Once upon a time, there was a great bookmaker. This bookmaker was the most revered craftsman in all the land. People would come from miles away to see his extensive library and gaze upon the glorious stories in his handcrafted books. The kingdom would rejoice each time the Bookmaker rang his bell because they knew he was adding another book to his grand library.
Each book was unique and unlike any other book he created. Each one was bound with special fibers chosen to best hold the wonderful story that would be told inside. Some were made out of the finest silk, others out of the sturdiest leather. Some had thousands of pages of handmade paper, and some had just a few pages, but regardless of the number of pages, the strong and gentle hands of the great Bookmaker lovingly selected each one.
Many times, the Bookmaker would pause to enjoy the wonderful stories being told inside each book. Oh, how excited he was to see the pages filled with amazing adventures! Some chapters were full of rejoicing, others of reflecting. Some were very difficult to read. Although he knew when he made each book that these chapters must be written for the story to unfold, it was still hard to read the words of pain, to see the teardrops, and to hear the cries that echoed in each page.
He loved all his stories the same and knew what was happening in each of the millions of books in his grand library. One day as he sat with a steaming cup of tea, he opened a book he had selected off the shelf. It was a thrilling book with stories of adventure, love, pain, growing up, and grand journeys. A new chapter had just begun to be written.
A few paragraphs in, he noticed something perplexing. There were many words written, but they just kept repeating them- selves over and over again. The same words, the same fears, the same anger, the same bitterness, the same tears on every page. Over and over and over again, the same words poured forth.
The Bookmaker gently touched the words on the page as a single tear fell from his eyes. Then, he went to his special paper collection and tore off a small piece. He dipped his pen in permanent ink and wrote:
My Beloved Child,
I created this book for you. I handcrafted each page and have excitedly read each new adventure as you wrote the story of your life. I remember how proud I was when I finished this book. I rang my bell so the kingdom would know this was a story worth reading. I have watched you grow over the years. But something has happened. Your story has stopped…you keep rewriting the same words over and over again. I knew your name and planned for your story before it began and only I know how it will end.
I know some chapters are hard, but I promise you they are never meant to destroy you. They will grow you and show others how amazing their stories can be if they allow me to create the book of their life. But most of all, you are mine. You are worthy. You are loved. Your story is more than this chapter. Keep writing, because even when you feel alone, I am here to read every word, to see every tear fall on the page, and to hear every bit of laughter that comes from your beautiful heart. Keep writing.
~The Bookmaker
The Bookmaker slid the note inside and placed the book on the shelf.
Several months later, the Bookmaker was once again sitting at his grand table. He picked up the book that had so troubled him before. Now, beautiful paintings covered the pages that had once been filled with scribbles of repeated words. When he finished admiring the beauty that now covered the painful past, he turned the page to a new chapter. It simply said, Thankful.
There, he found a letter:
“Dear Bookmaker,
I discovered your note months ago and when I read it, I wept… not only because of the words you had written, but because I had gotten so wrapped up in the difficulties of life that I had stopped looking for beauty. I only focused on my life and became bitter and angry at how things had turned out. It seemed like my dreams were fading and the pain was just too much to bear, so I gave up. When I read your words, I went back and retraced my steps to discover where I had gotten off track.
Then, I discovered it. I had gotten so absorbed in my own life that I had forgotten what was most important to me. So, I went back over the pages I had wasted and painted all the things I am grateful for. For each page I was angry, I painted something that made me happy. For each page I was bitter, I painted a picture of something that made me thankful. For each page I was sad, I painted the strengths that had come from the tears. I painted and I painted and as I began to find the vibrancy
in life again, I noticed something amazing—others around me who were struggling started to paint in their books also. Eventually, I painted over all the pain, but I saved the best page for last… for you….”
The Bookmaker turned the next page and saw one of the most brilliant images He had ever seen. There was no way to express the contrast of colors, the curves and lines. It was stunning. At the bottom of the page were these words:
Under these paintings are all my past regrets, pains, heartaches, and tears. I wrote and wrote and wrote them until I got everything out. As I looked over the pages, I thought, ‘If I were the Bookmaker, what would I do with these words?’
Then, I realized the answer. Instead of allowing these words of my story to hold me back, I must use them to become my strength, my courage, and allow them to be the {HOPE} for another. I will keep writing my story because I know this:
I am thankful for each page the Bookmaker handcrafted for my story and I don’t want to waste even one of them.”
The end of one chapter…the beginning of another.