Who Am I?

Who Am I?

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Who Am I?

Who are you?

There are times I ask myself those questions.  But to be honest, my view of who I am is seen through a very different lens than my perception of others.  I recognize that I have been shaped by thousands upon thousands of life experiences. Truthfully, I believe we are all affected by the things that have happened to us, but by the same token we have had some influence upon how the events of our lives play out. I am molded by my life, but I have also molded my life. A strange paradox don’t you think.

So as I take the time to consider exactly who I am, I understand that dealing with events, subtle and dramatic and the whole spectrum in between, have had a part in making me...me. I also recognize that life has shaped those around me as well in ways I cannot know.

But it is more, for each of us view the world through our own individual eyes. Each of us vary in sensitivity...how we feel, the emotional impact of the world that surrounds...the people that we know...and all the rest. Perhaps it is a matter of empathy, how we respond to the highs and lows of others when they face challenges, successes and setbacks, that life tosses their way. Those open enough to feel can grow through those experiences as well.

Who I am may not be who you think I am. And the same thing can be said about my perception of you as well.

This all springs from a wonderful conversation I had this week. During an interview I told a reporter, that is quickly becoming a friend, that I believed in the story of Misty Creek. It was my faith in the story I had written which drove me to get it published. I was asked to explain, and as the conversation rambled on the discussion moved to what I thought was the primary theme of Misty Creek. I told her that many of my stories have a similar thread, and that thread was personal value. How it is perceived and how often real value was very different than what superficial examinations might show.

Many do not take the time to see...who a person really is. We hang a label on an individual and think it is enough...but it isn’t.

For each of us have been labeled. We are labeled by those that think they know us. We are labeled by those that merely see us in passing. We are labeled by the rumors or gossip of others. And in truth few if any of those labels carry any accuracy at all.

In my stories the way one character sees another changes, as with time, layers are peeled away and the truth is revealed. That the labels first assigned prove to be incorrect. That the value that society has placed upon my character does not truly show who that character is.

Matthew is not just a laborer, simply because he is dusty. Elizabeth is not valueless because she is barren. And William Clark is not nearly as important in the community as his money and clothing imply.

The characters prove the labels are wrong!

Yes, it’s just a story.  But I hope readers realize there is some truth blended into those words. Just because Misty Creek is fiction doesn’t mean what it says is not true.

So who am I? I am not the summation of labels others may use. No, I am all the bits and pieces of the life I have lived, blended with the genetics I have been given. These patches are stitched together in ways that even I am unable to understand, but certainly beyond the comprehension of others. Only God knows how those thousands of parts are bound one against the other to form the quilt that is me. Only He can answer the question I ask...who am I? It is enough to know I am God’s child...and that is a label I gracefully accept.

Knowing these things...the very heart of the matter...I will do my best not to label others...for I must, in the end, recognize that what is true for me is true for you as well...

Who am I?...Who are you?...Only God truly knows...

(738 Words)

Saturday's Snow

Saturday’s Snow             

By John W. Vander Velden

I was led to thinking about a winter day a couple of years ago. Saturday often found us seeking our lunch at the local Wendy’s. Just another dreary day during the perma-cloudy season of northern Indiana winter. As I sat staring out the window I did not take the phone call I received from a friend that lived some ten miles west seriously. He asked about cancelling the church service the following day. I just shook my head as I looked out at the dreary day. “We’ll see what tomorrow brings,” I told him.

The snow began just as we made our way to the car. Blinding large flakes thicker than fog blew across the parking lot, and soon visibility became limited.

I chose the country roads, it was only nine miles, thinking the nearness of the fence line would give me bearings. It soon became foolish.

The way familiar. The time, just passed noon. The car, well it was just our old PT Cruiser. Visibility near zero.

Time moves incredibly slowly when you drive by feel. Headlights burst out of the whiteness before us only feet in front of our bumper. We can’t stop. But I slam into a drift and our car finds itself cocked partly across the road and forward motion ceases. I rock the car. No luck.

I squeeze out into the blindness hoping against hope that no one was as foolish as I. Jackie takes the controls as I push and we wedge the old Chrysler forward and free.

Onward we press on...slowly...headlights on...flashers blinking...wipers slapping the snow aside. How we find the intersection I will never know, but we began heading north only a few more miles to go. They were long miles. Moving forward meant a shorter walk home. Moving forward, not certain if we would come to the next turn. Moving forward wondering exactly where we were.

The car is quiet. Only the sounds the defroster blasting and the windshield wipers whup, whup, in their feeble attempt to make visibility possible in a white world that absorbed our view only feet from the windshield. We sit side by side silently staring into the opaque world that has engulfed us. We stare forward trying to pick out any familiarities, a tree perhaps, a gate, anything.

At last the final turn. Thumping through drifts. Pounding through I need to keep the momentum going. We reach the neighbor’s drive and I back in.

My heart begins to beat again. When I release the steering wheel the trembling starts.

They are wonderful people and I am certain they could not imagine that anyone would come thumping on their door on THAT Saturday afternoon.

Jim took us home, he had four wheel drive.

I have driven for fifty years, springs, summers, fall and winters too. But I have never faced a situation like that Saturday’s Snow and hope never to face such an event again.

(488 Words)  1-12-2019