I LOVE reading. Or at least I used to. Or at least I think I do… When I was younger I would devour literature like a chocolate glazed, rainbow sprinkle donut. The Boxcar Children were my best friends as I laughed and gossiped with The Babysitters Club and helped Nancy Drew solve crime. Through high school you could catch me reading at my brother’s baseball game, during study hall, and for hours before bed rather than completing any math assignment. This may be the reason I never made it past algebra 2 in high school, but who knows? Up until some point within this past year I was falling in love with Augustus Waters, walking through a magical wooden wardrobe, and wearing a scarlet A on my chest.
Then something changed. Something I can’t quite place my finger on. I went from studying high school lit to diving into the stories themselves and working on an English degree. A friend introduced me to his sister saying “she’s an English
major you know” as if this were some incredible feat. I wrote down the goal of writing and publishing a book of poetry before I graduate. I have lists upon lists of stories I want to read. When I was ten I read to live a different kind of life for an hour or two. Now, ten or so years later, reading is life. Well, and Jesus. Even then I read books to learn about Him and learn how to live like Him. Reading used to be a hobby and now reading is decidedly a career.
Not that this is some tragedy and in fact I am ecstatic to have such an open future, but sometime last spring semester I stopped reading. Maybe I put too much pressure on myself or loaded up with too many reading heavy classes and got caught up in on-campus ministry opportunities. But if that’s the case then my entire future is screwed, right? I’m paying tens of thousands of dollars to take classes that I don’t enjoy that are inevitably leading nowhere? Maybe that’s why! But I do enjoy the classes, immensely, so that can’t be why I’ve stopped turning the pages. Maybe I want to trick myself into believing my degree is pointless, therefore my classes are pointless, therefore reading is pointless? WRONG!
I’ve already realized I may never use my English degree in the capacity it was created for and I have peace about what others would consider a waste. I dream of going into ministry, leading people to Jesus, and living anything other than an ordinary life. So this past spring when I decided to take on planning a hundred-student revival meeting led by 13 Jesus freaks from all over the country, school went on the back burner and seemingly so did my passion for books. My original love began to boil down as it felt like a choice I had to make, to be motivated to spread God’s kingdom or revel in literature.
However, here I sit, five months after this revival took place, a fire still within me for the gospel as well as a desire to read as much as humanly possible and learn from incredible authors. What I’m realizing is that it doesn’t have to be one or the other; English or Ministry, reading or Jesus. I can dive into learning about God with the incredible resources afforded to me by my church and campus ministry and I can put time into my classes reading Dickinson and Fitzgerald. My God is not One but Three in One, and I was created in His image. I know that may have just sounded like gibberish mess, but boiled down it means I was created to have multiple joys, dreams, and desires. And just because I have a heart for Christ doesn’t mean I can’t also hold close my favorite paperback.
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