What Others Say

Nothing Common about Ordinary Days

As I was up late last night reading Dorcas Smucker’s Ordinary Days, C.S. Lewis’s remark that the world doesn’t need more Christian writers, but more writers who are Christians came to mind. 

Christian writers generally employ all the artistic nuance of a sledgehammer, burdened as they are with a mission to convert the reader to a desired end.  They cannot be bothered by even basic elements of creative writing such as “Show, don’t tell” or the inclusion of significant details that pay off later in the narrative. 

. . .When I heard about Dorcas Smucker, a Mennonite minister's wife no less, who recently published her second book, I wrote her off as one more Christian-writer-with-a-mission.  I expected she uses her newspaper column as a sanctimonious pulpit to rail against the evils of liberalism and public schools while praising the virtues of calico print dresses and thick-soled black oxfords. 

“Well, bless her heart,” I thought uncharitably.

Then my sister linked to Dorcas’s blog, and out of curiosity, I clicked my way to Life in the Shoe.  Along the way I saw a picture of Dorcas—no evidence of calico or oxfords.  Okay, still, maybe she extols archaic courtship practices and four-part harmony, I thought.

Wrong again.

The first of her monthly newspaper columns I read was about five children killed in a high-way accident on their way to school.  A Christian writer would have made a bulleted list of  all the good things that had resulted from the tragedy less than a week afterward.  Dorcas wrote about the faith-wrenching questions of how a good God could let this happen.  She asked how the parents of the five could possibly go back to living in a now silent house still bearing the marks of vibrant children.  She wrote as a human being, not as a religious automaton.  Her conclusion was hopeful but realistic. 

So I gave in and bought Ordinary Days.  As a result, I’ve been laughing and crying by turns during my late night reads ever since.  Through Dorcas’s gifted prose I heard the thunk-thunk of a fourteen-year-old boy, a font of parental advice, stalking up the stairs; I saw two toddlers playing together, never noticing their physical differences unlike the adults around them; I suffered through visits to garrulous relatives and embraced the joy of extended family.  The book is more than a collection of random pieces; the last chapter ties everything together, infusing the preceding pages with meaning only understood by those who have stared death in the face.  

I’ve wrestled with finding an appropriate level of explanation when writing about a distinct cultural setting for a much broader audience.  Too much will bog down the narrative; too little will not tell the whole story.  Dorcas finds a pleasing balance, mentioning her Amish heritage and Mennonite setting enough to achieve that sense of verisimilitude good writers seek, but in passing and without over-shadowing the individuals she writes about.  Apparently she knows that even though the gene pool may be small, Amish and Mennonites haven’t engineered their way out of being human yet.

There is a place for theological tomes and even Christian writers, I suppose.  But I agree with C.S. Lewis: we need more writers like Dorcas Smucker.  Her writing is profound, but not pious.   She doesn’t go looking for spirituality, but she knows a meaningful moment when she sees it.  She celebrates life as it is. 

Get yourself a copy of Ordinary Days and one for your Mom.  While you’re at it, arrange the book in a basket of gourmet coffee or teas and a beautiful mug for her.  It'll double her pleasure when she’s up late reading.