Monthly Archives: December 2023

Where Shall Wisdom Be Found? Or in the Heart or in the Head?

Christopher Rush

At the climax of Job’s lamentation, just before his final self-defense, he gives a poetically moving discourse on wisdom, centering on two important questions: “where shall wisdom be found? And where is the place of understanding?” (Job 28:12) Along with its three companions knowledge, understanding, and discernment, wisdom’s location and purpose are frequent motifs throughout the book, discussed by Job’s three companions, Elihu, and God Himself (though this essay will focus only on the humans’ perspectives in the book). Job’s friends’ comments on wisdom usually come in the context of upbraiding Job for his unrighteousness, yet they differ in emphases. Elihu’s comments on wisdom come mainly in opposition to everything he has heard from the other four. Job gets the final word (for our purposes), rethinking his own position on wisdom being not so unattainable after all.

Wisdom is nigh impossible to locate, says Job at first. It is neither in “the land of the living” (28:13b) nor in the deep or the sea (28:14). It is not where living creatures on the ground or the birds in the air can find it (28:21), and not even Abaddon and Death know anything beyond “a rumor of it” (22:22). Even if man were to stumble accidentally upon it, he would “not know its worth” (28:12) because it is so rare and truly unique (cf. 28:15-19). Wisdom does not reside in man’s purview, neither in his heart nor in his head: he can’t find it, doesn’t know its worth (likening it to a valuable jewel), and wouldn’t know what to do with it even if he did find it.

Job’s companions similarly address wisdom and where it could be found, yet they mostly disagree with Job on its source. Zophar comes closest to agreeing with Job’s initial premise of wisdom’s elusiveness. “Can you find out the deep things of God? Can you find out the limit of the Almighty? It is higher than heavens – what can you do? Deeper than Sheol – what can you know?” (11:7) In fact, it is so elusive, “a stupid man will get understanding when a wild donkey’s colt is born a man!” (11:12) Eliphaz at first agrees with wisdom’s rarity, intimating wisdom is an individual experience: he has it because an indiscernible spirit in a stealthy voice whispered in his ear (4:12-16). Yet wisdom can have a more accessible source simply through experiencing a long life: “Both the gray-haired and the aged are among us” (15:10), says Eliphaz, and since they are older than Job he can’t possibly have more wisdom than they have (15:9). Bildad offers a similar source of wisdom, in the traditions and teachings passed down from one generation to the next. Job should “consider what the fathers have searched out.… Will they not teach you and tell you and utter words out of their understanding?” (8:8, 10). Elihu rejects these outright, saying “It is not the old who are wise nor the aged who understand what is right” (32:9). Even more brazen, Elihu declares if any of them disagree with his counsel, despite his being the youngest of them all, he can be a source of wisdom for them (33:33)!

Wisdom’s purpose is another point of contention. Job doesn’t initially see much practical use for it in this life or the next since it is so unlike anything else of human experience, and man is so mystified by it he thinks of it like a jewel, though rarer and more costly than any other precious gem (28:12-22). Eliphaz especially proves Job right, likening wisdom to a physical adornment with spiritual significance. Eliphaz says most men die without wisdom, and that lack of wisdom often brings about their destruction (4:14-5:7, esp. 4:21), as if wisdom were armor against mortality. (This is one of the few statements with which Elihu agrees, cf. 36:12.) Eliphaz says further that not even the angels have wisdom, so God doesn’t trust them (4:18, 15:15) – one of his more bizarre declarations, rivalled perhaps only when he says wisdom benefits the person who has it, but that doesn’t much matter to God in how He treats that person (22:2-4). Job doesn’t have wisdom, says Eliphaz, because he doesn’t fear God (15:2-4); worse, Job thinks God’s wisdom is inscrutable (22:13-14), and if Job would only repent from his wickedness (i.e., receive God’s wisdom), he would be rewarded by God … but he can only conceive of these rewards in terms of material blessings or riches (22:21-26).

Can wisdom be found in the heart? Certainly not in the hearts of the four men around Job. Bildad gets so fed up with Job’s words he speaks out of anger, believing Job is calling them stupid (and by implication devoid of wisdom, 18:3b). Zophar likewise admits he is speaking emotionally out of haste (thus likely not from calm, comported wisdom, 20:2-3). Eliphaz thinks wisdom is of the heart, but a heart motivated by acquisitiveness. Elihu ends his tirade by declaring God “does not regard any who are wise in [their own] heart” (37:24).

Job concludes more optimistically, however, by declaring God not only knows where to find wisdom but also what it actually is (28:23-27). Wisdom is a proper attitude of fearing God, and understanding is a proper action of turning from evil (28:28). It thus can be found in the heart, when one stops thinking of wisdom as a material treasure but instead as the proper emotional perspective of who God is and how we should feel in response (and who we are in relation to Him – wisdom’s location). It can also be found in the head: when one understands who God is and thus knows the proper way to respond to that knowledge, one turns away from evil (toward a life time of serving God – wisdom’s purpose). Wisdom’s companions knowledge, understanding, and discernment are all mental (and spiritual), after all. The fear of God and the proper knowledge of Him lead to a life of proper action. Knowing what a thing is, such as wisdom, makes finding that thing and knowing what to do with it much easier – an essential component Job and his companions mostly ignored throughout their conversation.

Four Stickmen

Christopher Rush

This article was written in early 2020, but it has remained mainly unpublished until now.

With the passing of Neil Peart earlier this year, I’ve been thinking lately about some of the drummers who have influenced me over the years, and of course Neil Peart is high on that list. I should say, though, most of the influence of these drummers has occurred after my main drumming days – admittedly, it’s been quite some time since you could say I was a drummer. Still, my affinity for music and drumming in particular has not diminished, but instead it has grown as I have gotten more mature (well, older, let’s say).

With my listening tendencies toward classic rock, naturally my influences have been skewed that way, and as naturally you could likewise think of some famous drummers that I have enjoyed: John Bonham, Ginger Baker, Phil Collins, Keith Moon, Ringo Starr, etc. And then into the ’70s and ’80s with Roger Taylor, Stewart Copeland, and Larry Mullin, Jr. That’s not too shabby a list for influences. Perhaps if you kept thinking you’d toss out Mick Fleetwood and maybe Jeff Porcaro or go way back to Buddy Rich and Gene Krupa and Hal Blaine … and I couldn’t argue with that they are great drummers, but I’m not too sure how directly influential they have been on me (indirectly through the guys above, sure, but not directly).

The point here, however, is not to look at the more obvious names of great drummers. Instead, I’d like to take a brief look at three, yea four, perhaps lesser-known drummers whom I have found to be pretty impressive and worth more recognition if not downright adulation in no particular order. Enjoy.

Honorable Mention: Jim Keltner

Those in the know would likely be at least miffed at the mention of Jim Keltner as an underrated drummer, but this article is not directed to people who have a subscription to Classic Drummer Magazine. All you would have to do to be impressed by the career and talent of Jim Keltner, without hearing a single beat from him, is to check out a list of artists who have wanted him on their albums or on their tours: George, John, and Ringo; Brian Wilson; Bob Dylan; Eric Clapton; Ry Cooder; Harry Nilsson; Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young; Joe Cocker; B.B. King; Bonnie Raitt; Dolly Parton … I could go on, but I think you get the idea. (Please don’t read anything into me listing John, George, and Ringo before Brian.) Jim Keltner is beloved for his rock steadiness, his stylistic diversity, and for his willingness to work. Just for being the drummer on the Traveling Wilburyalbums should be enough to know his work better. Perhaps he doesn’t have any “signature” song or album, since he is so fecund in his output. For me, what is so impressive about Keltner can be seen in The Concert for Bangla Desh and Concert for George shows, both of which are available for home viewing. When Keltner is playing with Ringo, especially, the synchronicity between them is astounding: stroke for stroke, crash for crash, they are mirror images of each other in precision. He may not flashy like Moon or Peart, may they rest in peace, but boy, Jim Keltner is a mighty fine drummer.

Great Forgotten Drummer #1: Graeme Edge

I can see your incredulity already: “Graeme Edge of the Moody Blues? Lesser known? He’s in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame!” you say. True. The Moody Blues finally got into the HoF a mere 25-some years after becoming eligible. But this is not a HoF tirade. Our focus here is praising Graeme Edge as a great drummer. I suspect his greatness is overlooked because, like Jim Keltner and other great drummers, he doesn’t really “show off” like the greats you can mention – at least, not memorably. Now, if you’ve seen any of their shows, especially in the late ’90s and early ’00s, Justin and John certainly gave Graeme a chance to entertain both behind and in front of his kit. Still, Graeme Edge, like his band the Moody Blues, seems to be one of those drummers and bands you really enjoy while you’re listening to them, but you don’t necessarily think about afterward. And while that is fine, I think they are painfully underappreciated.

Graeme Edge, like Neil Peart, spent a fair amount of time writing songs for his band. Many of the spoken word poems in the early albums (admittedly, rather trippy, if you will, back in the late ’60s and early ’70s) can from Edge. That doesn’t attest to his drumming, true, but it does attest to his ability to understand multiple aspects of songcraft and artistry, which makes his ability to hold the songs together rhythmically much more impressive. He’s not just keeping the beat for the “real” musicians in the band.

Since the Moody Blues are such a diverse, bizarre band, especially during their first stretch, it is difficult to point to one song as “here, this is classic Graeme Edge,” but I’d direct you to their final song of that initial tenure, “I’m Just a Singer (In a Rock and Roll Band),” the last track on Seventh Sojourn (my favorite of that period). You may object to calling it a classic Graeme Edge song, since his introduction is, perhaps, just an elaborate “click in” to the song, but if you watch the music video to it, you can see why Graeme Edge was and is a top-notch drummer. Don’t be like the Hall of Fame and wait twenty-five extra years to recognize his worth.

Great Forgotten Drummer #2: Barrie “Barriemore” Barlowe

I said this was not intended to be a rant against the RnR HoF, so we will leave the nonsensical notion of Jethro Tull’s absence from that august body aside. Barrie Barlowe was the drummer for Jethro Tull during what is often called their “classic years” or “classic lineup” of the ’70s, from Thick as a Brick to Stormwatch. If you can stick around (so to speak) with Ian Anderson for an entire decade, that alone is a remarkable achievement.

It’s a tricky thing, though, the relationship of drummer and the band he or she is in: if the band “lets” you do your thing, the drummer can often flourish and be mightily impressive. Keith Moon was fortunate enough to be in a band that let him do pretty much whatever he wanted to do whenever he wanted to do it (that may have also been an unfortunate thing for him as well, but that’s for another time). Neil Peart was fortunate enough to find a pair of guys who were willing to let the drummer be as much a part of the musicality of the band as the guitar and bass (and synths, yes). But the relationship is likely reciprocal also: Geddy and Alex likely wrote their parts around and with Neil, knowing he was going to contribute more than just timely fills and a steady backbeat. So, Ian Anderson, despite his, shall we say, penchant for artistic control in his band, likely wrote many of Tull’s ’70s songs knowing he had a trustworthy drummer who could create diverse and sundry sounds and rhythms and moods for the drastically different styles of that period (we can talk about Martin Barre as an underrated guitar great another time).

Barrie Barlowe’s skills can be heard throughout those Tull albums, certainly. Listen to them again focusing on what Barlowe is undergirding those tempo changes and sensations with. For. Something. Yes, they were a stellar band playing as a unified band, I am not denying that. But without a skilled drummer who could handle all those changes, Tull would not have been what it was. Another great way to hear Barlowe’s skills as a drummer is on the recently released live concerts from those days, mainly available in the 40^th anniversary special editions (though, sadly, many of them are apparently harder to get now than the crystalline tears of albino sea lions, so track them down now). Barlowe’s creativity with rhythm and, I’d go so far as to say, storytelling with his solos may be even more impressive than John Bonham (in his solos) – and before you start picking up those stones to cast at me, please note Bonham himself considered Barrie Barlowe the greatest drummer England ever produced. You can’t argue with him.

Great Forgotten Drummer #3: Ian Paice

Surely, you say, no one has forgotten Deep Purple’s only consistent member from its founding over fifty years ago (like Graeme Edge’s stable tenure with the Moody Blues – drummers tend to recognize good gigs when they get ’em). And yes, Ian Paice has won gobs of awards as a drummer, and Deep Purple has finally been inducted into the HoF after a mere 25-year eligibility waiting game (I’m trying, really), but if you didn’t think of Ian Paice earlier when I initially asked you to name the great drummers, then he certainly needs to be credited here as a great drummer who should be on that top tier of the all-timers.

Speed is not essentially a characteristic of superior drumming – you’d think it would need to be, but it depends on the kind of music you and your band are trying to play. More often than that, the mark of good drumming is usually just the ol’ fashioned steady tempo, fills and solos aside. And yet, Ian Paice has both: that rock steadiness upon which Jim Keltner has built a more-than-decent career commingled with speed and flair and creativity (and durability – the man has had to cancel something like two shows in over fifty years, and those because of a heart attack).

Deep Purple has been different things over the years: pre-classic rock cover band, hard blues, orchestral, hard rock, boogie funk, and probably a few more styles – and Ian Paice has excelled in them all. For half a century he has given hope to short, heavy set, match grip drummers the world over (and me). Any Deep Purple album will showcase Paice’s skill, but you might as well start with Machine Head. It’s the bees knees.

There you have it: four great drummers whose contributions to music and rhythm are worth getting to know. You will not be disappointed.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum

Christopher Rush

I got a new job. I wasn’t looking for a new job, mind. It just sort of … happened. You know how God works sometimes, in mysterious ways. Literally while I and the 2018 seniors were trekking to and through the Roman Forum (the one in Rome, Italy), which is a mighty long but worthwhile day on the Europe Trip, God was orchestrating the next phase of my family’s life. Technically I did not get a new job while I was on the way to the Forum, but as I said, the plan was in motion, and I couldn’t resist the linguistic opportunity. In any event, that’s not the point of this brief article, and had I known Ms. Grant was going to write such a great article on her Europe experience, I might not have written this one, but I did want to share a few thoughts with you about my last visit to the Old World (at least, most likely, with Summit students).

This was my fourth senior trip, and while all have been memorable in many positive ways, this one was markedly distinct. The first three, in 2005, 2006, and 2009, were all fairly similar as far as the basic sites and itinerary were concerned, with the sporadic difference in hotel or other small detail. But even in their general similarities, they each had enjoyable distinctions. My wife was able to come with us in 2005, so of course that was a great experience to be able to share with her seeing all those sites with her for the first time. Because the itinerary for the 2006 was so similar to 2005, having seen most of the sites already enabled me to be a better chaperone, since I didn’t feel as touristy. That class meant a good deal to me, and it was also my first trip with Debbie Rodriguez, Grand Poohbah of Journeys of Faith (and, as Ms. Grant said, a tireless worker who really advocates for the best trip students can get, even if they don’t appreciate it at the time — grownups are like that, sometimes). I was the only official SCA chaperone on that trip, sort of in charge, which is rarely a good idea, but it all went fairly well, give or take some mad dashes to trains in Pisa and the occasional game of “where is Mrs. Kilpatrick?”

2009 was (and still is) a very special class to me as well, and that trip was on the whole a very enjoyable one. It started off very poorly, with one of the worst days of my life, standing around the Norfolk Airport, trying to negotiate among Debbie, the airline, accommodations in Rome, God, and the weather, all thanks to rain in New York and terror in the hearts of pilots along the Eastern Seaboard. It was a rotten day. The consolation prize for a delayed start to our trip was a few extra days in Paris, which is about as consoling as a free year’s supply of yoghurt for a lactose-intolerant person. Additionally, I know the trip had some low moments, not the least of which was the loss of Bryan Earwood’s grandmother back home, requiring Bryan to leave the trip early, and the early pernicious onset of Hope Bane’s dysautonomia, but on the whole it was a positive experience and a trip I still remember fondly. I got to take those seniors to some of my favorite parts of the tour, including Keats’s grave in the Non-Catholic Cemetery in Rome and Santa Croce in Florence, two experiences that made it such a good experience for me, at least.

And then there was the 2018 trip. Nine years is a fairly long gap between trips, especially for someone who teaches the class upon which the field trip is based (but let’s not quibble). Sure, there were other classes with whom I would have loved to go to Europe, and they know who they are so I need not mention them here, but for divers reasons, I did not go again until 2018. The person I really have to thank is Mrs. Miers, who, and I don’t say this lightly but gratefully, listened closely to God’s direction and withdrew from the trip, enabling me to go with this group, a group with whom I know she would have really enjoyed going (and who would likely rather have had her along than me, but I don’t blame them, since having Mrs. Miers on the Europe Trip would have been fantastic).

Ms. Grant’s article addressed the most important aspect of this trip: God’s manifest providence throughout the entire enterprise. Allow me to astound you with even more examples of how God was clearly and directly intervening on our behalf. Before we even left the parking lot, God was making His presence felt. We were under the impression not everyone was going to be able to fit on the bus on the ride up to D.C., requiring someone to drive at least one person to the airport, but when the bus arrived, it had enough seats for everyone, eliminating an entire unnecessary six-hour drive. During the trip, we had a very early flight from Florence to Paris (I’m talking “we had to leave the hotel at 3am” early). After we got through check-in, depositing most of our luggage, we found out the flight was delayed a couple of hours. Now, the normal and fairly understandable human reaction at around 5am would be to get rather upset by this turn of events, especially when tired and hungry and grumpy. And so we were. But here’s where God’s providence interrupted: because of the delay, the Florence airport staff offered all of us a rather large breakfast array (for free). Even if we had known about the flight change before leaving the hotel, we would have gotten the same amount of sleep (since most of the students slept during the unexpected delay just fine), but we still wouldn’t have gotten breakfast, since we still would have needed to leave the hotel before it served breakfast. So the flight delay got us more sleep, a large, free breakfast, and less time in Paris — a big win all around, in my book. Those are just two more examples of the dozens of times God was protecting and supporting us throughout the trip. It wasn’t perfect, of course: we had rain in Normandy, a fair amount of sicknesses and injuries, a few brushes with miscommunication and strained relationships, some less-than-desirable meals, a few lost articles — but nothing serious, nothing terminal, nothing irreparable or irreplaceable.

As I said before, the basic itinerary in the first three trips was roughly the same, though with a few differences in country order. The first was the most different, in that we went to Mainz to see the Gutenberg printing press and some nearby Reformation sites. I wish we kept that on the tour. Pisa was on the first few trips, but it was off by 2009, and that’s likely for the best. As neat as it is to see the tower lean in person, what else is there to do there? You could see the baptistery, which is nice, but it’s a lot of travel for not much reward, and it was, on the whole, a good choice to take it off the trip. Go see it on your own time. The other fairly major change in recent years has been the on-again/off-again nature of Venice. I understand a lot of it has to do with flight costs, availability of the better tour guides, and availability of the better hotels (this is one of the reasons why going through Journeys of Faith is completely worth the cost, all the planning and details that are arranged for you), but for me, Venice is great to see, especially the Doge’s Palace. It, too, is a bit out of the way, and to make the most of it you have to take the time to see Burano and Murano (not an unworthwhile thing to do in your life), so I fully understand why it has dropped off the typical itinerary probably for good, but if you get the chance, check it out, especially at night with the dueling chamber orchestras in Piazza San Marco (just don’t sit down or you’ll have to buy something quite expensive).

I’ve been saying for a while now, for the sake of money and time, it might be time to consider dropping Paris from the trip and focusing on Renaissance Italy and Reformation Germany. This would relieve a significant amount of the cost, eliminate an entire nighttime travel or early flight like this year, and remove a tremendous amount of basic trip stress off of the students and chaperones. I understand how easy it is for me to say this, having been to the Louvre four times, but for years I’ve thought it might be the solution we need to combat not only increasing safety concerns but the more palpable cost worries. That is, however, until this year, when I got to see the recently-added Normandy sites.

I enjoyed the Bayeux Tapestry quite a bit, more so than the students, but that’s mainly because I’m a grown-up adult and they were children, and grown-ups often can appreciate important things better than children (can). I’m pretty sure if I were seeing it at the end of a long day in a bit of a rainy haze as a teenager, I’d be sub-thrilled like most of them were. But for me, the D-Day sites of Normandy were very special. Clearly a great deal of my enthusiasm had to do with the simulation games my father and I have played over the years about D-Day and the Ardennes battles after it, and seeing the places where real history happened is a special thing. It was memorable and important to see where so many sacrificed so much simply because it was the right thing to do. I’m very glad this has been added to the trip, and I hope it stays for a long time, regardless of the transportation challenges involved.

The free days in Sienna and Rothenburg were pretty much perfect days. The weather was great, for the most part, the prices were decent, the attitudes were good (for the most part), and the moments with various students and chaperones were the perfect moments of what, for me, are often the highlights of the trip: the quiet, special moments with people you care about, seeing new things on the other side of the world, experiencing places God has been working in for centuries before you and your country were born. And I bought a cymbal. You should hear it some time; it’s beautiful.

I didn’t get to do a lot of the things I was secretly hoping to do on this trip. I had touted it as my Farewell Tour (even before becoming aware of what Jehovah Slyboots was doing behind my scenes), as I sort of suspected it would be the last chance to go, possibly forever, until maybe with one of my children in another decade, if the trip and/or Europe still existed at that point. I had wanted to see Keats again, but the closest we got was a quick drive by the outside of the cemetery on the tour bus. I had wanted to take the Class of 2018 to Santa Croce in Florence, but we had the least amount of free time in Florence of any of the trips I’d been on, and certainly not enough time to get across town (without maps), inside, and back to the dinner meeting spot. To a lesser extent, I used to enjoy the Virgin Megastore in Paris, but apparently that shut down permanently a few years ago. Nobody buys compact discs anymore except me, I suppose. These were disappointments, but, at the risk of sounding disingenuous, I sloughed them off rather easily, thanks to the new and meaningful aspects of the trip. The good far outweighed the momentary bad of the trip. In closing, let me share with you just a few examples why.

I was able to experience the Class of 2018 seeing the Sistine Chapel ceiling for the first time. That was very special. I got to see some rather spot-on impersonations of quite a few people. I got to see Pierre (not his real name) work like the dickens to find the right giraffe in a French McDonald’s. (At least, I think it was France. The trip tends to blur together after a while.) I got to see Omaha Beach in Normandy. I got to see the Piazza del Campo in Sienna. I got to sit around Rothenburg with people I love getting some of the best, most challenging, most godly advice I’ve ever gotten in my life at a very perplexing time. I got to go on a crazy taxi ride that made the French Connection seem tame, thanks to Doug Leake and our commando run to the game store, for which I am and will be forever grateful. I got to talk with and get to know Ms. Grant better in two weeks than in the ten years of knowing her before this trip, as she said, which was a definite highlight. I got to spend countless enjoyable moments with the Class of 2018 on what may likely be the best Europe Trip SCA has ever had. What more could I have asked for?

Well, friends, I guess this is it. I did not think twenty-eight was going to be our last issue, but as we’ve always said, He moves in mysterious ways. Looking back at the last “next issue” previews in this light, however, you can see God was already making that path straight. Funny ol’ thing, life. My “summertime in the reflection pool” will now be reflecting on where God is taking us next (and whether we really need all this stuff we’ve accumulated in fifteen years here). I’m truly excited about it all: being able to play wargames with my father face to face, quality family time with my mother, and perhaps even some gaming conventions with my brother (and teaching at Emmaus, indeed). But, of course, I am also rather sad about leaving the journal, all students past and present, and, not least, you, our faithful readers, behind. At least we went out in style: 200 pages for our slam-bang finish!

We do have a lot of work ahead of us, getting the house ready and all that, but in the rare quiet moments I will try to read a few things, maybe play a few games with my family, perhaps prepare for the new classes I’ll be teaching in the fall. I’ve been on a bit of a “modern classic” sci-fi kick lately, finally reading many of the books I probably should have read twenty years ago. I suspect the advent of my high school twentieth reunion has spurred on that nostalgic shift in my reading habits of late. I’ve now finally read Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detecgtive Agency and The Long Dark Teat-time of the Soul by Douglas Adams, Starship Titanic by Terry Jones (based on Douglas Adams’s computer game script), Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, and Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman. I didn’t enjoy them all quite as much as I thought I would, but perhaps if I had read them back in the day they would have been better for me in that part of my life. Not that I’ve outgrown them, of course, and I’m sure if you read them you’ll probably enjoy them quite a bit yourself. If so, I’d love to read your review on Goodreads. Maybe we can be social media buddies on that site, keep up with what each of us is reading. I’d enjoy that very much.

Currently I’m reading Orson Scott Card’s Pastwatch, and from there I’ll likely continue with Robert Jordan’s The Wheel of Time series (Path of Daggers is up next) and then, depending on how the summer is going, tackle the next Malazan Book of the Fallen by Stephen Erikson, Deadhouse Gates. Not the most inviting titles, but that happens sometimes. I’m also really enjoying these interactive fiction books by Dave Morris and Michael J. Ward. I’ll continue with those as time permits, especially if I get more for my birthday.

Well. We’ve stalled our final farewells long enough, I suppose.

Redeeming Pandora has always been about hope (and faith and love, but mostly hope). These last few years have not always been easy, but knowing we had these opportunities to get together and talk about what is important (more or less) has been a very enjoyable part of my life, and I thank you very deeply for sharing in it.

I want to thank all our contributors for this final issue as well as all the students and others over the years who have made this house organ play so smoothly. We even finally got my dad in here, at last. I wish I had time to thank you all, but you know who you are and how much you mean to me, so there’s no need to go into all that here. Suffice it to say, in the words of Lou Grant, “I treasure you people.”

And who knows … we came back once. Perhaps we can do it again!

In the meanwhile, stop by any time and visit us! Come take some books (and some Palor Toffs, please). You’ll always be in our hearts. Goodbye, friends!

And remember: just because you put syrup on something don’t make it pancakes.

So, what are you still doing here? We’ve all got a great life to live given to us by a great God. Let’s get out there and make the most of it, and, soon enough, as Brother Steve put it, “we’ll drink and dance with one hand free and have the world so easily, you know we’ll be a sight to see back in the high life again.” I’ll see you again in a place where no shadows fall. Farewell, my friends! Excelsior!