#ReadingWithJolene - simple truths
I began working on this post on Thursday afternoon. I'd spent the morning leisurely flipping through books on the shelves, looking for just the right selections for the day's reading. It was wonderful - I read some Wordsworth in an old college textbook, a few pages of a Raymond Carver story, the first and last pages of The Great Gatsby. Then, whether it was the muse, or intuition, or what one of my writing mentors used to call "the subconscious editor," I found myself pulling these 4:
The Chronicles of Narnia - C.S. Lewis (final chapter of The Last Battle)
Mr. Rabbit and the Lovely Present - Charlotte Zolotow
Ten Little Fingers and Ten Little Toes - Mem Fox
Help, Thanks, Wow: The Three Essential Prayers - Anne Lamott (prelude)
We sat down to read: we savored the Caldecott-winning illustrations by Maurice Sendak in Mr. Rabbit, wiggled our toes (well, Jolene's toes) to the sing-song cadence of Ten Little Fingers, got teary-eyed reading the last paragraph of Narnia, and finally rested in the beautiful descriptions of prayer in Help, Thanks, Wow. Needless to say, Jolene was wiped out by the end. I put her down to sleep and sat down at my laptop to jot down my thoughts and any lines from the books I didn't want to forget (in quotation marks and italicized):
Help, Thanks, Wow - simplicity of prayer:
"We can say anything to God. It's all prayer."
"God can handle honesty, and prayer begins an honest conversation."
"My three prayers are variations of Help, Thanks, Wow. That's all I ever need, besides the silence, the pain, and the pause sufficient for me to stop, close my eyes, and turn inward."
"Prayer means that, in some unique way, we believe we're invited into a relationship with someone who hears us when we speak in silence."
Mr. Rabbit and the Lovely Present - simplicity of joy: mother likes red, yellow, green, blue.
"She likes birds in trees."
Natural world - better than stuff - beauty all around
Ten Little Fingers and Ten Little Toes - we are all the same. No matter where or how each baby is born, they are all little humans worthy of love, etc.
Chronicles of Narnia - most beautiful, believable depiction of heaven, far simpler and wonderful and exciting than some of the book of Revelation, or complicated hymns. In this final chapter of the chronicles, everything simply looks clearer, more beautiful, more joyous - and everyone you love is there.
"Isn't it wonderful!" said Lucy. "Have you noticed one can't feel afraid, even if one wants to? Try it."
And then.
Friday.
A devastating day for humanity, for the world. An unforgettable day of violence and terror in Paris.
And then.
Saturday.
A funeral for a family friend, a man taken brutally fast by cancer, leaving a wife, two daughters, a son, two grandsons.
And then.
I remembered my notes and opened up my laptop, thinking at first that somehow it seemed ridiculous to post about books with so many people in so much pain, anxiety, and fear. But I re-read them. Remembered the simple truths I had absorbed from each book, the truths I'd softly spoken to Jolene as we turned the pages:
We can say anything to God.
We don't have to be afraid.
We are all the same, no matter what we look like or where we're born.
We are blessed with so many simple gifts all around us - it's important to look around and be grateful.
I had jotted down the phrase "simple truths" as a possible title - thinking that each book contained a simple truth that somehow all worked together to form a message of faith, joy, unity, hope. That in a complicated, messy, dangerous, unpredictable world, some simple truths remain. We may not always feel them, but the beauty of a truth is that it's never untrue, no matter how hard it gets.
The world is full of pain and destruction. Unanswerable questions. Loss. Violence. I never want Jolene to experience any of this. On Friday night I told her I was sorry we'd brought her into such a violent world. On Saturday I told Kevin that I never want Jolene to lose her dad. Neither of these can be helped, one way or another. But we can't just hide away in our rooms, shielding Jolene from any possible disappointment or pain. We can't turn off the news and pretend the world isn't full of hate. We can't ignore the reality that bodies get sick and eventually die.
But what we can do is find rest in simple truths. The simplicity of prayer - crying out "help" or "thanks" or "wow". The simplicity of joy - a basket of fruit as a beautiful gift, symbolizing bounty and the beauty of the natural world. The simplicity of our shared humanity - being the same creatures deserving of dignity, love, protection, no matter our background, race, or beliefs. And how all of that combined can start to give us hope in a better world.
We certainly can't save this world, or stop people from hurting one another, but we can contribute to its better-ness in small ways. Brief, undocumented acts of kindness. Rest through prayer and meditation. Welcoming others in. Teaching our children that when the world is spinning out of control, dizzying them with its speed and blurriness, they can hold on to simple truths.
Softly reminding them that sometimes all you can do is cry and whisper, "Help." And encouraging them that if they do, help will come, sometimes taking longer than we want, sometimes in ways we'd never expect, but always in ways that remind us the world can still be a good, kind place. A place that can still be beautiful. A place that's still worth fighting for.
The Chronicles of Narnia - C.S. Lewis (final chapter of The Last Battle)
Mr. Rabbit and the Lovely Present - Charlotte Zolotow
Ten Little Fingers and Ten Little Toes - Mem Fox
Help, Thanks, Wow: The Three Essential Prayers - Anne Lamott (prelude)
We sat down to read: we savored the Caldecott-winning illustrations by Maurice Sendak in Mr. Rabbit, wiggled our toes (well, Jolene's toes) to the sing-song cadence of Ten Little Fingers, got teary-eyed reading the last paragraph of Narnia, and finally rested in the beautiful descriptions of prayer in Help, Thanks, Wow. Needless to say, Jolene was wiped out by the end. I put her down to sleep and sat down at my laptop to jot down my thoughts and any lines from the books I didn't want to forget (in quotation marks and italicized):
Help, Thanks, Wow - simplicity of prayer:
"We can say anything to God. It's all prayer."
"God can handle honesty, and prayer begins an honest conversation."
"My three prayers are variations of Help, Thanks, Wow. That's all I ever need, besides the silence, the pain, and the pause sufficient for me to stop, close my eyes, and turn inward."
"Prayer means that, in some unique way, we believe we're invited into a relationship with someone who hears us when we speak in silence."
Mr. Rabbit and the Lovely Present - simplicity of joy: mother likes red, yellow, green, blue.
"She likes birds in trees."
Natural world - better than stuff - beauty all around
Ten Little Fingers and Ten Little Toes - we are all the same. No matter where or how each baby is born, they are all little humans worthy of love, etc.
Chronicles of Narnia - most beautiful, believable depiction of heaven, far simpler and wonderful and exciting than some of the book of Revelation, or complicated hymns. In this final chapter of the chronicles, everything simply looks clearer, more beautiful, more joyous - and everyone you love is there.
"Isn't it wonderful!" said Lucy. "Have you noticed one can't feel afraid, even if one wants to? Try it."
 |
| from Help, Thanks, Wow (prelude) |
 |
| Mr. Rabbit and the Lovely Present |
 |
| Ten Little Fingers and Ten Little Toes |
 |
| from The Chronicles of Narnia (final chapter of The Last Battle) |
And then.
Friday.
A devastating day for humanity, for the world. An unforgettable day of violence and terror in Paris.
And then.
Saturday.
A funeral for a family friend, a man taken brutally fast by cancer, leaving a wife, two daughters, a son, two grandsons.
And then.
I remembered my notes and opened up my laptop, thinking at first that somehow it seemed ridiculous to post about books with so many people in so much pain, anxiety, and fear. But I re-read them. Remembered the simple truths I had absorbed from each book, the truths I'd softly spoken to Jolene as we turned the pages:
We can say anything to God.
We don't have to be afraid.
We are all the same, no matter what we look like or where we're born.
We are blessed with so many simple gifts all around us - it's important to look around and be grateful.
I had jotted down the phrase "simple truths" as a possible title - thinking that each book contained a simple truth that somehow all worked together to form a message of faith, joy, unity, hope. That in a complicated, messy, dangerous, unpredictable world, some simple truths remain. We may not always feel them, but the beauty of a truth is that it's never untrue, no matter how hard it gets.
The world is full of pain and destruction. Unanswerable questions. Loss. Violence. I never want Jolene to experience any of this. On Friday night I told her I was sorry we'd brought her into such a violent world. On Saturday I told Kevin that I never want Jolene to lose her dad. Neither of these can be helped, one way or another. But we can't just hide away in our rooms, shielding Jolene from any possible disappointment or pain. We can't turn off the news and pretend the world isn't full of hate. We can't ignore the reality that bodies get sick and eventually die.
But what we can do is find rest in simple truths. The simplicity of prayer - crying out "help" or "thanks" or "wow". The simplicity of joy - a basket of fruit as a beautiful gift, symbolizing bounty and the beauty of the natural world. The simplicity of our shared humanity - being the same creatures deserving of dignity, love, protection, no matter our background, race, or beliefs. And how all of that combined can start to give us hope in a better world.
We certainly can't save this world, or stop people from hurting one another, but we can contribute to its better-ness in small ways. Brief, undocumented acts of kindness. Rest through prayer and meditation. Welcoming others in. Teaching our children that when the world is spinning out of control, dizzying them with its speed and blurriness, they can hold on to simple truths.
Softly reminding them that sometimes all you can do is cry and whisper, "Help." And encouraging them that if they do, help will come, sometimes taking longer than we want, sometimes in ways we'd never expect, but always in ways that remind us the world can still be a good, kind place. A place that can still be beautiful. A place that's still worth fighting for.