Book Reviews?

When I first began this blog, I thought I would be writing some book reviews.  And I think I will be, but they will be the type that praise (or critique) the writing or the philosophy contained in the story.  (Hey, philosophy's cool!  In little bits.  Please don't be scared of me...)

So I thought I would recommend to you all a great website that better examines stories' moral content: Squeaky Clean Reviews.  I know, great name, right?  They will tell you if a book has swearing, sexual content, any questionable spirituality, etc.  They're pretty thorough.  All books are held to a Christian standard.  Reviews are written by other teenagers and adults and are edited (if necessary) by the website editors.

Yes, I am one of the many reviewers on there.  But I won't tell you who!

God bless!

Panis de Deo

          He brings princes to naught
               and reduces the rulers of this world to nothing.
          No sooner are they planted,
               no sooner are they sown,
               no sooner do they take root in the ground,
          than he blows on them and they wither,
               and a whirlwind sweeps them away like chaff.

 

          “To whom will you compare me?
          Or who is my equal?” says the Holy One.

--Isaiah 40:23-25

quote!

From C.S. Lewis, of course.  Hey, it's not my fault the guy said such cool things!

I really love this one...

 

“There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations - these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub and exploit - immortal horrors or everlasting splendors. This does not mean that we are to be perpetually solemn. We must play. But our merriment must be of that kind (and it is, in fact, the merriest kind) which exists between people who have, from the outset, taken each other seriously - no flippancy, no superiority, no presumption.”

― C.S. Lewis (emphasis added)

Panis de Deo

     Do you not know?
          Have you not heard?
     Has it not been told you from the beginning?
          Have you not understood since the earth was founded?
     He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth,
          and its people are like grasshoppers.
     He stretches out the heavens like a canopy,
          and spreads them out like a tent to live in.

 

-- Isaiah 40:20-22 (NIV)

 

God bless!

That Short Story I've Been Promising...

 

Worth Something

~A short story~

I think the first time my brother and I experienced the brevity of life was with my grandfather. 

I was twelve then, a young girl still learning when to speak and when not to.  Still learning the demands of the world outside my own.  Not that I fully understand those things now.  I was more myself then, I guess.  More honest with my thoughts.

Cory was a year younger than me.  He was five parts fun, six parts annoying, and a hundred percent little brother.  He was all right.

It all started when Grandpa had a stroke.  Before that, he hadn’t been very interesting to Cory and me.  He was a rather tall man with short gray hair who liked to pretend that he was younger than he really was.  Judging from the way our parents talked of him, he was slightly eccentric.  He was always off somewhere in the world or busy with one of his “projects.”  Cory and I could brag that we had a grandfather who had been in this country or that, but there wasn’t much more to say for him.  When we saw him, he would comment about how we had grown and perhaps give us some small speech about having a good heart or following your dreams.  I think he meant to be inspiring.  Now I see those lectures were too vague and, well, (I have to say it) shallow for them to ever get into our heads.   I suppose Grandpa’s traveling and souvenir-collecting really meant more to him than that type of thing.

Then that stroke came.  Thankfully, he had it while he was in the country.  The attack cost him the use of his left side.  He did retain his speech, though it was slow and broken.

He was moved into an advanced care facility.  Our parents brought Cory and me to visit him in his new apartment several times.  We were there to encourage Grandpa in his recovery because the doctors said that control of his left side could return with time.  We felt bad for Grandpa, of course, but we didn’t like being in that tiny little room any more than he did, I’m sure.  We weren’t really happy to visit.

One time my parents talked with Grandpa some while Cory and I waited outside.  Then Mom and Dad came out to tell us that Grandpa wanted to talk to us alone.  There he sat, his one side horribly limp and a sad smile on his face.

He said, “Tess and Cory.  I’d like to tell you something.  Would you listen to me?”  Cory rolled his eyes (so only I could see) and went to plop stomach-down on the bed.

He called me to the small chair next him, but Cory stayed collapsed on the bed, his chin resting on his fists. 

“Cory,” he began, “And Tess.  You’re young, you see.  You’ve a lot of years ahead of you.  I’ve lived a long while – not as long as other people, I guess, but still rather long.  Oh, I don’t plan on dying anytime soon.  But I’m tuckered out.  Look,” and his weak, leathery hand (his good one) gripped my shoulder, “Look, I’ve talked to you both before about making good choices and having good hearts, but, well, maybe I didn’t really listen to myself.”

His voice continued, broken and very earnest.  It was his unusual earnestness that made me pay attention for once.  “Listen to me, children.  Listen to me.  Your Grandpa is a sad, dejected, weary man.  Jesus saved me when I was younger, but some time ago I started living like He didn’t make any difference at all.  I see it now – all that traveling, all that work – I was just trying to please myself.  Some yearning inside me wanted to be satisfied, and I wanted to satisfy it myself.  I knew I couldn’t, I knew – but I tried anyway.  I knew only Jesus could satisfy that ache, like He had done for me before.  He wanted me to live fully for Him but I didn’t want to give that much of myself.

“Traveling: we think it’s so wonderful.  So free; you’re not just sitting around being a homebody.  That’s why I did it.  You’re told that you’re doing so much with your life.  But there were so many more things I could have done with my time.  So much more love I could have sacrificed.  All that time I spent in selfishness was time squandered.” 

Cory had crept off the bed to kneel by Grandpa’s knee, seemingly fascinated by his words.  Or perhaps he was tired of the bed.  His voice cracking, Grandpa kept on.

“Please.  Please, please don’t let you children do that to yourselves.  The years are so much shorter than you think when you spend it all on yourself.  They just fly by.  Because they’re nothing.  Nothing.  Look, I know you can’t promise, but, please, don’t spend all your time on what God tells you won’t satisfy.  Because it won’t.”

And he pulled us close with his good arm and there were tears in his eyes.  And I sort of gasped, because you don’t expect Grandpa to cry.  Cory was whispering, “It’s all right, Grandpa!”  I hugged Grandpa tight, partly because I wanted to comfort him, partly because I just wanted his tears to stop.  They made me feel I was supposed to be sentimental, which I didn’t want to be.  It’s uncomfortable.

So the beauty of Grandpa’s confession didn’t really hit me that day.  A little less than a year later a second stroke killed him.  It was the first time someone close to me died, and it was a bit of a shock, no matter how his health had been declining. 

I have been growing since then, and I think that speech left an undeniable mark upon me.  I never got to thank Grandpa for it, but maybe Jesus has told him for me.  Grandpa had squandered a lot of his time on selfish things.  He thought he had wasted his life, but he warned Cory and me against wasting ours.  And I think that must count for something, don’t you?

 

finis.

 

So, there it is!  I usually write in omnescient narrative (not to be confused with third-person), which I honestly think is the best narrative to write a novel in.  So writing this loose, first-person account was really fun for me.  Oh, and this is not taken from a true story, by the way.

And I finished reading one of the two novels I was talking about in my last post.  It was AWESOME.  If really complicated.

Please, respect my creative *cough* genius *coughcough* and don’t steal this story.  Many thanks!  – Rachel

And I Went Mad

A Bookworm and Her Books
Those who know me personally know I am generally a serious and practical person.  Coupled with my know-it-all attitude, I also happen to be pretty annoying -- but that's beside the point (for now).

I can assure you that I am really quite crazy; it's just all in my head.  I monitor all my craziness on its way out.  On the inside, I am a deep-thinker -- in a very rambling way -- and actually (who would have thought it!) get very excited about things.

But those who do know me will also know that there are a few things that set me off -- set me off in a good way, I mean.  There are things that set me off in a bad way, too, but I won't get into those.  LOL. 

In case you haven't noticed already, this post is going to ramble even more than usual.  Strap on your seat belts, folks.

Okay, so I have very few things that make me ecstatic/hyper.  It doesn't happen too often.  Perhaps that is partly why my hyper state absolutely terrifies my brothers.  Or perhaps it's the way I go about it.  When I'm ecstatic, I don't know how to get my excitement out properly, so I get really jittery and go around the house spasmodically shouting and punching the air with my fists.  I know, scary, right?  I just act all calm and all of a sudden
 
--------000000000 
*ytwpppppppppggggggsaaaa

Ahem.  Sorry.  That was my teen-aged kitten.  He's practically begging for my attention right now.  He's a very stubborn little guy.  I'll try to keep him m;l .y2lkkk77777777777777fc8 cybkmuuuuuuul0,pj +h */huj

Darn you, Skittles!  *Off to the side* Yeah, yeah, go sit on the bed and look all cute.  Whatever.  And I still have your drool on my arm.

Anyway, what I was saying was, that I'll be calm and then suddenly remember that there's something really exciting!  And then I go into that whole dance-and-giggle-like-a-lunatic thing.

yeesh.  That kitten completely stole the show.  I'd better finish this post up quick.

Just about the only things that really make me as described above are: seeing old friends, BOOKS, Narnia, and maybe an awesomely good movie.

So, this week I got two books in an amazing series (If you want to check it out) that I have been dying to get for about a month.  So I get them.  I've known they were in the mail for a whole weekend.  They're in their neat little packages.  I can just imagine the beautiful covers underneath the paper and the stories inside...

And I have to wait for the weekend to read them.  When all my schoolwork is done.


AND I WENT MAD.

_______________________________________________________
Note: All kitten-scratchings in this post are authentic.  And, don't worry, folks, I'll have that short story up tomorrow or the day after.

Panis de Deo

          To, whom, then, will you compare God?
              What image will you compare him to?
         As for an idol, a craftsman crafts it,
              and a goldsmith overlays it with gold
              and fashions silver chains for it.
          A man too poor to present such an offering
              selects wood that will not rot.
          He looks for a skilled craftsman
              to set up an idol that will not topple.

-- Isaiah 40:18,20

I love passages in the Bible that portray how useless idols are.  Isaiah has quite a few of them, but I think this one from chapter forty-four is my favorite:

Half of the wood he burns in the fire;
over it he prepares his meal,
he roasts his meat and eats his fill.
He also warms himself and says,
“Ah! I am warm; I see the fire.”
From the rest he makes a god, his idol;
he bows down to it and worships.
He prays to it and says,
“Save me! You are my god!”
They know nothing, they understand nothing;
their eyes are plastered over so they cannot see,
and their minds closed so they cannot understand.
No one stops to think,
no one has the knowledge or understanding to say,
“Half of it I used for fuel;
I even baked bread over its coals,
I roasted meat and I ate.
Shall I make a detestable thing from what is left?
Shall I bow down to a block of wood?”
Such a person feeds on ashes; a deluded heart misleads him;
he cannot save himself, or say,
“Is not this thing in my right hand a lie?”

Isaiah is earnestly pleading his case against idols, but you can almost sense a bit of sarcasm, too: as if he's saying, "Hello!?  Don't you see this?"


Later this week: I will be posting another short story. :)