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Authors: Debbie Macomber
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minutes.
âI said your heart will tell you the best thing to do.â
Now that was an interesting concept. If sheâd listened to her heart, Michael would have died an agonizing death two years ago.
And sheâd be making license plates in a federal pen.
âYou may be disappointed if you fail, but you are doomed if you donât try.â
âBeverly Sills
Chapter 6
LIZ KENYON
January 19th
H ere it is Friday night, and Iâm nestled in front of the television watching Seinfeld reruns and munching on popcorn while writing in my journal. Iâm almost tempted to feel sorry for myself. Even Tinkerbell is showing signs of sympathy by sitting in my lap. Steve never did understand my affection for cats, but he liked Tinkerbell.
Work this week was dreadful. I hardly had a chance to deal with one crisis before I was hit with another. I donât even want to think about the nurses going out on strike. I didnât get home before seven once this entire week, so itâs no wonder that all I want to do is hibernate in front of the TV tonight!
The weekendâs already arrived, which means an entire week has vanished. It makes my word for the year, time, all the more significant. Iâm feeling a sense of panicâa sense that if I donâtdo something now, the weeks and months will slip through my fingers. Spring will be here, and then autumn and I wonât have accomplished any of what Iâve planned so carefullyâtravel, catching up on the books stacked by my bed, doing some charitable work, learning a new skill.
At the Soroptimist meeting last week, before everything at the hospital went to hell in a handbasket, Ruth Howe, the head librarian, talked about a program at the juvenile detention center. The librarians are taking turns reading the Harry Potter books over the loudspeaker system each night. There are only three librarians, and Ruth came to the meeting hoping to find more volunteers.
It seems she read about such a program in Grand Rapids, Michigan. She spoke of the difference this had made in the young peopleâs lives. When she first proposed the idea here, the detention center told her there was little they could do to control noise. She was welcome to come in, but the staff couldnât guarantee that anyone would listen.
Ruth and the other librarians werenât dissuaded. As expected, their reception was lukewarm in the beginning, but they faithfully showed up every night, despite the hoots and hollers of protest. Apparently the disruptions didnât last long. According to Ruth, the reading period is the only hour of the day or night when the facility is absolutely quiet. For many of the teenagers, this is the first time in their lives anyone has ever read to them.
I knew right away that it was something Iâd like to do. Ruth got a couple of volunteers at the meeting, and I was tempted to sign up right then, but I hesitatedâ¦.
A while back, I read something smart. The exact wording escapes me now, but I remember the meaning: I need to stop and consider my options before volunteering for something. If I say yes, then I need to think about what Iâm saying no to first.
In other words, if I were a volunteer reader at the detention center tonight, what wouldnât I be doing? The answer is obviousâsitting in front of the TV watching reruns, writing in my journal and fighting Tinkerbell for the last of the popcorn.
Where would I rather be?
But after a work week like this, would I feel like trekking all the way to Charleston Street to read a chapter or two aloud? I donât know how good Iâd be. Reading to my grandchildren is vastly different from trying to entertain adolescent felons. Still, it appeals to me and is something Iâm going to consider.
Iâm afraid this whole year will speed by, and I wonât have achieved anything. Iâm determined to make some kind of contribution to society.
When I volunteer for an
âI said your heart will tell you the best thing to do.â
Now that was an interesting concept. If sheâd listened to her heart, Michael would have died an agonizing death two years ago.
And sheâd be making license plates in a federal pen.
âYou may be disappointed if you fail, but you are doomed if you donât try.â
âBeverly Sills
Chapter 6
LIZ KENYON
January 19th
H ere it is Friday night, and Iâm nestled in front of the television watching Seinfeld reruns and munching on popcorn while writing in my journal. Iâm almost tempted to feel sorry for myself. Even Tinkerbell is showing signs of sympathy by sitting in my lap. Steve never did understand my affection for cats, but he liked Tinkerbell.
Work this week was dreadful. I hardly had a chance to deal with one crisis before I was hit with another. I donât even want to think about the nurses going out on strike. I didnât get home before seven once this entire week, so itâs no wonder that all I want to do is hibernate in front of the TV tonight!
The weekendâs already arrived, which means an entire week has vanished. It makes my word for the year, time, all the more significant. Iâm feeling a sense of panicâa sense that if I donâtdo something now, the weeks and months will slip through my fingers. Spring will be here, and then autumn and I wonât have accomplished any of what Iâve planned so carefullyâtravel, catching up on the books stacked by my bed, doing some charitable work, learning a new skill.
At the Soroptimist meeting last week, before everything at the hospital went to hell in a handbasket, Ruth Howe, the head librarian, talked about a program at the juvenile detention center. The librarians are taking turns reading the Harry Potter books over the loudspeaker system each night. There are only three librarians, and Ruth came to the meeting hoping to find more volunteers.
It seems she read about such a program in Grand Rapids, Michigan. She spoke of the difference this had made in the young peopleâs lives. When she first proposed the idea here, the detention center told her there was little they could do to control noise. She was welcome to come in, but the staff couldnât guarantee that anyone would listen.
Ruth and the other librarians werenât dissuaded. As expected, their reception was lukewarm in the beginning, but they faithfully showed up every night, despite the hoots and hollers of protest. Apparently the disruptions didnât last long. According to Ruth, the reading period is the only hour of the day or night when the facility is absolutely quiet. For many of the teenagers, this is the first time in their lives anyone has ever read to them.
I knew right away that it was something Iâd like to do. Ruth got a couple of volunteers at the meeting, and I was tempted to sign up right then, but I hesitatedâ¦.
A while back, I read something smart. The exact wording escapes me now, but I remember the meaning: I need to stop and consider my options before volunteering for something. If I say yes, then I need to think about what Iâm saying no to first.
In other words, if I were a volunteer reader at the detention center tonight, what wouldnât I be doing? The answer is obviousâsitting in front of the TV watching reruns, writing in my journal and fighting Tinkerbell for the last of the popcorn.
Where would I rather be?
But after a work week like this, would I feel like trekking all the way to Charleston Street to read a chapter or two aloud? I donât know how good Iâd be. Reading to my grandchildren is vastly different from trying to entertain adolescent felons. Still, it appeals to me and is something Iâm going to consider.
Iâm afraid this whole year will speed by, and I wonât have achieved anything. Iâm determined to make some kind of contribution to society.
When I volunteer for an
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