Thanksketching: Day 15

I am thankful for

musty pages,

note-filled margins,

for limitless stories,

everything under the sun that

I can hold in my hand.

Recess

While tutoring a ten-year-old today I came across the word 'recess.' He had two long lists of words to study, and this was one of them. I varied the studying methods--a definition there, a spelling here, a sentence for each one. I asked him what recess was and he said, "When you get to play!" I agreed, then reminded him it could also just mean a break.

It immediately brought me back to my own ten-year-old self, and all the recesses I was forced to endure. As an adult I am more aware of the rest of the word--it offers us a break from real life, a respite from the day-to-day or the overwhelming. It could mean we take a long bath or go for a walk or snuggle with a fluffy dog. Maybe it means hot cups of coffee with friends or watching hours of Netflix or going swimming.

As a child, it was strictly for playing outside. I grew up in Washington state, and our school took recess very seriously. We had one mid-morning and another right after lunch, and it had to be raining (not drizzling, which is more common) in order for recess to be held inside.

I loved indoor recess, but not for the reasons you might think. I actually loved playing outside. At home, I would spend hours playing in the woods, climbing trees and riding my bike down a dangerously steep hill. I had scraped knees and slivers and weird tan lines on my legs from hours spent rollerblading. Being outside in my own domain was a thrill and a joy.

But being outside on a playground where some unknown "Recess Duty" would admonish me if I didn't have a ball in my hand or wasn't swinging on the monkey bars was more like a punishment. I was also extremely shy, extremely terrified of strangers and confrontation, and so the prospect of being approached by the Recess Duty because I wasn't "playing" scared me to death.

I wanted to be inside reading--which is, of course, why I loved rainy days and indoor recess. I loved curling up with a book in my classroom's library, or coloring vast landscapes at my desk until the bell rang again. There is something depressing about the fact that 'play' used to only mean running, jumping, or climbing. I hate that the other kinds of play, the kinds I was so connected to as a kid, were somehow considered lazy or less beneficial.

As I went on a sort of emotional adventure last weekend, this weekend I'll be taking another break from the real world--a recess, you might say. It's time for another road trip, for sure. In recent weeks I have been overwhelmed by doctors and recovering and bad news, and the turmoil of knowing it's all going to get more painful and overwhelming before any of it gets better. Starting next week I have my first post-op appointment, so before all of it begins...

I'm taking a recess. I'm going to play. I'm going to be with friends. We'll watch movies, drink tea, maybe even read books or draw pictures. I'm going to take a break and play in the way that most benefits me. I don't even care if it's raining.

Thirty Thanks, Day 8: The Story (Part 2)

Many things divide your life into two halves. The time before you met your spouse, and the time after. The time before you lost that friend, and the time after. Before kids, after kids. Before getting that job, after having that job. 

There has never been a time before stories. And there will never be a time after, for all of life is a story. The chapters change and the pages increase in number and spine becomes bent and cracked with age. But there is never after. It always is.

However, there was a time when I didn't know what stories meant to me. 

Children who love books usually know they love books, but they don't know the power held in them--we can't all be Matilda Wormwood. Children who love books will cart them to and from the library in large stacks. They will have trouble on library day at school, because they can only check out two books at a time. They will sneak peeks into their parents' bookshelves and steal glances at books they're not mature enough to read. They will do all these things and find thrill in every moment without ever realizing that their love for books is actually a love of story, which is more than a hobby or pastime--it's the adventure of a lifetime.

This sort of adventurous love for story is a compulsion, a conviction, a belief. It is the belief that for every question the answer is a story. Every sorrow comforted, every wound healed, every mistake forgiven, and every joy affirmed by a story. Jesus himself used stories to express his love for people and carry out his mission. The Bible itself is a story of epic measurements. 

And so we have this belief as children without knowing it, until one day we do. We know it. We feel it. We believe it. 

During the year I decided I wanted to be a writer, I also realized how deeply I loved books. But even then it wasn't until later that I understood it was a love of story that really fueled my love for writing. And there was a difference in everything. My thinking change, my writing changed, my heart changed. The world looks different when you comprehend its story-ness.

Yesterday I was thankful for the stories of my childhood. Today I am thankful for the stories after childhood. I am thankful for the transformative power of a story, for the way they alter my way of thinking and the way I perceive the world. I am thankful for the depth added to books when we recognize a good story, and not just a plot or characters that are "interesting." I am thankful for the way stories engage us at every turn. I am thankful for the way stories allow us to connect with each other, regardless of the people we have been or the people we are or will be. I am thankful that stories follow us and shape us. I am thankful that stories can be uniters and changers and inspirers and convicters. I am thankful for the way faith in Jesus is so naturally shared by story. Most of all, I am thankful for who stories have made me--before I knew they were changing me, and after. 

Thanks, stories. You're incredible. 

Thirty Thanks, Day 7: The Story (Part 1)

Long ago there was a blackbird whose wife was stolen by an Indian ruler. Blackbird made put on his armor and made himself a drum and traveled toward the palace to get back his wife. On his way he met some ants, some cats, some sticks, and a river. They had all been wronged by this evil ruler too, and so they climbed inside Blackbird's ear. They made their way to the palace, overcame every obstacle put in their way, and rescued Blackbird's wife.

This is my favorite childhood story. It's adorable, but that's not why I'm thankful.

Last year I made a blog post that was thankful for simply all books, or at least my favorite books. But this year I want to express more about the foundation of that feeling. I did not reach adulthood and suddenly become a book-lover. No, my love for such things was built over many years. Today I want to say that I am thankful for children's stories. 

The story mentioned above is an old Indian folktale, called Rum Pum Pum. It's one of my favorite books from my childhood, but also one of my favorite books EVER. It's not because there are talking animals--I couldn't care less about talking animals. In fact, I'd rather do without them all together. And it's not because it's a "hipster" book that no one knows about, or a "folktale" and therefore more moralistic and meaningful that more popular children's books. I love it because of its phenomenal story that resonates with reality.

Our protagonist has suffered a great loss. Rather than give up hope, he finds his strength and starts a journey. There are many adventures to be had and friends to find along the way. He is victorious not by his own strength, but by the unity formed between them all.

In real life, we suffer great losses. We feel compelled, sometimes, to lose hope. But we don't. We hold on. We fight. There is a fight to win, a battle to begin. And there are others who have suffered their own losses, others who have their own tragedies and sorrows and they will fight with us! Many things in this life we must do alone, but a victory--vindication!--is something to be shared.

This is true of Rum Pum Pum, of Little House on the Prairie and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and The Little Engine that Could. There is a fight, there are friends, and a grand finale. This is also true of the stories my father told me when I was little. They were about Princess Goldenhair (ahem) and her brothers (ahem) and some evil goblins. These were stories about fighting for justice and friendship and being brave.

I am thankful for the stories of my childhood, for the lessons they allowed me to learn. I am thankful for the deep love for books they ingrained in my soul. I am thankful for the connections I was able to make within each story, how every character taught me something about real life. I am thankful for the good guys and the bad guys and the illustrations and even the talking animals. I am thankful for the way books can be friends themselves, and for the way they can heal and comfort and inspire.

Thanks, stories. You're incredible.

Thirty Thanks, Day 5: The End of the Day

As far as schedules go, mine is pretty weird. My husband and I both work nights. I get done at 8pm, he gets done at about 11:30. We're not usually tired when we get home, so this is usually when we relax together. We spend a little time together during the day but it's not usually as relaxed because we have to watch the clock and get ready for work.

It's clear, however, that we are both night owls. (Although I can be a morning person, if I want to.) When we get home he takes the dog out, and then we usually watch some television on-demand (because we're not home when shows air, duh). We make popcorn and I get into my comfiest sweatpants, and when we're bored of TV we play video games. Yes, we play them together--and they're not even multiplayer games! Right now we're playing through The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword. We take turns, but he usually beats all the bosses for me anyways.

Sometimes we read instead. We've been reading through the Harry Potter series again since June, but things sort of paused after my work schedule at school started up. We also started reading Wicked sometime last winter, but... I can't remember why we stopped, or where we are in the story. It's also very common these days for us to be reading separately, but next to each other. (Of course, Joey is only reading 2 books right now. I'm reading 5.)

One night, we even colored together. With crayons. Look, proof! (Yes, we found a legitimate Star Wars coloring book at the dollar store.)

I am so thankful for the end of the day. I'm thankful for the rest I find when work is over, and for the peace in being at home with my husband. I'm thankful for the comforts the end of the day provides. The chaotic thoughts of the day seem to drift away. The building is quiet, the dog is content to snuggle on my feet. I get to spend time with my favorite person, with some of my favorite things.

There was a time, it seems long ago, when getting ready for bed meant putting on my pajamas, wasting time in the dark (while my roommate went to sleep) and then sitting a cold hallway where I would talk to my fiance. Joey was 2000 miles away from me, and every night I would wait to go to sleep until he finished working. This meant it was 1am for him, 3am for me. I was thankful, then, for the time we spent together.But it doesn't beat what I've got now.

Thanks, end-of-the-day. You're incredible.