Why I Read

I read because I can't sing. I read because tangible, readable words are easier to say than words that I must remember and sing in tune. I read because I hope that as Alaska spirals deep into a dream filled slumber she will learn my voice.

I read because I need her to recognize and react in her toddler years to a voice that knows safety and good behavior. I need her to obey my voice when I tell her to stop before she reaches the curb and to not walk in front of the moving swings at the playground. I need her to obey my voice when I tell her to be reverent in sacrament meeting and quiet at the grocery store when we run into an acquaintance.

I read because I need her to know. I need her to know that in her teenage years when the world is so very loud and chaotic screaming, shouting, gossiping, belittling that there is a voice that she has heard since her newborn days that she can trust. I need her to know that I will always have something to say to her, some question to ask her to get to know her changing self. I need her to know that I love her so very much and fear for her safety physically and spiritually.

I will read because when I am gone and the memories are scarce and far between she will see a book that I once read her as a child and remember. Remember being snuggled as she sits on my lap, my breath warm and soft on her hair as I read her Where the Wild Things Are. Wrapped in my arms as I whisper poetry and nursery rhymes that tickle her little ears. Able to answer questions at church and understand why it's important to be reverent during sacrament meeting because we're reading the scripture story manual at home. Remember being almost too big to comfortably scrunch up on my lap as I read Beverly Cleary and recognizing a few words on the page. Almost grown up sitting beside me as we read Little House on the Prairie together, me reading two pages, her reading one. And that last book that we read together, but my reading aloud is slower than her reading silently to herself and she secretly finishes the page, leaving me behind and ultimately completes the book while she is waiting on me to unwind myself from her younger siblings. But she will remember all the shared moments as she reads novel after novel on her own even if she doesn't always think of them.

We read Nicholas Sparks, the Ensign, self-help mothering books, short stories that cause me to tear up, General Conference talks, the scriptures, novels. Grown-up things. She is learning my voice.

Someday we will read There's an Alligator Under My Bed, Dr. Seuss, Ferdinand the Bull, Caddie Woodlawn and the scripture manuals for kids that have pictures and tell stories of Jesus. Kid things. And she will build her memories.

In her teen years I can only hope that I will find her studying and searching the scriptures for her own answers. That my voice will be in the back of her mind, encouraging her to search on her own. That by our reading together she knows how and where to find her answers and that the practice of hearing my voice prepares her to hear the voice of her Heavenly Father through the spirit.