[Editor's Note: This post resumes Mark Meynell's 5&1 series on classical music  which ran from 2020-2021. Taking a different theme each time, we offer five  short pieces (or extracts) followed by one  more substantial work.] Architecture and music don’t always feel like natural bedfellows. In fact, you might think they were mutually exclusive. One is characterized by solidity, permanence, and physicality; great buildings make us gaze in wonder in 360 degrees. The other is, by definition, fleeting and impermanent, supremely abstract (especially if without words) and invisible. So this playlist probably seems rather futile. As someone once  said of all music criticism, ‘writing about music is like dancing about architecture.’ But here’s the thing: not only is it entirely possible to say some  intelligible and helpful things about music, but dancing actually is often about a sense of space and, yes, architecture. The German poet Goethe once said, ‘I call architecture frozen music.’ That is fascinating and revealing about both art forms. Music, especially if complex, often needs architectural metaphors to explain it; big themes or chord sequences might only begin to make sense if understood as the invisible infrastructure holding up a cathedral or great hall. But we’re also going one step further here. We’re considering music written about particular buildings or places, designed to evoke in fleeting sounds the solid grandeur of some great edifice (s). Think of this as a bit of a magical mystery tour. Má Vlast ‘My Fatherland’: I. Vyšehrad ‘The High Castle’ (JB1:112, 1872-4) Bedřich Smetana (1824-1884 , Czech) Czech Philharmonic, Jiří Bělohlávek  (cond.) Smetana was born around 100 miles east of Prague, today’s Czech capital, but then in a province of the Austro-Hungarian empire. He grew up speaking German but would become identified with the growing sense of Czech national identity and in time would be named the father of Czech music. His major work My Fatherland , is made up of six movements, each depicting something core to Czech culture (whether a place, legend, or event). This, the opening movement, describes Vyšehrad  (literally ‘the High Castle’), a medieval fortress not far from Prague’s center, but not to be confused with Prague Castle itself. Vyšehrad  now also contains a large cemetery for Czechia’s great and good, including Smetana himself. Two harps begin the proceedings, creating a sense of anticipation as well as evoking the castle’s origins deep in the mists of legend. They introduce a simple 4-note phrase (right) which is the castle’s signature in this and the later movements as well. Things speed up to give a sense of its history with military marches and assaults, culminating in its destruction. But it still has a life after that, a glorious ruin standing proudly on a bluff over the Vltava river (you can hear that in the music too), and still retains its grandeur and beauty. La Cathédrale Engloutie (No X. Préludes - Book 1, 1910) Claude Debussy (1862-1918, French) Jean-Yves Thibaudet (piano) From the Czech lands, we are now whisked away to an island off the Brittany coast in northwest France. Or rather, we would be if L’Isle d’Ys  existed today. It is the stuff of myth, an island town now lost forever to the ravages of the ocean, all because of the actions of a king’s wayward daughter. Debussy seems to hint at its great cathedral now fully submerged ( engloutie ), depicting the sea and mist through which we must peel back our eyes and ears to grasp what he can see.  Debussy uses haunting, half-filled chords (for the musical nerds, often in parallel fifths) which seem unmoved by the movement of the water. The cathedral then seems to rise above the waves, giving us a glimpse of its majesty, only to fall back into the deep. But it is all so fragile and fleeting - these are just musical hints, after all. We are left wondering if perhaps we could also hear the ghost of a chanting choir accompanied by an organ and the tolling of the bell despite being far out to sea. And before we know it, the vision is lost in the fog. Quiet City (1940) Aaron Copland (1900-1990, American) New York Philharmonic, Leonard Bernstein (cond.) We have now crossed the Atlantic and transported to the Big Apple, perhaps in the early hours or soon after dawn. Aaron Copland’s initial version was written as incidental music for a Broadway production of Irwin Shaw’s play of the same name. Unfortunately, that flopped so Copland rearranged it as an orchestral piece. The play’s protagonist is a young Jewish boy in New York who finds his trumpet to be his only solace and antidote to a profound loneliness. So the whole piece is constructed around the meanderings of a trumpet. It then seems to enter a melancholy conversation with a cor anglais , as if the young man hears his own echoes while wandering the deserted streets of Manhattan.  Even if the piece is unfamiliar, you are bound to recognize all kinds of elements that subsequently became clichés of film music. Copland captures the peculiar isolation of modern urban life so powerfully, one in which we can be lonely despite being surrounded by millions of others.  I can’t help but see some of the New York paintings of Edward Hopper when I hear this piece. His masterpiece Nighthawks  (which is truly breathtaking if seen ‘in the flesh’) was only finished two years after this piece. Nor do I fail to imagine the glistening sunrise reflecting off soulless skyscrapers as the city yawningly begins yet another day. X. The Great Gate of Kiev, Pictures at an Exhibition (1874 Ravel orch. 1922) Modest Mussorgsky (1839-1881, Russian) Les Siècles, François-Xavier Roth (cond.) This track is one of several in a larger work portraying a visit to an exhibition of works by the Russian painter and architect Victor Hartmann. The last in the sequence is of a design Hartmann had drafted for a new gate for Kiev (today’s Kyiv, in Ukraine) which he hoped to be furnished with great Russian domes and a peal of bells. So we are listening to Mussorgsky aurally depicting the experience of seeing a painting which is itself a depiction of a great building yet to be imagined. It was originally written as a suite of piano pieces, but the music is so vivid that it is just asking to be arranged for the full spectrum of orchestral colour. In this case, it is the brilliant orchestration by Maurice Ravel (he of Bolero  fame). It has it all: the grandeur, a sense of triumphant arrival, the pealing bells, the feeling that you are entering a great destination in its own right. As the music builds, I can just imagine a camera-drone slowly ascending into the air as it takes in more and more of the building and then the whole city. Carillon de Westminster (from Pièces de fantaisie (Suite No. 3; Op. 54) Louis Vierne (1870–1937, French) Olivier Latry (organ of Notre Dame, Paris) Occasionally, a building already has its own jingle. The Houses of Parliament in Westminster, central London, certainly does. The chimes of the bells of Big Ben (or as it is now called, The Elizabeth Tower ; and in fact, to be seriously pedantic, Big Ben is technically only  the big hour bell that goes BONG) have been as universally recognizable as the Nokia ringtone or the old MS Windows startup would become. But its musical simplicity has made it very easy to evoke musically. It is comprised of four tones in two bars, played with developing permutations at each quarter of the hour. Then on the hour, we hear four variations followed by the deep bongs that tell the time. (If interested, you can find out more here !) Louis Vierne was one of organ music’s greats, as performer and composer (he was organist of Notre Dame in Paris for nearly 40 years). In this piece ( carillon  is French for a peal of bells ), Vierne has great fun with the Westminster jingle. He lets the rest of the organ flutter and flurry, in and out of the main theme with increasing volume and complexity, reaching a glorious climax that demands its performer make the most of the organ’s vast range. One can’t fail to be blown away by the majesty and sheer power of both instrument and place. Symphony No. 8 in C minor (WAB 108) Anton Bruckner (1824-1896, Austrian) Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, Rafael Kubelík (cond.) This symphony is a mammoth, full of huge outbursts, glorious melodies, as well as the sense of vast open spaces. It is not a depiction of a building or place but is music on a vast scale (the whole piece lasts roughly 80 minutes, split into four movements). This is one of the compositions that has prompted many critics to herald Bruckner for creating ‘cathedrals in sound.' Bruckner was a deeply devout catholic from Upper Austria, the schoolteacher son of a schoolteacher whose home was filled with parental love but also tragedy. Aged only 13, he sat beside his father’s bed as he died of TB. He witnessed the deaths of 7 of his 11 siblings in infancy. But like his father, he helped out in the parish church on the organ and his musical ability enabled him in time to leave teaching. He never married, though would often have inappropriate and unrequited crushes on young girls; there is always the sense of a deep melancholy and social awkwardness around Bruckner. But he was a genius whose time would primarily come posthumously. This symphony is complex but it works best if you allow yourself to be fully immersed in it, to let the composer transport you into spectacular halls, over Alpine peaks and into unexplored corners of human experience. The four movements are: Allegro moderato (C mi)     14:40  mins Scherzo: Allegro moderato — Trio: Slow (C mi → C ma, A♭ma)    14:25 mins Adagio: Solemnly slow, but not sluggish (D♭ ma)     22:37 mins Finale: Solemnly, not quickly (C mi → C ma)     22:14 mins Mark Meynell is the Director (Europe and Caribbean) of Langham Preaching. He was ordained in the Church of England in 1997 serving in several places including 9 years at All Souls Church, Langham Place, London, (during which he also served as a part-time government chaplain). Prior to that, he taught at a small seminary in Kampala, Uganda, for four years. Since 2019, he has helped to bring Hutchmoot to the UK and in 2022 completed a Doctor of Ministry (at Covenant Theological Seminary, St Louis) researching the place of the arts in cultural apologetics. Mark and his wife, Rachel, have two grown-up children, and they live in Maidenhead, Berkshire. If you’ve enjoyed this article or other content coming out of the Rabbit Room, you can help support the work by clicking here. Our weekly newsletter is the best way to learn about new books, staff recommendations, upcoming events, lectures, and more. Sign up here.

by Cindy Anderson I have been fortunate enough to have grown up surrounded by people who were always ready to recommend a book to read. I have several aunts and uncles who were always reading and they always shared suggestions with me and each other. My one uncle was a theology professor and he had a personal library with thousands of books. I was in awe as I perused the shelves every time I was in his home. My grandmother was an insatiable reader. My aunt and I would shop at garage sales and purchase boxes of books and bring them home to her. She would sort through them and save different ones for specific people in the family. On my eighth birthday, she gave me a book of poetry illustrated by Tasha Tudor. I read that book every night, memorized the poems, and studied the illustrations. I fell in love with poetry because of that book. Because of these wonderful people, I became the kid who read with a flashlight under my covers because I couldn’t go to sleep until I found out what happened next.  Although I appreciate books of all kinds, I have always had an affinity for children’s books. The combination of carefully worded texts and the art of illustration has always captured me. In college, however, I learned to read books through a more reflective lens. One of the best assignments I was ever given was to read 100 picture books and record my thoughts. It was then that I realized that there is a vast variety in children’s books. It was then that I decided to keep a record of all of the books I loved. I still check out children’s books from my local library and have been keeping a record of all of my favorites ever since. I share these lists with young families and teachers, and now with the Rabbit Room community.  I believe the best way to foster young readers is to present them with the best of the best in children’s literature. Below you will find just such a list focused on the theme of gardening. For those of us in the northern hemisphere, spring has arrived and the weather is beckoning us outdoors. The books are worthy of your bookshelves. They are beautifully written and they honor and respect their reader. They are written for children and are also enjoyed by adults. They have beautiful art and illustrations throughout, the kind of art that makes readers pause to take in the page. I hope these books inspire you to work in your garden, plant some flower pots, and go for a walk through a park.  The Gardener by Sarah Stewart This is one of my favorite stories. It makes me think of my own grandmother who always sent me seeds from her plants. Young Lydia Grace lives during the Great Depression and needs to leave the country and live with her uncle in the city. She packs her suitcase with everything she needs, including seeds. She exchanges letters with her family discussing plants, seeds, and how flowers are brightening up her new home. Miss Rumphius by Barbara Cooney Alice Rumphius, who longed to travel the world and make it more beautiful, scatters lupine seeds everywhere she goes. The countless lupines that bloom along the coast of Maine are the legacy of the Lupine Lady, Miss Rumphius.  Celia Planted a Garden by Phyllis Root and Gary Schmidt This beautiful book tells the story of Celia Thaxter; an 18th-century gardener, writer, artist, poet, and designer. When she was 12 years old her family moved to Appledore Island off the coast of Maine where her father built a hotel. While there she planted beautiful gardens and met the likes of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Nathanial Hawthorne, and other famous writers. The vivid illustrations with hand-drawn samples of her writing make this book a keeper.  Harlem Grown by Tony Hillery This is the story of Tony Hillery, founder of Harlem Grown, who leads the way in taking an abandoned, litter-filled lot and turning it into a lush urban farm. Students join in on the project and a big idea transforms their neighborhood. There are now 12 of these urban farms in NYC. The illustrations fit this inspiring, and educational story perfectly.  We Are the Gardeners by Joanna Gaines This book by Joanna Gaines describes the steps it takes for her family to take care of their garden. She shares the ups and downs of planting a garden, and teaches that hard work brings a great reward. This book has sweet, simple text and charming illustrations.  The Secret Garden of George Washington Carver by Gene Barretta This is a beautifully illustrated biography of George Washington Carver. Born a slave, he grew to be a brilliant scientist, botanist, professor, inventor, and agricultural expert. He started his education by creating and observing the plants and animals in his own secret garden.  And Then It’s Spring by Julie Fogliano It’s the end of winter, and a boy and his dog decide they no longer want to see brown everywhere, so they decide to plant a garden. This is written with simple text for young readers. It’s a sweet story about the anticipation of spring and seeing growing things.  A Seed is Sleepy by Dianna Hutts Aston This book (and all the books in this series) have eye-catching, detailed illustrations (Even the endpapers are thoughtfully done.) It’s an excellent introduction to seeds; how they grow, develop, and disperse.  Up in the Garden and Down in the Dirt by Kate Messner Here is a book for pre-schoolers that teaches what is above and below the dirt in a garden. Join a young girl and her grandmother as they work together to grow and harvest their garden. This book has charming illustrations and great information.  I wanted to mention a few favorite chapter books that take place in gardens or around gardens. The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett The Vanderbeekers and the Hidden Garden by Karina Yan Glaser The Penderwicks by Jeanne Birdsall And here are some wonderful resources for parents and teachers about plants and gardening with children. Roots Shoots Buckets & Boots by Sharon Lovejoy Grow: A Family Guide to Plants and How to Grow Them by Riz Reyes Easy Peasy: Gardening for Kids by Little Gestalten  If you’ve enjoyed this article or other content coming out of the Rabbit Room, you can help support the work by clicking here. Our weekly newsletter is the best way to learn about new books, staff recommendations, upcoming events, lectures, and more. Sign up here.

[Editor's Note: This post resumes Mark Meynell's 5&1 series on classical music  which ran from 2020-2021. Taking a different theme each time, we offer five short pieces (or extracts) followed by one more substantial work.] During our four years living in Uganda, one of the things I never really got used to was nice weather almost constantly. But then I am English. It was nearly always shirtsleeves' weather, hot but not usually unbearable. Downpours, when they came, tended to come in big bursts with what we called 'fat' rain; but normality quickly resumed. If the temperature did fall, the most one would need was a light sweater (which I would have to retrieve perhaps 2 or 3 times a year). It was perfect. Apart from the fact that it doesn't change much. There were supposedly rainy and dry seasons, but climate change has messed all those up. So while we loved it out there, I did miss the seasons. I missed the variations in light, colour and temperature. I missed the anticipation of the next season as it began to turn. I missed the way each season had its own version of perfect days. There's a reason that Brits always talk about the weather; there's simply so much to discuss! No wonder the seasons have inspired composers. So this is the first of a 5&1 miniseries on the seasons, helping us to get in the mood for what is coming (for those of us in the northern hemisphere that is). Sumer is icumen in Anon (13th Century) Dufay Collective, John Potter (cond.) This song is old; I mean, mind-bogglingly old. The earliest available manuscript dates from around 1260 (which means the song itself could be considerably older). The words were written in Middle English (modern translation attached) and sung as a 'round'. That means the singers stagger when they start, with each new part coming in from the beginning while the others continue with their lines. In this case, it happens 6 times, giving an accumulative effect of musical sophistication. That's astonishing when we remember that it is perhaps 800 years old. But more than that, we can sense the sheer joy, excitement, and perhaps relief, once the summer has arrived. It's infectious. Summertime (Act 1, Porgy and Bess, 1935) George Gershwin (1898–1937, American) Cynthia Haymon (sop. ), Glyndebourne Festival Chorus, London Symphony Orchestra, Sir Simon Rattle (cond.) There is no way of omitting Gershwin's classic from this list, a song that has become a staple of the Great American Songbook. Porgy and Bess was unlike any opera before it, one that pioneered the depiction of impoverished African Americans in Charleston without condescension or caricature (mostly). It has always attracted some controversy and divided opinions. But it was based on the novel, and then play, Porgy, by the white Dubose Heyward, who was hailed by the great Langston Hughes for bringing the characters to life. Heyward then worked on it again with help from George Gershwin's brother Ira, to produce the opera's text. The song is a lullaby which comes very early in Act 1. It is sung by Clara, a young mother who is desperately trying to sing her baby to sleep, while other members of the community gradually stroll onto the stage. It is lilting and evocative of the pleasantly soporific effect of summer heat. Summer from The Four Seasons (Violin Concerto in Gmi, Op. 8 No. 2, RV 315) Antonio Vivaldi  (1678-1741, Italian) Brecon Baroque, Rachel Podger (violin) Now for a purely instrumental depiction of the summer's heat, this time from Antonio Vivaldi, the famously red-haired Catholic priest from Venice. In around 1720, he wrote a set of 4 violin concertos which were ground-breaking (each evoking a single season and comprised of 3 movements). It is not hard to imagine the intense Mediterranean heat in Summer . 1st movement: We alternate between indulgent lethargy (you can almost see the heat haze) and frantic activity caused by the sense that a storm might be brewing. 2nd movement: Imagine a shepherd lying in the heat with his flock, vainly swatting at the flies and other insects buzzing around him. Now the storm is clearly on its way as we can hear thunder rumbling in the distance from time to time. 3rd movement: The storm breaking at last, with wind and hail wreaking havoc on farmers' fields. On the Nature of Daylight (Entropy) (2018) Max Richter (1966- , German/British)   Max Richter, Louisa Fuller, Natalia Bonner, John Metcalfe, Chris Worsey, Ian Burdge Max Richter originally wrote On the Nature of Daylight for his 2004 album The Blue Notebooks , which he described as a 'protest album about Iraq, a meditation on violence—both the violence that I had personally experienced around me as a child and the violence of war'. He made a revised version of the album in 2018, with more or less the same musicians (the version here), which if anything intensified the power of the original. This track is powerful in part because it is so restrained. It is not strictly about summer per se , but to my mind seems to waft us gently into the longer evenings of summer. It is meditative and wistful, even melancholy. No wonder it has been used in countless soundtracks (including Stranger than Fiction , Shutter Island , Arrival , plus episodes of The Handmaid's Tale and The Last of Us ). The Seasons: III. Summer (Op. 67, 1900) Alexander Glazunov (1865-1935, Russian) Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, Vladimir Ashkenazy (cond.) Glazunov was a titan of Russian music who taught and led the St Petersburg Conservatoire for many years. Among many, his most famous student was the teenage Dmitri Shostakovich. While many thought him old-fashioned, with a style that seemed nostalgic for the nineteenth century rather breaking new musical ground, he somehow managed to navigate the hazards of the Russian Revolution and his music remained popular. He continued as director until leaving for France in 1928 (citing ill-health as the primary reason), where he remained until his death. The Seasons is one of his most popular works: an allegorical ballet in a single act, split into four scenes. The third scene has 5 short sections to convey a sense of the exuberance and vitality of the natural world in Summer. It is full of resounding orchestral colours and lush harmonies, topped with gorgeous melodies. What's not to love? And if you spent half the year enduring the harsh winters of ice-bound St Petersburg, it's no wonder you would want to let your hair down when the world warmed up. Summer scene Waltz of the Cornflowers and Poppies Barcarolle: Enter Naiads, Satyrs and Fauns Variation on the Spirit of Maize Coda Les Nuits d'Été 'Summer Nights' (Op. 7, 1841) Hector Berlioz (1803-1869, French) Brigitte Balleys (mezzo-soprano) , Orchestre des Champs-Elysées, Philippe Herreweghe (cond.) Berlioz was a French maverick, in both life and music. His wore his turbulent heart on his sleeve and defied the customs of the bourgeois world into which he was born. He graduated from medical school in Paris but immediately walked away from it despite his father's protestations. He soon returned to student life, this time at the Paris Conservatoire. He composed the cycle of six songs, Les Nuits d'Été (Summer Nights), in 1841, setting poems by the esteemed poet Théophile Gautier. Initially the mezzo-soprano was accompanied by piano, but Berlioz gradually wrote orchestral versions over the next few years. The result is one of his most popular works. The first and last songs are exuberant and rich, but these bracket the more melancholy, middle 4. Berlioz expresses the agonies of unrequited love or an ache, rather akin to our old friend sehnsucht . These darker feelings seem at odds with the beauties and glories of the season, but in true romantic fashion, they are ever-reliable in inspiring a great artist. Villanelle [a poetic form associated with rustic life and pastoral subjects] Le spectre de la rose (Ghost of the Rose) Sur les lagunes: Lamento (On the Lagoons: Lament) Absence Au cimetière: Clair de lune (In the Cemetery: Moonlight) L'île inconnue (The Unknown Island) Mark Meynell is the Director (Europe and Caribbean) of Langham Preaching. He was ordained in the Church of England in 1997 serving in several places including 9 years at All Souls Church, Langham Place, London, (during which he also served as a part-time government chaplain). Prior to that, he taught at a small seminary in Kampala, Uganda, for four years. Since 2019, he has helped to bring Hutchmoot to the UK and in 2022 completed a Doctor of Ministry (at Covenant Theological Seminary, St Louis) researching the place of the arts in cultural apologetics. Mark and his wife, Rachel, have two grown-up children, and they live in Maidenhead, Berkshire. If you’ve enjoyed this article or other content coming out of the Rabbit Room, you can help support the work by clicking here. Our weekly newsletter is the best way to learn about new books, staff recommendations, upcoming events, lectures, and more. Sign up here.

by Cindy Anderson I recently had the opportunity to spend a few days at the beach. There is nothing quite like being close to the ocean to take away the stresses of life. I went for long walks, collected shells and rocks, watched the sunrise, and enjoyed the cool waves.  Since returning home, I have been rereading my worn, dog-eared copy of Last Child in the Woods   by Richard Louv. It has been an excellent reminder of why we all need time outdoors to reconnect with nature. Louv writes that “time in nature is not leisure time; it’s an essential investment in our children’s health (and also, by the way, in our own).” Louv furthers this point in his second book, The Nature Principle, Reconnecting with Nature in a Digital Age , when he wonders,   “What would our lives be like if our days and nights were as immersed in nature as they are in technology.”  Since it is the season of summer holidays, this book list points us toward outdoor adventures, specifically chosen for the warm days of summer. This time of year often brings us the gift of a slower pace, more unscheduled time, and more connection to the outdoors. These beautiful books cover various topics: hikes through meandering trails, trips to the lake or pond, walks through our neighborhoods, and simple times spent in nature with family and friends. The Hike  by Alison Farrell This book is full of lovely art, creative ideas, and discoveries in nature. Three young sisters prepare for a hike in the woods. They bring sketchbooks, a poetry book, binoculars, feathers, a flag, their dog, and everything needed for an adventure in their local woods. Every page labels the animals, flora, and fauna they encounter on the way, and the back of the book shows their final sketches, complete with labels and fun and engaging information.  (Recommended for ages 3-7.) The Night Walk  by Marie Dorleans The depiction of this family’s nighttime adventure is awash in deep blues and dark shadows, with just the right illumination, bringing a sense of calm and wonder. The family creates a magical memory together, and the story expresses an awe of nature and respect for the nighttime landscape.  (Recommended for ages 3-7.) Dark on Light by Dianne White  This book is another on exploring nature at night. Three siblings go search for their lost dog. With flashlights in hand, they discover nature in all its nighttime beauty. The words are rhythmic, and the illustrations are enchanting.  (Recommended for ages 3-7.) Blackout by John Rocco One hot summer evening, the power goes out in the city. A family has to make their fun without technology. They end up going to their rooftop to watch the stars, and then go to the street to see neighbors creating their own fun. What will happen when the lights come back on?  (Recommended for ages 3-8.) And Then Comes Summer  by Tom Brenner This book had me with its introduction to summer on its first page, “When the days stretch out like a slow yawn, and leaves and grasses sparkle with dew, and the cheerful faces of Johnny-jump-ups jump up…” This book celebrates the simple joys of summer: bike rides, camping, popsicles, parades, and late bedtimes.  (Recommended for ages 3-7.) Everything You Need for a Treehouse by Carter Higgins  Everything You Need for a Treehouse  has the power to fuel reader’s imaginations as it connects them more deeply to what is possible in the natural world. Each page introduces a new creative type of treehouse. The illustrations are the best part of the book, filled with children playing, climbing, imagining, and enjoying time outside.  (Recommended for ages 3-8.) The Little Blue Cottage  by Kelly Jordan The little girl visits the little blue cottage every summer. They keep each other company and the cottage looks forward to her arrival every year. One year she doesn’t show up, and then another, and the cottage has to wait and wait. I won’t ruin the lovely conclusion of the story, but it is worth reading. (Recommended ages 4-9.) The Relatives Came  by Cynthia Rylant  I am a huge fan of Cynthia Rylant. Her books are always gentle and heartwarming. In this story, relatives drive up from Virginia to spend the summer with their aunts, uncles, and cousins. It is filled with the joys of meals together, outdoor games, working on projects, and family members simply enjoying time together.  (Recommended ages 3-8.) Jabari Jumps  by Gaia Cornwall  This is a sweet and engaging story about a summer day at the pool. Jambari has passed his swim test and is ready to jump off the high dive. Or is he? With the help of his encouraging father, he finds the bravery he needs.  (Recommended ages 2-5.) The Raft  by Jim LaMarche  Nicky is not excited about spending his summer at his grandmother’s house in the woods of Wisconsin. One day, however, he discovers a raft and decides to spend his summer exploring the river. Nicky’s connection to the outdoors helps him see the world in a completely different light. The book has beautiful illustrations and would be an excellent read-aloud for older children.  (Recommended for ages 4-10.) River  by Elisha Cooper This book takes its reader on a woman’s solo journey traveling the Hudson River on her canoe. The text describes the adventure in detail, showing the beauty of nature and the hardships she endures. The watercolor drawings enhance the story, showing the natural world in thoughtful detail.  (Recommended for ages 4-10.) Blueberries for Sal  by Robert McCloskey  Blueberries for Sal  is a classic story, first published in 1948. Sal and her mother go out to collect blueberries for winter. Sal wanders off and meets a mama bear, and Sal’s mother meets a baby bear. (Recommended for ages 2-6.) Are you Ready to Play Outside?  By Mo Willems Gerald and Piggie are best friends. They have big plans to play outside, but will the weather cooperate? All the books in the Elephant and Piggie series are fun to read, have lovely illustrations, are full of adventure, and paint a beautiful picture of friendship.  (Recommended for ages 2-6.) Flashlight  by Liza Boyd Wordless picture books are great for pre-readers who can make up their own creative stories by observing the details in the illustrations. In this book, a young boy takes us on his nighttime camping trip. He uses his trusted flashlight to illuminate the animals, plants, and trees hiding in the darkness. (Recommended for ages 2-4.) The Rabbit Room has recently added some beautiful collections and editions of classic stories to their online book store. I wanted to mention a few that would be perfect for reading aloud as a family this summer. Although the stories do not take place solely in the summer months, they are all based on spending daily time outdoors for play and work.  Brambly Hedge: The Classic Collection  by Jill Barklem This collection of stories about the mice of Brambly Hedge is an absolute treasure. This volume includes a story for each season and four other stories. Readers will pause at the pages to enjoy the beautiful illustrations filled with beautiful, mouse-sized details. This larger edition is perfect for reading aloud and makes a great gift.  (Recommended for ages 3-7.) James Herriot’s Treasury for Children  by Ruth Brown and Peter Barrett This lovely collection brings the stories of Yorkshire veterinarian James Herriot to children. It introduces them to wonderful animals and shows how Herriot cared for each of them. The stories are charming and endearing, and the illustrations bring the characters to life. Children will return to these stories over and over again.  (Recommended for ages 4-10.) The Penderwicks Series  by Jeanne Birdsall I mentioned the first book in this series on my last booklist, but each book in this collection is special in its own right. These books are charming, humorous, and are full of adventure.  (Recommended for ages 8-14.) The Wind in the Willows: Illustrated Edition  by Kenneth Grahame This classic was first published in 1908. This edition is decorated with Robert Ingpen’s illustrations. The descriptions of the natural world and the friendship between Toad, Mole, Badger, and Rat are timeless and touching.  (Recommended for ages 8-14.) *Note: I have included approximate age ranges for the book recommendations on this list. However, I want to mention my firm belief that a well-written picture book is for all ages, whether one or a hundred. Cindy has been an educator for over 30 years, including work in environmental and nature education. She consistently uses stories and books, including picture books, with all of her students from elementary to high school. Most recently, she taught high school humanities, as well as creative writing and science classes for middle school. On any given Saturday, you can find her in her garden, the local farmers market, and her local library.  If you’ve enjoyed this article or other content coming out of the Rabbit Room, you can help support the work by clicking here. Our weekly newsletter is the best way to learn about new books, staff recommendations, upcoming events, lectures, and more. Sign up here.

by Jessica Smith Culver & Douglas McKelvey With election day approaching, please enjoy this short liturgy reminding us to love our neighbors well. If you would like to share this with a church or group, see the PDF bundle on the Rabbit Room store . If we are pleased with the results of today’s election, let us yet in humility remember that every earthly authority must one day give way to your eternal rule— so let us in grace love all our neighbors well. Or, if we are disappointed, let us resist all fear, anger, accusation, and bitterness, but instead renew our trust in you— and let us in grace love all our neighbors well. Whatever the outcome of this election, let our citizenship and our hope be rooted first in your heavenly kingdom, that we might live in exile here as winsome ambassadors of our soon-returning King— always in grace loving all our neighbors well. This liturgy is taken from PDF Downloads: Liturgies of Petition & Provision  from Rabbit Room Press . You can find more liturgies like these at EveryMomentHoly.com .

Happy Thanksgiving, folks! We’re thankful for all of you and want to offer a few words and songs you might find useful during today’s festivities. Now turn off your phones and computers and feast (right after you read this post). First is this video of an excerpt from “A Liturgy for Feasting with Friends” from Every Moment Holy . Download a free printable version of the whole liturgy here. It wouldn’t quite be Thanksgiving (for me, at least) without a reading from Robert Farrar Capon’s Supper of the Lamb . You might find, as I do, that it’s a great blessing over a feast. From Chapter 16 of The Supper of the Lamb by Robert Farrar Capon “For all its greatness (trust me—I am the last man on earth to sell it short), the created order cries out for futher greatness still. The most splendid dinner, the most exquisite food, the most gratifying company, arouse more appetites than they satisfy. They do not slake man’s thirst for being; they whet it beyond all bounds. Dogs eat to give their bodies rest; man dines and sets his heart in motion. All tastes fade, of course, but not the taste for greatness they inspire; each love esacpes us, but not the longing it provokes for a better convivium , a higher session. We embrace the world in all its glorious solidity, yet it struggles in our very arms, declares itself a pilgrim world, and, through the lattices and windows of its nature, discloses cities more desirable still. You indict me, no doubt, as an incurable romantic. I plead guilty without contest. I see no other explanation of what we are about. Why do we marry, why take friends and lovers, why give ourselves to music, painting, chemistry, or cooking? Out of simple delight in the resident goodness of creation, of course; but out of more than that, too. Half of earth’s gorgeousness lies hidden in the glimpsed city it longs to become. For all its rooted loveliness, the world has no continuing city here; it is an outlandish place, a foreign home, a session in via to a better version of itself—and it is our glory to see it so and thirst until Jerusalem comes home at last. We were given appetittes, not to consume the world and forget it, but to taste its goodness and hunger to make it great.” And a benediction from Chapter 15: “I wish you well. May your table be graced with lovely women and good men. May you drink well enough to drown the envy of youth in the satisfactions of maturity. […] May we all sit long enough for reserve to give way to ribaldry and for gallantry to grow upon us. May there be singing at our table before the night is done, and old, broad jokes to fling at the stars and tell them we are men. We are great, my friend; we shall not be saved for trampling that greatness under foot … Come then; leap upon these mountains, skip upon these hills and heights of earth. The road to Heaven does not run from the world but through it. The longest Session of all is no discontinuation of these sessions here, but a lifting of them all by priestly love. It is a place for men , not ghosts—for the risen gorgeousness of the New Earth and for the glorious earthiness of the True Jerusalem. Eat well then. Between our love and His Priesthoood, He makes all things new. Our Last Home will be home indeed.” And finally, I’ll leave you with two songs. First up is Son of Laughter’s “The Meal We Could Not Make” from the new album No Story Is Over . And the second is maybe my favorite song my brother’s ever written, “Don’t You Want to Thank Someone” from Light for the Lost Boy. “The Meal We Could Not Make” by Son of Laughter from No Story Is Over https://rabbitroom.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/07-The-Meal-We-Could-Not-Make.mp3 “Don’t You Want to Thank Someone” by Andrew Peterson from Light for the Lost Boy https://rabbitroom.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/ThankSomeone.mp3 I hope you all have much to be thankful for this year. I know I do.

by Jeffrey Overstreet On my way to the office to write this review, I passed Grumpy D’s coffeehouse and saw that it had closed. This place too? So many neighborhood “third places” have disappeared during these past few years of pandemic, lockdown, and economic hardships. It got me thinking. How many once-essential communities have I lost or missed in the last few years? After two years of “Zoom church,” my Episcopalian congregation began congregating in-person again only recently (and several friends have not re-appeared). COVID canceled a Santa Fe gathering that for 16 years had been the highlight of my yearly calendar: Image journal’s arts retreat, The Glen Workshop. A society I started 30 years ago focused on the joy of reading aloud—we didn’t miss a year until the pandemic. And I’ve been longing to reunite with my kindred creatives at Hutchmoot. In each of these sacred places, I’ve known love, purpose, and a strong sense of belonging. Being together transforms our separate experiences into a whole, a harmony, as if we are one large musical instrument. Eager to fill the void, I “masked up” last April to join a packed house at the Seattle International Film Festival. What an adrenaline rush—this communal experience of big screen art after two years of isolation! The movie made us laugh early and often, and then moved many of us to tears. I stayed through the end credits, savoring the buzz. I suspect that experience was enhanced by the fact that the film— Marcel the Shell With Shoes On , my personal favorite film of 2022 (so far)—is about a young dreamer’s loss of community, his longing for reunion, and the challenges that he and his grandmother face in going on alone. Wait. Did I just admit that I cried through an animated movie about a talking seashell? Speaking of community: Marcel the Shell’s origin story begins, appropriately, in a crowded place. Actress Jenny Slate explained it on The Drew Barrymore Show like this: At a 2012 wedding, she “felt so small” in the crowded hotel room where she and her friends were staying that she started speaking in a goofy, quavering, high-pitched voice to express how she felt. Her partner at the time, animator Dean Fleischer-Camp, decided the voice needed a character; so he combined a tiny shell, a single googly eye, and some pink doll shoes. The voice and the figurine were a perfect match. The videos they made together were a whimsical, improvisational project that became a viral sensation and led to a couple of children’s books. And now, at last, we have a feature film that is luminous with love. Marcel’s movie is an achievement as inspired, as enthralling, and as wholesome as anything ever imagined by Jim Henson, A.A. Milne, or the storytellers at Pixar. Jeffrey Overstreet If you aren’t familiar with Marcel yet, you might guess that Marcel’s power is just a case of cuteness and sentimentality—something “just for kids.” But no—unlike the saccharine simplicity that makes so much children’s entertainment forgettable, Marcel the Shell With Shoes On respects its audience’s intelligence and emotional capacities, revealing how, through the eye of this curious mollusk, a world that might seem mundane and unremarkable to us is actually alive with beauty, mystery, and possibility. Marcel’s movie is an achievement as inspired, as enthralling, and as wholesome as anything ever imagined by Jim Henson, A.A. Milne, or the storytellers at Pixar. And it has as much wisdom to impart to adults as it does to younger viewers. Marcel is not merely “cute.” His life inching around the AirBnB where he lives with his benevolent grandmother Nana Connie (exquisitely voiced by Isabella Rossellini) is filled with challenges and hardships. Some of them mundane: he throws up in moving cars, and he is frank about how much he hates dog breath. Some are more sobering: Nana Connie shows early signs of dementia, and Marcel is scarred from the nasty domestic feuds between the man and woman who once owned the house he lives in. It’s because of the film’s honesty about hardships, trauma, mortality, and grief that this movie is likely to mean as much or more to adults as it means to young viewers. But what I find most affecting about Marcel the Shell With Shoes On is its timely narrative about change and grief. The film is framed as an improvisational documentary by Dean Fleischer-Camp (playing himself), following these tiny shells as they move about the nooks, the crannies, the houseplants, and the backyard of the AirBnB. We learn along the way that they were once a part of a flourishing community. (Imagine Toy Story, but instead of living toys, Marcel’s creators have breathed life into all the odds and ends —the snack pretzels, the pencil nubs, the cracked peanut shells — that you might find under the couch cushions or in that one miscellaneous drawer of your desk.) And then, one day, that community vanished in sudden and mysterious circumstances.  The fewer details I reveal about how that community disappeared, the better. (Hint: It does not involve a purple supervillain snapping his fingers.) From this point on, it’s best that you follow Marcel’s quest on your own as he seeks to fill the hole in his heart and find his missing loved ones. I suspect you’ll want to see Marcel the Shell With Shoes On more than once. I’ve already seen it three times on the big screen, not only to laugh out loud for 90 minutes with my neighbors, but to feel my spirits renewed by the beauty, the light, and the intricacies of Marcel’s secret world. After you see how director of photography Bianca Cline and stop-motion director Eric Adkins merge animation and real-time footage into luminous images—curtains lifting on a breeze, a sunlit spiderweb, birthday candles as lamps around Nana Connie’s dinner table—you’ll find it easy to believe their testimony that Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life was a primary influence on their work. As Marcel stares out the window into a world vaster than his tiny imagination can comprehend, wondering if he will ever be reunited with his family and friends, I found myself in that rare and elevating experience of cinema as prayer . Even though the film avoids specific religious terminology, I sense something sacred in Marcel’s vision of a world restored. But Nana Connie, in her wisdom, impresses upon Marcel (and us) that the path to healing is not without its risks, and not without its costs. It leads us forward into something new, not backward to recover what once was. In a moment of fear born of trauma, Marcel trembles and asks, “But what if everything changes again?” His grandmother, in a voice of courage and inexplicable joy, answers: “It will!” As I was editing this essay, I learned that a friend of mine had passed away suddenly, unexpectedly, from aggressive cancer. Stunned, I looked up my most recent message from her. She had written to ask if I thought it was likely that the Glen Workshop might bring us back together again in person soon. Strangely, I thought of Marcel. And that was an encouraging thought. In the making of all things new, Marcel finds hope beyond the here-and-now reunions I hope we are all experiencing. His epiphany—which we experience with him at the film’s glorious conclusion—offers us a profound image of an ultimate reconciliation. Like Jim Henson before them who gave ping-pong-ball eyes to a sock puppet and changed the world for “the lovers, the dreamers, and me,” these artists have breathed life into a tiny shell. And the character who springs to life onscreen gives moviegoers of all ages a new frame within which to wrestle loss and grief with faith on a path upward into hope. In the words of a song that Marcel performs with deep sincerity, you’ll “want to linger a little longer” in his world, even as you learn to lean forward, courageously anticipating how love is making all things new.

If you are a poetry lover and have not signed up for the Rabbit Room poetry newsletter , now is the time. It has been a rich, busy year on the newsletter. We have published over 100 new poems. We have launched an interview series featuring conversations with well-known poets of faith . We have built up our archive of classic poetry that can act as an introduction to poetry for the poetry-curious. And we have invited several established poets to take over the newsletter for a few weeks as we take a deeper look into our poetry, most recently Angela Alaimo O'Donnell's Flannery O'Connor poems. If that sounds inspiring, encouraging, and refreshing, sign up here. We have chosen ten of our favorite poems from the year to share with you as a sample of the regular fare on the newsletter. Enjoy! Paying Attention by Andrew Peterson Pay attention to the little things. Pay attention to the big things too, Because both are easy enough to miss, And are one and the same more often than not. Pay attention to the eerie silence When the air conditioner cycles off And the only sound is the creak of the house. Pay attention to the clank and rumble Of the freight train as it wobbles by. Pay attention to birds—the ones that tweet, The ones that honk, and the ones That lie dead in the road. Notice them. Notice the level of the creek before the rain And after. Remember that the water Rushing around your ankles was a cloud Not so long ago, a cloud that began Somewhere in Alaska, perhaps, and before that, A dark, frigid, and silent subterranean sea. Then notice the minnows pecking at your toes. Pay attention to the turns your life has taken To bring you to the place you now stand. Most blessings sprout not from the plans We make, but from the soil of their sad ruin. Watch their slow, unstoppable unraveling, Their disassembly, the final shudder, and Their collapse, and the dustcloud that follows. Pay attention then to the way your heart Breathes a sigh of relief when the work That was never yours anyway is lifted From your tired hands. Pay attention, When you clean up the mess, to the treasure That the wreck unearthed, and give thanks For your folly and God’s favor. Andrew Peterson is a singer-songwriter, author, a lover of literature, an inveterate anglophile, and the founder of the Rabbit Room. Elijah asks, "What have I done to you?" by Anna A Friedrich Far off, I knew your once-white robe from local lore— rusted red, since Carmel. Now you come?  A storm of a man, barreling down towards me—plough in hand —in father’s field. Twelve yoke of oxen leaning, heave, mastery— impossible, but I am apprenticed in making each move known through hand and hide and will. Two fields away, I knew you would not turn, and true, you fixed your gaze— ( eyes like Yahweh ) on the rope that led from beast to beast to me. They say the flames that fell—the flames that felled Baal, by your own tongue— stained you, your clothes. Burnt? No, each thread caught up, undone, remade, in heaven’s answer. You wear the story everywhere you go. Here your stride slows just enough for that same cloak to fall on me, unbidden. Anna A. Friedrich is a poet and Arts Pastor in Boston, Massachusetts. Her first full-length poetry collection is forthcoming from Wipf and Stock. You can subscribe to her poem-a-Wednesday Substack at annaafriedrich.substack.com .   Boxing by Zack Eswine This bell, my alarm, sounds. This morning, my corner of the ring, begins. This day, my opponent, war cries in the center, of this taunting crowd motioning for me, with gloves raised. This life, roped in, a bucket for my spit. This clock, my referee, grates upon my ears and shouts, “its time.” It’s only round one. But already I’m thinking about it, feeling it. Maybe, just this once, I’ll take a dive, no bribes necessary, we just count to ten. This spectacle would end, and we could all go home. Zack Eswine (Rev. Ph.D.), serves as lead pastor of Riverside Church in Webster Groves, Missouri. Zack's books include Recovering Eden: The Gospel According to Ecclesiastes and The Imperfect Pastor and he writes poems and stories at The Good Dark. Zack and his wife Jessica co-founded Sage Christianity ( sagechristianity.com ) to create hospitable spaces for bringing honest questions into conversation with the wisdom of Jesus. Pangs by Kirk Jordan "For we know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now." (Romans 8:22 KJV) It’s the sound of flailing. Ten-thousand beetles on their backs, stuck to the tar of Route 66, shells splitting like popcorn. It's the sound of a braking, thick thud and swerve, the doe in the ditch, but not done for. It’s the sound of popping umbrellas, vulture kings with fingered wings cupping a hot thermal stench. It’s the sound of breaking strands, the twang of a spastic web, moth in the mouth of a powdered orb-weaver. It's the curdling anguish of ten thousand wolves, the howl of a Syrian wife. It’s the dead plinky plink at the end of the scale, the clink of porcelain on glass, beak upon bone. It’s a low steady moan -- A groan in the wind in the trees, in our ears in the atoms, in our backs It’s a long pregnant pause, the push of creation jammed in the pelvis, waiting waiting waiting. Kirk Jordan is a photographer for the Arkansas Department of Parks, Heritage, and Tourism--.where he mines light, and revels in the glories of the Natural State. He is dad to three grown daughters, and resides with his nurse-educator wife, Dr. Kerry Jordan, and her elderly parents in Conway AR. Psalm of Pressing by Sarah Crowley Chestnut Then, the given line was a word I did not resist. Then, the tambour of the line was liquid amber. Then, I understood hesitation is only itself. Then, I sat in the September grass and said: “So be it.” Then, each line was a table, a bowl, a cup, a spoon. Then, both moon and meal were simply the way forward. Then, I stopped fretting over paths and pasts. Then, the voice that drives and rides my breath was unburied. Then, I simply replied. Then, the fraught edge of myself was hemmed. Then, I was gathered like a foraged meal. Then, I was fed. Then, I was clothed. Then, I slept and slept. Then, I heard the Lord in the given line. Then, I wept, you are blessed, you are blessed. Sarah Crowley Chestnut lives and works at L’Abri Fellowship in Southborough, Massachusetts with her husband and two children. She keeps a small vegetable garden, a sourdough starter, and a messy desk. Sarah’s poetry has appeared in CRUX, Red Rock Literary Journal, LETTERS, Christian Century, and elsewhere. After Bells, After Drums by Mischa Willett after Marvin Bell It’s faith that’s easy: praying, reading, fasting, loving, feasting are hard. It’s faith that falls like fog around us, everywhere softening the edges, filling our bodies with the cool, wet, web of existence and extra-sensory presence that is. It’s faith, not ethics, that stretches the ankle strap of a sandal, opens the hand to offer a benediction, coaxes the dough to rise. And it’s faith, just faith, that makes you stand straight in a city that hunches along its river, its concrete spine, because the column of air that supports you is a gift and an orientation, a heaven inside. It isn’t doubt when suffering seizes the hilltop of your heart or when the fireplace of ashes misses the heat that made it—when in the traffic you simply can’t hear a thing or the way is unclear—none of that is doubt. It’s faith, when you come to it, that asks of us everything, that empties and empties until we are full, that fills the gnaw in the gut, dispels the cloud of mind, that runs out the money-changers in the forecourt, that names. It’s faith, not duty, that takes the self off the altar of worship, leaving both open to occupation. Mischa Willett (Ph.D.) is the author of two books of poetry, including The Elegy Beta (2020) and Phases (2017) as well as of essays, translations, and reviews that appear in both popular and academic journals. A specialist in nineteenth-century aesthetics, he teaches English at Seattle Pacific University . Expectation by Sarah Spradlin The earth in birthing is broken twice: once to bury seeds she is torn open to make room for what is barely breathing then again to multiply, she is disrupted by emerging seeds disturbing the empty air to prepare the way for a flood of feasting. I measure the distance between the breakings and the reapings through many radiant and dark hours: even as I watch the sun callus the earth against resurrection, beneath the surface she is yielding— seeds soften and swell, then break out of darkness into life. The first breaking is inevitable; the second is a miracle made no less remarkable by patient expectation. Some seeds never reach the surface a sorrow borne by soil and sower alone yet, devoting ourselves to what may be lost is perhaps the bravest thing we do and I am still surprised at the violence of love alive, willing even to receive death so that something might take root and rise. Sarah is a farmer and storyteller raised in Georgia. Now, she lives in Central America where she's worked in cross-cultural ministry since 2020, which pretty much boils down to planting things, talking to people, and writing poetry on long bus rides. Her poetry has been published on Story Embers, Kingdom Pen, and Ekstasis, and you can read more of her work on her Instagram, @sarah.spradlin. Current Events by Jen Rose Yokel So maybe it’s true. Maybe the world burns. But in other news, I stopped for coffee on a foggy day, then went to the chiropractor to get my spine realigned. Later we replaced the broken-hinged toilet seat (“I bet you didn’t plan to spend your Tuesday between the wall and a toilet bowl,” I joke, holding pliers to bolt.) After that, we make quesadillas, watch a show, turn in by ten, reading by burning lamplight. Maybe the world burns too, and nothing is guaranteed. but still, it is so good to be here. Jen Rose Yokel is a poet, writer, and spiritual director. Her words have appeared at The Rabbit Room , She Reads Truth , and other publications, and she is the author of two poetry collections. She is also the co-founder of The Poetry Pub , an online community for poets. Originally from Central Florida, she now makes her home in Fall River, Massachusetts with her poet/professor husband Chris, their rescue dog, and an assortment of books and houseplants. Her latest book, Beneath the Flood , is available now from Bandersnatch Books. You can find her on Substack at Alongside Journal or on Instagram @jroseyokel . Life Without Internet by Liz Snell We didn’t know what to call these birds that swerved along the last light of the summer equinox. At first we thought them bats but bats dance erratic and these flew deft-winged, dove by sight, not sound. They were blunt-tailed, not forked like swallows, who also love the dusk. We searched our separate lexicons, fell silent in the lack. The old sun slipped behind the hackled hills, red scattered on the sea. Pipe smoke crocheted around the stars. We would wait ‘til one arrived who knew their name. Liz Snell lives on Vancouver Island, British Columbia. She studied writing at the University of Victoria and is now studying psychology. She works with adults with disabilities and in her spare time gardens, hikes, knits, and makes awful puns. Mannequin by Heather Cadenhead My sister and I played beneath the circular racks, listening to the swish, swish of clothes hangers gliding across metal rods. My mother pulled out a pencil skirt to examine the pattern. Then, I spotted her: a mannequin, draped in 1980s fashions. My mouth gaped at her soulless face. Be still, girls, my mother hissed. I stretched a palm to feel her silk dress. She wobbled, no longer a form but a sound: an ocean wave, collapsing onto itself, again and again – the roar of fiberglass shattering against tile. The fashionista lay, unrecognizable, in jagged, uncountable pieces. I peered into her vacant eyes, now mingled with broken shards. My mother gasped; an employee shuffled over with a broom. My cheeks burned scarlet. I’ve killed her. The writing of Heather Cadenhead has been featured in  Wild + Free, Relief: A Journal of Art and Faith, Literary Mama,  and other publications. She publishes  a monthly newsletter  about mothering her non-speaking son through the lens of the Christian gospel. If you’ve enjoyed this article or other content coming out of the Rabbit Room, you can help support the work by clicking here. Our weekly newsletter is the best way to learn about new books, staff recommendations, upcoming events, lectures, and more. Sign up here.

by the Rabbit Room An event series aimed at the intersection of music, food, and hospitality, hosted by The Orchardist and sponsored by The Rabbit Room. The best music invites the listener to stay awhile, be nourished, and be known. Favorite songs are like gracious hosts inviting us into their familiar space, giving us room to breathe and remember who we are. Music has a peculiar way of restoring tenderness within us, setting us up to receive healing like nothing else can. The story of The Orchardist has been one of becoming more and more deeply acquainted with the hospitality of music, both as host and guest. Most recently, our mission of making music to feed and be fed has led us to its most practical conceivable embodiment: Supper & Songs . Beginning April 6th 2018, The Rabbit Room is partnering with The Orchardist to organize cozy events in Nashville every other month. Each event will be hosted by a unique location—some homes and some venues—include a delicious meal, and feature a guest artist whose music has given us hope. With Supper & Songs, we hope to provide a regular occasion for nourishment in our local community in as many dimensions as possible. We hope for friends to be made, stories to be shared, songs to be sung. If you are interested in supporting Supper & Songs, there are several ways you can lend a hand: First, consider liking and following its Facebook and Instagram pages. Second, check out this year’s subscription options for supporting Supper & Songs or buy a ticket to the first show . Third, consider purchasing one of The Orchardist’s pre-sale packages here . All proceeds go towards making Supper & Songs happen, and they’ll only be available in the month of March.

by Andrew Peterson Hey, folks! As of today you can pre-order the Deluxe Edition 2 CD set of Resurrection Letters, Vol. 1 (which includes Prologue ). And because the Rabbit Room is awesome, if you pre-order here you’ll get a special, exclusive 60 page eBook called Resurrection Letters: Annotated Edition.  Sixty pages of what, you ask? It includes all the lyrics, along with footnotes and scripture references, for all the songs from all three Resurrection Letters records. The idea is that you can listen to the albums while following along with the lyrics and reading all the scriptures that undergird the songs. The eBook was designed by our friend Ned Bustard, who did the artwork and design for  Every Moment Holy , and it looks lovely. Thanks, Ned! I’m also excited to finally share the music video we made for “Is He Worthy?” (directed by Max Hsu). Max (who took the cover photo for The Burning Edge of Dawn ) and his film crew worked for days to make this deceptively simple video a one-camera-shot deal. We had members of the Nashville Youth Choir (who also sang on the record), a group of string players, and an audience of good people who answered our casting call a few weeks back, all running around like crazy for hours while I just sort of sat there at the piano. I was lip-synching and playing as serenely as possible while I tried to ignore the director yelling for lights to be turned up or down, the shuffling of feet while the congregation rushed in from the wings, the setting up of chairs while string players got into position just before the camera swung around—and the cameraman lithely moving through it all, aiming the lens and focusing on just the right things at just the right time. It took several hours and about ten takes with the whole gang before we finally nailed it, and what you see is the final take. I have to say, there’s one moment where the camera moves in close to the piano, blacking everything out, just in case we needed to splice two of the takes together, but in the end we didn’t need to. What you see is one continuous take . Pretty awesome, methinks. Many thanks to Max and the crew, as well as all the extras, for hanging in there for hours until we got it right. As fun as it was to make the video, though, the real hope is that it draws attention to the song, which is meant to draw attention to Jesus. We have sheet music available for “Is He Worthy?” (as well as the rest of the songs) in the Rabbit Room store in case you want to use this song during Easter (and I hope you do!). I can’t wait for you guys to hear the record when it releases on Good Friday. You can now pre-order  Resurrection Letters: Volume I  here. All pre-orders include an instant download of “Is He Worthy?” as well as the annotated PDF booklet. And while you’re at it, check out the sheet music here.

by Jonny Jimison Click through for this week’s Getting Ethan comics. Follow Getting Ethan on  Patreon , Instagram , Facebook , and Twitter ! And check out The Dragon Lord Saga in the Rabbit Room Store.

by Sandra McCracken [Editor’s note: Throughout Lent, Sandra McCracken is sharing weekly writings, each of which is tied to a song from her new EP,  Songs from the Valley, available at her website . Below you will find the sixth of these writings, to be read alongside her song, “Parrot In Portugal,” which you can listen to here .] A couple of years ago, I visited Portugal on a trip with A Rocha International. We gathered together near the coast for eight days. This group of scientists, environmentalists and Christians from all around the world helped me to tune my senses to pay attention to the world around me, considering what it looks like to participate in the restoration of people and place. In my hotel room in Lisbon, the night before my flight home, I sat with my guitar across my knees and the windows open to the courtyard. I heard some expressive birds calling outside and couldn’t imagine what creatures might be making those songs. Later that afternoon, I was walking with a friend from the A Rocha team on the city streets and we saw them. There overhead was a flock of bright green parrots chatting to each other in the trees. These were the birds I had heard making these intelligent sounds outside my window! I asked my friend about them, and he told me that they had been domesticated pets years ago, that had been released or had escaped back into wild. After a few decades of adaptation, these birds not only had learned to survive in this new, urban environment, but they even learned to flourish. As I heard the story, I found myself cheering them on, celebrating their joyful sounds and pondering the question of identity. Personality alone is not a full picture of who we truly are. Sandra McCracken At different times, we may be placed in different roles; daughter, son, student, wife, husband, sister, friend, teacher or parent. Sometimes we change our address. We start new relationships. We change careers. In our ever-evolving relational changes, we get to know ourselves from different vantage points. When our environment changes, we might notice new behaviors and we learn new ways to get our needs met. Our personality takes shape as we figure out how to survive in a new place. In all these externals of our habits and affections we get to know our personality, but personality alone is not a full picture of who we truly are. Psalm 139 begins with these words: “You have searched me, Lord, and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.” While the coordinates of our geography may change our habits, we each have been given a particular song that God has written on our hearts. Sandra McCracken God has made each of us like the parrots in Portugal. We have each been born into a particular habitat; some in freedom, some in captivity. We have each been brought through life circumstances and have had to pass through many changes that are beyond our control. While the coordinates of our geography may change our habits, we each have been given a particular song that God has written on our hearts. As we reckon with our true identity, we have the opportunity to come closer to understanding what it means to be loved and known by God not just because of where we live or how we behave, but because of who we are. In the desert or out at sea, in the city or out in forest solitude, God’s provision may take a myriad of different forms. God provides for us in all situations. We are known, heard, called and celebrated for who we are in every changing circumstance of our lives. Sandra McCracken Missing my kids and eager to get home to Tennessee, I came back to my hotel room that night in Lisbon and wrote ‘Parrot In Portugal.’ In it, the emotion of Psalm 139 is coupled with the melody of the parrots outside, resonating the assurance that we are known, heard, called and celebrated for who we are in every changing circumstance of our lives. “Oh I hear you, I hear you in the trees, in the trees…You can fly or you can stay, I’m holding out for you, my love.” Just a few weeks ago while I was visiting Fuller Seminary near Los Angeles, I visited Huntington Gardens with some friends. As we were ducking into one of the museum buildings, I looked up and saw, to my surprise, another flock of wild, bright green parrots. I delighted to see them again; another family of the same species, halfway around the world. This second wild-parrot sighting was the same week that Songs From The Valley came out, a full-circle reminder that God delights in us the way I delight in those parrots. “Sing out your song, dressed like the meadow at dawn.” You. Are. Loved. Invitation to Prayer: Make a list of some of the most shaping roles you have been assigned in your present and in your past (daughter, son, friend, student, parent, etc). Ask God to show you a glimpse of your true self beneath those relational roles and responsibilities. Pray through Psalm 139, asking for God to meet you in the questions.  Ask him to help you to sing your own song. Ask him to pour out an assurance of his love upon you here as we lean in toward the week of Easter. Click here to listen to “Parrot In Portugal” from Sandra’s new album, Songs From The Valley .

by Drew Miller We’ve compiled a Spotify playlist of the songs that were performed at March 19th’s Local Show, accompanied by Jared Malament’s description of what made the evening special. Click through for our third playlist of the season. (Note: Audrey Assad unfortunately was sick that night an unable to join us, so you will not find any of her songs on this playlist. In addition, none of the songs Jordy Searcy played have been recorded yet, so this playlist does not include those either.) “This week at the Local Show we unfortunately missed out on Audrey Assad due to sickness, but we were still treated to wonderful newcomers including Claire Holley, McKenzie Lockhart, and Becky Kinder. They were rounded out by Jordy Searcy, now a veteran of the show. As always, the stories they shared were just as important as their songs and we heard of everything from parenting and young marriages to youth ministry and aging. For my part, I would especially recommend keeping an ear out for McKenzie Lockhart, particularly her song ‘Where is the Hope?’ which I hope she releases soon. For the time being, we’ll have to settle for listening to the Facebook live stream.” —Jared Malament Set List “Three Little Birds,” Claire Holley (Bob Marley cover) “Ball and Chain,” McKenzie Lockhart “Revolution,” Becky Kinder (unreleased) “25,” Jordy Searcy (unreleased) “Heat of July,” Claire Holley “Sleeping Mad,” McKenzie Lockhart (unreleased) “Run,” Becky Kinder “Guys Like Me,” Jordy Searcy (unreleased) “The Ball Game,” Andrew Osenga “Love Never Came,” Claire Holley “Where is the Hope,” McKenzie Lockhart (unreleased) “Alive,” Becky Kinder (unreleased) “Andy the Nihilist,” Jordy Searcy (unreleased) “In the Bounty of the Lord,” Claire Holley (unreleased) “Walk Together,” McKenzie Lockhart (unreleased) “Only You,” Becky Kinder (unreleased) “Favorite Days,” Jordy Searcy (unreleased) “Pasadena,” McKenzie Lockhart (unreleased) Click here to listen to the playlist from our second Local Show of the season on Spotify.. Note: We are currently looking into how we can make these playlists available on Apple Music as well. We appreciate your patience and are excited to make these songs as accessible as possible.

by Drew Miller Welcome to our new podcast led by Dr. Steve Guthrie: The Artist’s Creed. In a series of interviews with various artists in our community, Steve draws on the tenets of the Nicene Creed to develop a rich vision of the relationship between the voice of God and the voice of the artist—constructing an “artist’s creed” of sorts. This first episode features a conversation with leading George MacDonald scholar Dr. Kirstin Jeffrey Johnson about the first phrase found in the creed: “I believe.” Click here to listen to the first episode of The Artist’s Creed.

by Jonny Jimison [Editor’s note: To celebrate the reprinting of Helena Sorensen’s Shiloh trilogy with Rabbit Room Press, we are sharing this delightful article by Jonny Jimison, first published in 2016. Enjoy, and consider picking up some of Helena’s books at our online store.] I hope you’ve encountered the writing of Helena Sorensen—but if not, I want to introduce you to a trilogy of novels that strike me to the core: Shiloh, Seeker, and Songbird. The Shiloh series is a thoughtful, lyrically written fantasy epic set in a land covered in a deep shadow, where the brightness and warmth of the sun is a wishful fable—and so is hope. Over the course of three books and several generations, we are introduced to the tortured Amos, the bold Isolde, and many other hunters and warriors, children and craftsman, including Evander. Evander is a natural leader, taking his band of hunters deep into the woods to find food for the village, but he is also detached, set apart from them in ways that he can’t quite put into words. Perhaps it’s born in him; his mother is one of the few in Shiloh who can dream. At the end of a day of hunting, Evander huddles around a campfire with the other hunters. They defend against the shadow and the wolves by the fanning the flames of their fire and by making music. And Evander sings: “Another day has died Another night descends, unyielding No strength ta watch the skies The breathless dark too heavy lies And I must close my weary eyes My fragile torch and lantern wielding” There was quiet around the camp. The flames crackled. The embers hissed. One thick log split open and tumbled to the ground in two red-gold slabs. It was Lorne who spoke first: “Was it yer ma, Evander? Did she teach ya that song?” Evander thought. “She sings some of ‘er own, but this one, I think, she learned from ‘er mother.” Lorne nodded. “I thought as much. I’ve heard it before.” “She still sees them, then? These night visions?” Alistair asked. “Dreams,” Evander said. “She sees lights?” Chase asked. The younger men shifted their weight, seeming as uncomfortable as Evander was with the increasing intimacy of the questions. “Just one light, mainly,” Evander said. “The sun, she calls it. A great light that hangs in the sky, a light that burns away the Shadow.” No one spoke at all, until Knox tossed a scrap of food into the fire and spat. “Visions like that would drive any man mad.” Muscles tensed all over the camp. The hunters waited, stealing glances at Evander and glaring at Knox. It took a moment for Evander to reply, but when he did, his eyes met Knox’s with a challenge. “It’s the darkness that drives a man mad.” —Seeker, by Helena Sorensen These Shiloh books are mighty dark stories, literally and figuratively. Vision is dim, death is always near, and the bleakness of the world seeps into characters like a poison. Even the happier moments are tinged with bittersweet longing. But for all their darkness, these are stories to reacquaint you with hope, because they tell the truth. The truth, part one: the world is a dark place, and hope often seems lost. The truth, part two: even when hope seems lost, it is the darkness that is doomed. All it takes to kill the darkness is a little light, and beyond the shadow there is light overflowing. We just forget it sometimes in the dark. Some stories celebrate the darkness. The Shiloh series names it: darkness is the absence of light. Pain and shame and fear are the withdrawal symptoms of our deep longing—our need—for “a great light that hangs in the sky, a light that burns away the Shadow.” Every shadow in the corner forgotten by the daylight where flecks of dust gather and hide in secret and every lengthening line that draws trees on the street on the opposite side of a horizon going up in flames holds in the weight of darkness proof of light and presence. —Shadows, from Ruins and Kingdoms by Jen Rose Yokel I see this kind of message everywhere in great works of art, especially in The Rabbit Room community of artists and storytellers. Helena’s Shiloh series, Jamin Still’s paintings, Andrew Peterson’s songs—they are all beautifully crafted pieces of work that stir my soul and awaken a homesickness for heaven. They are windows to eternity in a dark world. Then there’s me. Take a look at this excerpt from my upcoming graphic novel, The River Fox: Yup. My love language is slapstick. Despite my lifelong love of pratfalls and puns, this eager embrace of comic-strip humor is a new thing for me. Until recently, I saw my wacky comics as foolishness when compared to the delicate beauty of Ellen and the Winter Wolves or the brutal honesty of Andrew Peterson’s Light for the Lost Boy. The Rabbit Room community changed all that, fanning the flame of my stories by affirming my heart for cartoony humor. My pride always told me that the light tone of my comics made them frivolous, but this community has helped me see how that light tone is an asset, a blessing—a gift from the Creator! God calls me to spread fun and humor, but he also leads me in grieving and longing and seeking. He leads me through the Shiloh series and Jamin’s paintings and Light for the Lost Boy. He leads me through the books of Ecclesiastes and Galatians and yes, even Deuteronomy. He leads me through movies and paintings and conversations with strangers at work. He leads me every time truth is told. And what is art if it ain’t truth-telling? I want to affirm the beauty created by Helena Sorensen and Jamin Still and Andrew Peterson, because their truth-telling is a beautiful, essential part of the kingdom. But they also affirm my comics, reminding me that my gleeful character humor is also a beautiful, essential part of the kingdom. Just because it’s more wacky doesn’t mean it isn’t true. And just because something is commonplace, or unheralded, or scary, or even just plain weird, doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Sin and grace, absence and presence, tragedy and comedy, they divide the world between them and where they meet head on, the Gospel happens. Let the preacher preach the Gospel of their preposterous meeting as the high, unbidden, hilarious thing it is. —Telling the Truth by Frederick Buechner So let’s keep telling the truth. Tell the truth in your doodles and symphonies and casseroles, in your woodwork and housework and yard-work, in your writing and teaching and performances and studies and vacation plans. Your truth-telling is a beautiful, essential part of the kingdom. Keep telling the truth and know that this place is home. And when I say “this place,” I don’t mean just The Rabbit Room. I mean the Kingdom. The darkness blurs our vision now, but it’s hopelessly—hilariously—outgunned! Shiloh, Seeker, and Songbird are available in the Rabbit Room store.

by April Pickles One Saturday, my friend Rebecca Reynolds bundled herself in three coats and hiked up Roan Mountain with a jar in her hand. Standing on the mountaintop, she opened the jar, read a poem into it, then sealed it shut and carried it back down the mountain. As part of a recent online auction to raise funds for The Rabbit Room’s North Wind Manor project, Rebecca offered a simple glass jar. “Eight Ounces of Canned Poem,” she titled it. “You pick the poem. The jar will be labeled with a tag identifying the poem, the date of the reading, and the specific environment you choose for the reading of the poem.” While I had been dreaming about a cellar and Mason jars, Rebecca had been writing about them. She had crafted a work full of hope and promise, a tale of burial and longing for resurrection. April Pickle Rachel Lulich commented, “People said bottled water was a fad.” Jonathan Rogers asked if she had any more photos. Bill Smithfield wanted to know if there was an option in which the winner could choose what Rebecca drank before the reading. But Rebecca persisted, “It’s going to be the next big thing. First edition, collector’s edition right here, people.” And, “This is a 16-ounce jar, but it only holds eight ounces of poem. And some settling occurs during transport.” When I placed my winning bid, I knew just the poem I wanted her to read, and I told my friend she could choose the setting. Several years ago, my stepfather battled an aggressive form of brain cancer. All the doctors agreed Mo was going to die, even with steroids, even with radiation and chemo, even with two surgeries. And he did. Twenty months after his diagnosis, on the Wednesday before Easter, in a cemetery blooming with Central Texas wildflowers, my family mourned as our beloved one was laid into the ground. We took turns shoveling a bit of dirt onto his casket, an oak casket made by Trappist monks. Mo was a quiet, Jesus-loving man—slow to speak, slow to become angry. My mother chose a large natural rock for his headstone. When she asked their children what the headstone’s inscription should say, my sister joked, “Quiet.” Mama opted for a line from one of Mo’s favorite songs: “Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.” Back when Mo was in the throes of battle with the cancer monster, one night I dreamed I held a shovel. With the shovel I dug a cellar in my backyard. Then one by one inside the cellar, I set glass jars of fruits and vegetables onto a wooden shelf. The morning after the dream, I took my phone from the nightstand, opened the Facebook app and encountered Rebecca’s poem. While I had been dreaming about a cellar and Mason jars, Rebecca had been writing about them. She had crafted a work full of hope and promise, a tale of burial and longing for resurrection. Here’s the poem I read that morning, the same poem Rebecca Reynolds read into a jar atop Roan Mountain on Saturday: The sky was cool as a sunfish belly, by high heaven flesh-flecked, flushed and gilded. Fin-slit frolic, through iced glory swelling, made her leap, split those thin waters. Threaded by golden strands, dawn stitched God’s firmament to the red clay of Ticker farm where Blythe lined sea-blue Mason jars on a time-bent one-by-six under yellow cellar light. It was a room dug deep, though not very, a blank, earthen womb for harvest and babes kept through summer storm; sweet, hidden plenties, nestled against odds from middle wars waged. Longing like hope cast by hook and line, stretched from burial to whimsy.

by the Rabbit Room Recently, there have been a lot of conversations about how the Rabbit Room can best bring people together and support the work of creative communities across the world. We’re happy to tell you we’ve been listening, and today we are excited to lift the veil on the next frontier of the Rabbit Room experience. We believe social media is the key to shaping the world into a better place, and over the past few years, Facebook has worked alongside organizations like ours to develop a host of new tools and systems to provide communities ways to define themselves and serve their users in custom-built environments that cater to the specific needs of niche audiences. As you can imagine, the Rabbit Room communities are fertile soil for that ground-breaking development, and we’ve been delighted to partner with folks like Facebook whose goals so closely match our own. So it’s with with great pleasure that today we can finally announce an exciting new alternative to traditional community: Facemoot. It is our hope that Facemoot will provide a meaningful connecting place for those of us who are on the search for kindred spirits, but are tired of the noisy clamor of social media and awkward face-to-face interactions with strangers. Welcome to the Moot. Facemoot is simple, and even countercultural, in its design. Here are a few of its most exciting features: Tired of “Facebook statuses”? Try Facemoot soliloquies. Each soliloquy must include a minimum of 500 characters. No more small talk. Engage in real, meaningful conversations. Instead of “likes,” Facemoot offers four separate and distinct loves: storge, philia, eros, and agape. Are you tired of grammatically incorrect internet speak? Our Grammar Police™ filter will automatically correct abbreviated textspeak and fill in you’re every missed Oxford comma, incorrect apostrophe and dangling modifier. Don’t want other rabbits to know you’re online? Use the Ring of Power™ function to become invisible.* No friends online to chat with? Our AI-based chat rabbit named Chabbit™ is well-read and eager to discuss the intricacies of everything from Narnian cuisine to best practices in translating Russian literature. All-new emojis include Tolkien’s fireplace, smoking pipe, and Rabbit Trails comics characters. We are delighted to invite you into this new community. In the coming months, we’ll be working hard to roll out plug-ins for other popular online platforms. Our goal is to accommodate all your social media needs, including Instamoot, Mooter, SnapRabbit, and more. *(Caution: may fill users with dread and a paranoid sense of being watched.)

by the Rabbit Room Get ready! Registration for Hutchmoot 2019 will begin today. There will be two registration times: 1:00 and 9:00 pm CDT. There are 300 seats, which will be available on a first-come/first-served basis—the first 150 at 1:00 and the second 150 at 9:00—and the cost is $320 per person. On October 10-13, the Rabbit Room will convene Hutchmoot 2019 at Christ Community Church in Franklin, Tennessee. You’re invited to come and enjoy a weekend of live music, delicious food and conversation, and a series of discussions centered on art, faith, and the telling of great stories across a range of mediums. Speakers, sessions, and special events will be announced as they are confirmed. Click here to register at 1:00 pm or 9:00 pm CST. Carolyn Arends, our Keynote Speaker at Hutchmoot 2019 We are so excited to welcome Carolyn Arends as this year’s keynote speaker. She has released twelve albums and is the author of three critically-acclaimed books. Fifteen of Arends’ songs have become Top 10 radio singles on the Canadian pop and US Christian charts. Arends has earned two Dove Awards, three Juno Nominations, and was recognized as the West Coast Music Awards’ Songwriter of the Year. Her prose has been recognized by The Word Guild, The Evangelical Press Association and The Canadian Church Press Awards. Click here to register at 1:00 pm or 9:00 pm CST.

by Becca Groves As soon as the snow begins to melt and the temperature breaks above 32 degrees during the day, it’s time to begin the maple syrup harvest. Which means in Minnesota, it’s tree tapping time. I would liken tree tapping time to the first time your alarm goes off in the morning. There’s that day or two with a groggy yawn and a bit of denial (is this all starting up again?) because the sudden flow of sap racing up the trees is our sounding bell that winter hibernation is now over and farm life is about to ramp up to full speed. Tree Tapping begins it all. Soon baby lambs, goats, and chicks will be born followed by the arrival of the feeder pigs. The snow will melt, uncovering our waiting garden, and seeds will sprout under grow lights in the kitchen. Fallen branches will need to be removed and fences repaired. The spring-and-summer-into-harvest train begins to slowly move out of the station, and sometimes a girl can feel a little overwhelmed by all that is to come. She might want to hit the snooze and hibernate a little longer. But it’s time to wake up. And Tree Tapping serves as our soft start. We wade through the snow and visit our favorite trees. We know the big producers, the ones that will drip the most sap for us. And we talk about giving other trees a year off. We only harvest enough syrup for our family each year and to give as gifts. Small-scale fits us best and it means this process is filled with no added stress of livelihood or wages. Most of this syrup will end up on our kids’ oatmeal and in our morning coffee. Each year the routine is pretty much the same. We drill a small hole into the tree and gently tap in the spile. We scramble to get the bucket positioned to catch the fast drips and then feel the same annual wide-awake joy. It’s all coming back to life. These trees will be green again! We may have felt that hope fade during the long winter, but watching the flow of sap dripping into the bucket is proof; warm roots are soaking up melted snow and life is returning to each branch. There’s a mystery in it all, reminding me of our very creative and thoughtful God. Somehow the melting snow will defy gravity, moving up the trunk from roots to tree top. And in God’s goodness and great abundance, there’s enough sap both for the tree and for happy hobbyists like us, grateful to restock our sugar for the year. So while I may feel overwhelmed by the work ahead, I also carry an awareness that God is the one working the miracles and graciously inviting us to tap into his ways. All of it, all of the work that is to come, brings with it a satisfying harvest that I suddenly remember in that first spoonful of hard-earned maple syrup. Becca Groves When we first began, we created our own evaporator with cinder blocks, buffet pans, and a make-shift chimney. We spent hours and hours watching that boiling sap, and it never serves to walk away. Our first year my husband was out evaporating when it began to sleet. He came in the house to warm up for a bit, but in that time the sap had reduced to syrup and the syrup reduced to char. Soon there was an inferno at the end of our driveway, representing hours of lost time. Ever since, you can’t get the man to leave his boiling sap for anything. Since those first years we’ve converted an old garden shed into our sugar shack, giving us wind protection, shelter from the sleet, and an incredible steam facial all month long. Eventually the sap is reduced enough to bring the thickened syrup into the kitchen for the very careful last step of finishing. If left too long the syrup can scorch, ruining the whole batch. Our whole house takes on the pleasing aroma of a candy shop and it’s on this first evening of finishing that I fully embrace spring and all the work that is to come. Because it will be this evening that my husband will come to me with a spoonful of pure maple syrup and together, we’ll taste our first well-earned, delicious harvest of the year. In that one spoonful I remember the goodness of all that is ahead. The seedlings under the grow lights have to be watered each day, but soon enough I will be picking the tomatoes from these same plants for BLTs. The goats and sheep have to be watched carefully as kidding and lambing can quickly become stressful. But soon I will be milking that goat and making soap and cheese again. The pigs are demanding and require so much food, but…bacon. All of it, all of the work that is to come, brings with it a satisfying harvest that I suddenly remember in that first spoonful of hard-earned maple syrup. So it is springtime. There is much work ahead but God is calling us to wake up, O sleeper, and Christ will shine, illuminating God’s miracles and abundance. For he is the one running the sap, growing the seeds, and bringing new life.

by Drew Miller Welcome to the second episode our new podcast led by Dr. Steve Guthrie: The Artist’s Creed. In a series of interviews with various artists in our community, Steve draws on the tenets of the Nicene Creed to develop a rich vision of the relationship between the voice of God and the voice of the artist—constructing an “artist’s creed” of sorts. Episode 2 features a conversation between Steve and his colleague, Dr. Donovan McAbee, about what it means to believe in God in dialogue with the poetry of Charles Simic. Click here to listen to the second episode of The Artist’s Creed.

by the Rabbit Room A new episode of The Membership podcast is now available. In this episode, our hosts Jason Hardy and Tim Wasem interview Laura Dunn, the Producer, Director, and Editor of the 2016 documentary film Look & See: A Portrait of Wendell Berry. 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 Wasemdiscuss Berry’s life and writings. They 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 episode 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.

by the Rabbit Room Easter isn’t just one day—it’s an entire season. To kick it off, Andrew Peterson will be playing some resurrection songs on Easter Monday the 22nd at Grace Community Church. Space is limited, but there are still some seats left. This Resurrection Letters concert will include special guests Taylor Leonhardt and Skye Peterson. Doors open at 6:30 pm and show starts at 7:00 pm. Click here for tickets and more information.

by the Rabbit Room Arthur Alligood’s 40th birthday was yesterday—happy birthday, Arthur!—and in celebration, he’s releasing a record entitled One Night Only. This album was recorded, as the title suggests, over the course of one single night in March 2019 in Arthur’s own living room. The liner notes add, “This was a live take recording. No overdubs; all complete takes. I played acoustic guitar and sang while Nick Huddleston strummed his slew of electrics. My wife Tiffany sang harmonies on ‘Shame’ and also took the cover photo.” Click here to view this record in the Rabbit Room Store.

by Drew Miller Today we share the final episode of The Artist’s Creed, Season One. This discussion circles around the phrase “The Resurrection and the Life of the World to Come” and features singer/songwriter and worship leader Sandra McCracken. In this episode, Steve and Sandra discuss the relationship between music and silence, cultivating a posture of receptivity before God, and how creativity and play prepare us to enter into the New Creation. In a series of interviews with various artists in our community, Steve draws on the tenets of the Nicene Creed to develop a rich vision of the relationship between the voice of God and the voice of the artist—constructing an “artist’s creed” of sorts. Click here to listen to the sixth and final episode of The Artist’s Creed, Season One.

by Janna Barber I finished my book on a Monday afternoon, an hour before the kids got home from school. I’ve written over fifty thousand words during the last five years, and it feels like I’ve finally told the whole story I set out to tell. There’s still a little polishing to do, and maybe even a few more paragraphs to add here and there, but I’m more certain than ever that I know what the final product is, and that’s a great feeling. Of course it terrifies me to make this public knowledge because now people might start asking to read it, and that’s just as scary as writing the darn thing. I guess my new job should be finding an agent, or a publisher, or just printing it myself, but I’m bound to face rejection on all those avenues, so I’m not in a hurry to start chasing publication just yet. I really wish I could say, “Well, I wrote it, now on to something else.” But dang, I know that’s not the right move either, and I can’t explain why. I’m so filled with muddled thoughts right now. I really thought I’d be more excited to share this news with everyone, but instead I’ve been forcing myself to do it, and every time someone congratulates me I feel like a fraud. I wish I were well and whole already. I wish I didn’t freak out over things like possible rejection and unknown futures. I wish it didn’t feel like I was fourteen again, like the last twenty-eight years of life haven’t changed me at all. Will I ever not have doubting and sorrow? Or worry. How can you find peace and joy every day without losing them all the time, like an obstinate set of car keys? No, finishing a book hasn’t made me whole. And neither will getting it published or reaching a thousand followers on my blog. But being honest about how I’m feeling right now is better than ignoring my feelings, which is my usual tendency. So here I am, sharing some honesty with the internet again. I hope airing these negative feelings today will help me move on to more positive ones, but even if it doesn’t, I know that I still have a lot to be thankful for. I’m thankful for all the lessons I’ve learned in writing this book, and for all the wonderful people who’ve encouraged me along the way. I’m thankful to be able to see the same set of circumstances in a different way now, and I’m thankful for all the new people I’ve met through this venture, and the stories I know that got me to this point. The sun is out today, and the trees and flowers are blooming. My dog doesn’t bark as much as she used to, and I’ve got great friends and a terrific family who loves me just as much as I love them. Even if we’re not all that great at showing that love to each other, grace says we’re beautiful anyhow. I stole that idea from a Sara Groves song called, “Add to the Beauty,” and those four words have been hanging on the wall of our living room for seven years now. They were there when I started writing this book, and they’ve been inspirational in many other facets of life ever since I first heard them. The story God is telling through our lives and in our world is a beautiful one, friends, even if we don’t always see it that way. And as his image bearers we find joy in looking for, and perhaps adding to, the beauty in his one-of-a-kind tale. Even if we never “arrive” as artists, I think Jesus is pleased with the work we do in his name. So now I’m gonna go put some clothes in the dryer and decide whether or not to wash my hair today. Thanks for reading my big announcement post and for taking an interest in my work in the first place. I hope you have a nice afternoon and that you’re able to see something pretty out there today. Even if it’s small. Sojourn well, dear friends. We’re all loved infinitely, regardless of whether we deserve it, or believe it, or not. Click here to visit Janna’s blog.