C.S. Lewis | All is Well

Joy

October 16, 2017 By Shelly Durkee

I never imagined that someday I’d be accepting a marriage proposal on a beautiful, fall day, high above the clouds in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

But that’s exactly what took place this morning.

Honestly, two years ago when this goofy, smart, kind man walked into my life, I had no thoughts of marriage. In fact, just the very idea of dating someone was overwhelming to me.

I’ve grown very stubborn, strong and independent, as a single mom, following my ex-husband’s arrest in 2009.

Ok, maybe I’ve always been stubborn. And independent. But facing the challenges that followed the devastation of his arrest served only to magnify and intensify both of those attributes. Where I was once just stubborn, strong and independent, I am now doggedly and fiercely so.

And I had no intention or interest, in marrying again.

C.S. Lewis – my favorite author – expressed it best, in his book “The Four Loves”:

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal.”

My heart had not only be wrung and broken–it had been shattered.

I was determined to not be vulnerable to that pain again.

Turns out, though, that God had other plans.

I first met Ken virtually, on teleconferences for my job. He worked in the field of cybersecurity, but on the customer side. His job was to make sure we were maintaining security compliance in the system we were building, for the government.

My first impression?

This guy is grumpy. And he does not like us.

I was still fairly new to the world of IT compliance; really, I had no idea what his job was–I didn’t understand all the nuances nor the role that he was in. I just thought he was a jerk.

And then, one day, I heard he was coming to work for our company.

I was astonished. Shocked. Dumbfounded.

Why the heck would this guy, who clearly didn’t like us, want to come work for us?

Well, friends, that just goes to show you that first impressions may not always be right.

I would later learn that he had the utmost respect for the company I work for–he loved working with our engineers, project leads and managers so much so, that he jumped at the chance to come over to the “contracting dark side.”

Guess I was wrong.

And, the first time I met him “in person”, he wasn’t at all like what I had imagined him to be. I had pictured him as this overbearing, self-assured, know-it-all guy.

That couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Shortly after he joined the team, we had a team dinner in Hampton, and while I pretty much ignored him, I could tell that he wasn’t all those negative things that I had initially thought. But, really, I didn’t give him much more thought than that.

But then came the summer of 2015—the summer of our new United States Marine Corps contract. And with that contract, we attended some of the same meetings. We started chatting, getting to know each other. He invited me to dinner; I accepted. We slowly got to know each other.

And then, he decided that he liked me.

And then, I panicked a bit. Or, maybe more than a bit. Because I liked him, too.

In the course of our talks, I expressed to him early on that my relationship to God is and always will be first in my life, and that my kids are my world. My involvement in church is a non-negotiable. And my overwhelming responsibility of caring for my four amazing kids and continuing to raise them to adulthood must remain my primary focus. For now, any relationship we pursued, would have to be done with those two things in mind.

And while the kids would and will not need me as much as they get older and become strong, independent and stubborn young adults (I’ve taught them well!), my relationship with God and the importance of that in my life will never change.

He listened. Thought about my words. And didn’t waver.

In other words, I didn’t scare him off.

In fact, the exact opposite happened. He worked hard to get to know my crew. Respectfully, though–he never tried to step into a parenting role. He understood from day one that this was not what my kids needed. Instead, he got to know them as a friend—giving advice where it was appropriate. Encouraging them always. Cheering them on, in their accomplishments And goofing around with them. My kids are pretty protective of me–and he won them over. Ken became a part of our family–which is saying a lot, because the 5 of us are pretty tight-knit, a result of facing some really tough things together.

And church didn’t scare him, either. Instead, he decided he was going to go to church.

I’m a terrible person, friends.

I told him, “That’s fine, but you can’t sit with me.”

So he came to church, but didn’t sit with me.

For months.

But one Sunday morning, I looked at him sitting up there in the balcony, with another one of our coworkers, and my soul said to my mind, “He belongs sitting next to you.” So I motioned for him to join me.

And I’ve never looked back.

There is a lot more to this story–much more than what can be expressed in a blog post. There are the numerous hours that the men in my church have invested in teaching Ken about who God is, and what it means to be a Christ-follower. There are the pages and pages and pages of prayers that I’ve written, passworded and locked away–prayers about our relationship, and the future. There are many cherished moments, as I’ve watched Ken play ping-pong with Mark, give Bethany driving tips, pay for Tim’s dinner and cheer Keli and I after our first (and last) half marathon. There are the hours upon hours of deep conversations, settled contentedness, and loud laughter—and then there are (much less, but no less significant) the hours of tears as I’ve sat alone in my room, wrestling agonizing fear of the pain that comes from loving someone, along with the whole concept of divorce and remarriage, and grief that is to raw to share here.

But, through this whole experience up to the moment when I said, “Yes, I will marry you” this morning, I have often been “Surprised by Joy.”

Yes, I have borrowed that phrase from C.S. Lewis—and I am very aware of his meaning and definition behind the phrase–the deep longing for what can only be supplied by and found in God. But without diminishing Lewis’s intended use of the words, or his experience of becoming a Christ-follower which was so similar to my very own, I find the phrase still very applicable to the journey that has brought me to be on that mountain ridge this morning, above the clouds and below the sky that I hold so dear, with this kind-hearted, sweet soul whom I love and who I look forward to spending the years that lie before us with.

There is much joy.

So many times over these hard years, I’ve turned to the book of Job to find strength in the midst of hard things, and to preach to myself the words of Job 13:15: “Though he slay me, I will hope in Him.” And, these words, in Job 1:21: “The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”

And all those times I’ve wept tears and poured out my grief before God–about so many things, not just the loss of my marriage, but so, so many things that ache deeply–my focus has always been on the phrase “the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”

But–oh, my soul–He has also given. He has given me so much–a community that has stood by my crew and I. A church family that has truly been family in their love and protection and care for us. Dear friends who have stood by us and who have not abandoned us. A job that I love and that gives me the ability to house, cloth and feed my crew, and coworkers that are friends and a joy to support. The ability to laugh, much. The deep blue sky that settles my soul. The gift of music.

My crew–all four of them–and the deep bond we share.

And now, Ken, my fiance.

The Lord has given.

Blessed be the name of the Lord.

The Waves and Wind Still Know

April 10, 2017 By Shelly Durkee

To what will you look for help, if you will not look to that which is stronger than yourself? ~ C.S. Lewis; Mere Christianity

A few days ago, while at the kid’s grandparent’s house here in Hawaii, June (or “Tutu”, which is Hawaiian for Grandma) gave me a box of books that I had left at their house years and years ago, because I couldn’t fit them all into my suitcase when I was returning home.

It was like greeting old, familiar friends. Keller. Yancey. Lewis. Others.

These are books I clung too with a death grip, during a time in which I was not strong. A time during which my world had been shattered, seemingly beyond repair. Their pages are full of sand, and tear smudges, as I would sit day after day on the beach, reading them in an attempt to shore up my crumbling wall of belief that had just so recently been built, and now was being tested.

Friends, indeed.

We packed up most of them and shipped them home yesterday, but I held on to one book to keep here and read during our final days on this island. It is a compilation of key writings by C.S. Lewis, who I often refer to as my “Uncle”.

Yesterday, I reached the above quote from him, and it gripped my soul once again.

By nature, I am fiercely independent. To the point that it is a source of pride—it is very easy for me to be sinfully proud of how independent and strong I am. The thought of needing help rankles me, even if that help comes from God.

But there have—and are–times in life when I find myself having to preach the words of Psalm 121 to my soul over and over and over again, until they sink down deep and I begin to grasp the truth of the words:

I lift up my eyes to the hills.
From where does my help come?
2 My help comes from the Lord,
who made heaven and earth.
3 He will not let your foot be moved;
he who keeps you will not slumber.
4 Behold, he who keeps Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
5 The Lord is your keeper;
the Lord is your shade on your right hand.
6 The sun shall not strike you by day,
nor the moon by night.
7 The Lord will keep you from all evil;
he will keep your life.
8 The Lord will keep
your going out and your coming in
from this time forth and forevermore. (Psalm 121)

My help comes from the Lord.

Not from my stubborn, sinfully prideful independent self.

It comes from the one who made heaven and earth.

Oh, my soul.

Sitting on the beaches of Hawaii, this truth hits me more deeply than anywhere else on earth. It was on these same beaches 10-11 years ago, when I first came to realize that God was real…and, that this creator God who made the vast ocean with the crashing waves that stretched as far as my eyes could see–the mighty one who was, and is, still creating earth through the erupting volcano on this island that I was standing on—this very same God….

…..knew my name.

That thought is overwhelming.

So when I read the words of C.S. Lewis, on looking to something stronger than myself (and yourself!) for help–while it goes against my very nature of independence—how could it not be truth? Many have said to me, “You are so strong.” But in reality, I am so weak. So tired. My strength to stand comes only from the only one stronger than I—my Lord and my God.

This morning, in just a couple of hours, I will have the gift of singing with my girl, at church here on the islands. We will be singing “It is Well”, as arranged by Bethel music. Last Sunday, we had the honor of singing it for our former church on Oahu. They stood by us through the tough days following my ex-husband’s arrest–as did our current church of Seaford Baptist, and so many others. It was so good to sing for them last week, to show them that, indeed, our souls are well. To thank them, for their love.

This morning, we will sing it one last time, as we sing it in worship with the kid’s grandparent’s church. The unique thing about this church is that it meets in an open-air pavilion, high up on the hillside, overlooking the vast ocean—the very same ocean that God used to teach me the very realness of Himself, so many years ago.

A couple of days ago, we circled the island and stopped at one of the most beautiful places on this island which is saturated with beautiful places….Lapohoehoe Point.

The wind was fierce; the waves even fiercer. I captured the moment, in the video below.

As I stood there, mesmerized by the waves, the wind and the water was so loud that I could hear nothing but its howling and the waves crashing. And it brought to mind these words, from the song we will sing this morning:

Grander earth has quaked before
Moved by the sound of His voice
Seas that are shaken and stirred
Can be calmed and broken for my regard

So let go my soul and trust in Him
The waves and wind still know His name

He is my help. My source of strength. He will keep me.

Let go, my soul.

Trust in Him.

He is the only reason these words are truth:

The waves and wind still know His name.

And, He knows mine.

It is well, with my soul.

“….the Most Dejected and Reluctant Convert….” ~ a Conversation with C. S. Lewis

May 16, 2016 By Shelly Durkee

A couple of weeks ago, I had the gift of getting to attend a play by Max McLean. McLean is a Christ-follower actor, who has worked tirelessly to present some of the works of C.S. Lewis on-stage.

The one-act, one-man play that I watched was held in the historic Lansburgh theater in Washington, D.C. It’s charm is that it is small; I would even say that it is cozy. So, as we watched McLean personify C.S. Lewis sitting in his office–books on his desk, sherry and stout on the table, pictures of his family on the wall—one really did feel as if they were sitting down with Lewis, in his home, getting ready to take tea and debate with him.

I loved it.

The focus of the play was on two of Lewis’ works: Surprised by Joy and The Weight of Glory. I’ve only read The Weight of Glory once; however, I’ve read Surprised by Joy several times. Surprised by Joy is a key book in my process of coming to believe that there is a God, and subsequently coming to be a Christ-follower. The first time I read it, I started it upon wheels-up of a long flight to Honolulu. By the time we landed, I had read the book cover to cover, and I was not the same person. No, I wasn’t a Christ-follower yet, upon completion of the book. But I had found someone in Lewis who had found words about things that I had struggled to express, or understand, or had questioned, all my life.

So, as McLean spoke the words of his monologue that Saturday afternoon, I found many of them to be familiar. Recognizable. Comfortable–and comforting. I–along with much of the audience–chuckled at several points in the presentation. Lewis had such a way with words! It was delightful to hear them shared in that medium.

But at one point in the 70-minute-long act, while the rest of the audience chucked at what was being said, I found myself in tears. Oh, what Lewis (McLean) said at that point did conjure up a funny picture–the imagination of what Lewis was describing; however, they were not funny words to me, because I had lived them myself.

Here is what was said, taken straight from Surprised by Joy:

“You must picture me alone in that room in Magdalen, night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my work, the steady, unrelenting approach of Him whom I so earnestly desired not to meet. That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England. I did not then see what is now the most shining and obvious thing; the Divine humility which will accept a convert even on such terms. The Prodigal Son at least walked home on his own feet. But who can duly adore that Love which will open the high gates to a prodigal who is brought in kicking, struggling, resentful, and darting his eyes in every direction for a chance of escape?”

Oh, my soul. These were the words that caught me off guard that Saturday afternoon; in hearing them again–words I have read so many times before. I did not expect that they would stir my mind and soul, but hearing them intoned by McLean as Lewis, wrecked me a bit–in a good way……..because I deeply understand Lewis’ words here because I could have echoed them, or written them myself. I, too “gave in” and admitted God was God. I, too, was “the most dejected and reluctant covert” (in all of the United Statues; or so it seemed at the time). I was the prodigal brought into the gates, kicking, struggling, resentful and darting my eyes in every direction, looking for escape, and finding none.

And, yes, I “duly adore the Love: of God, which was “steady, unrelenting” in His approach.

It is grace. Amazing grace.

So, as the audience laughed at the image of Lewis practically being dragged into Christianity, I found my cheeks wet with uncharacteristic tears. Because I remembered.

And, because I am so grateful for His forgiving love, and tender mercy, even for the kicking, resentful prodigal daughter that I was–and that I still default to, at times.

I think Tim Keller does a great job of summing it up, with these words:

“God relentlessly offers his grace to people who do not deserve it, or seek it, or even appreciate it after they have been saved by it.”

Yes. This is truth. He did, to me. He does, to me, even today.

And He relentlessly offers it to you, too.

⁴“What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he has lost one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the open country, and go after the one that is lost, until he finds it? ⁵And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing. ⁶And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and his neighbors, saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.’

Luke 15:4-6

My “Uncle”, C.S. Lewis; Thoughts on the Anniversary of his Death

November 23, 2015 By Shelly Durkee

On this date, in 1963, my friend C.S. Lewis stepped through the wardrobe and found himself at the feet of the God who had pursued and secured his soul.

No, I wasn’t born yet, when Lewis died, but he is a dear, dear friend to me. I even, often, refer to him as my “Uncle”. I have a lousy imagination–I never was much one for making up scenarios in my head–but on occasion, I have imagined what sitting down to chat (debate) with him would be like, in his sitting room, before a roaring fire. Possibly while he drank a glass of stout port wine and smoked a cigar.

I imagine, that we would have much to discuss.

God changed my soul through the study of scripture, no doubt. But he also changed it through the writings of this man. I should like to thank Lewis, some time, for his words.

I was very resistant to reading Lewis, when it was first suggested to me to do so. I found his fiction writing–namely, the Chronicles of Narnia, to be dreadfully tiresome. I don’t like allegory, and I definitely, at the time, had no desire to read allegory pertaining to something I didn’t actually believe in. And, besides, the tales seemed too childish to me. And, honestly, not all that well written.

So, I had no interest in reading his other, non-fiction, words.

But I found myself on a long flight from the East Coast, to Hawaii, and I needed something to read, so I packed his auto-biography “Surprised by Joy“, in my backpack. I grudgingly pulled it out as we took off, headed west.

And somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, I finished the book. And something, somewhere in the depths of my brain, was different.

I felt I had “met” someone who thought like me. Someone who asked the same questions that I did (I experienced a similar reaction to the writings of Philip Yancey). In fact, Lewis himself has the best words to describe how I came to view him as my friend. He wrote this, in the book The Four Loves:

“Friendship is born at that moment when one man says to another: “What! You too? I thought that no one but myself . . .””

Yep. That’s exactly how it was. I thought that no one but myself thought, reasoned, contemplated the things that I did or do. Yet here was this dead author, writing words that resonated with my brain.

I had met a friend.

And he has remained my friend, since that first trans-Pacific flight. Rarely do I return to books in general, but Lewis’ books are comforting friends. I keep his autobiography near my bed. Many times in the middle of the night, when I’ve been unable to sleep, I’ve read the words I’ve highlighted and underlined in that book. The same goes for his books Mere Christianity, and The Problem of Pain, and The Weight of Glory. A Grief Observed is on my shelf, but is too painful to return to very often. But these others–they are as comforting as my favorite blanket or worn sweatshirt.

I think I find a home in Lewis’ writings, because they are so honest. So real. So logical. So basic. So earnest. There is no flowery, emotion-laden words dripping with sentimentality or over-the-top expressions designed to manipulate the reader into “feeling” something about God. No, instead Lewis tackles things with–well–the best word I can come up with is authenticity. He is who he is. And, he is who he is, before God. And God is who God is; so Lewis describes him as such.

Authentic. Earnest. Honest. Real.

And such words wash over my soul and settle me.

So often. So often. So often.

So, when Lewis writes these words in Surprised by Joy, I find myself saying “Yes. YES. This I understand, because me too, my friend; my uncle! Me too!”:

“You must picture me alone in that room in Magdalen, night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my work, the steady, unrelenting approach of Him whom I so earnestly desired not to meet. That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England. I did not then see what is now the most shining and obvious thing; the Divine humility which will accept a convert even on such terms. The Prodigal Son at least walked home on his own feet. But who can duly adore that Love which will open the high gates to a prodigal who is brought in kicking, struggling, resentful, and darting his eyes in every direction for a chance of escape? The words “compelle intrare,” compel them to come in, have been so abused be wicked men that we shudder at them; but, properly understood, they plumb the depth of the Divine mercy. The hardness of God is kinder than the softness of men, and His compulsion is our liberation.”

Yes. Because, you see, God’s compulsion was my liberation, too. I was that prodigal brought in kicking, struggling, resentful and darting my eyes, looking for an escape.

And I duly adore that Love–that God–My Lord and my God–who pursued me and captured my mind and soul, and accepted me with His Divine humility, even in my ridiculous state.

Lewis talked much about that day, when he would see God face-to-face. He spoke often of the “realness” of that home which awaits us. I long for that day; I ache for that day. I think my Uncle Lewis did, too. And on this cold, November day 7 years before I was born, he no longer longed for it, because he was home, and is home, and can say with a very realness, these words which he wrote in “The Last Battle“, from The Chronicles of Narnia:

“I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now…Come further up, come further in!”

And, someday too, I will reach the land I have been looking for, all my life. I belong there. And my uncle Lewis belongs there, too.

And, maybe we will sit down together, and have a nice long chat.