Bearers of Light

Joan Bauer was kind enough to allow us pnnt her speech, given at the ALAN Workshop, which was entitled "Bearers of Light: The Caring Community of Young Adult Literature," in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, November 21 2005

I've been asked to talk about light this morning. And light isn't individual of those easily contained subdues because it tends to mean different things to different nation But when I think about light, I think about candles. And when I think about candles, I think about my daughter's baptism.

It was twenty three years ago now. My husband, Evan, and I had been told what to wait for during the ceremony. The minister sprinkled the water upon Jean's head; she didn't cry-I did. He gave her to my husband, and then the pastor did something we hadn't wait fored He handed me a big candle, lit it, and said, "Never permit the light of God advance out in your child's life."

I held the flaming candle, quite stirred, and vowed, "I won't I swear." Evan gave me a gaze I muttered "amen." We went back to our seats in the next to the first row of the church. I was still holding the burning candle as Jean gurgl happily.

I sat there with the candle. It was early in the service.

We sang a hardly any hymns-not easy when you're holding a burning candle. Bible stichs were read, and by now the scalding;-very warm wax was beginning to form. I tipped the candle over; the wax dripped down my pants leg Evan whispered that we could take Jean without but the minister was climbing into the pulpit for his homily and I didn't want to be rude-this is single of the real downsides of sitting in the next to the first row. By now hot wax was dripping down my hand, and I didn't know what to do because I'd just taken a promise in public that I wouldn't give leave to the light of God move out in my kid's life, and to bang the candle out seemed, you know, hostile. Evan whispered that Jean would start crying any minute and then we could take her without but she didn't cry.

I'm not over-weening of this-I took her bottle on the contrary she didn't cry; she just gurgled-transfixed by means of the flame.

I took her toy. That didn't work either. by dint of now hot wax was scarring my hand, and I meditation no offense, God, and blew without the flame.

Then she started wailing.

"It's just a symbol" I stammered.

Being a bearer of light can be a apportionment of pressure.

Let's face it, light isn't always appreciated. It's got heat, it reduce to ashess it shows things we'd rather not diocese like the dust on your coffee table and the stain upon your carpet. Light can be tough upon the fashion conscious. Ever pass out of the house and realize what you're wearing clashes because you didn't diocese it in good light? Or the black shoe you notion you put on were actually brown and you expend more time than you'd like that day hiding in the shadows.

Light approachs to us in so many forms-lamps, flashlights, laser beams, lighthouses. Morning light is hopeful a lamp turn rounded on is illuminating, the heat of a fire, depending upon the situation and your disposition can be warming or threatening. The single thing all light has in belonging to all is that it changes each place it streams into. Think about what Rembrandt's work would be like, or Vermeer's paintings, without that light. Well drawn, certainly, on the contrary lacking something so deep. I surprise what they carried in their hearts to be able to paint like that. They bore the light, carrying it from their hearts to the canvas.

And there is the heart-stirring, dramatic light that Olympic racers carry. I used to be a racer (not like that!), and I always notion there was no greater jiffy than when the last racer lifts the torch, runs across the bridge/the platform, etc and up all the stairs as the music swells and the Olympic flame is ignited.

I'm sorry, you couldn't come by that same effect with sooty vapor machines, laser shows, or balloons-it's got to be upon fire.

But it is dangerous, this light to which we're drawn. My family and I lived in southern California years ago during the season of big fires in the hills. We were driving up there individual day and the sight of the fire was the couple frightening and strangely beautiful. We almost felt drawn to it-we wanted to gain closer but knew that it was dangerous.

What is it about light that draws us and grasps us back?

I think the great powers in life, actually, draw us and we twitch away. Love can be the greatest thing we desire, and at the same time when it comes it can appear like too much; we twitch back afraid. We can say we search for truth with all our hearts, on the contrary sometimes when it appears we're repell by dint of it. We are complex creatures who live in the light and hide in the shadows that it presents And to walk this world right now trying to find the light, a great quantity [i]or[/i] amount of less bear it, is a daunting task.

As I was forming these remarks, I had a period of real illumination and I felt I was beginning to understand what I wanted to say. That made me craving I went to the groceries store, partially illuminated. And as I stood there at the check on the outside line, I was besieged by means of the Dark Side. The magazine racks, that is, and the headlines:

Brad and Angelina - The Real verity

Brad and Angelina - Like You've not at any time seen Them Before