Suki Kim - Teaching in North Korea

This is so moving.  The oppression of North Korea as told from someone who has lived it....

Lost in Time Along The Cliffs of Mohr

Doolin, County Clare

It was an evening where we were, all together, lost in time - under a dark and cloudy sky in a pub in Ireland.  It will take a long time before the memory fades of that night we three shared; myself, my wife, and younger daughter. It happened this past March.

Doolin, County Clare, is a desolate, seaside windswept village that, like much of Ireland, dates to before the first century.  Even the trees here seem set firmly against time, leaning almost parallel to the ground, bent from the constant and stiff prevailing onshore sea breeze.  Twisted and gnarled, they are determined to survive the centuries, just as have the Irish people.  Through famine, religious persecution, plunder by invading armies, and abandonment by their neighbors, the Irish have hung on and survived.  Through all this time, these people have both stiffened their resolve and softened their hearts toward others.  They face their days with smiles on their faces and music in their hearts.  Irish music.

In we ducked, out of the moist and quiet night, inside to the warm pub on this cold and drizzling Irish night.  Outside lay the lonely, sparse and brilliant dark green hillsides near the black and restless sea.   The feeling is that one has been transported to a place that spans the centuries.  You seem to go missing; between the rush of today and the quiet and calm of ancient times.  We were in O'Connors Pub, the center of evening life in little Doolin, quite far from the maddening crowds.  Over the years artists and writers, including J.M. Synge, George Bernard Shaw, Dylan Thomas, Augustus John and Oliver St. John Gogarty spent time in Doolin, often in the welcoming atmosphere of O’Connors, which dates back to 1832.

Visiting much of Ireland outside of the larger cities leaves an emotion within you often, as if you have moved strangely backward into the past.  A time you cannot exactly place, but that feels refreshing and renewing.  At home, in a way.  You find yourself in conversations with total strangers, and yet the talk is warm and familiar, as if you had bumped into an old neighbor who you had not seen in a while.  And this is what the western coast of Ireland does; something within is awakened and at the same time rested in the soul.  Earlier this same day, we had visited the storied Cliffs of Mohr, home to so much Irish legend, tragedy, and music.

Along the Cliffs of Mohr

But this night, we had come to O'Connors in search of the ancient yet modern music of Ireland, as Doolin is known as a cradle of Irish music.  We were told earlier in the day by the bartender that the music would start at "Nine Tirty (9:30) pee emm".  And so we came.

Sure enough, a small band of locals gather right at the appointed time; a flutist of 65ish, with grey hair and a face at once weathered and reflective, an accordion player who could double for Robert Plant, a second flutist of perhaps 45 still wearing his work boots - looking as if he had spent the day caring for the sheep on a hillside just down the road, and a lovely young lady fiddle player - who could also have been the local elementary school teacher.  They all appeared separately over the next 15 or so minutes; sitting down and producing their instruments out of weathered cases or backpacks.  A table had been reserved in the center of the pub for them, filled with beers and ciders and coffees for the players.  There was no sheet music anywhere - this music welled up from within their hearts and minds, and eons of Irish history. 

As each member joined the group the music just continued
naturally, there were short hellos and nods of greeting, but the music itself took precedence - entertaining and playing together was their happy task.  After about 30 minutes it was time for a break, and something unique yet ordinarily Irish happened.  Something unexpected for us Americans.  Something beautiful.

During the break for the band, a man of about 75 stood up from his place with his friends in the corner and announced, "I am goin' to sing a love song for you.  I hope you won't mind my warbling.  This is a love song.  It's called the Cliffs of Mohr."

And then he closed his eyes and began to sing.  He too seemed transported to a different place and time as he sang in perfect pitch:

THE CLIFFS OF MOHER

Lyrics & music by Dermot Kelly         

I'm sitting on the cliffs of Moher
Looking out to sea.
The broad Atlantic swells below me
A bridge love between you and me.
The puffins cry above the tide
The seagulls glide through the air
They’re calling you back from New York City
Back home to the county of Clare.

Come back, come back, sweet Annie
Come back for I will be there.
We'll sing and we'll play
In the old-fashioned way
On the hillside of sweet County Clare.

    
When he finished, both my wife and I had tears in our eyes, without really understanding why.  There was a brief moment of quiet, and then polite applause.  Apparently, this sort of sweet solo performance is a common thing in O'Conners.

It has taken me more than a month to understand what made this evening so meaningful to me.  After returning to my busy life here, I have had time to reflect on what we all experienced that night in Doolin.  We witnessed beauty.  Beauty in the simple band of four friends making music, beauty in the windswept hillsides, and beauty in the simple words of an Irish ballad.

I am fairly convinced that we often move too fast through life to appreciate the beauty in the ordinary.  Perhaps being out of our ordinary lives that night, half way across the planet from our homes, along our willingness to just take in the evening put us in a place where beauty could find us.  But this was not ordinary beauty, this was a mysterious and sacred thing, something from another time and place altogether.  What we experienced was a partial and momentary response to the longing we all have within us.

Pastor and theologian N.T. "Tom" Wright puts it so well:

"But the present world is also designed for something which has not yet happened. It is like a violin waiting to be played: beautiful to look at, graceful to hold-and yet if you'd never heard one in the hands of a musician, you wouldn't believe the new dimensions of beauty yet to be revealed. Perhaps art can show something of that, can glimpse the future possibilities pregnant within the present time.” 

In that little pub in Doolin, we were confronted with Beauty, and it took hold of us for just a while.  Something deep and wide and completely lovely.  The future possibilities pregnant within the present time.

Maybe if we are more willing and open, beauty will find us more often.

Today, I discovered this classic poem.  It quite accurately expresses some of my thoughts and feelings at both the end of the year, and at this middle point in my life.

A Psalm of Life

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To The Psalmist.

 

 

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

   Life is but an empty dream!

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

   And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!

   And the grave is not its goal;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

   Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

   Is our destined end or way;

But to act, that each to-morrow

   Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

   And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

   Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,

   In the bivouac of Life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

   Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!

   Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Act,— act in the living Present!

   Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us

   We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

   Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,

   Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

   Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

   With a heart for any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

   Learn to labor and to wait.

The Subtle Sensations of Faith

I recently came across this article, which expresses well some of the essentials of a life of faith.

Norris Family Christmas Communique - 2014

Christmas Joy from Clan Norris of (originally) South Pasadena

For years, I have heard my sweet wife telling friends, more particularly new parents, that “The days seems long, but the years rush by”.  I just Googled that, and it is a Nancy Norris original, found nowhere else on the Interwebs.  As 2014 closes, we find ourselves a living testament to that idea this year.  We have no idea what happened to 2014.  But if we will just pause for a minute, we will recall it as a year packed with so very much to be thankful for, lots to celebrate, some losses to mourn, and countless moments, people and friendships for which we are deeply, abidingly thankful.  Your friendship tops the thankful list.  With that in mind, below find “A Year in the Life of The Norris’ “, as related to Dad via emails from all points on the compass, and forthwith semi-faithfully retold.

LA / Chicago / Elsewhere 

This has been a year of transition, change, and a return to one last year in beloved Chicago for Kelly.  For the past six months, she has returned to the City of Broad Shoulders to serve as a nanny for, in Kelly’s words: “two very fun boys, ages 4 and 8, and a very generous and loving pair of parents”.  Nancy and I can personally vouch for this family’s hospitality and warmth, after enjoying a late September feast outdoors on the patio at their home.  Kelly has a heart to see the world; and was also able to visit New Orleans, have great friends visit her in Chicago, and join her whole family for the Bruin / Husky game in Seattle.  What a fun weekend was that!  The past year also found her in Costa Rica for a remarkable six week immersion into the Spanish language; as well as the rain forests and tropical coastal waters.  Kelly is preparing for her eventual vocation as an elementary grade teacher here in LA, very likely with a classroom of largely Spanish speaking children.  I tell people all the time; given her caring heart and love for kids, Kelly is now, and will continue to be one of my greatest heroes.

What Rain?  Life in Seattle

Heather continues to love her life at UW in Seattle!  She is so very thankful for “my awesome, encouraging, thoughtful” Seattle community of friends.  Nancy and I have met many of these folks; they are indeed a warm, fun, thoughtful and remarkable group.  Might we all be so blessed.  She was accepted (hurray!) into the psychology program at school this past fall, and is starting to think more seriously about an additional degree in nursing after graduation.  This past summer Heather again served at YSSC Camp near Yosemite, and was filled to the brim with hard work, the beauty of Creation, and joy in serving kids and God.  Never one to sit still for long, at the dinner table when she was three years old, or today; Heather is off to Ireland soon after Christmas for a semester at University College Dublin.  Adventure awaits!

Of Faith, Service, Laughter, Joy

Nancy feels that each day is a gift.  She is thankful to continue serving as the Board Chair/Volunteer of Club 21 an agency serving families with Down Syndrome.  As a newer non-profit, Club21 is more financially stable and is growing in many ways.  More than these things, it is amazing to watch these beautiful, courageous families and children make new friends, discover learning resources, and find belonging and hope.  This must be what pure joy looks like!  Nancy has also begun mentoring young girls through Elizabeth House, a home for pregnant, homeless women in Pasadena.  And if that were not enough, during the past year she has been key in the welcoming two recent college grads in to our home as guests while they begin life in the Real World.  It has been loads of fun to have their energy, appetites, long conversations that matter, laughter, and friends grace our home in this season of their lives…and ours!  She misses the Norris girls, but since the Fall brought us together in Seattle and Chicago, her heart is full indeed.

This Wondrous Ride - Dad

And then there is Dad.  I have somehow mysteriously reached the season in life where I must admit I am well in the depths of middle age.  And this same season offers more of a long view; a perspective on all this going and coming, these great gifts in the form of two active and now adult daughters and the daily affection and partnership of a remarkable wife.   

How did we all get here, all of us, to just this place?  Where are those smallish hands of little girls I used to hold in mine, those tiny giggles from the back seat of the car, driving to some sporting event with friends.  Alas, those hands are larger now, and beautiful, and offered to lift others up, to give courage, to provide friendship and love.  Those voices have matured and become more graceful.  How has life turned out like this?  Is this just random happenstance, or might there be some great Author writing all this, making this story both often beautiful and sometimes frightening?

The answer to these questions is perhaps found within the verses a of a Christmastide sonnet (found below), entitled “Descent”, and written by our new friend Malcolm Guite, who is an Anglican priest, chaplain, poet, and singer-songwriter living in Cambridge, England.  Nancy and I met Malcolm earlier this year at a retreat in the Texas hill country, and found him a true renaissance man of great insight and hilarity.  He also is a dead ringer for Santa!  I would encourage you read this piece slowly, ponder its meaning, and perhaps share it with those you love over the Holidays.

Christmas Peace, Joy, Laughter, and Love to all from our home to yours!

Descent

They sought to soar into the skies

Those classic gods of high renown

For lofty pride aspires to rise

But you came down.

You dropped down from the mountains sheer

Forsook the eagle for the dove

The other Gods demanded fear

But you gave love

Where chiseled marble seemed to freeze

Their abstract and perfected form

Compassion brought you to your knees

Your blood was warm

They called for blood in sacrifice

Their victims on an altar bled

When no one else could pay the price

You died instead

They towered above our mortal plain,

Dismissed this restless flesh with scorn,

Aloof from birth and death and pain,

But you were born.

Born to these burdens, borne by all

Born with us all ‘astride the grave’

Weak, to be with us when we fall,

And strong to save.

- Malcolm Guite

malcolmguite.wordpress.com

Christian Wiman & Eugene Peterson

In October, my wife and I had the unique privilege of being a part of a weekend with these two men.  I am stilling pondering the conversations.  I will try to write on more of this soon, but here is a visual beginning:


Poet and Pastor: Christian Wiman & Eugene Peterson from Laity Lodge on Vimeo.