What are you looking for?

I wrote this post the morning before Christmas Eve. At 10pm that night, my husband had a stroke. Changes in circumstance can’t change what is True. We were, are, and continue to be grateful. A vivid imagination can be a heavy burden to bear. My daughter has a mind that doesn’t stop. Her creativity is a joy—and a mess—to behold. This Christmas season, she concocted a new tradition: Crafting ‘til Christmas. She researched and planned a list of daily crafts for us to make together. Despite my inner “I don’t have time for this” pining, I chose to partake. Our dates, marked by hot glue and tissue paper (and the occasional emergency run to Michael’s craft store for reinforcements), have filled my soul. To say that I’m in awe of her creativity is an understatement. Her vision for transforming raw materials into something beautiful inspires me. But there’s a downside to having a robust imagination. Particularly when the world around us is flooded with news of mass shootings and threat indexes and refugee children freezing to death. My daughter has entered the twilight of adulthood. She’s just waking up from her little girl slumber, where all is well, to discover the harsh realities of the grown-up world. It’s a shocking awakening. When talking about the hardest things with our kids, we balance our conversations on the head of a pin. Tip too far to one side, and we’re unfairly (and unwisely) sheltering them. Tip too far to the other side, and we’re prematurely introducing them to the depths of human depravity. The same rich soil that produces beauty and craftiness and endless ideas is also the ideal environment for growing unspeakable images and haunting nightmares. A vibrant imagination can be a heavy burden to bear. Julie Silander Parenting from a posture of wisdom is an ongoing struggle: we want to balance truth with discretion. My daughter needs to know much. She doesn’t need the gory details. But sometimes, the gory details have a way of finding the cracks in our carefully constructed parental presentations and seeping into her great big beautiful imagination. Snapshots from a television screen or bits of overheard adult conversation become seeds, quickly planted, in her fertile mind. The same rich soil that produces beauty and craftiness and endless ideas is also the ideal environment for growing unspeakable images and haunting nightmares. A vibrant imagination can be a heavy burden to bear. I’ve struggled with how to handle my daughter’s fears. Perhaps that’s because I’ve struggled with how to handle my own. God is good. But life can be unspeakably hard. Both statements are true. The world is rated R, and no one is checking IDs. Do not try to make it G by imagining the shadows away. Do not try to hide your children from the world forever, but do not try to pretend there is no danger. Train them. Give them sharp eyes and bellies full of laughter. Make them dangerous. Make them yeast, and when they’ve grown, they will pollute the shadows. — N. D. Wilson At some point, we all wake up to discover the world is rated R: through images of mass shootings and stranded refugees, unexpected diagnoses and failing bodies, and relationships crippled (or broken or shattered) through betrayal or neglect. Our minds provide fertile soil for grown-up nightmares. We learn to deny the pain, or too often, we begin to believe the lie that it will never end. Yet there is Christmas. Light comes into the darkness. Hope is born. Promises are fulfilled. When we experience the bleak circumstances in the world, in our homes, and even in the darkness of our own hearts, we are tempted to believe that those snapshots define reality. As if starting to read in the middle of a book, we don’t have a larger context for the events that are taking place. Our vision and our understanding are limited. Christmas tells the fuller (truer) story. It reminds us that we have an anchor as ancient as “In the beginning.” It guarantees hope for the future when He will judge between the nations and will settle disputes for many peoples. They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore. It promises us that He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away. So this Christmas, and every day to come, let’s remind each other of what’s True. Since the children in the garden, the world has suffered brokenness, violence, despair and loss. But darkness will not win. The battle is over. The war was waged and won by the baby in a manger. The stories are true. Fear not. “… And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with great fear. And the angel said to them, ‘Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.’” —Luke 2:9-11

We’ve got a fun New Year’s Eve surprise for you: a new video of Chris Slaten performing his song “The Gardener,” live in the studio. “This past summer we videoed this performance of ‘The Gardener’ at As Elyzum studios, the creative home of my producer, Stephen Nichols, where we tracked the original recording for the album No Story is Over. It marked the first time that I had the chance to play the song with both the cellist, Mark Rico, and the violinist, Elise Ziegenbein, in person because Elise originally recorded her violin parts remotely from a closet in her home in Palo Alto, California. I also talked one of my good friends, Nathan Shirai, into coming over at the last minute to keep time on the back of an old guitar. After spending the year playing solo house and church shows for so many of you it was a real treat to work with a band.” —Chris Slaten

New Year’s Week offers us a wonderful opportunity to look back at the closing year and examine the successes and the hardships, the joys and the sorrows, the new experiences and the old traditions which came to an end over those 365 days. In keeping with this time of remembrance, we took the opportunity to compile a recap of the music some of our best friends released into the world this year. These songs inspired, encouraged, lamented, lifted a joyful noise, and invited us to do the same in 2018—and for that, we are truly thankful. May these songs continue to speak into 2019 and beyond, reminding us of the truths we live by and the love we experience in Christ. Click here to view this playlist on Spotify. Photo by Chris Barrett

My husband and I were playing catch-up with the rest of the world, sitting down to watch Guardians of the Galaxy a few years after everyone else had. Not my usual genre, but isn’t that one of the glories of marriage and friendship? Bringing us outside of our walls and helping us to see new horizons? In this particular moment in time, “new horizons” meant a movie about a motley band of misadventurers accidentally bent on saving the world. While this isn’t an endorsement of every aspect of the film, it was good fun for the most part. And then…it happened. That tree—that big, lovable galoot named Groot—did something that changed everything for me. For those who don’t know the estimable Groot—he is a tree who ambles and oafs around the universe, and all he ever says is “I am Groot.” In answer to every question, every tension-filled scene wherein the galaxy threatens to implode in various ways: “I am Groot.” Whether it makes sense in context or not, that is his story and song, and his raccoon buddy has the ability to translate that phrase a thousand different ways to actually make sense in context. One begins to think, as one watches Groot, “Hey! I like this guy. Maybe lacking in some of the gravitas of his Ent and Dryad predecessors, but there’s something pretty great about him. Maybe the most likable superhero I know. But is he a superhero, really?” No cape, no spider bite to make him shoot ultra-strong webs from within, no ability to turn back time or laser things down or scale buildings or any of the normal fare one might find at the local superhero ability emporium. So what is his strength? Then comes his moment. And then came my tears. The motley band of misadventurers is huddled in a spiraling spacecraft with everything literally going to pieces about them as they plummet toward sure destruction. A few of the comrades are down with wounds, and those remaining on their feet are gathering up their fallen friends and stumbling around the doomed craft with complete hopelessness written on their faces. It is the black moment, the pinnacle wherein all seems lost. This is why you feel full to bursting and exhaustedly poured out in the most exhilarating way, all at the same time. Amanda Dykes Groot, too, with his big, lovable eyes and limited vocabulary is walking through the spiraling wreckage, but his sorrow is one of steady determination. As his friends gather together, he draws near and the magic begins. Tendrils of bark, reaches of roots, sprays of leaves—they begin to grow from him, entwining themselves together in a twisting and weaving until the whole crew is cloistered within a dome of his living fortress. He has walled away the destruction, the chaos, the noise. Within the dome are bits of light floating about in the dark, illuminating desperate faces of the friends as they begin to ease from fear into hope. It is a fortress, but not one of mere survival. It is a fortress of breathtaking magic in the midst of destruction. Of abundant life and beauty and wonder, right there in the dark. The raccoon sidekick pleads with Groot not to do this thing—that in hemming them away like this, he will surely die upon impact. But Groot continues with a settled peace and surety about him, as if he knows that he was made for this moment in time. And he utters three words: “We are Groot.” I won’t elaborate further or tell you what happens next, but I will confess here how that scene slayed me. In the very best of ways—it picked my heart right up and spoke right into it, saying, “This. This is why God put letters and words dancing around in your head. This is why books thrill your soul. This is why, when your words are coming from somewhere outside you, when it’s about something greater than you, when you pretty much just disappear from the whole thing and get to simply be a part of it—this is why you feel full to bursting and exhaustedly poured out in the most exhilarating way, all at the same time.” Isn’t it so? Isn’t this why God fashioned us this way? That we might, in a world that is very dark, and sometimes feels as if it is spiraling toward destruction, let the Life inside of us pour out and twist and weave into something good through words, song, and art; a refuge full of most sincere wonder that reminds the wounded and hurting of the light, gives them a safe space in their brokenness, and points them toward Hope? This writer begs your forgiveness for spiritualizing a computer-animated tree and raccoon, but even laying the movie aside, what a humbling thing. To let the natural outgrowth of what God has equipped us with be woven in His hands. To hope and pray that within those nail-scarred hands, our humble offerings might be a part of the giving of light, and of life. Artwork by Tony Hodgkinson

We recently became aware of two wonderful interviews with our friends Doug McKelvey and Ned Bustard, both conducted by Tim Madden at his blog, Maddening Theology. In the interest of sharing good things, we are reposting them on the Rabbit Room blog. Click through for an interview with Ned Bustard about the art in Every Moment Holy. TIM: Ned, for those who don’t know you, can you tell us a little about yourself? NED: My daughter once asked me what I did, so that she could explain me to a friend. But I couldn’t give her a straight answer. I’m a graphic designer. I’m an illustrator. I’m a printmaker. TIM: The book itself is a compilation of liturgies. Some of my readers may think that liturgy doesn’t belong in their denominations. Can you define liturgy for us and give us an explanation of what liturgy is? NED: I always laugh when people say they don’t like liturgy. Every church has a liturgy. Every person has their own liturgies. It is what you do when you do it. James K. A. Smith has a great book called You Are What You Love, which I recommend to everyone. In an interview he said, “The core of the person is what he or she loves, and that is bound up with what they worship…The rituals and practices that form our loves spill out well beyond the sanctuary.” Basically liturgy is the order of in which we do things. It isn’t just written prayers in highly formal services (though that is often what people associate with the word “liturgy”). For example, when my family goes to the movies we have a liturgy. We go to the concessions stand – my wife gets pretzel bites and I get Snow Caps. We give the attendant our tickets and go into the theater, find our seat, and push the button back to adjust our recliner. We do it the same thing almost every time. It is our liturgy. In the same way at my wife’s church when she was growing up their liturgy included the same number of songs each service, the Lord’s Prayer, an offering, a pastoral prayer, a sermon, etc. A book like Every Moment Holy is simply a tool to help us be more thoughtful and intentional about our worship. TIM: I think that one of the huge advantages of having written liturgy is that we often have deep feelings of joy, regret, guilt, celebration, appreciation, and we don’t know how to express those ideas. Having a written liturgy at hand aids those of us who don’t know how to express ourselves to God or each other in a proper way. I found myself reading some of them thinking, “This is how I feel. I just didn’t know how to say it.” NED: I agree completely. There have been many times in my life when I was at the end of my rope physically, emotionally, or spiritually and I was able to pull out my grandfather’s old Book of Common Prayer and pray with words that spoke in ways that I couldn’t pray. And, of course, whenever we read or recite a Psalm we are using King David’s liturgical musings to glorify and petition God. TIM: I also greatly appreciate how the liturgies are Gospel-centered. I’m a hawk when it comes to theology in our church library, and everything I’ve read so far is cross-centered and scriptural. Someone who would use this book regularly in their life would develop their theology just by the recitation of great theology. We know that the Psalms or Lamentations are full of great liturgical readings. Douglas Kaine McKelvey, the author of these liturgies, has provided us with more specific liturgies for everyday use in our modern era. That being said, I believe this will become an heirloom book for many families. NED: That was the intent The Rabbit Room Press had when making it the way they did. You don’t make a leather-bound book with gilded pages if you think it will be a trendy, disposable project. TIM: Every Moment Holy provides us with the words to say for things that we just seem to breeze through life and disconnect from God. In reality, if everything in life we do should be done to God’s glory, down to what we eat and drink (I Corinthians 10:31), then we should have conversations with God or about God concerning everyday things, which is the focal part of the book thinking about every moment of our lives being a holy moment. I’m continually amazed me at how many things we just skim past in life and disconnect from God. NED: So true! This book is intentionally trying to get the reader to understand that every moment is holy. When I was younger I really bought into the sacred/secular divide that plagues much of the Church. But eventually I came to understand that all of my life is worship…all of my work is made to the glory of God (I even made a book about that—It Was Good: Making Art to the Glory of God). Working on this project was a healthy reminder to me to work harder to see the sacred in the mundane. From changing diapers and washing floors to trimming a Christmas tree and feasting with friends, every moment is holy, every act is one of worship. TIM: I enjoyed some of the apparent quirky liturgies in the book. The idea of focusing on God before welcoming a new pet home, or going to a yard sale, or keeping bees is great. It reminds us that even the unusual things we do in our individual lives are important to God. When we think of liturgy, many think only of corporate worship at church. What benefit is there to having a book of private liturgy? NED: Every Moment Holy was designed for both individual and corporate use. As such, I believe that it is a great tool for times of solitary worship of God. I often find that even though I love to wordsmith, I often do not have the words in me to speak to God. Or if I do, they tend towards “vain repetition.” One of the things I’m militant about when planning worship at my church is finding songs with good lyrics. The words we choose to describe our faith and to frame our praise shapes our theology and practice. If I limit myself to “Lord, I just want to thank you for this day” and “Jesus loves me this I know,” I may not be worried about heresy in my life but I am worried about stunting my growth—living a more bland life than God has made possible to me. NED: The sovereignty of God, pure and simple. From a human perspective it shouldn’t have happened. I had no exposure to The Rabbit Room Press and I only knew about Doug’s writing through album lyrics written over two decades ago. What happened was that my daughter was at a faculty retreat for her new job teaching at the Geneva School of Manhattan and they had brought in Andrew Peterson as the guest speaker. Following one of his talks she thanked him for his insights during the lecture and said that he and her parents were saying all the same things about Story and Beauty, and  then suggested that we’d all be great friends. Out of the blue, several months later, Andrew was in my city giving a concert. With time on his hands he reached out to me. We met at my favorite used bookstore, DogStar Books, then spent the afternoon talking books, music, poetry, and more. He told me about the liturgy book and I shamelessly suggested myself for the project. He liked my book “Revealed: A Storybook Bible for Grown-Ups,” so he said he’d encourage his brother to hire me for the job. But when he got home he learned the job was already spoken for. Fast forward a few months: I get a call from The Rabbit Room saying the other guy was no longer available and I was asked if I would still like to take on the project? TIM: What is your favorite liturgy from the book? NED: That is a painful question! How to choose? I got choked up when I read the “Husband and Wife at the End of the Day” one. I’m proud of the coffee one (because I lobbied hard with Doug to get him to write that one), and I also love the fact that there are not one but two prayers for changing diapers! TIM: Funny enough, the liturgy on changing diapers was the first one my wife picked to read out of the entire book. Having a seven month old, and probably feeling like it is such a mundane task, it was what she needed. I asked her what she thought of it. She smiled and stated, “It was very good.” It was as if she were reminded once again of how this tedious task could bring glory to God and it’s (or His) purpose in life. NED: Recently Doug did an informal poll on Facebook and the Diapers prayer was second only to the Coffee prayer in readers’ favorites. TIM: Can you explain the artwork in the book and why you chose that form? NED: The art in Every Moment Holy is relief printmaking. The pieces were made using linoleum so they are called linocuts (in the same way that if they were made using wood they’d be called woodcuts). The Rabbit Room folks chose printmaking because of its rich history in illustrated Bibles of the past. They also liked my work for this project because I tend to cram my art with tons of symbolism from the history of Christian Art. For example, in “A Litany for a Husband and Wife at the End of the Day” symbolically points to some of the beautiful aspects of the Marriage Bed—the work contains square halos (yes, square—read about them here), the Ark of the Covenant (Tim Keller has written,”Sex is a covenant renewal ceremony for marriage, the physical reenactment of the inseparable oneness in all other areas—economic, legal, personal, psychological—created by the marriage covenant.”), an apple (Song of Solomon 2:3) and seven lilies (Song of Solomon 2:16). TIM: Can you take us through the process of how one piece of art is made? NED: A quick summary is that you draw the image on the linoleum and then cut out the image. You then cover the block with ink, then press paper onto the linoleum to transfer the image. TIM: How much time do you typically need to come up with a creative idea for each piece? How long does it take to make each piece? NED: Too long! The initial sketches took anywhere from 30 minutes to over 3 hours—depending on if I was able to come up with a preliminary sketch The Rabbit Room folks liked. After the concept was approved, then it is less than an hour to transfer the image to the block, followed by one to three hours cutting away the unwanted parts of the illustration. Pulling the print might take ten minutes to several hours, depending on my deftness with ink and paper. After the art dried then the illustrations were scanned into the computer and cleaned up in photoshop. How long did that take per image? I don’t want to do the math. TIM: Wow! After enjoying the images already, I’ll have to go back and appreciate them again knowing the time it took to make them. Some may wonder why have artwork in liturgy at all? Isn’t liturgy just text? Isn’t artwork a distraction to the meditation? What can people gain by having artwork along with the liturgy? NED: For most people it is impossible to not construct some mental image while praying. So if you are going to have a mental picture, where are you going to get it? My hope is that the illustrations in this book help to beautify the text. Much of the imagery in the art is rooted in and drawn from the text of the prayers in hopes that they will  help the reader to see even more in the liturgies as they use them. For example, in “A Liturgy for Those who Have Done Harm,” Doug writes, “I have hidden myself in shadows, seeking to avoid your face, even as did my father Adam and my mother Eve in their first guilt.” So I did an illustration of Adam and Eve, but in the picture there are also four pieces of fruit on the tree and a lily in the lower corner. Why? Well, later in the liturgy it says, “Restorer of all things, redeem the damage I have done. Restore, remake, rekindle, rebuild . . .” The fruit is there to link to those four R’s of hope and the lily, as a traditional symbol in Christian art of Mary, points to the ultimate hope of the coming of Christ—as the liturgy ends, “. . . your pardon alone is sufficient to my peace; and your death to my resurrection. Embrace me again to life and to right standing with you, O God . . .” TIM: What kind of release has the book had so far and what has the reception been? NED: Initially the book was made available to supporters of The Rabbit Room. They all have been effusive in their praise. It is fun to follow the hashtag #EveryMomentHoly on Facebook and Instagram to see where folks are using it and what prayers resonate the most. I think the short answer to your question is that the first printing completely sold out. I would call that kind of reception rather positive! TIM: Thanks for your time, Ned. I enjoyed getting to know you more through this interview, appreciate your time to direct me as a pastor when it comes to understanding the theology of art, and highly enjoyed the gallery with my wife. TIM: Can you list the books that you’ve been a part of?  I will put Amazon links to them at the end of this blog post. NED: All my books can be found on Amazon, but I like to direct people to www.HeartsAndMindsBooks.com to help support one of my favorite independent booksellers. As I said at the beginning, as it is hard to explain what I do, it is also hard to make a list of my books—they’re rather random. In addition to developing all of the Square Halo Books (http://www.squarehalobooks.com), I’ve had the pleasure to develop various readers’ guides, phonics readers, a geography storybook series, and more. A few of my favorite books I’d like people to know about are: The Reformation ABCs: The People, Places, and Things of the Reformation—from A to Z, Revealed: A Storybook Bible for Grown-Ups, A Book for Hearts and Minds: What You Should Read and Why, History of Art: Creation to Contemporary(flashcards and textbook), It Was Good: Making Music to the Glory of God, Bigger on the Inside: Christianity and Doctor Who, The Chronicles of Narnia Comprehension Guide, and Squalls Before War: His Majesty’s Schooner Sultana.And early next year I hope to release It Was Good: Performing Arts to the Glory of God. Thanks, Tim for letting me ramble, and thanks for getting the word out about Rabbit Room’s wonderful book Every Moment Holy! Click here to read more of Tim Madden’s work at his blog. Visit the official Every Moment Holy website here.

When the Rabbit Room board met in January of 2017, one of our primary goals was to decide the future of North Wind Manor. Since that initial meeting, nearly two years have passed and we’ve diligently undergone untold hours of prayer, discussion, anxiety, research, and consultation. We took a deep breath and went public with our hopes for the project in early October, announcing the plan to renovate the manor and build a permanent home for the Rabbit Room. Prepared for a years-long fundraising campaign, we stepped out in faith, confident that the Lord had led us to the right decision. But anyone who’s taken a leap of faith has experienced the uncertainty and hand-wringing that goes along with it. We’re no different. I know some of you are tired of seeing us talk about the project. I know some are weary of emails about fundraising. I know some might be concerned that the Rabbit Room seems to be asking for money a lot lately. Believe me when I say that we understand those concerns and share them. We’ve been wrestling with this project for two years now, even though it’s only been public for three months. But as I sit here typing this post on the first day of 2019, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude as I consider what God has done through the Rabbit Room since that first announcement about the North Wind Manor project in October. As of this writing, the Rabbit Room community has raised over $130,000 for the manor, mostly in small donations of $25-50 each. Thanks to our incredibly generous matching grant, that puts total funding for the project at over $260,000, well past halfway to our goal. But that’s not all. Thanks to other donations that we know are in process, we have maxed out our matching grant and in the next few weeks will see the grand total pushed to nearly $350,000! Amazing! On top of that, we have officially acquired J. R. R. Tolkien’s fireplace, which will become a permanent fixture in the North Wind Manor library once the project is complete. We hope to make some other exciting announcements in the coming weeks, but I wanted to take this opportunity to say thank you to everyone that’s been involved. We couldn’t make this happen without you, all of you, and we can’t wait to welcome you to North Wind Manor one day soon. So if we’ve come on strong lately, know that the fundraising work is nearing its end. We still have some funds to raise, but you’ll soon be able to look forward to actual updates on the building of the new facility. We’re looking forward to getting to work. We’ve got new Rabbit Room Press titles in the pipeline, a 10th Hutchmoot to convene (and maybe even a second one this year!), Local Shows to plan, podcasts to produce, and soon, an entire building to renovate. Thank you for all your support. 2019 is going to be an amazing year.

Over the Thanksgiving holiday, my mom and I watched The Man Who Invented Christmas. It’s the mostly made-up origin story of how Charles Dickens (played by the delightful Dan Stevens) came to write A Christmas Carol. It was especially fun to see how his characters physically showed up when he learned their names. “Scrooge,” he finally says, after fumbling around with “Scratch” and “Scrounger,” and then suddenly an old, ornery man appears in his room who continues to follow him around for the rest of the movie, yelling at him. In the film, Dickens gets the idea for the story by listening to a pompous, high-class citizen talk trash about the poor of London and how they should all be killed or sent to the workhouse. Dickens is not only offended, but indignant. He sets off to write a story about the worst kind of man he knows. However, by the end of the story, he realizes that it’s at least partially about himself. There is a part of him that is mirrored in Scrooge: when he scoffs at his wife for asking him for a new candle, when he sends his parents away to live somewhere else. Deep inside of him, there’s a piece of old Scrooge. The act of writing the story sends him down a dark path to visit events of his past and to answer the question, “Can a person change?” I loved seeing Dickens discover himself through writing. I’m sure many writers have experienced moments when their own work causes them to face their worst fears. If the pen is a sword, what do you do when it turns against you? This is one of my favorite things about writing: the things you discover about yourself in the process. There is much more to us than we realize. When we dip into that abyss of self and let our rational mind go, who knows what we will find? There are places in our cells, our nerve endings, that understand in ways our consciousness never will. We don’t know exactly what our liver does or how to tell it to clean our bodies, but our cells somehow communicate with each other behind our backs. What if they have stories and thoughts and ideas that come out when we open ourselves and begin a project? And what if we find something dark down in there? Something like a Scrooge? In a section titled “The Risks of Honest Writing” in the book The Art & Craft of the Short Story, Rick DeMarinis writes: “One of the risks of fiction writing is the discoveries you might make….How can you maintain your moral invulnerability when the thing you’re writing is pointing the finger at you?…The choice is simple: Go with it, accept the implications of that line, or don’t write it—write instead something that agrees with your initial high-minded intention. This takes you off the hook; it certifies your virtue. But it’s a lie. It violates the direction your intuition told you the poem wanted to take. The line that was inevitable has been replaced by a line that is merely acceptable—but it’s a damn lie.” I think as Christians, we often get scared of delving into the dark abyss where stories and art come from. But the irony is, that’s where God is, too. He’s down there in us. I have encountered the assumption in the Christian church that self-expression is the enemy of divine inspiration, but I think that if we ourselves are the image of God, than we are God-expression. Anything we make that expresses our true selves, then, is also expressing and exposing God inside us. So is it God-expression or self-expression? I say, what’s the difference? They are tied together in us, in the cross, in our very bones and cells and spirits and flesh. We cannot separate them, just as we cannot separate ourselves from Christ. We work with God, not for him. He invited us in. We were slaves, but now we are friends. I’m not sure what he was thinking, but he chose us and we can’t escape him. If the pen is a sword, what do you do when it turns against you? Hetty White Many artists talk about “getting out of the way” to let creativity flow from another place beyond us. I agree. I think we have to let everything go, all our intentions and motivations, and all our thoughts of saving the world—at least in the first draft of a work. But I don’t think we are getting rid of ourselves when we do this. I think we are actually finding our true selves. Jesus proclaims that “Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” If we are hidden in Christ with God, then the only way to find ourselves is to let our idea of who we are go. Self-expression could be the ultimate act of worship: submitting to who God says we are instead of who we think we are. I have a theory that this is the reason why many artists who are not believers unwittingly teach us the Gospel again and again in their stories. I believe they are good (and sometimes even better) at getting out of the way and listening to their intuition while searching for the truth, and along the way, they stumble on the story of Christ. In the film, Dickens realizes the parts of himself that resemble Scrooge, but he also finds that he can change. It’s not too late. In short, the gospel showed up through his truthful storytelling. Not only did he write a good story that changed the world and Christmas as we know it; he changed himself. Of course, the story portrayed by the film is mostly made up, and who knows if the real Dickens did any self-discovery while writing A Christmas Carol? Being the honest writer that he was, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did end up reflecting some on his own life. And now the reader, in turn, is also asked to see themselves in Scrooge. We are given the gift of a mirror that the author has crafted from his own blood, sweat, and tears. May we also have the grace to remember that Scrooge is not who we really are, but only a mask we put on, a protective wall against heartache and loss. And may we have the grace to realize that even for Scrooge, even for us, it’s never too late to change. Artwork by Ronald Searle

Not one, or two, but three new episodes of The Membership podcast are now available! In these episodes, our hosts Jason Hardy, John Pattison, and Tim Wasem discuss the only two Port William short stories set in the 19th century as well as essays from Wendell Berry’s 1969 collection, The Long-Legged House. The goal of The Membership is to curate great conversations that contribute to the health of the land and the health of our communities. Throughout this new podcast, hosts Jason Hardy, John Pattison, and Tim Wasem plan to discuss Berry’s life and writings. They will also interview other folks—farmers and makers, writers and artists, and community practitioners of all kinds—who are responding to Wendell Berry’s writings in their own places. Check out the new episodes by clicking here. And you can learn more about The Membership at its official website by clicking here. Click here for more information about The Rabbit Room Podcast Network and to check out other great podcasts.

We recently became aware of two wonderful interviews with our friends Doug McKelvey and Ned Bustard, both conducted by Tim Madden at his blog, Maddening Theology. In the interest of sharing good things, we are reposting them on the Rabbit Room blog. Click through for an interview with Doug McKelvey about the writing of Every Moment Holy. TIM: Tell us a little about yourself. DOUGLAS: I grew up in East Texas, but have spent most of my adult life in the Nashville area. I’ve been married almost 26 years and have three adult daughters and two sons-in-law. I spent 15 years as a song lyricist, then transitioned to video work as a writer, director, and editor. I published a few books early in my career, but over the last few years have returned to book writing as my primary vocational focus. My indulgences are well-crafted shots of espresso and well-crafted fantasy literature. Also, I love to travel but haven’t done nearly enough of it. TIM: When did you start appreciating liturgical writings, and what was your background with them? DOUGLAS: I grew up in traditions that had no clearly defined liturgical practices and that, to some degree, might even have fostered a suspicion of such things as being rote and devoid of the Spirit of God. Consequently, it was much later in life that I began to recognize there might be artful ways in which my own gifts as a budding writer might be offered to the church. I was in college when I first encountered TIM: When did you first start writing liturgies? DOUGLAS: I first experimented with liturgical “forms” as a structure for poetry probably 15 years ago, in the context of a work of fiction I was writing. They weren’t technically liturgies, or necessarily even prayers, but they borrowed from the “leader” and “people” interactive format, as a symbolic way of communicating a level of meaning both ancient and spiritual in those poems. The first actual prayer I wrote as liturgy was “A Liturgy for Fiction Writers” which I penned some three years ago because I personally needed that centering reminder of who I am in relation to my Creator, my craft, and the community I hope to serve each time I sit down to write. TIM: When and how did you decide to turn these liturgies into a book? DOUGLAS: I was invited to co-lead a session on writing at the Hutchmoot Conference two years ago, along with Heidi Johnston and Andrew Peterson. I sent the “Liturgy for Fiction Writers” to Andrew, suggesting that it might make a fitting close to the session. His response was “I love this, but I wish there was a liturgy for beekeeping and all sorts of other things too.” The lightbulb clicked on. I wrote another two or three liturgies, imagined what such a book might be, and put together a publisher pitch, which I presented to Rabbit Room Press a few days later. Their immediate response was “Yes, we will publish this. But it might take a while to find the funding.” TIM: So this is how you chose the Rabbit Room Press? DOUGLAS: Yes, it was never much of a question. The older I get, the more I’m intentionally focused on creating things that might continue to serve people, even after I’m gone. I like to think in terms of a “hundred-year vision,” of building things that might or might not have mass appeal, but that might still be deeply meaningful to those present and future pilgrims who will one day encounter them. Rabbit Room Press is the only publisher I trust to shepherd a project like Every Moment Holy in such a way as to lay the groundwork for long-term service rather than short-term sales. The Rabbit Room was founded on the idea that “Art nourishes community, and community nourishes art.” The larger Rabbit Room community has played a tremendously meaningful part in my own journey over the last several years, and this book is born out of the encouragement of that community, and is in a way a gift that I can offer back to that community. To have chased a deal with a bigger publisher would have felt purely mercenary, I think, and would probably have resulted in a very different (and probably lesser) book that might have been abandoned after the few-year surge and ebb of initial marketing and sales. TIM: Is there any influence from Scripture from the pattern of the liturgies such as found in Psalms or Lamentations? DOUGLAS: Definitely! I find in the Psalms and some of the prophetic books of Scripture a lot more license to be honest about our disappointments, failures, sorrows, and turbulent emotions than we’re sometimes comfortable giving voice to. As a song lyricist 20 years ago, I was consciously absorbing some of those patterns of lament from Scripture and trying to give new expression to them. I think what I was reaching for back then as a writer has a more satisfying fulfillment in some of the prayers in Every Moment Holy. TIM: Interesting that you would add the prophetic books to that. I’ve never thought of that genre as having liturgy in them, but now that you say it, it makes complete sense. TIM: What are three of your favorite liturgies that you personally enjoy from the book? I like to think in terms of a 'hundred-year vision,' of building things that might or might not have mass appeal, but that might still be deeply meaningful to those present and future pilgrims who will one day encounter them. Doug McKelvey DOUGLAS: My favorite piece from the book is probably “A Liturgy for Those Who Work in Wood & Stone & Metal & Clay,” which is a bit ironic, as I don’t personally work in any of those mediums—but I love the idea in storytelling of using elements that are very narrow and specific as doorways into those things that are more universal or transcendent, and I think that principle holds true here. The act of physically fashioning elements becomes a metaphor for all of our labors undertaken in the hope of Kingdom of Heaven, and I find myself more moved by that turn in the liturgy than I would be, I think, if it were written as a general prayer about our hope of a coming redemption. At the same time, it’s also meant to be a liturgy for literal use by those who do work in wood or stone or metal or clay. “A Liturgy for Those Who Have Not Done Great Things for God” is important to me personally, because I’ve been in a lot of churches or youth groups or Christian colleges over the years where tremendous burdens are placed on the backs of folks by well-meaning people who nevertheless create an artificial and unattainable and unbiblical standard of what a life of serving Christ should look like. A 16-year-old kid might not be in a position to “shake the world” or even to “take their high school for Christ,” and to continually have that thrown at them as the standard for discipleship is to set them up for failure and disillusionment down the road. But if they desire to follow Jesus, then they are in position to begin the lifelong work of learning what it means to daily love and serve those around them, to be more patient with their siblings, to be kind, to steward faithfully their time and talents, to progressively learn to submit their passions and desires to the revelations of God in Scripture. I believe those who are greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven are mostly those who learn to take up their cross daily, quietly and humbly and sacrificially serving those whose lives intersect their own. I hope this prayer might offer some conciliation, freedom, and affirmation to others who have experienced similarly misguided pressures in their own lives. TIM: I’m in total agreement with your statement on setting up a standard of service for young people which does not exist.. Some of my friends and I have been talking about that for years. TIM: What are some of the liturgies people really enjoy that surprised you? DOUGLAS: People like the diaper changing liturgies. Which is funny, but fitting. It’s real life. It’s the sort of daily moment that on its surface can just feel like part of the endless drudge of caring for others in a mostly thankless capacity. But if the gospel is true, and the greatest in the kingdom of God are those who most humbly (and anonymously) serve, then the act of changing a baby’s diaper, seen rightly, is a holy act with eternal ramifications. “A Liturgy Before Taking the Stage” is another one that seems to be taking on a life of its own. A number of artists and bands have told me they’re using it now before every show. I tried to write that one is such a way that it wouldn’t just be pertinent to musicians, but to pastors, teachers, or anyone who’s about to stand in front of others and share their ideas or their gifts. Being in Nashville though, it’s mostly performers I’m getting feedback from. With the flooding in Houston and the massive wildfires in California, a number of people and even churches immediately started using “A Liturgy for Those Who Have Suffered Loss from Fire, Flood or Storm.” I wrote that one at the request of friends who lost their house to fire, but I didn’t anticipate it being used in community to the degree that it already has. TIM: My readers may think that this was planned, but they should note that I interviewed you and Ned separately. The fact that out of some 100 liturgies, both of you mentioned the diaper changing liturgy cracks me up. I told Ned that this was actually the first liturgy my wife went to when we received the book. I think, in essence, it almost captures what the book is. It is taking things that we never think of as God things, and recognizing that everything is important to God and connected to Him. In reality it is the most mundane task, but I agree, if we look at it through the lens of Scripture, it is Gospel work. How much more could you love someone than to wipe feces from their body, and doing it in a loving way? DOUGLAS: Exactly. TIM: When you decided to take on the project of writing “Every Moment Holy,” how did long did the project take? DOUGLAS: I penned six or eight of the liturgies before Rabbit Room Press was able to secure funds to green light the project. But from that point it was a grueling, nine-month writing process to meet the deadline. For my wife and me, it was a crazy season of life anyway, as two of our daughters got married last summer, and the third graduated high school and started college. Plus we had to be at conferences a full month of that time. I’m still not sure how the book got written. TIM: Do you see any future projects in writing a second book with more daily moments? DOUGLAS: Almost from the beginning we’ve envisioned this as a long-term, ongoing project. There were a number of liturgies on the brainstormed master-list that seemed key, but that there simply wasn’t space for in the current book. So yes, definitely, the plan is to offer more of these liturgies in the future. We’ll probably make some of the new ones available for download on the everymomentholy.com site, long before a second book is ever published. TIM: Douglas, I appreciate your time, and even more than that, you sharing your gift of writing with us, so that we can remember that every moment in life is holy to God. Below I am going to put a link to several of your books in case anyone would like to read more of your works. Thanks again. Read Tim’s interview with Ned Bustard about the art in Every Moment Holy here. Click here to read more of Tim Madden’s work at his blog. Visit the official Every Moment Holy website here.

Have you ever wondered about the artwork that decorates the covers of so many of Wendell Berry’s books? I have, and so years ago I went digging to find out what I could about the pieces, and the man behind them. In doing so, I was introduced to one of those fascinating characters that hides behind the curtains of history. Harlan Hubbard was born in 1900 in Bellevue, Kentucky. Although he would leave Kentucky several times in his life, first to live in New York and then to travel in a “shantyboat” down the Ohio River, Hubbard was as bound to farms and rivers of Northern Kentucky as a hobbit is bound to the Shire. He studied at the National Academy of Design in New York and later at the Cincinnati Art Academy. At the age of nineteen, however, he moved back to Kentucky with his mother, and he lived with her until he was married in 1943. Wendell Berry, in his book Harlan Hubbard: Life and Work, writes that Hubbard was an “odd young man” who, from very early on, viewed the world differently than most people. He was pretty much a failure in the world’s eyes. His art was not recognized, he earned his living as a day laborer, and he spent his spare time roaming the hills and riverways of Kentucky with his bicycle and painting tools. In 1943 he married Anna Eikenhout. The two decided to embark on a journey down the Ohio River in a boat they made with their own hands. For the next few years they lived a nomadic life, exploring the river and learning that a life without all the trappings that we find so necessary is still possible. Hubbard explained, “To achieve more perfect harmony with the river and at the same time to live close to the earth and free from entanglement with this modern urban world, I became a shantyboater.” He saw the modern world as full of these entanglements that keep us from enjoying the beauty and simplicity of a life lived with our own two hands. After selling the steamboat in bayou country of Louisiana, the Hubbards found their way back to Northern Kentucky to begin in earnest to live close to the earth. Harlan’s book, Payne Hollow: Life on the Fringe of Society is absolutely fascinating. Imagine Walden’s Pond for a lifetime. Hubbard was not a preacher or an outspoken evangelist for his lifestyle, and that was intentional. He was committed to being himself, completely, never pretending to be someone different to “get along” in society. To illustrate this point, Hubbard made clear that his intentions were not to proselytize: I had no theories to prove. I merely wanted to try living by my own hands, independent as far as possible from a system of division of labor in which the participant loses most of the pleasure of making and growing things for himself. I wanted to bring in my own fuel and smell its sweet smell as it burned on the hearth I had made. He chose to paint what he knew, what he loved, and what he felt was important to his own personal understanding of life and the way it is lived. His dogged commitment to pursue his own inclinations in both art and life drew others to come and see, to consider, and possibly to change themselves. My favorite piece of Hubbard’s is called Window on the River, 1986. This piece was painted just two years before his death. I’ve always loved it, ever since I saw it on the cover of a collection of three of Wendell Berry’s novels. The window in between the painter and his river is, perhaps, a recognition of the limits placed upon the medium of art. Kevin Morse There is a window in the center, and one can see the Ohio River through the trees just outside. Presumably, this is the view the Hubbards would have had from their own window in their little cabin on the slopes of Payne Hollow. On the window sill sit the artist’s tools: his easel, his paints, a candle. It is a reflective painting filled with dark browns, reds, and blues. We see the main subject of the painter’s entire life framed in view outside the window: the river. We also see the tools of his life set to paint his subject. The window in between the painter and his river is, perhaps, a recognition of the limits placed upon the medium of art. We have a limited view of what we would celebrate with our art, limited by our finite minds, our particular traditions, and our skill and ability to create. Put together, the piece communicates that there is a beauty to be found in the work itself, in the tools of that work, and in the completion of it. It’s a celebration of when life is whole and united; work and rest, the tools and the project, each in its proper place and enjoyed for itself. In his book on life in Payne Hollow, there is this same recognition of the beautiful and useful in everyday life and chores. Hubbard devotes an entire chapter to a description of chopping firewood which, that being their only means of heating and cooking, took up a great portion of his time. There is a loving tone in his words as he writes about his tools for this job: The wilderness spell is deepened by the coarse rasping of the saw, the CHOK CHOK of the axe. These are noble tools and they belong to the woods. What tool is more simple and efficient than the axe, a perfect example of functional beauty? If you read his journals, it’s fair to say that Harlan Hubbard struggled all of his life to be a “whole man,” without allowing his work and his play, his art and his life to become fragmented. He fought to connect the useful and the beautiful together. In his journal from February of 1938 he wonders why it is that doctors and priests do not collaborate more often in healing the sick. He writes, “There is need of a physician who will minister to both soul and body at once, that is, to man.” Many pastors and counselors are saying the same thing today, and rightly so. I’ve been drawn to Hubbard’s work for years now. As a Christian I found his struggle for wholeness in his life and in his paintings to be very profound. We are, after all, saved in Christ body and soul—a whole being. We are called to live having “put on the new self” (Col. 3:10) and all that entails. In our lives as Christians, we are called to “do all things to the glory of God” (1 Cor. 10:31) and whatever we do, “in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him” (Col. 3:17). I would humbly submit that, because we have the joy of knowing our creator, we have a much deeper and more profound reason not only to tie the useful and beautiful together in our own lives, but to find joy in both art and living. We may disagree with some of Hubbard’s application—you don’t have to build your own cabin and do everything with your own hands—but there are countless ways that our culture fragments our being, and we ought to fight to be one whole person, in our work, art, and play.

In a recent episode of the Radiolab podcast, producer Latif Nasser shares some of his techniques for finding stories to research and write about. The episode grows from this article, in which Nasser offers even more techniques, which range from setting Google alerts to rummaging around in library collections of personal papers and oral histories to repeatedly clicking the “random article” button on Wikipedia. I won’t list all of Nasser’s techniques, since you can click over to the article or podcast more easily than I can summarize them. His techniques are helpful, and I commend them to you. The most helpful thing about Nasser’s remarks, however, is his approach to story-finding almost as a lifestyle, or perhaps a philosophy. We all need to be in the habit of noticing, of keeping our eyes open to the marvels that surround us every minute of every day. Nasser writes, There are more than seven and a half billion people out in the world. Presume that 1% of them have fascinating, dynamic, newsworthy things happening to them in any given week. You think that the Washington Post or Buzzfeed or the BBC, or really all of the mainstream media outlets combined could possibly cover seventy-five million stories per week? No way. And that’s just alive people’s stories! There are also dead people and animals and businesses and ecosystems and microbes and consumer goods and planets and laws and inanimate objects . . . they all have stories, too. Most of us aren’t journalists hunting up stories to feed the deadline machine. Nevertheless, to be attentive to the stories around us is to acknowledge the plenitude in which we find ourselves and to live more fully in it. We live in a world of wonders. To be in touch with more stories than our own is to live more than one life. My favorite of Nasser’s techniques is perhaps the most obvious. It is certainly the most old-school: Talk to strangers. “Everybody around you has stories,” he says. “The whole world is like that.” I try to make it a habit to talk to strangers, to ask them where they came from, ask them about their work, ask them what sort of changes they’ve noticed in the years they have walked the earth. If they are my parents’ age or older, I ask them if they remember the first time they ate pizza. That question yields surprisingly good stories. Sometimes I ask people if they’ve ever been bitten by a dog. Sometimes I run into people who are so inattentive to their own lives that they don’t think they’ve got any stories to tell. Once I was in line at a convenience store behind a man whose t-shirt read “RJ Corman Derailment Services.” The man’s job was to clean up train wrecks! I tried to start a conversation with him: “In that business I bet you have some stories to tell,” I said. He shrugged. “It’s a job,” he said. “Just like any other job.” Anyway, all this talk about talking to strangers reminded me of an encounter I had in the Green Hills library. Below is what I wrote about it on my blog in 2010. I notice that I mention train derailment in that piece too. That is purely a coincidence. ... A while back I was in the library checking my email on the public computers. The patrons of the library’s public computers constitute what may politely be called a cross-section of humanity. At my library, they don’t just let you sit at whichever computer you like. They assign you one, and it’s right next to the person who sat down just before you did. Which is to say, there isn’t any of that natural spacing of the discreet whereby two people in an elevator stand in the back corners and the third person stands in the middle right by the door. No, at the library computers you’re spang up against the next fellow. The fellow I was spang up against was managing his account at an online dating site. He was a white-haired, paunchy old boy with a long, straight nose that bulged off to the left just at the tip-end, putting me in mind of a train that derailed right before pulling into the station. Every half-minute or so, he chuckled at something some dating prospect or other had written in her profile, wagging his head each time and cutting his eyes over toward me. Clearly he hoped I would ask him what he was laughing about or otherwise engage him in conversation. I was determined not to. I was in a bit of a hurry–just trying to check my email and get out of there–and I wasn’t up to it anyway. Soon my neighbor wandered away from the dating site and to a medical self-diagnosis site. He stopped chuckling and instead made little murmurs of interest–or maybe it was concern. I didn’t take the bait. I was locked on to that email. At last the man nudged me with his elbow. He pointed at his screen. “How would you pronounce that word?” he asked. I looked at his screen. “Splanchnoptosis, I guess.” I went back to my email. “Splanchnoptosis,” he repeated. “Prolapse or backward displacement of an organ in the abdomen.” He rubbed his ample belly. “I’m pretty sure that’s what I’ve got,” he said. I glanced in his direction and gave a quick, sympathetic nod, then looked off, hoping he would get the message. The man turned his chair to face me. “You probably didn’t know that you can cure cancer with baking soda, did you?” It finally occurred to me that whatever my email said, it wasn’t going to be nearly as interesting as the things this old boy had to say. I turned my chair too, and we were face to face. “That’s right,” he said. “Some doctors in Italy taped pouches of baking soda under the armpits of women with breast cancer. Six weeks later, the tumors were gone. No surgery. No chemo. No radiation. I saw it on YouTube.” He crossed his arms triumphantly, as if he had been one of the Italian doctors who made the discovery. “It’s all about the pH levels.” He extended a thick right hand in my direction. “I’m David,” he said. I shook his hand. If I told him my name, I’m quite sure he didn’t hear it. He was off again. “But there’s no money in baking soda, is there? Where would the medical-industrial complex be if everybody was controlling their pH levels with baking soda and wasn’t getting cancer? What would the doctors do? You can’t make the mortgage on one of those doctor houses by selling baking powder, can you?” David looked behind him as if to be sure nobody was eavesdropping, though he was speaking so excitedly now that I suppose everybody in the computer room could hear every word, unless they were wearing foam earplugs. He leaned in close. “You know who built all the hospitals, don’t you?” I shook my head. “The Rockerfellers. That’s who. The same Rockerfellers that are in charge of everything else. You think that’s a coincidence, that the Rockerfellers built all those hospitals and the Rockerfellers are in charge of our health policy? You want to know why you didn’t know baking soda is the cure for cancer?” He snorted disdainfully. “Ask the Rockerfellers. Only they won’t tell you.” David gestured toward the people who were lined up outside the computer room for early voting. “It’s like I told one of the women out there,” he said. “I said, ‘Do you really think you’re smart enough to vote? Do you think you can outwit the military-medical-industrial complex? Because that’s who runs things around here. Do you think you’re smarter than the Rockerfellers?'” To think my natural inclination was to ignore this guy. “But there’s no telling what women want, is there?” David said. I wasn’t sure if that was a rhetorical question. “I know what women want,” he said, “and I know how to give it to them.” He leaned in even closer than before and assumed a confidential tone. “They just want somebody who will listen. ... What interesting stories have you heard from strangers? Leave one in the comments section. Also, I recently had a conversation about The Habit and writing habits for 2019 with Chase Replogle for his podcast, The Pastor Writer. You can listen here. Photograph by Matthew Gibson: “After Titarenko”

I lay on a cold metal table, pondering death and mortality, while Theo Huxtable dragged a scalpel down the middle of my chest. This wasn’t a dream, or a nightmare. This was real life. At least, the fake version of real life. I had gotten a call about working as a body double on a television medical drama called The Resident. One of the characters had died, and they needed someone to essentially stand in for his torso during a particular scene. I replied that I was available, and then got an odd text message: “Production needs a shirtless photo.” What price fame? I closed my office door, propped up my phone, said a quick prayer that no one would knock on my door, and bared my flesh for an abashed selfie. Later that night, I got another call. The directors couldn’t decide who was the best chest-double for the dead guy, so they were bringing two of us in. The next morning, I arrived at Stage Four, only to be shuttled to Stage One for makeup. The radio in the van was playing W’s eulogy for George Bush. It was to be a funereal day. Sarah and “Shorty,” the special effects makeup artists, were waiting for me and my cadaver compatriot at Stage Four. They stared at both of our chests, which engendered the first of many odd feelings I would experience throughout the day. I was tempted to say, “Hey, eyes up here, ma’am.” Rory, the other candidate, was a better match for the dead character’s face. I was a better match for his chest. I got the part, and Rory would be an additional cadaver. The makeup artists got to work. I was brushed, and airbrushed, from head to toe. I watched my legs take on a sickly pallor, and I closed my eyes while spots of ugly purplish petechiae were splattered on my face. Sarah painted empty veins on my chest, and I gained a new appreciation for the actors and artists who do this for hours every day. When I looked in the mirror, I was both impressed and disturbed. I saw motion, and vibrancy, but I quite literally looked like death. Naturally, I took another selfie. I was given a hospital gown and slippers (which made me feel a little more dead) and found my heated tent. Sound stages can be cold, and it was in the 20s outside, so I was grateful for these comforts. I met two more cadavers who would be filling the tables around mine and, collectively, we were a paradox. Four fairly young guys reading, talking, and doing very normal things, all dressed for death. The production assistant called us to set, which was an autopsy room at a hospital morgue. I climbed on my shiny table and winced as bare skin touched freezing stainless steel. A camera operator named Courtney introduced himself, and asked me to lie completely still while he positioned a camera up in the ceiling to point right down on me. And there I was, chin-to-navel, on monitor screens all around the room. This was a teaching scene, and the instructor would be showing med students how to work with cadavers. My pasty, veiny chest became set decoration. I am rarely self-conscious, but I felt the urge to suck in my gut. “Let’s go on rehearsal,” the director shouted, and the room quieted. The actors entered. “Hi, I’m Malcolm,” said one in a deep and hearty voice as he shook my hand. “I’m Mark,” I replied, and I connected the dots in my head. “Malcolm” is Malcolm-Jamal Warner. Theo was all grown up. Production Assistants circled around me. They placed my head on this horrible neck stand, covered my shorts with a hospital-blue drape, and placed a similar drape over my face. If I lowered my eyes I could see the wall, with fake windows and those huge monitors displaying my chest. “Ready on rehearsal”—the director again—“And, action!” The scene involved Malcolm’s character giving a bit of a speech to the students about the importance of their discipline and the sanctity of life, then helping a student whose shaky hands belied a fear that the cadaver was actually alive. (Of course, it was, but never mind that.) The lines were rehearsed, and then the stand-ins went through them over and over while camera angles and lighting were adjusted. I was very familiar with the process, and I knew it would take a while. I was therefore extra-thankful when they brought me a warm blanket and a pillow to replace the neck thing. The director leaned over me and said, “Let us know if you think you’re going to start shivering. It’s hard to look dead when you’re shivering.” Finally, we were ready to shoot. I wept a little inside when the blanket and pillow were taken away, and I did my best not to start shivering. The iterations of filming continued for hours through multiple takes, changing camera angles, and on-the-fly adjustments. Eventually, we reached the part of the scene when my chest was to be cut open. In the smallest of ways, seeing through the eyes of death added a layer of understanding to my living. It taught me that a death without heaven is devastating, and that a life not savored is incomplete. Mark Geil The scalpel looked real but the props master came over to assure me it was quite dull. This was the tightest shot of me, so I worked on regulating my breath. The scene was too long for me to hold my breath, so I took in full breaths when there was a distraction and let them out as slowly as I could. I’m certain you’ll be able to see me moving if you watch the episode carefully. Still, I did my best as the student hovered over me, scalpel held in a hand shaking with nerves, almost touching my skin. “If you see blood, it’s yours,” Malcolm boomed. “I assure you, he’s dead. He will not bleed.” Then he took over. He placed his left hand on my shoulder, touched scalpel to skin, and began the motion of a slow and even incision. “Cut!” Then a pause, and then: “This is good, but I really want to…” which was followed by much technical talk about lens sizes and gates and focus pullers, and how one should hold a scalpel and where the incision should begin. It was then that I began to ponder what it was like to be alive. Or dead. For several minutes during the frenetic technical decision-making, no one spoke to me. They spoke all around me, sometimes inches from me. They spoke about me, but I was, for practical purposes, a cadaver. I looked dead, in minute detail. My face was covered. I was on my back, on an autopsy table, motionless. This thought actually came to me: Man, being dead is terrible! I wanted to raise my hand and volunteer that I had actually taken gross anatomy in grad school and that I know how to dissect a cadaver, but I decided it was not my place, and also I was dead. I wanted to move my head because that neck thing was so uncomfortable, and wanted to raise my shoulders because my back hurt, but I had to stay still because the cameras were so close. And also, I was dead. I don’t know if we’ll sleep in heaven, or rest from our labors. I don’t know how aware we’ll be of the world we now live in, and its machinations. But I believe that we will not be like I was: a powerless ghost, cursed to observe a draped existence we can no longer be a part of. Lying on that table, with all that activity around me, despite me, an urge welled up in me. I wanted to throw the veil off my face, to sit up on the table and declare, “I’m still here!” I felt like I was in a sort of purgatory, and heaven cannot be like that. It must be better. It must be so much better that, if we can somehow look down upon earth, at our survivors, we will smile a contended smile, and somehow know that we still matter in their lives, and whisper to them, “I’m still here.” … In Struck, Russ Ramsey writes of a real reckoning with mortality, and a real operating room with real scalpels. “For my whole life I have seen the world through the eyes of the well,” he writes. “I want to learn to see through the eyes of affliction.” By comparison to Russ’s tale, my day on set was a trifle. But in the smallest of ways, seeing through the eyes of death added a layer of understanding to my living. It taught me that a death without heaven is devastating, and that a life not savored is incomplete. I made it home a little after 9:00 that night. My wife could hardly bear to look at me until I got all that makeup off (which, I learned, is no small task). I felt a little bit like I had cheated. I had the sort of newfound appreciation for the little things of life—the soft bed, the comfortable pillow, the very acknowledgment of the people you love—that people get after traumatic events and near-death experiences. But I hadn’t really earned it. My near-death experience (well, my all-the-way-death experience) was fake. But then I thought, why must we earn the chance to savor life, and to be reassured that the heaven that awaits is so much better? These truths are gifts, there for the taking. I just had to die enough to notice. Artwork Credit: “The Scalpel 2” by Dame Barbara Hepworth, 1949

Several years ago my husband and I made the leap into learning Spanish and more about the Mexican culture and Hispanic culture in general. All was fun and exciting and we felt very daring, I’m sure, until we actually entered language school and faced the reality of learning a new language. You could almost hear the mental brakes squealing as we sat in our first grammar class—our mad rush into the glamorous world of missions work (!) came to a sudden halt as we spent the better part of each day repeating the proper pronunciation of the five vowels. Our afternoons were spent in the company of Spanish-speaking tutors who knew little or no English; it was Spanish, however broken, or awkward silence. We praised God for these kind tutors—Bible students at the adjacent Hispanic Bible college—who kept their laughing to a minimum and who coached us through conversation practice on such thrilling topics as “In the Library,” “Around the Town,” and the perennial favorite, “At the Toy Shop.” As we got to know some of the Hispanic students, they discovered that my husband and I are musicians. We began to sing with some of them casually and then to help lead worship in the chapel services. For the most part, I was something of a trained monkey on the platform—put the music and words in front of me and give me an intro, and off I’d go. My pronunciation and harmonization were sufficient to make me blend in with the group, but my mind was on grocery lists or my baby’s nap schedule; I really had no idea what I was singing. The demands of language school and caring for our family limited the time I had to parse out the elevated Spanish of the hymns, and I didn’t make the time for it. One hymn we sang with the student worship leaders has remained with me: “Ya Pertenezco a Cristo.” I recognized the tune, but wasn’t familiar with the hymn in English, “Now I Belong to Jesus.” Frankly, I liked the song not because of the familiar tune, but because of the jazzy little arrangement one of the students had done. I always enjoyed singing this song, being sure to remember the E-flat our leader had thrown into the harmonization, and appreciated the nice little saxophone interlude he wrote between the verses. But my heart was not necessarily lifted beyond the confines of the chapel building roof with its lovely Spanish tiles. By God’s grace and the hard work of so many tutors and teachers, we ended our year of language school able to talk about current events, our families, and those things which make our hearts beat: love, music, desires, hopes, and the wonderful calling of God to “Go Ye Therefore Into All the Nations.” We had graduated from The Toy Shop to “The Real World,” but I was soon to find out just how much farther I had to go in truly learning the Spanish language. Our “Go Ye” took us not so far out of our cartographic experience and landed us in small-town Arkansas; my hometown, to be exact. There have been a host of hang-ups on being “sent out” only to arrive in the very place I was born and raised, but that’s another discussion for another day. We found a growing Hispanic community here and a very small, struggling church that needed a pastor. When my husband first visited the church by himself, he stood out as the lone gringo among the few people gathered there. When the congregation discovered that he spoke Spanish and that he was a preacher they made the plea that he come, bring his family, and be their pastor. Seven years later, he is still faithfully pastoring and preaching to our not-so-little-anymore congregation. Learning another language was for me an undoing of my entire person—mind, body, and spirit. Julie Spencer When we first joined this group of believers, they were meeting in the basement of a large American church. We had no name—just “Hispanic Mission.” There were two families besides our own and a few folks who’d visit on occasion. We threw ourselves eagerly into the work. From the perch of seven years later, I can look back on my dear younger self and wince a bit at my sincere efforts to belong to this little group of believers. I can hear my halting Spanish, see the sheen on my brow as I try to remember how to conjugate every verb to perfection. I see my attempts at making Mexican dishes, only to realize that there’s a huge difference between the Tex-Mex we all know (and love) and authentic Mexican food. “Bless her heart,” I can say with true southern compassion. But as I look back, I also see my weary face and the sometimes blank look I must have worn as we sang in Spanish. This was a true and unexpected sacrifice for me, giving up congregational singing in English. Raised in church, raised singing all the beautiful, glorious hymns we have in the English language—all of that was gone for me, at least on Sunday mornings. When I sang to God in our Hispanic congregation it was all about the vowels and consonants, not about the words. I felt content to sing the words correctly, but, for me, keeping up with what I was saying—well, I just couldn’t do it. I was often juggling a hymnal and a baby and trying to quiet a restless seven year-old boy. The words that might have brought comfort to me were often on my lips, but their meaning was never more than the black and white letters on the thin pages of our hymn books. Learning another language was for me an undoing of my entire person—mind, body, and spirit. The technical aspect of learning a foreign language was like having a toddler unpack all the linguistic knowledge I’d ever had, throwing it all over the floor of my mind, and then running outside to play. I am still picking up the pieces and often find it difficult to have one-on-one conversations with anyone, no matter what language I’m speaking. There is a physical element to learning a new language; exhaustion is the most obvious result of intense language study. But there is also anxiety and its physical symptoms: sweating, visible awkwardness, exaggerated hand motions when words fail, and an unwillingness to meet anyone’s eye, lest they should try to engage you in conversation. And over it all, around it all, is the spiritual aspect of learning a new language. When you set out to learn a new language for the glory of God, you must lay aside a part of yourself. You must assume that you know nothing—you must become as a little child as you approach this new world of sounds and syllables. You must learn to love God’s word in that language, to pray to Him in that language, and to sing to Him in that language. Seven years into this Spanish-speaking adventure, and I can confidently say that my communication skills are on par with many of the seven year-old native speakers in our church. Which is to say, I have a long way to go in my journey to fluency in Spanish. But, oh the joy I have known in these seven years of fellowship here! Our church family has grown and we’ve been given a name: no longer “Hispanic Mission,” but Iglesia Betel, the House of God. There is a wonderful mystery in all of this—how we have become a family in this little “house” called the church. My husband and I do not now see ourselves as The Missionaries who have come to bring the Gospel to Hispanics in South Arkansas. We feel much more akin to Luther’s beggar showing other beggars where to find bread. We have wearied ourselves with ministry but have learned to find nuestro descanso en Cristo. My heart lifted when, at a recent Wednesday evening Bible Study, we began to sing “Ya Pertenezco a Cristo.” Ya pertenezco a Cristo El pertenece a mí No solo por el tiempo aquí Mas por la eternidad I realized I’d forgotten the words in English, but that the Spanish lyrics had become meaningful to me in and of themselves. “I belong to Jesus! He is mine! Not just for today—but forever!” Tears formed in my eyes as we sang the first verse: Cristo el Señor me ama por siempre Mi vida guarda Él tiernamente Vence el pecado, Cuida del mal Ya pertenezco a Él I felt I could say, “Sí!” and “Amén!” to all of it. Yes! Christ loves me—me!—forever. He tenderly cares for and guards my life. He defeats sin in me and protects me from evil, because I belong to Him. And I belong to these people: my friends, my brothers and sisters in the Lord. What a treasure to stand with these loved ones and sing, with one voice: Gozo indecible inunda mi alma ya libertado estoy y mi vida Llena está de felicidad ya pertenezco a Él Indescribable joy floods my soul I am now free and my life is full of happiness I now belong to Him

Writing is the act of sitting alone and trying to connect with other people, some of whom may not even be born yet. By necessity, writing is a solitary enterprise. When it comes time to put words on a page you have to go somewhere and be by yourself. Nevertheless, writers need other people. The introspection and self-awareness required for writing can easily become self-absorption or self-flagellation or self-indulgence. Without other voices speaking into your life and work, it’s easy to lose heart or lose the path or lose perspective. It’s one of the great ironies of the writing life: it requires aloneness, and yet aloneness is one of the great dangers of the writing life. If you are a lone genius whose vision is utterly unique, feel free to ignore my remarks on this score. True, Flannery O’Connor came to value her isolation as a necessary condition of her art, though she didn’t choose her isolation. (And furthermore, she wasn’t truly isolated.) In any case, I’m not Flannery O’Connor and you probably aren’t either. I don’t think I could descend into the writer’s cave if there weren’t people just outside the entrance, calling me back into the bright life of the world. Most of us mere mortals need other people, and especially other writers. Yet other writers aren’t always easy to find. It has been my hope that Field Notes for Writers, the online membership that I lead, would be a gathering place where writers could learn together, find community, and give each other just a little more courage. I’ve been adding to the Field Notes library every week since September, and for the foreseeable future I will continue to add to it weekly. But it has occurred to me that the real value of the library is to give writers something to gather around and discuss. If you haven’t joined the Field Notes community, now would be a good time. Below is a trailer that tells the Field Notes story. I’ll be sharing on social media and elsewhere in an effort to grow the community. If you’re inclined to share it with your writer friends, I’d be most grateful. In these last few months, the library has grown to a respectable size—over ten hours of video, plus quizzes, discussion questions, etc. The library is currently divided into four categories: Line Edits These are short (10-15 minute) videos in which I pull up a story or essay from my extensive collection of online writing submissions and talk through the revisions that I recommended to the writer. There are currently five of these videos in the library. Comparing Notes These are podcast-style interviews in which I sit down with a writer friend and talk about writing….and I am happy to report that I have some very interesting writer friends. The five that are currently up are: Rebecca Reynolds, author of Courage, Dear Heart. Sam (S.D.) Smith, author of the Green Ember series. Heidi Johnston, author of Life in the Big Story. Dave Radford, singer-songwriter and the husband half of The Gray Havens. NEW THIS WEEK: Helena Sorensen, author of the Shiloh series (this one is great, by the way). Webinars Once a month I host a webinar on a writing topic. These webinars are free to all comers, Field Notes members and non-members alike. After the live event, I add a recording of the webinar to the Field Notes library, where you have access any time, whether you attended the live event or not. There are currently three webinars in the library: Writing Vivid Description Writing Better Dialogue Writing Better Places (Setting) COMING THIS WEEK: Understanding Narration and Point of View The February webinar, just in time for Valentine’s Day, will be about writing better love letters. Grammar for Writers If you join Field Notes before the end of February, you will have access to Grammar for Writers for as long as you remain a member. This is a great deal, by the way: the standalone price for Grammar for Writers will be higher than a year’s subscription to Field Notes. The first two modules (28 lessons) of Grammar for Writers are currently up. The remaining two modules will be up by the middle of February. Office Hours Every couple of weeks or so, I hold “office hours” via a Zoom video chat in which the Field Notes community can gather to ask questions, discuss a topic, etc. Book Club Our first Field Notes book club started this week. We are reading through Madeleine L’Engle’s Walking on Water together. It’s not too late to jump in. Click here to sample the Field Notes library and here to join the Field Notes community.

Click through for an in-depth video about the art and imagination of Joe Sutphin, how his love of illustration began, and his creative process for bringing novels to life. Learn more about Joe Sutphin’s work at his website here.

Every year, we compile all our favorite books, albums, TV shows, films, and more from that year and post them here for everyone’s mutual edification. Now that 2018 has come and gone, here are our choices. What were some of your favorites from 2018? Post them in the comments section below! Jen Yokel Books 1. Wearing God, Lauren Winner: With the eye of a scholar and the heart of a poet, Winner draws on personal stories, deep Biblical study, and a love of language to explore lesser known metaphors for God in a book I couldn’t stop thinking about for maybe a month after I read it. 2. Liturgy of the Ordinary, Tish Harrison Warren: Liturgy is not just religious activity, but the practices that shape us in our everyday lives, and in this book, Tish Harrison Warren explores this idea through our most mundane moments. You may not look at brushing your teeth or losing your keys the same way again. 3. The Jubilee, John Blase: It’s rare for me to make it through an entire poetry collection from start to finish but these were just so good, finely tuned with wisdom, gentle grace, and a touch of humor in all the right places. 4. The Girl Who Raced Fairyland All the Way Home, Catherynne M. Valente: I finally finished Valente’s Fairyland series this year, and this final volume was a beautiful conclusion to September’s adventures. If you’re into colorful characters, whimsical narrators, and old-fashioned fantasy with a healthy scoop of nonsense, pick up this series! 5. Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austen: I always try to tackle either a thick intimidating novel or an unread classic in the winter, so for 2018 I worked on my Austen deficiency and discovered I relate a little too much to Elinor Dashwood. Music 1. Evergreen, Audrey Assad: Lovingly crafted from start to finish, Evergreen tells a painfully honest story of faith lost and found, spiritual growth, and evergreen hope and marks a courageous new chapter in her career. 2. Golden Hour, Kacey Musgraves: Blending small-town country with glistening pop and songs that waver between wistful and playful, Golden Hour quickly won me over. I guess this means I like country now? 3. The Painted Desert, Andrew Osenga: The Painted Desert comes after time off from the road and studio, and these songs about renewal and hope create one of the most powerful records of the year. 4. Before the Sun Goes Down, The New Respects: Elements of funk, soul, blues, and 70’s rock n roll come together for one of coolest rock records I’ve heard in a long time. 5. Save Me, Liz Vice: If you haven’t discovered Liz Vice yet, her sophomore solo project is a great place to start. She blends classic R&B, soul, and gospel influences with pop beats and for one powerful, hopeful musical experience. Film/TV 1. Spiderman: Into the Spider-Verse: With compelling characters, stunning animation, and tons of delightful nods to the comics and movies of the past, Spider-Verse is one of the best moviegoing experiences I’ve had in a long time. Totally worth catching on a big screen while you can. 2. Black Panther: After 10 years following the Marvel Cinematic Universe, I’m pretty much in for whatever they offer, but there are a few that truly rise above the standard superhero blockbuster. Black Panther succeeds with power and style, through nuanced characters, a beautifully rendered world, and a story asking big questions about peace, justice, and courage. 3. Isle of Dogs: Wes Anderson’s second stop-motion animated film about a boy searching for his dog in a dystopian near-future Japan is, well, just as weird and charming as you’d expect, with a meticulous attention to detail and lot of heart. 4. Eighth Grade: Set in Kayla’s final week of eighth grade, this coming of age film skips the sentimentality and explores the tenderness and awkwardness of growing up in the Instagram age. Also, it has one of the best father/daughter conversations I’ve ever seen on film. 5. Won’t You Be My Neighbor: I never thought a documentary about a children’s TV star would make me cry, but well, this was 2018 after all. Such a beautiful portrait of one man’s long obedience toward loving others well. Chris Yokel Books 1. Prayers of a Young Poet, Rainer Maria Rilke: Just read what I had to say about this book here. 2. Falling Upward, Richard Rohr: This book was immensely helpful and full of wisdom in the midst of my spiritual reconstruction. Rohr argues that we must move from rigid rules and systems in earlier life to openness as we mature. 3. The Wildwood Chronicles, Colin Meloy: Read the first book many years ago, but decided to start the series over, and was rewarded with one of the most satisfying ends to a book series that I’ve read in quite awhile. 4. When The English Fall, David Williams:This post apocalyptic tale told from the perspective of an Amish man hauntingly grapples with pacifism in a world gone mad. 5. Born to Run, Bruce Springsteen: Bruce compelling and poetically tells his life story. Read a lot of this when preparing for my session at Hutchmoot this past year. Music 1. Eurus, The Oh Hellos: This second EP in a four part series continues the band’s exploration of the question “Where do our ideas come from?”. Once again The Oh Hellos continue to display floor stomping musical wizardry with potent, thoughtful lyrics. 2. Magic, Ben Rector: Ben Rector continues to excel at thoughtful pop music by channeling 80s sound with meditations on childhood and growing up, both in himself and looking at this newborn daughter. 3. Ancient Transition, Beta Radio: Beta Radio, out of Wilmington, NC, has quietly become one of my favorite bands. In this new album, they continue expanding on their folk sensibilities and sensitive songwriting by examining what home is in a world of transition. 4. Palms, Thrice: In a year in which I was processing spiritual deconstruction and reconstruction, it was so encouraging to find out that two of my favorite artists, Audrey Assad and Dustin Kensrue of Thrice, had gone through the same experience and put it into their art. 5. Voice in the Silence, Mutemath: Feels like the old school Mutemath of their first three albums that I’ve always loved. Film/TV 1.Springsteen on Broadway: Bruce Springsteen is one of our most compelling American storytellers, and this film just proves it. 2. I Am Not Your Negro: This came out in 2017, but I just had a chance to finally watch it several weeks ago. A powerful gut punch of a film focusing on the last unfinished work of James Baldwin. 3. First Man: Ryan Gosling’s portrayal of a grief-stricken Neil Armstrong in this film is a beautifully understated performance. 4. First Reformed: Ethan Hawke as an anguished, despairing priest grappling with his own failings and the struggles of a parishioner left me haunted. Helena Sorensen Books 1. The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie, Alan Bradley: The first in a series of detective novels featuring Flavia de Luce, an eleven-year-old amateur sleuth whose obsession with poisons prompts her to blurt out such phrases as “Lord, How manifold are Thy works!” What’s not to love? 2. Year of Wonders, Geraldine Brooks: A novel based on the true story of a village that quarantined itself during an epidemic of the plague. Horrifying topic; gorgeous writing. 3. Worlds of Exile and Illusion, Ursula K. LeGuin: A collection of LeGuin’s first three science fiction novels, each more wonderful than the last. Nobody can plunge you into a strange new world like Ursula. 4. Traveling Mercies, Anne Lamott: My first Anne Lamott book. Where has she been all my life?! 5. A Prayer for Owen Meany, John Irving: This one’s for you, Jonathan Rogers. Albums Songs from the Valley, Sandra McCracken: Nothing made me cry in 2018 like Sandra’s latest album. If you haven’t put “O Gracious Light” on repeat and bawled your head off, you’re missing out. Oh, but wait! There’s “Fool’s Gold and “Lover of My Soul” and “Letting Go.” Dadgummit, Sandra! Movies/TV 1. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri: Because Frances McDormand is fabulous at everything, and because I didn’t see that reconciliation coming. Beautiful. 2. Paddington 2: Movies that parents and children enjoy equally are big winners in my book. And the colors! And Ben Whishaw! So delightful. 3. Outlaw King: Just when I’d settled on the fact that Robert the Bruce was the most loathsome traitor in history, this Netflix Original gave me another perspective. Also, I really love to hate Edward Longshanks. 4. The Last Kingdom, Season 3: The kind of writing that makes every word, every scene, seem inevitable. Plus Alfred the Great and Danes. 5. The Crown, Season 2: The acting! The acting! The last scene of the last episode, in the little cottage by the garden, when I clutched the arm of my couch with terrible force while my jaw sank to the floor! Hetty White Books 1. Man’s Search for Meaning, Viktor Frankl: Half memoir of his time in a WWII concentration camp and half philosophy, everyone alive should read this book that links hope with the ability to find meaning in/through your suffering. 2. A Prayer for Owen Meany, John Irving: Hilarious. Poignant. I am a better writer for having read this novel. 3. Bandersnatch: C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and the Creative Collaboration of the Inklings, Diana Pavlac Glyer: Yes, I heard the author’s wonderful talk at Hutchmoot, but reading the book was even better. I felt like I was actually hanging out with he Inklings and it made me realize my own longing for creative community. Music 1. Mighty Refuge, Aaron Strumpel: Beautiful take on old hymns. 2. “Hold Out Your Hand,” Brandi Carlile: She’s one of my songwriting heroes and I love everything she did last year. 3. Sentimental Creatures, Jess Ray: I know it didn’t come out last year, but I’ve had this on repeat. Films/TV 1. Sorry to Bother You: Near-future sci-fi with a super weird twist and intense social commentary (i.e. Get Out) that fit in the narrative. Not for the sensitive souls. 2. Daredevil Season 3: I really enjoyed the latest (and apparently last) season of Daredevil which featured the return of the infamous Wilson Fisk. 3. Black Mirror, “Bandersnatch” (episode): Yes, I actually have two Bandersnatches on my list. Dark sci-fi that’s interactive so that the viewer is literally choosing their own adventure? Yes, please! Joe Sutphin Books 1. The Bull That Was Terrifico, Karel Jaeger, illustrated by Barbara Mary Campbell (also known as “CAM”): I found this book in an old book store in Victoria, BC, with my pal Kevan Chandler. It’s a gorgeously illustrated gem of a book that made me crave more books illustrated by CAM. 2. The Misadventured Summer of Tumbleweed Thompson, Glenn McCarty: The finest story and authorial voice of the year in my opinion. It instantly reads as an old classic, yet is fresh and alive, full of heart and adventure and grounded in truth and goodness. I don’t mean to seem self-serving by mentioning a book I was honored to illustrate, but it’s a fantastic story that deserves to be read by those who appreciate good writing and great characters. 3. I’ve also been collecting older, more obscure titles illustrated by Lillian Hoban. Music 1. Hope Where There Was None, Loud Harp: The album of the year for me. It’s beautiful, powerful and filled with hope amid pain and struggle. 2. Where The Light Shines Through, Switchfoot: I was late to actually purchasing this one, but it’s wonderful, and Switchfoot remains a favorite of mine for their constant message of hope. 3. Loud Harp’s previous album, Asaph, was played in rotation with their new album throughout the year and is equally powerful and moving in its vocal, musical and lyrical content. Film/TV 1. Wonder: After reading it a few years ago, I held off watching the film, but finally decided to a month ago. I actually found it to be far more effective in telling the story than the book, and found it to be far more moving in its telling. 2. Almost Holy: a documentary about Gennadiy Mohknenko, a Ukrainian pastor and vigilante who hunts the dark streets of the Ukraine, pulling drug-addicted children from the slums and sewers and clutches of depraved adults, by force if necessary, adopting them and giving them a better life. I found Gennadiy to be the first real super hero I’ve come across in film in quite some time. Adam Whipple Movie The Incredibles II: I don’t see many new things, because I don’t get out much, but my eldest daughter reminded me that this Pixar gem came out last year. I like Pixar’s work in general, but for me, this film meant a lot. It’s not perfect, but like it’s predecessor, it put both hands directly into a number of family issues that usually get ignored. Bob Parr’s struggles to identify as the man of the house were home territory for me. I’m mostly a stay-at-home husband, bringing in a modicum of income through a grab bag of music, playing shows, writing, live sound engineering, and production. My wife works at a school and generally brings in the larger portion of our pay. She likes football; I couldn’t care less. She loves steak; I could live off fish and vegetables. She is more willing to try new technology; I like axes and dirt. At times, it feels to me like my wife is more aligned with the male stereotypes, while I tend toward a domain more traditionally that of women. I know life is rightly more complex than that, but that doesn’t mean I’m not subject to feeling inadequate about it. To see a character wrestling with those same inner hardships was freeing to me. I was not alone in a world of suited male CEOs and Ward Cleavers carrying briefcases and reading the paper. This, by the way, is a good remembrance that happens to other people when they see actors of color or characters struggling with sexuality, mental issues, or various other human conditions that escape your standard cookie cutter film. Feelings shouldn’t be the highest of driving forces, but knowing you’re not alone is a lot more than a feeling, and it’s worthwhile to show it in film. Album Portage, Vol. 1, Arthur Alligood: There are records I need for running, and they tend to proceed with a certain sense of narrative. If I distract myself from the hideous discomfort of aerobic motion, I can keep going a while longer. Not only does Portage accomplish the difficult feat of seeing me through two miles of jogging, it does so with a hope and a dead-eye stare at reality that most records leave out. Arthur’s project is a departure from his normal folk-n-roll idiom. It’s also right in his wheelhouse. Though largely electronic, the arrangements feel warm and inviting, while the lyricism is a complex and needed blend of acknowledging the horrors and faults of our modern culture and deciding to walk a different direction. Every song feels secure in the work of God’s grace even while admitting to a fallenness that follows but, by the Spirit’s providence, does not overcome. Arthur allows us room to say with him: “I won’t live in fear. I refuse.” Book Virgil Wander, Lief Enger: The sheer richness of this book ought to be enough for anyone to pick it up. Lief Enger’s command of sentences and pacing—and his cast of driven characters—make for a novel that doesn’t so much flog you along the road as cradle you, with all the homespun mystique of a long-rope tire swing. Virgil Wander is a mystery at heart, but the stakes are much larger. All the characters are the suspects; most of them are gumshoes; the crime is the unknown question of why things always go wrong when people work so hard to make it right. The northern-wilds hamlet of Greenstone, Minnesota, seems plagued by the recalcitrant woes of small American towns. There are the tragic, prodigal scion, the fallen ne’er-do-well who can’t hold a job, the widow looking always to the horizon, and the looming hulk of the abandoned ore plant. In the midst of this achingly familiar grayscale, Enger conjures the inviting magic of bright, outlandish kites, a treasure trove of old films, the potential of a Bob Dylan concert, and the reticent specter of Lake Superior. As with Peace Like a River, faith in Virgil Wander serves as an undercurrent. Enger refuses to give in to the temptation to make it a plot device. In this regard, the everyday interactions between the characters tend to be about more than they appear to be about. Through the potency of his concentrated prose and the approachable savor of the characters, Enger reminds us that there is an intricate shining deep down in real life. Kelsey Miller Songs 1. “Nothing Has to Be True,” First Aid Kit: The lyric, “You can tell yourself so many things, and nothing has to be true” is devastatingly human. 2. “I Made This For You,” Chris Thile: A song for those of us who tend to go numb in the face of chaos and disorder. The last verse feels like a manifesto. 3. “Why It Matters,” Sara Groves: I love the reminder that the Kingdom comes in giving cold cups of water. 4. “Velvet Elvis,” Kacey Musgraves: I’m pretty sure there is not a song more fun than this one. Jonny Jimison Movies Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse: The unashamed, unfettered, game-changing movie that Miles Morales deserves. The Breadwinner: A brutally honest, brutally compassionate drama of the human condition. Mary Poppins Returns: If there’s one thing I need stories for, it’s to make my jaded soul homesick for wonder. A Quiet Place: Compelling character drama and tension, no dialogue, couldn’t look away. Loving Vincent: A compelling portrait of a fascinating artist, presented through painted recreations of his vision. Jill Phillips Book Consolations, David Whyte: These short meditations on words like “friendship” and “heartbreak” by poet and author David Whyte is a treasure. I have picked it up many times this year to find words of comfort and solidarity in the deepest places of being human. Movie Beautiful Boy: This movie resonated with me in a deep way, despite the emotional beating it inflicted on my heart. It is a fearless and redemptive portrayal of addiction and recovery, the risks of love, and ultimately, letting go. Album Let Them Fall in Love, CeCe Winans: If you need an infusion of hope, this is the album for you. No one sings like CeCe Winans. Every syllable is rooted in something deeper, a richness of tone that comes from years of living out her faith. I absolutely love the timeless “He’s Never Failed Me Yet.” Heidi Johnston Books 1. Letters to a Diminished Church, Dorothy Sayers: Until this year I hadn’t read any Dorothy Sayers but this book was my top read this year. Challenging, engaging, captivating, and generally Inkling-ish. 2. A Diary of Private Prayer, John Bailie: The whole idea of liturgy is relatively new to me, but I’ve been using this book in my private prayer this year and I love it more each time I go through it. 3. Ember Rising, S. D. Smith: I love Sam Smith’s books but I think this one is my favourite so far. 4. Courage, Dear Heart, Rebecca Reynolds: I’m guessing I won’t be the only person to list this for so many reasons. 5. Illustrated Summaries of Biblical Books, The Bible Project: I’m a big fan of the Bible Project and this (enormous) book was probably my favourite Christmas present. TV Shows / Movies 1. Mary Poppins Returns: I was totally unprepared to love this as much as I did; it’s magical. 2. Mrs. Wilson (BBC Series): This three-part drama is based on the true story of Alexander Wilson, a novelist and former Secret Intelligence Service agent during the Second World War, and tells the story of the complicated life he led, discovered by his family only following his death. 3. Les Miserables (BBC Series): This one is a bit of a cheat on a 2018 list as it is currently only three episodes into a six episode run. We started watching it straight after seeing the West End Touring Production and I hate it, love it, and spend a good part of the week mulling over the episodes—normally a good sign. Chris Thiessen Music 5. By The Way, I Forgive You, Brandi Carlile: An excellent collection of stories sung by the most comforting and heartbreaking voice in modern Americana. 4. Joy As An Act of Resistance, IDLES: On their second album, this British punk group achieved a balance of righteous anger toward injustice and joy-filled encouragement greater than I’ve never experienced before. 3. Historian, Lucy Dacus: Dacus’ personal stories of heartbreak and, well, just life are so earnest on this record. Also, she really knows how to slowly build to a rock & roll crescendo (see “Night Shift”). 2. Care For Me, Saba: The young Chicago rapper offers a bleak look at life in his hometown, mortality, and violence, but in the end is able to see hope and beauty through the pain around him. 1. High As Hope, Florence & The Machine: No album filled me with yearning hopefulness this year as much as this one. Florence Welch is keenly aware that “we all have a hunger” for something greater than ourselves and does her best to search here for hope and grace. Film/TV 5. Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse: This animated masterpiece won all the style points available; the rest can go home. Also, it’s the best Spider-Man film. 4. A Quiet Place: A truly suspenseful thriller with wonderful performances from John Krasinski and Emily Blunt who offer everything they can to protect their children and thrive despite the darkness. 3. Black Panther: I love superhero movies, but this was so much more than just an action flick, offering thoughtful looks at foreign policy and race amidst the admittedly awesome action sequences. 2. Eighth Grade: The best coming of age film made for the social media generation. Director Bo Burnham nailed the nuances of being a teen in the 2010s. 1. Won’t You Be My Neighbor: You can’t see this movie without shedding tears and being inspired to share the grace of Christ with your neighbor. Thank you, Mr. Rogers. Drew Miller Books 1. The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer, Siddhartha Mukherjee: This book was a riveting undertaking. Mukherjee’s writing is pristinely clear, highly educational, and bursting with insightful storytelling. I not only learned about the history of cancer; I learned about the vicious cycle of spectacular human achievement reinforcing the tragic consequences of hubris. 2. Till We Have Faces, C. S. Lewis: In my opinion, this is his best writing. I only just got around to it recently, and it struck me as a more fully developed telling of The Great Divorce, brought to a fever pitch at the end. It felt like he was laying all his cards on the table, and I’m so grateful that he shared his wisdom in this mythical form. 3. Harry Potter, Books 3-5, J. K. Rowling: These books have been a salve to me and Kelsey. We’ve been reading them out loud—Dumbledore’s Army has become a compelling image of the church for me, Rowling’s commentary on death is spot-on, and the friendship portrayed in these novels is so rich and beautiful. 4. The Tombs of Atuan, Ursula Le Guin: Thank you, Helena and Hetty! A captivating read all the way through that will really get your wheels turning. I came away with lots of delicious questions about the storytelling of religion and its ability to shape the worlds we inhabit. If you want to get really tripped out, read this and Till We Have Faces back to back. Lots of mutually-enriching ideas, and Lewis will feel like coming home after Le Guin’s grand adventure. 5. The Phantom Tollbooth, Norton Juster: I picked this up on a whim one day and could not put it down. Not only is it hilarious, but it has wonderful things to say about the perils of dividing God’s creation into neat, antagonistic categories. Music 1. Symphony No. 2, Leonard Bernstein: The good Steve Guthrie recommended this to me. One December evening when I was home alone, I played it through my stereo and sat on the floor. It is a wild, wild ride, both gorgeously orchestrated and at times frightening. Get ready for goosebumps. 2. See You Around, I’m With Her: Excellently arranged, sparsely written folk songs with a heart of gold. Listen and be moved. 3. Monument Valley 2 Soundtrack, Todd Baker: This guy nailed it. If you need some immersive, wide-angle sounds and melodies to calm you down while you work or drive (or nap), this is a great choice. 4. Violin Concerto, Mason Bates: I bonded with this one again after having not listened to it for a long time. During our sophomore year of college, a friend of mine and I stumbled into Anne Akiko Meyers’ premiere of this piece at the Schermerhorn, and I recall feeling like I was in an actual rainforest. Years later, through my speakers, it has the same effect. Listen and be ready for something altogether new and enchanting, even if a bit taxing. 5. Love, Lose, Remember, Madison Cunningham: Watch out for this artist. She is taking the world by storm. She’s an enthralling performer, effortless vocalist, intuitive songwriter, and perhaps most formidable of all, she seems to have a direct, mystical connection to the spirits of both Joni Mitchell and Jeff Buckley. I saw her open for the Punch Brothers at the Ryman last year; just her and an electric guitar, and she had the whole place wrapped around her finger. I would fully support her doing an actual mic drop at the end of her performances, but she’s too classy for that. Film/TV 1. The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel: Amy Sherman-Palladino is a genius and this show has serious guts. The amount of wit is beyond comprehension and the social commentary is spot-on, but neither of these interfere with the heart of the story and its characters. 2. The Good Place: Even if rather inconsistent, every second of this show is worth watching. It takes enormous risks, upending each and every premise of the show almost on an episode-by-episode basis. It somehow manages to cathartically express the absurdity of modern life in a way that leaves you feeling uplifted rather than depressed. 3. The Century of the Self, Adam Curtis: A four-part documentary series investigating the roots of consumer culture in the insights (and fears) of Sigmund Freud, tracking the evolution of advertising as it infects every area of life, all the while making astute observations about human nature? Yes, please! But be careful—you may emerge in a haze of existential malaise afterwards. But it’s worth it. 4. Mary Poppins Returns: Everything Jennifer Trafton has to say about this film is true. Despite my usual misgivings about the Gospel according to Disney, this film’s songs were superbly written. I walked out of the theater with all the usual logical connections in my mind somewhat loosened, in the hope that new connections might arise. Mission accomplished. 5. The Great British Baking Show: Do you need to be reassured about the state of the human condition? Watch these cute British people be nice to each other. It works. Rob Wheeler Books 1. The Death of Ivan Ilych, Leo Tolstoy: This year I thought a lot about death. This Russian classic is short, readable, and thought-provoking. 2. Identity: The Demand for Dignity and the Politics of Resentment, Francis Fukuyama: This examination of modern identity politics helped me make a bit more sense of our cultural moment. 3. Remembering, Wendell Berry: Andy Catlett leaves Port William to deliver a speech in San Fransisco. In the process he finds his way back home in more ways than one. It’s beautiful and sad. 4. Leaf by Niggle, J. R. R. Tolkien: It’s short and wonderful. You can read it easily in one sitting. I’ll give a warning: I read it aloud to my family. By the end when tears began to fill my eyes, I looked around and everyone else just looked confused. It surely must have been a problem with my reading! 5. Culture Care, Makoto Fujimura: This book connected with a number of interesting themes and ideas for me. One of my favorites is his concept of the artist as a border-walker (mearcstapa) and his ideas of how our communities might become “estuaries” in which artists flourish in an environment of diversity and balance. Music 1. She Waits, The Gray Havens: I love the sound and the lyrics. 2. Thunderbolt and Lighting, Marc Martel: An album of Queen songs which are quite often better than the originals. 3. No Story Is Over, Son of Laughter: The album gets my mind swirling with thoughts and ideas about life. 4. 100 Years of Nine Lessons & Carols, The Choir of Kings College Cambridge: A great recording of a classic piece. 5. Remember Us to Life, Regina Spektor: I discovered this later than most, but have made up for lost time! Film 1. First Man: Try to find a big screen to watch this film about Neil Armstrong. 2. Three Identical Strangers: This is a fascinating and ethically provoking documentary where I found myself utterly astonished at four or five different twists of the story. Podcast 1. A Point of View, BBC Radio 4: These are thoughtful and diverse essays recorded in one take by the author. 2. Speaking with Joy, Joy Clarkson: I stumbled across this one as I noticed we had a number of friends in common. It’s interesting and full of good thoughts and conversations. 3. The Pivot, Andrew Osenga: This podcast features interesting interviews about making transitions in life. The interviewer is winsome and draws out the best and most honest parts of the story. Theatre Frankenstein, Studio Tenn & Pete Peterson: It is a play for our age in what it says about technology, science, and the power of the creative energy we steward. Pete Peterson TV Shows (saving films for a podcast) 1. The Americans: First hear me say that this is not a show for everyone (especially not kids), but I can’t remember being so wrapped up in the lives of a group of characters since the end of Breaking Bad. I loved the endless moral complexity of this show, and they pulled off a fantastic ending. 2. The Good Place: A comedy series about philosophy? I”m in. Haven’t seen season three yet, but I love seasons 1 & 2. 3. Making a Murderer: Season 2: As it turns out, yes, there is a lot more to this story. 4. The Great British Baking Show: As long as Paul Hollywood is on board, so am I. 5. The Handmaid’s Tale: Season 2: I had zero hopes for this continuation of what I thought was a perfect end to the story in season one. But I have to admit, it’s still compelling. Bumpy, for sure, but the arc Serena’s character is on is fascinating. Music 1. Resurrection Letters, Vol 1., Andrew Peterson: All brotherly bias aside, this album (and Resurrections Letters as a whole) is a profound accomplishment of theology. Oh, and it’s also a great bunch of songs. 2. She Waits, The Gray Havens: I will never not love The Gray Havens music, and this album adds Propaganda into the deal. Amazing. 3. By the Way, I Forgive You, Brandi Carlile: I’ve often told my wife that I’m pretty sure if my soul could sing, it would sound like Brandi Carlile. This record is further proof. 4. The Painted Desert, Andrew Osenga: It seems like Osenga keeps trying to quit making music, and yet he keeps coming back and making better and better albums. Stop that. Make the music. I like it. 5. So Many Feelings, Sho Baraka & Vanessa Hill: I’m a huge fan of Sho Baraka, and last year he and Vanessa Hill ambushed me with this album that’s all about marriage and its million complexities. Great stuff. Books 1. The Hiding Place, Corrie ten Boom: I’m adapting this for the stage this year so I’ve spent a lot of time with it. It’s an incredible story that I’m endlessly challenged and fascinated by. 2. Courage, Dear Heart, Rebecca Reynolds: We all knew Rebecca needed to write this book years before she did. I’m glad she finally came around. There’s plenty more where this one came from. Now we just have to make her write it. 3. Frankenstein, Mary Shelley: I’m putting this here because I spent more than half my year with it while adapting it for the stage. I love Shelley’s visionary mind, and I’m delighted to have had the chance to winnow her tale down to stageplay format. Thanks for the material, Mrs. Shelley. You’re a genius. 4. Among Others, Jo Walton: I heard sci-fi writer Jo Walton speak at the Festival of Faith and Writing this year and was captivated by her (I won’t even try to describe why. If you’ve met her, you’ll know). So when I got home, I was anxious to read some of her work. I picked this one up because of its awards recognition and wasn’t disappointed. This is one of the most Rabbit Room books I’ve ever read. It’s slow, complex, beautiful, troubling, baffling, and ultimately beautiful. I loved it and I’m dying to talk to someone about it. 5. Beloved, Toni Morrison: I had very little idea what I was getting into when I read this (though I faintly remembered the movie), but I can’t recall the last time I was so gobsmacked by a book. It’s certainly one of my top-five books of all time. Morrisson’s prose and her facility with structure (at all levels) are marvels. I finished the book and immediately began reading it again. I will love this book forever. Jennifer Trafton Movies My top three are easy and probably don’t need any defense: 1. Mary Poppins Returns 2. Won’t You Be My Neighbor? 3. Eighth Grade After that, it’s harder to choose, but I thought A Quiet Place was masterful and deeply emotional even though I usually hate scary movies, and The Americans, Season 6, was one of the best seasons of TV I’ve seen in a very long time though it took a lot of patience to get there. On an aesthetic level, Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse was visually phenomenal and creative and family-friendly and I’d recommend it to everyone, and yet oddly enough I have no great need to see it a second time. Not sure why. Books There are some excellent books from last year that I’m still in the middle of, but here are a few highlights of those I finished: 1. Night, Elie Wiesel: I had never read this classic, but reading it out loud in the car as we drove from Ravensbruck concentration camp to Dachau last October was one of the most chilling and unforgettable reading experiences I’ve ever had. I can’t call it a “favorite.” I’m not sure I’ll ever get over it. 2. The Faithful Spy, John Hendrix: This would have been on my favorites list even if I hadn’t just been to two concentration camps when I read it. 3. Louisiana’s Way Home, Kate DiCamillo (the sequel to Raymie Nightingale): I am continually amazed at how DiCamillo can make me laugh and cry in a single sentence. I loved it so, so much and just wanted to go find a forgotten, heartbroken child to hug afterwards. 4. Theology of Joy, Jurgen Moltmann: He says all the things I’ve been thinking for years, only much more eloquently than I could. 5. Beloved, Toni Morrison: I read this in 10th grade. 10th grade! I can’t believe anyone would give this to a 10th grader, and it clearly went over my head back then. This time through, I was completely enthralled. It’s a masterpiece. Music This is a hard category because we’re surrounded by so much wonderful music, and the music of my community is always my favorite. So putting aside the awesome albums of those who are related to me by marriage or by geographical proximity: The two biggest surprises for me this past year were Taylor Leonhardt and Jess Ray. Good grief, they’re talented. Jess’s “Too Good” is my favorite song of the year along with Andrew’s “Is He Worthy?” By far the most-listened-to non-Rabbit-Room artist in our house is Brandi Carlile. I’ve loved her since her album Story in 2007, and her new album By the Way, I Forgive You is fantastic. The Mary Poppins Returns soundtrack has been on repeat for weeks, and I can’t get “A Cover is Not the Book” out of my head. I mean, come on, it’s a song about BOOKS. Ben Shive Movies 1. The Ballad Of Buster Scruggs: Like a collection of Flannery O’Connor stories set in the Wild West, all dealing with the perplexity of death. 2. A Quiet Place: A scary, wholesome movie! I thought the colors were beautiful, the score and sound design were just right, and all the story-telling devices were so perfectly employed. 3. Phantom Thread: This is a gorgeous film with a lovely score by Jonny Greenwood from Radiohead. Speaking of Flannery O’Connor, this was a story about a severe act of grace and raised questions about what love is allowed to do for the sake of the beloved. 4. Mary Poppins Returns: I love the original Mary Poppins and the Sherman brothers immensely. I thought this honored the original and was itself a delightful movie. Books Walking With God Through Pain And Suffering, Tim Keller: Collected poems of Richard Wilbur. Thank you, Andrew Peterson, for this. Music New things: 1. Big Red Machine, Big Red Machine: “We met up like a ski team.” “Where your TV’s, Boss?” These, and other lines, make me love Justin Vernon more than ever. 2. Colors, Beck: Because Beck always be’s Beck. 3. Golden Hour, Kacey Musgraves: It took me a while to forgive this record for not having a song like Biscuits on it, but I do like it a lot. 4. Sword Of Damocles, Rufus Wainwright Old things: 1. String Quartet in F Major, Ravel 2. Ella and Louis, Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong 3. The Blue Notebooks, Max Richter 4. The Four Seasons Of Buenos Aires, Astor Piazzola 5. 22, A Million, Bon Iver Chris Slaten Listening 1. Portage, Vol 1: At the Edge of the World, Arthur Alligood: I couldn’t bring myself to take this out of my car CD player for a month. 2. Book of Travelers, Gabriel Kahane: Inspired by a cross country train trip, Kahane spins these tales with just a piano and his voice. This was the first recording to immediately entrance me this year. 3. Remain in The Light, Angelique Kidjo: This is a full album cover of Talking Heads’ Remain in the Light from the 80’s, as re-imagined by a Benenise singer with an Afro-pop band. It is my go-to for cleaning the house. 4. Critical Equation, Dr. Dog: This album had the kind of balance between strong hooks, interesting textures, and surprising development that I was hungry for in a year of releases that were often far too challenging for my patience. 5. The Bible Project Podcast: Tim and Jon are exploring all the questions I have about the Old Testament in ways that make me love it and want to read it so much more. I could listen in on their conversations all day. Viewing 1. The Haunting of Hill House (TV): Most of the most meaningful films and TV shows we watched involved ghosts or the afterlife. I am learning how horror/supernatural fiction is one the richest ways to face the terrors of the ordinary. Also, I love how writer/director Mike Flanagan clearly lets his love of live theater creep into how he creates for the screen. 2. The Good Place (TV): It’s not quite The Screwtape Letters in its weight, but it is probably as close to it as we will get in a sitcom. More supernatural fiction. 3. The Phantom Thread (Film): This is officially my favorite P.T. Anderson. It stuck with me in a way no other film did in 2018. Also spooky. 4. Won’t You Be My Neighbor (Documentary): May Mr. Rogers haunt us all. Reading The Faithful Spy, John Hendrix: It’s a masterpiece and clearly a labor of love. I would put it as essential reading for any believer in this era. I keep picking it back up and staring at the pages for long periods of time. Old News 1. Locke (Film): This would work well as a one man stage show, but I prefer Tom Hardy in a car. So much can happen in two hours. 2. Searching for Sugar Man (Documentary): Don’t read anything about it ahead of time. This is an incredible story. I couldn’t stop smiling afterwards. 3. The Dick Van Dyke Show (TV): My kids laugh so hard every time. 4. The Devil’s Highway: A True Story, Luis Alberto Urrea (Book): Read it even if you aren’t interested in the border wall debate. Urrea is a poet, the story is devastating, and it needs to be experienced. 5. American Gods, Neil Gaiman (Book): This was my first Neil Gaiman novel. What should I read next? 6. Ancient Near Eastern Thought and The Old Testament: Introducing the Conceptual World of the Hebrew Bible, John Walton (Book): Like the Bible Project Podcast, this book has only deepened my appreciation of the uniqueness and elegance of the Old Testament. 7. Symphony No. 2 (“Romantic”), Howard Hanson

Folks around the Rabbit Room find a lot of joy in discovering foreign words that express ideas our English dictionaries have no entry for. We nod in appreciation when someone quotes C. S. Lewis describing the German word sehnsucht as “the inconsolable longing in the human heart for ‘we know not what.’” We rejoice when Jennifer Trafton throws the Welch concept hiraeth into the mix, explaining it as “homesickness for a home you cannot return to, or even a home that never existed at all.” We only have incomplete, working definitions for these words, because they don’t quite translate into English. Yet these words describe our own hearts in a way we English-speakers don’t quite know how. In his new book so aptly titled Inexpressible, Michael Card gives us a new (in an ancient sort of way) foreign word. Except this time, it’s not a word we have found that describes the character of our hearts. Instead, it’s a word God uses in Scripture to describe the character of his: the Hebrew word hesed. With nearly 250 occurrences in the Old Testament and a myriad of interpretations across translations, hesed is two inexhaustible syllables that press at the boundaries of what any language can communicate. It’s holy speech that doesn’t quite translate into human understanding. And yet, Michael Card has taken on the monumental task of beginning to help us wrap our minds and hearts around what it means. Our incomplete, working definition? “When the person from whom I have a right to expect nothing gives me everything.” It’s a word that describes God’s heart in a way we are still trying to grasp. We encounter hesed first on Sinai with Moses, enveloped in the cloud of the presence of Yahweh, who reveals himself to Moses as “slow to anger and rich in hesed and truth, maintaining hesed to a thousand generations” (Exodus 24:6). From this encounter of the God of hesed, the story of hesed unfolds, and Michael Card leads his reader through those thousand generations of the word. With very possibly the largest range of word meaning in the Hebrew language, each translation—love, lovingkindness, mercy, grace, pity, devotion, beauty, and others—attempts to express the inexpressible character of Yahweh. Reading Card’s book is something of a scavenger hunt and something of a story, each chapter unfolding a new use, encounter, associated word, object, or expression of hesed. We follow the Israelites through their years of wandering and we hear hesed sung again and again as a refrain: “Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his hesed endures forever” (1 Chronicles 16:34). We walk with David through the valley of the shadow and come out on the other side because we can each say with him, “Surely goodness and hesed will follow me all the days of my life” (Psalm 23:6). And when all Israel is failing to follow the law of the One who leads them, we hear the assurance of the Lord that what he truly desires from his people is “hesed and not sacrifice” (Hosea 6:6), that they would return to him what he has so freely offered them. So then, the call to live out hesed pierces our hearts as well, and we hear the prophets call us to “do justice, love hesed, and walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8). Instances of hesed in the life of God’s people continue on and on until the Old Testament ends and the New begins. There, Michael Card shows us hesed again, not as a word, but as a man: Christ himself, “the incarnation of hesed, full of grace and truth.” “In the end,” Michael Card explains, “hesed is as much a world as a word”—the world of God’s character, his heart for his people, and the story of his relationship with them. It’s an inexpressible world, yes—and it’s the world Michael Card invites us to enter through his book. Somewhere among her nearly 2,000 poems, Emily Dickinson wrote one of the best recommendations I have found for approaching truths that are too much to be understood, let alone expressed: Tell all the truth but tell it slant— Success in Circuit lies Too bright for our infirm Delight The Truth’s superb surprise As Lightning to the Children eased With explanation kind The Truth must dazzle gradually Or every man be blind— The truth of the word hesed and the world that it unfolds is too bright for our “infirm delight,” our stammering tongues, our earthly dictionaries. Perhaps someday, when our eyes and our minds and our hearts are new, it won’t blind us so much, and we’ll grasp a one-word definition for the heart of God. But I have my doubts. For now, Michael Card has offered us in Inexpressible the truth of hesed told “slant” enough—through a scavenger-hunt-story of translations and example passages—that we can begin to grasp its reality in our lives. And as hesed dazzles us gradually, we may find ourselves not blind, but instead, catching sight of the heart of God in the corners of our eyes. Click here to purchase Inexpressible in the Rabbit Room Store.

Jennifer Trafton just launched a free online course for readers of Henry and the Chalk Dragon who want to use Henry’s story as a springboard for their own creativity. Click through for more details. Each lesson includes a writing and/or drawing prompt, ideas for creative activities, and at least one optional group activity for a family to do together. Videos offer creative inspiration and encouragement, writing advice, and a behind-the-scenes look at the writing process and some of the ways in which Jennifer’s own journey as an artist intersects with Henry’s. Also included are downloadable coloring pages, bookmarks, and a “Knight of La Muncha” certificate for those who finish. Click here to learn more and enroll in the course.

The past year has gone by so quickly that we’ve hardly had a chance to stop and catch our breath, and the Rabbit Room has grown in a lot of ways over the last twelve months. Some of the biggest changes have been in the Rabbit Room team itself and it’s worth taking a moment to introduce everyone to some new people working behind the scenes. First up is our Content Developer, Drew Miller. Many of you will recognize Drew as one of the driving members of The Orchardist (who amiably parted ways a few months ago). For the past year, he’s been doing an amazing job coordinating the content of the website by communicating with writers and keeping a lookout for new talent. He’s also the lead producer of the Rabbit Room Podcast Network, which recently finished up season one of The Second Muse and is preparing to launch The Artist’s Creed. Drew makes it all look easy and we’re grateful to have him on the team. Drew Miller: Content Developer Next up is our Head of Sales and Administration, Chris Thiessen. If you’re one of the thousands who placed an order with the Rabbit Room Store last year, Chris was probably the person who packed that order and shipped it. But Chris is not only a rockstar in the shipping office; he also handles our customer service, donor administration, and most recently he’s taken on the curation of Rabbit Room playlists on Spotify and Apple Music as well as providing blog content from time to time, AND managing the Local Show. Be kind to this good man. He works his butt off. Chris Thiessen: Head of Sales and Administration If you’ve spent much time in Nashville, you probably already know Rob Wheeler (seriously, Rob knows everyone, right?). We officially welcomed him to the crew early in 2018 to work in Community Care & Development. He heads up the local Rabbit Room prayer team, develops community relationships and helps out in a variety of other areas. Many of you may know Rob from his work with Friends of L’Abri: Nashville, which he founded and has grown from a small group to a vibrant community. We’re lucky to have him on board. Rob Wheeler: Community Care & Development And most recently (just last week in fact) we added our newest team member: Shigé Clark, Head of Communications and Donor Development. She’ll be helping out in many different areas as we work to refine the way the Rabbit Room communicates and executes its mission through programs, events, and public awareness. We’re excited about the skill-set Shigé brings to the team and we can’t wait for all of you to meet her. Shigé Clark: Head of Communications and Donor Development And finally, the Rabbit Room added a board member this year. To our founding seven members, we’ve welcomed Steve Guthrie. Steve is a professor of theology at Belmont University, a two-time Hutchmoot speaker, and member of a Beatles tribute band (which we don’t hold against him). We’re grateful for the wisdom and university experience he brings to the leadership of the organization and we look forward to his participation for years to come. Steve Guthrie: New Board Member See what I mean? That’s FIVE new folks added to the team just in the last twelve months (it wasn’t so long ago that it was just me and Kaitlyn!) We’re incredibly grateful for every one of these good people and love the passion and skills each of them bring to the Rabbit Room. Andrew and I couldn’t get much done without them, and we’re anxious to see all the ways in which the many Rabbit Room communities out there will be blessed by their work. So next time you run into one of these folks at the Local Show, or Hutchmoot, or a convention, or anywhere else, consider taking a moment to say hello and thank them for all they do behind the scenes.

Some Rabbit Room friends (Katy Bowser Hutson, Rob and Lisa Wheeler) are heading up to the beautiful tundra of Minnesota for the Rochester L’Abri Conference taking place on February 8th and 9th. Interested in joining? Click through for more details. What is a L’Abri Conference? L’Abri is the French word for shelter. The L’Abri ministry was founded by Francis and Edith Schaeffer in 1955 to provide an environment where Christians and non-Christians could seek answers to questions about God and truth. Following in that tradition, a L’Abri Conference is an opportunity through lectures, discussions, and personal interaction, to feed and hone the mind in an effort to deepen one’s understanding of what it means to be a Christian in our society. The on-campus housing and mealtimes are designed to facilitate an exchange of ideas among conferees and speakers. —from the L’Abri Conference 2019 webpage This conference will feature speakers Steve Garber (author of Visions of Vocation: Common Grace for the Common Good), John Hodges (Hutchmoot 2018 session leader), Dick Keyes, Frank Stootman, Luke Bobo, and Denis Haack. You can learn more about the conference and purchase tickets here.

Last fall, our family took a morning to hike up the craggy paths of the North Georgia mountains. We knew our end: a precipice overlooking the tops of the newly bronzed and coppered trees. But there was a long path between us and that view, and it was not a level one. We couldn’t walk in our normal, easy stride with our heads up. Our bodies would take quick, forward lurches as toes came into contact with inlaid stones. Our ankles would tangle with roots. The ground begged that we take notice of it. The rocks stubbed our toes and asked us to consider them. Poetry is like that. In our instant-everything world, our hearts and minds and eyes are trained to get to the end quickly. “Get to the point,” we say. “Give me 140 characters and a picture, in case I don’t have time for even your brevity.” But poems will have none of that. Poetry won’t let us breeze ahead with our heads up. Every word, laboriously gathered and sorted by the poet, is a stone to bump up against. A call to pause and consider. Lines break right in the middle of a sentence—“The nerve!” we think. “Can’t we just move along?” we huff. Our ankles get tangled up in the syntax and we have to sit and spend time unknotting. “The world is rushing by!” we cry, “I don’t have time to wonder at the mystery of it all!” And yet, I’m thinking that maybe what our world needs most right now is a little more poetry. My husband, Andrew, has declared this to be year of poetry in the Harwell home, and among many of the musty anthologies he first carried home from the library was a selection of poems by Mary Oliver. I hadn’t even considered if she was alive or dead as I devoured her poems on my couch at night after my kids were tucked away. How bizarre, magical even, that I was reading her poem, “When Death Comes,” when she was walking through her own words and “step[ping] through the door full of curiosity, wondering; what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?” Poetry won't let us breeze ahead with our heads up. Every word, laboriously gathered and sorted by the poet, is a stone to bump up against. Elizabeth Harwell Her poems, and others, have been nourishment for me this past month: words bumping up against the forward! onward! hum of my mind and asking me to sit when the rest of the world is imploring me to keep up the frantic pace. Oliver’s poems ask us to gawk at poppies, to think about the fields in which the rice on our plate grew, to wonder at what the bear dreams. She bids that we do the hard work of standing still in the present moment to give God the great honor of seeing what He’s done. How can we be thankful without considering? How can we worship without seeing? When our family reached the precipice, we celebrated and smiled and yelled out the colors of the tree tops. And as we took the obligatory pictures (to be included with our captions of brevity), I thought about those roots and stones under the rolling blanket of color. I knew those paths under the tree tops; I had been knocked about by them. The branches had scratched against my jacket. The oak leaves had surprised me, slamming into my face and leaving dew drops that tickled down my nose. There was a depth of beauty in that crescendo of the view, because it was a world considered. I had not voluntarily considered those stones and branches; they grabbed at me to do so. And I wonder if we need to let ourselves be arrested in this way by poetry. Can’t it only do us good to stumble over the words and thoughts of another? If only to give us practice in considering, if only to train our eyes (and minds and hearts) to fix themselves on something, one thing—and be amazed. When it’s over, I want to say: all my lifeI was a bride married to amazement.I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.When it’s over, I don’t want to wonderif I have made of my life something particular, and real.I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,or full of argument.I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.—excerpt from “When Death Comes” by Mary Oliver Click here to read more of Elizabeth Harwell’s writing at her blog.

Three new episodes of The Membership podcast are now available. In these episodes, our hosts Jason Hardy, John Pattison, and Tim Wasem discuss Wendell Berry’s 1964 poetry collection, The Broken Ground, interview Mary Berry (Director of The Berry Center) and Dr. Leah Bayens (Director of the Berry Farming Program), and discuss two short stories: “Fly Away, Breath” and “The Hurt Man.” The goal of The Membership is to curate great conversations that contribute to the health of the land and the health of our communities. Throughout this new podcast, hosts Jason Hardy, John Pattison, and Tim Wasem plan to discuss Berry’s life and writings. They will also interview other folks—farmers and makers, writers and artists, and community practitioners of all kinds—who are responding to Wendell Berry’s writings in their own places. Check out Episode 3 here, Episode 4 here, and Episode 5 here. And you can learn more about The Membership at its official website here. Click here for more information about The Rabbit Room Podcast Network and to check out other great podcasts.

Beginning Thursday the 7th, The Gray Havens are going on a 40-date Winter & Spring tour! Depending on the city, they will be accompanied by either Chris Renzema or Jess Ray. Needless to say, these will be some fantastic live shows. Click through to see if they’ll be making a stop near you. Click here to view the dates on The Gray Havens’ website and purchase tickets. 2/7 – KENNESAW, GA 2/8 – LADSON, SC 2/9 – GAINESVILLE, FL 2/10 – ORLANDO, FL 2/13 – FAIRHOPE, AL 2/14 – GONZALES, LA 2/15 – HOUSTON, TX 2/16 – AUSTIN, TX 2/17 – SAN ANTONIO, TX 2/19 – DALLAS, TX 2/21 – BRYAN, TX 2/22 – MCKINNEY, TX 2/23 – WACO, TX 2/27 – KNOXVILLE, TN 2/28 – HUNTERSVILLE, NC 3/1 – LYNCHBURG, VA 3/2 – RALEIGH, NC 3/3 – HIGH POINT, NC 3/21 – CINCINNATTI, OH 3/23 – WADSWORTH, OH 3/24 – ANN ARBOR, MI 3/27 – FLINT, MI 3/28 – SPRING ARBOR, MI 3/29 – GRAND RAPIDS, MI 3/30 – ELGIN, IL 3/31 – CHICAGO, IL 4/3 – ST. PAUL, MN 4/4 – DES MOINES, IA 4/6 – KANSAS CITY, MO 4/9 – CHAMPAIGN, IL 4/10 – INDIANAPOLIS, IN 4/11 – LOUISVILLE, KY 4/12 – NASHVILLE, TN

It brings me great pleasure to tell you that, on the weekend of July 18-20, Hutchmoot UK is happening! And it brings me even greater pleasure to tell you that Hutchmoot UK is happening in Oxford—a short twenty-minute walk from the original Rabbit Room in the Eagle and Child pub. (It’s true. Google it.) This thing has been in the works for months—years if you count all the time we’ve spent dreaming of it—and while there’s still a lot to sort out, we finally have the website up and running and registration is good-to-go. Some of you who were at Hutchmoot 2018 may have met Mark Meynell (author of When Darkness Seems My Closest Friend and A Wilderness of Mirrors, among several others). He’s become a good friend, and he agreed to be our UK ally for this whole thing. He’s spent weeks working out details—like the venue, for starters. There’s no shortage of beautiful buildings in Oxford, but there’s also no shortage of events wanting to use those buildings, especially in the summer. Still, he managed to find the perfect spot: St. Andrews Church in North Oxford. I mean, look at this place. Not only is it beautiful; it’s literally on the same block as Tolkien’s old house. Mark also helped us sort out equally important details like FOOD. In England last fall I spent some time with a guy named JJ. When I first met JJ I asked him his last name and he smiled and said, “Just JJ, mate.” Then he vanished, more or less. That was the moment I knew we would be friends. It was also the moment I wondered if he was an MI6 agent doubling as a Christian music fan. Anyway, Mark found out that JJ is quite the cook, and convinced him to be our King of Food for the weekend. (Just don’t ask him his last name, or you might wake up one day on a deserted island.) We have a marvelous plenary speaker lined up for Saturday (we’ll announce it in a few weeks), some excellent artists planned for the in-the-round show on Thursday, and I’m thrilled to be doing the Friday night concert. And that’s all in addition to the sessions and the coffee and the conversations and the strolls around the “city of dreaming spires.” Can you tell I’m excited? Since this is our first non-Nashville Hutchmoot, though, we’re moving into this carefully, making sure we’re respectful of the cultural differences on the other side of the Atlantic. What works in America might not work in England, after all. [Insert Revolutionary War joke here.] We don’t want to make this an American invasion, you know? The reason for a Hutchmoot UK is to set the table for these conversations and relationships to blossom there, and to see what the Lord might do. We want US folks to come, of course, but we also want to make sure this is edifying for people in and around the UK. That’s why we’ve decided to limit the number of US slots sold to 20 of the 100. If the UK tickets are slow-going, we might release more in a few months, but based on my conversations with folks over there during the last few years, there seems to be a real hunger for Hutchmoot-ish things and it won’t be a problem. My hope is that this will be the first of many, so if you’re not one of the first 20, don’t worry. When people ask me what Hutchmoot is, I usually say that it’s a feast. A three-day feast where we celebrate the way God uses story, art, and music to draw attention to himself. Food is a big part of it. So is hospitality and community. The sessions are about all manner of topics, but in the end they’re less important than the fact that we’ve gathered together in the name of Jesus to celebrate him. Whether or not that’s exactly what was on the minds of those gathered in the original Rabbit Room back in the day, that’s what we’ll be doing—and they gave us the idea. I can’t wait to see what happens. Click here to visit the Hutchmoot UK website.

Jonathan Rogers was one of my favorite writers long before I received his writing help through an early online class. When looking for a coach for Courage Dear Heart, I knew he would be clear and solid. I’m so thankful to have had a literary hero serve as a writing guide. For almost a decade, I’ve watched writers with a fraction of Jonathan’s skill pump mediocre work into the stratosphere unabashedly while he quietly sat on some of the best modern writing I’ve read. I used to wonder what on earth it would take to get him to talk about his work. Now I see— it’s tending others through teaching, coaching, etc. This is such an upside-down, inside-out way of considering an artistic gift. Pretty Christlike for somebody who has a sick fascination with alligators. I subscribe to The Habit, his weekly letter about writing (you should subscribe too). I’ve also been hearing about this other thing he’s been doing, Field Notes for Writers, but I still don’t quite get what it is—probably because Jonathan’s gifts don’t seem to include marketing. Finally, I decided to just ask him about it. In the interview below, you can eavesdrop on that conversation. We conducted the interview via online chat, after I got some wifi issues sorted out. REBECCA: Sorry about the delay. This building must be made of krypton. JONATHAN: I’ve had plenty to keep me busy. Also, I think Krypton is a planet. The substance is Kryptonite. REBECCA: Oh that’s right. JONATHAN: Anything else I can correct you about? REBECCA: I need to brush up on my Superman. JONATHAN: I once published a Rabbit Room piece in which I referred to Spiderman’s alter ego as Peter Bannister. There were some Rabbit Room readers who knew the difference. REBECCA: Anyway…I’m here to interview you about the most terrible things you’ve ever done. I hope you’re finally ready to confess. JONATHAN: Yes. I once referred to Peter Parker as Peter Bannister. REBECCA: I think you’ll feel better having this off your conscience. JONATHAN: You know, you’re right. When you try to pass yourself off as somebody you’re not, it always comes back to bite you—in this case, when I tried to pass myself off as nerdy, I only ended up showing the world just how un-nerdy I am. REBECCA: Right… Can I ask you a question? JONATHAN: Yes. REBECCA: You are one of the most well-read, insightful and artistic writers I know—yet you have invested a vast amount of energy trying to help other people write. Why are you doing this in an era when so many other writers seem focused on building their own platforms? (Can we edit this later? That was missing a comma.) JONATHAN: It will just be more of my energy given to helping other people write, but yes, I will fix your commas for you. REBECCA: Jerk. JONATHAN: One reason I don’t focus on platform-building is that I don’t know much about how to do it…or, rather, I don’t know any platform-building strategies that I could do and still feel good about what I’m doing. But somewhere along the line it occurred to me that I just like being involved in the production of good writing, whether I’m writing or helping somebody else write. About this time last year I started The Habit—my weekly letter about writing. It’s been a faith-building exercise: that thing is a lot of work, and I’m putting it out there for free. I’ve always said I believed that generosity is never wasted…The Habit has been a way of testing out whether I actually believe it or not. REBECCA: As I’ve watched you develop The Habit and your various online classes, and now Field Notes for Writers, I’ve been happily shocked by your fervor and persistence. Why is it worth your investment to help people like this? What do you believe about human beings that would make this worth your while? I'm amazed at how quickly a person can make big improvements as a writer. And rarely is it a case of their needing to try harder. More often it's a case of their needing to try not so hard. Jonathan Rogers JONATHAN: One thing I’ve noticed about grown-ups who take creative writing classes is that they’ve all got a reason for doing it, and I don’t mean the desire to get published. (I make it a policy not to talk about publishing). Grownups who want to write have something to say. Or they’ve got something they’re trying to work through. I love reading what the people in my online classes write, even when the writing isn’t that great. You asked what I believe about people…I believe that when it comes to writing, most grown-ups don’t need new skills nearly so much as they need to clear away bad habits and bad ways of thinking about writing and about themselves. I’m amazed at how quickly a person can make big improvements as a writer. And rarely is it a case of their needing to try harder. More often it’s a case of their needing to try not so hard, to focus their energy over here rather than wasting so much of it over there, to open their eyes and look outward rather than squinting at their own belly buttons. REBECCA: Your approach to coaching is different from anything I’ve seen online. It reminds me of a trait I’ve seen in some of the “best” writers—people like O’Connor, and Dostoevsky, and Hugo. Those aren’t just good craftsmen wielding a honed skill set. The best writers seem to have moved through life with a posture of continuing to allow the world to affect them. Even if they were quirky, or abrupt—even if they were withdrawn socially, they weren’t withdrawn emotionally. I feel a similar vulnerability in your coaching, and this stands out from so many writing programs. You aren’t just trying to help people climb a publishing ladder; you are working to help them unlock why they are drawn to use words in the first place. In an unsafe world, though, how do you convince people that their stories matter? JONATHAN: I’ve never thought about convincing people that their stories matter. I guess I just work from the assumption that they matter. I’ve never sat anybody down, for instance, and put a hand on either side of their face and looked deep in their eyes and said, “Your story matters.” REBECCA: You should try that sometime with Pete Peterson. He would love it. Grammar is intimidating to many people. It also makes some folks angry—they assume it’s a proud and legalistic discipline. Why do you care about teaching grammar? JONATHAN: I love the fact that grammar is this shared system that makes it possible for everybody who speaks a language to connect with everybody else who speaks that language. People get their grammar right 97% of the time. (I totally made up that statistic, but I suspect it’s about right.) Those people who focus on the 3% of the time that other people get it wrong are jackasses. Grammar bullies are the reason people hate grammar and are intimidated by it. REBECCA: What do you mean when you say people get grammar right 97% of the time? Are we reading the same Twitter? JONATHAN: Ok. There are some grammar mistakes on Twitter and elsewhere. But think about what people NEVER get wrong. Everybody knows that an adjective goes before the noun it modifies. They never accidentally say “the truck blue.” They also know that an adjective clause goes after the noun it modifies. The biggest grammar ignoramus you’ve ever met knows to say “the blue truck that my father gave me.” He never says “the that my father gave me truck blue.” REBECCA: I love that. The grammar bullies can also taint the efforts of good-hearted teachers who are simply trying to help others communicate with more clarity. Grammar is not an end in itself. It’s not a mark of personal worth. It’s a tool to speak what you need to say with more efficiency, power, and beauty. JONATHAN: That is true. You should start up an online grammar course. REBECCA: No thanks. But, I know a guy… So, Field Notes for Writers. What inspired you here? What goal were you trying to reach? JONATHAN: I’ve been teaching online creative writing for four or five years now. But the way I’ve been doing it has limited me to teaching about twelve people at a time. The goal with Field Notes is to be able to reach more people. I’m still running Writing Close to the Earth and Writing with Flannery O’Connor [6-week online classes] for the foreseeable future (I call them my legacy classes now), but there wasn’t any way to scale those up…it just requires too much. REBECCA: Ok. I’m going to make a confession. JONATHAN: What, you thought Spiderman’s name was Peter Bannister too? REBECCA: Worse than that: I’ve heard you talking about Field Notes for Writers for months now, and I still don’t know what you’re talking about. JONATHAN: What do you mean? REBECCA: I mean I know you do The Habit and webinars and Grammar for Writers and Writing Close to the Earth and Writing with Flannery O’Connor and Field Notes for Writers, but I still don’t understand how it all fits together. JONATHAN: Why didn’t you ask me months ago? REBECCA: You know how it is. You reach a certain point, and it feels like it’s too late to ask. JONATHAN: I get that. I can’t bring myself to ask that grumpy guy with the beard what his name is. REBECCA: Pete Peterson? JONATHAN: That’s the one. REBECCA: So, what is Field Notes for Writers? I saw your promo video, but can you put it in your own words? JONATHAN: Whose words did you think those were on the promo video? REBECCA: You know what I mean. I was just trying to draw a diagram of everything you offer and how it fits together, but I got confused. JONATHAN: I tell you what: I’ll make that diagram, and you can insert it into your Rabbit Room post. JONATHAN: All right. Field Notes for Writers is a subscription site—though I prefer to call it a membership, because that sounds more Wendell Berry-ish. Field Notes members have access to a library of content that I add to every week. And the content is divided into four main categories: Comparing Notes is essentially a podcast. Every month I post the audio of a 15- or 20-minute conversation with a writer friend. Thus far I have episodes with Sam (SD) Smith, Heidi Johnston, Dave Radford, Helena Sorensen, and the heartbreakingly brilliant Rebecca Reynolds. These are pretty free-flowing conversations, so we cover everything from being reader-focused instead of self-focused to finding time to write to handling criticism to embracing a “growth mindset.” Line Edits is a series of short videos in which I pull up an essay or story submitted by one of my students and walk through my suggested edits. This series is more nuts-and-bolts, sentence-level stuff than the Comparing Notes conversations. Keeping subjects close to verbs, choosing between direct and indirect quotation, managing pronouns and antecedents, that kind of thing. REBECCA: That sounds like the same kind of issues you address in Grammar for Writers. JONATHAN: You’re getting ahead of me, Rebecca. REBECCA: Sorry. JONATHAN: Grammar for Writers is a 42-lesson deep dive into English grammar, with an eye specifically toward writing issues. These are lecture-based: I stand in front of a bookcase and talk about grammar and writing. Also, I tell dad jokes. Then there are quizzes and lecture notes. So, yes, I cover some of the same topics in Line Edits. But Grammar for Writers is a little more formal and it’s also more comprehensive. Line Edits teaches through active critique. They reinforce one another. Actually, I should have mentioned: Grammar for Writers is under the Field Notes umbrella for now, but in March I’m going to spin it off as a standalone product. So people who join Field Notes for Writers between now and the end of February will get Grammar for Writers included in their membership. It’s a reward for early subscribers. Then there are the webinars. Every month I host a live webinar about a writing-related topic—writing vivid description, writing dialogue, understanding point-of-view…in February the topic will be writing better love letters, just in time for Valentine’s Day. A recording of that webinar goes into the Field Notes library for members to watch any time they want to. REBECCA: I thought the webinars were free and open to all. JONATHAN: They are. You don’t have to be a Field Notes member to attend the webinar live. It’s the recorded versions that become part of the Field Notes library. I add content to each of those four categories on a four-week rotation—a new author interview one week, a new Line Edits video the next week, etc.—so the library is constantly growing. Oh, and then there’s the Field Notes Book Club (we’re going through Madeleine L’Engle’s Walking on Water now), and I’ve started doing office hours via videoconference for anybody who has questions. REBECCA: You’re basically creating Khan Academy for the discipline of writing. JONATHAN: It will be the Kubla Khan Academy, actually. It will be a stately pleasure-dome. REBECCA: Be sure to have a sacred river running through measureless caverns, please. JONATHAN: I have decreed it. One thing I want—maybe the biggest thing—is for Field Notes for Writers to become a place where writers can be there for one another, to compare notes, to encourage one another. I’ve been feeding the content beast for a while, building that library, but I really hope Field Notes will develop into a community of writers. I’m trying to think of the content library as a gathering place, something that gives writers common ground, something to connect over and discuss. To this point, Field Notes has mostly been me talking to writers. I want to be facilitating conversations rather than monologuing. But I’m not there yet. REBECCA: You should probably mention that Field Notes is a paid subscription, not a charitable endeavor. JONATHAN: Yes. $11.95 a month, or $119 a year. Some of what I do is free. The Habit and the live monthly webinar are free. I wish I could do all of it for free, but I do charge for Field Notes. Baby’s got to have shoes. REBECCA: You are teaching your participants that writing has a value. I think that’s important, too. Modeling respect for the offering is good leadership. Sorry, I know you’ve worked on this so much and that you understand it. But I haven’t understood how it all fits together until just now. JONATHAN: I totally understand that. I spend so much time thinking about Field Notes that I forget that nobody else knows what I’m talking about. I really appreciate your asking. You can visit Jonathan’s website here and join Field Notes for Writers here.