I Wish You Love

I wish you shelter from the storm
A cozy fire to keep you warm
But most of all
When snowflakes fall
I wish you love

"I Wish You Love" is a popular love song featured in many films and covered by numerous artists throughout the decades. The music was originally written by Leo Chauliac, with French lyrics under the title "Que reste-t-il de nos amours?" by Charles Tenet. The English lyrics were written by Albert A. Beach, and while they are not a translation of the French, both the English and French poetry capture the nostalgia of love. Though typically considered a 'break-up song' - "I Wish You Love" is a delightful way to usher in the New Year and a gentle snow storm - reminding us of romance and hope during the coldest days of the calendar.

I wish you bluebirds in the spring
To give your heart a song to sing
And then a kiss
But more than this
I wish you love

And in July a lemonade
To cool you in some leafy glade
I wish you health
And more than wealth
I wish you love

Lyrics: http://www.lyricsmode.com/

Photo: a curve on a North Carolina mountain road - reminding us of life's twists and turns. We never know what surprises will unfold on the road ahead. Photo credit: http://www.gotocarolina.com/

© 2009 J. Dana Trent

Doubt

Update:
Doubt has been nominated for five academy awards, including best actress (Meryl Streep) and best adapted screenplay.

John Patrick Shanley’s Pulitzer Prize winning play comes to life on the big screen in the film Doubt. Father Flynn (Phillip Seymour Hoffman), a Roman Catholic priest in the Bronx, is confronted by Sister Aloysius (Meryl Streep), a nun determined to bring to light Flynn’s possible indiscretions with a young male student. Sister Aloysius is convinced of an inappropriate relationship between the priest and the boy, though her character foil, Sister James (Amy Adams) is not. The result: an odd dramatic triangle between Flynn, Aloysius, and James in which the viewer easily feels the push and pull of guilt and innocence, doubt and certainty, confession and concealment. One leaves the theatre utterly not convinced of anything - which is, after all, the point.

http://www.doubt-themovie.com/

© 2009 J. Dana Trent

Facebook Dropout

Facebook has become so popular in American culture that the term is now used as a noun AND a verb.

I confess: I'm a Facebook dropout. I closed my account a few weeks ago, when the energy it took to manage it became overwhelming. Sure, I could have limited my Facebook time; but it seemed seemed important (and addictive?) to to receive my friends' frequent status/photo/profile updates.

I don't miss the online social network, save for keeping in touch with a few cherished friends I haven't seen since high school. Now, I contact them via email, telephone/cell phone, and there's always the ancient sentimental virtue of letter writing! (Gaze at Fragonard's portrait of a glowing young girl with a love letter, and it will inspire you to rediscover the lost practice)

For now, I'll continue my Facebook-free journey along with several friends who have also become recent dropouts ... support group, anyone?

NB: Dean of Duke Divinity School L. Gregory Jones wrote an insightful piece on Facebook friends for The Christian Century.
http://www.christiancentury.org/article.lasso?id=4964

Photo: The Love Letter, by Fragonard, c. 1770, oil on canvas. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, USA.
Photo credit: http://www.abcgallery.com/

© 2009 J. Dana Trent

New Year's Eve

New Year's Eve was first celebrated by the ancient Babylonians 4000 years ago (Redbook, January 2009).

This is the day we craft our personal year-in-review; remembering events, milestones, losses, and resolutions made and broken.

How has God been at work in our lives this year? Better yet, what have we done for God this year?

Photo: New Year's Eve in Times Square, 1907
Photo credit: http://www.vintageculture.net/

© 2008 J. Dana Trent

Christmas at the Beach

I'd never traveled to the beach for the Christmas holiday until this year. It was a renewing experience - one I'd like to repeat. By the shore, I focused my energy on family, the season, and nature.

A reflection from one of my nightly beach walks:

Enveloped in complete quiet, I walked along with shore nightly with pink clouds rushing above, breaking just enough to reveal quick glimpses of soft stars. I felt renewed by the sound of the waves crashing, the feel of soft sand, and motion of the water that never ceases. Walking the beach in the quiet night, one catches a glimpse of what it may have been like before hectic seasons and Christmas lights - when it was only God and the waves - a true glimpse of the divine.


© 2008 J. Dana Trent

Moravian Christmas

When Advent arrives and candles dress the churches and homes of America, I remember Moravian Christmases. My mind floods with the colorful traditions of beeswax candles, Moravian stars and love feasts, candle teas, fresh greens, carols, and brass instruments. They serve as simple reminders of gentle people whose quiet love for creation is welcomed in the frenzy of a consumer Christmas.

Painting by Marie Brewer Nifong

http://www.oldsalem.org/

© 2008 J. Dana Trent

January Term in Washington, D.C.

Adams Morgan: a month of Heaven
The Northwest Current
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Volume XLI, No. 49

He looked dashing in his business shirt, drink in hand, standing in the center window of Club Heaven and Hell on 18th Street. We’d spent one delightful month together, and this night seemed like the culmination. I was leaving soon to return to North Carolina, and he would continue his exhilarating city life without me. Eager to relish the moment, I etched his image solidly in my memory. I watched him from the sidewalk for a few seconds, savoring the lines of his face and shape of his figure. He saw me, and the black light of the club lit his smile. He rushed out the door, and even though I was there to rescue him from the loneliness of the city, he was rescuing me. He had liberated me from my isolated women’s college for a month of bliss.

I began the journey to Adams Morgan on a brisk New Year’s Day. I was an undergraduate, pre-law student at Salem College, a small school in North Carolina. I felt brave traveling from the sheltered Moravian village of Old Salem to the buzz of a city I didn’t know. My adventure was time-limited; it was my school’s January Term, a four-week investment in the future careers of Salem College women.

That January, I served as an intern with the American BarAssociation. Upon arrival at my Argonne Place apartment, I explored Adams Morgan, sampling the eclectic cuisine, used-book store and fancy drinks. There were many reasons for young adults to spend money and time in Adams Morgan, and the short walk from my apartment to 18th Street was always brimming with the anticipation of new food, new people and new adventures. During that month, friends from the American Bar Association fled 15th Street with me at 5 p.m. on the dot, ready to sample the sumptuous food and drink that “my” neighborhood had to offer. We were young undergraduates without a care in the world, laughing in smoky bars with dark walls and lush couches, feeling like this fantasy world would never come to an end.

And what big-city experience would be complete without love? In January, I met Dave, a handsome journalist. He was raspy and sharp, successful and romantic. I was the young student, and he was the accomplished professional. He taught me what it was like to indulge in the city, read Jack Kerouac novels and be so infatuated with someone it hurts. The month flew by. I gained great experience at the bar association, had more fun than I could have ever imagined and absorbed nearly each inch of the neighborhood.

Years later, I still think about the adventure. When the air turns frigid and frost dresses the North Carolina grass, I remember my January in Adams Morgan. I can feel the crisp nights, the closeness of friends and the excitement of cozy restaurants, dancing and Dave. The image of him standing in the center window of the club is fresh and haunting. I recall his smile and the month of fantasy city life that he gave me. January in Adams Morgan was a holiday, a winter oasis in the midst of routine.

© 2008 J. Dana Trent