My Beth
Every few years, if not annually, I read Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. I enjoyed the movie but only becuase it reminds me of all the sweetness of the book. As I am nearing the end of this reading I am overjoyed at what a difference more maturity, life experience and williness to feel can bring to a story I already know well. I suppose that's what makes literature special. In times past, the chapter The Valley of the Shadow leaves me saddened and melancholy but this time its different. I can honestly say that every single time Beth gets sick and then eventually dies, I cry.
When I was 12, I cried at the unfairness of it all. I remember at 18, I marvelled at Beth's grace and yearned to embody such gratitude. Now, at the "ripe ol age" of 26, more conscious than ever that I still have so much to learn as I am truly beginning to understand life as a "little woman," I finally look to Jo at this moment. (What girl hasn't seen herself in Jo, though I often looked in the mirror and saw petulant little Amy in days past if that can tell you
something about me?!)
I related most strongly with Jo for multitudes of reasons: struggling against inner rebellions and honoring social relationships, for my worries for wonderful parents as they age, finding myself passionate and yet uninterested in marrying myself to the things/people that the outside world would assume I would and finding my way in life with half as much grace wherever it leads. But strangely, the first thought that came to mind was for Cora...this relevant, familiar stranger. I thought of feeling the flow of not just the Feri current but also the large and small lessons her and Victor have shared with so many. How blessed to have such wonderful caretakers! How lovely to share so much love!
So, for Cora, who is wise enough to allow so many to care for her and care for us, across oceans, over mountains, in dreams, beyond death and at her own bedside, I cried tears of thanks as I read Jo's poem for Beth.
MY BETH, from Little Women
Louisa May Alcott
Sitting patient in the shadow
Till the blessed light shall come,
A serene and saintly presence
Sanctifies our troubled home.
Earthly joys and hopes and sorrows
Break like ripples on the strand
Of the deep and solemn river
Where her willing feet now stand.
O my sister, passing from me,
Out of human care and strife,
Leave me, as a gift, those virtues
Which have beautified your life.
Dear, bequeath me that great patience
Which has power to sustain
A cheerful, uncomplaining spirit
In its prison-house of pain.
Give me, for I need it sorely,
Of that courage, wise and sweet,
Which has made the path of duty
Green beneath your willing feet.
Give me that unselfish nature,
That with charity divine
Can pardon wrong for love’s dear sake-
Meek heart, forgive me mine!
Thus our parting daily loseth
Something of its bitter pain,
And while learning this hard lesson,
My great loss becomes my gain.
For the touch of grief will render
My wild nature more serene,
Give to life new aspirations,
A new trust in the unseen.
Henceforth, safe across the river,
I shall see forever more
A beloved, household spirit
Waiting for me on the shore.
Hope and faith, born of my sorrow,
Guardian angels shall become,
And the sister gone before me
By their hands shall lead me home.
From a face who has never directly gazed upon yours and a heart who opens nontheless, I say thank you for sharing yourself with us. I don't have to say he's been watching and patiently waiting. When you are ready, his hand shall lead you home.
[Edit: I wrote this April 29, but something made me wait until today to post this. Without thinking, Mayday lifts my spirits and my songs, not just my tears are blown up to my Godself to share. Blessed be thou-the caretakers, the friends, students, children through red and white threads and of course our beloved teacher.]
When I was 12, I cried at the unfairness of it all. I remember at 18, I marvelled at Beth's grace and yearned to embody such gratitude. Now, at the "ripe ol age" of 26, more conscious than ever that I still have so much to learn as I am truly beginning to understand life as a "little woman," I finally look to Jo at this moment. (What girl hasn't seen herself in Jo, though I often looked in the mirror and saw petulant little Amy in days past if that can tell you
something about me?!)
I related most strongly with Jo for multitudes of reasons: struggling against inner rebellions and honoring social relationships, for my worries for wonderful parents as they age, finding myself passionate and yet uninterested in marrying myself to the things/people that the outside world would assume I would and finding my way in life with half as much grace wherever it leads. But strangely, the first thought that came to mind was for Cora...this relevant, familiar stranger. I thought of feeling the flow of not just the Feri current but also the large and small lessons her and Victor have shared with so many. How blessed to have such wonderful caretakers! How lovely to share so much love!
So, for Cora, who is wise enough to allow so many to care for her and care for us, across oceans, over mountains, in dreams, beyond death and at her own bedside, I cried tears of thanks as I read Jo's poem for Beth.
MY BETH, from Little Women
Louisa May Alcott
Sitting patient in the shadow
Till the blessed light shall come,
A serene and saintly presence
Sanctifies our troubled home.
Earthly joys and hopes and sorrows
Break like ripples on the strand
Of the deep and solemn river
Where her willing feet now stand.
O my sister, passing from me,
Out of human care and strife,
Leave me, as a gift, those virtues
Which have beautified your life.
Dear, bequeath me that great patience
Which has power to sustain
A cheerful, uncomplaining spirit
In its prison-house of pain.
Give me, for I need it sorely,
Of that courage, wise and sweet,
Which has made the path of duty
Green beneath your willing feet.
Give me that unselfish nature,
That with charity divine
Can pardon wrong for love’s dear sake-
Meek heart, forgive me mine!
Thus our parting daily loseth
Something of its bitter pain,
And while learning this hard lesson,
My great loss becomes my gain.
For the touch of grief will render
My wild nature more serene,
Give to life new aspirations,
A new trust in the unseen.
Henceforth, safe across the river,
I shall see forever more
A beloved, household spirit
Waiting for me on the shore.
Hope and faith, born of my sorrow,
Guardian angels shall become,
And the sister gone before me
By their hands shall lead me home.
From a face who has never directly gazed upon yours and a heart who opens nontheless, I say thank you for sharing yourself with us. I don't have to say he's been watching and patiently waiting. When you are ready, his hand shall lead you home.
[Edit: I wrote this April 29, but something made me wait until today to post this. Without thinking, Mayday lifts my spirits and my songs, not just my tears are blown up to my Godself to share. Blessed be thou-the caretakers, the friends, students, children through red and white threads and of course our beloved teacher.]