Hallowed Ground

There is hallowed ground that is closer than you think.
It is ground that you have already trod.
It is ground that you may remember from your childhood.
It is ground on which you have journeyed with your own children.

You do not need a passport to travel there.
You do not need any luggage.
It will not cost you anything but a little time.
However, the dividends are immeasurable.

You carry this hallowed ground around with you every day without even thinking about it.
It is readily available.
It never announces itself.
It is a place of invitation.

A child seems to know instinctively how to get there.
It is a place that seems to increase in size depending on the number it accommodates.
It is a place of moments.
It is a place where you can travel to the moon or to a land not yet discovered.

It is a place where time travel is possible.
It is the safest place in the world.
It is a place where love abides.
It is a place where dreams are more than a possibility.

Not every child has had the joy of being there.
Not every child has fond memories of time spent in that magical place.
Not every adult can remember its significance.
However for those that can, the memories of that place are firmly etched on their heart.

That place, that hallowed ground, is a mother’s lap.
All it takes is for a mother to pat her knee and a child will come running.
All it takes is for a mother to get out a book or two, or three, or four and the magic begins.
Somehow getting closer to their mother, the child gets closer to the story.

It is necessary.
The traveling happens together, as mother and child set out on an expedition.
The traveling is remembering for the mother.
The traveling is discovery for the child.

I had a mother who read to me
Sagas of pirates who scoured the sea,
Cutlasses clenched in their yellow teeth,
“Blackbirds” stowed in the hold beneath.

I had a Mother who read me lays
Of ancient and gallant and golden days;
Stories of Marmion and Ivanhoe,
Which every boy has a right to know.

I had a Mother who read me tales
Of Gelert the hound of the hills of Wales,
True to his trust till his tragic death,
Faithfulness blent with his final breath.

I had a Mother who read me the things
That wholesome life to the boy heart brings–
Stories that stir with an upward touch,
Oh, that each mother of boys were such!

You may have tangible wealth untold;
Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.
Richer than I you can never be–
I had a Mother who read to me.     (The Reading Mother, by Strickland Gillilan)

Gillilan knew a thing or two about this hallowed ground.
He knew that a reading mother is a priceless gift.
No amount of money or jewels can compare to her value.
The stories she reads are a deposit; the rewards of that deposit are endless.

Have you ever watched a child on a mother’s lap as a story is read?
Have you seen how the child gets cozy and cuddles against her chest?
Have you watched as the blanket is held, the thumb enters the mouth, and the hair is twirled?
There is comfort and safety in that lap.

There are stories being told and savored in that lap.
There are dragons slain in that lap.
There are imaginations being developed in that lap.
There are dreams just beginning to grow in that lap.

A lap is truly hallowed ground.
A lap is the birthplace of a love of books, and stories, and poetry.
A lap is a place where a melody of words waft on the air.
A lap is a place where a symphony of sounds soothe and words are cherished.

There is nothing cozier than a pajama clad child climbing up to listen to a story.
There is an aroma of soap and shampoo as their damp head leaves wet marks on your shirt.
There is a stillness that can be felt as the story begins.
There is the inevitable correction as the story is read with the wrong inflection.

Children remember.
The story must be told in the same way or they will balk.
They know if you leave something out.
They know if you add something that wasn’t there before.

Declare His glory among the nations, His wonders among all peoples. (Psalm 96:3)

Wonder begins in the lap as the Story is read.
Wonder because of the Story itself.
Wonder because of the Battle and the Victory.
Wonder because of the One who comes on a white horse and slays the dragon.

It is the Gospel that is to be shared while a child cuddles on a lap.
It is the Story that must be read and re-read.
It is the Story that begins a wonder that will follow them all the days of their lives.
Nothing can be added or subtracted from the Story; it is perfect just as it is.

It all begins on a lap.
Be a mother and father that reads to your child.
Begin the wonderment as you journey together and share a love of stories.
Begin with THE Story and read it again and again.

The melody of words.
The symphony of sound.
The coziness of a familiar lap.
Begin the journey and celebrate that you are indeed on hallowed ground.