Hey!
I am Finley. James Finley, specifically— though the specificity of that is low too as “James” is the most common name amongst Finleys. James Finley, specifically. I am a Christian, a father of four, a software engineer, an amateur instrument builder and woodworker, and a bard.
Featured Articles
On Twelvetide and Feasting
Last summer I read a book about hospitality by Steve Wilkins called Face to Face. Heading into the end of Fall, I finished a book on the American revolution. Both books called out to me that 1) feasting in America was killed and 2) it was quintessential to the human soul. So as an introvert, I needed to revive that. I know, y’all don’t think I am an introve…
Hey!
I am Finley. James Finley, specifically— though the specificity of that is low too as “James” is the most common name amongst Finleys. James Finley, specifically. I am a Christian, a father of four, a software engineer, an amateur instrument builder and woodworker, and a bard.
Featured Articles
On Twelvetide and Feasting
Last summer I read a book about hospitality by Steve Wilkins called Face to Face. Heading into the end of Fall, I finished a book on the American revolution. Both books called out to me that 1) feasting in America was killed and 2) it was quintessential to the human soul. So as an introvert, I needed to revive that. I know, y’all don’t think I am an introvert and neither do the 26 people I invited into my house over the course of Twelvetide.
Now, if you know much about me, come October I am itching to get all the Christmas decor out, start shifting most of my outfits towards red, Santa hats start popping up daily, and candy canes… well… I have a thing for candy canes. Large candy canes. I have always loved Christmas and everything that came with it. Growing up, that was large family parties on Christmas Eve and Day. Lots of cousins, huge Christmas trees, laughter, joy, and merriment. And then 2020 came and all of that ended.
The last four years we wandered— and wondered— our way through the holidays trying to find ourselves and our family’s traditions. That’s not to say that five years of Christmas were dead or forgotten. They were bright, noisy, and filled with laughter. But they were small and it never felt like Christmas. They ended before they started, the burst of Christmas— after the wait of Advent— was more a fizzle. It felt good for a short time and then we lurched back into work and onto a new year. And that wasn’t Christmas.
You see, Advent is a period of waiting and anticipation. Four weeks to culminate in… something. That something wasn’t supposed to be a half a day of ripping paper and eating pie. It was meant to be bigger. And longer. Not even the two very large days I grew up with, though usually followed with a week with the in-laws or a week of downtime with the kiddos as an adult. Historically that was the Twelve Days of Christmas.
I don’t want to bore you with the details… those details where talked about over warm wassail and candlelight for nearly two weeks. The gist: twelve days of feasting, twelve days of Christmassing, twelve days of music, joy, laughter, merriment, and gaeity. In the words of Chesterton, the best way to shorten winter is to prolong Christmas. During the darkest of months, the shortest of days, the coldest of times, gather ‘round the table and eat, drink, and celebrate the coming of Christ.
And so we did. We opened our home for seven nights— with one day break— and fed 26 people. We were going for twelve before getting sick on the 9th day and rescheduling the end of our celebration. Those seven nights were amazingly Christmas. Alive, to say the least. There were rules:
- my wife wasn’t the host, buzzing around and not present
- this wasn’t Grandma’s massive Christmas feast, this was a gathering of friends new and old; big crockpot of food, sides, and desserts with fresh wassail nightly, but low key and low cost
- it was a family affair for ours and theirs, this means crafts, activities, and Christmas movies for the kids while the adults roared around the table with conversations across all topics.
And so our eight foot long, hand-made table was the center of life for seven nights and we made merry our Christmastide. Our kids cackled with laughter with new and old friends in the other room, our plates flowed with great meals— cranberry BBQ pork, spaghetti, and carnita tacos— and we spread the joy of Christmas beyond our family in a way we’ve never been able to do. And we’ll do it again. We have twelve more people coming the weekend to finish off the celebration and next year we will be filling out even more of the nights.
The thing we heard every single night— as the pot emptied with sadness— was that the wassail was the best of the night. Don’t hear wrong, homemade BBQ sauces and shredded carnitas were a hit, but the wassail pot was the warm hug we all needed in the midwinter and it hit everyone just right. So I end this write up with recipe, in the internet recipe tradition of following a long post.
- 4 apples cut in half and cored
- 1 orange
- 1 TBSP whole cloves
- 2 quarts apple cider
- juice 1 lemon
- 2 cinnamon sticks
- ½ cup honey
- ¼ tsp ground ginger
- ¼ tsp ground nutmeg
- 2 star anise
- 6 allspice berries
- Preheat oven to 350.
- Slice the apples in half and scoop out the core. Fill the hole with sugar and place in a 9×13 baking pan.
- Poke the whole cloves into the orange and place into the baking dish with the apples.
- Place 1” of water in the bottom of the pan and place the pan into the oven to roast for 40 minutes.
- While the fruit is roasting, pour the apple cider into a large stock pot.
- Add remaining spices, lemon juice, and the honey to the cider.
- Allow to barely simmer while the fruit finishes roasting (When the fruit is done roasting, add it to the pot as well).
- Keep heating on low heat to keep warm while you enjoy!
We usually transfer the wassail to a crockpot, but keeping it on a stove will fill you house with a beautiful, crisp aroma.
Christmas continues until February 2nd. It’s not over. It has just begun. And this season, we began it with a loud bang.
Laughing While Hunted
We watched David on New Year’s Eve and we all thoroughly loved it. But the line that stuck out to me the loudest— enough for me to grab my phone and write it down— was the ol’ man in the cave, as the Israelites are dancing and laughing, shouting, “How can you laugh when you are hunted?!”
It took me a lot of time to laugh while being hunted. And it was in David’s songs that I found my answers.
But the long shadows danced and licked at my heels. I didn’t stop this last year. I kept moving. If I hit the brakes, they seized me.
I went months without sleep, brewing fresh coffee and pouring through the Psalms each morning.
I have been in the valley, hiding in the caves, stalked by predators for too long over the last few years. And what became very clear, very quickly was that I had no theology for wartime. I had no theology for when God decided to keep me down for periods that I deemed long. No theology for the darkness.
When we are held to the flame, when we are in the midst of our enemies, when their mocking voices demand that we kowtow to them and deny our God, it can be hard to raise our voices. But don’t hang up your lyre, oh Christian. If they demand that you worship their gods, if they demand that you forget your own:
Awake, O harp and lyre! I will awake the dawn! I will give thanks to you, O Lord, among the peoples; I will sing praises to you among the nations.
Wake the dawn. Don’t worship at their altars. Your God is not one of many, but the Only. The Name above all. Shout that.
So I needed to learn that myself. I needed to seek that myself. I wasn’t at a church that could handle that, could build that, could support me in that. I was told by some that I wasn’t praying hard enough. Word of Faith folks come outta the woodworks when people are downed.
As I’ve said before, grabbing my instrument and going to church brings enough comfort to get me through my weeks. Go back to Psalm 57. David, holed up in a cave, surrounded by dragons, spears seeking his mortal flesh, grabbed his lyre and belted out worshipful thanksgiving in defiance of the dark.
And so this Christmastide I feel that G.K. Chesterton put the bow on my theology:
“Being happy is not so important as having a jolly time. Philosophers are happy; saints have a jolly time.”
G.K. Chesterton
Winter Fire by Ryan Whitaker Smith
It is joy— joy not from within, but from God— that separates us from the world. The world seeks after everything to find happiness. And us? Christ puts joy and peace in us with no work needed. The saint should be jolly: full of joy. In the cave? Jolly. Under siege? Jolly. Darkened for days, months, years? Jolly! And so our house was full of laughter and joy over this Christmastide.
Saint? When you are hunted, stalked like a doe during deer season, are you filled with joy or despair? Do you have the words to speak back to the darkness? Do you have the breath for a quick prayer to make the firelight brighter? Do you have the warmth of Christ jiggling your belly to laughter?
Don’t despair. Your Lord is near.
Books in Progress
How many of us have a graveyard of books started and never finished? I have too many. Some of it is embarrassment. I really wanted to like the book but didn’t. Some of it is distraction. I saw a better book and never came back. Some of it is that it was truly terrible and I couldn’t get myself to continue. And we’ve all been there as avid readers.
I have added a way to show in progress books now on my Shelf.
WHY?! Hold, I know. First: intentionality. Second: tracking.
Intentionality
First and foremost, this year I am intending to read 47 books— at least— from a list I have been working on for the last month. This includes books that are part of a program at my church called HC Institute. I want to be intentional about what I read this year and I want to hold myself to those those intentions. You’ll note that I have four books going. I believe this was covered well in How to Read a Book by Andy Naselli in that you should have multiple books going at any given point in time. Sometimes a good book is not good right this moment and you need something different. So I have two non-fictional and two fictional books to start my year.
Tracking
While this page is absolutely external to share good reads, this is also to track my reading progress. Now that progress is non-binary— not just completed. Part of the enhancements to the Shelf at the end of 2025 made trends clearer for me.
Fiction
Last year I read 36 books— though many in the graveyard and many that may be completed early this year. And looking through them I noticed very clearly that, in the words of Lewis, “[t]hey had a lot to say about exports and imports and governments and drains, but they were weak on dragons.” Three— just three— books last year were fiction. That’s less than 10% of the books I read. Now don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with non-fiction. I love non-fiction, obviously. But I had a new friend over at the house earlier this week— Christmastiding, of course— and she asked where I err when grabbing a book: non-fiction or fiction. And, frankly, I didn’t love that the only honest answer was what it was. I grew up quite the opposite. I would never have landed in the lair of a dragon and been puzzled like Eustace, but as I have gotten back into reading, I have been quite studious and not quite curious. And so, this year I adjust my reading. A rebalance.
I said that there are 47 books on my list this year but that list is not all published as in progress. I wouldn’t want to do that. First, that is noisy; second, it is useless. On this list are Western classics from Dickens, Twain, Milton, Tolkien, and Lewis; and these are paired with great reading from Driscoll, Bonhoeffer, Chan, Keller, and more in the non-fiction world.
2026 is going to be a good year and I pray that everyone starts it off well. Go, read!