I was skimming through a book on Winston Churchill this morning, published in 1963. The chapter headings were colorful and inviting. So was the text. Juicy bits of memories, on trains, in lecture halls, this author accompanied the giant of Britian and wrote a journal of their experiences.
As I flipped through the pages I began to notice that this 40+ year old book was filled with rich, descriptive language. I didn't even know what some of the words meant! (Was I the only one whose father would never tell you what a word meant, but simply say "Look it up. You'll never forget it!)
I realized that most of what I read today is "lingo-lite", geared for an audience with a junior high reading level. Not to mention the ever increasing dimunintion of words, propgated, no doubt by the use of text messages.
How sad.
I am also in the middle of a translation of Interior Castles by St. Teresa of Avila. A typical paragraph of her writings (16th century Spain)consists of one sentence! And the general syntax would probably not impress a modern high school English teacher. However, ingesting all this inspired woman wrote is a delightful meal, where I linger at the table, taking small portions and savoring each morcel.
This is a challenge to today's writers. Be adventurous in your compositon! Be innovative in your verbiage. Rewrite, rewrite, rewrite, until your ideas could sail into future centuries captured in the language of kings and poets.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Saturday, January 17, 2009
The Original Serenity Prayer
A friend was in the store today, and told me about the original version of what is commonly known as The Serenity Prayer.
I've copied it here.
Full Original Serenity Prayer
by Reinhold Niebuhr (1892-1971)
God, give us grace to accept with serenity
the things that cannot be changed,
Courage to change the things
which should be changed,
and the Wisdom to distinguish
the one from the other.
Living one day at a time,
Enjoying one moment at a time,
Accepting hardship as a pathway to peace,
Taking, as Jesus did,
This sinful world as it is,
Not as I would have it,
Trusting that You will make all things right,
If I surrender to Your will,
So that I may be reasonably happy in this life,
And supremely happy with You forever in the next.
Amen.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
You Are Home - An Allegory of the Soul
He came into the lovely home that he had built with his own hands. He stood for a moment in the doorway, and sighed with deep pleasure at the welcome with which the house seemed to embrace him.
Some thought the place too ornate, too extravagant. But he, having unlimited resources, spared no expense in the richness of woods, polished metals, Persian rugs, Austrian crystal and even precious gems. This palace was his sanctuary. He surrounded himself with beauty that reflected the state of his soul.
He gently closed the door behind him, feeling himself relax at the thought of being alone.
He headed straight for the parlor to light a fresh fire. This was his habit, on cold evenings.
The carefully chopped kindling lay ready by the hearth. He bent over the wood pile, gathering up an armful of oak planks and placed them in the fireplace. With skill, he ignited the pile, and smiled as the golden fire light lit the room. The heat kissed his chilled hands and face.
He was content here. No intrusions, no distractions. The gentle ticking of the mantle clock and an occasional crackling of wood from the fire place were the songs the house sang to him.
“Wel-come, wel-come, wel-come”, ticked the old brass clock. And the fire would snap “You’re Home” and make him laugh.
The night was cold, and the sounds of the wind whipping across the roof and gables made the place creak. But like the clock and fire, the familiar sounds were music to him. There was nowhere else he would rather be. This famous man, friend to kings and presidents, was happiest here alone with his home.
As darkness tip toed about, he illuminated each room, some rooms with ancient oil lamps, some with pure bees wax candles. He treasured the old things, though he could easily afford the most modern conveniences. Instead, he surrounded himself with things that time and history had proven faithful. He was not as impressed with technology as he was with reliability.
Now he was ready for a meal. The kitchen was a merger of centuries. Old brick hearth, oak barrels, bone china, steel ovens. Each object had been carefully chosen, not only for its function, but for its beauty as well.
He opened the steel fronted refrigerator looking for the stew he’d made the day before.
Beside the stew pot sat a block of cheese and a ripe avocado. He took all of them out and laid them on the old wooden chopping block that sat in the center of the kitchen.
He put the stew on the stove, the avocado in the sink and the cheese sat alone on the chopping block. He whistled an old love song as he prepared his meal.
In an old maple hutch in the corner of the room sat a collection of bone china cups, plates and bowls. He gazed at them lovingly, choosing a blue Oriental pattern bowl and matching cup for his evening meal. As with everything in the house, one piece of china was from another era, and the very next piece was a modern work of art. Mixed in between was primitive pottery with all its fascinating imperfections. The only thing the collection had in common was he had chosen each piece himself.
Next he filled the copper kettle with water for tea. He would carry the pot of Irish tea to the parlor after dinner, where he would enjoy it throughout the evening as he read a favorite book.
****************************************************************************
Now consider this as you watch this man enjoying his lovely home: your soul is his house. All the lovely things inside are those truths, revelations, learnings that God has placed within you throughout your life. The most important thing about all of this is that there is nowhere else He would rather be than living inside of you.
Years ago there was a popular song called “From a Distance”. Bette Midler sang it. The melody was captivating, but its concept was tragic. The chorus went: God is watching us, God is watching us, from a distance.”
Just the opposite is true. He has found His favorite home, and it is you.
Some thought the place too ornate, too extravagant. But he, having unlimited resources, spared no expense in the richness of woods, polished metals, Persian rugs, Austrian crystal and even precious gems. This palace was his sanctuary. He surrounded himself with beauty that reflected the state of his soul.
He gently closed the door behind him, feeling himself relax at the thought of being alone.
He headed straight for the parlor to light a fresh fire. This was his habit, on cold evenings.
The carefully chopped kindling lay ready by the hearth. He bent over the wood pile, gathering up an armful of oak planks and placed them in the fireplace. With skill, he ignited the pile, and smiled as the golden fire light lit the room. The heat kissed his chilled hands and face.
He was content here. No intrusions, no distractions. The gentle ticking of the mantle clock and an occasional crackling of wood from the fire place were the songs the house sang to him.
“Wel-come, wel-come, wel-come”, ticked the old brass clock. And the fire would snap “You’re Home” and make him laugh.
The night was cold, and the sounds of the wind whipping across the roof and gables made the place creak. But like the clock and fire, the familiar sounds were music to him. There was nowhere else he would rather be. This famous man, friend to kings and presidents, was happiest here alone with his home.
As darkness tip toed about, he illuminated each room, some rooms with ancient oil lamps, some with pure bees wax candles. He treasured the old things, though he could easily afford the most modern conveniences. Instead, he surrounded himself with things that time and history had proven faithful. He was not as impressed with technology as he was with reliability.
Now he was ready for a meal. The kitchen was a merger of centuries. Old brick hearth, oak barrels, bone china, steel ovens. Each object had been carefully chosen, not only for its function, but for its beauty as well.
He opened the steel fronted refrigerator looking for the stew he’d made the day before.
Beside the stew pot sat a block of cheese and a ripe avocado. He took all of them out and laid them on the old wooden chopping block that sat in the center of the kitchen.
He put the stew on the stove, the avocado in the sink and the cheese sat alone on the chopping block. He whistled an old love song as he prepared his meal.
In an old maple hutch in the corner of the room sat a collection of bone china cups, plates and bowls. He gazed at them lovingly, choosing a blue Oriental pattern bowl and matching cup for his evening meal. As with everything in the house, one piece of china was from another era, and the very next piece was a modern work of art. Mixed in between was primitive pottery with all its fascinating imperfections. The only thing the collection had in common was he had chosen each piece himself.
Next he filled the copper kettle with water for tea. He would carry the pot of Irish tea to the parlor after dinner, where he would enjoy it throughout the evening as he read a favorite book.
****************************************************************************
Now consider this as you watch this man enjoying his lovely home: your soul is his house. All the lovely things inside are those truths, revelations, learnings that God has placed within you throughout your life. The most important thing about all of this is that there is nowhere else He would rather be than living inside of you.
Years ago there was a popular song called “From a Distance”. Bette Midler sang it. The melody was captivating, but its concept was tragic. The chorus went: God is watching us, God is watching us, from a distance.”
Just the opposite is true. He has found His favorite home, and it is you.
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