I went through a F. Scott Fitzgerald phase in my late teens and early twenties. It was evident to me I had been born in the wrong decade. This opinion wasn’t based on a hatred of the present. It was based on the dresses and haircuts of the past. If I had a time machine which could carry me back to the Roaring Twenties, it would have been fueled solely on a burning desire to give my then-flat chest the glory it was due. Flappers were described as boyishly built, but with faces like roses. They had swinging hair, bobbed short. For balance, strands of pearls hung long and low over rows of nervous fringe. Once a Flapper began to dance, each string leapt to full attention. In animals, we see this with porcupines and hedgehogs…read more
“What I am asking for is really very ridiculous. Oh Lord, I am saying, at present I am a cheese, make me a mystic, immediately. But then God can do that—make mystics out of cheeses.” Flannery O’Connor, A Prayer Journal, September 25, 1947.
One of the greatest literary minds of all time called herself a cheese. Throughout her journal, the devoutly Catholic O’Connor struggled with questions of faith, writing, her place, and her prayer life. As I read her journal, I was constantly struck by her alternating lack of confidence in her ability and her overwhelming confidence God was going to use her gifts for his glory. Somehow.
But she was a cheese and if she is a cheese, so am I. I might be less than a cheese. I might be a processed cheese food, aerosol can-based, with smoky bacon flavor… read more