When I was 13, I woke up one fall morning, readied myself for school, and ate breakfast made for me by my dad. I remember standing at the top of our stairs, backpack slung over my shoulder, asking him to return some overdue library books for me. I walked out the door to meet my friend, Scott, who waited at the end of my driveway — we walked to the bus stop together every morning. I don’t remember if I waved goodbye. By that evening, my dad was in prison.
The next morning I woke up, readied myself for school, and made my own breakfast. I walked out to meet my friend, Scott. I don’t even know how my younger brother got to school. So many life moments feel hazy, but others sit in stark contrast to every day around them. This was one.
I’ve had twenty-five-ish years of introspection since this season in my life and I can point to so many graces that kept me afloat — manna to a weary soul in a desert landscape of circumstances. Two stand out: the community that surrounded our family and the books that shaped, guided and encouraged a struggling teenage soul.
This week I finished reading Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis by J.D. Vance — his personal account of growing up in the impoverished white working class of America. A great read, I couldn’t put it down. Vance reflected on his survival in the midst of so much darkness. Why did he not end up in prison or so many other destructive paths he witnessed first hand? He didn’t have the complete answer, but a crucial element was community. With all that he went through, he had people he could rely on — his grandparents, an aunt and uncle and a devoted sister. Community. Suddenly I was reading more than just his story. I saw a slice of my life through a different lens.
I grew up in the middle class. My mom supported our family even with my dad’s terrible financial decisions on a teacher’s salary. She bore this weight and I hardly felt it. But more than the stability provided through her work and faithfulness, we had community. My story could have been so different. With community came help in so many forms. My brother and I not only had a devoted mom, we had grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, a wide circle of family friends from church and my mom’s teacher friends (still some of my favorite people and her closest friends). I believe this is why I’m so very passionate about community. We are created for relationship. We need deep, soul level connection. Community matters.
With my dad in prison, I had in my own way crawled into a shell of my own making. I appreciate the community that surrounded me now in a way that I couldn’t then. I was just trying to survive. I confided in maybe one person about what was happening in my family and I kept moving. And I had my books.
I entitled this post in part the books that “raised me” but in truth I don’t I credit them for the heavy lifting of my teenage years. My mom and so many people prayed steadily and without ceasing for me. God gifted me solid friends — He was faithful in how he surrounded me. I felt his presence even before I could fully express it or see it clearly. Now I view these years as if I’m looking with a birdseye view from Noah’s Ark. Destructive, life-altering flood waters roared around me, yet I was hedged in. I also believe that God used literature — the good stuff (and even the bad) to help me navigate these years and begin to thrive. I found hope, wisdom, encouragement, connection, laughter and an ability to evaluate all that churned in my mind and heart in the same way Ebenezer Scrooge viewed his past, present and future.
“The man who is contented to be only himself, and therefore less a self, is in prison. My own eyes are not enough for me, I will see through those of others. Reality, even seen through the eyes of many, is not enough. I will see what others have invented. Even the eyes of all humanity are not enough...in reading great literature I become a thousand men and yet remain myself. Like a night sky in the Greek poem, I see with a myriad eyes, but it is still I who see… I transcend myself; and am never more myself than when I do.” (C.S. Lewis: An Experiment in Criticism)
Community kept me afloat, books gave me comfort and allowed me introspective insight into the workings of my life and how I interacted with my world. I believe they were integral.
Recently, I was scrolling through hundreds of books titles from the 1980’s and I stopped suddenly at the appearance of one book cover: The title is not worth mentioning, but I have not been able to wash this book from memory in over 25 years of reading. I remember exactly what my room looked like and where I placed it on my night table when I finished it. In the grand scheme of books, I would even call this book tame-ish, but as a teenager it made an uncomfortable impression. As an adult I see how carelessly the author dealt with pivotal life-altering choices.There are so many books like this one. I shudder just thinking about it.
I see now that the books I stumbled across (e.g. random library picks) almost always became stumbling blocks, metaphorically speaking. But the other sort of books — the books that shape a soul in the very best way, were invariably given to me by people who cared deeply about me and knew me. I began to see how very powerful the written word can be.
I read Island of the Blue Dolphins, The Diary of Anne Frank, and Ryan White: My Own Story. I re-read all things Laura Ingalls Wilder and devoured Christy by Catherine Marshall (Still a favorite and my whole family loves the mini-series.) I connected with the characters as they encountered suffering and hardship which significantly challenged their ability to hope. I felt their loneliness and isolation, but saw their courage, hope and tenacity.
In a category all their own are books written by Robin Jones Gunn. I consider these gems the books that raised me. They have mentored me and counseled me at times when I would let nothing else in. I laughed, I cried and I grew closer to Jesus as I watched my “friends” battle the highs and lows of growing up. As they engaged with questions of faith, I did too. Robin has been a faithful story-teller of life-giving literature. I am grateful and indebted. I would love to thank her in person. As a teenager whose life could have diverted in many directions, her books were a steady presence speaking truth. I very much feel as C.S. Lewis felt, that literature “…irrigates the deserts that our lives have already become.”
So, as I begin the journey with this site, I hope you see my heart in what I do. It’s not just about recommending good books (although this might be my favorite hobby), it’s about giving life to our hearts, infusing hope, creating community and connection. In my experience, community and books were vital, and here, I hope to thread them together. I truly believe that community matters and story has power — essentially, threading stories, threading lives — Literature Threads.
Thanks for reading.
Stephanie
p.s. What are the books that “raised” you? I’d love to hear!
Extra Threads
I recommend anything written by Robin Jones Gunn whole-heartedly.
- For tween to teen girls: The Christy Miller Series (Volume 1, volume 2, volume 3, volume 4)
- Also for teens and tweens, The Sierra Jensen Series (Vol. 1, Vol. 2, Vol. 3, Vol. 4) {begins after the 12th book (volume 4) of the Christy Miller series, so unless you want spoilers, wait for this series}
- For college women: Christy Miller, the College Years, Until Tomorrow (1), As You Wish (2), I Promise (3) (after the others!) followed by the Peculiar Treasures series (4 books).
- For young women in their 20’s-30’s, The Glenbrooke Series: Secrets, Whispers, Echoes, Sunsets, Clouds, Waterfalls, Woodlands, and Wildflowers
- A mother-daughter read, Gardenias for Breakfast and a father-daughter read (grown daughter) Cottage By the Sea
- Reads that inspire you to adventure with your dearest friends: Any Sisterchicks book (can be read independently)
Just maybe you are like me and hate spoilers and want to experience the stories unfold in order. Her characters connect throughout her books {this is why they feel like friends}, so I’ll be coming out with a chronological list – they begin to overlap in time as the books go on. I cannot wait for my girl (12) to become acquainted with Christy. The time is coming soon.