Where I Tell You About Hiding In The Library ~ The Grace Between

Where I Tell You About Hiding In The Library

For the better part of two years, I hid in the library. For thirty precious minutes in the midst of my day I would tarry there with the piles of books. It was a brief respite from the torture of eighth and ninth grade, the years when I would step off the bus in tears, unable to navigate the halls without torment, to sit through a class without snickers. I hovered there, peeking into the unchanging lives of beloved characters. Virtual friends before there was such a thing, whose existence was wholly unaffected by my scabby knees, tomboy looks and utter social ineptness. I was lonely in the stacks, but I was safe.

On or about my junior year, I discovered, truly, the redemption of the gospel and the freedom of being His creation, of being known, and loved. {Editor’s note: High school did get a little better … }

And when my value is in being a daughter of the King, I’m never alone.

And on this day especially, the day of my birth, nineteen years removed from my eighth grade self … when my sleep deprived eyes and brimming heart drift over the flora and fauna of the life I live now, when I taste the goodness of knowing Christ and serving Him, when I count my thankfuls and they never end … I tell my sweet neighbor girl (who hates third period because the popular girl is mean to her) the truth of the gospel binding the wounds of this girl who once hid in the library.

Love who you are – because Christ loves who you are. You, with your scabby knees and social awkwardness and your broken heart and your broken life … You are not alone in the library.

And, perhaps for me, the most humbling lesson is this … Christ, this Savior of mine, is the Savior of them. And the Christ of the cross and the empty tomb loves the people who made me cry, who drove me into the library, just as much as He loves me. And now, when the past has faded and our lives move inexorably forward-virtually connected to then and now-and they reach out with kind words and no memory of how they wounded me …

There is grace there for me to have grace for them.

Knowing my own sin-scarred heart has wounded others in the same ways I have been wounded.

So Beloved, when you are lonely and wounded, unloved and outcast … there is grace for you, and there is grace for the unloving. 

We are all the wounded and the wound makers.


{More five minute Friday goodness … }

Five Minute Friday

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