A chronicle of my readings

As a child, my sister and I would each get to pick a book to read before taking our afternoon naps with my mother. We would climb up in her bed and hide under the covers with our books. I would try to lay so flat and quiet that she couldn't hear me under the covers. Of course, my mother always knew we were hiding under there, but she would calmly pretend we were not there yet. She would call for us down the hall to hurry with our books, and we would happily pop up from under the covers and "surprise" her. Then, she would read our books. Sometimes she would read both of them, sometimes we had to pick one. We had Berenstain Bears, Amelia Bedelia, Curious George, Where's Waldo?, Blueberries for Sal, Corduroy, and more. My mother loved the illustrations in children's books, and our library was often full of books by author/ illustrators. The drawings and stories of Eric Carle, Leo Lionni and Jan Brett instantly take me back to my childhood. My favorites were the adventure stories like Harold and the Purple Crayon, The Big Hungry Bear, or If You Give A Mouse A Cookie. The pictures were big and the colors were bright. I remember wishing my world could be like the worlds that these characters lived in. I wanted to have the purple crayon like Harold and draw my own adventure. I do not have any memory of learning how to read, but I do know that once I did, I found the library so much more exciting. I could imagine and explore the places these books talked about instead of just flipping through the pictures. The stories were more in- depth and detailed.


But, before we could read, it was the pictures that made the stories come alive. My sister and I would curl up on either side of the mother closely listening and following along as she turned the pages. We had to keep an eye on her because she would drift off sometimes, and her words would slur or turn into a mumble. The hardest book for her to read was the Book of Virtues, though not for it's content or length, but for it's weight. As a child I never realized that the naps we took were actually for the purpose of my mother's rest, and when we chose the big Book of Virtues, my poor, tired mother had to hold that heavy book and read the stories until we (or really, she) feel asleep.


Shel Silverstein’s Where the Sidewalk Ends is a memorable book to me. I remember picking it up time and time again just hoping to find some poem I had missed. And I’ll never forget the title, so creative and visual. Silverstein writes with an energy that is sincere and completely childish in a most desirable way.

Where the Sidewalk Ends

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To the cool peppermint wind.


Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.


Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

It was around the fifth grade when I discovered my love of Nancy Drew. This mystery series captured my attention faster than anything else. I practically idolized Nancy. She was an amateur detective who was intelligent, cute and of course, very clever. She had loyal friends and a wonderful beau, Ned Nickerson. It was everything a young adolescent could hope for. The mysteries were fascinating, and I loved how they took me to different places. I read all 64 books in the series, and I owe my love of mystery and intrigue to the inspiring writing of Carolyn Keene.


In ninth grade, my friend introduced me to Francine Rivers' trilogy, The Mark of the Lion. It is Christian historical fiction and follows the life of Hadassah, a young slave girl in Rome. This was one of the first books where I could attach and relate to the characters. More than the story itself, I was drawn into the lives of these people and what they were experiencing with each other and the world around them. Rivers creates her characters as real people searching for truth in a tormented and broken world. A Voice In the Wind, the first of The Mark of the Lion series, was only the first of Francine Rivers books that I read.

I could not begin this blog properly without introducing my favorite book. Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers changed my view of life and introduced me to the power of God’s love. She tells the story of Hosea and Gomer from the book of Hosea in the Old Testament, but this story is set in California during the Gold Rush. The story is about Angel, a woman sold into prostitution as a child. Through hurt and pain but ultimately redemption, her story reveals the power of God's unrelenting love. It is the one book I highly recommend without hesitation.

These are a few of the beginnings that whetted my appetite for books. I have come a long way since Berenstain Bears and Nancy Drew, and thankfully my choice in books has widened and grown in variety. I read fiction and non-fiction and I am always eager for good recommendation. I keep a book journal, list and record book. Please know that any comments, questions, or criticisms are welcome on this blog.