In my family, we never arrive or leave each other’s homes empty handed. If it isn’t being used, or you can’t use it up, you share it. Sharing is just part of being in my family. Books. Recipes. Food. Magazines.
My grandmother was infamous for always having some bit of advice she’d “clipped out of the paper just for you.”
And what is my favorite thing to share?
Books, of course.
As an avid reader, I end up with stacks of novels. (Yes, I still read paper. I just am not an electronic fan.) So before they get stacked so high they threaten to topple over and cause bodily harm, these wonderful stories go to friends. To family. Acquaintances. The gal at the grocery store.
To be read and loved and shared some more.
Because here is a radical thought: books were meant to be read.
When I see books on a shelf, I feel sorry for them. Trapped there, gathering dust, not living out their purpose. And what is a book’s purpose? To be read. Over and over and over, until the pages fall out and the cover drops off. That is when you know a book has been loved. Lived a good life.
Sometimes these offerings I’ve sent out into the world come back. I was at a scout meeting the other night and a mother handed me a book I’d given her over a year ago. I’d completely forgotten I had given it to her. She’d read it, her daughters had read it, and then it had made the rounds in her office.
Last night I sent it–along with a bunch of others–off with another friend. I know her mother will read them. Her sister. Her co-workers. I have a sneaking suspicion that in their journeys each of these books will entice new fans for their authors. And in turn, more books will end up out there engaging readers.
It’s actually my secret plan for world domination through reading, but that is our little secret. And if you would like to help, share a book with someone. And then share another.
What books have you shared recently? Who do you share your books with?