Er, rather, I taught English. Er, humanities.

Er, students.

I taught humanities (which included English) to students. And I loved it.

Which meant that, occasionally, I got to talk about prepositions. Which I also loved.

Prepositions, you say? Why yes, I say. Prepositions.

***

Prepositions, one of the eight parts of speech, and many of them are among the smallest words in the English language.

How’s that? you say.

Well, here are the most common prepositions, listed in order of size. Note, if you will, how small they are:

to, on, in, of, at, by, for, with, over, across.

The longest of them here is only six letters. Small words. And incredibly important.

Important? you say.

Yes, I say.

The job of a preposition is to connect a noun or pronoun in a sentence to another object in that sentence. In other words, prepositions mark the relationship of one thing to another.

Like so: The squirrel ran up the tree.

Here, the preposition is up, and it shows the relationship between the squirrel and the tree.

Simple, and very important.

How so? you say, because squirrels run up trees all the time. No big deal.

And I sigh and I say Still, and I resist the temptation to tell you that you are reminding me here of some of my more reluctant students.

Instead, I show you how prepositions are important:

Let’s say the squirrel is rabid and you are standing nearby. You don’t want that squirrel anywhere near you (or the young child, say, that you are holding nicely by the hand). In this case, you much prefer the squirrel running up the tree rather than, instead, down the tree, because after the rabid squirrel runs down the tree it might also (it is rabid, after all) run toward you and the young child with the intention of biting you, in which case you must immediately hoist the child into your arms (we haven’t used much in the way of adjectives yet, so we don’t know how heavy the child is) and run helter-skelter for some distance (perhaps) toward Shelter From Squirrels.

More than anything, in that moment, you want that squirrel in that tree. In truth, in that moment, the location of the squirrel is of paramount importance.

But, while we’re at it, let’s revisit that paragraph again, and here I will emphasize all of the prepositions, and you will begin to see how very important prepositions are:

Let’s say the squirrel is rabid and you are standing nearby. You don’t want that squirrel anywhere near you (or the young child, say, that you are holding nicely by the hand). In this case, you much prefer the squirrel running up the tree rather than, instead, down the tree, because after the rabid squirrel runs down the tree it might also (it is rabid, after all) run toward you and the young child with the intention of biting you, in which case you must immediately hoist the child into your arms (we haven’t used much in the way of adjectives yet, so we don’t know how heavy the child is) and run helter-skelter for some distance (perhaps) toward Shelter From Squirrels.

See?

Prepositions are Important.

I know, I know. Why be so dramatic? Are prepositions usually so vital?

Well, okay, but look. Say you left your water bottle at the gym (people are always leaving water bottles at the gym). You want your husband, your friend, your whathaveyou to get it for you, so you say, “My water bottle is on the table,” or “next to the kettle bells,” or “under the bench.” You may have given your kind person a description of your water bottle, but telling him or her where that water bottle is makes fetching it for you far simpler and faster. Enter prepositions.

And in another entirely different example, consider the difference between prepositions in the following sentences:

He walked through the water to rescue me.

He walked on the water to rescue me.

In the latter sentence, the he might be someone Entirely Different from the he in the former.

See? Prepositions.

***

But (and you knew that was coming. Did you know that was coming?), prepositions can also be murky. The examples I’ve provided thus far make them oh, so clear, but we use them, too, to show relationships in the abstract.

Take, for example, the title and subtitle of my new book: Wait: Thoughts and Practice in Waiting on God.

We have two prepositions here. Do you see them? Thoughts and Practice in Waiting on God.

Why is it “in”? Why not “for”? The book is about that. It’s about some thinking and understanding for those times when one is waiting on God. And it’s about things one can do when one is waiting on God. So “for” would work nicely here.

Or we could go another route. Skip the preposition entirely and throw in “while,” and now we have a conjunction that means “during the time that.” Thoughts and Practice While Waiting on God. Perfectly applicable.

The thing is that, while prepositions can be very helpful in communicating the specific, they can also make space for generalities. They can suggest the idea of a relationship without assigning one.

In the subtitle of my book, the in functions as a preposition, and it says what it means to: here, in this book, are some thoughts and some practices related to, helpful for, significant regarding waiting on God.

In short, my publisher chose the preposition in, and it works just fine.

***

It’s the latter preposition in the book’s subtitle that is of real interest to me. Waiting on God. Waiting on God. In light of what I said earlier regarding prepositions (that they “mark the relationship of one thing to another”), it’s this piece of the book’s subtitle that really matters.

It’s one thing (and nothing like uncommon) to be dissatisfied, to be in want or need. To be hoping and longing for a change, a thing to come about, a shift in one’s life from one kind of status to another.

But if, within that dissatisfaction, one knows of One who can fix it, a God who could–if he wanted to–snap his fingers and bring baby, spouse, job, health, whatever-one-longs-for–into the picture…. If one is waiting on God, then that dissatisfaction shifts and becomes part of a relationship.

My husband and I–and our dear children–have been waiting on God for a very long time. Almost eighteen years, in fact. In that span we have been very happy and we have also (at times) been desperate. But because we have been waiting on God, we have also had tremendous hope.

It’s that prepositional phrase –that Waiting on God bit– that is the whole reason for the book.

So Much Hope.

I do hope you already know the hope I am talking about. If not, please know that the hope can be yours, too, no matter what you’re waiting for.

And I hope that, when the book comes out (June 4!!) you will read it.

Below, find Ways To Get This Book. And thank you.

Sign up and pledge-to-buy.

Pre-order on Indie-Bound.

Pre-order on Amazon.

Pre-order on Barnes and Noble.

Pre-order on Kobo.

The post Prepositions, Squirrels, Kettle Bells, and the Subtitle of My Book appeared first on Rebecca Brewster Stevenson.

Here’s a relatively new delight in my life: Any and every time I type the letter “m” into the Internet search bar on my computer screen, “Merriam-Webster.com” appears. Instantaneously.

(I know what you’re thinking: That delights you? That? To which I respond: Yes. That. And I realize it’s a relatively small thing on the epically large scale of Potential Delights, but I think it’s a good practice to recognize them all. Don’t you?)

The voluntary appearance of “Merriam-Webster.com” in my Internet search bar seems to be a new thing, but perhaps I’m only just now noticing it. In any event, it is wonderful for many reasons, some of which are as follows:

• I immediately think of my sister.
• I immediately think of words.
• I remember that there are websites in the world devoted to words, not least of which is Merriam-Webster.com.
• I am reminded that oodles of people enjoy words and are interested in them, a fact which has given rise to the alluded to (and directly named) websites.
• I recall–no matter what I am currently doing–that I have many, many times required the Most Excellent Services of Merriam-Webster.com, which makes me think of writing and what I get to do when I am working, and I am filled to the gills with gratitude.

So, yes, typing “m” into my Internet search bar–even when I am looking up something so pedestrian as “money” (not that I’ve done that) or “monterey jack” has become–if only momentarily–a delightful experience.

Often as not, though, I’m using Merriam-Webster on my phone. Sitting in the library for hours on end, typing away on my novel, I avoided opening the entire Merriam-Webster website (word-distractions galore!) and instead kept the app open on my phone.

That’s right. You read that correctly. There’s a Merriam-Webster app.

(Go! Quick! Run! Hie you to your phone and download it! Worlds and worlds of word-wisdom at your fingertips!)

I made use of it this very morning, in fact. Bill, Will and I were sitting together, enjoying our morning coffee, and somehow (I forget how) the word “mutiny” entered the conversation.

“Mutiny,” said Bill. “Now there’s a weird verb.”

Indeed, I thought. What an odd verb! It sounds very much like a noun to me.

We had been sitting together for the better part of a half-hour at this juncture, and I am pleased to be able (honestly) to say that not a one of us had, as yet, made use of our phones (well, except Bill, who’d had to answer a business call). But of course, immediately Will looked the word up, and the very first part of the definition gave its part of speech away: “rebellion.”

That there’s a noun. It’s an act, which is, in its way, a thing. Which makes it a noun.

But this was inadequate for me, because I knew that Bill was right. Is right. “Mutiny” is also a verb.

I wanted clarity on this, and it was the Merriam-Webster app to the rescue.

Here’s what happened. I began typing in “mutiny” at the prompt, and Merriam-Webster (always so willing help) began offering me options. And “mutiny” was the not the first, but rather a word that looked familiar but that was not, in fact, what I was looking for but which was, in truth, what I wanted.

“Mutine.”

Suspicious, I selected it. And here we are:

mu-tine   \’myu-ten\  verb   instransitive verb  obsolete: rebel, mutiny

Origin: Middle French (se) mutiner.

First use: 1555

So. “Mutiny” was not the original noun but rather a French word. A verb.

“Boy,” I said to Bill and Will, “I bet that drove somebody crazy.” And they both laughed at me because they knew that, had I been around when the noun “mutiny” began to be used as a verb, I would have been the one trying to correct everybody.

“No, no!” I would have shouted, hanging from the ship’s rigging, say, or clinging to a deck-rail, “It’s not mutiny! That’s a noun! You mean mutine! MUTINE!” Trying to make myself and my correct French pronunciation heard over the roar of the waves and the clamor of pirates. Or sailors. Or whatever mutinous lot you’re envisioning here.

It’s a tired yet familiar position for me, less fraught than the one I’ve sketched above, but fraught nonetheless.

My resident position, when teaching, as Defender of the Common Tongue: “No. It’s not ‘verse,’ as in ‘Athens verse Sparta.’ It’s ‘versus.’ ‘VERSUS.'”

My unspoken, secondary job when mothering, as Corrector of all Grammatical Failings: “No. It’s not ‘laying on the couch.’ It’s ‘lying.’ ‘LYING.’”

My decidedly ruffled impotence, sitting in the church auditorium or reading posts on Facebook, as Would You Please Just Listen to Yourselves Authoritarian: “No. It’s not ‘everyone that.’ It’s ‘everyone who. EVERYONE WHO.'”

I exhaust myself. And everyone else, I fear. All for the love of language.

Ah, but Merriam-Webster, once again, to the rescue. Because the dictionary understands. It gets it. In its relentless and inexhaustible efforts to catalog, inventory, and update the uses and meanings of words (and the words themselves), they are quick to track the changes–the inevitable alterations–undergone by the living language that is English.

Which is why (did you see it?) in the definition above, they will tell you how a word is currently used. Sometimes, when the use is old-fashioned, they will label it “archaic.” And sometimes, as in “mutine,” the word is labeled downright “obsolete.”

See? Merriam-Webster is So Incredibly Helpful.

It’s fools like myself, dictionary in hand and clinging nonetheless to a water-washed deck-railing, who insist on things like “versus.”

Still–and despite the occasional (and so necessary) correction I receive at their hands–Merriam-Webster.com is sweet companionship. If possible, and this is evident based on their time-commitment alone, they love language even more than I do.

I love to be reminded of this. And I am reminded, every single time I enter “m” at my search bar prompt. Thank you, Merriam-Webster.

The post M is for Mutiny. And Merriam-Webster. appeared first on Rebecca Brewster Stevenson.