This Thanksgiving was the most relaxing time I've had in a long time. The Thanksgiving break gave me time to do what I have not done in forever--read. Okay, I admit I've done plenty of reading over the past months, but I wouldn't exactly call Norton's Concise History of Western Music a choice piece. This weekend I was finally able to read for pleasure again, and I indulged in it.

The book I read was Francine Rivers' Redeeming Love. A friend of mine gave it to me months ago, swearing it was one of the most compelling books out there. She was right. I've never read a novel so powerful. There are many stories I respect and admire for their literary quality and clever design, but Redeeming Love is unique in its ability to invite the reader to partake in the story almost as if he or she were part of it and not a simple observer. I became grossly enveloped in everything the novel had to offer, and still was not disappointed in the literary style or value.

Reading again like that was refreshing and inspiring. I'd forgotten how delightful it is to be absorbed into a whole world that is not my own. It was a joy to be acquainted with several bright characters, all of whom won my heart completely.

Angel, the protagonist, is strong and beautiful, though she thinks herself weak. She is so much like every woman. So much like myself. Michael Hosea is silent and gracious, gentle, yet strong. Miriam is sweet and honest.

Each of these characters drew me in, and I felt towards them what I would feel towards a friend. When I had to put the book down to do simple daily activities, I found myself yearning to be back with them. I longed to know more. Any interruptions were just that, and I would rush through my chores and activities for fear that I would somehow miss something. I wanted nothing but to be inside their world.

Besides the fact that the characters were so likable, the book was romantically set in a period just as desirable to me. It was the mid 1800's, the California gold rush. Life was slower then. The rat race had not yet fully commenced, and days were not as hurried. A trip into town could take days by horse and carriage. Technology was reduced to fire stoves and the like, and the hustle and bustle of every day left gaps significant enough that one could even find time to rest...or so I think.

I was surprised at how quickly I finished the book. 500 pages gone like that. I was sad it ended so suddenly. The moment I was done, I wanted to read more. I needed a sequel. More chapters. Anything. On the long trip back from visiting my family, I spent the majority of the time looking out the window in wistful disillusionment. My world was not like theirs. A black Lexus passed on the right, and I realized how vain our lives are today. How materialistic we are as a nation, a generation.

I wanted to climb back into the arms of my book and hide away in its safety. I closed my eyes, thinking that if I concentrated hard enough, the world within the pages of Redeeming Love, which I grew to treasure so dearly would awaken in my mind, and I could stay. And then I awoke to the realization that what my thoughts had created, no matter how imaginitive, no matter how beautiful, was artificial. Fake. The influence of the words, the power of the pictures painted by the author were worth cherishing, but not worshiping.

When we had finished unloading things at home, I decided I would write in a journal. It had been a long time since I had done that, as well, and I didn't even have a journal anymore. I constructed one out of an old folder I found and some notebook paper, and went to sit by myself in the living room. And that's when I heard it. The beckoning. The soft calling of the Holy Spirit. The still, small voice that I had not heard in so long. My best friend. Oh, how I hungered to hear that voice. How I ached for the peace of His presence. I began to feel the same feelings I had felt toward the characters in my book, only more strongly.

God had used Redeeming Love to stir my soul and invite me back to Him. I had longed for the characters in that book as I would long to be with a close friend. And when I finished the book I missed them like they were family. But what I had over-looked, what I had misunderstood, was the longing in my heart for my Lord. Throughout her novel, Francine Rivers described the forgiving, loving God she knew, and all the while my spirit cried out to be with Him. Last night was the first night in a long time that I was able to sit with the Lord in silence, simply enjoying His presence, and indulging in Him as I had indulged in my novel.

I wrote in my journal as if I were pouring my heart out. Forced to slow to the speed of my pen, my mind was able to finally take hold of thoughts and ideas that otherwise would have escaped my understanding. There was a quiet intimacy that filled the room. I closed my eyes and I was with Him. His gentle voice filled my heart.

"Love me," He said.
"Help me know how, Lord."
"With all you have."
"But what do I have?"
"Yourself. Your goals, Your wishes. You."
"With all I have..."

And so I must. My wishes to sing, to write, to find success... they are worthless now. My fears and doubts about the future, barren. My hopes, thoughts, ideas, goals, all abandoned for the sake of loving Him. No more will I place those goals above my Lord. No more will I busy myself to the point that I forget to sit at His feet and take in all He has to offer.

I have been so selfish. Selfish with my time, with my heart, with my whole being. I have kept it all for me and my pleasures and have denied God what is rightfully His. And yet He called me still. He loved me still. With a love so strong, it breaks down all of my walls, all of my barriers, all of the strongholds I so artfully created to protect what I thought was right for me. But He rescued me from myself. From my sinful self. Because He loved me. He loved me with a Redeeming Love.