So Loved …
Often we consider a "loved one" as: a spouse, a parent, a special aunt or uncle, or a grandparent ---someone who naturally has had a significant impact on our life.
But sometimes life is not naturally significant, and we go to great lengths to make it so. Sometimes we consider a "loved one" as being the first person that shows us that they care. That person can be a very nice person, but shouldn't become our whole life. Allowing another person to be our whole life may be deeply significant at the time, but it is also deeply fragile.
War is fragile also.
It is often thought of as nation against nation. We see the images of war. Hooded captives crying out for freedom, later beheaded with the swift cruelty of a razor sharp sword.
The healthy perspective is when these images horrify us. The unhealthy, when it numbs us.
Death by any means may seem near impossible to deal with, but death as a result of war is often slated as more acceptable. When war is entered as a nation the words 'honor', 'bravery', 'sacrifice', and 'loyalty' come to mind.
But war doesn't begin with nations. It begins with individuals.
And often we war against ourselves, holding onto our own grief, not willing to let any form of reason to enter in. I'm talking about the war that ignites and often rages within oneself ---and the effect it has on each and every one of us ---which tragically is seldom fully realized.
These images can be just as horrifying.
The individuals at war within themselves are not always easy to identify. Some insist that their pain be known, dragging others into their insane campaign. Others suffer within themselves with no interest in sharing the pain. They just want to end it all.
But there's one fact that neither of these individuals may realize.
It doesn't end.
We can say that plants desire to flourish.
Within the animal kingdom, we could say that desires and emotions flourish beyond self-preservation and self-gratification into occasions of self-sacrifice.
Within humankind, new depths of emotions and desires are realized and expressed through written language, passed on from one generation to another in the form of dreams and aspirations. It is here that we find the pioneer . . . seemingly never content with the way things are, continually striving to explore and improve upon that which has already been improved upon.
Striving to fulfill that which has not been previously fulfilled, humankind has leaped from admiration to aspiration. Not just standing in awe of the eagle's flight, but soaring beyond to new heightened dreams and ambitions. From admiring the mere majesty of it …to becoming it.
The 1900s, what we call the 20th century, has taken us beyond what anyone could hope to dream or aspire to. No century throughout history has achieved more revolutionary changes.
Yet, in spite of tremendous progress, certain things resist change …some things progress slowly, while other things seem not to change at all. And some things just outright challenge progress, questioning whether the good outweighs the bad . . . and often debating the very definition of "good".
This story finds us in the middle of that spectacular 20th century, asking some of those very questions.
As I was preparing to write this book, I kept thinking of my own Dad and Mom. They are "so loved".
I thank God for my parents and the life they dedicated to help build for me. Dad and Mom gave me everything they could in the way of emotional support . . . much of which came naturally by them supporting each other (with their love).
There was never any doubt that Dad and Mom would stay married. They were meant for each other. And their love . . . well, I can't measure what it has done for me.
The characters in this book don't have the security and hope that I had, but some of them still manage to survive. I don't know if I would have. I'm thankful I was never put to that test.
This may not be the kind of book you want to read … it's perhaps the kind of book you should.
So Loved . . . (radically revised 2nd Edition)
Prologue:
Darkness confounds the subconscious.
A frightening silence, yet a sense of peacefulness.
Yes. Slight gusts of wind soothe the sense of mere existence, then disappear.
A momentary silence is interrupted this time by the faint sound of children singing.
Each child's song is slightly different, yet together blend into a harmony of innocence.
Too soon the song fades. Yet, another sound replaces it.
This sound builds in intensity.
It is the sound of children crying.
It penetrates the darkness.
Sadly though, it does not awaken our vision.
We are too thoroughly consumed by the darkness.
Faint flashes of light add perspective and hope.
For a moment, the crying ceases as another song is heard.
This time the song is not sung by a child, but for a child:
Believe not every spirit
But try the spirits
Whether they are of God.
….we are of God.
He that knoweth God heareth us.
i.
Gaseous swirls and cloudy shadows dart across the emptiness.
God is love, for love is of God
And everyone that loveth is born of God
And knoweth God
….for God is love
We love Him because He first loved us.
. . . Stars begin to glimmer and our moving focus brings us to a distinguishable star mass.
The song continues:
God sent his only Son into the world That we might live through Him
Be ye therefore followers of God,
As dear children; and walk in love
As also Christ hath loved us.
Seemingly captured by a directive force, we begin to slowly spin toward the star mass.
And the light becomes more well-defined.
Listen to the words that Jesus taught us . . . .
Blessed are the poor in heart for they shall see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called ….the children of God.
Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake
….for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.
ii.
We spin rapidly in what seems to be a tunnel of wind.
Absorbed within, the voice builds with intensity:
Love your enemies,
Bless them that curse you
Do good to them that hate you
And pray for them which despitefully use you ….and persecute you.
The spinning stops suddenly and our blurred vision is able to focus again . . . .
That you may be the children of your Father
Which is in Heaven . . . .
Rejoicing is followed by a return to silence, awaiting further testimony:
If God so loved us, we ought to love one another
If we love one another, God dwells in us
We dwell in Him and He in us
Because He hath given us of His Spirit
The Spirit itself bears witness with our spirit
That we are children of God.
iii.
We are drawn closer to this immense region of Light.
Rejoice O young man in thy youth;
And let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth
And walk in the ways of thy heart.
O little children, let us not love in word,
Neither in tongue, but in deed and in truth.
And hereby we know that we are of the truth
And shall assure our hearts before Him.
Except ye be converted and become as little children,
Ye shall not enter into the Kingdom of Heaven.
And whoso shall receive one such little child
In Jesus' name shall receive Him.
iv.
Amongst blinding light, our every presence is about to be consumed . . . .
But whoso shall offend one of these little ones
Which believe in the Lord, It would be better for him that . . . .
Leaping blazes of fire attack with explosive fury.
Met with blindness, only the Words bring sight to the present darkness:
As thou knowest not what is the way of the Spirit
Nor how the bones do grow in the womb
Of her that is with child: even so thou knoweth not
The works of God who maketh all.
In the morning sow thy seed
And in the evening withhold not thy hand; for thou knowest not
Whether shall prosper . . . .
v.
A good Mom usually knows what it takes to be a good wife also.
And when it comes to her own son, she is keenly interested in who that wife for her son may on
day be.
The first Book of the Bible describes much disbelief. In the case of Sarah, Abraham's wife, there came a point in time where a heavy burden of doubt arose concerning whether she would ever have a child.
Later comes an age where doubt becomes a well-established fact. Eventually for all women the realm of possibilities passes well on its way. Sarah waited much beyond what would be imagined as the upper range for an experience as blessed as this. But here she was, fulfilling what is beyond our furthest imagination.
Like most Moms, Sarah can be imagined to have experienced great joy in watching her son grow. There is so much emotion and anticipation, looking to the day a wife can be chosen for a son.
But Sarah did not live long enough to share in that moment. And when Sarah passed away, Abraham grieved. Abraham's thoughts were also with the only son whom Sarah had given him. Isaac was not yet married, yet Abraham felt it was time.
Abraham wanted his son's wife to come from his people, from a land far away, from the land he had come from. Abraham was quite old. Abraham did not wish to travel at this time, so he asked the favored servant whom he had put in charge of everything he had; to travel to the country of his birthplace to find a wife for Isaac.
The servant was a good servant. The servant prayed to God that he would know what to do. When he arrived in the country, he would ask for a drink and the woman who said she would draw water for his camels also, would be the woman he would return with, to be Isaac's wife. That appeared to be a rather straight-forward plan and that's precisely how it happened.
Rather easy, it seemed. But nearly four thousand years later, in a much different culture, for another Sarah, it would not be so easy. And it is this Sarah whose story we are to begin.
So without further delay: This is Sarah's story . . . . . . . .
Actually, this is a story about more than just one kind of mom. But this is mostly for all those moms who don't feel the accolades of praise for that special Sunday once a year called Mother's Day. When other women sit or stand in church on that day to be recognized for all that motherhood stands for: you feel a rising regret, a sadness, or perhaps a lingering depression. But rest assured, those of you who feel you fit into this category are not alone in understanding the gravity of circumstances that have driven you to this point.
If you feel you are not comforted by those who fill the seats around you, remember, it is not the foremost responsibility of others to fulfill your needs.
The role of others is an extremely important role, yet their role is still secondary.
Primarily, you are to look to the One you are called to worship.
Perhaps some of you are about to become moms, and society sends its cruel sting of: "Wait, you still have a choice!"
If that choice already rests within you, then by all means don't attempt to cause unrest for the innocent, nor cause yourself unnecessary pain and guilt. Love your child with the love you should full well know God has for you. Let love heal any difficult circumstances.
In short: "By all means, be a mom!!”
Whatever your circumstances may be or may have been, if you are reading this, please continue to endure.
Others may also read this and help you endure; understanding and perhaps extending a bit more compassion, instead of hidden condemnation (and a chance to think before speaking for those who've been so bold as to be open about their criticism and judgment).
To all moms: You are "so loved". . . . .
Part One
ENTRY ONE
Several of Sarah's friends grew up in single parent homes . . . .most of them the child of a single mom. Sarah is the child of a single dad, with no recollection of Mom. Her time with Mom was brief. Mom died after suffering complications at Sarah's birth. So Sarah's time with Mom (or more accurately, within Mom) was only nine months and three days. Those were nine months of not only intense pain, but intense dedication also.
Naturally, Sarah grew up being exposed to the things Dad showed interest in. As is common to man …that interest often limits itself almost entirely to sports.
Dad: "Are you ready for the big game?"
Sarah: "I'm never ready."
Dad: "I know, I know …you never wanted to get into cheerleading in the first place."
After a deep sigh, "I love you Sarah, but your old dad isn't going to be around for forever."
Sarah: "I know, so you wanted me to become a cheerleader so I could meet people. I suppose it's only right not to expect you to support me my whole life. How does that cheer you taught me go? Give me an 'M', give me an 'A', give me an 'N'. What does it spell? . . . .Trouble?"
Dad: "Do you think I was trouble for your Mom?"
Sarah: "No, I don't remember an occasion to think anything ...you never talk about Mom. Why is that?"
Dad: "Too painful."
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Sarah: “Okay, I’ve always respected that ...so, if we don’t talk about her, how about you give me just one word you’d use to describe her. One word for today, and for a week ...each day a different word.”
Dad: “Beautiful ---the most beautiful girl in our entire high school ---almost as beautiful as you.”
Sarah: "That was way more than a word ...that was actually a sentence, a compound sentence. Maybe by the end of the week, we will be able to talk about her ...and I'll be able to get a sense of who Mom actually was."
Dad (a tear in his eye): "Maybe."
Sarah: "I'm sure she was beautiful in many ways. Sometimes when a person is valued for their looks ...other things are overlooked."
Dad: "I didn't overlook all the other great things about her ...and she certainly could have overlooked me, but she didn't. You are a lot like your Mom, in many wonderful ways."
Sarah (seeing Dad is finding it difficult to talk): "Thanks, Dad. I can see how easily Mom saw how special you are."
Dad (returning to the first topic of conversation): "I really think we have a chance at the State Championship."
Sarah (thankful for what Dad had shared): "I think we do too. Our quarterback is real good."
Dad: "I wish you'd get over how good Brett is. There's not a single one in his whole family that ever amounted to much. You hook up with him and I'd have to support the both of ya."
Sarah: "Dad, you've always taught me not to judge people."
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Dad: "I'm not judging, I'm teaching. Brett's whole family is just like your ol' dad. I want more for you than what I've been able to give you."
Sarah: "I'm proud of what you've given me. That's what our nation is built upon; people who believe in solid values and the dignity and pride that goes along with it."
Dad: "Sounds like a political speech. I hope you don't marry one of them politicians. They make good money, but I don't like them much. On second thought, much can be overlooked when you have money. Brett will never have money. He may get recruited by some college, but he'll never make the pros. Now take the one he's going up against, that Tressel boy; he comes from one of the wealthiest families. He'll never have to worry about getting recruited. He'll never have a worry in his life. I'd wish that kind of life for you."
Sarah: "So we're not the future 'Fortune 500' class; we're still playing for dignity and pride."
Dad: "That Tressel boy has a lot of pride too. His whole family does. No one can say he didn't earn that All-State honor."
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ENTRY TWO
It is close, but no upset in the making. The game ends. And the favored team wins.
Richard Tressel, like a warrior just back from battle, looks about …to see whatever else can be conquered.
At halftime, he had asked the coach's son to find out what her name was. He was told her name was Sarah ...clearly the prettiest cheerleader on either team.
A shallow standard to judge by, but when men are out conquering, the standard often holds.
Rich enjoys the game of football, but his main motivation for winning is a game he enjoys even more. Winning the football game makes this even easier. As the signal caller for his team, he is used to assessing what he is about to face, and quickly choosing his best course of action.
She is about to walk past the field maintenance shed ...and the door is open. Rich steps forward at just the right moment, causing her to stop ...to avoid colliding with him.
Rich smiles, "Sorry your team lost ...you were doing such a great job cheering them on."
Rich suddenly grabs her pom poms, and begins a cheer. He shakes them to the left ...then to the right ...then to the left again, "Go ...Go ...Go Team!!"
With that last shake, the pom poms slip from his hands ...traveling through the open door of the maintenance shed.
Sarah doesn't wait for any gentlemanly ways ...going to retrieve her own pom poms.
Sarah hears a creak behind her, and she looks back to see Rich standing there ...having just shut the door to the shed.
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Rich is smiling.
Part of her feels she should be disturbed by this, but strangely, her mind replays how polite and sincere his voice seemed when he'd said he was sorry for her team's loss.
She finds herself smiling back.
Her smile is the good feeling of having someone of such prestige paying attention to her ...also a shallow standard, and often with rather precarious potential outcomes. She had never in the past responded positively to any attention. She had always assertively said something to turn away any unwelcome advances ...and in her mind, all the advances had been unwelcome.
She couldn't quite understand why this would be different. It wasn't the words of her dad echoing in her head: "He'll never have a worry in his life. I'd wish that kind of life for you." She never really believed that money could buy happiness.
Sarah doesn't exactly know why ...he doesn't seem to represent anything she believes in, but at this moment, she somehow believes Rich likes her. And she somehow strangely likes him.
What that all means, she doesn't really think about. It seems he is calling the plays. Sarah had never read the playbook, and at this moment he is not coming across as the opposing team. She feels she is no longer cheering. She is now in the game ...at this moment, his game!
At this moment she convinces herself that she wants to be won ---well, not exactly, but often it's hard to turn back even wrong emotions. Sarah has lots of years ahead of her to realize all this. And though some things are better learned sooner than later, seldom is this taught.
At this moment, it's not that the concept of 'reason' is unwelcome ...it is merely forgotten, and neglectfully not invited. When you believe you're in a dream, it's hard to reason whether it may turn into a nightmare.
The victorious warrior approaches. This battle is best fought by putting the armor aside ---helmet, shoulder pads, spiked shoes . 13
ENTRY THREE
Football season is over, but basketball season is in full swing. The teacher waits as her class turns their pages loudly. "I see some of you forgot to bring your American Poetry and Prose book. You will just have to listen while the rest read along with Walt Whitman, page four hundred and three, 'There Was a Child Went Forth', page four hundred and three."
Sarah hears the teacher read very distinctly. She dreams in segments along with the words.
The teacher reads slowly with much expression: "There was a child went forth every day, And the first object he look'd upon that object he became . . ."
Sarah imagines she has a child ---her and Rich's child. And their child seems fascinated with the basketball and pursues it.
"And that object became a part of him for the day or a certain part of the day, Or for many years or stretching cycles of years."
The child has grown and is now playing on a basketball team while Rich and Sarah look on, holding hands. Curiously enough, Rich and Sarah haven't changed any over the years.
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"The early lilacs became part of this child . . . . "
Back to early childhood, Sarah walks with their son through the garden and they stop to smell the roses.
"And grass and white and red morning-glories, and white and red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird . . . ."
Sarah points to a bird in a tree.
"And the Third-month lambs and the sow's pink-faint litter, and the mare's foal and the cow's calf . . . "
Sarah watches curiously as her son moves along the fence-line of their farm. They share excitement together as they watch the newborn calf stumble about, attempting to keep its balance as it views the world itself for the first time.
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"And the noisy brood of the barnyard or by the mire of the pond-side,
And the fish suspending themselves so curiously below there, and the beautiful curious liquid,
And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads, all became part of him . . . ."
Rich and Sarah sit on the edge of a pier, their son on Rich's lap. Their pants are rolled up just above the knee as they watch the movement of tiny fish below, cautiously approaching their dangling feet. A fish jumps near the lily-pads a short distance away. A ring of tiny ripples moves outward. Then fading, the water stills.
"The field-sprouts of Fourth-month and Fifth-month became part of him,
Winter-grain sprouts and those of the light-yellow corn, and the esculent roots of the garden,
And the apple trees cover'd with blossoms and the fruit afterward, and wood-berries, and the commonest weeds by the road . . . "
Sarah and her son walk between rows of towering cornstalks, then cross a field of grain to the gravel road. There stands the commonest Brett.
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"And the old drunkard staggering home from the outhouse of the tavern whence he had lately risen . . ."
Sarah and Brett have several children. Sarah is home alone as Brett is out late again. Sarah tucks the children in bed and bids them good-night.
"And the schoolmistress that pass'd on her way to the school,
And the friendly boys that pass'd, and the quarrelsome boys,
And the tidy and fresh-cheek'd girls, and the barefoot Negro boy and girl . . . ."
Brett and Sarah's son is dropped off at school. As he walks backwards, waving to his parents, some boys trip him and he falls to the dusty ground. Brett stops Sarah's hand as she reaches for the car door. Brett wants their son to be able to cope on his own. Tidy, well-groomed girls giggle, covering their mouths with their hands. Rushing forward, a barefoot girl helps their son up and brushes off his clothes.
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"And all the changes of city and country wherever he went.
His own parents, he that had father'd him and she that had conceiv'd him in her womb and birth'd him,
They gave this child more of themselves than that, They gave him afterward every day, they became part of him . . ."
Brett and Sarah travel down an old country road. Their aging home is at the end where the road narrows.
"The mother at home quietly placing the dishes on the supper-table,
The mother with mild words, clean cap and gown, a wholesome odor falling off her person and clothes as she walks by . . . ."
Sarah is in an evening gown. She sets the table for a candlelight dinner. Brett is wearing old worn jeans, and a greasy unwashed shirt. He smiles, breathing deep satisfaction as she brings his prepared meal.
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"The father, strong, self-sufficient, manly, mean, anger'd, unjust . . ."
Brett is arguing because his meal is cold. The children have all just fallen asleep. The shouting mixes with their dreams ---or nightmares.
"The blow, the quick loud word, the tight bargain, the crafty lure . . ."
Brett, Sarah, and their nine children crowd into the servant's quarters at the Tressel estate. Sarah gazes outward through a cracked smudged window.
"The family usages, the language, the company, the furniture, the yearning and swelling heart,
Affection that will not be gainsay'd, the sense of what is real . . ."
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Sarah suddenly opens her eyes wide and stares for a moment at the teacher, who continues to read:
"The thought if after all it should prove unreal . . ."
Sarah glances back out the window to a tree. She then dreams about the tree in their backyard. It is a tree that she and dad had planted when she was just a child. Dad steps out from behind the family tree. Brett approaches with his child. Dad takes his grandchild from Brett. Brett offers no resistance. They are both grateful. Richard Tressel drives up. Dad hands the child to Rich, and he drives off.
"The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time, the curious whether and how . . ."
The teacher's voice becomes fainter and fainter.
"Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and specks?"
Sarah's vision becomes a blank image of screened light, as if through her eyelids. It becomes dark for a moment, then blotches of light become as specks. The television is on as Sarah arrives home. Her dad is watching golf. How is she ever going to tell Dad?
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