped, the delicate

Half-lyric lamb, a new loaf’s billowy curves,

Nor porridge, nor the tingling taste of oranges –

An angel has no nerves.

Far richer they! I know the senses’ witchery

Guards us, like air, from heavens too big to see;

Imminent death to man that barb’d sublimity

And dazzling edge of beauty unsheathed would be.

Yet here, within this tiny, charm’d interior,

This parlour of the brain, their Maker shares

With living men some secrets in a privacy

Forever ours, not theirs.

Lewis reveals that angels know how things are formed and made, understand the physics of the world and yet, have never experienced it.  They are the engineers who know the automobile, are acquainted with the precise dimensions of the engine and the contours of its design, yet never know how it feels to drive it.  We, on the other hand, cannot comprehend the enigmas of faith, yet feel the connection with our Savior, a feeling that surpasses all other emotions.  Feeling is quite a luxury.

As humans, we have a knack for taking things for granted.  What delight there is, we often forget, when we bite a Reece Cup, the tastes of chocolate and peanut butter mingling on our tongues.  We rush along, failing to acknowledge the aroma of summer rain in the air, damp blossoms and the “smell of green”.  We fail to recognize the intense pleasure of running a hand down the lush coat of our favorite pet (if it has fur…) or the womb-like fuzzy blanket that wraps around us as we slip under it on winter evenings.

And angels can’t experience these things.

Have you ever sat around a fire with friends and when you briefly turn aside, still feel the heat radiating from your cheek?  Have you really listened to the tune of birds when you wake up in the morning?  Being human can be problematic, but also has many advantages.  God has made us in His image; we are His sons and daughters.  He loved us so much, He willingly gave his Son to carry our burdens and sins. Of course angels are jealous.  We are heirs to a beautiful kingdom and glory far beyond our comprehension.  They have seen the kingdom already, but we will experience it infinitely.

Our senses introduce us to a world of experiences, ones we often neglect.  Earlier today, I complained to my husband that we were running low on bread, but have I ever enjoyed the “new loaf’s billowy curves”?  I don’t think I have, but I should. Our senses may be “witchery” which may guard us against the “heavens too big to see” but they grant us a full encounter with God – an encounter brimming with possibilities to interact supernaturally to depths that cannot be equalled by angels.

Resolve today to utilize your senses to their height.  Appreciate the experience of “being human” and make angels envious.