The Fulfillment of Longing

In the opening scene of Shadowlands, C.S. Lewis lifts a paperweight from his desk–a rose in full bloom, encased in glass–and tells his Oxford students that this rose is perfect because it will not age, will not decay, and can never be touched. “The most intense joy,” he argues, “lies not in the having…but in theContinue reading “The Fulfillment of Longing”

Making Peace with Imperfection

“That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.” Thus begins Shakespeare’s Sonnet 73, and I think of it every autumn–but most of all in the weeks that moveContinue reading “Making Peace with Imperfection”