Month: September 2021

THE MIRROR: PART 1, CHAPTER 3

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I didn’t see Jedidiah much during the winter, probably because it was so cold.  My glass seemed extra fragile and seemed to shiver on its own.  I did not like the cold, but I knew it was easier on me than it was on Jedidiah.  I still saw him every day when he’d come to take care of the animals.  He wore so many extra clothes that he looked round. 

Often, he came over to me and ran a gloved hand over me.  I knew I wasn’t forgotten.

As the weather became warmer, Jedidiah started working on me again.  I could tell he was almost done because his strokes were smaller and more detailed.  He was working on perfection.

Finally, the day came!  Jedidiah and another man I had never seen before came out to the barn and lifted me.  They grunted and strained, but managed to get me inside with no damage.

The house was small and the wood floors creaked as the men walked.  They took me through the living room, down a short hallway, and lowered me next to a wall.  I could see a bed with a beautiful quilt that I just knew Dear Elizabeth had made.  It was practical, yet elegant.

“Thank you for you help, Alexander,” Jedediah said, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants.  “I could not have gotten the vanity into the house before she was done with her shopping alone.”

“You’re quite welcome, Jedidiah.  It really is beautiful.  She will love it, and hopefully cheer her up a little.”

I started.  Cheer her up?  Why was Dear Elizabeth sad?  Would I truly be able to help cheer her up? 

“I know she wishes to move back to the city, but we have started the farm here.  I took all that time to clear the land, to build her this house, and now…  Now it would not be safe for her to move.”

I started again.  Why would Dear Elizabeth not be safe?

“You’re doing all you can, Jedidiah.  Elizabeth will be okay.”

Now I was scared.  What was wrong with Dear Elizabeth? 

In less than an hour – I could tell by the chiming of the clock down the hall – I heard the door open and Jedidiah’s voice saying, “Close your eyes, my dear.  I have something to show you.”

I heard gentle giggling and slow footsteps coming down the hall.  I was so excited I could barely stand it!  I was about to meet Dear Elizabeth!   

There she was!

Jedidiah walked into the room first, his back toward me.  He was holding both petite hands of a small, slender woman.  Her long, brown hair was pulled up into a bun and it was clear she had recently removed a bonnet because ringlets of hair were framing her porcelain face.  She had a playful smile and…

She was obviously pregnant.  Well, that would explain why it wouldn’t be safe for her to move right now, and how exciting!

Jedidiah led her directly in front of me, moved beside her, and slid an arm over her shoulder.  “You may open your eyes now.”

Her eyes flew open and I was looking directly into the most beautiful green eyes.  They looked tired, but happy.  They lit up in surprise and joy.

“Oh, Jed!  Is that mine?”

“Of course it is,” he smiled, “Do you like it?”

Elizabeth walked over to me and gently slid a hand across the table of the vanity.  Her eyes filled with tears.  “It’s so beautiful!  I love it!  How did you afford such a beautiful piece?”

Jedidiah walked over to her and embraced her in a hug, careful of her large belly.  “You are worth so much more than this.  I saved for months to buy the mirror at the general store, then built the rest with wood from our property.”

“Oh, Jed!” Elizabeth said through a deep breath, “I knew you were talented, but I had no idea.  This is exquisite!” 

She kept an arm around her husband, and reached out to touch the side of the mirror.  “It’s like something you would buy at a furniture store in the city.  I can’t believe it’s mine!  I love it so much.”

Jedidiah planted a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

Then Elizabeth grabbed her stomach and said she needed to lay down.  Worry filled Jedidiah’s eyes, and he helped her into bed.  She was asleep in minutes.  I stood guard over her, even after Jedidiah finally left. 

The baby came a few weeks later: a beautiful, healthy boy.  I had to watch the whole thing, which I would have been okay missing.  They named him Zechariah, praying over him that he would hear the Word of God and obey, no matter what.  I rejoiced along with the family, wishing I was human so I could celebrate with them.

More children came in the following years – all boys.  One little boy – they named him Moses – died just days after being born.  I could not produce tears like the family did, but I cried along with them in my own way.  I had never been so glad to not be human.  The emotion was overwhelming.  Maybe I was content to be a piece of furniture. 

I especially loved watching Elizabeth brush her hair.  She always took such care as she ran the brush through.  I loved watching her bed head go from crazy mess to smooth as silk.  It was also fun when Jedidiah would brush her hair for her.  She always looked especially happy then, and they always ended up going to bed early.

Elizabeth didn’t always look happy, though.  Since I was in the privacy of her room, I got to hear her secret prayers.  She desperately missed the city.  She missed the people and the activities.  The country was hard and lonely for her.  Yet she remained faithful to Jedidiah, and supported him and worked hard on the farm to assist him, never hesitating as the years went by.

One day, after Elizabeth had grey in her hair and birthed six boys (counting Moses) she sat down on the stool in front of me and sat a large book on the desk.  It was hard to read upside down, but I made it out letter-by-letter: B I B L E.  Bible. 

She opened it to the beginning, and started to write names and dates down.  It took me a while to read everything since it was upside down and I had never been formally taught to read, but I finally realized what she was writing when she wrote:

“Jedidiah Smith, b. May 19, 1819 married Elizabeth Ann (Shirley), b. September 5, 1821 on October 11, 1838.”

She was starting a family Bible.

Then she wrote Zechariah’s name and birthdate, then paused.  She opened one of my drawers and pulled out a velvet box tied with a ribbon.  She opened it and pulled out a beautiful ring.  While looking at it, she whispered, “My grandmother would be so proud of the woman you have fallen in love with, Zechariah.  She would love that she will wear your ring.”

Elizabeth looked down at the Bible, then proceeded to write the rest of her boys’ names, including Moses’s.  She set the pen down and left the Bible open to dry.  Then she stood and gently caressed the edge of my wood.  It was as if she was saying good-bye. 

The Mirror: Part 1, Chapter 2 (1841)

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One day, Jedidiah came back and lifted me out of the hay.  He didn’t measure me, but instead carried me gently out of the stall and through the barn. 

At the other end of the barn was a long wooden table with an assortment of tools on it.  Wood shavings covered the table top and surrounding floor.  Off to the side was a dresser three drawers high.  Or rather, it would be three drawers high.  At the moment, there were no drawers – just the emptiness they would fill.

Jedidiah lifted me higher as we approached the dresser.  Out of the corner of my glass I caught a glimpse of a ridge along the back edge of the dresser.

It hit me in an instant.  Jedidiah was making Dear Elizabeth a vanity!  Not only was I a gift for Dear Elizabeth, but I was being lovingly, deliberately, and carefully crafted into something beautiful and useful. 

Was I to become a priceless family heirloom?  The thought made my silver sparkle and my glass gleam.  I could not wait to see Dear Elizabeth’s face when she saw me.

All those days waiting in the hay suddenly made sense.  I had never been forgotten.  Jedidiah had been preparing a place for me.  A special place.  A beautiful place.

Jedidiah carefully set me in the groove he had made.  He slid me to the side a little bit to center me.  The top of me rested against the wall of the barn and when he was sure I was secure, he let go and stepped back.  He eyed me critically, then slowly a big grin slid across his face.

“A little more needs to come off the right,” he muttered to himself, “but this will work.”

Once again being careful and moving slow, Jedidiah lifted me from the groove and took me back to the stall where he again buried me with hay.  This time, I didn’t mind the wait.  Instead, I was very excited to see the dresser next time.

I didn’t have to wait long.  Just a day or two later (it’s hard to tell when buried with hay,) Jedidiah came back and took me to the far side of the barn.  The dresser didn’t look much different, but the legs had been carved to be more rounded. 

As before, Jedidiah set me down then stepped back to critique.  He seemed more serious this time.  At first, I was apprehensive, but then I realized what he was doing.  He was preparing for action.

Jedidiah kept his gaze on me as he grabbed his hand planer and took a little bit of wood off an edge.  He stepped back to look again.  He nodded once, seemingly satisfied, then grabbed a rectangular piece of wood and approached me.  To my surprise, he fit my side into a groove on the wood, set me upright, and began to attach the wood to the dresser. 

If I’d had lips I would have smiled so large my glass would have burst.  I wasn’t going back to the hay pile tonight. 

Jedidiah worked until both sides and the top support firmly held me in place.  He even shook them gently to make sure I wasn’t going anywhere.  My only regret was that I couldn’t see how grand I looked.  But I could see his smile in his eyes.  I couldn’t wait to see Dear Elizabeth’s reaction when she first saw me.

Jedidiah continued to work on me when he was able.  He also had to tend to the fields and animals, so the going felt slow to me.  But I loved watching him take the wood scraper to my wood surface, and the hand planer to smooth out the rough spots.  He worked carefully and delicately, making sure everything was perfect. 

Dear Elizabeth had to be something real special to get such care and devotion.  I couldn’t wait to meet her!

The Mirror: Part 1, Chapter 1 (1840)

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I woke up slowly, only being able to see as much through the glass as the melted silver was applied to the back of my glass.  As more of the liquid was applied, the more I could see.  I could see more and more, which pleased me because it meant I would be large.  I assumed that meant I would be worth more, and that my owner would put me to good

I could not see who it was that was making me.  This sort of frustrated me because I wanted to know my creator.  He seemed to be taking good care in my creation, because I could see so well. 

It’s so strange, being what I am.  I can see everything in my view – everything down to the smallest detail.  But when people look at me, they often only see themselves.  They can stare for hours, and maybe notice only the smallest detail.

Unless, of course, there is an imperfection that mars their reflection.  People tend to notice that.  Then they gripe and complain about how horrible I am.  They don’t stop to think that maybe it’s not my fault.  I had no ability to create myself.  Or maybe I was dropped, and that would not be my fault either!

But I digress.  I was so new I was not even completed.  And so far, my creator was taking great pains to make me as beautiful and flawless as he could.  Which I appreciated, even though I could not see him.

At last, I was complete.  I was left alone and allowed to dry.  I watched as men scurried around the factory.  They seemed to be both rushed and cautious not to break any glass – there seemed to be a tension in the air as they tried to balance the two stresses.

I took a better look at my surroundings[1].  I was in a large room with small windows around the top of the walls.  Most of the windows were dirty and open.  There was a large rope and pulley system to move large boxes of finished mirrors on one side of the room. 

There was a large fire on the other end of the room.  From this fire, men would pull melted silver out and replace it with solid silver.  The fire was incredibly hot and fed constantly to keep it at the necessary temperature.  The men tending the fire put on special outer clothes to protect them from the intense heat, and their gloves were very thick. 

Large sheets of glass were brought in and cleaned.  They were then carefully wiped down, then set in special racks to dry.  Glass that was already dry were set on large tables, where men would paint the liquid silver from the fire.  Then they were left to dry.

It hit me.  Why was I not on a table?

I watched as the men hurried from one mirror to another, painting painfully slowly, then dashing to the next mirror. 

Why had I been painted standing upright?  Was my silver running down my back?  I could still see, so I know I had at least a thin layer covering my back.

I stained to see another mirror standing upright that had silver drying and could see none.

The only thing that I could figure was that I was special.

The next day confirmed it.

A stamp was chiseled into me: “Made in France.  1840.”

Out of all the mirrors, only three were selected, and I was one of them.

I felt fragile, but whoever was shipping us off didn’t seem too concerned based on the way we were jostled about over rough roads.  It was a miracle I didn’t break.  But maybe the person knew what they were doing, and so I didn’t break.  I hadn’t yet seen trust in action yet, and mirrors can only learn by seeing, not by doing.

What was worse than the wagon ride – for I am sure that was how we were transported – was being loaded into the next vessel.  There was a jerk up – then up, up, up! – then a crash to the hard ground.  It had to be a large, sea-going ship based on the large waves I felt and heard.  Up and down.  Up and down.  Splash.  Rush.  Up and down.  I heard more than just the waves – some of my human companions did not appreciate the up and down motion and I heard them, as well.  I was grateful to be just me so I could experience, but I couldn’t feel pain or sickness.

Another rough unloading, another rough wagon ride, and then the box was opened.  The sudden light was blinding to me, as I reflected the harsh sun’s rays back into the world.  If I’d had eyes, I would have had to blink them a few times to adjust.  As it was, I just had to reflect the light and see what I reflected.

I was in a store.  That much was clear.  There was a large counter, which I was behind, with shelves and shelves of merchandise: sugar, penny candy, buckles, handkerchiefs, candles (candle holders, candle snuffers, candle…,) ribbon, fabric, and bottles and jars stacked to the ceiling.  And so much more.  The floor was open for displays and shopping.  The windows were large, covering most of the front of the building. 

Carefully, I was set upright against a wall, along with the other rest of my companions from the box.  And then we sat.  And sat.  And sat.  The owner of the store had to dust us periodically.  It would have been mundane, if not for all the interesting characters we saw.

There was Jimmy – a boy young enough to still be treated like a boy, but old enough to act like a man.  He would come in a few times a week and steal some of the penny candy for him and his friends.  The storekeeper caught him a few times, but he paid often enough that the storekeeper thought he wasn’t stealing much.  The storekeeper should have asked me.

Then there was the lady in pink.  The storekeeper never said her name, maybe he didn’t know it either, but she always wore pink.  A big, flowy pink dress and a big, pink hat to match, with a pink feather sticking out of it.  She almost always came in to buy new gloves, because her puppy – Pupkins was his name – had chewed another pair.  I think she needed a new dog.  And the dog needed a new name.  But she didn’t ask my opinion, either.

Next there were the old men.  This group of three men came in every day, drank coffee, and talked and laughed.  They told the same stories, laughed at the same jokes, and even coughed a hacking cough at about the same point of each day.  They could have been a bore or a nuisance, but they enjoyed each other so much it was enjoyable.  Most of the time.

My favorite shopper was the man I called The Farmer.  He only came in every few months.  He was very careful with his purchases.  He always counted his money very carefully.  He’d calculate the amount of his purchases, often changing his mind about what he wanted or needed, then calculated again.  Then he always paid in exact change.  He never opened a charge account.  But best of all, he always looked at me.  He’d run his hand over me, check my price tag, mutter something about “maybe next time, Dear Elizabeth,” then sadly turn away.  He never bought me, but he still made me feel wanted.  That was all I needed.  And it was fun to picture who Dear Elizabeth was.

I always pictured Dear Elizabeth as a beautiful woman.  Long, blonde hair in tight curls.  Bright red lips.  Vibrant blue eyes.  A small face, but not pinched.  And her height came right up to The Farmer’s shoulders.  That seemed about right for her.  I pictured her as quiet and shy, rarely talking.  She always had a fan she would constantly wave toward herself, or hide behind.  Sometimes I pictured her as intelligent, with books opened around her.  Or sometimes she was wise, and always quoting a philosopher.  Or sometimes she wasn’t smart, but she was always kind.  And kids.  I always saw tons of kids.  I knew I would never actually meet Dear Elizabeth, but I felt like I knew her and The Farmer.

One day, the shop keeper said The Farmer’s name: “Good afternoon, Jedidiah.  I got a new plow you might be interested in.  It’s a little smaller than what you were wanting, but not by much, and the price might be right for you.”

I loved watching Jedidiah’s face light up as he ran his hand over the plow. 

“It is a little smaller than I had been hoping, but you were right about the price.  I’ll take it!”

My face – if I had one – would have fallen when Jedidiah didn’t look at me once that single trip.  I tried to tell myself the plow was important, maybe life or death for him.  Life or death was worth not admiring me once.  He’d be back.  And maybe he’d bring Dear Elizabeth.

The hopes I felt dwindled as the days went on.  One of my companions was purchased by someone new to the area.  Then the other was, as well.

The next time Jedidiah came in, my silver seemed to jiggle with excitement.  I watched as he carefully counted his purchases.  If I’d had breath, I would have held it.  He leaned close to the shop keeper and they carried on a conversation I was dying to hear.  Was it about me?  Was I going home with him?  Would I get to meet Dear Elizabeth? 

Jedidiah’s face split into a large grin.  He handed the shop keeper a few more bills, then strolled over to me, gently picked me up, and carried me to his wagon.  There, he carefully wrapped me in a large quilt, then lay me down. 

The ride was just as rough as the trip to the general store, but I didn’t care.  The ride could have cracked my edges and I wouldn’t have cared.  I was purchased, I was wanted, I was going to meet Dear Elizabeth.

Once we arrived at our destination, I was not taken into the house like I had expected.  Instead, I was carried to the barn and put in a stall with a bunch of hay.  Jedidiah covered me until I couldn’t see anything and then… he left.

He left?  Why did he leave?

I lay there for days, worrying.  Wondering.  Straining to see anything other than darkness.  I could hear a cow mooing pitifully.  I could hear footsteps, hoofprints, and animals eating.  I was afraid they would start chewing the hay around me, or not see me and step on me and shatter me.  But they never did. And then Jedidiah came back. 

He carefully dusted the hay off and measured me.  Then he buried me again.  Again!  After the care he took with me, though, I felt reassured that there was a purpose – a reason – for my hiding. 

[1] The environment and exact procedure for this time is written to my best speculation.  This is not meant to be an accurate historical recording.

Perseverance

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“Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” – Irish novelist, Oliver Goldsmith

When I ran track, there were meets where I didn’t think I’d be able to finish. The only way I’d finish was by singing Philippians 4:13 to myself, (“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”) Granted, I was taking the verse out of context, but it helped me make it to the finish line.

I don’t think I ever won first in the mile, but I never gave up.

There are things in life I have failed at: Physics in college; Not loosing my temper; Making my mother-in-law’s chicken. But every time, I force myself to get back up. I found a major in college that was a better fit. I ask for forgiveness and try to keep my patience next time. I… let my mother-in-law make her yummy chicken and make my own recipes. 🙂

Mistakes don’t make a person a failure. Failures come and go – that’s what makes us human. Strength comes from standing back up when we fall. Wisdom comes from learning from our mistakes.

Mistakes don’t have to define us. What we do after our mistakes is what defines us.

All of us have challenges in our lives. All of us have moments when we don’t think we’ll be able to continue on, but that is when we need to dig in our heels and persevere.

Grab someone’s hand who is stumbling and pull them up. When you stumble, grab someone’s hand who is secure. Together, we can make a chain to encourage each other forward. Let’s persevere together.