The Great Divorce

After nearly 30 years the "Divorce" is finally completed. I can't believe it took me so long. I started reading C. S. Lewis's works in earnest back in my high school and college days and for some strange reason I skipped one book that I should never have avoided. I didn't stay away from it for any particular reason. Maybe the premise seemed a little bit hokey--a fantasy bus ride. I never was a fan of buses. But I guess I just felt that other works were more worth my time. I was wrong. I recommend it highly and hope to read it again soon.

The bug was put in my ear this summer at Cornerstone as I listened to lectures by the Zorba the Greek English professor from Texas. It was one of his favorites, and his constant references to it whetted my appetite. So I ordered it through Amazon.com's used book section for a mere two dollars. Three bucks shipping, but hey, what a deal. Cheri would be proud. Well, maybe not, I could have gone to the library. But I'm learning.

Lewis claims his book to be, in one sense, a rebuttal to William Blake's Marriage of Heaven and Hell. Thus the title. He paints a wonderful picture of the difference between good and evil, Heaven and Hell, joy and self-absorption. He describes life as a series of choices between forks in the road. Real choices with real consequences. Not all are between good and evil, some are between good and better. But nonetheless, there are definite moral outcomes with each choice. Bad choices don't (merely in time) start melding into good, corrective action must be taken. Wrong or bad choices necessitate a reversal or repentance. So much for dry analysis.

While begging his readers to not forget THIS IS ONLY A FANTASY, and asking them not to see this as a speculation on what Heaven is actually like, he presents us with some wonderfully vivid pictures of the differences between good and bad, and makes good so appealing. Those who are drawn toward God develop a substance and weight and brightness to them, while those focusing on themselves continue shrinking into nothingness, until their shadowy selves can barely be seen.

Lewis's teacher in Heaven is the Scotchman George MacDonald. He leads Lewis around and helps him notice things he normally wouldn't. Near the middle of the book, MacDonald answers Lewis' concern about those who never get the chance to ride this mythical omnibus to heaven. He claims that "everyone who wishes [to ride the bus] does. Never fear. There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God, 'Thy will be done,' and those to whom God says, in the end, 'Thy will be done.' All that are in Hell, choose it. Without that self-choice there could be no Hell. No soul that seriously and constantly desires joy will ever miss it. Those who seek find. To those who knock it is opened."

I think that displays a pretty good summary of the heart of this book. We can either run toward God or away from Him. The joyous benefits are found in the former. The temptations of the latter are numerous and often seem right, but they reduce us to nothing of value or substance.
It's been a good reminder for me to choose wisely. I'm glad I chose to finish the book.

Why I Don’t Listen to Country Music

While driving home from work on Friday, listening to my favorite talk show “Garage Logic,” I heard them do something they rarely if ever do—play music. I suppose it was because they were broadcasting from the Minnesota State Fair. They played a song which twanged with the best of them. Its title: “It's Hard To Kiss The Lips At Night That Chew Your Ass Out All Day Long.....”
It definitely brought a smile to my face, a chuckle in my voice, and maybe even a tear to my eye. Perhaps I should listen to more country music.

BLOG FINISHED. This was to be the end of my blog. I made my point. I was ready to post, but I figured that I should double check the title of that song to see if I got it right. Ahhhhh, the wonders of the internet. I typed in a few of the words, “kiss the lips at night,” and viola. Hundreds of search hits to my query. I was a few words off, so it was worth the time and effort to get things right.

And apparently many others have heard and found humor or insight from this song by the Notorious Cherry Bombs. Am I always behind the curve? A little slow to the punch? Too Norwegian for my own good?

What I found funny though is that the query list item that I first clicked on was a blog by an Anglican from the UK who is a Greenbelt devotee (Cornerstone’s sister festival in England, not officially but in spirit). And the tagline at the top of his blog was a quote by one of my favorites, Mike Yaconelli, who was recently killed in an auto accident. Ironically the quote was “Jump first. Fear later.” I know that’s how he lived his life, I hope that’s not how he always drove his car. But I guess it doesn’t matter now. We’ve lost a great communicator of the gospel, one that always saw humor around him, often in the words of others, but more often in his own words and actions. He would have loved this song too. So for your listening and reading pleasure I now present: “It's Hard To Kiss The Lips At Night That Chew Your Ass Out All Day Long.....”

She used to call me baby... I thought she was such a lady... But my how things have changed since times moved on...
I gave her my last dollar... And now all she'll do is holler...Oh my life has become a country song.......
I've learned she can resist me... by the way she always disses me...And comes to bed at night, with that cold cream on.......
Sometimes I might feel frisky... but these days it's just too risky...
It's Hard To Kiss The Lips At Night That Chew Your Ass Out All Day Long.....All day Long.... It goes all day long......

If a tree fell in the forest, She didn't hear it, would I still be wrong...
I guess I should admit it.. She ain't never gonna quit it...
It's Hard To Kiss The Lips At Night That Chew Your Ass Out All Day Long.....
Spoken Voice:
Man I remember when her eyes used to be so blue and shiny, God you oughtta see what's happened to her hiney(HER WHAT?) her hineyMan that thing is big enough to land a small plane on.(SMALL PLANE ?) I'm tellin' yaI used to roll her in the the clover, (mmm hmm) but my god those days are over(Hallelulia!)
It's Hard To Kiss The Lips At Night That Chew Your Ass Out All Day LongAll day Long.... She goes all day long......
If some day they drop the big one, I'd say sweet Jesus, She's gonna finally leave me alone
It's alright if we say it.. cause the radio won't play it.
It's Hard To Kiss The Lips At Night That Chew Your Ass Out All Day Long.......
It's Hard To Kiss The Lips At Night That Chew Your Ass Out All Day Long.............

One final thought: after a good laugh, I can sit back and count my blessings that my life is not a Country music song. The lips I kiss are one's that usually offer praise and encouragement. She even tells me she reads and likes these blogs. Go figure.

Why I Blog

You probably know that Garrison Keillor is fond of mentioning Norwegian bachelor farmers in his Saturday get togethers. They have many quirks and are shy to a fault. They stand around, hands in pockets, using their energy to nod agreeingly or wrinkle their faces with smiles or concern. To them silence is a virtue. Maybe they are too polite to interject their own words into a conversation or maybe they are just too slow in putting their thoughts together. By the time they have ready what they want to say, the topic has changed and they are left out in the cold.

Well, it is not widely known, but I am part Norwegian. And I was a bachelor once. Some mixed breeds like myself claim to sit on their Norwegian part, but I think my Norwegian section resides just above the neck. I don’t think that I shy away from conflict or difficult issues, but I know that it takes me “extra” time to put thoughts into sentences.

This point was driven home tonight as I was an active listener in a conversation between my wife and her good friend. The words were bouncing back and forth faster than a Chinese ping-pong match. I didn’t have a chance. And these afore mentioned women are not even the “A” squad—that title belongs to my daughter and whomever she is conversing with. They rattle off words at a rate which makes the English language sound Spanish.

I had planned to utter a simple “thank you” to our evening visitor, but I could never time the quick pauses to breathe just right. As one breathed the other one jumped in. So I smiled.

And when all was said and . . . said some more, I retired to the basement where only the temptations of other things to read could interrupt me from jotting down some thoughts. So thank you Mrs. K. for some of your intriguing links. The one which has been the biggest temptation of late is called the Internet Monk. He is a raving Italian (or so it seems from his style) from Rhinelander, WI that has landed in Kentucky and loves to push everybody’s buttons, usually with just reason.

I’ve never heard him preach, but as I read his words I could hear the voice of a Campolo or Yaconelli, the flare to which we (even part) Norwegians never reach. But to them we can nod in consent. And so I have done for much of the evening.

Happy?

The Warden made me write. It’s my birthday today. I should be able to do whatever I want, right? I should be able to vegetate in front of the tube. But here I am.

So what does one say on one’s birthday? One could wax eloquent about the passing of time or maturity or wisdom or the gift of life. But if I wrote about birthdays, I would probably fixate on cake or ice cream. And that’s fattening and not good for the waistline or blood sugar, so nix on that idea.

Instead, I will formally say good-bye to Mai. She boarded a Northwest jet this afternoon to fly non-stop from Minneapolis to Tokyo. She’s probably gazing down on some Eskimos right now as I write. It was a good, but too short, re-acquaintance.

After dropping her off, the family headed down the road to the Mall of America where Mai spent two of her short ten days here. During one visit the Warden stumbled upon a relatively new-to-the-Mall restaurant, the Magic Pan. This chain restaurant (which had left the Twin Cities market for about 20 years) was a favorite place of ours during our early days of marriage. So we treated ourselves to crepes for an early supper tonight.

And then it was off to spend my birthday money. A new game store has recently opened across the hall from Magic Pan, so that was our first stop. I don’t know if I’ve purchased a new game since our Thai exchange student (and game aficionado) Noh left about two years ago. But today I shelled out some ching for three new games: a French game, Abalone; an Asian-sounding game, Dao; and a Russian-sounding game, Xactika. All three are Mensa-approved, so we need not worry about our minds going to waist or waste or wayst.

The family has tested two of the three games and they receive thumbs up. I would probably still be playing, but I feared receiving a demerit from the Warden if I didn’t give her something to read, a present for her on my birthday. I hope you learned something deep and significant from me tonight, honey.

If not, you can count out the forty-six candles that I needed this year and use them as a down payment for the ones you will need on your birthday. Smile. I couldn’t resist. Sorry. It’s my way of dealing with that extra candle on my cake this year. Yes, I really am another year older. So there! I’m too old to stay up any later. Zzzzzzzzzz . . .

sayonara

this is the day
this is the day
when i leave when i leave...

sunshine always comes to u!

thinking about the Mall? 

Shopping Mai

Sunshine Mai has a new name. It is Shopping Mai. Or for short, the Shopper. This young Japanese lady has graced our home for about seven days now and she has been shopping for about . . . seven days now. I picked her up from Brookdale Mall yesterday. Today it was the Mall of America. Before that it was Ridgedale Mall and . . . .

Japanese are very busy people she loves to tell me. And now I know why. They spend all their time shopping. Well, according to her that is the female’s responsibility in their culture, while the male’s duty is to make enough to support this habit. This in turn necessitates that the Japanese dominate the world’s economy.

With so much shopping to do, their country must really crank out the cars, and TVs and computers and cameras and everything else that has a battery or a motor.

But I think I prefer her as the Sunshine one, even though I am the grateful recipient of her shopping sprees. I have consumed more chocolate this week than I have for the previous six months. My palate is being retrained to crave that sweet brown stuff. And I kinda like it. It makes coffee taste even better!! Hard to imagine, isn’t it?

Sunday night we barged in on some friends unexpectedly. We had found a black jacket in our van and thought it belonged to Lis. And since it was on our way home we thought we would return it. It wasn’t hers. But they did have carmel apple pie!!! And they did have ice cream!!! And they had just started watching a movie, so we were invited in to join them in view Man of La Mancha. I had never seen it before, so we decided to stay and watch. Based on the novel by Miguel Cervantes, it was an odd film. We could only stay for the first half, but it was enough to see Don Quixote calling the buxom Sophia Loren by the name Dulcinea, a name more endearing and positive that the name by which she was know to the rest of the crowd.

I suppose that’s a good example of how we should speak to others, calling them by names to strive for instead of one’s to avoid. So Sunshine it is. Leave the name “Shopper” for a cheaply-printed advertising supplement.

Free Trivia to impress your friends with: Cervantes died on the exact day as another famous writer, Sir Bill Shakespeare.

Nightmare OR too much pizza before bed?

Last night i had that same old dream that rocked me in my sleep
and left me the impression that the sandman plays for keeps
i dreamed i was in concert in the middle of the clouds
john wayne and billy graham were giving breath mints to the crowds
i fell through a hole in heaven i left the stage for good
and when i landed on the earth i was back in hollywood

the california earthquake it tore the land in half
while san andreas cleared her throat i heard tsunami laugh
the ground began to tremble the land began to sway
and people in the other states they were glad they'd moved away
but suddenly california just floated in the breeze
while every state that wasn't sank down into the seas

and soon i saw atlantis rumble and rise high
and the great egg of euphrates came down out of the sky
and out stepped shirley temple with guy kippee who was dead
and that communist bill robinson whom shirley called black red
they have a marionette of harpo marx they said it was an inside joke
but when i honked his horn he came alive and these were the words he spoke

"with the continents adrift and the sun about to shift
will the ice caps drown us all or will we burn
we've polluted what we own will we reap what we have sown?
are we headed for the end or can we turn?
we've paved the forest killed the streams
burned the bridges to our dreams
the earth is bursting at the seams
and in pain of childbirth screams
as it gives life to what seems
to either be an age that gleams
or simply lays there dying
if this goes on will life survive how can it
out of the grave oh who will save our planet?"

i said i'm pleased to meet you i always thought you were a scream
he said "have you ever thought of having helen keller in your dreams
i said errol flynn dropped by but he tried to steal my girl
the she ran off with ronald colman said something about a new world
now i'm stuck with my own cooking hey i'm lonely can't you see
well he grabbed my leg and said exactly eighty nine words to me
count them

"let the proud but dying nation kiss the last generation
it's the year of the pill, age of the gland
we have landed on the moon but we'll clutter that up soon
our sense of freedom's gotten out of hand
we kill our children swap our wives
we've learned to greet a man with knives
we swallow pills in fours and fives
our cities look like crumbling hives
man does not live he just survives
we sleep till he arrives
love is a corpse we sit and watch it harden
we left it oh so long ago the garden"

the strings snapped briskly then went slack the marionette lay dead
while hoover played with the motorcade the body slumped and bled
the man who held the camera disappeared into the crowd
i said the hope of youth, fictitious truth, lays covered in a shroud
then up walked elmo lincoln and he said i beg you pardon
but we left it oh so long ago, the garden, GARDEN, GARDEN, GARDEN, GARDEN, garden. . .

Of course this was not my dream! I wish it was. I wish I could write--or rather dream-- like that. Larry Norman gets the credit for the above “nightmare # 71.”

But I did have a dream.

I dreamed I was working. Surprise, surprise. I had masked off & covered many rooms in a house, so I could work on the ceilings. The plastic was attached to the walls at the very top by the ceiling. I was careful in properly covering everything. But I was having problems with the ceilings. The ceilings were falling down in chunks onto the floor and furniture. But the worst part was that the homeowners were home and IN BED and the ceiling was falling upon them.

I guess my dream too was a nightmare, which might be the reason this song has been running through my mind this past week as I contemplated writing about the dream.

I don’t dream that often. And very rarely do I remember what I dreamed for more than a few minutes after awakening. And I rarely try to interpret my dreams. I usually pass off the "meanings" as reworkings of the day's events.

The evening before the dream, the Swansmith was recounting the events of the backyard Bible club. She had mentioned that a local pastor had brought his kids that evening. (His wife brought them the first night.) We have visited “Efrem’s” church numerous times and Suzi tried to strike up a conversation with him. He is an extremely gifted preacher with a flamboyant style, so Suzi was surprised by his terse responses to her questions. We spoke that evening about people like that who have completely different personas when they are “on stage.” On top of this I was reminded that I had given Efrem a bid on some drywall work many months ago, but I think they have put that project on hold. Is that why Efrem and his wife were the ones in that dangerous bed?

I pray that my dream is nothing more than me sorting out my work schedule and analyzing personality types. I pray that God continues to bless Efrem, his wife, their kids, and their church. Some day I’ll have to jot down my reflections of attending Sanctuary. It’s an interesting place and it’s always fun to hear him preach.

Great, great, great "uncle" Knute 

The Swansmith races Mai to the top of the MN state capitol. 

Two AFS students returning for a quick visit to the Twin Cities: Philipp from Germany and Mai from Japan 

Finally, an actual BLOBJECT! 

move over dalmation, RCA (Raven Collar Antenna )

We finally got our satellite dish 

Questions

# 1
What happens when:
1) an old friend shows up at 9 p.m. to spend the night, and
2) your former international exchange student from Japan is visiting for 10 days, and
3) they both love to talk as much as Christina, and
4) they love to discuss international affairs, and
5) they don’t like to “argue,” but don’t mind disputing or challenging or interrogating, and
6) they have probably had much more sleep than I, and
7) the chairs are comfortable, and
8) the windows are open and the breeze is invigorating, and
9) spirits were brought in to comfort a queasy stomach, and
10) the discussion was loud enough to drown out the constant chime of the clock as it counted out hour after hour after hour after hour?

Blogging does not happen.

# 2
What happens when they leave?

Blogging happens.

Yokohama Mama

Mai is here! Mai is here! And she has commandeered my computer. This is my first time blogging from a "foreign" computer. The Swansmith actually gave me permission to use hers, since the Yokohama mama will probably have mine held hostage for some time. From the Warden's computer I can not post pictures, so I cannot embarrass Mai by posting a picture of her on my blog.

But we are very pleased to have her visiting with us. She truly is "sunshine" in the form of a person, always ready with a smile and laugh. She is, however, trying to fatten us up while she is here. She has force fed me many chocolates and cookies, which in turn has forced me to down numerous cups of coffee, which may keep me up past the time at which she will retire. Which means maybe I will be able to post an embarrassing picture of her yet tonight.

But whatever the evening holds, it's good to have her here. Welcome Mai!

Back to the Porch

It was back to the porch on Sunday evening. No, not my back porch where I sit and stare at the trees till a peaceful contentment floods my soul. I went to Solomon’s Porch again. This time flanked by my son Luke and long-time friend J.C.P. J.C.P. was in town for the weekend. He was here in his boyhood hometown as he made his move from Hawaii to Miami. Early Sunday afternoon we joined another high school buddy at his house for burgers and brats around the backyard pool.

Having exhausted political topics Saturday night during our dinner at the outdoor café, our discussions turned toward religion. J.C.P. is ever my match as we debate various philosophies of religion and historical movements within the church and other faiths. He’s always been well-read and loves to take me to task. It’s probably his calling. I laugh when I think back to what he wrote in my high school yearbook. Following a long quote from Kurt Vonnegut, he concluded by claiming that he will never see the light of J.C., but hoped that some day I would see the light of J.C.P.

Always with a wry wit he has toyed with me, challenging each position I hold as I return the favor for him. It’s been good to have someone like him over the years, someone with whom I can vehemently disagree on issues, but never have it harm our relationship.

But anyways, as I again digress (but not to the extent that J.C.P. continually takes me and others on numerous tangents, often as a strategy [or so I think] to obfuscate an issue on which I have the upper hand), I asked J.C.P if he would like to tag along with Luke and me as we headed for the porch.

He was a little leery as I described the place to him. He was concerned that it might be some Marxist-Christian commune type place preaching South American liberation theology. I assured him that it wasn’t, so (never wanting to miss out on a new experience) he rode with us down to the “hood.”

It was a night with more tears than most. The porch sent off a family from the church to be missionaries to Jamaica, and it was moving as we all said good-bye and prayed for one another. Pastor Doug’s words that this was a bitter-sweet event were very evident in the expressions on his face and the shiver in his voice. Another young lady was “commissioned” as she headed to New York City for grad school. And then a middle-aged guy who has endured 5 brain surgeries spoke about his recent close calls with yet another time under the scalpel.

And all this was before Pastor Doug started to speak, tying together the week’s passages from St. Mark and Isaiah with the earlier stories from the church body.

It was a good evening. I know many were touched. We actually sang a hymn, “Holy, Holy, Holy,” accompanied by a skillful violinist. As I looked toward the screen for the words, I scanned across a row of mostly 20-something guys singing loudly, many with tears running down their cheeks.

And then came the party, with enough juice, wine, and bread of substance to remember the One who puts all things together.

New Best Friend

I don’t know how he did it, but his heroic act has seized my loyalty. I know weddings can be important, but so are other things, like almost anything else. I’ve dropped hints for many weeks now that spending a beautiful summer Saturday indoors was not at the top of my list of pleasurable activities. I had tried to find excuses that might be palatable to her, the Warden. But to no avail. Then out of the blue, came a heavenly suggestion. “What would you think if Lis and I went to the wedding ourselves,” said the Swansmith. Since Lis’ husband wears the pants in the house and knows when to say no to certain activities, I figured he had pulled some strings and gotten us free. I have a new best friend, I thought. He’s a miracle worker.

It was only later that I found out the suggestion came from the “better half.” Lis was responsible. Should she be my new best friend? After only a little contemplation, I realized that would not go over well with the Warden.

I will only be able to harbor gratitude within for a gesture much appreciated. And our dog Raven will have to remain my best friend.

Prince Raven of the Couch 

fast.

finished

have

I

Singing in the breeze

I had planned on blogging about my morning, but that will have to wait. Maybe tomorrow? Instead, I will briefly mention our wonderful outing today on the Mississippi River, speed boating above the Coon Rapids Dam. We enjoyed the sun as my wife sat near the back of the boat and belted out some tunes as we traveled, as is her wont. She loves to sing at the drop of a hat, and she loves to blog at the drop of a hat. Could I or should I put these two together? What if she started singing songs about blogging? What then would I do?

Maybe she already does sing blogging songs when I’m not around. What blogging songs does she know? How many are out there? Dare I ask?

What if I started a list of well-known blogging songs for her to ponder? If she sang them would anyone listen? If she sang them would people prefer to hear the swamp story?

Here goes.

The Long and Winding Blog
Blog Lady Blog (after all Dylan is one of my favorites)
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Blogger (a little Christmas tune)

Maybe I’ll think of some more tomorrow.