Antediluvian ~ Third in a series of words I like a lot.

Although this term can refer to the period before any major flood, it most often means the Noachian flood.  And out of that comes its meaning of extremely old or ancient.  I love the sound of the word itself — the great downward and backward cast of your tongue on the forth syllable has something of a deluge feel to it, I think.  And then, of course, there are wonderful applications such as this example given in the Princeton dictionary:   “a ramshackle antediluvian tenement.”

I would caution writers that this is an adjective very difficult to pull off without sounding pedantic.  If you want my advice, save it for casual conversation such as, “My, that tenement is ramshackle and antediluvian.”

West Keag

There was a bridge over a narrow part of a tidal river in Maine, called West Keag, or The Keag, or just “The Gig.” Every day for about five hours the water would flow violently in one direction under the bridge. Then there would be a slowing, then a pause and a gathering of lunar energy and impulse, and the water would begin to flow slowly, then faster and faster in the other direction. It was a fascinating thing to watch. A couple of miles from that spot was the cove where I would sneak off season and park by the summer people’s abandoned cotteges to watch the stars. It was the darkest place I had ever been in the US: One of my friends had a panic attack there because it was so dark and quiet, and another friend heard Jesus speak to her for the first time. The only other sound (and the only one that I heard until she screamed) was the gentle ka-thump of the waves on the wall below us. Water looks so deep in the dark, as if “deep” were more than a descriptor but an actual noun, like “the deep.” As if tumbling from the four foot rock wall into the black water would result not in wetness but in a neverending fall, cut off forever from earth and its gravity, subject only to the diurnal pull of the moon and the stars.

Lorem ipsum, first in a series of words and terms that I enjoy.

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What does it mean to be a Christian?

plan

S. D. found the irony in this; I think it’s incredibly profound.  Why do we expect God to give us an easy life?  What do we think this is all about, anyway?  (And by “we” I mean “me”).

Another friend emailed me this recently, a wonderful reminder of our purpose here:

“The chief purpose of life is not happiness, but the knowledge of God. One reason that the problem of evil seems so puzzling is that we tend to think that if God exists, then His goal for human life is happiness in this world.  God’s role is to provide comfortable environment for His human pets.  But on the Christian view this is false.  We are not God’s pets, and man’s end is not happiness in this world, but the knowledge of God, which will ultimately bring true and everlasting human fulfillment.  Many evils occur in life which maybe utterly pointless with respect to the goal of producing human happiness in this world, but they may not be unjustified with respect to producing the knowledge of God.”

Favorite poems

Sometimes I just want to share a favorite poem. These mean so much to me, and I am half joyful, half jealous that they can mean something to someone else, too. But if I can be the one to introduce you to it, then I am two thirds joyful. If I had understood my stats lecture this week I could tell you the probability of those two events, but instead I give you the wistful pleading of Yeats.

Aedh Wishes for the Clothes of Heaven

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.