The Power of the Written Word

I was so proud when I learned to read. I distinctly remember sitting on my Uncle Perry's lap at my Grandma Barratt's kitchen table reading "Up." (And no, I wasn't 27. More like 4.) It woke a passion in me that I still have- I remember how excited I was when my mom gave me my first chapter book- Little Women. I still have it- a beautiful hardback version- and I reread it every few years. I remember the first time I read Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey. I remember how mad I was when my favorite guy died in Lonesome Dove (of course, that was just on Monday, so the pain is a little fresh still). A few things have happened in the last few days that have reinforced to me why written words have stayed powerful and meaningful to me.

If you've read my blog very much this year, you know how much I have worried about Kate navigating the social world of kindergarten. She is a shy kid, but so loving and sweet. She has slowly made her way to some friendships this year and has really extended herself in ways that took some real courage for her. Imagine my joy, then, when I pulled this note out of her backpack the other day:

Dir Kate

You are niss.

You are my friend.

I like you!

Anna!

You bet your ass I cried.

Second, I have recently re-read what could quite possibly be my favorite book of all time: Hannah Coulter, by Wendell Berry. As far as I'm concerned, Hannah Coulter should be bound in blue vinyl, printed on tissue thin paper, and given a gold guilded edge because it's just about scripture for me. It's a story of young love, mature love, friendships, and community, and it resonated with me more than ever on this last read through it because I have felt completely cushioned lately by my friends, family, and husband, and I have felt such gratitude for the love that others show me. A couple of passages that I love:

What is the thread that holds it all together? Grief, I thought for a while. And grief is there sure enough, just about all the way through. From the time I was a girl I have never been far from it. But grief is not a force and has no power to hold. You only bear it. Love is what carries you, for it is always there, even in the dark, or most in the dark, but shining out at times like gold stitches in a piece of embroidery.

The room of love is another world. You go there wearing no watch, watching no clock. It is the world without end, so small that two people can hold it in their arms, and yet it is bigger than worlds on worlds, for it contains the longing of all things to be together, and to be at rest together. You come together to the day's end, weary and sore, troubled and afraid. You take it all into your arms, it goes away, and there you are where giving and taking are the same, and you live a little while entirely in a gift. The words have all been said, all permissions given, and you are free in the place that is the two of you together. What could be more heavenly than to have desire and satisfaction in the same room?

Seriously, why are you not on Amazon already?

Third, there is this: I generally practice "Separation of Church and State(ments made on my blog.)" Perhaps sometimes it seems that I don't value my religious beliefs since I so infrequently discuss them here, but actually quite the opposite is true. I recognize that so much of what I write here is a little trite, or profane, or of little consequence- I just don't want to dirty up something that I value a great deal. That said, a few weeks ago, I was really struggling. I didn't feel my priorities were in order, I felt dissatisfied with my life, I was frustrated and demotivated in my church calling. I felt alone and needed I help. I went (or perhaps "fled" is a better word) to the temple, and as I was waiting I opened the Bible- it fell to the following passage in Psalms (143):

"Hear my prayer, O Lord, give ear to my supplications: in thy faithfulness answer me, and in thy righteousness...Therefore is my spirit overwhelmed within me; my heart within me is desolate...I stretch forth my hands unto thee; my soul thirsteth after thee...Hear me speedily, O Lord: my spirit faileth...Cause me to hear thy lovingkindness in the morning; for in thee do I trust; cause me to know the way wherein I should walk; for I lift up my soul unto thee...Teach me to do thy will; for thou art my God, thy spirit is good; lead me into the land of uprightness...Quicken me, O Lord, for thy name's sake; for the righteousness' sake bring my soul out if trouble..."

I used to think, "What a load of baloney..." when someone would say the scriptures just fell open to the exact passage that they needed, but I'm done making fun of those people, because as I read those words, I knew that my fears and frustrations were known to my Heavenly Father. I knew He cared for me and wanted to comfort me.

Last- I've also made mention of how tiring the girls' constant bickering is. After a spectacularly difficult day, I found the following note from Kate on my desk:

I am sorry Mom.

I love you.

From Kate