A Spirit Not Of Fear

A few weeks ago I went to the library. After spending a while camped out in my favorite section (seated on the floor, enduring the glances of fellow library patrons, mothers with toddlers clutching picture books, and library staff trying to figure out the kindest way to remove me from the aisle so they could finish organizing the bookshelves) I made my way to the checkout desk.

A few feet from the desk, I stepped past a woman standing with an armload of books to get into line. But as I stood there, it suddenly dawned on me that she, too, was “in line”. (The line is sort of a... er... subjective location at our library.) Apologizing, I stepped back and asked if she was already waiting.

She smiled and told me to go ahead. Thanking her, I stepped into line, and within three minutes my books had been checked out for me and I was on my way home.


So… a woman gave up her place in line for me. That’s it. End of story. Life goes on.

Right?

Well, it should have. Rather, it normally would have. But on the drive home, something about the encounter lingered with me. It didn't seem right, didn't seem normal anymore to ignore such little things. Do not ask me when it ceased to be my normal; I would not be able to answer you.

But something was special. And more than that...

I had the strangest feeling that all my life, I had been forgetting something.

(Continued in Part II.)