A very interesting book indeed. The plot unfolds slowly, but leaves you interested. As does the writing by Jacobson. Eloquent yet easy to follow. Like most dystopian style books, this story is not one that is quite hopeful, but instead points in a direction that we all imagine at some point if we keep on with our destructive ways. Definitely a good read!
*I received this book from blogginforbooks.com and am completing this review for them.
Sometimes…
Sometimes like just down out sucks.
Sometimes you wake up in the morning and the sun is shining beautifully. You have a nice cup of tea with a hopeful message to waken up your day. You spend the morning in bed being studious but also very comfortable.
And then life starts to suck.
You are rejected.
You feel scared. Hopeless. All the towers start to crumble. All the hard tears start to fluidly stream down your face. You question everything you have to do, its purpose, its relevance, its necessity to your life. You wonder if you shouldn’t just give it all up because that one tower made the rest fall.
Then… then you get to go to sleep. And hopefully then… then you will wake up tomorrow and the sun will be shining beautifully again. And even if it is not maybe you will drink a nice warm cup of tea with a hopeful message. And even if you don’t, maybe you will get the courage and the strength to pick up a single, small piece of one of those towers, brush it off and start a new day with a clearer outlook.
You might see the WHOLE WORLD of possibilities of where you could go. You might not exclude yourself to one tiny box as you had been before. You might start to explore. You might let yourself relax, learn, be a gateway and a light for new things. You might run away..or you might stay right where you are.
But maybe life won’t suck so much.
Even though sometimes it does.
I feel so fortunate!! There is an awesome website called bloggingforbooks.org that literally sends you free books if you will read it and write a review. I signed up back in August or September and am only now finishing my first book to review. (School gets in the way of everything!) I was surprisingly able to really commit to reading this book during the end of this past school semester and during Winter break. So here goes my first ever book review…
Anna Whiston-Donaldson is a lady I can truly admire. Her memoir titled Rare Bird tells the horrifying story of her son’s tragic death and the day in, day out struggle of her and her family to stayed glued together. I chose this book because it was listed under the “faith” category and recently I have been wanting to 1) commit more to my faith as a Christian and 2) read some literary other than the Bible to help me do so.
To be honest, this book wasn’t easy to read. Not because Donaldson is only a fine writer, but because of the sad story she has to tell. I myself am only a 22-year-old college student, but I found myself relating to the author. She has a very real and raw approach to her story. She loves God but isn’t afraid to curse if that is how she needs to express herself. She can recognize the different ways that she, her husband, and their young daughter each deal with grief differently. She makes you think. Or at least she made me think. I lost a best friend almost 3 years ago as a freshmen in college. She was killed in a car accident and even though we hadn’t talked much since we both graduated from High School and went our separate ways, the intensity of emotions that hit me when I found out was nothing short of raw and real. It only takes a few seconds and words for your world to become flipped completely upside down. This is the same truth that Donaldson finds when her son so tragically drowns in the creek on a seemingly innocent evening. This small connection of loss made me think of how I approached grief and how I found God through my grief and search for something real.
What can bring peace and comfort to a person grieving the loss of someone – of their only son? God. He is so great and mighty and although he sets everything in motion, he can also bring us comfort when and how we need it. It is so awesome to hear how Jack (the son) still lives on even after death. His voice and actions still ring loud and clear in the almost supernatural signs he gives to this family and their friends after his death. It couldn’t be but from the grace of God that Jack still spoke to them and that this family stayed together despite it all.
Donaldson has found what so many others find when they lose someone they love; that even death cannot separate us from those we love. There are two lovely quotes out there that I hold onto when I need to be reminded of this and I will leave them with you. Maybe they will provide comfort to you presently or in the future when you find yourself wounded from losing someone so close to you.
“…the ones that love us never really leave us.” ~Sirius Black, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
“No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord” Romans 8:37-39
My job requires me to type. My schooling requires me to write a lot. Conversing with friends via facebook or text message requires me to craft responses and to submit requests and answer questions. I am bombarded by words. So many times I wish I could stop looking at a screen, yet typing is the most convenient form of writing. I like to see my own handwriting, but that makes my hand cramp a lot quicker and I often time lose track of my thoughts since I cannot write quickly legibly. Maybe that is what I need though. To slow down. Maybe that is what we all need. To master the art of handwriting, of crafting personal notes and letters, of not always publishing everything we write to the world, but keeping it for ourselves – to come back and reflect on later, edit, revise, digest, reevaluate, then to maybe publish. Or maybe we need an outlet that is all ours. One that only we really would care about reading later.
I start a lot of sentences lately “So I was thinking…”. When I say this to my boyfriend he often rolls his eyes. However, most of these statements are really profound to me. Maybe they are simple, “duh” moments, but they have a large impact on my way of seeing things or thinking. What is wrong with this? Does this deserve an eye roll? Either way, my schooling and work has allowed me a bit more time to reflect and I appreciate that. Even though I feel bombarded with words, all these words that I am seeing and hearing are allowing me to understand myself and the world I live in a bit better.
And then there is the opposite of words: silence. But there is never really true silence. There may be no music, no sound of an electrical device or heating unit, no voices, instruments, or nature sounds and yet there is still my mind. Even when I try to make it whisper I cannot escape its voice. The thoughts that are always roaming around; like waves washing up on a shore always pulling new things in with the tide. Often times the tide takes me much further out than I want to be or even to a whole different shore and I get lost in my own thoughts. Is it not scary how much I can think and how useless most of it can be?
Shhhhh…
Shhhhhh..
I wish I could go live on a mountain, drink tea and read books. It would be snowing outside, but I wouldn’t have to go outside. I could just enjoy it from my window, watching the snowflakes gracefully dance around until they find their home on the group or window sill. I would sit by the fire and savor a cup of cinnamon tea while wearing fuzzy socks and a flannel shirt. I would spend my days cooking, eating, reading, crocheting, watching movies and shows, listening to indie music (or really whatever was in my fancy at the moment), sewing, writing, painting, studying (maybe..only what I wanted), and developing new skills. I would read how-to books on different crafts, housework (such as fixing things – leaky faucets, broken toilets, etc), the history of foods and colors and significant people, and maybe even read a book or two that would simply bring back my desire to live in another world. I could imagine that I lived in Narnia, letting my front door be the wardrobe and the snow my cold welcome. I could imagine that I am a witch, practicing my potions by mixing flour, eggs, and milk to bake cakes and cookies. I could create scenes of love stories, my prince coming to find me, or better yet me coming to rescue him. Am I alone in my cabin? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I am waiting for someone to come in the door. Maybe I am waiting for someone to wake up. Maybe I just need to be by myself, my thoughts, and a solo mug of tea.
Words. They are sometimes the bridge between our thoughts and our actions and other times the things that keep us from expressing ourselves fully. How can we express ourselves without them? Truly and fully? We could use our bodies and actions and efforts to an extent but how would someone know our intention, desires, needs, aspirations, dreams, hopes, values, and so much more without a few words? A wordless world is one I cannot yet imagine.
Post written on Nov. 13, 2014
Post published on Dec. 22, 2014
I am so amazed by the strength that people have. I cannot imagine the gory, bloody, heart wrenching experiences that others have had to face.
And they can sit at a table with friends and find the peace within themselves to be happy. To not accept that every moment is as horrible as those when they are face-to-face with their demons.
They slip up. They have others judge and evaluate and worry for them. They cause grief along their pathway. There is a residue of destruction that can follow them.
But they find the heart to patch up that path. To clear it and to say “THAT IS NOT ME”
That is someone who has hurt me. That is something that I had no power over. That is something that I cannot understand, but God will get me through.
I can only superficially feel their pain. I can only pray that I never experience it any deeper than that. I can only open my arms to those friends.
When you cannot even escape your worst fears in your dreams, where do you turn to for solitude? Where do you find tranquility? Is it in the space of a notebook; in the corner of a coffee shop; under a warm cover? What can comfort in a time when there seems to be no hope?
Where do you find the love and strength and power to repair your broken heart and mind and soul…
Poem written on Feb. 22, 2014
Poem published on Nov. 11, 2014
typing aloud 