A Story Tucked Into a Library Card

Something shifted in the staying.

There are a dozen pictures, maybe more, of my sweet but likely sticky toddler hands holding a book. The thread is woven through the years, told in pixelated images of childhood, frozen in time but carefully tucked away in scrapbooks. I remember sitting at the dinner table as a teenager, fork in one hand and a book in the other, somewhere in the middle of a story. I became a writer, yes, and if I look closely I can trace that thread too. But always, from as far back as I can remember, I’ve been drawn to stories.

My very first (in)courage article, written as the (in)tern while still in college, is titled There’s Power in Your Story. From the first page to the last lines, the theme of “story” is printed in black and white, bound in my first book. And for the last ten years, I’ve worked for hundreds of authors, serving behind the scenes to help launch their books well so that their messages are held in the hands of readers.

The point is—books and stories? They might as well be in my blood.

And the reason I share this context is so that the importance of the next line isn’t lost.

When I packed my bags and moved twelve hours from home for college, I left my library card behind and then let half a dozen years pass before I walked through a library’s sliding doors, filled out a page of paperwork, and held that familiar piece of plastic in my hands once again.

What’s the big deal, you might be wondering.

It’s a fair question, and I admit I’ve held onto this story because it seemed so wildly silly, so absolutely ordinary, so seemingly unimportant.

It’s just a library card.

But like so many of the beloved books that line our shelves, there’s usually something more going on beneath it all, an understory that we might not be aware of until much later, and my hesitation in getting a new library card had nothing to do with paperwork and everything to do with planting.

I put down roots on purpose, intentionally tending to and watering new friendships in a city that would, over time, grow to become the place I call home. When I look back now, though, I can see that while I was “all in” on my people, I viewed my place, my location, as temporary. There was little need for a library card the first four years; assigned reading for classes took care of that. But after the cap and gown, after many of my people packed boxes and moved for work, for marriage, for a new beginning—and I remained? Something shifted in the staying when I decided that for as long as I’m here, I want to be fully present, to put down roots and truly settle in until God moves me elsewhere.

Jeremiah 29:11 is beloved by many, but as time goes on and the city of Birmingham remains home, I’m struck by the words that bookend those familiar lines about a future and a hope. In verses 5-7 and again in verse 28, God tells the Israelites to go ahead and “build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce.” One day, yes, they will return to Jerusalem. But for now, and for generations to come, they will remain. And so while you’re here, Scripture says, “seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you” (29:7).

Last week I walked out of my local library with a smile stretched across my face and a brand new card in my hand, a replacement for the one that I used so much that it was literally falling to pieces... yeah, the one that was “just” a piece of plastic and also an intentional line in the sand.

I don’t know how long I’ll be here; my lease is up soon and there are big questions on the horizon. I may call this beautiful city home for eight more years or I might be packing boxes in eight weeks. Today, it’s completely unknown.

But for however long I’m here, I want to be all the way in, settled down, and committed to both the people and the place where God has planted me.

And maybe that’s the invitation for you, too. Whatever season you find yourself in—whether your roots feel deep or you’re tempted to keep things temporary—what if you chose to be all in? What if you decided to fully embrace the place God has you right now, investing in the people, the rhythms, the ordinary moments that make up your days? You don’t have to know how long you’ll be here to live like you belong. Perhaps the peace you’re longing for will meet you right where you are, here in your season of staying.

For me, living that out looks two hundred different ways, and this particular one is admittedly simple and small. But every time I pull out my library card, I remember. I remember the thread of “story” woven from toddler to teen to a tired college student to today, and this 32-year-old woman gives thanks for the city that is, for now, home.

It’s just a library card.

It’s also so much more.

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tucking this in at the end: as easy as possible (hopefully) & moving & prayer & thank you

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And, if you’re willing, I’d be so grateful for your prayers as I figure out a housing/moving situation I didn’t see coming. This was not on my 2025 Bingo card. ;) The plan was to re-sign, but recent unexpected changes to my lease, right before renewing, have led to a sudden search on a tight timeline. I’ll tell you what, though—I meant every word above when I wrote it three works ago for (in)courage’s website, and I mean it still, now that it’s officially live on their site/podcast… I met with a realtor yesterday, but on the way to the coffee shop to talk through possibilities and question marks, I stopped by the library to pick up another book that was on hold.

“But for however long I’m here, I want to be all the way in, settled down, and committed to both the people and the place where God has planted me.”

Every word, for as long as I call this place home. Rooted, all in, present and planted, while open to whatever door He chooses to open.

Here—until He leads otherwise.

And—for what it’s worth, I’m so glad you’re here. Thank you for inviting me into your inbox, thank you for supporting my writing, and thank you for each kind share/like on social media. It means a lot to me, always, but let me tell ya—the financial support of paid subscribers is a gift of a factor in this *waves hands around* unanticipated situation (thank. you. so. much.) and your kind comments/shares/likes on recent Instagram posts and Substack emails has been a tangible encouragement, a reminder that although I’m making a lot of major decisions on my own right now, I’m not actually alone.

Thank you, friends.