Caroline was a tiny third grader with big brown eyes. A little shy, she was still friendly and sociable. When she’d stop by my office at lunch now and then for a student mediator meeting or to get ready for a Character Counts Club presentation, she was more of a listener than a talker, yet fully engaged in the conversation. Not a giggler, she still smiled readily and expressively – with her eyes even more than her lips.
Near the end of her third-grade year, the whole school took part in the annual awards ceremony, along with many parents and relatives. The large gym was filled with about six hundred people. Microphone and clipboard in hand, I had to step forward from time to time to describe student programs that I had coordinated and recognize students for their achievements. Frankly, this wasn’t the part of my school counselor job that I enjoyed most; it made me feel a little shy myself . . .
I was in the middle of a sentence when I felt a sheet of paper slip from my clipboard and head for the floor. Even though I was still in my early forties and to casual observation didn’t appear disabled, by now my functional capacities were less than an average senior citizen’s. Standing in an open gym with no wall or chair for support, I had no more chance of bending to pick up that sheet of paper than retrieving a moon rock with a lunar rover. I had to pretend not to notice that I’d dropped it, and hope that it was a page of notes I’d already used.
A half minute later I was still speaking, when I caught movement from below. I realized that a child had run up to me and stood waiting for my attention. Over the years I’d learned to expect the unexpected from young children – but not in front of six hundred people!
It took several more seconds for me to reach a pause in what I was saying so I could look down, where two serious brown eyes locked into mine. Caroline was holding the paper out for me, and it was clear she wasn’t going anywhere until I’d had a chance to take it. The moment I did, and before I could even think of saying thank you, she scampered back to her place with the limber, self-effacing speed of a ball girl at a tennis match.
It was then that I noticed she’d been sitting in the front row only several yards away. That half minute before Caroline ran to me was a marathon of decision making – I’d only seen her sprint to the finish.
Have an inspiring child story to share? Please see previous post.
Children don’t cover up nearly as well as adults. Sometimes this makes a child’s self-centeredness easy to spot. Other times it reveals undisguised wonder, innocence, bravery, or wisdom.
Do you have an inspiring child anecdote, story, or poem to post on your blog? It might concern your own child, someone else’s child, or come from your own childhood.
After you post, email the permalink by Friday January 4th to martin22204 [at] yahoo.com with “child diablog” in your subject line. Please provide a link to this post at Original Faith so your readers will know about the Spirited Child Diablog too.
On Sunday January 6th I’ll post submitted links along with a brief description of each. Included will be a link to my own “spirited child” post, which is coming up next . . .
From: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood
Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
--William Wordsworth
“Let the children come to me, do not hinder them; for to such belongs the kingdom of God.” Mark 10:14
I imagine that most bloggers in the US have started munching turkey by now. For international readers, this is different from eating crow and is literal, not idiomatic. So I figure not many people will read whatever I post today. Therefore, why not this?
Btw, and apropos of nothing, I was recently accused of using too many “big words.” It seems to me that, conversely, I eschew most forms of rarefied, idiosyncratic, and oblique parlance. Please note that when I do use such terms, which have earned my sternest disapprobation as antiquated, anachronistic, and otherwise repugnant, it is only to rebuff them in an archly derisive manner.
But seriously, I think . . .
The Missing Joseph: Scriptural Musings Befitting a Post-Turkey Day’s Torpid Languor
I was talking to my mom the other day when for some reason it hit me: whatever happened to Jesus’ father? That is, Joseph, the carpenter, and not his heavenly Father.
I’m just going by memory here and could be wrong. But doesn’t Joseph sort of disappear early in the narrative ? I’ve never heard this discussed.
He’s present, of course, at the nativity scene. But after that, the last I remember him is when the family is returning from I think it was Jerusalem, when Jesus is twelve, and suddenly Mary and Joseph realize he’s missing. It turns out that Jesus had stopped at a local temple where the elders were impressed by how much he knew about religion. (I know, I know - “Duh!” - but that was then and this is now.)
After that is seems like, in parenting terms, it’s all about Mary, with Joseph nowhere to be found. For example, Mary, as you’d expect, is one of the people gathered at the foot of the cross – but wouldn’t you think Joseph would have attended? And Mary is at the tomb when the angel rolls the stone away – still no Joseph. After the resurrection, Jesus appears to all sorts of his followers, including, as I recall, Mary – but not Joseph.
Is my memory faulty on this? Otherwise, has anyone ever heard an explanation of Joseph’s apparent absence? In terms of scriptural evidence, I think it suggests that Joseph was a man of good character, which you’d pretty much expect anyway. Before Jesus’ birth, it’s true that he considers divorcing Mary (I hope I’m remembering my details correctly; it’s been awhile since I read those passages and I’m just typing away here . . .). However, it’s for a good reason; and as soon as he learns that Mary’s pregnancy is from God, he’s fine with it.
All conjectures serious and otherwise are welcome. However, nothing in bad taste or you will force me into persnickety censoriousness – a phrase, please note, which I seldom employ. Here, it just means that I would be forced to delete your comment. Btw, I don’t know what “persnickety” means either, but I like it and find that it ranks up there near “fisticuffs” and “brouhaha” as a fun word to use.
The Devil: “Yeah, right . . . {erupting into evil laughter}
A number of comments to the previous post fell into certain broad categories. Below I’ve briefly summarized each – and then, despite basically agreeing with all of you, played devil’s advocate. Because I noticed that if I hadn’t already had certain experiences that make me see your points, I’d want some further explanation. I thought that by challenging your views on what makes death not so much of a problem, this would give anyone who may want to a chance to expound.
And of course, anybody who’s inclined to comment in any other manner is also welcome.
Why Death’s Not a Problem – Followed by Sinister Replies
1. Continuity/Wholeness of Life: Death’s not a problem because life is all one whole and/or the same energy.
The Devil Replies:
So then, it’s like your friend gives you a cat. You immediately have it killed, cremated, and put it in a vase on your coffee table. Your friend visits you a few days later – “Where’s Fluffy?!!”
“Well, right here, really, it’s just that now I call her Smokey . . . But don’t worry; it’s the same cat in a different guise.”
2. I Have Faith: Death’s not a problem because I believe X, Y, and Z {insert religious beliefs}.
The Devil Replies:
Faith is belief based on one fact: the fact that you want something to be true despite a lack of evidence.
3. Life’s an Illusion: Life’s just an illusion anyway, so death is no big deal.
The Devil Replies:
What makes you suppose that death is an improvement?
{Further evil laughter, exits the stage with voice trailing off – “I never even liked James Taylor . . .”}
A slumber did my spirit seal; I had no human fears: She seemed a thing that could not feel The touch of earthly years.
No motion has she now, no force; She neither hears nor sees; Rolled round in earth's diurnal course With rocks, and stones, and trees.
--William Wordsworth
What are your thoughts about mortality?
Death isn't a problem because . . .
Death is a big problem because . . .
Death is something of a problem – for example, when people I love die – but it’s not a big or ultimate problem since . . .
Death used to be a problem to me but now it’s not a problem/has become less of a problem because . . .
Feel free to comment using one of these formulas – or not.
from The Raven
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil – prophet still, if bird or devil! By that heaven that bends above us – by that God we both adore – Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore – Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore? Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
In part, God lives, moves, and has being in every one of us, even as we have our being completely in God’s. The cycle of creation by which the One created us without our knowledge has entered into the next bend here on earth; now we must engage with rounding that curve.
It may be that what it’s all about for us as individuals and as a species is clarifying the unclarified; bringing definition to our own ambiguities; asserting the possible on the basis of desiring it with the awareness and passion of beings that have begun to know what we want.
A well-lived life resonates among stars and galaxies, continuing the widening outsweep of creation’s first Word.
If you don’t like the word God, substitute Nature, All Being, or Reality. If you don’t like the word “Word,” substitute something like “impulse.”
The theists prayed and said “Amen,” while atheists said “Ahem . . .” “There’s no such thing, you silly goofs; you haven’t any proof.” Panentheists sought elbow room, they tried to wriggle in. That en’s a tricky syllable; it splices God’s hair thin.
“How do you know?” agnostic said, referring to the “en.” “I see your point – and his, and hers – yet don’t know “Which to choose.” “Wait, I know,” Ag’s friend piped up, “Try starting “Your own school. Decide it’s all a paradox; become a panagnostic.”
Meanwhile, the atmosphere and sea Continually grew hotter. A school of fish went belly up; They never even muttered. A school of fish up-belly went And not a word was uttered.
The nameless One did scratch his head, non-literally befuddled. “What’s up with this?” God asked himself, “Creation’s gotten “Muddled. These chat a lot and don’t do much; those never were my “Wishes. Next time I’m in the mood to plan, I think I’ll stop at fishes.”
