Owl Moon

I wish I knew who gave Andrew Owl Moon. Nancy probably remembers.

It’s the perfect bedtime book: large format, large pictures. And a perfect story for slowing down.

It’s the story of a little girl on a farm in mid-winter, awakened by her Pa to go owling. Owling is quiet work, bird watching at night. Owling is following work, little legs following long legs through the snow. Owling is waiting work, finding the clearing in the middle of the night.

The reader speaks softly, matching the deep blues of the picture and the silence of the night. The listener cuddles close, small body fitting into the footprint. The breathing of everyone slows.

Until the owl speaks. “Whoo who who who whoooooooo.” First in the voice of Pa calling, then in the voice of the dad in the chair. And then, hope against hope, in the owl flying large on the page, close through the clearing. And then the little girl is carried home, the boy is carried to bed.

We read it often, Andrew and I. This book he got near the time of the death of his sister if I remember right. It worked on us both . He, for all the normal reasons quiet books work to calm children for bed. Me, for the quiet reminder to show up and listen. Through a winter in my heart it worked and then a hope began to grow. in Nancy, and in me.

The book ends quietly: “When you go owling, you don’t need sounds or warm or anything but hope. That’s what Pa always says. The kind of hope that flies on silent wings under a shining Owl Moon.” And one night, I knew it was true.

“Her name is Hope,” I told Nancy. And she is.

Three years later.

We started this blog with great plans.
We were going to write about reading.
It was going to be great.

Every time I go to my Blogger dashboard I see this blog and wonder whether it will ever come to anything.
Today I decided that it is time to revive Hopeful Books.

The second post was supposed to be about the book that gave me my name.
But Dad has to be the one to write it, and I'm writing now, so this post will be about something else.
Mostly because I'm currently avoiding homework.
I have a story to write for one of my classes, and I've hit a bit of a roadblock.

I'm going to write about Narnia.
Because I love Narnia.

I don't remember the first time I followed Lucy through the wardrobe and into Mr. Tumnus' cave.
I can't think of a time when I didn't know the cruelty of The White Witch.
Or the danger of eating enchanted food.
Or the necessity of cleaning one's sword after killing a wolf.

I, like the world, first experienced Narnia through The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.
For many years, it was the only book in the series that I knew.

I think The Horse and His Boy was next, as it should be.
I made a diorama of that one sometime in elementary school.

I worked my way through The Magician's Nephew.
And learned to be careful when putting on rings.

I borrowed The Voyage of the Dawn Treader from the library at our old church and never gave it back.
It's somewhere at home. In a box from sophomore year, I'm sure.
The Last Battle was a similar situation.

I didn't read Prince Caspian or The Silver Chair until two summers ago.
The Summer of C.S. Lewis.
Or so I thought.
I had big dreams and poor planning.
I was going to read everything the man had ever written.
And then I didn't.

But I got all the way through Narnia.
From before the beginning to the very end, and after the end.
I heard the song that began it all.
And I went "further up and further in."
I sailed to the very end of the world.
I went underground.
I saw children become kings and queens, and was with them when they helped a prince take his rightful position.
I went to battle.
I watched the world fall apart and went through the door.

I sat on a chair at a lakeshore in New Hampshire and read for hours.
It was a wonderful summer.

I was thrilled to find that Dawn Treader was on my booklist for Novel two years ago.
And when I was given the responsibility of summarizing the plot for the class.
Easiest assignment ever.

And then, just over a month ago, it happened.

It was the 50% Off Labor Day Sale at Goodwill.
I went with about ten girls from my dorm, just to look around at what was there.
I am a sucker for a good deal and am in love with "hipster" style, so Goodwill is one of my favorite stores.

I found a few items, and was looking at the books to find some old classics to use for crafting.
(I know, "never destroy a book!" Blah blah blah.)
And then I saw it.

The Chronicles of Narnia.
The cover is a picture of Jadis from "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe."
I'm not generally a fan of movie pictures as book covers, but this was an exception.

The entire series, in one volume.
For $4, I believe.
Yeah, too good to pass up.

So, for the past month, I have been escaping into Narnia each night before falling asleep.
I finished The Magician's Nephew about a week and a half ago, and finished The Lion, the Witch, and The Wardrobe last night.
I woke up this morning and greeted Shasta and Bree.
I left them as they were coming upon Tashbaan.

It's like like seeing an old friend and spending hours catching up, telling all the old stories, never missing a beat.
It's like going back to the place you visited every summer when you were a child and feeling like you're six years old again.
It's like disappearing from reality to a place where everything ends up good, even though it doesn't always seem like that's possible.

My heart is happy.
And now I have to go to class.

Getting started

We have been readers, as far back as we can remember.

I, Jon, sat by the hedge as a child. I was supposed to be cleaning papers out of it. Instead, I was reading the papers.

Hope never had a hedge, but if she had, she would have been sitting, reading. Instead, she has spent hours in her room reading, hours on trips reading, hours everywhere reading.

The result? I still read and write. I try to shape words into stories into tears and laughter and knowing nods. I'm a pastor. Hope starts college in the fall, majoring in English education (and Spanish) and perhaps minoring in musical theatre. Apparently reading did something.

We spent time reading together, too, Hope on my lap or her mom's. When we traveled, the four of us listened to books on tape or CD. That's how we heard the Anne of Green Gables books and the Indian in the Cupboard series.

So we decided to start a blog talking about some of our favorite most hopeful books.

We'll talk books, dads and daughters, and whatever else shows up. And we will, without apology, have links to Hope's Amazon store. Because a girl's gotta pay for books somehow.

Coming soon: How Hope was named because of a book.