Bookshelves.
I literally day dream about bookshelves.
I was thinking black but I’m currently in love with
sandalwood. The black would be sharp but
the sandalwood...that I could get to match the black/tan of my bedroom or the
browns that will undoubtedly be part of my living room. I would like them tall
– but not too tall. Sturdy but not expensive. I want them to be classy but
practical and functional – extraordinarily so!
And then I begin to plan how my books will be placed on
them. I would love to go merely
alphabetically but that is just not feasible.
I can’t split topics apart in order to put them in alphabetical order. But to put them by topics or genre could
split authors and I rather like the idea of having all of one author together
in one place... It’s conflicting.
I don’t daydream about bookshelves because of a passion for
interior decorating.
It’s not even because I have run out of space on some current
shelves.
And, believe it or not, it’s not because I’m a book
nerd. I mean, I am but it’s not why I
want shelves.
I want shelves because of what they would represent in my
life. Namely...stability.
You see, I have boxes and boxes
of books. Several for being 28 and
living in my parents’ basement. I love
to read and learn. And I do
go back to previous reads and books. Not only do I go back, I
struggle – truthfully – with whether I can justify rereading books and series
I’ve already been through and love (and miss...I find myself missing fictional
characters I haven’t spent time with in years) when there are so many books in
the world and even several in my own collection which I have not yet read.
But all of the books are in
boxes. Packed and tucked away and not nearly as accessible as I would like
them. In fact, with grad school part of
my life’s picture for the last year and a half, I have only had one or two
classes where I didn’t open two or three boxes to pull out books I could use in
reference. I hate taking books out of
boxes and having to guess where titles I know I have can be found. Even more, I
hate when everything is said and done, putting it back in that box.
I want my books on a shelf. Displayed. Accessible. Able to be taken off and returned. Able to be read one at a time without having
to preplan which three to take out of the box and later attempt to fit back
in...
I could explain – in detail –
about my attempts for bookcases and reasons for not obtaining one. Often my space was too small for a single
bookcase, (as if a single bookcase would suffice!) And where I have had space or could potentially make
space...it isn’t mine. The space that
is? It is temporary. I can’t put
bookcases in temporary locations – it would make more sense to store them. If
I’m storing books AND shelves? Well...now we’re just getting ridiculous!
Bookshelves can go up when
they have a place to be. When I have a
place to be. When I’m home. Somehow, in my mind, bookshelves have
become the symbol of “home”.
As a pastor’s kid with several
moves and the inability to ever truly put down roots – roots are something I
crave. The question “Where are you from?
What is your hometown?” is my least favorite question. In the right/wrong context, it’s made me
upset. “Why does it matter what my hometown is? Who cares? What is it going to
do?” The question in and of itself is
simple enough: “Where did you/do you come from? What place shaped you and
launched you?” It shouldn’t be that
hard. But I don’t have an answer. “Nowhere?
And everywhere?” or “Michigan ?”
It’s always a question and people always look at me funny and say either
“that’s a state...” or “okay, but where in Michigan ?”
“Well I live in... But it’s not actually where I’m from... I grew up in
a few places... My parents live... I’ll
be ___ in/for a couple weeks/months...”
The question really being asked
is... “Where is home?”
And I don’t know.
If I knew...I could go buy some
bookcases.
I was trying to explain all of
this to someone at the beginning of the summer.
I had just finished my two temporary part-time jobs. I was/am job searching again. I was being asked for the millionth time what
I hoped to do; what I wanted...
I told them I wanted bookshelves.
That I was willing to pursue a
lot of nothing – if the nothing meant not uprooting my life every six to
nine months (which is basically what I’ve done consistently in the six years
since graduation) – to get them.
I said these things before an
anticipated eight week hiatus from...well...everything. Jobs finished. School
break. I hoped to accomplish a lot and to have the time to move on to bigger
and better things. I wanted to
transition during those eight weeks...into something of the semi-permanent sort,
something real. Any extra time? I would
be busy but with living instead of life.
I anticipated being able to just be.
The joke, of course, was on
me. If I am going to start the summer by
articulating a longing for book shelves and anticipating the feasibility to
obtain them... of course that will mean I have the least stable summer in the
books.
I finished my spring grad
class. Went to counsel/teach at family
camp. Was roped into deaning/nursing/leading
programming for a camp #2 the next week.
I turned around to go down state where I had a dentist appointment,
spoke in Fort Wayne ,
visited friends. I made it north just in time to return to camp #1 to counsel
for another camp I was roped into. I turned around the next day to head down to
camp #3/week 4 to help nurse for the camp my brother/future
sister-in-law/friends were leading. I went from that week to counsel for day
camp during a busy week at camp #4/week 5. A weekend in Ohio . A partial week at home base with
projects and appointments and then back down to camp #4 to counsel day camp in
another busy week – week 6 of camp.
Sounds like stability, right?
For a summer where my eight week
plan was to find and create stability – the actuality of what it became was a
huge fail.
I am pretty sure I have spent
more time in my car than I have in my own bed.
It was...good. I wasn’t always excited about various
adventures going in but I don’t regret any of my experiences. Still...I
struggled.
I struggled because the summer I
wanted stability to be my end goal, contained anything but.
I struggled because to have a
place in the world, to lay roots, and to truly feel like a place is “home” is
still a great longing...
I struggled because every time I paused
in the midst of the chaos and thought about how exhausting my summer on the go
was becoming and how much I longed to have a spot I belonged, a spot for
bookshelves...the only verse, the only
one, to come to mind is the one in which is Jesus talking to people who
wish to follow Him and he replies not with a “yes” or “no” or “here are the
three things you need to do/know to follow me”... He speaks in a near riddle of
personal narrative.
“Jesus replied, ‘Foxes have dens
and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.’” (Luke
9:58)
The cost of following Jesus means
be willing to leave everything else behind. It means wandering into uncertain
waters and unguaranteed futures.
It’s forced me to ask myself the
hard question(s): “What if God calls you to be without a den, without a nest,
without a place to lay your head? What if this summer of bouncing from place to
place is somehow representative of the reality in the midst of the longing?
What if you are being asked to be a houseplant...shallow roots but portable?
What if you’ll never have a reason to buy a bookshelf? What then?”
Then I guess my books stay in
their growing number of boxes.
Which is a hard realization to
swallow. The job search is
discouraging. The road ahead is foggy at
best. I want to answer a call to follow
in the same way those who wished to follow Jesus answered. “Okay. I’ll be right
there. BUT, FIRST...” (see the surrounding verses of Luke 9)
I don’t know where God is taking
me. I want to be faithful in following
even if it means I never get a fox den or perfect sandalwood bookshelves. When it comes to the “treasure” I
think I want...Matthew 6:33 reminds me to “seek first His kingdom and His
righteousness and all these things will be added as well...” If God is my first
longing either He will satisfy the other or re-direct them and re-orient them
to what He wants them to be.
And in the meantime? In the meantime I wait. I wait and hold to
the passages and promises which speak to being faithful in the places I find
myself and trusting in a story bigger than the one I could write for
myself. I’m reminded to be content –
content in all and through all and regardless. (Philippians 4)
But if I don't...I'm legit going to need a couple more boxes. The floor in my room is starting to look like a thrift store stock room... Just saying.
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