Echo

You call me beloved.
I echo, till
weak, faint, fading away,
dying, trying, I say, still,
what You, Beloved,
first put into Word,
battered against your Father’s mountain,
sounding the perfect echo
that began the avalanche of saints' songs.

~Rael~

written in 2007

Auralia's Colors

Auralia's Colors, by Jeffrey Overstreet

I don’t often impulsively buy books, but this was one. The cover looked so cool, I had to pick it up and feel it. And the back had a review by Kathy Tyers, author of the Firebird series. AND then I saw the author had written some stuff for Christianity Today…

Ah ha, I thought! A fantasy book written by a Christian! Could it be good, or more than good?

The plot sounded promising. After reading a chapter or so in the store, I was hooked. I still had money on a gift card, so I got it, almost as excited to be supporting a Christian fantasy writer as to have a new exciting story to read. But of course, the story’s the main thing. ;-)

This tale Overstreet weaves is enchanting. Not only is it an interesting and unpredictable plot, with unpredictable and charming characters, but his language sneaks up on one with stunning bits of poetry. And there are deeper truths shimmering on the edges, mysterious and creative, but as sure as the coming sunrise.

It has been a long, long time since I have finished a book that left me with such a swirling sea of emotions inside.

It was deeply , and sad, and horribly haunting.

So many things happened toward the end, loose threads nearly forgotten woven back in with great weight and purpose. Such beautiful loss, and fragile hope. It will take me a while to soak in the ending. What does one do with one’s self after finishing such a moving story? I already want to re-read certain echoing passages that clearly whisper truth.

Be forwarned. It ends well, but there are other threats looming, and the sequel doesn't come out until September.

(Disclaimer/Warning: It is quite violent and gruesome in spots, and a few made-up words used in name-calling. And there are certain sorts of sin hinted at a little more than I prefer. ;( So this is definitely not a children’s book. I suppose it’s a little worse than That Hideous Strength, though mostly the same sort of nastiness. Nothing bad claiming to be good.)

Edit: Thanks to one poster's comment, I found and changed my spelling error. My apologies to Mr. Jeffrey (not Jeffery) Overstreet.

A tiny exquisite exerpt

The forest went on dreaming while Auralia folded her thoughts and set them aside for the night. She sat on the cliff edge, swinging her feet into space as if she might find a foothold and walk away on the air.

~Auralia's Colors, by Jeffery Overstreet~

Review of this book to follow as soon as I finish reading it. Be excited; I am! ;)

"Pleasures forever!"

Thou wild make known to me the path of life;
In Thy presence is fullness of joy;
In Thy right hand there are pleasures forever. ~Psalm 16:11~

This was the verse I copied down in my journal from my reading this morning. God's promises to his children are so amazing that often I'm too preoccupied to slow down and ponder them in all their weight. Too rarely do I seek His wisdom, His presence, His right hand! Yet His goodness and mercy keep following, following...

On top of the overwhelming promises, this verse is also lovely poetry! I highly recommend reading the Psalms out loud, since they were mostly songs in the first place. I don't do it enough, but speaking the words slowly and expressively sometimes helps me notice more things.

A Chestertonian Christmas Poem

G. K. Chesterton was a great Christian writer who not only influenced the Inklings, but might even be a match for C. S. Lewis's wit and Tolkien's humor. I know I've mentioned him before and I shall again, perhaps very soon. (I have a theory about one of his characters getting into LotR, but I'll save that for later.) I present to you now, for your delight and wonder, a poem he wrote that is fitting for this special night:


The House of Christmas

There fared a mother driven forth
Out of an inn to roam;
In the place where she was homeless
All men are at home.
The crazy stable close at hand,
With shaking timber and shifting sand,
Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand
Than the square stones of Rome.

For men are homesick in their homes,
And strangers under the sun,
And they lay their heads in a foreign land
Whenever the day is done.
Here we have battle and blazing eyes,
And chance and honor and high surprise,
But our homes are under miraculous skies
Where the yule tale was begun.

A Child in a foul stable,
Where the beasts feed and foam;
Only where He was homeless
Are you and I at home;
We have hands that fashion and heads that know,
But our hearts we lost - how long ago!
In a place no chart nor ship can show
Under the sky's dome.

This world is wild as an old wife's tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in impossible things
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.

To an open house in the evening
Home shall all men come,
To an older place than Eden
And a taller town than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the things that cannot be and that are,
To the place where God was homeless
And all men are at home.


For those who read my blog and haven't talked to me recently (or ever) in real life, yes, I did graduate. Hurrah, and thanks be to God! I'll do more regular catching up on my doings soon. :-)

Sonnet and Shadow

A fruitful class: We read sonnets in my Shakespeare class last week, so a few nights ago I decided to finally write a sonnet of my own. I've wanted to do this for some time. Sonnets have a pleasant, unstilted rhythm because iambic pentameter is close to the way we naturally speak, which may be why I found mine easier to write than I expected! Still, I'm not quite satisfied with all the lines, so any suggestions or comments would be welcome.

On content: I've been thinking lately about how little we can know about what's inside another person, and the joys and perils that fact presents. This sonnet helped me think through and see things that hadn't occurred to me before.


Known

Does shadow lure because it is unknown,
Not evil-stained for all to see and mark,
Nor is it stamped with virtue, clearly shown,
But holds itself enshrouded, secrets dark?
Can it be right for good to hide its face,
For servant heart to work beneath the floor?
Why can we not draw out to light the base,
Monsters unmask, all foulness to abhor?
Why can we not know deepest depths of heart?
"It would be simple, thus, to judge," we deem.
Yet so fell man, by grasping for that part;
In never was ours first to grant esteem.
For God was wronged, He fully knows my sin,
Yet sees first Christ, my only Good within.