I live in the Bluegrass state, where college basketball is commonly referred to as the state religion.

Other sports fans in other states have probably moved on, but here in Louisville, we’re still recovering from the epic Final Four match-up between the University of Kentucky and the University of Louisville.

Too bad we’re UL fans.

We let the kids watch the game–mostly because we wanted to watch it, but they wanted to cheer on their Cards, too.

And when the game ended, my son cried.

He’s 9, but even so, he doesn’t cry a whole lot. At first, we thought he was disappointed that his favorite team lost. But that wasn’t it. It was such a good game, he said. They tried so hard, they played so well–they must be so sad that they lost.

I worry about being a good parent. Honestly, my kids misbehave a ton, and it makes me wonder how well I’m parenting my kids. I tend to focus on their behavior, and not so much on what’s in their heart.

That basketball game (of all things) gave me a glimpse into my son’s heart. I was so proud of what I saw in him after his favorite team lost: his kindness, his empathy, his concern for those college kids.

It made me feel like I’m doing something right.

If you haven’t yet read The Hunger Games, no worries: This post is spoiler-free.

I’m a latecomer to the Hunger Games bandwagon, and found about Julie Clawson’s book The Hunger Games and the Gospel: Bread, Circuses, and the Kingdom of God just days after blowing through The Hunger Games trilogy in 2 days. I respected Julie Clawson and her thoughts on pop culture and theology enough to promptly plunk down my $5, and was soon reading it on my Kindle.

In The Hunger Games and the Gospel, Clawson interprets The Hunger Games in light of the Christian faith, and specifically through the lens of the Beatitudes. While The Hunger Games is not a “Christian” book, the applications to the Christian faith are numerous. Ultimately, it’s a story about the power of hope, and love:

The good news that Jesus taught of the Kingdom of God offered tangible ways for how a world full of injustice and oppression can be transformed into one of hope—which was a message of good news back when Jesus first preached it and still is for us today. And it’s a message that resonates all throughout the imaginative narrative of The Hunger Games. The Hunger Games is not the Gospel, or even an allegory of the Gospel story, but it reflects the good news, helping to illuminate the path of Kingdom living for readers today.

I liked The Hunger Games and the Gospel for its sheer originality and interesting take on The Hunger Games. The applications Clawson draws between the dystopic future of Panem and our current world is fascinating–especially for U.S. citizens, who may may have more in common with the citizens of The Capitol than we’d like to think. Clawson’s assessment is both convicting and encouraging.

I do think Clawson’s overlay of the Beatitudes onto The Hunger Games breaks down, damaging the book’s structure. I disagree with her interpretation of the Beatitudes (which is crucial to her text). Clawson evidently believes the Beatitudes set forth qualities we should have as Christians: poverty, meekness, mourning, etc. are blessed conditions.

But I have been greatly influenced by the interpretation that Dallas Willard sets forth in The Divine Conspiracy, in which he says that the Beatitudes are pronouncements of grace: the Kingdom of God is so great that even the poor (the meek, the mourning…) will see God.

I am not a theologian, and I may very well be wrong on this point. But regardless of your take on this passage, The Hunger Games and the Gospel provides truly excellent food for thought. I absolutely agree with Clawson’s assertion that “well-written fiction presents the reader with opportunities to make choices about the world and to interrogate his or her own society.” The dystopic future of The Hunger Games provides a safe place for today’s Christians to wrestle with the larger themes of love, compassion, and justice, and Clawson’s commentary will help them do so more effectively.

Final assessment: The Hunger Games and the Gospel: Bread, Circuses, and the Kingdom of God is a worthwhile read for any Hunger Games fan.

This morning was one of those mornings.

My husband was at work (at church), and I was home with the kids.  Our plan was to drop the baby off at my mom’s house, and then I’d take the remaining three to church.

Things did not go as planned.

We’d lost an hour because of Daylight Savings and were hurrying to make it out the door on time. We were only two minutes past our planned departure time when I scuttled the kids out the back door and went to grab my keys from their hook–and they weren’t there. I tried to use the spare key but it didn’t work; it just set off the car alarm (and made the baby cry). I ditched that plan and tried to find my keys.

Fifteen minutes later, I had them, but at this point we would just barely make the service if we went straight there–so I called my mom to tell her not to expect us. We’d just brave the service with the baby.

We slid into the church as the service was beginning and settled in, and the baby began protesting immediately. “I don’t like it, Mom. It’s scary. I don’t like it.” I hoped he’d settle down, I emptied the contents of my purse trying to entertain him, I even gave him my phone. But his protests grew louder and I decided the best thing we could do was bail.

We walked out the door and I checked my watch, tears of frustration running down my face. We’d lasted 14 minutes.

I know it won’t be like this forever. My baby was happy in the nursery as an infant, and I think it won’t be long till he’s happy there again. But now, he screams and wails in the church nursery until the workers give up and come find me. (Does your church print something in the bulletin like this? “Your child will be much happier with our well-trained caregivers than in the worship service.” My children live and breath to prove that statement wrong.)

And I know I’m lucky: I have parents in town who can often keep my baby while the rest of us go to church.

But this morning, all I can think is fourteen minutes.

Have you ever spent just 14 minutes in a church service? Or maybe even less than that? Post to comments to make me feel better, please!

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My whole family visited a small Episcopal church down the street last weekend, and it didn’t go like I thought it would.

I’d heard the evening service we chose had a casual feel and drew a young crowd. The dress was casual, but not the feel, and my four were the only children. We didn’t exactly look like we belonged.

I thought my kids would hate the service. It was hushed. We sung hymns–with 4 verses. The prayers were long. We shushed them a lot.

But when service was over, they said they liked it. My 4-year-old liked sitting with her parents during service. My 6-year-old liked the music and the prayers she could read along with in the worship booklet.

And my 9-year-old said, “People make noise, mom. That church was small. Less people, less noise: I like it.”

Well. I’d never thought about it like that.

I have no long-term solutions for our family, but it was nice to go to church as a family for once. (And then, for a little positive reinforcement, we went out for ice cream.)

We’ve been talking all week about the many different ways people worship God–all over the city, and all over the world.

This week I’m hopeful for my little introverts.

photo credit

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February and I have never had a good relationship–it’s always involved cold, sickness, and grey skies. But this year February was wonderful, crazy-warm, and packed full of good stuff. Here’s what I was into in February:

On My Nightstand

I’m thankful to Goodreads for helping me track everything I’ve been reading this month! Here are a few…

I just finished Robert McKee’s Story: Substance, Structure, Style and The Principles of Screenwriting. McKee runs the famous Story seminar in Los Angeles. I underestimated what it takes to make a great screenplay: McKee’s dissection of what makes a good story is fascinating, and has me eager to revisit classics like Casablanca and Kramer v Kramer with new eyes.

Next up is a re-read of Donald Miller’s A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: How I Learned to Live a Better Story. The original subtitle was “What I Learned While Editing My Life:” Miller’s 2003 memoir Blue Like Jazz was turned into a screenplay several years ago, and he worked with the screenwriters to turn his life into a compelling film. In A Million Miles Miller shared what he learned about a good story: that it’s about a character, who wants something, and overcomes conflict to get it. I’m looking forward to coming back to this book straight off of McKee’s Story. (Blue Like Jazz: The Movie is releasing next month.)

I’ll be posting more about these two books on March 12 over at Modern Mrs Darcy.

I recently read Madeline L’Engle’s Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art (which deserves its own post) and she’s inspired me to re-read L. M. Montgomery’s Emily series. I’m halfway through Emily of New Moon.

And if you missed my reviews of Adam McHugh’s Introverts in the Church and Jen Hatmaker’s 7, you should add those books to your to-read list immediately.

What I’m Watching

We finally saw Midnight in Paris–great flick, great soundtrack.

In My Ears

I’m loving this new song from The Head and the Heart:

Cheyenne Marie Mize’s Wishing Well is my favorite new perky song.

In My Kitchen

I’ve finally figured out that my daughters are allergic to soy, which makes cooking feel like a daring adventure. I’m used to avoiding dairy and gluten, but avoiding soy takes label-reading to a whole new level.

And I never thought it would happen, but I’ve discovered green smoothies. And my kids are even drinking them.

What I’m Pondering

The church, my kids, and introverts. Thanks so much for your comments and emails on this one. I’m still processing and your suggestions and encouragement mean a lot.

“The Journey” by Mary Oliver. I don’t read poetry much, but this one found me in between Madeline L’Engle and Jeff Goins and it’s perfect.

This post by Jeff Goins is a nice summary of his writing workshop at Blissdom. “The world doesn’t need more safe writing,” he said, and encouraged us to write dangerously, and hit “publish.” I’ve been thinking all week about what that means for me.

What about you? What are you into?

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