Mysterious ways

Last Friday my family and I attended the double funeral of my 62-year-old aunt Tisha and her 8-year-old granddaughter Lucia. The service was held in their hometown high school auditorium; the local church was too small. More than 1200 people packed the room, spilling out the back entrance and into side hallways.

Two caskets stood at the front surrounded by flowers. As the service began and songs were sung a solemn line of black-clad children wove down the left aisle toward the front, roses in their hands. One by one they laid their flowers on the podium steps, stood for a moment, then followed an adult back up the other side of the auditorium. These were Lucia's classmates, 8 and 9-year-old boys and girls who followed their teachers in a sweet and silent memorial for their missing friend.

Five nights before the funeral service and one nigh before my aunt and cousin were killed in a tragic car crash, my grandmother had a dream. Grandma dreamt that she was walking down the road and suddenly turned to find a large crowd of people behind her, all dressed in black. She wondered why they were there, but what surprised her the most was that the front line was all children. Small children, standing in front of a crowd, all dressed in black.

That same night my aunt Samantha had a dream that she was in her childhood home, the home where my grandma and aunt Tisha were currently living. Samantha stepped into the back yard to find a white hearse pulling up to the back gate. She was shocked to see it, but even more shocked when she realized the driver was her father - my grandfather - who had passed away almost 7 years ago.

God prepares us for the future in truly mysterious ways. A friend may say something profound that isn't truly understood until much later. A verse in the Bible or a lyric in a hymn may jump out as significant at just the right moment. A prayer may seem to go unheard for years until the answer is finally and perfectly revealed. And a grievous blow may be slightly softened by visions in which a loving father returns to carry his child home and a quiet line of children bid their dear friend goodbye.

God speaks to us in mysterious ways. Listen, watch, and wait for His presence.

Summer Reading, year 2: "The Catcher in the Rye"

This post will fulfill the "read a classic I've never read before" entry on my summer reading list. The Catcher in the Rye has been in my personal library for years and I finally felt it was time to actually read it.

The Catcher in the Rye is one of those "classic" pieces of literature that I never read while in school. Maybe my teenage years were less tumultuous or rebellious or meaningful because of it; or at least that's what literary critics and fans of this book would have you think. But personally, I think waiting to read it during my late twenties has been the best decision. I enjoy the perspective I have now. I've been a teenager, I have teenaged siblings and at my job I work with teenagers every day. There will always be foolish decisions, unnecessary reactions and unneeded drama, but for the most part the teens I know handle life with grace and clarity. Most of them are well-grounded, even when dealing with difficult situations.

Reading the troubled, erratic, lonely and angry thoughts of the fictional Holden Caulfield filled me with sadness.  He is confused and hurting, and as a pastor in my church teaches, "hurt people hurt people." Someone who is completely enveloped in their own pain has no idea how much pain they are capable of causing others. There are many people in Holden's life that care for him, but he shuts them out and follows his own destructive path instead. The only person that can get through to him is his sister. Little Phoebe longs for Holden to be home and safe, for him to succeed, for him to love her. He does loves her, but steals from her, literally and emotionally, and almost breaks her before he is broken. Holden's self-destructive will is eventually broken enough to accept help, but by the end of the story it is still very unclear what his future will hold.

Catcher was published in 1951, and initially I was surprised at the amount of language and harsh subject matter in this book. But that decade was the beginning of the teenage movement. It was after the wild 1920s, the bleakness of two World Wars, the adjustment of men coming back from war and women leaving jobs and going back home, the rising revolution of youth not wanting to be forced into military service the way their fathers were. It was a messed-up time. Just like now. Modern-day equivalents of Catcher are teen-angst dramas like The Perks of Being a Wallflower, a terribly depressing story of a boy bears the emotional burdens of his abused sister and self-destructive, promiscuous friends while fighting through his own repressed trauma stemming from childhood abuse.

No matter what the decade, these stories ring true because there are always hurting people. They should be cautionary tales, however, and not empathetic anti-heroes. Hurting people need hope. While every story doesn't end happily, there is always a chance for hope. 

Summer Reading, Year 2 - "The Wind in the Willows"

For my old favorite (see my full reading list here) I chose Kenneth Grahame's childhood classic "The Wind in the Willows."

Reading this childhood favorite once again I was struck by the beautiful language and highly descriptive writing style. We really dumb things down for kids nowadays, don't we? "Willows" was published in 1908, and I can't think of a single modern-day children's author that creates beautiful word pictures like this:

     “The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side of the river he trotted as one trots,  
      when very small, by the side of a man who holds one spellbound by exciting stories; and when
      tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on to him, a babbling procession of
      the best stories in the world, sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea.”

I mean...wow. What a way to say: Mole walked along the riverbank and listened to it gurgle. "A babbling procession of the best stories in the world." Pure poetry. 

The characters are simple, lovable and honest in Grahame's story. Mole is the wide-eyed wonderer with a heart of goal. Ratty is the experienced leader who is never, ever too busy to help someone in need. Badger is a gruff but lovable general. And Toad, dear Toad, is the air-headed adventurer who must learn to appreciate the wonderful friends surrounding him.

I grew up watching the claymation video version of The Wind in the Willows ( produced in 1983). It was one of my ultimate favorites, despite the scratchy TV-recorded quality of the tape. I just found it on Amazon - on DVD! - for only $8. So excited. Here's a clip of one of the songs. Even though the animation is dated, it is still a beautiful adaptation of the story, staying truer to the book and not deviated in wild, ridiculous ways the way some (*cough* Disney animated *cough*) movie versions did. Enjoy. :-)

Summer Reading, Year 2 - "Shakespeare Saved My Life"

The first book completed on my Summer Reading Goals list is a memoir by college professor Laura Bates entitled "Shakespeare Saved My Life." (click here to see my full reading list)

I ran across this book while browsing through the biography/memoir section at Half-Price Books. Being quite the Shakespeare enthusiast, the title immediately caught my eye. In her relatively slim and very engaging memoir, Bates recounts the 10 years she spend teaching Shakespeare to inmates at the Indiana federal prison. Most of the prisoners she worked with were in the maximum security solitary confinement unit, or "supermax." Many had never finished high school, had violent histories and were serving life sentences.  Some, including the man her story focuses on, had never even heard the name William Shakespeare before joining her class.

It is incredible to me how fully Bates' students embraced Shakespeare's plays. Through the powerful words of this great playwright, inmate students began to care about and relate to deep issues and complex characters created over 400 years ago. The language of Shakespeare is tricky and lyrical, yet these men began to scrutinize, discuss and relate to the stories. Some examples: comparing the warring Montague and Capulet families to the modern-day environments that formed them. Realizing that the inner monologues of Macbeth bring up memories of the thoughts racing through their own heads as they committed (and regretted) their crimes. And as Richard II contemplates his fate in the pit of a dungeon, supermax prisoner Larry Newton is deeply affected by how well Shakespeare captures the mental wanderings that go hand in hand with time spent in solitary confinement.

Higher education for inmates is a convoluted issue. There are compelling arguments to both sides: those that say prisoners should not be rewarded or educated in any way as part of their punishment, and those that say education is a vital ingredient for prisoners hoping to one day return to the outside world. Bates provides an insightful look at what education behind bars can accomplish. She even works with and encourages education for those with no chance whatsoever of returning to a life outside prison.

Education is a goal for prisoners to work towards, something to focus on besides anger and revenge; a chance for mental growth and moral improvement. This isn't to say that education is a magic ingredient, but I think it's a small step in the right direction.

Tiny life

Yesterday evening Matt and I went for a walk to visit a a tiny, slightly overgrown cemetery about half a mile from our house. We first noticed it almost 3 years ago when we were looking at rentals in this area. One house we checked out was right up against it, and you could look down on the grassy headstones from the second-story windows.


It was a very peaceful visit, with a lot of history to soak up. There are several family plots there, double headstones marking husband and wives, some with special plaques declaring military service. One couple, birthdates in the mid-1800s, had their status as Citizens of the Republic of Texas proudly engraved beneath their names.

What broke my heart, though, were the infant and child plots. There were so many. Most of them dated in the 1940s, some as early as the '30s. Such tiny lives, gone so quickly. Some had dates of only a few days, some a few years, one with just a single year - 1945 - beneath the words "Our infant son."  Not even a name.

I've been to one infant funeral in my life. I was a teenager, and a family in our small, home-based church lost a baby at birth. The casket was so small. The family, never even having the chance to look into his eyes or call his name, mourned so deeply.

No matter how tiny, life is precious.