The same long evenings, songs, dirty plates, and last pink skies.

A Quiet Stream (Heidelberg) c1888-90 by Tom Roberts

“Give me one summer again, with yourself and Streeton, the same long evenings, songs, dirty plates, and last pink skies. But these things don’t happen, do they? And what’s gone is over." - Charles Condor to Tom Roberts, remembering their painting days at Heidelberg and Box Hill.

Summer Shalom

Tomorrow I'm off to the coast to share my life and faith with friends and strangers, and the week after I plan to spend some time in the wilderness. So this little blog here will lie dormant for a Sabbath of its own.

Shalom, friends.
x

Lately

Window seat on the plane, BBQ at Williamstown, drinking magics, yarn bombing in Brunswick, house-sitting with sunflowers and a trampoline, and Christmas back at the ranch with dogs, wine and the local bowling club.

It's weapons down this Christmas

Around this time of year Christians often decide to stand up against 'ogres' who, in the name of reason, roar down Christianity and the Christmas story with great gusto.

I have to admit I too feel defensive when I sense ogres breathing down my neck. But I also can't help but feel it's kind of useless defending a spiritual, soul-inclined matter with angry reason. It's especially sad when Christians and atheists alike use the death of someone like Christopher Hitchens to score points.

As usual, though, Marilynne Robinson has already said all this better than I could through her character, the Rev John Ames, in the book Gilead:

“I think the attempt to defend belief can unsettle it, in fact, because there is always an inadequacy in argument about ultimate things.” 
― Marilynne Robinson, Gilead

And so, I guess I hope that if you aren't a believer, you might ponder the 'ultimate things' this Christmas and wherever you are, you have time to stop, rest and celebrate.

Anyone for a spot of hipster fishing?

Trout is all from Rolf Nylinder on Vimeo.

This makes me want to go camping so badly. Hopefully I will in a few weeks.

via WholeLarderLove

I'm An Emo Kid Fan Girl

It's no secret that I love the band Wilco. So you can imagine my slightly creepy delight when I stumbled across the lead-singer's son's blog. His name is Spencer Tweedy and he will blow your mind.

At 15, the kid is already reading Emerson, taking beautiful photos of his family and making rather sophisticated, and not to mention, catchy, demos.

And then he goes and writes this heartbreakingly honest, funny and beautiful reflection on adolescence, depression and getting older.

I think you should read it, not least because of this illustration.

"Something swooped down and snatched “feeling OK” from our brains. An emotional pterodactyl. An emotional pterodactyl named Puberty."

One of the most beautiful letters you will ever read

A friend pointed me to this today: a letter from a husband to his wife who died of cancer two years ago. He lives in Melbourne and is a Christian, although I do not know him personally.

I read this knowing that my own father is going in for radiotherapy over summer, starting with surgery tomorrow, the day before I arrive home. He is doing okay, but death is always around the corner. This letter reminds me that life is about relationships, with each other and with God. And heaven will be beautiful because it will be full of relationships restored to perfection. Oh how I long for that day.

Dear Jen,
You always wanted more letters from me - in fact I have a box that you left that contained all of them. In my defence of course, the reason I wrote infrequently was that we were never apart for very long. Now it's been more than two years, and I've only just found the necessary words, but here's one more letter for the collection. It's a bit of an odd one, because you're dead and can't appreciate the prose, but I do think we'll talk about it one day. 

Speaking of letters, I do sometimes wish you'd written me a farewell letter to keep, but your final decline was so rapid that it made a mockery of our plans. It was heart-breaking enough watching you write a last birthday card for Secundus as you were fading in and out. I know you didn't get to read 'The Time Traveller's Wife', but I found Henry's last letter to Clara very moving, especially in the way that he wants her to be free to keep living. Instead I can only project what you might have wanted for me, knowing your love. In the end it's all theoretical, and I must go on choosing (as carefully as I can) what seems best for myself and the boys, sticking to our principles but accepting the need for compromise. I can't know if you'd approve but I hope you'd understand.... read more.