Once upon a time, a wee curly haired lass, I sat in my crib and read "Madeline" out loud to myself, at the whopping age of two years old. Thus began my love affair with all things words. I read, I write, I study English here at my University. But today, I want to talk about books, because books are where it all begins.

Last week, I had my annual midweek breakdown. College, as we all know, is stressful and disheartening. One bad grade and suddenly your whole future looks less like a puzzle and more like Jenga, ready to collapse at any given moment. Usually, I deal with my weekly existential crisis of "who am I? Why am I here? Are you there God?" with a nice, long nap, or a nice, large cup of hot chocolate. I ended up going to the library. For me, going to the library is like going to a party that consists of only people I like. Every face is familiar, every book is an old friend or a new friend.

Have you ever nearly joyously cried over an anthology of English Literature? I won't judge you for your reasons if you have. My reason wasn't out of love for academia, but the author of the particular and battered edition of Oxford English Literature happened to be C.S. Lewis. As many of you know, Lewis was the author of the "Chronicles of Narnia," series, as well as countless other works. Of course, an analysis and history of English literature isn't nearly as enjoyable as a jaunt down to Mr. Tumnus's, but the voice was familiar. Lewis is the model of the author I want to be, and my most trusted companion when it comes to any spiritual questions I might have. His words, his voice, are in the pages, and they are comforting. Whenever in a crisis, go to Lewis.

I had forgotten the value of holding a book. One downside of studying something I love is seeing the parts of it that I don't love. I forget how to read without trying to extract information for a class.

So what is the value of holding a book? It's like the warmth of a friendly hand. I carried books with me everywhere, from first grade into high school. I could reach into my backpack, and there would be my security, the voices I knew, the words I recognized. I slept with my books, I packed them for trips. I didn't always read them but knowing they were there to run away into gave me peace. Books are what formed my ideas, my dreams, and books anchor me in what I know is true about myself and the world. One hour in the library was all I needed to compose myself again.

Books were my first and most reliable friends, and without them, I never would've learned to love words, or writing, or even the grueling analysis of every novel I've read in college.

So, if you're like me and find yourself having a weekly breakdown, go off and find those familiar faces, always right where you left them on the shelves.