Wherever I go I try to take a book along. I've got them in the car, a thousand of them in my office, another thousand or so in the basement. They're stacked by my bed. There's always a book in my suitcase just in case I forget to pack one.
Books, like people, come in all sizes, colors and shapes. I love to take the dust jacket off a hardcover book and check out the binding, the color, the title engraved on the spine. The different type faces and paper colors intrigue me.
The bibliographies, notes and indexes in the back always fascinate me. The dedications in the front of the book are very telling.
The cover can either make me want to dig into the book or it can turn me off reading it. Maybe I have a book fetish. If that's wrong, so be it. I'm guilty!
Want to make me happy? Give me a book! Want to upset me? Borrow a book and don't give it back.
When I take the train or plane I'm always weighed down with books. What great companions! They keep me company, they never argue, never talk back and they can change my life if I allow the Holy Spirit to speak through them.
Having a good book in hand affords the blessing of a one-on-one visit with the author, quietly discovering what makes him or her tick. How else can we engage with Augustine, Tozer, Lloyd-Jones or Lewis?
Yes, I'm an incurable bookaholic! It's almost bed time but I better read a chapter or three.
Good night!
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