“This question of the meaning of being, and dying and being, is behind the telling of stories around tribal fires at night; behind the drawing of animals on the walls of caves; the singing of melodies of love in spring, and of the death of green in autumn. It is part of the deepest longing of the human psyche, a recurrent ache in the hearts of all God’s creatures.”
— Madeleine L’Engle, Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art
“Recurrent ache” is the only way to describe what I felt in my bones as I read and processed Madeleine L’Engle’s Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art.
The book was published in 1972, but it didn’t find its way into my life until 2017. I was years-deep in my love for Madeleine, fueled mostly by the Time series and The Crosswicks Journals. In Madeleine I’d found a kindred spirit and a mentor. Someone who thought deeply about her faith in Jesus and wasn’t afraid to wrestle with it. Someone who saw compassion and empathy as powerful. Still today, whenever I read something she wrote, I experience what C.S. Lewis describes as friendship being born: “What! You too? I thought I was the only one.”
I don’t remember how Walking on Water landed in my lap. Did I buy it myself? Maybe someone sent it to me? Regardless, it changed my life. I’m not an artist, but I am a creator, and this book helped me understand that. As Madeleine says, “What do I mean by creators? Not only artists, whose acts of creation are the obvious ones of working with paint or clay or words. Creativity is a way of living life, no matter our vocation or how we earn our living.” And later: “God is constantly creating, in us, through us, with us, and to co-create with God is our human calling.”
I can’t tell you how much I needed to hear that.
And after hearing it, I needed even more—that’s where that recurrent ache came in—to tell people about it. Specifically, my people.
I’m a church administrator. My husband and I have been attending this church since its first service in 2006, and I came on staff almost 11 years ago. Being part of our church has been one of the most meaningful experiences of my life. The people with whom I share these pews are my family. And some members of that family are struggling to find meaning in their daily work; to figure out why their work matters; and to understand what the heck they are even doing here in the first place.
Madeleine also says this in Walking on Water: “Stories are able to help us become more whole, to become Named. And Naming is one of the impulses behind all art; to give a name to the cosmos we see despite all the chaos.”
I found myself needing to Name these friends, to bring some cosmos to the chaos they were feeling. I needed to Name their work as good.
So I gave into the impulse that Madeleine talks about. I gave in and told stories about my friends to my friends. Through a series of letters I noticed for them ways in which they are co-creators with their Maker—how they, too, are bringing cosmos to chaos in their daily work.
You can read the letters here: Cosmos to Chaos | Letters About Work. It’s my hope that in reading their stories you’ll find echoes of your own…and leave feeling a bit more whole.
Valerie Catrow is a church administrator, wife, mother, and friend who lives in Richmond, Virginia. She reads often and writes a bit. You can read some of her writing at val.catrow.net. Twitter and IG: @valeriecatrow
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Ken LewisMy youngest daughter and I read a picture book by Madeleine L’Engle the other night. We hadn’t shared The Other Dog before, so we sat smooshed in an armchair with it, each of us holding a cover.
And we laughed: it’s a good book. The dog, Touché, L’Engle Franklin, is upset over a “new dog” in the house. Throughout the story my child was correcting Touché, interjecting some logic into this cute, silly story.
It was a good book, we decided. A good book by Madeleine’s standards; and that means something extra coming from a 7-year-old.
Kids’ reads are being feted as we speak: April 29-May 5 is the 100th anniversary of Children’s Book Week. To celebrate, we’re sharing on the blog today an essay Madeleine wrote on the subject of story and writing for kids. This piece is a banner one. “Is It Good Enough For Children?” sets up the risks of stripping the magic or truth from children’s books.
“The only standard to be used in judging a children’s book is: Is it a good book? … Because if a children’s book is not good enough for all of us, it is not good enough for children.”
She’s right, you know. From my circulation desk in an elementary school, checkouts veer toward stories (fiction or nonfiction), not dry recitation. A title called Telling the Truth (or something like that) hasn’t been checked out since I was in grade school. Meanwhile, I can’t keep Raina Telgemeier’s graphic novels on the shelf.
But declaring a kids’ book “good” requires some reading — and Children’s Book Week is a great opportunity to add to your TBR pile. Which on the lists would you call good?
Tesser well,
Erin F. Wasinger, for MadeleineLEngle.com.
P.S. Did you know that Intergalactic P.S. 3 was originally published by the Children’s Book Council for Children’s book week in 1970? This novella became A Wind in the Door.