My mom used to tell the story that when I was about three or so, she would read my favorite book to me over and over until I had finally memorized it and could recite it word for word. One day, as we sat in the waiting room at the doctor's office, I was dragging my finger across the words of that book, 'reading' it out loud. She said jaws were dropping, as I astounded everyone with my supposed genius ability. I never asked her if she ever let those strangers in on the truth.
Growing up, I could always be found with a book in my hand. I still remember my 'perch'--the lime green velvet couch I would curl up on and read at for hours. Even though I am part of the 'Television Generation', I never really got into television all that much. I would choose a book over a TV program in a heartbeat. Still do, for that matter. My dad and my grandparents called me the Bookworm; in fact, my grandparents were the ones to introduce me to the writings of Erma Bombeck, who has always been a favorite author of mine.
When I was in second grade, our teacher would read to us from the Little House series. I got so into it, that I bought every book in the series and read them at least three or four times. I loved that series so very much and I longed for a sun bonnet like Mary and Laura's. One summer, we finally found one while on vacation in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. I tried wearing it around for awhile, but it didn't seem to go with my 70's attire too well and I finally gave it up after one too many snide remarks by my older brother.
I was the library's summer reading program's dream. I would rush to the library and check out twenty some odd books at a time as soon as summer started. One summer I remember getting into a series of animal books by Thorton W. Burgess. They were delightful tales about a fictional group of animal characters and their adventures with one another. There was Reddy the Fox, Peter Rabbit, Paddy the Beaver, Unc' Billy Possum, to name a few. That series kept me entertained for hours.
Fifth grade was the year that I began to love to write stories. A couple of friends and myself got into writing fictional adventures with many different endings. For example, at the end of one page, you were given the option to turn left at the fork in the road or turn right. If you chose to turn left, you were sent to page three and if you chose to turn right, you were sent to page four. Often these stories would be several pages long with three or four different choices, twists and turns.
I remember when I became old enough to be dropped off at the mall with a friend. Our mall visit would begin at Waldenbooks. Then we would walk down to B. Dalton bookstore. After scoping out both stores, we would finally select our paperback of choice and then finish our trip off with a giant cookie.
In junior high, my English teacher, Mr. Lacer, was hands down my favorite teacher. He challenged us to know our parts of speech, to spell correctly and to write expressively. I can still rattle off the helping verbs at ninety miles per hour and do so frequently to impress my kids. We also had to memorize all of the prepositions so that we could find the prepositional phrases in sentences to make labeling the parts of speech easier. When I home schooled our children, I found a curriculum that taught English in much the same way. We also used a curriculum that emphasized diagramming sentences. My children became expert diagrammers. It's not a surprise to report that my older children's strongest subject is English (they will also tell you that they can't understand science to save their lives!); unfortunately, parts of speech and diagramming sentences is not as important in public school as it used to be.
Seventh grade was the year that my parents bought me my very own Bible. It was a white imitation leather King James Version with a gold zipper and it had my name engraved in gold on the lower right hand side. The Bible was a gift for completing confirmation classes at the church we were attending somewhat regularly at the time. It was the only book I willingly owned that I couldn't seem to get a grip on. Every time I read it I got lost in the thee's and thou's. Even so, I held that book in high regard--there was something within me that knew that it was no ordinary book.
My Bible sat on the bookshelf right above my desk, faithfully waiting and collecting dust as year by year, the pages of my life were being written. I finished junior high and began high school. It sat on the shelf when my parents separated and then divorced. It sat on the shelf during many poor decisions made by a young girl who lacked direction.
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English and Literature continued to be my most beloved subjects in high school. Mr. Stillwell's Literature class my junior year was a very favorite of mine. He had each of his students sign a 'grade contract' at the beginning of each grading period. Whatever contract you signed determined the amount of work you were required to do. 'A contracts' did the most work, 'B contracts' did a smaller portion, 'C contracts' did even less. I suppose there were 'D contracts', but I'm not really sure. The other catch was this: if you signed a B, C or D contract, you could only get as high a grade on your report card as the contract that you signed. So if you signed a B contract but actually had a high enough percentage to get an A, you would still get a B on your report card. His class was always the talk of junior year--everyone really got into the whole contract system, even those who didn't care for school. I think having a say in our grading system made us feel valued. It also made us feel grown up.
The highlight of my senior year was writing for our school newspaper. I looked so forward to starting each morning off in this class that I wondered why I hadn't chosen this elective earlier.
Writing for the school newspaper had such an affect on me that I started out in college as a Journalism major. I also took as many English Literature classes that were allowed. I loved these classes so much, especially the weekly two hour break out session when we would discuss and analyze a literary passage. To this day, I regret that I changed my major my sophomore year to Accounting, doing so only because it appeared to be more financially promising.
My white imitation leather KJV Bible came with me to Indiana University and then on to Murray State when I transferred. After college, it came with me to Nashville, Tennessee when I got my first real job and had my first 'on my own' apartment. I would always unpack it and put it in a special place. Every once in a while I would pull it out and try to read it but I never really got very far.
And year after year my faithful traveling companion sat on its shelf, collecting dust and waiting…waiting through the late nights, the partying, the poor decisions and the alcohol. Waiting, so faithfully waiting.
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About a year after graduating from college, on a beautiful, unusual spring-like August day, Eric and I got married. This day was the most magical day of all in the history of me. I felt like a Princess marrying her Prince Charming. As we said, 'I Do', there was a third party behind the scenes, also staking His claim. A friend of ours had given us a red NIV (New International Version) Life Application Bible as a wedding present. Little did we know that this collection of ancient writings was about to change the course of our story. As the bride and groom said 'yes', the Bridegroom hovered near and nonchalantly made His way into our life in the form of this little red book.
After the honeymoon, we settled into our quaint little apartment in Nashville and unpacked all of our wedding gifts. I unpacked our new Bible, finding a special spot for it in our bedroom because--once again--something inside of me knew that it was important and should have a position of prominence. Since we had been given an upgrade--crisp and new--my childhood white imitation leather Bible went into a nearby drawer.
For awhile our Bible remained untouched, collecting dust. It faithfully sat there as we came and went. Seasons changed, birthdays were celebrated, holidays came and went. I poured myself into decorating our home. I poured myself into my career. I poured myself into shopping for and buying cute little business suits for my accounting job. We spent our weekends going out and having fun (code for drinking). We kept busy doing all of the things you are expected to do after you graduate from college. Earn money, save for a house, work hard at your job so you can move up the corporate ladder, etc., etc., etc. All of this busyness--though--was really just a coping mechanism. You see, there was a huge void in my life. Something huge was missing and I couldn't figure out what it was. I kept trying to fill my life with all of these worldly things--money, career, stuff, alcohol--but as Mick Jagger will tell you, 'I couldn't get no satisfaction'. More than anything, I didn't know what to do with the bad feelings. The yuck I would feel inside when I was angry with or jealous of someone else. The shame I would feel after a night of drinking too much. No amount of busyness could get rid of those lousy feelings of guilt.
I was searching for answers. Finally, I turned to that which had not only been a source of comfort for me in the past, but had always provided answers to questions.
Books.
The first book I bought was an extremely cute, pink girly-looking book full of daily readings--I wish so much that I remembered what it was called. It had the word 'Meditations' in it, I think. You read it every day--first thing--and it gave you questions to answer about yourself. I feel like it was a book a lot of people were buying and reading at the time--like Oprah had recommended it or something. It was a very spiritual book and for a while I thought it was the answer to what I was looking for. But it wasn't. That achy void was still there. That lack of peace. And it felt really empty. I felt really empty.
Then I bought this book that I found at the bookstore that couldn't be more blunt, as the name of it was something like, 'How to Be Happy!' Some psychologist had written it. I read it cover to cover. There were a lot of 'how-to's' and 'do this' but 'don't do that'. None of it worked, quite frankly. If anything, I felt even emptier after reading it.
Since that beautiful August day when we said our 'I do's', Eric and I had been going to church semi-regularly. Mostly because that was the thing you did on Sunday mornings, especially after you were married. Yet, there was something else too, that got us out the door on Sundays. Drawing me, persuading me, was an overriding feeling of peace inside that steepled building.
I know it was that peace inside the steeple that guided my unrestful soul one Sunday afternoon, while sitting on our bed, to finally reach for that wedding present. The red Bible that had been patiently waiting for its pages to be turned. All afternoon, I read. I didn't know that a Bible could be written without the thee's and thou's. I didn't know it could be so easy to read. And I certainly didn't know that some Bibles had footnotes that explained and applied the verses to your life. All the questions about navigating through life I had been searching for--the why's, the what's, the how's--were slowly being answered with the help of these wonderfully written footnotes. In the midst of this story with so many answers was a fascinating man named Jesus. Oh, I had heard about Jesus. I had heard about him all of my life. But the Jesus I read about here--well, he seemed real. I began to devour that book, reading it hours at a time. What those other books couldn't do--this book was. It was filling the void. Wow, was it ever filling it. And in some mysterious and supernatural way, as the void was being filled, my guilt seemed to be getting erased.
I don't really remember how many days or months of reading God's Word it took. I don't really recall. But one random day, on a cold, sunny January morning in 1997, after listening to a preacher while on my way to work, the culmination of all that reading took affect. As the sun shone bright in the beautiful blue sky, I felt God calling me to let go, to surrender. And I did. I surrendered completely, meaning I quit trying to be in control of my life. I gave it all over to Him. In that moment, His Spirit came over my spirit, He removed the burden of guilt I'd been lugging around, and a peace I had never felt in my entire life came over me. I suddenly understood the term 'born again', because that was exactly how I felt. In a mere moment, an exchange of grand proportions had occurred. I had been made new.
I don't think on that day I clearly even understood that I was putting my faith in Jesus, the one who died on the cross for my sins. I don't think I understood a lot of specifics because I didn't have the terminology--the words--to explain what had just occurred. In the weeks to come, God put all that together for me, as one puts together the pieces to a puzzle. I came to understand who I was in light of who God was and that Jesus was standing in the gap for me. Like adjusting the focus on a camera lens, my vision became clearer and clearer.
You see, we are told in John 1 that Jesus IS the Word, that the Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us. He is the Bible. His Spirit resides in those pages, for those pages are 'God-breathed, profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness.' (2 Tim. 3:16). All those hours I read the Word, I was reading Jesus, God-breathed words breathing life into me.
Only recently did I realize how God used my love of reading and the love of stories to bring me face to face with His book and the One and Only Story. He used my love of penning words and the ability to get lost in them to introduce me to His Word and the invitation to get lost in Him. And those two hour literary break out sessions in college? Oh, those haven't even come close to the break out sessions with the Author who just happened to create the entire world.
Isn't it just like God, in all His creativity, to personalize Himself in the way that will most get our attention? For me, He used His book. For others, he uses people. Still others, he uses songs or art or nature. You name it, He'll use it to show us He is real and that He really does have a son named Jesus who died in our place. Praying that you will open your eyes a little wider today and look for Him in your surroundings. He is lovingly calling to you. Yes, you.
