My Friend Jane

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, But when the desire comes, it is a tree of life.

Proverbs 13:12

NKJV

Much like one of my favorite sitcom characters, books have been a source of companionship all my life. Not just any books of course. My tender soul requires lots of selective care in this regard. But the books that I find nourishing and filling and a joy to be immersed in are some of my greatest material treasures.

And here enters Jane Austen. I have spent years at a time with Jane, taking in all her words, growing in relationships with all her characters, and finding my heart strengthened after time with her. If you would like to see me in a big, heated huff and overflowing with thoughts to express, just make a dismissive comment about Jane Austen novels being “fluffy romances with no real substance.” I will either soon persuade you otherwise, or we will just probably never be best friends.

I have found myself returning to Jane again and again in times of trial, hungry for her calm, steady voice, her witty sense of humor, and her wise depictions of human nature. It was no surprise to me when I read accounts of doctors “prescribing” Jane Austen novels as a form of bibliotherapy to soldiers during WWI who were recovering from injury and shell shock. There is something healing and restorative about spending time in Jane’s world. I was reminded of that this spring, as I reconnected with Anne Elliot, the heroine of Jane’s novel Persuasion.

My return to Persuasion brought me the deep sigh of ease I have come to know awaits me when spending time with Jane. A summary of the story: Anne Elliot is one of three daughters to a deceased mother and an absurd father. On the strong advice of a close friend of her mother’s, she refused the proposal of her first love, Frederick Wentworth. This was a great grief to her, but she felt she was doing what was right (a very important thing to her) by following this respected elder’s opinion. Eight years pass, and we find Anne still sorrowful over this loss, but faithfully doing her best in life with an attitude of acceptance. Until one day when she again crosses paths with Captain Wentworth due to an overlapping circle of acquaintances. Through lengthy confusion, obstacles, soul-searching and distress we follow Anne as she tries to make sense of this change in circumstance. Of course, in the end she and Captain Wentworth are united, all misunderstandings explained, and we leave them joyfully content.

(I know this bare-bones summary of the story can make it sound like a simple romance. But please trust me when I say there is much more complexity to the story than I am conveying here.)

Upon completing my time with Persuasion last week, I was entering it into my reading journal (a practice I highly recommend), when suddenly, a beautiful picture hit me.

This story off Anne –
her hopes dashed, her sorrowful longing, her waiting with no sign of grief being relieved –
it is me.

And I imagine it is you too.

This is not just a story of a lost lover and a heart-broken girl. It is the story of human experience. Of life as we know it. Of course, life is overflowing with joys and beauty, and as a whole is a wonder-stirring miracle. But it is also weighted with pain that can often feel eternal.

What a relief to know that it is not.

Anne’s sorrow was not only relieved, but replaced by joy when she was united with Captain Wentworth and all was finally as it should be. In the same way will all our sorrows and pain be wiped out by inexpressible and eternal joy when we are one day united with the One who loves us perfectly.

In this way, I suppose Persuasion is a simple love story. A love story that reflects the love story all others mirror. It is a picture of the restoring of all that has been lost. A picture of truest reality.

And just like Captain Wentworth, perhaps we will one day find ourselves saying :

“I must endeavor to subdue my mind to my fortune. I must learn to brook being happier than I deserve.”

Heartening Companions, Words to Carry
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Sailing on the Waves

In recent years poetry has slowly become a source of respite for me. It’s taken awhile for me to learn the ways I best engage with it. (The methods of Charlotte Mason have been a great help to me in this.)

I tend to prefer older poetry, finding the rhyming rhythm a quieting thing for the mind.

Reading a poem aloud is always helpful.

I’ve also found that I have to read a poem all the way through at least twice before I start to really grasp the meaning within it.

The more I have approached poetry reading in this way, the more I have grown to love it. It is a unique expression of what makes up life, and often creates a picture that gives a healing or strengthening perspective.

The following poem is one I encountered recently, and it has brought light and encouragement to an often weary heart.

Sun and Shadow

As I look from the isle, o’er its billows of green,
To the billows of foam-crested blue,
Yon bark, that afar in the distance is seen,
Half dreaming, my eyes will pursue:
Now dark in the shadow, she scatters the spray
As the chaff in the stroke of the flail;
Now white as the sea-gull, she flies on her way,
The sun gleaming bright on her sail.

Yet her pilot is thinking of dangers to shun, —
Of breakers that whiten and roar;
How little he cares, if in shadow or sun
They see him who gaze from the shore!
He looks to the beacon that looms from the reef,
To the rock that is under his lee,
As he drifts on the blast, like a wind-wafted leaf,
O’er the gulfs of the desolate sea.

Thus drifting afar to the dim-vaulted caves
Where life and its ventures are laid,
The dreamers who gaze while we battle the waves
May see us in sunshine or shade;
Yet true to our course, though the shadows grow dark,
We’ll trim our broad sail as before,
And stand by the rudder that governs the bark,
Nor ask how we look from the shore!

Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894)
Practices to Replenish, Words to Carry
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On Looking for Home

The longing for the feeling of home has been present all my life. Home is comfort. It is safety. It is acceptance, belonging, and a feeling of being wanted. It is peace and rest. And most of all it is always there. Something that can be counted on.

I’ve found experiences of home in place, in people, even in stories. Of course, my home with my family is the greatest one of these. The settled presence in that home is slowly returning.

But all of these things are only a reflection. I found my thoughts lifted to the fulfillment of home recently.

I had no idea
The pain would be this strong
I had no idea
The fight would last this long
In my darkest fears
The rights become the wrong

I am still running
I am still running

Build me a home
Inside your scars
Build me a home
Inside your song
Build me a home
Inside your open arms
The only place I ever will belong

Jon Foreman

These lyrics encompassed my experience, and also drew my eyes beyond it. The never-ending fight is real. Pain beyond comprehension has been a companion far too much. Always running; that is often my version of living. Running in search of relief, peace, rest.

I think everyone has their own version of this in life. We’re all looking for home. We just need to remember that it has been right here all along.

He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress; My God, in Him I will trust.” * * * He shall cover you with His feathers, And under His wings you shall take refuge; His truth shall be your shield and buckler.

Psalm 91:1-2,4

NKJV

Songs for Comfort, Words to Carry
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