Strong Women Who Inspire the Fire by Karma Pratt

I have always been a lover of words. Looking back, I realize I've had many strong female role models in my life that have guided me along the way, and inspired the creative fire within me.

My mom tells me I could recite the alphabet from memory at 18 months. She showed me the beauty of words using a wooden alphabet magnet puzzle. Together we explored the sounds and shapes of letters. I wanted to speak them, write them, and read them without ceasing. Words offered entry into other worlds, and were the catalyst for my imagination to run wild.

From a very young age, I was requesting books on writing and teaching myself how to write letters in block print and cursive. Our first elementary school hand writing assignment was to provide the teacher with a sample of our penmanship. I offered her three options: printed letters, "proper" handwriting (as taught in the books I had filled up at home in the summertime), and my handwriting (adapted to suit my creative style). She just stared at me.

the joy of the handwritten word

My future writing career was also shaped by the matriarch of the Pratt family, my grandmother. We used to sit at her kitchen table playing Scrabble. My favourite part was the sound the letters made as I shook them vigorously in the case. Her favourite part was challenging me to look past the obvious three letter answers. 

My grandmother was also one of my first spiritual advisers, though I didn't realize it at the time. A devout Catholic, she took us to Mass on the days she babysat us, and taught us about the power of prayer. I still remember watching her pray as we drove to church in her tiny brown hatchback (the Peanut). I believe she was fully trusting God to make the corners on the South Taylor Hill for her as we made our way to town and she moved through her daily devotions.

After she passed, my family found dozens of journals, all filled with her thoughts and prayers. She took great care of each of us through her words, her belief in the Word, and her faith.

with my grandmother, July 2008

In school I discovered libraries, a new kind of heaven. When other young girls were playing house, I was playing "library". My library checkout cards were painstakingly hand drawn, cut out on small papers and inserted into each book between the front cover and first page. Out of reverence, I couldn't bring myself to ever deface a book, or I would have glued the checkout cards right into those books. As it was, they were always falling out, floating to the floor whenever I moved my collection.

As I got older, I continued to explore new worlds through school libraries. In high school, through the enthusiasm and genius approach of my Grade 11 English teacher, Ms. Mitchell, I came to know and love Shakespeare. His use of language transcended the realm of “normal” and brought a new appreciation for eloquent descriptions. My passion for words took on new forms, through theatre, singing, and learning other languages as well. In university I studied English and Spanish language and literature, and eventually took my love of language to a new level with a Master of Arts in Professional Communication.

words and music onstage, Cabaret, October 2011

As I've moved through these ages and stages in my life, words have always been a constant. My faith has meandered over the years. Sometimes I've gotten lost in this big, loud world. I haven't always turned to God first. It's only as an adult that I've finally made my way back to God's hearth, to sit at His feet and learn from His Word. 

Now I find myself steeped in the call to write, and my faith in God has become the launch point for my work and words. I am ever thankful for the opportunities God's given me to learn from so many strong women over the years. They saw the spark within me, and fanned the flames, allowing me to grow into the writer I am becoming today.

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Karma Pratt is a faith-driven mom of twins, a communicator, a writer, and an encourager from way back. She loves words, art, creativity, God, and people, although not necessarily in that order. 

You can find her online at redraincoatcreations.com or connect on Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn

Do Words Fly Away? by Sharon Espeseth

"Scripta manent," our elderly friend, Father Croteau, recently said to me for no apparent reason. My Latin rusty, I asked what this meant.

"Words remain," he replied.

Father C. wrote the expression down so I could google it later. I set his hand-written note on my pile of jottings for further investigation.

The full phrase, "Verba volant, scripta manent," I discovered, means "Spoken words fly away, written words remain." This proverb is attributed to Caio Titus, a past Roman orator. But what does this have to do with me? I wondered.

In the same pile of jotted ideas was my published story about losing an almost-full journal. Under the heading, "Three months of life in lost journal," the Edmonton Journal ran my story ten years ago when my loss was fresh. I had recently converted my journal writing from the “burn-them-when I’m gone” status to “treasures I want to keep”

In my article, I wrote passionately about my loss, and my readers responded with empathy. Although I appreciated their understanding, my chronicles didn’t reappear.

All I could do was buy a new journal and continue recording my thoughts, experiences, and concerns. My journal was still willing to listen to me, even though I had let a past volume slip through my fingers.

For my November blog in inscribe.org, I planned to revisit this episode, hoping the marvelous vision of hindsight would add new perspective. New reflection, however, didn’t come up with anything good to say about my misfortune and I still found no reason to be thankful about it.

I still can’t recall what I had written; nor can I replicate the book in any way. Again, I let released the book like a child releasing a helium balloon, even though it contradicts the principal of the written word remaining.

Close to the due date for my Inscribe blog, I clipped Father's proverb to the front of the file about my journal and went to bed. What was the connection between my missing journal and Father Croteau's phrase offered without context or meaning at the time?

The next morning, I awoke with the thought that the act of analyzing and putting my thoughts down on paper still has value. These words do remain in my heart and mind. They may have physically flown, but they are a part of me. Writing clarifies my thinking. Writing teaches me about life and about faith.

A biblical story from John’s Gospel came to me. The Pharisees and religious scholars dragged an adulterous woman before Jesus to see what he would say to, or about, her. Recognizing the potential trap, these learned men had set for him, Jesus said, "If any of you is without sin, let him cast the first stone." Then he bent down and wrote on the ground with his finger.

Recording this story, John doesn't say what Jesus wrote or why he wrote in the loose dirt. I picture the ground being sandy. Jesus knew the waves would wash over the writing and people would walk over the words. Materially the words would be gone, but the story was recorded and the woman was forgiven.

While Jesus wrote, the crowd dispersed and Jesus was alone with the woman. No one had condemned her. "Go and leave your life of sin," Jesus told her. Those forgiving words would remain. So do the words I wrote in my journal and the story I wrote in the "Voices" column of the Edmonton daily. What seems gone still exists.

I wrote. Scripta manent.