Seth Lewis

Rivers, Not Lakes

There’s a small lake in our village with a path around it and an island in the middle where a pair of swans make their nest every year. When the cygnets are born, they’re grey and fluffy and clumsy until they grow up and slowly become majestic. Eventually they all fly away and I don’t know where they go. Then every year one couple returns and there’s a new nest and eventually new cygnets.

The cygnets and ducklings and baby coots (cooties?) on the lake make the place a lot nicer to visit, because there are certain times of the year when the water isn’t much of an attraction on its own. It has the typical problem that most small lakes have: it tends to grow green and manky with pondweed and algae and such, especially in the summer. Some summers are worse than others, but even on a good year (like this one) there are still places where the weeds are thick enough that the little cooties can walk around on them instead of swimming.

Thorn Bush (a poem)

This week I have a short poem for you about a plant in our garden. It’s about more than that, really, but I’ll let it speak for itself:

Thorn Bush

The bush in our garden
Is covered with thorns

Answering Children

When our children were small, I used to write down some of the things they said because the things they said were so funny and cute. I recorded the most when they were around three and four years old, because that’s the sweet spot when simple logic, creative grammar, and limited vocabulary all come together in fantastically surprising ways. Like the time one of my children asked to see “the belly friend” and I didn’t know who that was but it turned out that the belly friend was the ice cream man—which does make a lot of sense when you think about it. Or when I was asked to pretend that I was real (a question some philosophers would probably love to dig into) or the time one of them asked me to stay with them because they wanted to be alone. Then there was the entrepreneurial child who asked if I’d let him sell our family car for €55 (I didn’t).

A Personal Update

It’s been a year and a half since I put up a personal update on the blog. That’s a long time, so today I’m sharing some of our recent news:

School is back in session for our children this week, which means summer is officially over. We didn’t get to go to America to visit our families this year, but all four of our parents did get over to visit us (and a niece as well). This was especially significant because both my mother and Jessica’s father had heart surgeries early this year. We are thankful that both have recovered well, and it was wonderful to have them here in Ireland. Our travel this summer was to take a ferry over to England for a Christian conference. It was one we’d never been to, and we barely knew anyone there, but that was soon remedied. It shouldn’t surprise me anymore, but it really is amazing how quickly our connection in Christ can override every area of difference and turn strangers into friends. We left refreshed and encouraged.

Days Like Blackberries

It’s blackberry season in Ireland right now, and our family has a yearly tradition of picking them. They’re not hard to find. The vines are growing in the hedges along the roads, reaching out into the paths in the woods, climbing over the old stone walls in the fields, and all of them covering themselves in juicy, plump, sweet little berries. Like candy, except healthier, and with thornier packaging. And free! They just grow, right out of the ground, in loads of public places where we can pick and eat and keep as many as we want. Last weekend we got almost four pounds on one family walk which are now (thanks to my wife) three jars of delicious homemade jam. Can you believe we live in a world where there are jam-bushes growing wild?

With Cheerfulness

In Romans 12, the Apostle Paul writes that “the one who does acts of mercy” should do them “with cheerfulness.” There are a lot of other words he could have used in that sentence after the “with”. There are other instructions he could have given to those who seek to give practical help to others. He could have told us to do acts of mercy with diligence or perseverance, with wisdom or self-sacrifice and all of these words would make sense, but Paul doesn’t use them. He tells us to serve “with cheerfulness.”

Really, Paul? Cheerfulness?

The Weeds (a poem)

You don’t know how bad the weeds are until you try to plant and keep a garden. In a similar way, as C.S. Lewis put it, “no man knows how bad he is till he has tried very hard to be good.” These are the things I was thinking about when I wrote this poem:

Time-Travel With Care

Time-travelling is one of the standard plot devices of our stories and films, from H.G. Well’s The Time Machine to Interstellar, Dr. Who, The Terminator, and hundreds more. It’s not hard to see the appeal—it’s interesting to imagine what it would be like to visit the world of the future or the past. It’s exciting to think of dipping into a different era, something totally unlike our normal everyday lives here and now. But it’s also easy to see the risks that this kind of time-travelling would bring with it. In the Back To The Future films, Doc Brown gives several stern warnings to Marty about the dangers and potential consequences of interfering with the past. He knows that time-travellers must be aware that even the smallest of actions can change the course of history in surprising ways—as we see in the films.

The Sheep Don’t Know

A cliff rises above the sea, jagged, wild, immovable. The waves, far below, break against it with noisy violence. This is where the ocean ends and the patchwork fields begin, suddenly. In the fields, there are sheep. As I walk past, one of them looks up at me as he chews a disinterested mouthful of grass. He has eyes, so he can see the same view I see. He has ears, so he can hear the waves, and the gulls crying out above him.

I am only visiting, and part of me envies this sheep his home and his everyday sights and sounds. I look up and wonder what the gull’s eyes are seeing as he soars over all of this on the power of the wind. I wonder if I were a gull, could I ever get used to that feeling enough to focus on feeding myself? I think I might be a skinny gull. But I think I would be filled with the thrill of wonder.

Playing In Power

It has taken me more than four decades of living to fully appreciate this, but a good wetsuit is a wonderful thing. Long sleeves, long legs, thick and tight and warm. The ocean is never warm in this part of the world. But a good wetsuit can give you a couple of millimetres of protection and believe me those millimetres are everything.

When I’m suited up, I walk confidently into the water. I’m ready to catch some waves. My son is beside me but our bodyboards collide and we’re laughing as my daughter flies past us on a fast one. We cheer her on, pick up our boards, and go again. And again. And again.