Three weeks ago, I got my annual Christmas present a little early: my epic, barking, you must've-started-smoking-at-age-4 cough. Once again, it was looking like I would not be able to participate in our annual ward Christmas program, and I was devastated. I used to hate being in the ward choir, but my experiences with ward choirs have forever changed how I feel about spending yet another hour to stay at church to go to the rehearsals. I used to be a lot like Fanny Brice when it came to singing in ward choirs; I only wanted to participate if they were singing songs that I liked. Though it pains me to admit it, I must confess: I was in the "Too Cool for Ward Choir Club." It's a malady that often afflicts musicians who are reluctant to swim in a musical pool of open plunge. The impetus that started my conversion happened in 2011 when I was ironically called to be the ward choir director. I cried. I tearfully told the bishop - a close friend - "You realize you've just called me to be the ward Amway salesman." And by that, I meant I would instantly become the neighborhood pariah from whom people ran and hid, terrified of aggressive recruitment tactics that would rope them into an odious 4th hour of church on Sundays. No projecting going on there... In spite of a musical background, piano experience did NOT equal choir conducting experience, and I continued to tearfully make my way through the next four years of the calling that was right up there with roadshow director on the list of Callings I Pray I Never Receive. Which I've also done, by the way - TWICE. I begged and pleaded with many ward members to support the choir, and endured a variety of responses, profoundly grateful for any and all yeses - even the reluctant ones. I attended choir workshops held by the local music store to find new music. My bishop generously extended a budget to purchase beautiful songs to entice people to WANT to come and serve. To worship and praise. I'm happy to say I had the calling long enough to be authentically sad to see it go, and here's why: I learned in a brand new way what it looks like to live the law of consecration. Hear me now: NOTHING will teach you about the law of consecration like participating in a church choir. Because it is an all-comers' affair, you get to witness, up close and personal, what happens when musicians and non-musicians alike bring their meager loaves and fishes to the Savior to be blessed. Trust me - there will always be enough and to spare. The challenge of the ward choir is that the loaves and fishes change from week to week. The week before our program this year, Dale came home from rehearsal very discouraged. I had been home, on time out yet again, because of the perennial cough. Along with my absence, other circumstances had brought fewer loaves and fishes that day. But when consecrated disciples are willing - and sometimes even a little less than willing, even begrudging - I am now and forevermore astonished with what the Lord can do with a little band of singers and non-singers. Last Saturday morning, I went to choir rehearsal with great trepidation and a pocket of cough drops - one already tucked inside my cheek. As I sang the beautiful songs Dale had prayerfully selected, I marveled at how these numbers had come together over the course of the last two months. Once again, the Lord had made our loaves and fishes enough to be a feast. The Spirit entered into the equation on Sunday morning, and made our offering holy by joining us, singing with us, making us sound better than we really are. I could barely sing the words with tears in my eyes and on my cheeks: "Her eyes are fixed upon His Face, Unheeded here is time and space; Her heart is filled with blinding joy, For God's own Son - her baby Boy." (Nancy Buckley, There is Faint Music) It might not have been literal fire coming down from heaven, consuming a soggy, wet, far less than ideal sacrifice - but it felt like it. We ended the program with words that teach this tender lesson: "What shall I give Him, poor as I am? If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb. If I were a wise man, I would do my part. What I can, I give Him, Give my heart." (Christina Rosetti, In the Bleak Midwinter) Whenever we see that God has touched our offering and made it enough - and more than enough, with leftovers even - this will happen. We will marvel at what His power can bring to our feeble, clumsy abilities. But it will never be more tender than when a band of willing and reluctant musicians and non-musicians know they sounded better than they ever deserved to. A ward choir is some of the most active duty consecration you will ever experience. Five stars; highly recommend. Something else to consider: if you love Jesus here and now, there's a good chance you were a part of the heavenly host then. It's possible that on that quiet night over 2000 years ago, when Jesus made His anonymous entrance into the world the first time, you couldn't even help yourself, and begged to wake up those sleepy temple shepherds. Perhaps there were rehearsals involved. So consider: when He comes again, we won't be able to keep still - again. We're going to want to sing and shout Hosanna. "How long we have wandered as strangers in sin, and cried in the desert for Thee!" (Redeemer of Israel Hymn #6) . Maybe we'll be so glad we've been rehearsing.

Knowing there is purpose in learning to wait changed waiting for me, but it still hasn't made me love it. Neither has looking for the lessons in it. Still not a fan. During my intense waiting curriculum, Father left me with the unmistakable knowledge that a LOT of His time involves waiting, and I'm so truly grateful for that inspired insight. For example... How long DOES it take for an earth to be ready for water? Light? Plants? Animals? How long does it take for the first humans to figure out they really need to eat that fruit? How long does it take to watch the dysfunctional covenant family throw their little brother in a pit, wait for one of them to prefer selling him over killing him, and then watch over him - the good boy - and them, the naughty boys? How long does it take for events to play out until Father has the good boy in a position to save the naughty boys and their families, and reconcile this family? How long does it take to plan and build a Star, and do the math and physics involved, to make sure said Star lands precisely when and where you need it to - on one specific night over one specific region of an entire planet? Seriously - the planning, the math, the physics, how long does that take? How long does it take for any one of Father's prodigal children to work themselves into a pig stye and look around for relief? How long does it take for them to consider Father again as a better option - the only option? How long does it take for his need to become desperate enough for him to come home - forget being an heir - happy to simply beg for a position in the household? Anyone who aches for a spiritually lost loved one knows this, even as she waits for the change of heart: God's ability to influence His children's agency is truly His mightiest work. Father's ability to fashion rescues from pits and prisons and pig styes is - without exception - the greatest of His miracles. And why do the rescues take so long? Why does it feel like it's longer than getting someone out of prison or building a star? One word: agency. Father honors individual agency above all else. Look what it cost Him to give it to us: the life and blood of His perfect Son. Because of that unspeakable cost, He will not force - C.S. Lewis writes that He will only woo. And with the myriad references to a yearning Bridegroom/Husband throughout the Old Testament, that's the word I like best. God woos His children with His goodness, His abundance, His unfailing mercy, His countless invitations to come home - invitations which will never be rescinded. Father woos us to "win our souls with love." (Hymn 175, O God, the Eternal Father) As someone who is waiting for this greatest of miracles, along with almost every single person I know, let me tell you THE Thing that has forever changed what waiting looks like for me. Moroni writes about seeing things in reality which had previously only been seen with an eye of faith (Ether 12:19). Because I've experienced miracles, practicing seeing with this kind of faith, I was inspired one day last year to speak with gratitude as if the miracle - the rescue - was already under way. Because, hello. That Star. WHEN did He start planning and building that Star? No way was my dearest Father in Heaven - my God - Lord and King of the universe - sitting and waiting for the desired change of heart. Of course He has to wait for the agency - for the softened heart to reach out. But idle waiting? No way. Can I imagine He's going to great lengths - every length - to allow life experiences to soften hearts? I've decided I can't even begin to comprehend what Father is up to, behind the scenes - make that - above the scenes - to facilitate the mighty rescues needed in the coming days. And that's when I started doing two things differently in my waiting: First, I started to thank Father - in advance - for the glorious rescue He is preparing. Saying it has taught me that there's power in exercising more than just an eye of faith. I love praising God with a tongue of faith - before the blessing ever comes. And since I love to imagine Father behind the scenes going to great lengths to get one of His children to the right prison or pig stye, or less dramatically - the right job, or the right neighbor - I've found myself imagining Him in a workshop, fashioning a life path that will bring a wayward child to the important crossroad. I'm sure it's because the Dad here at Maple Tree Haven is often busily working on something out of sight in his workshop, admonishing us to STAY OUT because the surprise isn't finished yet. Suddenly, the waiting takes on a feel of happy anticipation - what COULD He be doing down there? What will it look like? Then I like to imagine the look of pure - holy - delight in His face when the surprise comes - when the rescue happens - when the prodigal returns home. In the meantime, maybe we who "wait upon the Lord" (Isaiah 40:31) can wait a little more like a wait staff in a fine restaurant - asking our ever busy, working Father - "What can I do for You? Whom can I love and serve, for You? Since I'm asking for circumstances that will tip the scale for my prodigal, can I be the one to tip the scale for somebody else?" And that's the second thing that's changed waiting for me; it's less futile now. It's far more joyful, like waiting for Christmas to see what is being built in Father's incredibly busy workshop. And it's far more productive, because I'll tell you what - if you're willing to be God's little helper in the gathering - He has got stuff for you to do. There are scales to be tipped, and helping God tip scales in His favor is a completely delightful enterprise. With so many needing to be gathered, there's simply no time to wait idly. God's not waiting; neither should we.

When I was a growing up, and as a young adult, I would occasionally meet a person who claimed he didn't believe in God. It didn't happen often, and because I lived such a sheltered life, while I didn't care much one way or the other, I felt bad because I grew up calling God Heavenly Father, and who wouldn't want an all-knowing Father looking out for them? Since we obviously didn't share beliefs, faith wouldn't end up on the short list of things to discuss; we picked up the shattered pieces of our disillusioned lives, and somehow found a way to move past the breach of this major schism in our world views. Of course, that was before social media. Back then, my impression of an unbeliever - agnostic or atheist - was that they didn't really care all that much that I believed - much the same way I didn't care that they didn't. They were no more invested in convincing me that I was disillusioned in my belief system than I was in convincing them that they were. In fact, if you'd asked me back then what my impression of an atheist was, I would have conjured in my mind a person who - at worst - had feelings of condescension towards me - dweeb believer they imagined me to be. Or best of all - maybe they didn't waste the brain power thinking about me at all, as it should be. Those who thought condescendingly, when confronted with my belief in a God and Creator, I imagined their attitude would have been communicated - not necessarily in words - along these lines: "Isn't that cute? YOU GUYS are adoooorable - you think prayer reaches someone else - and that someone else hears you? That is SO. SWEET. And hey. If it gives you comfort in a weird world, more power to ya!" Maybe followed by a little pat on the hand. I don't know anyone like that anymore. They're probably still out there, and kudos to them for not being sucked into the vortex of anger that generally surrounds this conversation anymore. But to call this conversation a vortex of anger might be dialing back what I've seen at large in the last 10 or so years. Those happy atheists of yesteryear? They feel nearly extinct in my world. Now, all I see - or hear - are the ones who want you to SHUT UP about your beliefs because THEY don’t believe it. Almost like a little kid who puts his fingers in his ears and shouts, “LA LA LA LA LA” to drown you out. For ages, believers and unbelievers have managed to live side by side and help each other, care about each other, be friends with each other. But it's almost like the schism in beliefs became a literal schism in the earth itself, leaving one of us on one side of the widening gap, and the other one of us on the other side, the schism growing into an impassable canyon. In 2007, David Kupelian wrote: "I conducted a little thought experiment a while back, while looking out over the Pacific from the Oregon coast. Drinking in the vast expanse of the ocean, the pounding surf, the seagulls, the salt air - ultimate serenity and ultimate power all in one timeless moment - I asked myself: How can one experience all this magnificence without believing in a Creator? "So I tried, just as an experiment mind you, to conceptualize the existence of the fantastic creation I was beholding, yet without a Creator. I consciously tried to adopt an atheistic worldview, even for just a minute, to see what it was like. "What I got was a headache, a psychic shock, a momentary taste of another realm - an empty, prideful, appalling dimension of hell-on-earth, masquerading as enlightenment and freedom. [emphasis added] "That's why the conflict between theism and atheism is not just a philosophical topic for polite debate over tea. It's a spiritual war of the worlds. That high anxiety I felt momentarily, as I tasted the 'other dimension' that animates those who reject the very idea of God, was minor and passing. But I'm quite sure hard-core atheists feel agony when the opposite happens to them - that is, when they chance to experience a fleeting moment of realization that God exists, and that they are accountable ultimately to Him. "This would account for the near-explosive emotion that always seems to surround this 'objective, scientific' subject. Underneath all the scientific pretension, it's all about man being master of his own destiny, about freedom from accountability to God, about being released from Judeo-Christian sexual morality, about making up your own rules, about sustaining the life of pride and individual will. "In a very real sense, it's about being your own god." David Kupelian, "How Atheism is Being Sold to America," October 11, 2007 ( https://nicholicious.wordpress.com/2007/10/11/how-atheism-is-being-sold-to-america/ ) Which brings me to a new thought I've had recently about happy or unhappy atheists. I believe the happy atheists are the ones who still have a fairly neutral opinion, if not condescending, towards believers. But unhappy atheists? I've decided maybe what they really are is dishonest atheists. Kupelian sort of nailed the description of the angst certain unbelievers surely live in: what if there really is a God, and what if I really must face Him one day to account for my life? That's troubling enough information for believers! - sans Jesus, that is. But what if you don't believe that there really is a Creator, and that Someone was sent to intercede for you, be your advocate at that judgment bar, have your back, and give His back to the smiters for you, because you chose to give your heart to Him? If Kupelian is right, such people live in the worst sort of cognitive dissonance: I don't want there to be a higher power in the universe, because I like being my higher power, and doing exactly what I want and living my life as I please. But what if...? As Kupelian said, what if his little thought experiment leaves atheists a little less than happy, and gives them something a little more than a headache upon contemplating a universe with authority and consequences? No wonder they're ornery. If unhappy - or somewhat dishonest atheists are even a little nervous there really might be a God, then even the slightest mention of His existence might send them over the edge with an anxiety they might not even be willing or able to admit they're experiencing. The biggest reason I feel badly that anyone lives with this kind of suppressed terror isn't simply because that's no way to live, but because - at the risk of expressing an irreverence I absolutely do not feel - I think God is truly the coolest Person I know. I cannot get over how God does things. He does art projects every single day - sunrise and sunset, tides, etc. Then there are thunderstorms, and dew, and water in general. And there's music - explain that one without a Supreme Intelligence, please. And babies. Don't even get me started with the babies. God's love for us is RIDICULOUS. If you read the Old Testament, listen for the voice of a spurned husband pleading for His unfaithful bride; you will hear a voice of love and devotion that will absolutely melt you. He. Wants. Us. And not only does He want us, He wants US to want Him as much as He wants us. He wants a faithful partner in this relationship. And the history of the Bible teaches that He is willing to wait for millennia in order to give His children as long as they need to learn, and practice, and grow into the marriage. "For all this his anger is not turned away, but his hand is stretched out still." (Isaiah 5:25) I like to imagine unbelievers - happy and unhappy alike, honest or slightly dishonest in their hopeful denial of God's existence - having the inevitable moment of discovery that He is real. I get excited to consider them realizing He has walked beside them every day of their lives, protected them, given them brilliant ideas, provided them more strength than their native strength in difficult seasons, and almost like a wallflower at a junior high school dance, waited patiently for His beloved child to notice Him, pick Him, stay with Him. Because He is God, every single unbeliever's story of discovery is going to be epic - truly, one for the books. For THE book - the Book of Life. Every story is HIS story - the HIStory of God in each life He created. Then all the thing that looked like happiness will become true joy - the real thing that never goes away, because its source is eternal: our Creator, God, and Papi.

True story 1: Many years ago, a friend was telling me about something he/she had observed in his/her in-law's marriage that had been less than ideal. Translation: this was a normal marriage. Clutch your pearls now, Lucille. Yes - we were talking about a HUMAN marriage in a FALLEN world. The weakness wasn't something egregious like abuse, but it was definitely unrighteous dominion - the garden-variety kind that we often fail to recognize AS unrighteous dominion - the passive aggressive manipulation many of us resort to when we feel a loss of control with another fallen human - too often with those we allegedly love the most. Since at least one of the couple had passed away at this point, I said something along the lines: "Well, hopefully he/she's has learned not to do that anymore, and has repented." I was truly surprised at my friend's reaction to what I thought was a fairly innocuous comment; he/she was scandalized. "Oh I don't think it's something he/she has to REPENT of!" he/she exclaimed. True story 2: Many years ago, a young woman in my neighborhood had a baby out of wedlock. Gratefully, she had chosen to have the baby, even though marrying the father wasn't an option at the time. I remember being so impressed as she moved through the pregnancy. It was apparent that she wanted to make things right with the Lord. As a member of our ward, I saw her attending church regularly, staying close to the bishop, etc. This topic cropped up in a conversation - as these things are wont to do - with another neighbor who didn't attend church anymore. I remember him/her asking how the young mother was doing. I wanted to say something positive and uplifting, and not succumb to the level of gossip - not always easy to do, right? So I said, "She seems to be doing so well - she's repenting and getting on with raising this baby on her own." I was surprised at my neighbor's reaction to the 'R' word, and he/she gently reproved my use of it, "Oh - don't you think that's a bit harsh?" So today we need to talk about this insane idea that repentance is a bad thing and not to be discussed in polite company. Or at least, that repentance is a good thing, for bad people. So can we just start with this and get it out of the way? WE'RE ALL BAD PEOPLE. "Let me explain. No. There is too much. Let me sum up." (Princess Bride) When Paul says: "All have sinned, and come short of the glory of God" (Romans 3:23) - he means that literally. God's glory has been lost to all of us mortals because of the Fall. Going into that highest eternal level of glory in our current state of misalignment would feel like coming in from working in your yard all day on Saturday, and immediately showing up at a black-tie event. Only worse. It would actually, physically, kill us. God's glory is so glorious, that without Jesus Christ, we are irretrievably lost. Goners. ALL OF US. Even people who are trying to be good are - in this sense - bad people. Because of - say it with me - the Fall. Russell M. Nelson taught this in the April 2019 General Conference: "Too many people consider repentance as punishment - something to be avoided except in the most serious circumstances. But this feeling of being penalized is engendered by Satan. He tries to block us from looking to Jesus Christ, who stands with open arms, hoping and willing to heal, forgive, cleanse, strengthen, purify , and sanctify us. "The word for repentance in the Greek New Testament is metanoeo . The prefix meta- means 'change.' The suffix -noeo is related to Greek words that mean 'mind,' 'knowledge,' 'spirit,' and 'breath.' He goes on to say this - which maybe should be cross-stitched on our foreheads: "Repentance is not an event; it is a process. ( https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/general-conference/2019/04/36nelson?lang=eng ) I'm not sure where we got this notion that repentance is not to be discussed in polite company, that surely you don't need to repent, or me , and certainly an imperious in-law doesn't need to repent, and certainly a young girl who made a baby without benefit of being married doesn't need to repent! Surely we don't think repentance isn't for good people - but only for bad people! It's like we think we need to live in such a way that every minute of our lives is worthy of an article in a church magazine. We've somehow managed to create a counter-culture where we don't discuss repentance - ours or anyone else's - in anything other than hushed undertones of scandal. I remember hearing a church speaker once laughingly wonder what his neighbors would do if we said to them at church one Sunday, "Good morning, Brother So-and-So - how is your repentance coming along?" And then he asked why - when repentance is the priceless gift that it is. So when my neighbor wondered if I was being harsh - rather than loving - at noting an unwed mother was busy repenting - don't even ask me how I managed to reply counter to that counter-culture. I wonder if maybe the Holy Ghost took charge of my mouth for a little minute. I don't remember my exact words, but pretty close: "Oh, I don't think it's harsh to say she's repenting - I'm watching her turn into a person who wouldn't even dream of making a baby without being married first!" And that is when my new favorite definition of repentance was born that until that moment, I didn’t know that I knew: "Repentance is the process you go through to turn into the person who wouldn't dream of doing the thing that you did." (Book of Laureen) Which is captured in the Hebrew definition of repentance: "teshuvah" literally means "return" and signifies turning back to God after straying. This is what turning around looks like. Fallen from glory as each and every one of us are, this is the process we go through to transform our attitudes and desires and realign them with the glory we came from, so we can be restored to that glory without feeling like we're in our yard clothes, or also dying. I invite all gentle readers to consider joining me in my campaign of making repentance fashionable - nay, joyful - again. No more hushed tones, no more shame attached. If Jesus suffered the cross because of the joy of our repentance set before Him (Hebrews 12:2), then we can be joyful as we talk about our chance to participate in it. Repentance isn't a gift begrudgingly offered as a last resort for nearly lost causes. It's been joyfully offered at great cost to allow any and all comers through the door He opened with His atoning sacrifice. If we want it. Let's get polite people everywhere buzzing with happy anticipation because of it.

At the risk of stating the obvious, I just want to start by saying that I love the way Jesus does things. The more I pay attention to what He does and the way He does it, the more I think, "Boy, I'm sure glad HE's in charge!" He's always kind and compassionate. But He's never nice. He's always meek and lowly of heart. But He's never weak. He always speaks the truth. But He's never harsh. He has great power - over the very elements He created. But He never abuses it by using it to control us. Somehow, He manages to micro-manage every element of this universe with breathtaking precision without micro-managing His children's choices. How does He even do that? He always wants you to come as you are. But He never expects you to stay as you are. The One put in charge didn't send someone else to do the dirty work of saving and exalting the human family; He came Himself. And in so doing, He didn't create a top/down approach for our salvation, beckoning, "Come up here, if you can, and by the way - you can't." Jesus came down to our level - He came into our world, as one of us - so He could say, "Come with me. I came to get you out. Stay with me, and I will stay with you, and we'll go home together." Watching the way Jesus set things up for us to get home has taught me a lot about direction - the way He moves. As I said, His gospel isn't a top/down affair; He works from the bottom... up. He was born in the humblest circumstances. His parents were on the run in a foreign country at the beginning of His life. He was just a little kid in Nazareth who grew up in a poor home. When He announced His true identity to His neighbors at synagogue, their response was, "Is not this Joseph's son?" (Luke 4:22) He came to the bottom of society. He lived and taught at the bottom of society. The elites He largely ignored, unless He frankly exposed their narcissistic patterns of prominence and priestcraft, to their chagrin and fury. Meanwhile, He ministered to one person at a time. Crowds, yes, but mostly one person at a time - at a table, at a well. One by one, He not only saw individual hearts at those tables and wells , but He spoke to those hearts of the beauty and nobility He saw in them, and urged them, "Come. Follow me." It's not terribly efficient on its face. Talking knee-to-knee, face-to-face with just one person equals a lot of knee-to-knee conversations. But one person, forever changed by Jesus Christ, then changes the world. Okay - not THE world - but certainly his or her world - his or her relationships. That person then has a knee-to-knee experience with someone else, who then has an experience with someone else, and someone else. It's like the Suave commercial. While not efficient, it's the only truly lasting way change can take place in a fallen world where humans can choose either light or dark. Because it's the only way humans can truly be allowed to choose their preference to either light or dark. Ezra Taft Benson taught: "The Lord works from the inside out. The world works from the outside in. The world would take people out of the slums. Christ takes the slums out of the people, and then they take themselves out of the slums. The world would mold men by changing their environment. Christ changes men, who then change their environment. The world would shape human behavior, but Christ can change human nature." (Ezra Taft Benson, "Born of God," General Conference, October 1985) President Benson makes a notable distinction in the direction in which the world works versus the direction in which the Savior works. Learning this has helped me see why top/down approaches to solving the world's problems is never going to be a lasting, sustainable solution. Knowing which direction the Lord is coming from - versus that of the world - has become vitally instructive in my life - to know whether policies, programs, or institutions are of God - or of the world. Even well-meaning groups can too often attempt to impact change coming from the wrong direction. Recognizing where God starts - with His trajectory outward and upward - makes it easier to recognize the counterfeits from the world which will always - no matter how attractive they sound or how well-meaning or well-funded they may be - be moving in the wrong direction for meaningful, lasting change. Learning where God is coming from has also helped me recognize His expectations of where I'm coming from - and what direction I'm heading. It's an extremely easy direction to pin down: am I moving toward Him - or away from Him? That's pretty much it. Hugh Nibley wrote: "Who is righteous? Anyone who is repenting. No matter how bad he has been, if he is repenting he is a righteous man. There is hope for him. And no matter how good he has been all his life, if he is not repenting, he is a wicked man. The difference is which way you are facing. The man on the top of the stairs facing down is much worse off than the man on the bottom step who is facing up. The direction we are facing, that is repentance; and that is what determines whether we are good or bad." (Hugh Nibley, Approaching Zion , p. 301-302) God's trajectory can be recognized by its direction: is it outside going in? Big projects on top going down? Or is it inside going out? One heart at a time changing individuals, then families, then communities, and eventually the world? (see Gary L. Stevenson, General Conference, October 2025 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b0Bax6NvKbo ) Mankind's best trajectory can be recognized by its direction: are you facing Him? Or away from Him? Recognizing God's direction can help recognize counterfeits and deception. Recognizing our intended direction can help us recognize the need for the most simple course correction in the world: Turn around.

Jane Eyre , Charlotte Bronte (original book review posted August 1, 2016) I first read Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre when I was about 12 or 13 years old and obviously, didn't get much of its richness. I was young enough to be terrified by Jane's childhood experiences, and naive enough to not understand Jane's parting with Mr. Rochester. The ending was less than satisfying because of Rocheste r's injuries attempting to save his wife - how could I have seen that as the fulfillment of foreshadowing from earlier in the novel? Fast forward to my adult self, after having seen every film version of this novel ever made, and reading it again in book group a couple of times... I love that Jane has a strong sense of herself as a person of inherent worth, that she doesn't view herself as less than Rochester because of being younger, poorer, plainer, or of lower station socially and financially. And I love that Rochester doesn't see her as lower than himself either. I love that they actually SEE each other - equally. No mother-son relationship, no daddy-daughter date - this is a full-blooded relationship between an equal man and woman. I find that terribly romantic. Paul refers to relationships in heaven as seeing as we're seen, and knowing as we're known. Jane and Rochester come as close to that kind of love between a man and woman as I've seen in literature. I love that Jane denies herself the one thing she has longed for her entire life because of that strong sense of self, and her relationship to God. As she tells Rochester why she can't be with him, she says she should be willing to pluck out her eye, or strike off her hand, if either offended God. That is the statement that is literally fulfilled, as he becomes worthy of Jane during their time of separation. Being true to self and God, true romance, integrity, redemption. Besides the absolutely gorgeous language, Bronte teaches powerful eternal truths in a timeless and quintessential love story. This may be my #1 favorite novel.

To Kill a Mockingbird , Harper Lee (original book review posted August 2, 2016) To this day, I get soft somewhere in my gut when I think of the beauty of the language of this book. It evoked emotions in me as a young teenager that changed the way I looked at the world. I love the characters - those hysterical children, Jem, Dill, and Scout - a town rich with side characters, and the gem of a father that everyone wishes he had - Atticus Finch. I'm getting emotional as I think of everything I learned fro m being 13 and watching this imaginary man teach his imaginary daughter. I learned right along with Scout about the injustice of prejudice, the potential smallness and pettiness of human nature, along with its potential nobility and greatness. I love the easy, unpretentious meandering of a well-structured plot that almost takes you by surprise in that meandering. It's characteristically southern in its casual pace, and almost seems to be going nowhere. But Lee knew where she was going, and because of expert story-telling, the destination doesn't just take you by surprise - it takes your breath away. Oh, how I love a writer who can weave such a story! I love the important lessons in a seemingly unimportant time and place, told in a seemingly unimportant way. That Lee is capable of seeing the Finch's neighbors with both compassion and stark honesty as she takes their masks off at various points in the story is masterful. I only got a broad sense of the spectrum of humanity Lee was painting when I was 13 - but it continues to move me, just writing about it today. To use the ordinary to do something extraordinary is the best of art; it's God-like. One of the best lines in the book is where Scout's neighbor tells her that God puts some people on the earth to do the ugly things that none of the rest of us wanted to do, and that Atticus was such a man. Lee writes it in such a way as to make you want to be such a person - to do what is right, even when it is hard, simply because it IS right. I have at least 50 books that I sort of cram into a "top ten" list. But this one is in the REAL top ten. It has mattered that I've read this book.  <3

Eleni , Nicholas Gage (original book review posted August 3, 2016) Eleni Gatzoyiannis was executed by Greek "freedom fighters" - her own countrymen - when she helped her children escape from their little mountain town and go to their father in the U.S. - rather than have them taken from her and sent to live in communist countries. This biography of her life is written by her only son, Nicholas, who became an investigative journalist. It is a powerful testament of the power of motherhood as a force for g ood. There are three things that made this book important to me - first - it helped me connect dots to the political landscape in my own world. As the communists advanced their agenda in Greece, the propaganda techniques they used were blatant enough to start forming a repetitive pattern I could recognize. I found myself thinking, "We hear garbage like that!" It changed the way I accepted news sources, and got me searching for voices I could trust. I attribute 4 biographies as waking me up to the conditions in the world; this is one of them. Secondly, as a wannabe writer, I loved the brilliant writing of this memoir about a memory of a mother, more than an actual mother. Nicholas Gage was 9 when he escaped Greece, so much of the book is written as dispassionately as any unknown biographer would about a researched, but personally unknown, subject. But then, suddenly, Gage was 9 years old for a moment, and the few cherished memories of a living, breathing mother who poured her life into her children, would tumble out. Because these moments were random and scarce, they took my breath away. They kept this tribute from a son from becoming overly sappy or sentimental. The thing that made this book most meaningful for me was the profound statement it makes on the importance of motherhood, in two great acts. As Eleni was being executed, after being vindictively and brutally tortured by a small tyrant (is there any other kind?) - before the firing squad fired, she flung her arms high in the air and shouted, "MY CHILDREN!" It was an incredible punctuation mark of a life lived - and given - completely for her children. Years later, as an adult, the son who did all this research to find that small tyrant responsible for his mother's death, drew upon that great example of his mother to keep him from taking the man's life in vengeance. It has mattered that I've read this book. I only gave up a career for my children, but it reminded me most powerfully why I did, that it mattered that I did, and that it will matter. In September 2020 I was fortunate to join my friend Dana Robb on Big Ocean Women's podcast and discuss this seminal book. https://open.spotify.com/episode/2FhxZ2jq85nEKttHCrxRVG

Watership Down , Richard Adams (original book review posted August 6, 2016) Summer 1978. I'm at   Kim Mutch Emerson 's house, and pick up a paperback sitting on her kitchen table. It has a rabbit on the front - a really beautiful, sleek rabbit. "What's this about?" I inanely ask. "Rabbits," she said. Duh. If I close my eyes again, and Cat Stevens' "Izitso" is playing - the music that will forever be the soundtrack of this novel - it's 1978 and I'm 21 again. I was so completely lost in a world of the most  incredible characters of RABBITS, that when I finished the novel, I wept like a little girl because I was finished. Never in my life, before or since, have I wanted a story to go on more than this one. At the risk of sounding like a complete dweeb I must confess: to this day, I love each and every one of those rabbits who trusted the runt of the litter, the one who saw destruction, and left their old home in search of a new home. The prophet, the leader, the warrior, the storyteller, the jokester, the thinker, the runner - what does this say about a novel to have such characters remain beloved for nearly 40 years? And - hello! Did I mention - they are RABBITS! There are lessons to learn from the rabbits who ignored - and those who heeded - a prophetic warning from one of the lesser of their own. Lessons to learn about the value of each individual - INDIVIDUAL - in a society - what each brings to the whole that makes the whole stronger. There are lessons of the dangers of the welfare state - how it erodes faith and makes us less caring of our brothers. There are lessons of the dangers of a totalitarian state - where fear of the outside world and the desire for safety and security trump the desire for freedom. Most importantly - and the moment of the story I'll treasure most as I remember reading it aloud to my 150% engaged 10-year-old son - there are lessons about doing what you promised you would do to fight evil - at all costs - BECAUSE YOU PROMISED. Rabbits. Schmabbits. This book is about life and what matters most. This is one of the first books I read where the idea began to germinate that perhaps there is no such thing as fiction - just new ways to tell the truth about life as it really is. Adams used rabbits to do it - what a storyteller. Now...I'm kind of in the mood for a little Cat Stevens... Thanks for this beautiful art by my dear friend Kirt Harmon. I fancy this is Hazel. https://harmonart54.blogspot.com/

Life and Death in Shanghai , Nien Cheng (original book review posted August 5, 2016) Word of caution: when you've been wacked out on general anesthesia is NO TIME to tackle a book with a lot of Chinese names in it. Just saying... A few months later when I had my brain back (ish), I tackled this book recommended by a good friend in my neighborhood. Nien Cheng spent 7 years in a prison in China BECAUSE SHE WOULD NOT LIE. Yep. Chairman Mao - the greatest mass murderer of the 20th century, was having a massive political shakedown, and Mao 's wife wanted to take out a political enemy by discrediting him. Only one problem: Nien Cheng would not lie to save her own skin, so they threw her in prison. Through numerous interrogations, she continued to tell the truth, much to the chagrin of those responsible. Finally, in exasperation and after the political wind had shifted, she was released. This book is an incredible look at the "cultural" revolution Mao perpetrated on the Chinese people to fundamentally change public perception of the government, and one woman who paid a high price for not riding the wave. Her account of the political climate that led to her arrest is presciently chilling - and her account of what she did to try to stay healthy in prison - both physically and spiritually - is inspiring. Mrs. Cheng wrote this book after she had immigrated to the U.S. in her 60's - in English! - her second language! She is an absolutely amazing woman that I am so honored to know through her simple, honest, solid, and true writing. I credit having read 4 biographies with my awakening; Eleni was one, this was another. Stories matter; well-told stories change the world.

I went to Narnia this summer. I've only been one other time; I took my son when he was 10; he's going to be 34 in a few weeks. These last few months I had the strongest urge to go again. I'm so glad I did. There are so many lessons to learn there. Also, the animals talk. As a much younger mother, I had read Lion and Caspian before venturing back and reading all seven books with my children. By the time the three of us went together, I had begun a random list of people I hoped to have lunch with some day in the afterlife. Lewis was definitely on the short list which included people like Joseph Smith, Anne Frank, and Helen Keller. I loved the idea of visiting with people who had not just made a difference in the world at large, but made a big difference in my world - in me . Then one day the most absurd and important idea popped into my head: What exactly do you have to say when you meet Mr. Lewis? I realized I might want to be more intentional in what I consumed mentally (see Louis L'Amour quote on home page) so I would have something substantive of my own to bring to the table. Dull lunch indeed, if all I did was reenact the hysterical Chris Farley character from SNL, interviewing various random famous people. ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NHPQFPdj8ko&pp=ygUoY2hyaXMgZmFybGV5IGludGVydmlldyBmYW1vdXMgcGVvcGxlIFNOTA%3D%3D ) But I digress. (Imagine) This summer, I revisited one of the loveliest journeys of my life as a mother - taking my precious children into a treasured book. In typical fashion, Megan forged on ahead of us and finished on her own, leaving Grant and me to carry on for most of the series. We read them in Mr. Lewis' preferred order, chronologically: The Magician’s Nephew The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe The Horse and His Boy Prince Caspian: The Return to Narnia The Voyage of the Dawn Treader The Silver Chair The Last Battle This summer, I saw more deeply the themes of Christianity Lewis wove into the fantastical world. Lewis' ability to make profound lessons about human nature simple enough for children served to underscore them somehow. These endearing characters taught me through their own lessons. In The Magician's Nephew, my children saw strong people manipulate and exploit weak people. We read of an entire world destroyed by pride. We watched a little boy full of self-justification learn that despite all excuses and extenuating circumstances, it's impossible to lie to Aslan; your heart simply won’t let you, and neither will He. In The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, we watched an innocent little boy become addicted before he even knew something was bad for him - all with the promise of importance over siblings with whom he often felt overlooked. It's so important to learn that if someone's offering you something which sounds too good to be true, it is . I love that my children saw Lewis' symbolic telling of the importance of sacrifice and atonement - gently teaching of the ultimate Atonement of Jesus Christ in the sacrifice of Aslan. In A Horse and His Boy, we saw the life of a seemingly unimportant little boy become terribly important in saving a kingdom. Every unfortunate thing that happened to him forged his character and taught him he was carefully watched over by a benevolent power much higher than his own - for a higher purpose than he could ever have imagined. In Prince Caspian, we learned your personal instructions from God may look completely different from everyone else's around you - probably will - but to trust what you know is true. We learned that power in the hands of evil is always for selfishness, but power in the hands of virtue is for service and sacrifice. In Dawn Treader, we met a terribly obnoxious little boy who thought he could restore himself when he recognized what a rotter he was. What a valuable lesson: though more painful, at first - Aslan's way of redemption was a sweet relief. It was equally valuable to watch that obnoxious little boy not be completely transformed afterwards, but forever committed to practicing his new, non-obnoxious ways. In The Silver Chair - we ventured far beneath Narnia to rescue someone terribly beloved and valued - who had been enchanted into a complete forgetfulness of his true identity. We learned a lesson of following instructions as exactly as you know how, and that distractions can lead to a dangerous downward incline. In The Last Battle , we were surprised to meet a counterfeit Aslan - with so many horrendous things done "in his name" that when the truth was finally revealed - far too many were jaded and contemptuous of the real Aslan going forward. It was important for my wide-eyed little boy to hear the story of a king who knew it was worth dying to not disappoint Aslan. Just the other night, I relived one of the most tender moments of leaving Narnia with my little boy twenty-four years ago. I read with great emotion some of the last lines in our adventure: Spoiler alert: this is literally the last page of the last book: [Aslan speaking to the children, of never having to leave Narnia again]: "The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning." "And as He spoke He no longer looked to them like a lion; but the things that began to happen after that were so great and beautiful that I cannot write them. And for us this is the end of the stories,... All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story, which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before." I was touched that there were tears in my little boy's eyes besides mine as I shut the book. There was that lovely pregnant pause at the end of every good book: that deep sigh of satisfaction of returning from a journey well worth taking. We smiled at each other with great affection. "Now that's someone I want to have lunch with some day," Grant said. I agreed most wholeheartedly. And twenty-four years later, I still do.

I’ve loved this phrase for many years. Before I painted my family room ten years ago, I had it in vinyl lettering on the wall with family and wedding pictures. Humans are so funny, don’t you think? Perhaps I project when I say that, but it seems we generally struggle with the whole concept of cause and effect - making the concept of loving a choice one made trickier than it might appear on the surface. Put another way, when most humans pick up a stick, we too often fail to consider the other end of that stick with much forethought. Which makes this statement quite profound, and put in simpler terms - NOT Simper terms - “Love what you have chosen.” This post will possibly not appeal to two groups of individuals: those who married perfectly, never argue or resent one another, or have never spent a day disenchanted with their choice. To those of you who may have achieved Eden: I salute you. This post will also most likely vex individuals who are on Attempt Number Two. Or Three. Or… Please know: I’m not poking at anyone who has made another choice because the first became untenable. Sometimes, dissolving a marriage is truly the only way forward. I do NOT speak to that when I press this issue of loving your choice - no need to feel triggered or targeted. I write this by way of finishing my review of Middlemarch , and to make the case for caution in the casualness in marriage in the current culture. It’s worth consideration to persevere with choices once both ends of the stick picked up are fully known. I write to those for whom the marriage pendulum swings pretty normally: with days of being certain Saturday’s Warrior could have been written about you and your spouse; and other days of suspecting you were possessed the day you decided to marry this… Other Person. In an 800+ page book where not much happens, three marriages are highlighted in Middlemarch - all of which underscore this statement: “Choose thy love, love thy choice.” The first marriage is a couple who marry quickly and fairly impetuously, knowing next to nothing about each other first. Dr. Lydgate, a newcomer to Middlemarch, is completely infatuated with a town beauty, Rosamund Vincy, the mayor’s daughter. Rosamund naively and somewhat selfishly marries Dr. Lydgate, imagining she will become a grand dame of social standing in the community by marrying a doctor. Coming from a financially fickle family herself, she quickly runs the couple into near-ruinous debt. Every attempt to treat her as a true emotional partner in the ensuing problems blows up in Lydgate’s face - leaving him confused as to why Rosamund would marry him if she didn’t want to be married to him. Rosamund is equally confused as to why her every desire is not indulged and accommodated, and responds to Lydgate's attempts at economizing with passive aggressive manipulation. Upon discovering the other end of the stick, both Lydgate and Rosamund continue in their marriage disillusioned, love lost, with nothing but disappointment ahead of them. The second marriage are young people who grew up in Middlemarch and have loved each other since childhood. Mary Garth’s family aren’t wealthy or socially prominent, but her father is a well-respected, hard-working land agent and farming manager. Fred Vincy is Rosamund’s brother, and at first he has selfish and short-sighted proclivities to rival his sister’s. In spite of Fred’s repeated attempts to convince Mary to marry him, Mary worries they will not be happy because of his impulsive decisions that land him seriously in debt - a debt which ends up costing her family a great financial loss. But Mary’s love proves a powerful motivation for Fred, who authentically grows up in the novel and humbly offers himself as an apprentice, willing to learn, to Mary’s father. Though the reader never sees the fruit of this marriage until the epilogue, Fred lives to make himself worthy of Mary. Her wisdom in considering both ends of the stick before the marriage gave the marriage a better than fighting chance afterward. The third marriage includes the novel’s central character - Dorothea Brooke - whose fervent and genuinely sincere ideas of a life of service make her easy prey to a pompous, ineffectual scholar more than double her age, Edward Casaubon. Guard your gag reflex as you read one of the most narcissistic proposals EVER WRITTEN. To sum up in modern vernacular: “Honey, won’t it be great for ME, if you marry me?” And bless Dorothea’s idealistic heart, she falls for it. Not long into the marriage, she realizes Edward really wanted nothing more than a secretary to catalog his massive collection of notes for a book he most likely will never get around to finishing. The thing that made Middlemarch unique for me is that two of these three marriages were constructed in such a way as to give the parties of those marriages ample modern justification for abandoning them in one way or another - if not technically, in affairs, then certainly emotionally. A much younger cousin of Edward’s - Will Ladislaw - is quite taken with Dorothea as early as Dorothea’s and Edward’s honeymoon. And dig this for a romantic honeymoon - Dorothea spends every day - IN ROME - visiting museums alone, as Edward cloisters himself in libraries, poring over documents in preparation for his book. In spite of this, Dorothea is faithful in every way to her husband, and innocently enjoys Will’s company over the course of her marriage. It isn’t until Edward Casaubon dies of a heart condition that she even begins to entertain the idea that she cares for Will beyond that of a friend. Her purity in this is somewhat unmatched in literature. Her extraordinary strength of character allows her to do more than grit her teeth through living with the untouched end of the stick she picked up in Edward Casaubon; it enables her to actually embrace it, as she comes to recognize him as almost disabled in his inability to love her in return. It’s fascinating to watch these couples go through the process of learning to live with the other end of the sticks they picked up in their marriage choices. Two had a limited view of that other, untouched end - as do all of us who choose a marriage. It’s a marvel that even in 19th-century literature, a writer would portray these marriages - each with differing degrees of happiness and satisfaction - as being faithful - peopled with individuals who dealt with both ends of their sticks with fidelity. Each, in spite of everything, in one way or another, ‘loved’ their choices by not choosing someone else in its place. The portraits of these very different marriages serve as cautionary tales in a modern world that too often views marriage as disposable. Loving our choice - learning to love both ends of the stick we pick up when we marry - is at the core of keeping the covenant of marriage - be it an earthly or an eternal one. It speaks to love as the verb that it is - as opposed to the emotional feeling it very often is not. It deepens the responsibility of the marriage as a covenant, recognizing that the feeling of love that ignites the creation of the marriage organism as simply that - an impetus, insufficient to sustain the marriage on its own. C.S. Lewis writes of this covenant - the formalizing of choosing our love and loving our choice: “The promise, made when I am in love and because I am in love, to be true to the beloved as long as I live, commits me to being true even if I cease to be in love. A promise must be about things that I can do , about actions: no one can promise to go on feeling a certain way. He might as well promise to never have a headache or always to feel hungry.” (C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, emphasis added) Surrounding these three "love" stories, Middlemarch is also filled with a wide-ranging look at mid-19th-century rural living in England with the social attitudes and issues of its day. Plus, there’s a juicy scandal which has much to say of hypocrisy, hidden guilty consciences, and the lengths humans will go to in order to maintain their public image. But at the risk of my review being 800+ pages, I’ll tell you that simply as a teaser to further entice you to try this lengthy novel. I recommend watching the movie first to keep the characters straight before wading into the depths of this insightful human nature study. What I DON’T recommend is that you read it my way. My world record in taking nearly a half-century to read a novel isn’t worth attempting to beat. ( https://www.laureensimper.com/post/my-47-year-overdue-book-report-a-prelude )