Falling Up

Today I decided to sell my collection of books from over the years at the local bookstore. I hated losing some of these precious novelties that are impossible to find nowadays, but I also hate the sound of my mom nagging at me to get rid of them in order to create more space in my room.

Little does she know that the newly created space will soon be filled with something just as useless again. Probably another instrument or something.

I almost snapped my lower spine in half just carrying the huge box-load of books to the store. A random lady was kind enough to get out of her way to open the door for me to the bookstore, but she couldn't help me walk down the flight of stairs to the buyer's desk in the basement, even if she wanted to.

As I slammed the box of books on the desk, the lady behind the desk glanced over, took a quick scan of the heaping amount of books, and started to examine each book. This was a good time to awkwardly meander throughout the store.

As I was flipping through an anthology of John Donne, the lady called me over to the desk. Apparently there were some dried up four-leaf clovers in my copy of "Falling Up" by Shel Silverstein. No, a leprechaun did not sneak those in there along with a pot of gold while I wasn't looking. Although that would have been legit.

I softly laughed as I remembered how these little dried up wonders ended up in this book. It was years ago when I was too young to stay at my house alone, so I had to accompany my sister to her soccer tournaments with my mom in such atrociously hot, empty, and boring cities around Nor-Cal. In one of these places I found a patch of four-leaf clovers peacefully swaying in the warm wind near a baseball field. An refreshing oasis in such a scorching plain. A reminder that gifts and blessing are always present even in the most unpromising places.

Using my mom's tip of drying flowers in old books, I slid them in between the pages of "Falling Up." I apparently forgot about them and didn't realize that they were still in there until this day, just how I often forget to give thanks to what He has given me, even for the most simple aspects.

She asked if I still wanted them, and I nodded, carefully placing each delicate clover in my palm. I made my way upstairs and outside the store. I looked over each clover one last time, and allowed the wind to scurry them away, being carried by the wind's breath, away to some other place where perhaps another young fellow like myself a few years ago will encounter these same clovers. It was time to realize the blessings and simple memories that even those torturous soccer tournaments could bring, and often I forget about them until it is too late.

Hopefully those clovers will bless someone else's life, someone who will actually realize the beauty around him/her.

And to my luck, when I turned around to walk back in the store, I immediately saw a familiar face that I haven't seen in many months.

;)