Bridging the Gap

There's a gap between childhood and adulthood. It's called adolescence. Neither child nor adult. When I was a teenager, I felt that the gap was a huge abyss and that I had one foot on the child side and the other foot on the adult side. And I was trying to get to the adult side.

One day, I leaped to that side.

The town library had two floors. Children's section, young adult fiction, movies (the easy stuff) on the first floor. The second floor? Adult fiction. And nonfiction. And everything else that was a huge secret. Separating the two floors was a huge staircase. No, the elevators were not used. Because this library was old. And creaky. Every time I placed a foot on two or three stairs leading up to the adult level, it creaked so loud that I felt like everyone in the entire library heard me, me with a big sign saying "child." The built in security measure - the creaky steps - would never let a child up. Anyone not adult would be caught by the old ladies who sat close by.

But I was a teenager. And neither child nor adult. After reading almost everything in the young adult section (and just finding the same titles again and again) I decided it was time to adventure to the adult section. Because I was half adult. And who would stop me, right?


Somewhere I had seen the name Corrie Ten Boom and decided that her book would be the first. I went to the computer, looked up the title t-h-e h-i-d-i-n-g p-l-a-c-e. Yes, the forbidden second floor held it hidden away. With paper in hand, almost as a permission slip, I made my way to the stairs.

Every step creaked loudly and so I tiptoed. Finally, after the eternal two minutes going up the stairs, I made it. Found the book and got out of there.

The book was red. Without a title on the front. (Just as the one I got from the library today.) Hiding its secrets. Smelled like an old book, like mystery and foreignness and adulthood. The Hiding Place. Laying on my bed in the sunshine I read the book. I felt like I was hiding in that room, away from the judgments and the child world. I was entering in the other world, exploring life and death, kindness and brutality, suffering and joy. More than anything than my suburban middle class normal life had given me to know. Is that why Corrie did it?

          It grew harder and harder. Even within these four walls there was too much misery, too much seemingly pointless suffering. Every day something else failed to make sense, something else grew too heavy.

Corrie's tone was personal. She was honest. She invited me into the adult side of life, letting me be on the other side of the abyss for just that moment, feeling my way around and getting comfortable.

I felt her joy. I felt her pain.

          It was a carving in old yellow ivory. There was no clothing on the figure; I could see each ivory rib,

 and the outline of the teeth through the parchment cheeks.

          It took me a moment to realize it was Betsie. 

And I was awed at her courage. Her bravery. Her compassion and empathy. Her faith and beliefs. And her journey.

          Entlassen? Released? Was - was the woman free then? Was this - were we all - 

          At last "Ten Boom, Cornelia," was called. 

          Entlassen. 

 It pulled me in and didn't let me go. It wanted to change me. And I let it.