There's 40 Acres...

Out on these Texas plains, you can see for a million lives

And there's a thousand exits between here and the state line
About the last time that I saw you
You said, 'Call me Pandora, call me a fool'
I'm thinking this view, it could do you some good
So drop these scales and take a look

There's 40 acres and redemption to be found
Just along down the way
There is a place where no plow blade has turned the ground
And you will turn it over, 'cause out here hope remains

Out here the Texas sky is as big as the sea
And you're alone in your room like an island floating free
Your spirit's hanging in a bottle out on a tree
You say that you're the black sheep - I say you're still family
So throw that bottle to the waves
They'll bring you in to me, and from the shore, you will see

There's 40 acres and redemption to be found
Just along down the way
There is a place where no plow blade has turned the ground
And you will turn it over, 'cause out here hope remains

Out here the Texas rain is the hardest I've ever seen
It'll wash your house away
But It'll also make you clean
Now these rocks they are crying too
And this whole land is calling out for you

There's 40 acres...



(-Caedmon's Call)

The Great Wallpaper

Jonathan Lindvall has been focusing intensively on China lately and recently gave a talk on the country here at our home. This talk, combined with the heavy emphasis on China in The World Is Flat, has heightened my awareness of this fascinating country.

The Great Wall is of course a classic symbol of China. (Wikipedia's article was a bit disappointing; the first time I've been disappointed by Wikipedia in a good while.) Anyway, I found this image and thought it very good and very appropriate.

Mutianyu, near Beijing

Listen closely and you can hear the gong.

Image courtesy of interfacelift.com

Titles for Toddlers

As we mark 100 posts here at Sojourner's Song, I thought it would be appropriate and enjoyable to celebrate the simpler side of reading. Over many years of reading to children, I've developed definite tastes in and convictions about literature targeted for the younger years.

Whatever else education means, it means aiming children in a consistent direction and avoiding corny plots and bad poetry. We must continuously emphasize the importance of good story-telling principles and the delightful, flowing creativity made possible by abiding by these principles; many of which are objectively demarcated; others, more subjective and abstract. Either way, they are there.

At the top of my list is Amos & Boris, a long-time favorite about an unlikely friendship between a whale and a mouse. The storyline is simple but engaging, and reinforces positive concepts such as friendship, generosity, and adventure. One of the best parts is when Amos is loading his little boat, the Rodent, for its maiden voyage:

"When the boat was finished, he loaded it with cheese, biscuits, acorns, honey, wheat germ, two barrels of fresh water, a compass, a sextant, a telescope, a saw, a hammer and nails and some wood in case repairs should be necessary, a needle and thread for the mending of torn sails, and various other necessities such as bandages and iodine, a yo-yo and playing cards."

I love inventories! (As Chesterton writes in Orthodoxy: "Crusoe is a man on a small rock with a few comforts just snatched from the sea: the best thing in the book is simply the list of things saved from the wreck. The greatest of poems is an inventory. Every kitchen tool becomes ideal because Crusoe might have dropped it in the sea.")

The book abounds with delightfully subtle humor, and the author is not afraid to use the word he wants, even if it is "phosphorescent." Five stars.

Another Telian-family classic is Don Wood's The Little Mouse, The Red Ripe Strawberry, and THE BIG HUNGRY BEAR. The story goes that I read this to my Aunt at two years old, and the feat has since been matched by several others; it seems the vivid graphics and engrossing plot cement the text firmly in young memories.

Strawberries and mice seem to be an unbeatable combination; it's impossible to read the book without whispering, impersonating bear snorts, and generally entering into the drama of the story. And kids love it.

Most of the 76 reviews on Amazon use more words than the book does. I think I just made it.

Ox-Cart Man, by Donald Hall and Barbara Cooney, is another pushover; again, largely because of my fondness for inventories. It is an innocent, industrious book, full of the quiet charm of colonial New England. You can almost taste the wintergreen peppermint candies.

Of course, no toddler's book basket is complete without P. D. Eastman's rollicking and ridiculous Go, Dog, Go! or Nancy Shaw's equally rollicking and ridiculous Sheep in a Jeep, the latter being particularly notable for Margot Apple's wonderful illustrations.

All of these books have educational value, touching on everything from colors (Go, Dog, Go!) to consequences (Sheep in a Jeep). Maybe, with the right books and the right focus, we can nurture, educate, and entertain all at the same time.


Images courtesy of forbesbookclub.com, ccfpl.org, and images.barnesandnoble.com

The Road Through Bethel

In Genesis 28 we find the story of Jacob's journey to Haran. After deviously seizing his brother's blessing, his family relationships are in shambles and he leaves home to find a wife and let things cool down a bit. It seems plausible that this may have been something of a low point in his life: he may even have felt guilt over what he had done; we don't know.

He stops for the night. I can imagine him a bit discouraged: tired, alone, and internally empty. He's just received one of the grandest blessings in the entire Bible, but his spirit and senses register only bleakness, uncertainty, and the darkness of the night. He has no possessions, no companion, and no identity: just hope and two strong hands.

The difficulty in using a stone for a pillow is that stones, generally, are convex. So is your head. When you place one convex object atop another, they will touch at only one point. This can be rather uncomfortable. I've tried it.

Somehow he got it to work and fell into a fitful sleep. He dreamed.

Heaven was alive. There was light, and color; the landscape was both anchored and exalted in a glorious, ethereal solidity. And the earth was no more a cold, distant, God-forsaken object. The earth was connected - intimately connected. The golden feet of the ladder dislodged pebbles and made gentle impressions in the soft soil. The earth was sharing - basking - in heavenly reality, as angels passed seamlessly through both dimensions, climbing on the only ladder in the Bible.

The Lord spoke. To Jacob! Jacob sat bolt upright and did what you do when God speaks: listen.

God, not being given to droning dissertations, finished. The darkness returned; the ladder receded into heaven like a zipper. The crickets, tenuously at first, then more confidently, resumed their rhythm.

Jacob blinked and slapped himself. The dawn was barely visible over the eastern hills. He pulled his cloak around him in the early morning chill, buried his head in his hands, and cried.

It was not the vision. It was not even the words that the Lord had spoken.

It was the revelation that God was real.

"Surely the Lord is in this place; and I knew it not."

Images courtesy of ioncmaste.ca and castlekirk.co.uk

The World Is Flat

Courtesy of a generous friend who shares my interests in reading and current affairs, I recently had the opportunity to read The World Is Flat, by New York Times Op-Ed contributor Thomas L. Friedman (website).

Friedman is a foreign affairs columnist with a nose for the globalization trail. His extensive travel, respect for other cultures, and immersion in the issues of the day make him well-qualified to author this sort of work, as attested by both The New York Times Bestseller List and Amazon's Top Sellers List.

The subtitle, A Brief History of the Twenty-First Century, is somewhat misleading: a "Brief History" of a five-year period shouldn't require 600 pages. Only a journalist would get away with that. However, caloric composition aside, Friedman's style skims along, bursting with stories and statistics. He seamlessly blends brisk reporting with somber social/ethical analysis, and obviously understands the average English reader rather well.

The book traces the development of the internet, discusses new economic forces, and weighs the pros and cons of globalization, along with interspersed essays on education, environmentalism, and ethics. In more ways than one, this is a big book.

Because of the technology available today, the playing field is being leveled. Adolescent countries, such as China and India, are taking advantage of the new tools and infrastructure and entering the global economy en masse. This unprecedented talent pool and capability to network and collaborate is dismantling geographic, political, and social boundaries faster than you can say "horizontal". The world is flat.

Overall, Friedman views globalization in a positive light, although he is careful to point out the less attractive side-effects. I applauded his appraisal of America's lazy, elitist mentality as he states "flatly" that "You cannot protect your way to prosperity." Later on, however, he seemed to retreat on this point, arguing for at least some degree of social sugar-coating - "compassionate flatism" - to soften the healthy but harsh effects of a global economic meritocracy.

When I was first looking into the subject, I watched this Charlie Rose interview with Thomas about the book that provides an excellent synopsis of Friedman's findings, feelings, and fears. (The interview forced Friedman to overcome his drafty journalistic tendencies and cut to the point, making for a very effective presentation of the big picture. If you're not going to read the book, this is an excellent way to familiarize yourself with the main ideas.) There is another interview here, again with Charlie Rose, following up on the success of the book and surveying the road ahead.

It does not take a prophet to say that 50 years from now, should the Lord tarry, 2007 will be cemented in the iron grip of history. Our dreams and decisions are directly linked to our awareness of our world and the trends, truths, and tragedies that shape it. Are we building a legacy of astute attentiveness, or altruistic apathy?


Image courtesy of amazon.com and kanthak.net

Seasons Change

In my very first post, I talked about seasons. Now, once again, things are stirring: reorganizing, restructuring, and, hopefully, reviving.

The character of the blog may be changing. It will likely slow down a speck, and perhaps become a bit more miscellaneous. There are several reasons for this.

Some of the things I am currently going through do not particularly lend themselves to being broadcasted for half the world to see. Besides, in case you didn't notice, several of my recent posts have been about other things besides blogging that I want/need to do, and there remain only 24 hours in a day. (No doubt some of these things will land on the blog, which will remain active, while becoming more of a servant and tool for my life and study, rather than a master.)

I still love to write, (or rather, as Zinsser says, to "have written,") and I have enjoyed the past seven months immensely. Blogging, besides being lots of fun, has proved very useful and very rewarding: not something that I intend to lay aside anytime soon. So all of this is not to say that Sojourner's Song will be removed, only re-imagined; in reality, many of you would likely never know the difference if I didn't draw attention to it.

I appreciate all of you who have joined in the journey, and I anticipate the river continuing to run deeper, stronger, and clearer, as we swim and struggle in this mighty current that carries us to the throne room of God.



Image courtesy of suegrilli.com

The EduCore Project

For some time, I have been fascinated by the methods and mechanics of education and learning. I have collected a number of titles along these lines, looking to do some concentrated study, work out a few brain kinks, and find some answers.

I noticed the perfect opportunity when I saw this essay contest from The Trinity Foundation, an organization I mentioned last month. I intend to study the subject and distill the results into a submission for the contest.

I have drawn books from numerous sources: four from Amazon, two from library sales, one from Berean, and one from TF (Gordon Clark's, A Christian Philosophy of Education, which is the specific subject of the essay).

The syllabus:

Writing to Learn, which I reviewed last month;
Another Sort of Learning, which I read during the pre-Sojourner's-Song ice age;
Classic and Contemporary Readings in the Philosophy of Education, a compilation that examines both classical theories and contemporary issues;
The Future of Christian Higher Education, exploring a Christian answer to an increasingly secularized and materialistic system;
School and Society, another compilation, looking at education in social perspective;
Dumbing Us Down, exposing the failures of compulsory schooling;
Learning All The Time, on handling the primary years, an area I am especially interested in;
and, finally, A Christian Philosophy of Education, Gordon Clark, The Trinity Foundation.

2,210 pages. 510 down, 1,700 to go.

I'm not citing the statistics to impress you - I'm citing them because I'm scared. I've done plenty of snorkeling along the shores, but I've never really donned the scuba gear and headed for the deeps. I really don't know what to expect from the subject, or from myself for that matter.

I do expect this to consume a healthy chunk of my time and energy, and (oh no!) potentially cut into blogging. I toyed with the idea of creating a separate blog for the study, but I'm not sure that would be the best thing. If my readers, as the fellow-students who make up my virtual classroom, have any ideas on logistics and formatting, please share them. This is new territory.

For now, EduCore will be a new label, allowing me to keep track of the pertinent book reviews and other related musings. Look for the apple.






Images courtesy of health.state.nm.us and thejoyofshards.co.uk

Credits, Confessions, and Creeds

In a sense this post is long overdue, but credits are almost inevitably boring, and so I put it off as long as I could. The closet truth is that Sojourner's Song is not quite as original as it looks.

The title comes from a song from Christian folk artist Buddy Greene, I Don't Belong:

I don't belong / And I'm going someday / Home to my own native land / I don't belong / And it seems like I hear / The sound of a "welcome home" band / I don't belong / I'm a foreigner here / Singing a sojourner's song / I've always known / This place ain't home / And I don't belong

I don't listen to his music that much any more, but he was a strong formative influence on my earlier musical development, and the phrase captured my desired theme for the blog perfectly.

But we have another unsolved puzzle: what on earth is a ragamuffin, anyway? It seems to call up questionable images of begrimed, barefoot street urchins. What happened to "kings and priests"?

Growing up in the context of middle-class Christianity, it's sometimes harder to understand the social dynamics of the faith. Relating to the world as ragamuffins, beggars telling other beggars where to find bread, is a perspective that I find helpful; it slices through my personality in a painful and penetrating way.

I owe the whole concept to Rich Mullins, who in turn owes it to Brennan Manning, author of The Ragamuffin Gospel and Rich's spiritual mentor and director. Manning's book puts it well, describing ragamuffins as "the smart people who know they are stupid... the honest disciples who admit they are scalawags."

That's me.


Images courtesy of crazewire.com and breathecast.com

Thinking About Prayer

One expectation I have for the New Year is to make progress in personal prayer - a very basic component of Christianity that I am simply not very exercised in. In pursuit of this end, I have enlisted the services of a skill in which I can claim more proficiency: reading.

Besides paying close attention to N. T. Wright's chapter in Simply Christian on prayer, (aforementioned excerpts here,) I also read Leonard Ravenhill's Revival Praying. Both were helpful, although I found Ravenhill's blunt, absolutist style a bit abrasive and disconcerting. No doubt this was precisely his intention, but while I'm sure there is a place for heavy-handed rebuke and exhortation, it seemed somewhat overcooked. It is easy to mimic the directness of Christ's words without the grace.

That said, Ravenhill's assessment of our average condition was undeniably accurate: "Most of us have enough grace to scrape through the day, but we have nothing over. We are conquerors but are not 'more than conquerors.' We can fight off the enemy but cannot take any prisoners." We must understand this spiritual warfare dynamic - the "Screwtape perspective": "Do you wonder that the devil strives with might and main with all that is reasonable - and all that is unreasonable too - to keep us from this soul-hearing, soul-seeing, soul-activating place of prayer?"

I was surprised by Anglican Wright's very human handling of the subject of "rehearsed" or "canned" prayers; something I have generally been adamantly opposed to. Consider the Lord's Prayer. When the disciples queried Jesus about the subject, He gave them a form: something concrete they could do. He did not tell them to assume a certain posture and wait for inspiration. As Wright says, "the important thing is to get on with it."

"Part of our difficulty here is that we moderns are so anxious to do things our own way, so concerned that if we get help from anyone else our prayer won't be 'authentic' and come from our own heart, that we are instantly suspicious about using anyone else's prayers. We are like someone who doesn't feel she's properly dressed unless she has personally designed and made all her own clothes; or like someone who feels it's artificial to drive a car he hasn't built all by himself. We are hamstrung by the long legacy of the Romantic movement on the one hand, and Existentialism on the other, producing the idea that things are authentic only if they come spontaneously, unbidden, from the depths of our hearts."

This is precisely the view I have traditionally held, and still hold to a large extent. Five years ago I would have qualified as a poster child for the Do-It-Yourself movement. Then I got a car.

I developed this creeping awareness that there were others who could do certain things - such as changing the oil in a Ford - better and more efficiently than myself. It sounds ridiculous, but this was a difficult realization for me. The purist may insist on fresh vegetables for awhile, but practicality has shown that canning proves awfully useful come February. To quote Wright again:

"Some Christians, some of the time, can sustain a life of prayer entirely out of their own internal resources, just as there are hardy mountaineers (I've met one) who can walk the Scottish highlands in their bare feet. But most of us need boots; not because we don't want to do the walking ourselves, but because we do."

Sometimes self-sufficiency earns you nothing but blistered feet.

Moving on, I noticed another surprising thing about the Lord's Prayer: it is corporate. "Our Father, which art in heaven..." How is it that I never saw this before? Does this indicate a stronger emphasis on corporate, "two-or-three" prayer than we have had? I don't know.

Of course, closet prayer - "in secret" - is also important. This is where we find ourselves squarely confronted with who we really are, or, more accurately, who we really aren't. We are alone, undressed, and face to face with the stark standard of Hebrews 11:6. This is the crucible of conviction: is God real enough for me to deny the enticing tangibility of the material world and closet myself alone with Him? I am forced to confess that many times for me He is not.

Thankfully the story doesn't end here, as God steps in to uphold us in our pursuit of Him.

"Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered." - Romans 8:26

That's my promise, and I'm standing on it.


Images courtesy of wikipedia.org and kcl.ac.uk

Swimming Upstream

I spent some time today in my somewhat neglected private journal; this picture matches the mood of the entry rather well:


That's pretty much what being a Sojourner feels like most of the time; I'm sure there are those of you who can relate. It's a struggle, and many don't make it. And sometimes I'm less than convinced that it's worth the strain.

However, don't forget who gave that drive - and corresponding pluck - to us in the first place. God always backs His projects with promises. (Philippians 1:6) Romans 8 says that nothing can hold up or hurt the work of God in a yielded life.

Keep swimming.


Image courtesy of wcc.nrcs.usda.gov

Simply Christian

It is something of a juggling act to be continually discovering whole troves of prime, timeless material from past decades, while at the same time struggling to keep up with contemporary writings. Simply Christian, a 2006 title from N. T. Wright (website), is part of the latter attempt.

I have heard this book compared to Mere Christianity, and while I suppose the comparison is somewhat warranted, in no way is Simply Christian a fair replacement. The two books deal with similar subjects, but for different audiences. Wright's softer tone, celebrative and reflective, appeals to the already-Christian, while Lewis's deft, curt apologetics are appropriate for the not-yet- or the anti-Christian.

The book is aptly titled. The writing is accessible, the subjects majestic but manageable. Some may criticize the books refusal to split hairs and chase rabbits, but there are plenty of other books that do those things. As Wright says in his introduction: "Being a Christian in today's world is, of course, anything but simple. But there is a time for trying to say, as simply as possible, what it's all about, and this seems to me that sort of a time."

To begin, Wright examines four universal human themes, which he calls "Echoes of a Voice": justice, spirituality, relationships, and beauty. He spends a chapter empirically exploring each theme, while gently tying it back to Christianity. It makes good, relaxed reading. I especially appreciated Wright's thoughts on beauty: not revolutionary, but well-stated.

In Part 2, Staring At The Sun, the book takes a more theological turn. To set the stage for Christ, Wright traces the historical, Biblical progression, beginning with the In-the-beginning: "A great many arguments about God - God's existence, God's nature, God's actions in the world - run the risk of being like pointing a flashlight toward the sky to see if the sun is shining."

Moving on, Part 3 examines the practicalities of the faith: worship, prayer, the Bible, and New-Creation life. For me, this was a large portion of the book's meat. I hope to explore some of Wright's ideas on prayer in another, dedicated, post.

I'll wrap the review with this stunning paragraph on scripture and the Christian life:

"Because our love remains frail and partial, and because in the nature of the case our own hopes and fears are so closely bound up with it, our hearing of God's voice as we read scripture always needs testing by reference to other fellow Christians, past as well as present, and indeed other scriptural passages themselves. That's just common sense. Listening to God's voice in scripture doesn't put us in the position of having infallible opinions. It puts us where it put Jesus himself: in possession of a vocation, whether for a lifetime or for the next minute. Vocations are fragile, and are tested in performance. That is what it's like to live at the intersection of heaven and earth."


Image courtesy of amazon.com

Saturday Snowshoe

On Saturday the 30th, David, Jesse and I took a snowshoe trip. The expedition had a certain degree of inevitability to it, as Jesse had purchased some snowshoes awhile back and was anxious to try them out.


The day dawned a crystalline blue. The destination was Shuteye Peak, an 8350 FT summit that serves as a Forest Service Lookout during the summer.

We got as close to the mountain as we could with 4-wheel drive and chains. The snow was gooey, and we were forced to park a bit sooner than we had hoped.

We hit the trail around ten o'clock, in good spirits. Talk was sparse, just the brief grunts that characterize the crisp vernacular of the backcountry; when best to "shoe-up", or "layer-off"; speculation on when you expect to "top-out." We pointed out animal sign to each other. "Rabbit." "Uh-huh."


Traveling cross-country, we pressed higher, gaining elevation rapidly. We made decent progress until we came to the last third of the climb, when we encountered very steep, very sticky snow. To get the idea, picture climbing a huge glob of Elmer's Glue with Eggo waffles strapped to your feet.


We reached the summit thrilled and exhausted, and spent some time downing calories and looking around at the view. But we knew we had a long descent ahead, so we didn't loiter.

Thanks to David's impeccable navigational skills, we beat an efficient track back to the truck and reached home in time for hot showers and quiche: glad to be down, glad to be tired, glad to be living in the shadow of the Sierras.


(Go here to view a complete slideshow of the hike.)