Get With The Program

Some things in their raw form are magnificent: a slab of unhewn marble, a chunk of wood displaying a grain texture that makes you feel warmth just by looking at it, and even just a word especially if you are looking for the perfect one to describe exactly how you feel. But as remarkable as these things are, I can't help but always remember the church video "Touch of the Master's Hand". And I recall the beginning scenes as you watch hands working wood and eventually you realize that the wood will become a violin under the tutelage of the carpenter. I feel close to tears as I behold the beauty and transformation to be born over something so splendid already. Some people are good with wood and I envy them but others are good with words and I revere them.

I'll always know where these tender roots sprang forth from. Many memories of my life both in my childhood and adulthood come crashing to me as I think about the power of words in my life. I remember every day of my life before I started school falling asleep to the comforting words my mom's lips spilled forth before I would drop into nap time slumber. I recall shortly after my parents got divorced filling my summers with library trips pulling dozens of books off the shelf looking to escape to any reality other than my own not knowing if I would enjoy each book but knowing I was excited to have the chance to find out. I can't help but smirk as I recall my brother, Benj, throughout my reading career fabricating excerpts aloud to my mom trying to get her worked up at the thought that I was reading material of questionable content. I marvel at the chance that I had to find out about my high school's newspaper and join the staff my sophomore year. And I still feel proud to know that my junior year I became the first non-senior editor-in-chief ever in our school's history. And I cringe to think back at how poor a job I did at that and how the years of experience have refined my craft as well.

You still can't find me without a book in my hand, my purse, my car, and on my dresser beside my bed these days but I have realized that for some it is a talent to be the craftsman and for others it is a talent to be able to enjoy the beauty of that craft. The older I get the more I sense I fall into this second group. There is a part of me who would love to be the next great novelist bending the word to my command, molding each word into a larger piece of art. But without resentment I content myself to enjoy looking at each creation, unique and different. I love to immerse myself in the luxury of words and love sharing that luxury with my children as I read to them before nap time and as we read the scriptures before nighttime lulling them to sleep with the cadence and rhythm of words. I love that Bella climbs in bed with me some days after school to read her own book beside me as I read. I love that my kids now love to read, the idea of reading, and the joy they feel when they find the perfect word to finish the mental picture they intend to paint in the minds of those they are talking to. I love the word.

And so it should come as no surprise that each year, each of my kids and myself included engage in the summer reading program at our local library. We revel the fact that reading has become a responsibility and therefore we must find time for it everyday. And we love all the activities the library comes up with throughout the summer to encourage that love of the written word. And so with sadness I took the kids to the end of summer reading program party this week. I couldn't stay sad for very long as we engaged in carnival games and prizes, all of this for free, but I couldn't help but hope that these memories will burn themselves into the minds of my children and to them I can pass on an infinite love too. What they do with that love remains unknown but perhaps my greatest joy will be to find out what they do with the ending of their own story.

(My kids overwhelmed with happiness.)

(Wyatt picks out a fake moustache for a prize.)