By Kat Silverglate Founder, Copyright 2020
As a kid, checking a book out of the library felt a bit like putting on a costume and pretending to be something I wanted to be. A reader. Pulling that lined card out of the pocket glued to the back of the library book and filling in the blank lines under “borrowers name” and “due date” meant I was borrowing more than a book. I was borrowing this reader persona. At least for a little while. Trying it on. Trying to become a lover of books because to be an avid reader in my family was secret code for becoming what you were always intended to be. To be a reader was like getting one of those merit badges required for moving “up” to eagle status.
Floor to ceiling bookshelves adorned our living room. To a kid, they seemed like immovable support beams that kept the ceiling from caving in. All those multi-colored, many-fonted spines dwarfed the smallish TV at the center. Members of a publisher’s book club, my parents received two books a month and devoured them, discussing the details over morning coffee and evening meals. Each shipment contained some combination of books they selected for themselves and a surprise volume chosen by the publisher. I can close my eyes now and see the package in which these monthly mystery books arrived. For my parents, the contents seemed to represent a journey of sorts. One worth taking.
For me, books just represented a lot of hard work and a false persona. The truth was, I didn’t love reading. Not then anyway. I was, however, a lover of words. I loved words spoken to me. Words read to me. Words chosen for me by others. Words checked out by those who knew what I needed or might love. My parents, both gifted story tellers, read to us almost as if they’d authored the words themselves. They became the story with varied voices and dramatic pauses and faces that mirrored the mood of the content. Both were masterful at reading our expressions and reactions and stopping at the perfect time to talk about meaning or to wonder aloud whether we had a question about the subject. They savored the impact words had on us. But more, I think, they savored how the words drew our hearts together with their hearts. Still, no matter how many books I “borrowed” from the library, my love of hearing words never moved me to a love of reading them.
And then in 1982, a little flicker of insight came. I was in the hospital after major surgery which temporarily affected my ability to see clearly. If I closed one eye and tilted my head a certain way, I could see the words on a page without double vision, but not for very long. So, my sister bought me a book that would allow me to focus on one short life-giving paragraph a day. A daily devotional called Today is Mine. I don’t think I’d ever owned a devotional before or felt so satisfied by such short bits of writing that seemed to go deeper than the world’s wisdom.
Anyway, toward the end of my hospital visit, a nurse wheeled a woman into my semi-private room where I was waiting to be released. She’d been in a car accident and needed a place to wait for tests. From what I could hear through the curtain that divided our room in two, she had shards of glass in her hair and cuts on her face and she was going on and on about how much she wanted to go home. The devotional I’d read that morning was about home. Not the kind of home she was talking about. But a deeper meaning for home where there’s rest for the weary and sanctuary from the world. The way it feels when God makes a home in your heart. It was as if God had prepared me to meet this stranger. And not just meet her, but to meet her with words that fed her heart cry. I laid there a while listening afraid she’d think I was weird if I offered to read the devotional to her. And then, she started to cry.
“Do you mind if I read you something that helped me this morning?” I asked through the curtain dividing our room.
“OK,” she responded.
I got out of my bed, moved the partition, walked to her bedside. And like my parents had done for me, I just let myself become the connection between the words on a page and what was going on in her heart. And you know what? It wasn’t weird. It was quite wonderful actually. Almost like sharing a meal with a stranger. A word meal that had already fed me and now was feeding a stranger. It was as if God had given me those words to keep in the library of my heart forever. Only now He seemed to be showing me how to offer to lend them out when a borrower showed up.
The apostle Paul says that the comfort we get from God, it’s ours to keep forever; but he also says it is ours to lend. It’s given to us in part “so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves received from God.” 2 Cor. 1:4. Magnificent, isn’t it? How He gives us something to give away? Works through flawed people to speak a timely word of hope at just the right moment? Sometimes even doing it head tilted with one eye closed afraid the listener may think we are weird.
Our mission this month is super simple. In your mobile mission pack, you’ll find one of those old-fashioned library cards with a pocket. In the coming weeks or months or even over the course of the next year, when you find yourself reading something and someone pops in your heart, prayerfully hold on to that person. Don’t let them go so quickly. Do you find yourself thinking, “______’s struggling in this area; this might help her?” Or, “_____ was just talking about this and I know this will shed light on the answer to his question.” Take out that library card. If it’s a book you’re reading, paste the pocket to the back inside cover of the book and write the person’s name under “borrower” on the card. If you’re sending the book as a gift, under “due date” you can write “keep it” or “gift.” If it’s something you’d prefer to lend them, perhaps you can write “whenever you’re done.” If it’s an article or a sermon or an audio book or youtube video or something other than a physical book, consider using the library card to write a note – “Hey, I read/heard this recently and I thought of you.” Include the author and location so they can find it. You get the idea. Make it your own. Keep it simple.
As with all our mobile missions, you may not do this right away. You may do it a week from now, six months from now, next year. This pack is like a seed. When the time is right, it’ll pop. And you’ll be ready because you have that little library card. You’ll be equipped to respond. This is an equipping mission. When it happens, we’d so love to hear your story. Your stories of how God moved with these props in your hands – that keeps us encouraged. The story link at theridiculoushour.com is open 24/7. If this month’s mission just isn’t your thing, no worries. Consider giving your pack away to someone who may love it or use the card as a book mark and a reminder to pray for those who will be on mission this month. Or, you may want another pack to give a friend. We’ll be happy to send you more while supplies last. We only ask two things, please don’t throw it away or copy it without our permission.
