"The God revealed in Jesus Christ is far too generous. He gives His all in love for others, and expects us to do the same. Such a God is too demanding for most Christians.

"They want one that only requires a tithe. They sing about total self-giving, but in the end they would like to sing, 'One-tenth to Jesus I surrender, one-tenth to Him I gladly give—I surrender one-tenth, I surrender one-tenth.'

"Ultimately, they want a God who declares as an abomination all of those who offend their social mores. They don’t like the God who touches lepers, embraces Samaritans, declares women equals, and has the audacity to say to gays, lesbians, transsexuals, and bisexuals, 'Whosoever will may come.'

"They don’t like the God that is revealed in those red letters of the Bible because Him embraces those whom they want to reject."

- Tony Campolo

Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.
- CS Lewis

"...the worthier the individual, the greater is his loss to the living. The more he meant to those about him--family, friends, community--the deeper the grief and sharper the anguish..." Rabbi H. Halevey Donin

At first, my response to this quote was, How true.

On second thought, I had to ask, Who decides an individual's worthiness?
How do we measure someone's worth and their contribution to "the living"?
How do we judge one man's service to the world as more valuable than another's?

I've known some amazing, faithful believers and prayer warriors who served and gave of themselves tirelessly, but they still passed away without much notice from the rest of the world. I'm sure most of us know people like this.

Dad was a nursing home chaplain for a while and he often told us how his heart broke for the seniors who were lonely, who rarely had visitors, if ever. Their closest loved ones had already passed on and their living relatives were either far away or emotionally distant or just too busy to visit very often.

But these seniors had done amazing and sacrificial things in their time and yet no more than a handful of people would ever know when they passed away. I wonder if our not celebrating these quiet, behind-the-scenes servants is our loss, not theirs.

What about younger people who also find themselves without scores of friends? Maybe they're just more introverted, shy, soft-spoken folks. Maybe God called them to serve Him behind the scenes. Maybe He called them to a kind of service that was more humble than flashy. Maybe He called them to give all of themselves in service to one needy person instead of many. There are a gazillion good reasons why some people just aren't popular and well-known.

Not everyone's funeral will pack a stadium or leave a gaping hole in their community. But does that determine their worth? I think you and I both know the answer to that already.

It would be really sad if we believed our worth came from how many people loved us, or if our worth was based on whether we met other peoples' expectations. God works in mysterious ways. It could be that some of the people who struggled through life unknown and un-celebrated by the world turn out to be among the 'greatest' in heaven. God's the only one who decides the worth of a person's life and contributions.

Brothers and sisters, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. (1 Cor. 1:26-29)

Nor are you to be called instructors, for you have one Instructor, the Messiah. The greatest among you will be your servant. For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted. (Matt. 23:10-12)

This excerpt is by Shauna Niequist, from her chapter called "Coming Home" pages 101-105:

One month ago today, the movers were unloading our furniture and boxes. We were trying to figure out the locations of light switches and where to piano should go. We slept fitfully that first night, because of the funny noises and silences in an unfamiliar home, and because Henry [her son] was sleeping in his big-boy racecar bed for the first time--a new bed and a new room. And now, somehow, it's been a month.

In the long expanse between teh planning and the actual moving, I dreamed about this house, and specifically, I dreamed about cooking in this house. I was so excited to stop traveling for a while, and to really live in a home, to be able to buy vegetables and not worry that they'd go bad while I was gone, Aaron [her husband] eating frozen meals night and day in my absence. I wanted people around our table, after a season of eating most of my meals in airports and hotel rooms, or collapsing onto the couch with hummus and crackers to watch a movie with Henry at the end of a hurried day.

And yesterday I realized that my dream has more than come true. On our very first night, my mom brought over thick roasted vegetable soup, and we sat around our table with my parents and Aaron's parents, telling funny moving stories, filled with gratitude for this home, and for all the answered prayers that it represents.

Since then we've had polenta with rosemary tomato sauce with Matt and Casey and their kids, eggs and bacon and blueberry sausages when Joe and Emily visited, and a long, lazy breakfast with scones and roasted potatoes with Alan and Sara and their family when they visited...

Before we moved, I had been dreaming about three things: feeding people, quiet writing mornings, and lots of time with Henry. Check, check, check. Gratitude, gratitude, gratitude.

I know, really, that a month is nothing--a blip, a flash. But I also know that a few of the things that have been frantic and running around in me for the last few years are slowing down. And of course, a few aren't. I'm still the same old me, wriggling with self-doubt most days, and that's not something you leave at the state line, as much as I wish it was. But at the same time, some very important things have shifted.

Recently I saw a friend I hadn't seen in years. "I heard you're engaged!" I cried as I hugged her, exuberantly. "Congratulations!"

"I'm not engaged," she said. "I was, and I'm not anymore." Oh, heavens. I started to apologize, but she put her hand on my arm and interrupted me.

"It's all right," she said. "Breaking the engagement was the first conscious decision of my life." What an extraordinary statement. And as I spent time with her, I could see the truth of her words, the bloom of her eyes and skin and spirit. She had made a fundamental, defining choice, and it brought life and hope to her words and her world.

Her words rang in my ears because I wanted to make a conscious decision of my own, and her words gave a name to something I'd been aching for for a long time. Many of the key decisions in my life have been pretty natural--they sort of fell into being, or came about as I traveled life's path. Many of them just seemed like the next right thing, the most natural progression. But this move back to my hometown and the church I grew up in, as much as it looks natural to the outside observer, this move was one of the first conscious decisions of my life. This is what I wanted, what I prayed for, what I asked for from my husband.

For one of the first times in my life, as I thought and prayed about the possibility of this move, I became very quiet and still, and looked over my life like I was panning for gold in a river, seeing every single thing, the dirt and the water and the slubby green moss on the rocks. I looked and listened and wrote, and what I found is that I wanted to be home. Not everyone, I'm learning, has a deep sense of home. But for me, even after four years in Santa Barbara and six years in Grand Rapids, Chicago is still my home.

I was wrestling with the idea of home, and by wrestling, I mean I asked everyone I knew or ran into, drove them crazy with questions about their own sense of home, their memories and associations with the topic. We had dinner with our friends Doug and Shelley, and after dinner over a rich baked rice pudding I still think about, I asked them about home. They both grew up in Minneapolis, got married and had kids there, and then life and work took them to Dallas. But Doug realized that whenever he watched the weather, wherever he was, he was looking at Minnesota on the weather map. Whenever his plane arrived at the Minneapolis airport, even if he was just connecting to go on to another place, he felt like he was home.

That's how I feel about Chicago. Even after six years in Grand Rapids, when people asked me where I was from, I said Chicago, and then added that I currently lived in Grand Rapids, making it sound like I was cooling my heels there for six weeks or so, not that I owned a home and a lawnmower and a tailor, a pediatrician, and a regular breakfast place there.

And it wasn't that I didn't like Grand rapids. It's something under that, something a little more wiggly. It's that Chicago is familiar to me on a deep level, like when you recognize the melody of a song before you even realize there's music playing. Grand Rapids grew on me, in all sorts of ways. I settled in, had a baby there, found a few coffee shops and restaurants and friends that made me feel like we were building a little life there. But when the topic of home came up, home was Chicago.

And after the chaos and wildness of the last few years, I wanted to be home. I wanted a small house with lots of windows and no mice. I wanted to write, and to be with Henry, to travel less and cook more. I wanted to be a part of a church again, to volunteer and show up every week, to feel connected to the rhythm of it.

And today I'm filled with gratitude. For a woman who doesn't always know what she wants, I believed in a deep way this time around that this decision would lead us to our best future. I thought about it, wrote about it, prayed for it, talked to Aaron and to the people we walk closely with every step of the way. And here we are, one month into this beautiful new season, the one I held in my heart and my mind for so long. It isn't perfect, but I wasn't looking for perfect. This is what I've wanted, on a very deep level, and on an icy cold winter day, I'm overwhelmed by the sweetness of it. It feels good to be home.

"Coercion is just as harmful—and ineffective—in culture as in politics"

After twenty plus years of investment in political activism on the part of evangelical Christians, there is a new awareness that the dynamics of cultural renewal differ radically from political mobilization. Even political insiders recognize that years of political effort have generated little cultural benefit. American culture continues its precipitous decline into hedonistic consumer nihilism. Father Richard Neuhaus wrote in the April 2007 issue of First Things, “At the risk of generalization, I think it fair to say that Christianity in America is not challenging the ‘habits of the heart’ and ‘habits of mind’ that dominate American culture, meaning both the so-called high culture and the popular culture.”

...Politics reflects culture; it doesn’t direct it.

For the complete article by John Seel click title of this post.

~*~

I was first introduced to this woman over the radio, CBC Radio One, to be exact. Several days ago I was on the road running errands, and was listening to the CBC as I normally do when news of her passing, due to cancer, and an excerpt of her very last interview caught my attention. She was June Callwood, a famous Canadian author and activist, and the interviewer was George Stroumboulopoulos of CBC television's The Hour. I really was moved after listening to their interview on the radio; some of June's thoughts weaved their way in and out of my mind as I completed my errands, and came back to me when I returned home. So, I found the video version of this interview at YouTube and have posted it here because I'm really interested in your reactions to it.

In their conversation June and George touch on the nature of death, on preparing for it, and what lies next. Their interaction is so touching and involves issues so personal that I almost feel I'm eavesdropping on a private conversation between close friends. Watch the sensitivity in his eyes, and watch her eyes as well; I find that certain aspects of a person's soul just can't help but be revealed in their eyes as they consider human mortality.

Neither June nor George seem to have any religious beliefs beyond that postmodern ideal of subjective, personal 'spirituality', as far as I can tell, which makes the conversation all the more interesting to me. I honestly have to say, death isn't something I've thought to discuss with too many people, but it might be more interesting and less morbid than it seems.

June believes in 'dust to dust', and seems ready to move on. She speaks of planning for her death, and her 'to do lists' as she gets ready for it; she seems to have an enviable amount of humour left in her, especially for someone who is very aware of standing on death's doorstep. What really touched me was their conversation about her relationship with her husband of many decades, of the tenderness and special intimacy that enters marriage in the later years, of the priceless value of sticking to a marriage through thick and thin, and of having each other's well being at heart all the while. "Who's going to take care of him?" she wonders, thinking of her husband once she has passed away - it seems to have broken her heart, and it breaks mine as well. At the same time I wonder, why aren't more Christian marriages like hers?

"There's nothing next," she whispers thoughtfully, "and that's alright" she says, when George asks her about the afterlife. This really caught me off guard, actually. Asked whether she believes in God she responds, "I believe in kindness." I think back to C.S. Lewis' Mere Christianity, (my recollection of which has become lamentably foggy since reading it 12 years ago), and wonder how anyone can believe in goodness, in conscience, and in right and wrong without taking that next logical step (in my mind, anyway) to finding the source of these things. I wonder what would lead someone to the conclusion that kindness will 'save the world'. Does the world really need saving if no God exists and everything is relative? What motivated her, as an agnostic or atheist, to spread kindness, love, and charity as far and wide throughout society as she possibly could? If she had met Jesus in person here on earth would she have recognized this - now personified - Kindness of which she spoke? ...And why did she evade his question about choosing not to have a funeral?

"Find out how much God has given you and from it take what you need; the remainder is needed by others." — Saint Augustine

There's no doubt each of us defines "need" differently, but Saint Augustine's sentiment can still inspire us to reconsider our 'needs' and 'wants' from day to day. An old conversation about money was recently revived at an online community at which I'm a member, which forced me to further evaluate my take on the matter. The member who originally started the topic wrote:

how & what did your parents teach you about the value of money?

My parents taught me to be responsible, not to put something on credit if we can't already afford it (that's assuming one isn't in a desperate situation with no other option), to treat ourselves once in a while without going overboard, to keep the cheque-book balanced and to pay bills on time, that extravagance is waste (i.e. *our* definition of extravagance, which is still very subjective), to tithe regularly, to be generous in helping others while saving for the future... My Grandpa actually taught me that last point by example too - he owned his own business for many years, and as a result he would often pay people above and beyond their fee for services (i.e. if they did a great job) and did on occasion offer someone a job specifically because he knew that person was in need. :)

However, through my parents' situation of long-term illness and subsequent unemployment over the last three years I've learned a whole *new* batch of lessons about money, possessions, and materialism. It's a new time of growth for me, because it's really the first time I've taken a good, long look at my beliefs on this. My family has recently learned to live without many things that we used to take for granted (e.g. cable tv, vacations and travelling, heat to keep us warm during Canadian winters, renting movies, expensive groceries like cheese and honey, new CDs, going to theatres, eating out at restaurants, and more). Sometimes we weren't able to pay our monthly bills, and during those dark days I had times where I felt as though I was drowning or almost as if I was being squeezed and was running out of oxygen. Very frightening at times. :(

Meanwhile, we heard how wealthier Christians were spending their money and I wondered: If they could just be happy with what they already have, pass up buying that next new whatever, and gift those savings to my parents instead... they have no idea how they could reduce my family's anxiety, restless nights, and tears.

I've been forced to face my own views on spending, and have slowly come to the decision to live with less - not to feel morally superior, but to prevent others from feeling as though they're drowning or running out of air in a situation they cannot escape on their own. Unfortunately these thoughts have taken a long time for me to learn, but I'm glad to have the chance to learn them at all!

Back to the original question, the same member asked us:

how do you view:
money - in general,
opportunities in which much money is earned,
ambition...what's healthy?

Considering everything I've learned over the years, especially through the hand my family has recently been dealt, my answer would have to be:

a) money is a gift and a tool we've been given, which is to be used wisely

b) opportunities to earn money - great! go for it! work hard, earn the big bucks (Schillings, Pounds, Euros, Yen, or whatever the case may be), take what you need, as St. Augustine wrote, and be generous with the rest

c) regarding ambition, if God gives us skills, knowledge, and opportunities to use them - then go for it! Dedicate them to work and to *other* pursuits as well (e.g. volunteering), and keep Love as the primary motivation behind it all.

“I do not believe one can settle how much we ought to give. I am afraid the only safe rule is to give more than we can spare. In other words, if our expenditure on comforts, luxuries, amusements, etc., is up to the standard common among those with the same income as our own, we are probably giving away too little. If our charities do not at all pinch or hamper us, I should say they are too small. There ought to be things we should like to do and cannot do because our charitable expenditures excludes them.” — C.S. Lewis (1898-1963), English author and scholar

My family's disability and unemployment dilemma has forced perpetual growing pains on us over the last three years, and the growth spurt seems to be going strong. The first year challenged my parents to come to accept that mental illness had indeed changed our lives forever. After much struggle they came to accept that unemployment would be be an indefinite reality in Dad's life. Meanwhile, my brother made the decision to sacrifice his own immediate goals in order to financially support my family. All four of us were faced with heavier stress than we had ever experienced, and began the long hard road through depression, fear, conflict, anger, grief, and illness - learning stress-management the hard way.

The second year brought into focus our family's fear of reaching out for help, even to friends and other family members. Our path took us to the verge of emotional breakdown before that line was finally crossed. I'm still scratching my head over it, actually, wondering why anyone in our situation wouldn't immediately seek support from family and friends! Maybe the problem has been passed down to us through our heritage: Families with a Mennonite background come from a tradition of hardship and hard work, and therefore might resist asking for help within family, friends, and church groups because it could be perceived as challenging tradition; it may lead people to allow pride or shame (or both) to prevent them from seeking tangible assistance. Or perhaps the problem is rooted in our political hang-ups: While there is a contingent of Mennonites across North America who espouse social justice ideals, there is also a contingent espousing economically conservative views who are vocal in their distaste for individuals or families who require any kind of social assistance, both formal and informal. This may prevent those in need from asking for help because they fear the ways in which they might be perceived or stigmatized as being lazy, abusers of the system, moochers, or thieves. A third possibility may be a distorted understanding of ‘humility’ and 'self-sacrifice' within our belief system that prevents those in need from asking for help, even in times of mounting distress. People may experience guilt from the act of help-seeking, believing that they must ignore their problems in order to help others. Well, whatever the reason, it's a problem that my family finally overcame last year, albeit painfully and under a heavy sense of defeat and failure. The road to accepting our current situation with grace has been a gradual one.

We are currently in Year Three, and our challenge this year has been to distinguish "need" from "want". We've sifted through our so-called needs, we've sacrificed, we've re-prioritized the usual commodities and self-indulgences that define the Western lifestyle, and we've learned to live on less. Even for a lower-middle class family such as ourselves there are things we can and will give up that will help those who live in extreme poverty. My brother and I have been especially challenged to re-evaluate Scripture's teaching on the lifestyle of charity and giving. We have a more intimate grasp of C.S. Lewis' statement above, that "If our charities do not at all pinch or hamper us, (...) they are too small. There ought to be things we should like to do and cannot do because our charitable expenditures excludes them." How terribly counter-culture that sounds, what a distinctly inconvenient, imbalanced, and extreme statement - not unlike Jesus' incitive teachings on love and sacrifice. ;) Lewis' conviction rings true in us regardless of how long or how deeply we may have bought into our culture's ideology of self-indulgence, because our conscience has always known the right and only way to love our neighbour. There's life in the pinch, especially if we choose to live without the extras so that others can have the basics to stay alive.

So, it looks like year three promises to bring another series of difficult, life-changing lessons. I think I'm looking forward to it.

This quote is from one of the most original, entertaining, and informative blogs I've come across during the last few yeas. The topic reflects a deeply-held passion of mine - the quest to avoid becoming a modern-day Pharisee. Part of the quote is posted here; visit the author's blog, BitterSweetLife, to find the rest:

Jesus brought his glory down here and set it loose among us, knowing full well that it would force us to confront the real shape of the world, which would force us in turn to see the real nature of God—to be jarred and horrified and amazed and overjoyed, and then to do the supernatural thing, and repent.

People who had spent their lives categorizing “righteousness” and sorting people into “clean” and “dirty” baskets were suddenly faced with the thing itself. God in person. Jesus on earth. Divine Law in radiant, abrasive human form.

Many of them preferred their religious micromanagement businesses and hurried away from Jesus to write venomous articles denouncing his frequenting of sports bars, and add a few more notches to the holy sticks they used to beat on people who “didn’t measure up” in any one of about a hundred ways.

I particularly enjoyed the 'religious micromanagement businesses' addition. More importantly, though, how do Christians pursue authentic, life-changing spiritual growth, challenge and encourage each other to do the same, and avoid neo-Phariseeism in the process?

Philippians 2:3b-4: "consider others as more important than yourselves. Everyone should look out not [only] for his own interests, but also for the interests of others."

Sometimes it feels as though a good 90% of our family and church communities are like the partiers inside this house: Engaged, included, comfortable, lighthearted and carefree. Because of my parents' financial and health situation, however, my immediate family cannot join in the festivities. Feeling somewhat isolated and lonely, we struggle through our challenges outside as we try not to peek through the window too often for fear that our feeble excuses for their distance and separation will begin to fracture, crumble, and crush our hearts in the process. Somewhere around 10% of those in our extended family and church communities take the time visit us outside, spend time with us, and shoulder our burdens with us now and then. Some of them actually connect with us on a regular basis and contribute quite a bit to our survival and well-being. The other 90% do know that we're out here; it's just that they don't have enough of a desire to come and see how we are doing, to shoulder our burdens with us, to find a way for us to join them...

I've recently been working on a paper for school about emotional, practical, and material support that is experienced by different ethnic groups from their extended family and church communities. One article outlines the experience of the African American community:

Historically, families and churches promoted and sustained Black community life, both during and following the period of slavery. (...) Currently, both families and churches perform a number of important functions that help to address several problematic issues facing Black families and communities. Family and church networks provide informal social support to address a variety of issues, including chronic poverty (Stack, 1974), coping with the loss of a loved one, providing assistance to those who are ill and disabled (Dilworth-Anderson, 1994; Dilworth-Anderson, Williams, & Cooper, 1999), the care and supervision of grandchildren (Burton, 1992; Burton, Dilworth-Anderson, & Merriwether-de Vries, 1995; Kivett, 1993; Minkler & Roe, 1993; Strom & Strom, 1993), and specifically, caring for the children of adolescent parents (Miller, 1994; Unger & Cooley, 1992).
Source: Chatters, L. M. et al. (2002). Patters of informal support from family and church members among African Americans. Journal of Black Studies, 33 (1), p. 66-85.

There are other ethnic communities out there that are very similar to the African American one when it comes to giving and receiving support within church and family circles. Mediterranean cultures are very similar in the way family and church combine to support one another in times of need - Greek and Italian cultures come to mind as an example. The culture of the American South seems to be similar. In the same way, Amish and Old Order Mennonite communities rally around each other through church and family networks. Chinese and other Asian cultures are usually more community-oriented as well. The main strength of these societies is that they seem to rally around each other without question - not just with the odd piece of advice, but with a true dedication to help each other through, or out of, any kind of challenging situation, whatever the cost. It's the kind of support that takes time, personal resources, energy, emotion, sacrifice, and hard work.

Other areas of the world seem to be far more individualistic and isolated from one another. Northern Europe as well as much of Canada and the northern US, for instance, have always struck me as colder places, not in terms of temperature, but in terms of extended families' and church members' relationships with one another. There's some kind of overzealous, self-destructive need for privacy, the kind that shields others out in times of distress, whether you're on the potential giving- or receiving-end of the needed help.

I've gone through some major moments of pain in the past, during which time I felt as though I was terribly alone, whether I was hanging out with my extended family or sitting in church on a Sunday morning. I have to admit that on more than one occasion I've considered submerging myself in one of the 'warmer' cultures that I've often envied. It isn't that I just want to feel like I'm surrounded by open, compassionate people who are willing to go the second mile with me; I want to learn how to take up that lifestyle myself as well. I want to see what it looks like to do away with timidity and self-indulgence, to live a lifestyle of giving, caring, and always 'being there' for people in my church and family community.

One European-heritage woman shared about the close connections in her family. An extended family member had a permanent disability, and - without thinking twice - she offered to care for this family member when the current caretakers became too old and weak for the task themselves. Everybody in her family does things like this for each other, she said, and she has felt shocked to learn of other families aren't nearly as close as hers.

When I heard her story I couldn't help but think of my Dad. What if something were to happen to Mom, my husband, my brother, or to me... I wish I could say with confidence that our church and extended family networks would be just as willing to care for my Dad the way the woman above is willing to care for her cousin. But I can't. A handful would try to help, definitely, but the majority would make sure they put enough distance between themselves and my family's need in order to protect their lifestyle from unnecessary disruption.

Mom's health is fragile, always has been, but she's caring for Dad 24/7 and the circles under her eyes are sinking deeper every day. The roller-coaster of stress, anxiety, restless nights, and depression that we all go through here is more than enough proof that we can't do this on our own. Yet for the most part we are doing this on our own. To be sure, there is certainly a solid handful of people (that committed 10%) who make their love and concern known to us in ways that make a huge difference - but in the larger context of our church and extended family networks the silence from everybody else is deafening. ...Sadly we do not come from a background like the African Americans, the Mediterraneans, the Amish/Old Order Mennonites, or the Asians.

What we could really use is people - family, church members, anybody - to come over, help us cook and clean, and encourage to Mom get to bed on time. We need people to sit down with Dad to help him learn the simple things that dementia has wiped from his mind, such as how to open and use his email account (because that's something Mom ends up spending several hours on each week), how to work the VCR, or how to otherwise re-sharpen his observational and memorizing skills. We could use friends to watch movies with us, visit with us, call us more often to ask how we're doing, help us all laugh more often, help us get a break from the situation, and let us know that we don't need to feel isolated anymore. We could also use financial help so that we don't sink further into debt while we wait for Dad's pension disability application to be approved, and while we wait for my husband to receive his open work permit so that I can finish school and get a real job as soon as possible.

What we could really use is a more authentic relationship with our church and family, the kind that doesn't gloss over or shy away from the ugliness and despair that life sometimes throws at us, the kind that doesn't bury its head in the sand, doesn't put on airs or wear a mask, but a real kind of relationship that isn't afraid to roll up its sleeves and put a hand to this plough that is too difficult for us to push on our own.

"No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally (and often far more) worth reading at the age of fifty-except, of course, books of information. The only imaginative works we ought to grow out of are those which it would have been better to have not read at all...I am almost inclined to set it up as a canon that a children's story which is only enjoyed by children is a bad children's story." - Of Other Worlds by C. S. Lewis

Do you know that feeling when someone explains an idea that just touches the very essence of who you are, that leaves you feeling as though a timeless truth has just been revealed to you? That's how I feel whenever I read C.S. Lewis' remarks about sustaining a childlike imagination and sense of wonder.

I was blessed to have a healthy childhood, one that was safe, happy and carefree, filled with myths, fairy tales, daydreams, and a fascination with all the natural, transcendental, beautiful, and haunting things that my imagination could possibly entertain. I grew up with European cultural myths which tended to be just as dark and twisted as they were picturesque and enchanting. Important life lessons were always woven into the stories, warning the hearer to heed their wisdom or suffer the fate of their wayward fictional characters. And I was always enraptured by these myths, an experience I still savour although it's difficult to do so as frequently as I'd like with research, textbooks, schedules, budgets, meeting minutes, and other shadows of 'real life' crowding my mind.

"Critics who treat 'adult' as a term of approval, instead of as a merely descriptive term, cannot be adult themselves. To be concerned about being grown up because it is grown up, to blush at the suspicion of being childish; these things are marks of childhood and adolescence...When I was ten, I read fairy tales in secret and would have been ashamed if I had been found doing so. Now that I am fifty I read them openly. When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up." - Of Other Worlds by C. S. Lewis

Naturally I'm a fan of C.S. Lewis' perspective. I read these quotes and feel embraced by them somehow. I don't mind too much this life as an adult, but there are so many aspects of my childhood I am loath to renounce. Sometimes I just want to be still, bask in simplicity, let my mind wander, and see where my imagination takes me. Is this really too much to ask?

I love quotes
I just love collecting quotes from books, movies, news, etc. Here's one from the movie Bells of St. Mary's. :)

The Six Senses
To see, to hear, to taste, to smell, to feel, to be. And the most important is the last. The sixth sense is to enjoy the five senses properly. To be - that’s what really matters. It’s like a world inside us, and it’s up to us what we make of it. We see others, we hear others, we know others with our five senses. But how do we really know ourselves? Through our common sense. Common sense is an internal sense. It’s function is to differentiate between the various reports of the senses, or to reduce these reports to the unity of a common perception. Two great words, ‘to be’. Other words grow out of them: ‘I am’, ‘you are’, ‘he is’, ‘we are’, ‘they are’. That sort of takes in everybody. As Shakespeare said, ‘To thine own self be true, and it shall follow as the night the day. Thou canst not then be false to any man.’ And he was so right, Sister! He was just talking about the sixth sense. To put it in my own words, ‘to be, or not to be - that is the question’.

- a Catholic student, Patricia, reading an assignment to her teacher, a nun, in Bells of St. Mary’s with Bing Crosby and Ingrid Bergman (1945)