Here's a very brief update, since I've noticed it's been a while since the last one.
Wedding plans are coming along quickly, which is good since now the big day is only 55 days away. I wouldn't necessarily say the remaining details are minor, but they're manageable. I'm going up to North Bay tomorrow for a week to do some plans and things like that up there. Which ought to be pretty cool. Invitations went out in the mail, so if you got one then please send your RSVP very soon! And remember that everyone will be more than welcome at the ceremony. We just have a bit of tight-numbers-itis we have to nail down.
Today's my last day of work. I've been enjoying the students more and more this week and so it's bittersweet, but still mostly in a sweet way. I'm pretty tired and I could use the time to really focus on some other things. I'm glad I got to do some teaching this summer because I think it's helped get me in better headspace for working this fall. I got a bit of a psychological head-start on some of the new teacher panics this way. It's going to be a slow day today probably, but that's alright. They'll be tired out from yesterday anyway.
Plans for the UK are coming together. I will confess to being thrown for a bit of a loop the more I hear about the rioting in London. I still haven't managed to touch base with my consultant about his recommendations, but I'm also cautious about taking these riots more seriously than they ought. It's a G20 and Vancouver hockey riot thing all over again. There was an issue at least at the start, but now it's about watching the world burn. Between the royal wedding, the olympics next summer and this, London's been pretty far in the forefront of the global media consciousness, so I'm not surprised if some people are looking at that as a convenient stage for some anarchic nonsense. The police will shut it down quite swiftly and historians will grumble about whether or not the government went too far just like they do here today about Trudeau and the FLQ. This is how democracies respond to terror and intimidation and violence in their countries. And history shows it works.
Notwithstanding, it'll be worth talking to the consultant and our families about so we can all still feel OK booking a flight there in 2 months.
And...that's about it. Keep your stick on the ice
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Friday, August 12, 2011
Pensees apres Les Miserables
I have just finished reading Victor Hugo's "Les Miserables". Or, rather, I finished listening to it on CD. For a while, when I've been talking to people about it, I've felt like I was cheating by not picking up the book itself to read. But to be entirely honest, I have performed the mental task of reading almost precisely without the customary accompanying ocular task. I think there is nothing cheap or easy about listening to an audiobook. It's often more difficult. And it was infinitely more convenient to 'read' it in the car this way.
I've been thinking how best to summarize this book for people familiar with neither it nor the play based almost faithfully thereupon. Principally it is the story of an ex-convict in 19th-century France named Jean Valjean, through whose redemption and restoration to humanity we see possibility and hope for the downtrodden, desperate and untouchable people of our society; those Hugo calls "les miserables". The story begins with his release from prison and ends on his deathbed.
The problem with a really good book is that once it's finished it's difficult to really say one big thing about it. This book has given me cause to reflect on the redemption and transformation of a human soul through grace, but it has also given me a lens into fatherhood and sacrificial love. It has painted a robust and interesting contrast between paternalistic love and romantic. And it's been a humbling examination of the condition, both material and spiritual, of the poor in all ages and places. There's simply too much to say, and I'm not surprised it's been in print so long.
What I will say now though is on the subject of the one man in the story. I've been growing increasingly of the opinion that biography is perhaps the most beautiful and honest tool of history. That it most effectively accomplishes all that I want when I read any story: imagined or real. At its core, I think Hugo intended this to be more than just the story of Valjean, but the more I read the more I found myself bound up in this character. Valjean begins his story as a wretch. A freed galley-slave with no prospects, turned out of doors and ostracized. He is quickly embittered towards the whole of society. The weight of his guilt, even though his crime is paid-for, haunts him in every step. Eventually he finds himself directed to the house of a bishop, who hears Jean Valjean's whole deplorable story and every reason why he ought to be cast back out of doors. Then, the bishop feeds him, warms him by the fire, and puts him in a bed for as long as he needs.
It gets better. Valjean, chastening under the burden of the man's grace, seizes upon the dark opportunity that night to burgle the bishop's silver candlesticks and escape. When he is shortly thereafter apprehended and brought before the bishop, instead of condemnation, the bishop tells the police to let him go, that the silver was a gift but that Valjean forgot to take it all and presents him with still more. Grace upon grace. Forgiveness upon forgiveness.
The example of the bishop is beautiful. It shows us the costliness of grace. Forgiveness, if it's really transformative, can be tremendously painful. God's forgiveness of our iniquities costs Him something too. not a hurt that in any way diminishes his power, but a hurt that grieves Him nonetheless.
The rest of the novel, however, is a chronicle of the power in that work of grace. Valjean commits one more evil and is then so repulsed by that black taint in his soul that he never goes back. He assumes a new name to escape the law and his past, he makes his fortune, he gives out of his abundance of wealth and spirit to those broken people around him all the rest of his days. And his dogged need to give of self instead of taking costs him much. He has to confess to his crimes and then escape the police (which doesn't sound noble the way I said it, but I don't have energy to explain the extenuating circumstances), he takes in an orphaned desperate child, he lives as an outlaw assuming multiple names, and he even drags a hated young man his ersatz daughter eventually grows up to love on his back through 4 miles of sewer because her happiness is more precious to him than his own or even his life. The man is all gift and no receipt. All righteousness and no blot. And the best part is he's not impossibly good. He is good in the sense that a very good man can be. Imperfect, but recognizing his faults and allowing the grace he's been shown to work out his redemption over all of his days.
Reading this story I have been humbled and convicted and inspired. This is probably the most important story I have heard in quite some time. I highly recommend it - in whichever medium best fits your schedule - to anyone. The tale now immortalized by musical theatre in all its literary richness is something truly spectacular, and I hope you make a chance someday to discover it for yourself.
PS - Short disclaimer: there's a bit of French in it. Mostly names of people and places. If you're really Franco-phobic, maybe it's not such a great idea. Just watch the movie or something, then.
I've been thinking how best to summarize this book for people familiar with neither it nor the play based almost faithfully thereupon. Principally it is the story of an ex-convict in 19th-century France named Jean Valjean, through whose redemption and restoration to humanity we see possibility and hope for the downtrodden, desperate and untouchable people of our society; those Hugo calls "les miserables". The story begins with his release from prison and ends on his deathbed.
The problem with a really good book is that once it's finished it's difficult to really say one big thing about it. This book has given me cause to reflect on the redemption and transformation of a human soul through grace, but it has also given me a lens into fatherhood and sacrificial love. It has painted a robust and interesting contrast between paternalistic love and romantic. And it's been a humbling examination of the condition, both material and spiritual, of the poor in all ages and places. There's simply too much to say, and I'm not surprised it's been in print so long.
What I will say now though is on the subject of the one man in the story. I've been growing increasingly of the opinion that biography is perhaps the most beautiful and honest tool of history. That it most effectively accomplishes all that I want when I read any story: imagined or real. At its core, I think Hugo intended this to be more than just the story of Valjean, but the more I read the more I found myself bound up in this character. Valjean begins his story as a wretch. A freed galley-slave with no prospects, turned out of doors and ostracized. He is quickly embittered towards the whole of society. The weight of his guilt, even though his crime is paid-for, haunts him in every step. Eventually he finds himself directed to the house of a bishop, who hears Jean Valjean's whole deplorable story and every reason why he ought to be cast back out of doors. Then, the bishop feeds him, warms him by the fire, and puts him in a bed for as long as he needs.
It gets better. Valjean, chastening under the burden of the man's grace, seizes upon the dark opportunity that night to burgle the bishop's silver candlesticks and escape. When he is shortly thereafter apprehended and brought before the bishop, instead of condemnation, the bishop tells the police to let him go, that the silver was a gift but that Valjean forgot to take it all and presents him with still more. Grace upon grace. Forgiveness upon forgiveness.
The example of the bishop is beautiful. It shows us the costliness of grace. Forgiveness, if it's really transformative, can be tremendously painful. God's forgiveness of our iniquities costs Him something too. not a hurt that in any way diminishes his power, but a hurt that grieves Him nonetheless.
The rest of the novel, however, is a chronicle of the power in that work of grace. Valjean commits one more evil and is then so repulsed by that black taint in his soul that he never goes back. He assumes a new name to escape the law and his past, he makes his fortune, he gives out of his abundance of wealth and spirit to those broken people around him all the rest of his days. And his dogged need to give of self instead of taking costs him much. He has to confess to his crimes and then escape the police (which doesn't sound noble the way I said it, but I don't have energy to explain the extenuating circumstances), he takes in an orphaned desperate child, he lives as an outlaw assuming multiple names, and he even drags a hated young man his ersatz daughter eventually grows up to love on his back through 4 miles of sewer because her happiness is more precious to him than his own or even his life. The man is all gift and no receipt. All righteousness and no blot. And the best part is he's not impossibly good. He is good in the sense that a very good man can be. Imperfect, but recognizing his faults and allowing the grace he's been shown to work out his redemption over all of his days.
Reading this story I have been humbled and convicted and inspired. This is probably the most important story I have heard in quite some time. I highly recommend it - in whichever medium best fits your schedule - to anyone. The tale now immortalized by musical theatre in all its literary richness is something truly spectacular, and I hope you make a chance someday to discover it for yourself.
PS - Short disclaimer: there's a bit of French in it. Mostly names of people and places. If you're really Franco-phobic, maybe it's not such a great idea. Just watch the movie or something, then.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
You were there
For every high and every low
Every mountain top, crisp cool breeze and 1st-place finish
Every darkened valley, tumble, stench and wound
Every morning on the porch sipping orange juice and listening to the birds sing
Every late night of humiliation, hatred, anger, and sleepless conviction
Every win
Every fail
You were there
Through every tossing sea, rolling wave and storm cloud
Every clear blue sky, sandy beach and safe warm embrace
Every tear, sob and grief
Every laugh and hyperventilated guffaw
Every tearful joy
Every joyful tear
Every headache, knee-buckling and minor laceration
Every soothing, healing mist
You were there
In every still small voice as it whispered softly on the warm whisps of wind
In every crackling peal of thunder as it split the sky in noise and colour
In every chuckle
In every shame
In every minute
hour
day
week
month
year
and decade
In every moment
instant
breath
heartbeat
You were there
When I fell off my bike and scraped all the skin off both my knees and hobbled bleeding back to the campsite
When I fell on my knees at 3am convinced there was no way out of my shame and self-loathing
When I watched the rain fall on my left and not on my right and was reminded of Your hands
When I stood in a storm while the drops from heaven mingled with my own hot and salty ones and ran, diluted and washed, to the ground
You
Were
There
You were always there.
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