Bring Me My Books
Introducing A New Podcast
“At my school, we don’t have books. The teacher just tells us a bunch of stuff we have to memorize for the test.” This quote from a visit with my sister-in-law and nephew several years ago has haunted me.
I am probably the least likely person to give a defense of books. I did not grow up as an avid reader. I made an F in Freshman Literature in college. I was a math guy. I loved facts and figures, things that were definable and solvable. Any assignment where the grading was subjective, was suspect. Give me the classic Scantron tests where every question had one and only one definitive answer. Life is easier in a Scantron world.
The problem began for me during college Calculus. I realized there were problems without solutions, conjectures instead of facts. Coincidentally, this happened when I was facing the death of a friend for the first time in my adult life. Faith was fairly new to me, and I had never faced a dark night of the soul. My world was shaken. The answers were no longer fitting in clearly defined bubbles. The facts were no longer comforting; they were scary and unsettling. I needed something more.
I found it in books. The man whose life was slowly vanishing was my childhood pastor and hero. Brother Morris, in just a couple of short years, had become a mentor, a friend, and a father figure. As I found myself in a place of confusion and doubt, I turned to his favorite book. In the Bible, I found people who were just like me. People who were struggling with the harsh realities of life. People dealing with sickness and death, guilt and shame, doubt, and confusion. I found myself not just turning to this book to find answers but living in the stories. I found a man named Paul who was facing death. He knew he only had a short time to live. Writing to a dear friend what would be his final wishes, he asked for his coat and added, “Bring me my books.” I found a fellow traveler on the rough roads of life seeking some warmth and comfort and knowing where they could be found. I realized why God gave us a book instead of a catechism, a story instead of a creed, and that day, I became a reader. I learned to ask questions I had previously ignored. I found mystery and adventure, love and passion, honor and freedom. In the face of death, I was awakened to life.
These days, bring me my books is an oft-heard phrase in my home. My wife and I have raised our kids with the help of countless wonderful books. It was in The Velveteen Rabbit that I taught my daughter how to be a “real” friend, how to love and be loved, how to deal with rejection, and how to survive the storms of life. The rabbit, though snubbed and even looked down on, eventually became “Real” because he did not “break easily, or have sharp edges, or have to be carefully kept.” We addressed body image when we learned that “once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.” My son was four years old when I was reading The Hobbit to him and his sister. Most of the time, he ran around the room or played with his toys. I did not think he was hearing anything I said. When I read about Thorin dying, he began to sob. He began to understand the pain of losing a friend. We discussed life and death, the “love of riches” that can corrupt our hearts, and that the most valuable things in life are not things. They fell in love with Father Brown, the odd and bumbling priest. Through him they learned honesty, they learned integrity, and they learned to value peculiar people, for their perspective may be much different, often better, than those who are simply following the crowd.
My son developed a taste for adventure as we read the biographies of several missionaries. For a young boy with boundless energy who could not sit still, he was enthralled with the story of King Arthur, a story of battles and nobility and honor. The bravery and loyalty of Harry Potter made him a much-loved friend who he would visit often and be reminded to do what is right even when it is hard or scary. In Anne of Green Gables, my daughter found a kindred spirit in Miss Anne with an E. She learned to live with passion and to see beauty in the smallest of things. She used to love presidential trivia but by reading Phoebe the Spy, she met Mr. Washington through the eyes of a brave little girl. She loved his bravery, humility, love for God, and thirst for freedom. When he showed up in The Cabin Faced West, she was more excited than little Ann Hamilton. In books, they have made friends with people who lived in different eras, different parts of the world, and even from other worlds. Books have shaped them. Books have inspired them, forced them to deal with the realities of life, and given them hope. Books are teaching them to think. Bring me my books.
“We don’t have books…” I am so sorry. I hope you find some. Good ones. Books that will hold you and shake you and change you. Books that will challenge you and teach you empathy. I hope you find the Good Book and lose yourself in its pages. I hope these books comfort you and challenge you. I pray they make your world bigger and your heart softer. I hope they become your friends and then constant companions. I hope you fall in love with bookstores and accumulate more books than you can ever read. I pray you share them and gift them and draw others into your world. I could go on and on, but honestly, I have a book to read so I’ll end here and let you go. Just do me one favor before you leave, bring me my books.
If you enjoyed the essay, I am sure you will love my podcast by the same name. For more information, follow the show at Bring Me My Books (@bringmemybooks) • Instagram photos and videos or Facebook
