Unlettered

“Mom, is the Bible the only book you read?” My then 14 year old daughter’s question stunned me. I could certainly understand her curiosity. At the time, my bookshelves were full of Women's Bible studies, Commentaries, Sunday School Books, different Bible translations, Vacation Bible School books and more. 

In my church culture, there were always opportunities to learn the sacred text. As a child, I attended Sunday school classes where I was taught scripture fundamentals. The classes were held an hour before worship service. Most churches held a midweek Bible study as well. During the summer, I went to a week-long summer camp that included arts and crafts and biblical teaching. At the time, the camp was called Vacation Bible School (VBS).

Although I’m passionate about Biblical studies, I didn’t consider the importance of reading beyond biblical literature. I read a classic or two in high school, and a bunch of romance novels in college, but I hadn’t given much thought to becoming versed in nonbiblical literature. 

I pondered her question.

I was a quinquagenarian with a myopic view of literature. I parroted the opinions of others who viewed literature through a distorted lens instead of actually reading the books in question. I responded from a place of emotions instead of verifiable facts. My biased opinions created a literal wall between my children and me. Their literary palette matured while I never sought the need to understand the experiences of others through literature.

I pondered her question.

There was so much going on in the world. I was oblivious on how issues of the day impacted those around me. The history lessons taught during my primary and secondary educational years didn’t seem to connect with Gen Z’s and Alpha’s. Journalists, historians, biographers, challenged history as I knew it. 

Was it too late to acquire a taste for diverse literature? To be open to the perspective of others? 

Would it hurt to read a classic, novel, or memoir? 

The days of offering biased opinions, indiscriminate and emotional responses had come to an end. Perhaps I might find the searing prose of an essayist or a historian to be informative, instead of dismissive. Maybe I could begin having substantive conversations with my children regarding books of their choosing, without minimizing their viewpoints. 

I never thought my daughter’s question would push me out of my literary comfort zone. Reading doesn’t require agreeing with the author but, rather, having the ability to understand opposing views and experiences which in turn can lead to substantive, mutually beneficial conversations.  

Would I throw away my commentaries? Bible studies? Abandon my beliefs? No, but perhaps I would gain a greater understanding of the world in which I live, and in response, apply principles of the sacred text.