Day Seventeen

Looking on Jesus, the author and finisher of faith, who having joy set before him, endured the cross, despising the shame, and now sits on the right hand of the throne of God. 
-- Hebrews 12:12


Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You. -- Dr. Seuss


We shouldn't teach great books; we should teach a love of reading. -- B. F. Skinner

Today I stopped by the library after having lunch with a friend. There's something so special to me about libraries. Almost, even than bookstores. I think it was because of how I was taught about them in elementary school. I remember that one day a week we would go down to the library and learn about library skills from Mrs. Short. I don't even think we were able to touch or check-out a book until we knew how to treat them properly. Until we learned how special they were because they were read by other people too, they didn't just belong to us. We learned how to use the card catalog, we learned about the sections of the library, and what Caldecott Medals and awards were. I could tell you right now where the Kathryn Tucker Windham books were kept. I could point out in my mind the shelf where I first met Amelia Bedelia. Books were a special kind of friend. I remember a really old book I read more than once. It was a chapter book and the pages were dark from wear, crisp. I couldn't even tell you the name now, except that it had a treehouse on the front. I think it was a mystery.
These things have carried over to my adult life. The reverence when entering a library. That soft silence. Picking out that special book. The weight of it, the feel of it in your hands -- how you know that one book is special and just for you. And you get to take it home and unwrap it like a gift. The smell of libraries, pages being turned, and the pride in having a library card. When I was younger all I wanted to do was read (well, and play outside). I think I would've rather have read than watched TV. It fueled my imagination, my "playing pretend" time, and it made me fall in love with words, with writing.
I remember a special friend once picking a book of her shelf from her favorite author, Iris Murdoch, to give to me as a present. Just to hold it felt sacred. It held history and emotion. When I hold a book sometimes I think of the hands that held it before me and the ones that will hold it after me. If they are my own books I can't read them without a pencil in hand. Notes, things that I'm thinking, things I'm discovering about myself while reading and lines that I love. I remember the first book I learned to read by myself at my home and not in school was Dr. Seuss,' Marvin K. Mooney, Will You Please Go Now!.
Sometimes I think we forget how special we are. Like a book, chapters written and still to go, we are pulled from the shelf all the time. We each have different wear and tear, we each have our special moments and lines underlined in our lives, we are interesting and we are characters, and we are beloved.
Daily someone chooses us. A friend, a family member. We receive a call, a hug. God chooses us for special tasks only we can complete. Encouraging someone who may only hear the words from our mouths in that moment. We are given a story that someone else needs to know, so that they are not alone, so that they might connect to another human being.
I think sometimes we don't allow ourselves to feel that special, that uniqueness. We make a God who is loving unconditional into whomever in our lives that was supposed to be that for us and has hurt us, failed us, distanced themselves from us. But God sees us much differently than we see ourselves. He sees His son. Everyday he loves us at maximum capacity. He can't love us any less or more on any given day. The love He gives isn't dependent on how we act or whether we feel that we have let Him down or not. We want to make Him human. We want to compare Him to the love that we have known on earth. We want something tangible to grab onto when we are hurting -- that flesh, those arms wrapping around us in a hug. But He is there with comfort, piece and without judgement. He walks in each day with reverence, to pick us off the shelf. Feeling the sacredness in holding us close to Him and writing the pages of our lives, using the chapters of our lives in great ways. His library is full of people. And even when these special creations can't trust how much he loves them, He still remains faithful in love, walking into that soft silence, that reverent place a choosing you to reach what no other can. You are the gift He gives the world. You are the best written novel of all time.  You are a page-turner.