Hi there,
It’s October, the month of beautiful weather and Anne of Green Gables references. It’s the month of our dog’s birth and gratuitous pumpkin products in stores.
The light well and truly shifts in Charlotte at this time of year; it’s dappled and soft. We open the windows to let the fresh air in at last. I hope wherever you are, you’re able to slow down and take in the autumn. Although I am always homesick for New England at this time of year, the long, lazy autumns of North Carolina have grown on me.
This is also the month that my substack turns one! What shall we do to celebrate?!
The Part Where There’s an Essay: Why We’re Not Ready
(Editor’s note: The essay below is just the thing that my mother would read and tell me to quit being so morbid.)
On the day my dad set out all my mom’s hats, thirty-seven of them, to give away to a friend, my friend called in a flurry.
“Where did you buy their pants for the funeral?” she asked. “We should have been ready, but we’re not.”
(There is a unique sisterhood amongst mothers with boys the size of men whose waists are smaller than their inseams. I have four of these boys. There are never pants for them.)
“We should have been ready. They just put him on hospice, and we don’t know how long it’ll be. We all knew this was coming. Why don’t I have the funeral clothes ready?”
Why indeed. I recalled how I spent last fall and winter on the hunt for black overcoats, for no particular reason. Yet we all knew the reason. “Just in case you have a formal event you need to attend, outdoors, in the winter, in New England,” I would knowingly say to my son as his coat arrived. And he knew, also. It ended up coming in handy when he was a pallbearer as the winter came to an end.
But still, in the process, there was a level at which we didn’t want to say what the coats were for. We wanted her to keep living, and to speak of the fact that she wouldn’t be living soon, was unkind. We were under no illusions that we’d break a spell if we spoke of it; we are not superstitious people. But still, death is an intruder. It does not belong here.
We do not welcome a thief into our homes, sit him down at our kitchen table, and make him some tea. We don’t say, “here’s a bit to eat while you’re waiting. We’re almost ready for you to take our things. Just let us clear out first, so you can have your way of it.”
There is a mercy and a stupidity in the everyday tasks that surround death. It feels foolish to have to scramble over these trite details. Do the children have shoes that fit them? Who will watch the dog? What will everyone eat? How many cars will we take?-- Now that there is one fewer amongst us.
But still, a mercy. The tiny details are merely an indication that the living are still living, and life is often a series of tiny details. When you add the details up, it means that people are still alive and need to be cared for.
When my oldest sons were eleven and twelve, one of their closest friends died suddenly due to a brain injury. It was tragic for all of us, but one thing I remember thinking was...I’m so glad I have little kids right now. They push you to keep moving ahead, to keep living. When the world is swirling around you and everything seems unreal, it’s an earthly good to have to feed somebody or put some towels in the washer or water the plants.
On some level, we all ought to have our funeral clothes ready. Death is a reality for 100% of humans, with only one or two exceptions throughout history. When my oldest son was little, his favorite Bible character was Enoch, because it seemed cool to not to have to die: to just be gone, because the Lord took you. I wonder what Enoch’s family did in the aftermath of that. They probably weren’t scrambling around looking for pants to buy.
It’s wise to be prepared and to have funeral clothes, but it’s also good to still be caught somewhat unaware -- to assume that people ought to keep living. It means that eternity is stamped on your heart and that you regard death as a great wrong, This puts you right alongside the rest of creation, groaning for deliverance.
For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. Romans 8:20-23
It is living in the tension of these two things that makes us wise and joyful people. Ready — but maybe not ready yet.
For the Anglophiles
As the weather is shifting, today’s feature is a recipe. One of our favorite fall/winter meals is the following pie. All of the British isles should be applauded for their exploration of and loyalty to the MEAT pie.
Chicken & Mushroom Puff Pie from BBC Good Food.
12-year-old Andrew with the pie he made for his class:
Reads & Listens of the Week
I began reading Wallace Stegner’s Crossing to Safety this past week. I was stunned to learn that he is the author of thirty books, and I had never heard of him until recently! His prose is reminiscent of Wendell Berry, if you like him. Really lovely.
I wrote about Jane Austen’s Persuasion this week, and how the heroine, Anne, makes patience the enemy of pride in her heart.
I enjoyed this interview with Rebecca McLaughlin about “Rediscovering Friendship” on the Christ and Culture podcast.
Here she goes, recommending another O. Alan Noble article, this time entitled “Are We Redeeming Culture?” “It seems to me that in our advocacy for justice, in our work for cultural renewal, in our efforts to redeem the city we always, always, always ought to be acting in faith, in reliance on the Holy Spirit, and in step with the gospel.”
Here’s a little tribute to Nora Ephron’s You’ve Got Mail, because I can never get enough tributes to Nora Ephron’s You’ve Got Mail.
And lastly, how to entertain my daughter:
Oh, what encouragement to faith: to be assured that all your attributes are mine; as much mine as the drink in my cup and the food on my plate. - David Clarkson