(Every year the members of our church spend some time writing and sharing “Living Psalms” which are original outpourings of our hearts to God. This was one that I shared in service recently.)

Come

Lord, You said, “Come”, and I did.

I walked with You as in an eastern forest,

in the days of my youth and in the days of my not so youth.

I walked with you as through a pine forest,

shaded by the shadow of Your presence,

the scent and coolness of the trees a refreshment from You.

The song of birds, the sound of water running over rocks were as words

from Your mouth, a speaking of Your presence into my wanderings;

sunlight streaming through the canopy of branches,

a lighting of a path for my feet.

Your presence, Your voice, Your guidance always there, always tangible.

I had come to You, and You made it easy, this walk.

You made it beautiful...

When did I wander into this place of barren openness and drought?

I look around and see no familiar forest, no shade to my liking.

The song of the stream is now silence in my ears.

Like Jonah, I grumble over my own private castor oil plant,

it springing up to shade me one day, withered and gone the next.

I fail to see Your hand in providing it, choosing instead to whine about

the lack of water, the scorching wind.

How did I get here? Have you led me here, Lord?

Or is this some strange spiritual climate change?

And the internal argument begins...

maybe this strange climate change is a natural spiritual evolution...

the world seems more violent,

more wicked than in the days of that easy walk with You.

I'm older, wiser now, more cynical, less romantic.

“The more time you spend on earth, the more you see unfold.”

(Why do those words, the worldly wisdom of an old rocker spring to my mind more quickly than the timeless wisdom of Your Word?)

Perhaps this strange climate change is man-made, me-made?

But I haven't changed since the days of the easy beautiful fellowship with You.

(I realize I say this to the never-changing, ever faithful Father...)

O.K., well, maybe I've wandered into this place

by my own carelessness, my own sin.

Do I no longer nurture the places where Your presence came easy,

Your voice clear? Are my quiet times shorter in time, less in quiet?

Is my daily walk with You shared by too many other diversions that are not just You?

Lord, You see my life from beginning to end in a single glance.

You know me, my heart, my walk, my sin, my faithfulness and disobedience,

all that I have ever been and done, all that I carry with me.

I can reason, and surmise and excuse and examine and peer so intently at it all

and not see a fraction of what You see in Your single glance.

Do You see too much in me now, Lord?

Have I complicated my walk with You with all of the debris of life

I have picked up over the years, some precious, some worthless,

but all crowding out Your best for me?

Is this land I see as dry and barren only dry of the refreshment of your Spirit,

only barren of more of You, simply a place of clutter,

a life that has accumulated too much stuff since that time

when I first heard You say “Come”.

So I sit and listen. And, there You are, You still call to me...“Come”...

Not “do”...not “serve”...not “study”...

Those other words can only have power in my life
after I am obedient to that first word...“Come”.
So I come to You.
I seek You for myself apart from the demands of my life,
the needs of others the call to know about the things of You
rather than to know You Yourself.

I come just as I am, wearing the accumulation of years, sitting in Your presence,

allowing You to sort through the junk,

transform that which You desire me to keep, removing, sometimes gently,

sometimes forcefully, that which has weighed me down and needs to go.

And I look around and see again Your presence.

I walk again in it, familiar yet different, not the trees of my youth,

yet still refreshing, giving a new shade for this now self.

I hear the sound of Your voice, like a stream rushing in the woods,

clearly Your voice, but one I've learned requires careful listening

with renewed ears in Your presence.

I look down and still see You ordering my steps, lighting my path.

You have been here all along in this place, waiting for me to come.

It was I who had wandered.

It is I who had forgotten to listen for that still, quiet call. “Come”. 

 

Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

 Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart,

 and you will find rest for your souls.

                                                                                              - Matthew 11:28-29

Gettysburg: A Movie Review of Sorts

I never thought I'd write a movie review here, though I suppose it's more of a movie memoir then an actual review. The 150^th anniversary of the three-day battle of Gettysburg was July 1^st through 3^rd of this year, so my husband and I sat down to watch the 1993 theatrical movie Gettysburg, all 271 minutes of it. We had not watched it in several years, though we had in the past seen it many, many, MANY times...

We first stumbled upon this film on a motel TV one summer during our yearly trek back east to visit family. Our son, who was in fourth grade at the time, was drawn to the battle scenes and asked if he could watch it. It was surprisingly unbloody for a war movie, so Jim and I let the kids watch it. When we returned home from our travels, Andy asked to get the movie out of the library so we could see the parts we had missed at the motel. He asked for the VHS copy for his birthday, and, as an adult, purchased the DVD. This movie cemented Andy's budding interest in history, though as a child, this interest was mainly focused on anything that had to do with guns and battles. (Side note on boys and their love of guns: It appears to be a genetic predisposition. Not allowing toy guns in the house does not prevent surprisingly accurate replicas of pistols, made of cardboard and scotch tape, from appearing, nor does it prevent one's son from using an overgrown zucchini quite effectively as a rifle during summer battles with other kids.)

From the start, Gettysburg has a different feel from most other war movies. The script of the movie was taken from Michael Shaara's excellent and very readable historical novel, The Killer Angels (in this case, more history than novel). The main cast does a good job in their roles – Martin Sheen is believable as Robert E. Lee, Tom Berenger as a brooding James Longstreet, and Stephen Lang as the both light-hearted and tragic George Pickett. Look for brief cameos by Ken Burns and Ted Turner. Jeff Daniels as Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, and C. Thomas Howell as his brother Tom, are excellent as two lesser known historical figures and provide the movie with a perfect and extremely poignant ending, difficult to pull off when telling the story of a battle where 50,000 men died over a three-day confrontation.

But the reason the movie comes across as so different from other war movies is that the battle scenes – and there are many – are almost completely staged and acted not by professional actors but by men, hundreds and hundreds of them, in Civil War reenactment regiments. The Civil War is a serious hobby for these men, and they pay close attention to every aspect of historical detail. The actor Sam Elliott, who portrays Union General John Buford in the film, sums it up like this: 

 

I think we're really fortunate to have those people involved. In fact, they couldn't be making this picture without them; there's no question about that. These guys come with their wardrobe, they come with their weaponry. They come with all the accoutrements, but they also come with the stuff in their head and the stuff in their heart.

And the stuff in their heads and hearts does make this movie unique.

This movie, well over four hours in length, is not for everyone. The battles will be perceived as overly long by some, as will some of the speeches, though most of these are dramatically gripping. Highlights: Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain's speech to the 2^nd Maine; his conversation with his sergeant, Buster Kilrain, about why they are fighting the war; the battle of Little Round Top; anything Robert E. Lee has to say; Lewis Armistead's explanation to a British emissary about the composition of his regiment. Also, this movie is appropriately sexist, with only two women briefly appearing in it, one with a short spoken line. Blink, and you'll miss them. And then there are the beards...Jeff Daniels sports a pretty magnificent 1860s Fu Manchu, but Tom Berenger's beard is a bit over the top as are a few others. To be fair, however, the actors were made to look as closely as possible to the historical figures they were portraying. The credits themselves are worth watching just to see the striking similarity in appearance of the two, with side by side photos of the the actors and the historical figures they played.

I do not like violent or war movies in general, but I love this film. It neither glorifies war nor tries to shock or gross you out. It shows both the noble character of the men who fought in this battle as well as their spiritual underpinnings and moral misgivings. I do have to admit, upon the recent rewatching of this movie, that one of the reasons I love Gettysburg is because of the deep and lasting family memories attached to it – Andy, listening with rapt attention during the long speeches; rewinding the tape to watch the battle of Little Round Top (again!); asking me to make him a Civil War uniform as a Halloween costume; Brigette, only about seven or eight at the time, sitting and watching the film peaceably with her brother, experiencing her first movie actor crush on Jeff Daniels as Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain (I can see why. He was handsome and noble and had some of the most endearing dialogue and scenes.).Until recently, I believed that Claire, the oldest child and in early adolescence during the first years of the Gettysburg obsession, had been immune from any lasting impact. In telling her about our recent rewatching, she admitted to shouting out General Armistead's “For Virginia!” when she needs a rallying cry to motivate people. And then there's Jim. Known for his habit of repeatedly quoting movie lines for at least six months after seeing a film, he received a lifetime's supply of quotable dialogue that he has used far too often over the past almost twenty years since first seeing this film. “Hear me – It is entirely my fault!” Jim will quote Robert E. Lee when something goes wrong. Or “There's no time for that!” when someone dawdles. It's all I can do to resist coming back with “General... I'll tell you plain. There are times when you worry me...”

General, soldiering has one great trap: to be a good solider you must love the army. To be a good commander, you must be willing to order the death of the thing you love. We do not fear our own death you and I. But there comes a time...We are never quite prepared for so many to die. Oh, we do expect the occasional empty chair. A salute to fallen comrades. But this war goes on and on and the men die and the price gets ever higher. We are prepared to lose some of us, but we are never prepared to lose all of us. And there is the great trap, General. When you attack, you must hold nothing back. You must commit yourself totally. We are adrift here in a sea of blood and I want it to end. I want this to be the final battle.

- Robert E. Lee to James Longstreet, from the movie Gettysburg

Incredible Shrinking Woman Held Hostage!

(My first rant on this blog...)

I've been fighting with my iPod nano ever since I got it for my birthday two months ago. It's an amazing device, capable of providing me with so much media availability...and so much frustration. In the past month I feel I've been beaten down to a fraction of my size by the tiny turquoise rectangle, barely the size of three squares of a Hersey bar. I've also had the eerie feeling that I was somehow being held hostage by Steve Jobs from beyond the grave...

I'm an avid walker, so my husband thought that for my birthday I'd enjoy a device that would provide music for my mileage. The latest incarnation of the iPod nano had a pedometer, so a perfect gift, right? And music-wise it is – amazing sound for the rehearing of the music of my life, the white earbuds making Joni Mitchell's wide-ranging vocals dance somewhere about three inches above the top of my head. And I will die before I ever fill up the capacity – 350 songs on it and still 12+GB of room!

No, my battle with the turquoise demon has been over control of the pedometer. First time out walking, I obediently entered my height and weight as required (true weight,too!...well, within five pounds...) and walked a measured mile. The iPod was very generous, telling me that I had walked 1.1 miles. By the time I finished my walking for the day, I had walked somewhere between two and three miles. Obviously, the iPod needed some recalibration. I downloaded the iPod nano user guide, all 67 pages of it. (I believe I can tackle anything given the right user manual and enough time, which was over two months in this case.) As per instructions, I proceeded to press every button that said “calibrate” or “recalibrate” under the walking program.

I consulted the on-line community and found the frustration with the pedometer function was not mine alone. Most found the calibration confusing and the accuracy unreliable. The most positive statement that I could find went something like this: “It works O.K. sometimes, when I run, as long as I don't go up hills or vary my pace.” (“Come on, Apple!” I thought. “You can make me feel like I'm in Madison Square Garden with Eric Clapton and Steve Winwood! You can do better than this with your pedometer!”) So I spent the next two months walking over 40 miles, stopping every quarter or half mile just to recalibrate or change the settings on the pedometer function. I eventually started changing my height, thinking that my stride must be abnormal for my entered height. I was down to 4' 5” before it started to approach an accurate mile. (I'm 5' 4”.) (“Come on, Apple! You made me remember why Bridge Over Troubled Water is my favorite song of all time. Why can't you measure an accurate mile without shrinking me down to the height of an eleven-year-old?”)

So I returned to the user guide (again!) It seems that the only way to accurately calibrate the iPod is to pretend that you are a runner and not a walker (which it doesn't actually tell you anywhere). Though the walk buttons lead you to calibration buttons, only the run buttons lead you to the calibration button that really matters. And before you can get there, you are forced to choose a workout and then even forced to pick a playlist before you can walk a quarter of a mile and then, finally, be rewarded with access to the true calibration button. I can hear the ghost of Steve Jobs: “Well, you bought this wonderful product of ours, so you must fit our profile. You are probably a runner who only walks when injured, so, of course, you will check out the running program first. And since you are such a disciplined person (making enough money to buy this iPod in the first place) you will want to have a programed workout when you run. And since this is an iPod, of course you will want to choose a playlist before you begin your run. After all, you really bought this for the music.” I felt as though I had been snatched out of my simple world of high mileage walking and was being held hostage with a bunch of disciplined marathon trainees...

So one day I went to the quarter mile track at the local high school and pretended to be the pre-planned-workout-playlist-sensitive runner that I'm not and was rewarded by being given access to the coveted recalibration button, the one that actually does something. I then registered my first accurate quarter mile...then my first accurate half mile. I spent the next hour walking different distances, recalibrating, all on the running function. When I returned to the walking function of the pedometer, I could see that the Great and Powerful iPod had registered my pathetically slow “running” times and had categorized me as a “walker”. The walking function now accurately tracked my walking distances, provided I didn't try to do anything stupid, like press the recalibrate button on the walking function, which I found only defaulted to the previous inaccurate tracking...

Funny thing, though - I'm not sure how far I actually walked that day. Between all the starts and stops and quarter mile recalibrations and the switching from run to walking functions, there was no easy way to add up my mileage. I think I walked somewhere between two and three miles...which was the approximate distance it estimated the first time out two months ago. Yeah, irony...

If you had to identify, in one word, the reason why the human race has not achieved, and never will achieve, its full potential, that word would be: meetings.

- Dave Berry, "25 Things I Have Learned in 50 Years"

 Aging With the Culture

I know of the tragic anguish of the Red Wedding...

When Dan Stevens didn't renew his contract, I saw the writing on the wall for Matthew Crawley...

Happy Endings is gone, but Community remains – barely...

Jack Bauer is coming back...

I know, but will not reveal, the true identity of John Harrison...

I know where Bernadette went...

Mumford and Sons, Dawes, the Decemberists, Jack White, the Black Keys – all have found their way onto my iPod...

A culture-saavy stranger, stumbling upon this blog for the first time, might not be surprised at any of the above confessions – until I reveal that the said iPod was a gift for my sixtieth birthday. Yep, six-oh. And those artists share the playlist with the more boomer-appropriate Eric, Neil, Bob, Paul and Art...

A much younger friend recently commented on the fact that I was more up on relevant cultural issues than he was (though I'm not certain how relevant the above issues actually are...). His comment did cause me to reflect on how I came to be this way. My conclusion? I just can't help myself - I'm the kind of person who hates to think I'm missing anything...

When I was growing up, the combination of being an avid (compulsive?) reader and an intensely curious child left me always wanting to know about everything. I would read anything left lying around the house. The Reader's Digest was responsible for my coming home in third grade and proudly announcing to my horrified mother that I was the only person in my Girl Scout troop that knew what venereal disease was. (I honestly don't remember how the subject came up. I think maybe we were discussing communicable diseases, and I volunteered my newly-acquired knowledge.) I was unclear on much of what I read but used the dictionary and an even-then-old Funk and Wagnalls Encyclopedia to fill in the gaps of what I didn't understand.

As I got a little older, I moved on to newspapers. I read movie and theater reviews, though I almost never went to see either. I knew the plots of them all, as well as the actors and actresses in them. As adolescence approached, I read some racy radical 60's books, away from the eyes of my mother (and anyone else, for that matter). I was basically a “good” girl, with a healthy amount of Catholic guilt. I was very aware that though others did not see what I was reading, God did. So I bargained with Him. If I didn't have to reveal my “wicked” reading in the confessional, I promised Him I'd never actually “do” whatever I was reading about at the time. Though it was quite a few years before I entered into a mature relationship with God, I think the bargain saved me from getting into all kinds of reading-inspired trouble that I could have stumbled into during my teen years. 
 
As an adult, my curiosity about culture continued, though I sincerely tried to hold it at arm's length. My kids accused me of making them get braces so I could read the People Magazine in the orthodontist's office because I'd never go out and actually buy one. The arrival of the internet made it easy to satisfy my cultural curiosity. Everything I want to know is now just a click away... 
 
So, I have never actually seen The Game of Thrones or Happy Endings, only rarely Community, but a cursory scanning of the the headlines of Entertainment Weekly gives me more than I need to know to feel like I'm not missing out on some significant cultural media event. My favorite website? The IMDb, a dream-come-true for those like me who frequently utter the words “What have I seen him in before?” 
 
I do watch Downton Abbey and have seen the new Star Trek movie (and know way more about Benedict Cumberbatch than any woman of my age should, though I do not identify myself as a Cumberb****...) I have read Maria Semple's quirky book and have dutifully watched 24 with my husband. And, yes, I do actually listen to, enjoy and am knowledgeable about a wide variety of music. (I recently drew a blank on a reference to Neutral Milk Hotel. Fortunately, I am married to a man whose vast knowledge of the music of the past 50 years easily filled in the blank for me. I pleaded ignorance of Neutral Milk Hotel based on my belief that no real music was made in the 80's...) 
 

So, here I am, a brief step into the seventh decade of my life, wondering who the next Doctor will be. Matt Smith, I love you to bits and I'll miss you, and Rory and Amy were the best companions ever, but Tom Baker will always be my first love. After all, I am sixty...

There is a very fine line between 'hobby' and 'mental illness.'

                        - Dave Berry, "25 Things I Have Learned in 50 Years"