My Friendship with Books

MY FRIENDSHIP WITH BOOKS

            I’ve always trusted books to be my friends. Growing up, I moved around a lot while Dad was in the Navy. When I learned to read, my world opened up in countless ways. I remember I got my first library card at the bookmobile that stopped on the street where I lived. I was 6. I crawled into the stories, was transported and transformed by Babar the Elephant, Nancy Drew and the orange-covered biographies of Ulysses S. Grant, Virginia Dar4e and Woodrow Wilson.

            I felt alive when I entered these worlds, totally engulfed in the “Mystery of the Clock Tower,” as I crept through the dilapidated mansion with Nancy. My book on world cultures introduced me to the mountains of Nepal, the colorful clothing of the people of Peru and the wonder of deepest Africa.

            I trusted the welcoming pages who nurtured my imagination and encouraged my creativity. Whether I rode with Roy and Dale or picked blueberries with the Bobbsey Twins or marched with cadets in the West Point books, I was there with my friends. No one laughed at me or excluded me between these covers. I became an integral part of the stories. I belonged.

            As a teenager, I spent hours several afternoons a week nourishing my soul on a diet of history, fiction, and poetry. ee cummings taught me that capital letters are overrated, Madeleine L’Engle introduced me to Meg and Charles Wallace as we tessered through a “Wrinkle in Time.” I pictured Clark Gable as Rhett Butler long before I saw the movie. My heart throbbed rapidly with Pee’s “Telltale Heart? I wept when I finished reading “Flowers for Algernon.” I was the happiest person in the world when I was hired to work there two afternoons a week. The library actually paid me to work in my happy place.

            I never finished cleaning my room because I would start by picking up the books strewn across the floor and was immediately captivated by “Seven Days in May”, a Robert Frost poem or a book on communism in the Soviet Union. To this day, my house often looks cluttered for the same reason.

            Books allowed me to roam the planet, meeting fellow adventurers as I shivered with fear or plotted our next move.  Books carried me far away from the hurt and confusion of teenage angst and offered continuing possibilities for my own real-life journey.

            In my mid-twenties, God called me into pastoral ministry, where my love of books served me well.  Introduced to the world of theology and Biblical studies, I gobbled up texts on the Old Testament and struggled to understand the theology of Moltman and Bultmann. At seminary I introduced myself to life-long friends and mentors: Frederick Buechner, Henri Nouwen and Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Buechner showed me that faith was not a destination, but an adventure. Nouwen taught me compassion and cracked open a door to God’s heart. Bonhoeffer challenged me with the “Cost of Discipleship” and the concept of cheap grace.

            Books encouraged me to write my own stories, sing my own songs, and experiment with my own creative spirit. Now, whether I read or write, I find a home, a haven, a welcoming smile.

            Jesus said that he was going to prepare a place for us, that in his kingdom, there are many rooms. On my moving-in day, I envision myself in a mahogany paneled library with floor to ceiling bookshelves and a large picture window opening onto the ocean. As I study the shelves, I find all my old friends are there waiting for me. I pull one out at random.

            As I open it, Madeleine L’Engle steps out from the pages, as we sit and share a cup of coffee, we speak of the magic of imagination and the craft of writing. Together we visit the Austin family, sing with the stones, and wait for a dragon on the wishing stone. Later Miss Marple shows me around St. Mary Mead and we puzzle over the latest murder which she is investigating. Roy and Dale invite me to ride with them over the hills where we capture some outlaws. As they ride off on their “Happy Trails,” I dine with Buechner as we share the secrets that both froze and empowered us.

            The next day, I think I’ll drop in on Perry Mason to see what case he is solving or step through the wardrobe into Narnia to meet Aslan face to face.