Running
Ian’s Story
by
Book Cover & Preview Text
He ran close to the gate. He loved to feel the warmth of the pearl-white light dusting his face. He waved at the children at the entrance. Their myriad colors were reflected in a shimmering veil that formed a halo around the great gate.
He kept running. Leaving the pathway, he ran towards the river, his favorite place to run. He was fascinated by the rainbow-spray and the tinsel-soft whisper sounds the water made as if to welcome him. This was his special place. The water sounds reminded him of something he remembered: a gentle sheltering cocoon, a place where he felt safe, a place where he nestled close to a fluid warmth that wrapped him close, a place where he listened to the echo of the soft and timeless drumbeat of a heart.
And so he kept running, his feet barely brushing the path beneath him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he breathed the deep, flaunting fragrance that filled the air around him. These are the lilies of the field, he thought, and he burst into song. It was his special song and he always sang it when he ran by the river.
Angel wings rustled beside him. Startled, he opened his eyes.
“I . . . I think I must have been singing out loud—to myself—out loud.” His little voice wavered on the last word.
“I just couldn’t help it. I’m so sorry if I disturbed you,” h e apologized.
“Oh, but that was a beautiful song—and if you had kept that wonderful song inside of you—why, I think the rocks would have cried out.”
Shyly, he looked up at the angel. She reached out and touched him gently, ruffling his golden curls and softly smoothing them back from his forehead. He worriedly watched her, disturbed by the puzzled look on her face.
“Why, little one, do you run?” she asked. Her voice was like the sound of music, and her face shone with love that reflected a special kind of light. She is so beautiful, he thought to himself.
Dropping his eyes, he silently gazed down at his bare feet. The angel settled her silver wings and leaned closer. Her shimmery-soft voice reminded him of something . . . something from another time, something very lost and very far away in his memory.
“Tell me why you run,” she encouraged gently as she sat down beside him.
“Oh . . . “ he hesitated. “It’s sort of a secret.”
He had told no one before, but he really wanted to tell her. He loved her nearness and her softness. And he really wanted to tell her his secret.
Formats
Book Details
About the Book
Parents who never held the child they lost often find comfort by retreating to a special place in their imagination. In this place, their own patented version of heaven, they see this child, they kiss the tiny cheek, and they grasp the searching fingers in their own. Although they cannot show this child human love, they pray the angels will and imagine him or her being held closely. They picture their child as healthy, whole, innocent, and beautiful. They see that little personality developing in a warm environment of growth, acceptance, and love.
Memory and imagination are wonderful gifts. In her book Running: Ian’s Story, author Janette Johnson’s poetry reflects her trip to her imaginary place. She never had the chance to hold her grandson Connor. Ian, Connor’s brother, was born with a serious disability. Johnson imagines what it must be like for Connor among the angels, where he runs for Ian, who can’t run. Her poetry shares the pain of loss following the death of a child and the joy and sadness that can come with having a child with a disability. It’s also the dream of a heaven where brothers are reunited, both healthy and happy.
Running: Ian’s Story shows God understands the grief of those who have lost a child. He realizes that sometimes parents cling to the thread of imagination until the day they’ll hold that child … perhaps for the first time.
About the Author
Janette Johnson is a retired college and high school English teacher who lives in Centralia, Missouri, with her husband Charles. The mother of four children and grandmother of eleven, she is passionate about journaling, conversations with friends, and grasping whatever life offers on a daily basis.