Bookshelves

I have a bookshelf in my room. You have a bookshelf too? Oh, but it wasn't the furniture I meant. Maybe I had better say I have MY bookshelf in my room. I assume you also have YOUR special thing. An adult form of a child's favorite stuffed rabbit, or Linus and his blanket.

I care for a crazy Dr. Seuss's Foot Book style collection of books. Tall books, small books, story books, devotionals. Memory books, treasure books, borrowed books, blue books. Last summer I decided they needed a home.

I went garage sailing to find my own bookshelf. (pun intended) It needed to be tall and broad shouldered. Willing to work hard. And I found my own for $20 two streets over from my house.

I carried it piece-by-piece up the stairs with my sister's help. I dusted it off, set it up, and lovingly unpacked and sheathed my books.

The weight of my assorted helter-skelter book family holds its bookshelf-home solidly in place. If I ever want one of those books I know exactly where to find it. I don't worry about my books. I rest in knowing they are on their shelf.

I do worry about other parts of my life. Lately I've worried about my theology, my job, my family, my attitudes, my feelings, MY best interest. But when I get frazzled because I cannot find the cure to MY worry, God often gently reminds me that it's not MINE. It's HIS.

His bookshelf, His family, His truth, His people, His world, and I am His.

So I go to my bookshelf, pull off my Bible, and spend some time learning about HIM.