Once there was a new mother who wanted her children to be educated. How could she teach her children? What did they need to learn?
Books, of course. So the mother bought her children books. Stacks of books. When cupboards opened books piled upon books fell off the shelves. The bookshelves were stacked two deep, with extra books piled on top. Books fell off end tables and were stacked under them, too.
Paths were made to walk from room to room among the stacks of more books. Sometimes the baby took the books to build giant towers she could then collapse and destroy.
The mother grew concerned. Her young children still didn't know the secrets of the universe. So mama scoured more catalogs and sales to get more books.
Small books. Tall books. Thick ones. Thin ones. Picture books, chapter books, novels, instruction books, music books. Sometimes she got duplicates because who could keep track of them all, and it was so hard to pass up a good book. The stacks of books grew so tall the family could no longer play the piano because it was hidden among all the books. Extra books went to the basement until it got so full one could only walk down the stairs and stand in the midst of mountains of books.
One day, the mother couldn't find her young children. They hadn't gone outside to play, they weren't in their rooms, and the whole house was silent.
The mother knew a silent house with young children meant trouble.
For over an hour she searched, scoured, and called them. Finally, she heard a crash in the basement. When she raced down the stairs, she found the children laughing in a castle built of books, complete with walls, towers, and a moat.
“Where have you been? Didn't you hear me calling you?”
Peter, the most mischievous, smiled at his mother and said, “Mama. We're playing like you. We're hiding behind the books.”
Hiding behind the books.
Books are a precious thing. But they were made to be opened and read. She had instead used them to build walls and fences in her home. Good fences make good neighbors. But books don't make good fences.
The mother decided to simplify some of her stacks. Out went the extra books. Boxes and crates were filled with books and given away. Then, finally, one room had enough room for the mother to sit and read to her children. The mother took a single book, sat on the couch, and read to her children. They nudged around her and at her feet, listening to the story of worlds and kingdoms and wonders to last a lifetime. Peter didn't seem to listen as he played with building blocks while she read.
But after she finished the story, Peter tugged at her and asked, “Read it again?” Nan asked, “Is there a sequel?”
Jody paused and then wondered, “Has this author written any other books like this?”
Janie, the baby, didn't ask anything but liked cuddling with Mom and everybody else.
When the mother stopped hiding behind the books, the children learned that the joy of books wasn't in the binding, or the pages, but in the wonderful stories, ideas, and characters printed upon them.
Mary Biever is a homeschooling mother of two who publishes encouragement articles and runs Encouragement Workshops For Today's Families.
This article was adapted from one of her columns.
