Best Moms of Mythology - 2014

Welcome — ladies and gentlemen, gods and goddesses, monsters and mythic creatures — to the annual B-MOM Awards. Yes, it’s time once again to celebrate the Best Moms of Mythology.

[The crowd roars, brays, snorts, and stomps.]

And here she is now, our first nominee for 2014, the one, the only. . .Helen of Troy, most beautiful woman in the world (not counting Jennifer Lopez), even after giving birth to her darling daughter Iphigenia. 

You no doubt read in the tabloids about Helen’s marriage to King Menelaus (rhymes with “chaos”) of Sparta and how the King called all his nobles to a council, making them promise to come to his defense should anything unfortunate befall his blushing bride. Paris, prince of Troy, took one look at Helen and was smitten. He abducted Helen, and Menelaus and his cronies fought the Trojan War to get her back.

If only Paris hadn't posted this picture of the abduction
to Facebook, he might have gotten away with it.

There was blood. There was pain. There were swords clashing and women screaming and a lot of grunting and cussing. It was glorious. . .for the Spartans, who really dug that sort of thing.

So let’s hear it for “the face that launched a thousand ships”—Helen of Troy!

[Whistles and cat calls!]

And now, twirling her dark Dior cloak, here comes Nyx, daughter of Chaos and Darkness, and mother of Destiny! And um, also mother of Fate, Death, Sleep, Pain, Retribution, Deceit, Friendship, Old Age, and Strife. We can only imagine the stretch marks that cloak conceals, and we’re guessing that’s why she opted out of the swimsuit competition earlier today.

Would you believe it? Nyx — aka "Night" — is also the Mother of Day. Nyx resides in an upscale condo in the realm of Tartarus, with a panoramic view of the dark. When Day enters Tartarus, Nyx leaves. When Nyx returns, Day leaves, making family reunions rather problematic.

Purple and red and ready for bed. . .let’s give it up for…yawwwwn. . . Nyx! Why am I so darn sleepy all of a sudden?

[Snoring sounds echo through the hall.]

Ah, and here’s the charming Thetis. Rumor has it that at one time Zeus himself was sending this girl flowers and candy grams, but she spurned his advances. However, when Zeus found out that Thetis was fated to bear a son mightier than his father, he gave her as a bride to Peleus, a heck of a guy but — alas — a mere mortal.

When a son was born to Thetis and Peleus, Thetis became the Patron Saint of Overprotective Moms. Grasping the infant by one foot, she dipped baby Achilles in the river Styx to make him invulnerable. When a seer said her son would die in battle, she disguised the poor kid as a girl and sent him to an island in the Aegean.  When he enlisted in the army anyway, she asked the blacksmith Hephaestus to make a special sword and shield for divine protection.

Despite all this smothering, Achilles fought valiantly in the Trojan War and never again wore a dress (as far as we know). But alas, Thetis had forgotten one eensy little thing. When she dipped her baby in the Styx, she held him by the heel, and so his heel was unprotected. But only his heel, right? Sadly, Achilles bit the dust after Paris’ arrow pierced his heel. I mean, what are the odds?

Hey, at least she tried. So put your hands together for Thetis!

[Faint claps. Some people are still snoring.]

And now, the amazing Leto, goddess of Motherhood — a Lady Titan, bride of Zeus, and mother of famous twins. You will recall that in the talent show, she knit a pair of booties in 12 seconds flat. Very impressive.

When the goddess Hera discovered that Leto was pregnant and that Zeus was the daddy, she got all puffy-eyed and red in the face. She was like "Leto, I forbid you to give birth anywhere on 'terra firma' — the mainland or any island of the sea." Which is just about anywhere and everywhere. Leto fled from town to town, with the jealous Hera in hot pursuit, always driving her on. (It might have helped if Leto had disabled the GPS in her cell phone….)

Now Leto had read What to Expect When You’re Expecting, but “pursuit by an angry goddess” wasn’t in the table of contents. The book said to drink plenty of water. But in Lycia, Leto tried to drink water from a pond, but the peasants stirred up the muddy bottom to make the water undrinkable. (Leto turned them into frogs and kept wandering.) All she wanted was a place to sit in a rocker and knit booties. Finally, Leto was received on Delos, a floating island (and therefore a legal loophole), where she was able to have her babies, Apollo and Artemis.

So how about a nice Olympian hand clap for Lady Leto.

[Loud thunderclap! Crowd stirs and begins singing "We will, we will rock you."]

Thanks for that gesture, Zeus. I think the judges are ready to. . . wait! Oh no! It can't be! Hera has entered the theater and she looks mad. Um, somebody call security! I'm sorry, Ma'am, but you can't just. . . .well, maybe you can. She’s up on the stage, face to face with Leto. 

Hera's driver's license photo

Hera has a sword, and Leto is unarmed. Wait. Apollo has drawn his bow to defend his mother, but can he save her in time?

Oooooooh. That had to hurt. Leto just stabbed Hera with a knitting needle. Hera is crying and wearing a pouty face.

Good jab, Leto. Revenge at last. And our judges have reached their decision. Leto wins this year’s B-MOM Award! I think the bootie-knitting thing really put her over the top.

Achilles' driver's license photo

Congratulations, Leto. Here’s your trophy. 

[Angry shouts, hooves trampling, harpies shrieking...]

And now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for the usual free-for-all that always follows this event. Achilles, could I borrow that shield, please? No, really. Give it to me. . . .Cut to commercial. Now!

Want to see B-MOM ceremonies from other years?

B-MOM's 2018 - Best Mom's 2018 

B-MOM's 2012 - Best Mom's 2012

Unseeing Eyes

For most of us, knowledge of our world comes largely through sight, yet we look about with such unseeing eyes that we are partially blind. One way to open your eyes to unnoticed beauty is to ask yourself, “What if I had never seen this before?  What if I knew I would never see it again?"  ― Rachel Carson

I remember a time, many years ago, when my friend Karen and I took a walk together. We were students at Bryan College in Tennessee, and we had just had dinner in the dining hall.

It was a lovely, fragrant evening in spring. “I want to show you something,” Karen said, pointing to the budding leaves on the trees and bushes. “They weren’t here two weeks ago, and now, here they are. Where did they come from?”

I had never thought about it before. Leaves — they simply appear each year, as if pulled from a hat by a magician, as if rising from the phoenix ashes of autumn leaf piles.

That night my friend helped me to look with holy awe at the heretofore humdrum, the leaves in spring.

Then in my junior year, Mrs. Bentley, my teacher in an art history class, made an off-handed comment about how she was amazed by all the shades of green in the spring. And again, my eyes were opened. 

I guess that before that day, if you had asked me the color of the leaves, I would have said "Green. Duh." Suddenly I saw that leaves are a zillion different colors.

Though I am not an artist, I was inspired to do a watercolor painting of the trees with many shades of green. I was delighted at the way water colors can run together to capture a small spectrum of  nature’s palette. 

And I saw that painting is another way of seeing, and we non-artists of the world should do it more often. It's not about whether Mom would hang your picture on the frig. It's about what you see and feel while you're committing the act of creation.

Another revelation came my senior year, once again in spring — this time on a rainy day. I wasn't a fan of rainy days. Rain made my hair and my heart go blah. But I suddenly saw that the gray of the skies made the new green of the spring leaves glow like cat eyes in the dark. All the colors of the season popped against the gray. And suddenly I was hooked — on rainy days and the beauties they reveal to our eyes.

Leaf buds. Shades of green. Gray skies. It’s funny the things we actually remember from school, the things that comprise our real education.

I think that most of us are born blind. We need help to peel back the scales that keep us from truly seeing. I am grateful for the Wise Ones God continually puts in my life to help me see more clearly — friends, teachers, artists, poets, writers, children with disabilities, people of other races and cultures, laughing babies and wry great-grandmothers, and even voices that speak from beyond the grave, from ages past.

Many springs have passed since that night I took a walk with a friend, and I still don’t know where the leaves come from. Something from nothing, life from death — right before our eyes. It’s magic. It’s a miracle. It’s a mystery.

But though I can’t understand it, at least now I can see it. That is a great gift — and cause for celebration.

The Inn at the Crossroads

No, wait! Please don’t go. Won’t you stay and have dinner with us? The things you said as we were walking on the road together -- we want to hear more, don’t we Cleopas?

Yes, this is fine, right over here. We’ll just order some bread. But as I was saying, I’ve never heard anyone explain the scriptures the way you have today. Let us know where your congregation is and we’ll come hear you some Sabbath.  

Well, actually, I don’t believe you said where you’re from. No, let me guess. Your accent is Galilean — maybe Cana or Nazareth? But you know the old saying — “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Ha! I guess you get that one a lot, eh?

So, you’re saying that Messiah had to die and to be raised. That’s amazing. I mean, it really is there in the text, isn’t it? I’ve just never heard anyone teach like this before. It's like. . .I can't explain it, but it's like you've lit a flame within me.

I have so many questions I want to ask. But I suppose the biggest question on my mind — on all our minds — is this. Was Jesus the Messiah? Or will we ever know the answer to that, now that he’s gone? We had put all our hopes in him. And now, our hopes are shattered. You just can't imagine what we've been going through.

Well, here’s the bread. Good, I’m famished. Cleopas! Don't eat until we have the blessing. Sir, would you do the honors and bless our meal? 

Wait — what's happening? Rabbi. . .your face is shining like . . . like . . . .

My God! Who are you?

And they said one to another, Did not our heart burn within us, while he talked with us by the way, and while he opened to us the scriptures?    --Luke 24:32

A Parting Gift

Around the table, voices rise and fall -- some tired, some anxious, all clueless that creation has come to its crossroads. Amid the voices sits the Word, silent. 

He turns to the wine, as yet unpoured, the cups still clean. He knows the wine will be cold as death, dark as blood  -- knows he will see his reflection floating ghost-like in the cup. 

On second thought, I'm really not that thirsty. It isn't too late, even now, to back down. Why, God -- why do you ask the impossible? I'm a man, after all. Flesh and blood, like these.... 

Andrew is grousing about the accommodations. Judas is arguing with Matthew about the group's long range financial planning. Peter, James, and Mark are having a theological debate about whether a Samaritan can gain entrance to heaven. Bartholomew has fallen asleep with his mouth open and is snoring loudly.

I love them, Father. For all their faults, maybe because of their faults. Oh, I don't want to leave them. . .not just yet. 

He stands. 

"Can we eat now?" asks Peter. "I'm famished." 

"Soon," says Jesus. He unties his sash and takes off His robe. 

"Too hot for you?" asks Andrew. "We could open the door. . . .I knew we should have rented that place on the square. They have banquet tables and serving girls and. . ."

"Serving girls, is it?" teases Mark. "Our brother does have an eye for the girls." 

"I do not." Andrew blushes deeply. 

"Leave the door closed," says Jesus, tying the towel around His waist. He goes to the door to fetch the wash basin and then returns to the group. Judas and Matthew are still arguing. 

"You're just too short-sighted," Judas is saying. "You and the others. We ought to at least be drawing interest on our money. Doesn't our Master have a parable to that effect?" 

"If you ask me," growls Matthew, "you've got too much interest in this money already." 

"Ohhhh -- that's cold," shouts Andrew suddenly. Everyone turns to see what the commotion is about. "And it tickles!"

Jesus is kneeling in front of Andrew, and Andrew's dirty feet are soaking in a basin. The disciple's sandals are lying to one side. 

"Jesus, what are you doing?" asks James. Someone pokes Bartholomew, who wakes with a start. 

Jesus takes the towel and dries Andrew's feet. Then he moves, on his knees, to Matthew and starts to untie Matthew's shoes. Matthew looks first at the ceiling, then at the floor, finally out the window. 

"What's he doing? Let me see," demands Thomas. Judas folds his arms across his chest and sighs. 

James looks at his feet and frowns. "Oh, my," he says to Mark, "if I'd known He was going to do a thing like this, I'd have cut my toenails -- or cleaned up a bit. . .or something." 

"How could anyone know He was going to do a thing like this?" Mark replies. 

"You just never know what he's going to do next," Philip whispers. 

After drying Matthew's feet, Jesus moves on to Peter.

"No," says Peter, pounding his fist on the table. "You'll never wash my feet." 

"If I don't, you can't be my friend." 

"Well, all right then. . . .If it means so much to you, wash my hands and my face too." Peter holds out his hands. "Give me a bath if you want to." 

"You've already had a bath, I should hope." 

"If he hadn't, we'd all know it," says Andrew.

Jesus laughs. "Your heart is in heaven -- I know that, Peter. You're my rock. But your feet are still on earth, and they get pretty dirty  -- just look at the water! Of course, not every one of you is clean."

At this, they all look at each other funny and are afraid to say anything else.

For a time, the only sound is that of water wrung repeatedly from the washcloth as Jesus moves around the table. First one star, then two appear in the window. After He has washed all the men's feet, he dresses again and reclines at the table. 

In the silence, Andrew thinks he can hear the celery wilting. 

"Well. . .do you get it?" asks Jesus.

They look at each other stupidly. Peter starts to nod his head yes but changes to a no when Jesus catches his eye.

Jesus speaks slowly, as if explaining a problem in arithmetic to very young children. "If I, your Master, wash your feet, you ought to wash one another's feet. You can't come into my Father's house with dirty feet, you know." Most of the men look down at their just-washed feet, relieved.

"Tonight, I am giving you a very great gift. It's my going away present to you."

They raise their heads again, more confused than ever. Bartholomew looks all around the room but doesn't see any presents.

Jesus sees only a blur of faces, like watercolors that have run. "I give you each other," he says, "and I give you the towel."

Then he wipes his eyes, so he can see to pour the wine.

The Story Wizard: J. K. Rowling

My grandfather was a railroad man -- so maybe it's my family heritage -- but the sound of a train on a summer night can transport my thoughts to far-off places and times. I always wonder where the train is coming from and where it's going. Some little part of me wants to hop that train like a sooty-faced hobo and catch a ride to an alternate life. 

It's not that I'm unhappy right where I am, but there's just something wistful, something beckoning in the sound of a train. Who knows? Maybe I could be like Harry, Ron, and Hermione -- off to conquer the world and the Dark Lord on the Hogwart's Express. 

So many great scenes in the Harry Potter books and movies take place on trains and in train stations. Harry meets Ron and the Weasleys while looking for Platform 9 3/4. The boys meet Hermione on the train. Harry's first encounter with the Dementors happens on a train. Fortunately, he meets Professor Lupin at the same time. Even the afterlife scene is set at King's Cross Station. The train takes Harry away from the muggle world and toward a new life. And perhaps the same could be said for the creator of these stories as well.

Trains have played an important role in the life of British children’s author J. K. Rowling.

King's Cross Station, photo by Timothy Baldwin

Her parents met on a train travelling from King's Cross Station to the town of Arbroath in Scotland. The year was 1964, and both were on their way to join the navy. They later married, and their daughter Joanne was born July 31, 1965.

Emma Watson
(Hermione Granger)

Young Jo loved reading and writing fantasy stories. Rowling later recalled: “...The first story I ever wrote down (when I was five or six) was about a rabbit called Rabbit. He got the measles and was visited by his friends, including a giant bee called Miss Bee."

Joanne's teen years were sometimes difficult. Her mother had multiple sclerosis, and her father became distant. Jo still loved books and writing, and she later confessed, “Hermione is loosely based on me. She's a caricature of me when I was eleven, which I'm not particularly proud of."

Her best friend was Sean Harris, a young man who owned a turquoise Ford Anglia, like the flying car featured in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. In fact, the character of Ron Weasley was partly drawn from Sean.

Fast forward a few years. Jo had graduated from the University of Exeter and was living in Manchester. In 1990, she was taking a train from Manchester to London, when there was a delay for four hours. While she waited for the train to move again, the idea for Harry Potter simply popped into her head. She saw a boy who is on his way to Wizard School. 

The ideas came in a rush, but she couldn’t find a pen—and she was too shy to ask anyone if she could borrow one. But maybe that was a good thing, because she had time to really think through the plot. She had been writing since she was six years old, but never had she been this excited about a story. She started writing it down that night, but events in her life soon put her writing on hold, just like a train with a delay. 

Fast forward again. After a bitter divorce, Jo was a single mom, struggling to provide for her child. She took the baby on long walks to help her fall asleep. Then she pushed the stroller to a coffee-shop where she worked on her story—as often as she could. With hard work and great determination, she finished Harry Potter and the Philospher’s  Stone, Book One in the series.

J. K. Rowling

No one knew then that the Harry Potter books would become the bestselling book series in history. Or that in just five years, Jo would go from a life of struggle and poverty to being one of the richest women in Britain.

And like so many other great adventure stories, it all began on a train.

The Real Ugly Duckling

One day years ago, when I was homeschooling my children, I read the story of the Ugly Duckling aloud, and the kids used water colors to make illustrations.

Little Wesley proudly showed us his picture. "This is the pond. And these are some ducks." Then he pointed to a dark blob. "And this is an oil slick." Yes, homeschooling gave me quite an education.

Anyway, I love the story of The Ugly Duckling--and also the story of the man behind the story.

Once upon a time, in the far away land of Denmark, there lived a man.

He was poor. He was tall and gangly. He had a sad childhood. He wasn’t a great student. He was unlucky in love. His teachers advised him NOT to pursue a career in writing.

But this “ugly duckling” — Hans Christian Andersen — became one of the most famous writers of all time. In addition to novels, plays, and poetry, he wrote many of the fairy tales we all know and love. Stories like...

• "The Little Match Girl"
• "Thumbelina"
• "The Ugly Duckling"
• "The Princess and the Pea"
• "The Little Mermaid"
• "The Emperor’s New Clothes"
• "The Snow Queen"

Which only goes to demonstrate that we should ignore the nay-sayers in our lives and follow our hearts.

Hans was born in the town of Odense, in 1805. His father was a cobbler, and his mother was a washerwoman. He was a child who loved stories, and his father told him Danish folk tales and stories from The Arabian Nights. 

Childhood home in Odense

After his father died, Hans was sent (more like banished) to a school for poor children, where he was forced to make his own living. He worked first as a weaver’s apprentice and then as a tailor. He always looked back on those school years as the darkest, most dreadful time of his life. Small wonder. One schoolmaster often mistreated him just “to improve his character.”

The Little Mermaid's Sisters

After a couple of failed careers, Hans took up writing, against the advice of his teachers. At first, he retold stories he had heard as a child. Then he branched out to writing new and original stories. Many writers today also get their start by writing “fan fiction” based on popular stories in books, movies, or tv shows.

At first the stories Hans wrote were not well received (more nay-sayers), but he was persistent, and he kept writing them anyway.

Then in 1845, things changed. In that one year, four different translations of his tales were published. One reviewer of his book Wonderful Stories wrote, “This is a book full of life and fancy; a book for grandfathers no less than grandchildren, not a word of which will be skipped by those who have it once in hand." This reviewer understood that fairy tales aren’t written just for children but for people of all ages and all times.

The Little Match Girl

Some of Andersen’s stories came from sad experiences in his life. He wrote “The Little Match Girl,” remembering that his mother had been forced to beg as a child. He wrote “The Nightengale” about his love for the famous opera singer, Jenny Lind. Alas, Jenny did not return his love, but because of the story, she was given the nickname “The Swedish Nightengale.”

Hans Christian Andersen had much in common with the Ugly Duckling of his famous story. But that story has a happy ending, and so did the life of this writer who finally found recognition for his work. 

On April 2nd, we commemorate Andersen’s birthday, now known as International Children’s Book Day. Why not celebrate by reading one of his stories out loud to your family or friends?

Hans lived for seventy years, but the characters he created and the stories he wrote—they will live on, happily ever after.

Aflack!

The Hobbit -- Yehaw!

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.”

Professor  Tolkien doodled these words in a blue book while grading an exam for his students at Oxford University. 

Maybe he thought this would be a good way to start one of his short stories. He certainly had no way of knowing that this sentence and the story to follow would grow and grow until it would take over most of his life. 

With those simple words, he took the first steps of a journey—and as he taught us, “The road goes ever on and on / down from the path where it began…”

Tolkien’s engaging description of hobbit holes and the folk who inhabit them began a delightful fantasy novel called The Hobbit, published in 1937. It featured Bilbo Baggins, who like all self-respecting hobbits preferred the comforts of home to those “nasty, uncomfortable things” called adventures. 

First Edition of The Hobbit

Yet after “an unexpected party,” Bilbo winds up on just such an adventure—with thirteen dwarves on a quest to reclaim their lost home and treasure. And just to mix it up, Professor Tolkien throws in a wizard, a dragon, and a magic ring. A perfect recipe for mythic mayhem.

The Hobbit was followed by The Lord of the Rings trilogy, published as a series of three books, although it is really one honking big epic story. The main character of LOTR is Frodo Baggins, Bilbo’s nephew, who is charged with a great quest to deal with the ring Bilbo found in The Hobbit. 

First edition of Book One of LOTR

The Lord of the Rings was written between 1937 and 1949, much of it during World War II—and published in 1954 and 1955. After his father’s death in 1973, Tolkien’s son Christopher published more myths, poetry, and background information from Tolkien’s story world, notably in The Silmarilion.  

Gandalf the Grey

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.”

Although Tolkien had already been working on some of the mythology of Arda and Middle-earth, that day when he doodled the first words of The Hobbit marked the beginning of his great adventure of bringing his world to our world.

The Misty Mountains

That simple declarative sentence has led to a literary empire of books, movies, and mega-merchandizing. In 2009, Forbes magazine ranked Tolkien as the fifth top-earning “dead celebrity” in the world—a designation that would probably make the professor laugh and shake his head. The Lord of the Rings is the second best-selling novel ever written, surpassed only by Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities, and The Hobbit ranks sixth on that awe-inspiring list. 

But more importantly, Tolkien gave the world one of the greatest literary works of the twentieth century, sparking a great resurgence of interest in high fantasy.

And most important of all, Tolkien told a rip-roaring good story that still captures our hearts. So butter the popcorn! I can’t wait to see Part 2 of Peter Jackson’s The Hobbit—The Desolation of Smaug. Yehaw!