Picture this: a book store filled front to back with hundreds of books. As you walk through the store, you see the fascinating periodicals and magazines on the left; on the right, the entertaining fiction. In the middle, you see all the new books; the “must reads.” They’re stacked on a table in the middle of the store. You see their covers; they’re intricately designed and filled with color, immediately pleasing to the eyes.
But as you walk towards the back, even past the children’s section that’s filled with picture books covered with princesses and dragons, you see a small cart that is filled with old, battered, dusty books. The cover isn’t quite as well designed as the must reads and they’re not as compelling as the fancy magazines you saw upfront. Some would walk right past these books without bothering to take a quick look inside to see what it’s all about, yet some might take the time out of their day to have a good look inside. This is me; I am this potentially passed over book.
Some people have known me almost my entire life and little have bothered to get to know me; they treat me like an old, dusty, battered book they wouldn’t pick up off the cart in the bookstore. Their first impression of me is based upon my looks and personality, like their first impression of a book is based on the cover. They assume since my cover isn’t the most intriguing, they think the story inside is just the same. This is where that assumption is wrong; the story inside has nothing to do with the cover.
Though, I also have the people in my life that look past my bland cover, my loose binding, and my torn pages. They see me as a fancy new book they waited and waited for. They read me front to back, page after page. Some read me multiple times, enjoying every single part of my story while craving more. The very important ones keep me forever; they keep me on display in their bookshelf. These are the people I hold closely; these are the people whose bookshelves I never intend to leave.
I’m like a book; My cover isn’t the most appealing, I’m not perfectly bound, and I’m not on anyone’s best sellers list. But my story is good, I’m binded with plenty of good intent, and even though I’m not everyone’s favorite, I just might be yours. I’m like a book; I’ll tell you my story, if you bother to leaf through my pages.