Because everyone loves a good story
An End and a Beginning
Glory, hallelujah! Eva is home!
My sweet baby girl spent her first 54 days of life in the NICU, undergoing surgery, tests, pokes, prods, and inspections. Nearly two months went by from the time I first held her in my arms to the time I first held her in my home. And I can tell you, friends, it was worth the wait.
An End
So with abundant joy we celebrated the release of our Eva Sparrow out into the wild. In fact, the day she was being sent home, my husband Mark jokingly said it felt like we were headed not to a hospital but to a prison break. She’d been in there so long we wondered if she’d ever be considered “well enough” to send home. But on Monday, March 29, they finally gave her the all clear. Her face rash had cleared up entirely. She wasn’t spitting up too much milk. In fact, she could take enough milk to get rid of the Picc line, and the rest of her medication could be given orally. She was free!
We were finally getting her outta there, and there was no looking back. We snatched her up, snapped a few pics, and put the pedal to the metal. Peace out, NICU! And so ended a seemingly endless era of daily commutes, faithful babysitters, unused onesies, nights apart, and the constant worry about how she was doing when we weren’t there with her. Goodbye and good riddance! It was all sunshine and butterflies from here on out!
A Beginning
Those of you who have been in similar situations are either chuckling or shaking your heads right now, aren’t you? Because the reality is that having our precious little Sparrow home in our nest is both delightful and nerve-wracking. My worry about her being away from us in NICU is replaced by my worry that she’s home with us! Now, instead of an ever-rotating list of well-trained nurses to take care of her, Eva has two well-meaning but decidedly unmedical parents on call 24/7. My daily (and nightly) mental soundtrack plays to the tune of “Is this normal? Is she ok? Should I text her surgeon?”
She’s a fragile little fighter. We are constantly on the lookout for signs that things have gone south with the surgery or her medications. She’s on four different meds and supplements, and we have to keep up with the doses every few hours, day and night. That means plenty of pumping; bottles; and dishes, dishes, dishes. Ohhh, the dishes. Can we hire someone just to wash all the breast pump and milk bottle parts for us? It’s nearly a full-time job. We can’t pay much, but you’re welcome to raid our snack cupboard while you’re here. And trust me—I haven’t been stocking it with health food lately.
Valid Concerns
Aside from the time spent washing dishes, my bigger concerns are for Eva’s continued healing. While some of my worry is baseless, plenty of it is legit. Because of the way her plumbing has been rerouted, her bile empties into her stomach instead of joining the party after food leaves her tummy. This gives her “bile reflux,” which makes her uncomfortable, especially when she spits up. And her spit ups are alarming because they’re bile-tinged with yellow or occasionally green. We’re told this is normal for her, but it’s still unnerving. We have to keep her tilted upright pretty much all day and night because otherwise her milk likes to come spilling out of her mouth. Keeping her upright doesn’t always prevent this either. That’s just par for the course with babies, but the fact that I know her stomach is still new to the digestion game makes it more alarming for me.
Even more alarming is her recent habit of choking on mucus. We’re still on the hunt to figure out what’s causing it, but it sure scares the pants off of me. She’ll be sleeping peacefully and then all of a sudden, she’s stiff as a board and completely incapacitated with panic because she can’t breathe. She manages to scream and take a breath now and then, but it’s often a 5- or 10-minute process to suction out her mouth and calm her down again. In my unprofessional opinion, it seems like part of her reaction is due to some kind of PTSD from having the OG tube reinserted down her throat so many times. But I’ll tell you what—responding to her choking episodes will wake you up real quick.
Gloom and Doom?
I don’t tell you this to scare you or to drum up sympathy. I just wanted to be honest about what life is like post-NICU. I’m sure many of you have experienced similar things; you pray earnestly for something, and when you get it you realize it comes with its own set of worries. This is just part of being human.
But recently I was in the CVS drive through refilling one of her medications, and I found myself fretting that she was no longer in the doctors’ hands but was in our hands instead. No sooner had that though crossed my mind than God reminded me that Eva has been in His hands the whole time—in the womb, in the NICU, and at home. Her earthly caregivers have changed, but her heavenly Creator has not. His eye has been and always will be on the Sparrow. Thank you, Lord! That’s the only thing that brings me peace in my worry.
The Good News
And even with all my fretting—both valid and imaginary—I still couldn’t be happier that she’s home. Would it have been helpful for me to know ahead of time that she wouldn’t be 100% well when she came home? That I’d be playing nurse as well as mama? That my prayers for her wouldn’t stop but would certainly shift? Maybe. But she’s home now, and I wouldn’t trade that for a full 8 hours of sleep any day.
Know what else? She’s nursing like a champ and gaining weight every day. She’s still pretty tiny, but she’s getting there. She’s closing in on ten pounds and is almost too big for her newborn diapers and jammies!
And the best news of all is that we’re all together. I had been worried about how her two-year-old brother would react to her finally coming home, but he has been the sweetest. A little dangerous at times, as any toddler boy will be, but he loves her. Every day he lavishes her with hugs, kisses, toys, and occasional thumps. And she rewards him with big ol’ smiles. Except when he thumps her. I can’t wait to see how these two grow to be the best of friends (especially when she’s old enough to thump him back).
Continued Prayers
Eva is still on the road to recovery, but she’s further down the road than I’d imagined when I stood in silent tears looking at my tiny, post-op baby. God has been good and faithful, and he will continue to be good and faithful. We had prayed for the miracle of a united family by Easter, and God answered. We are so, so grateful for all the prayers of friends, family, and even strangers who have journeyed with us so far.
Will you continue to pray with us? Please pray that Eva will get stronger every day and that she will be able to wean off her medications sooner than later. Please pray that we’ll find out what’s causing her to choke so often. And, finally, please pray that we would remember and rest in the fact that, while Eva is in our hands, God’s hands are cupped strongly and lovingly around ours. We are not alone. The Great Physician lives here, and He never sleeps. Pray that that truth will help us rest deeply at night, even if it’s just for a couple hours at a time.
Welcome home, Evangeline Sparrow. You are so loved.
When Spring Is Underground
We recently celebrated the first day of spring. There was still frost on the ground when I got up. My lilac trees are just shivering skeletons, and the naked maple in my front yard still lets all the sunshine filter down between its branches. We still have to wear hats and coats when we play outside. But do you know what else? The daffodil shoots by my downspout are already eight inches high. I saw a purple crocus blooming in my neighbor’s garden. And even though it still feels like winter, I know spring is coming.
Seven Weeks and Counting
You may remember that my baby, Eva, is in NICU. It has been seven weeks that we’ve made the daily trek back and forth between home and hospital. I still feel the strain of this double life, but I have so much to be thankful for. Slowly but surely, Eva is getting better. Thank you, God!
Just over a week ago, we were afraid that she would need a second, corrective surgery. From what we could tell by the amount of fluid being pumped out of her stomach, the first surgery site seemed to be obstructed or inadequate. The surgeon was patient: she offered us two ways to try fixing the problem before jumping right into the second, more invasive surgery. The first strategy was to give Eva some IV medication to encourage her stomach to contract and pass more fluid down. There could be side effects, she warned us, but they weren’t likely. Given the dangers of a second, non-laparoscopic surgery, we felt the risks of the medication were worth it.
The Threat of Impending Surgery
But I could decipher the surgeon’s tone. The medication was worth a shot, but it may not be enough. I left that conversation almost resigned to the idea of a second surgery. It seemed just about inevitable. After all, we had been begging God to heal Eva for weeks. Hundreds of people had been bringing her tiny body before the throne of God every day, and yet it seemed he hadn’t answered. My heart would leap when I heard that her fluid output had gone down during one shift, but it would sink again when she put out even more fluid the next time. She just didn’t seem to be getting better.
Before the surgeon would move on with either medication or surgery, she had planned an x-ray to see the flow of fluid through Eva’s stomach and organs. They had done this same test on Eva two weeks after the initial surgery, and the fluid that made it through her system was little and slow. Based on what I could see on the outside of Eva, this test wouldn’t yield much better results. But still we prayed for a miracle.
Requested but Not Expected
On the day of Eva’s test, I was nervously waiting for news at home. I logged in to her online medical records and refreshed the page again and again, hoping the results would post and put my mind at rest. Nothing posted. Finally, after I’d put my son down for a nap, I received a text message from the surgeon.
“Hi there! I just reviewed today’s study. Things look a lot better this time! Like really good!! Are you guys around today so I can come by and we can chat?”
My heart had been on a roller coaster of ups and downs for weeks, but now it shot up like a geyser. “Really good,” she said! “Really good!!” We planned to talk with her as soon as possible, and she confirmed that Eva’s stomach was able to pass fluid much better than she’d expected. Hopefully, with medication, Eva would be able to avoid another surgery after all!
Progress
I was shocked. Maybe dumbfounded and flabbergasted are better descriptions. I kept on whispering to myself, “Jesus, how did you do that??” He had been so sneaky! While I was hovering between hope and fear, my eyes glued on her fluctuating external progress, God was busy healing her inside. I couldn’t see it, but he had been at work all along.
We still have a way to go before Eva can come home, but she has made wonderful progress in the past few weeks. She is finally rid of the infernal stomach pump tube that had been down her throat her entire life. (In fact, she registered her complaint of the tube by yanking it out eight times in four days.) The mystery rash on her face is slowly getting better. And most exciting of all—she’s finally able to drink my milk! They’re slowly increasing the amount she can have each feeding, and we’re praying she can keep it down and continue to digest it well. Please pray that she will make speedy progress so we can be rid of her IV fluid and all the complications it causes. Once she’s free of that, she’ll be free of NICU, Lord willing. We can’t wait to have our little princess home with us!
Grace to Trust
My half-hour commute to and from the hospital is usually quiet. I don’t have much extra mental bandwidth for music, books, or podcasts at the moment. But the one album I keep coming back to is Shane and Shane’s live Hymns album. The lines from one old song sucker punch me every time:
“Jesus, Jesus, how I trust him.
“Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus” by Louisa M. R. Stead
How I’ve proved him o’er and o’er.
Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus,
O, for grace to trust him more.”
That last line is my prayer. I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief.
Spring Is Coming
Let’s be honest: God knows the extent of my belief (puny, apparently) and of my unbelief (fairly extensive). I know for a fact that he can heal Eva in an instant if he wants to. I just don’t know for a fact that he will do that. And I’m not sure which of those qualifies as belief anyway. After all, God isn’t a genie I can summon and force to do my bidding. He certainly hears and answers our prayers in his time, but he also knows best and will do what is best. And the best may not be what I’ve asked for.
So while I will continue to pray for the miracle of a quick recovery, I will also remember the miracle of a slow healing. When the frost is on the ground and the lilac trees shiver, spring is still coming. We’ve seen the crocus bloom, and we know the rest of the flowers are underground gearing up for a grand blossoming. God is still at work.
“O, for grace to trust him more.”
My Double Life
I feel like I’ve been living two lives lately.
No, this isn’t some confession of a duplicitous, devious second self. I mean it for real. Although I don’t usually blog about details of my personal life, I think I’ll make an exception today. After all, I’ve posted every week or two for the past three years, and now that pattern may be disrupted for a little while.
Why? Because I have a NICU baby.
Foiled Plans
Several months ago, we found out that the baby girl I was expecting was at risk for four different complications, three of which basically ruled out our plan for a home birth. To say I was bummed out doesn’t quite sum it up. I had delivered my first baby at home with a wonderful midwife and a superstar birth team including my husband and sister. That birth was no walk in the park, but at least I knew and trusted everyone who was present. We were all on the same page about what was best for baby. I didn’t have to worry about them whisking him away as soon as he (eveeeeentually) popped out. I felt safe.
But as it became apparent that Baby Girl might require immediate assistance even for breathing or circulation, the dream of a second home birth was washed out to sea by the waves of The Greater Good. But that’s all right. Worse things have happened, right?
Expecting the Unexpected
Then I underwent several tests so the doctors could figure out what, exactly, we could expect when she arrived. They tossed out scary-sounding diagnoses. Polyhydramnios. Duodenal atresia. Dilated esophagus. Trisomy 21. Missing hepatic portion of the inferior vena cava. Of course I knew that not every baby is born perfectly healthy. There are myriad problems that can surface even before birth. I just never applied that fact to my baby. But there we were, meeting with five medical professionals from different departments, all bracing us for surgery and an extended NICU stay when Baby finally arrived. This was certainly not in my plans.
What’s In a Name?
We decided on a name just over a month before Baby Girl was due. Because I’m slow to commit to anything, that was a big deal for me. We didn’t officially name our son until we were already holding him. But with our daughter, we wanted a name sooner. The doctors were telling me that, because I had a humongous excess of amniotic fluid, I might pop early. We wanted to be prepared for at least one thing: her name.
We chose Evangeline Sparrow. Evangeline means “bringer of good news.” While much of the news from doctors had been far from good, there was still much to be thankful for. The complications they expected weren’t fatal. With surgery and care, they were surmountable. That was plenty to rejoice in! But the good news we had in mind was the news of God’s love in the gospel. We wanted Eva’s story to bring hope of God’s mercy and grace wherever it was told.
We chose Sparrow because of the comforting truth in Matthew 10:29-31. Jesus assures his disciples that not a sparrow falls to the ground apart from the Father’s sovereign will. If God cares even for something as cheap and common as a sparrow, how much more will he care for our baby, whom He had chosen for this special task of spreading His glory?
Special Delivery
So we kicked our nursery preparations into high gear. She was due on February 28, but I had a sneaking suspicion we’d be meeting her sooner. Sure enough, my regular “practice contractions” started getting more serious on Friday, Jan. 29. I went through days of trying to take it easy. We wanted her to bake until she was 37 weeks, at which time the surgeons said they would be comfortable operating on her. On Jan. 29, I wasn’t even at the 36-week mark yet.
By Tuesday, Feb. 2, I couldn’t deny that the contractions weren’t for practice anymore. Early Wednesday morning, at 36 weeks and three days, we headed to the hospital. At 6:01 A.M., Eva made her grand entrance into the world, breathing, crying, and filling us all with thankfulness for the health she had. She was a full six pounds and looked great. I got to snuggle with her for 30 minutes (another miracle!) before they took her away for tests. Miracle of miracles: of the four concerns they’d had for her, only one remained! Thank you, God!
A Short Surgery and a Long Recovery
The one issue they’d expected all along turned out to be true: she had duodenal atresia, which is a blocked intestine below the stomach. Without surgery she wouldn’t be able to digest anything. They planned the surgery for the very next morning. Afterward, the surgeon drew us pictures of what “normal” insides looked like compared to what Eva’s insides looked like. God was really getting creative when he knit her together; many of her organs were in unexpected places. The surgeon connected things as well as she could, hoping that food would be able to pass through the stomach and into the intestines. So began the waiting game.
They had let us know in advance that this surgery could take up to a month to heal. So far we’ve been watching and praying for two and a half weeks with very little visible progress. There have been scary moments and encouraging moments, but it sure has added up to a lot of moments. I wanted God to tell the story my way—if Eva had to have surgery, I wanted the world’s fastest recovery so everyone could celebrate God’s miraculous healing, and then we could take our baby home. But He must have a different story in mind because we’re still waiting.
Blessings In Disguise
And this is where I find myself—living a double life. I spend the mornings at home with my husband and son. We play, eat, and do all the normal things we’ve always done. Then in the evenings I go see Eva. I sit in a quiet room holding my (usually) sleeping girl and listen to the beeping of her machines, the chatter of the nurses, the breathing of my baby. Hours go by pretty quickly there. Then I come home, go to bed, wake up, and do it all again.
And through it all, God has lavished his love on us. Eva’s surgery isn’t healing as quickly as we’d like, but it’s not infected. She seems comfortable most of the time, apart from the tube that pumps the fluid from her stomach and out of her mouth. She’s getting rest and growing stronger. Our family and friends have stepped in to help with everything from watching our son and bringing us meals to washing our dishes and fighting off a monstrous raccoon that stole the cornbread muffins from our front porch. (True story!) Many people have given money to help with medical expenses. Hundreds of people are praying. We are humbled on a daily basis by these tangible acts of love. God is good!
One Day at a Time
Yes, my heart feels the strain of this double life—sometimes more, sometimes less, but always present. We long for the day that we can bring Eva home. Until then, I’m thankful for the chance to spend time with both of my babies. God is sovereign over all of it, and as much as I’d like Him to tell the story my way, I’m learning to trust His plan.
So if I don’t send out a blog post as often as usual, I’m sure you’ll excuse my tardiness. And if you think of it, please pray for Eva and pray for us. May God be glorified. Thank you, friends!
2021: In These Certain Times
It’s 2021. If there’s anything that last year taught me, it’s now quickly I could get sick of a phrase like, “In these uncertain times.” Well, that and how much time and money I was actually spending at Hobby Lobby.
But seriously, folks, I know a lot of people really struggled to process all that 2020 brought our way. Global, national, and personal struggles flocked to 2020 like carp to spit. The mantra has been, “Is it 2021 yet?” As soon as the ball drops in the Covid-induced ghost town of Times Square, the year of nightmares will be over, and all our hopes and dreams will come true.
…Right?
But What If
Personally, 2020 wasn’t as hard on me as it was on many. I don’t watch the news, I don’t get worked up about politics, and I didn’t lose a job or a loved one to Covid. I know these are blessings from God, and I’m so thankful for them. This year I mostly just minded my own business and kept plugging away at life.
For me, uncertainty comes not so much from big, global events as from smaller, personal concerns. The day-to-day things are what cause me to stress, worry, and overthink. Currently I’m seven months pregnant with my second baby, a little girl. My hubby and I are deeply in love with her already, and we can’t wait to smooch her. But there’s some uncertainty. The ultrasounds showed a slight area of concern that could completely change my birth plans. Her first few weeks may look different than what I’d hoped. It’s possible that I’ll be put in a situation where I have no control over anything, and that, my friends, is one of my worst nightmares.
The Illusion of Control
But when I stop and think about it, do I ever actually have control anyway? I like to think so, but it’s not reality. And that’s the lesson that 2020 drove home in so many ways to so many people: We’re not in control. That’s really what made the year seem so rotten, isn’t it? The curtain was pulled back just a little bit, and our eyes followed the puppet strings up, up, up to a hand that was not our own. And that’s scary. Whose hand is that?
That’s the million dollar question. The way you answer it determines whether you get ulcers or get rest. If it’s the hand of blind fate or a maniacal deity (or even “The Man”), then there’s nothing to rest in. You’re on your own, and it’s you against the world. What a thought. It reminds me of those cheery modern poets like Stephen Crane.
A man said to the universe:
“Sir, I exist!”
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.”
The Reality of Our Creator
In contrast to this dismal outlook, the Bible offers hope. I’ve spent some time in Isaiah 44 recently, and there is so much truth and comfort there. Uncertainty comes from not knowing if the future is going to be like the past, for good or for ill. If we’re on our own in a senseless universe, that’s a valid concern. But the good news is that the One who formed us in the past is the One who will hold us in the future. In verse 6, God says, “I am the first, and I am the last, and there is no God besides me.” Verse 7 says that God not only established the ancient nation and can also declare the things that are coming. And this is meant to give us comfort.
“Do not tremble and do not be afraid; Have I not long since announced it to you and declared it? And you are My witnesses. Is there any God besides me, or is there any other Rock? I know of none” (v8). There is no other Rock. If God is not our fortress, our protection, and our comfort, then there’s nowhere to go.
Reading God’s claim here reminded me of the exchange between Jesus and his disciples in John 6:67-69. “…Many of his disciples turned back and no longer walked with him. So Jesus said to the twelve, ‘Do you want to go away as well?’ Simon Peter answered him, ‘Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God.’” There’s nowhere else to go. And that’s good news.
Finding Certainty
So if 2020 took its toll on you, don’t despair. 2021 is a new year indeed, and I pray it will bring good tidings of great joy to all people. But this new year is in the hands of the Ancient of Days, just like last year and every other year since forever. We may not always be comfortable with what God chooses to do, but we can know that He has chosen to do it in wisdom and love. If that doesn’t give you certainty in these uncertain times, I don’t know what will.
Happy New Year, friends, and may God bless you!
Source: Crane, Stephen. “A Man Said to the Universe.” https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44049/a-man-said-to-the-universe
Tolkien’s “Father Christmas Letters”
If you’ve read much of this blog, you know I’m infatuated with J.R.R. Tolkien. I’ve enjoyed multiple readings of The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, and The Silmarillion, not to mention various short stories and essays. But this year I’m enjoying something brand new to me: Tolkien’s Letters from Father Christmas.
It’s just what it sounds like: Tolkien wrote a series of letters to his children addressed from Father Christmas at the North Pole. The first letter was delivered in 1920 when his oldest boy was three years old, and the letters kept on coming for the next twenty years! And it wasn’t just a few slipshod letters here and there; it was an extensive correspondence, complete with drawings of the goings-on at the top of the globe.
I’ve just finished the collection, and I’m absolutely smitten. If Tolkien seems inaccessible and heady to you, these letters may be just the cure. He is witty, goofy, and tons of fun as he, from the perspective of Father Christmas, writes about weather, presents, northern lights, and various characters that make up his day-to-day experiences. But the best part, in my opinion, is the character of the North Polar Bear.
NPB, as he’s called, is always into some kind of mischief, usually ending in injury or disaster. In 1926, for example, the bear caused an uproar that upset even the cosmic balance!
“It was the biggest bang in the world,” bemoans Father Christmas, “and the most monstrous firework there ever has been. It turned the North Pole BLACK and shook all the stars out of place, broke the moon into four—and the Man in it fell into my back garden. He ate quite a lot of my Christmas chocolates before he said he felt better and climbed back to mend it and get the stars tidy.” Apparently what happened was that NPB found the tap to the “Rory Bory Aylis fireworks…and turned on all the Northern Lights for two years in one go.”
Father Christmas is all in a kerfuffle about it, but the North Polar Bear thinks it was quite a hoot. NPB annotates the letter (as he often does) and adds, “You would have laughed too!…It was a lovely firework. The reindeer will run quick to England this year. They are still frightened!” (p 26-29)
The NPB also manages to break the actual North Pole (a big pole of ice) in half, catch whooping cough, shove the Man on the Moon under Father Christmas’s couch, get lost in goblin caves, and cause havoc in general. But my favorite debacle is as follows:
“What do you think the poor dear old bear has been and done this time?” writes Father Christmas. “Only fell from top to bottom of the main stairs on Thursday!” (“Who’d left the soap on the stairs? Not me!” notes NPB.) “We were beginning to get the first lot of parcels down out of the storerooms into the hall. Polar Bear would insist on taking an enormous pile on his head as well as lots in his arms. Bang Rumble Clatter Crash! Awful moanings and growlings. I ran out to the landing and saw he had fallen from to top bottom on to his nose leaving a trail of balls, bundles, parcels and things all the way down—and had fallen on top of some and smashed them. I hope you got none of these by accident?” (p 36-41)
Tolkien’s letters are such a thoughtful, memorable tradition that it makes me want to start doing it myself. But even if I don’t get around to writing my own, I will certainly read the Father Christmas Letters to my children as they grow. If you’re looking for a fun addition to your Advent, consider picking up a copy of the Letters and reading one or two a night. You’ll be glad you did. Until next time, may your Christmas be merry and bright!
Tolkien, J.R.R. Letters from Father Christmas. Boston, Houghton Mifflin Company, 1999.
Adorning the Dark: Introduction
I still remember buying my first Andrew Peterson CD.
I was a mere junior high student browsing a wall of music at the local Christian bookstore. I squatted down to look at the bottom shelf (my sweat pants hiking up awkwardly to mid-shin, no doubt), and there it was: an unobtrusive little album called Carried Along. The cover art featured a greyscale picture of a hammock, but what really caught my eye was the yellow discount sticker: $7.99.
Sold.
Becoming a Fan
It’s odd that I remember the purchase in such detail but fail to remember my initial impression of the album itself. I’m sure I liked it. I must have, because I went on to buy all the rest of his albums as they came out. Besides, his folksy, poetic writing style was (and is) just up my alley. Every time I’d open a new CD, I’d eagerly check to see which of my favorite authors he’d quoted on the “flyleaf” this time. I was never disappointed. Gerard Manley Hopkins, J.R.R. Tolkien, all kinds of stuff that proved we were cut from—if not the same cloth, at least complimentary cloths.
The years went on, and my enjoyment of Peterson deepened even as his craft and style matured. I remember a three-month stretch where I played Resurrection Letters, Volume II every morning as I got ready. My copies of Behold the Lamb of God and The Burning Edge of Dawn should be worn thin, and yet I still tear up listening to several of those songs. Skeptical? Go ahead and listen to “The Sower’s Song” or “Behold the Lamb of God.”
From Tunes to Tomes
Then he started writing books. Be still, my heart. His youth fiction series, The Wingfeather Saga, is one I’m proud to own. I’ve read it through twice and enjoyed it even more the second time. They carry overtones of other books I love (Harry Potter and Narnia most notably), but they’re liberally basted with silliness, humor, and redemption. Good stuff.
But the book I got most excited about is the one I’d like to spend several posts discussing with you. It’s called Adorning the Dark: Thoughts on Community, Calling, and the Mystery of Making. Once I got this book for Christmas last year, I couldn’t stop reading it. His style is so engaging and personal that it feels more like a conversation than a lecture. But the content is exactly what I needed to hear. It’s a gentle encouragement and a kick in the britches all at once. Let me show you.
Sneak Preview
His book isn’t strictly about writing; it’s about creating, and that could be anything from paintings and songs to meals and gardens. But anything creative takes discipline to some degree, and that’s the part that often feels like a kick in the britches. Peterson doesn’t let you off the hook for doing the hard stuff. Instead, he says, “The best thing you can do is to keep your nose to the grindstone, to remember that it takes a lot of work to hone your gift into something useful, and that you have to learn to enjoy the work—especially the parts you don’t enjoy” (2). And he adds a real zinger a few pages later: “Being a writer doesn’t just mean writing. It means finishing” (15). Ouch.
But he also kindles the smoldering flame of creativity and offers encouragement to those who are struggling. “Those of us who write, who sing, who paint, must remember that to a child a song may glow like a nightlight in a scary bedroom. It may be the only thing holding back the monsters. That story may be the only beautiful, true thing that makes it through all the ugliness of a little girl’s world to rest in her secret heart. May we take that seriously. It is our job. It is our ministry. It is the sword we swing in the Kingdom, to remind children that the good guys win, that the stories are true, and that a fool’s hope may be the best kind” (123).
Exciting Stuff on the Horizon
Those are just a few of the nuggets that can be mined from Adorning the Dark, but believe you me—there’s more where that came from. I’m stoked to study the book together with you! Until next time, keep your nose to the grindstone, but keep your eyes on the goal. Take heart: all your acts of creativity can be kingdom work, even (especially) making Christmas cookies. Which is what I’m off to do right now. But I think I’ll listen to Behold the Lamb of God while I bake, making it a doubly-holy pursuit.
Amen and amen.
Peterson, Andrew. Adorning the Dark. Nashville, B&H Publishing, 2019.
When the Frost is on the Punkin
Fall is hard to describe. Well, fall is hard to describe without using hackneyed descriptions of familiar images. But the primary job of the poet is to describe things—from the indescribable to the mundane—in fresh, concrete terms that bypass the head and go straight to the heart. In his poem “When the Frost is on the Punkin,” James Whitcomb Riley does just that.
While many folks have already shifted into full-on Christmas mode, leaving behind all things fall, it’s still a fact that November is a time of harvest, early frosts, and leaf raking. Lots and lots of leaf raking. So in celebration of the changing season, I’d like to present you with this delightful little poem. I hope it reminds you of the cozy aspects of fall as you rake your endless piles of leaves.
Stuff About the Poet
James Whitcomb Riley was born in Indiana in 1849. He published over 50 volumes of poetry, and some of his best-known and most well-loved poems are written for children. One thing you’ll notice right off the bat is his use of dialect. His children’s poems are written to model children’s speech, and many of his adult poems use the dialect of rural Indiana.
This was sort of his trademark. He became popular for his mastery of the rural speech patterns when he went on tour reading his poems (!) with an author named Bill Nye (!!!). And while it’s clear that he loved nature and fall, it is unclear whether he had to spend much time raking. That almost certainly would have tainted his opinion.
Why I Like the Poem
The poem I wanted to share with you today is a prime example of the old Indiana dialect. In fact, it may take a minute for you to warm up to it, just like when you read Uncle Tom’s Cabin or Huckleberry Finn. Personally, I’m not a huge fan of written accents, but I’ll forgive Riley because the overall poem is great. What I really love is the imagery. To me, it evokes the feelings of fall in the country.
I wasn’t raised on a big farm, but I would consider it a quasi-farm at least. We lived on fifteen acres off a dirt road, and our yard was surrounded by corn fields and poplar trees on every side. My mom grew a gigantic garden every year and spent weeks harvesting and preserving the fruits (and vegetables) of her labors. We had goats and chickens, ducks and rabbits, cats and birds. We even tried to cut and store our own hay one year. That wasn’t much fun. But we didn’t have any deciduous trees, so at least we didn’t have to rake.
Reading Is Better Than Raking
So when I see Riley’s descriptions of “The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,/And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn,” I can picture just what he means. His description is so concrete that it makes me smile. Even if you feel a bit standoffish about his first stanza, press on. Finish it. Enjoy the poem in all its rural splendor because afterward you’ll probably have to go back out and rake. In that case, read the poem twice.
Happy fall, friends!
When the Frost is on the Punkin
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,
And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,
With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.
They’s something kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;
But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur’ that no painter has the colorin’ to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.
The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries—kindo’ lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin’ sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover over-head!—
O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!
Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin’ ’s over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too! …
I don’t know how to tell it—but ef sich a thing could be
As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me—
I’d want to ’commodate ’em—all the whole-indurin’ flock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!
Sources:
Biography: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/james-whitcomb-riley
Poem Text: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44956/when-the-frost-is-on-the-punkin
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