I’ve been sitting here savoring the day I’ve had. I left work a little early to be home with a recovering child, and another one joined me, not feeling well either. I had my seasonal playlist warming the house, and I was working on a puzzle in the sitting room. In that sweet, quiet contentment, I took inventory of my life.
I thought about the emotional space Siafa and I are in, and I love it.
I thought about how, for once, I’m not struggling with mommy guilt.
And I think it might be because of the classic books I’m reading.
I’m not only reading The Brothers Karamazov. Before bed I’ve been reading a little of A Christmas Carol, because it fits the season, and because Dickens feels like he’s reasoning with the reader as he writes. That always tickles me. I think the classics are putting me in a grateful, generous mood.
Or maybe the mind really does require nourishment, the same way the soul does, and sometimes TV simply can’t give it. I think that is why I still believe in the classics. They make me feel young and adventurous. When I close the book at night, I feel like I’ve actually traveled to Russia. I’ve sat in the room with Fyodor Pavlovich while he had one of his ridiculous fits. I’ve watched Ivan burn with anger before his trip to Moscow. I’ve walked the streets beside Ebenezer, seeing the people who won’t even meet his eye.
And then, when I look at my own life, the colors appear a little more brilliant.
The love I have feels steady instead of risky.
It feels sustainable.
To stop believing in the classics is to believe they have somehow gone stale or irrelevant. As if, like Latin, because the language of old isn’t spoken, it has no use. But when you learn Latin while you’re still learning English, the contrast deepens your understanding. You learn verbs and nouns like an expert. You memorize declensions and conjugations until grammar becomes muscle memory.
In that same way, life contrasted with the classics helps you see the lessons, the small glimmers, the mistakes, and the joys in your own life more clearly than anything else.
Movies can have that effect too, but most don’t. And many are too abbreviated to allow the spark to grow into a flame.
But a classic will stay with you.
A classic will work on you.
A classic will feed you in ways that feel almost spiritual.
And that is why I still believe in them.
If this post spoke to you…
Share it with someone who might need it, too. Whether it’s a quiet encouragement or a new way of seeing things, these reflections are meant to be passed along.
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Martina Griffin is a Catholic convert, writer, wife, and mother of four. She writes about faith, motherhood, beauty, books, and the quiet ache of transformation. A lover of popcorn, deep questions, and old classics, she shares her heart at Big Bowl of Popcorn—one post at a time. Instagram | Facebook | Email Me |
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