Category Archives: reading

on repeat: the power of your mundane offerings

Posted on by May 2, 2022

If you’re super spiritual, you should just skip this post. I mean, if you read commentaries and offerings and begats for fun, and you have whole sections of the Pentateuch memorized, this probably isn’t for you. It’s for the rest of us.

on repeat: the power of your mundane offerings

If you had to look up the word “Pentateuch,” though, you’re in the right spot.

(Okay, is it safe yet? Because I’m getting ready to confess something. Deep breath.)

If you have ever read Numbers in the Old Testament, you know it can be a little…

Um…well…(cough)

Kinda boring. Right? A little repetitive.

Okay, a lot repetitive.

I’ve been reading chapters six and seven, and here’s what it says – just one very short example:

On the second day Nethanel the son of Zuar, the chief of Issachar, made an offering. He offered for his offering one silver plate whose weight was 130 shekels, one silver basin of 70 shekels, according to the shekel of the sanctuary, both of them full of fine flour mixed with oil for a grain offering; one golden dish of 10 shekels, full of incense; one bull from the herd, one ram, one male lamb a year old, for a burnt offering; one male goat for a sin offering; and for the sacrifice of peace offerings, two oxen, five rams, five male goats, and five male lambs a year old. This was the offering of Nethanel the son of Zuar.

– Number 7:18-23, ESV

FASCINATING.

No? What, you skimmed? You don’t want to hear all about the offerings? And you don’t want to hear them repeated verbatim twelve times (with the exception of different names of tribes, chiefs, and their fathers)?

Me neither. But here’s the deal: I was praying about it, and the Word never says “Blah, blah, blah” (you’ve heard me say that in Oh My Soul before) so I asked the Lord, Why do all the mundane details matter? Why are there so many of them in the Word and in our lives?

We do all these tasks that are never finished: the dishes, laundry, making the beds, teaching the kids, commuting to work. We repeat and repeat and repeat, and life is still full of them, never done.

And here’s what the Lord told me:

As you’re reading these mundane details, you are posturing yourself to hear Me. You are postured for Me to move in all these small things. You are postured to do a productive work even though you are “only” doing all those tiny, repetitive actions that don’t seem to go anywhere.

They are obedient to My calling for you, so they are going somewhere.

They are your offering.

And in the spirit of repetition, He keeps reminding me of it as I read parts of the Bible that are sticky, and as I deal with details in life that are sticky, too.

Repetition doesn’t have to equal boring and mundane. Sometimes we choose repetitive acts because they are relaxing and they help us focus on what is important – like taking communion or praying before meals, or going for a walk, or finding work for our hands so our minds can think clearly.

Earlier this year I started knitting again while I read. The movement helps me focus and it’s therapeutic for my hands. And as I’m getting ready to change colors, I’m right here:

Aspire to live quietly, and to mind your own affairs, and to work with your hands, as we instructed you.
– 1 Thessalonians 4:11, ESV

If you don’t know, knitting tends to be slow work. You repeat and repeat and repeat – especially in garter stitch, especially when you’re using the same color, row after row after row.

But it produces something.

Just like pages read, prayers prayed, and Scripture spoken: They all do something.

They produce results. They create and refine things…and us.

But sometimes it takes a while to see that progress – which is all the more reason to start today.

When we start a project, whether it’s knitting, writing, building, reading, painting, teaching, or any other creative endeavor, we are working toward something we cannot see.

Do you know why books such as this are so important? Because they have quality. And what does the word quality mean? To me it means texture. This book has pores. It has features. This book can go under the microscope. You’d find life under the glass, streaming past in infinite profusion.

– Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

The woman weeding the garden, the neighbor changing the oil, the friend delivering dinner.

The officer driving, the receptionist answering the phone, the doctor prescribing a treatment.

The dad bathing the preschooler, the mom teaching the kid on the couch how to read.

A million steps of creative, mundane, prayerful, powerful faithfulness: lives lived in quiet, repetitive offering, standing for freedom and redeeming the culture.

We aren’t disgusted or despairing because the blanket isn’t complete yet after only a few rows of stitches. We know it’s a process. We see the unseen, and we work toward it.

And this is how prayer works, too.

If you are praying for some big situation or discouraged over huge current events — remember, we partner with God to work toward things that are unseen, and they change.

So we read books. We speak Scripture. We write words. We move in faithful obedience.

We are going somewhere as we obey Him in all these small things. And that includes reading the Bible – and not skipping the sticky parts, because He speaks to us in those, too.

We pray from victory, and we pray toward victory. And it works.

We make all these little stitches, and we know they make the Kingdom come. Pretty soon, we’ll see the colors start to change.

_____

Free printable download for you: Bookmark or 5×7 print.

mapping our territory: how we gain ground when we read deep & wide

Posted on by June 21, 2024

It’s what I’ve always wanted to do here – I’m about to go all crazy bookish on you. In all fairness, you might’ve seen it coming. So stand back (or kick back on the couch), and maybe arm yourself with a fresh notebook and your favorite clicker pencil.

I spent most of the last weekend immersed in The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. If that’s unfamiliar territory to you – and it is to many, I never even heard of it until a year ago – it’s by Anne Bronte, probably the least known of the famous Brontes. It wasn’t an easier read than her sisters’ more famous works. But I flew through it, probably for a couple of reasons.

mapping our territory: how we gain ground when we read deep and wide

First, I gave it a fair shot – which means when I sat down with it the first time, I read at least 15-20 pages, enough to get a little ways in and scope out the territory. And then I made sure to pick it up again before letting too many days pass, so I could get a little farther in and get familiar with what was going on before book entropy set in.

Don’t know what “book entropy” is? I made it up. But you’ve probably experienced it – you open a book, read a few pages, then set it down for a week or more, then try a few more pages, and abandon it again with the best of intentions. Before you know it, six months have passed and you’re only at page fifty, and you have no idea who Lizzie Hexam is, what her father is doing in the river retrieving corpses, or whether or not it’s important that he found that one body that one time. (It is. Of course it is.)

It’s the worst way to read anything. (Dickens, especially. Ask me how I know.) Might as well quit and start over later.

Second, I’ve gotten used to reading classics and don’t struggle through them so much anymore. In high school we read very few classics, and I used to be so intimidated by the unfamiliar territory, struggling with the language, customs, cultures, and terms. But as a young adult I started dipping my toes in, and muddled my way through a few on my own.

There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.
― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

We were in our early 20s, in our first apartment, and started our library with a bookshelf we bought from Fred Meyers for about $75 in quarters that we’d saved in a blue Arizona Iced Tea bottle. We sat on opposite ends of our hand-me-down couch and read quietly to ourselves and out loud to each other, eating our dinner of boxed PastaRoni because these were also the days before we learned how to cook.

In Sense and Sensibility, I had no idea why one daughter was “Miss Dashwood” and the other daughter was called by her first name. In Anna Karenina, I barely managed to untangle each character’s three separate names. (Really, are the nicknames that necessary? Tolstoy couldn’t have made it a little simpler?) I spent two years slogging through The Hunchback of Notre Dame and I don’t need to read about Parisian architecture or flying buttresses ever again. Please.

But then I started building on that scaffolding. And it started getting easier.

Give yourself unto reading. The man who never reads will never be read; he who never quotes will never be quoted. He who will not use the thoughts of other men’s brains, proves that he has no brains of his own. You need to read.

— Charles Spurgeon

(Yikes. Spurgeon is a little harsh…but he’s not wrong.)

I moved over to Pride and Prejudice and things started to make sense. I tried Sense and Sensibility again, and this time things fell into place. And then I found Gone With the Wind, The Lord of the Rings, and Jane Eyre, and fell in love.

I was hooked. This was the deep part of my ocean. This is where I could keep exploring and never get tired.

But I hit bottom pretty quickly in other areas. I read three books by Kipling that convinced me we probably aren’t kindred spirits. I endured months of Dostoevsky’s rascally Karamazov brothers and hustled my way through Crime and Punishment, and those weren’t my favorites, either. Not too long ago I went back to Hugo and it still took me over two years to finish Les Mis. But I had to spend some time with them – a fair shot’s worth – to hold an opinion in the first place.

And this is where we go wide: we stretch out into the shallows, where we dip our toes in and maybe find the water isn’t to our liking. But at least it gives us an idea of what the terrain around that edge of the ocean looks like. The fog is lifted a little; we can draw in some curves on the map instead of leaving the entire area shrouded in mist. We gain ground.

I love, love, love, finding new territory. I love helping others grow deep and wide and find new territory, too. So I started Gaining Ground for those who want to expand their territory in literature, writing, and wholeness – you know, for the slightly nerdy deep thinkers, or those who want to be slightly nerdier, deeper thinkers. You guys are my people.

Contrary to general belief, writing isn’t something that only “writers” do; writing is a basic skill for getting through life. Yet most American adults are terrified of the prospect – ask a middle-aged engineer to write a report and you’ll see something close to panic. Writing, however, isn’t a special language that belongs to English teachers and a few other sensitive souls who have a “gift for words.” Writing is thinking on paper. Anyone who thinks clearly should be able to write clearly – about any subject at all.

― William Zinsser, Writing to Learn

Life is different now, but Vin and I still sit on opposite ends of the couch, and we still read quietly to ourselves and out loud to each other. Somewhere along the way we learned to cook from scratch, and now we can make a mean chicken curry, homemade enchiladas, and bacon-wrapped jalapeños. I’m hoping this helps us live long enough to read all those books.

Because we’re still learning. We often read a book and tell the other person they absolutely must read this one next – and sometimes we actually follow those recommendations.

“I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book! — When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.”

― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

And sometimes it works. But other times, book entropy sets in, and Anna Karenina sits on Vin’s shelf for about two years.

The bookmark is on page 111. Or, eleventy-one, for you Middle Earth fans. It might be time for him to ditch it.

So if anyone wants to borrow a beautiful old copy of Anna Karenina and struggle through all the different Russian names, I’ve got one for you. He probably won’t even notice it’s gone – and if he does, I’ll let you know.

words, foreign & domestic

Posted on by May 31, 2023

We started a new routine around here last winter. While Vin puts the little boys to bed, Chamberlain grabs The Lord of the Rings and a hairbrush, and I read aloud while she brushes my hair. A few pages later, Vin comes back downstairs and listens in until I get to the next stopping point.

It’s been a beautiful, blissful way to wind down at the end of the day.

Until suddenly, it wasn’t.

words, foreign and domestic: territory that changes us

Suddenly, I couldn’t handle the slightest snag from the hairbrush. I was too tired to read or hold the book. Doing one more thing at the end of the day, even a relaxing thing like reading, was just one thing too many. Maybe several things too many.

At first I thought it was okay. Just normal mom stuff; we know what it is to live without sleep and to push our bodies further than we think we can go. But when several issues compounded and the pain got so bad it made my heart race, it was clear I needed to make an appointment.

So I went to the ANP with my list of woes. She listened, poked and prodded, and asked all the questions before concluding that I was dangerously sleep deprived and possibly dealing with an autoimmune disorder. She used words like “worried” (referring to her) and “shutting down” (referring to me) and “stubborn” (also me).

Her main recommendation was to do whatever it takes to start getting enough sleep again. And to help facilitate that, she had some other ideas.

You’re not gonna like this, she said: A 30-day paleo reset, and start weaning the baby. And she was right, I didn’t like either of them, but they both resonated with what’s going on, so, whatever. She also gave me a couple of supplements and some referrals for follow up, including labs and imaging. And just for kicks, bless her heart, she suggested other things too — but she used that word “stubborn” again (twice!) and admitted I probably wouldn’t even consider them. And she was right on that, too.

So I went home with the notes and the supplements and the packet of paleo information. A quick glance informed me that it meant no grains, no dairy, no sugar, no prisoners.

And then I dumped everything on the counter and made myself a quesadilla.

Which I ate while nursing the baby.

I told myself it was okay though, because the quesadilla had fermented jalapeños (See? Veggies and probiotics!) and I wasn’t starting yet, anyway. I’d start the whole shebang for reals in a couple of days, to give me time to get out the month’s newsletter and mentally prepare for what I was getting myself into.

“And now leave me in peace for a bit! I don’t want to answer a string of questions while I am eating. I want to think!”

“Good Heavens!” said Pippin. “At breakfast?”

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

For now, I would just read the paleo guidelines. I grabbed the packet from the counter and noticed it already had a smear of something on the back of it. I looked closer and realized it was cream sauce. Perfect.

The packet said yes to all the meats, yes to all fruits, yes to all vegetables. But wait – what’s this, special notes for autoimmune issues? No eggs, no nightshades.

What the heck is a nightshade, I thought.

It sounded like something out of Middle Earth, along with all of Tolkiens’s other unfamiliar words, like fen, tussock, sloe, dingle. That world isn’t an unfamiliar landscape to me – this is my fifth venture into Middle Earth – but the language continues to stretch me. Sward, eyot, wythe. Or turves, which isn’t so unfamiliar once you realize it’s the plural of turf; or meads, which is generally paired with “rolling.” Rolling meads. So, fields. Ahh, meads, like meadows. Gotcha.

I’m still not sure if some of the words are mythical – a whortle-berry? Is that real? Mallorn, athelas? Living in Alaska my entire life, there are plenty of names I’ve only heard of but never experienced – things like crepe myrtle, palmetto, full-service gas station.

We have our own landscape and language: tundra, birch, lupine, forget-me-not, cheechako, bunny boots. And places, too – instead of Lothlorien, we have Hatcher Pass; instead of the Rauros and the Withywindle, we have the Matanuska, Knik (pronounced “kuh-nik”), and Kenai Rivers. This is the language I know.

But no, I searched the internet, and nightshades are not from Middle Earth. Turns out, nightshades is actually code for All The Veggies That Shannon Likes Best.

Including jalapeños. Blankety blank.

So for the last several weeks I’ve been eating all the right things (except for my morning latte, which we won’t talk about), taking my supplements, drinking a ton of water, and taking in the Word however I can. And He’s been speaking to me about some new ways to do it.

The drink was like water…the effect of the draught began at the toes, and rose steadily through every limb, bringing refreshment and vigour as it coursed upwards, right to the tips of the hair.

– J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers

A year ago He asked me to start praying online, but now He’s asking me to read the Word – not just quietly to myself, but aloud to whoever will listen online. And like last time, I put it off because I wasn’t sure how to do it. Finally I clearly heard Him say, Just start doing it, and I’ll show you how. So I did, and He is.

Will I edit the video and make it fancy? Nope. Will I mispronounce names? Yes, unapologetically, and I’ll have fun doing it. Will I brush my hair beforehand? If past performance is any indication of future success, um…the odds aren’t very good.

But the Word is powerful, and the spoken Word is even more so, and God uses the enemy’s tactics against him in beautiful, ironic justice. When the CEOs of social media use their profits to fund or further the enemy’s agendas, what better way to respond than use those platforms to share God’s word?

All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, equipped for every good work.

– 2 Timothy 3:16-17, ESV

I started about a week ago. Meanwhile, my imaging results came back clear and the labs ruled out autoimmune disorders, praise God.

Health and hope grew strong in them, and they were content with each good day as it came, taking pleasure in every meal, and in every word and song.

– J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

This is beautiful news, not only because YAY, one less diagnosis, but also because I can eat nightshades and eggs again.

I’ve discovered that the way to appreciate a 30-day paleo reset is to spend the first two-thirds of that time fasting from nightshades, and then celebrating with the most amazing hashbrowns ever, complete with fried egg, mushrooms, and aioli.

And, in case aioli is unfamiliar to you, it’s just a little mayo mixed with an acid and herbs, in a million variations – vinegar, lemon, lime, cilantro, sriracha, garlic, swoon. My favorite is with lemon, cayenne (hello, you beautiful nightshade, you!) and dill.

So, Aioli – I’m pretty sure it’s Italian for “forgot to buy salad dressing.” And now you can add that to your vocabulary, too.