Seth Lewis

A Personal Update

It’s been almost a year since I shared a personal update on the blog, and life has been moving along. It’s never boring!

Our children recently turned seventeen, fifteen, and twelve, and Jessica and I celebrated our twentieth wedding anniversary this year as well. I feel like our family has moved decisively into a new stage of life—a middle stage, I suppose—and I have to say that I honestly love it. I have loved the other stages, too, each in their own way, each with their own challenges and joys. I think the stage we’re in now is my favourite so far, though. It has its own unique challenges, but I do love seeing our children grow and mature, and being able to relate to them on a grown-up level. I also love the stability and depth of a romance with two decades of shared life experience under it. We still disagree and argue, of course, but we’re a little better at it, I think, and quicker to forgive.

Outrunning The Rain

Living in Ireland, I’ve gotten used to the rain taking its own sweet time. It softly falls for days or weeks on end, completely oblivious to how egregiously it has overstayed its welcome. In Alabama, where I grew up, things are different. The rain there waits and builds up and waits some more and then suddenly bursts out of the clouds in a mad rush to pelt the ground all at once with all the drama and thunder and sky-splitting electricity it can muster (and sometimes tornadoes).

Pruning (a poem)

Everything grows fast in the garden this time of year. The rose stems stretch themselves upward, then droop with the weight of their own blooms. The grape vine climbs the arbour, blindly grasping anything it can hold on to. The weeds come back, and come back again, from somewhere, everywhere, while the vines on the back wall grow in every direction at once. All of this growth is a beautiful, abundant gift, yet I know that if I leave it untended for too long, my garden will eventually become something else entirely. The strawberries will send runners into the grass, the grass will colonise the herb bed, the weeds will colonise the grass, and the roses will block the path with thorns. The longer I leave it alone, the harder I’ll have to work to reclaim it. And here, in the wild tendencies of my garden, I see a reflection of myself. That’s what this poem is about:

All Of It, All At Once

There was still an hour before I had to be at my first meeting for the day. The morning was beautiful, promising to be one of the nicest days of the year. I had to go outside. I didn’t know the area, but my phone told me there was a park in a nearby town I’d never been to. A few minutes later, I pulled in next to the jogger and dog-walker sedans—the family cars hadn’t arrived yet. The park was extensive. It was build around a lake, with ancient trees and well-maintained lawns, meandering paths, benches, swans, and the dawn chorus echoing in stereo surround-sound all around me.

Beyond Measure

When we speak about blessings, we usually speak about the good things we enjoy, like family, friends, a nice holiday, or a great coffee. These are wonderful blessings, worth counting, and giving thanks for. And yet I was reminded recently (through a prayer of thanks offered by a friend) that when the Bible speaks of blessings, the language it uses is often far more extreme than the language we’re accustomed to using ourselves. Paul tells us that “no human mind has conceived” the greatness of “the things God has prepared for those who love him“ (1 Corinthians 2:9). In other words, God’s blessings for his children are literally off the charts, stretching beyond the borders of imagination. “My cup overflows”, says David, in Psalm 23, and in Psalm 16 he speaks of how,

“You make known to me the path of life;
you will fill me with joy in your presence,
with eternal pleasures at your right hand.”

One Day Leads To Another

I have learned over the years to temper my expectations about what can actually be accomplished in a single day. I’m not proud of this—I would be far happier if I could tell you that after consistently exceeding my own expectations of productivity I’ve had to adjust them in the other direction. The days are quick, though, and before I know it the morning is almost over and then after lunch the hours fly and it’s evening and I should really get to bed or I’ll be cross in the morning with my sleep-stealing self. I would love to do great things and see great progress today, but it’s hard to fit all those big, shiny things into one little square on the calendar.

Light (a poem)

When the sun comes out in Ireland, the people come out, too. We appreciate the sun, because we never know how long we’ll get to see it. We soak it in as much as possible—the brightness, the warmth, the Vitamin D, the light. I’ve heard that the physics of light are complicated, that it’s simultaneously a wave and a physical particle, which is confusing. But just think of all the things it does: it illuminates the world and makes our eyes work, for starters, but that’s only the beginning. It also carries heat from the sun 150 million kilometres away to warm our world and kiss our skin. Light also helps our bodies create Vitamin D, and even more impressively it helps plants all over the world photosynthesise the energy they need to grow. In other words, without light, we wouldn’t merely be blind—our whole world would be a wasteland.

The Picture Books We Couldn’t Part With

Our children are not really children anymore. It’s been a long time since we read picture book stories to them. But if you look at our bookcases at home, you’ll see that our family still has picture books. We didn’t save most of them—bookcase space is too precious for that—but there are also some picture books that are too precious to part with. Books that were read too many times, that became too much a part of us and our family history together to think of letting go. We had a conversation over dinner recently about the picture books we all remember and love the most, and I thought some of you might like to hear what we came up with. This list represents many hours of read-aloud story times in the Lewis home, times that continue to live on as treasured memories for all of us. So if you have little ones at home, or nephews or nieces or grandchildren or friends with smallies, you might enjoy these, as well. Here’s our list:

The Secret Of Contentment

When I see the ruins of old cottages around us in Ireland, I’m always struck by how small they are, and by how dramatically our everyday living has changed. Even the best of the ancient castles are not nearly as comfortable as a standard modern home or apartment. They didn’t have flushing toilets. They didn’t have radiators or refrigerators or wifi. They didn’t have washing machines or cars or exotic foods from around the world available year round in local shops. They couldn’t order whatever they wanted from anywhere and have it shipped to their door in days without ever needing to leave the climate-controlled comfort of their own couch. If our ancestors could see us now, they would probably expect us to be the happiest, most care-free and content people to ever live. And they would be wrong. Our modern society is anything but content. We are plagued by anxiety, depression, relational breakdown, hopelessness, and despair. We promote mental health now more than ever, but the problems persist, and grow. Clearly, contentment is not just the result of having more wealth, more opportunities, more education, or better conditions. If it were, we should be one of the most content societies to ever live on planet earth. And yet somehow, contentment has eluded us. Have we been looking for it in the wrong places?

A Curious Mind

Have you ever wondered about your ability to wonder about things? It’s a wonderful gift, when you think about it. It’s the ability that has unlocked most of our discoveries, because the most fertile ground for discovery is always a curious mind. I’m sure you can learn things without being curious—some lessons will slap you in the face whether you ask them to or not—but there’s no question you’ll learn a lot more if you start with questions. Isn’t our entire scientific method just a systematic series of questions? Without curiosity, the whole world fades into nothing more than a boring necessity, the people around us flatten down into a procession of stereotypes, and God himself starts to look like some kind of tired trope or taskmaster. Without curiosity, life goes stale. Tasteless.