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Christmas in North Platte, Nebraska, 1941

Dec7

“The whole effort started by mistake. Several days after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, people in North Platte, Nebraska heard that their own Company D of the Nebraska National Guard would be passing through town on its way from an Arkansas training camp to the West Coast. A crowd gathered at the Union Pacific train station to greet the boys with cookies, candy, and small gifts. When the train arrived, it turned out it was transporting a Company D from Kansas, not Nebraska. After a moment of disappointment, someone in the crowd asked, ‘Well, what are we waiting for?’ And they began handing their gifts to the war-bound soldiers.
The next day Miss Rae Wilson wrote the North Platte Daily Bulletin to suggest that the town open a canteen to greet all troop trains stopping there. ‘Let’s do something and do it in a hurry!’ she wrote.
Beginning on Christmas Day 1941 and continuing through World War II, the town offered itself as the North Platte Canteen. For 365 days a year volunteers from the remote community of 12,000 and surrounding hamlets provided hot coffee, doughnuts, sandwiches, and encouragement for young soldiers passing through. Hundreds of families, churches, schools, businesses, and clubs pitched in to help raise money, buy supplies, and make food. They greeted every soldier on every train with gifts and good wishes. By April 1, 194 its last day, the North Platte Canteen had served more than 6 million GI’s.”
Taken from The American Patriot’s Almanac, compiled by William J. Bennett and John T.E. Cribb. Semicolon review here.

What small act of kindness or charity is God asking you to do today? Do it. Don’t delay or find excuses; just do it. Who knows how God may multiply your small effort?

C.S. Lewis on Christmas

Nov29

Clive Staples Lewis was born November 29, 1898. On Christmas Day 1931, C.S. Lewis joined the Anglican Church and took communion.

“The White Witch? Who is she?
“Why, it is she that has got all Narnia under her thumb. It’s she that makes it always winter and never Christmas; think of that!”
“How awful!” said Lucy.
~The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

It was a sledge, and it was reindeer with bells on their harness. But they were far bigger than the Witch’s reindeer, and they were not white but brown. And on the sledge sat a person whom everyone knew the moment they set eyes on him. He was a huge man in a bright red robe (bright as hollyberries) with a hood that had fur inside it and a great white beard that fell like a foamy waterfall over his chest. Everyone knew him because, though you see people of his sort only in Narnia, you see pictures of them and hear them talked about even in our world–the world on this side of the wardrobe door. But when you really see them in Narnia it is rather different. Some of the pictures of Father Christmas in our world make him look only funny and jolly. But now that the children actually stood looking at him they didn’t find it quite like that. He was so big, and so glad, and so real, that they all became quite still. They felt very glad, but also solemn.
~The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

“In the middle of winter when fogs and rains most abound they have a great festival which they call Exmas, and for fifty days they prepare for it in the fashion I shall describe. First of all, every citizen is obliged to send to each of his friends and relations a square piece of hard paper stamped with a picture, which in their speech is called an Exmas-card. But the pictures represent birds sitting on branches, or trees with a dark green prickly leaf, or else men in such garments as the Niatirbians believe that their ancestors wore two hundred years ago riding in coaches such as their ancestors used, or houses with snow on their roofs. And the Niatirbians are unwilling to say what these pictures have to do with the festival, guarding (as I suppose) some sacred mystery. And because all men must send these cards the market-place is filled with the crowd of those buying them, so that there is great labour and weariness.

******

Such, then, are their customs about the Exmas. But the few among the Niatirbians have also a festival, separate and to themselves, called Crissmas, which is on the same day as Exmas. And those who keep Crissmas, doing the opposite to the majority of the Niatirbians, rise early on that day with shining faces and go before sunrise to certain temples where they partake of a sacred feast. And in most of the temples they set out images of a fair woman with a new-born Child on her knees and certain animals and shepherds adoring the Child. . . . But what Hecataeus says, that Exmas and Crissmas are the same, is not credible. For the first, the pictures which are stamped on the Exmas-cards have nothing to do with the sacred story which the priests tell about Crissmas. And secondly, the most part of the Niatirbians, not believing the religion of the few, nevertheless send the gifts and cards and participate in the Rush and drink, wearing paper caps. But it is not likely that men, even being barbarians, should suffer so many and great things in honour of a god they do not believe in.”
~God in the Dock, A Lost Chapter from Herodotus. Read the entire “lost chapter.”

I feel exactly as you do about the horrid commercial racket they have made out of Christmas. I send no cards and give no presents except to children.
~Letters to an American Lady.

He comes down; down from the heights of absolute being into time and space, down into humanity; down further still, . . . to the very roots and seabed of the Nature He has created. But He goes down to come up again and bring the whole ruined world up with Him. One has the picture of a strong man stooping lower and lower to get himself underneath some great complicated burden. He must stoop in order to lift, he must almost disappear under the load before he incredibly straightens his back and marches off with the whole mass swaying on his shoulders.
Or one may think of a diver, first reducing himself to nakedness, then glancing in mid-air, then gone with a splash, vanished, rushing down through green and warm water into black and cold water, down through increasing pressure into the death-like region of ooze and slime and old decay; then up again, back to colour and light, his lungs almost bursting, till suddenly he breaks surface again, holding in his hand the dripping, precious thing that he went down to recover.
~Miracles.

The Son of God became a man to enable men to become the sons of God.
~C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

C.S. Lewis on Heaven.

Christmas in Independence, Missouri, 1949

Nov27

On December 24, 1949, President Harry Truman sent Christmas greetings to the nation by radio from his home in Independence, Missouri:

Once more I have come out to Independence to celebrate Christmas with my family. We are back among old friends and neighbors around our own fireside. . . . Let us not on this Christmas, in our enjoyment of the abundance with which Providence has endowed us, forget those who, because of the cruelty of war, have no shelter–those multitudes for whom, in the phrase of historic irony, there is no room in the inn.

In this blessed season, let not blind passion darken our counsels. We shall not solve a moral question by dodging it. We can scarcely hope to have a full Christmas if we turn a deaf ear to the suffering of even the least of Christ’s little ones.

Since returning home, I have been reading again in our family Bible some of the passages which foretold this night. It was that grand old seer Isaiah who prophesied in the Old Testament the sublime event which found fulfillment almost 2,000 years ago. Just as Isaiah foresaw the coming of Christ, so another battler for the Lord, St. Paul, summed up the law and the prophets in a glorification of love which he exalts even above both faith and hope.

We miss the spirit of Christmas if we consider the Incarnation as an indistinct and doubtful, far-off event unrelated to our present problems. We miss the purport of Christ’s birth if we do not accept it as a living link which joins us together in spirit as children of the ever-living and true God. In love alone–the love of God and the love of man–will be found the solution of all the ills which afflict the world today. Slowly, sometimes painfully, but always with increasing purpose, emerges the great message of christianity: only with wisdom comes joy, and with greatness comes love.

In the spirit of the Christ Child–as little children with joy in our hearts and peace in our souls–let us, as a nation, dedicate ourselves anew to the love of our fellowmen. In such a dedication we shall find the message of the Child of Bethlehem, the real meaning of Christmas.
Taken from The American Patriot’s Almanac, compiled by William J. Bennett and John T.E. Cribb. Semicolon review here.

Read the entire speech.

Al Capone Shines My Shoes by Gennifer Choldenko

Nov26

I read Al Capone Does My Shirts by the same author last February, and I thought it was a good premise, well-executed. A group of kids living on Alcatraz Island in the 1930’s learn to get along with each other and to co-exist with the convicts who share their island home. Moose is the protagonist, an easy-going kid who loves and protects his autistic sister Natalie even though her behavior is sometimes difficult to understand and to explain to others.

Al Capone Shines My Shoes continues the story of Moose, Natalie, their parents and Moose’s other friends on Alcatraz. Natalie has been accepted into The Esther Marinoff School, a special school for mentally handicapped children, and Moose think that his letter appealing to Al Capone for help in getting her admitted was the deciding factor. So he owes the infamous convict something. However, Moose’s dad tells him to treat the cons with respect but never to trust them and never to owe them anything. Moose finds out too late that his dad’s advice is good, and as he deals with Al Capone’s demands for recompense, Moose also has to figure out how he feels about the warden’s daughter, Piper, and what he’s going to do about it.

This second book about Moose and his mysterious relationship with Al Capone felt darker and more troubled than the first book. Moose is growing up, and he gets himself into some real trouble in this book. I would go so far as to use the term “moral ambiguity” to describe the atmosphere of the story. For Moose there is no clear right or wrong decision in most of the choices he must make over the course of the book. Moose must choose whether to help, and perhaps become indebted to, a convicted felon, or lose his sister’s last chance at getting an education and a more normal life. He has to lie and connive and deceive, all to protect Natalie and to keep his father’s job. And then it all backfires anyway.

Maybe the moral ambiguity in the book is a reflection of the ambiguity and mixed feelings inherent in dealing with a family member with autism. The word “autism” is never used in the story because, of course, it wasn’t an identified diagnosis back in the 1930’s. Author Gennifer Choldenko, in her author’s note at the end of the book, tell us a little bit about her own sister, Gina, who was identified as autistic. Then Ms. Choldenko writes this note about autism and its effects and prognosis:

“Though we still know surprisingly little about what causes autism, the treatment options have improved dramatically over the last fifteen years. The possibility of partial or even complete recovery from autism is greater now than it was when my sister was a kid. The chances of a life rich in its own rewards for children on the autism spectrum is much more likely today. For Gina, who died when she was eighteen, autism was a prison without a key. I like to think I’ve given my sister’s spirit a new life in the pages of these books.”

For a book about what it feels like to be autistic, I really prefer Anything But Typical, another Cybils nominee that I reviewed a few weeks ago. And for a book about what autistic children can do, despite or even because of their disability, check out last year’s London Eye Mystery. For siblings of children who are autistic, you can’t beat Cynthia Lord’s Rules, a Newbery Honor book in 2007.

Books about autism or featuring autistic characters
For children:
London Eye Mystery by Siobhan Dowd.
Rules by Cynthia Lord.
Anything But Typical by Nora Leigh Baskin.
Marcelo in the Real World by Francisco X. Stork.
Emma Jean Lazurus Fell Out of a Tree by Lauren Tarshis. Semicolon review by Brown Bear Daughter here.
The Very Ordered Existence of Marilee Marvelous by Suzanne Crowley.

For adults:
The Speed of Dark by Elizabeth Moon. Semicolon review here.
the curious incident of the dog in the night-time by Mark Haddon. Semicolon review here.
Daniel Isn’t Talking by Marti Leimbach.
A Wild RIde Up the Cupboards by Ann Bauer.

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One or more of these books is also nominated for a Cybil Award, but the views expressed here are strictly my own.

William S. and the Great Escape by Zilpha Keatley Snyder

Nov22

Zilpha Keatley Snyder is still writing books? I remember reading The Velvet Room, The Egypt Game, and The Headless Cupid when I was a kid of a girl, and despite my youtful appearance and attitude, that was a long time ago. So, I looked at Ms. Snyder’s website to see how old she was and found there this note from the author herself:

As any reader of my books knows, some of them have been around a long time. As a matter of fact, so have I. Actually I’m quite a bit past retirement age. But for several reasons I keep on writing. The first and most important is that I like doing it. I just feel better when I’m involved with a set of characters whose lives I’m trying to unravel and turn into stories because . . .? well, because stories are things that have fascinated me since I was a very young child when, I am told, I wept bitterly when my mother’s nightly reading brought us to the end of a given book. (Heidi, Peter Pan, whatever) Not because it was a sad ending, but because it was done. The story was over.
So I keep on writing.

Isn’t that a delightful explanation from an octogenarian (b.1927)?

Well, all I can say is, more power to her. She hasn’t lost a beat. William S. and the Great Escape is a great story about an abused child during the Great Depression (1938) who loves Shakepeare and acting. In fact, William inserts the “S” in his name to emulate his favorite author, William Shakespeare. And he carries around a copy of Shakespeare’s Complete Works, given to him by his English teacher, everywhere he goes. And he acts out the part of Ariel from The Tempest to amuse his little brother and sister. Just great stuff.

Think The Boxcar Children. Or Homecoming by Cynthia Voigt. Maybe a touch of Ballet Shoes or some such similar siblings-helping-each-other kind of book. William S. and his younger sisters, Jancy and Trixie, and the youngest of all of them, four year old Buddy, decide to run away from home because things have become unbearable. The last straw is when the children’s older siblings do something really horrible to Jancy’s pet guinea pig. Can the the children travel over a hundred miles to their aunt’s house without getting caught? What will happen to them when they get there? Will their dad, Big Ed Baggett, come after them? Will their aunt let them stay if they do make it to her house?

I highly recommend this book. The abuse, consisting mostly of beatings and neglect, is bad, but not too graphically described for an audience of children. And the courage and determination displayed by the children plus the fact that the adults in the story do finally come to the rescue make this an inspiring read.

Read Aloud Thursday: Because of Winn-Dixie by Kate DiCamillo

Nov19


Z-Baby has been listening to the audiobook CD version of Kate DiCamillo’s award-winning book about India Opal Buloni, her smiling dog, and her preacher daddy all week long. The narration by Cherry Jones is great, with a thick Southern accent and different voices for all the characters.

Me: What made you laugh in this book? Why?

Z-baby: Well, what was kind of funny was that her dad called her by her middle name, Opal, which was her dad’s mom’s name. And it’s the same with me. I have my dad’s mom’s name for a middle name. And she called the Dewberry boys “bald-headed babies,” and that was kind of funny.

Me: Why do you think Opal wanted to know ten things about her mother? Can you tell what her mother is like from the ten things her father describes to her? Do you think that ten things can really describe a whole person?

Z-baby: Not really. If Daddy told me things about you and I had never seen you, I probably wouldn’t really know what you were like. But she probably wanted to know because most people want to know about their own mom.

Me: What else might Opal want to know about her mother? What else would you like to know?

Z-baby: She would want to know where her mom is and why did she go away. I would, too. Also, what color were her eyes? And was she a girly-girl or a tomboy? I would want to know a lot of things.

Me: Do you think you’d like to eat a Littmus Lozenge? Why or why not?

Z-baby: I don’t know. Probably, because I’d like to see what they mean by it makes them feel sad.

Me: Opal believes that life is like a Littmus Lozenge – that it’s sweet and sad all mixed up together and hard to separate out. Do you agree? Why or why not?

Z-baby: No, I don’t believe that. Life isn’t always sweet, and life isn’t always sad. And I’ve never experienced sweet and sad mixed together.

Me: At the end of the story, Opal seems to accept that her mother is not coming back. Why is this an important part of the story? What is something difficult in your life that you’ve had to accept?

Z-baby: A lot of times when somebody doesn’t have somebody and then they want that person, in the story they do get the person back. But it’s important that you listen and know that Opal’s mom isn’t coming back. Sometimes I ask my brothers or sisters to please do something for me, but they don’t. And I just have to accept that they’re not going to do it.

Me; Who was your favorite of Opal’s friends?

Z-baby: Probably Sweetie Pie Thomas. She’s five years old, and she invites Opal to her sixth birthday party. When Opal comes out of the pet store, she sees Sweetie Pie, and they talk about things.

Me: What kind of people do you think would enjoy this story?

Z-baby: The reason I listen to my audiotapes over and over again is that sometimes there’s something in it that I don’t understand the first time. But then when I listen again, I do understand. And people who like to listen to stories over and over would like this story because there’s always more interesting stuff there to hear.

Scholastic Discussion Questions for Because of Winn-Dixie.
More educational resources for Because of Winn-Dixie.
Because of Winn-Dixie Teacher’s Guide.

Advanced Reading Survey: The Christ of the Indian Road by E. Stanley Jones

Nov16

I’ve decided that on Mondays I’m going to revisit the books I read for a course in college called Advanced Reading Survey, taught by the eminent scholar and lovable professor, Dr. Huff. I’m not going to re-read all the books and poems I read for that course, probably more than fifty, but I am going to post to Semicolon the entries in the reading journal that I was required to keep for that class because I think that my entries on these works of literature may be of interest to readers here and because I’m afraid that the thirty year old spiral notebook in which I wrote these entries may fall apart ere long. I may offer my more mature perspective on the books, too, if I remember enough about them to do so.

Author Note:
Methodist preacher and theologian E. Stanley Jones went to India as a missionary in 1907. He began by preaching to the lower caste Indians, the Dalits, but found his mission as he began to give talks and seminars for the more educated classes. He subsequently became friends with poet Rabindranath Tagore and with Hindu leader Mohandas Gandhi.

Jones sympathized with the burgeoning Indian independence movement. He saw Christianity growing among the Indian people, but it was a Christianity that leaned toward syncretism, a philosophy Jones was sometimes accused of holding himself. However, Jones maintained that he held firmly to the fundamentals of the Christian faith, especially to the person and work of Christ. “I don’t hold my faith,” he said; “my faith holds me. It’s Christ or nothing, and you can’t live on nothing. I’ve been a very ordinary man doing extraordinary things because I was linked up with grace.” (TIME magazine, January 1964)
Mr. Jones wrote many books and articles, but his most popular book, The Christ of the Indian Road, was published in 1925. The book gives an account of of Jones’s work among the Indian people and his presentation of the gospel to them.

Quotations:
Life is bigger than processes and overflows them.

A very severe criticism is beating upon this whole question of missions from many angles and sources. Personally, I welcome it. If what we are doing is real it will shine all the more. If it isn’t real, the sooner we find it out the better.

If those who have not the spirit of Jesus are none of his, no matter what outward symbols they possess, then conversely those who have the spirit of Jesus are his, no matter what outward symbols they possess.

Greece said, ‘Be moderate—know thyself.’
Rome said, ‘Be strong—order thyself.’
Confucianism says, ‘Be superior—correct thyself.’
Shintoism says, ‘Be loyal—suppress thyself.’
Buddhism says, ‘Be disillusioned—annihilate thyself.’
Hinduism says, ‘Be separated—merge thyself.’
Mohammedanism says, ‘Be submissive—assert thyself.’
Judaism says, ‘Be holy—conform thyself.’
Materialism says, ‘Be industrious—enjoy thyself.’
Modern Dilettantism says, ‘Be broad—cultivate thyself.’
Christianity says, ‘Be Christlike—give thyself.’”

The Christ of the Indian Road by E. Stanley Jones is one of the books listed in the book 100 Christian Books That Changed the Century by William J. Peterson and Randy Peterson. SInce I’m planing a detailed study of the twentieth century sometime in the next couple of years, I think this book would be an excellent resource. In the meantime, here’s the list of 100 books. Of the 100, I’ve read 35 or so, dabbled in a few more. It looks like a good list of what influenced evangelical Christianity, in particular, for better or for worse.

War and Remembrance: Armistice Day

Nov11

This day was known as Armistice Day because the armistice ending World War I was signed on November 11, 1918 at 11 AM. On May 13, 1938, it became a legal holiday in the U.S. to be observed every November 11th. In 1954, many held that the heroic struggle of the veterans of World War II and Korea needed to be acknowledged. Therefore, the term “armistice” was removed and replaced with veteran. In other countries this day is known as Remembrance Day.

HERE DEAD WE LIE
Here dead we lie
Because we did not choose
To live and shame the land
From which we sprung.
Life, to be sure,
Is nothing much to lose,
But young men think it is,
And we were young.

by A E Housman

IF I should die, think only this of me:
That there’s some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England’s, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

by Rupert Brooke

Veteran’s Day is really for remembering and appreciating those who have served and protected us, those who are living and those who died. So this last poem is for those who didn’t die in war, but who served and loved and tried to bring us through war to peace.

Peace
by Henry Vaughan

My soul, there is a country
Far beyond the stars
Where stands a winged sentry
All skilful in the wars:
There, above noise and danger,
Sweet peace sits crowned with smiles,
And One born in a manger
Commands the beauteous files.
He is thy gracious friend,
And (O my soul, awake!)
Did in pure love descend
To die here for thy sake.
If thou canst get but thither,
There grows the flower of peace,
The rose that cannot wither,
Thy fortress, and thy ease.
Leave then thy foolish ranges;
For none can thee secure
But One, who never changes,
Thy God, thy life, thy cure.

Mr. Lincoln’s Boys Tell His Story

Oct24

Lincoln and His Boys by Rosemary Wells.

Me and Willie and Pa by F.N. Monjo.

Rosemary Wells’ fictionalized memoir of Abraham Lincoln and his sons, Willie and Tad, was nominated for a Cybil Award. So I read it. Of course, it reminded me of F.N. Monjo’s (out of print) classic in the same genre and with the same subject, Me and Willie and Pa, published in 1973. So I got that one down and re-read it.

Monjo’s book includes a lot more information. Neither book is very long. Me and Willie and Pa is 94 (large) pages long. The Wells book is 93 pages, but smaller. However, Monjo’s book has a lot more stories about the war and about Lincoln’s jokes and anecdotes. Although Ms. Wells probably has the right end of the stick, having Willie, then Tad tell only about those incidents and stories that a young boy would be interested in and know about, I must say as an adult I enjoyed reading Me and Willie and Tad more because of the extra information. Perhaps Lincoln and HIs Boys would be more appropriate to recommend to third and fourth graders, while Me and Willie and Pa could be given to fifth and sixth graders, although those age guidelines certainly aren’t hard and fast rules.

IMG_0365Both books present the same picture of Lincoln as a father, indulgent to a fault. He allowed his boys to invade cabinet meetings, play soldier by ordering guards around, and accompany him on visits to the troops. When either the politicians or Mary Lincoln complained that Mr. Lincoln was spoiling the boys, both books agree that Lincoln paid them no mind and continued to allow his sons the freedom to be rowdy, noisy, and spirited. We’ll never know if Lincoln’s indulgent child-rearing practices would have made Tad and Willie into strong, independent men or spoiled rotten brats. Willie died uirng Lincoln’s first term in office, and Tad died in Chicago three months after his eighteenth birthday. Maybe in light of their early deaths, it’s good to know that they had a very happy childhood and a loving father.

Mary Lincoln has always been a problematic character, and both books tell about her overwhelming grief after Willie’s death and about her free-spending ways in dressing and in decorating the White House. However, in Lincoln and His Boys, Mary Lincoln seems like a loving wife and mother and a well-meaning, if sometimes misunderstood, First Lady. Monjo’s portrayal includes a couple of stories that cast Mrs. Lincoln in a harsher light, including a story about her screaming in a jealous rage when Mr. Lincoln went out to review the troops alongside a pretty general’s wife.

Ms. Wells ends her story with President Lincoln and Tad in Richmond, Lincoln ordering the band to play “Dixie” because “it’s Federal property now.” Mr. Monjo ends his narrative with Lincoln’s assassination, and he has Tad ask the poignant question, “How could anyone want to hurt my Pa?”

I’d recommend either or both books for an introduction to Lincoln and the Civil War and for a tender story of a father who loved his sons and gave them the foundation of a father’s attention and joy in being with them. The stories about Lincoln and his relations with his family and with the people around him are always endearing and somewhat sentimental and heart-tugging. He was a complicated man (aren’t we all?), but these books present one aspect of his character quite well: his love for his young sons.

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