I
know I am getting older because I say, “when I was growing up”
more often. Just this past week I had a wonderful “when I was
growing up” come full circle. When I was in junior high (called
middle school now) my mom discovered a little church she was
determined our broken family would attend. While attending this
little church I first heard a soft-spoken man by the name of Bob
Benson; he captured my attention with his beautiful word pictures,
sensitive heart and holistic faith. He shared a faith walk without
compartments; a spirituality wrapped up in everyday living. I read
his books and I learned to sit on the front pew and listen hard to
his whispered messages whenever I had an opportunity to hear him
speak.
Bob
Benson died of cancer in his 50s so it has been at least a quarter of
a century since he wrote a book or spoke at a retreat. But not too
long ago I came across a book by Robert Benson entitled, Dancing on the Head of a Pen. The
subtitle is The Practice of a Writing Life. An
inspiring and practical book by the way, including well crafted word
pictures to draw one in, to tease out a few laughs; it is written
like a straight forward chat over coffee about what it is like for
one writer to bear up under the insecurities and delicacies of being
a writer. Only a few pages into the book and I suspected this Robert
Benson just might be related to Bob Benson. I text my brother to share with him, and of course he wants to read Robert Benson's book; I imagine he wants to borrow mine.
After
doing a little research I discovered Robert Benson is Bob Benson's
son. This morning I decided to take a photo of Robert's book with one
of his dad's books. I pulled out He Speaks Softly: Learning toHear God's Voice. If you read my post about my one word for the
year, you may recall it is listen. I felt a tug on my heart to
reread this book. I opened the book for old times sake and hit a
speed bump at the dedication page. “To my two eldest sons, Robert .
. . and Michael . . .” the words of Bob Benson confirmed Robert to
be his son. Now this all sounds kind of weird as if I am looking for
some lost relative, but I am a bit sentimental about those who helped
mold me spiritually when I was young in the faith. My home life was
chaotic so creative Christians like Bob Benson poured crystal clear
water, re-hydrating a parched place in me craving hope and
encouragement.
I
wish I had the words to describe how moved I am to be mentored by
another Benson. At this crossroad on my journey I am delighted Robert
Benson came along side to challenge me as a creative person and to
speak to my soul. I plan to read as many of his books as I can get my hands on. I would love to hear about the people who stirred
you to be a better and truer you – the one or two people who left a
significant mark on your spiritual formation. There have been several
in my life and a larger number of them I only met through print on a
page. Thank you wherever you may be!My husband, my editor, challenged me to bring something more to the ice cream truck opening. I had to laugh at my response because I told him I grew up in the country so my only ice cream truck experiences as a child happened when visiting my cousins in Cincinnati. It is as Bob Benson writes, "A person's montage of memories and impressions are peculiarly and particularly his own." I imagine it is more the memories of raising my children in the mid west influencing my thinking about ice cream trucks. No matter, the Pied Piper-like draw of its music for the neighborhood children overwhelms me still.
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