A severe mercy by Sheldon Vanauken; 11 editions; First published in ; Subjects: Accessible book, Anglicans, Biography, Christian. A Severe Mercy - EPUB. Beloved, profoundly moving account of the author's marriage, the couple's search for faith and friendship with C. S. Lewis, and a spiritual strength that sustained Vanauken after his wife's untimely death. A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken PDF, ePub eBook D0wnl0ad. Beloved, profoundly moving account of the author's marriage, the couple's.

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Book Synopsis Title: A Severe Mercy Binding: Paperback Author: Author: Sheldon Vanauken Pages: pages Publisher: HarperOne. [Free PDF Download] Severe Mercy, A Full Pages By Sheldon Vanauken D0wnload Severe Mercy, A. Book Synopsis Title: A Severe Mercy. Topics: Vanauken, Sheldon, Lewis, C. S. (Clive Staples), , Anglicans, urn:acs6:severemercy00vana:pdf:5ffcfa

The night was very still, only the faintest rustle of leaves above him betrayed some stir in the air. Somewhere in the distance a lonesome dog barked in a patient and leisurely way. The traveller, a tall man in the late thirties, stood looking up into the branches of the oak and then began to walk with an easy stride along the road with the white fence on his right.

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Behind it he could see an old cherry tree: he remembered suddenly the sharp sweetness of sun-warmed red cherries and birds chirping crossly at a boy in their tree. A few hundred yards farther on, over the hill, he came to massive stone gateposts.

The gates of Glenmerle. Between the gateposts the driveway lay white and still in the moonlight, running straight in to where it curved down a hill into the trees of the park.

A Severe Mercy

The house itself, up a further hill, was hidden. He stood there in the stillness, looking. A tiny breeze touched his face like a brief caress.

He closed his eyes for a second or two, fancying as always that she was in the wind. On either side beyond the poplars that began the avenue lay the gate meadows where the wild strawberries grew. An image leaped into his mind of a sunny white tablecloth and a blue and white bowl heaped with small exquisite red strawberries and flaky shortcake in the thick yellow Jersey cream from the near-by Glenmerle Farm.

He swallowed and walked on. Past the meadows the drive curved steeply down into big trees where the blackbirds lived, and the gravel became dappled with light and shadow. Now, as he descended, he could hear a ripple of water on the left where the streamflowed, and he could see gleams of silver where the moonlight fell upon it.

In the shadows fireflies danced.

At the bottom of the hill a little glade opened on the right, and—yes, there it was, the round lily pond: but dry now with grass bending over its edge.

He looked at it, and suddenly it was full of water, and children stood around it in the sunlight. On its surface sailed a tiny frigate—a present from far-away England—with all sails set and flying the white ensign, followed by a beautifully sailing sloop; he waded in to rescue the frigate when she drove into the lilies. He looked again, and the pool was dry. He went on in the moonlight.

At length he came to a sturdy wooden bridge. Here, long ago, he had said goodbye to his brother and Davy—Davy laughing with sunbeams filtering through the trees upon her brown hair—when he left to join the fleet.

Davy, though, a few months later had come eagerly across the blue Pacific to be near him. The real farewell, not even dreamt of then, had been farewell to Glenmerle; for in the war years that were approaching, his youthful vigorous father had died and the estate had had to go. Now, more than a decade later, he stood again upon the old bridge; and Davy, unbelievably— especially here—was dead, too.

And Glenmerle, unchanged as far as he could see, save for the dry lily pond, lay serene and lovely under the moon. Across the bridge the driveway swept up another, gentler hill to the house.

He could see it plainly now in the flood of moonlight, long and white and spacious. He could of course have come in the daytime and been welcomed by the present owner, but he would not see others in this place.

Indeed, he would go no farther than the bridge. Below the hill in the far lawn stood one willow tree.

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But then— this was awful! Still, he was dizzy with the revelation. What is beauty but something is responded to with emotion?

Courage, at least, is partly emotional. All the splendour of life. But if the best of life is, in fact, emotional, then one wanted the highest, the purest emotions: and that meant joy. Joy was the highest. How did one find joy? In books it was found in love— a great love… So if he wanted the heights of joy, he must have it, if he could find it, in great love.

But in the books again, great joy through love always seemed go hand in hand with frightful pain. Still, he thought, looking out across the meadow, still, the joy would be worth the pain— if indeed, they went together.On the other hand, Charles himself tends to think and as it is his autobiography, it is his thoughts that are central that the pleasures of the palate are extraordinarily important—more important, at times, than other people.

In the process, his friend C. Such a progression is programmatically declared in both works by their subtitles, as we have already seen in the case of Brideshead.

HarperCollins, Her current pastors actively preach social justice, which I am all about. Vanauken and his wife Davy worshipped beauty, especially as manifested in nature and poetry, and love particularly their own , whereas Charles Ryder worshipped bodily pleasure, especially the delights of fine food and drink, and the aestheticism of painting and architecture.

In the shadows fireflies danced. An image leaped into his mind of a sunny white tablecloth and a blue and white bowl heaped with small exquisite red strawberries and flaky shortcake in the thick yellow Jersey cream from the near-by Glenmerle Farm.