Along the Road - Hutchmoot 2011

I'm a lover of life.  A glass-is-half-full girl.  A believer in ideals.  But life can be really, really hard.  And if it's not hard for me at the moment, chances are, it is for one (or many) of those close to me.  Over time, I've had the honor of walking with folks who were navigating through some treacherous territory.  They didn't see it coming, and weren't sure they'd be able to find the way out.  I've been there a time or two.  And I bet, so have you.  Thank goodness we're all here to stumble, sprint, roam, crawl, dance, climb, skip, limp and wade through life together.

In returning from my weekend at Hutchmoot, I've been pondering how and what to report back to those who've graciously shown interest.  This is my attempt.  For starters, it may be helpful to address the etymology of the name.  

Hutch - n.  A coop for the housing of small animals, especially rabbits.  

Moot - n.  An ancient English meeting, especially a meeting of the free men of a shire.  v. To discuss

Hutchmoot is the convening of 100ish music, art, Lewis and Tolkien-loving folks, many who have met virtually in the Rabbit Room. Hutchmoot is more of a family gathering than a conference.  It offers community rather than instruction.  Its intent is to inspire and enjoy rather than to equip.  

Upon returning from my weekend away, our family resumed reading Dangerous Journey, which is a beautifully illustrated retelling of Pilgrim's Progress. The story begins by introducing Christian, who carries a heavy burden upon his back.  He works with it.  He sleeps with it.  He can find no relief.  In an effort escape from certain doom, Christian embarks upon an odyssey of discovery that leads him through great peril, uncertainty, and pivotal  choices.  During his travels, he meets a variety of fellow-travelers.  Some of them, such as Obstinate, Pliable, Worldly Wiseman and Mr. Legality offer a plethora of counsel to Christian.  Their counsel, however, is unhelpful at best and near-fatal at worst.

One broad road turned to the left;  another broad road turned to the right;  while the narrow road went straight on - up the great black back of the Hill called difficulty.  Which one would they choose?  Formalist chose to go to the left, which led him into a dark wood.  Did he but know it, the road was call Danger, and he lost his way for ever.  Hypocrisy chose to go to the right, which led him into rough ground, full of holes and hummocks.  Did he but know it, the road was called Destruction.  Here he stumbled and fell, and rose no more.  As for Christian, he paused and drank at a spring to refresh himself.  Then after looking both ways, he started briskly straight up the hill.

Others join Christian and impact his journey in quite a different way.  Evangelist points him in the right direction.  The Interpreter helps him gain understanding.  Faithful, who has fought quite different battles from those Christian experienced, offers encouragement and fellowship along the way.

So I saw in my dream that he made great haste.  But as he drew nearer, he could hear in the darkness the roaring of the lions.  The only way forward was along a narrow passage, which was about a furlong from the porter's lodge.  This, he knew, was the place from which Mistrust and Timorous had fled.  And Christian was never so near to running back after them.  But the porter at the lodge, whose name was Watchful, perceiving now that Christian made a halt, cried out:   "Is your strength so small?  Fear not the lions.  They are on long chains.  If you keep strictly to the beam of light, in the center of the path, they cannot reach you."  So Christian moved on.  He took good heed to the directions of the porter.  At the same time, he trembled for fear of the lions, for now they were on either side of him, straining at their chains.  And how they roared, and snapped at him!  And how they tried to catch him by the foot!

Although the characters are prototypical, I can see myself in each on any given day.  At times, I offer hope, encouragement and companionship to those who are struggling.  At others, I'm presumptuous, hypocritical, timid, and not particularly helpful in encouraging my fellow-travelers to persist and press on in the right direction.  As the years go by, my hope is to become a better travel companion.

My time in Nashville was a sweet reminder that we're not left alone on this unpredictable journey of life.  Those I met did not have names like Evangelist, Faithful, or Goodwill, yet they gave me great gifts of encouragement, community, and hope.  Here are few glimpses of our encounters along the road:

~ Pete Peterson - Affirmed that just as God created in His own image, we create from our own personal stories.  Although flawed, we are born to create.  That which we create has dignity, and reflects the hope and the truth of the gospel.

~ Jonathan Rogers - Encouraged us to spend time considering our story... those moments, years, and decades in life that make up our personal history.  Within each of our lives can be found the story of redemption.  Not just in the few dramatic, life-altering scenes, yet more often in the details of the mundane.  Pay attention.  Take note.  

~ Ben Shive - Challenged us to look for stories of redemption in unlikely places.  Although that may not have been his end-goal, it was certainly a by-product of his recounting the life and works of Brian Wilson.  Who "woulda thunk"  that his music is complex and innovative, or that redemption can be seen in the story of his life.  Not in a renewal of Wilson's strength and vigor, but in the kindness of those surrounding him when he finally reached the end of his proverbial rope.  Listening to the Beach Boys will never be the same.  And hopefully, neither will listening to the stories of folks whose paths intersect with mine.  I want to listen without presumption, but with anticipation and curiosity.

~ Russ Ramsey and Justin Gerard - Illuminated the connection between the art of the masters and the Master himself.  By becoming apprentices of the great artists - studying their lives, technique, style and artwork, we can gain glimpses of the Kingdom from a new and fresh vantage point.  Gerard, who is an amazing artist and illustrator, conveyed, "I can't write like Tolkien, but I can reflect what he's done with my own art."  There's a sermon or two for us all in that statement alone.

~ Sally Lloyd-Jones - Inspired us to believe in the power of language and story, and to fall more deeply in love with The Great Story.  "A story can do much more than teach, it can transform you.  It works secretly," she shared.  Trust the story to do the work.  Don't feel like we we have to push morals.  I'm still mulling over the implications of that one.  With her humble, winsome, and delightfully British accent, Sally treated us to a lovely storybook time which could have rivaled that of the Darling children in Peter Pan.  She then narrated the story of her own life, complete with a few significant plot twists, compliments of the Author.  She inscribed my daughter's Jesus Storybook Bible with the following, "Caroline, This is your story." And it's mine.  And it's yours, too.

~ Andrew Peterson - Reminded us all to Whom we belong.  We are the beloved.  We are made in His image.  And we create as a response.  He also reminded us that we have not been left to journey through life alone.  The weekend served as a living testimony that the Kingdom is not only in the future - we've been given a taste of it here on earth.  In all of creation.  In music, art, literature, laughter, kindness, compassion, and yes, in each other.

As I continue to distill all that I experienced over the weekend in Nashville, perhaps the most lasting impression that will mark my soul was the gathering of 100 relative strangers, who because of the great love for their Father, became family.  We were given a glimpse of what will take place one day, when we are all finally gathered together "from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages"...

A voice cried out: "These pilgrims now are come from the City of Destruction for the love they bear to the King of this place."  So the Gates of Heaven opened to them, and they entered in.  "And," writes Bunyan in his book, "I was able to look in after them, I saw the streets were paved with gold.  And in them walked - with crowns upon their heads - the company of just men made perfect.  And the Bells of the City rang for joy.  For Christian and his fellow had come to their true home."

Amen.

All pictures and quotations are borrowed from Dangerous Journey:  The Story of Pilgrim's Progress William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company

At the Start Line Again... This Time for Hutchmoot

Frozen puffs of air tumbled from a deep sea of mouths - some chattering with excitement, others just doing their work of oxygen exchange.  It was mid-December, and I found myself in the middle of what felt like a platoon of runners.  The starting line was up ahead, and I had slipped inconspicuously into the crowd of  folks who ran at a similar pace to mine.

I looked like them - donned in Nike apparel, timing chip laced onto my shoe, and sporting my trusty black running hat.

 I had trained like them - having spent the last few months studying and implementing a standard training schedule with the obedience of an infantryman.

But when the actual moment had finally arrived, I stood in the middle of the crowded Charlotte street knowing one thing for certain - I wasn't like them.  They were runners.  I was not.  And it was too late to back out.  What in the world had I gotten myself in to?

As I've confessed earlier (full disclosure found here), my education and work experience have been primarily focused in the business world.  I'm not a writer.  But through the years, I've found that words and thoughts would clutter my brain unless I found a way to capture, bring order to, and free them from the roaming wilderness of my mind.  While ambling through life, I'll occasionally trip upon an experience that I don't want to forget. The ideas, emotions, and spiritual applications morph from pleasant fleeting visitors floating among my thoughts into a vicious stampede demanding to be noticed.  Order from chaos would be obtained only by putting pencil to paper.  Occasionally, as friends would experience similar situations, I'd hesitantly share some of my writing in the hope that the words would bring tangible form to the commonalities in life... and that we'd both be a little less alone.

This summer, I took the leap of sharing some of my meandering thoughts in a more public forum (which you're currently reading).  At the least, or perhaps most importantly,  I'd be leaving written memorial stones for my children to remind them of the great things the Father has done in the lives of our family, and in the world around us.  Thus is the birth of my writing on a more intentional and frequent basis.  It has become a more integral part of my days, particularly when I've read or experienced something of significance.

The day before yesterday was one of those "wake up in the morning expecting a regular day" days.  After returning from a lovely coffee date with a new friend, I learned that a spot had opened up for "Hutchmoot" - a conference in Nashville founded by Andrew Peterson and his friends at the Rabbit Room.  Months ago, the conference had filled up so quickly that I didn't even have a chance to consider registering.  Just as well.  Hutchmoot draws musicians, artists, "real" writers, and other uber-gifted folks from across the country to spend a weekend together experiencing "live music, great food and conversation, and a series of discussions centered on art, faith, and the telling of great stories across a range of mediums." Oh my.  My heart beats faster just thinking about it.  But I don't really qualify, so a very closed registration saved me from the risk of... well, the risk of hoping and being disappointed.  Or even more terrifying, the risk of hoping and receiving that for which I had dared to dream.

I half-heartedly decided to  tap gently on the first door down the hallway that would lead to Hutchmoot.  I fully believed (and secretly hoped) that the door wouldn't open.  I called my husband at work and instructed him, "I just need you to tell me that I can't go to Nashville this weekend." There were a multitude of factors which would support this reasonable response, including prior commitments and a full schedule.  He didn't follow the script.  He wanted me to go.  Shortly thereafter, a multitude of questionable details were quickly resolved, and my trip to Nashville became an unexpected reality.

Remember the "what have I gotten myself in to" dilemma I experienced at the starting line?  Well, here I am again.  I hardly consider myself a writer, yet that is the closest category under which I fit during the weekend.  My only preparation through the years has been one of soul, not one of skill.  Once again,  I will find myself surrounded by those with far more experience and "right" to be there.  But just as I did during my race, I'll will myself to put one foot in front of the other and believe that my training, albeit quite different from those around me, will be sufficient for each step of the way.

I can't help but to chuckle (or wince) that my last post was about living freely, without comparing to or performing for others.  Drat.  Sounded good last week. Stings a little this week.  But what I can be sure of is that the Father is good.  He is intentional.  He uses our weaknesses, not our strengths, to bring glory to Himself.  And I'd be well-advised to remember that "True humility is not thinking of less of yourself;  it is thinking of yourself less."  Tim Keller

So if I cross your mind this weekend, I'd ask you to pray for all those who will be attending Hutchmoot in Nashville:

~That we all would be aware of the subtle entrapments of comparison, pride, envy, shame, and a much longer list of enemies of humility.

~That in the midst of a stimulating environment rich with talent, conversation, and beauty, we would be mindful to worship the Creator, not the creation.

~That as we pause for a few days to consider the Great Storyteller, we'd experience a glimpse of the Great Story itself...

Then Jesus gave John a beautiful dream - except John was wide awake and what he saw was real and one day it would all come true...

I see a throne.  And on the throne is a king.  And the King is Jesus.  All around the throne people are bowing down.  They are giving him their treasures.

There are loud cheers and clapping, clapping and bright laughter like a thousand waterfalls and everyone bursts out singing a new song...

"This is our King!  The Lamb who died, so we don't have to - our Rescuer.  All Honor and Glory!  Forever and ever."  And every creature everywhere, in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea, joins in.

And then

From all around

A wide

Immense

Beautiful

S i l e n c e

And I see Satan - God's horrible enemy - thrown down, defeated

I see a sparkling city shimmering in the sky:  glittering, glowing, coming down!  From heaven.  And from the sky.  Heaven is coming down to earth!

God's city is beautiful.  Walls of topaz, jasper, sapphire.  Wide streets paved with gold.  Gleaming pearl gates that are never locked shut.

Where is the sun?  Where is the moon?  They aren't needed anymore.  God is all the Light people need.  No more darkness!  No more night!

And the King says, "Look!  God and his children are together again.  No more running away.  Or hiding.  No more crying or being lonely or afraid.  No more being sick or dying.  Because all those things are gone.  Yes, they're gone forever.  Everything sad has come untrue.  And see - I have wiped away every tear from every eye!"

And then a deep, beautiful voice that sounded like thunder in the sky says, "Look, I'm making everything new!"

Sally Lloyd-Jones The Jesus Storybook Bible

A very public "Thank You" to the one who continues to cheer me on through the races of life - and who has the courage to go "off script" from time to time.

Will proclaims the Latest Wingfeather "A Winner"

A Critic's Review of The Monster in the Hollows

The following review was written by a guest author, Will Silander (11 yrs).  Will is an avid reader who also enjoys strategizing and implementing various forms of battles, creating all things electronic, playing the piano, and spending hours in the creek behind his home in Charlotte, NC.

     Andrew Peterson is one of my favorite songwriters. I was SO excited when I found out that he did not only write songs, but was also an author and had written two books, On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness and North! Or Be Eaten. These books, also called The Wingfeather Saga,  were suspenseful, fast-paced, and cleverly written. I sped through both in less than a week. After reading the books, I had several unanswered questions, and was hoping he would write a third book that would answer at least some of them.

Andrew Peterson and the Silander kids at "Meet the Author"

         This past Spring, I was fortunate enough to meet Andrew Peterson when he came to Charlotte to speak about his writing. He showed some of the sketches he had made of various creatures, people and places from the first two books. The drawings of The Fangs (villainous reptilian creatures) looked almost exactly like I had imagined them from his description in the books. I was thrilled when he announced that he was almost done with a third book, and that it would be available in May.

         The third book in the Wingfeather Saga, The Monster in the Hollows, was even better than I had hoped. It tied up many loose ends left dangling from the first two books, and also introduced some interesting new characters such as Guildmadam Olumphia Groundwich and Madam Sidler, the Librarian. This book is packed full of action, adventure, and suspense, while weaving humor and lighthearted fun throughout. If you like reading the books of C.S. Lewis, JRR Tolkien, or Edith Nesbit, I would highly recommend The Wingfeather Saga. 

Will is also the creator, producer, and musician for the following promotional video:

 Hop on over to www.rabbitroom.com to place your order!

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For the rest of the story:  visit here