nine-year-old – Jerry Lout ⚬ Writer ⚬ Speaker ⚬ Mobilizer

Puzzling or Amusing, which is it? Both perhaps. . .

Cross-cultural workers meet up with any number of puzzlements, leaving one off balance enough to keep the journey intriguing.

The slight-of-body PhD scholar smiled sheepishly as he related a kind of tug-of-war he was in with their nine-year-old daughter.

“Jerry, you know that Bible for children, the one with many pictures that you gave us?”

Noting my nod, Mr. Tang went on. . .

“Well, my daughter and I, we fight over it. She finds the book very interesting, and so do I! So, when she is reading it, I want to read it, and also the other way around.”

For those like me, not raised in a society where the world’s most popular (international best-seller-book ever) is virtually a banned product, the reaction is astonishment.

It is remarkable really. How could a brilliant scholar with multiple degrees to his name find such a widespread piece of famous literature nearly inaccessible?

The entrance of your word gives light*

At Mr. Tang’s tug-of-war description, I couldn’t help smile. The mental image of a distinguished petroleum engineer husband and father pitted in a feisty back-and-forth with his fourth-grade daughter over the Holy Bible. Amusing to be sure. Yet, moments later the weightier, more sobering implication settled in.

Here is nine-year-old Angie, brought by her warm-hearted and, yes, atheist parents to the Land of the Free.

Angie (perhaps from simple curiosity at this point) yearns to take in the stories of God and Jesus. This, while her mother and father – grappling with the thousand adjustments called for in adapting to a new land and culture – carry their own yearnings. Daddy himself nurtures an appetite of some kind or other sufficient to sneak in bits of Bible reading during moments when his daughter isn’t on guard.

Can this household – others as well – be gently introduced to further samplings of the life-giving Word? Lead us, Father.

You did what? My body, settled in the wheelchair, jumped a little. The doctor’s tone was sharp. He was not pleased.

Who told you to stand up?

It was Monday in what would become my final month at Hillcrest Hospital.

I had been at our Okmulgee home for a rare weekend visit. Sunday afternoon I rested on a living room sofa while mom busied herself in the kitchen.

A thought from nowhere suddenly stirred me.

Try your legs. Stand up. For a few seconds I gazed at my limbs. They hadn’t supported my body for months. What if. . ?

Why not?

I wobbled upward, drawing support from the sofa arm. Once fully upright I leaned against the nearest wall. Steadying myself I called out, Mother. Mother! She released her dish towel and it landed on the floor. Some quick steps from the kitchen and she was with me. She steadied me a little. Then we stood together. Just standing without movement. Upright. My mom and I looked down and took in my spindly legs. Astonished.

Not accustomed to bearing weight, my legs quivered and Mother lowered me again to the sofa. It was then I smiled. Eager to tell the nurses – and the doctor. And Monday came.

Being a youngster, I had been scolded over a generous number of misdeeds before. But never rebuked for trying to walk. Scolded for using my limbs – by a person whose job it was to restore their use? The thought bewildered me.

I saw later that recovery usually requires process. To put weight on my limbs too soon and without proper oversight could hurt – even ruin – any hope for recovery. Inside though, I couldn’t quiet the rush of emotion. I would soon walk. Walk.

Running with Meaning

In the first blog post of this series, Running with Meaning, I spoke of my dad having a limp of sorts – disadvantages in life. Then the idea of California, notions of work there, a place for beginning a family; these possessed his thoughts. Some why not dreams stirred in Clyde Baxter.

Perhaps you are meeting with hardship, illness or work troubles. Relational pain; maybe a personal struggle.

I think it can serve us well to look about (in my instance a new look at a pair of nine-year-old inactive legs). And to look up. Hope comes from a place beyond ourselves. Up.

We revisit Opaline – the angel of a shared affliction – and her narrative soon. Faith marked her journey – differently in some ways than mine. Still with wonder. And surprise.

Why not?

Tag: nine-year-old

Taste Sampler

Standing already. Why Not?