Books are not meant to have dust jackets. A dust jacket is the facade of a building: the home and the world are inside. Any time I have a physical copy of a book, I rip the dust jacket off and throw it away. It is just advertisement. Who needs it but the publisher? The true reader reads regardless of the cover.
I say this because one of my books had 4 dust jackets on before I unclothed it. Underneath was nothing spectacular—but that's what I purchased. I didn't buy the book for the gilded shell, I did for the content and the growth and the language between each page. I wonder what would be revealed to me, to others, to Christ if I allowed His holiness to remove my petals. What would my crooked heart speak? It makes me think of animals and trees and people that hide behind dust jackets. I had observed a squirrel's tail before. Without the translucent fur, it's just a bent line from a cute, fuzzy bum. Would I love a squirrel's bum less because his tail is no longer fluff but crooked? Check out your local squirrel—you'll notice he is chatty and kind-hearted and has a Carroll-esque tail. If I was a book, what color would my spine be? What design or etching would be on my front binding? Would my pages be dog-eared and my words underscored? Would my dedication page be to Christ? I feel loved that His great tome has my name in it. I love having His in mine as well.
1 Comment
Jordan Chapman
10/12/2017 11:06:59 pm
"Would my dedication page be to Christ?"
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