This little story was inspired by my friend who shared a great analogy…this one’s for you!  Let me know what you think.  I want to do justice to your thoughts…

She sat at a small table in the corner of the university library.  Amid the silence, the smell of old books permeated the air. She was comfortable here where no one would bother her as she poured over her favorite book. The worn cover and pages were evidence of her love of it.  Passages were underlined and notes written in the margins.  She even had entire chapters nearly memorized.  This book captivated her.  She seemed to  uncover new treasure inside each time she read it.

She thought about the author a lot.  Clearly, he was amazing.  How incredible would it be to meet him someday?  To ask him questions about the book and listen to the heart of the one who actually wrote it.  To tell him of the impact it had had on her life.  To find out, firsthand, the things she had missed or passed over too quickly.  To learn from the creator of her beloved book.

She turned the page, lost in the text.  Another of her favorite chapters bringing tears to her eyes.  Fully in the moment, immersed in thought, she heard a child’s quiet cry.  Tugging on her leg was a little boy, not more than four, with a look of fear on his pudgy little face.  “I can’t find my mommy,” he whispered through his tears.  Great.  Just when she was at the best part of the book.  She sighed and took the child by the hand to the check out desk, leaving him in the care of one of the ladies. Right then, a panic stricken mother ran up.  Crisis over.  At the prodding of his mom, the little boy reached up to give the girl a thank you hug, but she had  turned and left so quickly that she missed it.

She sat back down.  Darn it.  That little encounter had interrupted her thought process. She let out a deep breath, and tried again to escape into her own little world. She  settled back into the passage.  Words so meaningful.  Meaning so deep.  It wasn’t long before she was lost again in the text…oblivious to the rest of the world. 

“Excuse me, could you help me find this book?” She turned to see an elderly woman holding a tiny piece of paper in her shaking hand.  “This library is so big.  I don’t even know where to start.”  Where was the library staff when you needed them?  Irritated at having been interrupted again, she took the small piece of paper.  The scribble on it was illegible.  The frustration on the girl’s face and in her body language must have been evident enough for the old woman to pick up on.  The sweet grandma apologized gently for bothering her, and shuffled off to find somone more accommodating.

The girl felt slightly guilty for this, but was eager to get back to her reading.  The characters in the book grabbed her heart.  She could relate to so many of them. And each of them seemed to have experiences that she could learn from.  Sometimes she would find herself forgetting that they were not her personal friends.  This author had such a way of creating and developing these amazing characters.  She had to meet him one day.

Tap, tap, tap.  Tap, tap, tap.  She looked up to see a teenage boy who had taken the seat right across from her at the table.  Tap,  He strummed his fingers, clicking his fingernails in a rhythmic, irritating way.  He grinned with a mouth full of crooked, ugly teeth.  It was clear that he was not like the other boys his age.  She knew she should be more compassionate towards people who were mentally challenged, but not today.  She had reading to do, and it obviously could not be done with this noise going on.  It appeared he would not be stopping any time soon.  His big smile faded as she gathered her things and moved to a table across the room.

She should have come to this part of the library in the first place.  It was quieter and more out of the way.  Finally, she could have some much needed silence and solitude.  She opened the book back up to the place she had left off.  She picked up on the words…” Then cradling the little one in his arms, he said, ‘Whoever embraces one of these chilren as I do embraces me…’   She felt  someone looking over her shoulder.  Really?  Did she have a sign on her back that said, “Come and bug me while I’m reading”? “”That’s one of my favorite parts,” the person invading her privacy said.  As she turned to face the irritant,  he smiled at her and asked if he could sit and chat with her.  She thought she might explode.   “I just want to read my book!” she said a little too loudly.  The librarian motioned for her to keep her voice down.  The man graciously gave her some space.  “Actually it’s my book,” he said simply.  “And if you’re ever interested, I’d love to talk with you about it sometime.” As he turned to go, it hit her.  This was the author himself!  Standing right next to her, offering his time and conversation.  And she had missed it. 

She was so caught up in the book, that she overlooked the author and the point of his writings.  Her mind retraced the past hour.  He had been right there with her the entire time.  In the eyes of a lost child.  The shaky hand of an old woman.  The toothy grin of a disabled teen.  And she had missed it.  She had fallen in love with the book and neglected it’s creator and it’s purpose.

Tears in her eyes, she grabbed her beloved book and ran to the one who was waiting for her with open arms.  From that day on, she still came to the library to read her favorite book.  But now she had a reading partner, the author, to read and talk about it with her.  Sometimes he came as a child.  Sometimes as an old woman.  Even as a struggling teen.  And the words of her precious book never seemed more alive…