Category Archives: reading

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.

comfort & joy: finding our identity in the Word who became flesh

Posted on by December 23, 2019

Last week I finished reading the New Testament again, and turned back to Matthew. And I might as well confess to you that my first thought was, Oh, goody. Seventeen verses of genealogy. Go ahead and judge me.

comfort and joy: finding our identity in the Word who became flesh

I happened to be sipping bone broth at the time, which is almost as much fun as reading Abraham was the father of Isaac…and Isaac the father of Jacob, and a few dozen more generations. But I needed to do it; I’ve dealt with postpartum eczema after our last four or five babies, and my right hand in particular is fairly gruesome. My handwriting is worse than normal, I have a hard time opening things (or turning doorknobs), and some days even typing hurts. It keeps me up at night. But bone broth helps, so…drinks it, we does.

…And Salmon the father of Boaz by Rahab, and Boaz the father of Obed by Ruth, and Obed the father of Jesse…

– Matthew 1:5

The verses also go in and do their own form of healing and restructuring. Like the bone broth, they are nutrient-dense regardless of appeal, going inside and bringing healing in increments. The broth boosts immune systems and digestive systems, and you could sorta say the same thing for reading the Bible, as it builds our spiritual protection and helps us process daily life in the healthiest of ways.

Whether we understand it all or not, whether we know we need healing or not, it goes in and it changes us.

…And Jesse the father of David the king.

And David was the father of Solomon by the wife of Uriah…

– Matthew 1:6, ESV

It takes no time at all to read seventeen verses of genealogy – less time than it takes to drink the mug of bone broth, sigh – and then suddenly I’m right in the middle of the season and confronted with the birth of Jesus, though I didn’t plan it that way at all.

Now the birth of Jesus Christ took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been betrothed to Joseph, before they came together she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit.

– Matthew 1:18, ESV

Now friends, if you’ve never read the Christmas story – the real one, not the cartoon special, the Hallmark movie, or the VeggieTale – it’s well worth the four minutes of your life it will take to do so. In Matthew it’s from here to here, just eight verses. Luke’s account is more detailed, from here to here, roughly 75 verses.

In those same four minutes, you could mindlessly scroll social media for all the cat memes, store ads, and political spin you can stomach…or you could tuck the original account of the birth of Jesus into your soul and let it do its work. Give it four minutes. The internet will still be there when you’re done, and you’ll begin to see it and everything else with new strength and perspective.

You might not notice the change at first. But like that bone broth, the Word will go in and make you more like the person you were made to be.

And Mary said,

“My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant.
    For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
for he who is mighty has done great things for me,
    and holy is his name.
And his mercy is for those who fear him
    from generation to generation.

– Luke 1:46-50, ESV

When we don’t know someone, our mind and thoughts exaggerate them into caricatures. They are all this, or all that; the little we know isn’t enough for a full picture so we fill in the blanks with assumptions. They become the cartoon version of the real thing. Without abiding and being in the Word, we’re in danger of doing the same thing with God, mistaking Him for all sharp lines, zigzags, and exaggerated curves.

But we do the same thing to ourselves, too. Sometimes we take on our pain, or our circumstances, or some other imbalance as our identity, though we were never meant to.

I’ve been talking (and writing) a lot lately on how we act out of our identity: When we know who we are, we act like it – and this is why we need to know who (and Who) we’re dealing with. Because when we don’t, we act out in sharp lines, zigzags, and exaggerated curves. And we were never meant to have such inflammation, imbalance, and pain.

Research has shown that once a person believes in a particular aspect of their identity, they are more likely to act in alignment with that belief….

After all, when your behavior and your identity are fully aligned, you are no longer pursuing behavior change. You are simply acting like the type of person you already believe yourself to be.

– James Clear, Atomic Habits (p. 34-35)

When we understand who God is, and who He made us to be, we will act like it. The only way to be comfortable in our own skin is to get to know the One who designed it.

He knows our hearts better than we do. And that means that He knows how we are better than we give ourselves credit for, and also the ways we are worse than we realize.

He knows the things we don’t take credit for, but should.

He also knows the things we don’t take responsibility for, but should.

There are areas in our lives where we are doing better than we think we are – but there are other areas we’re blind to that need correction and alignment. Our minds are constantly renewed through abiding with Him.

God rest you merry, gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismay;
Remember, Christ, our Saviour
Was born on Christmas day
To save us all from Satan’s power
When we were gone astray…
O tidings of comfort and joy.

It’s one of the oldest carols, dating back to at least the 16th century. There’s no known author to credit. And even though we sing it all season long, the title really doesn’t make any sense – unless we understand what the word “rest” means in context.

In the 16th century, this usage of rest meant to keep, cause to continue, to remain. Or, as we say, abide.

And, because punctuation matters (high five to my nerdy friends), note that the comma is after the word “merry” and not before it. Literally, the message is along the lines of “God keep you merry, friends” or “God abides with you for joy, friends.”

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. 

– John 1:14, ESV

The true story brings down our inflammation and offenses, brings balance to systems and habits that are off kilter. It renews us at a cellular level, giving us strength to reject the things He knows will harm us and the maturity to make healthier choices, for our own comfort and joy.

He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give to him the throne of his father David,and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.

– Luke 1:32-33, ESV

The Word goes in and changes us. It – more accurately, He – makes us more like the way we are supposed to be:

Whole. Free. Comfortable in our own skin. Because our joy is at stake.

with vision: reading with Grandma

Posted on by April 19, 2022

Kav’s hair was all tufted and feathery-soft after his bath, copper in some lights and red in others. I sniffed him and ruffled it, and before I knew what I was saying, these words came out of my mouth:

“His hair is so pretty.” I paused. “Listen to me, I sound just like Grandma.”

with vision: reading with Grandma

For nineteen years Grandma has called our babies’ hair pretty, and she doesn’t care whether it’s a boy or a girl she’s crooning over. Anyone under ten is fair game.

The next day, we drove the wavy road to her house in forty degree weather. Puddles from the last few days’ rain on the roadside trail were still glazed with ice in the early afternoon, and you could see their frozen lines crisscrossed on their surface. If you grew up in cold weather, you can imagine the perfect crunch these puddles must make if you walked on them. But no one had walked on these ones yet; through miles of the road, they were all still untouched.

Forgive me for going on about the puddles. We’ve been listening to an audio version of Nicholas Nickleby on these drives between Wasilla and Palmer, and Dickens makes me verbose.

It’s a forty minute drive all the way past the river, and Kav’s tolerance for car rides usually expires around the 25-30 minute mark (I don’t think this is Dickens’ fault). So since we don’t make it over as often as we’d like, we planned a two-for-one-deal this time: Stop at Grandma’s house before heading to Dad’s, where the kids were going to rake leaves while Vin put the winter tires on the Stagecoach.

Grandma turned 88 this month. She’s been losing her vision for years; her peripheral vision is still good, but faces are hard to see and reading is almost impossible. She misses driving and seeing people, but she especially misses reading.

And she doesn’t like audiobooks and I don’t blame her; we both must have similar attention spans.

But I was praying about it the week before and an idea struck me, so I asked her about it that day:

What if we could read to her from home? What if we recorded some of our school readings out loud, and burned them to a CD, and gave her a new one every time we came over?

It would be different than a normal audiobook. It would be us in all our mess and glory – Finnegan’s interruptions, questions from the kids, babbling from Kav and meowing from the cats – and it would be less like being alone or being read to by some stranger (professional though they may be), and more like we’re there with her.

And she liked that idea. She also liked knowing that it would be help us with school, motivating the kids to practice reading aloud.

So we’ve been filling the Voice Memo app on my phone with chapters and we’re halfway through several books now…and so far, only one of them is interspersed with me bossing a toddler to stop jumping on the couch, stop wrestling with his baby brother, and stop driving his racecar over the cat.

See? Like I said, it’s just like we’re there.

I called her again a few days ago – her number is the only one I still dial because it hasn’t ever changed – and gave her an update on our progress. Who’s reading what, what’s almost done, which characters get silly voices.

“Some people are just readers,” she said. “Other people read with vision.”

And then she started telling me about when she was a kid. They had poor light in the evening but she read in it anyway; she needed glasses long before she got them, and maybe that’s at least partly why her vision is gone now.

“It was a different world. People will never know what a different world it was back then.” She talked about the rationing in World War II. Sugar was rationed; it was a rare occasion when you could go to the store and see bags of sugar on the shelf. Paper products were hard to come by.

So many things are ever so much better, she said. Our lighting is so much better now. People have no excuse for not being readers these days. It was an altogether different world then.

But that day when we visited, it was the normal, familiar world of Grandma’s house: We dropped off cookies, the boys used her recliner as a merry-go-round, and we fortified ourselves with hugs before heading to Dad’s for yardwork.

And when Finn went up to her for his hug, these words came out of her mouth:

“Look at you, and your pretty hair!” she said, running her fingers through his blond tufts. But we saw that coming, I guess.