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Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

billy coffey

Nothing small about it: Review of Some Small Magic by Billy Coffey

July 26, 2017

Before I tell you everything I loved about this book, a story and a confession.

I have loved Billy Coffey’s writing from the first page I read. And though I had only read two of his books before this one, his writing is among my favorites all time. Last month, I had the opportunity to meet him. He gave a reading at a writers’ retreat I attended in Virginia, and nearly every attendee of the retreat can tell you how I gushed and fan-girled and made an awkward fool of myself telling him and his wife how much I loved his writing. He was so kind and they were both gracious. I mentioned that I had requested his new book for review months earlier and it had never arrived. (My plan had been to buy a book from him but he didn’t bring any along.)

Me with Billy Coffey

“You can have mine when I’m finished,” he said.

I think I gaped at him and mumbled something and then figured he’d probably forget about the offer and it would be no big deal. I’d just buy a copy anyway. But sure enough, after the reading, I approached him to tell him that I lived in Lancaster, where his mother’s side of the family is from, and he handed me the book he had just read from. I felt even more awkward as the ONLY person at the retreat with a copy of the book, so I ran to my friend’s van and stashed it in the passenger side and told not a soul except her (until now).

I finally had a chance to read it and it was worth the wait.

On to the book itself.

Two important notes about this story, in case you judge a book by its title:

1. There is nothing “small” about it.
2. Don’t let the world “magic” scare you away.

I can’t properly describe how I feel about this story, or any of Coffey’s stories. Reading them often lets loose some feeling in me that I didn’t know need to be freed. It is the kind of story that leaves you feeling happy-sad because it is true. There is nothing false about this fiction.

From the naming of characters–Abel, who is not able-bodied–to the turns of phrase and the pace that make you feel like you’re smack in the middle of the mountains of Virginia, Coffey’s writing is nothing short of stunning. (I try not to exaggerate when I review books. I wish I could give this book more than five stars because it is not in the same category as other books I’ve rated five stars.)

Coffey peels away layers of the story in such a way that I was never sure where we were headed. At one point (you’ll know it when you get to it) I gasped because I had not seen it coming. Looking back, maybe I should have, but I was so drawn in by the journey of Abel, Dumb Willie and the beautiful girl on the train that I did not know. Even in the final chapters, I could not predict how it all would end.

It is a rare book that can produce so many feelings that ought to be contradictory but instead are complementary.

Coffey’s books haunt in a good way. They don’t offer simple or easy answers, and they just might challenge what you think is the way of things. You are guaranteed immersion into a mountain culture and it will be hard to walk away.

It’s been a couple of years since I read one of Coffey’s books, but I’ll be reading his other books soon.

If you’re looking for fiction that is spiritual and beautifully written, I urge you to read any one of Coffey’s books. Just be warned that the endings are not tidy and happy like you might think. But they are good and true.

Filed Under: Fiction, The Weekly Read Tagged With: billy coffey, literary fiction, some small magic, spiritual stories, thomas nelson, writing retreat

When music takes me back in time (and I'm not sure I want to leave the past)

January 13, 2015

We’d been away from church for a couple of weeks, and I always forget how dry and empty I am when we go through a stretch like that where we’re traveling on Sundays or visiting family. I think it’ll be no big deal and when we’re finally back with our church family it hits me. Then, all of a sudden, I find myself sobbing in the middle of singing. Tears of gratitude to be back. Tears of sorrow at my own pitiful state. Tears of joy because I am safe and there is hope.

I’m learning to never leave home for church without some tissues tucked in my bag because I’m sure to need them if I don’t have them.

So, it was all of those things that had tears streaming down my cheeks at church on Sunday. But it was something else, as well.

It was the songs themselves. And the older I get the more I believe that songs are a portal to another time and place. If a book can sweep me into another time and place, one I’ve never lived, then songs have the same power to connect me with my former self.

Joshua Earle | Creative Commons | via unsplash

Joshua Earle | Creative Commons | via unsplash

Our song time opened with one we sang at church camp, where my husband and I served as staff to high schoolers who were dealing with a lot of the same issues we struggled with as 20-somethings. That song was followed by one that broke me in college, just a year or two after I’d opened my life to Jesus’s leading.

And in an instant I was no longer in the middle of sanctuary in the middle of winter crying with my husband by side and children nearby. I was sweating in a simple chapel in the woods, surrounded by teenagers jumping, shouting, passionately declaring that God was the cry of their heart. I was flat on my face in the basement of a college chapel, undone by my sin and the love of a King who would sacrifice Himself so I could live. I was a girl again, a decade or more younger, with fresh hopes and dreams who couldn’t imagine knowing any other life than one that had Jesus in it.

Snapped back to my present state, I cried again, wondering where that girl had gone. She had no idea what was to come, and had she been given a clue, I think she would have ignored it as impossible. I cried because there are days I want to be that girl again. To believe the best. To still have hope and dreams. To be passionately pursuing the God who changed everything.

And there are days I would never want to be her again because she was so naive and unaware of the world around her. Of the hard realities of life. She knew little about what it means to persevere, to forgive, to endure. Hers was a simple faith that didn’t always ask questions. She was motivated by good behavior and what others thought and her grown-up counterpart wouldn’t trade the faith she has now, as hard as it is, for what she had before.

The girl who sang those songs years ago and the woman who sings them now, they’re one. I cannot be who I am today without that girl from long ago. Even if I sometimes pity her. Even if I sometimes wish it could all be different.

But I can’t go back. I can only go forward. And words like this spur me on:

There is a kind of bravery born from understanding that what lies in front of you is merely the end result of every choice you’ve ever made, and there is nothing left but to follow that path to its end. (Billy Coffey, In the Heart of the Dark Wood, p. 348)

And,

I was learning the secrets of life: that you could become the woman you’d dared to dream of being, but to do so you were going to have to fall in love with your own crazy, ruined self. (Anne Lamott, Small Victories, p. 101)

This is where I find myself when the tears pool and my present self fades. When I remember who I was and compare her to who I am. I am needing to leave the old behind, to follow this path to its end, even if it’s not the path I would have chosen, and accept the pieces of myself that I want to hide and dismiss, those places where I see only wrong and not enough and different.

I want to love my “crazy, ruined self.” The me I was and the me I am now.

This is what I want from the year ahead. This is what I mean when I say I want to be “whole.”

What was the last song that took you back to another time and place?

Filed Under: faith & spirituality, One Word 365, women Tagged With: anne lamott, billy coffey, growth, music, regret, time travel

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Hi. I’m Lisa, and I’m glad you’re here. If we were meeting in real life, I’d offer you something to eat or drink while we sat on the porch letting the conversation wander as it does. That’s a little bit what this space is like. We talk about books and family and travel and food and running, whatever I might encounter in world. I’m looking for the beauty in the midst of it all, even the tough stuff. (You’ll find a lot of that here, too.) Thanks for stopping by. Stay as long as you like.

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