Yesterday evening we had a book club evening when we talked about 'The Shack'. I gather it's a publishing phenomenon. No publisher would accept it, so the author, William P Young, published it himself. It became known via the internet. And he had to print more, and more. A few more than 'My Donkeybody'! Well, a lot more actually, a couple of million.... Now two of my wise brothers had read it. Neither of them was impressed - in fact one of them had given up halfway through. But it had been a family occasion; so we hadn't argued.
When I read it, I cried - not where you might think - and had mixed feelings about the rest, mainly positive, I must say. But our book club was unanimous in liking it. They loved the 'out-of-the-box' way of picturing God and the new ways of understanding old truths. But I think there's a danger of forgetting it's a novel. I don't think I'd give it to someone as a remedy for grief.
However, I know I'm getting tired and grumpy with the prospect of moving this month, and all the mixed feelings that go with retirement. And of course the cold weather makes all my muscles tense - inside and out. So you can expect a bit less jollity. And come to think of it, the world isn't that jolly at the moment: Israel and Hamas trying to destroy each other, Russia and Ukraine managing to freeze half of Europe, firms going bust one by one and the world economy sinking further into recession. You'll need a pretty big shack to sort it all out. (Let the reader understand.)