Thanksgiving Scene

In the absence of well-developed visual art skills, I am reduced to words:

Light from the double windows of an old house captures our vision. We see in the glow behind the glass a happy chaos of warm colors: sweaters,faces flushed with laughter and bustle,a half-devoured feast lingering on the bright cloth. Close against the window, two children press noses and palms to the glass, peering out into the night. Their breathing makes cloudy rings around the spot where their mouths should be. Perhaps they are watching two figures walk along the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street--a man and a woman, their arms linked. Their backs are to us, but the woman's head is turned toward the man and we see her face, a pale oval above her black winter coat. She is smiling. By the light of a street lamp at the end of the block, we see a man mid-stride across the intersection--a distant, solitary figure in perfect silhouette.

Divine Simplicity

I'm not sure what divine simplicity is--I'm like a pedestrian shuffling along the sidewalk who suddenly catches an intriguing whiff of something. Will I search it out? Will I shrug and go on? Will I hesitate until I get used to the new scent and can no longer detect it or follow it to its source?

This past weekend, my sister and I watched Karate Kid. One scene stands out in my mind. The protagonist, Dre, seeks out his kung fu teacher after a difficult afternoon and finds the typically calm, trustworthy Mr. Han smashing a car with a sledge hammer. When the teacher shares his story, Drew learns that this evening marks the anniversary of the car accident which claimed the lives of the Mr. Han's wife and son. As the teacher weeps behind the steering wheel, Dre draws him outside. In the peaceful courtyard, accompanied by cricket song, the two begin training again. The camera captures the silhouettes of the small African-American boy and the Chinese repairman moving in perfect balance--clean, living lines in the blue radiance of the smashed car's single headlight. Later, as the film nears its climax, Drew suffers an injury during the semifinals of a kung fu tournament. Mr. Han is reluctant to let him continue, but Drew protests against the idea of giving up. "That's not balance," he says indignantly. "That's not real kung fu."

While I reject the religious elements of kung fu present in the movie, the distilled focus, the discipline, the lines--razor sharp and gracious--intrigue me. They relate to a thing I usually feel missing in my life. Of many habits I could cry, "That's not balance. That's not real--" Real what? Kingdom living, I think. See, God does outline a simplicity, a razor focus, for his people. Life can seem snarled and hopelessly involved. That odd thing, balance, is terribly hard to delineate, let alone achieve. But Jesus tells a frustrated Martha, "Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her" (Luke 10:41-42 ESV).

One thing. One thing is necessary.

Harvest Time

Come, ye thankful people come;
Raise the song of harvest home;
All is safely gathered in;
Ere the winter storms begin.
God, our Maker doth provide
For our wants to be supplied.
Come to God's own temple, come;
Raise the song of harvest home.



"Come, Ye Thankful People, Come" by Henry Alford