Someone said, “beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” Maybe the same is true for time.
If you opened last Sunday’s email newsletter from 10CAMELS, you read about the time I rode my bike into a phone pole, how that led to an eye exam and getting my first pair of glasses. Here’s a little more of the story.
After receiving notice that my glasses were ready, we arrived at the optometrist office as soon as they opened. I remember the technician pulling those violet red frames from a soft case and putting them on my face.
“How do they feel?” she asked.
“Weird,” I replied.
She held a card with letters in front of me and told me to read the lines. Those letters, like everything and everyone around me, were so clear. I had probably needed corrective lenses for a long time. I think I just thought that pages and people, screens and signs were supposed to be fuzzy.
Before leaving, she wanted to make sure the frames fit just right. I watched in amazement as she dipped the tips of the glasses into a container of hot sand and then bent them to sit snuggly, but not too tightly, behind my ears. That sand was magic. How could I heat the sand in my backyard or on the playground to make things bend?
I arrived to kindergarten about 30 minutes after the school day started. Totally enamored by the world now in my view I didn’t even realize I was late. I did what I always did after arriving to class. I put my coat and elephant book bag on the hook and went straight to the puzzle rack. Each day started with free time. We could choose any activity. Puzzles were usually my first choice.
I remember my teacher, who was not exceptionally warm or gentle, calling my name.
“Rebecca,” she said sternly. “Please find your seat.”
I was innocently oblivious to the fact that the day hadn’t stopped just because I was late after picking up my glasses. My whole world was different. I had those bright frames to show for it and no one really seemed to care. The only comments were from a few kids who called me “four eyes.”
These memories have been so vivid in the last week, probably due to my most recent visit to the optometrist office and the new progressive lenses resting on my face. More than glasses, the memories have me thinking about time.
Someone said, “beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” Maybe the same is true for time. Not in how we tell it, but rather how we hold it.
Tomorrow is the half birthday of Not My Grandmother’s Hymnal: Composing a Curious Faith. Six months have passed since my second book of poems was published. Depending on your circumstances or the season you’re in, six months can feel like a moment or a millennium. If you’re heartbroken, six months can feel like forever. If you’re waiting on something, six months can seem like torture. And in terms of half birthdays, honoring that a book has been alive for six months might seem silly. Yet that’s exactly what I plan to do.
While initially disappointed in the lack of enthusiasm by my kindergarten classmates, I didn’t let it stop my elation. I loved those glasses and the fresh lease on life they offered. Simple things became fantastic. Reading books, watching my favorite cartoons, observing people’s expressions and mannerisms, finally being able to play the license plate game in the car.
Imagination and curiosity are ways that, whatever our age, we can be childlike. I’m choosing to hold these six months with childlike gratitude, joy, and wonder, just like I chose puzzles for my free time activity each day of kindergarten. Because I love witnessing things bend together.
It took me more than three decades to be comfortable celebrating my own birthday. So, needless to say, it has taken some honest self-reflection to summon the courage to celebrate the half birthday of a book. At first, I thought this was something I needed to do. Now it’s actually something I want to do.
I’m not merely celebrating that these poems were published, but that I took a chance on putting these poems into the world. That I did a really hard thing in leaving the church and embarking on a journey of examining inherited faith and exploring what I truly believe.
I am celebrating the sands that magically turn moments into timeless words on a page. That bend pain into possibility. Shame into pride. Rejection into liberation. That help others recognize the promise of hope and potential for healing.
As a five-year-old, I learned that the world doesn’t stop for our celebrations. As a teenager and repeatedly as an adult, I have learned that the world doesn’t stop for our grief. Today, I’m learning that neither of these realities should stop our grieving or celebrating, or our doing whatever it is that our hearts are inviting us to do.
This celebration would not be possible without supporters like you. I am deeply grateful for your presence here at Wednesdays at the Well and all the other places you show up with affirmation, encouragement, and inquisitiveness.
As part of the celebration I have a small gift for you. It will be sent out in an email tomorrow, September 10th, the official half birthday of Not My Grandmother’s Hymnal. If you’re not already signed up for the 10CAMELS newsletter (different than Substack), click here to get your name on the list.
And while you’re opening your gift, I have plans to go play in the sand. Who knows what magic I might find. And probably write about.
Curiously and celebrating-ly yours, Rebecca
Invitation to Reflect
When is the last time you played in sand?
Or made some magic?
Or celebrated something others don’t even notice?
With Imagination and curiosity I’m stopping time to celebrate the half birthday of your book. May others join in this celebration…and keep your beautiful words coming!