C.S. Lewis is such a pimp!

Ok, so I'm afraid that headline may be a bit misleading...you're possibly thinking that this will be lighthearted and jovial (anyone who has ever read anything by Lewis should immediately know better), however, this will be nothing of the sort. I am re-reading a book called The Sacred Romance, for those of you who are used to me telling you that I am currently reading the most amazing book I've ever picked up and that you have to read it...well suck it up because I am telling you again! This is one of the most life changing things I have ever read...enough so to drive me to read it a second time!! Anywho, in this book, the author (John Eldredge) quotes a paragraph from Lewis' book, The Problem of Pain, and it's phenomenal! I don't think I have ever felt more like someone was reading my mind than I did last night when I read this part! So I'm not going to preach...I know you're shocked...I'm just going to let these words speak for themselves.

"Even in your hobbies, has there not always been some secret attraction which the others are curiously ignorant of-something, not to be identified with, but always on the verge of breaking through, the smell of cut wood in the workshop or the clap-clap of water on the boat's side? Are not all lifelong friendships born at the moment when at last you meet another human being who has some inkling (but faint and uncertain even in the best) of that something which you were born desiring, and which, beneath the flux of other desires and in all the momentary silences between the louder passions, night and day, year by year, from childhood to old age, you are looking for, watching for, listening for? You have never had it. All the things that have ever deeply possessed your soul have been but hints of it-tantalizing glimpses, promises never quite fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught your ear. But if it should really become manifest-if there ever came an echo that did not die away but swelled into the sound itself-you would know it. Beyond all possibility of doubt you would say, "here at last is the thing I was made for." We cannot tell each other about it. It is the secret signature of each soul, the incommunicable and unappeaseable want, the thing we desired before we met our wives or made our friends or chose our work, and which we shall still desire on our deathbeds, when the mind no longer knows wife or friend or work. While we are, this is. If we lose this, we lose all."