Sometimes I forget. It usually happens the minute I walk through that door and smell those books. The sirens beckon and I forget to stop my ears. I forget that I have four children and four hundred responsibilities. I even forget the fact that I'm a fairly slow reader.
The only thing I remember is that I'm in love with books. I pile them up, pull out my library card and they're all mine for three whole weeks.
There's probably no way that I'll read them all in that amount of time. But these are the things I forget.
They sit on my nightstand with the others I've already started and I admire them and visit them as frequently as I can. I read a chapter here, a chapter there, depending on my mood and the genre that best matches it. I copy passages into my journals and notebooks, trying to hold on to a bit of the wisdom and wit. Sometimes I actually make it through the stack. Usually I don't.
But I forget this. And so I go right back and do it all over again.
Currently absorbed in 7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess by Jen Hatmaker which a dear friend delivered right to my doorstep. Loving it. It has me laughing, praying, seeking and searching. Have you read it? If so, we must talk. If not, we must talk.