Empathy Through Story (A Mini Series) Book 3: Dandelion Wine

Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury

Through this beautiful story, the reader truly feels the emotions of 12-year-old Douglas Spaulding during a very profound summer. If this book were a movie, the camera angles would mimic The Florida Project movie---low to the ground, the camera shooting from a child’s eye level. This book almost physically causes you to bend your knees and look at the world from the perspective of a boy who has just discovered he is alive.

Douglas’ outward behavior may appear puzzling and irritating at times, but he has elaborate, specific (childlike) reasons for his actions and he needs the kindness and understanding from people who can patiently sense what he is feeling. I still remember how gently Doug’s father responded to his sensitive, emotional son who appeared to have stolen the arcade witch. My first tendency would be to pronounce judgment on the child’s actions, but Doug had a whole list of reasons why he felt he needed to take the witch, and he needed someone to withhold judgment and respond with gentle questions and warm empathy.

I realized that I had forgotten how much one feels and notices as a child. This book gently taught me to empathize with children, reminded me to withhold my snap “adult” judgments, and invited me to notice, wonder, and to feel.

When one of my dearest friends gave birth to her first child, a son, I sent her this book. I can’t think of a better gift to give a parent, teacher, or anyone who works with children. I need to read it again.

Empathy Through Story (A Mini Series): Book 2: Ender's Game

Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card

I love teaching this novel so much, because without it I would have no idea how to broach the topics of: the ethics of war (including self-defense), the effects of violence (even self-defense), the huge role of cross-cultural communication in war and peace, the ethics of military training, the role of empathy in leadership, the sanctity of life (is all life sacred?), and when does the end truly justify the means?

My students are drawn into these major discussions, because they care about Ender, and they feel his inner struggle. They learn to understand him, to predict his choices, and since they are invested in the story, they care about the questions that he cares about. They also bring their pre-conceived notions into class and debate these major ethical questions from their personal points of view, but Ender’s experience influences their discussions and prevents them from neatly wrapping up any argument. The nuanced, multi-layered nature of this story shows us all that these questions are tough, and since we care about Ender we want to explore these depths even if we have not personally encountered these questions in our own experiences.

We do an activity where the students personally decide if they agree or disagree with certain statements and then they have to discuss their reasons with classmates that hold the opposite views. Some of the heated discussions I have heard surround the statements: “Any action is acceptable in war” /“It is never right to use violence”/Bullies deserve what they get.” The students may have had neat and tidy answers for these questions before they became friends with Ender, but now there are more viewpoints, more examples. There is also much more empathy.

Empathy through Story: A Mini Series (Book 1: Speak)

When I think of the books that have deeply affected me, I think of the ones that have formed or reformed my perspective through story. Books that have taken issues I have forgotten, dismissed, misunderstood, or never considered and made them personal. 

I have learned to care and wrestle and introspect because the characters invited me into their worlds and helped me understand. I learned to empathize, to see the multiple layers present in conflict, ethical dilemmas, marriage, childhood, culture, friendships, family relationships; my heart-eyes opened easily because I was not threatened by these bookish characters. The deepest recesses of my heart have been confronted, enlightened, changed by my reading experience. Empathy changes everything, and the safest way to start building empathy is to pick up story.

I love when I sense that a book is teaching me empathy. I’m always in awe of the author’s craft; how did he/she make me care so much and help me understand so clearly without preaching at all? How did this writer speak to me through the nuances, through the blurred lines of the story? Most especially, how did this writer reach the hearts of my ESL students, language and cultural barriers notwithstanding?

I love it when a story alone does deep work in my soul.

I wanted to write a mini-series on books that have done this for me (and, at times, for my students). What better place to start than with classroom vignettes surrounding the novel Speak?

Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson

I have seen my students grow so much through reading the story of Melinda, a high schooler struggling with depression as a result of date rape. The thing is, through most of the story, the reader does not know what happened to cause this emotional pain because Melinda won’t talk about the event, even to herself. The people surrounding her are focused on her failing grades and avoidant behavior, but Melinda needs a safe person to talk to.

We read this book together and talk about depression, self-injury, counseling, friendship, and family communication, focusing on Melinda. Suddenly my students’ eyes are intense; they are talking to me about depression after class, sharing about a depressed friend during class discussions.

My students have never really learned about emotional health, and I love watching them dive into this territory, expressing compassion for Melinda and brainstorming ways to help her.

--The students in groups, creating a support group for Melinda

--The students in a therapy role play, re creating what is broken in Melinda’s family/communication, and practicing the art of listening.

--The students’ reflection essays, debriefing their No Speaking Project and expressing what they have learned about depression and lonely suffering

I learn so much as I teach this novel. I learn as I watch my students wrestle with questions that have no easy answers. 

How can I reach out to someone who is hurting, but avoidant? How can I recognize the signs of depression? What is the best way to support someone in their journey towards healing? Who is a safe person to talk to? How should families address real issues without pushing the hurt child farther into the darkness? What are alternative ways we can use in communication? What is the role of art therapy? What are healthy ways to deal with pain? Will ignored emotions go away? What are some open ended questions that are not accusatory, but will help us learn about what is going on inside? How often do we assume rather than observe?

Melinda Sordino is not a real teen. But she is very real to us. We hurt for her; we worry about her; we brainstorm ways to support her. She has made it tough for us to ignore our peers who may be hurting. She is teaching us empathy.

Dwelling in the Rut: A Hidden Ministry

                                                   
I had lived in eastern China for four months, and I was head-over-heels in love with my university students.  Longing for a chance to share about the greatest Love of all, I eagerly accepted a student’s invitation to visit her small-town home during the winter break.  Dressed in layers of long underwear, I boarded the train with excitement, thinking about all of the meaningful moments we would share over the next ten days.

We arrived; the days crawled by, and nothing meaningful was happening.

Mealtimes were punctuated by hours of watching unintelligible Chinese soap operas, and I began sleeping in till early afternoon just to cut down on the tedium. I felt like a veal; my life revolving around food and sleep.  In this unheated concrete house, I was constantly freezing despite my layers of clothes. My student barely talked, and the conversations around me happened in the local dialect. Whenever I walked out onto the street, I received stares and my student was peppered with questions.  The toddler of the house wore the ubiquitous split-pants in lieu of diapers, and constantly relieved herself on the floor. I learned that showering was not a daily activity with my hosts, but I remained committed to a daily wash. This entailed a horrifying half-hour of shivering, as I mixed boiled water with the cold tap and dumped it over my body every night. Terrifying night-visits by rats forced me to flee my room.

The day I wore seven layers of clothes, we walked passed meat-sellers on the street and I spied a dead dog on the meat table. I frantically telephoned a friend while standing next to a fish-seller, desperate for five minutes of English. Why on earth had I agreed to come here for ten whole days? I had cherished high hopes for meaningful conversations with my student, fascinating cultural experiences, and relationship-building activities.  All such hopes had come to naught and I was stuck in this rut of human existence with my hosts. No wonder my student’s father would get a little tipsy at night after a day of slaughtering pigs in the cold. What else was there to do?

In this little Chinese town, mere existence was not beautified by materialistic distractions or exciting schedules. The mundane-ness of everyday living was highlighted by an absence of eternal purpose and the aimlessness of it all ate at my soul. I shivered in my layers and thought, “If I felt like I was making a difference, the discomforts would fade into the background. But I’m stuck here, just existing, running from rats and watching Chinese TV. This trip was a freezing waste of time.”

And suddenly, while mundanely washing my hands, I had the most powerful epiphany of my life:

The Incarnation was not merely those three years of exploding ministry, miraculous healings, constant travel and fierce opposition.

Thirty long years of mundane existence came before.

Nazareth sprung to life before my eyes and in the tiniest way, I felt the weight of those years with Him. His town was much like this one, full of hardworking folk with predictable schedules. His stepfather probably came home tired and went to bed early.  Babies crawled underfoot without Pampers and bathing wasn’t a daily thing. The Nazerenes didn’t watch soap operas, but their snatches of free time weren’t filled with high-end entertainment.  In a small community focused on temporal, mundane concerns, the Embodiment of all true purpose had come to dwell.  

“So the Word became human and made his home among us.” John 1:14 (NLT)

“Right here in the crowd is someone you do not recognize.” John 1:26  (NLT)

No bells and whistles accompanied His life in Nazareth. No obvious ministry, no mighty acts. He slept, ate, and worked alongside His neighbors, joining them in their laborious rut of human existence for three decades of seeming fruitlessness.

I paused in wonder, my hand under the cold tap. I would take three years of exhilarating and exhausting ministry over thirty years of mundane living any day. I had never realized that the Incarnation had been so hard. If I was having difficulty living in an environment of purposeless existence, how much more did He feel the contrast? He had come from a realm where every heart beats for God’s worship, to a squalid place where His neighbors only thought about bread, sleep, and wine.

And somehow, the Eternal Father determined that those thirty years of dwelling among us were a necessary prequel to the three explosive years that followed. Those three decades were an integral part of His ministry as the Son of God.

It was not a waste.

The wind seemed knocked out of my chest and I was worshipping, awed by this new understanding of what He undertaken on my behalf. The ethereal concept of the Incarnation was suddenly personal and very precious.

A few days later, I returned to my drafty apartment and its leaky shower. My fellow teachers cooked up an American meal and we exchanged culture-shock stories. We felt drained and weary and cold, but something had happened inside my heart. I had learned that real ministry would be much harder, much slower than I had imagined. It would often come to me, cloaked in mundane, fruitless garb. It would necessitate a willingness to dwell among my students in raw, unexpected ways. I would need to embrace my brokenness and their brokenness, trusting that grace alone could heal us all. I would need to surrender my formulas and pat answers and “Christianese” for something authentic. And I would begin to realize that it wasn’t so much about me dwelling among them. I needed Him as much as they did. The wonder of it all is that He had come to dwell among us. Refusing to distance Himself from our mundane, self-absorbed existence, He had moved in. And in the midst of Him joining us in our life-rut, “we beheld His glory” (John 1:14).

I would never be the same.

Recently Read Books: Three Good Ones from the End of 2014

The Brothers K by David James Duncan

I loved, loved this book. It was slow at times, gripping at other times, but so beautifully written, so layered, so nuanced, that the story sank into my soul. This is the story of a large family—four brothers and two sisters---shaped by their parents’ two passions: baseball and the religious extremism of the Seventh Day Adventist church in the 50’s and 60’s. The youngest son serves as the perceptive, hilarious, and gentle narrator for his family’s fascinating story, spending most of his time on his father, and three other brothers’ individual stories. I find it hard to describe the scope of this book in a review because its wonder is so nuanced, so layered. There’s the story of a family shaped by its experiences, difficulties, passions, and rebellions, and then there is the deeper story of how everything connects, and how healing and beauty is possible. This book was especially personally meaningful to me, almost cathartic, as I watched the influence and effects of parental religious extremism on each member of the family, and how each one’s journey to healing is unique and personal, challenging and beautiful. To steal a line from the cover, “By turns uproariously funny and deeply moving, and beautifully written throughout, The Brothers K is one of the finest chronicles of our lives in many years.” Oh, yes. Read this book.

A Thread of Grace by Mary Doria Russell

I discovered this book at a library sale and really enjoyed it---even though the ending was not what I hoped for, and the many Italian, German, and Jewish names kept confusing me as to who was who. This book introduced me to a part of history of which I was unaware—the period of time between Italy’s WW2 surrender and the years of German occupation of the country. The story focuses on the role that many Italians played in protecting the many Italian Jews in their midst as well as the Jews who had fled to Italy from other German-occupied countries. I loved how the author mixed in German perspectives, immigrant Jewish perspectives, native Italian Jewish perspectives, and regular Italian perspectives into this fascinating story of how religious folks and non-religious folks came together to protect the innocent. According to the book’s cover, the author “tells the little-known story of the vast underground effort by Italian citizens who saved the lives of 43,000 Jews during the final phase of World War II.” I was shocked and gladdened to learn a little bit about this bit of light in an extremely dark period in history. The author does such a good job of humanizing all of her characters; we see their failings and fears as well as their courage. A great read for anyone who loves World War Two history.

Joy in the Morning by Betty Smith

This little gem of a story traces the perks and the challenges of a young couple’s first year of marriage (on an extremely tight budget and hectic schedule) in 1927. Betty Smith writes from the perspective of Annie, the young bride who longs to make her husband proud, loves learning, and worries about money and her mother’s fierce disapproval. Although much has changed since 1927, the tale of two young people against the world, endeavoring to become one while worrying about getting food on the table, is hardly foreign to our modern context. A lovely read by the author of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (a book which I still need to read!).

Recently Read Books: Ones That Don't Get An Amazing Rating From Me (I'm probably missing something, but it's how I feel!)

1. Island of the World by Michael O’Brien

Beautifully written and deeply moving, this book traces the life story of a boy born in the Balkan mountains. Throughout his life, Josip Lasta endures multiple cycles of suffering from the cyclical violence that ravages his country. While describing his experiences, the story focuses on his inner life; the journey of his soul and its repeated resurrections from the inner deaths wrought by suffering. I have only heard raving reviews of this book, but I must say that I can’t give it five stars. I was wishing it would go ahead and end; over 800 pages of this cycle of suffering and healing began to seem a little far-fetched to me.  Moreover, about halfway into the book the tone changes, and Josip seems more of a ghost with a mechanical soul that chooses forgiveness again and again. The ghostly, soul-less feel is totally merited; I would become a ghost with a mechanical soul after the things Josip endured by page 400. However, that’s where Josip’s renewal, soul-resurrection (if you will), and baffling choice to forgive and give love almost seem mechanical. It feels like it is coming from a person who has already died, because he has already lost everything that matters. I think if O’Brien would have shortened the story, it would have meant more to me. But who knows? You’ll probably love it!

2. My Antonia by Willa Cather

I finally finished Cather’s most famous work and I must say---I really didn’t like it! I felt like it was an endless, pointless rambling. I have to chuckle though; I’m sure that is what others may feel when they read Cather’s book Death Comes for the Archbishop, which I count as one of the most poignant, beautifully written, subtly meaningful books I’ve ever read. So I feel a little guilty about disliking My Antonia---perhaps I’m missing something grand!

3. A Land Remembered by Patrick Smith

This is another book that garnered rave reviews, won awards, and was highly recommended to me, but it didn’t meet with my grandiose expectations. It was an interesting read however, and it helped me appreciate Florida’s history and look on the land around me in a new light. I don’t think I had quite understood how much of a wilderness this place was even after the Civil War! This book traces the lives and struggles of three generations in the McIvey family, whose patriarch moved to the scrub-bush in Florida in the 1850’s. The accounts of wilderness survival, cattle drives, and friendships with the Seminoles fascinated me because the names of these remote outposts are well known to me---but now they are anything but remote! While I won’t be raving about this book like others do, it did give me a great appreciation for the Florida Crackers’ and their toughness, as well as a sadness for the plight of the Seminoles and for the destruction of the Florida landscape.

Recently Read Books: The Ones I Loved, In Order

1. My Reading Life by Pat Conroy

I loved, loved this book. Conroy is an amazing writer, and this memoir is unique because his entire life was marinated, steeped, soaked in great books. I listened to this book as I was driving across three states, and I was constantly wishing I could take out a pen and write down the books he talked about and the authors he loved. His personal anecdotes are truly moving and memorable, particularly the stories about his two greatest mentors—his mother and his high-school English teacher---and yet these stories come wrapped up in the books that shaped his consciousness and turned him into a writer. This book is beautiful, beautiful---but I’d recommend listening Conroy read it himself on CD to get the full effect of its magic.

2. The Mom Factor by Dr. Henry Cloud and Dr. John Townsend

These guys are great counselors.  Highly recommended for lending perspective and practical advice on relating to your mother as an adult.

3. All the Shah’s Men:  An American Coup and the Roots of Middle East Terror by Stephen Kinzer

This was one of the most fascinating historical accounts I’d ever read; talk about learning something new! I was clueless regarding America’s involvement in Iran over 25 years before the hostage crisis of 1979. This book was so eye-opening, showing how oil, British intransigence, Iranian nationalism, Cold-War politics and a few strong opinions created a U.S.-backed coup that overthrew Iran’s leader Mossadegh, and installed Mohammad Reza Shah. The coup and its aftermath helped to plant the seeds of anger which came to full fury in 1979. This book provides details and background that help when trying to understand even a sliver of the complicated backstory that precedes foreign policy crises.

4. The Maytrees by Annie Dillard

This story of a couple and their inner musings on the nature of love is winsome, unique, and baffling. I love Dillard’s writing style.  I loved parts of this story, hated parts of this story, and am still baffled by other parts of this story. I would love to read this book in a discussion club!

5. The Water is Wide: A Memoir by Pat Conroy

This is the warm story of Conroy’s rewarding, enlightening, and infuriating year as a fumbling, brand-new teacher on an isolated island off the coast of South Carolina. With little else but a desire to make a difference, Conroy encountered a whole new world as his students were completely isolated from the outside, and his education superiors still harbored racist attitudes and agendas. This is a beautiful little account of one teacher’s attempt to connect his students to real life and treat them as persons of value.

Meditation on Memory

Echoes of early childhood ripple through my veins.

My uncle, his mannerisms so like my father’s

Triggers memories of his mother, my grandmother

Her voice, her stories, her tiny Florida cottage.

Blue river-waves slapping the bleached pilings

Of a dock ruined by a hurricane

In the pelicans skimming the water

I see the reflection of a photo

This dark haired little girl

Posing on a Miami dock, 1986,

Pelicans all around.

Sailboats docked in the marina,

Masts thrust heavenward

Transport me to Matheson Hammock,

My father’s great love of the sea and sails,

“Coming about” in our sailboat, scrambling to our tasks

My two brothers and I,

Our clumsy fingers fumbling the ropes, my father shouting,

We four lowering our heads for the boom.

My babysitting gig, this toddler named Noah—

He shares the name of the tow-headed brother

I raised on my hip

Before the sisters arrived.

It was another world.

These lizards, they’re everywhere—

I had forgotten.

Toddler Noah gives them heck and

I remember my brother Paul

The boy who caught lizards with his hands.

It was another world, a lifetime ago.

Those days when our family lived in their city of birth

When my experience of the other 49 states

Was limited to the plastic map above our dinner table,

That place where we ate meals together and played long guessing games.

The days before the bus, the boondocks, adventure, trauma

Moves upon moves, the cloistered life

The stories that fascinate and shock

The journey to normalcy

But not---

Because in my veins runs a passion for the unconventional.

These memories rush back from the days

When China was just a place in my favorite storybook,

Before I thirsted after Europe

Before I stomped through deep, brilliant Cambodian mud

Or lost my way among darkened Saigon streets

Or gripped a bamboo raft with my bare toes

As it whisked down a Thai river.

I have traveled so far

From these early moments

Those opening chapters.

And yet, the book turns back

The pages open---

Musty, forgotten, familiar

When I return—

A stranger.

Recently Read Books: An Episode of Sparrows

An Episode of Sparrows by Rumer Godden

This book was a sweet story, written in “old story style.” A bit like The Secret Garden, and yet, quite different. The story mainly focuses on three children (“sparrows”) who live in poor circumstances, on the same street, in post-war London. The little girl is overcome with a passionate desire to plant her own garden, but since she is poor, even “good garden earth” (dirt!) is very hard to come by. Planting and cultivating the garden brings two of the children together as friends, and the third one sometimes tags along when they dig up dirt under cover of darkness. The featured adults in the story are also folks with deep desires, and this tale illustrates the truth that no-one’s deep longing should be sniffed at. To quote from the story: “You are making a mountain out of a molehill,” said Angela. Olivia was suddenly inspired to answer, “A molehill can be a mountain to a sparrow.”

Recently Read Books: Pilgrim's Inn

Pilgrim’s Inn by Elizabeth Goudge

This book was a fun read; the story centers not only around a family but around a place, a beautiful, old inn-turned-home-then-turned-inn-again. The inn was made for pilgrims, religious travelers. Once it is revived, the folks who pass through are not religious travelers, but they are broken souls needing healing. And somehow, they find it in this place.

Recently Read Books: Plainsong

Plainsong by Kent Haruf

This book was unusual. The story was unusual. The way it was written was unusual. The lack of quotation marks was unusual. It was a plain story, but with an underlying sweetness.

The setting, a little no-account town in Colorado. The characters: Two pre-teen brothers who deliver newspapers. Their father, a high school teacher who is unwilling to let a lazy student pass his class. Their mother, who suffers from depression and leaves home. A pregnant high school girl who needs a place to live. And the three connectors in the story: two bachelor brothers who farm, and the middle-aged high school secretary named Maggie. While I didn’t like everything about this book, I did enjoy its focus: these are real, unremarkable, everyday, plain folk. They are plodding along. They might remind you of someone in your town who is struggling. They are real people. They need kindness. And among them, there are some real good-hearted ones who see under people’s plainness and treat them as though they matter.

Recently Read Books: Jewel

Jewel by Brett Lott

I was not so keen on Lott’s other book, “A Song I Knew By Heart,” but “Jewel” was truly a masterpiece. With great skill, perception, and gentleness, Lott weaves a beautiful story of a mother and her special-needs child. Somehow, he creates this story with such a sense of authenticity, writing such a deep, personal saga, that the reader walks with this mother, with this family, in grappling with the mystery of how this gift of a special-needs child changes, challenges, and transforms every part of their lives. This book helps those of us who have not experienced this gift to gain a small glimpse into the hearts of those who have. Masterful.

Recently Read Books: Postcards from Tomorrow Square

Postcards from Tomorrow Square by James Fallows

Although most of these “postcards”, or short essays, were written about the China of 2008, this book is not outdated because the author mainly discusses trends that he observes in the Middle Kingdom. The trends he discusses have not disappeared, and he helps to shed light on some murky stereotypes Americans have of challenges facing China (domestically) and the US (internationally) as it responds to China’s rise. This book was encouraging, as Fallows peels back blanket statements and hysteria and addresses both sides of the issues, often using his personal encounters/interviews with the Chinese to offer a more balanced perspective on the China question. A very enjoyable read.

Recently Read Books: China Court: The Hours of a Country House

China Court by Rumer Godden

I loved this book because of the way that the complex story of a family was told through present moments and snatches of past memories. Every family’s history is rather like a patchwork quilt; you can never get all of the shining memories or shameful regrets in one telling. To understand the inner feelings of members in one’s family tree, one must actually “get into their brains”, which, of course, is quite impossible. We only remember what we saw and felt; we cannot know what sorrows or hopes hid under the coats or aprons of those distant uncles or crotchety aunts. But, remarkably, these people do shape us and influence the events of our own lives. This is what comes through this story, told through the patches of memories or the inner musings of nearly all of the characters mentioned. The chapters are divided into “hours”, that is, the prayer-hours of an old prayer-book that also features in the story. The story of the generations in this family is closely tied to their family home, a place called “China Court.” Whimsical, lyrical, and charming, it’s a rare look at the story of a family from the inside.

Euphoria is A Departure Spurned

                                                                           

My sister Beth, her cutie pie, and me.

I feel euphoric. 

Because I’ve just thumbed my nose at the calendar, poked time in the eye like I’ve wanted to ever since I started these five years of annual, wrenching goodbyes.

I changed my ticket.

This may seem like a small, insignificant blurb on the calendar, but to me it’s huge. Because finally, for the first time in years, when I wasn’t ready to say goodbye, I actually could do something about it.

Ever since I came back with the intention of staying on American soil for at least a year, I have found that my soul is gulping down home in great, deep breaths. Beauty around me. Coffee shops. English. Driving. Fall colors. Buying boots that actually fit me. Shopping in adorable little shops that carry antiques. Deer crossings. Flavored creamer in the stores. Salads. Beautiful Florida beaches.  Medicines on pharmacy shelves that I can read. Cambridge, Ohio decorated for the Christmas season. Bell-ringers at the mall. The lit fireplace in Cracker Barrel. Fish dinners without the fish eyeballing me. Reading on my Mom’s back porch.

But most of all, I’m breathing in these moments with my family, while turning over this glorious sentence in my mind in wonder: “I don’t have to say the big goodbye. I don’t have to get on a plane for the other side of the world. I don’t have to say the big goodbye.”

With my mom, grandma, and five siblings spread across three states, my visits home were always split up into tiny segments of time with family, fitting friends in where I could and resenting the huge chunk of time stolen from my family visits by my annual month of grad school in Chicago. But now I’m here, on this side of the world; I’ve spent many weeks visiting with my family around the country and the holidays are coming and I’m still here. And it hits me again in wonder: I don’t have to say that huge, long, wrenching goodbye.

After visiting with family in two states, I finally made it up to Ohio where my sister, baby nephew, and brother live. My heart has flipped over in gladness as I’ve been able to actually settle down and visit with them versus snatching moments from the mouth of that great carnivore, Time. Long, quiet afternoons spent in the woods hunting with my brother Paul. Long evening talks with my sister Beth. Long hide-and-seek sessions with my baby nephew, Brantley. My frantic habit of squeezing-everything-out-of-this-moment-because-I’m-leaving-for-China-soon has lessened and I’m starting to relax and luxuriate in this moment.

And today I decided that I wanted more time.

I had purchased a return flight to Florida for the nineteenth of November, because it was cheap. But when I started to mourn the upcoming goodbye, I delightful realization hit me: I am no longer a slave to time. For the first time in my memory, I could rebel against the approaching parting.

Extra charge for new ticket: $34.00.

Days gained: 6.

Thumbing my nose at a departure: Priceless.

Celebrating my brother Noah's birthday. My Mom made her awesome spaghetti!

For five years straight, my brother Scot and I have seen each other once a year, for one meal. Sometimes two meals...

Me and my baby sister, my Lilly.

This brother (Paul) and I share a deep love for the woods, even though he practically lives in the woods during hunting season and I finally got to go hunting for the first time this month!

Our family's little love, Beth's baby Brantley. 

Recently Read Books: The Four Loves

The Four Loves by C. S. Lewis

I finally finished this classic! I can judge how much I got out of it by the markings I left on the pages; but I must say that the first few chapters only have a few highlights while the last two chapters are majorly marked up! I would heartily recommend this book just for the last two chapters. In those chapters, Lewis discusses the subjects of “Eros love” and “Charity” with such insight, humanity, and wit that I found nearly every page refreshing and truly enlightening.

Recently Read Books: The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie

The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie by Alan Bradley

After hearing good things about this story, I read all 370 pages in half a day because it was that delightful. The author employs  words so well, and creates a quite believable eleven year old girl who is a sharp observer, a remarkable chemist, an a complete pest as far as her older sisters are concerned. Flavia de Luce loves chemistry and is especially fascinated by poisons. All of her introverted hours spent in the huge chemistry lab (which a deceased uncle left to the family mansion) gives her an edge over others when she embarks on the adventure of trying to solve the mystery behind the body she discovers one morning in the kitchen garden. Bradley weaves this story in such an enjoyable way that I think he truly deserved the Dagger award he received for this first mystery involving Flavia de Luce of Buckshaw mansion.

Recently Read Books: A Thousand Acres

A Thousand Acres by Jane Smiley

This book won a Pulitzer, but I completely hated it! In my opinion, the only redeemable qualities of this book are Smiley’s skill with words, and how deftly she unwraps this terrible story. I love books that expertly delve into the roughness of what it means to be a family with warmth, perception, and realism, but this story was a train wreck. At the end of the story, every individual is rotten, crazy, shallow, dead, or irrelevant. While I understand that some families truly have no redeemable qualities, Smiley stepped over the line with this tale of the unraveling of a farming family. Seriously, if a relatively sane adult  wanted to kill her sister, would she really chose the route of canning jars of poisoned food and leaving the jars on the basement shelves for years? I kept reading this book until the bitter end, hoping that there would be something of genius to salvage—at least some way to reconcile the mess—but nothing came. If you think all farm families live the idyllic life, you should read this book, but if you are already undeceived, I would suggest spending your time reading something else. Eli Weisel’s  book “Night”, heartbreaking though it be, is a better use of time in my humble opinion. 

Recently Read Books: Celibate Sex: Musings on Being Loved, Single, Twisted, and Holy

Celibate Sex: Musings on Being Loved, Single, Twisted, and Holy by Abbie Smith

While I expected this book to pack a more profound punch than it actually did, it was a valuable read, full of honesty and encouragement. Abbie Smith wrote these musings while she was single, and she shares her own questions and difficulties as well as her meditations on what it means to be completely loved by Christ, even in our most vulnerable places. She writes, “Between twisted aspects of where we are and divine aspirations of where we want to be, we find space to become more human and sought by a Savior.” 

Remembering Shandor the Great

Shandor and his bride (or, as my students say, "the handsome man and Audrey Hepburn")

Grandpa and Grandma's "original three"

Twotoundatuggerwidatingtiedtighttwotakesatoapandaboom!

If you can decipher that convoluted sentence, my Grandpa would be quite proud. He used to repeat this long tongue twister to my brothers and I when we were small, and then he would explain that it was actually a grocery list conveyed by a little boy who pronounced the beginning of every word with a “t.” His mother had sent him to the general store with instructions to purchase:

Two pounds of sugar with a string tied tight

Two cakes of soap

And a broom

I cannot recall whether or not the store owner figured out what the boy was trying to say, but I do remember that Grandpa was pretty tickled when I could repeat the sentence in all its obscurity.

My grandpa, christened William Edward Shandor, was a man who found joy in the little things. Whether it was a clever joke, an oft-repeated memory, a little boy’s mixed up grocery list, or an opportunity for a humorous photo, he chuckled his way through much of his life. He loved inside jokes, nicknames, vignettes, and never passed up a chance to make someone laugh. Sometimes he would kid around with a straight face: as a little girl, my mother was convinced that she really could run in between the raindrops if she kept trying.

Sometimes when Grandpa was truly serious, he would make others chuckle. Grandpa was a “dyed-in-the-wool” Democrat because he was convinced that the Dems were the party of “the little guy.” Some of his grandchildren were not exactly on his political side of the fence, and a great deal of kidding happened back and forth. Suspecting that my grandpa’s political loyalties lay less deep than his commitment to saving his pennies, I once prank called him pretending to be a member of the Sebastian Democratic Party, asking for handouts. He promptly hung up on me, and I never let him forget it! One of my favorite pictures of my grandpa is him posing bedside the life-size photo of Jimmy and Rosalyn Carter walking down Pennsylvania Avenue on Inauguration Day. Their smiles and waves are matched by Bill Shandor’s beaming face and raised hand. The “little guy” was walking beside the president. (Although, at six-foot-four, my grandpa was not exactly what you would call “little.”)

Although he was a dedicated, hard worker, my grandpa was also committed to enjoying life. He spent his retirement playing golf, participating in plays at the Theatre Guild, writing a column for the local paper, running the yearly “Shandorian” golf tournament, and even singing in a rap group dubbed “The Old Guys in the New Socks.” His rapping self-introduction began with:

“My name is Billy and I’d like to say

I might be old but that’s ok.”

We grandchildren, who only knew him in his “old days”, thought he was more than ok. He entertained us with stories (the old man with a long beard who lived in the tunnel, the time when young Bill wasted a hard-earned nickel on horrible coffee flavored ice-cream and tricked his buddies into buying another round of cones, the time when he was a military policeman in Japan trying to impress a woman with his one-word vocabulary and she responded in English); he hid quarters in his old Japanese box and swore that they multiplied in there (and then gave them to us!); he wrote letters to us when we moved away and always encouraged us to get an education, work hard, and do what we loved. He taught us to find laughter where we could---every time we walked into a local restaurant which boasted a life-size figure of Humphrey Bogart aiming his pistol, my grandpa asked us to pose with our hands held in surrender. If you find a Morrison posing with a statue or beside a road sign in a way that makes you chuckle, our grandpa taught us to do that.

Even when his health was failing and we were grown, he could make us chuckle. He once got on a kick over the old song “You Picked A Fine Time to Leave Me Lucille” and sang it all week, even serenading my grandma at their anniversary dinner! Once, when he and my brother Noah were sitting at the kitchen table, he started pretending to be a radio announcer describing the colorful life of “Mushroom Morrison”, or “Toledo Tom”---aka, my brother. Noah got right into the spirit of things, stuffed some napkins into his cheeks and gave his own rendition of his fictitious dastardly deeds in his best imitation of Marlin Brando.

Grandpa considered himself one of “the little guys”, but, once I moved to China and set up my grandparents’ wedding picture in my apartment, he took on the identity of a film star. I always laughed when my students caught their first glimpse of that enlarged black and white photo. Their eyes grew round, they gasped audibly, raised their cell phone cameras, and told me how handsome my grandpa was, and how my grandma looked just like Audrey Hepburn. I always knew that these kinds of stories could make my Grandpa smile, and so I relayed the most recent incident of Bill-Shandor-stardom in the postcard I sent him from China in the fall of 2012.

I was attending a student’s wedding in a small Chinese town, and the streets were alive with shoppers, firecrackers, and noise because October 1^st was the beginning of Chinese National holiday. My phone alerted me that I had a new email, and I opened it to read that my grandpa had suddenly passed away. It was September 30 on the other side of the world, and I felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach. I was unable to talk to my grandma until I came back to my city of residence, and all I could think of was: “Did he get my postcard? That would have been my last communication with him!” Postcards from China usually take a month to arrive, so I thought it was a foolish hope.

I called my grandma and discovered that the postcard had arrived the day before he passed away. And it had made him smile.

On this day, September 30, 2013, I remember a man who filled many hearts with laughter. A man who loved his family. A man who was creative, encouraging, and hard-working. A man who loved Karen Carpenter songs, old movies, and good jokes.

A “little guy” who stood very tall in the hearts of all who loved him back.

I miss you, Grandpa.

Grandpa with a few of his grandkids, 1991

A few of the grandsons 1992

One of the obligatory "funny shots"--- Grandpa made this picture happen. And Noah helped. :-)