Sunny Side Up August 16, 2006 �2006, Kathleen Gibson Remember the best things I've memorized even the tiniest details about my sister's summer place on Nicola Lake in B.C. The way the wind whines down the long stretch of dark water and whips the waves to an airy froth that decorates the beach like lace; the chintz drapes she draws to shut out the glare of the setting sun; the cast iron woodstove in the corner, ablaze when the nights get cool; the tattered Canadian flag high atop the little mountain across the road, the awaiting Adirondack chairs perched on the shallow bluff overlooking the water; the demented border collie named Candy feverishly rounding up the boats, the waves, the gulls� Beverly and her husband Bruce call their vacation home 'the trottage', because of its hybrid construction - part trailer, part cottage. I spent a weekend there earlier this year. Pure bliss. Partly because of the charm of the place, surrounded as it is by God's fine artistry, but mostly because of the company. 'Piece of my heart', I call my sister. Bruce is part of her, so he's part of me too. "This meal isn't complete yet," I announced after we three had finished dinner on our first evening. Beverly and Bruce looked at me quizzically. "We haven't had Bruce's recitation yet," I explained. My brother-in-law remembers stuff too. He keeps in his magnificent mind, snippets - no, volumes - of poetry he memorized as a youngster, when students were encouraged to do such things. Among his favorites is the old poem Leetle Bateese - and don't get him started. He won't stop till all seven verses are complete. "YOU bad leetle boy, not moche you care, How busy you're kipin' your poor gran'-Pere�" Sometimes family and others who still appreciate old poetry call for a verse, but frequently the hidden words emerge unbidden, at times and for reasons even he doesn't understand. Like the day he washed our supper dishes in my kitchen. He began such a sorrowful utterance it startled me. I forget it exactly; something along the lines of "my heart, my poor heart, my broken heart�.. I sigh, and sigh and sigh." Rushing from another room, I asked what was wrong. He stood, suds up to his elbows. Grinning. "I just remembered that one," he said. "Must have been tucked away really deep." Bruce's childhood hours invested in memorizing have paid incredible dividends. I'd love such a repertoire - not only of poetry, but of scripture. Oh, I've memorized multiple single verses, and a few longer passages, but not enough. What a faith-builder it would be to access a deep inner arsenal of encouragement and instruction when the road is long and the way uncertain. I'm too old, I tell myself, usually. I think I'm wrong. I can memorize every detail of other stuff, so why not scripture? I'm going to try, beginning with Jesus' Sermon on the Mount - Matthew 5, 6, and 7. I'm aiming for six months. Care to join me? If so, email me. We'll check up on each other. Respond Home |
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