Watership Down & Bright Eyes

Flying through music and school after a beautiful, icy-cold invigorating weekend church retreat, I found something exciting. If you've read Watership Down (which I did an analysis on), you would probably be familiar with the slightly morbid 1978 movie version, in which Art Garfunkel recorded a unique song (written by Mike Batt) for the credits. "Bright Eyes" fits the mood of the book so expressly, and when I found this cover, I thought of sharing it. I just hope some people have read the book so they understand what is the meaning of all this...

It made me laugh because it seems so typical of his character and musical orientation, but I had nothing more to say when I stumbled upon Adam Young's cover of "Bright Eyes."

Of Seven Blessings

I love the cold. Perhaps it is because I was born into it, but who knows.

Wind bites, pure cold is an invigorating and a beautiful thing, and I have something to share.

Psalm 84 –  This Psalm's second verse speaks of longing, even fainting for the courts of God, and if you have ever in your life ached for someone or someplace, whether in body or spirit, you might have some idea. His place will be so lovely! How wonderful to ache for God's dwelling place; it is an ache worth feeling, worth living with.

Passes – dominus est maximus bonus! I passed a competition level last week; God is so very good to me, and I am so thankful I can give my all for Him in everything I do, even if it be a competition.

Solitude – Yes, I do enjoy being around people, bu I love a good solitude. Times like those mean meditation on the word and conversation with my Heavenly Father.

The Cold – Perhaps it is simply me in Minnesota, but after a weekend of five degree or below zero weather, I was in awe. I have never experienced such an appreciation of such pure cold. Not wind, not snow, but still, silent, cold.

Affirmation – Recently, friends and acquaintances have been extremely encouraging and affirming, and God has been blessing me tremendously. I do not deserve it, but He is lavishly generous despite all that.

Confrontation – I am pretty nasty. No, not pretty; ugly nasty. I judge people too often, and (also too often) I have little no patience with people, but for some reason, God always chooses to give me grace. Suddenly the fact that one person has their quirks and another their obsessions is not a nagging problem, but that specifically particular element to his or her character. I slip: All the time

But God.

Those two words, but God, repeatedly remind me that he confronts me (through others as well) to mold and refine me, even though I slip quite too often. It is always time for dross removal!

Watching the Sun Rise – Brilliant indeed: God is the master painter. Rising before the sun is sometimes hard, especially in the winter, when all is cold, quiet, dark, and seemingly dead. Before long the black turns to blue, and slowly but determinedly yawns into gray, which does not remain for any special length but becomes a spring board or palette of color in the sky once the sun creeps up from the beyond. Each is akin to a fingerprint; no two are alike.

Thanks for reading!

An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge Analysis

The (hopefully) much awaited analysis. It is supposed to be a reflection, so in the end it morphed to that rather than an analysis, which is perfectly acceptable (as long as my readers are not bored to death.) Enjoy! As long as you've read the story you will (hopefully) understand it.

Spoiled, But Not Less Powerful

       Yes, she spoiled it for me: She came home from her literature class and spilled the tragedies that had been read off the pages of her anthology.  I listened and intermittently spoke with proper feedback as her wide eyes betrayed deeper emotions, and I vowed not to read those pages, if only to spare myself some emotions which would never amount to anything productive.  My vows were in vain, however, for while aiming and pressing to get ahead of school before it even started, I happened upon the exact work that had been spoiled for me.  Yes, the ending was known, but as I felt that wrenching feeling in my stomach, I read on, intrigued, even though the story's ending had been spoiled.

“An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge” was written by Ambrose Bierce in 1890 and published a year later (Baym 405).  The author was a writer who sought to give readers stories they would remember by merging the “hallucinatory and the paranormal with everyday events” (398). Before writing mainly about the American Civil War, however, he spent time in England, practicing his writing skills, which developed into a vivid style that burns unforgettable images on the mind. “Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge” follows a man falsely accused of an injustice and sentenced to death.

Interestingly enough, because I knew the final outcome, I was convinced that I would not become engrossed with the story. I was assured I was going to remain standoffish; I did not need, nor care for, any unnecessary drama.  The conclusion was known, and I was determined to simply check it off my list.  I was not going to “feel” anything about the piece, but to my chagrin, I was completely engrossed in the various pages, and it made me feel awful.  I loved it, and at the same time, I mourned.  Bierce's piece was as poignant as can be, but very convincing.  I admit I did have second thoughts as to the outcome of the main character, but all hopes were dashed to pieces in the end: Bierce had done it. He rejected the conventional ending and left me feeling devastated.

Bierce's short story did not, in and of itself, surprise me, as I knew what was at the end.  Rather, it was Bierce and his writing. It was not surprising that he accomplished his literary goal, but his goal was accomplished even though I knew the outcome.  Despite the fact that the last sentence was betrayed before I read it, the story held my attention.  My response to the finality?  Shock. Then came the shock that flooded when I realized my shock at something I had previously been alerted to.  I decided that Ambrose Bierce completed his end, for though I knew the outcome, I was affixed to his few pages.

Literary devices used within the short story emphasize the goals Bierce aimed for.  The title, “Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge” does no such thing as suggest or reveal pieces of the story. If anything, the title blatantly suggests a mere occurrence, nothing more.  Within as little as three pages, I felt hope, ambition, dread, suspicion, angst, and exasperation.  The man versus man conflict gave it essence; Payton Farquhar (the main character) never spied, destroyed any bridges, or stole secrets, but he was accused of these by the army and sentenced to doom.  Bierce used pathos distinctly, and those reading should sense it, as they want justice to prevail. Nevertheless, one obstacle remains: Bierce was unconventional.

Though I am an avid reader and writer, there have been few short stories or poems that shock me, but this is one I have fallen for.  Writing that captures is worth attention, and “Occurrence” not only seems powerful, but it is powerful.  I tried to remain detached, but Bierce prevailed.  I knew everything about the piece, but I knew nothing of his writing. Reading this work was more than an occurrence; it was an acclivity to an awareness of fresh unconventionality.  Some stories, much less spoiled ones, do not require happy endings in order to be powerful.

Sources:
Baym, Nina. The Norton Anthology of American Literature. 8th ed. Vol. C. New York: Norton, 1998. Print. 

Thanks for reading!

Of Seven Blessings

Yes, 'tis shorter this week, mostly due to school, scholarships and competitions, but at least it's here. Count your blessings!

Hosting  - Trust me, this is not the easiest to do, but serving is the main point here, and it is rewarding. In one of her books, Edith Schaeffer, speaks of how effective hosting/hospitality can be in showing others you care about them.  And you know what? It's never awkward; God blesses when you serve.                      

Prayer - We always need it! Over this past week, I prayed for people, and then surprised them by "following up" and communicated the action.  Seeing their blessed faces, even if they were not able to communicate back to me, was enough.                                                                                                  

Health – God has allowed me no sickness for months, and it has been invaluable, because doing school while sick is absolutely horrendous. I am also thankful for my family's health.

Tea and Toast – The perfect snack.

Little Trips – To Rochester and back!

Opportunities – Going to sing, going to play. Going to practice, going to write. Performing drama, being a light.

Co-ops – Who doesn't love all the little kids running around?

Have a wonderful, blessed week!

Incident at Owl Creek Bridge: Link

Soon to be posted is an analysis on Ambrose Bierce's "Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge.".  The writing is astounding, but one must read the story before my analysis.

Sit Still?

I woke up to near -17 temperatures this morning, and for some reason, this came to mind:

I thought of family devotions we had last summer, one in particular, in which my Dad read this interesting poem to us. This particular time, Streams in the Desert was being read, and I recall being temperamental about something of small consequence. After hearing the "sit still," I knew it was meant for me, but I was annoyed, as I cannot "sit still" for too long.  Just "sit calmly" still? Ha! I wanted to know God's will then, right at that moment. I knew I wanted to follow his will to my utmost, but there was one problem: My "dear Lord's will" wasn't clear.  So now, I still sit still, but everything is much clearer, and much more exciting.

Sit Still, My Daughter 

by J. Danson Smith

Sit still, my daughter! Just sit calmly still!

Nor deem these days--these waiting days--as ill.

The One who loves thee best, Who plans thy way,

Hath not forgotten thy great need today!

And, if He waits, 'tis sure He waits to prove

To thee, His tender child, His heart's deep love.

Sit still, my daughter! Just sit calmly still!

Thou longest much to know thy dear Lord's will.

While anxious thoughts would almost steal their way

Corroding within, because of His delay--

Persuade thyself in simple faith to rest

That He, who knows and loves, will do the best.

Sit still, my daughter! Just sit calmly still!

Nor move one step, not even one, until

His way hath opened. Then, ah then, how sweet!

How glad thy heart, and then how swift thy feet

Thy inner being then, ah then, how strong!

And waiting days not counted then too long.

Sit still, my daughter! Just sit calmly still!

What higher service could'st thou for Him fill?

'Tis hard! ah yes! But choicest things must cost!

For lack of losing all how much is lost!

'Tis hard, 'tis true! But then--He giveth grace

To count the hardest spot the sweetest place.

--

Alright, I admit; sitting still has its pros, and how glad I am that I listened.