Opinion/Resources/Teen Perspective 

By Teen Opinion Contributor Maggie Verdught

Photo: Deposit

Ever since I was little, I always wanted to go on an adventure.

Not like a one-time, camping trip or vacation type of adventure: a real one. Something that would change my life forever, and make it exciting. You see, I lived my life through my books. Stories. This was my world; pages of possibilities that I knew, deep down, were unrealistic and impossible for me to experience. Yet I continued to dream, devouring the delicious adventures which thoughtful authors had left for me on a page, full of wonder. Behind the scenes of my great delight was my mother.

For my entire life, she has known me better than anyone else. This was particularly evident in the books that I read, as she chose many of them. When we went to the library (oftentimes only my mom and little brother went, as the rest of the family was at work or school), I would go off browsing the shelves eagerly. Sometimes I found a book. Sometimes I didn’t. But I could always count on my mom to have picked out several for each of us children.

When it comes to literature, I am extremely picky in some ways, and blatantly indifferent in others. For example, I am a person who will always judge a book by its cover. And, funnily enough, about 75 percent of the time my estimation of the book is proved accurate by my judgement of the book’s cover! I love to read good-quality historical fiction– yes, there are books of poorly written and researched historical fiction out there – and I adore books that simply draw me in with the characters, setting, plot, and writing style.

My mom knows all of this about me, and the books she found shaped who I became as a person. Every story I love has something about it which I admire: and without even realizing it profoundly, I became something of those stories. That is, I took pieces of characters which I loved, and themes that resonated like a heartbeat within me, and fashioned Maggie out of them– my sense of self, and my values. Perhaps this is what sets me apart from my parents in many ways. As farm kids, they no doubt grew up with books that infused and inspired their view of the world. Yet the degree to which this occurred is likely very different from my experience. You see, these books were my world for a very long time; I do not believe that my parents became who they are today largely because of reading, and in particular, reading fictional novels. This is not a flaw in them or in anybody else whose experience has been this way. I am merely pointing out that my childhood and “tween” years were principally shaped by the incredible force of fictional literature.

There is a beautiful, innocent bliss to reading. In that season of life, I would return home from my day at elementary school, eat a snack (that is, a banana and chocolate chips), and call to whoever was in the house, “I’m going upstairs to read!” If the book was especially good, I would read until dinnertime. That was my daily routine. Then, I set off to middle school, where I was exposed to more digital media and, in fact, too much free time.

I began to spend more time on YouTube rather than with my books. The problem was not always the content itself; however, it was generally unhelpful and a waste of time. It was not an investment into my life which I can look back on now and be grateful for, because I am regretful. I continued my life without much free-reading like I once had, and moved into high school, where I am now. I am ashamed to admit that I rarely pick up a book, not because I dislike reading, but because what was once a habit and sought-after love has faded. For that reason, I do lament and ponder my past and present choices, and of course it is fitting to do so.

Yet what I have come to realize is that while my constant reading and absorption of fictional stories was a formative, crucial chapter in my life that is over, it doesn’t mean that my story is over. The ending of that chapter in my life does not take away from who I’m becoming, or necessarily inhibit me from growing into who I’m meant to be. I’ve come to realize that although life itself is not as romantic, interesting, or adventurous as my books, it’s still pretty great.

While much of myself used to be filled with discontentment and longing for an adventure that would fulfill me, I now know that God brings the adventure into your life that you need. God puts you into your adventure, the place where He wants you to be – oftentimes rather than the place where it seems like you would rather be! God has filled me with a wholeness and satisfaction that no earthly adventure can bring. And I wouldn’t have my story be any other way. 

Psalm 37:4-5 (ESV)

Delight yourself in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the LORD, trust in him, and he will act.

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The opinions in this article are specific to its author, and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the entire Counter Culture Mom team. 

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