Today’s blog is wordy. It’s in two parts.  

The first section is about a little girl who loved words. Sadly, she lost her world of words somewhere between marriage, kids and work commitments. But the good news is that words are stronger than we think. They seek us out.

The second part is a special tribute to the value of words, written from Sheryl’s perspective. We hope you enjoy the read.

The lost world of words

Sandy sat at her desk staring blankly at her computer monitor. In front of her lay a pile of tax files, committee meeting minutes, funding requests and provincial athletic reports. On the right side of the desk was a dusty stack of novels. Her diary lay to her left on top of a leather-bound journal. She ran a finger along the fore-edge of the journal. Its pages were still snow-white. Not a leaf yet turned or penned.

She shook her head. At the beginning of the year she’d resolved to do a bit of free writing each day. Had she fooled herself? Did she really have time? She had thought the clock would be her friend once she retired. Tucking a greying strand of hair behind her ear, she sighed and closed her eyes. What had happened to the little girl who used to devour words as if they were candy? In that moment, she remembered what it had been like.

A little girl’s world

Sandy was nine years old when she discovered heaven. It had an old wooden door. When she pushed the door open, she saw the devil for the first time in her life. He was a lady with steel-grey hair pulled into a tight bun. The devil sat at the front desk in heaven’s entrance, glaring at everyone who came in. That first time, she frowned at Sandy with a look that said, ‘Don’t you dare.’ Then she adjusted her steel-rimmed spectacles against her pale nose and put a finger to her pursed lips. Little Sandy was convinced she heard a growl grumble out from those tight lips.

The shy little girl was on the verge of spinning around and running back through the old wooden door, when something beyond the devil and the front desk caught her eye. Books with beautiful covers beckoned to her from shelves that reached from the floor almost right up to the knotty-pine ceiling. She braced herself, held her breath, and walked right past the devil. Looking straight ahead, she stepped slowly, even though she wanted to race and her heart was beating like African drums.

It was all worth it when she found she could hide between the shelves, escape the devil’s gaze and lose herself in a world of words that held mysteries and romances, handsome cowboys and heartbroken heroines, and endless stories about little girls who had their own horses and could do everything Sandy ever dreamed of doing.

Each time little Sandy returned home from the library with her bag of books, she would find that a piece of heaven had crept into her bag too. She would climb into pages and come out in a different world; watch words transforming into children and giants, heartbeats and footprints. One day she turned a page and laughter floated up from it. Another time, the words on a page started to swirl around until they made a whirlpool of tears and she had to dive in to see if they were tears of joy or sorrow. Maybe there was someone in there who needed comfort or a friend with whom to share a happy moment—

Finding words

Sandy’s cell-phone rang. Tugged back to her desk, she ignored the phone and looked instead at the photo in the bronze frame against the wall. In it, the Circuit Manager was shaking her hand and presenting her with a farewell gift. Aha. That’s what happened to the little bookworm.

A school principal didn’t have time to read just any book she wanted to. She spent time reading nasty notes from parents or letters with unbecoming messages passed around by teenagers under desks. Circulars from Circuit offices. Writing instructions. Often she penned what she hoped would be inspiring messages to staff and slipped them into staff pigeonholes. Her red pen ran out of ink quicker than most as she marked piles of books and composed comments that might make a difference. There was only ever time to read her Bible. Thank goodness for that, otherwise she would probably have murdered a student (or more likely a teacher) in the thirty years before she retired.

Sandy reached for a novel from the top of the pile on her desk. She blew dust off its front cover before opening the book to chapter one, gently fingering the pages. Her diary seemed to shout up at her, joining the din of the phone that was still ringing. She glanced at the journal hiding under the shouting book of plans. Then she looked at the opening page of the novel in her hand.

Suddenly the words began to dance. Was that the sound of a violin playing on a patio? Was that the smell of rosemary and thyme dampened by fresh rain falling outside the big sash windows?

She tapped the red decline button on her clamouring phone, squared her shoulders and moved her tax files to one side. Then she sat back and surrendered into the words on the first page. Heaven was calling her back.