Melody on a Mountaintop: With Her Nose Stuck in a Book

Forever I had maintained the position that I loved to write but hated to read.

 

The people that would tell me they would read for fun?  Well, they were just plain crazy.  What would you want with two-dimensional lettering and imagination when there's a whole world of television to be watched?

 

Before the divorce had been set in motion, every night, my routine involved putting Harlow to bed, chowing down on some takeout, and camping in front of the flat screen for hours of Netflix goodness.

 

But then, when everything changed, my routine just couldn't stay the same.  I was gasping for air and couldn't bear to rot away in front of yet another season of The Bachelor.

 

It would have been like putting a noose around my neck and wondering why I couldn't breathe any easier.

 

So one Sunday after Harlow and I had moved in with my parents, I traipsed the hallways of church, trying to gather the thoughts I'd had that were scattered all over the floor.

 

I passed by the church library and decided to give it a whirl.

 

I'd already started purchasing and inheriting all sorts of reading material to help me stave off the divorce.  My nightstands were stacked with readings like The Divorce Remedy, I Do Again, and Love Must Be Tough.  It wasn't long before my incessant Google searches for how to "pray away the divorce" landed me on a website that supported others like me who desired to stand for their marriages.  And that led to purchasing more books on the subject, like The Prodigal's Perspective and Prodigals Do Come Home.

But when I walked into the library that day, I half-heartedly selected a book by Chuck Swindoll that had zero, zip, zilch to do with divorce.  And everything to do with becoming more like Jesus.

 

And bam!

 

I was hooked.

 

I read seven books in just a few short months that studied the lives of seven different Bible characters--David, Moses, Esther, Job, Joseph, Elijah, and Paul.

 

Slowly but surely, I replaced divorce-busting manuals with inspiring accounts of regular men and women who gave themselves over to the Lord to be used for incredible purposes.  And I became enraptured with the idea of becoming more and more like Christ and less and less like the old Chelsea.

 

I saw my shortcomings plain as day, as well as instruction for remedying them.  I received comfort in the midst of a pit, and hope for a peak in the future, no matter how far away that might be.  I released the desire for revenge and learned more about grace.

So every night after Harlow would go to bed, for months, I would slip silently away to my bedroom, sometimes my closet, and read for hours and hours, nourshing my soul with the sweet air of God's promises.

 

And every Sunday, I'd return a book to the church library and grab another.

 

And another.

 

And another.

And wouldn't you know that the girl who loved to write but hated to read...

 

Wound up being the girl with her nose stuck in a book.

 

Until the one morning she looked up and saw what she'd been passing by all of those months on those long walks to the library.