Amy Writes

Years ago, I met a man named Tim. Tim is an Episcopal priest who, at the time we met, had been assigned to a tiny parish in a North Carolina mountain town. Through Tim, I was introduced to a host of interesting and precious people... None of whom, much to my great dismay, are real. I've talked before about my aversion to series reading, how I can handle two or three in a row before tiring of the material/the characters/the setting/the plot similarity. Father Tim et . al. are the exception. Jan Karon's Mitford novels are soul satisfying and full of goodness - like Hallmark movies but funny and quirky. Like Little House on the Prairie, with a little more current oomph. Father Tim's well read character meets my needs for intellectual challenge, and his cast of wacky locals and parishioners fills my craving for whimsy. To me, opening a Mitford book is like stepping into the Florida sunshine or that peaceful feeling that sweeps over me when I know a good friend is standing nea...

I read this again today, and it's just too good not to post: "If there lurks in most modern minds the notion that to desire our own good and earnestly to hope for the enjoyment of it is a bad thing, I submit that this notion has crept in from Kant and the Stoics and is no part of the Christian faith. Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels , it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us , like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased ." From C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory