I love to read. I love analog books. I love bookstores. I can’t count the number of hours wasted/invested in browsing shelves looking for my next read. Years ago, during one of those hours, I saw a title that was something like How Things Work. The title made me realize that I wasn’t at all interested. DIY and all things mechanical are not in my wheelhouse. (I’m convinced those gifts are missing along with the gene required for appreciating cilantro, that icky, soapy-tasting herb). I’m flummoxed at the simplest of assembly tasks and avoid them where possible. But reading. As all my bookshelves can attest, there is no shortage of material for pleasure and for study.
Some authors ‘assemble’ words and phrases and sentences in near-magical order, drawing you back to reread for even greater delight. The pages of their books get hungrily consumed, and the last page is always unwelcome, like a literary Grim Reaper, closing a gripping story with heartless finality. But I read on.
There is one Author whose Book, an age-old love story, contains within its pages, every genre of writing while never erring from its central theme, never sugarcoating the difficulties involved in wooing one’s Beloved. The words, spanning millennia, paint an everlasting picture of purest love. And more than just intriguing, the words of this tome are alive and powerfully active yet today. They are still doing the ongoing, essential work of convincing the Beloved and promising (and providing) them a forever place at home with the Author. It doesn’t get better than that, y’all. Have a blessed time as you gather tomorrow, 10 AM, 2 PM UK (this week only) PD
