Balloon Boy would soar in Fahrenheit 451

My freshmen students began reading Fahrenheit 451 last week.  It was a grand start with a lively discussion about books.  Memories were shared and stories unfolded as storybook after storybook was recounted with vivid details.   There was minimal prodding from me to get the answer I was looking for: reading is essential to who we are.  Really, fourteen-year-olds readily volunteered that answer.  Bradbury would be so proud--or would he?

I have been, just like you I'm sure, watching the story--the drama--now the fable of the Colorado boy unfold as he was once was thought to be floating to the land of Oz but who was really napping in the attic.  The "put me on tv" dad found a way to get himself on tv, that's for sure.  No one can doubt his ingenuity.  Except for the fact that that UFO looking device resembled the Jiffy Pop popcorn container more than it did a legitmate flying device.  Buy anyway, that's not the point.  Is there a point?  Yep.  He knows what our culture wants.  Drama. Entertainment. On TV.  

So, would Bradbury be proud?  I guess there is a conflicting message.  On the one hand, we (at least my students) claim they love reading.  On the other hand, we love the sensational story that comes from lands far away and floats across our living rooms to bring us something to wonder about, to question, to be entertained by.  

For me, my lessons in room 304b have now been all the more fortified.  And so for tomorrow twenty five more pages of reading are due.  We march on to discover what Bradbury knew over fifty years ago.  Our culture is threatened by the insatiable need to be entertained; however, if my students are right, we can satiate that need with books just as well as screens and fast action.  If you think I'm a Pollyanna, well you are right.  And if you don't know who Pollyanna is, well you have some reading to do! 

God will be with you...

I visited the World Vision "Step into Africa" exhibit yesterday.  I placed the earphones on my ears and a rhythmic, soothing voice hummed Emmanuel's story into my ears.  The journey began in a small hut made to look like the home he shared with his mother and brother before his mother died from Aids and before the hut collapsed from heavy rains.  It wasn't too long until tears were streaming down my cheeks.  How can a 9-year-old boy become the parent?  How do two children survive in a banana plantation?  What is my responsibilty to this epidemic, this global crisis?  I continued on Emmanuel's journey discovering that World Vision found him and his brother, provided them real shelter, and are helping the boys pursue their dreams of becoming doctors.  At the end of my journey, the soothing voice announced Emmanuel's diagnosis: HIV negative--AMEN!  

In response to the stories, people wrote and posted prayers and thoughts in the chapel.  Many pleaded earnestly to know how to help; to be broken in order to do what matters; and yet, far too many comments seemed too trite, too canned--"God will be with you" or "God will answer your prayers" or even "Hang in there."  Really?   

There is none of Emmanuel's story that I can begin to imagine for me or for my children.  The loss of both parents? The scorn of extended family and community?  The loss of all earthly possessions?  The loss of a house?   What is my response?  If we declare "God will answer your prayers" and do not respond by action, how then can God work?  If I give only words, do I give anything? 

I hope we do more than say "you'll get through it" when what might be needed is an extended hand to walk through those dark valleys and the chance to help someone feel the love of God.