Books, Earbuds, and the Kitchen Sink

One of my biggest blessings is also a problem. I’m talking about reading.

It’s not “oh, I enjoy a good book now and then” reading. It’s the kind where you forget laundry exists, dinner can cook itself, and suddenly it’s 1:47 in the morning, and you’re convincing yourself that one more chapter won’t make you any more exhausted that day.

I grew up without a television, out in the country where our backyard stretched farther than our legs could run. On sunny days, we explored. On rainy days, we rotated through board games, making cassette recordings like old-time radio shows, and whatever crafty masterpieces we could invent… until I quietly wandered off with a book.

By the end of fourth grade, “liking books” had turned into something closer to a full-blown condition. My mother took us to the library once or twice a week, and I would emerge with a stack so tall I could barely see over it, a literary Jenga tower threatening collapse.

I read through libraries, attic boxes, and every family book exchange I could get my hands into. My Grandma Cooley and I shared this delightful affliction. We were, in the best sense of the word, book addicts.

Unfortunately, I also inherited something else from that same grandmother: a deep and abiding confusion about why anyone would enjoy housework. Think about it: you clean something, and then someone walks through it, eats on it, or simply exists near it, and it’s undone. It’s like brushing your teeth while eating Oreos or shoveling the driveway mid-blizzard.

So, for years, actually decades, I had to bribe myself. Vacuum the first floor? Earn a chapter. Put away dishes? Two chapters. Laundry? That was worth at least a quarter of a novel. (And yes, during my children’s younger years, I had to place myself on a strict reading diet—two books a week, unless we were on vacation. I was determined that I would be more present in their real lives than in imaginary worlds.)

Then came 2020.

Like many others, my world shifted. My kids were teens and grown-ups. I taught online, spending hours daily on Zoom.  I also began writing novels to fill the space left by all my canceled activities. So by evening, my eyes were weary from screens and stories of my own making.

That’s when I began doing something I never thought I’d do on a regular basis. I began listening to audiobooks. Audiobooks, which I once dismissed as unable to hold my attention, became a lifeline. Stories met me in places books never could: at the sink, behind the wheel, out on long walks.

And just like that… housework lost most of its annoyance. Share on X

I found myself almost looking forward to folding laundry. Driving became a treat. Even entering grades into ESchool could turn into an exciting adventure. There are moments, though, when audio stories become something more than entertainment. They become companions during some of life’s most sacred moments.

I will always remember listening to The Mistletoe Countess by Pepper Basham while spending nights with my grandmother in hospice. The author’s gentle humor accompanied me during the quiet hours while Grammy slept. During that same season, I was writing His Brother’s Atonement. It still feels a little surreal that I was writing a story while Grammy was finishing hers.

Later, I listened to inspirational tales while walking miles to raise money for the American Heart Association, and again for the American Cancer Society. And then life took another turn. A diagnosis of Synovial Sarcoma for me. Surgeries. Recovery. Treatment. When I didn’t have the strength to hold a book or the focus to write one, stories still found their way to me.

God really does meet us right where we are and give us exactly what we need, sometimes through a good story at just the right time. I still love a real book in my hands, and I don’t think that will ever change. But I’ve learned that stories can reach you anywhere… even through a pair of earbuds at the kitchen sink.

Meet Amy

Amy Walsh writes heartfelt Christian fiction that blends faith, hope, and a touch of humor. Whether she’s crafting stories of second chances, unexpected grace, or quiet miracles in small towns, Amy delights in creating characters who wrestle honestly with life—and come out stronger for it.

Find out more about Amy from her website or BRRC author profile page.