The Wonder of Marshall Ball

More than twenty years ago, when my son Marshall first compiled Kiss of God from seven years of his writings, I was asked by the publisher to tell his story. When I asked Marshall for advice, he wrote, “You have my pleasing world. Would you tell how my quiet roots would take us to Marshall’s darling thoughtful teacher Good God?”  

Marshall’s “pleasing world” is different than yours. He was born with an undiagnosable genetic condition, as was his younger brother Coulton, who he writes about often. Because of this genetic inheritance, Marshall is not able to walk, talk, or even feed himself. He can sit up only with effort, and he must be pushed in his wheelchair in order to move around. Physically, my son is bound in a small world, completely dependent on others. And yet, in his mind, he is free. He can listen quietly to the universe around him, and he can think. From his wheelchair, or lying on his back in his bed, he can marvel at the loveliness of life.  

I was told by doctors that Marshall would never communicate, and that I would never know the mind of my son. They were wrong. Marshall cannot verbally form words, but he was a powerful voice. We heard that voice for the first time at three and a half, when Marshall “spoke” to my husband Charlie and I by leaning forward and touching his forehead to a button that made a meow sound after I said the word “cat.” Stunned, I asked him to do it again; he happily repeated the performance. He went on to correctly identify all of the animals on the toy. Words will never express my joy that December day.

By the time Marshall was four and a half, we had in place an effective communication method that allowed him to make choices by touching things with his forehead. At five years of age, when Marshall began using an alphabet board and pointing to letters one at a time to spell words, his ideas were much like they are now. He wrote “Altogether Lovely” later that year, a favorite of many people.  

God is good and merciful

because He is also bright and intelligent.

Seeing, feeling all that is true.

Clearly He feels and listens to all our desires.

Clearly He has everybody’s dreams in mind.

I see a God altogether lovely.

Marshall writes effortlessly. He always seems to know what the next word is; there is never a delay in his thinking. And yet to watch him write is to imagine struggle: a boy in a wheelchair slowly, painstakingly reaching out to touch each letter on a large board with the back of his curled fist. I, on the other hand, can type sixty words a minute but struggle with the arrangement and ideas. The thought of sharing my son’s life with you without the use of my voice seems overwhelming. As I sit here, I become ardently aware of what it must be like for Marshall to communicate so beautifully and effectively without the use of his voice.

So I go to his words for advice, as always, and I remember him asking me to tell his readers that “daring to marvelously upgrade our knowledge of lovely thinking nicely pleases the heart.”

What did Marshall mean? That happiness can be found in seeking knowledge of ourselves? That positive (lovely) thinking comes from the heart? That we can learn to be lovely thinkers, and better people, if only we have the courage to try? Or did he mean all this and more?

It is not my place to interpret Marshall’s words. I can only tell you that Marshall believes in goodness with all his heart. He is searching, always, for understanding and love. His physical condition may be difficult, but in thirty years, Marshall has never complained. He has always shown appreciation for his life. His relationship with God is clear. His love of and concern for others is constant. His attitude of acceptance has challenged me to elevate my thinking and treatment of all people. He reminds us all, by his example, that we can be lovely no matter our circumstances. We can be lovely right now.

There has never been any doubt in Marshall’s mind about his mission in life.  Since the beginning of his writing life at age five, continuing to present, he has referred to himself as a teacher.

I see myself as a teacher

that knows about God.

Good thoughts come to me

and they teach.

For many years, Marshall has told me that he listens. He doesn’t mean just to our words. He means to the wind, the running water, the hum of life around him and his own thoughts. At times, I see him quietly looking off into the distance, eyes slightly raised, and he truly seems to be hearing something that I cannot, with my impatience, distractions and internal noise. I think of him now, listening to the vibrations of words and the opening of hearts he describes in what I believe is his very reason for being:

Words greatly present lessons,

oscillating finely bound,

opening great rich kind room

inside wonderful hearts.

With these words, Marshall is challenging us, as he is fond of writing, to be quieter listeners, richer thinkers, more loving souls. He wants to teach us to be better listeners and thinkers, I believe, as a way to be better people. If the right words open hearts, as Marshall believes, then how can we refuse to find and speak them?

When we originally edited Kiss of God, I asked Marshall how the book should be arranged. He wrote back, “Knowledge carries beauty in good Marshall’s thinking. Feel like attempting good fine force badly splits Kiss of God apart.” When I asked, “What do you mean when you say force?” Marshall answered, “Forcing is giving good book great organization. Can we give love by force?” Taken by surprise, I sat in awe, then laughed with the knowledge that Marshall was teaching me again in his positive beautiful way. His words are not meant to be manipulated, but to live on their own, and to touch others in the way that is right for them.  

The original Kiss of God was compiled by Marshall, with my assistance, as a Christmas gift to his father in 1997, when he was eleven years old. It was not meant as lessons or wisdom, but as a gift of love from a child to his father. I believe that is one reason why, from a humble beginning of 100 self-published copies, it went on to sell almost half a million copies and become a beloved national bestseller: because Marshall’s intention has always been to give love.

In this Anniversary Edition of Kiss of God, we have kept Marshall’s original arrangement, with only limited explanations of the context in which the words were written. Marshall has cut a small number of pieces, and he has included a few new thoughts written in recent years. Otherwise, we have followed his mandate to not force the Love his book contains.

Marshall is my life’s legacy. His fragile life is stronger and bigger than anything I could ever do or achieve. I am his mother, but Marshall is the one who has led and educated me. His words belong to the world, and I am proud to offer them to you in this twentieth anniversary edition, in the thirtieth year of his life. I hope you find here the peace, strength and love that Marshall intends. If his words inspire you, then please: Love. Love as much and as well as you can.

As Marshall recently wrote, “To Love is to Live.” I am still reveling in the purity, truth, and power of this brief phrase.

                                                                         Troylyn Ball