Black Dog of Fate

From February of sixth grade through the seventh grade, I attended a small private school.  Most of my classmates were white, middle class kids with between zero and one siblings.  I don't remember precisely, and don't want to take the time to look it up now, but we had around fifteen kids in our class, and I believe, more girls than boy.  In sixth grade, we had one particularly wonderful teacher we visited for three courses - literature, grammar, and world history.  World history captured my mind, and although I had heard this and that about WW II and Hitler and such before, we actually studied it, and I read - on my own -The Diary of Anne Frank.  (I have been to her hiding place twice since then...) This era of history captivated and horrified me, and it clung to me like a scent that would never dissipate.  And truly, it was not that distant.  Many of our grandparents had served in that war, and our parents were all born in the optimism and longing-for-normal of its aftermath.  One, of our classmates, I'll call her Katie, was Jewish.  And we all knew, somewhere in our unspoken parts, that her family's story was part of that era.  I don't think one of us ever asked her if her family had been in Europe at that time or not - perhaps we didn't want to know, or didn't think to ask, or didn't want to make her an outsider to the group one way or another.  In a way, it didn't matter.  Her tribe had been hunted and largely annihilated in the Holocaust, and she knew it.   

What I didn't know was anything about the back story of another white, American classmate we'll call Ida.  Brown-haired Ida and her blond brother "Gregory" were half Armenian.  That didn't mean anything to me, except that my linguistic-nerd self noted she spoke a cool Indo-European language with seven cases and its own alphabet, plus she went to an "Armenian church" (was that different from an Arminian church???) and her mom knew how to make some really good food in addition to the usual American offerings.  In the wake of the recent break-up of the Soviet Union, Armenia was a new place on the map.  I had no idea about the similar and heart-breaking history of Ida's and Katie's tribes, and I wonder if Ida knew it either at that time.  

Over the years I ran into various Armenian names and began to identify them as such - Carapetyan (family from our Presbyterian church), and revered musicians Babayan, Kashkashian, Kavafian...  I assumed wrongly that -ian or -yan or -jan was an Armenian ending.  I did not know until I read Black Dog of Fate that this is actually a Turkish patronymic applied to an Armenian minority, just as many Jewish people today bear nature names in German, having once upon a time been required to take on German surnames, but being forbidden to take any already in use by ethnic Germans.  As a musician, I also knew the name Hovhannes, but didn't realize without the Turkish interpolation that it, too, was Armenian.

As a young adult, I heard for the first time of the Armenian Genocide, probably from my mother, the purveyor of huge amounts of new-to-me science and history information.  A few years ago, I spoke to my teenage students in a summer group class, in the context of a gorgeous piece of music played by an Armenian cellist (So sorry I don't remember his name or the piece!), about the Armenian Genocide; unsurprisingly, none of them had ever heard of it.  I gave them the Wikipedia rundown; that was all I knew.  Horrific, of course.  ...Between 1,000,000 and 2,000,000 people deported and killed in the desert....Legacy of suffering...

When we were in the seventh grade, this event which none of us knew about, hiding in our friend's family tree, was only seventy-seven years distant, a number which seems closer and closer, now that our parents are nearing or are in their seventies.  1915 was only the year before my own grandmother, still very much alive and well in 2020, was born, a world away from the Turkish desert in the hard-working ranch lands of Texas.

Peter Balakian, poet, and author of Black Dog of Fate, grew up in our parents' Baby Boom generation in suburban New Jersey, not far from where I was born and spent my first two years.  His descriptions of his youth, with its freewheeling fun and modern conveniences against a backdrop of responsibility sounds rather like my dad's own recollections of that era in Houston.  Peter Balakian, like I, knew nothing of the Armenian Genocide growing up.  Of course, he was Armenian - treated to copious amounts of Middle Eastern food and extended family on Sundays after Armenian church (although some of his relatives attended the Presbyterian church).  His mother and her female relatives discussed drapes and rugs and furnishings and clothing and food with careful, high-style eyes.  Some of them were in academia.  His father was a doctor, and the family watched ball games, just like stereotypical Americans.  He didn't speak Armenian, other than a few words here and there.  This was as his elders had to let it be.  The trauma was too great for them to talk about.

As a young adult, Peter first read of the Genocide and was shocked.  He confronted his relatives.  He sifted his memories of family habits and conversations for the many clues which were hidden there, pointing him to a past no one wanted to remember.  He wrote poetry about it.  And in 1997, he wrote Black Dog of Fate.  The haunting first-hand accounts of some of his few relatives who survived the death marches into the desert left me with some sleepless nights filled with devastating images I couldn't take my eyes off of and the question, yet again, of How can people do this to human beings?  Mothers, forced to dance in a city square while being whipped and called whores, as their wailing toddlers were forced to stand by and clap, and then everyone doused in kerosene and lit on fire.  Women screaming during the nightly rapes. Gruesome murders. Wives told to pack up all their valuables so they and their children could join their previously-deported husbands (already massacred in the desert - just an easy way to steal their goods before murdering the women and children).  Kurdish nomads being set upon bands of starving deportees in the desert - told to hack men, women, and children to death with whatever implements they had.  Men's heads on death marches used for target practice.  Women drowning themselves and their children at river crossings so as to avoid greater horrors on the other side.  Piles of blackened, decaying bodies of infants, being picked at by scavenger birds.  

The Armenian culture was 3000 years old, and adopted Christianity in the 300s.  A persecuted minority in the Turkish empire, with killings really ramping up in the 1890s, and bursting forth into the first genocide in 1915.  Three Turkish leaders conspired to annihilate the Armenians, and largely succeeded.  It was the first in a century of bloody attempts to wipe out whole cultures.

Until I read Balakian's book I did not know that Hitler studied the Three's methods and tactics and was emboldened by the fact that the Genocide was largely unknown and forgotten.  Until I read Balakian's book I did not know that the Turkish government STILL denies the Genocide, and Turkish school children are not taught about it.  Until I read Balakian's book, I did not know that the Turkish government (at least up until the book was written) had a policy of keeping the story out of foreign text books and media.  Hollywood movie deals were canceled.  American history textbooks were sanitized.  American universities were forced to ignore the topic.  Public memorial events were surrounded by Turkish protestors handing out leaflets explaining that the Genocide never happened. All those things occurred in my life time.  Maybe this is why I never knew about it.  Balakian documents specific paper trails in his book.

Germany accepted its role in the Holocaust.  Germany has said never again.  Germany is full of memorials.  Turkey, however, "succeeded".  Armenians were wiped off the map.  Soviet Armenia is a little sliver on the map now, but so much of Armenia was lost to the world in terms of people, ideas, art, life.

I picked up Black Dog of Fate from a Little Free Library in my neighborhood after eyeing it for a couple of months; I am SO glad I did.  I will read it again someday.  And horrifying, though they must be, I would like to read other first-person accounts from survivors.

Kids, Books, and More Extra

Not so long ago, the post I wrote after Lazarus' birth resurfaced in some people's email, triggering questions as to whether we'd just had a fourth child.  Honestly, I'm not quite sure how that happened.  I WAS digging around on that post that day trying to download a picture, because that day was mathematically significant.  It was the very day that Lazarus was three years and five months, the precise age that Anne was when Lazarus was born.  I am amazed at how old I thought Anne was at that time, and feel sad that I expected more from her maturity-wise than seems reasonable with Lazarus.  I guess that is the curse of being the eldest.  I am trying to revise my expectations for her in general... 

With three kids, though, I do feel like I've entered this odd "secret" club of "big families."  It seems funny to me, because I grew up in a three-kid family, and I NEVER had the sense of being from a big family.  I heard from so many sources that going from two to three kids was MUCH harder than going from one to two.  So frankly, I set my expectations for that transition *really low* and gave us as much grace and time as we could afford.  In my experience, and maybe because of my expectations, but maybe more because of the particular personalities of who we had, it was a much easier transition on the whole.  Sure, it's trickier to get everyone clothed and fed and out the door or to get everyone in bed, but not THAT much harder.  

However... once Laurel got to be about nine or ten months old, it became a whole different story.  She was no longer a cute, time-consuming doll to her siblings, but a real person who was standing up, walking around, getting into their stuff, talking, taking their things, and having obvious opinions.  That's when three got really hard.  We've made progress since then, but I'm not going to lie - it is overwhelming sometimes.  The complexity of relationships has multiplied, and with it the behavior challenges.

We LOVE getting audio books from the library.  In the last few months we have heard: 

• Twenty-Eight, a book about 28 figures from Black history. Yesterday, the pastor started telling a story about Harriet Tubman in the sermon without mentioning her name, and my eldest leaned over and said, I know who that is!
• The Wind in the Willows - a classic I had never read before
• Winnie the Pooh - another classic I had not read before
• The Great Cake Mystery - for those who have fallen in love with Mma Ramotswe and her Number 1 Ladies' Detective Agency in Botswana, this is a chapter prequel for children
• Little House on the Prairie - a favorite from my childhood which I barely remembered when I heard it again.
• The Penderwicks.  This is a five-book series, and hands-down Anne's favorite books of all time.  We have heard all but the second.  It is inspired by Little Women and references it on so many levels, but is set in more recent Massachusetts - there are recycling bins, bus stations, day care, cell phones, and computers with the internet.
• Because of Anne's love for the Penderwicks, we just started listening to Little Women, which I had never read, and Anne is loving it, too.
• Also, I read to them Sarah Plain and Tall, which dovetails nicely with Little House.
• And I have been slowly reading to Anne the first five of the Betsy-Tacy books, which I had never heard of, but a friend gave the collection to Anne upon hearing of her love for the Penderwicks, as well.  It is tales based on the author's childhood in Victorian-era Duluth.
• We just finished listening to The Great Trouble, a historical novel about the cholera outbreak in London's Soho in 1854.  Dr. John Snow was instrumental in ending the epidemic, as he rightly theorized that cholera was water-born, rather than caused by "bad air".  The story was told from the perspective of a fictional 13-year-old orphan who did odd jobs for the doctor.  Fascinating!
• I read Michelle Obama's memoire, which my dad gave me for my birthday.  So interesting to see how someone else's life unfolds in a way totally different from mine.  Very personal and relatable, though.
• I am reading The Yellow House by Sarah Broom, another memoire given to me by Jared for Christmas.  The author is only a few months older than me and grew up in the poor part of New Orleans.  It is her family history going back generations, her childhood in the Yellow House, Hurricaine Katrina and its destruction of everything she new in New Orleans, and her life after the Water.  Again, fascinating, and particularly so, since we are the same age.

The More Extra of this week:

Nutmeg had a weird knee injury and a trip to the vet on Thursday morning.  Anne has been helping me give her her pain pills.

Wednesday night our 13-year-old water heater conked out, so while I was at the vet, I was fielding calls from Jared about decisions needing to be made regarding that.  Someone replaced it on Thursday in time to get our little house reorganized for group class.

Also on Thursday, between the vet trip to Kent and the hot water heater replacement, I took Anne to Seattle for her bass lesson.  On the way back, we stopped at the retirement home where we had scheduled our studio recital for March 15th to find out the reservation wasn't going to work after all.  Fortunately I found another retirement home the following day who could host us.  I HATE making phone calls for business stuff, but of course it's part of life....

Words

I have a sudden and possibly short window of opportunity since Anne is at the neighbors', Laurel is asleep in bed, and Jared and Lazarus have just left on a run.  Seize the writing!

Just bits and pieces today, about literature and life, not so much related....

Matthew 5:38-48 in N.T. Wright's translation:
"You heard that it was said, "An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth."  But I say to you: don't use violence to resist evil!  Instead, when someone hits you on the right cheek, turn the other one towards him.  When someone wants to sue you and take your shirt, let him have your cloak, too.  And when someone forces you to go one mile, go a second one with him.  Give to anyone who asks you, and don't refuse someone who wants to borrow from you.
'You heard that it was said, "Love your neighbor and hate your enemy."  But I tell you: love your enemies!  Pray for people who persecute you!  That way, you'll be children of your father in heaven!  After all, he makes his sun rise on bad and good alike, and sends rain both on the upright and on the unjust.  Look at it like this: if you love those who love you, do you expect a special reward?  Even tax-collectors do that, don't they?  And if you only greet your own family, what's so special about that?  Even Gentiles do that, don't they?  Well then: you must be perfect, just as your heavenly father is perfect.'

...and some of his commentary...

"The shocking thing about this passage in the Sermon on the Mount is that we are told to watch what our heavenly father is doing and then do the same ourselves.  Here is the puzzle: Israel, the chosen people, are challenged to realize that God doesn't have favourites!  What sense can we make of that?  If they are chosen, doesn't that mean they are God's favourites? 
"The answer to the puzzle is found earlier in the Sermon.  Israel isn't chosen in order to be God's special people while the rest of the world remains in outer darkness.  Israel is chosen to be the light of the world, the salt of the earth.  Israel is chosen so that, through Israel, God can bless all people.  And now Jesus is calling Israel to be the light fo the world at last.  He is opening the way, carving a path through the jungle towards that vocation, urging his followers to come with him on the dangerous road.
"And dangerous it is.  Not only has Israel in Jesus' day got many enemies, pagan nations who have overrun the land and made the people subject to harsh rules and taxes.  There are just as many dangers within, as movements of national resistance spring up, fuelled by anger at the increasing injustice and wickedness.  And, within that again, the divisions within Jewish society are becoming more marked, with a few becoming very rich and the majority being poor, some very poor.
"These were all pressing issues for the people listening to Jesus.  How did his kingdom-message apply to them?  How can it then apply to us today?
"Jesus offers a new sort of justice, a creative, healing, restorative justice.  The old justice found in the Bible was designed to prevent revenge running away with itself.  Better an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth than an escalating feud with each side going one worse than the other.  But Jesus goes one better still.  Better to have no vengeance at all, but rather a creative way forward, reflecting the astonishingly patient love of God himself, who wants Israel to shine his light into the world so that all people will see that he is the one true God, and that his deepest nature is overflowing love.  No other god encourages people to behave in a way like this!
"So Jesus gives three hints of the sort of thing he has in mind.  To be struck on the right cheek, in that world, almost certainly meant being hit with the back of the right hand.  That's not just violence, but an insult: it implies that you're an inferior, perhaps a slave, a child, or (in that world, and sometimes even today) a woman.  What's the answer?  Hitting back only keeps the evil in circulation.  Offering the other cheek implies: hit me again if you like, but now as an equal, not an inferior.
"Or suppose you're in a lawcourt where a powerful enemy is suing you) perhaps for non-payment of some huge debt) and wants the shirt off your back.  You can't win; but you can show him what he's really doing.  Give him your cloak as well; and in a world where most people only worse those two garments, shame him with your impoverished nakedness.  This is that the rich, powerful and careless are doing.  They are reducing the poor to a state of shame.
"The third example clearly reflects the Roman military occupation.  Roman soldiers had the right to force civilians to carry their equipment for one mile.  But the law was quite strict; it forbade them to make someone go more than that. Turn the tables on them, advises Jesus.  Don't fret and fume and plot revenge.  Copy your generous God!  Go a second mile, and astonish the soldier (and perhaps alarm him 0 what if his commanding officer found out?) with the news that there is a different way to be human, a way which doesn't plot revenge, which doesn't join the armed resistance movement (what's what verse 39 means), but which wins God's kind of victory over violence and injustice.
"These examples are only little sketches, like cartoons to give you the idea.  Whatever situation you're in, you need to think it through for yourself.  what would it mean to reflect God's generous love despite the pressure and provocation, despite your own anger and frustration?
"Impossible?  Well, yes, at one level.  But again Jesus' teaching isn't just good advice, it's good news.  Jesus did ti all himself, and opened up the new way of being human so that all who follow him can discover it.  When they mocked him, he didn't respond.  When they challenged him, he told quizzical, sometimes humorous, stories that forced them to think differently.  When they struck him, he took the pain.  When the put the worst bit of Roman equipment on his back - the heavy crosspiece on which he would be killed - he carried out of the city to the place of his own execution.  When they nailed him to the cross, he prayed for them.
"The Sermon on the Mount isn't just about us.  If it was, we might admire it as a fine bit of idealism, but we'd then return to our normal lives.  It's about Jesus himself.  This was the blueprint for his own life.  He asks nothing of his followers that he hasn't faced himself.  And, within his own life, we can already sense a theme that will grow larger and larger until we can't miss it.  If this is the way to show what God is really like, and if this is the pattern that Jesus himself followed exactly, Matthew is inviting us to draw the conclusion: that in Jesus we see the Emmanuel, the God-with-us person.  The Sermon on the Mount isn't just about how to behave.  It's about discovering the living God on the loving, and dying, Jesus, and learning to reflect that love ourselves into the world that needs it so badly."

Some more great children's literature we have been listening to on library CD's:

A Year Down Yonder by Richard Peck
During the Depression, a family in Chicago is split up when they lose their apartment, and the teenaged daughter goes to small-town Illinois to live with her rather colorful, self-supporting, and unaffectionate grandmother.  Her year in such a tiny town where everyone knows everyone's business is quite extraordinary.  The large snake in the attic falling on the nude postmistress posing for the New York artist who is renting a room in Grandma's house is only one of many AMAZING and uproarious scenes.  Story telling at its finest.

Ice Whale by Jean Craighead George
A bowhead whale is born in the Arctic in 1848.  The young boy, Toozak, who sees his birth from his canoe names him Siku.  This novel follows Siku until the last sighting of him in 2048, as well as several generations of Toozaks, whose lives are bound to that whale.  It follows the commercial whaling of the late 1800s which decimates the whale populations, as well as their slow recovery after whaling falls apart.  And it follows the change in Native cultures from subsistence to dependance on Western interventions, as well as the building of the Artic Research Station in Barrow, Alaska.  It ends on a hopeful note, and is full of love.  Love for humans.  Love for animals.  Love for plants.  Love for land- and water-scapes. 

On the Far Side of the Mountain, also by Jean Craighead George
This is the sequel to another book we have not yet listened to.  Two teenagers have left home and are living off the land in the Catskills.  Their wilderness survival skills are awesome, and their careful observations of the land, plants, and animals around them allow them to use what they need while living peaceably with their surroundings.  They have adult friends nearby - a librarian, a university professor who lives in a cabin, a farm owner...  This story follows the confiscation of the boy's endangered falcon by a wildlife ranger, and a pair of long, interrelated treks through the mountains, using special wilderness communication skills.  Just as in Ice Whale, there is a lot of love.  Love for people, animals, plants, and the landscape.  Also, history.

Recently neighbor lent Anne the Ramona Quimby books, and I have read her two of them so far.  I remembered not liking them very well as a child, and now from my adult perspective I can understand why.  Ramona is such a real, wonderful child, with such big feelings, and frankly, most of the grownups around her don't make much effort to understand her and despite their sympathies toward her, pretty much feel that children should be seen and not heard.  She is loved dearly by her family, but her insides are pretty much a mystery to her parents.  I think Anne can really relate to her, and is LOVING reading them.

Also, I am loving the little bit of homeschooling we've been doing.  We have started math, handwriting, and phonics (in addition to cello), and because we started in late June, I feel no pressure to hurry through anything.  So we do one or two or three subjects most days, and if we miss something here or there, it's totally fine.

...Here's a post I put yesterday on facebook, if you're not on there:

Ballance Talent Education

Published by Ruth Marie Ballance · 23 hrs · 

What a group class week! Lots of learning and fun. Plus...our musicians experienced the unfinished studio space, noisy work by a trio of electricians, a visit from a city inspector (who it turns out is a singer in his off-hours and was beyond tickled to be serenaded on the job), and a visit by a service dog who tried very hard not to chase all the tennis balls bouncing around during Dalcroze. Our musicians capped the week by playing an inspiring pop-up concert under the trees at the neighborhood park. Their program:

Chocolate Drops by Will Marion Cook

Sonata IV by Isabella Leonarda

Duchess of Devonshire's Reel, Marianne's Reel, and Just So in the North by Ignatius Sancho

The Boom & Birds at Sunrise by Stanley Fletcher

...and three folk songs: All My Little Ducklings (which they also sang in English and German), Go Tell Aunt Rhody, and Suzuki's 1st Twinkle Variation

A little about the composers on the program:

Will Marion Cook grew up in D.C. and Chattanooga.  A fantastically talented young person, he attended Oberlin Conservatory to study violin at age 15, studied in Berlin for two years, and attended conservatory in New York where he studied composition with Antonin Dvorak.  Much of this was sponsored by Frederick Douglass, who was himself (I did not know this!) a violinist.  Working as a Classical musician, Will faced a lot of discrimination as a Black man, so he ended up turning to popular styles and writing for the theater, where he was more accepted.

Isabella Leonarda, a Baroque composer, lived her whole live in Novara, Italy, where she was quite famous as a musician.  She entered the convent there at the age of 16, and spent the rest of her long life there.  She composed extensively, and also likely taught the younger nuns music lessons.  She wrote an entire set of twelve Sonatas for two violins and violone.  There are recordings and scores available.  They each have several movements which are through-composed.  If you're looking for the female Vivaldi, my fellow violinists, she's the one.  The Sonatas are all up on imslp.

Ignatius Sancho... it is hard to tell his story without wanting to break down and bawl.  He was born on a slave ship off the coast of Africa, which can only mean... His very pregnant mother had just been kidnapped and forced onto a horribly crowded, unsanitary boat and was being shipped overseas to work as a slave.  She somehow managed to give birth with very little or no medical help, and she and the tiny newborn survived the voyage to South America.  As a toddler, Ignatius was again put on a boat and shipped across the ocean to England - with or without his family?  I don't know.  This tiny boy is then sold to a family in England who held him captive, although they did choose to educate him as well.  He was eventually freed.  Due to his force of personality, I can only imagine, he survived all this and was quite prolific in publishing papers on abolition and was the first Black man in England to vote in an election and to have his music published.  The fiddle tunes we played all date from the late 1700s.  By the way, I found his music in the amazing new book Music by Black Composers, Volume 1.  It's got music suitable for Suzuki book 2-4 students, and can be played as duets, or with the piano.  I can't wait for the second volume to come out!

And Stanley Fletcher.  Well, all I have to say to my violin readers is, if you have never watched the Paul Rolland videos, it is more than well worth the $200 to purchase The Teaching of Action in String Playing.  That thing is a gold mine.  Truly life-changing.  Watch it.  And watch it again.  And then some more.

Coming up:

My dad is arriving on Tuesday to do some more electrical work on the garage conversion for us.  This is very exciting!  With the two studios out back totaling something around 358 square feet, our 840 square foot house is going to feel SO MUCH MORE MANAGEABLE.  Next week we also are rehearsing the Brahms C Minor Piano Quartet with Adam for our upcoming August 2nd house concert.  And next weekend is Jared's and my 13th anniversary, which we will celebrate by loading our poor little car to the gills, and dragging the children all the way across the state to the desert to teach at the Walla Walla Suzuki Institute next week.  I am hoping to figure out how to do something slightly more fun, but the logistics of travel and childcare and rehearsing and teaching are a bit daunting...

Say YUM, YUM, Max.

When we were kids, we had this great series of board books featuring two big, fluffy, white rabbits: Max, and his big sister Ruby.  In on the books, Ruby is trying desparately to teach Max to say various words, and he responds to all of her efforts with the word, BANG!  Until she feeds him an apple and tells him to say, YUM YUM, to which he replies, DELICIOUS!

Lazarus has had a very cute stock of mispronounced words, many of which he has now outgrown.  Anne and I recently made a game out of his adorable words based on the Max and Ruby book.  It's mainly because I don't want to forget them.

• Lazarus, say PEANUT BUTTER.  BAHBAHBOO, said Lazarus.
• ...say APPLE CIDER.  APPLE BIDOH, said Lazarus....
• ...SLEEPING BAG.  WEEPING BAG...
• NUTMEG.  KITTY.
• SLIDE.  FHIDE.
• SWING.  WING.
• PLAYGROUND.  NANO.
• BROOM.  WEEPING.
• ANNE.  NAANAA.
• LAUREL.  WAURUW.
• GRAMPA.  KAMPA.
• GRANDMA.  GAMMAW.
• SPIDER.  BIDOH.
• CAR.  BYE.
• VIOLIN.  WINNIN.
• MUSIC.  BOW.
• BANANA.  BANAH.
• TRUCK.  GUCK.
• STOP.  DOP.
• STEPS.  DEPS.
• BATH.  BAFF.
• FOOD.  ABBESS. (or ABTS)
• FEET/SHOES.  BUSS.
• DOOR.  DOH.
• DINNER.  BECKFEST.
• GRANDMOTHER.  GAAMUBBUH.
• GRANDDADDY.  GAANDADDY.
• SCHOOL.  GOOL.
• LAZARUS.  DADDYDATS. (then later WAWAWUS.)
• MARYFER.  GAH-GAH.
• BROOKLYN.  MAH-MAH.  (then later BONG BONG.)
• TRASH.  DASH.
• NURSING.  AHGO.
• MRS. PIGGLE-WIGGLE.  WIGGOW.
• AMELIA BEDELIA.  DEWYA.
• SPOT.  BOT.
• SPOON.  BOON.
• BROCCOLI.  BOCKETTY.
• HELICOPTER.  HAHKA-TACO.
• WAFFLES.  WAFFEFF.
• FLIP-FLOPS.  WOP-WOPS.
• CHAP STICK.  GAK GIK.
• CHOP STICK.  DOP DIK.
• BROCCOLI.  BOCKETY.
• GENTLY.  JUNTSHY.
• SNOW.  ICE. (or NO.)
• SANDWICH.  MAMITCH.
• TRICYCLE.  TIECASOLE.
• BICYCLE.  BICASOLE.
• POPSICLE.  POCKASOLE.
• SOOPSAKE.  SUITCASE.
• GISDUSTING.  DISGUSTING.

If I think of more later, I'll edit them in...

Library Dreams

Rather recently I finished a long-term reading project which I had started in August.  While I was visiting Leah, as Lazarus was napping one day, I browsed her book shelves, and pulled down a title of which appealed to me greatly.  As I read, I took detailed notes on my phone (not recommended - the "keyboard" is too tiny to spell anything properly, and it's a pain to hold the paperback open with one hand while keeping the smartphone screen from flipping to horizontal...)  When I eventually downloaded the notes onto my computer, it was nine full screens of type!  The title of the book is Grace-Based Parenting, written by Tim Kimmel.  His premise is that our understanding of how God treats us as His children is ultimately going to play out in how we treat our children.  Grace, I know, is one of our most central Christian theological concepts, yet I remain somewhat confused as to what it means.  I hoped, among other things, that this book would give me clarity.  Although I feel I can't define the complexity and richness of grace well (I can spout off a standard quick definition, of course), I did feel that I gained a better understanding through some of the stories in the book.  However it wasn't the stories I took notes on, but the more academic stuff.  I will just share a very few things from my notes.

This passage struck me strongly:

"Because we are made in God's image, we have built into our makeup an infinite capacity for love.  Loving your child and even doing things to show your love do not translate into a secure love.
Secure love is a steady and sure love that is written on the hard drive of children's souls. It's a complete love that they default to when their hearts are under attack. It's the kind of love that children can confidently carry with them into the future. "

I was stunned and humbled by a quote from author Dan Allender, which Kimmel shared in the later part of his book:

Honesty is the commitment to see reality as it is, without conscious distortions, minimization, or spiritualization.  Honesty begins by admitting we are deceived, and that we would rather construct a false world than face the bright, searing light of truth.  An honest person acknowledges his fondness for vague, half-truths that neither require change nor rip away the presumption of self-sufficiency.

Why must we admit what is true?  Because dishonesty, or living in denial, is actually an attempt to dethrone God.  it is an attempt to become as God with the power to construct the world and reality according to our desire.  A person committed to denying hard truths must construct an alternate world and, then, like Atlas, keep it spinning on her own power.  The creation of a false world is really an attempt to shut God out of our world.  It's much like the child who says, "Unless you play by my rules, I'll take my ball and bat and go home."  God does not play by our rules nor resolve our wound and ache as we desire; therefore, we leave God's world and create one that is more palatable to our taste, even if it robs us of life and love.

These two sentences late in the book mystified me and provoked me to deep thought:

"The graceless home requires kids to be good and gets angry and punishes them when they are bad. The grace-based home assumes kids will struggle with sin and helps them learn how to tap into God's power to help them get stronger."

The book speaks very specifically to children's needs and to parents' responsibilities, but it does not tell you HOW to do things.  That's part of its beauty - it recognizes every child is different, every parent is different, every family is different.  Instead the author encourages the reader to look at our circumstances through the eyes of principle, while being prayerfully creative about how to accomplish what God wants for us.

So... having finally finished this book (and its somewhat irritatingly arduous note-taking), it was time to start another book, and I had two waiting for me.... 

We have a little neighborhood free library three blocks from us, and in the year we've lived here I've left two or three books in the small, glass-front, peak-roofed box for neighbors, and picked up three for myself.

The first one I took was The Plague and I by Betty McDonald.  I spied it in the box in March and pulled it out.  I'd heard of the book from my mother-in-law but knew nothing about it.  Turns out this is the same Betty McDonald of Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle fame, and Plague is one of her autobiographical works.  I could hear the voice of Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle as I read about her experiences in a tuberculosis sanitarium, and was delighted to discover that the author was a resident of Seattle in the 1940s when she wrote Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle.  As my sister gave Anne her first two Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle books shortly thereafter in April, I have a new appreciation for the setting and surroundings of the author as I read these truly delightful stories to my five-year-old.  Plague was a real page-turner for me, although maybe I am easily delighted when it comes to compelling stories....

Back to the current November, I had the second book I'd pulled from the free library waiting for me, and it was A Wrinkle in Time, which has risen to new heights in popularity due to the fairly recent movie (which I have not seen and am not in the market to see).  I had read Wrinkle in childhood on the recommendation of my close friend Laura, and I don't think I appreciated it as much as she did.  Upon rereading it last weekend while nursing a tired baby (I was surprised how much of the plot and details I hadn't remembered), I definitely understood it better.  Now I get that it is a theological exploration of the battle between Good and Evil.  However, it still stretched my mind in terms of the science-fiction aspect of the fantasy, perhaps a bit beyond where my mind wanted to go.  Science fiction interested me a little as a child, but it has never been my favorite genre, and has since fallen in favor with myself.  For that reason, I will always prefer Narnia or the Ring when it comes to theology in literature.  However, I enjoyed it enough that I would like to continue the series.

The third book from the free library I'd been considering taking for some months, but had never gotten up the nerve.  Most of the books in the box are sort of chick-lit gossip stuff, which I don't have the time or the will to read.  The book in question is a semi-autobiographical novel by Willa Cather, which I knew was definitely NOT in that category, but beyond knowing she was a well-regarded author from a long time ago, I had nothing to go on.  However, in a recent Strings magazine, which I usually skim at best, I enjoyed an article on David Hochstein, written in honor of the 100th anniversary of his death.  He was a violin prodigy from Rochester who was killed in WWI, and his friends organized a community music school in honor of him.  That's where I taught for the first four years of our marriage.  In the article, I learned that Hochstein was acquainted with Cather, and there were quotes from her writing which made me want to read her work.   Finally I took the book from behind the latched door, and now I've started reading it.  The writing is so rich and vivid, descriptive and colorful.  The plot runs in refreshingly human time, and I am so intrigued by the pace of life a century or more ago in a small town in the Colorado desert.  My mom always said when I was a child, that I was born in the wrong century on account of my fascination with "the olden days."  As an adult, I have a more mature view on that statement, but it is still true that I seem to see and do things differently than a lot of my peers.  In reading this novel, I am temporarily in love with and nostalgic for a time I never lived in - with an incredibly different pace of life and an entirely different set of expectations which I almost can't fathom.  I appreciate the author's grittiness and also how her more timely perception of the "olden days" were both more and less sexist and proper than I had imagined.  I am also finding it to be a page-turner.

 

Symphony for the City of the Dead

Over the weekend, I flew to Chicago to teach six group classes at a Sunday workshop.  It was great, and I loved my time with the students and other faculty.  Also, I went by myself, which is something I haven't done in years, and I had more than eight hours of flight time in two days.  This means I got to finish a book I started during February break last year and had put down. 

It is a hefty volume called Symphony for the City of the Dead, by M.T. Anderson.  I am personally acquainted with author Sundee Frazier (look up her books if you have late elementary or older kids!), and she is personally acquainted with the Anderson in question.  So that is one reason she gave me the book.  The other is that tells the story of composer Dmitri Shostakovich, whom Jared did a unit on with all our group class kids last winter. 

The writing was incredibly colorful and descriptive.  The research was extensive.  It was incredibly accessible to the layperson while being impeccably academic.  And the stories were shocking. 

I have read many accounts of brutality in the Third Reich, but this was the first time I had read stories which came out of Stalin's dictatorship.  There is so much I wish I could tell you, but I'm just going to leave you with a few tiny (horrible) nuggets, in the hopes that you'll want to pick up the book, too.  It is about music, but not so much that a non-musician would be put off.  It's really the story of accidental survival of one man's family in the face of every reason for them to have died.  I think that's the best I can say.

There was the bit about Stalin's deep admiration for how the U.S. government had wiped out and resettled the entire Native population in the 1800s.

There was the darling picture of a little blond girl sitting on the lap of an uncle figure.  The caption incongruously read: "In this domestic scene, the Man of Steel [Stalin] works in the background with documents spread out on the table before him, while his daughter Svetlana, snuggles on the lap of mass murder Lavrentii Beria, later Stalin's head of the secret police."

I read quote from writer Alexander Soszhenitsyn:

"Not to trust anybody was very typical of Josef Stalin.  All the years of his life did he trust one man only, and that was Adolf Hilter" --the twentieth century's most genocidal liar.

Then there was this depraved and very insightful quote from Hitler: 

"Any violence which does not spring from a spiritual base will be wavering and uncertain.  It lacks the stability which can only rest in a fanatical outlook."

I can't forget this bone-chilling passage about the last days of one of Shostakovich's poet friends and collaborators under Stalin's senseless and paranoid purges of society:

...Meyerhold had to be transferred to the Lubyanka prison hospital so he would not die before they were done with him.[...]

Under torture, Meyerhold confessed to being in the pay of both the French and Japanese.  he agreed that for years he had been the head of a group of conspirators who "coordinated all anti-Soviet elements in the field of the arts."  He was forced to name names.[...] 

The court tried Meyerhold in secret.  There was no defense lawyer.  No witnesses were allowed.  He was found guilty. 

The next day, he was taken down to the cellar.  There was a killing room there.  The floor was concrete and slanted so it could easily be hosed down.  He was met by an executioner in a leather butcher's apron.

And this haunting philosophical passage on what happened to human beings during the very long, very cold, very brutal, very deadly, and very hungry Siege of Leningrad:

[...]informants passed on updates about Leningrad's deteriorating morale and morality to the Germans.  The Nazis asked carefully about when precisely people stopped helping one another in the streets, and how many people were being arrested for cannibalism.[...] "A kind of polarization seemed to be taking place among people," said a historian who spent the war trapped in the city, burning classical encyclopedias for warmth.  Some people had chosen to "survive in any way possible at the expense of a relative, a friend -- anybody."  But there were many others who "acted honestly, according to their conscience, whatever the circumstances....Human feelings and qualities, love, marriage, family ties, parental feelings - were subjected to a stiff test."

And why am I recommending a book full of such horrible stories? 

Because they are true. 

They are the stories of real people who had real lives, truly created in the image of God. 

Because it leads me to deplore evil more and more, and to look to root it out, even from my own soul. 

Because it leads my heart to compassion for the people of the world.

Because it leads me to prayer.

The Day Between

October 30th marks two full years since my miscarriage, and in honor of that tiny life, I wanted to share with you a book.  The author, my friend Abigail Wilson, is someone I met through a mutual friend, although for the first long while I basically knew her through her blog.  I finally got to meet her in person during the course of the events described in her book.

You need to know that Abigail is a great storyteller.  She has big feelings, and you get to feel all of them right along with her.  I think you will be forced to laugh out loud and to cry out loud as you read.  Also, she has a genuinely dramatic story and a thoughtful spirit.

Her book starts with a meditation on Christ's death and resurrection, and what the disciples were doing on the helpless day in between those two (nothing).  That is where the book title comes from.  Abigail, in her confusing and dangerous pregnancy with her twins, experienced "a day between" where she knew the beginning, not the ending, and felt helpless waiting.

The book especially centers around the deep grief of losing her tiny daughter Priscilla and the nagging questions of whether her second daughter Tabitha would survive.  I can tell you that I have met Tabitha on multiple occasions, so you don't have to wonder about that part now.

Abigail is a woman of great faith, and I have been inspired by so many of her faith-filled words over the years.  I read this book at a time where I was studying chapters 2 and 3 of Romans about the deep and abiding nature of our sin condition, and where I was doing some introspection with regard to the Day of Atonement.  And what stood out to me most of all in this book is that there are NO good Christians.  No one has it all together.  No one is consistently kind or faithful or gentle or any of those other things that Jesus is.  Even the best of people is a downright train wreck.  But God...  But God is full of grace and he walks with us through our wreckage.  Not because of any good we have done, but because He is good.  And that is grace.

Human sinfulness and the grace of God.  That is the deep and stunning theology of this book, and it is beautiful.  The book is about pregnancy loss, but more so, it is about the awesome work of our generous God.  Whether or not you believe in God, though, you will appreciate the story Abigail tells.  I can't recommend this book highly enough!

Library

Some reading from the last many months...

Part One: Kid Books

Otis and the Puppy - written and illustrated by Loren Long

Anne checked this little book out of the public library just before Lazarus was born, and she listened to it read on CD many times during the car trips between home and hospital.  It's the heart-warming story of a little tractor who is afraid of the dark, but who musters up the courage to face the night when his little puppy friend is missing.  You can listen to it being read on youtube:

The Legend of Valentine: An Inspirational Story of Love and Reconciliation - written by Katherine Grace Bond, illustrated by Don Tate

Anne picked this up at the church library where we go to our Bible study.  It centers on the fictional story of an African-American boy living in Hope, Alabama during the Civil Rights era.  He faces hardships at home and in school on account of his color, and despite her own hardships, his faithful, strong grandma, points the way forward through love in action.  Also available on youtube:

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Part Two: Books by Women Who Left Closed Religious Groups

In the last year I have read actually three books written about small religious minority groups in North America by people who have left them.  I will review two here.  Both these books belong to my in-laws.  I found them quite enlightening, as I don't personally know any people from either of these particular groups.

I am Hutterite: The Fascinating True Story of a Young Woman's Journey to Reclaim Her Heritage, written by Mary-Ann Kirkby

This woman's family was Hutterite, but left the commune when she was twelve to join the outside world, a heart-wrenching experience for her.  Her carefree childhood with friends and relatives and freedom in the great outdoors and endless supplies of rich and delicious foods was much beloved.  However, in adulthood, she found opportunities she never would have encountered in her 19th-century communal lifestyle.  She writes with honesty and poignancy about what it means to be a Hutterite.

The Witness Wore Red: The 19th Wife Who Brought Polygamous Cult Leaders to Justice - written by Rebecca Musser with M. Bridget Cook

This book was chilling, and a page-turner for sure.  It is the story of a young woman who grew up in the FLDS church, the child of a polygamous father, and eventually the very young wife of a polygamous and very old prophet.  She escaped the group through mid-night plans and became part of the investigation into child abuse by the leaders of the group.  I learned a lot I didn't know about the history of the Mormon Church and more specifically the history of the FLDS breakaway.  Many doctrines and procedures were eye-opening as it looked at the construction of the FLDS Temple in west Texas.  Kids should NOT be reading this one...

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Part Three: Books About World War II

Parallel Journeys - written by Eleanor H. Ayer with Helen Waterford and Alfons Heck

I've started reading this at my in-laws, but haven't finished.  It follows the lives of a Jewish girl and an Aryan boy, growing up in Hitler's Germany.  I've read many true stories from the Third Reich - stories of Jews who escaped, Jews who didn't, those who sheltered Jews, a pacifist Sabbath-keeper who was drafted into the Reich army and continued to practice his faith, a girl who grew up near Hitler's Eagle's Nest who knew very little about what was going on except that her father was pressed into military service and died, the man whom Hitler drafted to be his architect who was pulled deeper and deeper into the atrocities and who served his sentence after the war and repented of not saying something when he had the opportunity...  This is the first story I've read of a child who was drafted into Hitler's youth organization at a tender age and who was lead to idolize his leader in childhood, despite his grandparents' wishes that he stay out of it.

Violins of Hope: Violins of the Holocaust - Instruments of Hope and Liberation in Mankind's Darkest Hour, written by James A. Grymes

I've heard about the Violins of Hope project for many years, as my former violin teacher David Russell has been involved with it.  The instruments have been played in the US, including in Cleveland.  The violins of hope instruments have been collected by a luthier in Israel; they belonged to Jewish musicians whose lives were threatened or ended by the Holocaust.  Although the earlier part of the book was drier, the latter part was more gripping, and it tells the stories of many people from across Europe, including Sweden, Romania, and the western Soviet lands.  I learned about Jews who thought their connections to people in government would protect them (not true.)  I learned about Jews who survived death marches and living in decimated ghettos with no food or medicine, doing anything they could just to live another day.  I learned about Jews given up by their neighbors with whom they'd had multi-generational relationships and shot point blank.  I learned about how the founding of the Israel Philharmonic saved around a thousand Jewish lives.  I learned about ships overstuffed with refugees leaving Europe, heading for Palestine, being turned away and then people entering Palestine illegally to save their lives.  Very heart-wrenching and frightening read.  Cried a lot.

Symphony for the City of the Dead: Dmitri Shostakovich and the Siege of Leningrad, written by M. T. Anderson

I've started this one and not finished.  The mother of one of my students, who is herself a published author, gave me this book.  The writer was her advisor in graduated school, and she knew the topic would interested Jared and me.  I have read precious little about the Russian end of things in World War II, so I have a lot to learn.  I feel a strong connection to Shostakovich from having studied and performed many of his works.  The facts are incredible to read, and so is the writing; Anderson uses a broad vocabulary to tell colorful stories without becoming academic.  I can't wait to do more reading on this book!

Good Books

For some reason, kids' books never occurred to me when I started having babies.  As in, I might spend time reading them.  Anyway, Anne has been given quite a lot of great books, and we've discovered some gems at the library.  Anne's method of picking out books at the library is to ask what number she's allowed to get and then randomly grab the first, say, six books off the shelf that catch her eye.  And who knows what they're about.  So in addition to the gems, we've also met some rather terrible children's literature that should never be reread.  Like the cat who speaks using only words like "groovy" and is the main character of many stories with barely discernible plot.   Or like the book whose message is for your safety, you should become entirely antisocial, because every new person you meet just wants to... kill you.   I could go on.  Anne seems to love the books her parents hate.  Of course.

But anyway, here are some books we've met and loved...

Tea With Grandpa by Barney Salzburg (also the artist)
It's short and sweet.  Rhyming and sort of cartoon-y drawings.  But the visual punchline is very apropos to Anne's life.  The child and her grandpa have tea together every day... over a video call on the computer.  Just like her weekly chat with her Texas grandparents.

Matilda's Cat by Emily Gravett (also the artist)
The gripping illustrations tell most of the story.  Matilda dresses up as a cat and plays all day with her real cat.  Matilda's very emotionally expressive cat doesn't seem to like Matilda's games.  Matilda gets huffy and goes to bed in dog pajamas.  But there is one thing her cat likes, and that is... Matilda.  They curl up together for the night.

Pitter and Patter by Martha Sullivan, art by Cathy Morrison
This beautifully (I mean beautifully!) illustrated book follows the life of two raindrops as it happens to teach the reader about the water cycle without be didactic.  The lush nature paintings are stunning.  And even though one page features a large, lovely painting of a snake in its natural habitat, I did not throw the book across the room or scream.  Anne told me she likes snakes and petted the picture.  Is she even my child?  Glad she didn't inherit all my bad tendencies.

On Mother's Lap by Ann Herbert Scott, art by Glo Coalson
A touching story that a preschool teacher gave Anne before Lazarus was born.  It's about a far-northern Native boy who rocks on his mother's lap, adding a favorite blanket, toy, and puppy.  But he balks when his baby sister wants to come, too.  Their mother gently shows him that she has room on her lap (and in her heart) for both of them.  Amen!

Brownie and Pearl Go for a Spin by Cynthia Rylant, art by Bryan Biggs
Not maybe quite as classic as the others listed so far, but Anne LOVED this book when she was two. How could my girl not adore a toddler-level story about an independent little girl and her stubborn cat?  We rechecked this one a lot of times and read it over and over.

Tweezle Into Everything by Stephanie McLellan, art by Dean Griffiths
Maybe not quite as classic, again, but it's a sweet story about older siblings being annoyed by a younger one...  who turns out to have some wonderfully redeeming features.  Illustrated with weird and silly monsters who have ridiculous names - Tweezle, Hoogie, and Pumpkin.  Don't know how many times we read this!

Sam and the Construction Site by Tjibbe Veldkamp, art by Alice Hoogstad
As you may guess from the author and illustrator, this one was originally in Dutch.  It involves construction equipment, a dare, the police, a bank robbery, car accidents, and a wonderfully clever young hero, all appropriate for the preschool set.  It's worth rereading many times.

Coyote Wisdom

I just finished reading a short book my mom gave me for Christmas, written by an artist friend of hers.  I don't think my mom has read the book yet, but she knew it involved animals, and she knows the author.  The book is about the author's experiences in life with both people and animals, seen through the lens of a sort-of new age animism, and imbued with the wisdom he's gleaned from his Anglo shaman and his experiences with the Universe.  The spiritual perceptions of the author are so different from mine, it was truly hard for me to understand everything he was talking about. However there were two passages I selected to share with Jared (and subsequently with you) from the time when the author was a ceramics teacher at a private school in New York City.  I thought they were very apropo to our music teaching.

"...When he was seventy-three he started lifting weights.  When he was seventy-eight, he bench-pressed 335 lbs., nine repetitions."
The boys just looked at each other.  They'd been in the school weight room and they knew what 335 lbs. meant, whatever your age.
"That was just part of his routine.  Not to mention all the exercises he did as a concert pianist."
"So..." prompted Joseph.
"So a Shaman, in the way I mean it, is someone who by exercise, practice and discipline has freed himself of his suggested limits.  Just like we do here in the studio.  I've practiced, so I don't have many limits as to what I can make out of clay.  I've freed myself of form -- the lump of clay; of thought -- that I don't know how to make a pot; of the time it used to take me, and of the appearance that I can't do it.  So now creativity can express itself better through my work...."

I appreciated this, because it speaks of how discipline and hard work in music studies allow you to express the music.  You can't succeed in creativity without all the "grunt" work.  This is hard for many children to accept, and it's also hard for some of their parents.

Anthony moved from victory to victory in that clay class.  There was no apparent seeding of an intention to become and artist.  However, he internalized valuable attributes almost without realizing it.  He became more aware of his own language.  He developed new respect for his own decision-making ability in art, and for the materials he used.  He learned not only to enjoy doing a project well, but the value of seeing each stage of a longer project as a completed act.  I saw him and Robert both tune in to how an artist and an artwork convey meaning, so that even after leaving the clay class, these perspectives would go on with them.

This speaks to my values in teaching violin.  I'm happy for a student to pursue music professionally if this is their true desire and if they have the skills to make it feasible.  And I try my best to train every student as if this is their future.  But that's not my goal.  I want students to learn skills and character traits of value as a human being through the vehicle of serious dedication to the study of music, which will continue to serve them after they have finished their studies.

The book is called Coyote Wisdom Visits Brooklyn and Travels the Universe, and the author is Mallory Blair Randle.

Sleepless in Seattle

Occasionally I can't sleep at night.  Recently under such circumstances, I have knitted, and I have read.  In fact, in the last two weeks, including an afternoon of doing nothing at the beach, I read an entire book I've had on my shelf for some years but not yet cracked.  It's called The Storyteller's Daughter by Saira Shah.

The book is an autobiographical work by a woman of Afghan heritage who grew up in Kent (England), and travelled to Afghanistan in the 1990s and 2000s to discover her family's roots.  Storyteller's Daughter  jumped forward on my reading queue after I've become friends with a neighbor of ours, who is from Afghanistan.  Despite the U.S.'s involvement in that country, I hadn't given that whole region of the world much thought.  But since I've made a friend who spent most of her life in Kabul, I've become very interested in that mountainous stretch of Asia.  What was my friend's life like back home?  What is it like for her family who are still there?  I've been doing a little research here and there about Afghan culture and history and different brands of Islam.  This book is a pretty incredible narrative which touched on so many aspects of what it means to be Afghan.  A lot of what happened in the story was before my neighbor's time; although the exact events might not have personal bearing on her life, I have a lot more pegs to hang my mental hats on now when it comes to hearing her talk about her country.

I dog-eared a few pages in Storyteller's Daughter which I wanted to find again, and I will share three of them with you.  These aren't central parts of the story exactly, I'm not even sure how to define what is central or peripheral - it's more the moment-by-moment discovery of how a woman's imagination and reality meet in a place she's heard about but never visited before.

On visiting a very rural and remote home in the mountains of the Nuristan region:

I followed him up the wooden steps and I think I might have gasped as I entered the room.  I was standing in a painting by a Renaissance master.  Everything needed for domestic comfort was there, but there was not a single object that could not have existed in the fourteenth century.

The walls were panelled with dark wood, and draped with curtains in rich colours.  A shaft of golden light from the timber-framed windows illuminated a carved bowl and spoon standing on a wooden table.  There were low chairs and an apparatus for spinning.  Suspended from the ceiling, an ornately carved wooden cradle swung gently back and forth.  The baby slept under embroidered coverlets, a flapped woolen cap upon its head.  Outside, I glimpsed hens pecking on a wooden platform, a cooking fire, and a clay oven.  The whole effect was utterly charming.  It roused in me a sense of deja vu.  This place seemed as familiar as a childhood memory.  I felt as though I had come home.

As she went on to describe her interactions with the woman and their conversation, I, like the author, was blown away by the possibility that a place and people like this still existed, completely untouched by the rest of the busy, interconnected world, during my very own lifetime.  I felt like I was looking into a parallel universe.

This following little bit on the utter madness of war struck me.  Really is there any such thing as a just war?  We often think curbing Hitler in WW II was in that category, but I'm not sure most wars are any where near as clear cut.  This one certainly wasn't:

A middle-aged man climbed down the hill to meet us.  Usman introduced us: "This is my commander.  Commander, take these people's bags and carry them up the hill.  How is the battle?" 

"Things are quiet," said the commander.  "The Taliban are firing at us and we are firing back." 

[...] In Usman's first battle last April, the Northern Alliance had taken the post opposite, killing (said Usman) a hundred and fifty Taliban and capturing a good deal of weaponry.  It cost the lives of many of their own men.  Unfortunately, a few days later, the Taliban counter-attacked, and now the front line was back to where it started.  When I asked what the point of all this was, the soldiers looked at me as if I was mad.  They said: "It is war.  This is Afghanistan." 

The youngest soldier to take part in the battle didn't look older than twelve, but he had already learned to be macho:  "I've seen tanks firing, shells landing, people being killed, people without hands, without eyes, without heads - so what?"  he said. 

I asked what he would do when the war ended and he said, in the singsong voice of a child reciting a lesson, that when peace came each person would go back to kar i khud -  his own work.  What was his work?  He didn't know.  Had he been to school?  No.  Could he read?  No.  Did he remember how to farm?  No, and his family's farm was destroyed anyway. 

Usman led us out of the commander's earshot and said: "This country is full of men who know nothing except how to fight.  They have no other way to earn a living.  They have plenty of weapons and they will try to keep on fighting in any way they can."

This snippet about the courage of a woman under oppression felt so hopeful in rather bleak circumstances:

The senior teacher was a tall, middle-aged woman, who could never have been beautiful, but when she spoke about her girls, a fire lit up in her face.  "Most of the girls you see here are living in refugee camps," she said.  "Their lives are very hard.  For instance, when the weather is cold, they have to mix mud and water to protect their tents from the rain.  They are just little girls, their hands are very small.  They are too young for this work." 

She showed us how the girls sat on the concrete floor, four or five of them sharing a textbook.[...] 

[...] Then the head teacher began to talk in a way I had never heard any woman in Afghanistan speak before: "The girls in my class dream of becoming doctors or engineers or even journalists.  I teach them that when they grow up they must try to bring about change in this under-developed country of ours where women have no role.  Afghan women are courageous - they cannot be beaten, whatever the odds.  We are optimistic and hopeful for the future."

I wish the book had not ended so soon.  I want to hear more and more and more about this place which is so alien to me.  My friend is telling me a little at a time, and I am learning.

Reading when you're sick...

Two weekends ago we went hiking at Mt. Rainier on Saturday, and on Sunday, Jared and I met up downtown to hear a Seattle Symphony concert while Anne went to the Museum of Flight with Jeff and Linda.  As I was waiting for Jared to arrive, I finished a book I'd been reading on (and mostly off) for a year and a half.  It was Twyla Tharp's The Creative Habit.  While most of the book didn't feel particularly relevant to my teaching and performing career as of late, it had some nuggets.  If you are in a creative field, i.e. choreography, composition, painting, writing novels, or theater improv, you'll want to read this book.

Last weekend, I spent most of the weekend lying on the couch with a fever and/or upset stomach.  I took the opportunity to read a book my sister-in-law gave me for Christmas, called The Year of Biblical Living by A.J. Jacobs.  While I admit the book isn't for everyone, I enjoyed it.  The premise, if you are unfamiliar with it, is that the author, who is by heritage an agnostic Jew and quite skeptical of religion, decides to follow the Bible as literally as possible for a year and write about the experience.  Along the way, he reads a huge pile of books and articles about the Bible from a wide variety of perspectives, everything from 'religion is humanity's greatest evil' to 'here's how to begin practicing polygamy' to 'learn to pray in holiness'.

He also takes quite a few field trips: an Amish B&B, a tiny snake-handling church in Tennessee, the Hasid community in Brooklyn, the Negev, Jerusalem, and the tiny Samaritan community in Israel, Jerry Fallwell's church, two Bible studies in Manhattan, a home visit by a Jehovah's Witness, the Creation Museum in Kentucky...

I picked out a few quotes which I particularly appreciated.

From Day 140:
"More and more, I feel it's important to look at the Bible with an open heart.  If you roll up your sleeves, even the oddest passages - and the one about edible bugs qualifies - can be seen as a sign of God's mercy and compassion."

(Refers to Leviticus 11:22 Of them you may eat: the locust according to its kind...)

From Day 181:
"Yes, the mixing fibers sounds berserk, but maybe the emailer should talk to Mr. Berkowitz about the glory of following things we can't explain."

(Refers to Leviticus 19:19 Nor shall there come upon you a garment of cloth made of two kinds of stuff.)

From Day 204:
"I'd always found the praising-God parts of the Bible and my prayer books awkward.  The sentences about the all-powerful, almighty, all-knowing, the host of the hosts, He who has greatness beyond our comprehension.  I'm not used to talking like that.  It's so over the top.  I'm used to understatement and hedging and irony.  And why would God need to be praised in the first place?  God should be insecure.  He's the ultimate being.
"Now I can sort of see why.  It's not for him.  It's for us.  It takes you out of yourself and your prideful little brain."

(Refers to Psalm 86:12 I give thanks to thee, O Lord my God, with my whole heart, and I will glorify thy name for ever.)

From Day 240:
"I shouldn't look at the Bible as a collection of pesky tasks on my to-do list.  I have to look forward to the commandments.  I have to love them.
"And in a few cases - just a handful, really - I'm starting to.  Like, with the Sabbath.  I used to orient my week around Monday, the start of the secular workweek.  Now it's the Sabbath.  Everything leads up to the Sabbath.  On Friday morning I start prepping for it like I'm going on a big date.  I make a huge pot of coffee so that I don't have to do anything resembling cooking on the Sabbath.  I pile my research books in a corner.
"And when the sun sets, I flip off my computer and get to work not working.  Because resting is, paradoxically, difficult.  The writer Judith Shulevitz talks about how avoiding business requires much effort.  She's right.  You can't talk about work, you can't even think about work.  A notion about Esquire will creep into my brain - I have to write that article on weddings for Thursday - and I'll squash it down.  Another will pop up.  It's like mental Whac-a-Mole.  By the end of Saturday, as the sun finally sets, I feel as if I've done something strenuous but healthy, like I've taken a run through Central Park.  I feel good, like I deserve the endorphin rush the Sabbath gave me.  And then I start to look forward to next week's Sabbath."

(Refers to Exodus 20:8 Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy.)

From Day 277:
"Consider the passage from Ephesians... 'Nor should there be any obscenity, foolish talk or coarse joking, which are out of place.'  Of this one from Ephesians 4:29 (NIV): 'Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths.'
"So to be totally protected, I've scrubbed up my vocabulary.  My current curse words are: fudge, sugar, and shoot....
"...the weird thing is, I think my G-rated language is making me a less angry person.  Because here's the way it works:
"I'll get to the subway platform just as the downtown train is pulling away, and I'll start to say the F-word.  I'll remember to censor myself.  So I'll turn it into 'fudge' at the last second.  When I hear myself say 'fudge' out loud, it sounds so folksy, so Jimmy Stewart-ish and amusingly dorky, that I can't help but smile.  My anger recedes.  Once again, behavior shapes emotions.
"'Fudge' seems clearly within bounds, but what about words like 'heck'?  Those are more morally ambiguous, but probably should be avoided as well.  In the 1600's 'criminy' was considered a curse word for being too close to 'Christ.'  Same with 'gosh' and 'golly' in the 1700s, which were meant to evoke God and God's body, respectively.  Later, 'Jiminy Cricket' and 'Gee Willikers' were wicked code words for Jesus.  'Tarnation' began as an offensive combination of 'eternal' and 'damnation.'  And 'heck' was an only slightly better alternative to 'hell.'
"...Land mines lurk everywhere in the English language."

I've made two resolutions after having read this book, the first of which I have already broken.

Resolution 1:  I need to set my timer for ten minutes a day in which to pray.  I already knew that setting aside a specified time for prayer was good training for the sort of little moment-by-moment prayers I do throughout the day, but I don't always discipline myself to do it.  The author of this book was a man who didn't even believe there was a God, but who intentionally spent three ten-minute sessions praying Biblical prayers everyday.   And I who say I believe... well, I've been cheating on the heavy lifting.  The timer seems like a more specific way of structuring my time.

Resolution 2: After reading about a group called the Red-Letter Christians, I decided that once my group Bible study is over in May, I'm going to read through all of the Gospels, particularly looking at Jesus' words (the red letters) and looking for the main point in each saying or story of Jesus.  Then I'm going to look at the "mathematical" distribution of topics and see for myself what things Jesus found most important to preach on.  Jared already found a possible problem with my project, because he said, if Jesus had come to us in our culture, would he have preached the same sermons?  I don't really know, but I will start at least from what I can determine, because it may be impossible to answer Jared's question.

In some of his concluding remarks, the author says that everyone has to pick and choose in the Bible, what things to follow, what things to throw out.  I think that's sort of a simplistic way of looking at it.  I think what we each have to do is choose an interpretive framework.  The basis of my personal framework is that Jesus in the Gospels is the clearest revelation of God, and so to understand the rest of the Bible I need to run it through that filter.  Another good reason to spend some hardcore time reviewing Jesus himself!

A Fresh Start

One's new year is meant to be a fresh start, yes?  This new year had a rougher start.  Nothing awful, just rough around the edges.  It started a few days before January 1st, that Anne suddenly was out of sorts and needed a lot more one-on-one than normal.  I don't know what it was all about; I'm guessing it was a little developmental growth spurt.  The first week back from our Texas vacation she had a sudden huge amount of language acquisition.  And also was having melt-downs about everything.  All day long.  I am normally one of the most patient people I know, but this was somehow pushing every button and I was losing it - snapping.  I had to apologize to Anne quite a lot and figure out how to set boundaries to protect my sanity.  Every day was survival.  The usual schedule is full, but with a toddler going through a rough patch it was too much.  And then throw in a few extras - dental appointments for both adults, multiple vet appointments for the cat, feline tooth extractions, car in the shop for almost two weeks, playing for church, group class concert, taking the child out of diapers for good, three students announcing they were quitting the same day...  It was just a wee bit too much.  I think we're over the hump now and have reached a happy equilibrium where we have our three calm and adaptable family members back to normal.  Fingers crossed, anyway.

Anne's and my new favorite book is one Leah gave her at Christmas.  It's called The Quiet Book; text is by Deborah Underwood and illustrations are by Renata Liwska.  The quote from the back cover explains it well: "A quirky collection of quiets from 'making a wish quiet' to 'top of the roller coaster quiet'."  Not only are the quiets of an amazing variety, but the pictures are fantastic and multidimensional.  One of the reasons it really appealed to me is the thought which a music teacher put in my brain at some point that rests in music aren't just silence - they each have their own meaning.  This is a fun way to explore the many meanings of silence in a very concrete way.  Maybe tonight is "new toddler strides completed quiet."

Don't Judge a Book By Its Cover

I was reminded of this three times last week.

First I learned that a long-time acquaintance had just celebrated ten years cancer-free.  This is wonderful!  However, I was incredulous, because I have known this man well more than ten years, which means I knew him when he was fighting cancer, and I had no idea he had been sick.  I suddenly thought about his choices in his life and realized that his war with a deadly disease must have had major impact on who he is today.

Second, I learned that a teenager I have known tangentially for her whole life was celebrating one year of recovery after her failed suicide attempt.  I was unaware until this week that she'd been to the brink and back.  I have no idea the sort of pain in her life that led her to that awful day, and I am so thankful for the love in her life that has led her past it.  I started trying to remember what I had been doing one year ago, oblivious to this dear child's agony.  And again I suddenly was led to see that many of her life choices must have been made in relation to her hidden struggle.

Thirdly, I read a book called The Witness Wore Red by Rebecca Musser, about her upbringing and young adulthood in the FLDS church and her eventual escape.  So many people in the "real world" who met her had no idea about the pains and loves of her past and could have no idea how that affected who she appeared to be.  (The book was quite compelling, but unfortunately it has many stories of abuse which you may want to consider whether you can stomach before reading this incredible story.)

I need to remember to be so gentle and kind with each person, not judging them. That goes even for people I think I know well, because there may be so much I know so little about them.

Could It Be This Simple?

It's time for an overdue book report.  I have two books to report on, neither of which were on my Read-It-Before-I-Die Shelf.  That shelf has been rather neglected lately.  The first book is called Could It Be This Simple?: A Biblical Model for Healing The Mind by Timothy Jennings, M.D.  I picked it up off the shelf at my in-law's home, and I almost didn't read it, because I was so put off by the title.  As it turns out, I'm not sure the title is a very good fit for the book anyway, and I really appreciated some things I learned.

The biggest revelation to me was a chart that Jennings develops in the chapter called "The Hierarchy of the Mind", which shows how a healthy mind works and how it works in relation to God.  I will attempt to reproduce that here:

GOD  \
             \
               \
                 \                                          Reason         \  Judgment
                     Spiritual Nature --------  Conscience  /
                 /                                          Worship

                /    Will
    Mind
               \    Thoughts
                    (Beliefs, Values, Morals, Imagination)
                    \
                    Feelings
                    (Desire for Relationships, Affections)

A little explanation is in order.  Jennings says there are four parts to our minds: our feelings (which includes our desire for relationships and our affections), our thoughts (which includes our beliefs, values, morals, and imagination), our will, and our spiritual nature.  Our spiritual nature itself has three parts: reason and conscience, which make up our judgment, and worship.  Reason is where we think through things and ask questions of them - is this logical?  does this make sense?  is this the best decision?  is that what the Bible passage really means?  Conscience is the voice within, to which God can speak if we allow him.  Worship is the part of us which highly values something above other things - it might be a sports team, it might be a cause, it might be our career, it might be a loved one, it might money, it might be feeling safe, it might be a certain dream, it might be an appetite, it might be God.  In a well-ordered mind, reason, conscience, and worship work together to inform the will, the thoughts, and the feelings.

However, many of us have minds which are out of order.  In extreme forms, think of someone whose feelings are in the driver's seat.  Someone whose highest goal is, say, sexual pleasure.  This person will allow their feelings on this topic to order everything they do, and you and I both know they will end up with a disaster in life - broken relationships, betrayal, irresponsible behavior, perhaps jail time.  Or think of someone whose guiding principle is a belief that one should spread one's religion by force.  This person can follow that belief without subjecting it to Truth, and over time turn into a complete brute, devolving to become little more than an Orc.  (That's pretty much what I think about the people who have joined ISIS.)

Jennings' premise is that if we put our minds in the proper order and then seek after truth, sifting it through the spiritual nature, we will get closer to God (the Author of all truth), and will become more functional and useful people.  He also spends time in the book looking at ways this can go awry, and spends quite a few words on theology (along the lines of Graham Maxwell's Character of God view, if you're familiar with that) that can point us in the direction of connecting with a God who desires out greatest good and healing, and who wants us to examine the evidence for ourselves, freely deciding for or against Him.

The other book was one I had heard of for years (as part of a series), and recently read a little note about it in a magazine article, which sent me off to the library for procurement.  The title is The Power of a Praying Parent, and the author is Stormie Omartian.  This book has already proved quite useful to me, although it is not a well-researched treatise in the academic or even pastoral sense.  It is more of a personal rambling, which builds on the author's experience of praying for her own two children, and teaming up with other parents to pray for their children.  I have found it useful, because she provides an abundance of categories in your child's life of things to pray about, and her personal experiences speak to me, since she is a person much further along life's path than I am.  She provides sample prayers in her own words for additional help.  I especially appreciated some things she had to say about freedom from fear, repentance, and forgiveness, because those are areas I need to grow in.

Back to my own words, I've often thought about Paul's admonition to take every thought captive to Christ, and in the conjunction of reading these two books, I have some new understanding of what that means.  Real example...

I'm out running at the same time as Jared, but much slower than he.  Imagined conversation in my head:

Jared: Why are you running that way?  You could run much faster and keep up with me if you...
RM:  Why are you on my case about running slowly?  You should just be happy that I'm running at all.
Result:  RM is suddenly irritated with Jared, although he did absolutely nothing!  He is happily minding his own business and enjoying the fresh air, and now I feel like snarking at him.

RM hears the voice of the Holy Spirit and realizes that this conversation she just imagined is NOT true.  It contains lies.  She must immediately talk to God about this conversation, ask Him to forgive her snark, and ask Him that He would give her a mind for truth instead.

RM then must think of things that are true:  She is outside getting some fresh air and exercise, and it is fun.  Jared is outside getting some fresh air and exercise, and he is having fun, too.  Jared rarely criticizes RM, and for that she is quite thankful.  God can love people who make up stupid and hurtful stories.

RM now has to make a conscious choice not to run her brain down that dead-end track but instead to cooperate with God in thinking whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious, if there is any excellence...  It is a battle.

There is a chapter in the Jennings book on Spiritual Warfare, and chances are good that it's not quite what you think.  For some this phrase conjures up thoughts of ill-advised Crusades and bigoted legal battles.  For others it conjures up weird charistmatic prayer meetings with annointings and speaking in tongues.  And for others, it conjures up Name It and Claim It theology.  Jennings, however, talks about the battle over our minds for truth - if we are willing to adjust our minds to be accordance with Reality, then we're heading over to the winning side.  If we are distancing ourselves from Reality in whatever way, we're walking toward the losing side.