It's that time again.; to buy a new planner.
I didn't exactly buy a new planner, I just added 12 more months to my work tablet calender. As a month passes, it is torn of the top, to reveal and dispose a new month. A month that just so happens to be filling quickly with events and social gatherings and appointments. The odd part was writing in 'December 2012' and already seeing a tentatively booked event.
Where will I be in a year from right now?
When I look back at last December, I was in a very, very different place, an entirely different season, as an entirely different soul. I may not even recognize that person this season...
And seasons usually lead me to different books and different writing. Have you ever bought a used book? Or do you go for right off the shelf? My newest used book came in today. I'd been waiting for about a week to arrive, even though I probably could've gone to Barnes and Noble just down the street right away. Perhaps it was more of a Christmas present to myself. I picked it, but I still had to wait to open it from it's plastic-wrapped shipping package. And it came on a wonderfully wintery, snowy night.
I opened it's very used cover (evidence that it has been opened and closed a great amount), and found a message from it's first gift giver to the owner.
"My dear Luis. In the midst of your pain, discouragement, read this book. Not intellectually, but with a heartfelt desire..."
The library tag covers up the rest of the note. It was donated by Luis.
I wonder where Luis is now. I hope he is out of his pain and discouragement. I hope he found rest in the words of this book. I hope he didn't open and close the cover, reluctantly deciding to read, or not to read. I hope he read.
The pages aren't highlighted or underlined. The pages aren't as worn as the cover. I have a feeling, though, that they'll be broken in by this time next year. I hope that Luis has found a happier, more hopeful season, and I hope that I will be sending this book off to someone else, in a similar season to mine right now, while I sit in rest in my new season.
When I tear off November's page and reveal December's, I hope to be somewhere else. Somewhere else in a very different, very hopeful season. Brand new or familar, I don't mind. Used or new, I don't mind. I'll appreciate the season I was in this year, and be joyful in the new season I've found. And probably, most likely, reading another new, used book on a wonderfully, wintery, snowy night.