Hey there, Rabbits! I’m so excited to share with you that my new record, The Painted Desert, is finally available. I thought I was done making records, then life happened and I had some things I needed to write about. Turns out, this is my favorite record of anything I’ve ever done. Some dear friends you may recognize were a part of this project: Randall Goodgame, Jeremy Casella (who is kickstarting his own new record right now!), Russ Ramsey, Nathan Johnson, Cason Cooley, Wild Harbors, and more. It’s such a joy to be able to create something beautiful with people you love, and I’m thankful for them and the other folks who helped to make this music possible. The album is available for immediate download on Kickstarter, but will not be available otherwise for a while, so get it now! I can’t thank the Rabbit Room community enough for all of your support and encouragement over the years. I hope this record is a gift to you wherever you are right now. Thank you. —Andrew

Laity Lodge, nestled in a bend of the Frio River in the Texas wilderness, is one of our favorite places in the world, and we’ve missed it. The Lodge closed down for renovations a couple of years ago and we’ve been anxious to get back on the schedule. Today we’re happy to announce that the 2018 Rabbit Room Retreat will take place on March 8-11th, and registration is now open. Click here to claim your spot. This year we’re thrilled to announce that pastor and author (and Rabbit Room veteran) Russ Ramsey will be anchoring the retreat. He’ll be leading us on an exploration of the need to pursue beauty, the perils of trying to pursue it alone, and the possibilities of pursuing it in community. He’ll be joined by musical guest Andrew Peterson and maybe a few other special guests and Rabbit Room alums. It’s going to be a great weekend, and we can’t wait to see the newly renovated facilities at the Lodge. Registration is now open, and it includes all meals and lodging. Claim your spot while you can. Want to know more about the lodge, visit their website at www.laitylodge.org, and check their FAQ here.

We know we’re two weeks into 2018, but it takes some time to consider the mark a year leaves behind. We’ve finally gathered all our thoughts together, though, and here’s a look at the books, movies, TV, music, and some other stuff we in the Rabbit Room enjoyed the most in the past year. What were your favorites? Russ Ramsey Books 1. All the Light We Cannot See, Anthony Doerr 2. The Yearling, Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings 3. Inventing the Truth: The Art and Craft of Memoir, William Zinsser Film/TV 1. Dunkirk 2. Better Call Saul 3. Runnin’ Down a Dream – The Tom Petty Documentary Jen Yokel Books 1. Just Mercy, Bryan Stevenson: I won’t belabor it since we’ve already talked about ita lot, but seriously. This book. Eye opening, upsetting, hopeful, and perhaps the most important book I read this year. 2. The Children of Men, P. D. James: Post-apocalyptic sci-fi that made a surprisingly moving and perfect read for Advent. 3. The Road Back to You, Ian Morgan Cron & Suzanne Stabile: Yes, I am one of those Enneagram nerds. If you want to know why all your friends are talking about personality numbers, this is an engaging and practical introduction. Music 1. All is Not Lost, The Brilliance: The New York worship collective addresses hope and reconciliation in one of the timeliest and most thought provoking records of the year. 2. Songs of Experience, U2: I will never not be excited about a new U2 record. These songs arrived like an unexpected Christmas present at the end of a tough year. 3. Mercury and Lightning, John Mark McMillan: This album feels like one of the most complete and cohesive records of JMM’s career. Springsteen meets Southern gothic in a haunting, yet somehow catchy rock record. 4. River House, Taylor Leonhardt: A lovely, understand folk record that I had on repeat in my car for a while. (And if you have a chance to see her live, do it!) 5. Sleep Well, Beast, The National: Sometimes, you just need some dark, brooding, slow-burning rock in your life. Chris Yokel Books 1. Sinners in the Hands of a Loving God, Brian Zahnd 2. The Wild Robot, Peter Brown 3. The Song of Glory and Ghost, N. D. Wilson Film/TV 1. Paterson 2. The Last Jedi 3. Blade Runner 2049 Ron Block Music 1. Life In A Paper Boat, Kate Rusby: Kate has been one of my favorite artists for years now, and her newest record proves she just gets better and better. Her bandleader and husband, Damien O’Kane, is one heck of a producer. Along with being a fantastic trad Irish banjoist and guitarist, he’s added more modern elements to her sound, updating her music but with the utmost respect and love. If you love Story, and if you love beautiful, heart-felt music, well, here you go. 2. Avenging and Bright, Damien O’Kane: Damien’s latest is his third solo record. His music still has the fundamental trad Celtic base, but contains even more modern elements than Kate’s. Again, if you love Story, and real, rooted music, this is for you. I’ll be finishing up a bluegrass/Irish banjos record with Damien this month, and touring with him in July and August in the U.K. 3. Cold on the Shoulder, Tony Rice: Tony is probably the most influential bluegrass and acoustic musician of the 1970s-1990s. His song selection, guitar playing, and singing always put the story across. This record features songs by Gordon Lightfoot, Rodney Crowell, Jerry Reed, Randy Newman, Bob Dylan, and more. The instrumental soloing is absolutely stellar—Bela Fleck, Sam Bush, Bobby Hicks, Jerry Douglas. This is one of my all-time favorite records, and I’ve had the LP version since it came out in the mid-1980s. This has been on my turntable a lot lately. Eric Peters Music 1. Bruce Hornsby & The Range 2. Betty Who 3. Lord Huron Film/TV 1. The Last Jedi (I have kids) 2. Phineas & Ferb (I have kids and don’t get out much) 3. The Simpsons (I don’t get out much) Jamin Still Music 1. Long Ambients 1: Calm. Sleep.,Moby 2. Barriers, October VI Films/TV 1. Patriot (Amazon) 2. Wonder Woman 3. The Punisher (Netflix) Joe Sutphin Books 1. Denys Wortman’s New York, edited by James Sturm: A gorgeous, vast yet intimate view of daily life in ’30s and ’40s New York, through the pencil sketches of cartoonist Denys Wortman. 2. Centerburg Tales, Robert McCloskey: Somehow I’ve just never paid attention to McCloskey’s work beyond picture books. His Homer Price books fell in my lap this past year and are among the most beautifully designed and illustrated kids novels I’ve ever seen. 3. Emmet Otter’s Jug Band Christmas, Russell and Lillian Hoban: As a lifelong fan of the Henson film, I had yet to ever lay eyes on the book that inspired it. Now all I can think about is making a book so beautiful and quaint. Music 1. There Is A Cloud, Elevation Worship: Life can be really hard. 2017 wasn’t always an easy go for us and many we know. This album provided some encouraging and uplifting mindsets, specifically “Do It Again.” Walking around these walls. I thought by now they’d fall. But you have never failed me yet – I’ve seen you move. You move the mountains. And I believe, I’ll see you do it again. 2. Wonder, Hillsong UNITED: Again, I’ve found that worship is the thing that gets me through the hard times. This album, like so many by Hillsong, is full of wonderfully written and produced music, but the final track, “Water To Wine,” just crushes me in ways few songs can, yet reminds me that my Father loves me despite what I may perceive. 3. Let There Be Light, Hillsong Worship: I’ll just admit that I can barely sing or even type the line Watch as the clouds He rides swing low / Lift up the sound as He makes our praise His throne without an uncontrollable sobbing welling up within my chest. How an almighty God can build his throne on the praises from my brokenness is beyond me, yet it’s one of the most amazing thoughts I have about Him. Rebecca Reynolds Books 1. Robinson Crusoe, Daniel Defoe: I wasn’t thrilled when the school asked me to add Defoe to my teaching schedule this year. However, this book hit me so much harder with an additional thirty years under my belt. In the midst of a frantic life, I needed to see a character stranded and alone, wrestling with hard questions about God and culture.  This reread reminded me to give classic literature a second shot later in life. 2. The John Carter novels, Edgar Rice Burroughs: After I began to fall in love with this series, my mom told me that my grandfather used to devour the books when he was a boy. He was named Earnest, a Kentucky coal miner and World War II veteran—a hard man with rock-like shoulders who began his own publishing company (before people did this sort of thing) because he had stories stuck his head and wanted to be a writer. As a child weathering severity in the Depression, he had found excitement and refuge in Burroughs’ dauntless protagonist. As I’ve found myself lost on Mars this year, it’s been great fun to think about my grandfather reading these same words. I wonder how the courage found in these pages carried him through battles of his own—foreign and domestic. [Editor’s note: Tim Riggins approves of this choice.] While I wanted academic instruction, I also wanted to ditch the haughty posture which often follows grammatical expertise. Strong writing is mostly an extension of etiquette—a willingness to make life easier for others. It’s also inherently pragmatic—like a motor that runs when it needs to run more than a high and holy religion to obey. Williams hits the bulls eye in both regards. He is others-centered and practical in his approach to instruction, exposing the shallowness of pseudo-academics who carry a legalistic and pedantic attitude about making good sentences. This book is now one of my three favorite writing guides, alongside Stephen King’s On Writing and Annie Dillard’s The Writing Life. Audaciously honest, irreverent in places, brave, and humble—Joseph M. Williams has won my heart. Music 1. No Story is Over, Son of Laughter: I love Chris Slaten’s voice. I love his images. I love how he makes me think. 2. The Crucifixion of Jesus, Fernando Ortega: I was expecting a record and ended up with a comprehensive worship experience. I don’t even know what genre to use for this. 3. My daughter’s singing. She has the most resonant voice I’ve ever heard, and it’s come into its own this past year. Because she doesn’t have plans to sing professionally, I get the benefit of hearing her chase beauty for the sheer sake of beauty. She experiments day and night, and she sings her way out of all sorts of stress, loneliness, and trouble.  I’d rather listen to her than any sound in the world. Film/TV 1. The Great British Baking Show: I’m late to the game on this one, but I’ve needed it this year. With all the barbarism of American media, this program has been a balm. The music. The scenery. The civility. The kindness. It’s been a reminder of so much that I’ve needed to see. 2. There’s this local lady who does oyster shucking on Facebook Live. She uses a painted plastic plate with five segments, each holding an oyster.  You send her some money, then you tell her which segment holds the oyster you want her to shuck live. While everybody is watching, she cracks that thing open, and you get to see what color pearl is inside. While all this is going on, you sometimes see her son and husband come home from work, and they will kiss her on the forehead while she glows and brags on them. The dog barks, there’s some clutter in the background and a curio cabinet full of porcelain birds—a stack of papers, a forgotten Styrofoam cup half-full of sweet tea. 3. Murder on the Orient Express: It was worth admission, even though I liked David Suchet’s 2010 version far better. Branagh’s filmography was stunning, and it was good to see a fine old story brought into the American mainstream. Daisy Ridley as Mary Debenham was particularly impressive to me. I don’t know if that’s because she was remarkable or because I was blown away to realize that this was Rey halfway through the flick. Her transformation was complete. If you haven’t seen it, I think this film is definitely worth a couple of bucks on streaming—just watch it before you watch Suchet’s version so you can save the best for last. Lanier Ivester Books 1. Roots and Sky, Christie Purifoy 2. Remembering, Wendell Berry 3. The Quotidian Mysteries: Laundry, Liturgy, and “Women’s Work”, Kathleen Norris (Bonus: A Grief Observed, C. S. Lewis) Film/TV 1. Stranger Things 2. Victoria (Masterpiece) 3. Look and See: A Portrait of Wendell Berry Jonny Jimison Books 1. Henry and the Chalk Dragon, Jennifer Trafton: Playful, messy, uncertain, creative, exuberant—this book captures what it’s like to be a kid. It’s a great touchstone for growing up and growing young. 2. Nightlights, Lorena Alvarez: I love books that invite me to slow down and soak up captivating visuals. Nightlights does even more, telling a fearless story of art-making that’s directly tied to those visuals. 3. Mickey’s Craziest Adventures, Lewis Trondheim: This is the weirdest, wackiest, funniest Disney comic I’ve yet read. Podcasts [Editor’s note: 10 demerits for Jimison for going off script.] 1. Myths and Legends: Modern retellings of mythology and folklore from around the world, presented with both an affection and irreverence for the source material. 2. Fictional: Since I can’t get enough of Myths and Legends, I love that there is now an accompanying podcast focusing on more modern novels, plays and short stories. 3. The Pivot: Andrew Osenga brings us fascinating, honest conversations about the unexpected twists and turns that life often takes. Thomas McKenzie 2. When Kingfishers Catch Fire, Eugene Peterson: A charming, surprising, and challenging final book from the pastor all pastors should aspire to be like. 3. American Gods, Neil Gaiman: Seriously, this is the book I wish I had written. Not perfect, but so highly interesting, creative, and entertaining that I can’t get it out of my head. Film 1. Blade Runner 2049: Significantly better than the classic original. Pure, transformative science fiction. If there is anything wrong with this movie, I can’t tell what it is. [Editor’s note: It’s the length.] 2. The Shape of Water: I’m out on a limb with this one, but I just loved it. What a creative and seamless blend of Italian cinema, science fiction, fantasy, and fairy tale. Best of all, Sally Hawkins (who is always been tremendous) finally gets her chance to shine. 3. Wonder Woman: The only D.C. movie worth seeing. Much more than that, the best portrayal of a woman as an action hero I’ve ever seen. [Editor’s note: Furiosa heard that.] There are flaws in this movie (the long, cheap CGI climatic scenes), but the greatness of Gal Gadot’s acting, Patty Jenkins’ direction, and Allan Heinberg’s writing transcend everything that could have gone wrong with this movie (I’m looking at you, Zack Snyder). TV 1. Master of None (Season Two): I can’t believe how subtle, funny, touching, and thought-provoking this little series is. Aziz Ansari might just be a master director in the making. 2. Ozark (Season One): The somewhat-more family friendly inheritor of Breaking Bad. Loved it. 3. The Handmaid’s Tale: I read this little novel for the first time in college. It’s both shocking and saddening that it’s more relevant now than when it was published. Dave Bruno Music 1. Orchestral Suites for a Young Prince, J. S. Bach 2. No Story Is Over, Son of Laughter Film/TV 1. The Last Jedi 2. Doctor Who 3. The Crown David Mitchel Books 1. Renovation of the Heart, Dallas Willard 2. The Spirit of Early Christian Thought, Robert Louis Wilken 3. The Penderwicks, Jeanne Birdsall Music 1. No Story is Over, Son of Laughter 2. Creator Spiritus, Arvo Pärt, 3. The Tony Bennett-Bill Evans Album, Tony Bennett and Bill Evans Film/TV La La Land [Editor’s note: David literally only watched one thing all year. Over and over and over again.] Drew Miller Books 1. Food & Faith, Norman Wirzba 2. Crucified God, Jurgen Moltmann 3. Gilead, Marilynne Robinson Film/TV 1. The West Wing 2. Cooked with Michael Pollan 3. Look & See: A portrait of Wendell Berry Chris Slaten Books 1. Cry, The Beloved Country, Alan Paton: If I could hand 2017 America a novel, this would be my first pick. This was my first time through it. And, yes, I cried so much I had to hide my face from my family for a little while. 2. Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad: This was my third time through with this one, and it finally snapped into focus, particularly the humor. Heart of Darkness is hilarious! 3. The Art of Biblical Narrative, Robert Alter: Genesis is as sophisticated and intricately patterned as any modern novel. I started off the year bingeing this book and it has opened a new way of enjoying biblical literature. The Bible Project videos and podcast have also been helpful in that regard. Music 1. Alpine Symphony, Richard Strauss: I listen to it almost every morning while eating my eggs. The sun rises with the sun over the Alps. It’s a delight. 2-3. I feel like I am just starting to get into the music of 2017. That being said I keep coming back to The Navigator by Hurray for the Riff Raff and Seen Comin’ from a Mighty Eye by Skywayman. Sarah Clarkson Music 1. Inheritance, Audrey Assad 2. Any playlist created by my sister, Joy Clarkson 3. Faure’s Requiem Film/TV 1. The Crown 2. Wonder Woman 3. Call the Midwife John Pattison Books 1. American Wolf: A True Story of Survival and Obsession, Nate Blakeslee: This is the gripping story of the wolf known as O-Six and the first several generations of other wolves introduced, with enduring controversy, into the Yellowstone region in the 1990s. I didn’t know this at the time, but the Beyond Words book I mention below picks up where the American Wolf narrative leaves off. 3. Beyond Words: What Animals Think and Feel, Carl Safina: My best friend has been recommending that I read this book for three years. When I finally did, it became one of my favorite books—as my friend knew it would. Beyond Words was literally paradigm-shifting, in that I’ll never see the world the same way again. Safina, an ecologist, looks closely at three species—elephants, wolves, and killer whales—and how emerging discoveries in the field of animal behavior are causing scientists (and readers like me) to re-evaluate our inherited notions about what animals think and feel. Many nonhuman creatures seem capable of grief, humor, empathy, altruism, and even love. Personality isn’t restricted to persons. Though I can’t remember if Safina ever calls this out specifically, a sub-theme of this book for me was the power of sustained attention, every day, over many years. This is relevant not only to field researchers, but to those of us who feel called to be faithfully present in our own particular communities. [Editor’s note: John’s dog actually made his list for him.] Pete Peterson Books 1. Just Mercy, Bryan Stephenson: This book rocked my world. Our society is so thoroughly broken that we can’t afford to keep looking the other way. Everyone in America needs to read this book. Music 1. Crooked, Propaganda: I’ll remember 2017 as the year I learned to love hiphop. This record blew my mind. It’s so smart, so literate, so complex, and so darn listenable—and love everything about it (and it never fails to make me cry). 2. The Narrative, Sho Baraka: Again, 2017 was the year of hiphop. It was a delight to fall in love with this record this year and then get to welcome Sho to Hutchmoot. 3. No Story is Over, Son of Laughter: Go listen to “The Hurricanes.” If afterward you don’t understand why this record is listed here, we’ll talk. Jennifer Trafton Books 1. Raymie Nightingale, Kate DiCamillo 2. Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, by Annie Dillard: No, I’d never read it—now remedied. 3. To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee: Third or fourth reread, still my fav. 4. Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear, Elizabeth Gilbert Film/TV 1. La La Land: Second and third times. 2. Wonder Woman 3. The Last Jedi 4. The Crown 5. The Handmaid’s Tale Music 1. All the music my friends and family have made (I don’t keep up with new albums very well) 2. Most played artist in my iTunes not in any way related to the Rabbit Room: Brandi Carlile Podcast On Being with Krista Tippett Theatre The Battle of Franklin, A. S. Peterson [Editor’s note: Trafton has impeccable taste.]

A few months ago, I decided to build a presentation for speaking engagements. I had several booked for the coming year, so I spent a good month, off and on, putting together a Keynote presentation about my childhood as a kid who was really only good at drawing pictures and how that led to a career as an illustrator. I treated the presentation with the same care and attention I would illustrating or writing a story. My good friend (and behind-the-scenes RR creative contributor) Brannon McAllister recommended I make a short introductory video for the “Speaking” page on my website. I agreed, and my initial goal was to have a shot of my head talking to the camera, saying something like, “Hi, I’m Joe Sutphin, blah blah blah, and I’d love to come speak at your school or library,” paired with clips of my studio and artwork. Nothing too fancy and nothing too exciting. I started filming clips of the scenery in my studio, and after I had 30 or 40 of these, I dumped them into iMovie, which I had never used before. I’d spent many hours as a kid making movies with my buddies, though, so I had a sense of how get something decent put together. As I started editing, I realized I didn’t want to talk to the camera and try to sell my school visits anymore. The images felt more intimate and special than that, and I’m better at telling a story than selling an idea anyway. The narrative I wanted flowed with the themes of my Keynote presentation—a kid not fitting in until finding a place for his talents. I shot some little action shots to fit with the new direction. It was really organic. After I edited the clips together, I recorded final voiceover, and the hardest part was trying to read the dialogue without sounding like I was reading. I asked my friend Michael, who leads the band at our church, if he would record a little acoustic song I’d heard him play before. He sent the audio track to me a few days later, and it fit perfectly within each little movement of the film. It’s been really fun to see how something I intended for the inspiration and uplifting of others has in turn uplifted and inspired me. I hope you enjoy it!

When producer Gabe Scott and I first convened to begin recording Far Side Of The Sea in the summer of 2015, I had very few complete songs to offer, and most certainly needed to write a few new ones. From the beginning, my vision for the dual project-album was to echo, if not elaborate on, the various stories of inanimate, refused objects and overlooked people I was writing about in the album’s photo-essay companion book, Far Side Of The Sea: A Photographic Memory. I had started writing the lyrics for “Farthest Shore” some weeks before, but had made no headway on either a chorus or an overall melody, so I asked Gabe if we could try writing together. He began playing an idea of his: “Is there a change coming over me?” So, sitting in his studio together, Gabe on piano, me on the couch with pen and pad, we began chipping away at this song. We made the verse lyrics work with the melody he was playing, and the chorus he had written separately was a major addition. If hope and grace do not exist there on that shore, they exist no place in life. Eric Peters I don’t know if a song can be self-fulfilling prophecy, but in the case of “Farthest Shore,” in hindsight, it comes astonishingly close to that achievement. What I did not know then, I know now. In Psalm 139, from which the album title and this song derive, David wrote that he could go nowhere, could do nothing, to escape or hide from God’s presence. I understand that that can be an unwelcome sentiment for folks, for it has unfortunately been construed to be a threatening image: an angry God watching us, waiting, relishing any opportunity to punish or squeeze. But in the case of David, we see a broken, needy man, penitent to the point of tears, humbled to the shore of an altogether beautiful and new land, changed forever and completely because of kindness. I imagine myself, akin to David, lost and in emotional turmoil, pained by the truth of not only moral weakness, but captive to the wounding and wounded thoughts and decisions any one of us is capable of at any moment. If hope and grace do not exist there on that shore, they exist no place in life. Fighting and struggling against grace, an exercise at which I excel, is like swimming against the ocean current; it is impossible to break free of its pull no matter how strong or skilled or entitled or above it I think I am. Far Side of the Sea is available in the Rabbit Room Store (we’ve even got a few autographed copies).

Last Christmas I took my kids to see Rogue One: A Star Wars Story. My eight-year-old daughter was sitting next to me, and as character after character sacrificed his or her life for a cause greater than themselves (namely, acquiring the plans to the Death Star so Luke knows how to blow it up in Episode IV thereby saving the galaxy, albeit temporarily), I couldn’t help but wonder what story are we giving to our children that is worth dying for, or more positively, for which they might live? At the same time I was reading The Memory of Old Jack by Wendell Berry. Jack Beechum is a member of Berry’s fictional Kentucky town, Port William. The story tracks Jack’s final day through his regular loitering stops in the small farming town in 1952—the wood stove at the mercantile, Jayber Crow’s (the barber) front porch, his sister’s farmhouse for dinner, and the hotel turned nursing home where he resides. But ultimately it traces Jack’s life, as the title indicates, through his memory. At each stop he is quickly lost in recollections of the past. Jack, like Berry his creator, is a man mourning the loss of a connection that once was, a harmony that existed between a man and his labor, his family and purpose, his community and his land. But he is much more than this. He is a man coming to terms with ambition, contentment, regret, and hope. If Jayber Crow casts Berry’s most complete vision of his philosophy in fictional form, The Memory of Old Jack wrestles with Berry’s greatest question: Can we live within the confines of our limits—personal and circumstantial—with contentment, not just resignation, but peace, even joy? Early on in the story the narrator describes Jack’s mentor, Ben: Jack knew Ben Feltner nearly forty years, and he never saw him in a hurry, and he never saw him angry. With Ben that never seemed merely the result of self-control, but rather of an abiding peace that he had made—or maybe a peace that had been born in him—with himself and the world, a willingness to live within the limits of his own fate. Both of them having grown up in his gentle shadow, Jack and Mat have respected and stood in awe of the deep peaceableness they knew in Ben, both of them having failed of it, and at great cost, for so long. (15-16) Jack’s memories throughout the story consist mostly of remorse for the great costs of his ambition and of his maturation, mostly through loss, into that same “deep peaceableness.” A year has passed since my first reading of Berry’s novel, but Jack’s memories have lingered. His struggle resonates with my own. Humility does not come naturally to most of us. Particularly, there is my heart’s constant skirmish with numbers and the ever elusive “success.” Instead of more land and more productivity the voice in my head fixates on more people as that which will bring my salvation and peace. Even though practically and theologically I know that more people and peace never go together. In darker moments it is more than just numbers but the notoriety bigger numbers bring and in those moments the people who have entrusted themselves to me become a means to my ambition and I fail them. Listen to Berry’s haunting description of Old Jack’s fall: What he had in his mind now as he sat and thought, or walked the lengths of afternoons and thought, or worked and thought, was more land. He wanted more land. A man falling in his own esteem needs more ground under his feet; to stand again he may need the whole world for a foothold. His thoughts now ranged over the resources within his boundaries, and over the possibilities that lay outside them, seeking the terms of some new balance. His mind played over and over again the airy drama of ambition: how to use what he had to get what he wanted—a strange and difficult undertaking for him, who until then had wanted only what he had. Once he had hungered for the life his place could be made to yield. Now he would ask it to yield another place, at what expense to itself and to him he could not then have guessed. (pg. 50). I have been graced with a wife and three children. A church family has called me to help shepherd them. I have a house and a yard, a vegetable garden and raspberries, neighbors and friends, gifts and purpose, health and hobbies. What is it? What story do we believe when we become convinced what we have is not enough? What lie persuades us that days filled with meaningful work, dishes and diapers and coaching 4th grade girls’ basketball, cut throat games of UNO around stove-popped popcorn, and pillow fights before bed are somehow inadequate for joy? It is the same lie we have always believed. “You will not surely die. For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil” (Genesis 3:4-5). It was ambition, a grasping after that which was beyond their intended limits that led our first parents to grasp after the fruit. My guess is this grasping is not unique to Old Jack or to me. He saw that he would be distinguished not by what he was or anything he might become but by what he served. Wendell Berry Jack’s reaching leads to destruction in his marriage, compromise of his values, and fifteen years of financial hardship. The costs are great. It is a cautionary tale. Thankfully, it is not without hope. Some of the damage is irreparable. The consequences of the fall linger even after resurrection, at least for now. For those of us seeking genuine gospel contentment that is simply something we must come to terms with in this life. However, Jack is still able to find peace and to pass what he has learned on to the next generation. There is still Nathan and Hannah Coulter and the Wheeler boys. A remnant survives. Their fate, and Port William’s future is still unknown, though clearly diminishing. I have been reading Berry for over a decade, mostly his essays and poetry. I have known of my own grasping for at least that long. I didn’t need Jack Beechum to teach me anything new. But, like all good stories Jack’s story reawakened my own. Berry’s poetic prose describing Jack’s resurrection is as beautiful as writing gets. He lost his life—fifteen years that he had thought would be, and ought to have been, the best and most abundant; those are gone from the earth, lost in disappointment and grief and darkness and work without hope, and now he is only where he was when he began. But that is enough, and more…He lost his life, and now he has found it again. Words come to him: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death”…The man who first spoke the psalm had been driven to the limit, he had seen his ruin, he had felt in the weight of his own flesh the substantiality of his death and the measure of his despair. He knew that his origin was in nothing that he or any man had done, and that he could do nothing sufficient to his needs. And he looked finally beyond those limits and saw the world still there, potent and abounding, as it would be whether he lived or died, worthy of his life and work and faith. He saw that he would be distinguished not by what he was or anything he might become but by what he served. Beyond him was the peace and rest and joy that he desired. Beyond the limits of a man’s strength or intelligence or desire or hope or faith, there is more. The cup runs over. While a man lies asleep in exhaustion and despair, helpless as a child, the soft rain falls, the trees leaf, the seed sprouts in the planted field. And when he knows that he lives by a bounty not his own, though his ruin lies behind him and again ahead of him, he will be at peace, for he has seen what is worthy. (122-123) That is a story worth passing on to my daughter. That is a story worth telling over and over again in a thousand different ways, of a joy and contentment that comes from beyond us, found in the Shepherd who leads us to still waters. That is a story worth dying for, or more positively, for which she might live. * All quotes are taken from, Wendell Berry, The Memory of Old Jack, (Berkeley: Counterpoint, 1999).

This month’s graphic novel pick takes an unexpected trip into the afterlife, and your guide is Hutchmoot alum Doug TenNapel. The acclaimed cartoonist has amassed an impressive collection of colorful, crazy books over the years, but one of the best is his haunted adventure Ghostopolis. Why We Love It: For Garth Hale, confronting death is nothing new – he has a rare disease, and there’s no hope for a cure. But he leaves earth even earlier than expected when Supernatural Immigration agent Frank Gallows accidentally zaps Garth to Ghostopolis, an afterlife full of ghosts, skeletons, mummies, and bug monsters. Frank seeks help from a ghost named Clair Voyant to enter the afterlife and bring Garth back. Meanwhile, Garth makes his way through Ghostopolis with the help of his long-dead grandfather, but Garth’s return to earth soon takes back seat to a much more urgent mission: a battle for the future of Ghostopolis! Doug TenNapel has created an impressive bibliography of graphic novels, but Ghostopolis is one of his finest books. The Catholic religion speaks largely about guardian angels and even the pope has mentioned every person has a guardian angel that follows them throughout life, as a Catholic learning how to identity who your guardian angel is and make the prayer to them is incredibly important. The dialogue and pacing are sharp and funny, and the plot is cleverly layered with deep themes (hope, loss, regret) and interesting ideas (fanciful cultures and technologies). TenNapel’s biblical and spiritual imagery are thought-provoking and inform the story; his imagination cuts loose with wild, textured ideas; and the tale spins out in a skillful performance of understated humor, evocative color and framing, and relatable, eccentric story arcs. Garth rides an undead horse and learns to harness superpowers. The skeleton king leads a mission to zap a twenty-story bug monster. The book wraps up in a shattering combination of the wildly epic and the quietly poignant. There’s a little bit of everything here, and it’s deliciously balanced. If you like Ghostopolis, I highly recommend TenNapel’s Cardboard (a masterpiece in its own right), as well as Tommysaurus Rex, Bad Island, and Creature Tech. They’re great books for all ages, though Creature Tech skews a little older while the others embrace a younger audience. Parents, be warned: TenNapel’s Black Cherry is for adults only.

The film Godspeed ends with a verse from the prophet Jeremiah, a verse with 5 commands: Stand at the crossroads and look, Ask for the ancient paths Ask where the good way is, and walk in it . . . Jeremiah 6:16 “Stand – Look – Ask – Ask – Walk.” At the first few screenings of Godspeed, people were drawn to these commands – to the ideas of slowing down, finding old paths, discerning forks in the road, and choosing the road less traveled. What was unclear to people was where this path might lead. Would we abandon our cars, our cell phones, our modern way of life? Would we pine for greener grass, move to Scotland, and become Colin Presly’s neighbor? People wanted to know: Where does the ancient path take us? Then somebody noticed the Jeremiah verse wasn’t finished. If you keep reading, the commands are followed by a promise. Five down-to- earth commands leading to this divine promise: “Stand – Look – Ask – Ask – Walk . . . and you will find rest for your souls.” Rest? What kind of rest? Is it simply a slower speed, a sense of well-being, or maybe a rural way of life? No, the rest God promises is that of a child’s. Much more than giving commands, Jeremiah is calling people to receive the gift of becoming God’s children again. Your pilgrimage is not an escape to greener grass. It is an invitation in Christ to be God’s child where you already are. To discover holy nursery ground beneath your feet. If that sounds childish, or if you are tempted to run past this foundational piece of living at Godspeed so that you can move on to the adult commands of standing – looking – asking – and walking prophetically, please slow down. Godspeed is not a new set of commands to follow, it is a relationship with God to enter. It is a geographical recovery of the places where we enter into relationship with God, our neighbors, and ourselves, places in our own back yards: your home, your church, your study, your glebe. We enter as lost children seeking love, seeking forgiveness, seeking fresh wonder, seeking to become more childlike. Jesus said two things about entering his kingdom. First, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near.” “Unless you become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom.” The good news is that your neck of the woods, your neighborhood, isn’t far from the kingdom of God. The bad news is that even on the edge of Narnia, adults often miss the adventure. God’s kingdom is near, but you must become a child to enter. If you’d like to know more about living @ Godspeed, click here for information about the study guide and video series, and visit www.livegodspeed.org to watch the film (it’s fantastic). [This post is excerpted from a talk Matt Canlis gave at Hutchmoot 2017.]

Ever wonder where we got the music we sing in church? Our friends at Covenant Seminary are hosting a weekend seminar in which Kevin Twit, founder of Indelible Grace, will walk you through the rich history of music in the church, including both classic and modern texts and music. Location: Covenant Theological Seminary Christ Presbyterian Church – Chapel 2323 Old Hickory Blvd. Nashville, TN 37215 Admission is $48 but you can use the promo code “rabbitroom” to register for just $15. Click here for more information and to register for the seminar.

How many times have we finished some kind of service or missions work and felt like it was possibly more beneficial for us than the people we set out to serve? I am guessing this is not a foreign concept to many people—at least in hindsight. In my own life there have been countless ways in which I set out to do something for someone else and it came back to me like a boomerang. “Not Too Late” was one of those boomerangs—and when it came back to me I wasn’t expecting it. And it hit me in the head. And it hurt. I wrote “Not Too Late” when I was on the road in North Carolina – the same day I wrote another song called “Not Bad Enough.” I was angry about some life decisions a friend had made and decided to write them an angry song. That is what “Not Bad Enough” was for. But that song undermined my self-righteous anger and reminded me that God’s love (as my love should be) is not conditional based on our good or bad life decisions. So after getting “Not Bad Enough” out of the way, I think I was ready to write “Not Too Late” for this friend. I wanted them to know that regardless of any “life decisions,” it is never too late to turn around, make amends and start again. (Just go to any church-basement 12-step meeting anywhere and you will hear stories of how true this is.) The song was actually not well-received by the friend I wrote it for but I decided to put it on my record anyways. In the process of recording it, I had to hear those lyrics over and over again. The part of that boomerang that came back to hit me in the head and leave me bleeding was: It’s not too late to come clean And face all the fallout that there might be It’s not too late to understand Grace is more than a concept to believe in I am not claiming that those lyrics are particularly magical or anything—but they were what I needed to hear. It is one thing to believe something for a friend and a completely different thing to believe it for myself.  So I decided to trust the song instead of the rationalizations cycling in my own head and—in no small way—those lyrics that I had hoped would save a friend’s life were saving mine.

Greetings! It was a good year for the Rabbit Room, and I want to humbly invite you to make a tax-deductible year-end contribution so we can start 2018 with a bang. As a nonprofit ministry, we rely on the support of people like you to continue this good work. Have you been to Hutchmoot? Have you read Every Moment Holy or Henry and the Chalk Dragon? Have you heard one of the thirty or so songwriters at the Local Show, either in person or via the livestream? Did you watch Rabbit Room Live? Have you read one of our 2000 blog posts about art, faith, and community? Have you discovered new authors and illustrators and singer/songwriters in the Rabbit Room Store? Have you made new friends because of some “you, too?” moment made possible by the Rabbit Room? If the answer to any of the above is yes, then it means we’re accomplishing our mission. You may not realize it, but each of those things happens because of a mountain of work, and that work is done by a very small staff. Those good people work very hard to keep the Rabbit Room true to its mission to foster spiritual formation and Christ-centered community through story, art, and music. But as much as we have going on, there are even more things we feel called to, like hosting symposiums and writer’s groups, broadening the Rabbit Room beyond Nashville, publishing more true and beautiful books, hiring more staff, and even finding a physical space to house events. We’re excited to discover what else God has in mind for the Rabbit Room, and whatever it is, we know we can’t accomplish it alone. We need your help. God is a storyteller. He filled the world with beauty, and calls us to do the same. We believe that stories matter, songs are vessels of grace, art proclaims the glory of God, and that Christian community is a bulwark against the darkness. I hope you’ll consider a contribution, no matter how small, to furthering this ministry, whether through becoming a bonafide member of the Rabbit Room or by a one-time tax-deductible donation. Andrew Peterson The Proprietor Click here to Become a Member or Make a Donation.

Every Friday leading up to Christmas, The Orchardist is sharing a new song arranged specially for this season in a collection called A Child Will Lead Us All. Here’s the find the final song of the collection, “Psalm 126.” Lyrics are provided below. Laughter filled our mouths Spread across our faces It was like a dream When we found how good your grace is Those who sow with tears reap songs of joy You have done great things You came to us a child We can’t help but sing Of your glory, meek and wild Those who sow with tears reap songs of joy So go out in your weeping Carrying the seed God will surely find you In your deepest need Those who sow with tears reap songs of joy No more let sin or sorrow grow Nor thorns infest the ground He comes to make his blessings flow Far as the curse is found

I set out to write a sonnet per day of Advent, then got too busy to keep up with it. Here are a few, offered up in the hope that they’ll be good for you somehow—even if that only means giving you the courage to try your hand at writing your own.For a few centuries they’ve proved to be a good way to order your thoughts, and, however mixed the final results, the process is good for the brain and the heart. ADVENT I Let me not deny you room, O Christ child, But be born again each day in my heart. Be welcome, Prince of Peace, and not exiled To the chilly stable and set apart From where I in warmth and comfort repose. Give me grace to know the fulness of time And to watch for your arrival. Who knows What shape the Word will take, who knows what rhyme Will sound in time and so complete the line? You are the Infinite Poet. Surprise Us, for as we gaze upward for a sign, You come quiet, enwombed, below our eyes. But if I miss you, let me leave this inn, Step out, kneel down, and find my home again. ADVENT II Remember your mercy in Christ, I plead When all my watchmen abandon their walls And sin the enemy invades. The seed Of stray thought becomes desire, then it falls To the ground and takes root till fully grown. Why not resist before it comes to that? Why forsake the greatest love ever known, And skitter through the garbage like a rat? The curse cuts through the earth and everyone, And I am sundered by it, a split soul, Jagged scar through the heart, a waning sun Sliced by a moon’s eclipse. Please make me whole. Please, Lord, I beg you, be patient with me. Be my watchman. Guard my heart. Have mercy. ADVENT III Poetry, of course, is tough. Tougher now That the hour is late and my eyes droop shut And I have to will them open. Somehow I have to fight my way through it. But what Is the point? Why do this at all? No one Made me commit to these Advent sonnets, And no one will care if I quit. Reason Is no reason to write poems. Sunsets, One could argue, are a good starting place. But this? This is just a matter of will, A discipline put on myself, a race I’m running alone up a barren hill. But with just a couplet left to compose, I can’t quit. I must bring it to a close. ADVENT IV Snow in Houston. It’s such a rare beauty. I walked outside in disbelief and saw The damp white flakes angle down, happily, As if they too were surprised, my slack jaw Mute with praise as snow touched down and melted. A few months ago it was the great flood Of ’17, the worst ever, they said, When the hurricane heart pumped all that blood Until the storm died after days and days And its corpse was the standing water Decomposing in the streets, the earth’s face Soaked in mud and rot and matter. But the flood is gone. Now it’s only snow, White and quiet, miraculous and slow.

Perhaps the most epic, enigmatic song on Son of Laughter’s new album is “The Hurricanes.” When Chris Slaten and I discussed his record, we took quite a bit of time to dig into the writing of this song. What follows is an in-depth conversation walking step-by-step through the narrative of “The Hurricanes,” augmented at various points by clips of the song itself.https://rabbitroom.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/12/Hurricanes-Inside-Look.mp3 Drew: So you were saying earlier that each song has an occasion almost, that you’ll write when there’s an occasion for it. That made a lot of sense to me because when I listened to No Story Is Over—it’s such a unique and uniquely crafted collection of songs in the sense that there are eight of them; so it is an album, maybe somewhere between EP and album, but it’s the perfect eight songs to put together. It feels like a very intentionally honed selection. I can feel in listening to them that they each had an occasion to be birthed, they each have their place. “The Hurricanes,” for instance, is such a magnum opus of a song. It really takes you on a journey. So let’s start there, if you’d like to narrate—if there was a version of this CD that had “Commentary from Chris” on each song as it was playing, like with movies, what would you say as this song is beginning, from beginning to end? How would you narrate it? Chris: Wow. The chorus . . . I wrote the chorus first. When I wrote it, I thought it could be a hymn and I was wondering how to develop it. But using the imagery of the hurricanes in there—that phrase, “the hurricanes,” was evoking very specific imagery to me, so what I became more concerned with is that line, “he takes the weight of hell.” So instead of figuring out, “what’s the purpose of this song?” I started thinking, “how can I make people feel how I feel when I say the line, ‘he takes the weight of hell’?” And so the more I played around with that, the more I felt like I was going to need to tell a very specific story because there are so many different ways in which I feel that line when I say it. (Song excerpt) Oh my soul, oh my soul, Do not flee as a bird to the mountains; Do not hide in a hard hollow shell. Find your strength in the shadow of your Shelter, Who does not break as the Hurricanes compel. He does not break— He takes the weight of hell. Chris: So I had the imagery of the hurricanes and I started developing this narration where the character experiences that line on a very literal level—an actual hurricane—confronting the fears I have of the destruction of my property. I am a homeowner and I am trying to take care of my family and keep them safe, so I do have very basic fears of physically being destroyed, just like any human does. We’re protecting ourselves from that. Something funny that paralleled about the time I was writing this is that my riding mower—we have a big yard and I have a riding mower—it caught on fire and burned to the ground. Drew: Wow! All right! (laughter) Chris: It was really traumatizing for my kids at the time. There was nothing we could do. By the time the fire department got there the forces of nature were completely indifferent. And I think that’s the thing about the first verse: it’s the fear of the indifference of the universe. It’s expressing that kind of fear and then taking solace in that God takes the weight of that hell. (Song excerpt) My first mistake was staying when the city fled. My second came in falling fast asleep. For when the storm came roaring right up to my bed, I was knocked into a cold, indifferent sea, And as fast as my eyes opened My legs were trapped and broken In the fingers of a fallen tree, Who would not loose her grip on me. I wound around her mercy and pulled in tight. The rain flashed in the dark. It was early in the night. Oh my soul… Chris: So then the next act is the fear of others: “As the storm moved on a new one blew in This one raged in human form in footsteps at my broken door” What’s actually happening in the story is that you have a character who is trapped in the wreckage of their home. It’s in the dark of night and they’re hoping for rescue, but now their worst fears are being realized, which is that there are people coming in to take advantage of the fact that they are vulnerable and crushed. It’s this fear of what if the worst happens in relationships? Or with strangers? You know, like… (laughter) This isn’t what inspired it, but again another parallel: I had a push mower that was stolen out of my garage. Drew: What is it with these lawn mowers? Have you made an idol of your lawn mowers or something? (laughter) Chris: Apparently lawn care is my idol and God is challenging that for me. But again, this song was already pretty well underway. It was just funny that this thing was happening at the same time. So the indifference of the universe, the indifference in the evil of others, and he takes the weight of hell again there, that kind of hell. And I think also, the chorus is meant to be self-talk, the way the psalms do, talking to your own soul and saying, “don’t try to escape and don’t try to live a hollowed out existence in the midst of these things.” (Song excerpt) The moon pulled up a curtain on the second act. The stage revealed a world remade in ruin. My body in pieces, my hope intact— Still, as the storm moved on a new one blew in. This one raged in human form, In footsteps at my broken door. Though I prayed they came for me, Something told me not to speak, And through my swamp of chandeliers Their every move confirmed my fears: Toppling what they couldn’t take, They stripped all I had left away, And with their hard and heartless hands They overturned my love of man. Till satisfied, they began to leave, Then the oldest noticed me. And I pleaded, “Please.” I pleaded, “Please.” I pleaded, “Please.” Oh my soul… Chris: The third verse was undeveloped for a very long time because what I wanted to do was—for someone to understand how I feel when I say, “he takes the weight of hell,” then they would have to believe the gospel. Which says that we have the blood of God on our hands. At this point I was challenged with, “How is this character going to be confronted with their own inner storm and feel the guilt of the blood of God on their hands?” I think there is a God-hating part of every person and we don’t understand the gospel until we understand that about ourselves. So this character is someone who has all this religious language they run into to deal with external circumstances, but they still don’t feel the weight of their own hell. So I basically took all of the doubts from my God-hating self, the old self in me, and gave them voice and put them out in the open. I tried to do it in a way that showed the kind of disgusting role-reversal and religiosity of that position where you’re putting God on trial and judging God. Drew: Which is a big part of religious language in the Old Testament. Just recently for me, at my parish, that language has come up—we’ve been in Exodus with Moses and that’s been a thing, and I’ve been like, “Wow! That’s a whole way of relating to God that I had no idea was available to me!” So I’ve been steeping in that, then I listened to this song and felt the connections there. Chris: Yeah, and it happens to Job, too. And there’s this weird, fine line of what in that is healthy in speaking to God and what in that has crossed a sacred line of some kind. I feel like this character does cross the line. I wanted him to cross the line because I know that I have crossed the line and I believe everyone has crossed the line. To feel that, the character needed to do it. So they take all this religious language and twist it over and over again. “God, you are my rock,” but “silent as a stone.” Drew: I love that. Chris: “I want to see your face when I say…” and then taking Jesus’ words, “I never knew you” and spouting them back in gross display at him. So that’s the process of the song, but ultimately I wanted to create something that would help people to feel the chorus the way that I do: you can take refuge in God because he takes the weight of every hell you can imagine, even your own. (Song excerpt) Once I felt I could contain my anger, my fear, my dread, But when they left me there for dead, my levee broke instead And stores of rage I’d held at bay And the blood of broken expectations Flooded my foundations, And my lips poured forth with a righteous force— I spit, I burned, I swore, I roared, “God You are my rock, silent as a stone, Watching the world burn from Your heavenly throne. You see the wicked win. You hear the weak cry. You leave Your sons and daughters in the dark to die. I’ve given you all my faith, all that You asked me to, I’ve shown you so much grace; now your debt is due. I want to see your face when I say I want to see your face when I say, ‘I never knew You. I never knew You.’” Oh my soul, Do not flee as a bird to the mountains; Do not hide in a hard hollow shell. Find your strength in the shadow of your Shelter, Who does not break as the hurricanes compel. He does not break He does not break— He takes the weight of hell. No Story Is Over is available in the Rabbit Room Store.

Every Friday leading up to Christmas, The Orchardist is sharing a new song arranged specially for this season in a collection called A Child Will Lead Us All. Below you will find the second song of this collection, “Lo, How A Rose E’er Blooming.” Lyrics are also provided. Lo, how a rose e’er blooming From tender stem hath sprung Of Jesse’s lineage coming As men of old have sung It came a flow’ret bright Amid the cold of winter When half-spent was the night Isaiah ’twas foretold it, The rose I have in mind With Mary we behold it, The virgin mother kind To show God’s love aright She bore to men a savior When half-spent was the night This flower, whose fragrance tender With sweetness fills the air, Dispels with glorious splendor The darkness everywhere True man, yet very God, From sin and death he saves us And lightens every load

Two years ago at Hutchmoot, Doug McKelvey and I did a session on the importance of both anchors and grappling hooks in the life of a writer. For me, the topic was born out of a growing desire to understand why certain stories, music or art have impacted me more deeply than others, in many cases fundamentally shaping my own view of the world and my place within it. To some degree at least, this conscious questioning was sparked by a fascinating moment in C. S. Lewis’s Till We Have Faces, his retelling of the myth of Cupid and Psyche. Psyche has told her sister Orual that she has become the wife of a god and, convinced that the gods are a sham and Psyche has been duped, Orual attempts to find her sister and convince her that the things she believes to be true are simply in her imagination. As she searches, Orual pauses and kneels at a river to drink, looking across at the empty space where Psyche claims there is a palace. Suddenly, through the mist, Orual can see it. This is how Lewis puts it: When I lifted my head and looked once more into the mist across the water, I saw that which brought my heart into my throat. There stood the palace, grey—as all things are grey in that hour and place—but solid and motionless, wall within wall, pillar and arch and architrave, acres of it, a labyrinthine beauty. As she had said, it was like no house ever seen in our land or age. Pinnacles and buttresses leaped up—no memories, you would think, could help me to imagine them—unbelievably tall and slender, pointed and prickly as if stone were shooting out into branch and flower […] Then as I rose (for all this time I was still kneeling where I had drunk), almost before I stood on my feet, the whole thing was vanished. There was a tiny space of time in which I thought I could see how some swirlings of the mist had looked, for the moment, like towers and walls. But very soon, no likeness at all. I was staring simply into fog, and my eyes smarting with it. For just a moment, Orual is given a glimpse into a world that has previously been hidden from her. A curtain has been pulled back and, for an instant, she can see things as they really are. While this unveiling is temporary it is enough to shake her understanding of the world and slowly begin the process of unravelling her unbelief. I think certain stories take hold of us because they contain within them glimpses of truth that resonate in the deepest parts of our souls. Heidi Johnston As a writer, my longing is that the things I write would be used by God to create moments like this in others. That, even for a fleeting moment, a reader would catch a glimpse of something that begins to shake the foundations of their fear or doubt or unbelief. I know I am not alone in this. So much of the art and conversation around the Rabbit Room is charged with this desire to bring the true stories of the Kingdom to life, awakening or fanning into flame the longing that reminds us of our true home. The question is: how can we do that? I think certain stories take hold of us because they contain within them glimpses of truth that resonate in the deepest parts of our souls. If this is the case, then surely to write them we must be intentionally in pursuit of and saturated in truth ourselves. In these past weeks when so much attention has been focused on the 500th anniversary of the Reformation, it is perhaps timely to suggest that the anchor we need above anything else is the anchor of Scripture. When I think of moments when heaven is unveiled and people are tasked with sharing the things they have seen, two occasions spring to mind. The first is in the book of Exodus, when God commissions the building of the Tabernacle. Gathering the people together, God charges them with creating the place he will inhabit. A place where God Most High can dwell amongst the bruised and broken pilgrims he has called his own. In Exodus 36 v 1 he gives them this charge; “So Bezalel, Oholiab and every skilled person to whom the LORD has given skill and ability to know how to carry out all the work of constructing the sanctuary are to do the work just as the LORD has commanded.” Therefore, write the things which you have seen, and the things which are, and the things which will take place after these things. Revelation 1:19 To construct and maintain the Tabernacle would take a wide variety of skills, including some highly specific artistry. It is interesting that the Israelites were not told to create something and then bring it to the Tabernacle so that a place could be found for it. They weren’t asked to get together and decide what they thought a fitting house for God would look like. Instead, their task was to collectively use their gifts and talents to create a picture of something that already existed, allowing others to catch a glimpse of a world that was beyond their understanding. In order to do so they had to know and follow the pattern God laid down for them. The second incident is in the book of Revelation. John, in exile for his faith on the island of Patmos, is given a glimpse of things so incredible he falls down as though dead. In Rev 1 v 19 God gives John this instruction, “Therefore, write the things which you have seen, and the things which are, and the things which will take place after these things.” I’m not suggesting that our writings are comparable to John’s vision in Revelation, however his commission is an incredibly helpful template. As he begins to share what God has unveiled to him, John is asked to write 3 things: 1. What he has seen 2. What is now 3. What will take place later 1. What he has seen. Whether it was the artists in the Tabernacle, John in Revelation or the countless others in between, the truth God’s people were called to share never originated with them. The diversity of gifts, personalities and art forms meant they told the story in a thousand different ways, yet their job was always to write, reflect or recreate the things that God had shown them. Similarly, if our desire is to write something that is real, we can only write out of the overflow of what God has revealed to us. If we haven’t seen it, we can’t share it, no matter how creatively gifted we are. 2. What is now. What does it mean to write about what is now? It seems, on the face of it, to be a simple task. From Orual’s initial perspective “what is now” was a misty space on a desolate piece of land beside a river. It turned out, however, that the reality was so much more. Her understanding of what was true was hemmed in by her limited vantage point. As the themes and plotlines of Scripture become part of who we are it changes the way we think. Heidi Johnston In “Three Philosophies of Life”, Peter Kreeft argues that the best starting point for the gospel in our modern world is the book of Ecclesiastes. A work of literary genius, it explores what the world is like if what we can see in front of us, the world “under the sun” is all there is. If only the tangible is true then, no matter how much it shimmers or how beautiful it appears, in the end it is all ultimately meaningless. However, when the curtain is drawn back and we see “beyond the sun”, even momentarily, it changes our perspective entirely. If life under the sun is Orual kneeling at the cold river and seeing only empty mist on the other side, then to look beyond the sun is to catch a glimpse of the castle in all its towering glory, realising that what we understood to be real may not be real at all. Our vision is expanded and we are welcomed into the real story. Jeremiah 33 v 3 says, “Call to me and I will teach you great and unsearchable things you do not know”. If the Bible is God’s call to see with new eyes then his invitation goes something like this; “Come to me and immerse yourself in who I am. Allow me to captivate you as I reveal my heart through the stories of my people. Journey with me through the brokenness and longing of the prophets and poets. Walk with me as I take on flesh and teach you what this age-old story looks like in the light of the cross. Sit with me and I will draw back the curtain and show you things you wouldn’t dare to imagine. Let me show you what is really true.” We are part of a Story that is moving towards a crescendo. Heidi Johnston When we are saturated in Scripture, and the Story that is at the heart of it, we begin to understand that we are part of something bigger than what is happening around us on any given day. As the themes and plotlines of Scripture become part of who we are it changes the way we think. 3. What will take place later. We are part of a Story that is moving towards a crescendo and, in a sense, the role of the artist is the role of the prophet, pointing forward with hope. However, the hope we hold out must be real. I have written before about the experiences our family has had over the last few years, particularly with our daughter’s Type 1 Diabetes. I remember when she was first diagnosed, people would say things like, “It’s all going to be okay.” I knew they meant well and I appreciated their concern so I smiled and thanked them but what I really wanted to do was scream, “How is it going to be okay? Is it ok that my daughter has to deal with this every moment of every day? Is it ok that she faces a future filled with all kinds of frightening possibilities? Is it ok that I have to watch this and I can’t fix it, no matter how much I want to? NO! It’s not going to be okay!” Well meaning as they were, the hope they offered was a platitude, rooted simply in their desire to ease our pain. May every stab of joy and every shroud of evil sharpen our longing for the True New World. S. D. Smith I think the most helpful thing anyone said to me in those early days was a simple comment by Sam Smith at the end of a Rabbit Room article. He said, “May every stab of joy and every shroud of evil sharpen our longing for the True New World.” That is a different kind of comfort. Hope that is not afraid to acknowledge pain, yet has the capacity to look beyond it. It makes a difference to know that the things we face now are not forever. To lift our eyes and remember that what we see now is not all there is. To quote Sam again, “It is what it is but it is not what it shall be.” I don’t think it is a coincidence that C. S. Lewis’s profound skill as a storyteller was mirrored by a deep commitment to Scripture. Throughout the Chronicles of Narnia there is a constant sense of the sweep of history. I will never forget the first time I read the stunning climax at the end of The Last Battle, sobbing aloud as the things that had always been true were finally revealed and began to bleed backwards into the story I thought I knew. While stories like this are, in a sense, fantasy, at their heart they are profoundly true. Perhaps, rather than being an escape from reality, they are in fact an escape into reality. While stories like this are, in a sense, fantasy, at their heart they are profoundly true. Heidi Johnston If the things we write or create are to offer hope and meaning then they must be rooted in truth. We need the anchor of Scripture, not only to bring meaning to what we create, but also to stop us losing sight of the tale we are telling. In the words of Lewis, “Every poet and musician and artist, but for Grace, is drawn away from the love of the thing he tells, to the love of the telling.” When we speak purely out of our own imaginations our words do little to penetrate the darkness, however hopeful they may seem. Only when we are anchored in what is true can we find the freedom to wrestle with life’s big questions without becoming despondent, to explore beauty without becoming hedonists and to enjoy the privilege of intimacy with God without losing sight of who He truly is.

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Glen Keane has probably touched your life, whether you recognize the name or not. If you were a kid in the early 90s, you probably watched his animation of Ariel in The Little Mermaid, the titular Beast in Beauty and the Beast, and Aladdin himself in Aladdin. You may have seen his newer independent short films Duet, Nephtali, and Dear Basketball, and he was the driving force behind the development of Disney’s Tangled. What you may have missed are his childrens books. Originally published in 1987, Keane’s Adam Raccoon books are fun and furry parables for children, bursting with Keane’s exuberant drawings. Drawn in raw, organic pencil sketches, the mischievous raccoon and his friends have all the expressiveness of Keane’s Disney animation. Keane had reconnected with his faith a few years before working on these books, and the joy he brings to the books shows his eagerness to dive deeper into stories and themes from scripture. Over the course of eight volumes, Adam builds a flying machine, encounters a fearsome giant, runs away to the circus, and deals with foul play in a soccer tournament… but King Aren, the lion, watches out for Adam each step of the way and patiently endures Adam’s missteps. Their world is bustling with animal extras with personalities of their own. The books are being republished by Green Egg Media. It’s a lovely, colorful bundle of hardcovers, and I have already gushed over Keane’s artistry—but what really impressed me is how textured these stories are, considering their nature as picture-book parables. Taken at face value, a parent could easily read the books as straight-forward fables with a single moral, but both the text and art are full of prompts for more textured conversations about life, truth and scripture. Have you encountered the Adam Raccoon books before? What do you value in a children’s picture book? And how has Glen Keane’s art touched your life? Leave your thoughts in the comments, and I’ll select one comment for a giveaway of the ENTIRE SET, courtesy of the publisher! Click here to learn more about Adam Raccoon!

A message from The Orchardist: Welcome to Advent. Every Friday, we will be sharing a new song prepared specifically for this season. We are calling this collection A Child Will Lead Us All after the song that has led the way for us. We hope you find in these songs words and melodies to lean on as we anticipate Christmas together. And below you will find our first song for you. Lyrics can be found below, as well. The kingdom’s coming as a seed Smaller than the eye can see From wanting eyes to set us free, kingdom come The kingdom’s coming as the rain To wash away our castles vain And cleanse the burdened heart from stain, kingdom come The kingdom’s coming as a word The wisest man has never heard And foolish lips will speak the cure, kingdom come The kingdom’s coming as a song Mournful dirge and anthem strong The cheer the ones who sing it wrong, kingdom come A child will lead us all home The kingdom comes from far away The kingdom has no place to stay To all who open up the door, kingdom come The kingdom’s coming to the poor Sons and daughters of the Lord And all that’s lost will be restored, kingdom come The kingdom’s coming as a feast The finest wine for all the least We’ll taste the broken bread of peace, kingdom come The kingdom’s coming slow and true Till every inch has been made new And it will ask your life of you, kingdom come A child will lead us all home

If the history of recorded music were to focus on one aspect of singer-songwriter Marc Martel’s artistry, it would be the magical finesse of his velvet voice. From the slick pop-rock of his Canadian outfit, Downhere—a band that afforded Martel his first foray into the national recorded music scene, as well as populating his mantle with several industry trophies and radio highlights—to his second-wind success as a cover songs poster boy and the front man of The Queen Extravaganza—the internationally in-demand, official Queen tribute show—Marc has been touted the world over for his simply amazing singing. But the pastor’s kid-turned-rock ‘n roller is much more than a pretty vocal line. He’s a reflective person, with many conversations brewing around in an intelligent brain, and many perspectives being pondered in what, at least from what I perceive, is a tender spiritual heart. Reflecting on the songs and Advent spirit populating his pair of Christmas EPs, including the just-released The First Noel, here are the recorded thoughts from a conversation with Mister Marc Martel. Andrew: You have become known as this definitive covers singer. But your beginnings are in songwriting and fronting your own band. Is there tension between the creative, songwriter side of your artistry and this interpretive, covers aspect of your career? I can’t think of a lot of examples of people who are in the situation that I’m in. It just feels like I’m inventing it everyday, and trying to keep interest up, and trying to try new things. Andrew: How has the Queen and cover song experience impacted your songwriting skill set? Marc: I haven’t written a song in almost two years. It’s been a good thing for me. To learn a bunch of other people’s music, and figure out why that works, and get into some lyrics that were written from a different perspective and why that works and why that connects with people, and really figuring out that people don’t like to be preached to—it’s been a great education. I had such a wonderful experience with Downhere. We were very earnest in our lyrics, and that works fine because you’re preaching to the choir so to speak. But I’m interested in trying some different angles songwriting-wise in 2018. Andrew: So these Christmas records, even though these are seasonal-minded records, are they a coming back to your gospel music roots of sorts? Marc: I don’t know that it feels like I’m coming back [to my roots], it just feels like a continuation. The most successful song I had with Downhere was “How Many Kings.” Oddly enough, it’s the first Christmas song I ever wrote and that’s the only one that we still hear on the radio today—which is a huge honor. So I think, Maybe there’s something to this Christmas music with me. I married a woman who absolutely loves Christmas even more than I do, and now because of that, I love Christmas more. [On] December 1, it’s Christmas music nonstop, which is tough for a musician, but I’ve somehow grown a tolerance for it. [Laughs] It seems like it might become a bit of a tradition for me. Andrew: You grew up a Pastor’s kid. I’m sure many Christmases were spent within the local church. Is there a certain sanctuary that you find at this time of the year because of your growing up experience with Christmas? Is there a safe space for you within Christmas? Marc: I do count myself as very fortunate to have grown up in a tradition where Christmas was a very positive thing—family, gifts, the birth of our Savior—but I can’t help but remember so many people I’ve met in my life that just don’t have that experience of Christmas. Maybe they’ve lost someone or they didn’t grow up in a good family. There’s just a lot of strife in the world, and that carries on at Christmastime. You can’t turn that off. Which is totally fine, because Jesus came into a very broken world, which is still very broken. He’s doing that work still. Andrew: I feel like part of our opportunity or invitation as humans in a broken world, especially as eternal-minded human beings, is to create and provide sanctuary for one another? It seems we aren’t really doing that well right now. Marc: This may be a huge tangent, but when you say that it feels like we’re not doing that for one another, offering each other grace … I go back to [the terrorist attacks of] September 11 [2001], and I remember being amazed at how, the day after that happened, people changed immediately—people going out of their way around the world to help one another out of good faith for their fellow man. The cynical artist in me wondered, How long is it going to take for things to go back to normal. And here we are, 16 years later, and it feels like maybe things are even worse than they were. It’s a weird time to be alive. Marc: The idea of Advent kind of falls into that orthodox, liturgical thing I didn’t really understand growing up. [I grew up in] a Bible church without a whole lot of roots in old Protestantism, so when I think of Advent, I think, What is that? It sounds like you’re waiting for something. I understand the waiting of the Jewish people, but every time I think of orthodoxy and celebrating liturgical holidays, I feel like there’s an element of acting involved. On Good Friday—we have these very somber services, the lights are down low and we’re concentrating on Jesus’ death, which was horrible. At the same time, we know the outcome and you can’t push away the joy that you know is coming, just like you can’t push away the joy of Jesus’ birth when you’re remembering the longing and the horrible history that the Jewish people went through—whether they were being oppressed by the Egyptians, or the Babylonians, or the Romans. The whole season is congruent to me. [Christmas] is about Jesus’ birth, and there’s so many things you can unpack about that story. Andrew: How does Christmas influence you practically? Marc: I love that Christmas is that reminder we have every year to remember why we live the way we live, and I love that you can make it as meaningful as you want. People who only believe that there’s nothing but the physical and when you die, that’s it, Christmas can still be very meaningful, where you refocus your life, you think about your family a little more than usual, you listen to jazz a little more than usual. For us believers, it’s beautiful time to refocus. The fact that it happens at the end of the year—How’s this going to carry into 2018?  I love Christmas. Marc Martel’s new Christmas EP, The First Noel, is available in the Rabbit Room Store. Check out these videos from the new EP, including Marc’s recording of the Hallelujah Chorus in which he sings all the parts himself!

A few weeks ago, I sat down with Jon Troast and got to hear many a compelling story surrounding his latest EP release, G [Editor’s note: Yes, the letter “G.” Jon’s albums are working their way through the alphabet. No joke.] Our conversation involved the unexpected gifts of depression and the remarkable way songs can predict the unfolding of our lives. I invite you to investigate Jon’s new EP for yourself here. Jon: The story of this EP starts with my youngest brother’s unexpected death in 2015. He struggled a lot with alcoholism, but drugs are what got him. He was adopted; I actually have four adopted siblings. We don’t know a lot of his history in that sense—maybe his biological father struggled in that way, too. But generally, the Lord has spared me from much trial in my life. So when that happened, it hit me hard. There’s a lot of hurt there. Then six months after that, I met my fiancee at Hutchmoot— Drew: Where all good things begin. Jon: Exactly. I had been on dates, but this was my first serious girlfriend. Things moved pretty quickly, but it was long distance, as well. So it seemed very sudden in May 2016 when I fell into a major depression. We can talk about that, too. That’s where this album came from. I’ve tried to understand why exactly it happened, but some of that is futile. Something about my brother’s death, then falling in love six months later stirred up quite a lot for me. Drew: Lots of emotional highs and lows. Jon: Yes, so many dimensions were happening there. So after many futile attempts to figure it all out, I’m content not to get to the bottom of it. Sometimes you shouldn’t try to understand every factor in play. Drew: It’s a funny thought that you can’t get to the bottom of it and shouldn’t even try. I’m the kind of person that always wants to get to the bottom of it, so for me, anytime I have to surrender my ability to understand what’s going on—it’s hard to admit I’m not the master of my destiny. Jon: Sounds like we’re pretty similar in that. Drew: Yeah, having to acknowledge that you can’t and shouldn’t go there must be its own challenge for you. Jon: Of course. But at the same time, I really am thankful for the whole story. I just heard a sermon yesterday about affliction. The message was that tenderness is the real benefit of affliction. I’ve received a real sympathy for others who struggle with anxiety and depression now. Even in day-to-day interaction with people, if someone is rude to me, who knows what could be going on in their life? Drew: You really never know. ...the Lord is more concerned about our faith than our comfort. Jon Troast Jon: And you can’t know. From my own experience with depression, there’s no way to let people into your head. It was the darkest time I had ever known. Can there really be any point of reference for others who haven’t been there themselves? Drew: So your brother died, then you fell in love, then you fell into a depression. Jon: And the onset of that depression was almost a year to the day after my brother died. Drew: And now you’re looking back and making sense of it, how God can bring tenderheartedness out of the whole story. Jon: Yeah. Tenderness and faith, as well. One of the more succinct takeaways I got was the realization that the Lord is more concerned about our faith than our comfort. Not that he doesn’t want to bless us, but as James reminds us, we are called to endure pain and trials with joy. From an eternal kingdom perspective, this life is so short. Depression was horrible and I would never have asked for it, but it is possible even if difficult to welcome the work of it. I was in a very unhealthy mindset at the time, too. In my frustration I dug deeper into scripture, but it terrified me. I was convinced that I was condemned and going to hell. Not that there isn’t some truth in my brokenness—sure, there is—but I went much too far with it. And that’s a symptom of depression, taking those things to the extreme. Every feeling seems permanent, like the entirety of reality. That was all I could see. Drew: I’d love for you to explore that more; I’ve never fallen into prolonged depression, but I have felt depressed before, and I understand on a smaller scale the perspective of seeing only how things are tainted, broken, and wrong. And if you’re determined to, you can see that in everything. There’s something true in that perspective that needs to be honored. But to absolutize it and make it all there is— Jon: To give it unfair prominence—I think in a way, it’s all the more evidence of the light shining ever brighter. Darkness is an absence of light, so there’s no way that it’s all there is. I mean that’s beautiful. The Lord did some wonderful things in my faith through that, but honestly, medication is what helped me get back to the point where I could process things well. And I’m the kind of guy who just takes care of himself—exercising, eating vegetables—so I never want to take Tylenol. I’d always rather be healthy in general and avoid problems, which made the idea of taking medication hard for me. But when you have no motivation for months at a time, something has to change. I felt as if I hadn’t slept for months. I know I slept, I had to have slept, but I was in such an apathetic state that I felt as if I hadn’t rested. So once I was able to process and ask questions again about what I believe, I was able to hear and receive the word that there are truths that don’t change, regardless of how you feel. And depression is all about how you feel. How you feel is all there is. So that is a real antidote to the problem of depression. Once I was able to dig back into scripture, it was so important for me to see again how God keeps his promises, regardless of how I feel. Drew: I can start to see where the songs came from out of that. Jon: “God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob”? Drew: That’s what I was thinking, yeah! That was one of my favorites. Jon: A big part of what I learned also has to do with usefulness. I’m the kind of person who likes to be doing things, being productive. Right before my depression, I had just bought a house, things were going well with my girlfriend, I was playing lots of shows, feeling good about myself. And then for several months in a row, I felt like all I was doing was laying on the couch being useless, which really puts things in perspective. It reminds me that the very ability to put together a spreadsheet to book shows is a gift. That’s where “I’m Giving You Everything” came from. It’s so easy to think I can take credit for my life and career, but truly I have nothing to offer on my own. And out of my depression, I can see that the very ability to focus or do anything at all is a gift. It’s a hard but crucial lesson. Drew: I can hear that on the EP. It feels corrective and instructive. The songs orient me as a listener to see from that perspective, so it’s cool for me to be able to hear where that comes from for you. Jon: Thanks for putting a helpful frame around it. These songs just came out of the time in which I was writing them, but you just gave some clear outside insight. Drew: So did you write the EP in hindsight, looking back, or during the time of your depression? Jon: Well, I wrote “In My Savior’s Arms,” interestingly enough, a week before my brother died. At the time I wrote it, I didn’t know where it came from. My brother had been struggling, but I was pretty unaware of the extremity of it, and I wasn’t writing about him. And then a week later my brother died and that song became a comfort to me. So that song feels like a little drop of hope the Lord gave me in the nick of time. Then the first verse of “Carry Me, Jesus”—“please take this weight off my shoulders / all I’m doing is weighing me down / I thought I was strong but those days are over / And I’ve got nothing left to offer you now”—I wrote that within the days leading up to my depression. It was crazy how unaware I was of what was coming when I wrote that verse. I thought, “oh this could be helpful for someone who is struggling with depression,” but I didn’t feel myself to be that person. Generally I’m pretty upbeat, optimistic, and even-keeled, by the grace of God. Drew: So that’s two songs now that were very prescient when you wrote them, kind of like the calm before the storm. Jon: It feels like a gift of the Lord—either I’m really in touch with my inner life because I unwittingly wrote these songs at just the right time, or I’m not in touch at all since I had no clue where they were coming from. Drew: It sounds like songwriting for you occupies this space of deeper connection with yourself, whether you always know it consciously or not. And I know that’s not out of the ordinary; other people testify to that, too. Songs can do crazy things. Jon: For months after I wrote that verse of “Carry Me, Jesus,” I couldn’t write anything in my depression. So I just had that verse, and I felt creatively paralyzed. But then I started on medication. I started on a minimal dose, and after a couple weeks I began to feel a little bit better. I was just thankful that I could enjoy anything at all. Music began to rise up from the ashes during that time. But I did feel like I was teetering on the edge—I wrote “From the Rising of the Son” at that point, and while I was excited to be doing anything at all, I still didn’t feel like there was much purpose. I was still in that frame of mind where my feelings seemed permanent. A lot of those songs came out of that time as I was slowly crawling out of my depression. But every once in a while as I steadily took more medication, I would dip back down into a deeper depression again. After getting through a couple cycles of that, I was able to get back to my normal self again. The moments of hope along the way yielded these songs. In some ways, being able to belt out these refrains was like a battle cry. It was my way of defying what I was feeling in the moment and holding onto hope. Martin Luther was known to say, “Let’s sing a hymn and spite the devil.” And that’s truly what I felt like I was doing. You can listen to Jon’s newest record, G, here. And click here to buy it.

There’s a picture I can’t shake. It came to me in that undefinable space between deep sleep and the wakened world. At first I thought it was a dream until I realized it was more of a scene, a striking, sober moment that refused to fade. It’s remained with me ever since. I am standing in an intimate cave, whose floor and ceiling are curved or carved to my exact size. No need to hunch here, but there’s also not much perceivable room to stretch. But therein lies the real issue in this scene: perceivable room. I am standing in this intimate cave with a single votive in my hands, making it impossible to see beyond the immediate in any direction—up or down, left or right, forward or backward. That’s it. That’s the entire scene: a man with a small candle in a cave. There’s no movement or motion. There’s no story to be told. It’s a single shot, except it feels alive, with flickering flame. It also comes with an intensity of emotion. As I was holding the votive in the scene, I remember waking up with the realization that I was angry at first. Or maybe I dreamed this part. Either way, it’s a part of the overall package, one emotion giving way to another as the scene remains the same. Back to my anger. I was angry at the darkness, that it was hiding everything from me, that I couldn’t see where I was going. I was angry at the dreamed-up darkness for the same reasons I’m angry at the present darkness. Anger eventually faded into something else that’s grown precious to me: a love for the votive. When I woke up, I remember thinking that my emotion was a choice: I could be angry with the darkness for not being able to see the way ahead of me or I could be thankful for the votive. And it was gratitude that won out. I could not see ten steps ahead, but I could take the next one. Matt Conner After all, without the votive, I would not be able to see anything at all. If I thought the darkness had a real hold in this scene, then I clearly wasn’t thinking of life without the votive. It wasn’t even a real candle, but just one of those temporary candles intended to last only long enough to conduct the event, the gathering, the dinner intended for that evening and nothing more. Which meant that the man in the cave didn’t have long to enjoy the light. That made me angry. However, at that point, I realized just how beautiful it was to even have that votive. While there was no long-term understanding of direction or goal, there was, at least, light for the present moment. I could not see ten steps ahead, but I could take the next one. These last several months have been a personal hell in many ways, a time when personal and professional things have all turned toxic and taken hold. It’s been a time of testing, of asking “How long, O Lord?” and waiting for an answer. More than anything, I’d prayed and longed for an escape, a way out of the places I’ve been, questioning why I’m even here in the first place. This sort of season will typically force a person to make a decision to escape the tension. For me, I’ve simply given in. As I’ve allowed circumstances to play out around me despite my fears and frustrations and, most importantly, my belief that I couldn’t endure any more, I’ve felt the amount of light I have isn’t nearly as much I would like. I have also, however, eased into a grace for the light I’ve been given, grateful that at least I can see enough to take that next step. Moving beyond the initial anger, I’ve found joy in the freedom of not having to know the road ahead. What once was an uncomfortable future has now become a peaceful present (and presence). None of this happened due to conscious choice. It was the grace of God that provided me with a lasting image, one that originated in rest and now lives with me in wakefulness, a referenced scene that speaks to me the choice I continue to have each day. I am thankful for just enough light to take the next step that seems right and good. Anything beyond that is total darkness. I’m finally all right with that.

Heartbreak makes a certain sound. You don’t always know when you’re hearing it. After a time you realize, sometimes gently and sometimes not, that your heart has been broken. It’s a hard sound to mistake once you’ve recognized it. It’s a hard sound to forget. When I was little, I thought people only had their hearts broken during school dances and bad dates. It wasn’t until I grew up that I understood being older, seeing yourself and the world with older eyes, is itself a heartbreak. When we’re met with our heaviest hopes and our most scarring failings, when we grasp that we can never be free of them no matter how we try, that’s when we learn the hollowness and the weight of a heart ground down. Hurt and humbled, with reverberations of the breaking ringing in our ears, we’re left searching for a way to rebuild what shattered. There are nine tracks on Julien Baker’s debut album, Sprained Ankle. Nine outpourings of evocative imagery, nine haunting stills of frailty mingled with faithfulness. All nine piece together a story not fully told, a narrative woven into view and paradoxically veiled by smatterings of literary lyrics. All nine make the sound of heartbreak over and over again. Sprained Ankle is raw with the fresh wounds of innocence lost. With anguish and trust, Baker laments and wonders at life as a creature of humanness and hope. Her songwriting boasts believability more than anything else, holding the heartsickness that accompanies existence right alongside the desperation to cling to divine love with all her might. Listen to Sprained Ankle here. [bandcamp video=2677331371 width=600 height=458 bgcol=ffffff linkcol=de270f]

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Giving Tuesday is a perfect opportunity to begin a Rabbit Room Membership! Your donations are an important part of helping the Rabbit Room continue its mission of fostering Christ-centered community and spiritual development through story, music, and art. By hosting events like Hutchmoot and the Local Show, by publishing books like Every Moment Holy and Henry and the Chalk Dragon, and by developing ways of drawing people together around what is true and beautiful, we hope to make 2018 our most exciting year yet. As the Rabbit Room grows we have a number of goals we want to achieve. -We hope to expand Hutchmoot into the international community. -We want to expand Rabbit Room programs onto college campuses. -We want to continue to develop new works through Rabbit Room Press. -We need to add new staff to meet our organizational needs. -We want to create unique educational content for churches, communities, and individuals. -We need to build an office and warehousing space. -We want to anchor the Rabbit Room in a public place that YOU, the community, can come and enjoy. With your help, we can make these things happen. This Giving Tuesday consider making a tax-deductible one-time or recurring gift to the Rabbit Room. When you make a recurring gift of $25 or more, we’ll add you to our Membership. You’ll receive a Membership Package in the mail containing an exclusive Rabbit Room Mug, a free download of the 2017 Hutchmoot Audio Archive, and, for a limited time only, we’ll also include a free copy of Every Moment Holy (while supplies last). You’ll also receive a special thank-you gift each quarter that you continue your membership. Visit Donate.RabbitRoom.com to make a donation. Thank you for supporting the Rabbit Room! We’ve got big plans, and we want you to be a part of them. Note to our current members: We have changed our donation system! You are welcome to continue your membership without changing anything, but this is a great opportunity to move to our new platform, which provides a significantly better user experience. Just click here to start a new recurring donation (and contact us once you’ve done so and we’ll stop your old one. [The Rabbit Room is a 501c3 non-profit organization.]