Prayers of Thanks

The road to Tuxedo, North Carolina


Everything we do that is sensual and alive and amazing is a prayer of thanks to God, I think. Sarah-Katherine Lewis

I spent my first summer at Greystone washing dishes and sleeping on the front porch of the worst cabin at camp. But the second summer, I cooked. Or more precisely, I chopped. I still slept on the porch, though. Mountain summers are nothing like the sauna-summers in the Jones Valley. Here, the acrid haze of the city gets trapped by the mountain and it's hard to take a good breath sometimes.

I spent a lifetime on the porch of the dining hall.

I saw the inside of vegetables all day--the hidden world in the cavity of a cantelope, the labyrynth of life in the seeds of a bell pepper, the pregnant tomato and the gauzy flesh of strawberries. On my breaks, I swam in Lake Summit and skied with my friend, Graham. (Wonder what happened to him? My FarmHouse friend, Troy Rhone, told me he married a beautiful girl.) I ate well, I slept well, I played hard. In short, I lived.

Here's a cross on the Pavillion looking out over Lake Edith.

Romans speaks about how humans shut God out of their thoughts so that they won't have to change the way they live in light of his truth. Paul says that if you do that long enough, you'll reject truth and finally, you'll start calling lies the truth and encouraging others to do so as well. Rome was a lot like the U.S.

The sad thing is that the lifestyle folks try to preserve isn't all that great. Trust me. I know.

I remember sitting on the dock at Lake Summit and watching the tiny drips of water fall off the fringes of my towel and thinking "These little drops are like every day I spend here. They're golden and soon, they'll be gone." (Pretty poetic for a teenager, huh?)


The Dining Hall.

For me, Greystone was a chance to see the ordinary as art and experience things as mundane as mushrooms in a new way (and really, for the first time.) The mundane is all we have. I expose my life to God and let him make the changes. He shows me how to live well. The mundane tasks of life done well are the pinnacle of life's experiment. The ordinary is all, and it's just enough.

Grestone the green.

Cooking Out at Chez Smiff

We cooked out with our friends Manley and Rebekka last night and had a great time. We love those guys. David and Rebekka didn't make this picture for some reason! A lot of my hair fell out when I was sick last year. It's growing in curly and red. Being me, I take this as a sign. Of what though? (BTW, I'm the one sitting down, not the red-head with the extra pair of legs.)
We had ribeye steaks,grilled asparagus, roasted new potatoes, fried green tomatoes and Elberta peach ice cream. (And lots of wine.) The food was nice, the company was better.

Hatching!

The eggs hatched sometime during the night.




You can't see the babies, but the empty eggshells are visible in this photo.





Soon, the babies started to flop around and peek out from under their mother.




They are incredibly ugly.

Our Basic Incompatability

David wakes up early to see how his bonds are doing (he's like a bond farmer.) Sometimes, when he gets home, he's really sleepy. And that's ususally when I feel wide awake.


I like to take pictures of my wide-awakedness.



Sometimes, I take pictures of David's sleepiness. He doesn't ususally get mad.





I think he's cute.

Millions of Peaches...Peaches for me!

One of the best things about living in Alabama is being able to eat Chilton County peaches right off the trees.




It hasn't rained much in Alabama this summer, but it's still green in the orchard.



These are Elberta peaches from the Culp family orchard in Jemison.




Elbertas are larger and easier to eat than many early-season Alabama peaches. They are my second-favorite. My first favorite peach is the General Lee peach. General Lees have white flesh (big surprise there) and are very sweet. They are so hard to find that most people have never eaten a General Lee peach. I am a lucky girl. If I have a daughter I will call her "General Lee Peach Smith."




My mom has never eaten a General Lee.




She doesn't care.




I wish I lived in a peach tree.

Shucked Like Corn

When I first came here, I was drugged into a stupor by idealism. Everything was shiny and new. Everything was good and unaffected. The sugarplums dancing in my head were shaped like community involvement, change in Southside, spiritual growth and connectedness. Life was good. I was happy. Now, after having been here for three years and change, the finish is worn off. I see the unadulterated dysfunction of the people around me. I see community fail. I feel alone and far from home. I see the lie of Us-Them mentality in its festered fruition and I am sad. I am discouraged. I feel withered and small. As it turns out, strip off the pretty and they are all just as sinful as me.

The death of illusion is painful and ugly. I don't want to endure it. I want to escape to dream my dreams somewhere else. I want to go home. I want to find something more than depravity wrong with this place and escape like Peter Rabbit under McGregor's fence. But what are these illusions but idols? What is this reliance on men and women but a fetter from which to be freed? Christ, in His mercy, will have our illusions stripped, our idols burned and our faith in other folk obliterated. We are like full-grown babies sleeping comfortably in the dark under warm blankets only to have the lights turned on and the blankets snatched away. "Wake up, Sinner, and Christ will shine on you." And it hurts.

At this moment, when Christ would lead me to a new level of trusting Him and leaning not on anything else, my old Evil Friend, Cynicism, creeps up and seeks to devour. "Everything is tainted," he says. "Everything is a lie and you are the ultimate mark." For me, the Old Fool, it's easy to be angry with myself for ever being dumb enough to hope so much. It is tempting to give in to his lie. After all, isn't this Cynicism protection against the pain? Yes, perhaps, but more than that Cynicism would keep me from the victory of the mortification of my flesh. And that is, painful as it is, our greatest good.

Oh, how my hopes have been abused! But I have always been comforted by the truth that in Christ is no disappointment, no darkness, no hoping for what will never be. I've been let down more than most, but never, never by my Jesus. A small spark of Hope ignites the darkness. A small flame of joy illuminates my path. Hope has come in the night to whirl me around with my eyes closed. Hope has come in Christ's skin to remind me who the hero really is. My mind's eye is borne up to the rare air of heaven and I see the seminary degrees, the struggle for power, the divisiveness of here, burn in the pure flame of a holy word from a Holy God.

Oh man, I have no faith in you. Oh Cynicism, I know you speak a lie. Oh Jesus, it is you who will not disappoint. Amen and come, Lord Jesus, to strip the comforts that would keep me from you.

Suckity Suck Suck Suck!

Wonder if this happens in Vestavia?

Be careful, Gretel! I see a bee!

This weekend, David's mom gave me these little Hummel children to hang on the wall. They're really old. I like them a great deal, but I'm not sure why. It probably has something to do with their little fat faces, mouths ajar in horror at the prospect of assault by the dumbly old bumble bee. Bumble bees are too fat to be aggressive. They're just happy they can fly.

When we first got married,David's mom didn't like me very much. Truth be told, she didn't know me very well and was probably skeptical about my intentions. I think she likes me now, and I like her now, too. She's got a lot of good qualities. (The least of which not being that she lets me float around in her swimming pool in a big blue chair like a princess.)

I'm grateful for the progress we've made.



And on another note...my mom gave me this for our anniversiary. It's our wedding invitation with flowers painted on it. I love it.


Also, Corduroy Dog doesn't like to be waked up by the camera flash, but I think she is very cute.

The Pidgeon or the Egg?

This morning, our little dove must have been frightened off of her nest. (Or else, I witnessed the changing of the guard between mama bird and papa bird.) She came back a few minutes later, though.

Moths and Doves & Doggies in Bed

This is a tenacious little dove who has insisted on living and raising a family on our windowsil. This is her second brood this summer. Unfortunately, something ate her first two babies.







This is an orange moth who has been hanging around on our back porch today. I suspect his arrival signals something ominous, but I'm probably just being paranoid. I wonder what his caterpillar looked like.










This is what happens when David gets in the shower in the morning. Heh Heh.

Eerie Whistler

We Smiths have a "family whistle." It keeps us from having to yell at each other in public. Last night, I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth and I kept hearing David whistling. It wasn't the family whistle, it was a disjointed little tune.


Steve Bingham, Dusty Lens


Now that I think about it, it sounded a lot like my grandpa who used to whistle like that as he worked in his garden.

When I came out of the bathroom, David said "What was going on in there? I kept hearing you whistle."

It freaked me out, to be honest.

Mahmudiyah: Mei Lei redivivus

Lt. William Calley circa 1970

I don't pretend to be a millitary historian, but I did meet William Calley at a jewelry store in Columbus Georgia one weekend after an Auburn ROTC military ball held at Fort Benning. He works there. He's not a big fan of people coming in just to look at him.

The recent talk of the "Mahmudiyah Incident" as it has come to be known coupled with my personal relationship with Lt. Calley has started me wondering. What if Mahmudiyah is this war's Mei Lei Massacre? And if so, what does that mean?

I've long wondered if Mei Lei was a sign that the war in Vietnam was over. Not won, but over. Now, I'm wondering if the war in Iraq is over. Not won, but over. Maybe. I've never really been against the war, but now I wonder if it is time for our troops to come home.

Steven D. Green circa 2006

Mostly, both of these stories make me sad, because of the incidents themselves and for the tarnish I fear they place upon the reputation of our worthy soldiers.

Evil's Unknowing Push Toward Christ & Odd Nerdrum Certainly Is

[The Christian method]is not, 'Set about imitating Christ, adopt His moral ethical teaching, and try to put it into practice'. It is not, 'Get away and become a monk or a hermit'. But just where you are in the midst of the world, with evil and sin rampant round and about you, and everybody and everything doing all they can to discourage you and to drag you down, just as and where you are, 'Be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might. Take unto you the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand the wiles of the devil.' It is not retreat, it is not escape, it is not attempting something that is impossible. No, it is this supernatural, miraculous Gospel that enables us to be 'more than conquerors' over everything that is set against us.D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones

Return of the Sun Odd Nerdrum, 1986

Yesterday, David stopped in medias res and said "Do you think we're under attack?" It was a weird question knowing him whose philosophy has always been that the flesh causes enough trouble in and of itself without any help from Evil. I thought about it, though, and I tend to think we are.

It seems that everyone we know (or at least many of the people we know) have experienced great loss or upset over the past few months. Our hearts are heavy as we consider all the suffering going on in our little church. And what are we to make of this? For the small Smith family, it is making us take to prayer with renewed vigor. We feel a compulsion to run to Christ like little chicks seeking shelter under the pinions of their mother as the hawk circles overhead. We know that no trial comes to us except that it has first come through Christ. We are encouraged to think that he uses these trials to bring us to himself, not to cut off our hope.

I love the hope exuded by Lloyd-Jones in this quote, but it makes me wonder what defense we have against Evil if we do not run to Christ, run to prayer and to scripture reading and abandon the faith we have in our own pitiful logic. Can't Evil warp and twist our own thoughts to work us woe? I think it can and does. Oh, without Christ revealed to us in Scripture daily, we have no hope. We respond to him in prayer and grow stronger. A friend of mine recently confessed that he doesn't care about the Scriptures and doesn't read them. I wonder how he avoids being overcome with darkness. I know that I could not. I know that I do not. And this drives me Home.

Dawn Odd Nerdrum, 1990

Do you remember a time when you arrived at the absolute end of yourself? I do. It's a memory that sticks with me even as it fades with the passing years. I remember being absolutely poured out and empty before God like a sad little lonely little wrinkled balloon. I was totally without defense. My logic, my status, my physical strength had abandoned me. I know there is no strength apart from Him. I know it and my prayer is that I would not forget how desperate a person I really am. So often, suffering answers that prayer, but I know that if I am compelled by suffering to seek Him, he really is at work in me.

An Evening in July

Southside goes crazy for the Fourth of July. We divided our holiday between the parties of two of our friends. We drank Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer and cheered for the fireworks exploding over Red Mountain. I have the strange feeling that I'm at the end of an era in my life, but I'm not sure what that means.

I heard God Bless America with new ears this summer. It's a beautiful song. I sing it as a prayer.

God Bless America,
Land that I love.
Stand beside her and guide her,
through the night with a light from above.

From the mountains,
to the prairie
to the oceans, white with foam,
God bless America,
My Home Sweet Home.

O, to be innocent!

Sometimes its hard to be a woman, Giving all your love to just one man.


As you've no-doubt heard, Richard "Tricky Dick-ito" Scrushy was convicted on all 6 counts of bribery yesterday. Of course, he's planning to appeal. Old Dicky isn't very interesting to me. He's a dime-a-dozen corporate criminal. I mean, really, who hasn't been convicted of doing something similar over the past few years? Enron, anyone? I know, I know, Dicky was acquitted of those crimes. Yeah. He's totally innocent, I'm sure.


You'll have bad times, And he'll have good times,Doing things that you don't understand.



Actually, I think the only person on the planet who doesn't think Dicky is guilty is his wife, Leslie. If you watch their early-morning television show Viewpoint, you can tell that Leslie really does "Stand By Her Man." She looks at him with the doe-eyed admiration of the high school cheerleader to the quarterback (or, to the captain of the debate team in this case). I can imagine their dinner-time conversation: "Now, Leslie, do you really think I am capable of such crimes? Don't I go with you to church every Sunday? Am I not Bishop Lowe's favorite church member?"


But if you love him you'll forgive him, Even though he's hard to understand


And Leslie, who trusts this man and doesn't assume that Pastor Lowe's affections come with a price, retreats to the hot tub in acquiescecence. There she sits for hours, scratching her head trying to put two and two together to make five. "I just don't understand," she admits to herself. And I believe her.

I used to look at Leslie and wonder how she could lie so flawlessly and still appear on television talking about Jesus and the guidance of the Holy Spirit with such innocent sincerity. Finally, it occurred to me: Leslie really does believe him. She believes him. He's lied to her, too and she's just one more of his victims. Honestly, (dare I say it?) I wonder if Leslie isn't all that bright.


And if you love him,Oh be proud of him,'Cause after all he's just a man


Contrast Leslie to Linda Lay who has drawn suspicion of insider trading. Linda, the Barbie of the Ken Lay Foundation, at least had a clue. She even turned on the water-works for a national television audience when she claimed that she and Ken were trying hard to save the Mattel Townhouse from forclosure. Boo hoo! As slimy as she is, I actually can muster a modicum of respect for Linda Lay, albeit the kind of respect I have for Hillary Clinton, that is, the kind of respect most akin to the kind I'd have for two-headed goldfish.


But Leslie? It makes me sad to see her holding Richard's hand like an escape handle on a boat bound for the bottom of the ocean and smiling rapturously as she strides up the courthouse steps. I saw her do it when she was pregnant. I saw her do it days after having given birth. She's exhibited the hard-core commitment of a woman who's in it for love.

I ache for the way she's being used and misused. Of course, there's a payoff. She, too, enjoys the gain, however ill-gotten, of the fallen HeathSouth empire. The thing that unsettles me, is the gnawing suspicion that she'd love him anyway. Her vounerability, her innocence, her total lack of guile, makes me want somehow to protect her and keep her from the imminent day when she looks around and says to herself "That son-of-a-bitch." Innocence lost is scary for everyone and Hell hath no fury like Leslie with the light on.

That is, unless the person in the dark is me.

Stand by your man,And tell the world you love him,Keep giving all the love you can,Stand by your man,Stand by your man

Ned Flanders: The best example of a Christian?

Here's an article about The Simpson's Ned Flanders and the example he sets for the American Evangelical.

I think the writer has missed the idea that Ned is a joke.

Edward Hopper

Chop Suey
She is telling her friend a secret or sharing a problem that she can't solve alone. Maybe she's pregnant by her priest.
Cape Cod Evening
She doesn't know how to tell him that she wants a divorce.

New York Movie Theater
She can't wait for her shift to be over so that she can meet her Puerto Rican boyfriend at a coffee shop in East Harlem.

Life, Love, Legacy and a wee bit o' schoolin'

One of the major themes of the sexual integrity program I've been studying is "Life, Love & Legacy." The basic idea is to embrace life (by caring for your body, soul and spirit), embrace love (by bulding a strong marriage and a strong family and by not polluting those things with artificial birth control methods), and to build a legacy for the family you leave behind.

Many of these ideas are based on the teachings of John Paul II loosely referred to as "The Theology of the Body." Someday, I hope to spend some time really delving into those teachings.

I'm trying to care for my body and I'm making some progress. I'm trying to embrace love and I'm making some progress. What I'm most excited about, though, is the opportunity I have to build a legacy by working to establish a classical school in Birmingham.

I spent the last week in Cincinnati at the Association of Classical and Christian Schools conference and I had the opportunity to learn more about classical education. It was exciting. It was terrifying.

Find Your Bliss

Freaky Friday

This Friday, the planets aligned to bring me three of the strangest experiences I've ever had.

The first one happened in the parking lot of the Publix at the Vestavia City Center. I pulled into a parking space next to a woman about my age who was loading her groceries into the driver's-side door instead of the trunk. She kind of had to scoot out of the way for me to pull into the space. When I got out of the car, I said "I'm sorry, I didn't meant to make that difficult for you!" She said "IT'S ALL RIGHT." Her reply was a little curt, but I didn't really give it any more thought. When I got back to the car, there was a note on the windsheild that said "I'm sorry I was short with you. (Bad day...) It was very nice of you to apologize. Thank you." I thought that odd. I suspect that she goes to my church and recognized me. If you're reading this, Mystery Girl, it's all good.

The second thing happened when Amy & I were swimming. A strange, old, very tan man came to the pool and said "This water feels so good I'd like to go skinny dipping. Do you mind?"

The third thing happened when a girl at the symphony asked me to pour water on her. "No seriously," she said about five times. I declined.

This, by the way, is a photograph of our fair city, or more specifically, a sunset.

Swimming Pool Owners, Beware

Corduroy Dog goes in the drink.



I wish I was a fish a swimmin in the water!

From One Lewis to Another Lewis Who Hopes to Have Another Lewis Someday

This is my dad. This photograph came from Briarwood's website. My dad works at Briarwood. He's smiling, but I bet he's thinking "Please get this over with as soon as possible."

Some people (both men and women) are born with Warrior Spirits. My dad has a Warrior Spirit. I think it probably came in handy when he was a United States Marine, but I think God probably gave it to him for such a time as this. Lately, I've been seeing how far we have drifted as a church, as a culture, as a nation and a planet from God's design for us. There's so much sin in our world that Evil has been able to set up camp everywhere. This isn't a new phenomenon, but it's the first time that I've really contemplated it. In a world of Evil, we need some Warrior Spirits. A Warrior Spirit doesn't necesarily go around whacking people's heads off anymore. These days, I think that a Warrior Spirit is a leader who can rally us to grasp truth and find it worthy of our decisive action. That's the kind of Warrior Spirit my dad is. When I talk to him, I find myself seeing black and white in a world of gray. He makes me see the truth I knew was there all along.

I need that. I love my dad. I need a good dose of the truth right now because so much around me is hollow and false and wrong. I'd like to fight against that, even in my own world, but I can't even find my sword right now. I'm not sure how to go about it. My dad didn't know either, but he told me that Someone does and I know that Someone will tell me soon.

I miss Reagan

It might be cheesy, but I really miss Ronald Reagan. We could use some confident leadership right about now.

Holding Fast for the End of the World

Hold Fast
This is the badge of the Clan Lewis of MacLeod. It reminds me to Hold Fast to what I know is true about God, myself, and my place in the world. It reminds me to Hold Fast to what I value and what I believe in. It admonishes me that no matter how marred our world is because of sin, God's truth is still the only way up and out of a dark place. Hold Fast.

I often have visions of the end of the world. Prophetic, they probably aren't, but they confirm what I know is true about God and his love for the diversity he has created in men and women all over the world. I see all the members of the Clan Lewis who love him assembled in yellow tartans singing to Mo Ghile Mear (our Hero) who is Jesus finally come to redeem the world from sin. When the world is over, there will be a sea of yellow tartan stretching from Alabama to the top of Jacob's ladder representing all the MacLeods who have gone before me. I think there are members of the Clan waiting for me in Heaven and when I arrive, they will welcome me warmly. "Well done my Good and Faithful Servant." I know that it's His faithfulness that bought my soul and paid the price for my sin.

Until then, I Hold Fast with the strength of Jesus who is the Christ.

Jesus, Mary & Joseph! Race, Babies, Crisis & Me

In their quest to be anti-Republican and anti-South, some folks I know have decided that abortion may not be so wrong after all. They are cowards. That's all. That's a subject that's really been rolling around in my head lately. There's a huge "ANTI!" philosophy emerging at my church these days. Folks hate their past so much that they'll become pro-ANYTHING in order to be Anti-THAT. I remember when we used to just be simple. It used to just be about the Gospel to me. Now, I've got to clean out all the ANTI! cobwebs before I can bring my head to church. I wish I could just go to church without thinking about all the other duck-droppings that go along with it. (I'm trying not to use bad words and it makes me say funny things sometimes.)

I have a new friend who is black. She says "black" she does not say "African-American." I talked to her about the possibility of adopting a black or bi-racial baby yesterday. I told her that I was afraid that a black child raised by a white family would have a hard time understanding all the good things about the black culture. I told her that the white family would have to seek out black role models for their black child. I said that it might be necessary for that family to join a black church. She said that there are many black babies in the world that need good homes and that it didn't matter who adopted them as long as they would love them. Last night, I stayed awake worrying that I said something offensive. I hope I didn't, but I'm not sure. I'm terrified of being a racist. I'm afraid of even talking about race. I think most white Southerners feel that way, too.

Confusion and the Devil

It's been said, albeit by people who think they know me a lot better than they do, that I'm afraid of confrontation. I've recently realized that it isn't confrontation I shy away from, it's the damage I do to another person during that confrontation. Confrontation is promoting your version of the truth above another's version of the truth. Of course, there is one Truth and you shouldn't bother confronting if you aren't certain yours is it.

Incidentally and in the form of an aside, the culture of our little church is saturated with incorrect ideas about confrontation and the "biblical" way in which it is to be carried out. If you are offended, confront!. There doesn't seem to be an accepted way of resolving hurt feelings and conflict other than to confront! with impunity and with haste. This reminds me of the creatures in Swift's Gulliver's Travels who carry inflated bladders tied to the ends of twigs. They bop each other on the head every time one of them does something offensive. We've got Confrontation Bladders at Red Mountain Church. "You misspoke!" BOP! "You hurt my feelings!" BOP! The glaring and magnificent error in this way of thinking is that if we decide that Confrontation! is our only way of oiling our relational waters, we miss out on the gifts of time and space and patience, long-suffering and grace.

To confront someone properly, you have to say something like "I'm going to speak frankly, and frankly, that's going to be painful for you." To confront is necessarily to inflict pain. I know what my ideas are. I'm not afraid to express them. But I certainly should wield them carefully when I realize what mighty weapons they really are. If I or someone else doesn't want to talk, you probably shouldn't try to force us. It's a goad that can only work you woe. Be glad I keep my opinions to myself. They can be painful opinions!

Now, back to the issue at hand.

Lately, I've been able to feel the Devil prowling around looking for someone to devour. To me, Evil feels like personified entropy. You know Evil is there when you feel your very thoughts starting to convolute and break apart. The simple truth of what was said during a discussion becomes blurry and nebulous. You start to feel like Charlie and Grandpa Joe when they drank Fizzy Lifting Drinks and couldn't control their careen toward the ceiling fan. Have you felt this way? If you have, you've probably been in close proximity to Evil.

In fact, this was the context of Original Sin. "Did God really say not to eat this fruit?" This was the Serpent's first foray into the realm of subtle seduction. It's interesting that he didn't try and force the fruit upon Eve or brazenly coerce her. He made her question her own mind and her own sense of what was true.

Obviously, it was a tactic that didn't fail him. In fact, it worked so well that he uses it today.

"Are you sure God didn't tell you not to have sex before you marry this great boyfriend He gave you? Show me the exegesis of that."

"Are you sure the Bible is the inspired Word? How is that even possible?"

"Are you sure you're being arrogant? Surely you're just confident."

At this moment, I'm seeing some of the "greatest minds of our time" fall victim to the subtle and sinister advances of Evil as it moves forward to conquer the field of Truth. It's a frightening thing. I see the lies wrap around even the biblical scholars like oily rags and I see them choke. I see them start to believe the lie and I see them exchange it for the truth.

It's hard to hold on to truth. It's critical to hold on to truth. It is the truth that sets us free from the snares of Evil. Truth about God, truth about ourselves, and truth about others. Even beyond that, it's truth about the small things in our lives. We must examine ourselves for signs of fallacious thoughts, words, or deeds. We must be able to stand confidently before our image in the mirror at night and say "This, I know for certain." We must mean it and we must never let it go.

Su.