The Time Keeper

As I have mentioned before, I have a Kindle and an iPad in which I read books on.  Recently, I renewed my public library card so I could borrow Kindle books.  I figured the book selection may not be diverse, but hey, it couldn’t hurt to browse the selection, right?  So, as a test/trial run I borrowed the first book that I recognized that I hadn’t read: Mitch Albom’s The Time Keeper.

Now, I read Tuesdays with Morrie when it was first published.  I’ve seen the movie version of The Five People You Meet in Heaven.  I figured I was in a for a bit of a “tugging at your heart-strings” book.  It took me a couple of chapters to get the rhythm of the book down, but once I did, it was hard to stop reading.

It was a simple story, about a man named Dor who was the first human to count time who was then “cursed” to hear the cries of the people of Earth who wished for time to slow down or speed up, the cries for yesterday and for tomorrow.  For 6,000 years he endured this curse, only to be released and find out the job wasn’t quite finished.  He learned a few valuable lessons about time during his tenure in the cave and he had two to teach the lessons to two certain people while adjusting to a planet that had…changed…quite a bit in 6,000 years.  One of the characters that Dor had to help was the stereotypical teenager girl who was treated horribly by a guy and the other person Dor had to help was a man trying to cheat death by choosing cryostasis.

I don’t want to give away the ending, but if you’ve read any of Mitch Albom’s books, you know there are many lessons and many layers to his books.  I planned on reading this book just to see how borrowing a Kindle book worked on my iPad’s Kindle app, but I couldn’t avoid the lessons Albom’s book had in mind.  There were two that resonated within me.

The first:

There was always a quest for more minutes, more hours, faster progress to accomplish more in each day.  The simple joy of living between sunrises was gone.

The second:

With endless time, nothing is special.  With no loss or sacrifice, we can’t appreciate what we have.