Never judge a book by its cover. Including this one. This plain magenta colored book probably doesn’t look like much to most of you, but out of all the thousands in the local library, this one means the most to me.
Read the names of the author and illustrator, and you’ll understand why.
You’ll recognize the name of the illustrator :-), but the name of the author won’t mean anything to those who don’t know the story behind this book. I seldom talk about her now, but when I was on the cusp between childhood and girlhood, Hannah was the closest friend I had. She was the second eldest daughter of our pastor at the time. Her family was vastly different than my artistic one; they enjoyed rough and tumble sports like basketball, baseball, soccer and more. Looking back, I can’t really see that the two of us had any common ground anywhere. Hannah loved basketball; I detested it. But there was one thing about her that I found incredibly attractive. She was gentle. Soft-spoken. Kind. Forgiving. Sweet-tempered. Those qualities drew me like a magnet. Alas, I cannot say that I ever adequately returned the kindness that was showered constantly upon me. In those days, I was fiercely competitive and argumentative, much more so than I am now (age seems to be slowly tempering me). I didn’t realize until it was far too late how badly I treated her. Talk about learning my lesson the hard way! Even now, as I’m thinking about it, I can feel the sting of those memories. Truly, much of what I learned about friendship and being kind to other people I learned from Hannah. For the short time we knew each other (about three years), she had tremendous influence on me.
Ironically, for Hannah having such a impact, I have very few things to remind me of her. There are two letters, a card with kittens, a motto that reads “Each of us matters to God,” and a tiny book with hymns (she knew how much I loved church music, even at an early age). And one picture. I hadn’t heard from her in years, but she did sent me her graduation announcement. Even though looking at the picture of her made me sad, I was very glad to have it.
The story behind the book is as follows: When I was eleven, Hannah came to me with a request. She and her sister, Miriam, were taking a writing class at the local library. At the end of the class, the children partaking would be allowed to illustrate their stories and the library would add them to its ever growing collection. Hannah couldn’t draw anything, so she asked me to do the illustrations for her. I agreed quite happily. I loved to draw, even if my drawings then were less than spectacular. For three hours we poured together over her manuscript, and came up with what I should draw. Those are some of my favorite childhood memories. So, without further ado, here is Sharing A Stall written by Hannah Grace Blankenship.
Meagan and Melissa were sisters.
They lived in a red barn far away from town.
They enjoyed playing in the cool, green meadow in the daytime.
Meagen and Melissa would have races…
And they would play games like hide-and-seek…
And tag.
However, at night…
They had to share a stall in the barn.
Meagen fussed about sleeping with Melissa because she…
snored…
kicked…
took at the hay for herself…
and cuddled her.
Meagen wished she could have her own stall.
One day, Melissa went into town with her mother.
Meagen was so excited that she was going to get to sleep in the stall alone.
However, as the night wore on, Meagen got scared.
It was so dark and silent.
She missed Melissa’s warm body against her.
She was so lonely. She wanted her sister so badly…
and her loud snore.
She didn’t get much sleep that horrible night.
When Melissa got back from town, Meagen was very glad to see her.
That night, Meagen was happy, even though Melissa…
snored…
kicked…
took all the hay for herself…
and cuddled her.
Meagen thought how nice it was to sleep with her sister. She was never going to complain about sleeping with her sister again. She hoped she would never have to sleep without her.
If I ever have a daughter of my own, I know exactly what I want to name her. And maybe there will be a way for me to share this part of my childhood with her too.
