In this issue, you will find my poem "Over Utah in January", memories of my grandmother Margaret Driggs, practical and inspirational thoughts about instilling a sense of wonder and building family memories, and finally a poem called "Parting" by my step-grandfather, Dr. Howard R. Driggs.  Enjoy!

 I am giving you the poem first without photographs, so you can focus on the words.  Then I will give it to you again with the photos...

 

 

Over Utah in January

 

by Virginia Knowles

 

I am in the sky looking down on

Vast speechless stretches of frozen white

Curved round and round by

Slicing crevices and streams

And human roads abandoned though they be

Foothills then soaring mountains beyond

Majestic tall yet distant small

From the sky where I look down

 

Clustering pines (wilderness steeples)

Defer to barren ground below

Shedding to it cumbering, nurturing snow

Upright spires green

Evergreen over branches, trunks, rough and woody brown

Rooted deeply into ascending slope

Yet as living arrows aiming high

To the sky where I look down

 

Up and over mountain towers, fly

Peering through mottled fog outstretched 

Amid earthy upturned layers, variegated ripples

Shadow clouds now upwisping sharply angled peaks

Oh!  These are of no human construct or design

Not even marked by footprints in pristine snow

Just fingerprints, signatures divine

Where winter earth meets winter sky

 

Yet in the valley I see manly habitation

In patterned rows, casual curves beneath the mist

Nestled in yet beckoned to a deep and high communion

Only bold ones venture beyond certain fringes

Strive upward, breathe hard, ascending steep, behold

Some faithful cannot climb but still lift souls to see

To know and long to know

Others seem content merely to stroll in evenness beneath, below

Oblivious to wonder

 

I am in the sky looking down

Then gazing up in awe at Him

Who gazes down in grace on me below

On me, who sees and longs to know

 

  And now, with pictures...

 

Over Utah in January

by Virginia Knowles

 

I am in the sky looking down on

Vast speechless stretches of frozen white

 

 

Curved round and round by

Slicing crevices and streams

 

 

 

 

 

 

And human roads abandoned though they be

Foothills then soaring mountains beyond

Majestic tall yet distant small

From the sky where I look down

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Clustering pines (wilderness steeples)

Defer to barren ground below

Shedding to it cumbering, nurturing snow

 

 

Upright spires green

Evergreen over branches, trunks, rough and woody brown

Rooted deeply into ascending slope

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yet as living arrows aiming high

To the sky where I look down

 

 

 

 

Up and over mountain towers, fly

 

Peering through mottled fog outstretched 

 

Amid earthy upturned layers, variegated ripples

 

 

Shadow clouds now upwisping sharply angled peaks

 

 

Oh!  These are of no human construct or design

 

 

Not even marked by footprints in pristine snow

Just fingerprints, signatures divine

Where winter earth meets winter sky

 

 

 

 

Yet in the valley I see manly habitation

 

In patterned rows, casual curves beneath the mist

 

 

 

 

Nestled in yet beckoned to a deep and high communion

Only bold ones venture beyond certain fringes

Strive upward, breathe hard, ascending steep, behold

 

 Some faithful cannot climb but still lift souls to see

To know and long to know

Others seem content merely to stroll

In evenness beneath, below

Oblivious to wonder    

 

 

 I am in the sky looking down

Then gazing up in awe at Him

Who gazes down in grace on me below

On me, who sees and longs to know

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

“Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever you had formed the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God.”   Psalm 90:2

 

“In his hand are the depths of the earth; the heights of the mountains are his also.” Psalm 95:4

 

“For behold, he who forms the mountains and creates the wind, and declares to man what is his thought, who makes the morning darkness, and treads on the heights of the earth—the Lord, the God of hosts, is his name!” Amos 4:13

 

 “I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.” Psalm 121:1-2

 

“For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made.”  Romans 1:20 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

I wrote the first draft of "Over Utah in January" on the airplane on my way to Salt Lake City for my grandmother's funeral.  I hadn’t realized just how mountainous Utah is in areas!  I tend to think of it only as the Great Salt Lake and endless miles of salt flats.  I was so taken by the snowy mountains that we spent the better part of one day just driving around taking pictures.  But even from our hotel and from the cemetery, and really wherever we went, we only had to lift our eyes to see the towering mountains surrounding us – and I think I gasped in amazement every single time.  (Can you tell I am from Florida, where we have neither mountains nor snow?)

 

 

As most of you know, my paternal grandmother Margaret Driggs passed away on January 13 in Denver, Colorado at the age of 98. A week ago I flew to Salt Lake City for her funeral. 

 

 

 

 

My brother, uncle, and father at the casket with the mountains in the background...

 

 My sister Barb, who couldn't join us due to illness, sent the following eulogy to be read by my father:

 

My first memories of Grandma Driggs are of visiting her in Bayside, Queens. We ate English muffins with jelly using the fancy china. She was always so elegant, even when feeding little children breakfast!  Grandma was always the epitome of elegance and propriety, from the way she dressed to the way she spoke and carried herself. I believe that she valued reading and writing above all things. One of my prized possessions to this day is the hardcover set of Louisa May Alcott novels she gave me when I was a teenager.

I wish I could have known Grandma Driggs as a young woman, when she was a reporter in Kansas City, falling in love, as a young mother. I wish I could have known her when she was my age, in her 40s, working with Dr. Driggs, raising young adults, playing the piano. Of course I didn’t know her then, but my intuition tells me that this was the happiest time in her life. If your happiest age is the age you are in heaven, I suspect she’s there in her 40’s, playing ragtime with her newly nimble fingers. The last time I saw Grandma was when my daughter, Carrie, and I visited Denver years ago. At that point she called us "the girls", as she wasn’t sure who were. She did know that she loved us and that we loved her, and that was the most important thing.

(My brother John played the ragtime version of "Just a Closer Walk with Thee" on the piano at her funeral in honor of Grandma.  At the reception, he played other jazzy tunes while a Driggs cousin, Dan Christensen, sang along.  What a memory!)

  

My grandmother married Dr. Howard R. Driggs, in 1948, when she was 39 and he was 75.  He was born in 1873 to polygamous parents of 22 who had joined the Mormon migration to Utah in 1852.  He became a professor, historian and prolific author -- as well as the devoted stepfather to my father and his brother and sister.  (My own older brother fondly remembers Dr. Driggs reading a book about bunnies to him while riding in the back seat of a car.)  While in Salt Lake City, we enjoyed the exceedingly gracious hospitality of the extended Driggs / Christensen families. They also know their history very well and were delighted to share fascinating stories with this non-Mormon mama of 10.   I also enjoyed hearing family stories about my grandmother's family from my dad, including the one about my great-grandfather, William Brazier, still laying block at age 89.  I even recorded some of them on my MP3 player at the funeral and as we drove to the airport to pick up his brother.   I am full of sweet memories. 

 

I lay in bed one morning a few days later and was musing on the fact that mountains and trees may reflect the splendor and glory of creation, but our own family members are made in the image of the Creator himself.  We are surrounded by masterpieces in our own homes – and yet how many of us our “oblivious to wonder” in the presence of our own husbands and children?  And how many of us are so occupied with our own lives, or so intent on making them conform to our own behavioral and academic expectations that we miss out on seeing their hearts and minds (and ours) transformed and renewed by sanctified imagination and wonder, by grace and love?  Are we nurturing their unique spark of life, or squelching it?  I have to ask myself that when my kids sing Gershwin at full volume, or bring out the acrylic paints to decorate a gift box, or stop every ten steps on our walk to pick up piles of acorns (at least it's not worms!), or cover the wall with crayon drawings (with or without the paper!) or turn the kitchen inside out making calzone from scratch...  Life with God (and with each other) is not just about a list of things “not to do” but a vivid, sparkling adventure into the great deep and high.  Are we gazing into his glory? 

 

How does this practically fit into our home schooling program?  On Mondays, I teach a middle school English class in our co-op.  This week, I decided to lay aside my regular grammar, literature, and vocabulary lesson plans.  Instead, I read aloud my poem “Over Utah in January.” Then I read it again while showing my mountain, snow, and tree photographs on Mary’s laptop computer.  On this second reading, I also stopped to comment on any words in it that might be unfamiliar (such as variegated and oblivious), as well as explain some of the symbolism I used.  As a lesson on the writing process, I told how I had written the first draft on the plane in my journal, and then worked on it some more in the airport terminal and my hotel.  I reminded them that for best results, we let the ideas flow when we first write, but then we polish it until it shines just the way we want it.  After the poetry, I showed them a few antique photos of my grandmother as a child and as an elegant young woman in the 1920s.  I brought out some books that Dr. Driggs had written, and read an exciting excerpt from Money Rock, his children’s novel about the Pony Express.  I also flipped through his book The Old West Speaks, which has numerous prints from the famed frontier illustrator William Henry Jackson. Since Mitt Romney is a presidential candidate, I summarized for them a little about Mormon theology, history and lifestyle, which is quite different from our own. (See links at the bottom of this page if you are interested in this topic.) I finished up by recapping with them how personal stories and community history are passed down through oral, written, musical, and pictorial means.  I encouraged them to take the time to initiate conversations with relatives and friends about themes deeper than the weather and amusements.  This is such a vital communication skill.  After all, we are each a masterpiece from God’s hand!  Shouldn’t we pause to enjoy his artistry in the form of other precious human beings?  Sharing life together is what home schooling is all about... 

 

If you would like to further explore the idea of wonder, imagination, creativity, love, and grace in home schooling, I recommend Monte Swan’s excellent book, Romancing Your Child's Heart.  You can also find out more at his web site: www.rychfamilies.com/.

 

I want to encourage you to explore your own family stories and memories, whether it is the husband and kids right in your own home, or the grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins beyond.  Here are a few ideas for you:

• Host a family reunion.  This can be a great school project as you plan the event, send out invitations, cook, etc.
• Write letters to relatives and ask them about their memories of growing up. 
• Interview an older relative in person while someone records with a video camera.
• Write an ABC list about a family member.  Think of a word related to them for each letter of the alphabet.  This might include the state where they live, their favorite food, a hobby, a nickname, a character quality you admire in them, or anything else that reminds you of them.  Send them the list!
• Write a poem or a biographical report about a favorite relative.
• Assemble a photo album with all of those pictures that are sitting around in shoeboxes.  Or organize your digital photos on your computer, and upload them to a photo web site (such as www.PhotoBucket.com) to share with loved ones.
• Start a blog and invite family members to contribute their own stories.  Or send out a regular family newsletter by e-mail.
• Look through photo albums or scrap books from when Mom and Dad were young, and tell any stories that you remember.
• Ask if there are any family histories or genealogies compiled about your family.
• Fix a meal using recipes from the countries where your ancestors came from.

We should also, as parents, keep track of memories made with our own children.  Here are a few of my recent ones about Melody, who is two and a half: I was checking the throats of some of our older girls when we had strep in the house a couple of weeks ago, and after that Melody took the flash light, pointed it into her own little mouth just like she had seen me do, opened wide, and crooned "AAAAHH!"  Then she ran for her pillow and blanket, made herself a comfy nest on the couch, hopped in, and pulled her blanket up over her, just like Lydia was doing on the other couch.  When she sees me doing laundry, she runs for her own little hamper, brings it out to laundry room, and dumps her clothes in the washer.   Then, to "help" some more, she makes me pick her up (she's quite a chunk!) to push the start button.   Now we are preparing for potty training....  Lord, have mercy!  Can't I just send her off to a potty training boarding school somewhere?  She sure is irresistably cute, though!  I guess that makes up for all of her mischief.  This is what memories are made of, right?

 

Finally, I would like to share with you a poem that Dr. Howard R. Driggs wrote many years back, which was read by his great-granddaughter, Becky Driggs Kelley, at the funeral:

 

"Parting"

by Dr. Howard R. Driggs

 

Life is a series of comings and goings:

We meet to part, to meet again,

And again to part.

Yet really we never part -

In memory - in our heart of hearts -

We ever hold those we cherish;

Loved ones are a constant part of our lives;

Treasured friends are always close,

However wide the space that lies between.

This is a precious truth that soothes somewhat

The pain of parting.

 

 Blessings,

Virginia Knowles

www.VirginiaKnowles

 

If you are interested in how Mormonism compares with evangelical Christianity, you may wish to visit these web sites:

www.4Mormon.org 

The Bible vs The Book of Mormon (video)