Confessions of a Fake Librarian

When people ask me what I do, I tell them I work at Gateway Primary school. When they then ask which grade I teach I say, 'I'm not a teacher, I'm the librarian'. 

Now, never in my life did I plan to be (or think I would be) a librarian. So before starting this job nine months ago, my experience in and with libraries was fairly minimal. I don’t know if I should admit this but, the Dewey Decimal system – the instruction manual of a librarian’s life – scares the living daylights out of me. And I’m still trying to learn library lingo – when the kids ask me what a reference book is, and what the point of them is, I want to say, 'I know right?!' (But don't worry, I don't) Oh and lets not even talk about online libraries: does anyone here know what MARC Framework is? Because I haven’t the foggiest clue what it is or means. And apparently it’s important. 

So, confession number one: I’m sort of a fake librarian.

Besides the fact that I have a passion for reading and books, and for passing that passion on to others, plus I have a decent-enough combination of creativity and hard-work to visualize how things could change… I don’t really have any formal qualifications to be The Librarian. I’m a bit of a fake.

Ahem, I hope I haven’t lost my job now.

I have another confession: lately I’ve been feeling like a bit of a fake in my Christianity too.

I was recently asked to give a testimony at the beginning-of-term staff prayer meeting at my school (it's a Christian one) and I had to laugh inwardly at God’s timing (with all due respect, of course). God certainly has an ironic sense of humour because He knows my heart better than anyone, He knows that I haven’t been feeling very holy or God-focused or spiritually-stable recently. I may look like I have all the right answers, but I’ve been feeling like a little bit of a fake. So when I was asked to give a testimony I said "yes" to the deputy head (I've never been very good at "no"), and to God I said “Ok, well, I guess you know what you're doing. I’m trusting you to give me the words”.

You know, as Christians, we’re not always very honest about saying that being a Christian is hard. Not simply because of “persecution from the world out there” but because of doubts and fears and hurts within our own hearts.

I’ve enjoyed learning how to be a librarian, or at least, learning how to be my own sort of librarian (I doubt I’m very kosher, as librarians go). It’s been challenging and fun; every week is a new set of experiences. It can also be exhausting sometimes – especially when I make mistakes. And I've made plenty. It’s exhausting when I feel like I’m stumbling about and don’t quite know what I’m doing.

And it’s exhausting being a struggling Christian; keeping up appearances, constantly doing “the right thing” when inside your head is a jumble of questions and your heart is a jumble of anger and fear. The Bible – our instruction manual for life – often scares the living daylights out of me and while I may know all the Christian lingo – like most of us in the church, I’m good at using Christianese and having all the answers - honestly, over the last 6 months (actually the last three-four years), I’ve had a hard time with all that Christian lingo. Do we really know what we’re talking about when we say all those churchy words? Do we know the weight of them? Do we believe them and do we know how they sound to others? And honestly, sometimes, I haven’t the foggiest idea what to do with the questions and confusions and struggles that just seem to grow and grow with each new relationship or family struggle or painful situation that crops up in life.

So I want to confess that I’m a bit of a fake, because, good heavens, I find Christianity really hard.

But. You know what astounds me? Even though I feel a bit like the prodigal son at the moment, like a bit of a running rebel at times, the constant theme and lesson that God has been showing me this year is I am held, by Him. When I can’t seem to figure out what the right choice is, when my mistakes and sins pile up in my mind, when I sit in church and feel like such a hypocrite, when sometimes the only thing that I can pray is “God, please don’t ever let me go”… God shows me that he won’t. That He’s holding me and has held me through everything.

There's an old song I like, called Praise you in this Storm.  Here are some of the words from that song.

I was sure by now
God, You would have reached down
And wiped our tears away, stepped in and saved the day
But once again, I say, "Amen" and it's still raining

I remember when I stumbled in the wind
You heard my cry, You raised me up again
But my strength is almost gone
How can I carry on if I can't find You

But as the thunder rolls
I barely hear You whisper through the rain, "I'm with you"
And I'll praise You in this storm and I will lift my hands.
For You are who You are no matter where I am
And every tear I've cried You hold in Your hand
You never left my side and though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm

We all know that God is the all-mighty Judge, the Ruler and Creator who will make all things right, that He is a God of vengeance and a powerful King… but sometimes we don’t remember His gentle side. That He knows when a sparrow falls to the ground, that He wasn’t in the earthquake or the fire, he was in the gentle whisper of blowing wind, that He is the shepherd who went after that stupid sheep lost in the dark cliffs. And can I tell you, I’m that stupid sheep lost in the dark cliffs! And the most comforting thing to me isn’t that He is the world’s judge and mighty creator – those things are good and true – but the most comforting thing to me right now, is that He is the gentle Father who chooses to show Himself in a whisper and follows me into the dark cliffs when I’m lost and scared and foolishly wandering further away from Him.

I may feel like a fake Christian, like a prodigal, wandering sheep, but God is still holding me gently. 

The biggest burden

I’m a bit of a loner. Yup. Surprise, surprise.

But see, there is a reason. It’s not just that I’m more “task-oriented” than others, (though that’s part of it) or that I’m an introvert (though that’s part of it, too) it’s also because I decided years ago – after feeling forgotten by others so easily – that it would be less painful if I learnt to be content with being by myself. So I did. And I got on quite well for several years. Despite my self-isolation, some brave and beautiful souls at University did manage push themselves into my heart. But I seldom let others carry me; I wanted to be “the strong one” and I was afraid that, if they saw the ‘real me’ they would drop me. So I was always extremely careful about who and how much I relied on other people.

And then, not too long ago, I was shown that I’m not as content or as wise or as strong as I thought. I opened up, made mistakes, got hurt in ways I didn’t think possible, and fell hard. My immediate reaction was retreat; retreat once again behind the walls, refuse to let anyone touch me. I decided that the answer was to stop giving, to stop sharing my heart, to stop showing people I cared, to go back to being ‘happy’ as a loner.

Then I wouldn’t get hurt again.

But I’m beginning to realize that this might not be the best course of action. Closing myself off may keep me from people who can hurt and leave me, but it still causes pain. Closing myself off makes me bitter, it makes me seem cold, callous and uncaring, it leads me to be suspicious of all who approach and to treat them like potential enemies, instead of potential friends. It perpetuates my self-focused fear, my self-absorption. Letting people in may lead to being hurt, but closing people out can do just as much (and maybe even more) damage.

Besides, even though being hurt is, well, painful (duh) and wounds take time to heal – sometimes the scars and twinges are with us for the rest of our lives, sometimes they disappear completely – but most of the time they teach us to recognize and be more sensitive to the hurts in others.

I think I’m learning (but I’m a slow learner) that the answer isn’t isolation: pretending not to care may hurt less than caring, but I’m tired of pretending not to care. I want to keep caring. I want to keep trusting. So the answer isn’t withdrawal; its love. Wise, forgiving, gentle love.

But love is a burden. I promise I’m not saying that in any tragic-romance, Spiderman-(whatever-her-name-is) kind of way, nor in a woe-is-me, people-are-jerks kind of a way. I’m saying it with sobriety and with hope. Truth is, we’ll never find someone who will always treat us right, we’ll never find someone who won’t hurt or disappoint or forget to see us. We’re human. That’s the sober reality. The hope part is that this doesn’t mean we have to stop loving others, it means that real, through-the-pain love is so precious that we should keep reaching for it! If we manage to keep it going, to keep loving and trusting others, knowing that they might (and probably will) hurt us, and that we’ll hurt them back, if we forgive and ask for forgiveness – then this dismal world will be a little lighter.

I’m not saying that’s easy but at least I only have one lifetime to love and get hurt by people. Just imagine having every lifetime and every life – what a burden God’s love must be to Him! We humans, the very children He created out of love, just keep walking away and rebelling; we keep chasing after others and telling Him we don’t need Him, we flick Him away like dust off our shoulders, we scream in anger when we don’t understand. To my shame, I’ve done it all. And there’s like a gajillion souls in the world – each of them (us) has hurt and left Him in some way/form/time.

God has the biggest burden of all. For some reason, that makes me want follow Him the most. It gives me such hope that I (and others) can live through my bumbling attempts to care for people.

So, following His lead, I have to try to not close myself off. I have to learn to desperately and sincerely, and (more often than not) clumsily love the people He’s brought into my heart and life.  Even knowing that I may well fall hard, again. 

Outside

I went outside tonight,

and wasn’t supposed to.

I was supposed to be

locking the house

taking down decorations

cooking mealies,

But I leaned outside the door

and outside looked so full,

So I stepped into it.

It was turning dark out there,

My feet felt good in the pool.

I lay on concrete stones

Under the grey-blue 

and stretching behind the house

saw still white-streaked clouds.

The bats were out – 
swooping,

dipping for a drink. Behind

the roof two fir-trees have 

a bad haircut.

The trees around

must laugh;

We chopped off their heads

so they won’t fall on the house.

The yellow window lights

were in the pool,

The buzzing, tapping crickets

were just as loud as cars

and I smelt chlorine.

I lay outside, 5 minutes.

Then
I thought
I should go in;

The water would be boiling

the veggie shepherd’s pie, 
done,

the table needed setting.

There was a frog hopping by,

across the doorway, sneaking

to his place in the drainpipe.

“Mister Frog,” I warned,

You better not hop inside,

you better not croak all night.

I went outside tonight,

when I wasn’t supposed to

and it was beautiful.

I wanted to share it with you

But you aren’t here.