Seth Lewis's Blog, page 7

A Personal Update

It’s been almost a year since I shared a personal update on the blog, and life has been moving along. It’s never boring!

Our children recently turned seventeen, fifteen, and twelve, and Jessica and I celebrated our twentieth wedding anniversary this year as well. I feel like our family has moved decisively into a new stage of life—a middle stage, I suppose—and I have to say that I honestly love it. I have loved the other stages, too, each in their own way, each with their own challenges and joys. I think the stage we’re in now is my favourite so far, though. It has its own unique challenges, but I do love seeing our children grow and mature, and being able to relate to them on a grown-up level. I also love the stability and depth of a romance with two decades of shared life experience under it. We still disagree and argue, of course, but we’re a little better at it, I think, and quicker to forgive.

This summer we’ve been able to see family and friends in America, which is always a treat. It can be surprising to see how many things have changed since we last visited, but I think one of the great joys of life is being able to pick up the threads of old friendships exactly where we left them.

Finally, I’m happy to be able to share with you that I turned in a completed manuscript for my new book last week. It’s a book about nature, and how it speaks constantly to us about the God who made it (and us), and invites us to respond to him. Haven’t you felt the power of nature’s voice in the mountains, or at the sea, or under a thundering sky? Psalm 19 tells us that creation “pours forth speech”, even though it “uses no words”. This book is about paying attention to that voice, and interpreting its true meaning. I can’t wait to share it with you, but there are still a number of steps left to go in the publishing process. It will be released sometime next year. 

Thanks for reading the blog. It’s so encouraging to me, and I pray you are encouraged by what you read as well. 

Outrunning The Rain

Living in Ireland, I’ve gotten used to the rain taking its own sweet time. It softly falls for days or weeks on end, completely oblivious to how egregiously it has overstayed its welcome. In Alabama, where I grew up, things are different. The rain there waits and builds up and waits some more and then suddenly bursts out of the clouds in a mad rush to pelt the ground all at once with all the drama and thunder and sky-splitting electricity it can muster (and sometimes tornadoes).

I remember a day years ago when I went for a run with my brother-in-law down the road through Possum Holler (as the locals call it) in Alabama. The dark clouds came up from behind us, and threw down a wall of water. On our side of the wall, the world was parched. On the other side, it was drenched. There was no middle ground. As the dark clouds moved inexorably forward, the wall ate up the road behind us and it was obvious that our jogging speed would not keep us dry. We broke into a full sprint, but the wall still gained ground behind us. Closer and closer, soaking everything completely, until it was right on our heels and suddenly it rushed over us, too. We ran on through the thick rain until we reached the shelter of the front porch, soaked to the skin and keenly aware of our own tiny size compared to the overwhelming power of nature.

Sometimes, you get a glimpse of how small your own strength is. Sometimes, you get a reminder of how awesome and unavoidable the power of God is. The clouds did not pause for us, or struggle to compete with our fastest speed. God’s strength simply cannot be compared with ours. And yet, many people today still live their lives trying to outrun him—hoping he might not catch up to them and notice the wrongs they have done, that maybe, perhaps, they can stay a few steps ahead of his perfect justice. But as the rain easily overtook our sprint in Possum Holler, God’s justice will not struggle to overtake those who spend their strength running away from him—as if any of us could hide our wrongs from the eyes of the Maker of all things, or outpace the length of his arm. Like our race against the rain, such an effort can never work. As Jeremiah 23:19 says, “See, the storm of the LORD will burst out in wrath, a whirlwind swirling down on the heads of the wicked.” This is a storm we cannot outrun. But the good news—the best news ever—is that we don’t have to. God has already provided a shelter from the storm of his own judgment. He built it himself. Jesus Christ took the just judgment for our sin—the judgement that we deserve—on himself and paid for it completely on the cross, if we will only stop running away and come in to the shelter of his forgiveness. Our hope in the storm of God’s justice is not in how fast or clever or good we are. We cannot outrun the rain. But we can run to Christ, and find shelter. Forever.

“Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress,
my God, in whom I trust.’”
– Psalm 91:1-2

Pruning (a poem)

Everything grows fast in the garden this time of year. The rose stems stretch themselves upward, then droop with the weight of their own blooms. The grape vine climbs the arbour, blindly grasping anything it can hold on to. The weeds come back, and come back again, from somewhere, everywhere, while the vines on the back wall grow in every direction at once. All of this growth is a beautiful, abundant gift, yet I know that if I leave it untended for too long, my garden will eventually become something else entirely. The strawberries will send runners into the grass, the grass will colonise the herb bed, the weeds will colonise the grass, and the roses will block the path with thorns. The longer I leave it alone, the harder I’ll have to work to reclaim it. And here, in the wild tendencies of my garden, I see a reflection of myself. That’s what this poem is about:

Pruning

Every day the garden grows
And every day the garden goes
A little rampant, here and there
A little wild, everywhere
A thorn, a weed
A wandering vine
And I must mind
This garden of mine
Or it will turn to wilderness
And lose it’s joy and usefulness
So I must prune
And train and guide
And that is how
My garden thrives
And is it any different
With my soul?

All Of It, All At Once

There was still an hour before I had to be at my first meeting for the day. The morning was beautiful, promising to be one of the nicest days of the year. I had to go outside. I didn’t know the area, but my phone told me there was a park in a nearby town I’d never been to. A few minutes later, I pulled in next to the jogger and dog-walker sedans—the family cars hadn’t arrived yet. The park was extensive. It was build around a lake, with ancient trees and well-maintained lawns, meandering paths, benches, swans, and the dawn chorus echoing in stereo surround-sound all around me. 

The sun was warm, without being overbearing. The breeze was light and cool. The people on the paths gave me friendly greetings as they passed. Their dogs were thrilled to be out exploring the world, and I understood the enthusiasm and the stopping to sniff the grass and trees before their owners tugged them forward. I found myself wishing I could stop and wonder at each individual beauty before the clock tugged me forward. The cooing dove, for example, or the rhododendron flowers, the ancient yew tree, the water, or the way the light filtered through the leaves, the ivy, or the variety of plants in the forest—each of them unique and deserving of attention and contemplation but I only had an hour and I wanted to make it all the way around the lake, so I had to keep moving, gathering everything I could take into every sense as I went. 

I made it around in less than the hour, and had no intention of being early to the meeting. I spent the remaining minutes on a bench built around an oak tree gnarled with time, more time than I could imagine. My eyes and my heart and soul were full to the brim, full of all that I gathered along the way. It wasn’t any one particular thing that filled them—the warm sun or the living green or the squirrel that snuck up behind me—it was all of it, all at once. Every detail I saw was exquisite, yet none of them existed alone. Each one sang the praises of its Creator in its own unique way, and I wanted to hear every individual part, but as I sat on the bench for those few minutes I simply let myself be overwhelmed by the combination—the chorus of all creation, all around me, all together, all at once, declaring the wonders of God. 

Beyond Measure

When we speak about blessings, we usually speak about the good things we enjoy, like family, friends, a nice holiday, or a great coffee. These are wonderful blessings, worth counting, and giving thanks for. And yet I was reminded recently (through a prayer of thanks offered by a friend) that when the Bible speaks of blessings, the language it uses is often far more extreme than the language we’re accustomed to using ourselves. Paul tells us that “no human mind has conceived” the greatness of “the things God has prepared for those who love him“ (1 Corinthians 2:9). In other words, God’s blessings for his children are literally off the charts, stretching beyond the borders of imagination. “My cup overflows”, says David, in Psalm 23, and in Psalm 16 he speaks of how,

“You make known to me the path of life;
    you will fill me with joy in your presence,
    with eternal pleasures at your right hand.”

David is not simply tagging his holiday photos with #blessed, he’s speaking of a joy that is eternal, and fills him completely. Think of the abundance of all the blessings God gives to those who draw near to him. Jesus said, “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10). Not just life—life to the full. He doesn’t merely bless his children with moments of hopefulness, he anchors our hope “firm and secure” (Hebrews 6:19) in himself—he gives us “a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade” (1 Peter 1:3-4). Those of us who trust in Christ do not receive only forgiveness of sin through his sacrifice for them (an immeasurable blessing!). We are also welcomed into God’s own family—“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” (1 John 3:1). Living in this new relationship with God brings the blessing of peace—not a temporary, fragile peace—but “perfect peace” (Isaiah 26:3), “which surpasses all understanding” (Philippians 4:7). In being close to Him, God’s people also find rest—not a short reprieve, or way to forget our troubles temporarily—he welcomes the “weary and burdened” to find, in him, “rest for your souls” (Matthew 11:28-29). And he gives, far beyond a few highlighted moments of happiness, his own joy, a joy that is “inexpressible and glorious” (1 Peter 1:8).

The blessings God gives his children are beyond imagining because God himself is beyond imagining, and the greatest blessing he can give anyone is simply to bring them near to himself, the blessing beyond measure, overflowing forever. How could you measure or quantify the blessing of knowing the infinite, of experiencing the unfathomable love of the immeasurable God? There is no language large enough for such a blessing.

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ.” – Ephesians 1:3

One Day Leads To Another

I have learned over the years to temper my expectations about what can actually be accomplished in a single day. I’m not proud of this—I would be far happier if I could tell you that after consistently exceeding my own expectations of productivity I’ve had to adjust them in the other direction. The days are quick, though, and before I know it the morning is almost over and then after lunch the hours fly and it’s evening and I should really get to bed or I’ll be cross in the morning with my sleep-stealing self. I would love to do great things and see great progress today, but it’s hard to fit all those big, shiny things into one little square on the calendar.

Then again, what is there, in all this great big world God made for us, that contains itself to a single day? Very little, as far as I can tell. I see the roses blooming in our garden today, but I also saw them waiting patiently through the long months of winter looking almost dead the whole time and then slowly sprouting again and growing grow bit by little bit throughout the weeks of spring. Even now the sweet-smelling blooms bud and open themselves over the course of many days, not one. Perhaps the problem is not the length of the days, but my own failure to see how connected they are to each other.

One day leads to another. It’s obvious, I know, but it’s true, and I need to remember it. One day adds its few, short hours to the foundation of the next, slightly changing the starting point for the following morning. And there’s power in that, if I remember to leverage it. Tomorrow’s reality will be shaped by today’s actions and choices, for good or bad. If I continue on the same course in the days that follow, the results can increase at compound interest, for good or bad. A decision to eat well and exercise (even a little) today could compound into growing strength and health and habits that grant me extra years, or even decades, of life. A decision to doom scroll tonight instead of reading some mind-expanding book will not only affect the way I see the world and think about it, it will probably also make it just that little bit harder to pick the book up again tomorrow. A choice to begin the day with God in prayer and in his word can re-make my attitude and my perspective, my purpose and joy and peace and confidence for the whole day—and make it that little bit easier to do it again tomorrow, as well. A decision to tackle the hardest job now will free me from living under the stress of it tomorrow, and build my fortitude to tackle whatever comes next. A choice to save a small amount of money today could set me on a course towards a completely different financial situation down the road. A choice to hold on to resentment and keep rolling thoughts of anger and bitterness around in my head today can literally re-wire my brain like the ruts in a dirt road that catch the wheels of thought easily and won’t let them go without a struggle. On the other hand, a determined decision to give myself in love and service, even in small ways, for others right now could help improve their situations as well as strengthening, bit by bit, my relationships with them, and my own character, as well.

Today matters. It may be short, and the reality of what I can accomplish in it might feel small, but one day leads to another. And another. Every action, every decision, no matter how insignificant they may seem, is leading me forward, or backwards. Journeys are made of many individual steps, and lifetimes are made of many individual days. Each one takes me from where I was yesterday to where I will be tomorrow. And where will I be, tomorrow?

Light (a poem)

When the sun comes out in Ireland, the people come out, too. We appreciate the sun, because we never know how long we’ll get to see it. We soak it in as much as possible—the brightness, the warmth, the Vitamin D, the light. I’ve heard that the physics of light are complicated, that it’s simultaneously a wave and a physical particle, which is confusing. But just think of all the things it does: it illuminates the world and makes our eyes work, for starters, but that’s only the beginning. It also carries heat from the sun 150 million kilometres away to warm our world and kiss our skin. Light also helps our bodies create Vitamin D, and even more impressively it helps plants all over the world photosynthesise the energy they need to grow. In other words, without light, we wouldn’t merely be blind—our whole world would be a wasteland.

When God said, “Let there be light”, he meant to provide exactly what our world needed to thrive and grow with beauty and joy and abundant life. And when Jesus said, “I am the light of the world”, he meant to show us that provision and life ultimately come through him. That’s what I was thinking about when I wrote this poem:

Light

They say light is a particle
They say it is a wave
It reaches out and
Makes our world
A garden, not a grave

And light is all my eyes can see
Yet it reveals the world to me
It fills me up
It touches skin
It shows me where and what I am

This particle is power—
It’s waves unfold the flowers
It grows the trees
Invisibly
Through many passing hours

Though I don’t have the gift to shine
I can receive light, make it mine
And what a gift!
And what a Giver!
You, Yourself, are Light Divine

“When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.’” – John 8:12

The Picture Books We Couldn’t Part With

Our children are not really children anymore. It’s been a long time since we read picture book stories to them. But if you look at our bookcases at home, you’ll see that our family still has picture books. We didn’t save most of them—bookcase space is too precious for that—but there are also some picture books that are too precious to part with. Books that were read too many times, that became too much a part of us and our family history together to think of letting go. We had a conversation over dinner recently about the picture books we all remember and love the most, and I thought some of you might like to hear what we came up with. This list represents many hours of read-aloud story times in the Lewis home, times that continue to live on as treasured memories for all of us. So if you have little ones at home, or nephews or nieces or grandchildren or friends with smallies, you might enjoy these, as well. Here’s our list:

Frog and Toad
The Frog and Toad stories are simple and short, and the two friends mostly do ordinary kinds of things together. The beauty of these books is in the friendship between the two—this series is one of the most positive depictions of genuine friendship I’ve seen anywhere, and it’s all done with lovely illustrations and plenty of funny moments.

Anatole
Most people are afraid of mice and see them as pests. Anatole, a noble mouse of honour in France, would beg to differ. He is determined to earn his own living as a respectable business-mouse, and eventually finds a way to do just that. Truly, he is a mouse magnifique!

Katie Morag
Katie lives on the Scottish Isle of Struay, a setting that provides a rich and colourful context for her adventures. The illustrations of Katie’s island life are excellent, and the stories are wholesome and fun.

Alfie and Annie Rose
Alfie is a little boy doing little boy things in little boy ways, and Annie Rose is his little sister. Their stories are heartwarming, and the characters in them ring true to life. On top of all that one of the best things about these books is the illustrations. Gorgeous!

Thoughts To Make Your Heart Sing
This is the only book on the list that isn’t actually a series of books. It’s just one book, but each page is a new (and beautifully illustrated) devotional thought for children. I say they are for children, but actually I was encouraged in my own faith over and over again by reading this book to our children.

Bonus:

Winnie The Pooh
I’m not talking about the Disney-era Pooh, I’m talking about the original stories by A.A. Milne. I can’t include it properly on a list of picture books because there really aren’t enough illustrations to qualify for that, but the illustrations are still fantastic and the original Pooh stories are some of the best read-aloud stories that have ever been written (in my opinion). Honestly, I think Milne was one of the great under-rated masters of the English language—his writing style is clever and fun, and his cast of characters have become enduring classics for a reason. The stories may be written for children, but they are just as enjoyable for the grown-ups reading them, and that’s a great accomplishment.

These are not the only picture books we’ve kept, but they are some of our favourites. Maybe you and the children in your life might enjoy them, too. What picture books would you add to the list?

The Secret Of Contentment

When I see the ruins of old cottages around us in Ireland, I’m always struck by how small they are, and by how dramatically our everyday living has changed. Even the best of the ancient castles are not nearly as comfortable as a standard modern home or apartment. They didn’t have flushing toilets. They didn’t have radiators or refrigerators or wifi. They didn’t have washing machines or cars or exotic foods from around the world available year round in local shops. They couldn’t order whatever they wanted from anywhere and have it shipped to their door in days without ever needing to leave the climate-controlled comfort of their own couch. If our ancestors could see us now, they would probably expect us to be the happiest, most care-free and content people to ever live. And they would be wrong. Our modern society is anything but content. We are plagued by anxiety, depression, relational breakdown, hopelessness, and despair. We promote mental health now more than ever, but the problems persist, and grow. Clearly, contentment is not just the result of having more wealth, more opportunities, more education, or better conditions. If it were, we should be one of the most content societies to ever live on planet earth. And yet somehow, contentment has eluded us. Have we been looking for it in the wrong places?

The Apostle Paul found contentment while serving an indefinite and unjust prison sentence. From his cell, he wrote that:

“…I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength.”

– Philippians 4:11-14

How can a man in prison write something like this? How can anyone? Paul is so content that the circumstances of life, whether good or bad—even in the extreme—cannot shake his satisfaction. Thankfully, he shares his secret: “I can do all this through him who gives me strength.” In other words, Paul’s contentment is not tied to anything in this world, it is tied to Christ himself. In Jesus, he found unconditional love, complete forgiveness, and never-ending life and joy through Christ’s death and resurrection, and God’s own presence with him. These treasures are far greater than anything the world can offer. Fame? Fortune? Status? Success? Paul says it’s all rubbish compared to the greatness of knowing Christ (Philippians 3:8). He was not depending on Christ’s power to give him wealth or status or better circumstances so he could finally be happy and content in those things. He didn’t need to. He was already content in Christ himself—whether he had the other things or not. That’s the secret.

Think about it: If you tie your contentment to anything in this world, then it will always be insecure. Everything we have and experience here on earth, no matter how wonderful, is temporary and fragile. Even if we manage to hold on to it for our whole lives, death will still come, and still rob us of all that we’ve accumulated. It’s no wonder our society finds contentment so elusive. When you look for contentment in temporary things, you can only ever find temporary contentment.

Paul’s secret was that he was not looking for something that would finally satisfy him. He had already found Christ. He was already satisfied. And because of that, the ups and downs and gains and losses of living lost their power to rob him of his contentment. If he had plenty, Christ was still a far greater treasure to him, beyond comparing. If he had nothing, he still had Christ. And that was enough. This is the secret of unshakable contentment. This is the security we can all have, if we come to Christ. If we have him, we already have everything we need. No mansion, romance, or bank balance on earth can compare. As Elisabeth Elliot put it, “The secret is Christ in me, not me in a different set of circumstances.”

A Curious Mind

Have you ever wondered about your ability to wonder about things? It’s a wonderful gift, when you think about it. It’s the ability that has unlocked most of our discoveries, because the most fertile ground for discovery is always a curious mind. I’m sure you can learn things without being curious—some lessons will slap you in the face whether you ask them to or not—but there’s no question you’ll learn a lot more if you start with questions. Isn’t our entire scientific method just a systematic series of questions? Without curiosity, the whole world fades into nothing more than a boring necessity, the people around us flatten down into a procession of stereotypes, and God himself starts to look like some kind of tired trope or taskmaster. Without curiosity, life goes stale. Tasteless.

For the curious mind, this world is an endless feast that can never be exhausted. Nature is filled with countless wonders, waiting to be discovered. People are complex characters, with histories and experiences and hidden dreams, and my grandfather taught me that every single one of them knows something you don’t, but you can learn it from them if you ask the right questions. In other words, if you’re curious enough to want to. And then there’s God, the inventor of all the rest—wouldn’t it be interesting to get to know the One who made every other interesting thing and person in the universe? He’s revealed himself to us and invited us to come to him and know him through Jesus. How could that be anything but fascinating? Of course it might also be surprising, and it might disturb our settled sensibilities and we might have to tear up some of our old assumptions along the way, but isn’t that what learning is all about?

Curiosity is key to learning, growing, and enjoying life. It’s the reason toddlers ask so many questions, and learn so fast, but then slowly, we grow. Slowly, we change. We start to feel the pressure to impress people and prove ourselves by showing how much we already know, so the questions fade and the world fades with them, and our interest in everything fades but at least we’re cool. We put the whole feast of life on ice just to prove to everyone that we’ve already tried it—and then we wonder why it tastes so cold and bland.

It doesn’t have to be that way. There’s nothing stopping us from being curious again—nothing except our own pride and indifference. You can’t be curious if you’re convinced that you already know everything you need to know. What would be left to be curious about, in that case? So one of the conditions for cultivating a curious mind is humility. We have to admit that the boundaries of our knowledge fall far short of the full scope of reality. That’s not to say we know nothing—some people are so humble about their knowledge that they refuse to believe that anything is truly knowable at all, by anyone. And what’s the point of being curious, if you’ll never find the truth, anyway? So another condition needed for curiosity is that we must believe that the truth really is out there, and that we really can discover it. That we can genuinely learn things, and then add more knowledge, with more questions. But notice that I said that the truth is “out there”, not “in here”—because one sure-fire curiosity killer is the idea that the only truth I need is the truth I create inside myself. What’s the point of being curious about anything or anyone else, if I’m the only one that matters, anyway? Thankfully, that’s not how the world works. Reality is not my personal invention, and truth is not my personal possession. If I want to know what the world is really like, what the people around me really love, and who God really is, I can’t discover these things inside my own head. I’ve got to learn, or re-learn, how to be curious. It doesn’t matter how much knowledge I’ve already accumulated, I still have far more to learn. How could I ever discover everything there is to know about another human being? About our world, or the God who made it? The feast is endless, and it grows with the tasting. God gave us wonderful minds, and they work best when they’re full of wonder.