In light of Horcruxes

Pin It If one were frequenting this blog in the hopes to find a post brimming in both light and righteousness, then said person would be well advised to click the ‘back’ button right now, and stop reading—before it’s too late.

For today I wish to speak of Horcruxes.

It is at this point that I must make a confession to those who’ve decided to keep reading on; that is, before the Harry Potter phenomena had swept the Muggle world, and previous to the latest movie in the saga’s release to theatres, I was the secret-keeper of a hidden tidbit of wisdom, a little-known fact of magic. It is the knowledge of these magical devices whereby a person can take a portion of themselves and secret it away into another.

“Well, you split your soul, you see,” said Slughorn, “and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one’s body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But, of course, existence in such a form...” Slughorn’s face crumpled, “Few would want it, Tom, very few. Death would be preferable.”

So, I can almost hear you wondering. How, teachinfourth, could you possibly be familiar with this type of evil magic? Well, you see…I’ve been making Horcruxes for years.

However, before I go into detail any further, one must really get things straight; namely, to fully understand just what a Horcrux truly is. It’s quite simple, really. In fact, what it is is actually defined in the name itself; the first part of the word, “hor” comes from “hors” meaning “outside.” The definition of the second part of the word—“crux” is, “a puzzling or difficult problem” or “a crucial point.”

So, a “Horcrux” is not necessarily a thing of evil...but merely a point outside of ourselves that causes for us a difficult problem, or a crucial point in our own—or someone else’s—life. In other words, it is a tearing of the heart.

“Yes, sir,” said Riddle. “What I don’t understand, though... Just out of curiosity, I mean, would one Horcrux be much use? Can you only split your soul once? Wouldn’t it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces, I mean, for instance, isn’t seven the most powerfully magical number? Wouldn’t seven…”

You see, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had it all wrong. He sought immortality through means of ripping his soul into seven pieces. Seven being the key number—or so he thought—thinking in the established Hebrew reverence of this particular numeral: seven days in a week, seven colors in the rainbow, seven notes in the customary musical scale, seven deadly sins, and most recently—Windows 7—Microsoft’s newest operating system.

But a 7-part soul is not the guaranteeor of immortality; for you see, a soul torn in the supreme act of evil to create these earthly-bound Horcruxes, will only weaken the person making them.

“Well,” said Slughorn uncomfortably, “You must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against nature.”

In other words, a Horcrux made from your soul is a bad idea all around. It—in the end—gets you nowhere but into a place which is far worse than where you are now.

However, a heart Horcrux is the utter and exact opposite; the heart is split through a colossal act of service—an act of love. When the heart is torn, the pieces are hidden in many individuals—making them into living Horcruxes. This in turn makes both of the individuals stronger—not weaker.

The heart grows back with these other ‘pieces’ grafted in, becoming as one yet again. These pieces are intertwined and will always be so.

I was reminded of the Horcruxes I’ve made over the years recently…in my classroom I’d informed the students that I was going to be sending a care package to my dad, and if any of them wished, they could write him a letter to be included.

Several of them set to work and wrote their letters, putting them into a pile so as I might add them to the parcel I’d be sending the next day. One of these letters, as I was putting it into the box, caught my eye and I began to read. I’d like to share “Joey’s” letter with you here:


As I thought of this Horcrux which had been made through months of service, I found myself becoming reminded of the other Horcruxes made in and from my life. With students, with friends, with complete strangers, and the one made with my mom, guaranteeing her immortality in memory—as well as in heart.

I am the secret-keeper of the magical knowledge of Horcruxes, as now are you. Now, go and make some heart Horcruxes of your own.

My friend, Chris

Pin It I want to tell you about my friend.

I have a friend, Chris Heimerdinger. I first met Chris nearly 11 years ago, back when I was just driving through Utah to visit friends of mine in Missouri. I had called him up after reading A Return to Christmas and being moved by the story. When Chris heard that I’d be coming through Utah, he was more than happy to let me come by to visit. He even gave me directions to his home.

I remember driving there with my friend, Doug. We saw this guy jogging along the way. It was a hot summer day; I remember turning to my friend and saying, “Maybe we should offer that guy a ride. After all I would only run if I were being chased.”

Doug responded with, “Hey mister…who's chasing you?”

Laughter.

The windows were up, thankfully, and he didn’t hear the comment. As I pulled into the cul-de-sac the man ran up the house we’d just come to. It was Chris.

Even though he was sweating profusely, and was winded from his long run, Chris invited us inside and talked to us for nearly an hour. I couldn’t believe the graciousness of this man.

Since that time I’ve seen Chris about once a year. These ranged from book signings, visits to his home so he’d autograph stories for me. There was even a visit where I dropped off a “movie trailer” I had made for his book, Eddie Fantastic, to promote reading and quality literature responses in my class.

Two years ago I invited Chris to come to my school and have an assembly, which he genially agreed to. After the assembly, he met with just my class for a question-and-answer session. My students loved meeting the author of A Return to Christmas and Eddie Fantastic. They still talk about it.

A few years ago I took the three boys I mentored up to meet Chris, and to have him autograph a book of their choice. Randall, not realizing that they had a dog, cut across the front lawn. Unbeknownst to him, he’d tread in some choice “items” the dog had left behind on the grass, and tracked it over the Heimerdingers’s front room carpet.

Even with this, Chris still talks to me.

Throughout the years Chris has been a great friend and a confidant. Though I only talk to him a few times a year, he has always been courteous and understanding…even with the many constraints on his limited amounts of time.

This is just another reason I admire this man so much.

Today I watched his movie, Passage to Zarahemla and felt that I needed to call him. I just needed some advice, and hadn’t talked to him for a while. It was great! We ended up talking about just about everything over the ensuing 40 minutes (though Shawna will probably be upset at me from taking him away from the writing on his next Tennis Shoes book).

I admire Chris even more now than I did before. He is an example to me of a person who tries his best and lets the consequence follow.

Thanks, Chris.

It’ s just a little bit odd

Pin It I pulled up to the gas pump.

The fuel gauge on my car read, “Empty.” So I wouldn’t be able to put it off any longer…not that I wanted to; I just hate those long lines that inevitably form at the Sam’s Club Gas Station.

When my turn arrived I hopped out of my car, membership and credit cards both ready and waiting. You see, I have a pattern, as I don’t like it when people pull up to the pump and then spend the next five minutes just trying to find what they need, forcing me to watch them in their ineptitude.

I’d rather eat shards of broken glass.

But as I said, I have a pattern: I pop the “fuel release” button as I jump out of the car, slide my membership card in at the pump, remove the fuel cap, insert my debit card, grab the nozzle, insert it into the car, select my fuel grade, and then begin to refuel my vehicle…this whole process takes less than thirty seconds.

As I was in the middle of my well-rehearsed routine, I noticed it…no, it wasn’t the $3.50+ cost for gas, but the fact that here I was, surrounded by other people getting fuel, and not one of us was speaking to each other. The woman on the other side of the pump was busy trying to get her card to work; the man in front of me had climbed back in his car…even though there were notices everywhere advising motorists to stay outside of their automobiles when refueling. Behind me was a line of three other vehicles, all waiting their turn at the pumps, each of them currently watching the “Zimmerman Show.” I did my best at leaning up against my car and trying to act cool…after all, if they wanted to watch somebody, I’d give them something to look at.

It’s all about eye candy.

As the pump continued to produce fossil fuels—as well as drain away my bank account—I spoke to no one. Nobody spoke to me. When my $50 purchase was completed, I quickly removed the hose, put the fuel cap back on, and re-hung the nozzle, leaping in my car and pulling away…

…still having spoken to nobody.

Now, just why do we do this? My only guess is that getting fuel is so personal of a thing that we just cannot share this experience with anyone else. OR perhaps it is instead that our collective breaths are taken away by what getting fuel really means...


Either way, it’ s just a little bit odd.