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I am a
reader, and readers are dreamers and searchers. All
readers, like me, know in their hearts that there is
more to life than what they are living. Somewhere, there
must be a handsome prince, a dashing rogue, a rugged
mountain man to sweep me off my feet and bear me to a
land bursting with myth and legend and beautiful
scenery. And in that land I would uncover mysteries and
secrets, things so simple and pure they can only be
found in nature. I would breathe in the fresh, clean air
and drink the sounds of birds and breezes and brooks,
the soft sounds. There I would be fulfilled and happy.
At peace, at last.
For me, this
dreamland was Ireland. I was ushered to this place
through my imagination and by the poetry of William
Butler Yeats, especially his description of “The Lake
Isle of Innisfree.” He painted a picture of peace that
he longed for and could only find on that island. He
pined after it so, that no matter where he was he would
“hear it in the deep heart’s core.” In my deep heart’s
core, I felt exactly that longing, that need for more; I
was drawn to this place of peace.
Until recently, I thought that my vision
of Ireland must remain simply a vision. But through the
kindness of my grandparents, I was able to go. And, oh
the excitement and joy that was mine! I journeyed there
with all my hopes and dreams prepared to be fulfilled.
And I saw the castles and the bogs, the mountains, the
fairy forts, flowers and even the Isle of Innisfree. The
beauty was indescribable. The hundreds of radiant
flowers pleased my eyes. The sweet sounds of the birds
and brooks and breezes soothed my ears. The fragrance of the pure air
invigorated my nostrils. I could taste the rain and feel
the serenity drop onto my skin and cleanse my soul. But
the one sense that remained untouched was my heart. I
was still searching, and for days I pulled at the land,
needing that fulfillment I thought it offered. But I
couldn’t find it, and still I felt sad and empty.
One day, I was
looking deep into a blossom, at its incredible beauty
and worth, and I remembered how that flower first
appeared. The source of its life, the source of mine,
the very beginning, the light of life was where and only
where I could find my fulfillment and peace of mind. And
then my heart exploded, full of what was there all the
time, what I could only find within myself, what so many
people need and search for, but don’t see because it is
so simple and basic. And God is basic. God is the source
of all things. God is our roots, and just as a tree
looks to its roots for nourishment and a river looks to
its source for replenishing waters, we must look to our
roots and our source to fill the void in our hearts. God
is our only nourishment; all else is transient.
So now I read, but I
search no longer, because all the romance and adventure
enticing me into the worlds between the pages is just a
faint taste of the adventure of life, of my life. I am
excited about each day as it comes; each one can be made
to be fulfilling in its own right. And when my days run
out, I will have lived just a blink of time and the rest
will be eternal joy. And that is what I learned in
Ireland.
(c) Chicken Soup For The
Christian Teen Talk
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