Joy!

With thanks to God for a beautiful new grandson!

Treasure in the Old Bookshop, Revisited

The shop was long and narrow, dimly lit by naked bulbs dangling from the ceiling. It was a shadowed, solemn, wondrous place, tucked away in a dusty corner of the city where shops didn't sparkle like the department stores over on Main. Mysterious and musty it was, filled with rows and racks and piles of volumes. Used hardbacks, yellowing paperbacks, comics... all stacked haphazardly and ready for a rummager's quest.

I'd step out of the light of day and onto the squeaky wood floor in search of buried treasure. It was my own personal library, but the best part was: I could read the books and then I could keep them!  No stamps inside warning that this was a "14 day book," no falling in love with a whole fictional family only to have to dump them on a library counter at the end of the month.

I was allowed to buy all of the books I could carry, pretty much.. and this because of the kind man who took me to the bookstore. My father, who (okay, I'll admit it) spoiled me.  Rather than leaving me home on a Saturday so he could go rummage for his own treasures at "our bookshop," he patiently took his bubbly little buddy and shelled out who-knows-how-much for mystery stories I would stay up much too late reading.  I think back now and imagine the one sided "conversations" he had to endure on the drives home, as I cradled newfound treasures in my arms (no putting them in a bag for me, no sir) and rattled on about this being the EXACT Nancy Drew I've been wanting and oh LOOK at the green cover on this book it's JUST like leather and omigosh I once got this one from the library and then couldn't find it ever again and oh Daddy isn't this just the best BEST day?

Today I live surrounded with shadows of our bookshop.  Shadows of a good kind, as I savor the comfort of books lining walls of my home.  Shadows of a better kind, as I thank God for a father who was generous with his attention and his time.  These shadows of the better kind are ones I hope I've passed along to my own children, and now to my grandchildren as we share games and books and make-believe. I pray to be generous with my attention and my time, helping them make memory-shadows of their own.

And I live with shadows of the best kind, because the generosity and attention of my earthly father was, itself, a dim shadow of the attention of my Heavenly Father.  

I can only imagine how HE looks upon me when I accept with joy His outpouring of gifts.  Think of how it must please Him when we bubble over with thanks and praise.

There are treasures all around, if I just look for them.  It is again time for some counting, and some thanking. And who knows?  I might even bubble just a bit.... 

(this is a slightly edited version of a post from our archives) 

Photo on this post © 2015 N Shuman

 

Just Old

My six year old grandson is kind and thoughtful.   Truly, he is. 

Trying to keep up with him recently (not always an easy task), I explained my slowness by saying: 'I'm coming.  I'm just lazy.' 

Oh dear (I could hear him thinking)....  Could Grandma be feeling unhappy about that?  Why, such a thing would never do. 

'Oh no you're not!' he said quickly.  

He seemed determined to reassure me.  

'You're just tired, Gaga.   And OLD.'
 
That explains a lot. 

'I say we should look to the young, untarnished, without stereotypes implanted in their minds, no poison, no hatred in their hearts.  When we learn to see life through the eyes of a child, that is when we become truly wise.' (Mother Teresa of Calcutta)

Painting:  Jozef Israëls 

This post is part of Catholic Bloggers Network Linkup Blitz

I Grew up Wealthy. Did I Mention That?

I'll bet you didn't know I grew up rich.  It's not something I brag about here, and anyway - it's not as if my wealth had anything to do with my father's salary. 
 
My luxury-laden youth came as a result, mostly, of when I was born.  Which was long before computers were in homes, when TV was in black and white (for those who had it at all), and the family's one telephone was usually on a 'party-line.'  Oh, sorry - you're probably too young to know what that was (several neighborhood homes shared the line... sort of like having extension phones in various houses).  

Here is the truth of it:  I am a bona fide baby boomer.  One who spent my childhood fashioning cardboard dollhouses, taking my protesting puppy for rides in a doll carriage, and spending hours crafting my own paper dolls.  I knew the wealth of not having technology to think and play and create FOR me - and how thankful I am for the luxury of those times.  They helped, in ways known to God alone, to form me into someone with a spark of creativity in my bones.   When I did sit in front of the black and white TV, I found nothing to pollute my young mind.  Loretta Young twirled onscreen to present this week's half hour drama (always with a lesson).  Bishop Sheen taught things I didn't "get," but I liked it when an unseen angel seemed to clean his blackboard.  Bud learned again that Father Knew Best. 
 
I don't have to point out the fact that things have changed.  Even those much younger than I know this.  Some even realize that society as a whole has traded oh, so many riches for poverty.  I could go into this here, but I will spare us.  If we're at this blog, we almost certainly know what I mean.  

Still, I try to find wealth where I can. God is with us, and by His amazing grace we can find Him.  We who know Him have a wondrous inheritance to pass along to our families.  

We can even pass on the simple treasures of creativity.  Homeschoolers are, I think, particularly good at doing this.  Grandparents are in a good position to pass on some wealth as well, because we often have more time than mommies and daddies. 

With that in mind, I look around and realize that I'm wealthier now than when I was a child.  For one (main) thing, I know God better.   For another, earthly treasures are piled so high that people can barely walk around in my house.

You should see it!  The floors around here are littered with grandchildren's dolls and trucks and board games and papers.  And yes, money as well.  "Dollar bills" that we've colored and cut (more or less in rectangles) from printer-paper.  And such an abundance of food!  Roundish paper cookies my granddaughter Bunny made for her collection of dolls.

Oh, and you should see the art on our walls; it's a virtual gallery, not confined to walls alone, but taped to doors and windows ... and well, of course, the 'fridge. 

I do not want to see my grandchildren deprived of the treasures that have been my entitlement.  Not when they have a grandma wealthy enough to provide paper and crayons when they want tea-party cookies, a cardboard box when they'd like a playhouse, a round coaster to serve as the steering wheel for their (sofa) car.

I share less "simple" things with the grandchildren as well, of course, as do their parents and other relatives and friends.  But I would be remiss if I hoarded my stash of boomer-treasures and refused to hand them on. 

Most importantly (it goes without saying), I'm privileged to help pass along the incomparable treasure of shared prayer and casual discussions of Christ's love.

In a world that seems to be sliding ever further from the wealth of creativity, simplicity.... and most of all, truth and morality and integrity... I don't intend to be stingy.  

I intend to pay the Truth forward.  I intend to pass it on.

© 2013 Nancy Shuman.  All Rights Reserved. thebreadboxletters.blogspot.com


Painting: Mykola Pymonenko Vorozhinnia, in US public domain

This post is linked to Catholic Bloggers Network Linkup Bliz  

It Worked

Reading a marvelous blog post on The Bell of the Wanderer last night, I immediately thought of Bunny.

When this beloved oldest grandchild of mine was three, she sometimes had trouble with tantrums. Anger would overtake her and cause all of the manifestations we can associate with that age: crying, kicking, screaming, flailing, stomping, hurling herself backwards onto the floor.

One day when something didn't suit Bunny, we endured a painful stretch of minutes filled with 'all of the above.'  Finally, (after exhausting what I thought of as my options) I leaned in close and said, softly, 'Sweetie, you don't have to do this.'

The answer was a definitive 'YES I DO!!!'  Bunny stuck out her lip and emphatically crossed her arms.

'But you know, you can stop whenever you want.' 

'No I CAN'T!!!' (shouted). 

'Then you can ask Jesus to help you.'  I waited.

Still angry, still crying, still stomping, Bunny yelled through clenched teeth:  'Jesus - HELP ME!!"

I was surprised.  I realized I hadn't expected her to do it.. not really.  It hit me that Bunny probably wanted help as much as I wanted her to have it.

I looked into that precious tear-streaked face and knew.  In spite of anger, in spite of her age and immaturity, this little one meant exactly what she was saying. 

It was only a few seconds before Bunny looked up at me and smiled.

Her words came in a whisper.

'It worked.'

© 2013 Nancy Shuman.  All Rights Reserved. thebreadboxletters.blogspot.com


____________________________________________________________________
It does work.  Indeed it does.  And to read a grown up version of how beautifully, click here to visit 'Bell of the Wanderer,' and read 'I Met Him in a Foxhole.'  You'll be glad you took time to do so. 

This post is linked to Catholic Bloggers Network Linkup Blitz

Saturday, September

Air is sultry, silky, weighted;
sauna-hot with steam.
The clock keeps up a steady tick
and chimes into my dream.
Grandson doesn't want
a hug; he's much too big,
says he.  He sucks his thumb
and hides from 'scary' Veggies on tv.

Schoolbooks are all stashed
away; Saturday's for play.
Raindrops splatter blades of
grass, but look: I see a ray
come slashing
through the wall of clouds.

September; Saturday.



                                                                                                                   

Bunny is Six

Bunny is six.  My oldest grandchild, born one and a half minutes ago (it seems to me), born so petite that she needed preemie clothes, is now a tooth-losing, word-spelling, bike riding, pony-loving, story-writing little lady of six.  And what a lady she's becoming.  A lover of tiaras, tutus, flowers, glitter, princesses, tea parties, and all things purple and pink.

More importantly, she's learning to mix honesty with kindness.  A spontaneous gift-opening-response of "oh, this isn't the doll I wanted" is followed by a swift "but thank you, GaGa - I like her hair!"

Most importantly, Bunny is learning to follow Jesus.  Seeing cartoon bullies in a movie recently, she assessed the situation by pronouncing gravely: "they don't know God."

I will admit, at this milestone in Bunny's life, to experiencing more than a trace of nostalgia.  She has a charming curly-haired brother and a sister whose smile lights up a room, and about each one I am utterly and hopelessly ... well, gaga.  But Bunny was the one who turned me into a grandma, and then gave me "my name" when "Grammy" proved too much for a tiny tot to say. 

I feel winds tickling the edges of our horizons.  School will be at home, at least for now, and Bunny's social life is still mostly family and church and ballet class and swim lessons....

But with that little puff of breath aimed at six birthday candles, I could swear the back of my neck felt, for just the briefest moment, a tiny prickle of change.

Bunny is six.

"When we learn to see life through the eyes of a child, that is when we become truly wise."  (Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta) 

(painting of La Fillette aux canard by Alfred Stevens, 1881)

from a homeschooled grandmother

As a homeschooled grandmother, I graciously accept all the privileges to which my age and position entitle me, and I'm grateful for this time to settle back and learn.

I watch a two year old thoroughly enjoy a room filled with toys... until I set up safety-boundaries.  Suddenly it dawns on her that  she's not supposed to cross these, and then they become all she can think about.  I remember that God watches as I test the edges of His will.  I realize He knows more about what dangers are "out there and down the road" than I do. I think of the garden of Eden...

and thus I've had a lesson on "why there are commandments."

I see a day bursting with spring. Tossing aside thoughts of  any "trouble" I might have to go to to do this, I grab the bubble-blowing toys and say "let's go outside!"  I settle into a lawn chair and watch a preschooler blow, chase, laugh, pop.. blow, chase, laugh, pop.  I notice early buds on trees, daffodil splotches of yellow against green; I hear the nearby cooing of a dove... 

and thus I've had a lesson in wonder.   

I observe the tenderness with which a five year old helps her toddler sister.  "Here's how you wrap your baby...you can have this dolly.... this is how we rock them, see?"  And the all important piece of advice:  "if you're the Mommy, you aren't supposed to have a binky in your mouth!!!"...

..and thus I've had a lesson in love.

"You can do nothing with children unless you win their confidence by ... breaking through all the hindrances that keep them at a distance."   (St. John Bosco)

"What was wonderful about childhood is that anything in it was a wonder.   It was not merely a world full of miracles; it was a miraculous world."  (G.K. Chesterton)

"Whoever does not accept the kingdom of God as a child will not enter into it."  (Luke 18:17)

and so we choose life

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you; before you were born I consecrated you...."  (Jeremiah 1:5)  

"My frame was not hidden from You when I was being made in secret, intricately wrought in the depths of the earth."  (Psalm 139:15)

"Choose life, then, that you and your descendants may live..."  (Deuteronomy 30:19)

Linus and Lessons

Being a "homeschooled grandma," I continue to appreciate the lessons I'm taught by three pint- sized tutors.  Funny:  I missed such lessons when my own children were small.  But of course that isn't funny at all.. it's understandable.  I was busy with "At this moment everybody at once needs to be fed clothed diapered bathed held bandaged  corrected inspected collected and perfected." 

Not being the person responsible for getting everyone everywhere anymore, I take these years of  grandma-time to listen for the lessons.  I have found they are all around me.  "Linus," for instance, gave me a lesson on new year's day. 

I've long called this little one (now age 3) our "little Linus" because he has been a thumb sucker since birth, and for nearly two years he dragged his beloved blankie everywhere (to church, to the grocery, fishing on a muddy riverbank with Daddy..).  I suppose it's only appropriate, therefore, that little Linus has a streak of the philosopher within him.  I can easily imagine him marching onstage to explain what Christmas is really all about, Charlie Brown.

On New Year's day, Linus offered the grace before dinner.  His prayer was a string of thank-yous..  Thank you for Mommy and Daddy and Grandma and Pop and Mimi and the dog.  Thank you for food, and Christmas, and turkey; thank you for toys and fishing poles and my new game and snow.  And thank you God for cheese. 

We all sat with heads bowed, the aroma of cooling food reaching our nostrils, and patiently listened.  Every now and then someone would interject an "amen," which Linus saw not so much as an ending, but more of an "Amen, Brother!!!!!" as he continued on.

The lesson for me?  Primarily it was one of thanks.  I didn't look on Linus' grace as merely something cute; I joined in his thanksgiving, for I saw it as a real prayer.  I am sure God saw it that way, too.

I wonder.  What if I were to go through today thanking God for everything I think of, everything I see, everything in nature in which I see His hand?  Would this please Him?  Oh, I know it would.   Do I want to please God today?  Indeed I do.

So thank You, God for Linus and Lessons.  Thank you for Linus' sisters.  Thank you for sunshine and snowflakes and trees and gravy and lamplight and my family and a furnace and a house. 

And thank You God for cheese.

a cough, a fever, and a smile

My one and a half year old granddaughter has been ill with a virus.  She spent most of today in my lap, at times nestling close to me as if she wanted to burrow inside.  Certainly she didn't want me to leave her, even for a moment.  We didn't talk, we didn't play; we just sat all day in a chair together.  For three hours at one stretch, "Doodlebug" did nothing but sit with me and sleep.  I claim to be a "homeschooled grandma," and today my littlest tutor taught some powerful lessons.

For one thing, Doodlebug (being good natured) has spent this week with "a cough, a fever, and a smile."  I would have understood if she'd been fussy; after all, she surely feels rotten.  I would have held her regardless, for I love her and want to comfort her.  However, I will admit that a child who grins broadly even when bleary-eyed with fever is a child who makes life easier for those around her.  It can be pure pleasure to care for such a one.

When I have "a cough and a fever" ... or a leg ache or a headache ... can people describing me add the words "and a smile?"  Hmm.  Highly unlikely.  So - lesson one:  even though I don't have Doodlebug's easygoing nature, I'm certainly old enough to exercise my free will and MAKE THE DECISION to smile even when I don't feel like doing so.  It would surely make life easier for those around me.  It would be an act of charity.

The other major thing I learned more deeply today was the value of being with God even without words.  Sometimes there just aren't words for prayer, or sometimes they don't seem necessary, or sometimes my mind is distracted.  I was touched just knowing that Doodlebug was comforted by my presence....that she wanted to be as close to me as possible.  It gave me, perhaps, the tiniest glimpse of how it must touch the Heart of Our Lord when we want to linger close to Him.  Doodlebug would look up at me sometimes, as if remembering I was there, and she'd touch my face with her hand.  And she would smile.

I admit to being tired and physically drained from my day of comforting and being tutored.  I think it appropriate, therefore, that my bedtime prayer be to simply sit with Jesus, letting Him "hold me" in my tiredness.  I have a feeling He is pleased every time I take a second to remember that He's here, and that I'm being held by Him.

I have a feeling He's pleased every time I reach out for Him with a word, with my presence, with my smile.

I sorry

Some breadbox finds are uncovered at the moment I need them.  Like this one, written by me several years ago.  I rediscovered it just as I was realizing I’ve been much too complacent about gifts God has given me: 

    “A few days ago I was putting a bowl of soup on my two year old granddaughter's high chair tray and she (having decided that she wanted nothing to eat) yelled ‘NO!!’  She slammed the bowl off onto the floor.  Then I knelt and proceeded to silently clean up the mess as she sat there in silence.  It took me several trips up and down to get more towels.  I worked matter-of-factly.  She sat very, very STILL.  She tried giving a little giggle, and I did not respond or look up.  Then she said, very meekly, ‘I sorry.’  I stood up and kissed her swiftly on the forehead and said ‘I forgive you.’  She watched me very soberly as I got her down, and we went on about our evening as always and all was well. 

    I keep thinking of that very sweet ‘I sorry,’ and it touches my heart.”

As I read this, I can almost imagine my heavenly Father saying, when I come to Him in repentance:  “I forgive you.  I have heard your ‘I sorry.’  And it touches My Heart.”