“Here are your new library cards!” smiled the librarian, as she handed me and my husband our new paper library cards. I hadn’t expected an actual physical card, and it surprised me how delighted I was to receive it. 

I know it sounds strange to say, but a part of me felt a bit more human in that moment. My paper library card was a tangible reminder that now I was not only connected to a world of books but also to a community of readers. 

“Do you have any in-person book clubs here at the library?” I asked one of the librarians. 

Since moving to our small town, we’d been eager to slowly immerse ourselves in the community. We’d gladly become loyal patrons of the local diner and made regular trips to our town’s hardware store and bakery. Joining the community library felt like a positive way to get connected with the people around us.

The librarian invited me to attend the library’s next “Silent Reading Party.” All I would need to bring with me was a book.

“I’ll be there!” I responded without hesitation. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I knew it’d be easy to talk myself out of going if I didn’t answer now. I’m someone who thrives on routine, and this was a chance to try something new and gently stretch myself out of my comfort zone.

It was a rainy Saturday when I showed up at the library for the “Silent Reading Party” with my book bag. Everything about the grey skies and pouring rain made for a truly perfect morning to curl up with a book and a hot cup of tea.

Stepping into the library, I was directed to turn and walk down the hallway towards the town hall conference room. There I found the other librarian sitting with her book, next to a table filled with an assortment of muffins, fresh berries, cookies, tea, and hot cocoa. We chatted for a bit, and both grabbed a few treats for our plates before sitting down.

The librarian opened up her book and began reading. I followed suit, pulling out my copy of Austen’s Mansfield Park.

The “Silent Reading Party” had begun!

And there we read, silently — with only the pitter-patter of rain on the roof in the background. Although the room wasn’t the coziest of places, it was wonderful and unexpectedly delightful. I was able to dive into my book without the distractions of all the things that needed to get done around the house. Nothing was holding me back from just reading.

After an hour of silent reading, we began chatting about the books we were reading and shared our reflections. She’d done her final project in college on Jane Austen. I’d never heard of the series she was reading, and learned something new. Before long, our simple small talk developed into an enlightening conversation about the importance of fairy tales and fantasy literature — what they teach us about empathy and resilience, how they help us better understand our own world and our own perspectives. We discussed psychology and story structure, shared thoughts, asked questions, wondered aloud, and listened.

I left the “Silent Reading Party” feeling inspired and bubbling over with joy.

… eager to be more intentional about connecting with people outside of my intimate circle

… motivated to create more time in my week for reading

… grateful for community

… and truly rested.

+++++

I’ve since learned that I don’t need to present my physical library card when I check out books at the library, but something about keeping it tucked away in my wallet still makes me smile. 

Sometimes it really is the smallest gestures, like receiving a paper library card, that awaken something deeply human inside of us. 

A sense of belonging.

Nostalgia.

Connection. 

Delight.

And sometimes it’s these small gestures that give us the encouragement to step a bit out of our comfort zones, moving forward on the path towards community, connection, and rest.