I got the sweetest note from a missionary friend who just received the box of books I sent to his children. When they opened the box, his young son cried, “Oh, these are my favorite books I’ve never read before!”
I love that. And I know the feeling. I browse the aisles of Borders, Barnes and Noble, and – the pièce de résistance – Powell’s City of Books. Millions of books begging to be given a home. They don’t want to live on the bookstore shelf. They call out, “Pick me! Pick me!” They entice with their bright covers and clever titles or their comfortable old spines. I choose one at random and hold it in my hands. A nice book, but not the one. I choose another and it snuggles down into my palms. The first page shows promise.
Yes. This is the one. My favorite book I’ve never read.
