Wisdom and SALT

It’s going to be October next week and I am panicking! Actually, I should be thankful. The surgery went well and my overcrowded mouth is freed of two monstrous wisdom teeth. What I feared would happen didn’t : numbness of the tongue, paralysis of the face, hallucinations,etc.  None at all.  Instead, there has been this immense desire to do two things- enroll in classes/ discussion groups/ lectures and read lots of stories and books.

The point is that I haven’t done much writing. Perhaps I haven’t done any for the past 3,4…5 days? So much for getting up at 5 am to write.

And tonight I will be spending the night with my husband watching some Angelina Jolie action flick called SALT. This entry therefore is an attempt to get back into some kind of writing momentum. Hmm. Hmmmm.

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Even song II

The mother longs to soak in the seaweed sea,

to get her toes in tangles in its jelly-soft

arms . If not for the stove, warm with warming

muffined pans, stewing pots, treacled puddings,

she’d  be there, among the periwinkles ,

starfished sands.

Yet she sings of the future.

She sings for she sees

her children wading in the

wildness of the ocean ,

hears their laughter shimmering

in the wind,

feels the surging waves rise

and fall within them.

So she

minds the fires and keeps the windows

open.

She sings.

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Reflections on Writing at the end of a long, long day

I have a question. How does one go about writing Christianly? Should one go about writing Christianly and what does that mean?

I did a review lately on Gene Veith’s “Reading Between the Lines”.  He wrote that good Christian writing should reflect high aesthetic standards as well as sound biblical moral truths.  That sounds simple enough. But what if that kind of writing isn’t marketable ? That’s hard –going for those who write for a living.

A look at the bestsellers in our Christian bookstores tells us that what people want is something accessible (linguistically and intellectually) and relevant to their daily lives. We also want quick-bites of advice so we can scan through the lesson for the day and then go out there and do it; after all, didn’t James tell us to be doers and not just hearers, we hum to ourselves.

But that’s like saying, here, let me hammer that nail into the wall, and then you miss, not the nail, but the entire wall , because you have been gazing at the nail in  your hand and forgotten about why it is there in the first place.  In abbreviated form,  we’ve missed the big picture. When our sole pre occupation is with “getting it done right”- sticking to 1 hour devotions, attending prayer meetings,  following  steps 1- 89 of the “how-to-grow” manual-we lose sight of what God has called us to be – that is to simply BE who we are before Him.  We forget that the problem with the nail and the wall was that that we forgot the reference point: whose we are.  And when we remember whose we are, we recall that there’s no way we can make it on our own in the many, many years ahead, then we give ourselves up and surrender to His call .And we are called to lay down our frantic anxieties and rest. To put aside our harried  prayer requests and listen. To stop giving excuses for  sin and beg for forgiveness. To quit trying to put words to the song in our  heads and just worship.

Because of this, good Christian writing is first of all, an invitation to come. Come and fellowship.  Come and rest. Come and put your case before the Lord. Come and receive.  Come and see the cross and Jesus hanging there. Come and worship at the empty tomb.

Good writers write from who they are, not from who or what they are trying to be. The parable replaces the didactic moral sermon. The metaphor replaces the list of instructions.  If I am a Christian who follows the Lord,  my convictions will be reflected in what I write. Is a writer’s work any more Christian when she cites Scriptures and follows the formulaic “before/after conversion ” plot ? In that same vein, is a writer’s work any less Christian when these words- in black and white print- are absent from her book?

I suppose parallels can be drawn from the Christian music industry. Is a piece from Hillsongs’ any more sacred than Bach’s wordless compositions? Or Mendelssohn’s ? We know that both composers did not write for a specifically Christian audience, but see how the strains of their beautiful music have lasted through the years and proven themselves to be classics. Hillsongs..well…

Goodness. This sounds as if I worry about writing marketable books. That shouldn’t be the concern of a Christian writer, or should it? If it is a question of accessibility, should I then write material that everyone can relate to ? If so, then my role as a writer is merely to reflect their preoccupations, not to challenge the parameters of thinking, beliefs and  ortho-praxis. That doesn’t seem to be worth pursuing though. Neither does it seem biblical.

But a work must also communicate. As Moses and Jeremiah’s did. As John’s on Patmos when he gave us Revelations, which when you come to think of it, isn’t an easy book to understand. How can a work communicate without pandering to the hungry likes and dislikes of the consumer-reader? If I see myself, the writer, as a merchant, then my sole preoccupation is that my product had better be marketable to the consumers. But if I see my role of the writer as a prophet- lofty though this may sound- then, I am freed from the trappings of this capitalistic web. Well, a lot freer.

The Christian writer-prophet views writing as a vocation- a medium- through which God’s word is given to the people. Jeremiah used words, but not in the way that technology uses words to transmit information. The prophets used  metaphors to convey God’s message to His people. That makes it pretty tricky because metaphors both limit and widen  interpretations.

Metaphor also invites listeners and readers to reflect and to participate in-borrowing from Rosenblatt-”meaning-making”:  What does that mean? What else could it mean to me, to the other person there, to the world? Metaphor is at the heart of the narrative-story.

As a writer, then I seek to communicate God’s truth to a broken world through the metaphor- the art of writing.  The Christian writer’s  role is not to transmit – like a  recorder-commands, instructions and information.  The Christian writer’s vocation is to show God’s truths through variations of shade and light, beauty and the grotesque, sound and silence, and to be a voice in the wilderness that calls out, “Prepare ye the Way of the Lord”.

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Farming and Malaysia

One of my dreams is to  live on a farm : extensive grounds to ramble through, hosts of animals- goats, ponies, dogs, chickens- and a 40 minute radius away from everyone else. Now, this might some both idyllic and unfriendly. But it really is not.

We live in the thick of suburbia, packed with houses, streets, highways under construction and malls. There are people everywhere and anywhere here : scrunched up in cars on the roads, boxed up in concrete termite mounds aka apartments and offices, pottering about in malls , churches, temples, Starbucks, Uncle (blank) Kopitiams. The effect of this infestaton is stunning. Claustrophobia. Loneliness. And earache. If crowds is an indication of friendliness, then this city should be the friendliest place to be in. Which brings us back to my farm. Or rather, the farm that is coming.

The farm is mainly a retreat from the kind of desperate -living mentioned earlier and from the  values that come with it: efficiency, performance, NLP and kopitiams that are plastic toy versions  of the original hometown kopis, yiu-char-koays and roti bakar .
A retreat is not a barricade against burnt muffins in the oven, misunderstandings, cancer and disobedient children. A retreat is not an escape. A place of retreat is , mostly, a place of refuge – a safe place, where you are more attentive to what God is saying about Himself,the world, about family, about yourself.

I learnt this last week when we were at a pastor’s home, tucked away in the forests of a hill. Here, CH  and his wife, L, welcomed friends . They walked us through their  orchard and ‘gardens’. They swept the floors, cooked, changed the water filter and held discussions with the lot of us. This earthy kind of spirituality captivates my heart. And I have also seen it in places dank with mold and reeking of faulty air-conditioning.

I suppose the heart of the farm is in the farmer just as the heart of earthy spirituality lies in the heart of the seeker. Give the same expanse of land to an industrialist and you will see  rows of smoke-belching factories or , uniformed ranks of terrace houses. Give the same country to corrupt despots and you will have the  perpetual construction  of mega-projects and burgeoning rot in the public sphere.

Both Adrian and I agree that the farm has to be situated in a place with cool weather. And we disagree as to the number of dogs we should have, and whether they (and their pups) will be allowed into the house. But, we both believe, that we can start preparing for this farm by listening, and listening correctly to what He is saying to us about the direction of our lives. And about  the land which we inhabit.

Today, our country turns 53. Politicians and mercenaries are tearing her apart with selfish agendas and destructive policies. Yet we have high hopes for this land.  We dream that she will fully inhabit that space – of mutual understanding, of peace, of justice, of compassion- for which she was birthed 53 years ago. We hope she becomes fertile soil where both young people and old folks of all races and religions will grow and flourish together. We pray she will be free from the clamour of wars and unrests that have ravaged so many other nations. We long to see her returned to the heart of her peoples- a Malaysia that gives room for all.

This is also our dream.

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Reflections

The first half of the year’s over . What a relief.  Between the frantic rushing from here to there, has been snatches of academics thrown in with half-caught moments of spontaneous learning: in between waiting for traffic lights to change, in between lesson preparations and pouring over books,  in between throwing food into the pan and eating, in between diagnoses and healing, in between get-ready-for-bedtimes and good nights.

I’m not sure what’s in store the rest of the year.  But I do know that God is good. Even when that phrase gets killed by the flippancy caused by over-repetition…again.  And I do know that He is Almighty. Even when the Word seems dull in comparison to titillating new ideas and philosophies.

So, I look forward to the second half of the year because by treading into it, I will be holding something new in my hands- mine (more or less) to shape and reshape. And because He will be there , there will be that meaningful, and  sometimes painful, spiritual journey of knowing the Father better.

Happy 2nd half of 2010!

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The Terrible Plague by Joy, dd9

I

879541_celtic_crossJoy, dd9, wrote this piece for a writing assignment early this year.  I thought she had given some nifty descriptions of the situation, writing from a first person’s point of view. Well, enjoy!

The Terrible Plague of London

I wasn’t going to celebrate my birthday in 1665. My mind rang with the same thing : It has arrived! The great plague has arrived! It’s evening and as I went to bed, the rumble of wheels trundle into my mind’s ear. Another 20 people have made a pathway into the sky, leaving us alone. Till now, my family is still safe from the jaws of death.

“Kirsten! Listen carefully now. I want you to cover yourself and go to Gwyneth’s bakery and take home 2 loaves of bread. Hurry! ”

I scurried along to the bakery, wishing that someone would draw the curtains between life and death, wishing that Mother hadn’t sent me on this gruesome paved errand. My nose picked up a strong scent of sulfur which caused my feet to lose control and topple me flat against a child, still healthy (thank God).

A few minutes later, I was in the shop. I flung the coins into a bowl of …what was that liquid anyway? Vinegar! Uggh! I scuttled to eavesdrop on a conversation between two men. Mother says it’s evil to eavesdrop but I think I won’t hear badly of myself, since the lecture is about the plague.

“Yes Kerl, indeed! The doctors…”

“Their funny costume…yes, Frederich, go on.”

“Yes…no…yes…and the leather bird mask is filled with herbs.”

Kerl added to his friend’s speech. “And the medicine does a fat lot of good as well as burning herbs and bonfires.”

That was all the information I needed for inquisitive 10 year old Jesheka, one year older than I was.

When I reached the door of dread, my father was bending over to burn several herbs. I let out a cry , recognizing that some fellow in my house had the plague.

“Lewis!” I cried.

“Nay girl,” said father, “T’is Angus.”

Angus , my brother in all but blood. I heard a brush scraping on our door. Angus’ parents had been swept away by the dark curtain of death and since then, Angus stayed with us. Lewis was Angus’ twin brother, but unlike him, had no delight in animals.

Soon, the doctor came. He was wearing the odd costume the two men had described,

‘Are you a real man, or a hawk?” asked Jesheka.

T’was rude of Jesheka but that jolly old doctor smiled and said, “Hawk.”

That kind soul brought laughter back into our family.

The doctor, or Linkenel, stayed with us for a week and no black spots appeared on Angus.

“He lives!” croaked poor Linkenel, “He (hiccup) lives!”

Soon,  Angus , Jesheka and I were able to play in Angus’ room. Lewis called us babies but that really does not matter. The room of waiting burst open into a spring bud. “

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