Because everyone loves a good story
On Pickwick, Dickens, and a New Crush
Will you despise me if I admit that, while I’ve loved reading since I was a wee child, I’d never been much of a Charles Dickens fan? I know. It’s heresy. He’s one of the greats, and I had tried (from time to time) to love him, but to no avail.
I struggled through A Tale of Two Cities as forced reading in high school and had to teach Great Expectations as a student teacher in college. Then I fastidiously avoided the rest of Dickens’ works after college. I’ve been very ashamed of myself.
But then came Pickwick.
A Felicitous Meeting
A few months ago, I was browsing a used bookstore and saw a short, fat copy of The Pickwick Papers on a shelf of classics. For some reason, I was drawn to it. Was it guilt over my standoffish attitude toward Dickens? Penance for not enjoying A Tale of Two Cities? Justification that the book was only $5? Whatever the reason, I bought it and started reading it.
I hadn’t even finished Dickens’ preface before I used my highlighter—twice! A kinship with Dickens was forming already. His first chapter was entertaining enough, although I think I’d enjoy it more if I were more familiar with the goings-on of stuffy old British club meetings. But since the book was originally published as a serial story in a magazine, I’m not even sure if Dickens knew were the story was heading when he penned chapter one. It was also the first book he’d published, so he was probably just cutting his authorial teeth, as it were.
His First and Funniest
I could tell that Dickens really dug into the characters and plot as the chapters went on. In the book, the four main members of the Pickwick Society go out in search of adventure and leisure together (adleisure?), and they find themselves in a wide assortment of scrapes along the way. I loved how Dickens brought back characters that you thought he’d finished with, carried on with running jokes, and developed character arcs through all 875 pages of small typeface. (!!!) It really was delightful.
I also appreciated his political activism throughout the book. Even though this is his earliest published work, his disgust for the legal system and his concern for social justice are just as apparent as they are in books like Oliver Twist (which I did enjoy as an audiobook this summer, at long last). But there were two main aspects that kept Pickwick soengaging that I found myself saying, “Just one more chapter.” My two favorite aspects are Dickens’ characterization and his wit.
A Company of Characters
The book begins with a list of character names and descriptions. The list takes up four full pages! Despite the vast number of characters, Dickens manages to keep them vibrant and distinct through dialect and personalities. Mr. Winkle wants to be seen as a classic British sportsman, but he’s really a poser and a bungler. Mr. Tupman is a hopeless romantic, with emphasis on the hopeless. Mr. Snodgrass thinks of himself as a great poet, even if no one else does. Mr. Jingle is a resourceful conman who keeps turning up in various forms—a true precursor to Count Olaf. Sam Weller is a scrappy boot shiner and philosopher who becomes a most loyal footman to Mr. Pickwick.
And Mr. Pickwick. Dear Mr. Pickwick.
He’s such an endearing old soul. It took me a while to really warm up to his benign, portly character, but by the end I wanted to give him a big hug. He’s honest and sincere, generous to a fault, principled without being pious, and equally ready for travel, fisticuffs, discussion, and supper. Everyone loves him, and so will you.
A Brace of Dickensian Descriptions
But what truly sets Dickens apart is his wit. His humor is so dry, ironic, understated, and British that it gets me every time. He rarely just says something. He thinks of an unexpected and picturesque way of describing it so that you can see it too. I’m a huge fan of British humor, so I’m delighted with the way Dickens peppers each page with wit.
As an example of characterization and wit all rolled into one, here follows a description of Mr. Magnus, a minor character who is breakfasting with Mr. Pickwick before proposing to a lady.
Down they sat to breakfast, but it was evident, notwithstanding the boasting of Mr. Peter Magnus, that he labored under a very considerable degree of nervousness, of which loss of appetite, a propensity to upset the tea-things, a spectral attempt at drollery, and an irresistible inclination to look at the clock, every other second, were among the principal symptoms.
“He-he-he,” tittered Mr. Magnus, affecting cheerfulness, and gasping with agitation. “It only wants two minutes, Mr. Pickwick. Am I pale, sir?”
“Not very,” replied Mr. Pickwick.
Or even this little gem:
…Mr. Phunky, blushing into the very whites of his eyes, tried to look as if he didn’t know that everybody was gazing at him: a thing which no man ever succeeded in doing yet, or in all reasonable probability, ever will.
Consider Me Converted
Since the whole book is chock-full of chuckles like this, I resorted to flipping to a random, highlighted page and including the quotes above. Trust me, you’ll find plenty more if you choose to read The Pickwick Papers yourself. Which I truly and energetically recommend.
After all these years, I think Dickens has finally grown on me.
How God Saved Me: An Easter Story
Growing up, I heard the gospel (the good news that Jesus came to forgive us) from every angle: from my parents, church, story books, vacation Bible school, evangelists, and even Christian children’s records. Yes, records. I’m that old. But somehow my takeaway was always, “Pray this prayer the right way with enough sincerity, cross your fingers that you did it right, and hopefully you’ll make it to heaven.”
A Conflict of Expectations
I loved my church and family. They never made me feel like I had to dress, act, read, or live a certain way to be accepted by God. Thank God for that! Later on I went to a Christian school and university. Many folks there were kind and sincere. Others came across, in my perception, as shallow and rules-driven without a love for God as their motivation.
I was thrown for a loop when I heard their stance on certain external expectations about how I should dress, what I should listen to, and how they thought I needed live. I knew plenty of people who loved God whole-heartedly and yet didn’t follow these rules—my parents included. Was my family living in sin, or were my teachers wrong? I spent a lot of time thinking and praying through questions like these.
Shadows of Doubt
But ultimately, my real problem wasn’t in my schools; it was in my heart. I’d been trying to seek God my whole life, had been reading my Bible daily since I was in junior high, and I thought I might be a missionary when I grew up. I’d prayed the “salvation prayer” countless times and had even been baptized in elementary. But when evangelists would come to my church and say, “You can know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’re going to heaven when you die,” I always felt both skeptical and sad. There was no way someone could know that for sure. It was all a matter of the sincerity of your prayer, and you could never know if you were sincere enough.
In late high school, I started having questions about God himself. As I read the Bible and saw different facets of God’s character, I liked some of them, and I distrusted others. I started questioning his goodness, and eventually I questioned his reality. That was a dark place to be when I was surrounded by people who really seemed to believe this stuff. So I kept reading my Bible and praying, hoping that I would feel sure about my relationship with God one of these days.
Something I Was Missing
After I graduated from college with a degree in education, God re-routed my life out of the blue: he sent me from Michigan to Texas. I’d volunteered to help with paperwork in a Christian school office for three weeks while I figured out what I really wanted to do. But when I arrived, I fell in love with the people, the ministry, and their unique heart for God. The principal, his brother, and their wives had something I was missing: a joyful, confident, deep, humble, and personal relationship with God. Without doubts. How could this be?
The more I spent time with them, the more I wanted what they had. I extended my three-week stay to a semester, then a year, then another year. My second year there is when God stopped playing around and finally wrecked me. I had a ton of free time after teaching high school that year, and I spent it reading theology books, listening to sermons online, studying my Bible, and jogging while memorizing scripture. Not because I had to or thought I should, but because I wanted to. And God took that opportunity to remake me.
Meeting Jesus
God started convicting me of sin. Like, every little sin toward other people, in my heart, and on my tongue. I’d thought I was a pretty nice person until then. Now I saw my heart in the dazzling light of God’s holiness, and it was nasty. Nothing but pride from top to bottom. God was showing me my deep brokenness, and it shocked me.
The final blow came at Easter. I had been reading all four gospel accounts simultaneously leading up to Holy Week, and I reached the last supper, arrest, trial, crucifixion, and resurrection right at Easter weekend. I remember sitting alone in the sunshine on top of an overlook tower at my favorite nature preserve. Tears were rolling down my face as I finally saw Jesus’ death and resurrection with fresh eyes. He—this man who was God—did this for broken, dirty hearts like mine. On purpose! The Jesus I saw in my little, orange New Testament was someone I’d heard about all my life, but I felt like I’d never met him until that moment. Suddenly, I didn’t just know him; I loved him.
No More Doubts
And from that time on, I knew what people meant when they said, “You can know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you know God.” I did know God. It wasn’t a question; it was a fact. I knew him like I knew my own dad—deeply, personally, for real. God had changed me, melted my heart of stone, and given me a heart of flesh. I knew for certain that I hadn’t changed myself. It was God.
Did I truly “get saved” on that overlook, or had God answered my prayers when I was younger? When was the real time I went from darkness to light? I’m not sure, and I’m just fine with that. God is writing my story, and I’m just along for the ride. My whole life will be a fight against pride, apathy, and just plain stupidity, but God is faithful. I can’t wait to see him some day, and I hope I’ll see you there, too.
When Distraction Outweighs Motivation
Did you make a resolution to tackle more creative endeavors this year? Write that book? Query that agent? Paint that picture? Compose that requiem? Solder that gigantic stained glass window for your second beach house?
The Usual Process
If so, then you know that the hardest part of a creative project is just getting started. But then comes the other hard part of continuing and the additional hard part of getting toward the end and the final hard part of finishing it. Basically, any creative endeavor is hard work from beginning to end. Rewarding and enjoyable, sure, but hard.
I’m not a painter or a stained-glasser. I’m just a writer, and not even a very noteworthy one at present. But my creative process probably looks a lot like yours, whatever your artistic passion. There’s the dry spell (interminable), the eventually glimmer of an idea (infinitesimal), the fight to find time and motivation to write those first few words, a wee bit of progress, the loss of steam, the slump where I consider trashing it all, and either the teeth-gritted determination to finish (phew!) or else the grinding to a halt of the whole hair-brained scheme (more likely).
A Better Motivation
I hope that sounds completely foreign to you and your exemplary work ethic. But if it sounds like someone you know—or someone you’ve been—then don’t lose heart. We’re all in the same boat from time to time. The good news is, we don’t have to keep paddling it up that self-defeating stream. We can turn the canoe around. Or jump ship. Or stop using the boat metaphor. Regardless, we can replace bad creative habits with good ones.
Yes, but how? To answer that question thoroughly and humorously, I offer to you this article from the Rabbit Room website. Writer and painter Kate Gaston describes how to tug against the resistance that slows our creative momentum. She describes the problem in a relatable way, gives an example of how she jumpstarted her motivation for painting, and ends with several ways to simply sit down and get to work. I know you’ll find it as helpful as I did!
Suggestions for Success
As a teaser, here are just a few of her suggestions: First of all, start with small, manageable goals. Like, teeny-tiny goals.
“Just like a bite-sized candy bar leaves our lizard brains ravenous for more sugar, tiny victories give our delicate egos a micro-dose sense of accomplishment. This, in turn, gives us courage and confidence to try again. Baby steps, y’all.”
Next, identify the time of day when you’re feeling most creative, and make a bit of time to work then.
“At first, you might only manage to carve out a scant amount of time. That’s okay. Like I said, sometimes it’s helpful to start with ridiculously achievable goals. Grab that low-hanging fruit, baby. The ten minutes you set aside for work today will be the kernel from which your productivity grows.”
Don’t forget to make your workspace attractive to you. Comfy chair? Stash of snacks? Good lighting? Do it all.
“Next, and this is a big one for me, woo yourself to the physical space…. Find all the things that trigger your brain toward creativity, and then unapologetically do them.”
And finally, give yourself a break sometimes.
“Rest, beauty, and time spent trustfully dwelling in the goodness of God fill us to the brim with the richness and soulfulness which enable us, in turn, to do that deep work we are called to do.”
So how about it, friends? Armed with the suggestions from Gaston’s article, will you join me in the fight against creative entropy? We may still lose a battle from time to time, but with our determination, we shall win the war.
“Introduction to Poetry” By Billy Collins
I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slideor press an ear against its hive.
I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,
or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.
But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.
Did you take a poetry class in college? Or maybe a literature class that included some poetry? If you did, I’m sure you can picture it as the setting of this poem: lots of opinions, confidence, and determination without the mellowing effects of age. Poor Collins.
Two Roads Diverged…
He says there are two common approaches to studying poetry: observation and interrogation. The first lets the poem speak for itself, and the other brutalizes the meaning out of it. If left to my own devices, I probably tend toward the latter. I like to dig deep and squeeze meaning out of every part (though not usually with a garden hose). While there’s nothing wrong with mining the depths of poetry, I think Collins is right—that may not be the best introduction to poetry.
The Better Path to Poetry
Instead, Collins wants us to discover truth and feel delight. His various examples invite us to approach a poem with the curiosity of a scientist or naturalist. He wants us to observe it, experience it, and let our senses explore it.
Most importantly, he reminds us to enjoy it! Feel the thrill of skimming across it quickly without sinking deep, deep, deep into syntax and nuance. There’s a place for that too, but not right away. The title of the poem, after all, is “Introduction to Poetry.” Delight should be the starting point of study.
If we’ve learned anything in our year of sampling poems on Past Watchful Dragons, let it be this: the first objective of poetry is to experience and enjoy. So journey forth on poetic explorations of your own, my friends! Just be sure to leave the hose and bring the water skis.
“Praise and Thanksgiving”: A Puritan Prayer
When you think of the puritans, what comes to your mind? Grim men in gold-buckled hats, and strict women who never smile? A group of religious fanatics who upended their lives and families to move to colonial America? That’s pretty much what I thought until I started reading their prayers.
The Valley of Vision
Years ago a dear pastor friend introduced me to a collection of puritan prayers called The Valley of Vision. Many of the men quoted were actual puritans living in America during the mid-1600’s. Others were born in the 1700’s but still lived according to the puritan tradition. In the 1970’s, an English minister researched, collected, and edited these prayers, publishing them in book form. What a gift to the world!
These prayers reveal depth of devotion, grief over sin, amazement about grace, and joy in God that is virtually unknown in our modern American churches. After all, how often are today’s first-world Christians (myself included!) uncomfortable enough to cling to Christ alone? In many ways, the puritans were stripped of everything but God, and they found Him to be more than enough.
A Prayer of Thanks
This Thanksgiving, whether we find ourselves in times of joy or sorrow, plenty or need, faith or doubt, may this excerpt from a puritan prayer remind us of a good God who lavishes us with blessings big and small. That’s something to be thankful for!
“Praise and Thanksgiving”
I bless thee for the soul thou hast created,
for adorning it, sanctifying it,
though it is fixed in barren soil;
for the body thou hast given me,
for preserving its strength and vigour,
for providing senses to enjoy delights,
for the ease and freedom of my limbs,
for hands, eyes, ears that do thy bidding,
for thy royal bounty providing my daily support,
for a full table and overflowing cup,
for appetite, taste, sweetness,
for social joys of relatives and friends,
for ability to serve others,
for a heart that feels sorrows and necessities,
for a mind to care for my fellow-men,
for opportunities of spreading happiness around,
for loved ones in the joys of heaven,
for my own expectation of seeing thee clearly.
I love thee above the powers of language to express,
for what thou art to thy creatures.
Increase my love, O my God, through time and eternity.
Amen
Happy Thanksgiving, friends!
Want to know more about how The Valley of Vision was collected and published? Check out this article.
My Best Piece of Parenting Wisdom
This week I had the privilege of sending a letter to a sweet friend who’s expecting her first baby. She and her husband are absolutely wonderful, and their families are fantastic. She’s the last person who really needs parenting advice from someone like me. Nevertheless, she asked for it, so I attempted it.
Thinking about wisdom to share made me realize how much I still have to grow as a mom. Of course I’ve picked up a few tidbits of what I should be doing, but actually doing it is another matter entirely. As the apostle Paul says, “For what I want to do, that I do not practice; but what I hate, that I do.”
That being said, the letter shares one bit of wisdom that I strive for every day. It goes against every fiber of my Type A personality, but I know it’s so worthwhile. I know my friend will get it right far more often than I do, but by God’s grace I’ll continue to grow as a mom for years to come.
So, without further ado, the letter:
Dear Friend,
Today is a normal day. I’ve wiped several booties, noses, and countertops. We’ve spent the morning wrestling through homeschool and enjoying Bible stories. I’ve broken up fights and offered gospel truth that seemed to go in one ear and out the other. We enjoyed fall sunshine beneath the same tall trees I walked under when I was their age. We navigated a handful of bad attitudes (half of them mine), and I know there will be plenty more before bedtime. Basically, my friend, motherhood is a mixed bag. It drags me through the seven stages of insanity and back again. Every. Single. Day.
That’s why I feel like the least qualified person to offer parenting advice to you, especially since you’re surrounded by so many wonderful examples. God has given you the most fabulous family and church. He’s also given you a kind heart, deep love, and wisdom beyond your years. Your sweet boy will already have it made in the shade!
But you did ask for advice, so I’ll try to crystalize my whopping six-and-a-half years of experience into something shareable. Here it is—my big truth bomb:
DO less. BE more.
This isn’t new or earth-shattering. I’m sure you’ve had several moms tell you some variation on this theme already. But I know why—it’s because it’s so important and so, SO, SO hard.
It’s true that there are plenty of things that won’t get done unless you do them. But it’s also true that some of those things may not need to be done right now…or at all! That’s a hard pill to swallow for an overachiever, but it’s the truth. Sometimes “good enough” really is good enough.
Moms are great, but they’re not God. They don’t have to hold the universe together.
What your kids will really value is knowing that you enjoy spending time with them. Nothing too earth-shattering. Just being together. When I crawl into bed at night and think back on my day, the times that bring me the most satisfaction aren’t the times I get a lot done. I’m most satisfied when I’ve spent just being with them. Kids thrive on getting messy, playing in water, and being read to. Sounds simple, but it takes great force of will to set aside the to-do list and simply be.
Most days as a mom, I feel like I’m barely scraping by with a C- and a few A- moments sprinkled in. I know you’ll do much better. But if you ever need a small reminder from this mama, just do less and be more. The rest will get done eventually.
Love you, my friend, and I’m so excited for the future of your sweet, sweet family!!
All my love,
Emily
“Earth’s Crammed with Heaven” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
According to Elizabeth Barrett Browning, there are two kinds of people in the world: those who see and those who don’t. We all enjoy the same universe around us, but our reactions depend on whether or not we see God’s signature in the mundane.
Earth’s crammed with heaven
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes—
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries,
And daub their natural faces unaware
More and more from the first similitude.
First, I want to savor a moment of sheer craftsmanship. What beautiful, vivid, allusive, thought-provoking lines. Every word pulls its weight. Every allusion enriches the meaning. This right here exemplifies why poetry is so great: a few sentences can communicate pages of meaning. It’s crystalized content. Bravo, Mrs. Browning!
So yes, it’s lovely and wonderful, but let’s take a quick peek at what on earth she’s talking about.
Crammed with Heaven
Browning’s famous lines are taken from her long book in verse called Aurora Leigh. I haven’t read the whole thing myself, but I did find it helpful to read the larger context around this quotation. Her narrator has been asserting that all of creation is two-fold: it’s equal parts physical and spiritual. To divide the parts or try to enjoy one without the other is foolish and even fatal. The beauty of the physical comes from the significance endowed by the spiritual.
Browning wasn’t proposing transcendental theology. She believed the Bible and was merely echoing God’s truth from verses like Romans 1:20: “For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse.” Creation and eternity are inextricably linked.
Burning Bushes and Blackberries
Like the apostle Paul in Romans 1, Browning bemoans the human tendency to ignore the divine source of the world’s wonder. The burning bush, as you no doubt guessed, is an allusion to Moses in the Old Testament. Moses was minding his own business one day when he saw a flaming bush that didn’t burn up. The presence of God spoke to him from the bush, telling him to take off his shoes because he was on holy ground. A common bush communicated the presence of God Almighty.
While God doesn’t usually catch our attention through combusting shrubbery these days, his presence is just as palpable for those who have eyes to see. As for the rest of us, the bush may be burning, but we don’t notice. God may be speaking, but we don’t hear. All we see is a physical reality to satisfy a physical desire. We ignore the flames and pick the blackberries.
The Last Two Lines
The last two lines don’t usually get included in the quotation, and you can kind of see why. They seem odd, almost like they don’t belong. But we can’t, in good conscience, stop the quote at a comma; it’s against literary law. Browning intended us to puzzle through her final lines in order to make sense of the whole. Ergo, here are my best hypotheses based on two connotations of the word “daub.”
Moses’ Veil
First, daub means to paint thickly and inexpertly—in other words, to cover with a layer of paint. Since this part of her poem has been about Moses, I thought Browning could be using another Moses story as a contrast. She may be alluding to the way Moses covered his face with a veil after being with God (Exodus 34). God is so glorious that Moses’ face was painfully bright just because he’d spent time in God’s presence. Afterward, he wore a veil to spare the retinas of the Israelites.
Knowing this, Browning could be condemning the way we cover our faces to mar our likeness to the Creator. Genesis 1:27 says, “So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them…” Yet even in Browning’s day, there were many who were “unaware” of that “first similitude” or likeness. Rather than finding God’s fingerprints on their faces and in their hearts, they would “daub” their natures. Those who ignore the image of God in their lives cover their faces, but not with a veil as Moses did. They cover them to obscure the image of God within.
Forbidden Fruit
But—here’s the zinger—daub can also mean to cover with a dirty or sticky substance. The picture of foolish people sitting around a holy bush, cramming their mouths with fruit, brings another Bible story to mind, doesn’t it? In the Garden of Eden, God was with Adam and Eve. They were quite literally in his presence. But when they chose to disobey him by eating fruit from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, they broke fellowship and brought death.
I can picture their mouths dripping with the bloody juices of the fruit like Denethor’s tomato in the Lord of the Rings movie. When Adam and Eve heard God coming, did they “daub” or dab at the sticky evidence in hopes of wiping away the guilt? The image of God was marred, but the guilt remained.
And we, in our foolish pride, ignore God’s holy presence. All creation proclaims His name, but only those who hear will respond. Otherwise, we’ll eat the forbidden fruit and try to wipe our mouths clean, unaware of the “first similitude,” or how much we look like our first forebearers.
What’s Your Take?
And this is the beauty of poetry. A few well-phrased allusions can pack so much meaning. It takes some of the magic out of it to parse and dissect it like this, but sometimes it helps to see each truth laid out clearly. It leaves me with much to ponder, and I hope you feel the same!
I wonder which interpretation of the last two lines seems likelier to you. Do you think Browning intended us to see one of those allusions rather than the other? Or do you think she left it obscure in order to allude to both? Either way, I hope this poem helps us all to be more alert for “burning bushes” around us. The presence of God is often in the mundane.
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