Unlike my abroad friends and peers, I have never really “blogged” before so it does not come easily to me/ I am unsure of what to discuss but a recent encounter came to mind as an unexpected reflection topic…so here I am…just going with it.

      While I was home this past Christmas break, I went to my local library a couple times to look up books I thought I would need for this semester. I forgot how much I loved the library: the peace and quiet, the variety of ages and the smorgasbord of genres to suit them all, the smell of the pages of the books and the ancient marks in margins that can be age-determined only by the perfection of the cursive (characteristic of someone who is at least seventy by now).  There is an ethos distinctive of a public library that is strangely both exciting and calm.

                When I got back to school, I went to the Wake Library, and it just wasn’t the same.   Sure, there are an infinite amount of books but pretty much everyone there is my age, my background and there for the same reason as me: to study.  In an impulsive moment, I decided to get in my car and go check out the Winston-Salem library, and that’s just what I did.  I didn’t consider where it is or why I wanted to go; I just went. I followed the directions I had mapquested on my phone and just kept driving. It seemed like a long five minutes. I can never tell the difference between .2 miles and .8 miles. What the heck?  I just look for the signs.  Finally, I saw the library.  Across from the building, there was a sign with all the different weapons that were not alowed in the vicinity of a gas station parking lot. Surely this couldn’t be where I was to park?...it was.

    I hurried into the library and expected to see families like I did at my hometown library, but I was mistaken.  It was freezing outside and there were probably sixty homeless people gathered in the library.  Most of them had no reading material: some of them were sleeping, some of them were just staring at me, a few had comics or kids books or magazines.  I knew I was going to cry.  I don’t even know why, I just couldn’t help myself from tearing up.

 One lady was sitting there with two toddlers on her lap, another man looked like his arm was badly wounded and he had just wrapped it with toilet paper.  I walked passed the “kidzone” and a young girl was reading outloud to her mom, sounding words out the best she could…many of them were wrong but her mother did not correct her…I’m not sure that she realized that they were wrong, I’m not sure if she even heard the girl; she just looked too exhausted.  I had a mission though: get my books and get a library card.  I got in line and attempted to succeed in this mission, but I noticed there were about five people in line behind me.  Unfortunately, there was only one lady at information to help and she was running empty on patience.

                I was conflicted: I wanted to get my Kaplan books, I wanted to go to Starbucks or Panera, I wanted to get safe in my car and jam out to all the new cds I’d gotten for Christmas.  I didn’t want to be reminded of how much injustice there is not only just in the world but 2.73 miles away from us.  I didn’t want to be forced to wonder why I had won the universal lottery of birth that I had. This wasn’t a service opportunity; nobody was clocking my hours or really expecting anything of me.  I was scared and didn't enjoy sticking out like a sore thumb.  The librarian told me she had to help the man with the hurt arm, and I just stood there.  I turned around and ask the lady behind me what she needed.  She had the name of a book that her pastor had told her to check out and she had no idea what to do.  I typed the author’s name in the computer and we literally found the book in two minutes.  The next man wanted a book too, nothing specific so he just started telling me what he was interested in and we found a section of books on tape that he could listen to.  This was getting to be fun. Beyond that though,  I realized, this wasn’t about fun; it was about answering a calling to serve, a calling that is asked of all of us.  These weren’t “poor people,” they were Jesus Christ and, though I am not an avid Bible reader I could hear it resonate in my ears and in my soul, something I've heard more softly many times before, “Amen I say to you, whatever you did for one of the least brothers of mine, you did for me.” 

                I didn’t change the world, I didn’t even really change my habits after those two or three hours I spent in that unexpectedly hopeless place.  I helped a few people find books, I helped a few people learn how to use the computer, I think I made a few friends…but most of all I learned that I should always be listening for those “AMEN” moments that our Savior presents us with because if we listen, he tells us exactly what to do.

                I hope that, as this New Year unfolds and we are given the opportunity to improve and reevaluate, we know that it's only hard to keep our promises because we trick ourselves into thinking we are alone.  It is my prayer that we can all be reminded of how silly this trick is and to learn that Christ is calling us, each day, to live in Him and for His purposes.  

St Teresa's Prayer

"May today there be peace within.
May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be.
May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.
May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that
has been given to you....
May you be content knowing you are a child of God....
Let this presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love.
It is there for each and every one of us."

                                             Peace and Prayers,