My daughter and I used to play a game while driving on highways or county roads. We kept our eye out for certain types of side roads along the way that looked especially inviting. Sometimes it was a road leading uphill, beyond which you couldn’t see, but could imagine perhaps another world altogether being on the other side. Other times it might be a long curvy driveway that made us wonder if some sort of stately mansion lay at the end of it. Or maybe just a quaint little fairy-tale cottage. We both have rich imaginations, as you can tell. We never had time to turn aside to follow these paths, but then again, it wasn’t about going there. It was about the mystery, the yearning, and the possibilities.

I like to think that when death comes, it will be like the Lord beckoning me to follow one of those alluring paths, but this time to the world beyond, to see at last what has been just shrouded in mystery and yearning, to go at last to the place where all has been made new and right.

It makes me think of Gandalf’s wonderful encouragement to Pippin in “The Return of the King” movie before the battle in Gondor when all seems lost.

Pippin: I didn’t think it would end this way.

Gandalf: End? No, the journey doesn’t end here. Death is just another path, one that we must all take. The gray rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it.

Pippin: What? Gandalf? See what?

Gandalf: White shores, and beyond, far green country under a swift sunrise.

Pippin: Well, that isn’t so bad.

Gandalf: No. No it isn’t.

* * * * * *

One begins to understand why the book of Revelation ends with John saying “Amen. Even so, come, Lord Jesus!”

I’ll probably delete this in the morning…

Soft, fringed, extravagant plumes
For flight, for warmth, like colorful blooms,
For attracting just the right kind of mate,
And keeping one dry ’til the storms abate.
The shaft is the part that goes up the middle
The vane, like the teeth of a comb but less brittle.

A bird takes for granted in all kinds of weathers
The boon of having all kinds of feathers.
And when they fall off by the side of the road
The bird flies on, having lightened its load.
The wind picks them up and casts them adrift
The dry stalk holds them in a ballet lift

And there they stand, having done their duty –
Seemingly useless, still objects of beauty.

He will cover you with His feathers,
And under His wings, you will find refuge.
Psalm 91:4

I’ll probably delete this when the feather flies by itself, borne aloft on the morning breezes.

I pretty much hit the ground running when I learned how to read. I actually remember what it was like to have my parents read to me when the pages still looked like a lot of black marks on pages with pictures. It was a wondrous thing when I could read them myself. You could hardly keep me away from books at that point. I still remember reading The Little Lame Prince aloud to my mother when I was in the practicing phase of reading. And then sometime in 5th or 6th grade I read The Yearling by Rawlings – the first book that made me cry. I spent many a summer’s day inside, sprawled on a comfy chair, reading. My mom used to have to make me go outside and play.

I’m always vaguely shocked when I meet someone who doesn’t enjoy reading. When we started hiring babysitters for our children, one of our first regulars was an 8th grader named Tiffany. I drove her home one night and asked, conversationally, what books she liked to read.

“Oh,” she said, “I don’t read anything unless it’s assigned at school.” I nearly swerved off the road at this revelation.

“Well,” I said, not giving up, “what books have you been assigned in school that you enjoyed?”

“I don’t enjoy reading at all – I just do it because I have to,” was her reply.

“You mean you’ve never read for pleasure?” I asked, all astonishment.

“Nope.”

In vain, I gave her a few suggestions to get her started on the wonderful adventure of reading, but I could tell by her response that it was falling on deaf ears. It was a self-inflicted poverty that I couldn’t fathom.

As a young person I favored fiction books, but now as I’m getting older I often gravitate to non-fiction. Last year I decided to join the Goodreads Book Reading Challenge and set a goal of 100 books for the year. It was harder than I thought to achieve it, partly because listing all the books I read on a public site caused me to choose fewer “fluffy” books. I also set a challenge for myself to write a short review for each book. I’ve discovered that the older I get, the faster I forget what I’ve read, so I thought it would be a good idea to keep a record of what the book was about and whether or not I liked it.

I’m doing the Goodreads BRC again this year – 100 books – but I’ve fallen a little behind. With less than one month left to go, I’ve got 13 books still to read. Think I’ll make it? My husband likes to joke that I should grab a few Dr. Seuss books to get my numbers up quickly. Funny guy.

Here’s a stack that I’m working through right now:

The ancient looking one with all the tape on it is Pilgrim’s Progress, which I’m reading through with my daughter. The poetry book on the top The Temple is one that Kris and I are reading through together. I’d love to hear what books you’re reading right now. Maybe I can add them to my list for 2021!

Thanks for reading my meanderings about reading today.

I’ll probably just think about deleting this post in the morning.