The Book

I've heard blogging is therapeutic. Not that I need therapy or anything, but it couldn't hurt. Right? I really don't know what to write about though. I have enough trouble writing in a journal. I look at it everyday and am reminded that I haven't written in a looooonnnnnnggggg time. Then when I do get the courage to open it and try to go take on the enormously monsterous task of catching up, I feel so small and overwhelmed. I really want to write. I have a desire to record the events in my life so that I can look back on them at some future date and remember the lessons I learned. But actually doing it is a different matter altogether! It comes so easily to some people, writing that is. 


I started reading a book today titled The Book Thief. I had not read what it was about before I started it. I would rather not ruin the story before it even begins! A few of my roommates recommended it to me. I commenced reading and was surprised. Of all the many subjects it could be about, I had not suspected the one it was about. I normally shy away from holocaust books. They are horrifically sad and never really have a happy ending. All the bad the people went through is not made up with the little glimpse of happiness at the end, if there even is that much. I've read books revolving around the holocaust, but never by choice. Just school assignments. I've learned about the event multiple years. The subject pricks my heart and makes me feel like I can't breath when hearing about the horrible things that happened. When I come across a book with this subject, I usually stop reading when I learn what it is about. But this time I didn't. I don't know why really, I just know it is captivating. Captivating. That's a good strong word to describe my desire to keep reading. Usually books about the holocaust are from the Jewish point of view. This one is from a little German girl's viewpoint. It is fiction, but still the feelings she felt were not unreal. The mindset of the people around her really did exist and as tragic as it is, her circumstance was very real for many children. It still pricks my heart and makes me feel like I can't breath sometimes, but I am so captivated that I continue.


 I am blessed to live in the present, rather than face the struggles they faced with courage in the past. I don't know how they handled it. I feel only capable of handling my own present worries and all other things around me. They seem so courageous to me. If they were able to face that horror, then I can be strong and face whatever comes my way, because I'm sure that in my life I will never have to face such a thing. This may seem vague to some, but it seems to make perfect sense to me.