Journal entry by Al Negstad — a minute ago
"If you're so old, why do you have a hair?" was the question one of my sixth grade reading students asked me a few days ago 😊. "That's easy" I said, "genetics". Today he asked "How much longer do you think you'll live?" Another student quickly replied "104". 😁 Then he asked if I had short term memory issues. The boy who asked the questions is the most curious of all my readers. I told him never to stop asking questions.
These questions caused a surge of gratitude as I contemplate how blessed has been by life. My spiritual director quoted me something that I only vaguely remember that went "If only...that was enough. If only...that was enough." It was someone recounting their blessings. That sent me to a memory of something Kao Kalia Yang wrote in the biography of her father, Bee Yang, written in collaboration with him, The Song Poet. Incidentally the book is now being made into an opera.
One of Bee's songs is an incredibly beautiful love poem to his wife.
"I've yet to tell you all the things that you don't know.
"I loved you when the Pathet Lao soldiers came into the jungles of Laos with their guns and shouts, their threats and their warnings. We had been married for just six months. To save the women and children the men had to run....
"I loved you when I pulled my hand free and saw the look of hurt on your face, to be replaced by fear because the soldiers had discovered we were there....
"I loved you when I found you again, thin and pale, with our child strapped to your chest, your hand curved around the small globe of her dark hair, supporting her fragile neck....
"I loved you when I heard you cry in the middle of the Mekong River because the silver necklace your mother had given you had slipped from your neck and you could not free your arms from our child to grab it in the strong current....
"I loved you during our first night in Thailand, sitting beneath the United Nations compound, our child strapped to your chest, when I heard you whisper, 'When we get to the refugee camp, I want papaya salad'..... (ten verses later)
"I loved you when you did not cry as we boarded the orange bus for America. You sat straight in the seat and you held Dawb in your arms, and when you looked at me there was no fear in your gaze, only a determined focus on the future....(four verses later)
"I loved you when we stood up on the bridge, overlooking Highway 94, side by side, in our American clothes. We wore jeans from the thrift store. We had on sweaters whose sleeves bunched at our wrists. The church basement jackets were too big and too long....(seven verse later)
"I loved you when you said we had to move because our little girl Taylor had gotten lead poisoning in the small moldy house, and there was no room to breathe....(seven verses later)
"In 2003, I realized I had never written you a love song"
This should make a fine opera. It's a bit of an opportunity to walk in another person's shoes, and for me at least, provokes a profound sense of gratitude. Even in the land of grief I know that I have been richly blessed!
Takk for alt,
Al
These questions caused a surge of gratitude as I contemplate how blessed has been by life. My spiritual director quoted me something that I only vaguely remember that went "If only...that was enough. If only...that was enough." It was someone recounting their blessings. That sent me to a memory of something Kao Kalia Yang wrote in the biography of her father, Bee Yang, written in collaboration with him, The Song Poet. Incidentally the book is now being made into an opera.
One of Bee's songs is an incredibly beautiful love poem to his wife.
"I've yet to tell you all the things that you don't know.
"I loved you when the Pathet Lao soldiers came into the jungles of Laos with their guns and shouts, their threats and their warnings. We had been married for just six months. To save the women and children the men had to run....
"I loved you when I pulled my hand free and saw the look of hurt on your face, to be replaced by fear because the soldiers had discovered we were there....
"I loved you when I found you again, thin and pale, with our child strapped to your chest, your hand curved around the small globe of her dark hair, supporting her fragile neck....
"I loved you when I heard you cry in the middle of the Mekong River because the silver necklace your mother had given you had slipped from your neck and you could not free your arms from our child to grab it in the strong current....
"I loved you during our first night in Thailand, sitting beneath the United Nations compound, our child strapped to your chest, when I heard you whisper, 'When we get to the refugee camp, I want papaya salad'..... (ten verses later)
"I loved you when you did not cry as we boarded the orange bus for America. You sat straight in the seat and you held Dawb in your arms, and when you looked at me there was no fear in your gaze, only a determined focus on the future....(four verses later)
"I loved you when we stood up on the bridge, overlooking Highway 94, side by side, in our American clothes. We wore jeans from the thrift store. We had on sweaters whose sleeves bunched at our wrists. The church basement jackets were too big and too long....(seven verse later)
"I loved you when you said we had to move because our little girl Taylor had gotten lead poisoning in the small moldy house, and there was no room to breathe....(seven verses later)
"In 2003, I realized I had never written you a love song"
This should make a fine opera. It's a bit of an opportunity to walk in another person's shoes, and for me at least, provokes a profound sense of gratitude. Even in the land of grief I know that I have been richly blessed!
Takk for alt,
Al
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