“He who tells the number of the stars, calling them all by their names, heals the broken in heart, comforts their pain and sorrow.” – Psalm 147:3,4
“When she is six, Marie-Laure goes blind and her father builds a perfect miniature of their neighborhood so she can memorize it by touch and navigate her way home.”
Such is the introduction by the Los Angeles Times to the novel by Anthony Doerr “All The Light We Cannot See,” a book given to me by my daughter this Christmas.
In the midst of the war, with all its devastation and horror, and the mounting human cost of suffering, pain, anguish, separation, and death, two lives would interweave against all odds, leading J.R. Moehringer in his praise for Doerr’s book to write, “the scenes are so haunting, it makes you think forever differently about the big things – love, fear, cruelty, kindness, the countless facets of the human heart.”
Blinded by tears brought on by rejection, abandonment, and even death in the very real world in which we live, to tenderly finger in our mind the familiar landmarks to which we long to return – the beautiful places we’ve been, mountains, forests, and oceans; to turn back the pages of our mental scrapbook – to rediscover and rekindle laughter and love; and so reflect about “the big things,” the important things, the lasting things, like deep affection, gentleness and kindness in spite of fear and cruelty; this is to successfully navigate our way home.
… as the “meaning” we seek is all about us, … and within.