Archive for the The Journey Category

The gloom descended in the form of cold, dark clouds. They swirled and filled the trees with menace. Not even the fearless mockingbird was unaffected. She flicked her tail nervously and hopped from branch to branch in a spindly tree. She flew to my right and then to my left as my feet crunched against the limestone gravel. We were alone–she and I. Caught in the frozen grasp of winter. Helpless against the frozen onslaught. Marching amid an impotent storm that was all bluster and no bite.

I don’t understand the mockingbird. In the darkest moments of my life she is always there–singing. She flits between telephone poles and electric wires, over church spires and ramshackle houses. She calls to me with a hundred different songs and I am helpless to not respond. I whistle and I wait. This time, she does not respond.

I went to the park to absolve the evil impulses brooding in my body. Winter does something to my mood that is as complex as it is devastating. I don’t know if it is the shorter sun cycle, or the cold, or the repressed memory of feasts gone by, but the full fury of my food addiction rages like a wildfire and my only repose is to walk and pray.

But I am haunted by desire. My brain craves the sweet desserts of yesteryear. There are promises whispered and longings unfulfilled. Unbidden, the thoughts of my mother’s homemade fudge swirl to remembrance and I see myself at my worst–baking pan after pan to satisfy an insatiable craving. So I walk and I weep. I am as ashamed of the memory as I am for the desire. I am walking but I am secretly fighting the impulse to go to the store and purchase ingredients for a “good old fashioned binge.”

Have you ever faced such a temptation? How did you respond?

Early in my journey I adopted a phrase, “If hunger is not the problem, then eating is not the solution.” But I realize now–these many years later–that eating still wants to be the solution. Especially when enervating emotions descend.

I think of Joseph and the temptation to indulge in a tryst with Potiphar’s wife. I wonder if she was beautiful. I imagine it would have been no temptation at all had she been difficult to look at. Thus, he fled her presence–going so far as to leave his cloak in her grasping hands. In her humiliation she betrayed him to her husband and had him banished to prison. What were his thoughts then, I wonder? Were they anything like mine as I walk mile after mile to somehow try to avoid the evil impulses that grasp at me? Because the truth is, I would rather lie down with fudge than walk, but I have resolved not to sin against my God.

How long with that resolve sustain me?

By grace I have been saved and I shall be saved again. I endure soul hunger no piece of food can ever satisfy. So I pray and I wait. And I whistle at the mockingbird though she offers no reply. Because I believe the prayers of the righteous are powerful and effective as they are working. God knows I will probably always suffer these food furies, but he has promised that His grace will always be sufficient for me.

Today, if you are struggling with addiction, do not lose heart. You are not alone. We inhabit bodies riddled by sin and the war we fight to stay sober is brutally hellish. But we must not lay down our swords.

There is a song written by Charlie Chaplin that always comes to mind when I am fighting tears. It comes to mind now. Only instead of “Smile” I suggest we sing, “Fight!”

Dear Dean,

Hello. I know we don’t know each other–and it might be improper to address you so informally–but I hope you will extend grace to me because today, I woke up in one of your novels.

I won’t lie. I am scared. Some kind of plague has infected the whole world and hundreds of thousands of people have died. There is a group of weirdos saying it’s—well, all a conspiracy—and the population has been divided by those who do or don’t wear a mask. Worse, people are rioting in the streets and have waged war on the police. Incredibly, I saw mayors and governors saying whole cities should have their police forces defunded. And if that isn’t bad enough, there is an election and the media outlets are censoring anyone who dares question the narrative. For the moment I’m safe. I found a safe corner to hide in before some creepy kid with a quivering lip pops up to tell me he sees dead people and I realize I’m one of them.

But while I sat there contemplating my next move, I felt a growing dread that chilled the lowest vertebrae in my spine. I wondered if you were going to walk through the door. I knew if that happened it would be the end of the world.

C.S. Lewis, one of the great masters of science fiction, wrote about one such a scenario.

“God will invade. But I wonder whether people who ask God to interfere openly and directly in our world quite realize what it will be like when He does. When that happens, it is the end of the world. When the author walks on to the stage the play is over.”

That is why I am writing. Please, Sir, don’t come to my house.

Now, I realize there may be an important reason for the end of the world, but I’d like to delay it a little while if, at all possible. So, if you would rather consider sending one of the heroes from your novels instead, that would be greatly appreciated.

If you would allow for suggestions, Jimmy Tock from Life Expectancy is a good one. If you recall, Jimmy was a baker whose birth precipitated a prediction of five dark days that would occur before his untimely death at the age of 30. He was incredibly calm as he navigated those dark days and was even vaguely philosophical. Wouldn’t it be kind to send someone who is cool enough to discuss brewing up a pot of bittersweet hot chocolate with a dash of cinnamon while facing a homicidal maniac?

Jane Hawk is another good choice. When faced with a sinister plot to enslave humans with nanotechnology, she was quick with a pistol and her wits. Of her you wrote, “If she had been a person who ran from trouble instead of into it, she might have fled. But to flee would be to dishonor herself and to further fail her mother, whom she had failed nineteen years earlier. This was a world that didn’t reward flight. Whenever you fled from anything, you inevitably fled into its equivalent.”

Jane said, “Even in the darkest darkness, hope was a lifeline, though sometimes as thin as a thread.”

Since the end of the world seems nigh threatening at the moment, I could use some of that hope of which she espouses.

But if I had to choose my favorite, I’d ask that you send Odd Thomas. Odd’s perspective on the villains he faced during various apocalypse was always rather poignant.

“…the most identifying trait of humanity is our ability to be inhumane to one another.”

Odd was never inhumane to others, well, except for those who were trying to annihilate him. He had to deal with them of course. But he was always good. And we need more goodness in the world. We need a world where a fry cook “feels obligated to kill murderous sociopaths if that is the only way to prevent them from slaughtering more innocents.” We need a world where there exists a Shakespeare quoting best friend like Big Ozzie. We need a world where even though his beloved Stormy had passed from this life to the next, he never stopped believing in the gypsy mummy fortune that they were “destined to be together forever”.

Can you send him please?

Because if Odd showed up, I would know what is happening is fiction. If Odd arrived and said, “The devil and all his demons are dull and predictable because of their single-minded rebellion against truth.” Then, I could nod in agreement. If he said, “The uniqueness of every soul is not a theme that our current culture, obsessed with group identities, cares to assert” I would then respond with, “We are souls. We merely have bodies.” And we would fist bump. I would wait patiently while he made astute observations like, “Of course, one must always remember that although The Sound of Music is the most feel good movie of all time, it is crammed full of Nazis.” Yes, Odd would do nicely. We would be great pals.

Dean, (by now I hope you have warmed to the notion of me using your first name) your stories make clear you believe there is a war between good and evil. You also remind me good always wins. You know all humanity has a need for a hero. I know this because you have made a living out of weaving tales that illuminate hope in the human heart. None the least of which is the true story of the greatest hero to ever touch your life; Trixie.

“The shimmer and flash of her golden coat in the sun, the speed with which she pursued her prey, the accuracy of every leap to catch the airborne treasure, the forepaw landing followed by a whip-quick turn the instant the back paws touched the earth…She was not just graceful in a physical sense. The more I watched her, the more she seemed to be an embodiment of that greatest of all graces we now and then glimpse, from which we intuitively infer the hand of God, infer the truth that this world’s beauty is a gift to sustain the heart, and infer the reality of mercy.” – A Big Little Life

Come to think of it, just reading about Trixie gives me hope. If God can create such an indelible creature who, by your words has inspired this generation—and probably more to come—why am I hiding in the corner?

Gulp.

Well, Dean, I feel I have taken up enough of your time. Yes, the world may be ending, but I’m starting to form an idea for how best to respond. I certainly don’t have all the answers, but I have learned enough from the characters you’ve written to know character is the most important quality anyone can possess. You wrote, “If a person has true character—which always includes a sense of honor and duty, as well as a tough set of personal standards—he or she will not fail you.” You see, I have been learning discipline for over a decade now—and while not as shrewd as Jane Hawk nor as culinary inclined as Jimmy Tock, I may have the makings of an Odd in me somewhere. I’m not afraid to talk to strangers in distress and to share the hope that shines brightest into dark places.

So, Dean, I hope you’ll take leave of me at this point. Because I’m not in the corner any longer and I may or may not have a weapon. And while you might have been contemplating a visit to my abode, you may forgive the earlier platitudes and be acutely warned. My doorstep is not safe for harbingers of the Apocalypse. I’ve got a spatula. And I know how to use it.

Kind regards,

Margaret Wolfinbarger

“Affection opens our eyes to goodness we could not have seen, or should not have appreciated without it.” C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

Bitterness is a cancer of the soul. We all have it. Sometimes it hides in the cells. Other times, it develops as a large tumor readily visible to everyone we come into contact with. Usually, it is that horrible kind of cancer that is like jellyfish tentacles that thread through our guts. We recognize it is there and–like a surgeon–we start cutting out small pieces only to discover there is more.

I lately find myself in the unfortunate position of being tempted toward bitterness. Worse, the more I give into it, the sweeter it seems. There is a simple satisfaction proclaiming judgement against people with whom I disagree by denouncing them (if only in my mind). It’s very easy to “cancel” people by proclaiming them “idiots”. It also makes me feel like the hero of my own story–which of course–in my minds eye–I always am.

I also enjoy joining “rallies” of other like minded individuals with whom I can digress about the “transgressions” of the “idiots”. It feels good to stab people in the back.

Boy is that an uncomfortable thing to put in print!

Mostly, I do this in my mind. At least I thought I did. Until I asked my son to prepare for an event recently and he said, “I’m not going! I don’t want to be anywhere around those wicked people!”

Gulp!

We see ourselves best through the eyes of those who love us the most. That is, if we are willing to listen.

I have determined that bitterness is the quickest and best way to lose friends and alienate people. And, like the unskilled surgeon I am, I have been trying to cut out the cancer. I don’t want to end up a “lonely and bitter old woman”. Candidly, the temptation to get a bunch of bunnies has been knocking on my door. That is, after all, what I used to do to avoid my feelings. I would hoard creatures until I was so busy cleaning litterboxes I didn’t have time to think about my feelings.

Upon reflection, I realize I lack the affection for some people I used to have. I also wonder how to get it back. I have been tolerating them under the guise of loving them but now I see it just won’t do. Toleration is as far removed from affection as arachnids are from octopi, and twice as deadly.

If we form friendships by discovering the things we have in common, do our differences automatically discredit the relationship? Is that why we fall out of favor with each other and say, “the friendship has run its course?” On a grander scale, is this why we break up or get divorced?

For instance, if God has called me to “love my neighbor” but I don’t “like them” should I stop praying for a tree to fall on their house? I only ask because one of my “neighbors” (a close friend) really annoys me and its not “Christian” to tell them what a jerk I think they are. And while I don’t explicitly pray for falling trees, I have stopped praying for God to protect them from harm. And it’s because of this cancer (bitterness!) that has spread throughout–and is twisting in my guts.

And I thought losing weight was hard!

Matthew 18 includes the parable of the unforgiving servant. The Apostle Peter (who must have been a lot like me) asked Jesus, “Lord, how often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you seven times, but seventy-seven times.” (Matthew 18:21-22)

Why couldn’t Jesus have just said, “Peter, for you–three sounds like a good number. After all, the third time is a charm!”?

That pesky Jesus. Always sending an ice storm when I asked for snow.

And if that little splash of cold water wasn’t enough, he finished with, “So also my heavenly Father will do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother from your heart.” (Matthew 18:36) in reference to delivering the unforgiving servant over to the jailers. And by “jailers” I don’t think he was talking about jail.

Today, if you are anything like me, you have a few people in mind while reading this blog. You are quietly tolerating them while vociferously condemning and disavowing them. Worse, you hide behind self-righteous indignation while you quietly abandon the relationship. And while you may have a thousand excuses for why this is “right” and “good” and “noble”, I would like to suggest you are only feeding the cancer. And since God is the only one who can heal our sin–which is what the cancer is–I would like to suggest that you (like me!) learn the discipline of truly forgiving your neighbor from your heart. After all, Jesus forgave those who murdered him. I think you can (with His help!) forgive your obnoxious friend.