Sally Gerard

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As a writer, I write in order to bring hope and light to readers. I write from a place that no one else can, and yes, that’s true for everyone. I read stories and can’t help but think about how the writer constructed them. I experience people and places and consider the various story lines that might come from them.

I see the little house finch on my feeder and wonder what he could reveal from his travels and his tiny little bird’s eye view. And when he ducks into the lilac bushes, what magical world is unfolding there?

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At the dance on Saturday night, there was a lovely couple who danced almost every dance together, but who were also open to dancing with others. They were a grandmother and grandson and it was such grace to see into their world of love. She wanted to be sure he knew how to dance, and he was all long legs and willingness. And as the evening slid from dance-to-dance, he began to count the beats less and find his rhythm. His smile told a story to be sure.

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My students have been reading Antigone and debating the fate vs. predestination vs. chance vs. choice arguments. The discussion circles around until it is difficult to tell one concept from another. Once they have decided what the characters believe, they are to try to relate it to today’s world and their own beliefs.

Then the conversation gets really interesting. These thirteen and fourteen-year olds are certain about how things work in their lives, but then it gets all fuddled up and circles around again when one of them adds some new observation. Are we doomed to fate? Are we simply following a well-crafted plan that we can’t escape? Are we just moving from one thing to the next haphazardly? Do we have any choice?

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I don’t have the answers. But I love the exchange and the way they make me think and reexamine. And ultimately, looking at the some of the choices I’ve made, I’m fairly certain that they were my own darn fault. However, next time I order double dessert, I’m most definitely going to blame it on predestination!

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Out of the ashes. Many things rise out of the ashes. The phoenix, of course, rises from the ashes with new life. Islands are formed out of the ashes of volcanoes. When fire and destruction come, we find strength and hope in each other and we rise up to begin again. It doesn’t always happen in a moment. We need time to find our way again, to struggle through the grey clouds, to step around the smoldering embers of what we had to leave behind.

And we cannot, need not, struggle alone, though we often do. Where can we turn? Who will understand? We tell ourselves that no one wants to hear our troubles. No one else seems to be struggling. So, what are we to do? I believe that we are never alone. Like it or not, God is with us. And all we need to do is get up each day, breathe, do what is necessary and from there, do what is possible.

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We can be the smile that someone desperately needs. We can be the hand reaching out to help carry the load. We can be the heart that listens without judgement. We can be there to sooth wounds, provide transportation, share a cup of coffee and cookies, or simply sit in silent company.

Out of the ashes, we rise together and walk, and the view is all the sweeter for having shared it.

Pulling up to the National Cathedral is one of those experiences where you are just in awe. The outside of the building, complete with gargoyles and intricate gothic detail brought Raphael and the Noble Task by Catherine Salton back from a long-ago trip to the mountains, reading out loud with my kids, lost in story. The main character is a griffin who is supposed to guard the Cathedral and keep it from harm.

And then we entered this incredible place, conceived by General George Washington as a place where a new nation would receive all, no matter what their religion, into a place of worship. The light on this particular day was coming in through the many stained-glass windows erupting in a color show to rival any fireworks display, drawing the eyes up, away from self, to a place of glory and peace. I would happily have simply lay on the floor of that great nave and gazed heavenward for hours.

A lovely volunteer took us around and gave us as much information as we could take in about how it was built, why, with what materials, how it became Episcopalian but maintains its mission to welcome all, and all the elements that had to come together to make it happen. We walked through beautiful chapels, walked beside the pulpit where Martin Luther King Jr. preached, went down into the crypt where Hellen Keller is entombed, and up to the 7^th floor to look out to see the Washington Monument off in the distance. It is an experience not to be missed and set a tone of reverence in us as we made our way back to DC that evening.

We’ve been traveling this week for the first time in a long time. I had a tour of the offices for the company I’ve been teaching for online for about eight years. Putting a face to the faces I’ve only known on the computer was wonderful. I met a team of teachers from south Texas too, who are remarkable for the work they are doing with kids there in very difficult circumstances.

Touring DC has been amazing. But there is so much to see and experience here and there is no possible way to fit it all in. Watching the changing of the guard was incredible; the respect that is given those who have fallen and especially those who have never been identified.

Standing at the feet of President Lincoln and reading the words of the Gettysburg Address, and the 2nd Inaugural Address made my breath catch, to think about our history. It is incredible to think about how far we’ve come and where we are going, and to see that expanse of water and remember all the people who have gathered there, filling up the space with their combined voices to move our country forward.

There are days when I am simply dumbfounded by all there is to accomplish, all there is to be and to do, all there is to notice and be thankful for, all there is to miss, all there is.

The thin ice spread out with those thin whitish layers begging to be crunched, baby calves running and bucking all rascally and long-legged needing to be noticed, a warm sun to shine on my face after days of grey cold fog, and the deep connections with others that I am loathe to leave.

On the screen of my lap top, center of my days, my novella revisions feel like they are dragging along, my students submit their work in cycles throughout the day for grading, emails from students, parents, and peers cannot wait too long, respond to discussions, edit some more, look for sources for the kids researching various topics: wars, great women in history, and why we should adopt pets.

But take just one quiet early-morning moment for my own reflections. Lent-a time for introspection and small changes, searching for that best self I am supposed to be. Mom. Writer. Teacher. Wife. Friend. Caretaker. Sister. Student. Runner. Rider.

I’d love your comments on: Point of View…which of these two versions do you relate to more? Why?

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Close third person so we hear Marlee’s inner voice:

When the congregation stood for the final blessing with their heads bowed, Marlee ducked out of the row and scooted up the aisle and out the door. Coward!I had to get out while the getting was good. Walking over to Frankie’s car, she leaned on the hood and cursed herself for agreeing to come. If she had a couple of days and some water, she would have just set off down the backroads and walked home.

Frankie, Heather, and Eli finally made their way out of church and over to Marlee. You’ve got to be kidding me. Yah, you aren’t catching any breaks today.

“Marlee, I’d like you to meet Pastor Alec.” Eli leveled a look that Marlee knew meant “you better be polite.”

“Just Alec. Marlee, nice to meet you.” He reached a hand toward her.

Taking it in hers and shaking briefly, Marlee said, “Nice to meet you too, Alec.”

Awkward silence.

“Pastor’s coming to lunch with us.” Again, the dad look was aimed at Marlee.

“Great. That’s great.” Marlee said this as she narrowed her own eyes back at her father.

Or:

First person so we still hear her voice but without needing that second inner voice so to speak.

When the congregation stood for the final blessing with their heads bowed, I ducked out of the row, scooted up the aisle and escaped out the door! Maybe I was a coward, but I had to get out of there before everyone started blocking the rows talking after the service.

I walked over to Frankie’s car and leaned on the hood, cursing myself for ever agreeing to come. If only I had some water and two days head start, I’d just walk home on the backroads.

When they finally came out of the church, I couldn’t believe it. No way is dad doing this to me.

“Marlee, I’d like you to meet Pastor Alec.” Eli leveled a look at me that I knew meant I better be polite.

“Just Alec. Marlee, nice to meet you.” He reached a hand toward me.

I shook it briefly. “Nice to meet you too, Alec.”

Awkward silence.

“Pastor’s coming to lunch with us.” Again, dad sent me the look.

“Great. That’s great.” I said and narrowed my eyes right back at him.

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Why do you need a second master’s degree? This is a question I’ve been asked more than once. Why am I taking on student loan debt at this point in my life?

My last ten-week capstone course is in week six right now. I’m piecing together all of the learning over the last two and half years as I’ve slowly pursued this degree in Professional Creative Writing. Before I began at DU, all I knew was that I wanted to learn more about being a writer in some kind of writing program. I applied, sent in my writing samples, and was accepted. And so, it began and has been incredible.

Why? Because if I hadn’t, I’d be longing to still. Because I needed to study, learn, write, and belong to a committed community of writers. Because my sister told me that our mom would have encouraged me to go for it. Because from day one of class one, I’ve been hooked, enthralled, energized, challenged, and completely at home with where I started and where I am now. More to come…graduation in June.