Her friends from church would loan her their favorite stories, and she'd escape behind a closed door for a few moments of peace. When she did so, she traveled--beyond the stretches of farmland to worlds she had not seen. Sometimes she shared these adventures with us, and often she'd tell us about the saints she came to know--in Avila, Spain; Lourdes, France; Assisi, Italy; Fatima, Portugal and so many other foreign places.
I followed my mother's lead when I began to read. I dreamed of working in lands I had never seen. My library card became a passport to the worlds alive in my imagination. And then I discovered why Mom was not worried about whether or not the house was perfectly clean.
I found my quiet spot under an outside eave, and there I read and began to write--about my dreams. Over the years my scribbles and sketches of places unknown became a journal in which life was captured on its sheets. It was a beginning for me.
I look back now and marvel at what my mother gave to all of us--because she took time to read.