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Review: Be Decisive (Jeremiah)

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Be Decisive commentary on Jeremiah

Pastor and Bible teacher Warren Wiersbe shared his thoughts and insights on the book of Jeremiah in Be Decisive (Jeremiah): Taking a Stand for the Truth.

Jeremiah had a tough job. God’s people had worshiped idols for decades. They hadn’t obeyed His laws. They had also gone to other nations for help instead of God, in spite of the fact that He had provided for them and delivered them time and again. He sent prophets at various times to point them back to Him. But they refused.

The time came that God had to deal with them more severely. He was sending punishment in the form of the Babylonians, who would conquer their nation, destroy their temple, and take most of the population back to Babylon.

God would not annihilate them completely. He would preserve a remnant. He would keep His promises to maintain David’s lineage and bring forth the promised Messiah. “The purpose of chastening is that we might seek the Lord, confess our sins, and draw near to Him (Heb. 12: 3–13)” (p. 140). But for now, they were to go to Babylon, make their homes there, and settle in for seventy years.

God called Jeremiah to give this message to His people. They didn’t listen any better than they had before.

The false prophets preached what the people wanted to hear, but Jeremiah preached what the people needed to hear (p. 134).

The civil and religious leaders of Judah preferred the pleasant messages of the false prophets to the strong words of God’s true servant, because the human heart wants to rest, not repent. It wants peace, but it wants it without having to deal with the basic cause of unrest—unbelief (p. 211).

Further, Jeremiah’s instruction to actually submit to Babylon sounded like treason.

Jeremiah is sometimes called the “weeping prophet.” Though he had to point out the people’s sins in order to try to bring them to repentance, and though he knew they deserved what was coming, he still had compassion on them.

At least sixty-six times the word heart is found in the book of Jeremiah, for he is preeminently the prophet of the heart (p. 16).

We call Jeremiah “the weeping prophet,” and he was (9: 1), but he was also a courageous man who faced many dangers and trials and remained true to the Lord (p. 22).

Like many of us, Jeremiah balked at first at God’s calling.

Jeremiah hesitated as he looked at the work before him and the wickedness around him, and when he looked at the weakness within himself, Jeremiah was certain that he wasn’t the man for the job.

When it comes to serving the Lord, there’s a sense in which nobody is adequate. “And who is sufficient for these things?” (2 Cor. 2: 16) asked the great apostle Paul as he pondered the responsibilities of ministry. Paul then answered his own question: “Not that we are sufficient of ourselves to think any thing as of ourselves; but our sufficiency is of God” (3: 5).

When God calls us, however, He isn’t making a mistake, and for us to hesitate or refuse to obey is to act on the basis of unbelief and not faith (p. 20).

At the end of Jeremiah’s ministry, it may not have looked like he accomplished much.

By today’s human standards of ministry, Jeremiah was a dismal failure. He preached to the same people for over forty years, and yet few of them believed him or obeyed his message. He had few friends who stood with him and encouraged him. The nation he tried to save from ruin abandoned their God and plunged headlong into disaster (p. 213).

Jeremiah may have thought he had failed, but God saw him as a faithful servant, and that’s all that really counts (p. 213).

Jeremiah is one of Scripture’s greatest examples of faithfulness and decisive action in the face of physical danger and national decay (p. 20).

Some other quotes that stood out to me:

Any theology that minimizes God’s holiness and tolerates people’s deliberate sinfulness is a false theology (p. 52).

That on which I center my attention and affection and for which I am willing to sacrifice is my god, and if it isn’t Jesus Christ, then it’s an idol. “Little children, keep yourselves from idols” (1 John 5: 21) (p. 60).

The remedy for idolatry is for us to get caught up in the majesty and grandeur of God, the true God, the living God, the everlasting King. An idol is a substitute, and you would never want a substitute once you have experienced the love and power of the Lord God Almighty (p. 60).

That, however, is what faith is all about: obeying God in spite of what we see, how we feel, and what may happen. It’s well been said that faith is not believing in spite of evidence but obeying in spite of consequence” (p. 153).

Lamentations, the book that follows Jeremiah in the Old Testament, is thought by some to also be authored by Jeremiah. Whether it is or not, I thought it would be included with this commentary, because its author laments the devastation that has come to Jerusalem after the Babylonian invasion. I looked at the table of contents of Wiersbe’s “Be” books on the minor prophets and later historical books, thinking his commentary on Lamentations might have been included with other books. But I couldn’t find it anywhere

The middle of the Lamentations contains some of the most hopeful verses. In the midst of sorrow over deserved chastening, the prophet said:

But this I call to mind,
    and therefore I have hope:
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases,
    his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.
“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,
    “therefore I will hope in him.”

The Lord is good to those who wait for him,
    to the soul who seeks him.
It is good that one should wait quietly
    for the salvation of the Lord.

For the Lord will not
    cast off forever,
but, though he cause grief, he will have compassion
    according to the abundance of his steadfast love;
for he does not afflict from his heart
    or grieve the children of men.

Let us test and examine our ways,
    and return to the Lord!
Let us lift up our hearts and hands
    to God in heaven.

Lamentations 3:21-27, 31-33, 40-41

Most of the prophets did that: issued warnings, pointed out sins, yes, but also shared God’s love, compassion, and willingness to forgive.

I benefited from reading Jeremiah again, and Dr. Wiersbe’s insights were a great help.

Review: Shadowed Loyalty

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Shadowed Loyalty by Roseanna M. White is set during the Roaring Twenties. Sabina Mancari is the daughter of Chicago’s mob boss, but she never thought much about what he did. She’s engaged to Lorenzo Capecce, the son of her father’s lieutenant.

Lorenzo, known as Enzo,was one of the few in their families who took his faith seriously. Everyone thought he’d become a priest. But he chose law. He told Manny, Sabina’s father, that he didn’t want to go into the family business, and Manny agreed.

Lorenzo had seemed distant to Sabina for the last couple of years. So when another man, Roman, showed her some attention, she readily fell for him—until he led her into a gunfight and threatened her father with her life if she didn’t surrender. As it turned out, Roman was with the Prohibition Bureau and had just been using Sabina to get to her father.

Sabina called Lorenzo to help her father, putting him in a difficult position. Manny had agreed not to involve Enzo in their cases, but Sabina didn’t know that. Enzo couldn’t refuse her, so he took on Manny’s case, to the detriment of his own reputation.

Then Sabina and Enzo had to work out the situation between them. Did he still love her? Could he forgive her indiscretions with Roman? Did she still want to be engaged to him?

I’ve only read a couple of books from this era, and I don’t think any of them had to do with the mob. It was an interesting consideration—as Sabina’s conscience awakens, she becomes conflicted about what her father did. Yet she loved him as her papa, and didn’t know how to reconcile her feelings.

Unfortunately, this is the first book of Roseanna’s that I was a bit disappointed in. Usually her stories and characters grab me right off the bat, but that wasn’t the case this time. The writing was such that I thought this must be one of her earlier books, but it was published in 2022.

Some of the theology was a little wonky.

With this book dealing with a mob family, obviously they’d be involved in some gritty pastimes. I accepted that as part of the story. I didn’t mind that a couple of prostitutes were characters—prostitutes figure in a couple of Bible stories, as well. But there was one scene that went a little too far for my tastes, though nothing explicit was shown.

So, I have mixed feelings about this one. It’s still a good story overall, but I’d recommend discernment.

Review: When We Were Young and Brave

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When We Were Young and Brave

The day after Japan attacked Pearl Harbor, the Japanese invaded the Chefoo school for missionary children in what is now known as Yantai in northern China. They allowed the school to operate and keep to its schedule, though they rationed food and policed activities. Almost a year later, the Japanese took over the school buildings completely and sent the staff and students to an abandoned missionary outpost known as Temple Hill, keeping them under Japanese guard. In September 1943, the staff and student were transported to an interment camp known as Weihsien with 1,500 other people from various walks of life. They remained Weihsien until it was liberated by Americans in 1945.

Hudson Taylor, founder of the China Inland Mission, had founded the Chefoo school in 1881 for the children of CIM missionaries. A few children of other Europeans also attended the school.

I had read of the Chefoo school and its capture in various missionary biographies and in David Michell’s memoir of his time as a Chefoo student in A Boy’s War. So I was interested to learn that Hazel Gaynor wrote a fictional account of the school’s interment in When We Were Young and Brave.

Gaynor’s characters are fictional. She focuses mainly on a ten-year-old girl named Nancy, nicknamed Plum, and and two of her friends as well as one teacher, Elspeth Kent and her friend. The chapters switch back and forth between the point of view of Nancy and Elspeth, so we get both the adult’s and child’s view of events. One of Nancy’s friends, Joan, aka Mouse, gets one chapter late in the book.

The story begins with the everyday workings of the school with the Japanese occupying the surrounding area. The Chefoo school was fairly self-sufficient, so they didn’t fear the Japanese, though they disliked the tension of having them nearby.

Everything changed, however, when Japan declared war on Great Britain. Now everyone at Chefoo school was the enemy.

Thankfully, many students were away for Christmas break at the time of the Japanese occupation. Those at the school over the holidays were unable to be with their parents due to lack of safety to travel.

As the years wore on, the strain became harder to bear with lack of proper food and the increasing fear of the Japanese guards.

The school staff tried to keep everyone’s spirits up by maintaining classes and Girl Guides (similar to Girl Scouts in the USA). But they all faced various hardships.

The book opens and closes with the adult Nancy, thirty years after liberation, reflecting on her experiences.

The book is well-written. The characters are relatable and well-developed. As a reader, I felt the weight of what they were going through.

A few quotes stood out to me:

Our war wasn’t one of battles and bombs. Ours was a war of everyday struggles, of hope versus despair, of courage against fear, strength over frailty (p. 198).

In the most peculiar circumstances imaginable, their interment had insured that they were capable beyond their years (p. 243).

War and interment are part of their lives now, part of their story, part of who they are. . . . I actually think life is meant to have its share of difficultly and struggle. That’s when we find out who we really are, what we’re really made of, not when everything’s going along all jolly and straightforward and terribly nice. We come alive in the dramatic bits, don’t we; in moments that make us gasp and cry (p. 285).

But a few factors marred my enjoyment of the book.

First, Gaynor often refers to the children as “privileged.” Since most of them were missionary children, this was not a posh, expensive boarding school for the higher classes. There was probably some sense in which the children were more privileged than some of the Chinese nationals, who had been fighting Japan for a while already. But it wasn’t necessary to infuse the same sensibilities as one would have for a standard elite British boarding school.

Secondly, the school was established as a Christian school. According to David Michell, the school still provided “a truly Christian education for body, mind, and spirit” when he was there. But there is little mention of Christianity in Gaynor’s book. When Elspeth only took two books with her when they left Chefoo, she chose her Girl Guide Handbook and the Buddhist scriptures a Chinese servant had given her, not a Bible. She mentions struggling all her life to believe in God and says a budding sunflower gave her “more strength and hope that any prayer ever had” (p. 118). The teachers’ encouragement is the British stiff upper lip, “Keep calm and carry on” variety rather than anything of a spiritual nature.

Then, Elspeth feels that the children’s parents put their mission above their children by sending them away to school. That was not usually the case. Though teaching at home predates institutional learning, home schooling was not the industry then that it is now. Parents might have been able to teach their children at home on the mission field for their early years, but likely would not have had the material to do so as they got older. Plus, the children would not have had the credentials to go to college. Thankfully, these days, many mission boards work with parents to teach their children at home.

Additionally, some of the missionaries worked in remote areas with very few other Christians. Isobel Kuhn wrote that the tribe they worked with didn’t worship idols: they worshiped demons. When her son got old enough that she couldn’t keep him at her side all day, she feared what he would be exposed to as he interacted with people on the village. For many parents, sending their children away to school was for their protection.

Gaynor wrote that she drew from some of the internees’ own accounts at Weihsien Paintings and the Chefoo School Archives in London as well as other books. But all her characters were invented (except Olympic runner Eric Liddell, who was a missionary to China, and was interred at the camp. He died there of a brain tumor). Her characters and their interactions largely came from imagining what her own children might do in this situation, what she would have felt like as a parent at the time, and her grandmother’s war-time experiences. So I struggled a bit with not knowing was was real in the book and what came from the author’s imagination.

At some point, I set aside what I knew of the school and just read the book for what it was: a fictionalized account of people enduring and overcoming great, sustained hardships. I enjoyed it much more after that. But it spurred me to get David Michell’s book to reacquaint myself with the real story.

Review: A Month of Summer

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In Lisa Wingate’s novel, A Month of Summer, Rebecca Macklin lives in LA, has a legal practice with her husband, and runs her 9-year-old gymnast daughter to practices and meets.

Then Rebecca receives a devastating phone call. She has not seen her father in over thirty years. She was supposed to spend a month of every summer with him and his new family as part of the custody arrangement of her parents’ divorce when she was twelve. But she refused to go. Her father honored her wishes.

Her stepmother has written over the last couple of years that Rebecca’s father developed dementia and urged her to make peace before it was too late. But Rebecca ignored her. Why bother making contact with him now?

But a phone call from Dallas puts Rebecca in a tough spot. Her step-mother has had a stroke. Her developmentally disabled step-brother was roaming town alone, having gotten on a bus without being able to figure out how to find his way home. Her father was totally confused. The police found Rebecca’s name on a contact list. If she didn’t come to take care of her father and step-brother, Social Services was going to get involved.

Reluctantly, Rebecca makes plans to go. But on the day she leaves, she sees her husband at an outdoor cafe holding hands with one of his clients. Is this why he has been working late? Without time to confront him, she boards her flight, with all the problems of her life weighing her down.

But when she arrives in Dallas, things are worse than she imagined. A housekeeper who was supposed to keep things in order has disappeared. Dirty dishes and molded food are everywhere as is dirty laundry. Wet laundry has mildewed in the washer. And money is missing from her father’s accounts.

The point of view shifts back and forth from Rebecca and her step-mother, Hanna Beth. Hanna Beth is cognizant, but can’t express herself or control her movements. When she learns that Rebecca has come, now of all times, she wonders what will happen. Will Rebecca ship her father and step-brother off to institutions before Hanna Beth can recover enough to go back home?

As each woman painfully peels back layers of the last several years, they learn things aren’t always as they appear.

I saw one reviewer call this a light and easy read. I didn’t think so, myself. It was a good read, but felt very heavy sometimes, except for the knowledge (or at least the hope) that things would work out somehow in the end.

There’s a delightful cast of side characters in the book: a sweet older woman Rebecca meets on the flight who she runs into again later, a talkative older man in Hanna Beth’s nursing center, a stern German physical therapist, a sweet aide with two boys, a nurse from Ghana. I loved one teasing line from the nurse who was trying to get the older man back to his room: “Old rooster, he loud on the fence, quiet in the stew.”

This book is the first in Lisa’s Blue Sky Hill series about a neighborhood in Dallas. I had read the second book in the series, The Summer Kitchen, as well as the fourth, Dandelion Summer. But there were so many years between each read, I could not remember if any of these characters showed up in the later books. I probably would have caught more of the connections if I had read them in order and closer together, but each book does hold up well as a stand-alone.

Review: Read This First

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Gary Millar wrote Read This First: A Simple Guide to Getting the Most from the Bible to “help people who would like to read the Bible but don’t really know where to start or how to go about it” (p. 2, Kindle version). Whether one is a new Christian or has never really gotten into regular reading, Millar hopes you will “read this first and go back to the Bible with the skills and confidence to truly enjoy it (p. 3).

First, Gary deals with the question, “Why bother with the Bible?” and lists reasons people don’t.

But he says, “I’ve written this book to help you meet a person—a living, loving, being like no other—through the pages of a book like no other. . . He made us, he loves us, he knows us inside out, and he speaks to us. And he does that through the Bible. That’s why reading the Bible matters so much—because when we read it, we meet the one and only God ” ( p. 10).

Millar assures that “the Bible was written to be understood by ordinary people like us. It doesn’t need insider knowledge or a special code to make sense of it. It’s not written for experts and professionals. It’s written for people like you and me (pp. 17-18).

Millar then gives tips on how to read, to pick up what he calls the “vibe” of a given passage, to understand different genres within the Bible, to discern meaning, and to apply what we’ve learned.

Every chapter ends with a couple of examples of Scripture to work through using the skills detailed in that chapter.

The appendix, titled “What Is the Bible?” gives a little background such as the difference between the two testaments, how we got the chapter and verse references that weren’t in the original manuscripts, and more.

Gary writes in a warm and simple style, so this book would be accessible to almost anyone.

This would be an excellent resource for someone new to reading the Bible or to anyone who feels they need a refresher course in how to do so.

Review: The Story of the Trapp Family Singers

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Several weeks ago, we watched The von Trapp Family: A Life of Music, the story of the family from The Sound of Music, from the viewpoint of Agathe, the oldest daughter (Liesel from the film). There were quite a few differences between the two films, though the basic story line was the same. I remembered I had a book in my Kindle app about the family written by Maria, so I thought it was high time I got around to reading it.

I had wondered which came first: did the book inspire the movie, or was the movie made first and then the book written to “set the record straight.” The book was published in 1949, and a musical based on it began in 1959. The movie we all know came out in 1965.

Maria was training to be a nun when she was asked to tutor Captain von Trapp’s daughter, also named Maria, who had been ill. Eventually she began helping with the other six children as well.

The book doesn’t mention any animosity between Maria and the children at the beginning. There also didn’t seem to be any distance between the children and their father as the film suggests. Later Maria write in passing that they had their share of normal family squabbles.

The Captain fell in love with Maria over time. She had never given any thought to marriage, so she went back to the convent to ask what to do. She was told it was God’s will to marry the Captain. She loved the children like a mother, but it took her a while to love their father. They went on to have three more children together but also experienced several miscarriages due to a kidney condition of Maria’s.

The family loved to sing together in the evenings. Once while singing outdoors, a well-known soprano heard them and encouraged them to sing publicly, saying “You must not keep that for yourselves . . You have to share this with the people” (p. 121, Kindle version). The Captain was mortified at first, but eventually decided they wouldn’t be doing anything wrong. Then they were invited to sing on the radio, then someone heard them and wanted to sign them up for some concerts, and one thing led to another.

A bank failure led to the loss of most of the family’s cash. As the children took everything well and pitched in to help, Maria thought it lucky that they had lost the money. “How would we ever have found out what fine fellows the children are?” (p. 115). She was happy to find out that “we were not really rich, we just happened to have a lot of money. That’s why we can never be poor” (p. 115).

They took in boarders to supplement heir income, but eventually their singing hobby had to become their profession.

The Nazis invaded Austria, something Hitler had promised not to do. When the Chancellor announced on the radio that he was “yielding to force” and the next voice on the radio proclaimed Austria was dead and the Reich was in control, the Captain tearfully said, “Austria, you are not dead. You will live on in our hearts. This is only a sleep. We promise you to do all we can to help you wake up again” (p. 130).

The family found themselves unable to comply with several demands of the new regime. They knew that would not be tolerated for long, so they looked for a way to leave the country. Someone in America had invited them to come and give some concerts, loaning them the money to do so.

Their adjustments to American customs bewildered them but also provided a lot of humor. For instance, they put their shoes outside their hotel doors at night so they could be shined, like they always had. They were informed that not only would their shoes not be shined, but they might disappear. They were confused when a couple of them found they could get their shoes shined in the barber shop, of all places.

Maria applied logic to learning English: if the past tense of freeze was frozen, then it followed that the past tense of squeeze should be squozen and sneeze/snozen. If a drunkard was someone who drank too much, then a thunkard was someone who thought too much (p. 162). Unfortunately for them, English is not that logical.

Someone had taught her what to say in various instances–“If you want someone to leave the room quickly, just say . . . scram” (p. 168). When she and a Bishop caused a traffic jam, wanting him to go first, she told him to please scram. His entourage was “petrified,” but thankfully he laughed (p. 168).

They experienced adventures and trials along the way til they eventually were allowed to become US citizens and settled in Vermont, which they found to be much like Austria.

They had a penchant—or at least Maria did—for getting into ventures that were over their heads and having to figure things out as they went.

It was interesting and touching to read of the last years that were unmentioned in both films.

Some parts of the family’s story were more exciting than others—which I suppose could be said of anyone. It was a little disappointing that some parts of the movie weren’t true to life. I disagreed with much of the theology in the book. But overall, I enjoyed learning what happened to the real Trapp family.

The blurb of the book on Amazon says it contains pictures, and there’s even a copyright notification in the book for pictures—but, sadly, there are no pictures in the Kindle version I have except for the cover. However, I found several online.

This is a cute interchange between Julie Andrews, who played Maria in the film, and the real Maria:

Review: Dombey and Son

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Dombey and Son

Mr. Dombey of Charles Dickens’ Dombey and Son was originally the son of the establishment by that name. Now he’s the father, his only son having just been born. Already he has plans and dreams for when his son is old enough to go into the family shipping business with him.

The Dombeys had a girl six years before, “But what was a girl to Dombey and Son! In the capital of the House’s name and dignity, such a child was merely a piece of base coin that couldn’t be invested” (p. 8, Kindle version).

Mr. Dombey’s wife, however, weakens fast and dies before the baby, little Paul, is a day old.

A wet nurse is hired, and Paul grows, but he’s never very strong. He and Florence are sent to Brighton to be aided by the sea air. Paul does so well that he stays there for school, with Florence helping him with his studies.

But Paul dies at age six.

Mr. Dombey does not open his heart to grieve with Florence. He’s barely aware of her.

Some years later, on a vacation with a friend, Mr. Dombey meets a widowed Mrs. Edith Granger, who is beautiful but proud and cold—just his type. Her mother and his friend connive to get the two together. Eventually they marry.

But once again, Mr. Dombey is disappointed. He had thought his wife’s pride would be blended with his own and transferred to his reputation, standing, and business. But proud people do not usually blend their pride with others. Thus the Dombey establishment is set for conflict.

In one brief scene, we see the reason behind Edith’s demeanor. For all her coldness to everyone else, the new Mrs. Dombey loves Florence. Yet Mr. Dombey is jealous that Florence receives the attention and warmth he doesn’t, and he takes it out on her.

Aside from his dysfunctional household, Dombey has a conniving, obsequious assistant named Mr. James Carker. We know Mr. Carker is up to no good, despite his flattery, but it takes a while before we find just what he is planning.

As always, Dickens weaves together many subplots into his narrative.

A young boy named Walter Gay works for Dombey. His uncle runs a shop where he makes and sells shipping instruments. One day when Florence is separated from the children’s nurse and lost, she runs into Walter, who sees her safely home. Though Mr. Dombey appreciates the effort, he doesn’t like him. When he misunderstands an action of Walter’s, he sends him to Barbados. But the ship is not heard of again, and Walter’s uncle goes to look for him.

A creepy, avaricious elderly woman named Mrs. Brown finds Florence when she is lost and makes her change her fine clothes and shoes for rags so she could sell them. Later, Mrs. Brown’s daughter returns from prison nursing a hatred for Mr. Carker, who had some part in sending her there. These two appear at intervals through the book.

Mr. Toots is a kind-hearted but weak-minded fellow student at Paul’s school who loves Florence and also turns up at intervals.

Mr. Carker’s brother, John, was guilty of wrongdoing in the firm some years earlier, but is repentant, humbled, and reformed. James continually belittles and argues with him. Their sister, Harriet, went to help John in his trouble, causing James to cut off relations with her. A mysterious stranger shows up later to John and Harriet’s home to offer help when they need it.

Besides these, there are a number of colorful characters, some comic and some cruel.

I love how Dickens phrases some things:

Son lay tucked up warm in a little basket bedstead, carefully disposed on a low settee immediately in front of the fire and close to it, as if his constitution were analogous to that of a muffin, and it was essential to toast him brown while he was very new (page 7, Kindle version).

Time and his brother Care had set some marks, as on a tree that was to come down in good time—remorseless twins they are for striding through their human forests, notching as they go (p. 7).

. . . the nurse, a simpering piece of faded gentility (p. 8).

He was a slow, quiet-spoken, thoughtful old fellow, with eyes as red as if they had been small suns looking at you through a fog (p. 27).

Snails were constantly discovered holding on to the street doors, and other public places they were not expected to ornament, with the tenacity of cupping-glasses (p. 70).

It being part of Mrs. Pipchin’s system not to encourage a child’s mind to develop and expand itself like a young flower, but to open it by force like an oyster . . . (p. 71).

There was never a man who stood by a friend more staunchly than the Major, when in puffing him, he puffed himself (p. 185).

Sometimes she tried to think if there were any kind of knowledge that would bespeak his interest more readily than another. Always: at her books, her music, and her work: in her morning walks, and in her nightly prayers: she had her engrossing aim in view. Strange study for a child, to learn the road to a hard parent’s heart!  (p. 208).

Harriet complied and read—read the eternal book for all the weary and the heavy-laden; for all the wretched, fallen, and neglected of this earth—read the blessed history, in which the blind lame palsied beggar, the criminal, the woman stained with shame, the shunned of all our dainty clay, has each a portion, that no human pride, indifference, or sophistry, through all the ages that this world shall last, can take away, or by the thousandth atom of a grain reduce—read the ministry of Him who, through the round of human life, and all its hopes and griefs, from birth to death, from infancy to age, had sweet compassion for, and interest in, its every scene and stage, its every suffering and sorrow (pp. 520-521).

I think I can say the story is redemptive without giving away the ending. And though this is a sad story in many ways, Dickens sprinkles many choice comic moments throughout.

I wanted to read this book partly because I’ve purposed to read the Dickens books I’ve not read yet, and partly because this book played a significant part in The British Booksellers by Kristy Cambron, which I recently read. I wondered if there was some connection between the stories or whether it was included because it would have been popular at the time.

I listened to the audiobook superbly read by David Timson. His voice characterizations and inflections added so much to my enjoyment of the book. When I look for my next Dickens’ book, I am going to see if I can find one narrated by Timson. That may be soon, as this book reminded me how much I love Dickens.

Review: Mildred Budge in Cloverdale

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Mildred Budge in Cloverdale

Mildred Budge in Cloverdale by Daphne Simpkins is the first of several books about retired schoolteacher Mildred Budge. Mildred retired a little on the early side, but we’re not told why until a few chapters in.

Mildred is finding retired life anything but peaceful. Her best friend, Fran, has set them up in booth for the Emporium to sell off some of their used furniture. A young couple across the street wants her help with their son, who doesn’t talk. And Sam at church wants her to host a young couple coming for the missionary conference.

Mildred is somewhat set in her ways, but is pressured to take the young couple in. She finds herself actually enjoying them and joins in with some of their activities.

But trouble comes when suspicious “serial widow” Liz makes moves towards Fran’s boyfriend and when Mildred is betrayed by someone she tried to help.

I liked that Mildred loosened up a bit over the course of the book and had a heart to help people.

But I’m sorry to say I did not care for this book very much. The author’s writing and style of humor didn’t gel with me. Plus there were many statements about what “church ladies” do and think (as if they all think and do the same) that rubbed me the wrong way–although those statements may have been meant as humorous. Also, a lot of lines of dialogue sounded stilted because of several paragraphs of extraneous information between each speaker’s lines.

Some of the spiritual content was a little wonky, like this: “Salvation is an old-timey word that simply means you don’t have to live out this life alone. You are not created to live like that” (p. 55, Kindle version). This was from a preacher at a funeral service. Salvation isn’t that old-timey a word, and it’s much more than not living alone. Later, when a young woman says she might be interested in having Jesus in her life, Mildred “felt an urgency” to ask her just to say His name. But the conversation (and any explanation) never went further. In the excerpt from the next book at the end, one man says a pastoral candidate at the church “preached grace, which means he wasn’t willing to preach Jesus front and center”—which doesn’t make sense.

I found very few negative reviews on Amazon or Goodreads for this book, so lots of other people liked it. I got it when Paula mentioned enjoying it. At that time, it was free for both the Kindle and Audible versions, so I got both. However, the Audible version was narrated by a “Virtual Voice,” which was not very good. It sounded human rather than robotic and had a bit of conversational flow to it, but it did not do inflections well and stumbled over words like “Tsk.”

Have you read Mildred Budge books? Have you ever disliked a book other people loved?

Review: Everything Sad Is Untrue

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Everything Sad Is Untrue (A True Story) by Daniel Nayeri is, on one level, a story about a boy who came to America as a refugee from Iran. Besides encountering a different language, different ways of doing things, even different kinds of toilets, Daniel has to deal with losses.

First he lost his name, Khosrou, because no one could pronounce it. He lost the presence of his father, who stayed behind in Iran. He lost his language and culture. He lost his position in society: his mother had been a doctor in Iran but worked cutting cardboard in a company that made business cards in the US. And he lost his connection with his extended family, his memories of them in fragments. “A patchwork memory is the shame of a refugee” is something he says often.

That was when I realized I had to write down the memories and myths and the legends—and even the phrases and jokes. Or I’d lose everything. Maybe even the recipes (p. 235, Kindle version).

Another layer of the story is the sad human tendency not only not to welcome anyone “different,” but to actively persecute them.

Yet another major facet is Daniel’s mother’s conversion to Christianity and the fatwa that was placed on her head, which led to her fleeing Iran with her two children. They ended up in a refugee camp in Italy for three years before finally making it to the US.

Sima, my mom, read about him and became a Christian too. Not just a regular one, who keeps it in their pocket. She fell in love. She wanted everybody to have what she had, to be free, to realize that in other religions you have rules and codes and obligations to follow to earn good things, but all you had to do with Jesus was believe he was the one who died for you (p. 195).

How can you explain why you believe anything? So I just say what my mom says when people ask her. She looks them in the eye with the begging hope that they’ll hear her and she says, “Because it’s true.” Why else would she believe it? It’s true and it’s more valuable than seven million dollars in gold coins, and thousands of acres of Persian countryside, and ten years of education to get a medical degree, and all your family, and a home, and the best cream puffs of Jolfa, and even maybe your life. My mom wouldn’t have made the trade otherwise (p. 196).

If you believe it’s true, that there is a God and He wants you to believe in Him and He sent His Son to die for you—then it has to take over your life. It has to be worth more than everything else, because heaven’s waiting on the other side. That or Sima is insane (pp. 196-197).

Daniel tells his story from his viewpoint as a twelve-year-old boy in the style of Scheherazade, the storyteller in One Thousand and One Nights. Sometimes he addresses the reader directly. Sometimes he addresses his teacher as if what he is writing is for an assignment.

If you listen, I’ll tell you a story. We can know and be known to each other, and then we’re not enemies anymore (p. 1).

The point of the Nights is that if you spend time with each other—if we really listen in the parlors of our minds and look at each other as we were meant to be seen—then we would fall in love. We would marvel at how beautifully we were made. We would never think to be villain kings, and we would never kill each other. Just the opposite. The stories aren’t the thing. The thing is the story of the story. The spending of the time. The falling in love. All the good stuff is between and around the things that happen (p. 299).

Being a Persian/Eastern tale, it isn’t told in a way we’re used to.

Mrs. Miller says I have “lost the plot,” and am now just making lists of things that happened to fill space. But I replied that she is beholden to a Western mode of storytelling that I do not accept and that the 1,001 Nights are basically Scheherazade stalling for time, so I don’t see the difference. She laughed when I said this (p. 299).

I had heard marvelous things about the book, but was confused when I started reading it. It jumps from a scene at school to a story about Daniel’s ancestors to a story about his mother or something that happened on their journey here. At first I thought this was because the narrator is a twelve-year-old boy. Then I realized it was a different style. I don’t often do this with fiction, but when I finished the book, I immediately started rereading it. I understood it much better the second time–I felt I had all the pieces, so I wasn’t confused. Plus, I just wasn’t ready to let go of the book yet.

I hadn’t paid much attention to the cover until another reviewer mentioned the tornado (which is in the book) is swirling around various things Nayeri mentions throughout his story. Plus, his style of storytelling is cyclical, like the tornado. That helped things click into place for me, plus it made me think the cover designer was a genius.

The title of the book comes from a scene in The Lord of the Rings when Samwise Gamgee “sees Gandalf come back and it’s like seeing his grandpa return from the land of death and memories.” “And Sam thinks maybe all the sad parts of the adventure will come untrue, now that this one has. And the beautiful part is that they do” (p. 232).

Though the story stops at a sad place, it seems a turning point towards hope.

Daniel makes his mother the heroine of story, the one who always had hope, who was unstoppable. “What you believe about the future will change how you live in the present” (p. 347).

The legend of my mom is that she can’t be stopped. Not when you hit her. Not when a whole country full of goons puts her in a cage. Not even if you make her poor and try to kill her slowly in the little-by-little poison of sadness. And the legend is true. I think because she’s fixed her eyes on something beyond the rivers of blood, to a beautiful place on the other side (p. 213).

Once I got into the book, I totally loved it. Well—almost totally. There were a lot of poop stories—maybe because the narrator is a twelve-year-old boy. But there were such poignant moments as well as many funny ones. I couldn’t help but admire and connect with Daniel’s mother. But my eyes were also opened to what refugees experience and to Persian culture.

Some of my other favorite quotes from the book:

I am ugly and I speak funny. I am poor. My clothes are used and my food smells bad. I pick my nose. I don’t know the jokes and stories you like, or the rules to the games. I don’t know what anybody wants from me. But like you, I was made carefully, by a God who loved what He saw. Like you, I want a friend (p. 2).

To lose something you never had can be just as painful—because it is the hope of having it that you lose (p. 51).

The lesson here is that people have scales in their heads and they measure other people for their value and ugly refugee boys are near the bottom and pretty blond girls are at the top. This is not a happy lesson. But you either get the truth, or you get good news—you don’t often get both (p. 80).

Does writing poetry make you brave? It is a good question to ask. I think making anything is a brave thing to do. Not like fighting brave, obviously. But a kind that looks at a horrible situation and doesn’t crumble. Making anything assumes there’s a world worth making it for . . . making something is a hopeful thing to do. And being hopeful in a world of pain is either brave or crazy (p. 122).

My mom comes home exhausted every night. I have never seen her not exhausted. And also, I have never seen her not working (p. 154).

Love is empty without justice. Justice is cruel without love (p. 217).

I found this video of the author and his mother making cream puffs, which I thought was really sweet. I had almost finished my second reading of the book when I saw this, and it was neat to actually see Daniel and his mother

I loved what Kathryn Butler said in her review of this book: “He weaves fragments of myth and personal history into his story, with threads intricately looping like the magnificent Persian rugs he describes (some of them studded with jewels, as can also be said of his prose).”

I’m sure this will be one of my favorite books of the year . . . and of all time.

Review: Lenten Lands: My Childhood with Joy Davidman and C. S. Lewis

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Douglas Gresham was the son of Joy Davidman Gresham, who married C. S. Lewis when Douglas was eleven years old. In 1973, ten years after Lewis’s death, Gresham wrote Lenten Lands: My Childhood with Joy Davidman and C. S. Lewis, partly because he was asked to, partly to correct some misconceptions concerning C. S. Lewis. Yet Lenten Lands is his own biography, not Lewis’s.

The title of the book comes from a poem that Lewis had originally written for a friend, but then adapted to be put on Joy’s tombstone:

Here the whole world (stars, water, air,
And field, and forest, as they were
Reflected in a single mind)
Like cast off clothes was left behind
In ashes, yet with hopes that she,
Re-born from holy poverty,
In lenten lands, hereafter may
Resume them on her Easter Day.

Joy married fellow writer William Gresham in 1942. They had two sons, David and Douglas. But their marriage was troubled. They had been atheists, but searched other religions. Joy was drawn to the writings of C. S. Lewis as he told of his own journey from atheism to Christianity. She began writing to Lewis and eventually visited him in England.

When she returned home, she found that her husband was having an affair with the cousin she had left to keep house for her husband and sons while she was away. She tried to reconcile the marriage, but it was too late. Joy took her two sons and moved to England.

Joy and Lewis and Lewis’s brother, Warnie (Warren) enjoyed a strong, intellectual friendship. Joy and Lewis influenced each other’s writing. When Joy’s visa was not renewed in 1956, Lewis married her in a civil ceremony.

But before long, the couple grew to love each other as more than friends and sought a Christian marriage, difficult since the church of England did not condone Joy’s divorce. But they found someone who would perform the ceremony.

Joy developed bone cancer but went into remission. The cancer came back a few years later, and Joy died in 1960. C. S. Lewis wrote A Grief Observed under a pseudonym. He had not been well himself, and died three years after Joy.

Douglas experienced all these things as a child: he was just eighteen when Lewis passed. He kept in touch with Warnie for some years, but Warnie’s grief and alcoholism were too much for Douglas to bear. He later regretted that he was not more attuned to Warnie’s grief and more of a help to him.

Douglas then tells of his various jobs, marriage, and children.

In his afterword, written in 2003, thirty years after the original publication of the book, he tells how he “committed [his] life to Christ and His service.” He had “always believed in God and in Jesus Christ; my problem was not one of belief, but one of arrogance and pride. I did not want to submit my life to any authority other than my own and it took me a long time to realize that I am simply not qualified to run it myself.” At that time he “was working more and more for the C. S. Lewis Literary Estate.” His Wikipedia page says he “hosted Focus on the Family Radio Theatre’s adaptations of his stepfather’s most famous works, and he was named co-producer for the series of theatrical films adaptations of The Chronicles of Narnia” and is now a “stage and voice-over actor, biographer, film producer, and executive record producer.”

Not much is said of his brother, David, in the book. Douglas’s Wikipedia page says David returned to Judaism and was later diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic.

My heart went out to Douglas, having experienced so much loss at heartache at such a young age. His young adult years were somewhat tumultuous. A good talking to by the woman who would become his wife helped set him on the right course.

One of my favorite moments in the book was when Douglas actually met Jack. He had regarded him as “a cross between Sir Galahad and Merlin the Wise (p. 27), “on speaking terms with King Peter, with the Great Lion, Aslan himself” (p. 55). But Jack was “a slightly stooped, round-shouldered, balding gentleman whose full smiling mouth revealed long, prominent teeth, yellowed like those of some large rodent, by tobacco staining” (p. 55). “Well, so much for imagery,” Douglas concluded. But he also noticed “His florid and rather large face was lit as if from within with the warmth of his interest and his welcome. I never knew a man whose face was more expressive of the vitality of his person” (p. 55).

Another favorite part was when Douglas said “When I was home from school, the dinner table of The Kilns was the scene of my real education. Jack and Warnie were both brilliant at sustaining a conversation at any one of a dozen different levels and on almost any topic, and I learnt more sitting and conversing over meals than I ever learnt at school (p. 81). I imagine so!

I appreciated what was said about the interaction between Joy and a friend named Jean: “Though they did not always agree upon matters of religion, politics, or taste, they could argue for hours and finally simply agree to disagree, without the dissent having the slightest adverse effect on their friendship” (p. 92).

I became interested in this book after reading a fictional account of the relationship between Joy and Lewis, Becoming Mrs. Lewis by Patti Callahan (linked to my review). Since much of what the author wrote (like letters between the two) was made up, I wanted to read the account from one who was actually there at the time. It’s taken me a few years to get to it, but I am glad I finally did.