Mom has always been a reader. Her household of seven squabbling children kept her busy for sure. Nevertheless, she'd find time during the day to do what she loved most--read.
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.
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.
Our country home sheltered us from the summer heat. The swamp cooler sprayed mist in the temperatures near 120 degrees. And while the house breathed tractors, combines and livestock feed, we children played make-believe. Mom taught us how to dream.
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.
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.
Mom and her seven children
RSS Feed