“Scripture time.”
Ever since I can remember, those two little words have been my personal
alarm clock; reverberating in my ears each day as my mom flipped on the light
switch to the cowboy-themed room I shared with my brother. I would then stumble
drowsily up our carpeted stairs to read a chapter of the Book of Mormon with
the other 7 members of our family. It
was that very ritual that sparked within me a love for reading.
As the youngest of six, I was repeatedly fascinated by the
way my siblings could look at the squiggles on the pages, and make scriptural
poetry roll off their tongues in such a musical manner. For years, I sat and listened with my
illustrated Book of Mormon storybook open on my lap.
By age 4, I was studying the “Fun with Dick and Jane”
children’s books alongside my patient mother. Squiggly lines were transformed into pitches
and volumes, and I was able to participate in daily scripture study well before
my fifth birthday.
In the morning, I would stand next to Nephi as he embarked
on a sea voyage. And while the rest of the family was at school, I would laugh
with Dick and Jane as we watched Spot run.
At age six, I was already flying over the walls of Hogwarts on my
broomstick as I read alongside my sister’s voice, and soon was able to endeavor
other such adventures completely on my own.
I quickly learned, that a book is not simply a number of
bound sheets used to convey information; it is an entire world just hiding
under the covers. I am so grateful that Heavenly Father allowed me into His
world each morning as I crawled in under that little blue cover, wearing my
dinosaur pajamas.
