Grace (Eventually) (thoughts)

Sorry about all of the parentheses in that post title! But Anne Lamott’s essay collection is entitled Grace (Eventually), which I enjoy since parentheses are some of my favourite punctuation marks.

Usually, I try to avoid discussing controversial topics on my blog, like religion and politics. But in the part month, I’ve been thinking more and more about Christianity, and I’ve felt drawn towards giving it another shot. I mention this because, being me, I suddenly want to read books about it, so you’ll probably notice a few Christian books on the blog where before there were none. (I just found a church this Sunday that I think will be a good fit-and it has its own little library! I totally wanted to just curl up there for awhile. :D ) A couple of weeks ago, I headed over to B&N and browsed their ‘Christian nonfiction’ (that’s not what they call it-maybe inspiration?) section, to try to get acquainted with the genre. And that’s how I ended up getting Grace (Eventually) from the library!

The collection is subtitled Thoughts on Faith, and God and Jesus definitely appear in the pages. But the essays are really about life-how we struggle through the bad times, how we celebrate the good, and how find ourselves growing (or not) along the way. Lamott’s pretty much the opposite of a ‘stereotypical’ Christian: she was an alcoholic and drug-using hippie in her youth, she’s a single mom, she’s very far to the left on the political spectrum, and she doesn’t pretend to have an anywhere near perfect life. That being said, she believes in finding grace in the little things, and that’s what makes these essays so magical and powerful. I don’t think you have to be a Christian at all to enjoy this book.

Lamott has an incredible writing style; I wouldn’t consider essays my favourite genre by a long shot, but each of hers is exquisite. Rather than keep talking in generalisations, I thought it might be better to discuss my absolute favourites! First up is “Dance Class,” which opens:

One night recently, Neshama and I agreed to be helpers at my friend Karen’s special-ed dance class. Neshama wanted to go because she is a lifelong dancer-modern, ballet, Bolinas tribal stomp. Perhaps some on you caught her act during the sixties, when she performed at a nightclub doing the Hippie Dance of Love. She is short, sixty-five, with fuzzy hair like mine.

 

From there, most of the essay focuses on the dance class itself-the students:

Many people with Down’s syndrome look like family, like relatives of one another, while autistic people look more like the rest of us, if a little tense. Within ten minutes, I discovered that when I spoke to the people in dance class, the veil of illusion kept dropping-the ones who looked most like “the rest of us” were often the least available for ordinary human contact, while the ones who looked seriously different were often the most responsive and engaged.

 

as well as the actual moves:

After introductions, we did wiggly warm-up stretches to classic James Brown, and when the music ended, everyone in the circle spun around like the Godfather of Soul, while screaming, “Aaawwhhhooohhh.” I was pretty good at this. So was a young woman with cerebral palsy, spinning in a wheelchair, grinning, her twiggy fingers curled into somehow sweet claws.

 

See how skilled Lamott is at bringing a scene, people to life? I feel like I’m right there with her!

Another favourite was “A Field Theory of Beauty.” It’s exactly what it sounds like, and here’s my favourite bit:

Most of us don’t notice how great we look until years, even decades later. Not long ago, I was looking at photos of myself at various ages and weights-way before the neckular deterioration began, way before the fanny pack of menopause-and I could see how gorgeous I must have looked to everyone else. At sixteen, with an Afro, twenty pounds heavier than I’d been the year before, I was radiant with youth, athleticism, and intelligence; at the time, I thought I looked like Marty Feldman. In my mid-twenties, an anorexic hippie, I had a best friend who frequently mentioned that she was the pretty one, which I thought went without saying. But from the pictures I was looking at, I could see that I was the other pretty one, a waifish Renaissance fairy, mesmerizing. Then, at thirty-three, clean, sober, and healing from bulimia, twenty pounds and twenty years lighter than I am now. I’m posing in a periwinkle swimsuit, but covering my thighs in shame, as if someone were photographing me in the junior high locker room instead of on a public beach. There is a rip in the photo; I stared to tear it so n one would see. Twenty pounds ago! Twenty years! Why did it take me so long to discover what a dish I was? And not just because of externals. And how crazy would you have to be, knowing this, yet still not rejoicing in your current looks?

 

Ok, just one more passage:

The major one follows, in [Jesus’] anti-anxiety discourse-which is the soul of this passage-that all striving after greater beauty and importance, and greater greatness, is foolishness. It is ultimately like trying to catch the wind. Lilies do not need to do anything to make themselves more glorious or cherished. Jesus is saying that we have much to learn from them about giving up striving. He’s not saying that in a “Get over it” way, as your mother or your last, horrible husband did. Instead he’s heartbroken, as when you know an anorexic girl who’s starving to death, as if in some kind of demonic possession. He’s saying that we could be aware of, filled with, and saved by the presence of holy beauty, rather than worship golden calves.

 

I think this essay illustrates Lamott’s other remarkable gift: she’s so completely honest, utterly open, with the reader that I can’t help but be touched by what she’s saying.

Reading this essay collection was like meeting up with an older, wiser woman friend. I didn’t always agree with Lamott, but I always valued her opinion. And I want a copy of this book for myself, so I can turn to it during dark times, and know that things will get better. I highly recommend this for anyone.

Have you read an essay collection that you found comforting and inspiring all at once? Do you have any great Christian books to recommend?