So, I've been reading. A lot. It's been my favorite activity this summer, sitting by the pool, reading a book as my children play. I love that they are all now excellent swimmers. So much less stress.
Anywho, I started the summer with the biographies of Corrie ten Boom (mentioned in the last post), kept trying to read the two headier books listed at the right, and then read the memoir of a surgeon who started a hospital in Ethiopia to fix fistulas. The book is called, The Hospital by the River. It was a fascinating (and sometimes horrifying) book that both showed life in this troubled and impoverished country and explained in graphic detail the horrors of obstructed child birth in 3rd world countries. I don't want to go into detail explaining what a fistula is, lets just say it is not good, and this Catherine Hamlin is a saint. On the book jacket, they compared her to Mother Teresa, but I think M.T. is rather like the all-star of the faith whose jersey is retired. There is no comparison.
But this woman did a world of good, and as far as I know, continues to do much good for the people, and especially women of Ethiopia that she loves so much.
As inspiring as she is, Joel recommended that I stop reading such depressing books this summer. So, in search of lighter fair, I stumbled upon some ridiculous teen romance. Not quite the beloved "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants," but fun none the less.
It's taken me back to my reading roots - young adult romance. I fell in love with stories when I was in first grade and Miss Carstensen read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to us. I ran home every day and told my mom every detail of the latest chapter. (The movies have never lived up to the magic in my 7 year old brain). Julie of the Wolves I read soon after and was the first book that made me cry. I'm still heartbroken by the horrific ending. And then Where the Red Fern Grows, which, I finished in my 7th grade homeroom class, made me cry - publicly. There is nothing sadder in literature than a dog dying. Seriously.
But, according to my teachers, I had good reading comprehension, but was a slow reader. I now realize that this is because I love the detail. I love picturing every color of the sun as it sets, every crinkle of the grandpa's brow, every whisper of the boyfriend's voice in her ear. I like to let it linger in my head, swirl around a bit and then move on with the story when I'm ready.
My mom on the other hand, was eager to make me a more efficient reader and therefore borrowed dozens of books from a friend's daughter. Every one of them had a picture of a teenage girl on the cover with a handsome teenage boy just behind her. The stories were all the the same- girl meets boy, sparks fly, something comes between them, they end up together in the end. To Kill a Mocking Bird, these were not, but I devoured every last one of them by summer's end and I was hooked. Few things get the blood pumping like teenage romance.
And so here I am, reading the likes of Sarah Dessen, whose characters are decidedly less picture perfect (one is abandoned by her mother, another nearly raped), but the formula is still the same - boy meets girl, boy likes girl, girl pushes boy away due to her issues, then realizes the error of her ways and kisses him in the end. And I am hooked yet again. I've read three of these ridiculous books in the last two weeks and have two more on hold at the library.
I keep wondering if I should read something a little more literary, but it is summer after all, the perfect time for teen romance.
***Forgot to mention - I did read Water for Elephants as well - love it! 4 stars, two enthusiastic thumbs up. Can't wait for the Reese Witherspoon/Robert Pattinson movie to come out!
Monday, July 26, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Adopt-a-Grandpa
I just finished reading Corrie ten Boom's biographies (3 of them) and have found that she is, indeed, my hero.
My first exposure to her and her life was through the movie, The Hiding Place. I was horrified as I watched this true story of her family hiding the Jews in Holland and then being taken to Nazi concentration camps where they were forced into hard labor, beaten, and hardly had enough food to live on. Many of Corrie's family members died in those camps, but miraculously Corrie survived and was released one week before all the women her age were exterminated in her camp.
Corrie went on to travel the world telling anyone who would listen that God's love is deeper than the darkest place. She knew. She had been there.
Corrie also lived out and preached forgiveness, setting up places for former Nazis to heal, receive forgiveness and be made whole. Corrie even had opportunities to forgive former guards that had wounded or humiliated she and her sister. A true example of walking the talk.
But when I read the story, The Hiding Place, I was relieved to find that it begins in Corrie's childhood in the Beje. The crumbling old home in Haarlem, Holland where her father worked in his watch shop and every aunt she had came to give her two cents on Corrie's life.
What I loved to read about the most was Casper ten Boom, Corrie's father. He was this wise old man, kind to everyone he met, treating beggar and dignitary with the same respect, always believing in the good within people and trying to draw it out with his own goodness. Brave, as he helped to hide Jews in Nazi occupied Holland, dying in prison for this act. The Nazis had wanted to release him because he was so old. They told him they would set him free if he promised not to cause any more problems. Casper said that he could never turn away anyone who needed help, and he never did. Not the 11 foster children whom he helped raise in his home, not the men who came begging for work or the families who came to the back kitchen door, knowing that the ten Booms always had soup going on the stove in case they needed it, and certainly not God's chosen people, the Jews.
And Papa ten Boom was a fount a wisdom. Every day reading to his household from the scriptures, giving patient, thoughtful replies to his childrens' questions, seeing what was coming when Hitler gained power.
Reading about him made me wish I could have been one of his foster children. To sit at his feet and hear the ticking of watches inside his coat, to listen to his sure, steady voice read from the Bible he loved, and to be able to ask him so many questions about why life is the way it is and how it got this way. Maybe he wouldn't have all the answers, but I know he'd have some.
It got me thinking. I know we have big brother/big sister programs, why not Adopt-a-Grandpa? I thought I could start scouring nursing homes for old men who still like to talk, have something to say in this world. Set them up with people who want to listen.
Or maybe have an eharmony-grandpa. Seeking wise old man who likes to tell stories, answer questions, with warm smile and preferably non-diabetic (I like to bake for people).
I don't know. The more I think about it, the more I think I'm just talking about God, the Father of Fathers. Someday I'll see his beautiful face, I like to picture it a little worn with years like a grandpa, but I don't think God gets very worn. But I'll see him and if I'm not flat on my face in awe, I'll ask him some questions, and maybe just maybe I'll understand his answers.
And then he'll give me a hug. I hope.
My first exposure to her and her life was through the movie, The Hiding Place. I was horrified as I watched this true story of her family hiding the Jews in Holland and then being taken to Nazi concentration camps where they were forced into hard labor, beaten, and hardly had enough food to live on. Many of Corrie's family members died in those camps, but miraculously Corrie survived and was released one week before all the women her age were exterminated in her camp.
Corrie went on to travel the world telling anyone who would listen that God's love is deeper than the darkest place. She knew. She had been there.
Corrie also lived out and preached forgiveness, setting up places for former Nazis to heal, receive forgiveness and be made whole. Corrie even had opportunities to forgive former guards that had wounded or humiliated she and her sister. A true example of walking the talk.
But when I read the story, The Hiding Place, I was relieved to find that it begins in Corrie's childhood in the Beje. The crumbling old home in Haarlem, Holland where her father worked in his watch shop and every aunt she had came to give her two cents on Corrie's life.
What I loved to read about the most was Casper ten Boom, Corrie's father. He was this wise old man, kind to everyone he met, treating beggar and dignitary with the same respect, always believing in the good within people and trying to draw it out with his own goodness. Brave, as he helped to hide Jews in Nazi occupied Holland, dying in prison for this act. The Nazis had wanted to release him because he was so old. They told him they would set him free if he promised not to cause any more problems. Casper said that he could never turn away anyone who needed help, and he never did. Not the 11 foster children whom he helped raise in his home, not the men who came begging for work or the families who came to the back kitchen door, knowing that the ten Booms always had soup going on the stove in case they needed it, and certainly not God's chosen people, the Jews.
And Papa ten Boom was a fount a wisdom. Every day reading to his household from the scriptures, giving patient, thoughtful replies to his childrens' questions, seeing what was coming when Hitler gained power.
Reading about him made me wish I could have been one of his foster children. To sit at his feet and hear the ticking of watches inside his coat, to listen to his sure, steady voice read from the Bible he loved, and to be able to ask him so many questions about why life is the way it is and how it got this way. Maybe he wouldn't have all the answers, but I know he'd have some.
It got me thinking. I know we have big brother/big sister programs, why not Adopt-a-Grandpa? I thought I could start scouring nursing homes for old men who still like to talk, have something to say in this world. Set them up with people who want to listen.
Or maybe have an eharmony-grandpa. Seeking wise old man who likes to tell stories, answer questions, with warm smile and preferably non-diabetic (I like to bake for people).
I don't know. The more I think about it, the more I think I'm just talking about God, the Father of Fathers. Someday I'll see his beautiful face, I like to picture it a little worn with years like a grandpa, but I don't think God gets very worn. But I'll see him and if I'm not flat on my face in awe, I'll ask him some questions, and maybe just maybe I'll understand his answers.
And then he'll give me a hug. I hope.
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