a helping of comfort and magic

Beautiful moments at the library this week:

A young patron approached the desk one afternoon and requested books on ASL because her classmate was deaf, and the patron wanted to communicate with her.  We only had a couple ASL books at my location, so I turned the computer screen toward the patron and asked her which books she might like to have brought over from other branches.  She pointed at a book about emotions and said, “in case she wants to talk about how she’s doing.”  She pointed at another about families so she could “learn more about what her life is like at home.”  

After we picked out a few books, the patron looked at me and said, “a lot of kids think I’m in the sixth grade.”  I asked her what grade she was in, and she said, “fourth, but I’m tall and mature and know how to talk to adults.”  Before walking her over to the adult side to grab an ASL book, I paused and looked for her mom.  Depending on the age of the kid, I usually let caregivers know if we leave the youth side.  Before I could spot her mom, the kid looked at me and said, “my mom won’t mind if I go to the adult side.”  I told her I would let her mom know where she was if asked.  As we left the youth area I spotted her mom, who gave me such a proud smile, it was easy to guess she had been listening to our conversation and knew her daughter had shared some more of her magic with the world.  

On another day I was covering the adult desk and an older patron in her nineties approached the desk with her daughter.  The older patron asked for some help finding a list of authors she had written out.  They were all popular authors, so I knew we would have them on the shelf.  While her daughter disappeared to browse on her own, the older patron and I looked for the books on her list.  I kept my eye on the desk thankful there was a lull, so I was able to take my time with her.  We only talked about the books we found, just pleasant chitchat that didn’t get too deep.  When we reached the last two authors on her list, which were alphabetically close to each other, I showed her the books, handed back her note, and excused myself.  She reached out, grasped my wrist, and said, “please stay.”

There have been a few times I’m in a utterly sour mood about my lack of worth to the world, and I remember something Robert said to me once.  One time, I cannot remember the situation, Robert looked at me and told me what a comfort it was to have me nearby.  I think it’s easy to forget how much comfort we bring just by being fully present with each other.