TJ Hirst

Guest Post

“Have I seen the hand of God reaching out to touch us or our children or our family today?”

As I was sitting at my desk working on a math project, my thoughts suddenly went to my science report due on Monday that I needed to finish. I started to trace back my thoughts to what prompted me to start working on it. When I did, I realized I couldn’t find my train of thought. Usually when I remember something that I have to do, I can trace where it came from; this time, though, I couldn’t.

At dinner every night, we each try to answer “The Question”. Pondering over my day, I realized that when I remembered to do my science report, it was really God reaching out to remind me. Not getting the assignment done when I did would have caused me to forfeit the opportunity to do better stuff later that night.

Occasionally, I am the Mystery Reader at my daughter’s elementary school. The latest book I read for them is The Child’s Story by Charles Dickens. My favorite edition is the one published by Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers (2000) illustrated by Harvey Chan.

It is a short story about a traveler who sets out on a journey and encounters these characters: a child at play, a boy who is learning, a young man in love, a busy middle-aged gentleman, a father and an old man who remembers. The story is written in the third person, closely following the traveler, but we also get to know each character that he meets. Together they experience life and its purposes and meaning according to the character’s age.

To say this is a story that explores a journey through each “season” of life would be trite. Rather, Dickens collects universal experiences of each life phase into one story. In this way, the story prepares children to see their future beyond childhood and reassures adults that the innocence and joy of youth can still be captured. My favorite line is “It was a magic journey, and was to seem very long when he began it, and very short when he got halfway through it.” Adults—those of us who are mid-way through our own journey—will enjoy how true this description is.

I have read a number of Dickens’ books and was pleased to find one that I could share with my children. His writing can be so matter-of-fact about the realities of life that he can sometimes seem harsh, unfeeling or even depressing. And while this story does not sugar-coat life’s hardships, he does show both the pleasantries and the struggles alongside each other. Although this is a picture book, the more serious theme is just right for older elementary students, probably between 7-10 years old.

Chan’s illustrations are exquisite and make Dickens approachable to younger readers. The lines are softened with feathering, texture and roundness. The foreground colors are muted but rich with deep blue, maroon, brown, green and gray. In contrast, the golden yellows and oranges of the background emphasize the light that touches each setting in varying degrees. I especially like the pencil sketches interspersed with the text.

Overall, The Child’s Story is an ideal introduction to Dickens for young readers. It will spark thoughts that broaden a child’s view of the future. And it can be a starter for meaningful conversations about life experiences like learning, love, marriage, work, death and old age.

melancholy: n. 1. Sadness or depression of the spirits, gloom. 2. pensive reflection or contemplation.

The high of the holidays came down with the Christmas tree and decorations today. One by one, each carefully chosen and thoughtfully placed ornament returned to its 11-month home of bubble-wrapped packaging. If setting these out a month ago brought anticipation, putting them away brought melancholy. The contrast crashed upon me.

Year round, our modern home is not decorated. It is furnished. It is designed. But it is not decorated. (Less is more!) Today, though, the hallways stripped of garland and the living room bared of a nearly 10-foot tree felt empty. Why was this? I thought. Usually, I am cleaning up before the party, vacation, or cooking is even complete, and I am enthused by the task.

Rather than pressing forward, I settled back on the couch and gave into the sadness and depression of spirit by allowing myself to thoroughly feel the loss of the holidays being finished. As I did this, my mind moved through the sadness (definition #1) into pensive reflection and contemplation (definition #2). Rather than jumping over the inevitable emotions, I experienced them, and in a natural way began to focus on marking those holiday moments as memories in my mind.

I continued remembering the family games (some fun and some teaching moments), the quiet moments of pondering the symbols of the season, the one-on-one time with my husband, and the comfort food. Other memories of the past year began to come to mind: special events, cherished friendships, and lessons learned. My mind was not blank nor was my heart longing anymore. All these moments filled the void.

When my children returned home, they barely noticed the change of decor. I asked, “What’s missing?”

They looked around, confused, until I pointed out that the tree was gone. My son said just what I would have once focused on in my youthful post-holiday moments. “You took that big tree out of this place and replaced it with this small chair. It looks refreshed.”

Melancholy can be more, which is a lesson I could only learn in middle age.