little black books

yesterday morning was a revelation. as alex and i winged our way over cape ann, our eyes focused upon the rhythmic surf and sharp, resolute shoreline of new england, i could not help but think of my father.

i was raised in a cradle of aviation. my father recovered airplanes in our two car garage, my brother and i treated the fuselages in the backyard like playground equipment and dad often strapped the my brother and i into one of the two small seats in our aeronica chief and took us buzzing about the oklahoma countryside.

a couple of summers ago, while digging around in my dad's closet for a long-lost first baseman's mitt, i found my dad's log book. on its small pages dad had recorded every hour he had flown and, occasionally, jotted a few notes about the flights. unsurprisingly, my brother and i were his passengers for a number of those flights. beside our names, in his carefully messy script, my dad had written things like "took the boys flying today and they loved it!" and "jeff took the stick today and did quite well." these simple notations pierced my heart. for some reason, reading the notes in my dad's log book made his love more tangible than ever. in that cluttered closet i realized that my father's heart was so full of love for his boys that it overflowed into every part of his life, including his little black log book.

in much the same way, i believe that God's love for us is scribbled, in his servant's carefully messy script, all over scripture. i just wish the pages of scripture pierced my heart like the pages of that logbook did.