The Rabbit Room

The Harrowing Silence: A Book Recommendation

by Pete Peterson

The car in front of me swerved, and a bundle of long limbs flew up over its hood, tumbled across the roof, and slid down onto the hot August pavement. The car slowed briefly then sped away, leaving behind it a dying animal kicking and groaning in the dark.

I parked my truck on the shoulder and got out. It was a seldom-trafficked road. No cars. It would have been quiet except for the drama in the southbound lane. The fawn’s legs wouldn’t work. It flopped and rolled, mewling eerily as it tried to right itself like a broken wind-up toy.

When I knelt down beside it, its eye rolled toward me and stared. It stopped kicking and lay still, panting, blowing breath out of its mouth in sharp, hoarse heaves. I picked it up by the ankles, two in each hand, and carried it into the grass beside the road. What now? I thought.

What is Love? Part I – Definitions

by Ron Block

The world has a lot of definitions for love. Deep affection, fondness, tenderness, warmth, intimacy, attachment, endearment; devotion, adoration, doting, idolization, worship; passion, ardor, desire, lust, yearning, infatuation. Compassion, caring, concern, friendliness, friendship, kindness, charity, goodwill, sympathy, kindliness, altruism, unselfishness, philanthropy, benevolence.

When I see the Jesus of the Gospels, I see the best of these definitions displayed, his deep affection for John, the tenderness toward Peter after his denial. I see his compassion and goodwill poured into the woman in John 8, and that little man Zacchaeus. I also see his anger toward the Pharisees, a love for sinners turned upon the self-righteous weapons of comparison and self-vaunting used to destroy lives.

But central, always central, is his adoration for and wholehearted committal to his Father, a passion that spilled out in a flood to redeem a world of men and women cut off from God. There is a reliant trust flowing from the Jesus of the Gospels, which except for the wilderness and Gethsemane seems to flow spontaneously, easily, richly. There is an awareness of total weakness and ability: “I can do nothing of myself,” and an admission of total strength: “The Father in me does the works.” The paradox of humility and boldness within the same Man.

Song (and Tour) of the Day: Eric Peters

by Pete Peterson

Eric Peters, the inimitable old man of the Square Peg Alliance, could be coming soon to a living room near you where he will almost certainly play some of the new songs I’ve heard him and Ben Shive recording in the next room. To coerce Eric into playing in your town (or home) the basic details are below. Check out his website for full details including an update on the recording of Birds of Relocation.

Here’s one of the songs you can make him play for you.

“The Storm”

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Eric’s album Scarce is specially priced today in the Rabbit Room store ($10 CD / $8 Download).

Want to book a house concert? Here’s the scoop:

- $150 (50% deposit due upon booking -> helps book travel).
- Hotel room (for privacy) is much preferred, but not a deal-breaker.
- A meal (preferably not cold gruel).
- Eric will play his songs in your living room for you, your friends and neighbors.

Click here to Submit An Official Invitation.

The Sad Evaporation of Wonder and its Ancient Antidote

by S.D. Smith

My baby boy wriggles. Like many of us, he is impatient for food. He frets and fumes at the slow approach of his desire. But when it comes and he has taken a bite, a little dance follows. He shimmies in a thoughtless gesture of joy.

He does not know the history of his food, how we come to have it. He only knows that it’s from his mother’s hand and he loves it.

He is happily ignorant of all that goes into food, of the secret vocation of the farmer, the store clerk, the packagers, managers, and marketers all along the way. He does not know the hidden hand of God, working through vocation, to bring him daily bread. His prayers are random, giggling shouts of words he hears the rest of us offer up in thanks.

As we grow up, our mystery somehow decreases. Confronted with unnumbered wonders, we sigh and chew in gladless presumption. Our knowledge increases, but our wonder evaporates.

The Fantastic Flying Books of Morris Lessmore

by Andrew Peterson

I discovered this through (I think) my pal Brannon McAllister, co-founder of the now-defunct Portland Studios (click here for a bittersweet farewell painting by our friend Justin Gerard). I was lamenting the absence of Portland’s wonder-inspiring internet presence, and he pointed me to Moonbot Studios.

I don’t know much about them other than that they’re based in Louisiana and they produced this beautiful animated short film about stories–sort of. At the very least, it’s for anyone who’s ever suspected that books were magical. I immediately bought the film for a few bucks on iTunes, but I recently discovered it on Vimeo for your free viewing pleasure. There are worse ways you could spend fifteen minutes today.

It was a delight to learn just a few days ago that it’s been nominated for an Academy Award. (Congratulations, Moonbots.) And besides, won’t it be nice to seem so very in-the-know when you’re watching the Oscars with your friends and you can mention offhand that you’ve actually seen one of the short films?