Even though today is a very busy and
ordinary day and I can’t do much to celebrate, I feel festive. Why?
Because today is the birthday of my favorite author, Jane Austen. She
was born in 1775, so that would make this her 239th birthday. She
only lived to see her forty-first, but her legacy has mushroomed more
than she could ever have imagined in her wildest dreams. People don’t
always interpret her correctly, but many love her. Our literary lives
would be missing so much if she had not written her books; I feel
that she is one of the people that God has used to bless the world,
if only to inspire us with moral characters, help us become wiser in
our choices, and entertain us with much-needed laughter and skillful writing.
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This year, I can picture her quietly observing her birthday at home in early 1800s Chawton because, in September, I was privileged to see where she lived for the last eight years of her life. (See this post for more.)
I wish I had time to make this a more full-bodied article, but perhaps you’d like to read my previous Jane Austen-birthday posts here and here.
Until next week!
P.S. You also might be interested to know that tonight is the first night of Hanukkah on the Jewish calendar. To those of you who celebrate it, Happy Hanukkah! If you would like to read more about it, go to this post, when, last year, Thanksgiving and Hanukkah coincided.
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