It Took a Love Affair

                  My daughter was the best baby in the world.  She just was.  And so, on her 1^st birthday we all looked forward to her perfect baby cuteness growing and maturing into perfect toddler cuteness.  But she had a different plan.  Bella’s 1^st birthday was the day that her father’s wish came true; my little spit fire came out of her cocoon. 

                One of the most wonderful and trying things about little girls is their tendency to be verbal, and to do so very early.  Bella was very verbal, very early.  She could tell you anything she wanted and how she felt about it and why.  NO guess work with her.  And so I naturally thought, partly due to the fact that my first born was a boy, she would be a reading savant.  I had visions of her as a three year old being able to understand those words I would spell out loud to Chris, you know, the typical parents’ Morse code that is used in every preschool child’s presence.  I also felt badly for her brother.  Poor Jack would be surpassed by his sister‘s early reading. 

            But a funny thing happened with Bella.  She picked up a pencil and paper as a toddler, but not to write letters.  She drew, and she colored.  She painted and sculpted.  Her world was all about what she could create.  Reading was not even a thought for her as a preschooler.  She loved being read to, but never showed any interest in wanting to read herself.  She just wanted to make things.

            I was not worried about Bella’s disinterestedness in reading and writing, just a little surprised.  And so we let Bella work with her hands and she loved it.  Year after year went by and the books remained on the shelf while the paint, beads, and paper littered her bedroom floor and every table in our home. 

            When Bella turned ten I began to get anxious.  Will she ever read and write beyond a beginner’s level?  What should we do? 

            We tried many different strategies to get Bella to love the printed page, but nothing seemed to help.  We continued to surround her with good literature, hoping the beauty and wonder of a good story would lure her into reading.  Nope, not,Bella!  And I began to feel like we were the only family in the world with a now eleven year old who did not like to read. 

Chris in front of one of our beloved "stacks".

            Then I ran across an article written by a well- known children’s author in the doctor’s waiting room.  In this author’s true confessions he spoke of his own ten year old son who did not like to read.  I immediately felt his pain!  God bless this man!  I wanted to know, what did he do?  And as I read I realized he would not take “no” for an answer.  No matter how long it took, he would keep putting good books in front of his son.  Eventually, it would have to take.  And it did.  No special program or formula, just good books, for a good chunk of time, every day.  That is all he did.  I felt empowered!  If he could do it, then so could I!    

            I let me daughter know that we would all be reading good stuff every day.  She was not impressed but went along with the new plan.   I waited for the change to come.  Weeks and months passed with no monumental change in her attitude toward reading.  I began to give up.  Maybe she would be one of those, who just read when they have to and not for pleasure.  I shuddered.   

            And so, as her twelfth year was looming on the horizon, we trudged through her school work as if dragging an iron ball behind us.  Each reading assignment was a chore.  Then, for some odd reason, she got it in her head that she would like to read Anne Frank.  I discouraged her as much as I could. “Good, all the more reason for me to read it, Mom.” And so I agreed on one condition.  She could read Anne Frank as long as she committed to finishing it.  I knew the “wines” would come very quickly with this choice, and I wanted her to push through the slow beginning in order for her to know that she could read a book of this caliber.  She agreed.

            Within a week she was begging me to read something different.  But I did not give in to her request.  She realized she would have to finish what she had started if she was ever going to read anything else in her life, and so she kept at it.  Week after week she read Anne Frank.   Then I found her reading on her own without being told.  She began talking to me about what she had read and how it made her feel.  She was identifying with Anne.  Bella was being pulled into the story and was liking it!  After a long, slow reading of Anne Frank, Bella had come full circle.  She ate, slept, and breathed the book.  She was hooked. 

Bella at the Book Plate

            She reminded me of someone who had just fallen in love.  And so she had, with a book.  Then she asked me what else she could read and so I pulled one of my favorites off of the shelf and put it in her hands.  She read this one without much prompting.  This time she really liked the book and wanted to read more by the same author.  The domino effect had begun.  One good book gave her the confidence to try it again, and again, and again. 

            If you had told me two years ago that my daughter would be holed up in her room for hours each day reading books, I would have choked on my coffee.  But that is exactly what has happened.

            A few months ago, my daughter found out that she too could express herself with words, not just through the visual arts, and she began to write.  She would write a page or two of a story she had begun to form in her mind on paper or in a journal.  Eventually, she started typing on the computer and saving her little stories.   Then she decided that what she really needed in order to be a better writer was her own typewriter.  That’s right, a typewriter.  No computer or iPad, just a typewriter please.  I thought this would be a passing phase, but it became more and more important to her and I began to give this idea some real thought. 

            As I was walking through a second hand shop one day, my eye spotted an old typewriter in its case.  I asked to try it out and behold, it worked!   A couple of weeks later we both traveled to the second hand store to see if the old machine was still there.  When Bella turned the corner in the store, her eye caught sight of the typewriter  and she just stood still.  I knew then it was coming home with us. 

Bella and "Max", her typewriter.

            Now we hear the typewriter at all hours of the day.  We have all received typed letters and notes.  And she has begun a new story on her typewriter, the longest one to date. 

            I am remembering my little one year old girl, and all of the words she had stored up in her little life span, spilling them out all over the place.  Now, as she is on the cusp of young adulthood, words are still gushing out, but this time they are coming through her fingers and seeping into her mind. 

            And her older brother, well, let’s just say, we had nothing to worry about.  Jackson reads far more than I ever hoped to at his age. 

Jackson reading to Elias, two years ago.

              My children amaze me.  I am learning to let them be and give them the tools they need to learn and grow.  In time, they take things in and make them their own.  I am watching them form a life-long habit of reading real books, of writing deeply and thoughtfully, and of learning how to express themselves in this crazy world.  

             May they meet their generation with a passionate desire to know the truth, to embrace the beautiful, and to tell a dying world that there is a hope that never disappoints.   Read on my children.  Read well, read deeply.  Your very lives may depend on it.  

~Your Fellow Sojourner

 Notes on the Art of Poetry

by Dylan Thomas

I could never have dreamt that there were such goings-on
In the world between the covers of books,
Such sandstorms and ice blasts of words,
Such staggering peace, such enormous laughter,
Such and so many blinding bright lights,
Splashing all over the pages
In a million bits and pieces
All of which were words, words, words,
And each of which were alive forever

In its own delight and glory and oddity and light.

Something Unspeakable

          Tonight we will celebrate crossing yet another threshold.  Our entire downstairs will be ripped up in the morning.  Water damage has ruined the first floor of our home and so it all must go.  I have a killer summer cold and yes, as my husband and children were about to walk out the door to have dinner with their Papu, a purple mouse flew through one of our downstairs windows.  (Yes, it really was a purple mouse.)  Not a bad start to an evening. 

            But, I am looking forward to spending this night with my husband.  It is a Sunday, and he has preached a sermon all day long, beginning with the kiss on my forehead and the prayer he spoke as he held my hand, leaving me and my cold in bed.  He has not stopped all day.  It is his way of pushing back the onslaught that comes after he steps out of the pulpit.  He keeps moving and giving and serving to keep the doubts at bay.  I love him for it.  And tonight is no different. 

            I will help him put the kids to bed and then we will lean on each other as we sit on the couch together.  This is the comfort at the end of the day.  To know that it will be quiet, the sun will fade, and the space will be empty except for him and me.  He will take my hand and one of us will say something like, “So, how are you really?” and the other will try to find words to tell the other where they are.  It is how we “find” one another again in our busy lives.  We have long since stopped dreaming of circumstances changing and bringing us that mythical “sweet spot”.  Then I will hear him snore and I will nudge him and we will tumble into bed.

 We will pray for one another and drift off the sleep.  I will try to pick up a book, maybe.  Lately it has been the Iliad.  I will dream of Odysseus and Achilles and Greek ships in a stormy sea. But the feeling of panic that may come in my dream will not be real.  My love is not at the whim of some human god, it has been written in eternity.  It is a living, human, and eternal thing.  It is as real as the floor my feet walk on in the morning and the pain I feel when I hit my toe against the wall. 

            It is a love not according to my wishes and demands, but a way of walking.  Chris is teaching me what it means to live in this world, to not run away from the hardness of it.  He is easing the journey I am on.  And he is preparing me for the next one.  

            And what of the life to come?   You will find me and my love there, talking, laughing, running, and singing in a harmony we can only dream of now.  It will be something unspeakable.  We dabble in a love that will one day be devoid of all the pain and bitterness we feel right now.  There will not be any floors to rip apart or windows to shatter or bodies that need healing.  It will be the healing balm our souls long for, and it will be for an eternity and a day.

~ Your Fellow Sojourner

"I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine;" Song of Solomon 6:3

Last night with the original floor.

Ancient Paths

             Our thoughts turn to change in the New Year.  We want to get out of the old ruts we have gotten ourselves into and find newer, better paths.  Out with the old and in with the new! 

            I like change and then again I don’t.  I have learned that change done well can be good, and change without thoughtful intent can be burdensome and a waste of time. 

            Most of us know right away what needs to change but we are fearfully aware of the unknowns that often come with change.  Change is hard enough on its own, and walking through unknown territory can be nerve racking.  It takes great faith to change course and walk a new path. 

            I sometimes wish that I could be transported a few months down the path of good change and see all of the benefits that new habits can bring.  But, I have not discovered how to time travel and so I must rely on faith.  Faith can come by hearing, and hearing from the right people.

            One of the most incredible graces that God has given me is the older, wiser people in my life.   People that have lived some life and still have a grace and a peace about them are beautiful.  To know an older man or woman who has a calm and joyful outlook on life is to find a real gem.  And in these gems one can mine for treasures of wisdom that can save us from heart ache and prepare us for the future. 

            As with many good things, we do not know how long we will have them.  Time is a precious commodity.  When I am in the presence of my elders, I go treasure hunting with prayerful grace and tact.   When they speak, I listen.  When I am with them, I slow down.  I open my heart and my mind and let their words of wisdom pour into the reservoir of my soul.

              In 1919, a couple in Kentucky had their first born son, my grandfather.  My grandfather will be 95 years old this year, but to me he has never changed.   I still picture him slowly opening the foyer closet, taking down his hat and walking out the door to go about his business, with a “howdy” and a smile on his face.  Slow yet determined, precise but gentle, steady and kind. 

            A couple of weeks ago I found a moment to sit down next to my Pop Pop and talk with him about life.  I had asked him what he had been reading and he told me he was still working his way through the latest Microsoft Windows manual.  I continued to ask him what else he had been reading and he said the newspaper.  I challenged him to find a book of some kind that he would enjoy.  He told me he did not have time for that kind of reading.  I laughed and so did my grandmother.  “If you don’t have time to read Pop Pop, than neither do I!”  But he was serious.  He needed to spend time working on the computer and so practical reading was all he could do.  But I continued to press him, ”How will the next generation see the importance of reading if they do not see you reading?”  And then I saw a glint in his eye.  “That is not my job.  That is the parents’ job, they bring up the children.”   I saw his point.  He knew where true jurisdiction resided.  And then the wisdom of his years began to be unearthed.

            “Parents need to make sure they are leading their children in good ways of learning.  They need to give them good opportunities to learn for themselves.   If you have a baby and there is garbage in front of him he is going to naturally go toward it.  But if a parent keeps steering him away from the garbage over and over again he will eventually learn to avoid it , to choose something else.“ 

           “But that takes time Pop Pop and so many parents don’t want to take the time to do that.  It’s hard, I know. ”  Then he placed his hand on my arm and told me how thankful he was that I take the time to teach my children.  I told him I don’t do anything special, I just do what I know I ought to be doing as a parent.  Nothing special in that.  “But so many parents don’t do what you do anymore.  It used to be so common.  You know people do what they have been taught to do themselves.   Like my parents taught me and now you teach your children.”  It was then that I knew I was on holy ground.  He was going back, not forward.  He was not directing me to a new way, but an old one.  

            “The most important thing you can do for your children is to introduce them to the Lord.  That is what my mother did for me.  She always had time to talk with me about the Lord.  From time to time I was allowed to look at and read a children’s Bible that we had, and when I came to something that I did not understand I would go and find my mother and ask her about it.  She would stop whatever she was doing and sit down and talk with me about what I was reading.”  I saw great emotion well up in his smoky blue eyes.  A great love for a woman I never knew, who had stopped her world to raise up a man who would be a model to me of a faith and trust in God that runs very deep.  

               “I wish you had known her, that you lived in the same time.  She was very much like you, you liked the same things.”  And with a grateful and trembling voice I told him, “We will Pop Pop.  We will live in the same time and it will be for an eternity.”  The biggest smile broke out on his face and he laughed. “Well, you got me there!  Yes, you are right, you will!”  I leaned over and hugged him and kissed the top of his balding head and I told him I loved him three times over.  And with all the strength he had he hugged me back and told me that he loved me too.  His words were more precious to me than diamonds or rubies or sapphires.  A man of so few words told me he loved me, something he never needed to say, I have always known that my Pop Pop loved me.  It was a moment of grace that I will hold in my heart for a long, long time. 

            As I walked down the stairs of my parent’s home I was filled with hope and strength for the days and weeks and months to come.  A simple word, but a true word, forged in the fires of the hard lives of my grandparents and great grandparents.  Our conversation held precious rubies, words of wisdom to help me find my way.  “Stand by the roads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is; and walk in it, and find rest for your souls.” Jeremiah 6:16    

            I have not walked all of this path, but I do know that it is a good way, a way to find rest in a weary world.  Like my grandfather acknowledged, it is not an easy road to walk, but God loves the reformer. “Return to me, and I will return to you, says the Lord of hosts.” Malachi 3:7  What a promise, in returning He meets us.  There is no mention of perfection or having it all together, just return. 

            And so, as I take down my Christmas decorations and turn over a new calendar page, I am seeking more ways to return to paths that are ancient and old.  I may not be raising chickens and planting corn like my Grandmother Rhoda did, but I too find myself interrupted by little souls who are longing to know and understand who God is and what He has done.   I, like my grandfather’s mother, hope to set aside my dish towel, my laundry basket, my lesson plans, and die to myself, that another may live.  And when my granddaughter comes to me one day with her own questions about life, I want to smile and touch her arm and tell her of the paths that I have walked, not the new, but the beautiful and the old. 

~ Your Fellow Sojourner

Pop Pop's 90th birthday.

“Legacy”

I can taste the fruit of Eve
I’m aware of sickness, death and disease
The results of our choices are vast
Eve was the first but she wasn’t the last

And if I were honest with myself
Had I been standing at that tree
My mouth and my hands would be covered with fruit
Things I shouldn’t know and things I shouldn’t see

Remind me of this with every decision
Generations will reap what I sow
I can pass on a curse or a blessing
To those I will never know

She taught me to fear the serpent
I’m learning to fear myself
And all of the things I am capable of
In my search for wisdom, acceptance and wealth

And to say that the devil made me do it
Is a cop out and a lie
The devil can’t make me do anything
When I’m calling on Jesus Christ

Remind me of this with every decision
Generations will reap what I sow
I can pass on a curse or a blessing
To those I will never know

To my great, great, great grand daughter
Live in peace
To my great, great, great grand son
Live in peace
To my great, great, great grand daughter
Live in peace
To my great, great, great grand son
Live in peace, oh, live in peace

Remind me of this with every decision
Generations will reap what I sow
I can pass on a curse or a blessing
To those I will never know 

 ~ Sara Groves