I got an idea for a story yesterday, a small piece about Grace that I witnessed this week. (Will try to tell it in a minute.) I sighed deeply when the idea floated in, even as I said to God, Wow! thanks; cool. Im on it. I didnt say, I can knock this off in a few days, because Ive never, in forty years of doing this, knocked off one single piece. Everything takes me forever. Its all lurch, flail. I hope that is good news to you writers. And I didnt have any illusions that everyone will like it. The spiritually skeptical among my readers may skip it, or roll their eyes. Its not their cup of tea. With Stitches, which I began the day after the shootings at Newtown, I knew in my heart that many readers and critics would not want to read a book on the search for meaning, hope, repair. But it was on my heart. I have a young grandson, who is growing up in an era of school shootings, of regular footage on TV of polar bears floating away from their families on broken chunks of ice, of everyone of every age being on their smart phones and laptops all day, every day, texting, checking email. These are scary realities--for most people, not just me with my famously bad nerves. Do we pretend its not that big a deal? Or do we start to talk about it, as seekers, grandfathers, Aunties? How do we stay present and most of it, keep our senses of humor and hope? Several people who are deeply important to me have already said that Stitches is not the sort of book they would ever read. Literally, three of my closest friends. So now, six weeks away from publication, that makes me just a tiny tiny bit more anxious than the average bear. This brings us back to the best riddle of all time. Q: Whats the difference between you and God? A: God NEVER thinks Hes you. So write whats on your heart, even if your best friends wont love it. We are in the striving business but God is in the results business, so the exact right people will read/like my book, and yours; and you know what? This SOOO awful--the others wont. Heres the story I mentioned above: A gorgeous friend of mine has been joyously married for 50 years, to a man who was very sick the last two. They have many kids. (Sometimes my friend cant remember their exact order of birth, but she says, nonchalantly, Oh, but I know all their names by heart.). Her husband died Wednesday, and I stopped by their house Thursday. All of their grown kids were there, and her husbands brothers, and some riff-raff (ie, me.) The house was filled with flowers, food, a few of us. My friend was in bed, receiving visitors, telling and hearing stories about her husband, laughing, tearing up, nibbling at honeydew melon. While bending in low to give her my biggest dancing bear hug, I caused someone else to spill their coffee all over her beautiful sheets. I was so mad at myself, but she cried out happily, I hope it stains, so I can remember the beauty of this morning forever. And that is what we mean by grace, hope, charity.
Posted on: Sat, 14 Sep 2013 15:31:17 +0000
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