THE GIFT OF OPPOSITION

I've mentioned before that one of my all-time favorite stories is about a king who sends his three sons out on a quest to return with a picture of peace. A year passes, and when they return, two of the sons present sketches of serene settings. The third returns with a sketch of a solid rock face marred by a crack. Emerging from that crack is a tenacious little branch upon which rests a tiny bird. The king's eyes moistened as he looked upon the image, for he knew that a man who understood that true peace must be found despite opposition would make a wise ruler.

I think of that image often. I'm in a relatively quiet stage of life right now. My husband and I are basically quiet people. I'm a little more animated than he, but life is peaceful--we eat what and when we choose, we nap when we like, and we play when we want. I'm free to write most days now.

It sounds lovely, but I miss the chaos of family life from time to time. My memories are rose-colored, I know. I see cherubs racing home from school with with stories and adventures to share, forgetting the pushing and shoving as they dove into the pantry for after-school snacks, and completely ignoring the hectic rush to prepare and serve dinner to four busy kids who had practices, homework and games to attend.

I'm visiting grandkids now, and life is noisy, busy, messy, chaotic and sleepless. Today my four-year-old granddaughter and eighteen-month-old grandson pulled all the pots and wooden spoons out and held a kitchen-band jam session. I aged five years in twenty minutes. But a few minutes later, after that joy lost its thrill and the floor was littered with abandoned cookware, my grandson toddled over to the shelf, pulled down the family's illustrated Book of Mormon, opened a page and searched for the page he loves best--the picture of Jesus. "Ashus" he said with a reverent timbre befitting an angel.

Yes, Christian, "Ashus" is here.

Like the bird on the tenacious little branch, we have to find peace in the storm. It's there. Because of Ashus.

PERSPECTIVE

One measure of an author's gift is his or her ability to articulate and maintain the story through a clear perspective or point of view. Through whose eyes is the story being told, and in what position is the reader placed? Simply put, is the story written to make the reader feel he is the main character, able to see from the main character's point of view, or from many characters' point of view? It makes a difference in the intimacy the reader feels between himself and the characters.

Art draws from life. In life, perspective matters deeply. And perspectives change. Last Thursday I was puttering around on Face book contributing some inane banter about something nonsensical or at best, unimportant. The next day, after receiving some tragic news from dear friends, my Face book wall seemed almost obscenely irrelevant. My heart was in first person mode with my friends. The world seemed at best to be in distant third mode or even more removed. At that moment, such notations as, "I took the 'What Kind of Cookie Are You?' test, and I'm Oatmeal Raisin!" seemed a ridiculous waste of our limited time here on earth. The day before? Well . . . I wasn't rushing out to determine what my cookiness was, but the quiz didn't sting or annoy.

There just are some points of view that matter more, some moments that cause crystal clarity about the exquisiteness of life and its purpose. At such times we feel the world should halt for a moment and note that life has altered monumentally for someone, but the grass still needs mowing, the socks need matching, meals need to be prepared, eaten and cleared, and life moves on. It's how it is. It's how it must be, I suppose. The Lord seemingly knew that and gave us a permission slip to move on past grief or pain or sorrow or work. It's written in Ecclesiastes 3:1 and immortalized in Pete Seegers "Turn, Turn, Turn".

So I returned home to find my little two-month-old grandson sleeping in my family room. I never wanted . . . needed to hold a baby more than right then, to shift perspective back to life and joy and routine again.

I doubt I'll ask you what cookie you are today, or even tomorrow for that matter, but it is again a time to smile and seek joy, while always remembering and reaching out to those whose perspective will be one of sorrow for quite a while longer.

MORE THAN MERELY HUMAN

Grandparenthood arrives not a moment too soon for most of us. As was the case with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, the starry-eyes that reflected awe in our presence began to dim some time ago. Our little children who once believed we knew all things and were capable of super-human things, slowly and subtly let us know that the ruse was over, our cover blown, revealing that we are merely mortal, and ever-weakening specimens at best. And then grandchildren come along, and the vestments of hero-dom reappear, glorious and bright once more.

A board game where the rules lean slightly to bless a child, a ride on a snowplowing yard tractor and a snuggle accompanied by a show on Noggin bring that glint of adoration to their eyes. But tonight, for the mere price of 100 Chucky Cheese tokens and a pizza, Tom and I exceeded humanity and re-entered the world of Superheroes once more. As our five-year-old grandson ran around, playing games and gathering tickets, utter ecstasy was present on his face. From time to time his joy would bubble over into expressions of his superb gratitude and love, and those old feelings of reflected omnipotence returned.

His aunt and uncle were there also, with little Brady in tow. We all took turns playing with Tommy, and likewise sharing the pleasure of tiny infant Brady sleeping alternately on our chests. The feelings were familiar. For a few fleeting minutes, for two little grandsons, we had the exquisite privilege of being the embodiment of love and happiness once more.

We cannot leap tall buildings or stop a bullet mid-flight, but we were able to hold the world at bay for a few hours and create exquisite happiness from a pizza and a string of paper tickets, and that is quite lovely for two semi-retired superheroes.