“Where are you headed?” came a tiny voice. The woman whipped her head around quickly,
but no one was there. She grew
frightened.
“Down here!” it said.
And there on the floor, not far from her, was a tiny mouse. The woman blinked several times. I’m
dreaming, she thought, I must be
dreaming.
“Where are you headed?” he asked again, a bit louder.
“I don’t know,” she said, “I’m quite lost, I’m
afraid. I thought I knew the way, but at
some point I became confused. And when I
became confused, I became fearful. And
when I became fearful, I began to forget who I was.”
“And have you
forgotten who you are?”
“No.”
“What made you remember?” he asked.
“Well, when I stopped to answer you,” she said, “I
stopped being afraid for a moment, and when I stopped being afraid, I started
to remember who I was again.”
“Well, what are you going to do, just wander from room to
room forever? You know,” he said, “You’ve
been wandering from room to room for a long time now. I’ve been watching you.”
“Have I? I’d quite
forgotten.”
“Oh, yes, a very long time.”
“I would like to know where I am,” she said
“Why, you are in your house, where you live. Don’t you remember it?” he asked.
“No. Yes. Well, no, not completely. Somewhere along the way I became lost.”
“Hmmm….” he mused, “And what have you done to try to
become found?”
“Well, I’ve been wandering from room to room.”
“Without a purpose?”
“Well,” she said a bit embarrassed, “I didn’t know what
else to do. You see, I became distracted
by a shiny object. I can’t remember what
it was, but it was pretty. And I kept
following it, and I guess I stopped paying attention. And when I finally looked up because I had a
terrible sense of doom, I found that I was completely lost. The shiny, pretty thing, whatever it was, is
gone.”
“So you were led astray by a shiny object that seemed
pretty and perhaps fun?” he asked.
“Yes, I guess so.”
“And you couldn’t say no to it? You had to just follow it wherever it led?”
“Well,” she said embarrassed again, “I could have said
no, but it was fun. And easy. And distracting. And I was busy and tired. And I guess I just gave up and let my common
sense go out the window. Can you help
me? Can you help me find the entrance or
the exit?”
“My world is very different from yours,” he said, “I live
in this one little room over here, and this one room is my entire world. I don’t have the luxury of an entire house as
you do.” And he pointed to a small door
in the wall that she hadn’t noticed before.
Or maybe it was because it was so small and unadorned, she had passed it
by in her wanderings.
“May I go in?” she asked, not waiting for an answer as
she turned the door knob, bent down, and slipped into the old room. Something about the room seemed very familiar,
but she could not place where she had seen it before.
“Are you coming” she asked, but when she turned around,
the little mouse was not there. She poked
her head outside the door. He was not
there either. She decided she would look
for him later after she had a look around the room.
There was not much to see. A few old paintings hung on the walls, and they
looked familiar, too. There was a small
table with chairs set for tea a long time ago, and it seemed the tea had never
taken place. There was an old lamp on a
corner table with a soft chair next to it.
Beyond that, there really wasn’t much else in the room. She was about to leave when she noticed an
old bookcase in the corner opposite the chair and lamp. Might
as well have a look at it before I leave, she thought.
The bookcase was old and dusty and so were all the books
that were on the shelves. She reached
out for a small book. The cover said, “Handbook
for Boys,” and at the bottom it said “Boy Scouts of America.” She flipped it open. Copyright 1948, Fifth Edition, Fourth
Printing, January 1951, 525,000 copies, Total Printing since 1910: 12,348,723.
She took the book to the chair on the opposite side of the room, sat
down, and turned on the old lamp. It
cast a soft yellow light.
She began to read . . . “Have you ever dreamed of hiking
the wilderness trails? Have you stopped
to think of the pioneer wagons whose great wheels cut the tracks for our
present roads? You can follow those
trails, the streams, and tracks! You can
have your share of that adventure.” What kind of book is this? she wondered.
She read many things . . . “Be prepared. That is the Scout Motto. From the day you become a Scout, you set
about preparing yourself to help other people . . .” Helping
other people? she mused. And then
she read about laws. “The Scout
Law: 1) A Scout is trustworthy. 2) A Scout is loyal. 3) A Scout is helpful. 4) A Scout is friendly. 5) A Scout is courteous. 6) A Scout is kind. 7) A Scout is obedient. 8) A Scout is cheerful. 9) A Scout is thrifty. 10) A Scout is brave. 11) A Scout is clean. 12) A Scout is reverent.
And not only that, there was an oath these “Scouts” took
as well. “On my honor I will do my
best: To do my duty to God and my
country and to obey the Scout law; to help other people at all times; to keep
myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight.” This is
a tall order, she thought, but it felt good to think about it. The only thing she had thought about for . .
. how long was it now? . . . months? . . . years? . . . the only thing was the
shiny object, and then the fear of losing the object and later, the fear of
losing herself.
FEAR. She realized
it had constantly been on her mind for untold years now, weighing her down,
crippling her. Fear of being lost. Fear of being found. Fear of the unknown. Fear of other people. Fear of events beyond her control. Fear of events within her control. Fear of work.
Fear of hardship. Fear of responsibility. Life had become constant fear. But when did
that happen? And why did she let it
happen? She did not know. She looked back in the book.
There were so many things she could learn! Wildlife and woodlore, tracking and stalking,
finding one’s way, the woodsman’s tools, fire building, camp cooking, making
shelters, handicraft, first aid, signaling, swimming, physical fitness,
etc. And friendship. There was friendship in this book. Maybe there would be friendship outside of
the book, too?
She went back to the bookcase and pulled down the next
book. The cover said, “Scout Field Book.” She flipped it open. Copyright 1948, Twelfth Printing, 1957. She brought it back to the chair and sat
down. Here was a complete companion
manual that described in great detail and elaboration how to do and enhance
many of the things she had read about in the first book. It covered ways of life many people had
forgotten about, such as how to wrap food in oiled or waxed cloth before plastic
wrap was in use. There was so much to
learn, or rather relearn.
These books were old compared to many newer books she had
seen. They looked different. They smelled different. The language used was different, a bit
old-fashioned. They assumed an
intelligence in the reader she hadn’t seen before. They felt different. They felt good. The authors didn’t seem to be tripping over
themselves to skirt around delicate issues.
In fact, they boldly spoke their minds without apology. What a
novel concept, she thought.
She went back to the bookcase and pulled down a third
book. This was a larger book, a heavy
tome. The cover said, “A History of the
Civil War.” She flipped it open. Copyright 1912, New York, The War Memorial
Association. It was a chronological summary
and record of every single engagement between union and confederate soldiers,
including war maps and original photos, compiled from the official records of
the War Department [now known as the Department of Defense]. It was the real thing, written still from the
so-called victors’ point of view, but the real thing nevertheless. It was written before the shiny distraction
had come along and mired her understanding.
She closed the book.
It would take a long time to read this book, but she was determined that
she would read it. This time she would read it without the shiny
object confusing her. She would read it
without fear. She would read it without preconceived
ideas because she couldn’t remember what her preconceived ideas had been
anyway. There had been so much confusion
these past many years . . . Maybe it was
good that she had been lost for a while.
But now she was not lost. Now she
was found.
I like old books,
she thought, and old ways of doing
things. I’m tired of flashing lights and
shiny objects. And mostly, I’m tired of
being afraid. I am not a timid
mouse. I am strong. I am a match for anything. She got up, turned off the lamp, and brought
the three books with her out of the room.
She walked determinedly to the exit.
It was not very far away after all.
She went outside of the old house.
The sun was shining.
She looked at the house. It was
in disrepair, but all things considered, it was not too bad. The worst part was the foundation. I will
call someone tomorrow and get that fixed right away. A house is only as good as its foundation, she
thought.
It’s time to fix things from the bottom up. On my honor, I will do my best.
And from that day on, she did do her best and she thought
of her honor every step of the way. Her
life changed. It was a gradual change,
but it added up over time as things generally do. She read every old book she could get her
hands on. She found that she didn’t like
newer books. What’s more, when she found
a new reprinting of an old book, she found that often subtle changes had been
made to the text. She realized that
these subtle changes also had the ability to add up over time if she wasn’t
paying attention. But she was paying attention. Now
she was paying attention.
[Honor: A keen
sense of ethical conduct. One’s word
given as a guarantee of performance.]
