It's Story Time!
I was twelve years old, clutching a precious book in my hands, curled up cozily on my bed in absolute bliss. It was probably a Saturday morning, and I was probably reading something like The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart (one of my absolute favorites).
I heard a romp down the hallway from my younger brother of two years. "Cassie will you come play this game with me?"
"No, I'm reading," I say, ignoring his pleading eyes. I was in a world of my own, sleuthing out solutions with my latest book friends. He could find something to do on his own, too.
The romping down the hallway returned, and I heard my brother and mom conversing without paying much attention to their words. Then there was more romping. This time, it was not one pair of feet making a ruckus, but two! My brother and my mom burst into my room, and my mom did the most awful thing imaginable: she stole my book from my hands and snapped it shut without the bookmark. Horrendous.
Giggles flew from their lips as they ran back down the hallway, and I gave chase. I was fuming, crying out for my beloved book because of course, I was right in the middle of some dramatic problem solving moment. I needed to know what came next, and I needed to know right then.
We scrambled around the living room, my brother and mom handing the book off to each other as we all bounded around and over the furniture. I cornered my mom. As we all panted at the exertion, she teased me lovingly by waving the book over my head with a gleam in her eye.
"Can I please have the book back, mom?" I cried out in anguish, as if my life depended on it.
"Will you finish this chapter and then play with your brother?" asked Mom with a levity yet challenge to her voice.
I nodded sharply. Anything to get the book back.
She placed the book into my outstretched hands, and I hugged it to my chest. As I walked past my brother, he gave me a triumphant smile.
I gave him a glare, but I'm sure my eyes sparkled.
You see, though they had stolen my book from me, and though I probably would never have admitted it then, I secretly loved it.
I loved that they loved me enough to forcibly show how much they wanted to spend time with me. My presence mattered to them. I got the message loud and clear in a way I probably wouldn't have preferred, but it was a way I couldn't ignore.
God has been poking me a bit like this lately. I find myself wrapped up in my own agenda or what I think I should accomplish in a day, and He throws me an "interruption" that actually ends up being such a lovely time. An hour-long phone call from a friend pops out of nowhere when I thought I should be getting more of my audiobook done. Maybe what I thought I needed was not actually what I needed.
If "interruptions" come my way, I want to be able to see the invitation behind them. Will I be present in the moment and take what comes? Or focus on what I want rather than what is needed in the moment?
Our presence matters to people, especially God.
So here's to being interruptible, especially when the book snatchers that love us come craving our presence.
...
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And with that...I'm grateful for y'all!
Thanks for being here :)
~Cassie Vest
