North! Or Be Eaten

It's here!¹




If a resonating theme of On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness hinted that knowing where you come from is as significant as knowing where you’re going, the theme of Andrew Peterson’s Book Two in The Wingfeather Saga dives deeper, but is wrapped neatly up in the dedication to his three children: “Remember who you are.”

This whole concept of understanding your true identity, intentionally remembering who you are, and living your life in the light of that reflection, is threaded throughout the Igiby’s second grand tale of adventure. A myriad of responses to this true identity is witnessed: resentment of inherited responsibilities; hiding from the truth; running from the truth; fighting against the truth; and even the rare quiet and humble acceptance…each character struggling or submitting in his and her own way.

Like most AP stories, you don’t get very far before you’re smacked good and hard with reflections of your own responses to the truth. Do we remember who we are? Or do we allow the world to define us, to tell us who we are, eroding our foundation with slow and seductive (but merciless) waves of lies until we topple into the ocean? And if our eyes grow dim enough, and we lie in darkness for long enough…how painful it can be to come into the light again. Yet, it is only by this light that we see. It is only by this light that we can become who we already are. Do we remember? ²

Shall I talk about the book? I’ve been putting off writing my review for a reason…a reason I am loathe to actually type out for all to see. North! Or Be Eaten is not as good as OTEOTDSOD. It’s in grave danger of catching Middle Book Syndrome; Aerwiar is no longer a new world of discovery, and lacks a bit of the sharp poignancy I found on my first visit there. There are altogether too few footnotes. ³ And the Great Battle has yet to be fought, so the end is hardly satisfactory, as it’s clearly not the end. I chalked it up to extravagant and nigh unmeetable expectations. Then I sat down and re-read the last few chapters again tonight and changed my mind.

How could I have thought it lacked poignancy? The last scenes are intense enough to awaken that unquietable but “pleasurable ache between my heart and my stomach”, as Podo would say. It’s difficult to say much without giving too much away, but I will say that the end⁴ bursts open in glorious and powerful revelation of true identity…not in discovering some new identity, but in fully recognizing what is already known.

“What’s magic, anyway?” Nia asks in Chapter 57. “…Aerwiar is full of wonders and some call it magic. This is a gift from the Maker…(it) has great power, but it is clear the Maker put the power there when He knit the world. If it seems as though we have uncovered some great secret, it is only because the wars of the ages concealed what once was as common as grass.” ⁵

What is magic, Nia? Magic is finding newness in a story older than time. Magic is unearthing more of myself, and more of my Maker, while digging into a child’s tale about old pirates and fork factories. And magic is, of course, getting to know Peet the Sock Man more thoroughly. ⁶

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1. As usual, if you’re looking for an honest-to-goodness review, go somewhere else. Or just buy the book because you know you already want it.

2. What? Too vague and overspiritualized for a book review? Deal, you’re the only one reading this anyway!

3. That’s as close as I’m going to get to your suggested complaint, Ames.

4. though not quite the end…

5. This line really struck me “…because the wars of the ages concealed what was once as common as grass.” A thing resounds when it rings true, and all that. I’m not sure the quote flows with the review at all, but who’s really keeping score?

6. Indeed.

he who has an ear, let him hear...

I read Revelation this morning, Chapters One and Two, while sitting in my car before church. It was actually just a “I have a few minutes before I want to head in so I’ll read a little bit…why not Revelation?” kind of thing. I read 2:12-17 a couple of times through (the message to the church of Pergamum) and was struck by the promise of the white stone with the new name written upon it. I pondered what my own new name could be, this name that no one knows but she who receives it. Then I went in.

Service was good, though I had to pull out my notes just now to remind myself what the sermon was about. (You could, I suppose, draw one of two conclusions from that statement. Either the sermon was slightly forgettable, or I have a progressively bad memory. I leave it up to you to decide.) A moment during one of the songs, however, is quite stuck in my head. We were singing “I Will Rise” and it seemed particularly poignant to me today. Struggling a bit this week with discouragement, anxiety, doubt, and failure, the hope-full verse that struck me was:

There's a day that's drawing near
When this darkness breaks to light
And the shadows disappear
And my faith shall be my eyes

Across the aisle from me was a gentleman, eyes closed, quietly singing along. He was seated, not in a comfy blue chair, but rather in a wheelchair…one designed for the long haul, by all appearances. And he was singing:

And I will rise when He calls my name
No more sorrow, no more pain
I will rise on eagles' wings
Before my God fall on my knees
And rise
I will rise

And I thought about how very dark this world can be, how many tears have been shed through the ages. How we are each afflicted with our own crippling disease, that can bind us and break us. How very much we need healing. How very much we need a Healer. And my heart cried “Come, Lord Jesus.”

…………………………………………………………………………………

In Small Church, Stephan started with a devotional. On Revelation 2:12-17. The Pergamum church was reminded that Jesus had a two-edged sword, and that He would come quickly to them wielding that sword if they did not repent. Stephan suggested that each edge of the sword (Word) served a purpose. One to cut, one to heal. He also spent a few minutes on the white stone, explaining that the Roman judicial system used a black stone to indicate guilt, a white stone to indicate innocence.

I’m not going to try too hard to bring this all together into one tidy little epiphany right now. It’s still churning (and burning) around. Maybe it’s connected, or maybe I’m so far behind in my lessons that God decided I needed to double up today. But I do know this:

We may be broken and weak, but Jesus heals.
We may be guilty as hell, but Jesus saves.
We may be drowning in the darkness, but the Dawn is drawing near.

Come, Lord Jesus.

fair to middling expectations

(Note to K&K – Yes, I’m stubborn and don’t respond well to anything remotely resembling pressure…so my initial reaction was to not post out of spite…and an intense desire to make my own decisions and take care of my own life, thank-you-very-much. But Ma says “Maybe you need to work on that…”)

My problem lately is this: I feel like I don’t have much to say. Especially when you all seem to expect some great and wise insight, or at least something mildly amusing. Expectations lead to Pressure to Live Up to Them. Pressure, for Shannon, usually leads to Shutting Down and/or Shutting Out. Or, in this case, Shutting Up. (Ok, so I’m not really blaming my lack of posting completely on you. I’m trying, though.)

I have been thinking about Expectations a bit, however. Mostly, of course, about my own expectations, and how others consistently fail to meet them. (Much easier, you know, and more comfortable, to think about that than the reverse.) It just seems like the past year has been extraordinarily full of disappointments and a shocking lack of follow-through from a number of people in my life. I’m not talking about someone just being late to appointments (though you know how I feel about punctuality). I’m talking about someone not showing up at all; no phone call, no explanation, no attempt at apology, nothing. (And more than one person has done this.) Making commitments and utterly, utterly failing to follow-through. Saying one thing, doing another. Not being the kind of friend I expect a brother or sister in Christ to be.

Are my expectations too high? Am I too quick to judge, to condemn? Do I place altogether too much importance on myself and how I think others should act? Am I inviting disappointment, even expecting it, then feeling justified for having known all along someone would fail me? Do I embrace the victim’s role, tragic and abused?

Should I give up on expecting anything from anyone?

And the worst part is the fallout. People usually know when they’ve disappointed you, even if you don’t say anything. They get uncomfortable. Awkward. Defensive. And then they hide. And being the Greatly Offended Party, I usually feel no desire to seek them out. It is, after all, their fault. And the awkwardness just grows, becoming nearly a living but deadly monster, suffocating the relationship. Some of my relationships have been thus wounded, I fear some mortally so.

Am I not at greater fault? Isn’t it the Lord’s expectation of me to build the fellowship, nurture and mend? To forgive? To attend to the plank, and all that? But even then, even doing those good things, do I not sometimes simply exchange my role from that of the Victim to that of the Martyr?

And do I not do unto others just what they have done unto me? And do I not do so unto the Lord, as well? If I feel I’ve disappointed Him, I get uncomfortable. Awkward. Defensive. And I hide.

Thank God for Grace. For being a God that seeks me out when I hide, and bids me to return and lift my face to the sun. And for being a Covenant God, One who never forgets to show up.

May we grow in His love, dear ones. For Him and for each other.


(But just so you know, I posted because I wanted to, not because you asked...)