I devour books.  I gorge myself on them until my brain is so full of plot lines, "what-ifs," and I-have-to-know-how-this-ends, that I have little space for other creative endeavors.  It is not uncommon to find me at midnight with a headlamp strapped to my forehead nestled under the covers so I can stay warm, but not disturb my sleeping husband with our more powerful nightstand light.  

Since finishing my own book, I have read cover to cover books for fun, for work, and to complete my certificate in spiritual direction.  Let's just say I have had my fair share of this pie and am more than satisfied.  



I surrounded myself with the likes of Julian of Norwich, Teresa of Avila and Madame Guyon.  I happily put down their 500 year old words at times and reached for novels like Water for Elephants and The Help or the latest Kristin Hannah tear jerker that my fellow reading lover mother would mail to me.  I also had non-fiction books to read, like Shauna Niequist's new book, Bittersweet, so I ordered that one and the feeding frenzy continued from the summer well into the fall. I was encircled by an amazing league of women.  Ancient and new, seasoned and novice, prophets and storytellers, fiction and real life -- And in a sublime way, it kind of made me check out of my own.

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