Thank You, Thank You!

We’re excited to give you another episode in our film series. This time, we’ve partnered with Robert Allen at The War Room to bring you a song by Glen Phillips, front man of Toad the Wet Sprocket and an excellent writer. We hope you had a happy Thanksgiving!

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When the Light Disappears

Today, multitudes of Americans converged on a long swath of land stretching from the Oregon coast to Charleston. After a great deal of hype and expenditure, they took turns sitting in the dark together for a few minutes per group. Then they turned to go home.

It’s funny, historically speaking, to see everyone so thrilled and eager about a solar eclipse—an event that used to be a harbinger of doom. Solar eclipses have brought rulers to their knees, armies to armistice, and if you believe Mel Gibson’s Apocalypto, a timely end to a series of beheadings. They also offer a representation of the word syzygy, which earns at least twenty-five Scrabble points. The moon passes before the sun, occulting its light and revealing the wild-hair halo of the sun’s corona.

In the fallout from the disheartening events in Charlottesville, it is a blessing to have such a grandiose celestial reminder of the centuries-old motto of John Calvin’s followers: Post tenebras lux—after darkness, light.

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A Surprising Land of Splendor – Part 2

Interlude

Here’s what I’m asking you to forget: I want you to put away from your mind the pain of Mrs. Roger’s classroom, the slick palms and trembling twelve-year-old voice, as you searched the back of your classmate’s head for an answer, any plausible answer; the two trains were running towards each other on the same track, one at 60 miles per hour, and one at 80; when would they meet? And the absurdity of asking that question among all others. Would there be survivors? Would the explosion be heard for hundreds of miles around? Is it too late right now to board one of those trains, and be delivered from Mrs. Roger’s expectant stare?

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A Surprising Land of Splendor – Part 1

 Forward

Consider me an ambassador: an emissary from a foreign land, a place whose name I dare not mention for risk of causing you to turn away before the end of this very sentence. Do you truly have faith in that age-old hope of finding beauty where you least expect it? Can you let go of what you thought you knew, what you thought you feared, what you remember feeling when you were young? Can you forgive?

Imagine a land of exquisite, other-worldly splendor. Some would call it ‘exotic,’ though when you look more closely you see but an amplified, glorified version of the types of landscape features that are familiar to you. The hidden connections and relationships between the myriad pieces of our own natural world have their incarnation here; what is invisible is here proclaimed, and the complexity will quickly overwhelm you if you aren’t careful to take in the scenery in small bits. Natives of this land continually experience the bittersweet sense of knowing and loving a place of profound beauty, with few people around to share it. The rest of the world believes only what they’ve heard, the misconceptions about the place that lead them to believe it uninhabitable. Those misconceptions fall into three main categories.

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The WordPlayers Present: Little Women

For the fourth year in a row, The WordPlayers are bringing a musical production to the historic Bijou Theatre in downtown Knoxville. Louisa May Alcott’s beloved story about the adventures of the four March sisters will be brought to life this weekend in Little Women: The Broadway Musical.

It’s fitting that this particular production, being based on a novel that’s all about family, is in many ways a family affair. The show is being directed by veteran WordPlayer Terri Lloyd, and her husband Matthew is the Stage Manager. Lloyd also has four children and a niece involved in the musical, which premieres this Friday night at 7:30 p.m.

“We’re not a regular family,” says Lloyd. “Regular families go to soccer practice. We take broadsword lessons.” Lessons that came in handy when choreographing a fight scene written by the headstrong Jo March, the second of the four siblings.

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Hiking, or The Reason to Abuse a Left Knee

A few years ago, my wife decided to give me a birthday present in the form of abandonment in the wilderness. To be clear, this was what I wanted. My version of a vacation is fairly Spartan. Give me a sleeping bag, a hammock, a tarp, and some basic necessities, and leave me to wander. This is distinctly different from my mother’s version of camping, which involves things with agitators—a washing machine, a hot tub, and cable television, for example.

My sweet wife dropped me off at Cosby Campground, where Cosby Creek churns down a mountain gully in fresh cascades of whitewater. The trail from there to Low Gap averages a thirteen percent grade. I was newly thirty-two years old. Surely sixty additional pounds up a mountain posed no problem.

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