Run - no sprint - to S*******s

I just offered a few remarks on the odd connection between a not-to-be named coffee vendor and Willie Nelson over at Relevant.

Among a Row of Houses

Book Club Update: Our life is in upheaval this month, as we move from Clemson to Charlottesville, VA. Thus, the book club will resume next month. Sorry (again) for the delay on Peterson's The Jesus Way.

I'm aware that I have written little here of the seismic shift that we are about to experience: uprooting our family and life from the people and the spiritual community we love in Clemson to set off on the adventure of rooting ourselves in a new place, with people we will grow to love in Charlottesville, Virginia. I'm not sure why all the quiet. Perhaps, in part, a desire to stay present here and now, making the most of the short time we have had. Perhaps, in part, a result of the emotional complexity of the whole affair, unsure how to give justice to two competing truths (we deeply love this community and we know deep in our bones that we must move into another community) without it sounding like some hollow junior high breakup (Let's just be friends...).

Well, here is the God-honest truth: we do deeply love this community, and we know deep in our bones that God has another mission for us, another community where we are to give ourselves away.

Tonight, our church gave us the gift of gathering at the Hayes' home, everyone bringing food, and all of us sitting around the room as various people shared their well-wishes for Miska, me, and Nathan (my pastor-partner @ dcf who is also moving away) and Amie. It was beautiful. There were tears. There was laughter (mostly at my expense, but I hold no grudges : )

The evening reminded me of the rich truth that love (true love) never exists in abstraction. Love is not an ideal or an ideology; it is an action. Love shares another's pain. Love hurts when another faces sorrow. Love laughs and cries and hopes and believes (I think St. Paul said something similar). Love shares meals and watches kids. Loves gives money and time and dreams. Love hugs and pushes. Sometimes, love hurts. But love does not - ever - simply theorize. Love acts. Love moves. Love lives.

Recently, a friend passed along a New Yorker article (which I was happy to receive because my subscription ran out) by literary critic Adam Gopnik. In the piece, Gopnik sifted through the "troubling genius of G.K. Chesterton," on the occasion of the 100th anniversary of The Man who was Thursday. Explaining G.K.'s intense reaction to homogenization (particularly the modernistic and industrial sort) and strong passion for localism, Gopnik commented on some of Chesterton's pithy lines to draw this conclusion:

[Chesterton believed that] we cannot have a clear picture in white light of abstraction, but only of a row of houses at a certain time of day...

A certain place. On a certain street. In a certain moment. These particularities are required to yield the clear vision. But we have to sit and wait and watch. We have to give ourselves. And we have to give ourselves time. And we have to give ourselves this time with others, listening and laughing and working and dreaming, all in the way and in the name of love.

So, in Clemson and in dcf, we have (at least partially, I hope) lived among a row of houses at certain times of the day. And oh, how I will miss this street and these sunsets, these coffees and conversations and walks and prayers. And I hope and pray that we will again live among a row of houses, different though they will be -- because one row never replaces another.

Book Club | July.08

First, a confession: I did not finish Peterson’s The Jesus Way. So, that will be next month’s choice. If you are like me and didn’t get it done, you still have time. It’s a good one.

This month’s read then was Leif Enger’s So Brave, Young, and Handsome. As I’ve said, I held eager anticipation for this book. Enger’s Peace Like a River would probably land on my top ten novel list. It was stunning, simple, imaginative, earthy. Amazing prose. Vivid characters. And a line here and there that truly stopped me cold.

So Brave, Young, and Handsome was a fine story. For me, not meteoric like Enger’s first, but still, pretty fantastic. Enger has a way of catching a dialect - and sticking with it consistently - that moves you into the world and the lives he has created.

There was a point in the book, perhaps midway, where the dialogue almost annoyed me; but I can’t say quite why. I think the narrative felt a bit too tidy for me at the moment - not enough grit. And somehow the smooth, folksy cadence of the language (mixed with my need for a little more bite) made it feel a tad sentimental. But I simply needed to hold on. Hood’s story was grit enough to go around - there was real tragedy to be found there. I also felt that Enger made a fabulous move in how he brought Glendon’s tale to a close. Enger could have chosen a different, easier path. But he didn’t. It seems he told the story the way it came, not the way we might want it to come. I respect that.

Two things I like about Enger (and these can actually be found in both of his novels):

[1] I see Enger wrestling with masculine themes through many of his characters. He gives the good, the bad, and the ugly about the many roads a man can take on road to becoming (or leaving behind) his true self. Becket, plagued with self-doubt, knew little his identity, but he took the hard path in order to discover who he was, what he was made of. Glendon fought his demons and wrestled for redemption - particularly redemption that was for the good of another. Hood wrangled between being a child and a man - an interesting character study could be found there. As a man myself, I appreciate Enger’s wide-hearted exploration into the masculine soul.

[2] Enger is a romantic. He has high ideals; and while he won’t pretend that all his characters live up to them, somehow his stories always leave you hoping for what is deep and true. Enger’s romanticism is earthy yet mysterious at the same time. Enger described Grace as a woman “who believed romance was no mere ingredient but the very stone floor on which all life makes its fretful dance.” Though written of Grace, I think Enger described himself too in these words. And I like that. Alot.

Invitation: Be an Insider and Get a Free Book

So, I've made an arrangement with my publisher - and I'm pretty excited. I get to share, with a few of you, my new book - two months before it is available to the public.

I have four galley copies of Holy Curiosity that I can give away this week. Galley copies are the pre-publication manuscript of a book. The galley will have the full text in it's almost-completely edited form. This is the copy that goes out to various media types and publishing types and sometimes to other writers or celebs who are considering endorsing it. It's the copy I'm looking at today making final edits.

So, when you get your hands on this little baby, you are truly an insider. It will excite you so much, you are almost certain to levitate.

If you receive a copy, this is what you are agreeing to:

[1] Read through the manuscript by August 15th

[2] Post your thoughts on the book here on my blog and on Holy Curiosity's Facebook group (and on your blog as well, if you have one)

In return, you will get to read Holy Curiosity before everyone else - and, best of all, my publisher will send you a free copy of of the book when it releases in October.

If you are interested, then shoot me a quick email by Tuesday night (July 8th @ 12 p.m. EST) answering this question: What intrigues you about exploring the sorts of questions Jesus asked the friends and strangers he encountered?

I will pick 4 entries, and Baker will send you the galley. And then a copy fresh off the presses in October!



[also, here is an endorsement that came in from Leonard Sweet for Holy Curiosity. He was obviously quite generous, and I am very thankful]

Winn Collier is one of the few young authors writing today who is as comfortable around Thomas Aquinas as the Simpsons, Soren Kierkegaard as Anne Lamott, Martin Luther as N. T. Wright. With a curiosity that embraces the great and the grating, Collier takes the reader on a joyous journey of discovery: each of us is part of God’s answer to each of Jesus’ questions. {Leonard Sweet}

Inked!

Miska turned 35 on Friday. I kept looking at her all weekend, truly mesmerized by her. She has this natural, earthy beauty, this rich soul, this very mysterious way - well, I'm head over heels, as you can tell.

Miska had a bold birthday request: for the two of us to get tattoos (along with our friends, Jules and Corey, though Corey had to bail on us). About five years ago, Miska had a small butterfly tattooed on her lower back, symbolizing for her the new life and beauty God was crafting in her as she moved into her thirties. It is feminine and has such rich meaning, perfect really. For her 35th, she hoped for us to have this experience together, something intimate and bonding, something symbolic.

I probably wouldn't be classified as the typical tattoo type (okay, we can just do away with "probably"), but I actually might have a little more street cred that you think. Anyway, a while back, we had talked about both of us getting wedding band tattoos, a symbol of permanent love, the commitment of marriage, the way God has joined our souls together.

We didn't do it, though, and I think the main reason I didn't was because of my fear of how other people would react (and we all know where this is heading - that's no reason at all). Tattoos are not an issue in the culture I live or among the people I serve. However, I know there are some who feel (and some with stories and painful experiences to back them up) that tattoos are only for rebellious people who hate God and get stoned and ride the country in a Harley gang and want naked women and skulls plastered on their body. In case you are still wondering, my tattoo had nothing to do with any of that (well, other than the Harley part).

My little ring band tells the world that I am deeply in love with my wife, that the love God has give me for this amazing woman is truly embedded into my person. The ring is also simple, earthy. You might not know this about me, but I'm at least a tad bit granola - and this band just feels raw and masculine, like I could be out in the woods tracking bears and teaching my sons how to navigate the stars and building my family a house from raw timber with my bare hands. I like that; it's me.

So, there I sat with Lew Hands (yeah, cool, huh?), my tattoo artist, as he carved a little ink into my finger. Multiple people told me man, that's gonna hurt. It really wasn't that bad; but then again, I'm tough. I have a tattoo.

A Couple Pounds of Curiosity

Yesterday, the DHL carrier handed it to me in our driveway: the final layout manuscript for Holy Curiosity. It's a lot of paper, a pile that represents three and half years of sweat and passion and frustration. This book asked a lot of me. I gave what I had; I hope it was enough. I'm excited about it either way.

I was outside with the boys when it arrived. "Daddy, you're a good writer of books," Wyatt said. Nothing more I need to hear...

Wright Hits Colbert

I still plan to share a tale or two of my time with N.T. Wright. Til then, I pass along Wright's appearance on the Colbert Report last Thursday night. He talks about his recent book (and, perhaps more notably, our selection last month for our book club) Surprised by Hope.

His rift on Sean Hannity toward the beginning is pretty hilarious as well.