A happy August to you, friends!
Last month, I had the privilege of traveling with my children (including my new daughter-in-law!) to Paris and the UK. The highlight of my three days in Paris was my visit to L’Orangerie, the museum where Claude Monet’s Water Lilies are displayed.
The Water Lilies are huge. They’re all six-and-a-half feet tall and the largest of them is 56 feet long. There are eight of them in total, four in each of two oval-shaped rooms. Here is what I wrote in my journal as I sat in the museum, awed by these magnificent pieces of art:
I walked into the first room and slowly turned a circle, taking in the paintings. Four of them, one on each wall, curved around me in an ellipse, large as life. I was overwhelmed—tears sprang to my eyes, and I could have wept for the sheer beauty in which I stood.
I am in the second room now and have being sitting here for perhaps an hour, watching half of one painting. The willows look alive, like they are moving in the breeze, and wind ripples the water of the pond. The water lilies, too, appear to be gently undulating on the surface of the pond, a slight movement up and down on the rippling water.
I think this must be what eternity is like. The painting does not move; it is eternally what it is, this moment, captured on canvas forever; and yet—and yet—it is alive; the sense of movement, of depth, of always moving yet remaining ever the same, is palpable. I am simply overcome by the beauty and magnificence of these paintings. They are luminous.
And this is a liminal space. A space to see—to really look. By capturing a moment of time in these paintings, Monet invites our attention, invites us to share his vision, his wonder and joy in this corner of creation that he loved so well. He certainly evokes my wonder, almost awe. The world is in constant flux— “the changes and chances of this temporal world”—but here is an eternal moment, a glimpse beyond the constant shifting to the steady heart of changeless beauty that underlies, enfolds, and fills the world.
These paintings are a window into the divine. They capture that changelessness that is found in worship, in adoration, in contemplation of beauty—no, the changelessness is not in those things; they only usher us into it. The changelessness is in God, “in whom there is no change or shadow of turning,” and we are invited to enter into it, to rest, as the Prayer Book says, in His eternal changelessness.
Friends, may the coming month hold moments of beauty that bring tears to your eyes, wonder to your mind, and peace to your heart. As summer draws to a close and the seasons change again, may you rest in the eternal changeless of our good and generous God.
First, This Shore of Light was named a finalist in the Women’s Fiction category of the American Fiction Awards!
I confess I didn’t know there were such things as the American Fiction Awards until just before I sat down to write this newsletter. My publisher sent me an email informing me that five IVP titles had been honored as winners or finalists, mine among them. Color me happy: I get a finalist sticker on the cover of my book, and I can now claim that I am an award-winning author! 😂
(You can see a full list of categories, winners, and finalists here.)
Second, in the past month, I’ve recorded four short Instagram videos.
You guys. I’m not even on Instagram. But my publisher is. If you’d like to see the videos, follow IVP (@ivpress) and maybe Meta’s algorithm will allow you to view them. Or maybe not. It’s hard to say. Good luck! ☘️
Third, my novel is being turned into an audiobook. Sometimes authors just get assigned a narrator, but I was offered a choice and got to select my top three. Such a gift! Any of the three women I chose will do an excellent job. (I don’t yet know which of them the powers that be will choose, but I’ll let you know next month. By then the audiobook may even be available for preorder.🤞)
Finally, my novel will be published in just two months! Advance copies start going out to endorsers and influencers next month. And later this month, I’ll be sending out an invitation to join my book launch book club. Stay tuned!
If you haven’t yet pre-ordered a copy, would you please be so kind as to do so now?
Preorder This Shore of Light on Bookshop
Preorder This Shore of Light on Amazon
It’s available from other online retailers, too, if you have one you prefer. Or you can ask your local bookseller to order it for you.
Strong pre-orders increase visibility on sites like Amazon, encourage bricks-and-mortar stores to stock copies of my book, and spur my publisher’s marketing efforts.
My heartfelt gratitude to those of you who have already preordered a copy. Thank you thank you thank you.💛💛💛
Last month I only finished one book worth mentioning (though I’m very close to finishing another):
This was a re-read for me. Also, our book club book for the month. I found it fascinating how differently the members of my book club read this book. I love Piranesi (the character), and I love seeing the House through his eyes of childlike wonder and joy: “The Beauty of the House is immeasurable,” he says near the beginning of the book, “its Kindness infinite.” I believe him. Others did not. They thought the House was creepy and Piranesi an unreliable narrator (they’re right; he is). That’s part of why I love this book so much, because there are layers upon layers, and those layers are ambiguous and open to interpretation, yielding rich discussion, even debate.
I also love it because it’s like a puzzle, or a maze, that Clarke drops you into the middle of—and, with Piranesi, you have to find your way out. In that way, it’s a kind of mystery novel (and I cut my literary teeth on Carolyn Keene; there’s a reason one of the characters in my novel is a car called Nancy Drew). And I love this novel because of the way Piranesi sees the world as benevolent and himself as beloved, despite all that has happened to him. In this, the novel strengthens my own faith in the goodness of God.
It is August 6 as I write this, the Feast of the Transfiguration, the day we celebrate God’s revelation of Jesus as the new Moses, the new Elijah, and His own beloved Son.
Peter, James, and John, weighed down by sleep, almost missed the moment when the glory of Very God from Very God was revealed on the mountain. But then they woke up, and they saw Jesus transfigured with light, speaking with Moses and Elijah. They saw Him as He was from the beginning, outside of time, radiant with glory.
Here then is a prayer that we, too, might wake from our slumber and “pay attention as to a lamp shining in a dark place,” as St. Peter said later in his life, “until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts” (2 Peter 1:19).
Let Thy love so warm our souls, O Lord, that we may gladly surrender ourselves with all we are and have unto Thee.
Let Thy love fall as fire from heaven upon the altar of our hearts; teach us to guard it heedfully by continual devotion and to cherish with care every spark of its holy flame with which Thy good Spirit would quicken us, so that neither height, nor depth, things present nor things to come, may ever separate us therefrom.
Strengthen Thou our souls; awaken us from the deathly sleep which holds us captive; animate our cold hearts with Thy warmth and tenderness, that we may no more live as in a dream, but walk before Thee as pilgrims in earnest to reach their home.
And grant us all at last to meet with Thy holy saints before Thy throne, and there rejoice in Thy love for ever and ever—Amen.
—Gerhard Tersteegen, 1731
(from Prayers Ancient and Modern,
ed. Mary Wilder Tileston)
In this last month of summer, as the rhythms of your life begin to shift toward autumn and all it holds, may you remember that Our Lord is with you every moment of every day, pouring His love ceaselessly into your soul. May you rest on His unchanging faithfulness.
Warmly,
K.C.
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