Brilliant Star/Volume 16/Issue 5/Text
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volume 16 number 5
rilliant Star
november-december 1984
Qudrat Power ¢ Qawl Speech ¢ Masa’il Questions 141
Dear Children,
Can you tell time yet? What other ways do you know to measure time besides looking at your watch? Have the leaves fallen off the trees, and is the sun setting earlier where you live? Is it ten minutes ‘til winter? Maybe you live south of the equator, and summer is in the air—with bright, high sun, and light summer evenings. Maybe you live near the Arctic Circle, and the nights are getting so long that you only have a few hours of sunlight each day! The seasons are changing, and though we dont see the time pass as quickly in their movement as we do watching the second hand on our watches, we can still sense the clockworks of nature.
What are the stars like in the sky this time of year? Do you see different stars in these months than in the summer? What about the seasons of your life? Think about your family and what season each member is in: maybe you have a newborn baby, just like a tender green
_ sprout in the spring. A grandfather may live with you, with rich golden stories like the autumn.
The plan of God has seasons too! We are in the springtime, the “divine springtime; Bahd@’ulléh calls it—the wonderful, new early days of our faith. We know that when the winter comes, and a religion is dying out, God sends a new Messenger to breathe new life into the world. Aren't we blessed to be living now?
Write us about all the
seasons and cycles you can think of.
“yn edu ln
About the cover
The artist for this issue’s cover is almost-six year old Lars Leydon of Lahaska, Pa. It is a finger painting done with tempera paint. You might be surprised that we are showcasing a finger painting. Look carefully and you will see a great deal of energy and a very strong graphic image This is a painting filled with certitude! Often very young children have this strength in their artwork, but it tends to disappear as they get older and become concerned with how things “ought to look” An artist is an individual who sees his or her surroundings with his or her own eyes and interprets with his or her own heart and
“doesn’t concern him or herself: "|
with the conventions of peers. Try to always be close to the artist in yourself and have certitude
Brilliant Star is a publication of the National Spiritual Assembly of the Bahaiis of the United States. It is published six times each year, in January, March, May, July, September and November. Copyright © 1984 National Spiritual Assembly of the Bahaiis of the United States. World rights reserved.
Address manuscripts and other editorial contributions to Brilliant Star/Radpour, Suburban Office Park, 5010 Austin Rd., Hixson, Tn. 37343. Manuscripts should be typewritten and double-spaced throughout. Brilliant Star does not offer monetary compensation to its contributors. Return postage should be included if manuscript is to be returned. Single copy $2.50; 6 issues (one year) $12.00; 12 issues (two years) $23.00; foreign, surface mail, one year $15.00, two years $28.00; foreign, air mail, one year $25.00, two years $47.50. An index for the preceding year's issues is available for $2.00. For subscriptions, change of address and adjustments write to Brilliant Star Subscriber Service, Suburban Office Park, 5010 Austin Rd., Hixson, Tn. 37343. All other correspondence should be addressed to Brilliant Star/Richards, 4 Village Dr, Yardville, N.J. 08620. Printed in the U.S.A.
Brilliant Star is intended for children of all ages and
strives to:
e develop the child's awareness of the oneness of humanity
® increase the child's conscious awareness of his spiritual nature and the need for its development
e provide practical approaches to viewing life's difficulties
e develop the child's reasoning power and stimulate his love for the order of the universe
¢ provide a standard by which the child may learn to relate to others with love and justice
assist parents and teachers in developing all of the child's hidden talents and virtues
Brilliant Star Editorial Board
Mary K. Radpour Managing Director
Mary K. Radpour Editor-in-Chief
Deborah Bley Assistant Editor
Mimi McClellan Music Editor
Rita Leydon Art Director
Rita Leydon Production
Janet Richards Secretary
Keith Boehme
Consultant
[Page 1]
whats inside
Letters From Our 2
Friends
Trumpet Flower 4 a true story by
Heidi Marie Melius
When You are Old 8 by Ellen Walker
Spring Wind 10 a poem by Paula A. Webster WAS AY NEY,
ev als SO >
Summer Song
a poem by
Autumn 12 a poem by Cathy Drinkwater Snowfall 13 a poem by
Paula A. Webster
The Brilliant Stars 14 by Mark & Joyce Block
SOME WAY WS CAN BE A PaRT oF CHRISTHAS
BRILLIANT STan To TR A AGouT IT,
MY House IN AN Hove |
Make a“T” Flyer 16 a craft activity by Rita Leydon
Imagination Play 17 a craft activity by John W. Behrens
One Family 18
by Mary K. Radpour
Cathy Drinkwater
Dream Remembered
a song from
Tesi’s Grandpa
and the Butterfly 6 ="3 a story by Seated j
Victoria Ridgway Seifert
22 if
Puzzle 27 by Sandra Coleman
Our Weather 28 Deborah Bley tells
us where it comes from
30
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Letters from our friends
A couple of readers have asked for pen pals:
Rosita Niknafs (loves reading, drawing, ice-skating, biking, roller skating, and collects stamps)
Age 13 528 Wellesly Street Hawkesbury, Ontario
K6A 2G1 Canada
Saman Aghdasi (would like to be pen pals with Maria Penner, and anyone else!)
Age 10 16 Colonial Way Scituate, MA 02066
(isms
Thep and Tee Smith from Bangkok, Thailand, wrote and sent us a photo: We like to read Brilliant Star. Thank you
for showing us how to make a swing. Here is a picture of us It’s always nice to hear
on our new swings. Our daddy helped us make them. Thep _ that our readers have tried
is 5 and Tee is 3. one of our crafts or activities! Nura
Es Sat SLs sa ceaP
Sadeghpour and her grandmother, Molly King, of California write: This month we built the bean house and our beans are about 5 inches tall. We water them every day. Thank you for that idea.
Since Halloween just
passed, we thought you
might enjoy seeing how the
Troxel children of Baton
Rouge, Louisiana, carved a
beautiful jack-o-lantern!
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i¥
bubble-gum bubble!!
Here is Marzieh Pritchard, age 5, of Lauderdale Lakes, Florida, blowing her very first
see
Elyce Stolp Nasseri wrote to share a story that she and her children like to hear just before going to sleep at night. They live in Chad, in Africa:
Bonchance
There once was a boy who was very very lucky. In fact his name was Bonchance (which means “good luck”). Why was he so lucky?
Well, Bonchance was lucky because he had eyes that could see, and ears that could hear, and a nose that could smell, anda tongue that could taste, and fingers that could feel anda heart that could know and love God.
Bonchance never forgot these blessings, and every day he said prayers to thank God for all of his bounties.
One of the prayers that he said, revealed by “Abdu’1Baha, was: “O God! Make my heart pure like a pearl.”
Ayana Alston, age 11, of Cupertino, California, sent us some of her lovely poems. She had to write poetry as a class assignment, with only two words per line, and here is one about her cat:
Very clumsy Orange bright Eats alot Scratches fleas Very funny Big eyes
Long nails Fuzzy tail Eats slugs Fights moths Try walking! He will—
Trip you...
Yasi Sanii and Sarah Lawrence of Olean, NY, made these wonderful wintery pictures for us. Yasi is 7, and Sarah is 6:
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4.
crvsprrred hen mace, Seg 2
oye.
%
trumpet
Hower
by Heidi Marie Melius
Illustrated by Elizabeth Filstrup
n the year 1852, life
was peaceful for the noble family of Mirza HusaynAli, or Baha'u'llah as we call Him today. But during the turmoil after an attempt on the life of Nasiri’d-Din Shah, their riches were seized and young Bahiyyih Khanum learned the true meaning of religious freedom.
All known Babis,
noblemen alike, were
arrested and thrown
into prison. Bahiyyih’s
heart ached with
sadness when her own
father was taken.
Reports came to the
family that Baha’u’llah
had received brutal
beatings and was
tortured by bastinado.
His clothes were torn,
His shoes and turban
gone, and there were
chains upon His neck
as the jeering crowds
dragged Him into
prison.
Yet even as these accounts reached the family, they had little time to grieve. For soon the mob stormed
EG
Baha’u llah’s house and stripped it of all belongings. After the violent crowd left, Bahiyyih’s mother hurried the children into the safety of a house she rented in a back alley. This was home for four long months.
Bahiyyih felt anxious
to know the fate of her
father, and then one
special day, her eldest
brother Abbas was
granted permission to
visit Baha’u’l1ah.
Bahiyyih waited at
home while he and
Mother journeyed to the
prison. She sang softly
and rocked her baby
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brother Mirza Mihdi
through the endless hours. Her frail arms tired as they swayed to and fro—yet this very motion helped to calm her fast-beating heart and soothe her troubled mind.
Indeed the hours passed, when at long last three loud taps were heard upon the outer door. There was the coded knock they had agreed to use! Bahiyyih ran to greet her mother and Abbas. Tears of relief sprang to her eyes as she welcomed them home.
_ “Father?” she whispered. “How is our
father?”
“Alive, my dearest one. Insha’llah, alive and well.” Mother responded gently and placed her hand on Bahiyyih’s brow to smooth away the look of fear. “And now you must rest. It has been a long day. Give me the baby and run along with Abbas.’
Bahiyyih kissed her mother’s hand and rushed to meet Abbas in the outer garden. She was greeted by the musk-laden air of evening, heavy with the sweet-smelling herbs of bergamot and mint. Even though the area
was small and unattended, here amidst the flowering trees and fragrant bushes Bahiyyih was reminded of happier days in father’s country home. She hurried next to Abbas under the mulberry tree and said, “Tell me everything. Please.”
“Oh Bahiyyih, my little sister. Your heart is already so sad. But you must know and try to understand.”
“Did you see father Abbas?”
“Yes. I was carried on a servant’s shoulders and saw a dark, steep
place. We entered a
please turn the page
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small, narrow doorway
and went down two
steps. Beyond that I
could see nothing’
“What was it like down there?”
“Father asked that the servant not bring me any further so they took me back out. We sat outside waiting for the prisoners to be led out. Suddenly they brought Father out of the dungeon.”
“How was He?” Bahiyyih asked haltingly.
“He was chained to several others. What a chain! It was very heavy and they could only move it along with great difficulty!”
“Oh Abbas,’ Bahiyyih sobbed. “What can we do?”
“Bahiyyih, Father is well. He relies upon God for strength and is happy in His conditions.”
Bahiyyih looked intently into his eyes as Abbas finished the story. She noticed a new glimmer of light and longed to know the reason. “What did Father say, Abbas, to make you think He is well? There were chains upon his neck and you
say He is well. How can that be?”
“He told me that the prisoners are placed together in two rows, highwaymen and robbers alike. They face each other with their feet in stocks. The air is foul and no ray of light warms the icy coldness, yet they chant prayers! Father has taught them to chant one of the Bab’s prayers!”
“And they are happy?” Bahiyyih asked in wonder.
“Yes. Their voices continue until early hours in the morning and the sound is so loud that it reaches the ears of the Shah. This makes them very glad to know that their presence will not be forgotten!” Abbas paused with his eyes closed as if listening to a sound in the night air. Continuing, he said with great conviction, “When the city is quiet and the people are asleep, you can almost hear Father. Listen to their chanting, Bahiyyih. Listen with your heart to the sweet songs of praise.”
Placing his hand on hers and looking into her troubled eyes, Abbas stood up slowly and said, “Bahiyyih, know that Father is
well, very well...I must go to Mother now.’
Bahiyyih remained in the garden listening only to the beat of her heart. Then she arose from the stone bench and began walking. Upon the crest of each step she said a prayer for the safe return of her father. Then as she did every night since their confinement, Bahiyyih came upon her father’s favorite bush. It was ablaze with white roses and gave off a delightful scent. As she gazed into each golden-centered blossom, she thought of the martyred Babis and their families left behind. Her heart became a beating drum calling out to the people of Tehran. “How can you be cruel? Your eyes are blind and your ears do not hear!” Ina softer voice she cried, “The flowers alone know the sadness of my heart. Why does this have to be?”
After a silent moment
among the roses,
Bahiyyih continued to
walk along the path of
scarlet hybiscus and
pomegranate trees. She
moved slowly, listening
to the sounds of
evening. Her procession
[Page 7]
stopped in front of a lily
plant—the trumpet
flower. Its funnelshaped blossom of
purest white seemed to
echo what Abbas had lovingly confided. Here
'
t & 5
it was that she closed her eyes and imagined the distant sound of her father’s chanting. Her heart was comforted by the soothing melody
and gradually heard an answer. Yes, her patience would be rewarded. Father would soon be returned to His beloved family. @
when D* you ever play in the fallen leaves on an autumn day when the air was cool and the Ou sun was hot? yi Do you remember that?
are Maybe you forgot it for a little while. Maybe not. You will probably forget it many times before old you are old. But when you are old, one day you will
/ byEllen Walker remember it all again, and inside your old body Mlustrated by Carol Walborn you will be young again, with the sun on your face, crunching crisp dry leaves in your hands and under your feet, and dancing over the earth with what you see now was joy.
You will feel young again, even though your body is old.
When you are old, from time to time you will remember things, and although your body is old your spirit will feel like a child again, because your spirit does not forget.
Not all the things you will remember when you are old will be pleasant, but being old will help to make them so, because your spirit also learns.
'
¢
ils, you are old you will sometimes remember when you told your first big lie that somehow got found out. Or you will remember the time you let . go and hit your best friend right in the mouth. When you are old you will think about these ~~ things and wonder how God ever put up with you, ~ and you will thank Him for giving you time to learn how to be a better person.
When you are old you will sometimes want to do things that old people are not supposed to do.
Sometimes you will feel for a tiny moment that you would like to hit someone in the mouth.
But because you are old, and you know better, you will just let that angry feeling go by.
Sometimes when you are old, you will feel for a moment like dancing across the room, or jumping up and down for joy, just like a child.
And if your body is not too weak, and if you are not too shy, you just might do it. You just might dance a little ways across the room, and jump once or twice because it feels so good.
It is not so simple, being old.
It is not as easy as it looks.
When you are old, you will know. #
| ere are four poems, one for each season of the year, that draw thought pictures for us, and move us through the year. Can't you almost taste each
time of the year as you read the poems?
by Paula A. Webster GS
spring Wind Be pi
Illustrated by Patti Van Horn \ YQ e comes to town with elfin dust \ ou trailing from his coat, NS Ss a stalwart kid with shining eyes PS) Os and magic in a note: Wievouts
“Redwinged blackbirds are building nests,
And baby ralobits are out to play.
There's a brand new creek singing in the ditch; Please dismiss school today.”
And as the children pour through doors, ne tosses his cap thus, then “i
_ gambols, dances down the street fo the flutesong of his wind.
= oF
Vp
W
4 | s ; A LY | By eds
‘A ws Summer Son
by Cathy Drinkwater
Illustrated by Patti Van Horn
he surnmer sings and hurns 10 me
Each day fromm morn ‘til night. some insects are Musicians and some provide the light.
It’s like an animal symphony
That goes on every day,
Each bird has its own song of joy And sings it his own way.
Children laugh and cry ouside. They play from dawn ‘til dark. And the music of their voices
Is as perfect as the lark.
Each living thing in its own way Helos make up the song
That every summer cay will sing— And | always sing along.
And when at night a lullaioy oie ls crooning soft and deep, CA
| close my eyes and smile a bit, And hum myself to sleep.
11
[Page 12]
12
AUGUTOD jy cis crntene
Illustrated by Patti Van Horn
he Autumn travels by no equinoctial timetable; arriving, at her pleasure, by night in early August.
Though in retreat those sultry days,
she goes abroad at night
and pours, murmuring, through treetoes rich with green and moist with life,
too soon to rustle dryly as life slios comatose beneath her passionate red-tiooed fingers.
A flashy, boisterous lady of the night, she lurks where maiden summer still resides,
And her only calling card these stolen nights amid white hot days— Look Up!
Pale and fleecy messengers, Criven glacly, scuttle before a cool, knowing moon.
STOWELL oy ruses vesen
Illustrated by Patti Van Horn
s midnight approaches, | sit at the window waiching the snow, the soft, wet flakes, and | wonder, if, perhaps, | ive in a small glass ball sometimes taken from the shelf and held by childish hands, turned upside down and back again so wide blue eyes can watch the winter storm inside.
Luff
LEY, 4 Z
HN NEA <A
YitZ
f i gf Hit My
ALA Zl
GY WO hi
4, WA If LNW AY PN ae iy}
Pg Mg
AND wHy
CHANNUIKAH IS
SO IMPORTANT
To THe YEws.
sure! AND on
CHRISTMAS MORNING
WE CaN GET TOGETHER AND
THE STORY OF CHRIST S
BiRTH — THATS WHAT
CHRISTMAS 1S / REALLY AGovT
BuT | ST Féeen WEIRD when we sTART BAcK TO gcHool AND EVERYONE'S
TALKING ABOUT
ALL THE VOW
To baviOs
~~ “ _
Ww . Hovse
© A\\ puRING
WELL You KNOw-.,
EvERYONE ELSE MAY
H4ve HoLipAys DvRING
DEecem BER — BvT WE
HAuG HOLIDAYS
BAHA U'LLAH Ss BIRTH DAY, THE BABS BIRTHDAY, AyyAM-1-HA, VAw-(@Uz, TH FESTIVAL OF
RiIOVAN cer
EL DIFFERENT AT CHRISTMAS — BoT we FEEL REALLY SPECIAL DURING | pur CELEBRATION !
You KNow... LAsT YEAR 1 COONTED How
WHAT KIND OF DECORATING DO
A CALENDAR AND START~
MoREe TiMG To THERE'S THE
MANY DAYS :
IT 15 FROM COUNTIN & Down ‘PiRer Sak on AS CHRISTMAS To | UNTIL AYYAM-I-HA CELEBRATION ouR AYYAN-I-HA AYPAM-1-HA
ITs EXACTLY
Make a“
hildren knew about
this little “IF lyer before adults ever figured out how to
make powered aircraft.
It’s easy to make it work, just hold the dowel between the palms of your hands and rub briskly in one direction and release. The direction depends
on how you whittled your
propeller, so you have to experiment.
- Flyer!
by Rita Leydon
LPrill a Ya" hole
©
J
Propeller 7 S/o X 1 XQ" Pine
d
LA,
Y4x 1%" hardwood dowel
Deen with white que
sand all corners smooth When you re the shaft
and orep eI together, be ve nt suretin rat tne are ot right angles © each oth
sth. =
t
Side view prop eller
the propeller nas be care fully whittle to form the Cortech ile SO at it “ oe "Screw itself through
the “air i creatin +e’ “tet that gies — Flight Your ~ new
“Te Flyer.
IMAGINATION PLAY
which comprehends
imagines, thinks and
by John W. Behrens "Abdu’l-Baha tells us that all have talents and faculties: M also has spiritual powers: IMAGINATION, which conceives things; thought, which reflects upon realities; memory, which comprehends.
realities; comprehension, retains whatever man (B.W.F: pg. 317)
1.Transfer these designs to colored craft paper and cut out as many as you want.
2.Arrange the pieces on another paper to make a picture.
3.Glue the pieces.
4.Give your picture a title.
5.Make several pictures and give them all titles.
You have now used your © O
imagination!
LY
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18
One Family « by Mary K. Radpour Photographs «provided by M.
Radpour, Paula and Robert Hendeé ‘and Wilma Brady.
L** night we sat, quiet as mice, while Aria’s Grandma Edie (#1) and my Grandma Wilma looked at family pictures and talked about being little girls once upon a time, so long ago that they had never even heard the name of Baha’u’1lah.
“Think of it!” said my grandma. “You both might never have even been born, if the Baha’is of America had not been busy, making sure everyone knew Baha’u llah’s name and His message.”
“Why not?” we chorused, finding it hard to think of a world without us. “Yes, why not?” repeated Aria.
“Because you are the fruits of a tree which had to be planted a long time ago, my loves,” said Edie. “Just before I was born ’Abdu’l-Baha came to America to teach us how to be one human family. When this picture was taken (#2) , my Irish/American
mother could not imagine a world in which black people and white people could marry and live together in harmony. She had never met a person from Iran, and would never have guessed that her granddaughter would marry a man from Iran. She lived in a little Illinois farm village where everyone looked alike, dressed alike, and thought alike”
“Down the road, in another little
Illinois town, Angela’s Negro
American ancestors lived,’ said my
grandma. “They were free, but they
knew about slavery and how
important unity was. They prayed for
it, they sang about it, but they had
no idea about how such a thing
should come to be. They believed
that they were all alone. But in their
own state of Illinois, Baha’is were
working to build a House of Worship
[Page 19]
for all people”
“Then how did you get to know about Baha’u'llah?” I asked my grandma.
“Do you know who this is in this picture?” she asked. (#3).
“No... well, yes! Is that Aunt Adrienne?” I asked.
“It certainly is!” answered Grandma. “Here she is, a Baha’i pioneer to South Carolina, right after she came home and taught our whole family about the Faith. Here we all are. That’s me, sitting on the end of the sofa on the right.” (#4)
“Really?” I asked, wondering if I would be so pretty when I grow up.
“It sure is,’ said Grandma. “And your Aunt Adrienne and my mama began teaching the Faith right away. Sadie Ellis’ firesides soon became very famous, and our home welcomed all kinds of people. Here is
please turn the page
19
[Page 20]
20
Ws)
Sadie Ellis.” (#5) “While your Aunt Adrienne and your greatgrandmother were busy teaching, I was still searching,’ said Edie. “I heard about the Baha'i Faith three times, but only briefly. When Aria’s mommy was a baby, there was no one to teach me more.’ (#6)
“Why?” asked Aria and I together.
“Because there were so few Baha'is in America then,’ said Edie. “But they had a special Plan given them by ’Abdu’l-Baha, and soon there were Baha'is in every part of the country. Then we tried to have at least one Baha’ in each state. And later, at least nine Bah@’is in one city in each state. So we grew and grew.’
“When Aria’s mommy and your daddy were children, they knew very few other Baha’ children,’ said my grandma. (#7)
“Oooh,” we said together, thinking of how strange it would be to never have Sunday school and lots of friends.
“But Aria’s daddy knew hundreds of Baha’ children,” said Edie “His Sunday school was like a big regular school, for there were so many Baha’i children in Iran that they needed a big school.”
“What about my mommy?” I asked.
“Here is a picture (#8) of your
other grandma and your mommy
with her brothers and sisters,” said
my grandma Wilma. I giggled,
because my mommy looked like I do,
right now. “When your mommy was
a little girl, her mommy taught her
all about God and how to pray.
Because your mommy got this good
education, she was ready to hear
about Baha’i teachings when she
[Page 21]
grew up.’
“Who taught her?” we asked together.
“She learned about the Faith at a fireside, because the Bahda’is were having lots of firesides. That’s where she met your daddy,’ said grandma. “So you see why I said you might never have been born if your Baha’ family hadn’t been teaching about Baha’u'llah? Here is their wedding picture.” (#9)
“And Aria’s daddy had to come all
the way around the world to meet her mommy. Without Baha’u’llah, that never would have happened!” said Edie.
“Now, how do you think Baha’uw1lah will help your children to come from the great big human family?” asked Edie.
Aria and I were quiet. It was a mystery, but I was sure that if God could go to all that trouble to make Aria and me, there would sure be no problems for our children... a
21
[Page 22]
@
¢
” Tests Grandpa (Q> the Butterfly
by Victoria Ridgway Seifert © 1984
Getng on the porch swing, Tesi started its gentle sway with one push of her feet. Her long red braids glistened as the swing passed through the sun’s rays. She remembered the day Grandpa had built the swing and how carefully he had selected each board.
Running her hands gently over the stained finish of the wood, she felt the now familiar lump return to her throat, quickly followed by a cascade of tears. “Darn! Will this ever stop?” Tesi wondered, fully surprised that anything could hurt as bad as losing a grandpa.
Illustrated by Keith Kresge
[Page 23]
Uncle Ben, smaller than most men
but strong and rugged from a
lifetime of logging, appeared before
Tesi, holding a long stem, yellow
rosebud. “It was on Grandpa’s coffin,
Tes. Thought you'd like to keep it.”
“Sure...a...thanks” murmured Tesi, looking away from the rosebud.
“Well, I have to get ready for work.” Uncle Ben placed the flower on Tesi’s lap and bounded from the porch.
“Uncle Ben...I...” Bewilderment stuck the words in Tesi’s throat, and she watched in frustration as her uncle hurried away. Though Tesi desperately longed for someone to sort out all the confusion she felt about funerals, death and all the fuss, she was relieved that Uncle Ben had to go to the mill. It somehow made her uncomfortable to have him odd today. Why, he even wore a neck tie and he smelled weird... kind of like mom's spice cabinet.
Tesi couldn't recall a time when she didn’t have Grandpa. He was her best friend—the one she could tell her secrets and her fears. She figured he was the only grown-up in the whole world who understood what it was like to be a kid. “Being eight years old is mighty tough, honey pot,’ he had said, just a few days ago. “But you'll be okay; anyone with red hair and freckles has it made in this world.” Tesi thought for a moment she could hear him chuckle.
Voices jolted Tesi back to the day’s activities.
Her mother had followed departing guests to the porch for a final goodbye. Barely a head taller than Tesi and having the same coloring, she was often mistaken for Tesi’s older sister.
Friends and relatives had been
coming and going since Grandpa’s early morning funeral, and some still lingered about the house and yard. Tesi wished it were tomorrow and they were all gone.
“Tesi, you get yourself into some play cloths and quit mopin’ around.” Mom took the rose from Tesi’s lap, pulling her up from the swing by one hand.
“Mom...wait...”
“Most of the guests have left now, so Daddy’s gone to the mill?’ Mom interrupted. Her mother’s words were coming too fast as she stood twisting the rose stem between her fingers, petals falling on the porch. “Gracious, I don’t know what that man would do without his mill.”
“But Mom...why...”
“Now’s not the time for questions, Tesi. You get some playing in and things will look brighter”
In jeans and sweat shirt, Tesi slipped out the kitchen door to avoid any further contact with guests. Just outside, she ran smack into a large, round, white-haired lady, and bounced back three steps before regaining her balance.
“Well, hello, dear,’ the lady chuckled, rippling like jello around her middle. “Your grandpa had such a lovely funeral, child. He looked so natural...just like he was sleeping” The lady smiled sweetly, moving on in a funny little waddle, without waiting for Tesi to respond.
“Why does everyone keep sayin’ that?” Tesi fretted to herself. “No, Grandpa did not look natural. He looked like something from the wax museum. Someone had even stuck a white shirt and neck tie on him! Why, if he knew, he'd have a cow... and why did they box him up like
please turn the page
23
[Page 24]
24
that anyway?”
As the afternoon passed, the house became quiet and Tesi decided to wander down the old logging road to the mill, hoping to meet Dad on his way home for supper.
This was the time of day Tesi and Grandpa usually took their “constitutional”, so her walk seemed especially appropriate.
As usual, Tesi had to shoo mosquitoes with every step through the forest. “It’s them freckles, honey pot;’ Grandpa’s words came to warm her heart. “Them skeeters just love freckles.”
“Geez, Grandpa,’ Tesi responded, somehow knowing, deep inside herself, he would hear. “I feel terrible bout the monkey suit and all them people gawkir at you. Shoulda been a better way of puttin’ you to rest.”
Tesi felt a sense of relief to find the mill about its usual business, whistles blowing to warn of moving equipment, men shouting above the grind of machinery. Uncle Ben was there just like always.
He came toward Tesi carrying his big green thermos. She was always amused at the amount of grime on it, and on Uncle Ben. It was important now, the thermos and the dirt—comforting somehow.
“Howdy, Tes. We're runnin a bit late,” Uncle Ben greeted her as he hurried by. “Saw your dad back of the mill just a while ago.”
Tesi could see Dad going through reject boards out by the mill’s old woodburner. His black beard bristled beneath the shade of the baseball cap that protected his bald head. As he picked up a board, he'd turn it over and over, hold it out and study
it awhile. How often she had seen Grandpa go through this same ritual! Somehow Dad seemed a lot like Grandpa today. Of course, sons are often like their dads, but Tesi hadn't noticed it before.
“Hi, Dad.’
“Well, hi there, honey pot!”
“He even sounds like Grandpa,’ Tesi thought, and with this the tears came again. “You know, Dad, it’s just awful to poke him in that box, and... all fancied up. That wasn’t Grandpa!”
Tesi was sobbing so hard it became difficult to catch her breath. “It was a...a stranger!” she stammered. “And those ladies sayin’ how natural he looked...”
Tesi stood stiff-armed, her fists clenched tight, occasionally taking care of her runny nose with a faithful sleeve. “He wasn’t any more natural than Uncle Ben, or Mom were today.’
“T hear you, Tesi, I hear you.” Dad spoke softly as he stacked a few boards for him and Tesi to sit on.
Tesi took her place beside her father on the boards, snuggling close to him with a deep sigh.
“You know, Tes, when a butterfly leaves his cocoon, I’ll bet he doesn’t even look back...but if he did, that cocoon surely wouldn't be invitin. Why, he’d just spread those big wings and celebrate his freedom.”
Tesi was quiet as she took in his words. The sun had come from behind a cloud, adding its warmth to the moment.
“Do you suppose it was like that for Grandpa?” Tesi wrinkled her nose up tight to prepare for another sniff.
“What do you think?” Dad prodded in his gentle manner.
Tesi thought for a long while
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[Page 25]
[Page 26]
about cocoons and bodies and the
emptiness of both.
“Dad, do you s’pose maybe God made it the same for us souls as for the butterfly?”
“Can't see why He'd make things different for one of His creatures than another.”
Tesi got slowly to her feet, “Yeah... yeah,’ she repeated, her brown eyes sparkling. “You're right, Dad. I absolutely know yov’re right! Grandpa just turned and took one look at that tired old body, and he didn’t even care if someone had dressed it all up, cause he just
started celebratin’ his freedom right then and there!”
Tesi began running in circles, her arms spread like a butterfly, her voice growing higher with each breath she took. “Oh gosh, no more back ache, no more chest pain, no more yukky tonic—oh, it’s so wonderful, Dad!”
Tesi felt as though she would soar with relief. She came to a halt in front of her father, swinging both arms forcefully around his neck, and bubbled, “Aren’t butterflies the greatest, Dad?” &
2 Oa L/£7 8 GER Be) NW, Lane WCET
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—
PUZZLE
by Sandra Coleman W °1984
ACROSS
The Servant of Glory
. Large city near the House of Worship visited by "Abdu’1-Baha
. Prison city where "Abdu’l-Baha stayed with his father
. Ascension of ’"Abdu’l-Baha
. Capital city of France visited by "Abdu’l-Baha
. The wife of "Abdu’l-Baha
DOWN
Plan that Abdu ’lBaha left for teaching
State on the West Coast visited by "Abdu’1-Baha
. Terms used by "Abdu’l-Baha in describing types of unity
. Baha’u'llah gave « | ae ’“Abdu’l-Baha this “eS title
, Sonar i pezele an 74. Place where Abdu 'lPang . Baha was born on May 23, 1844 27
2.
e ‘5 un coves ™ ways tilted to
Part
Cr : IStqy QS In
of mn © the mae sa we Part of the Mt from the S° ip MOVING Wine
- Or wh} 1S \\ :
Midd)g hich } aways chin'ng at about he makes
Tim a METEOROLOGIST. TF you'd like to jearn where all this weather comes from, you can pe & meteorologist too. .
oot Weg ‘ is \
8 e gor Moves Ch. When the earn w
& Os moses to the ee to the sun.
oo
- rm At the.
ke a Pelt arund the earthis it
©) th iS S le sun!| Gime distance, te weather sbaysabout figs of e ope indS Oo | SaMe whether > December or July. weatnec! Cool air is nee than PN . warm air, and gushes wacry air out of its vay ,8ak 105 wind. = Soe
28 As
Because We have so many oceans on our
planel there is lots of water in the air f
the time even thovdh you can't see ‘it. Kets 7 the droplets a —
Invisible, water vapor rises from [ne earkh clouds form, and heavier than <ne
it riges higher, the vapor cools ,and droplets form When air, they Fal aS rain.
[Page 29]
She Be As Sight as snowflakes ace they are still heavier
apt than air, sothey Fall to earth. Like rain snowflakes
form inside clouds .When itis very cold inside clouds
we fhe water vapor and droplets may freeze ito tiny,
starry crystals - snowflakes! Sleet happens G i in a similar way, but with sleet the droplets D do nat form crystals . They ysl freeze into pe hacd little lumps of ice. Hailstones are made in
a different way from sleet and ysvally happen
in warm weather with thunderstorms , A
S ets blown up and down inside a clovd, (ain rOe ain part of the dood to the cold part and
< 7 = Ss < from the warm, 74 5 8 : aS back aqain picking UP moisture in its travels, until ria Wop gets coated with layers of ice, When does Fall to SHS the ground it may be a smooth Pall of ice ora rough lump, ete and ‘may even ve as big asa baseball!
There are Osa Oo
[oe some interesting “*
records about 5
weather, Did you
know that the hettest
day on record inthe OS.
was duly 10,193 when it Qot up to IB4°F tin Death Valley, California The coldest recorded temperature anywhere on earth was at the South Pole in 1460, when the
thermometer read _——x9 °F below There are ee many Sayin S and legends that people have passed on fe
through the years to try to _ predict the weather. Many of trem have A ~ASoN In Science for being true Cee This old rhyme is a 00d reminder foghen
Fovening red and (0F 121714 Way, £ which will EE
- send the traveler pn his way. 0 le vculy. the sk
e Evening gray and morning red, ~ 0° Cleac quicniy. a Sy tnd the traveler “wet to bed. will look grey atsunset oy A clear red evening means that no clouds are if Ltere are Oaecs ee j WEE AAR an toward vs. LF sunrise is clear and red headed ovr Way. Even if the next morning is it May mean that the dovds have not yet’ “ij
Qray anda bit overcast, it's probably just: reached LS,and rain may be coming |
LAPPY WEATHER-WATEHINGS 29
[Page 30]
Dream Kememborved
by Tina Swatton and children from the New Jersey Bahai School
I had a dream the o - ther night. Where I saw a
beau - ti- ful sight. A gar - den of roses filled my eyes
with the splen - dor of par- a- dise Night - in - gales sang a
beau - ti- ful song, that told a tale of a brand new day.
I knew it, I knew the time had come! For the
.
- i Glo - ry of God, the Prom - ised One!
0X@ ° ° “eX Ne y oF D WN eX 2X! i 0° e [deb Pare 00 : REL A - \e OG re ° adYo) lo 7 aR Lf « - ir Be / 7 y | \ ~ Es a e A\s 7 \ / f s \ Sh ale ~ < | s < O 0 \ 7 ¢ 4 / Qo WN AY, 7 5 s Pes oS WA x } Oo fis Karty e go “2 SN s n> ° asl PENNS
Illustrated by Jacqueline Domin
[Page 31]
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| , SW ayia yt Ha ala ae NE us
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Book Nook
Mr. Death and the Red-Headed Woman
by Helen Eustis, illus. by Reinhard Michl Green Tiger Press, 1983.
ost of us shiver a
little when we think of Death—as though Death were mean and grim and cold. That’s what little Maude Applegate thought when she took off on her daddy’s pinto pony to catch up with
Mr. Death, to bargain with him for the life of Billy Bangtry, her own true love. As Maude gets to know Mr. Death and his granny, she finds out how Death can be a messenger of joy instead of pain. This little book, with its moving illustrations, is a wonderful readaloud book. The strong country dialect, which might be difficult for a young reader to follow,
comes through quite
clearly when read by a
lively storyteller. The
book has two passages,
on the 1st and 5th page
of text, which might be
offensive to Baha’is,
because they could be
seen as derogatory to
American Indians. We
encourage parents to
use these as an
opportunity for
discussing prejudice
and stereotypes with
their children, and
suggest the alternative
phrases: “cowboy” on
page 1, and “dirty
uncivilized folks” on
page five. Even with
these defects, we believe
this little book offers a
new perspective on
death which our
children need to hear.
Maude’s courage in
facing Death, her
tenderness of heart
which causes her to see
Death differently than
she might, and her good
sense combined with a
bit of talent for
witchcraft make this an
extremely engaging
story.
[Page 33]
Parents
The Beginning of a Season: In Praise of Parents...by Shay Whitman Cooper
page
T: Feast of Jalal (Glory) is ending. Outside, the spring evening beckons; yet the hallway is crowded with individuals sharing last minute tidbits and warm embraces. The members of the Baha’i community are saying their good-byes. A scholarlylooking gentleman, hair slightly graying, makes his way over to Helen.
“What a wonderful job you’re doing raising your children,’ he says, taking her hand and shaking it enthusiastically. “I just wanted to thank you. I don’t know how you do it;’ and he turns and leaves.
The eyes of the young mother follow him, a look of amazement slightly frozen across her face. A moment of sunshine, a warm feeling spreads through Helen. “Thank you,’ she murmurs to the gentleman disappearing through the thinning crowd and out the door. She tugs her husband’s sleeve. “John, did you hear what he said?”
“What who said?” asks John, looking at her quizzically.
At that moment, Helen hears her young son raising his voice to another youngster. “I'll tell you later” she responds and hurries to her son, to halt the trouble. A broad smile, the effect of the “thank you”, still lingers on her face.
On the way home, Helen shares the words of the kindly gentleman. John expresses a sense of surprise, warmth and gratitude.
Later, just before bedtime, Helen looks into the mirror and reflects, “It is difficult to be a parent...if I had only known...no...” she laughs. Then
quietly, to herself, “Sometimes I feel so alone, so helpless.”
For Helen remembers the times she feels overwhelmed and finds herself yelling at the children when what she wants is to be patient and able to listen. And other struggles: her daughter comes home from school demanding designer jeans so that the kids will like her. Helen explains in great detail why it is more important to have people love you for your qualities, and not for what you wear. When she finishes, her daughter runs into the bedroom yelling, “You hate me, you hate me.”
The words sting. Helen wants to yell back. Instead, she says the “remover of difficulties” prayer several times. Now, she holds her daughter, who is crying because her friends have made fun of her clothes.
Of course, there are victories that Helen and John share. A prayer memorized, an act of kindness toward a new child in school, and the special love the children express for Baha’u’llah and ’Abdu’l-Baha. The victories are sweet. The story ends and the story begins.
“Among the greatest of all services that can possibly be rendered by man to Almighty God is the education and training of children..:”' states “Abdu’lBaha. He continues, “It is, however, very difficult to undertake this service, even harder to succeed in it.”
The seasons end and the seasons begin. Praise God, in this beginning season, we are developing Baha’i communities learning to reach out and help parents. Children are tender
plants struggling for light in a darkened world, and need everyone's love. And parents, the principle gardeners, need acknowledgement and encouragement, too. So, thank you, parents—thank you for your services. Hi
Selections from the Writings of Abdu'lBaha, p. 133. Ibid.
Answers to crossword puzzle:
ACROSS
38. ‘Abdu’l-Baha
15. Chicago
40. Akka
56. November 28, 1921 81. Paris
88. Munirih Khanum
DOWN
1. Tablets of the Divine Plan 2. California
22. Candles of Unity
39. Master
74. Tihran
33
[Page 34]
This lovely calligraphic interpretation of one of our favorite children’s prayers
came to us as a gift from Rita Robinson in Cleveland, Ohio. Thank You, Rita!
ita if % | Non-profit org. | s yy on-profit org.
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