Surprised by Hope

You ever gone to a restaurant and had something so delicious that you can hardly stand it? The kind of dish that with every bite you and your date stare dumbfounded and excited at each other and just nod (mouth full) at its deliciousness. Something so good you want to punch the chef with a happy, I-can't-believe-you're-so-amazing-at-cookery haymaker to the ear. Or maybe you've heard a new song from some new artist that just knocked your socks off and changes the way you feel about music as a whole. Or a 3D movie that melted your brain and you spend the next two weeks saying, "Have you seen....?"

I feel this way about N.T. Wright's, Surprised by Hope. I haven't been this excited about a book since perhaps the first literature class I took in college that sent me on a path I'm still on of chasing after the written word and figuring out a way to be a part of it. I can say without hesitation that Wright's words have changed my life. I feel like a doctor has joined me for coffee every morning and diagnosed why I'm so bored with cultural Christianity. I don't have the time or ability to articulate all the reasons why. I beg you to go out and buy the book today.

Here's an article in Time that kind of summarizes what some of the book is about.

Here's a video of Bishop Tom.



Here's a quote from the chapter I read this morning. This happens nearly every morning, that I read something and just sit back and try to pull my brain back down from outer space.

"Part of the role of the church in the past was-and could and should be again- to foster and sustain lives of beauty and aesthetic meaning at every level, from music making in the village pub to drama in the local primary school, from artists' and photographers' workshops to still-life painting classes, from symphony concerts (well, they managed them in the concentration camps; how inventive might we be?) to driftwood sculptures. The church, because it is the family that believes in hope for new creation, should be the place in every town and village where new creativity bursts forth for the whole community, pointing to the hope that, like all beauty, always comes as a surprise."

I have more hope than I've had in a long long time because of the knowledge Dr. Wright is dropping on me. I want to slug him square in the jaw with a happy haymaker then share a pint with him at the village pub. I can think of no other way to thank him.

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Hi. I'm a bunny.

Pretty much the only reason I'm posting this video is for the first line. After that it's just ok. But that first line is good stuff.

O.G.

Ode to Emmy

Here's a picture + song combo tribute to my brother's dog, Emmy, aka The Muppet. Just a few days ago she was a fun-loving, hair-covered, clapping fool. Now she's a shaved nightmare.

"Come Closer" by Anis Mojgani

Thanks to my friend Susan for sharing with me another poem from this amazing artist. This one needs multiple listens for all its goodness to sink in. And check out his shirt. I wannit. Enjoy!

Meaghan Smith

I'm in the final stretch of the latest rewrite of my screenplay. The deepest part of my soulgut (where all creativity comes from) is a buzz because my three favorite words: FADE TO BLACK, are within reach. I've had a blast reworking this sucker. I feel like I've gotten the chance to turn my Model T into Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. (Is "gotten" a word?) Anyways, the point of this post is to share an artist I stumbled across thanks to NPR. Meaghan Smith is Canadian. Don't hold the closing ceremonies against her. I've been quite inspired by her sound. When I hear my movie I hear her. She's timeless and fresh all at once. Much like good art.

Path

It might lead to a fantastic demise. Some kind of terrible cliff. It might just lead to more trees. More nothingness relatively speaking. Or... It might lead to the most amazing treehouse ever built. Maybe a village of them. Something you only see in dreams and silly movies. Regardless, you gotta step out and go see. Right?

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The Batman

It's over there, man. How can you not see it?

I'm sorry. I just can't.

Are you looking where I'm pointing?

I think so.

Are you?!

Yes! Why are you so mad?

I'm not mad.

You're yelling like you're mad.

I'm just frustrated. There's a really cool pizza place right over there and I just want you to see it.

Have you been to it?

The pizza place? No. I never have. I hear it's really cool though.

Maybe later we could go?

Yeah. We'll see how the day plays out. I'm not sure I'll feel like pizza later. My point is that it just looks really cool.

I wish I could see it.

Portuguese Muffins

If I were to list my top life-changing events of the last decade it would go:

1. Getting married
2. House fire
3. Discovering Portuguese muffins (aka bolos levedos)

I'm not exaggerating when I say Portuguese muffins might be the greatest thing to ever happen to me. We had them this past weekend in NYC. They were the perfectly sweet but not too sweet buns on the most delicious mini burgers I think I've ever had. The best way I can describe it is it's like I've been friends with Richie Cunningham (English Muffins and other boring breads) for my whole life and then all of a sudden Arthur Fonzarelli (bolos levedos) walked thru the door.

Leah asked the owner of the restaurant for the website of the muffin maker. We travelled home dreaming of ordering our very own, only to find out they discriminate against non-restaurants. So Leah, in her angel-like ways, found a recipe and recreated them. We ate chicken, brie and apple sandwiches last night on homemade Portuguese muffins. I've never loved Leah so much in my entire life.

Here's the recipe.