I Threw a Tomato at the Wall Yesterday

Conversation overheard at a local high school:

“I threw a tomato at the wall yesterday, but my parents didn't do anything. Nothing I do anymore phases them.”

If we, as parents, do not set boundaries, then we are doing a disservice to our children. In fact, Solomon says we hate our children: “Whoever spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is diligent to discipline him” (Proverbs 13:24; cf. 5:23, 6:23).

I am sure that many well-meaning parents have withheld the rod, listening too much to outside voices, thinking that by being lenient their children will come around. Unfortunately, this is not true. Solomon wrote, “Discipline your son, for there is hope; do not set your heart on putting him to death” (Proverbs 19:18). Avoiding discipline is akin to putting your child to death.

One might ask how this could possibly be true? The answer is given a couple chapters later, “Folly is bound up in the heart of a child, but the rod of discipline drives it far from him” (Proverbs 22:15; cf. 23:13). Original sin is a reality.

As Solomon said, there is hope. It is possible to raise children and have your heart full of delight. I am not unaware of the reality that our children’s hearts must be regenerated, but God uses means, and one of those means is discipline. Again, Solomon writes, “Discipline your son, and he will give you rest; he will give delight to your heart” (Proverbs 29:17).

My heart goes out to this child; she wants her parents to discipline her. I believe that the cry of her heart can be heard in that last simple sentence, “Nothing I do anymore phases them.” In other words, “I have tried. I can't seem to get their attention.”

Parents, discipline your children. They need you.

Page CXVI—Hymns II Album

A year or so ago, an Indy Christian band called Page CXVI put out an album of hymns that had been filtered through their musical style. The issue of hymns in the church can be a strained one, but I find myself loving these hymns with words that are theologically sound and a music style that appeals to where I am at. Very selfish, I know.

The first Hymns album fit that bill nicely. Even my kids (9–14) enjoy the album, so much so that one of my daughters wants the Page CXVI version of Nothing But The Blood played at her funeral. Morbid, yes, but not unworthy of thanksgiving.

For one week only, starting today, you can download the first Hymns album for free. Visit here.

The new album contains the following songs:

1. How Great Thou Art

2. Praise To The Lord

3. Jesus I Am Resting, Resting

4. Rock Of Ages

5. Abide With Me

6. Battle Hymn Of The Republic

7. Doxology

You can order/download the new album here.

Tears of Joy and Expectation for the God Who Loves the Lame and Outcast

19 Behold, at that time I will deal with all your oppressors.
And I will save the lame and gather the outcast,
and I will change their shame into praise and renown in all the earth.
20 At that time I will bring you in, at the time when I gather you together;
for I will make you renowned and praised among all the peoples of the earth,
when I restore your fortunes before your eyes,” says the Lord.

—Zephaniah 3:19–20

Spring Lily

spring lily, originally uploaded by wenabell.

Wen got a new macro lens and is going to town. Check out her flickr site to see more. Yes, she is my wife, but I think she has talent. Check out the pics she takes.

Two More Ways Apple Earns My Loyalty

Way to Earn Loyalty #1:

I took my iPod Touch in to the Apple store this morning because somehow dust had gotten behind the screen and was visible whether the iPod was on or off. Being behind the glass, so to speak, the dust could not be cleaned away. The Genius Bar technician looked at it for about 20 seconds, checked my warranty, which fortunately had 43 days left, and switched me out with a new iPod Touch. Yes, the new iPod matched my previous model exactly (2gen, 16GB), but they extended my warranty to a full 90 days. They didn’t have to, nor did they have to give me a new one.

Way to Earn Loyalty #2:

We have a 17" iMac, purchased in January 2006, that the kids use. It is over 4-years old and way out of warranty. A month or so ago a vertical blue line showed up about three inches from the left side of the screen. I decided to bring the iMac with me to the Apple store to get a diagnosis, figuring that I would then buy the replacement part and fix it myself. The diagnosis was as expected, the LCD screen was faulty. “However,” said the Genius Bar technician, “our engineers want to understand this problem, so we will replace your screen at no cost to you so that we can have the faulty part. If you leave it with us we will replace your screen and you should have your computer back either tomorrow or Monday. Will that work for you?” As they say in Minnesota, “You betcha.”

Granted, I was already a fanboy, but with this kind of service who wouldn't be?

Together they launched a holy war on their era’s scientific materialism...

“These three ‘literary Brits’ [C. S. Lewis, Charles Williams, and Dorothy Sayers] shared more than a lively Christian faith, the writing of imaginative literature, and a strong mutual regard. Together they launched a holy war on their era’s scientific materialism and the spiritual declension that accompanied it. Each lifted up in their writings a rich, world-embracing Christian vision against the grey deadness of secularization. For each, this was a life-and-death battle, with the future of the Western world hanging in the balance. They saw their age’s new creed of hard-nosed scientific pragmatism draining the world of spirit and meaning—indeed, as Lewis put it, threatening to tear out of us our very hearts, abolishing humanity itself.”

Read the whole article by Chris Armstrong, my former history prof at Bethel.

On second thought...

“On second thought, let’s not go to Camelot. It is a silly place.”

—King Arthur in Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Answering the Why Question

Some days my mind is cloudier than others. It is relatively easy to ask big why questions of God when we see photos of Haiti or Chile. When we are closed up in our suburban, comfy, shells, it is relatively easy not to ask the why questions at all.

Then once in a while, we learn or hear about suffering and evil that is so horrendous, we recoil in physical revulsion. Combine that with a cloudy head, and it is easy for me to fall away from my own knowledge of truth and ask the same why questions.

Trying to understand why my head gets cloudy is not the point of this post. The point of this post is to remember, again, a solid answer to one of the why questions. My pastor’s answers usually clear my foggy head:

Why do little children suffer and die? We ask it with the awareness that it is happening this very moment by the hundreds, and we ask it through tears of personal experience and empathy. Here is one biblical answer: “Just as sin came into the world through one man, and death through sin, and so death spread to all men because all sinned—” (Romans 5:12).

When an objection arises that it is “harsh, to bring the whole creation under the judgment of suffering and death, including little children, because of one man's sin.” My pastor’s answer is again helpful:

That is how outrageous sin against an infinitely wise and good and holy God is. We don’t measure the outrage of our suffering by how insignificant we think sin is; we measure the outrage of sin by the scope of suffering. The really amazing thing is that you and I, as sinners, are sitting here talking, when we deserve to be in hell. God is remarkably patient. And he gave his Son to die in our place so that everyone who believes may escape from this judgment and have eternal life.

(HT: Desiring God; Read the whole article.)

Here comes the rain again, I hope.

The weather forecast shows 70% chance for precipitation on Wednesday. Several times during the last week of sunny days, I realized that this Washington boy longs for a few solid days of rain. I can only take so much sunshine.

(Note: Average days of precipitation—including snow—in Minneapolis, MN., 115 days. Average days of precipitation—not including snow—in Portland, OR., 151 days.)

Dogmatics is...

My Friend posted what he considers to be the “best definition of theology I’ve ever read.” Here is the full quote:

“Dogmatics is the system of the knowledge of God as he has revealed himself in Christ; it is the system of the Christian religion. And the essence of the Christian religion consists in the reality that the creation of the Father, ruined by sin, is restored in the death of the Son of God and re-created by the grace of the Holy Spirit into a kingdom of God. Dogmatics shows us how God, who is all-sufficient in himself, nevertheless glorifies himself in his creation, which, even when it is torn apart by sin, is gathered up again in Christ (Eph. 1:10). It describes for us God, always God, from beginning to end—God in his being, God in his creation, God against sin, God in Christ, God breaking down all resistance through the Holy Spirit and guiding the whole of creation back to the objective he decreed for it: the glory of his name. Dogmatics, therefore, is not a dull and arid science. It is a theodicy, a doxology to all God’s virtues and perfections, a hymn of adoration and thanksgiving, a ‘glory to God in the highest’ (Luke 2:14).”

[Herman Bavinck, Reformed Dogmatics, I.112, in the best definition of theology I’ve ever read (no offense to my hero Dr Webster)]

Now, as you know, I am not nearly as sharp as the dullest tack in the box, so I had to look up a few words, scratch my head, scrunch up my eyes, and think real hard. For some reason, I can’t remember the definition of theodicy to save my life. I have to look it up every time. (Rabbit trail: I really like the Command-Control-D sequence in a true Cocoa app; the instant dictionary rocks.)

According to the Oxford American Dictionary, Theodicy means, “the vindication of divine goodness and providence in view of the existence of evil.” Now, I don't know if that is what Herman Bavinck thought it meant, but when I put Bavinck's last sentence together with that definition, it goes like this:

“[Dogmatics] is a vindication of divine goodness and providence in view of the existence of evil, a doxology to all God’s virtues and perfections, a hymn of adoration and thanksgiving, a ‘glory to God in the highest’ (Luke 2:14).”

I like that. I think that makes sense.

Capital “F” Friends

A friend of mine reposted a quote regarding friendship, Facebook, and technology. The gist is that technology should not attempt to represent friendships. The purpose in this present post is not to debate that subject. After all, I don’t have a Facebook account; who am I to criticize?

Rather, I am merely using this as a segue into a sappy post about friends. The following is not original, but I think it is accurate. I lament the lack of deep friendships in life. When I look around, I see people who have huge numbers of so-called friends, but very few deep friends. In other words, there are friends with a little “f” and friends with a capital “F.” The first is a large group with sloppy admission standards, the other an elite, time-tested crew.

What is the difference?

A little “f” friend identifies themselves when they call.
A capital “F” Friend doesn’t have to.

A little “f” friend opens a conversation with a full news bulletin on their life.
A capital “F” Friend says, “What’s new with you?”

A little “f” friend thinks the problems you whine about are recent.
A capital “F” Friend says, “You’ve been whining about the same thing for 14 years. Get off your duff and do something about it.”

A little “f” friend has never seen you cry.
A capital “F” Friend has shoulders soggy from your tears.

A little “f” friend knows almost nothing about your family.
A capital “F” Friend knows the medical history, dietary habits and marital troubles of everyone on your tree.

A little “f” friend calls you at 10 p.m. just to chat.
A capital “F” Friend knows you hate to be called after 9 p.m.

A little “f” friend wonders about your romantic history.
A capital “F” Friend could blackmail you with it.

A little “f” friend when visiting, they act like a guest.
A capital “F” Friend when visiting, they open your refrigerator, put they’re feet on the sofa, talk back to your spouse and reprimand your children.

A little “f” friend thinks the friendship is over when you argue.
A capital “F” Friend knows that a friendship’s not a friendship until you’ve had a fight.

Uncommon Loyalty

“Fine,” Henry said. “Once my family is free and Flax gets them out, the rest of you can fight where you will or go home.” He pointed at Fat Frank. “Make sure they find my family.”

“No lad,” Frank said, shaking his head. “That’s for Jacques and his chestnut mob. I stay with you. We find the witch and pluck her beard.”

“Frank,” Henry said. “I don’t even—”

“Hush yourself,” Frank said. “Listen to those lions roaring in your blood. Even I can hear them. I know this wager. I know the odds, and I know the stakes.” He pointed up. “By the time this bleeding sun has bubbled in the sea, the game will be played and the tale told. Where your feet stand when the sun has set, there will be mine. If your blood pools, it won’t be pooling alone, and if there’s nought left but a pile of ash, it will be ash of Henry Maccabee and Fat Frank Once-a-Faerie.” He thumped his green mace against Henry’s breastplate. “We’ve stood the storm before, son of Mordecai. Now draw that faerie sword and let’s to war. Your father labors.”

—N. D. Wilson, The Chestnut King, pp. 437–438

The Chestnut King

I just finished N. D. Wilson’s latest book, The Chestnut King. Wow. It was fantastic. The Chestnut King was the third and final installment in the 100 Cupboards series of children’s books; however, they are not your mother’s children’s books. There is magic, suspense, swords, good, evil, love, and baseball—all of which you would expect. But the evil is really evil, and the blood is spilt blood, and the hero—a twelve year old boy—does some of the spilling. Don’t let that stop you from reading. Instead, remember what C. S. Lewis said about that.

One of the things—in my world anyway—which signals that a story, whether book or movie, was good is how long it sticks with me after it is over. If I am still thinking about it two days after it is over, then it was good. I think this is going to be that kind of book. I had an emotional bond with Henry York Maccabee and his family. I feel a loss having finished the book. I want to know more. I don’t want it to be over.

Now, there are only a handful of people who read this blog, mostly because I put it in your RSS feed. So, you know what I mean when I say that you are all working too much and should take a little time out to read a good book, or three. If reading a children’s book sounds beneath you, then you also need to remember what C.S. Lewis said about that. Go out and read this series. Now.

To Experience That Meaning More Fully

“A story is a way to say something that can’t be said any other way, and it takes every word in the story to say what the meaning is. You tell a story because a statement would be inadequate. When anybody asks what a story is about, the only proper thing is to tell him to read the story. The meaning of fiction is not abstract meaning but experience meaning, the purpose of making statements about the meaning of a story is only to help you to experience that meaning more fully.”

(Flannery O’Connor, Mystery and Manners, p. 96)

HT: Nick Nowalk

An Alternative to the Flickering God

ND Wilson has become my kids’ favorite author. His latest book, The Chestnut King, moved into the top three books ever for Kenz and the top one for Kayleigh.

I began working my way through the first two in the trilogy—again—before I started this one in order to get my head on straight regarding Henry York and his fantastical story. Kenz begged me today to skip it and just read the third one. “You'll remember, Dad, just read it. I can't wait to talk about it.”

Twelve pages in and I am lost again in a fabulous world. My palms are damp and my hands are cold, which is what happens when I am gripped by this kind of story. Immediate familiarity. Immediate danger, suspense, and a constant desire to read the next line. Good and evil. And most importantly, heroes. I absolutely love stories like this.

ND Wilson posted on Credenda/Agenda about writing for kids, truth, and adultish readers, of whom I am definitely one. (You might remember what C.S. Lewis wrote here and here.) Here are some quotes from Wilson's article. It is worth reading if you enjoy stories like I do.

This first paragraph explains why Nathan writes kids’ books:

I write kids’ books because I can tell the Truth, and the Truth is that The Real is throbbingly fantastic. Ask the nearest grasshopper or rodent or turtle. Ask the nearest star (but show some respect and don’t look directly at her—she’s powerful enough to peal your nose and blind your eyes). I want to paint a picture of this world that is accurate (if impressionistic), and I don’t want a single young reader to grow up and look back on me as the peddler of sweet youthful falsehoods. I want them to get a world vision that can grow and mature and age with them until, like all exoskeletons, it must be cast aside—not as false, but as a shallow introduction to things even deeper and stranger and more wonderful (and involving more dragonflies).

This second paragraph is (partly) why I read them:

A final point, disjointed but related. Many readers of children’s books are, in fact, adults. The line at any bookstore signing can tell me this. I don’t think it’s difficult to understand. Sure, some of the adult readers focus on children’s books for the same reasons that others focus on romance—they’ve developed a particular itch and they scratch it. But others are wandering the store (pickily) looking for flavors they remember from when they were kids, looking for their young eyes again, hoping to once more see the world how they used to. They’re looking for Mom’s apple pie and Grandma’s quilt. They’re looking for a kind of truth that's hard to find up at the adult table, but a truth nonetheless. Often they’re looking for something to fill that role for their own children. And sadly, they frequently bring along a bipedal lump of flesh or two—numbed by the flickering god—hoping I might have some mental-imaginative defibrillator tucked away in my book bag. Sometimes I do (and those are good times). Sometimes I don’t.

(Final caveat: my kids are, by God's grace, not numbed by the “flickering god”; they can be found reading books on the couches any given day.)

Conversation at Dinner

Son: Elizabeth has a guinea pig.

Dad: Why would she have a pygmy goat?

Eldest daughter: It's name should be Higby, the pygmy goat.

Son: Higpee, the pigby goat?

Youngest daughter: Higvee, the pygdee boat?

Middle daughter: Sounds like a cartoon.

Dad: Did you say guinea pig? I heard pygmy goat.

Mother: Laughing hysterically.

I wonder what sort of tale we've fallen into?

"Yes, that's so," said Sam. "And we shouldn't be here at all, if we'd known more about it before we started. But I suppose it's often that way. The brave things in the old tales and song, Mr. Frodo: adventures, as I used to call them. I used to think that they were things the wonderful folk of the stories went out and looked for, because they wanted them, because they were exciting and life was a bit dull, a kind of a sport, as you might say. But that's not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that stay in the mind. Folk seem to have been just landed in them, usually—their paths were laid that way, as you put it. But I expect they had lots of chances, like us, of turning back, only they didn't. And if they had, we shouldn't know, because they'd have been forgotten. We hear about those as just went on—and not all to a good end, mind you; at least not to what folk inside a story and not outside it call a good end. You know, coming home, and finding things all right, though not quite the same—like old Mr. Bilbo. But those aren't always the best tales to hear, though they may be the best tales to get landed in! I wonder what sort of tale we've fallen into?"

—J. R. R. Tolkein, The Two Towers, p. 320

We don't see life as a story with any kind of arc

Christianity is no longer about changing the world. Christianity is no longer about facing the darkness and walking into shadow with souls full of light. We don't see evil as a thing to be conquered, we don't see life as a story with any kind of arc. We don't want our God to be the God of falcons and mole rats and skunk justice.

—N. D. Wilson, Notes from the Tilt-A-Whirl, p. 152

It is the voicings of God

I see craft in the world. I cannot watch dust swirl on the sidewalk without seeing God drag His finger, or listen to spring rain running in the streets without hearing Him roll his Rs. For those who believe in an ex nihilo creation, the world is inevitably art, and it is inevitably art from top to bottom, in every time and in every place. The world cannot exist apart from the voice of God. It is the voicings of God.

—N. D. Wilson, Notes from the Tilt-A-Whirl, p. 98

The best of all possible audiences

Every soul waits in the wings. Every life taken in age, tired and ready, taken in youth, in shock and sorrow, taken in pain or taken in peace, every needle now hidden in shadow waits in eager silence. I see my cousin. My nephew. Many faces, forgotten by those who followed behind, known always by the Author who needs no stone reminders. He is the best of all possible audiences, the only Audience to see every scene, the Author who became a Character and heaped every shadow on Himself.

—N. D. Wilson, Notes from the Tilt-A-Whirl, p. 88