More Thoughts on Anne…

Well, that didn’t take long. Today I watched the second and third episodes of the new series “Anne With An E.” Spoilers ahead…proceed with caution.

The Incident Of The Brooch is dealt with in a most unsatisfactory and overdramatic way…even for a story about the very dramatic Anne. In the book, Marilla has an amethyst brooch that goes missing. She is sure Anne must have stolen it, and demands that Anne confess or she cannot go to the Sunday School Picnic. Anne is innocent, but because she is Anne, and because she desperately wants to go to the picnic, she makes up a wild story about stealing the brooch and dropping it into the water. Marilla insists that since she has lost the heirloom brooch she is not allowed to go to the picnic and Anne is distraught. Fortunately, Matthew finds the brooch, Anne and Marilla make up, they all go to the picnic and Anne gets to have ice cream for the first time EVER.

This new show decided it had to up the ante, for some reason. Same brooch, still missing, Marilla still insists on a confession (which she gets). However, in the new show, Anne is to be sent back to the orphanage for her “crime.” She is taken to the train station and put on the train, all alone, before the brooch is found. Two days pass, involving Anne running into a possible child molester/abductor, hitching a ride from a milkman, and then performing poetry in a different train station to earn money for a ticket onward. Matthew finally catches up with her and brings her home. Marilla, who has been sick with worry, cannot bring herself to say a civil word to either Matthew or Anne.

(PS…NONE of that business was in the original book.)

The Cuthberts take Anne to the church picnic where everyone treats Anne coldly, talking poorly about “the orphan” and “those foolish Cuthberts.” Boys bark at Anne and refer to her as “dog girl”. Anne hears these things, of course, and can’t help but feel as though she is still unwanted.  (This is a departure from the book, too, I’m pretty sure. It’s definitely a departure from all the fun Anne had at the picnic in the original movie.)

In the end, the Cuthberts do adopt Anne, having her sign their family Bible, and having her change her name to “Anne Shirley Cuthbert.” (This is a departure from the book, too—which irks me as a literary purist.)

Episode 3 has plenty of its own faults. It’s Anne’s first day at school, and she is suuuuper excited. Anne gets to school and meets back up with Diana Barry (her BFF that we met in the 1st episode and saw briefly at the picnic). Diana shows her all around the school which is very “progressive” (ummm…ok…the story takes place in the 1870s what whatever, screenwriters…) and they find the teacher holding hands with Prissy Andrews, the oldest and prettiest girl in class. This is actually from the book. What happens next, however, is not. Anne goes on about how they must be having intimate relations and how they are going to make a baby. Diana listens, intrigued and horrified in equal measure. At lunch Diana takes Anne to her group or girlfriends with instructions to tell all…and Anne does. She tells them about the “pet mouse” that all men keep in their front pocket, and that when women pet it they end up with babies. Three minutes are wasted on this conversation, after which Anne is shunned by the other girls. The next day Prissy’s brother threatens to beat Anne up for slander. She is rescued by Gilbert Blythe but is then shunned further by the girls because one of them has had a crush on him for several years.

Meanwhile, Marilla is approached by the Progressive Mothers Sewing Circle. They talk about feminism and women’s education. The problem with this (aside from the ridiculous ploy to throw feminism into a story about such a strong girl) is that the education for boys and girls at the time was pretty equal…especially in small communities. The women also talk about suffrage…which is only obnoxious because it is presented 20 years ahead of its time. Marilla is shunned by the group the next day when Anne’s wild tales drift through the community.

Anne’s third day at school Gilbert pulls her braids and calls her carrots. (This, along with a few good lines, is straight from the book.) She smacks him in the face with her chalkboard and, despite Gilbert’s protests, is instructed to stand in front of the classroom in shame. However, she walks out of the schoolhouse and tells Marilla she is never going back to school.

And with that, I am finished with this series. No doubt Anne had more than her fair share of negative experiences in the many homes she was in before she came to Green Gables. But for all her nonsense, there was an innocence that kept Anne grounded. This new Anne is missing that innocence and that bothers me as to where this show thinks it is going with this beloved character.

I think the aspect that bothers me the most about this, though, is the way Anne, who is adopted, is treated by the community. I have a sister and many, many friends who have adopted children. It hurts my heart to think that these precious children will see this show, hear these comments, and think for one moment that they are “dogs” or “unwanted” or “burdens to be overcome.” Yes, this is a very personal thing for me and yes, perhaps I’m taking it too much to heart. But take it to heart I will. I can’t help it…I am Anne.

Anne…most definitely with an E

I was first introduced to Anne Shirley in 9th grade. We became fast friends. I talked like her, thought like her, dreamed like her, wanted to be an author like her, ended up being a teacher…probably because of her. Anne has probably influenced me more than any fictional character I’ve ever met. I loved the movies that came out on PBS and watched them countless times with my friends on sleepovers. I read all eight of the books, and the battered paperbacks still hold a proud place on my shelf. I took Anne to Italy and back and introduced her to my daughter! My husband watched the original movies with us, and after they were over he looked at me and said “Oh, I understand you so much better now.”

I. Am. Anne. Always talking. Always imagining. Always scribbling an idea that may or may not become a story later. (She may even be the reason why I only ever dye my hair red.)

So when I heard that a new show was coming out on Netflix, I groaned. I was predisposed to dislike the reconstruction because I was so enamored with the original. But that’s not entirely fair thinking, I argued back. So I decided to give it a go. I’ll watch (almost) anything for one episode. So while our son was away visiting Aunt Nella, my husband and I sat down with our daughter to watch the first episode of “Anne…With an E.”

It was delightful.

The first episode was full of many of the events I remembered from the original, and from the novel. In case you’re misfortunate enough to have never heard the story, here’s a summary:

Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert (siblings) have decided to adopt a boy to help them on their small farm on Prince Edward Island (in Canada). When Matthew goes to collect the boy, a chatterbox girl named Anne is there instead. Matthew and Marilla have to decide whether or not to keep her. Their next door neighbor, Rachel Lynde, comes over to visit Anne (who is 13 and has been in several homes over the course of her short life “earning her keep”). Rachel insults Anne, who loses her temper spectacularly. Matthew (who has a softer heart than Marilla) convinces Anne to apologize, and she does—again, spectacularly. Anne then meets a girl her own age, Diana, who will end up being her best friend. (It’s a lot to pack into one episode, but it was an hour and a half long.)

So what did I think?

Well, I loved what I have seen. Anne is delightful, fantastic, inspiring, hilarious, wonderful. Her story can’t help but be the same…as long as they stay close to the source material. The books are fantastic and tell a wonderful story about a stong-headed girl who just wants to be accepted as the wild and wonderful girl she is.

Downsides: Just a few. Anne has some bad memories where she is beaten and threatened. Very small kids might be frightened. Also, Anne has a few moments where she declares she’s “just as good as a boy” and she confronts the boy who has come to work on the Cuthbert’s farm. In these moments she is angrier than I remember in the books/old movie. 

On the whole, I’m looking forward to the rest of the episodes. I’ll let you know if my feelings change.

The Great and Terrible Week

Last Wednesday, I left the house in a rush. I leave for work at 9 instead of 11, because my job is wonderful and they have adjusted my schedule so that I can go to choir practice on Wednesday nights. Wednesdays are long, and I usually end up with no voice (talking on the phone for 8 hours + choir practice + allergies…it’s been fun) but they are my favorite day of the workweek. I had to make sure I grabbed everything I needed for work, plus everything I needed for choir, plus leave the house two hours earlier than normal. So a rush, but a rush that I’m used to because I’ve been doing this for several months. It was a gorgeous day, too, sunny and warm but not too hot, as it can be for a few short weeks in Spring in Texas.

Around 4:15 I had my second break and checked my phone for news/Facebook/calls/messages. Of course, one of those alerts was from the San Antonio news, about a church bus crash. All I could think was, “No no no no no, not us, not us, not us.” But I tapped on the story anyway, because whoever it was was gonna need a lot of prayer.

And it was us.

I called the church, and had a conversation that sounded like it had been had a hundred times. “Events are cancelled for this evening. Head-on collision. Five fatalities confirmed so far. Three airlifted. No one knows any names.” I hung up and called my husband to pass on the information. The love of my life has a “dumb phone” so if he’s not home he doesn’t see email. (He also doesn’t have Facebook, but I’m working on that.) Then it was time to share the word at work. I found one of my supervisors and told her what we knew so far. “Do you need to go?” she asked. “I only have an hour and a half left. I can focus for now.” But as soon as the clock hit 6:00, I was out the door.

By that time we knew it was 12 fatalities. Twelve precious senior adults. Gone.

I made it home, and then Day and I went up to church, a bag full of kleenex and water bottles in tow. Even though all the activities had been cancelled for the evening, the parking lot was full. More full than I had seen it on a Wednesday night ever. I think that was when I started to cry.

Camera crews were already outside. My head was full of conflicting thoughts: “Psh. Vultures. Wait, why are there so many? Is this story everywhere? How far did it go? What an opportunity to witness…” 

People were everywhere inside, milling around, talking, praying, many of them staring at phones hoping for updates. Silver industrial-size coffee pots filled one table, water and sweet tea on another. “Do we know anything? Any names? What happened?” But there were no answers. We did know the bus driver…my son’s Sunday School teacher. That news broke Day, which in turn broke me again.

It’s hard to describe the feeling in the sanctuary that night. Everyone leaning on everyone else. Everyone comforting everyone else. Kleenex boxes everywhere. So. Many. Tears. All of us, our church family, knocked off our feet but holding each other up. Everyone grieving together as we waited for the list of names. 

The words that I finally grasped, the two words that I have managed to hold tightest to through all of this, were “Great” and “Terrible.” We were all going through a terrible loss, a tragic senseless accident, where a dozen people had lost their lives “in an instant, in the twinkling of an eye.” It was a terrible, terrible night. But the power of God was with us, holding up every member of that congregation as we supported each other. The love of God surrounded us as we grieved. The peace of God, which indeed, is beyond all understanding, guarded our hearts. It was horrible to experience, but wonderful to behold.

The community began to share with us too, almost immediately. There are three churches basically right next door to each other, and pastors and members had come to grieve and pray with us. There was food, too…pizza and tacos (among other things) were donated by restaurants in the area. Our town is loving on us. Again, it is great and terrible.

For two more hours we prayed, talked, shared, hugged, leaned, and waited. Notifications had to be made, families told, before the church family could hear the list of names. By the time Pastor Brad was able to read the list, there were 13 dead. One survivor from our bus. The driver of the other truck survived as well. As our pastor called out the names, people in the congregation cried out. Small cries of heartache and pain that broke my heart all over again.

There was no rush to leave. Many of us stayed for almost another hour, weeping, sharing, leaning, talking, praying. It was 10:00 when I got home. It was hard to believe it had only been 6 hours since I heard the news. It felt much, much longer.

We had to go home and tell our son that he had lost his Sunday School teacher. I have never heard my boy weep like that, weep until we thought he would be sick. We shared our grief again as a family, the four of us curled up in a ball on the couch, weeping together. Liam stayed home from school the next day, visiting with counselors at church.

It’s been a bit of a blur, the days since the accident. I’ve had to go to work, but my employers have been very gracious and have given me things to do so that I didn’t have to talk on the phone the first day. Many times I can do my job, but then someone calls with a familiar name or from a church or someone asks me how I’m doing and I fall apart all over again. Everyone knows about the wreck; word is spreading that is was my church. A friend will say, “How are you doing?” and I will shrug and then someone else will ask “What happened?” I take a deep breath and say “It was my church, with the bus.” “Ooohhhh” is the response. And then a hug. And then I take a deep breath again. One breath at a time.

Sunday was again a Great and Terrible day. The Sonshine Singers (the senior choir) filled the choir loft. Well, almost filled. There were 14 empty chairs. I walked into the sanctuary and lost it all over again. But I have to say, it was one of the best church services I have ever taken part in, for while there was weeping, there was also hope. It is very true that weeping endures for the night. Or for several nights. But joy will indeed come in the morning.

I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I will see these precious friends again in heaven. I know that someday I will sit next to Dorothy again as we sing. I know that we will hear Murray sing funny songs with kids. And while it hurts, and it does, it hurts so much we can hardly stand it at times, healing will come. We will laugh again. We will dance again. I will make it all the way through a song again. Why am I so sure? How can I say these things with such certainty? A song is the best answer.

The Solid Rock (Edward Mote)

My hope is built on nothing less

Than Jesus’ love and righteousness. 

I dare not trust the sweetest frame

But wholly lean on Jesus’ name.

When darkness seems to hide His face,

I rest on His unchanging grace;

In every high and stormy gale,

My anchor holds within the veil.

His oath, His covenant, His blood

Support me in the whelming flood;

When all around my soul gives way,

He then is all my hope and stay.

When He shall come with trumpet sound,

Oh, may I then in Him be found;

Dressed in His righteousness alone,

Faultless to stand before the throne.

On Christ the Solid Rock I stand,
All other ground is sinking sand.

All other ground is sinking sand.

This. This is how we know. Because today is terrible, no one is denying that. 

But our God is great…and we cannot deny that either.