Maria von Trapp - Beyond The Sound of Music by Candice F. Ransom

 Leonard surprised me by ordering this hardbound, school book from 2002 complete with clear black and white photographs from Maria's life. It was written as a kind of easy reader, I think. I read it a couple of hours and thoroughly enjoyed it.

I am so familiar with the movie and play versions of the story that it was fascinating to read about what REALLY went on Maria's life. She was a hard worker with an undying energy for family unity and family success. There were obstacles all along the way...

It was fun to imagine this large blended family surmounting so many trials after they emigrated to America and began touring. I imagine there must be a lot of people still alive who saw them or who went to their Vermont music camp back in the 1950's. It was also interesting to read about how Mary Martin's husband convinced Maria that letting her book become a Broadway play would earn the family much needed money. Maria attended opening night in 1959, and although the critics found it to be "too sweet," audiences loved it and it ran for four and a half years!

Next, Hollywood made a film version of her life that opened in 1965 starring Julie Andrews and Christopher Plummer. I remember seeing it not long after it came out and probably strengthened my interest in all things German. I loved the story and the music and we Kublers memorized the soundtrack. What I didn't know is that Maria herself, and her daughter Rosmarie, and her granddaughter Barbara can be seen strolling in the background during Julie Andrews's "I Have Confidence" song. 

This new interest in getting the book was spurred by Len buying us tickets to see a performance of the show LIVE in Cedar City, UT, at this summer's Shakespeare Festival. We enjoyed it but were puzzled about the casting of a black Maria. She had a beautiful voice but her "soulful" movements were awkward from a supposedly Austrian character. I'm not comfortable admitting this. But it's history and it stood out to me. True, all the white performers probably stand out to black audiences, so I am willing to say I could be small minded about this. 

All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr

When I was in Napa for the 60th anniversary of Kublers on the ranch, I got ample time to talk books with both Jane and Ann. It's always interesting to hear their take on things, and often their taste in books is different from each other. But they both recommended this book to me; they agreed it was well worth reading. And so I ordered it and just got to it this past week.

It was a little confusing to me at first; the plot unfolds from different points in the past. You, as the reader, ask yourself why things got to this point before you read the why. It's an effective foreshadowing technique, but it took me awhile to catch on to it. The switch, by chapter, of telling the story was easier to follow. Both the young German boy and the young French girl had fascinating lives that were beautifully revealed through metaphor, example, and conversations. The writing of this author is not exactly what I would call poetic; I would call it arresting and beautiful. Filled with light...that metaphor plays out consistently and with a great deal of variety.

I love interesting characters and this story delivers them in multitudes. It also re-illuminated for me why the French cannot tolerate the Germans, even to this day. One time I was speaking German to my French friend in Paris, and the people in the cafe became incensed. Of course this was the 1970's; perhaps it's different now? But this story helped me remember the deep resentment the French harbor against the Germans, and what caused it.

I also enjoyed the way Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea was a recurring theme in the story, and snippets were quoted in the book. Of course I always enjoy French and German language phrases, and these were easily understandable I admired the way the author portrayed the young German fighting his conscience and how he emerged courageously at the end. The bravery of the French girl and her resourcefulness were also so admirable. I loved her great uncle Etienne, and his struggle with extreme anxiety and agoraphobia. I loved so much about this story...even though it was set in a harsh time with very tough challenges...I'm not sure I would want to take it on again...all of the pain and the suspense and the hunger are not peace-inducing to someone like me who likes to read before sleeping! Yet this story was compelling, beautiful, and worth the struggle to read, despite the hardships so vividly described.

The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom with John and Elizabeth Sherrill

I have heard this author and this book quoted many, many times. I knew it was set in World War II Holland and Germany and dealt with forgiveness, but that was about it. I first read The Diary of Anne Frank as a girl, and so I've had a long interest in the Jews and their hiding and extermination.

This story begins with Corrie describing her warm and wonderful early family life in a Dutch town. Her description of her aunts, siblings, and especially her mother and father paint a rich and inspiring picture of family love, faith, and devotion. When Corrie is disappointed in a love relationship, she writes:

How long I lay on my bed sobbing for the one love of my life I do not know. Later, I heard Father's footsteps coming up the stairs. For a moment I was a little girl again waiting for him to tuck the blankets tight. But this was a hurt that no blanket could shut out, and suddenly I was afraid of what Father would say. Afraid he would say, "There'll be someone else soon," and that forever afterward this untruth would lie between us. For in some deep part of me I knew already that there would not--soon or ever--be anyone else. 

The sweet cigar-smell came into the room with Father. And of course he did say the false, idle words. 

"Corrie," he began instead, "do you know what hurts so very much? It's love. Love is the strongest force in the world, and when it is blocked that means pain.

"There are two things we can do when this happens, We can kill the love so that it stops hurting. But then of course part of us dies, too. Or, Corrie, we can ask God to open up another route for that love to travel.

"God loves Karel--even more than you do--and if you ask Him, He will give you His love for this man, a love nothing can prevent, nothing destroy. Whenever we cannot love in the old, human way, Corrie, God can give us the perfect way."

I did not know, as I listened to Father's footsteps winding back down the stairs, that he had given me more than the key to this hard moment. I did not know that he had put into my hands the secret that would open far darker rooms than this--places where there was not, on a human level, anything to love at all.

I was still in kindergarten in these matters of love. My task just then was to give up my feeling for Karel without giving up the joy and wonder that had grown with it. And so, that very hour, lying there on my bed, I whispered the enormous prayer:

"Lord, I give to You the way I feel about Karel, my thoughts about our future--oh, You know! Everything! Give me Your way of seeing Karel instead. Help me to love him that way. That much. And even as I said the words I fell asleep. 

It will take me some time and thought and prayer to truly understand what she is saying here. I begin to grasp it and it slips away from me...but it's a star to reach for. Other parts, near the end of the story are equally moving and build on this divine love theme...

(Page 194 forwards)
It grew harder and harder. Even within these four walls there was too much misery, too much seemingly pointless suffering. Every day something else failed to make sense, something grew too heavy. "Will You carry this too, Lord Jesus?"

But as the rest of the world grew stranger, one thing became increasingly clear. And that was the reason the two of us were here. Why others should suffer we were not shown. As for us, from morning until lights-out, whenever we were not in ranks for roll call, our Bible was the center of an ever-widening circle of help and hope. Like waifs clustered around a blazing fire, we gathered about it, holding out our hearts to its warmth and light. The blacker the night around us grew, the brighter and truer and more beautiful burned the word of God. "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?...Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerers through him that loved us."

I would look about us as Betsie read, watching the light leap from face to face. More than conquerers.... It was not a wish. It was a fact. We knew it, we experienced it minute by minute--poor, hated, hungry. We are more than conquerors. Not "we shall be." We are! Life in Ravensbruck took place on two separate levels, mutually impossible. One, the observable, external life, grew every day more horrible. The other, the life we lived with God, grew daily better, truth upon truth, glory upon glory.

Sometimes I would slip the Bible from its little sack with hands that shook, so mysterious had it become to me. It was new; it had just been written. I marveled sometimes that the ink was dry. I had believed the Bible always, but reading it now had nothing to do with belief. It was simply a description of the way thigs were--of hell and heaven, of how men act and how God acts. I had read a thousand times the story of Jesus' arrest--how soldiers had slapped Him, laughed at Him, flogged Him. Now such happenings had faces and voices. 

And from page 201:

Back at the barracks we formed yet another line--would there never be an end to columns and waits?--to receive our ladle of turnip soup in the center room. Then, as quickly as we could for the press of people, Betsie and I made our way to the rear of the dormitory room where we held our worship "service." Around our own platform area there was not enough light to read the Bible, but back here a small light bulb cast a wan yellow circle on the wall, and here an even larger group of women gathered. 

They were services like no others, these times in Barracks 28. A single meeting night might include a recital of the Magnificat in Latin by a group of Roman Catholics a whispered hymn by some Lutherans, and a sotto-voce chant by Eastern Orthodox women. With each moment the crowd around us would swell, packing the nearby platforms, hanging over the edges, until the high structures groaned and swayed.

At last either Betsie or I would open the Bible Because only the Hollanders could understand the Dutch text we would translate aloud in German. And then we would hear the life-giving words passed back along the aisles in French, Polish, Russian, Czech, back into Dutch. They were little previews of heaven, these evenings beneath the lightbulb. I would think of Haarlem, each substantial church set behind its wrought-iron fence and its barrier of doctrine. And I would know again that in darkness God's truth shines most clear. 

As I ponder the beauty of these descriptions, I can't help but feel guilty for how little I value my scriptures sometimes! Sometimes I take them for granted, sometimes I don't bother to ask the Holy Spirit how they apply to me...sometimes my eyes just graze over the words! This book helped me understand how valuable and life-giving scripture can be to one's very survival. I wouldn't say my life was easy, but compared to this life in a concentration camp, it certainly is! I know I rely more heavily on the Lord in times of trouble; my challenge is to rely on Him at all times... to always be meek and lowly and to remember Him.

This morning I'm watching the snow lightly fall in the Canyon as I sit at my desk in complete warmth and comfort. May I always value this lovely scene and gift from God. May I never take my creature comforts for granted or as something I deserve!!!  This week I had the gift of saying goodbye to Midge Greathouse. Her daughter called Mary shortly after her death, so when we arrived, her hands and head were still warm. As we softly talked and recalled our sweet experiences with her, she grew cooler. It was so apparent that her spirit was long gone. I loved how the nurse told us that she felt there were angels attending and welcoming Midge into the Spirit world as she departed. This nurse had had many experiences like this, and told how she felt Midge was surrounded by great love and many, many welcoming spirits. Midge was meek and lowly, devoted to her family, and to the Church. Her scriptures are falling apart with notes, highlighting, and sticky notes. This is a woman who was true to her word in her deeds... It's pretty humbling to remember all that I have been blessed with, and yet, haven't perhaps shown my gratitude as I should. Midge's life was hard...and maybe our comforts are no gift!? I'm grateful for this morning's reflection time and feel grateful to move out into this snowy day with a grateful heart.